There was plenty to be said about Stagroot. The charming little anecdote of its namesake, a hunter following a stag back to its favourite water source only to discover the ancient grove that would become the site of the company town. The various marvellous qualities of the massive red trees that grew all around, their innards so bright and livid the lumberjacks seemed almost part-time butchers. How it prospered, going from strength to strength as each ancient tree felled became more axe-handles to arm the workers streaming in seeking fortune in the 'red gold' business. Petros knew all this. He'd been chattering away about it ever since Takara pointed out the location of the potential boyfriend they sought on the magic map. Takara just... absolutely did not care.
"So you seem to know a lot about this kind of town!" Takara said suddenly, heading Petros off right before he launched into describing the residential situation in excruciating detail. "What, you grow up here, have family from here?"
"-employee discount applies to soap but not toilet paper- hm? Oh!" Petros seemed almost to have forgotten they were even there. It only made him seem more elated Takara had shown interest. "Yes! No. I mean I did grow up in a company town about-" he pointed one claw into the murky distance to the northeast "-over that way, way away. White Table. We mined chalk mostly, no logging, but I did some trapping work too on occasion."
"No foxes I hope~" Takara teased.
"Wh- I would ne- that's not- hey!" Petros protested. Takara tittered. The sheer intensity of the big bull-man's frown only made them laugh harder. They gave him a reassuring pat on the back (lower back, they couldn't reach much higher) as they came to a stop on a grassy rise overlooking the town. Takara scanned what they could see from end to end, from the mill and storehouse to what was probably a mess hall of some kind to the near-identical blocks of squat red-wooded residential buildings to- aha. The bar. Always check the bar first. And then a thought came to them in the quiet.
"Your folks still live there? They expecting you back anytime soon?" they asked.
"Yeah, and I mean obviously I'd love to go back -and bring you!- but..." Petros gestured down at His Situation. "Yeah." There was a pregnant pause. "But hey good luck finding whoever you're looking for in there! I hope he's nice!"
"Shhhhshshsh, none of that." Takara gave the mountain of literal beef another pat, rubbing in circles around the small of his back. "This devious little fox is not without their wiles, and though it was conducted under your very nose I have devised a cunning solution to your problem. Here, let's have your hand."
Petros turned to face Takara, brow probably furrowed in confusion under that mask, but he offered his hand all the same.
"Mind, this'll sting a bit," they said, then in a flicker of movement drew a leaf-shaped knife out of their sleeve and across Petros' palm.
"What'll sting?" he asked obliviously.
Takara chuckled. "Don't worry about it, you big cuddly oaf." They drew the knife across their own palm next.
"Wait, hey, you didn't say the spell involved hurting yourself!" Petros protested. He clasped Takara's bleeding hand, utterly engulfing it in his shovel-like paw. His tattoos came to life with healing energy just as quickly, flowing through the channels that swirled and wound across his torso down into his hand.
"Hold that thought." Takara's other hand shot up out of nowhere and began winding a finely-stitched lavender ribbon around and around and around their clasped hands. The emerald light reflected in their violet eyes flickered for a moment, and the next it was seeping into the ribbon like dye. When their hands came apart neither was marked, and the ribbon had turned green as grass. Petros was still staring in confusion when Takara finished tying it around his wrist with a neat little bow.
"The obvious answer was just cursing you with a different shape," Takara explained matter-of-factly. "But you're too big and buff -metaphysically speaking- for just doing that to work, so I had to mix a little of you into it. You should be able to change back into something approaching what you used to look like whenever you want while you're wearing that ribbon. So give it a try!"
"Oh! Uh... alright, here goes..."
Petros pulled a face of pure concentration, hunching over and tensing as he mentally sought out the spell Takara had just tied around his arm. His markings shone once more, and the bracelet flickered in response. Before their eyes the massive hulking beast of a man shrank down, tattoos sinking beneath skin that lightened just a few shades, hair retracting into his scalp, skull-mask splitting in two and vanishing into his actual skull with the horns following swiftly after. When all was said and done Petros was left 'just' taller than Takara, a still-impressive frame crammed into a somewhat ratty working man's jacket, rugged trousers tucked into half-laced boots. He looked down at himself in awe, then at Takara in mild confusion.
"How am I still not the right size?" he asked.
