westwhere | bygones be bygones

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bygones be bygones

BYGONES BE BYGONES

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Welcome to the finale log event, stretching until 22 February. You can find a summary of recent events here. The finale log is broken in four sections:

■ Anurr’s attempt to enter Hatthevar by corrupting party members

■ The citadel’s increasing hauntings and abductions (largely CR-building scenarios)

■ Investigating a ghost ship, for final clues

■ The fall of undead creator Matthias

Thank you for being here & enjoy!

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WALLS, WAILING

The tide of war are turning: his scorpions and sand lurkers defeated by Emilia, Wrath and Benedict, the undead Brotherhood’s foremost general, Rathakku, pulls back his armies. A handful of monstrous creatures remain and will grudgingly serve the trio as their new masters.

Wind master Anurr, foe of the Brotherhood and its maker Matthias, continues assaulting the citadel with ceaseless blizzards. Those exposed to the storms may hear dark or saccharine voices that corrupt, threaten or woo them to open one of the four (north/west/south/east) gates of the citadel and allow Anurr’s forces inside.

■ Those prone to loneliness, despair or self-doubt are the most vulnerable to Anurr’s coercion and can easily turn aggressive, if anyone attempts to prevent them from their goal. A burning need to free the winds and a hatred of Hatthevar overwhelm you, while Matthias’ very name sets you off in a rage.

■ Those coerced are invulnerable to Anurr’s blizzards and the broader cold but highly susceptible to heat and flame. Their skin turns pale, limbs stiff and nearly gelid. They are slower but much stronger, and their touch can chill. They must be warmed — either by fire-side or trapped into heated rooms — to regain control of themselves. It may take up to 48 hours before they’re fully back to normal, waking up at night with a longing to walk into the wind.

■ The gates of Hatthevar remain guarded by enormous man-eating ghosts, but these sentinels have been worn down by war and are more easily overcome. Pass them and your companions and open the gates — and you will win Anurr a healthy advantage.

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A HAUNTED PLACE

Two of Matthias’ beacons have been conquered by Vanessa, Wrathion and Five, who retain them as long as they stay along. Inevitably, they are often hunted by spirits.

Not realizing why his summons have weakened, Matthias directs more and more energy towards the three beacons under his control. The turbulence agitates the spirits of Hatthevar, who become secretive, paranoid, prickly and increasingly riotous.

■ Some scatter quickly as they see you — others gang up, mutinously targeting ghost slavers or anyone who reminds them of those who wronged them when they were alive. Hauntings multiply, while ghost slavers take advantage of the riots to conquer parts of Hatthevar.

PART & WHOLE

Combative crowds, often led by ghost slavers, are especially drawn to characters who own any of Matthias’ limbs or organs. Promised rewards, they seek to abduct such owners or anyone unlucky enough to be mistaken for them, dragging them to decrepit, barely standing and abandoned Whispering Houses while they barter payment from Matthias.

■ Ghosts are fiercely attentive but also superstitious watchmen: spook them, organise a rescue party or sneak out.

■ Watching the walls, you see ink brush paintings of the silhouettes of men, their beady eyes sometimes shifting to look at you. At other times, their limbs seem to shift minutely, as they begin to run towards you, until shadow men burst out of the wall to detain you. They pull back, if you also stop moving.

■ Those who possess Matthias’ parts may find ghosts are unusually submissive to them. Their tokens will likely get seized, if they are captured.

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TROUBLED

Hatthevar succumbs to hauntings, friendly or foul. On any given day, you might experience:

■ THE BURIALS: Come morning, your shoes might be missing, buried in the nearest dirt patch — or you yourself might be entombed in the gardens, forced to dig yourself out before you suffocate. The crystalline sound of chiming bells can lead rescuers to you. Ghostly hands might try to hold onto you, if you are dragged out.

■ THE FACELESS: Lithe faceless dancers dart through the crowds of the ghostly bazaars, carrying demonic wooden masks that they place on the faces of stunned passers-by, fleeing thereafter. The victims now look like the demonic masks, while the masks have copied their likeness. If this happens to you, run after the faceless dancers, steal the mask and put it back on your face to recover your original appearance.

