Wonder! Marvel! Fantasy! Terror... (IC)

[Quinn]

"No, no, no! You do not understand, my beloved is the bedrock of my life. She is the firm foundation that allows my passions to spring forth unbridled."

"...You've got to be kidding me."

Crow vaulted over the building wall, crossing his arms as he plummeted towards the unyielding concrete. A second before he hit the ground he vanished, appearing above the scrapyard and landing quite neatly on top of a pile of old cars above the "pile of stone". Sighing, he idly sat down, letting his legs dangle over the edge and watched the boulder for a few moments before calling out.

"Ossulus, right?"

[Raveled]

Crow perched neatly the edge of the car pile, so when the rock pile unfolded into a vaguely humanoid shape he could look straight across at the -- well. Four glowing points of light swarmed around the 'head,' forming into a rough approximation of a face. It (she? How?) regarded Crow with an expression that was, frankly, unreadable. When she spoke, it was with a sound like rocks grinding together in a tumbler. "How do you know my name, little fleshy mortal?" Even as she spoke, her 'hands' spun and shifted loosely, until sharp blades of what looked like obsidian were outmost.

[Quinn]

Crow held up his hands, wincing underneath the bandanna at the thought of having to tussle with something of that stature. Better hope things don't turn south... He began speaking in the old Gaelic again, getting more mileage out of the language than he had since he first arrived in Freedom City.

"Hey, hey, easy. Put up your blades, milady. Your husband, the fiery and brave Ignatio, bid me seek you out. I stumbled upon him during a patrol of my...claimed grounds, and offered him and thy children sanctuary against thy foe. But he, with passions afire, would not take shelter until I swore I would find you and bring thee to him."

Good lord, I'd forgot how irritating it was to use the thick stuff...

He clapped his hands, then looked at the ripples in the water where the wrecked cars had hit, and came to a somewhat late realization.

"You wouldn't happen to be trying to hit a water fae with those, would you?"

[Raveled]

The rock fae glanced out into the water. "I care not for the Lady's minions. I came out into your world here, but my children are trapped in that ring of iron!" From his perch Crow could see that the scrap metal yard was carpeted in gravel. Except, wherever Ossulus approached the fence, the gravel moved to parallel her position, looking like waves on the ocean. The golem raised one huge hand and brought it down on the stack of cars, cutting them nearly in half -- then she jerked back hard, smoke curling from her fist. She let loose with another roar and retreated from the fence, trying to find a gap in the fence and trash.

[Quinn]

Crow sighed, reaching down and rubbing one of the new runes on his cuff as he approached the fence. It began to glow red, and a small fireball began to coalesce above his palm. He narrowed his eyes at it, and it shifted to over his palm. For a sec, the flames seemed to engulf his hand, before they shifted and formed a red-hot blade of fire extending a few inches beyond his fingertips.

"Alright, alright. Tell your little 'uns to back up from the ring of iron, and I'll give you a path to get them out. Would you mind filling me in on why you and Ignatio jumped ship over here while I'm doing that?"

[Raveled]

Osullus paused, not sure whether to trust this masked mortal, but after a moment she called out to her tide of children and they backed away from the fence, forming a high, heaped wave a few strides away. "We flee for freedom," she said, settling down and watching Crow closely. "In the Lady's domain, all bends to her will and her desires. We wished for... more, for our children." She paused, then continued in a lower voice. "There are stories among the planes, of places where one can live as one pleases. Where one can be strong and independent. Those things... sound like miracles."

[Quinn]

Crow laughed aloud, a wild and free sound, and slashed out with his hand once, twice, thrice. Three lines of red-hot iron surrounded a small square of fencing on the ground, and he simply reached out with his other hand and gave a small tug. The bit of fence pulled away easy as pie, and he held it up, wiggling it for emphasis.

"Ma'am, you've just landed feet-first into Freedom City. That's pretty much how things work around here, you make your own lives...well, so long as you don't break the laws of mortals or cause havoc or destruction or anything."

He chucked the fencing away into the pile of cars, striking a pose and giving Ossulus a thumbs-up.

"Name's Crow. Red Hand's my dad, I'm picking up where he left off. And if you and your little 'uns'd be so kind as to follow me, I'll hook you up with your husband and then we can see about getting you properly oriented hereabouts, savvy?"

[Raveled]

The gravel-children shied away from the strange man holding the burning steel, but Osullus rumbled at them and they came forward in a rush, crowding around their mother's feet. She crouched down and let them run over her hands; it was hard to tell on a mineral face, but she looked to be smiling. After a moment she stood again and regarded Crow. The golem nodded finally and a shelf of stone rose from the ground, supporting her and her brood. "Take me to my husband, then, and you shall have our gratitude."

