Yes; Double up on exploring the Atkinson Promenade.
Ditto, strength in numbers and it’s probably the best place to get gear at the moment. If we run into friendly NPC’s or soldiers to grind materials out of, all the better.
I choose to tell Maria about the person who saved us. Make sure she knows to look out for someone.
Javier: Explore Atkinson Promenade.
(If Maria wakes us up by accident in her sleep before sunrise, would it be possible for us to talk to the Herald?)
CONDITIONAL: If she's still around when we wake up, can we try to make a bargain with the Herald on our way out the door? She likes meat, so if we tell her where to get a LOT of it, and more importantly, promise to cook it for her whenever she drops by with it (and not put salad anywhere near it), maybe she'll do us favors in exchange? Like maybe breaking an ice prison on her way out?
Maria: Explore Atkinson Promenade, except purple.
Originally Posted by Rafflesiac
(Additional Information Locked – Requires “Hero's Proof”)
boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Where the hell are we going to find a soldier? Waiiiit a second. Time to kill some Nazis, huh.
I like how mats are being used here. It's interesting. And yes, I agree with your Nazicidal assessment. That sounds like a fun way to spend my Saturday.
Okay, so... Herald of Fimbulwinter... it's a girl. She's clearly from Nordic mythology... And she's not Fenrir because she brought his name up...
Hel?
Helvenger?
*sees her profile on the first page.*
Huh. I made a pretty good guess. (Watch her be Surtr...)
- - - Updated - - -
And I was so looking forward to chocolate bonding too... but winter clothes definitely come first.
Likes attention, shiny objects, and... a ball of yarn?
F/GO Supports
I joined two years too late...
Originally Posted by Hymn of Ragnarok
That makes me think of Rin as a loan shark.
Originally Posted by Hymn of Ragnarok
Admittedly, she'd probably be the hottest loan shark you'll ever meet. She'd probably make you smile as she sucked you dry.
Thanks to all who have shown interest in Fimbulwinter and contributed to the story with your votes. My thanks as well to those who don't bother voting. I don't really care, I'm one of you people anyway. And many, many thanks to Draconic, who has contributed the cool LN-style Servant stat sheets.
Now, let's move on to Day 2. The end of Javier's world looms ever closer.
Beyond Their Sight—01
Unknown Location Day 02 Morning Phase Cold (-10 °C/14 °F)
He walks up the stairs to the palace without pause or hesitation. Even if he does not want to be there. Even if he loathes the person he is about to meet. His face is a mask of steel that is not allowed to betray the slightest emotion. He will not reveal anything, nor give anything freely.
He is unescorted. He understands the risk but will not defy the rules.
Of course, there are plenty of soldiers in the palace. All of them are masked figures without identity. They perform the actions, obey commands and fulfill their duties, but it does not change the fact they are not human beings. Mere replicas, effigies, imitations. Fake subjects of a fake kingdom.
A necessary evil, he understands. The true, perfect Fourth Reich will be inhabited by real human beings.
Unlike the soldiers scouring the streets of Valparaiso, these will not obey his commands. They follow only the lord of this building.
He awaits on his throne—merely a luxurious chair, but one commanding over the pointlessly large hall.
It might not be entirely fair; Rider does admire the audience hall. Its long red banners with the swastika and the majestic eagle emblem above the throne chair always uplift his tired soul.
Yet, it is a pointless chamber. It is made for audiences welcoming dozens, if not hundreds of people.
It will never happen. Thus, it is pointless.
However, there may be a point to this room for the man on the chair. Perhaps that man just wants to watch him walk the length of the room, his hawkish gaze closely following his every step, looking for the slightest hint of defiance.
So pointless.
It is when they are separated some five meters away that Rider stops. Without hesitation, Rider bends and prostrates himself on one knee.
“Rider.”
He can’t reply immediately. His soul won’t allow it. It takes him one second too long.
That is the extent of his insurrection.
“…Your Majesty.”