■ THE WATCH: Walking through the streets of Hatthevar, you find yourself visibly, unmistakably watched by an increasing number of people. First, they only steal glances; then, one or two point you out; small groups begin to whisper about you; finally, you notice whole crowds are standing eerily still, watching you covetously and seemingly struggling to keep themselves back from assaulting you.

MASTER GAO’S HUMBLE HOUSE

Least said, soonest enjoyed of Hatthevar’s new fashion of culinary delights. Amid a pick-up in crime, the street food vendors disperse, leaving behind a smattering of secluded establishments drenched in dizzying incense and patroned by… ethereal diners.

Master Gao’s family restaurant promises a once-in-a-lifetime experience, amid ghosts, ghouls and the monstrously dead. Take a seat at a private table, where you are treated to a pleasantly sweet, liquorice brew — then informed politely that you have been lethally poisoned and will die within two hours. Already, you feel your body feverish, overly stimulated, your thoughts given to wonder.

Focus, focus: the antidote, says the listless waitress, is in one of the numerous incoming dishes. A game to focus you on enjoying your meal. Even one bite will heal you.

THE MENU

Still on the fence? Reviewers say:

★★★★☆ Came for the bao buns, stayed for the screams of endless agony.
★★★★★ most places on lotus street went to the hell dogs, master’s gao stays lit, the demon bacon’s sizzle drizzle
★★☆☆☆ Two stars for the incredible heart of virgin sacrifice, cooked al dente. But this will be our last visit, after unprofessional staff treated us as if we were at our first cannibal rites.
★★★★☆ Hand-made blood pasta, rolled like grandma used to make.

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THE HEADLESS DANCER

Five and Wen Kexing share that word on the street is Matthias has favoured two hideaways. The most widely known one, where you are headed first, is the Headless Dancer: a ghost ship that appears on nights of the full moon in the misty lagoon near Hatthevar. Half-sunken and ragged, the Headless Dancer appears like a conglomerate of titans’ bones, carved and welded together. It is a proper sea vessel, atypical to sail through a lagoon.

Your objective is to search the ship for any sign of Matthias.

■ As the vessel passes, you hear a staggered, loud rattling: the chattering teeth of the skull heads that shape the ship’s hull. These hungry mouths reach to crush and gnaw you, if you fall in the waters close to the ship.

■ A pirate crew is hard at work to keep the vessel afloat. At first, the men appear normal, but their skeletal, corpse-like appearance is revealed when they come under moonlight.

■ Many crew members ignore you, chained to each other and the deck and condemned to perform their tasks while singing their ol’ song. Only the captain speaks liberally: cursing, whipping his men and carrying a bundle of chains as he makes his rounds. Hide — at times helped or betrayed by crew members — or risk getting chained down by the captain, your powers entirely muted until you are released.

■ Midway through your visit, the ship sails back into the fog, beneath a strange wave of clouds shaped like enormous fish and sea life . Spears and chains that resemble fish spines plunge down to pin the ship in place: they fly across the deck, at times skewering and stabbing crew members. Take cover or jump overboard.

■ After a few moments, the spear-chains latch onto the vessel’s sides, turning it over and submerging into the lagoon. Instead of sinking, the Headless Dancer breaks water, once again upright… in strange new sides (the ‘Other Side’) in the middle of an intensely violent storm of blood. The previously skeletal crew and captain are now fully human and are struggling desperately to keep the ship from sinking, despite furious winds and the vessel taking substantial amounts of water. You understand quickly this is an illusion or memory of some kind: there is no saving the ship. Spend the last few minutes before the Headless Dancer sinks trying to stay afloat and search the captain and main passengers’ cabin for clues. Within 20 minutes, you hear the mast of the Headless Dancer give way, while the rapidly flooding of the hull causes the ship to break in half. You fall unconscious, waking up battered but alive in the real-world shores of Hatthevar, the splinters of the Headless Dancer’s deck stuck beneath your nails.

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HE BLEEDS

Following our latest vote, the People have overwhelmingly chosen that undead creator Matthias will die.

