02-14-2017, 08:22 PM
Carmelita padded through the tunnels, searching for the chute Sera had spoken of. The tunnels were ill lit, and a strange hissing sound echoed through the eerie space. Tracks, etched into the ground, marked the stretches along which the carts were pushed daily, ground a few centimeters into grooves that guided the vixen deeper into the mines.
A shard of blue glinted, catching Carmelita’s eye. She bent down to examine it, one knee brushing the stone besides the shard of gemstone. Delicately she picked it up, balancing it on a rock to see it without her cloak interfering. A thirsty, shimmering blue… she gave up on remembering the gemstone off the top of her head and instead searched the dataverse, comparing the flickering images on her eyepiece to the specimen she saw before her.
“Peruvian opal,” she murmured as the corresponding picture made its appearance.
Though she had no idea as to the veracity of the article she found, the item on historical superstition had her frowning in understanding. Opal, with its deep and varied colours, was rumoured to contain the combined powers of other gemstones. If the myth was rooted in fact, it would be no great stretch of the imagination to realise how valuable it would be as a magical reagent.
Thinking back to the conversations she had overheard, Carmelita was reminded of the word of some bracelet of disguise, and the runes she had seen etched into the pipes at the gate and the lockbox in the store. No doubt their enchanter was here, working as the Silver Hand’s artificer for whatever reward would be theirs.
She was about to continue when a smudge of black, revealed on the side of the fragment, reminded her of Sera’s words. This was not only a gem mine, but one laced with coal seams as well. Perhaps the coal was the fuel needed for the artificers forge, or was used in some alchemical manner. Carmelita rose from where she had crouched and headed on, cautious of magical detection.
After a few twists and turns, Carmelita found herself entering a large, natural cavern. Around the walls large hammers were chained to the walls, and blunt picks locked into racks. Tunnels led off in a plethora of directions, and large baskets of stone sat besides rock breaking stations. Abandoned for the night, Carmelita could imagine the hostages slaving away, hauling gem laden rock up to be cracked open and the precious stones prised from their resting places. Then, of course, they would be collected, and carried over to the large bronze hopper that stood at the entrance to a steep, stepped tunnel, to clatter with the coal down into the unknown.
Carmelita paced down the forbidden stairs, one hand tracing the path of the chute alongside her. From time to time a copper pipe would sprout from the ceiling and wend its way above her before disappearing again. The blue runes she had seen at the gate were etched into the surface. As she descended, the hissing grew louder, and other noises, the gnashing of ghostly teeth and the pounding noise of a door knocker rising with the heat, steadily growing into a mighty crescendo different yet similar to the great noise of a factory.
She padded down the last few stairs to find herself in a cavernous workshop. On the far wall a vault door, a large colossus of bronze, sat stolidly between two glowing keyholes. Benches littered with copper gears lay haphazardly across the workshop floor, interspersed with half-finished machinery and brightly glowing runecraft. Off to one side stood a big bronze boiler that wheezed steam every once in a while, leaving the atmosphere damp even through the singing effect of Carmelita’s cloak. Fed by coal dust steadily dispensed from a large hopper nearby, the heat and light it exuded reflected off the array of valves that sprouted from its side. The copper pipes fled in all directions, up to the ceiling, past Carmelita into the stairwell and a couple to the great contraption that stood at the base of the chute, steadily sorting the coal and opals that lay amassed in the great funnel at the top before grinding them both into the finest of powders with a massive group of serrated worm gears. The coal powder worked its way over to the hopper feeding the furnace, but the blue powdered opal made its way to a small container that Carmelita could just see around the edge of the grinder.
A mechanical yet feline yawn drew Carmelita’s attention. Sat guarding the opal dust were three rune-encrusted bronze lionesses, chained in steel yet surveying the workshop with all the regal air of the queens of the savannah. They came up to Carmelita’s chest, and the one that yawned stretched, settling down into a sedentary pose. The constructs were elegant in design, the pistons hissing quietly with the sound of released steam and filigree masterfully wound over the surface to protect the runes themselves from glancing blows.
Of course, at the centre of this impressive workspace was the spider itself, the machinist that had constructed these and the small array of other magical items that were hung upon the unoccupied wall. Working an engraving station with fervent enthusiasm, the centaur stared down at his latest piece through a bewildering array of adjustable lenses. His tail, emerging from beneath the large horse blanket that lay over his resting equine half, twitched in time to the melody he hummed as he chiselled runes into the bronze band. Finishing the piece of work, and comparing it to the notebook that lay open on the table next to him, he lifted the band out of the clamp and rose to his feet, trotting over to a machine. A few sparks flew as he opened a valve, gears grinding as the machine began polishing the band with a rush of steam, but they petered out on the black leather apron he wore around his chest.
