Chapter Text
“Scar?! Scar, help! Scar, help—”
With a heavy shove and a frustrated grunt of effort from an unseen voice, Grian was sent tumbling through the shop door, offered no mercy even by the environment itself. A glass display case shattered against the force, shards pricking his back like the unforgiving spines of a cactus. The pursuing Kingsblade showed no intent to relent, rushing through the now ajar door with his blade drawn. “You knew this was coming eventually, G,” he shouted.
“Whoa! Hey,” the half-elf shopkeep broke in, waving his free arm to draw attention toward himself. “You’re breakin’ my beautiful displays! Come on, you don’t break a man’s displays! Can’t you take this elsewhere?” Despite the charismatic front, a nervous chuckle did escape the man as he stepped beyond his clerk’s counter and into the Kingsblade’s path.
Scar stopped just steps away from this attacker, and with a brief squint, recognition hit. “Wait a minute. Skizz?” The elf expressed a more casual demenour now. “Skizz! My good friend—my very kind and merciful friend! How are you doing? Hope you’re doing well. I’m doing great,” the man stalled, casting a glance back at Grian, unmoving on the floor behind him. “And I think I would be doing even better if we could talk outside instead. We don’t need to be in here, it’s all stuffy in here. Don’t you agree? So stuffy! Hoo! Can hardly breathe!” He fanned himself in an attempt to sell this obvious lie. “Why don’t you take a break anyway, huh? You deserve a break.”
“Scar, buddy. You don’t want to get in the middle of this,” Skizz warned, bending to peer over or around him but to no avail. He grumbled before abandoning these repeatedly blocked attempts. “I mean it, Scar! You’re gonna get roped in with the resistance if you do—this guy is a wanted criminal .”
“W- I mean, of course! But…” Scar stammered. “Here, you can just wait right out there and I’ll just get that pesky Grian for you. I don’t want any extra violence in my shop. It’s such a chore, cleaning up messes like that.” He made a gesture toward the door, hoping Skizz might believe it and go away. In the same motion, he shifted his weight against his cane and gently kicked around behind him. Wake up, wake up, wake up, he willed silently.
A short laugh preceded Skizz asking, “Are you joking?”
“...Yes?”
“Funny, man. Look, I’m gonna—” the Kingsblade cut himself off, blinking in a moment of reflection. “Hold on, is this some kind of—oh, this is a distraction, isn’t it?”
“What? No! Never, I’ve never been a distraction before in my whole life,” Scar insisted, intending to go on longer but ending short at the whims of an interruption.
A sharp, audible wince followed after a glimpse of this glossy, fist-sized pearl. Clutching a beam, visibly bloodied, Grian appeared now in the upper rafters. Skizz’s eyes darted upwards, promptly abandoning his sword in favour of a shortbow. In the time it took to change weapons, Grian’s form briefly enveloped itself in an arcane sheen then stretched into physicality, producing feathered wings—red, yellow, and blue. Likewise, matching feathers poked out from his hair around his ears, and his eyes seemed to be consumed by black.
Skizz nocked an arrow and released, striking the wood just below Grian’s now taloned feet. The following silence hung for a tense few moments, eventually broken by Skizz claiming, “That- uh. That was a warning shot!” Then, with a glance to Scar, he added toward Grian, “Surrender now and this’ll all be over!”
Grian had caught his breath by now, and with barely enough strength to back it up, he spat, “I don’t think so.”
Scar managed to step back just in time to not be landed on top of as Grian dropped from above, crouched low with his wings flexed. From thin air he produced a shortsword, promptly launching himself forward with an assist from semi-flight. He aimed low, withdrawing once the screech of metal against metal confirmed a miss.
Skizz took an unsteady step back, scrambling for the sword he’d since sheathed. “I knew it,” he exclaimed, meeting Scar’s eyes. “Why are you—”
He was cut off as Grian struck him again, this time cutting between the slats of his armour and drawing real blood. Skizz growled, focus drawn away from Scar successfully, to Grian’s relief. That relief, however, was short lived, wrenched from the harpy’s skin along with a spray of crimson. Skizz’s counterattack landed heavily, a wild forward swing. Grian, strength tenuous already, stumbled back, hardly managing to produce a shield to block the barrage of similarly reckless swings.
“Oh, come on!” Skizz continued to tear into the shield, visibly more frustrated. “Stupid magic!”
The tunnelvision of battle seemed to lift itself upon Skizz’s mind for a moment long enough for him to make a tactical choice—Grian’s wings far extended beyond the shield’s capabilities, even drawn close to the man’s body. Thus, easy targets.
Crunch. Grian buckled immediately, wailing as burning lava gnawed at his veins, spreading from the point of impact. The shield and shortsword collapsed from his hands, vanishing into nonexistence.
“Oh-hohoho, yes! Try and get away now!” Skizz celebrated, drawing his sword back in preparation for an incapacitating blow.
The weapon was stopped short, scraping harmlessly against some invisible barrier. Skizz groaned in annoyance now, a thick smog pouring from the barrier’s spawn.