Carrying out the plan is open to everyone, whether you did or didn’t get involved with the voting — jump in freely!

Matthias will be discovered in the second lair location uncovered by Five and Wen Kexing — the Whispering House of Hatthevar’s foremost wish maker, the Red Lady. He dwells on the first floor, which has been turned into an immense room decked in dark mirrors, whose windows have been entirely barricaded.

There are two types of mirrors: some show you exactly what you most wish to see, progressively captivating you while rapidly depleting your stamina and vitality, until you are reduced to dried husks and bones within the hour.

Looking into the second type of mirror, your character sees a person of tar that reaches out to touch them until their hand exits the glass. Upon contact, your character is overcome by a feeling of intense, spreading coldness, as if their insides are being infested by a rapidly propagating alien creature. They may feel its highly primitive, emotion-led thoughts: a jumble of jealousy, the wish to have a shape and manifest, hatred that your body is not malleable, fear, hunger. The creature takes your body over within the hour.

You can escape both types of mirrors if you cover them, do not look into them, or if someone breaks the thrall (by taking your attention away from the mirror or by physically removing you).

Matthias is often away from his hideaway, giving you valuable time to plot and tinker.

Killing him will involve:

■ Scouting the Whispering House. The Red Lady, a powerful sorceress, is unlikely to allow intruders to go where they please inside her home. But the ‘I’m just a poor wish maker, looking for the bathroom’ excuse is a time honoured classic!

■ Using Matthias’ severed limbs and organs to reduce his power: this can be done by destroying the parts. Fire will do the trick.

■ Setting down traps (tentacly or otherwise!) in Matthias’ quarters to detain him.

■ Creating an illusion or shapeshifting someone to look like Matthias’ daughter Cosette and distract him, when he returns.

■ Feeding Matthias a memory potion that will force him to remember his part in Cosette’s demise.

■ Killing him. Per RNG gods, Emilia gets the dubious honour of delivering the killing blow (most likely, with help from a special tool obtained from the Headless Dancer). Everyone else is still free to char, sting, entrap or force feed memories to Matthias!

Since several people might get involved, it’s probably logistically easier if you play out prep work or threads in groups of no more than 2-3 and assume other party members are around.

You can either NPC Matthias yourselves in your threads or ask for mod involvement.

Note: everyone who threads out any of the events of Matthias’ capture or demise can “inherit” some of his power over undeath once he is killed. Your character will then have to choose what they do with this power (keep, transfer or disperse it).

QUESTIONS

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh, it's you.

( There's not a lot in his voice, something only mildly surprised. He and Master Lan continue to be thrown into the same heaping piles of shit as each other, forced to wade through together. Of course it's him now, of course Wen Kexing will not only hear his voice inside his mind but out loud too. He holds his sigh in check, sweeping his gaze over the other man as much as he can in the gloom. ) You look terrible.

( Mild, not quite as judgemental as usual. He's not that much better, sore and unkempt. Wen Kexing thinks the ghosts might have used more number than skill to trap them both, though the other didn't seem to be putting up a struggle. He didn't quite get much of a look at them from the doorway. ) You can't expect a gift if you hijack your guests, Lan Wangji.

( Besides, they've taken his fan. But Wen Kexing is not so pigheaded he will ignore a warning and so he steps further into the middle of the room, disheartened. ) Even I know that.

( ...terrible. Perhaps. Bloodied, the red not his own, smearing sleeves and tarnishing silks. Pale from the callous exertion of deploying enough strength to be credible, but not compromise his abductors. Unkempt, in the way of captives who are too treasured to eradicate, yet must be taught their place swiftly.

Wen Kexing, in the way of his people, looks at once as if he belongs in a brothel or has cordially just finished putting one to fire. Excuse Lan Wangji, who still cannot be bothered to pay their circumstances more mind than a careful nod and a slow, idling step as he investigates the room. )

They will trouble you no further. ( Says the bruised-up man to the apparently irked one. ) You are made safe.

( ...presumably, by Lan Wangji. Enjoy that. ) Only mind the walls.

You dealt with them?

( Surprise flickers across his face at that, wiping away the ill-tempered frown from his features. ) There'll be more, presumably. Want to help me set the house aflame so they don't have anywhere to keep me next time?