Carmelita stood in the entrance to the room in a daze. Criminal machinists had always been difficult to apprehend, given their array of tools and gadgets at their disposal, but the true issue had always been the force multiplication they provided with their services. A man with a gun was dangerous. A man who could turn invisible and had homing bullets was a nightmare, and Carmelita knew that, judging by the mechanical crossbows and runic armours that lay along the wall, that those this centaur provided would be no exception.
Her brow creased in thought. The Silver Hand certainly weren’t using this stuff, if they were then they’d be much more dangerous than they would be otherwise, so who were they for? Aside from the disguise bracelets, the gate mechanism, the standard weapons and the emergency signal, there didn’t seem to be a reason for such extravagant a work as this.
Caught up in the shock at the scene and the consequent rush of questions, Carmelita nearly missed the sounds of footsteps descending the stairs behind her. She walked carefully into the room, taking great care to avoid the heavier coatings of coal and opal dust and the precariously balanced bits and pieces, and turned to see Scar enter the room.
“Four-eyes!”
The centaur turned his head and smiled beatifically.
“Scar!” he cried, an amiable tone welcoming the bandit leader into the workshop. “What an honour it is, nay a pleasure, to have an ex-captain of the guard grace my humble abode. Is there something you desire, my friend? Another disguise bracelet to be ordered for your lackeys, to keep their loyalty? Perhaps you’ve located another for your little conspiracy, and desire weapons and armour? Or maybe, just this once, you’ve decided to take my advice and bathe in the beautiful mounds of loot piled high within the vault I built.”
“Stop mouthing off to me,” Scar snapped. The lionesses rose to their feet at once, mechanical snarls from each at the aggressive tone of the bandit leader. Scar ignored them, instead walking over to a large construct in the corner.
“There was a small group of men I sent into the Tangled Green,” he continued as he approached the elegant runework. “A preliminary to extending our operations closer to Ambrosia. They haven’t come back, and I need to know whether it’s treachery or enemy action.”
Four-eyes chuckled, removing all but two of the lenses in front of his face.
“And for that you need my Compass Grande, my magnificent combination of centaur life runes and the divining steam of the oracles. Such a beautiful work, one that functions as a Vita Compass, but performs so much more than portable works. Come, do you wish to know how they died? What spoils they covet and use in the dens of vice they’ve snuck away to? Let us begin.”
The eloquent words died away as the centaur galloped round the room, turning valves and laughing uproariously. Carmelita ducked as his hooves sent a half finished saw blade twanging across the room, slicing through the air above her head.
“Steam building, energies growing, and now, now, behold the marvel of my creation!”
The construct began to spin, delicate arms whirring and spinning. Scar sat impervious to the chaos, watching as thin wafts of steam jetted from nozzles at the end of the appendages, magical light flickering as they formed eldritch symbols and bewitching images. A small tray slid out from one side of the table, and into it the bandit placed a collection of small bags. There was a clunk as it slotted back in, before there was a flare of flame and a cavalcade of green smoke that rose from within, mixing with the steam as Four-eyes came to a halt behind Scar. The imagery rose, before forming a single, expansive model that lay on the surface of the table the contraption lay on. A collection of bandits, dead eyes staring lifelessly at the sky beneath the vivid jade of the forests of the Tangled Green.
Scar gave a snort.
“It seems that I need to send a message to Ambrosia,” he mused, a frown falling across his face. “I will need one of your clockwork birds, Four-eyes, and a recording crystal. The old woman from Princess Bonbon Sunshine’s retinue should do. If the threat of innocent deaths doesn’t stay their hands, the risk of us inciting the rest of the duchies to believe the lies spread by the madwoman will suffice.”
Four-eyes smiled, as though the discussion of murder and intrigue were as commonplace and as unimportant as what the weather was like outside.
“Of course, my friend. Do you have your key on you?”
Scar grunted, lifting a glowing blue ornate steel key. Carmelita snapped a picture, examining the filigree steel decorated with a fleur-de-lis and several mythical beasts. In response to Scar’s movement, Four-eyes began turning valves again, the steam rushing through the pipes and causing the descent of a small glass display case from a hidden dent in the ceiling. The centaur lifted off the glass cover, revealing another ornate steel key in the same style as the bandit’s.