Sovereign of the Black Sun
They are not alone. Two maids accompany the man on the chair. The one on the right pours him a sample of the local wine. The other one manicures the fingers of his left hand.
It’s the very picture of indulgence.
Pointless.
So pointless.
So pointless…!
Rider remains the perfect picture of stillness, staring at the Sovereign’s feet. That which smolders in his heart cannot be displayed.
“I have received the reports,” speaks the Sovereign. “There are rats crawling in my New Asgard.”
“There are two rogue Servants, sir. They are not among those who answered your call, and it seems at least one of them intends to defy us.”
“Don’t waste your breath repeating what I already know,” scolds the seated man, his harsh tone triggering an alarm in Rider’s mind. “Tell me about the chosen people.”
“They endure, sir, as they must. As per your instructions, our soldiers will not disturb them unless in self-defense. But, Your Majesty, if I may…”
“You may.”
“Their numbers, sir, they are pitifully low. Certainly not nearly enough to sustain—”
“That is irrelevant,” the same harsh voice interrupts Rider. “Eventually, my kingdom will encompass the entire world. There will be enough people.”
You are wrong.
The words in Rider’s heart will remain unsaid.
“I have not received a report from Assassin.”
Rider almost frowns.
“I spoke with Assassin before coming here, sir. Nothing of merit to report.”
The Sovereign does frown, and his narrow eyes become thin like blades from the Far East.
“That woman is filth incarnate. Her words are not to be trusted.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“What about your Noble Phantasm?”
“It will be completed by tomorrow evening, Your Majesty. Once it is ready for deployment, I will eliminate all nuisances without fail.”
The Sovereign answers only after taking a long sip of his wine.
“I shall take your word on that, Rider.”
The light-haired man closes his eyes for several seconds.
“Look at me, Rider.”
The kneeling Servant bites the inside of his cheek. His next exhalation purges him of many dark thoughts, as he chooses to relax his taut muscles and raise his steeled face to meet the Sovereign’s own.
It is an illusion, he knows. It is his own mind that is creating the image. But the chair in his yes has become an actual throne of marble and gold. The columns, too, shine as if bathed in the most precious metal. The banners sway elegantly in an inexistent breeze.
And the man. Oh, what a man!
“You have your instructions, Rider. The frozen rabble are to become fuel for the Temple, and their bodies shall belong to the flies. The chosen people are to be left on their own, for this Fimbulwinter is their trial.”
His eyes are divine lightning, and his every word is like gold. His voice inflames Rider’s heart, it arouses his Germanic pride, as he is reminded that his King—yes, his King!—is the one true inheritor of this world. Everything rightfully belongs to him, for he is their foundation and their pinnacle.
“Any Servant that refuses my glory does not belong in my kingdom,” he continues, and Rider wishes he would never stop. “Filthy as she is, Assassin is useful, and I have given you the strongest Archer to command. Do not fail me, Rider: remove all obstacles. The Black Sun must riseagain.”
“Yes, Your Majesty! Of course, Your Majesty!”
“Then leave and go fulfill your duty.”
“At once, Your Majesty!”
He turns and leaves with eager steps, minding not the maid’s giggles in the slightest. His heart is on fire, for his liege has commanded him, and as he leaves the golden halls of his Sovereign’s palace there is nothing else in his mind but the wholesome desire to act on his orders immediately: to crush the enemies of His Majesty, and act as his vanguard in the creation of the new kingdom.
Why would anybody wish otherwise? After all, that man is…that man is…
The sounds of heaving and retching echo from the top of the palace’s stairs, filling the stale air of New Asgard.
It is Rider who suffers on both hands and knees. He has noticed a pair of shapely legs, belong to one looking down at him, but it matters not. His pride is already tattered, and he can only throw up. He keeps at it for one more minute, but the other person merely watches him in silence. So, it matters not.
“…I loathe that buffoon of a man.”
He spoke to nobody and received no answer.
Rider cleans the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief before standing upright, his face again a mask of Superior German Steel. Unfeeling, unflinching, unrelenting.