( He has been followed for quite a while, knows why, knows it will hardly stop even if Lan Wangji has done away with the current gang of ghouls. His irritation returns, prickling. Wen Kexing badly wants to hit something, has nowhere for his stoked anger to go. )

What's wrong with the walls? ( He takes a step towards one, seems to think better of it. There is a twinge in his back, and he sighs again, more noisily this time. ) Apart from being disgusting, that is. Why is everything here just crawling in filth?

...we shall not resort to arson.

( That he must even speak the words, that they ever come to this is testimony to everything that Zewu-Jun fails to acknowledge, to every flaw indelibly entrenched in Wen Kexing's character that turns his smile sweet and his mind murderous.

Far from Lan Wangji to accuse, to doubt — and yet. He turns, one arm bound behind his back, fingers clenching, folding, tightening. Breathes. In and out and sedate, a beast restrained, suffocated by his collar. He dare not push or venture too afar, needn't collide with Wen Kexing's natural inclination to prickle, like a rose in bloom or a scorpion making headway across silt.

What's wrong with the walls? Their gazes lock, crash. He nods to their left, where splotches of ink shape either a man or a transient artistic folly. Beside it, another print. A third, a fourth. All seem... the work of the same dubious genius, innocuous but for how Lan Wangji's glance caresses them, and the brush strokes that shape them... shift. )

They move.

You shan't. I haven't decided yet.

( He doesn't actually need anyone else when his mind turns to violence, his own hands know the shape of it well enough. But the comment is mild, the threat of it half-hearted. He wants only to leave, be done with all the paranoia and the prickling unease. He wants only to be left to his own devices. Though the thought immediately dissipates when he finally notices the shapes in the walls, a half-step closer that is mirrored by the nearest black figure. He pauses, and so too do the ones approaching them. Is approaching them the right word? Is he too suspicious? He swears, colourful and not exactly all that quietly, without care for Lan Wangji's sensibilities. )

A reflection?

( No, one turns to look Wen Kexing's way. )

This place is really testing my patience. ( He turns, sharply, to one side, takes a few steps away, gaze sweeping around the room to see if there is something that might explain the shapes. The movement has an effect on them though, they spasm into life as though running from a distance, ever getting closer. Wen Kexing stills again and so too do the smudged shapes. ) That -. Flame might not be enough for this place.

( Ah, but to think of his no-longer-virginal ears and their extended, woeful exposure to the filth of Wen Kexing's mouth. How he suffers so, perennial casualty of this man's crude disposition.

He thinks, shifting in Wen Kexing's orbit, only briefly — to destabilise him. To silence him, ancient strings of his clan's resolute sorcery begging a tug. Ah, what a simple solution.

...if only brother would not begrudge him the result. At least, for a few heartbeats, Wen Kexing gravitates towards the walls in stupefied, quiet awe, and the shapes that sleep in the walls stir, livened, to 'greet' him. )

No reflection. ( A moment, then softened: ) Its pace is staggered. Slowed.

( Lagging, as if granting Wen Kexing the time to consider his movements, to decide against them. )

It has slept peaceful so far. It will continue to, if we mind our manners.

I didn't exactly ask to be here.

( Hissed, now under his breath, like he's not sure whether the figures watching him can hear or not. ) I didn't stroll in, an uninvited guest, and start making a nuisance out of myself. ( The ghosts were just too many, or Wen Kexing tired and unprepared. He's not sure which he would prefer, the nagging exhaustion that dogs him or the idea that he can be outnumbered. He should be better than this. ) Manners, tch. No one had those before, why should I now?

( He has been mostly still, though he tests the waters now, taking a step towards the door and watching those eager shapes spasm and twitch. )

Well, what does the esteemed Master Lan think they are? Surely they can't stop me from leaving.

( And Lan Wangji, who more or less did stroll in, an effectively uninvited guest, throttles the awkward, strained silence between them with a reedy cough. Start making a nuisance of themselves, yes, he anticipates they have.