The two of them moved to the keyholes and turned the keys simultaneously. With a screech, the vault door began to move, rolling to one side and allowing them access to the chamber beyond.
Carmelita could see through the entrance to the vault, and it appeared that it was large enough to contain several offshoot rooms. With the knowledge that she had learnt as much as she could from staying, the vixen headed out of the room, heading back to the hostage cells. Whatever message Scar was going to record, that would be the time to talk with Sera and Malon. Carmelita had a plan.
---
Carmelita sat sombrely in the corner as Scar had an old woman led in in chains. Scar sent the men outside, and set up a small crystal device. After checking to make sure his face would be above the recording crystal’s edge, he turned to the old woman.
“Now I’m sorry it had to come to this, Penelope. Unfortunately for you, some of my men were killed in the Tangled Green. Fortunately for you, as a first time offence I need you to send a message to the Ambrosians, and for that I do not intend to kill you. Unfortunately, whilst you keep your life, you won’t be able to keep your hand. Now, stay quiet for the recording or I’ll have to replace you with a different hostage. Permanently.”
Carmelita forced herself to watch until the woman’s hand had been cauterised. Her need to gather information had cost this woman her hand from the vixen’s delay. As Scar turned to begin addressing the crystal for the second part of his address, she left the room, her stomach roiling, but her mind set on making the most of the opportunity delivered by this horrible circumstance. It was time to talk with the prisoners once more.
---
The guard to the prison cells had left with Scar in order to escort the old woman back afterwards, and so Carmelita stepped into the room where Malon and Sera were chained to the floor to find them the only two awake, talking quietly to themselves.
“My apologies.”
The two women stifled their startled cries, and turned to where Carmelita was stood, cloaked.
“I’ve taken the opportunity to explore the entirety of the camp, and while I found plenty of information I have left you alone without company these past few days.”
Sera looked down, hiding her face behind her fringe. Malon, however, seemed more than happy to talk for the both of them.
“There are a lot of bandits, and food is difficult to come by, but… well you just being here gave me a little hope.”
Carmelita sighed as she crouched down, a puff of dirt from where she placed her knee allowing them to more accurately determine where she was.
“Hope. It’s a difficult enough thing to nurture. I am unable to ease any of your ills for fear of being discovered, and ruining our chance to get everyone out of here. But it is because of that chance that I am here.”
Malon looked up, somehow looking directly into Carmelita’s eyes despite her cloak.
“You have a plan.”
Carmelita nodded, then paused as she realised the futility of the gesture.
“Yes,” she said, “I do.”
Sera gave a weak laugh, but otherwise stayed silent. Carmelita couldn’t help but wonder what had shaken the woman up so much since they’d last spoken, then realised that she probably wouldn’t like the answer.
“When do we get out of here?” Malon asked, brushing her dirtied hair aside with an intense look in her eyes. “It can’t come soon enough.”
Carmelita placed a tin of vitamin supplements on the floor in front of them, the small metal cylinder fading into view as she removed her hand.
“We have to get all the hostages ready to go at once, and the only way to do that is if you’re all able to walk. Most of the sick and elderly are in here: get them well enough to walk, feed them the vitamins.”
Sera clenched a fist.
“And then we fight our way out?”
“No!” Carmelita exclaimed, and the intensity of her voice was enough to make some of the sleeping prisoners stir. They waited for them to relax before continuing. “I wouldn’t take an entire police force if they’d been stuck here in their condition, let alone those old enough to retire and young enough to go to preschool. Those who are like you, in their prime, can maybe keep a few bandits busy, but them? No, the first thing we need to do is get them to safety so that I, and any who are capable of fighting, can take down the rest of the bandits. There’s a safe place, I just need to arrange for it to be free in time for you to get everyone ready to move.”
Sera narrowed her eyes.
“We haven’t even seen you yet,” she muttered. “How do you know you’re enough to take them all on?”
“I’m not,” Carmelita replied. “But I’ll have to be smart enough to catch them a few at a time.”
With those words, she stood and dropped her cloak. The vixen faded into view, starting at her extremities. Her boots, dark yellow leather with thick, padded soles. Her tail, flaring out behind her as she stood tall. Her hands, gloved and clenched.
As her belt came into existence at the top of her blue combat trousers, and the array of pouches that lay around it, Carmelita’s head hove into view, her blue hair tied tightly into a ponytail and her eyepieces folded up over her earpieces. A promise was visible in her face, a promise that she would rescue them, and her stance echoed that, one hand by her side, the other swinging forward in a simple small arc, gesturing to the two of them. She pulled out her badge from her yellow jacket, inadvertently revealing the large stun pistol that lay in the underslung holster.