"Yeah, well, you still look a lot more normal than pushing three metres," Takara observed. Their gaze flicked down to the bracelet half-hidden by Petros' sleeve, which was already rippling unnaturally as if caught in an unseen wind. "And more importantly your god part seems a bit nettled I just crushed it down into a cute accessory so try to get all your sightseeing done quick-gurk."
Petros crashed into them, arms swinging around behind and locking tight as the foxperson was pulled inexorably into a crushing hug. Takara was compressed on all sides like an androgynous teddy-bear, arms stuck out awkwardly by their sides as the vicious assault continued.
"... (urgh, of course your hugs are still amazing)" they grumbled.
"Thank you," Petros said, the smile audible even if Takara couldn't see it. "Really, I know it's just a little thing but-"
"I just told you you're on a time limit!" Takara interjected. "Go on, hop to it bullboy!"
Petros hoisted them up into the air for one last squeeze ("whoahheywhatisthisnow") of gratitude, then set the poor disoriented foxperson down and raced off to see the sights. It took them a few long moments, just staring at Petros' retreating back, to remember that they were there for a reason too.
Takara cleared their throat, fixed their hair, straightened out their robes, and changed. This guise was a little more carefully calculated than their old mainstays, a few custom additions for flair. Pale, flawless skin and violet, canted eyes. Raven-black hair kept relatively short - how short? Too short? Compromise, make it a ponytail - and soft, ambiguously feminine features. A thigh-length haori over a more local-style waistcoat and shirt, local-style trousers but tabi and geta on the bottom. Hat, hood, nothing? Mmmm... always wanted an excuse to try one of their hats, but they take those off indoors anyway, no point. They'd seen some of their countrymen (for lack of a better term) dressed something like this at some of the places they'd visited, whether as some sort of bold fashion statement or out of misplaced fascination. It looked faintly ridiculous, but in a way that suited them just fine. Plus the sandals were just familiar and comfy at this point.
One last check of the map before they went - yep, safely holed up in the watering hole, not likely to move before they got there. They stuffed the map tube down the front of their shirt where it seemed to just vanish into the ether, fixed their hair one last time, and set off down the hill. It was dark, the deep gloom cast by what trees remained standing broken by a few scattered lamps - still early enough at night for the bar to be open, late enough that there wouldn't be many stragglers hanging around to interfere. The one the map was pointing to wasn't a worker of course, they'd tracked the dot travelling too far for that, so either way they'd be easy to spot. Takara went over their story in their head as they drew closer and closer to the door - travelling salesman? No that required things to sell. Random adventurer? No those had credentials. Travelling pilgrim? That's it! You didn't need ID to prove you worshipped a god. Perfect.
Takara opened the door and strode confidently into the bar, sweeping their gaze across all those who sat nursing their drinks within its gloomy confines.
They saw Xiomara the Dragonslayer sitting dead-centre in the room.
Takara 180'd right back out the door and slammed it behind them.
'What the fuck' they mouthed to themselves, fingertips at their temples and eyes wide as dinnerplates. They whipped their head back and forth, back and forth, from the door to the empty street before them to the door again. But that couldn't- but he said- and she's- was the map wrong? Did they break it?
Takara whipped the map out of their shirt again and double-checked. Their marker flickered like it always had since they stole it, and every time the compass needle drifted away it was unmistakably towards the bar. Takara just stared at nothing, numbly rolling the map up and stuffing it back down their not-really cleavage. Trying to seduce Xiomara felt about as safe as spooning an active volcano, or perhaps a particularly ornery beached shark.
"... (oh well now I have to know)" Takara grumbled, and stepped back inside.
Unfortunately, Xiomara had definitely noticed the hurried exit. She was mid-swig when Takara returned, and raised her silver-white eyebrows in detached bemusement. Fortunately that proved a perfect excuse to go talk to her. They hurried over to her table, the very picture of contrition, and slipped into the seat opposite as smooth as anything.
"I am so, so sorry for that display, I confess I was just so surprised to see someone of your stature all the way out here that I- well I didn't quite know what to do with myself," Takara said.
"Well," Xiomara said, finishing up her drink and squinting down the neck in search of the last few drops, "You'd be surprised how often that happens. So don't worry about it, no harm done."
"All the same, it would put my mind at ease if you would at least allow me to buy you one more round?" they offered. Xiomara lifted her eyebrows fractionally higher, but relented with a shrug.