The Maid.
The ones who serve the Sovereign—and they seem to be different every time he visits the palace—are just “maids”. In Rider’s mind, however, this particular one is “The Maid”, and even he is not sure why himself.
The Maid comes and goes, seemingly without care, roaming New Asgard at her whim. Sometimes she also steps into the city of Valparaiso, unmindful of the cold. He does not know where she came from; neither do Archer nor Assassin—although the latter always goes into fits of giggling whenever he brings her up for some reason—, and he would not risk the Sovereign’s displease just to ask him about her. He can’t even tell if she is a magus, a Servant, or something else.
She is just The Maid.
And that bothers him to a degree he is not willing to admit.
“Madam,” he curtly says, lifting his headwear before starting the long walk down the stairs.
“Do not confront the scarred one on your own.”
Rider freezes mid-step, almost losing his balance in the most embarrassing manner.
It is the first time he hears The Maid speak.
“You will die.”
Naturally, he turns to face her again.
Naturally, her unchanging, I-know-better-than-you smile is nothing but infuriating. It becomes obvious enough to him that she does not intend to speak any further, so turns yet again and proceeds down the stairs, allowing himself the pleasure of having the last word.
“Then Archer can take of her. I will crush Saber myself.”
He did not walk down enough steps to miss the woman’s sigh, nor the faint words that escaped her luscious lips afterwards.
“So this is all you amount to, Herr Doktor.”
His pride commands him to face her yet again, for he will not tolerate slander from some wanton—
But she is no longer there.
*** ***
Warning!
This is a Save Point.
If your quest reaches a Dead End, you may choose to resume it from this point.
*** ***
Wise up I forgot to include in the last scene! (Saver)
Personal Skill Unlocked!
Magic Resistance – A
Grants protection against magical effects. Differing from the Resistance effect that merely rejects Magical Energy, this ability cancels the spells altogether. At this rank, it cancels spells of A-Rank or below, no matter what High-Thaumaturgy it is. In practice, the Servant is untouchable to modern magi, so it would not be an exaggeration to title the Servant a “Magus Killer”.
Casa Volante Hostel Day 02 Morning Phase – 01 Severe Cold (-19 °C/-2 °F) Snowstorm
Maria does not wait until she has walked down the stairs to call out to me. I do not answer immediately, letting the effort of my stretching exercises spread warmth throughout my body, even if it shudders as the chilly air currents circulate across the hostel’s common area.
The hostel’s employees remain encased in ice, their frozen visages unchanging. Why do some break and release their prisoners as undead, then? An ominous question.
Snowfall persists. It may no longer be the brutal blizzard of last night, but it remains dire and challenging.
Sleep was also challenging. Maria is clingy. Her hold on me, however, was less “intimate embrace” and more “child with body pillow”. I cannot call it annoying, though. Sharing body warmth was valuable in this harsh cold.
As for the Herald, she appears to have left while we slept. There is no way to know whether she really stood guard the whole night, but it is true that nothing dangerous happened while Maria and I slept, so I wish I could’ve at least told her we’re even.
“I ate well and slept well. I still ache, but it won’t stop me. Thanks to your healing magic—um, magecraft.”
“Nah, my healing magecraft is pitiful. It can only heal stuff that will heal on its own no problem. When I found you, you didn’t have any wounds or internal bleeding to match the blood on the floor and your clothes.”
She talks without looking at me, taking instead to the kitchen, more precisely to the pot on the worthless stove, where she stored melted snow the evening before. Naturally, it is now ice, but that changes quickly with a pulse of magical energy. Some seconds later, she drinking cool water from an aluminum glass.
“A magus doesn’t pull off that level of thorough healing out of the goodness of her heart. Then again, you say it was a Servant…”
“I just had that feeling,” I say while realizing how lame it sounds.
A while later, we stand side by side, staring at the wide-open main entrance. The hinges having succumbed to the deep freeze that heralded the arrival of this terrible winter, rather than an entrance it has become merely a gaping hole from which the chilling wind rushes into the building.