The creatures pulse in the wall, vibrating in the skin of plasters. Almost as if the silhouettes are overcome by giddiness they cannot contain. )

Do not tempt them. ( He has come to understand, painfully and directly, that any manner of creature whose instincts scream to twist Wen Kexing's neck is entirely, unavoidable correct in its impulses.

But, Think of Xichen.

And so he steps close, hand hovered over Wen Kexing's arm like powdered snow that never envelops its target, never entombs it, short of touch. But present. )

( Another rude, irritated noise. The strain of the last few days ( weeks? months? ) fraying even more of Wen Kexing's already sharp edges. He glances side wards, through the sweep of his eyelashes at Lan Wangji's hovering hand. ) So, what? Do we just stay here until they stop being creepy? I don't have time for that.

( The hand is becoming more trouble than it's worth, and Wen Kexing, battling a headache, needs only to leave this place and find Zhou Zishu. Then he can come back with enough fuel and fire to deal with this place. )

They took my fan.

( Exasperated. The vibrating figures in the walls leer. Wen Kexing scowls back. ) And yet I could still fight them.

( He does not question whether they were rightly captured. Does not ask whether Wen Kexing's frustrations, cup filled to brim, are ill placed and poorly founded.

Instead, he walks their cage to each corner, feels out its defences, lets the wet of the walls and the rubble-dirt of the matted floors leave their print on him, the curious, grotesque display of decay.

Then, he pronounces, far too peacefully: )

Danger sleeps within the walls. ( Fact the first. ) We are confined within walls. ( Fact the second. ) We break the walls.

( Con... clusion? )

( ... )

Oh, so demolition is fine but arson isn't? Are you just choosing to be contrary, is that it?

( It would be almost funny, Wen Kexing likes a little bit of antagonism every now and again. But he and Lan Wangji are not friends, will probably never even approach begrudgingly amused acquaintances, and so he cannot find any of the usual sly joy in it. It makes him think, strangely, of Master Ye and his needling hypocrisy. Hm, no. Better Lan Wangji than Ye Baiyi, at least he doesn't always want to strangle the former. )

There's still a door. Can't we just use that? Or have you left the place littered with bodies? Which is more acceptable to your discerning tastes?

Arson may tempt the home whole into destruction. Could kill innocents.

( For all Wen Kexing seems to disregard the claim to peaceful existence of their apparent captives, Lan Wangji ventures an assumption that they too might have been charmed into their current obedience, stealthily coaxed. Perhaps punishment should fit a crime they knowingly committed.

All the same, Wen Kexing is... docile enough to contemplate both their surroundings and the opportunity for stealthy withdrawal. Lan Wangji will not thrust himself in the middle of one man's journey towards strategic enlightenment.

Instead, tentatively: )

To read the doors, you must walk before the walls. ( Slow... slow increments of information. Wen Kexing can do this, he trusts. )

Oh, innocents.

( There is no real need for his vitriol, but it is shaken from him nevertheless. He thinks a little of it should be allowed, there has not been a single moment these last few weeks that he has not felt the feeling of eyes upon his back, something he had hoped to leave behind him in Ghost Valley. With the reappearance of that specific brand of suspicion comes calling the same manners of the Valley's Master, irritable, prone to mood swings, violent.

Still, he takes a breath, flexes his fingers at his side, barely hidden by his sleeve. He will stay calm, he will stay rational. )

You think walking is what makes them move? You think they can break free?

( -- what was that about rationality? As though to test Lan Wagnji's theory, Wen Kexing moves, sharp and sudden, watches out of the corner of his eye as an arm reaches imploringly from the confines of the wall, angry. He stills again, gone quiet. ) Ha. All right. But how do we break a wall if we cannot move?

( Oh ye of little, Wen-bound faith. He does not attempt to discipline his most volatile of companions, does not corral or coax him. Instead, brows pinched north-wise, he looks on incredulously as Wen Kexing takes on magic previously unseen and capitulates, waiting —

For the inevitable.

Yes, the creature makes fast attempt to move. Yes, Wen Kexing pulls back. Yes, it is all some shade of profound predictability. His smile is only the corners of his mouth, sweetened.