"If you're offering? Sure."
Takara caught the bartender's attention, and the otherwise surly-looking man who appeared to have traded every other hair in his body to give his beard more power snapped into action rather than leave the invincible dragonslayer and her brand new acquaintance waiting. He brought them a pair of glass bottles lacking even labels, and hurried away just as quickly. The other stragglers around the bar they glimpsed out of the corner of their eye, keeping to themselves but for the occasional look shot their way, trepidation or jealousy or something in between. Takara lifted their bottle as if to toast, only to find Xiomara shooting them another dubious look. The 'why are you still in that chair?' went unsaid.
"I apologise for my forwardness, Lady Xiomara, but since we were already talking I supposed I should give it a chance - might I be allowed to sit with you and provide company while we enjoy our drinks, so graciously donated by myself?" Takara pushed on, trying to keep their tone casual even as their mind seemed to burn with a need to know the truth behind the dragonslayer. Xiomara, conversely, mostly just looked like they had asked to spend time with a cow.
"... why?" she asked.
"Well, forgive me for saying, but at a glance you did seem... in need of it, this fine night," Takara replied. "And I admit it was something of a relief to find someone just as out-of-place here as I. I'm a pilgrim you see, touring the country to sample your fine gods."
"You make them sound like a delicacy," Xiomara remarked with a faint chuckle.
Some of them are, Takara thought. "Well, you are supposed to feed them well!" they joked back. The ghost of a smile flitted across Xiomara's lips and Takara concealed a grin of their own. "And you? Are you just passing through to elsewhere, or here on specific dragonslayer business, or...?"
"Hm? Oh. No." She took a sip. "I'm here for a reason, but not dragonslayer business. Not yet, I don't think. I've heard a few rumours here and there in my travels, things I didn't really piece together or put much stock in at first, but since my last hunt I'm starting to come around. A cave-in at a silver mine covered up, I assumed it was just about the workers' deaths. Three months later I hear the Adventurer's Guild discovered a half-crushed dungeon from the Beyond there, like it had 'crashed into' the mine from below. A commercial fishing zone down south in Republic waters, closed down, I assumed just from overfishing, then I find out an entire new island rose out of the water and had to be quarantined."
Takara's brows met in the middle. It wasn't just idle chit-chat any more, they were actually interested. "So you're here to see if it happens again?"
Xiomara nodded. "Once is an isolated incident, two can be coincidence. Three is a trend. I kept an especially close ear out and I heard something about mysterious tremors here in Stagroot. Tremors aren't exactly ordinary in logging so... here I am. If a dungeon does rise, I'll be right here to defend the workers and go in to see what happened."
Takara flashed her a winning smile. "Look at you. Come all this way to stand guard just on the off-chance of danger, without a thought to reward of glory. With an attitude like that, it's a wonder why it's the dragonslaying that everyone praises you for~"
Takara took a sip from their own drink - it was terrible but they'd had worse - to give Xiomara some space. The dragonslayer gave a wry half-smile, twisting the cool bottle back and forth between her gloved fingers.
"Well, as you can see it's hardly the most social job. Perhaps most are too scared or unsettled to think of me as particularly charitable and benevolent," Xiomara replied half-jokingly. "So, mostly just... get on with it, I guess."
Takara considered Xiomara's words, tasting another mouthful of lukewarm swill. They let the silence tick on a few moments longer, even though the obvious proposal came to mind almost instantly. "You know..." they said slowly, idly tracing the neck of the bottle with a fingertip, "you are only waiting around for a dungeon to show up 'at some point'. Hardly as dangerous as hunting dragons and rescuing the fair maidens that lie trapped within their lairs."
Xiomara cocked her head slightly. "Meaning?"
"Meaning... well, like I said my schedule's not the most full these days," Takara finished. "If you would like some company in your vigil, I'd happily provide."
"Oh." Xiomara seemed stunned by the offer. She tugged the bottle closer, then pushed it further away. Her ice-blue eyes flicked down, left, right, even up at a particularly interesting ceiling beam before they finally returned to meet Takara's. The responses were muted, certainly obscured, but not hidden completely. "I would... tentatively... appreciate that," she replied at last. "So long as you promised not to interfere if things do get dangerous."