“It’s cold,” Maria states the obvious.
“It’s early in the morning…I think.”
“Let’s hope it gets warmer in a couple hours, but, um, what’cha gonna do?”
“I already switched on the magic juice,” I admit, concluding my exercises by bending my knees fully before springing upwards and then landing on my toes. Settling down on a normal posture with a long exhalation, I enjoy the warmth of exertion and power and thus confront the violent cold.
“Hmm, no way around it.” She pats the back of my shoulder, and it takes some effort not to stumble forward. Damn Servant strength.
“But, you’re quite efficient at converting mana into heat. Are you sure you’re just turning on your circuits? You’re not casting a cold resistance spell?”
“If there’s such a thing, please teach me, Master Westinghouse.”
“Can’t teach what I don’t know,” she says as she approaches the exposed doorframe and the snow pouring inside.
“Now that you bring it up, what kind of magecraft do you use—”
“Bzzt, bzzt. Bad Javier. A magus doesn’t reveal her secrets.”
“What’s with that performer-like sentence.”
“I’m not joking,” she says while stabbing the snow with her sword. “Hmm, I’d say fourteen inches. Anyway, magecraft is transmitted from a single teacher to a single student, which generally are parent and child.”
The sword disappears, as if dissolved in thin air.
“The power of magecraft, or all supernatural manifestations, is founded on the weight of its mystery. You could even call it ‘the power of ambiguity’. The moment you reveal how a form of magecraft works, you give it a ‘concrete form’, and its potency is diminished forever. So don’t go around asking how other people’s magecraft works, it’s rude. And dangerous.”
Duly noted.
“But if you really wanna know, I mostly use knot magic.”
“Wait, didn’t you just say—!”
No, wait, she didn’t really reveal anything amazing. It’s like saying Madame Blavatsky was a theosophist.
“And I’d guess you’re an orthodox theosophist.”
She must have noticed the shock on my face, because she quickly explained her deduction.
“I saw your book when I was looking for a change of clothes. Don’t worry, I won’t say a word.” She shrugs. “Hell, not like I can do anything with that knowledge; I didn’t even know theosophy was a real system until I met you. No offense.”
None taken. Even I started reading that book as a skeptic.
“But really, walking all this snow is gonna be a hassle. For you, I mean.”
Indeed, the ground is completely covered in the thing. Fourteen inches of snow, she said?
“Well, it’s not like we’re in a hurry. We have to be careful anyway; we don’t want to draw unnecessary attention.”
“Yeah, yeah, we have to be careful,” Maria agrees. “I told you this place has been detached from the Human Order. That means all sorts of things that normally could not manifest in our world could pop in, not just Servants.”
“You mean beside zombies and Nazi soldiers?”
“I mean spirits, magical beasts, and the like. Things that departed our world when the ways of man overwrote the ways of gods.”
You just can’t give any good news, can you.
“Alright, alright, let’s do this,” replies Maria, reaching for her facemask.
“What’s with that?”
“When I put on this mask…”
“…I become a badass.”
…
“…”
“…you could at least pretend to be charmed by my awesomeness.”
Paseo Atkinson, or Atkinson Promenade in English, is a short walk running along the northernmost edge of Concepción Hill, overlooking Valparaiso’s harbor. What used to be a colorful lane has been painted in the depressing colors of this magical winter.
“Yeah, I can tell this place was pretty,” Maria comments as she glances at the vintage nineteenth-century buildings. “It feels kinda European. But what’s with the names? On the other side it’s the Yugoslavian Promenade, now it’s Atkinson. Who the hell’s Atkinson? Do you Chileans give Chilean names to anything?”
I spend a few moments telling her about Juan Atkinson, the nineteenth-century businessman who encouraged the construction of these houses in the English style. He is the reason all the houses share a small front garden, smooth facades, and wide guillotine windows.
“There was a lot of immigration in the 19th and 20th centuries; British and Germans mostly. Even I have a German grandfather.”
