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Thread: The Mark

  1. #21
    Trephine snaps her fingers and a violet flame flickers from the end of her thumb. She lights Fleetwood's pipe, lets him take a few puffs until she knows it is lit, then blows her finger out with a wink.

    She watches gouts of flame grow and recede, smiling in bubbly joy.

    She looks at the dusty beams and wonders if they're coated with pitch.

    There's a promising curtain starting to smoke and she gets giddier.

    "I wonder if the people upstairs are getting hot feet yet."

    She claps her hands.

    "Maybe they'll leave their things behind! Oh, this just keeps getting better."

  2. #22
    "Thanks, I needed that."

    "Handy trick, by the way...no pun intended."

    "Since we seem to be the only uninjured patrons left, maybe we should, er...call it a night?"

  3. #23
    Trephine brings her hands up to her face and watches each finger close into fists "I've got lots of handy tricks."

    She grins at Fleetwood and thinks he looks a little overcome by smoke inhalation and says brightly "Okay! Good night!"

    She stretches out and stands, looking at all the carnage, "I can't miss the best part. Everything's still burning. Someone is going to restore this soon if I don't get to work. Silly people always fixing things."

    She starts to grumble about do-gooders always ruining her fun as she picks through people's belongings or things that have nobody to belong to anymore except her.

    Bits of wood and flaming wreckage fall at her feet or even on her cloak, she giggles a little before putting it out by methods from dousing them in water, smothering them in whatever's handy (maybe someone's hand) and sometimes setting little bits of her clothing on fire, staring at them for a little bit first. "Like watching faeries dance."

  4. #24
    <walking from Evil Way he stops in front of the tav... mumbles to himself> Yeah, I reck'n I deserve a cold ale <takes a step towards the door... KA-BOOM! gets thrown back into the street> By the gods, LadyChina must be trashing this tav too... How's a man s'pose to get a drink when all the taverns are a'flame! <makes a mad dash to Misty Hollow before it too erupts in flames...>

    (OOC: we need the old Yserbius walking man symbol!)

  5. #25
    "My lady, I bid you farewell."

    Fleetwood dodges between smoldering pits of tavern flotsam and exits into the night.

    "Pyromaniacs,...why do I ALWAYS run into pyromaniacs?"

  6. #26
    Trephine spins around once with arms wide open and takes a deep breath out of satisfaction, then coughs.

    Time to go.

    She gathers up her new found treasures and a pair of boots from a tavern dweller.

    Skirting through the acrid smoke she exits the tavern with a final longing look and waves a wistful goodbye.

    Through the shadows and panic she works her way back into the dark behind the tavern. She conceals all her new friendly toys underneath something nondescript and for extra measure, just to show she likes them, booby traps the spot with something deadly for a murderous radius if anyone gets greedy and starts to investigate. She'll come back for this later when she has time.

    She takes off her cloak and puts it on the ground, puts the oversized boots on and does a little jig on the cloak, huge sooty footprints adorning the charred spots.

    She holds it up critically and decides it will do.

    Using careful dagger strokes she cuts herself close to points she knows will bleed a bit, but do no real harm. In the mirror shine and distortion of the curved blade she sees exactly what she wants to see, and she smiles at herself. The blade disappears to who knows where.

    She becomes visible again, rounding the edge of the tavern, coughing and choking.

    She collapses to the side of the road, close enough to be seen, but far enough away that stray hooves won't make a misstep onto her.

    "Somebody help me...PLEASE!" She dissolves into broken sobs and falls to her knees. Her hands grab at the forest floor and she loses herself to crying until all that's left are little broken sobs, the hiccups of sorrow running dry into grief.

    "Please."

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