Takara flashed a slightly-too-sharp grin. "The likes of me don't last long without learning to defend themselves," they replied airily. "But if it would set that noble heart of yours at ease, then how could I possibly resist?" They offered their bottle to toast with a good-natured chuckle. "Agreed."
Clink went the glass, and Xiomara did seem more at ease as they took a swig to celebrate the accord. Takara took their third in kind. They increasingly wished they hadn't ordered one for them too.
"Eugh. Why does it have to be so warm?" they muttered.
"Mine's fine, do you want to swap?" Xiomara offered.
"Bless you." The concave glass bottoms slid unevenly across the slats of the rough wooden table only to be snatched up by soft hands. Takara's next sip went down significantly smoother. They held it at eye level, as if to scrutinise it suspiciously. "Would you look at that, they really did give you the colder one. Being a hero does come with some perks."
Xiomara smiled slightly. "I suppose it does."
A more comfortable silence fell, and Takara was content to let it lie. There was no sense in pushing too hard - Xiomara was clearly a complicated woman with more than her fair share of things to peel apart layer by layer. Better to start cultivating some patience now. Introducing Petros alone would have to be handled with care, preferably with a little time to plan and coach the big lug so he didn't spook the weapon of mass carnage on two legs.
"May I... ask you a somewhat personal question?" Xiomara asked out of nowhere.
"Hm? Shoot."
"How... should I refer to you?" she went on haltingly. She gestured towards her face, hoping to indicate something or at least fill time until she could find the right words. "I don't- I mean clearly- I'd prefer not to embarrass myself in conversation."
Takara cocked their head and grinned. "D'oh, calm yourself, sweet thing. I really don't mind. Truth be told you can refer to me however you'd like. All of it, none of it, equally applicable at some point or another. But if you'd like my name, it's Takara."
Xiomara made a face like she'd just been given a great deal to think about with little time to process it, but just as quickly she compressed all that down and focused on the person in front of her. "Nice to meet you, Takara," she said at last. "It was nice of you to-"
That was when Makram teleported in.
A flash of heat and golden light in the gloom, glittering dust endlessly falling from the ethereal cloud he rode only to vanish before it could hit the floor. The ifrit lounged there just as lazily and arrogantly as he had in their first meeting, and his face had only grown more punchable.
"You've had your fun, fox, but now it's time to return what you stole," he declared, and with a snap of his fingers a pillar of flame erupted around Takara. It wasn't a genuine attack, only a half-second of uncomfortably scalding heat, and then the disguise was incinerated like a paper mask. When Takara slammed their hands down on the table and erupted from their seat, it was in their true form.
"What the fuck man!" they shouted.
"I think you know exactly 'what', fox," Makram replied coolly.
"What, that scaly sex-maniac still wasn't satisfied with seven boyfriends? I take one little map to try for myself and that's just too far!?" Takara retorted.
"The map is not a mere 'love radar', no matter what you might have been told, but even if it were it matters not," Makram sneered. "That you are not currently on fire already is a testament to my exceptional mood and capacity for forgiveness. Surrender the map now. I don't care who you've already 'collected' on it."
Then it was Xiomara's turn to leap to her feet. She didn't pound the table, but she didn't have to. The leashed, icy fury contained in every carefully-measured syllable of her question spoke loud enough. "What. Is going on. Here."
Makram shot her a look of complete lack of recognition. "Oh, you were with company. Suffice it to say the creature you were dining with is little more than a coward and a liar and a thief. It stole my master's shape to break into his home and steal his most treasured possession, then attacked me and my associates when we attempted to stop it. Whatever it told you before I arrived, I advise you not to trust a word of it."
Xiomara's gaze snapped to Takara, and they quailed beneath it. Their lips worked soundlessly for a handful of heartstopping moments, searching for sufficient explanation and finding nothing. They settled for the next-best thing - passing the buck.
"He's only pursuing me at all because he serves a dragon!" Takara shouted, jabbing one black claw at Makram. "All I wanted to do was take a little something for myself - I even left all the money! - but apparently that still wasn't enough. That djinn is nothing but a blue dragon's lapdog and if there's anyone you should be angry at it's him!"