“Yeah, I know. Um, about the Germans, not your grandpa.”
Thanks for the clarification, I was getting weirded out.
“Because the locals’ houses were built by the shore, they started building on the hills. I guess this was the first ‘rich neighborhood’, but it was also a matter of safety. See that building at the very end? That’s Hotel Brighton, but in colonial times it was a fort. Francis Drake sacked this city during his round-the-world trip, you know.”
“Huh.”
Wow. I would fall into depression were I a lesser man. No, wait, rather, something else has caught her attention?
“Hey, Javier.” Indeed, she is pointing at a tower poking out behind the row of houses. “That’s a church tower, right? But I thought the church was further uphill…”
“There’s more than one church in this city, Maria. That’s the Lutheran Church, built by the German immigrants. Well, it was originally the Evangelische Kirchengemeinde zum Heiligen Kreuz. The mass was still preached in German in the nineties.”
Maria brings her hands to the back of her head as she begins a slow walk along the promenade. Really, it’s the she doesn’t feel the cold at all.
Lucky bitch.
“You know, with all the German-ness in this city, a sudden plague of Nazis doesn’t seem that weird.”
I know. I just didn’t want to think about it.
“But, fuck it’s cold.” Now here, this is a lame attempt at changing the topic, Javier Lucero.
Maria laughs.
“Come on, Javier! We’re fighting Nazis in harsh winter! Channel your inner Russian!”
I don’t have an inner Russian! I don’t want to have an inner Russian!
“Let’s sing Russian songs to keep ourselves warm!”
I don’t even—
“Ra, ra, Rasputin, lover of the Russian queen,
There was a cat that really was gone~”
“That’s not a Russian song! More like, how old are you!?”
“Ra, ra, Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine,
It was a shame how he carried on~”
*** ***
Maria Westinghouse is breaking into houses like a videogame hero.
I feel somewhat dirty.
Well, more than anything else, I’m a little nervous.
It’s just, the situation is weird. I noticed the moment I remember there used to be a fort instead of these houses.
If those Nazis are indeed a military organization, why aren’t they here? Atkinson Promenade, not this entire Concepción Hill, isn’t it a strategically advantageous position? I can look at the entire coastline of Valparaiso from here.
Indeed, the reason many tourists make the walk to this place is precisely its great view. Just like I am right now, they would walk to the railing and roam the scenery with their eyes. Unlike them, however, what I see is a frozen ocean, ships both anchored and unanchored crushed by ice, a collapsed building, abandoned cars, ice coffins standing here and there, countless buildings with shattered windows—
There.
There is something there in place of what should be there.
And it’s so frighteningly close.
“Check this out, Javier!” Maria prances out of one of the houses carrying a large backpack she definitely did not have before. “Now let’s fill this with stuff. Also, I found…ah, where did I put it again…?”
So we’re stealing from private residences now—no, wait, that’s not important.
“Maria, you said earlier more strange shit could show up, like magical beasts or whatever.”
“Yup. What, you saw a unicorn or somethin’?”
Why a unicorn of all things—wait, are you subtly calling me a virgin? Ah, whatever.
“What about places?”
At that she frowns. Will you get serious for a change?
“What’cha mean?”
“I mean,” pointing at thevery base of this hill, just meters below our feet. “like replacing what should be a solid wall of rock and concrete with something like that.”
Whatever may lurk there…
“So…I take there’s not supposed to be a cave down there?”
“Pretty much,” I mutter as I rub my arms in my constant struggle against the cold. At this point I’m pretty sure my magic is the only thing keeping my face from literally freezing.
But, a cave at the base of Concepción Hill…why does that ring a bell?
“Ah! Here it is! Come on.”
Without any cue or any modicum of self-awareness, Maria pulls me by the neck of my shirt. I’m about to jerk away when I feel something soft and fluffy caressing my cheeks.
Maria’s “Gift”
…this is a woman’s garment, isn’t it? Is this some sort of lesson in humility, or are you just making fun of me?