“And I will get you out of here.”
A shard of blue glinted, catching Carmelita’s eye. She bent down to examine it, one knee brushing the stone besides the shard of gemstone. Delicately she picked it up, balancing it on a rock to see it without her cloak interfering. A thirsty, shimmering blue… she gave up on remembering the gemstone off the top of her head and instead searched the dataverse, comparing the flickering images on her eyepiece to the specimen she saw before her.
“Peruvian opal,” she murmured as the corresponding picture made its appearance.
Though she had no idea as to the veracity of the article she found, the item on historical superstition had her frowning in understanding. Opal, with its deep and varied colours, was rumoured to contain the combined powers of other gemstones. If the myth was rooted in fact, it would be no great stretch of the imagination to realise how valuable it would be as a magical reagent.
Thinking back to the conversations she had overheard, Carmelita was reminded of the word of some bracelet of disguise, and the runes she had seen etched into the pipes at the gate and the lockbox in the store. No doubt their enchanter was here, working as the Silver Hand’s artificer for whatever reward would be theirs.
She was about to continue when a smudge of black, revealed on the side of the fragment, reminded her of Sera’s words. This was not only a gem mine, but one laced with coal seams as well. Perhaps the coal was the fuel needed for the artificers forge, or was used in some alchemical manner. Carmelita rose from where she had crouched and headed on, cautious of magical detection.
After a few twists and turns, Carmelita found herself entering a large, natural cavern. Around the walls large hammers were chained to the walls, and blunt picks locked into racks. Tunnels led off in a plethora of directions, and large baskets of stone sat besides rock breaking stations. Abandoned for the night, Carmelita could imagine the hostages slaving away, hauling gem laden rock up to be cracked open and the precious stones prised from their resting places. Then, of course, they would be collected, and carried over to the large bronze hopper that stood at the entrance to a steep, stepped tunnel, to clatter with the coal down into the unknown.
Carmelita paced down the forbidden stairs, one hand tracing the path of the chute alongside her. From time to time a copper pipe would sprout from the ceiling and wend its way above her before disappearing again. The blue runes she had seen at the gate were etched into the surface. As she descended, the hissing grew louder, and other noises, the gnashing of ghostly teeth and the pounding noise of a door knocker rising with the heat, steadily growing into a mighty crescendo different yet similar to the great noise of a factory.
She padded down the last few stairs to find herself in a cavernous workshop. On the far wall a vault door, a large colossus of bronze, sat stolidly between two glowing keyholes. Benches littered with copper gears lay haphazardly across the workshop floor, interspersed with half-finished machinery and brightly glowing runecraft. Off to one side stood a big bronze boiler that wheezed steam every once in a while, leaving the atmosphere damp even through the singing effect of Carmelita’s cloak. Fed by coal dust steadily dispensed from a large hopper nearby, the heat and light it exuded reflected off the array of valves that sprouted from its side. The copper pipes fled in all directions, up to the ceiling, past Carmelita into the stairwell and a couple to the great contraption that stood at the base of the chute, steadily sorting the coal and opals that lay amassed in the great funnel at the top before grinding them both into the finest of powders with a massive group of serrated worm gears. The coal powder worked its way over to the hopper feeding the furnace, but the blue powdered opal made its way to a small container that Carmelita could just see around the edge of the grinder.
A mechanical yet feline yawn drew Carmelita’s attention. Sat guarding the opal dust were three rune-encrusted bronze lionesses, chained in steel yet surveying the workshop with all the regal air of the queens of the savannah. They came up to Carmelita’s chest, and the one that yawned stretched, settling down into a sedentary pose. The constructs were elegant in design, the pistons hissing quietly with the sound of released steam and filigree masterfully wound over the surface to protect the runes themselves from glancing blows.
Of course, at the centre of this impressive workspace was the spider itself, the machinist that had constructed these and the small array of other magical items that were hung upon the unoccupied wall. Working an engraving station with fervent enthusiasm, the centaur stared down at his latest piece through a bewildering array of adjustable lenses. His tail, emerging from beneath the large horse blanket that lay over his resting equine half, twitched in time to the melody he hummed as he chiselled runes into the bronze band. Finishing the piece of work, and comparing it to the notebook that lay open on the table next to him, he lifted the band out of the clamp and rose to his feet, trotting over to a machine. A few sparks flew as he opened a valve, gears grinding as the machine began polishing the band with a rush of steam, but they petered out on the black leather apron he wore around his chest.