Takara was faintly aware of Makram asking 'what does serving a dragon have to do with it?' in their ear, but their attention was focused solely on Xiomara. Watching her body tremble subtly as every muscle slowly wound up, going taut as steel springs with leashed strength. Practically fit to burst free of her jacket and rip the undershirt for good measure. Slowly, mechanically, she reached over with her right hand and tugged the glove from her left. Exposing fingers of blued steel and a gemstone like a shard of ice embedded in the palm.
"There's a third option neither of you mentioned," she said. Forced, faux-calm, the tendons in her throat standing out stark as bridge struts.
From that cold blue light, her macuahuitl emerged.
"What-?" Makram began, but soon no explanation was necessary. The great bladed club swept up and around like a rising wave, fit to cleave even the greatest warship in two. Makram vanished in a gout of golden flame, Takara bent back, a last-second dodge corrected midway and turned into an almost applause-worthy handspring. The macuahuitl went on, and even when it stopped the sheer gale of its passing went on, and the bottles behind the bar shook violently in their shelves. The first one that fell, shattering loudly against the floorboards, broke the spell of shock. The bartender broke into a sprint and barged out the door, and the rest of the workers in the bar came scrambling after. Their shouts and cries of alarm echoed in the night air outside through the doorway as it swung freely on its hinges, but Xiomara was unmoved.
"Fine," Takara spat. "If that's the way it has to be."
A flicker of movement from hip to shoulder, a brace of knives spinning on their claws as they let fly. Th-th-thunk-unk-unk the daggers went as they embedded themselves in the floor around Xiomara, one flying right between her legs to form the point of the pentagram. A swift effort of will to activate the trap before Xiomara could move too far and the daggers came alive in an interwoven array of leashed violet lightning, sizzling bolts seeming to pierce the dragonslayer straight through as they enmeshed her struggling body. Not quite as strong as the one they'd used to deal with the djinn, but it'd be enough to hold her while they got Petros and-
There was a sound like shattering glass and the high-pitched, crystallising keening of ice as the spell broke. Xiomara tore her arms free from the lavender lightning with a shout of effort as if it were no more than thin cord, and a wave of freezing cold erupted from her body. The daggers were blown away, spinning wildly to all corners of the bar, and though Takara crossed their arms to defend themself the cold clawed at their exposed skin like wild dogs and stung their squinting eyes. Makram shouted in surprise, but the flames he summoned were too little, too late. The ice washed over him and clung to his body in fast-forming panes of frost, cracking and splintering as he struggled to move, shivering violently. Icy crystals sprouted from every surface, coating the wood and painting the glass white with frost.
Takara lowered their arms and Xiomara was already charging, macuahuitl swinging around from her shoulder to cleave the fox in two from shoulder to hip. Another swift twist on the ball of one foot to dodge, the other leg curling up and flickering out in a rabbit-like kick to the hilt. Xiomara lurched off-balance, the great weapon sinking too low and instead embedding itself deep in the solid red-wood floor as if it were plaster. Takara kept moving, nerves wired on animal instinct. Invincible armour's no good when you aren't wearing it. Black claws flashed out like five knives, striking for the cheek, the exposed eye.
It was like striking dragonscale. They just skittered off the bare flesh, leaving it completely unmarked. The moment of shock was all Xiomara needed to wrench her blade free, retracing the swing that got it stuck in the first place. Takara dived out of the way, kicking off the floor and alighting on the bar. They crouched on all fours at the lip of the frost-coated bartop, ice-crystals crunching beneath their bare feet, coiled and ready to spring whichever way they could.
"So you've expanded your job-description then?" they taunted with a cruel grin, white fangs bared. "Moved on from dragons to field-foxes?"
"Shapeshifter, thief, liar, manipulator," Xiomara replied coldly, shouldering her macuahuitl for another blow. "I see a dragon just fine."
Takara's gaze flicked down momentarily. Only to return, and linger. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much."
Xiomara glanced down, if only for a moment. Down at her prosthetic hand, steel fingers splayed, ice-blue gem gleaming in the palm. Down at the glinting, wicked, draconic talons that the fingertips had been shaped into, sharp as razors and fit to disembowel the fox she faced. Cold mist filtered through the cracks and seams in the casing as she swept it up to close around the hilt of her great blade and brought it down with a cry of fury-
Petros barrelled in through the wall in all his glory, collected Xiomara with his shoulder, and kept on running right through the far wall. Takara was left stunned mid-leap, scrabbling to regain their balance, blinking in pure shock. It took a long, long moment to realise that if anybody had a chance of wrestling the insane dragonslayer to a standstill it was probably Petros, which meant it was high time for them to skedaddle.