“There ya go. Now you’re a little less likely to die—hey.”
Not waiting for my thanks or anything else, Maria walks past me and leans on the railing, her sight seemingly fixated on the streets between this hill and the coast.
“There. Javier, there’s someone over there.”
It was sheer coincidence that we found her. We just happen to stand on a privileged high position. The person—no, the woman, if her impressive long hair and overall body shape is to be taken at face value—is clearly watching her steps, sticking close to the buildings and seeking covered spots where snow does not reach to avoid leaving footprints. Like Maria, she too carries a backpack, but hers is clearly stuffed; probably the result of a raid to some nearby store or whatever. Like myself, she seems rather haphazardly prepared for the harsh weather: over her long dress she wears only a dark winter jacket clear a few sizes too big for her. She wears no head protection: no scarf, no hood, no face mask, head cap or balaclava.
She reaches a corner, carefully checks around, in front, behind her and across the street—
--and there, just by sheer coincidence as well, her eyes catch sight of the cliff standing a block away behind her, and of the two watching her from the top.
She stops, metaphorically frozen. The idiot by my side waves placidly.
The woman runs, darting away like the fox from the hunting hounds, because of course she does. She hurriedly crosses the street and her form disappears behind a two-story building. She is in fact moving towards us, but I can tell she is not eagerly hurrying to meet us.
I look to my side. Maria is already looking at me, expectantly.
Decision Time
What will our heroes do? (Note: You have two heroes under your control)
...after 23 hours, Javier is tied between chasing a woman and checking out a cave.
I feel like the choice here is obvious. This isn't Seinfeld. We're not choosing a soupcave over a woman.
Javier: Catch the woman! Maria: Check out the cave. Perhaps find some monsters. We can boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew! Though if they offer to be friends I'll take that option as well.
Because I've found that most choices in life come down to whether you make friends with something or eat them.
Last edited by Draconic; July 17th, 2018 at 08:18 PM.
Likes attention, shiny objects, and... a ball of yarn?
F/GO Supports
I joined two years too late...
Originally Posted by Hymn of Ragnarok
That makes me think of Rin as a loan shark.
Originally Posted by Hymn of Ragnarok
Admittedly, she'd probably be the hottest loan shark you'll ever meet. She'd probably make you smile as she sucked you dry.
I don't see how a different song by a different German group is any better.
Oh, yeah, and I was just being silly myself. :-) If I were to suggest a serious song to pump up someone's inner Russian-ness, I, a non-Russian, would suggest this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wps8Ndx-QqA.
“Uwaaah…never has a choice been more obviously made with a dick.”
Alright, let’s get movi—whaaa.
“Not only you’re letting your dick pull you towards new pussy, you’re turning me—me!—into a metaphorical phallus to penetrate that dark and gaping—don’t just go and ignore me, Javier Lucero!”
I dunno, I didn’t hear a thing, so much wind out here, I’m on my way now.
Well I say that, but in the time it takes to hurry down the stairs to the base of the hill that woman could have gone anywhere, or hidden anywhere. I guess I hafta look for footprints in the vicinity…
I wonder why it is, however, that the moment I am alone, I feel the terrible cold all the more bluntly. Standing in the middle of the street, it’s like the wind rushes in from every direction to freeze me to the core. It is my legs, half-sunken in over a foot of snow, that ache the most, and I can’t use my magic to keep myself warm the whole day. It’s just not that convenient.
I think of calling out to the mysterious woman for a moment, but there are all sorts of awful things in this city right now, so it’s better to—ah, there are the footprints—
Warning!
Oh, fuck this shit. Were you waiting until I’m alone or what?
I complain, but my hand is beating faster. I know they are at least as fast as a living human, and I remember the way it predicted my…
…can I even afford to use fireball? Human Alchemy is stronger, but that would mean a close engagement…
Anyway, two zombies from uphill. They have the advantage of walking downslope, but we’re both equally hampered by all the snow. So, what do I do? How do I lose them? Yesterday I ran and they seemingly did not chase, or they did not want to cross paths with the soldiers or whatever. Upstairs back to Atkinson…Maria probably isn’t there anymore. That means my options are—
“Heeey! Um, the mister standing over there!”