Then, politely, he summons a pierce of parchment like bound spiders' webs, nearly threadbare — hard times, scant resources. The clan would be shamed by such resourcing, Wei Ying glad of his practicality. )

What talents past your... ( Mouthing. ) Bloodlust?

Oh, you're in a funny mood, aren't you?

( He might have actually liked Lan Wangji, if this specific bitchy side of him had been given light before now. Instead they have but a handful of ill-fated meetings between them, bitterly stagnant. )

I have many talents, Master Lan, do you want them alphabetised or in order of just which are my most profound? Though I highly doubt you'd approve of them if we go with the latter. They're hardly useful here.

( He is desperately curious, narrow eyed as the figures subside a little, Wen Kexing hovering still like a spectre and glancing Lan Wangji's way. ) 1

( Why is this man —

Why is this man.

The Heavens help and restrain and reinforce him, the ghost of his discipline, the last shallow dregs of his patience, while he rolls his eyes to the waiting Heavens and gently, firmly rasps out, voice like rust peeled off a well-worn blade: )

What talents that may assist in either your protection or our offensive?

( He will survive this. He will survive this. He will survive this.

...he only needs to insure that Wen Kexing will, also. )

Aiya, I have survived thus far, haven't I? Just because they managed to trap me once doesn't mean I've simply forgotten all my martial arts.

( For a moment he entertains the idea of just fighting Lan Wangji himself, but no. No. He is trying to help. )

I'm still breathing, so I can fight. But you've just told me I must be still, so I implore you, oh great Master Lan, what is it you think we should do here?

( Sarcasm, dripping. He is apparently now just very tired. )

( Expire, promptly and with due aplomb. Do not exercise vengeance against each and every one of Wen Kexing's ancestors. Be stone, unyielding, unmoving, resilient

Absent that, his emptied hand extending before he may will himself into oblivion: )

Hold my hand. ( There are kinder ways to enter the Heavens, but here comes one — )

And do not fear flight.

( And its brother. )

Lan Wangji. ( Faux scandalised. ) I'm not that kind of girl.

( It is perhaps a blessing that Lan Xichen has already shown off his aerial skills, that sweet time he got too drunk to contain his excitement. He doesn't think Lan Wangji knows about that, and he's too good of a friend to snitch but Wen Kexing can guess at which way the man before him thinks they may escape. A brief moment of pause as he scans the room around him before he does the unexpected and takes the hand offered, clasping it tightly.

Cheerful. ) We'll tell no one of this! I have a reputation.

( Boldly, he gives the hand he's holding a little shake. Come on, Hanguang-Jun, show off. )

You have shadows and dregs. ( This, muttered briskly under his breath, manner unbecoming. Uncle would not be pleased. But then, Uncle would not favour a miscreant who submerges himself in bloodletting and warfare without ado, and so perhaps this is a lost venture, from start to finish.

He captures Wen Kexing's hand, first tenderly in the way in which one might begin to escort children. The grip steels, savagely done. He tugs — Bichen called to the side, unfettered and left to float, rises to knee's height, still demanding the effort of a climb. She is not a creature to bow herself completely, no matter the bluntness of her riders' rank: her master and an... honoured guest.

At the last moment, it strikes him he must step up first — and does, coaxing Wen Kexing behind himself, so that Lan Wangji might have the freedom of his hands, waving the crackling, first-bursting parchment.

Wen Kexing may wish to hang on. He is not invited. A rascal will know the way of it, in his bones. )

Fend for your face. Eyes. Likely debris. ( Explosions, it emerges, are ugly work. ) Mind yourself. People care.

( About Wen Kexing. A most novel fact. )

( A strange desperate urge to giggle alights in Wen Kexing's throat as he steps onto the sword, one he does his best to swallow down but still somehow finds it's way into his exhale either way. It is not daring, however, that has him folding an arm around the second young master's waist, he actually does keep it as proper as he can. He knows that this is simply a way of escape, and that Lan Wangji in not leaving him to die, is giving him a gift. Still he watches the shadows, shivering, needy, fingers clawing at the boundary. They will break through if given reason, have moved to the outskirts thusly. )

Well, you do the same then.