Grian hissed in pain as Scar pulled him backwards. He thrashed against it, to which Scar whispered, “Shh, shh, shh—no, it’s me!”
Nonetheless, he wriggled till he was free, despite the hurt. “Scar,” he forced out, “we need to run. You can’t run while you’re pulling me.”
“Run where? I can’t see any—AAH!”
A blade lodged itself into the wood just short of Scar’s body. He jumped back, landing awkwardly against a countertop. His cane tumbled onto the ground.
“Take a pearl! We’ll make a break for the street! Hopefully,” Grian offered, producing a bluish sphere and tossing it to Scar. With his own, he blindly lobbed it, hoping it’d be the right direction.
Appearing, both collapsed, on the cobblestones just beside one another, the two runaways sighed a moment of relief, hearing Skizz’s blind rampage rage on inside.
“Oh,” a voice nearby chuckled dryly. “Hm. That’s convenient.”
Sharing a look, the two men slowly raised their heads to find themselves in the shadow of a masked, white haired man in those same signature Kingsblade armaments.
Scar laughed nervously, scrambling to sit upright. “Ha! Etho! Um… what funny timing!”
—
“Oh, not you, too…” sighed a blue haired elvish man, his eyes following the newcomers as they were shoved by their collars into the cell. He was seated atop a wooden slat affixed to the stone brick wall; his gaze was sympathetic.
“Scott?” Grian rose only partially from his grounded position, slow with his movements so as to not shift his wing. “When did you get caught?”
“Well—I was about to say it was a long story, but it’s really not,” the blue haired man turned a sardonic half-smile toward his blond companion who was peering onto the ground from the height of a flimsy bunk bed. “Jimmy seems to have forgotten how to keep a secret.”
“Hey! It isn’t all my fault!”
“Yes, it is.”
Jimmy stammered meaninglessly, not producing any real words for a moment before pausing. “Listen,” he started, shifting then hopping down from his spot above. His partial-harpy features were better visible now, golden feathers mixing with his hair near his ears.
Scar joined in now, still sprawled out on the cold cobblestones. “What am I listening to?”
“What?” Jimmy blinked.
“What? You said listen! What am I listening for? Or to?”
Jim laughed, to which Scar cast a confused glance between Scott and Grian.
“Anyway,” Scott broke in. “What happened? How did you both get here?”
“Uh, before that,” said Jim, “Grian actually looks really hurt...”
Scott blinked then narrowed his eyes, confused. “What do you expect me to do?”
“You’re a healer! A potion guy!”
“Magic doesn’t do a whole lot here, Jimmy, remember?” Scott gestured around vaguely.
“Oh. I forgot.”
“I would have already, if I could.”
“That- yeah, that makes sense.”
Scott shifted his focus back to the other two now. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted—What happened?”
Scar and Grian shared a look.
“W-Well, we fought valiantly and bravely! It was a very, very difficult fight. We barely got out alive! You can tell, we’re both very hurt,” Scar proclaimed. “The scoundrels stole my cane, even! I had to submit, I had absolutely no other choice.”
Scott nodded along, staring intently at Scar as he continued.
“They broke in and started raiding my shop, that’s when the fighting started. And Grian—oh, Grian—he was like a knight in shining armour the way he swooped in to protect me. Isn’t that right?”
Grian had his head rested on his hand in a half-facepalm. He locked eyes with Scott and said, “Skizz caught me off guard on the street and would’ve probably killed me if I didn’t run over to Scar’s. Then I thought maybe I could take him, if Scar helped. It didn’t work out. We tried to run and ran straight into Etho.”
“Etho’s scary!” Scar added, beginning to push himself up into a sitting position now.
“Right. I could tell Scar’s story was a little off—he doesn’t look hurt at all,” Scott laughed a little. “Why did you even lie, Scar?”
Stumbling over words at first, the brunet finally managed, “It was a little embarrassing to admit we just kind of sirsendered- surtenered?—”
“Surrendered?”
“Yeah!”
“If it makes you feel better, we also did.”
“Oh?”
“Not to Skizz or Etho. We had to deal with Martyn,” Scott went on. “It was a nightmare. I’ve never had so many accusations thrown at me in such a short time. I didn’t even do most of what we were apparently arrested for, but I thought maybe we’ll get some grace if we comply.”
“Eehhh,” Jimmy started in a pitched-up, guilty admission, “I might’ve actually, um… did all that.”
“You burned down—JIMMY!”
“Blame Joel! I just was along with him, it was his idea!”
As the two men bickered, Grian took a moment, shifting cautiously. He misjudged the distance between him and the cell bars, however, and bumped against them. His entire body locked up in anticipation of the shock of pain from his wing, but it never came. Slowly relaxing, he unfurled his once-damaged wing, to see it in fine shape. “Uhhh…” he started, loud enough to catch attention.