Carmelita stood in the entrance to the room in a daze. Criminal machinists had always been difficult to apprehend, given their array of tools and gadgets at their disposal, but the true issue had always been the force multiplication they provided with their services. A man with a gun was dangerous. A man who could turn invisible and had homing bullets was a nightmare, and Carmelita knew that, judging by the mechanical crossbows and runic armours that lay along the wall, that those this centaur provided would be no exception.
Her brow creased in thought. The Silver Hand certainly weren’t using this stuff, if they were then they’d be much more dangerous than they would be otherwise, so who were they for? Aside from the disguise bracelets, the gate mechanism, the standard weapons and the emergency signal, there didn’t seem to be a reason for such extravagant a work as this.
Caught up in the shock at the scene and the consequent rush of questions, Carmelita nearly missed the sounds of footsteps descending the stairs behind her. She walked carefully into the room, taking great care to avoid the heavier coatings of coal and opal dust and the precariously balanced bits and pieces, and turned to see Scar enter the room.
“Four-eyes!”
The centaur turned his head and smiled beatifically.
“Scar!” he cried, an amiable tone welcoming the bandit leader into the workshop. “What an honour it is, nay a pleasure, to have an ex-captain of the guard grace my humble abode. Is there something you desire, my friend? Another disguise bracelet to be ordered for your lackeys, to keep their loyalty? Perhaps you’ve located another for your little conspiracy, and desire weapons and armour? Or maybe, just this once, you’ve decided to take my advice and bathe in the beautiful mounds of loot piled high within the vault I built.”
“Stop mouthing off to me,” Scar snapped. The lionesses rose to their feet at once, mechanical snarls from each at the aggressive tone of the bandit leader. Scar ignored them, instead walking over to a large construct in the corner.
“There was a small group of men I sent into the Tangled Green,” he continued as he approached the elegant runework. “A preliminary to extending our operations closer to Ambrosia. They haven’t come back, and I need to know whether it’s treachery or enemy action.”
Four-eyes chuckled, removing all but two of the lenses in front of his face.
“And for that you need my Compass Grande, my magnificent combination of centaur life runes and the divining steam of the oracles. Such a beautiful work, one that functions as a Vita Compass, but performs so much more than portable works. Come, do you wish to know how they died? What spoils they covet and use in the dens of vice they’ve snuck away to? Let us begin.”
The eloquent words died away as the centaur galloped round the room, turning valves and laughing uproariously. Carmelita ducked as his hooves sent a half finished saw blade twanging across the room, slicing through the air above her head.
“Steam building, energies growing, and now, now, behold the marvel of my creation!”
The construct began to spin, delicate arms whirring and spinning. Scar sat impervious to the chaos, watching as thin wafts of steam jetted from nozzles at the end of the appendages, magical light flickering as they formed eldritch symbols and bewitching images. A small tray slid out from one side of the table, and into it the bandit placed a collection of small bags. There was a clunk as it slotted back in, before there was a flare of flame and a cavalcade of green smoke that rose from within, mixing with the steam as Four-eyes came to a halt behind Scar. The imagery rose, before forming a single, expansive model that lay on the surface of the table the contraption lay on. A collection of bandits, dead eyes staring lifelessly at the sky beneath the vivid jade of the forests of the Tangled Green.
Scar gave a snort.
“It seems that I need to send a message to Ambrosia,” he mused, a frown falling across his face. “I will need one of your clockwork birds, Four-eyes, and a recording crystal. The old woman from Princess Bonbon Sunshine’s retinue should do. If the threat of innocent deaths doesn’t stay their hands, the risk of us inciting the rest of the duchies to believe the lies spread by the madwoman will suffice.”
Four-eyes smiled, as though the discussion of murder and intrigue were as commonplace and as unimportant as what the weather was like outside.
“Of course, my friend. Do you have your key on you?”
Scar grunted, lifting a glowing blue ornate steel key. Carmelita snapped a picture, examining the filigree steel decorated with a fleur-de-lis and several mythical beasts. In response to Scar’s movement, Four-eyes began turning valves again, the steam rushing through the pipes and causing the descent of a small glass display case from a hidden dent in the ceiling. The centaur lifted off the glass cover, revealing another ornate steel key in the same style as the bandit’s.
The two of them moved to the keyholes and turned the keys simultaneously. With a screech, the vault door began to move, rolling to one side and allowing them access to the chamber beyond.