Which was when Makram appeared before them, shedding great flakes of frost like dead scales, golden talons closing around the fox's throat and slamming them against the bar wall. Frosted-over bottles crunched and shattered beneath their back, terrible beer spilling down the wall and soaking their haori and tail. The ifrit was literally steaming, the remaining ice that clung to him sluggishly melting or evaporating as he burned with renewed fury.
"The map," he hissed. "While we have a spare moment."
"Seriously!?" Takara grunted right back. Their gaze flicked left, out through the ragged hole in the timber wall through which fighting could still be heard. "Why do you two even care!? It's just a stupid magic map."
Makram leaned in closer, burning golden eyes only inches away from Takara's, and when he spoke again his voice was almost conversational.
"Did you think your little note was enough? Did you think what you did would go down as nothing but a harmless little prank?" There was something new in his voice, something almost alike to his customary arrogance but private, intended only for them. "Or did you even stop to think at all?"
"I don't-"
"Contrary to when we last spoke, I have no interest in killing you," Makram went on, undeterred. "Give me the map and I'll teleport you and your accomplice wherever you wish. I don't care where. I don't care what you plan to do next. I care about Eldingar. The way you didn't when you stabbed him in the back."
Takara's hands were wrapped tight around the ifrit's wrist, squeezing hard enough that their claws drew drops of liquid sunlight from the softer 'skin'. They could claw his eyes, kick out his stomach, knee him in the face, twist around and make it a throw, use a dagger, use an ofuda, option after option flew through their head behind their eyes but they couldn't tear those away from Makram's. They quailed beneath his gaze, frozen and pinned down in a way that had nothing to do with his hand around their throat. They let out a harsh, frustrated breath through bared fangs that turned into a growl halfway through.
"Fine, I-"
Wood buckled and splintered yet again. Takara and Makram's heads turned as one to find Petros flying through the air towards them, freshly thrown through a different section of wall. Makram vanished and his grip on Takara's throat went with him, dumping the fox in an unceremonious heap behind the bar as Petros sailed overhead and crashed through the far wall. Almost the entire corner of the building had been torn away, and the roof above creaked dangerously as Takara rose. Xiomara stalked through the new entrance she just made, not a hair out of place, ice-cold gaze fixed on the pair.
"Oh I have had just about enough of you!" Makram snapped, reappearing and sending a roiling tongue of golden flame streaking across the ruined bar at Xiomara. The dragonslayer faced the burning onslaught head-on with naught but an upflung hand, as if she needed even that. The ifrit's magnificent flame was drawn away, harmlessly sucked up by the hungering core of Xiomara's prosthetic, the crystal within shining brilliant gold before slowly cooling to icy blue. Takara still had the bar to duck behind. Makram was not so lucky.
The blast of cold seemed to suck the breath from Takara's lungs even from their hiding spot. The wood seemed to scream in agony as it warped and shrank, deep cracks opening in the tortured timber beneath the thick layer of ice. Makram blunted it with a pillar of flame, survived it, but that was little comfort. His golden inner light guttered and dimmed like a candle in a blizzard as he was frozen near-solid, the glittering cloud beneath him vanishing as Xiomara rushed forward.
CR-CRUNCH. All of Stagroot could hear it, could practically feel it. The sheets of ice caking Makram's body shattering like glass. The false body beneath fracturing and buckling like porcelain, baring the golden light within. The ifrit folded around her fist and simply flew, bouncing once and rolling to a stop in an unceremonious heap in the dirt road outside. There would be no more resistance, no more smart comments, no more fire. The djinn barely twitched, movements jerky and halting, shakily scrabbling at his chest as if he hoped to piece himself back together. Xiomara shouldered her great weapon and strode towards him, step by heavy, inexorable step.
A knife landed in the dirt between her legs with a soft thwip, a paper tag dangling from the handle. Before she even had time to look down the entire thing erupted like a bomb, a thick cloud of choking white smoke billowing up and consuming her utterly. She coughed, more in shock than anything else, and stumbled forward only to find the cloud expanding quicker than she could find the edge. Even the very earth seemed to be shaking beneath her, forcing her to slow down and correct her balance even as her foes no doubt escaped.