…should I thank the zombies for this?
A woman about my age looks at me alarmedly from inside a nearby house, the bottom half of her body hidden past the doorframe. Just like Maria, she calls out to me in English.
WARNING! Cameo!
“Move already!” Her almost-desperate expression starkly contrasts with her demanding words.
Javier’s Decision
Javier’s reaction to the zombie problem:
Run to the house with the woman.
Run north to the coast and away from the zombies.
Run west to the cave where I sent Maria.
Stand my ground and take on the zombies.
Try to get at least one of them with a fireball before they get close.
Use Human Alchemy on myself and prepare for a close engagement.
Write-in.
*** ***
“Oh he didn’t just walk away and leave me talkin’.”
Maria watches her spare battery struggle down the snow-covered stairs with a mock glare. It is only after he is about halfway down that she dumps him in the back of her mind and focuses on the task at hand.
“Alright, let’s do this. Ayup!”
She is a Servant, so she does not bother with stairs or roads. Maria just leaps off the edge of the cliff, pushing herself off the cliff wall to land superhero-style meters ahead of the cave’s entrance.
“God, I’m so fucking awesome.”
That sole sentence says a lot about Maria Westinghouse.
That outlandish attitude, however, cools down the moment she sets eyes on the cave. She feels it immediately; the powers of a Servant do not stop her from shuddering at the not entirely unfamiliar feeling. She does not even notice summoning her sword.
She is being watched. There is something there, in the deep darkness, watching her intently. She feels examined, appraised, and not just a little violated. This is not the feeling of being stalked by a predator.
Women are very sensitive to the roaming eyes of men. This is that particular feeling, amplified to a repulsive degree.
“Fuck, I’m glad Javier’s not here.”
Disgusted and wary, Maria takes a step forward. Whatever her mysterious watcher is, she is plenty sure it’s not just some creep.
There is already little light filtering through the canopy of grey clouds, and the north-facing position of the cave mouth further limits the amount of light making it inside. Even at several steps away, Maria can see how the maw quickly becomes utter, indecipherable darkness.
Not a problem.
With the next step, Maria lights herself up. It is the golden aura that envelops her body at will. Maria does not understand its nature, but light is light, and light is convenient.
However, her feet stop.
The aura makes no difference. Its light does not penetrate the darkness, which remains impenetrable and inchoate. She simply cannot see past three or so steps inside the cave. There, where something intently watches her.
“Alright, so it’s a magic cave,” she murmurs, her own voice reassuring somehow, even if the words are stupid.
To go in, or to not go in.
That is absolutely not in question.
Aura blazing like a ground-level sun, Maria Westinghouse walks unhesitant into the all-consuming dark.
Again, she feels it immediately. Something intangible, to vague to be liquid, too concrete to be mere wind, washes over her. It strikes her mind as well as her body: it is magical energy; surrounding her, enveloping her, aiming to trap her, until it crashes against her Magic Resistance.
However, it is not negated. It persists, like sharks surrounding the man in the underwater cage. Maria cannot perceive anything else, not even her golden aura, in the utter dark. Her ordinary five senses are sealed, so she can only rely on instinct, on the sensation of magic swirling menacingly around her, and in the wordless cues from the one who is granting her power.
The hostile magic relents on assaulting her, as the unseen caster understands that it will not afflict her. However, it persists in its presence, until Maria feels submerged in a sea of magical power.
“The fuck is this,” she murmurs, but she cannot hear her own words.
It is not her own instinct, but the Servant, Saver’s instinct, that tells her: even if this magic cannot affect her directly, it is still doing something.
Maria’s Decision
Maria’s reaction to the mysterious magic in the dark:
Originally Posted by Rafflesiac
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