Carmelita could see through the entrance to the vault, and it appeared that it was large enough to contain several offshoot rooms. With the knowledge that she had learnt as much as she could from staying, the vixen headed out of the room, heading back to the hostage cells. Whatever message Scar was going to record, that would be the time to talk with Sera and Malon. Carmelita had a plan.
---
Carmelita sat sombrely in the corner as Scar had an old woman led in in chains. Scar sent the men outside, and set up a small crystal device. After checking to make sure his face would be above the recording crystal’s edge, he turned to the old woman.
“Now I’m sorry it had to come to this, Penelope. Unfortunately for you, some of my men were killed in the Tangled Green. Fortunately for you, as a first time offence I need you to send a message to the Ambrosians, and for that I do not intend to kill you. Unfortunately, whilst you keep your life, you won’t be able to keep your hand. Now, stay quiet for the recording or I’ll have to replace you with a different hostage. Permanently.”
Carmelita forced herself to watch until the woman’s hand had been cauterised. Her need to gather information had cost this woman her hand from the vixen’s delay. As Scar turned to begin addressing the crystal for the second part of his address, she left the room, her stomach roiling, but her mind set on making the most of the opportunity delivered by this horrible circumstance. It was time to talk with the prisoners once more.
---
The guard to the prison cells had left with Scar in order to escort the old woman back afterwards, and so Carmelita stepped into the room where Malon and Sera were chained to the floor to find them the only two awake, talking quietly to themselves.
“My apologies.”
The two women stifled their startled cries, and turned to where Carmelita was stood, cloaked.
“I’ve taken the opportunity to explore the entirety of the camp, and while I found plenty of information I have left you alone without company these past few days.”
Sera looked down, hiding her face behind her fringe. Malon, however, seemed more than happy to talk for the both of them.
“There are a lot of bandits, and food is difficult to come by, but… well you just being here gave me a little hope.”
Carmelita sighed as she crouched down, a puff of dirt from where she placed her knee allowing them to more accurately determine where she was.
“Hope. It’s a difficult enough thing to nurture. I am unable to ease any of your ills for fear of being discovered, and ruining our chance to get everyone out of here. But it is because of that chance that I am here.”
Malon looked up, somehow looking directly into Carmelita’s eyes despite her cloak.
“You have a plan.”
Carmelita nodded, then paused as she realised the futility of the gesture.
“Yes,” she said, “I do.”
Sera gave a weak laugh, but otherwise stayed silent. Carmelita couldn’t help but wonder what had shaken the woman up so much since they’d last spoken, then realised that she probably wouldn’t like the answer.
“When do we get out of here?” Malon asked, brushing her dirtied hair aside with an intense look in her eyes. “It can’t come soon enough.”
Carmelita placed a tin of vitamin supplements on the floor in front of them, the small metal cylinder fading into view as she removed her hand.
“We have to get all the hostages ready to go at once, and the only way to do that is if you’re all able to walk. Most of the sick and elderly are in here: get them well enough to walk, feed them the vitamins.”
Sera clenched a fist.
“And then we fight our way out?”
“No!” Carmelita exclaimed, and the intensity of her voice was enough to make some of the sleeping prisoners stir. They waited for them to relax before continuing. “I wouldn’t take an entire police force if they’d been stuck here in their condition, let alone those old enough to retire and young enough to go to preschool. Those who are like you, in their prime, can maybe keep a few bandits busy, but them? No, the first thing we need to do is get them to safety so that I, and any who are capable of fighting, can take down the rest of the bandits. There’s a safe place, I just need to arrange for it to be free in time for you to get everyone ready to move.”
Sera narrowed her eyes.
“We haven’t even seen you yet,” she muttered. “How do you know you’re enough to take them all on?”
“I’m not,” Carmelita replied. “But I’ll have to be smart enough to catch them a few at a time.”
With those words, she stood and dropped her cloak. The vixen faded into view, starting at her extremities. Her boots, dark yellow leather with thick, padded soles. Her tail, flaring out behind her as she stood tall. Her hands, gloved and clenched.
As her belt came into existence at the top of her blue combat trousers, and the array of pouches that lay around it, Carmelita’s head hove into view, her blue hair tied tightly into a ponytail and her eyepieces folded up over her earpieces. A promise was visible in her face, a promise that she would rescue them, and her stance echoed that, one hand by her side, the other swinging forward in a simple small arc, gesturing to the two of them. She pulled out her badge from her yellow jacket, inadvertently revealing the large stun pistol that lay in the underslung holster.
“And I will get you out of here.”