Takara raced to find Petros as fast as their feet would carry them. Thankfully, he was incredibly easy to spot in a crowd - and a crowd as indeed gathering, workers and their families emerging from their samey homes to see what was going on, even guards working the late shifts at the mill and the storehouse drifting away from their posts at the sounds of battle. The only reason all eyes weren't on Takara and Petros was the gigantic cloud of white smoke and heavily damaged djinn teleporting away drawing half the attention - and the tremors. The earth shook, the houses creaked dangerously, and leaves fell like an emerald storm as the trees all around them swayed threateningly. Takara made to haul the bull-man to his feet but it was an entirely empty gesture - once his senses returned, he got up all on his own and the two were sprinting away side-by-side.
"So uh, hey!" Takara called between breaths as they dove deeper into the impenetrable darkness of the forest, civilisation drawing further and further away behind them. "Hey buddy! Thanks for the save and all but uh, mind telling me what'cha got up to while you were gone? 'cause it feels like you started an earthquake!"
"My god part got really really angry about you crushing me down to human form," Petros replied. He sounded strained, but only from stress - physically he could probably sprint the length of the continent. "It started telling me all about the really bad things they were doing here, cutting everything down without replanting and destroying habitats, and eventually I had to... I went and broke all their equipment."
"You broke all their equipment?" Takara repeated. "The axes, the saws, the tools, the lumber wagons, everything?"
"Everything," Petros said guiltily. "I'm sorry, I know you said we should try not to draw attention-"
"Fuck it, sabotage a hundred businesses if you want!" Takara exclaimed. "Not important right now! Because what is important is that sabotaging logging equipment doesn't cause earthquakes."
"Then..."
When the fog finally lifted, Xiomara was alone. When the fog finally lifted the bar was just gone, splintered iced-over timbers and cheap watered-down whiskey all vanished into the yawning black pit of a sinkhole that had opened up beneath it. When the fog finally lifted the entire town was there, workers and guards and foremen and their families all packed together in one big clump of confusion and fear. Even the portly owner/'mayor' of town, nightgown hastily thrown on, clutching a lantern like a security blanket, its guttering orange flame reflected in his eyeglasses as he shuffled forward. Xiomara turned to face him, slowly letting her steel-clawed hand fall by her side.
"What is- what is the meaning of this?" the man demanded. "You are tres- trespassing on privately-owned property and I-I-I-I will have you removed if you do not cease causing a disturbance!"
Xiomara regarded him dispassionately. The threat was so empty he didn't even pretend to put stock in it, he only said it because he felt he had to. She didn't hold it against him, even as the thought that she could crush him like an overripe peach if she so wished flashed through her mind. She glanced over her shoulder, half-turning to get her immense weapon out of the way. The sinkhole was still settling, some parts around the perimeter slowly crumbling away or merely threatening to. Not now but soon. Sooner or later. At the lip of the darkness she saw what she was truly looking for.
Stairs. Ancient, time-worn yet still unnaturally square-cut stairs, one rust-gold handrail still gamely holding on even after ten thousand years neglect. The dungeon was inviting her in. Her hunch was right. She turned back to face the crowd, and she met their fearful gazes with all but indifference.
"I came here in search of answers," she said, and though she did not raise her voice not one person couldn't hear her. "Before tonight, I believed that the holdings and machinations of dragons were somehow affecting the Beyond, causing dungeons from deep underground to suddenly rise to the surface and affect the world around them. Now I know for sure. The next step is to enter the dungeon, and end whatever threat lies within before it can rise."
"... and- and you are Guild-licensed, yes?" the mayor asked. Xiomara just looked at him. He said no more.
She looked at each of them in turn, her gaze cold and near unblinking. Men and women averted their eyes, children hid behind their parents' legs or stared up at her with the overwhelmed, half-frightened awe of seeing a great predator out in the wild. There were no protests as she wordlessly turned and walked away, over to the ancient stairway. There were no cheers or shouts of encouragement thrown to her retreating back as she took the first steps and began her descent, down and down, deeper into the darkness beneath the world. Only one thing, flitting just within earshot; a man asking another "dudn't she need a torch?"
She didn't. Her eyes, ice-blue with pupils like thin vertical gashes, glowed with their own inner light in the darkness. She could see just fine.