“Grian! What are you—” Scar perked up in concern upon noticing the bloodied wing. “Huh? Doesn’t- doesn’t that hurt?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“No, for some reason…” he trailed off. It still looked a mess, by all means. He hummed in consideration, reaching for his chest where that slash wound was. Indeed, despite the dried blood still thorougly soaking the skin there, as well as his clothes, there was nothing beneath it, as if there’d been no wound at all. He furrowed his brows. “Didn’t you say magic didn’t work, Scott?”
“I did,” the blue haired man confirmed. “I’ve tried a few times. I haven’t been able to access my inventory since we’ve been here, or cast spells.”
“Did Etho heal you on the way here?” Scar suggested wistfully.
Grian shook his head. “I don’t think so, no, it still hurt to move earlier.”
“Maybe the room is enchanted so that it heals people!” Scar nodded, clearly proud of the dots he put together.
“That doesn’t make sense, Scar.”
“Ow, my feelings, Grian!” He feigned a blow to the chest. “I think it makes perfect sense.”
“I think so too,” Jimmy agreed.
Grian sighed, rubbing his temples. “You know what, sure, we’ll go with that theory for now.”
“It’s the best one we’ve got!” Jim beamed.
The half-elvish man did a celebratory fist pump. “That’s the spirit!”
Laughing, Scott said, “Honestly? The fact that you guys can have such positive vibes while we’re literally in a dungeon is amazing. I almost could have forgotten it.”
“Oh yeah. I… did forget… about that. Whoops,” Scar chuckled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.
“What- Scar!” Scott scolded.
“What! We’ve been having such a good time! And I know so many rooms that look just like this and they aren’t sinister, so…”
Conversation teetered off a bit, with Scott balancing precariously atop that wooden slat in order to just about catch sight of outside through a thin, grated “window” flush with the ceiling. Scar drew invisible drawings on the ground with his finger, creating masterpieces only visible to his own mind’s eye. Jimmy situated himself out of the way, a quiet, repetitive sound coming from him. Grian leaned over a bit, craning his neck to catch Jim in the corner, otherwise blocked from his line of sight. “What are you doing, Tim?”
Jimmy straightened up and slowly turned. “Nothing suspicious,” he claimed.
“Okay, now I’m actually curious.” Grian shuffled over, peering past the partial-harpy’s shoulder.
Scott was quick to join, adding, “Jimmy, you’re a terrible liar.”
In his hand was a spoon, and on the floor in that corner were white scratch marks.
“Where did- Since when did you have a spoon ?” Scott questioned.
In a small voice, Jim answered, “I found it in my pocket. I thought maybe I could dig us a hole out.”
Grian at first tried to stifle his laughter, but ultimately he cracked. “Tim, do you have any idea how long that would take?”
“I thought I could surprise all of you with a way out!”
“Oh, honey…” Scott patted the blond on his shoulder, half laughing. “It’s a sweet thought, but that kind of thing only happens in fiction.”
Jimmy huffed and started poking at the ground dejectedly.
—
Settling down to sleep was a mess. Jimmy claimed the top of the rickety bunk bed, uncompromising, leaving the other three to decide who deserved a mattress, who would sleep elevated atop that wooden slat, and who would be stuck on the uneven, rocky floor.
“Grian should have the bed,” Scar asserted.
“Scar, no,” Grian said calmly. “I don’t even need a blanket or anything, my wings are fine enough to keep me warm.”
“But you’ve had the worst day out of all of us, by a mile!”
“Seriously, I don’t want it.”
“I’ll just take it if you two can’t decide,” said Scott.
Simultaneously, Grian and Scar responded, “No, he should have it!”
Hands lazily up in a joking surrender, the elf stepped back. “Damn, okay. My god.”
Grian let out an exasperated sigh. “Scar. Bed. Now,” he ordered, gesturing heavily toward it. “We can rotate, if that makes you feel better. You sleep there tonight, Scott does tomorrow, then I do the next night, so on.”
“Okay, okay. Yes, that does make me feel better.” He nodded, then paused. “So… who’s going to help me up?”
Without missing a beat, terribly relieved to have this ordeal over, Grian helped Scar over, even going the extra bit as to put the pitiful little blanket over top of him.
“Aww!” Scar grinned. “Are you gonna read me a bedtime story too? Check the closet for monsters? Gimmie a goodnight kiss?”
Scott snickered.
Grian rolled his eyes. “Absolutely not. Go to sleep.” He then plopped down on the floor, doing a quick check that everyone was situated before laying down himself.
Sleep did not come readily. Grian drew his legs close, almost cocooning himself with his wing. His mind weaved the same threads, over and over, imploring some solution to present itself. How could he get out of here? He had to.
Scar and Timmy’s ability to make light in even the worst situation was most impactful in retrospect, as now without it, Grian had nothing but his own mind to keep him company in the still silence, softly broken by the shifting of one of his cellmates or a Prison Eye switching post. Tiny movements echoed against the stone—everything was watching him. Everything had eyes. How else would he have been so coincidentally confronted by two high-ranking Kingsblades.
Grian drew himself in closer, physically cringing as a spear of guilt punctured him. He dragged Scar into this with him.
There’s no world where you get out of this alive, he told himself.