( An agitated burst of brusque care, this is Wen Kexing when he is clinging to his smoke and mirrors. )

If you go blind and we both fall to our deaths I'll be displeased. A ghost even you can't banish, Master Lan, fair warning.

( But here he is obediently tilting his head down, obscuring it from where the worst of the damage might come. )

You will not perish here. ( This much, he can pledge with a honeyed tongue. There is solidity in Wen Kexing's arm that seeks him, a sense of earth, anchoring. He feels — alive. Claimed, solid. Wen Kexing may not wish it so, but in the face of magical exertion, every man is reduced to power and the flesh that is stripped of it, and there are times when Lan Wangji thinks himself no more, no better a sum of his parts than the whole of his blistering core.

The parchment in his hand comes rabidly, violently, brightly alive — aflame. He throws it out first, straight at the wall, with limited, arrogant impatience. Fire should not readily consume plaster, but the house is ancient, the bones of its walls are wood.

He thinks he hears the screams of men through the crackling of flames, but only shadow reveals itself in stains like mould, like spreading ink. All too suddenly, the wall is no more — and Lan Wangji's arm rises to fend and protect his face — and Bichen bears both men, and she is more alert in this than he, darting them outside and taking to air, where the crisp reality of the constant rain will soon eat at their bones.

Blood, again. He does not look back. )

...safe? ( And softer: ) Afraid?

( He still wants to laugh, isn't sure whether it is the situation or the exhaustion that is causing it. Surprisingly, he doesn't want to upset Lan Wangji even more, either because he wants to save his own skin or because he knows just what it takes to rally beyond revulsion and aid someone like him. The heat of the fire steals his voice regardless - and he was chastised for the idea of arson - his chin dipped down away from the flickering flame. He does not spare those creatures trapped within the wall a second glance. )

My Qinggong isn't that bad! ( Voice raised to be heard over the wailing, stomach lurching slightly as they're lifted. He's actually quite good at gaining his own height, knows the top of trees like the back of his hand. The nausea must be from the source, it isn't his power propelling him. The sudden rain is a shock, cool against his back. It is that upon which he mentally blames his shiver. ) Master Lan, I think you just wanted all the fun of setting a blaze yourself.

( It is much easier to joke than to deal with reality. )

Aiya, I don't blame you. You should always do rebellious things when you can.

( Rebellious things. His fire, self-sustaining only until the parchment burns down to tattered crisp, does not spread, leaving behind only a convenient, moderately-size hole that consumes the wall — but not the surroundings.

The rain soothes and stings, drenches and digs deeper. He heaves, more than breathes at the next exhalation, the pull and drain of his qi between flight and talisman leaving him in precarious balance. He is tempted, as children so often are, to swing his arms aside and retain his footing — but corrects himself away from that temptation, at the last moment.

The flight is smooth, nearly gliding. Within heartbeats, a flurry of arrows passes close by, but aims higher, behind them — no doubt at some great threat to the citadel, Anurr or the beast Rathakku, or whoever yet lingers in the shadows. They are not pursued.

This — will suffice. ) Wei Ying speaks to excess when nerves strike. ( Here: a point of commonality. ) Be at ease.

( Yes. Because it is as simple a thing as... asking it done. ) The skies are empty. ( Well, there another arrow flies. ) We shall encounter no — ...scant obstacle.

( There is something unsettling about the fact that Lan Wangji might have some understanding of Wen Kexing. It does not even matter that it comes from knowing someone else, no. In fact it somehow makes it worse. Wen Kexing's glib tongue has always been a weapon, even more so a shield. From even before he knew how to make himself sharp in physical affairs he always had that heat behind his words, that runaway desperation that ran circles around whomever he needed it to. His teeth snap shut, the click loud. )

Just -. ( A breath. ) Concentrate on not getting us shot down like ducks.

( He will have to return to where they kept him soon enough. They had taken his fan, and while he has others now, he wants that one. If it's been eaten by fire he might be cross. Still, there's time. A moment or two to gather his thoughts. Contrary to popular belief he is not infallible, they managed to get the drop on him simply because he has been overworked. )

Why were you there? Coincidence?

bygones be bygones

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