[Quinn]

Crow went from rooftop to rooftop, Ossulus and her children right behind him, on a beeline for Lantern Hill. The runecaster kept his head going left, right, up, down, all around as they moved, keeping a watchful eye for any interlopers. That water sylph had played him for a fool, likely in cahoots with that Brannagh character, and he was distinctly irritated about it. Plan now, drop off the boulder at Parkhurst, give Nicky a call and see if he and the others couldn't help set up a safehouse, then go fae-hunting. If he'd just found out about the two seeking asylum without being poked, he'd have been happy to give them a safe place and some support, then leave it at that. But they'd tricked him. And that...Crow's fists clenched as he thought about it. You don't trick the son of the goddess of death, that's just plain not healthy.

Get together the crew from Claremont, then go crack some heads. Make damn sure that Lady doesn't try anything more against those two. Not in this town. Oh no, you don't do that in this town.

He landed on a house looking up Lantern Hill, then murmured the words of Power that would permit him to pass through the wards.

"Crow. And guest." For a sec, the air seemed to shimmer, and then the old hotel appeared before them. The runecaster walked up the hill, motioning for Ossulus to follow, then gave a sharp whistle.

"Oi, Iggy! Your better half's here!"

[Raveled]

From the moment he crossed the threshold, something warned Crow that things weren't as they should be. He prowled through the hotel more cautiously than he normally would, and found that everything was in order -- except that Ignatio was nowhere to be found. His ember-children were still in the basement, and Osullus and her gravel-brood quickly found them there. The earth fae allowed her two sets of children to splash and play against each other, but she had eyes only for the rune-clad hero. "Where is my husband? My sons are here, but where is Ignatio?"

[Quinn]

Crow's comment was brief, succinct, and definitley not for the ears of children. He shook his head, walking up the steps. I swear I'm going to douse that idiot...

When he reached the top of the stairs, he called out loudly;

"Hoi! Spirits of this house, I request your assistance! I left a houseguest downbelow, and he's not here anymore, did any of you see him?"

[Raveled]

Speaking with the spirits than inhabited Parkhurst was never a pleasant experience. Whether that was by choice, due to Nick's necromancy, or just because they had been dead and haunting for so long that they had forgotten any other way to interact with the living, no one could say. In any case, strong winds came from behind Crow, forcing him to brace himself or be blown into the wall. Almost immedietly, the winds seemed to... wear down the wall in front of the hero, stripping away layers of wallpaper and plaster and wooden beams, to reveal a view of the front yard. Which was disconcerting in and of itself, since this wall should only lead further into the building, but such was magic.

Even from the back, Crow recognized Ignatio's flowing robes and wavy-bladed saber. There was another figure there, a frankly ripped man wearing what looked like a chain mail shirt and leather breeches, with silver bracers and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. The mail'ed man paused on the front lawn and Ignatio gestured with his sword. The man opened and closed his mouth, but there was no sound; still, Crow was able to see several minutes of silent conversation between the diminutive swordsman and the dark-haired man. Then the man held out one hand and made a crooking motion with his fingers. The fae stiffened suddenly and began to march woodenly down the lawn, moving with an unnatural, jerky gait. The pair disappeared as they reached the edge of the property, then the scene started to repeat itself.

Crow heard a grinding noise behind him and glanced back to see that Osullus had followed him up the steps. The earth fae's gaze was focused on the dark-haired man. "Brannah," she growled. "He took Ignatio."

[Quinn]

Crow's eye twitched. Again. He clenched his fist, and knuckles popped. That did it. He knew, intellectually-speaking, that rushing in headfirst would only get him hip-deep in trouble. He knew he knew absolute squat about the guy. But this jackass had come into his town, to a magic sanctum, and taken a spirit under his protection without so much as a by-your-leave.

Usually, Crow tried to clamp down on the family temper, one of the few things he did inherit from his mother. But this time, oh no. They said mages could be subtle and quick to anger. Well, he was a battlecaster, a master of rune magic. And he was severely hacked off. The teen fairly snarled as he punched the wall and whirled, looking at Ossulus with eyes that, for a split-second, looked like a hunting bird's.

"Wait here, stay in the basement, answer no callers, if one of the others knocks on the door tell them Crow's taking care of it. Don't. Open. That. Door. Until I get back."

And with that, he broke into a sprint, racing through the corridors until he reached the pool that Rene and Etain had put together. He bent over it, peering into it's depths, and started stirring it, willing the water to show him the two people he sought.

[Raveled]

For a long moment the water refused to clear, and even once it stopped swirling Crow thought that he had done something wrong. All he could see was more water. Then the view shifted over and he realized he was looking straight down on a large body of water from a large height -- a lake, or the edge of the ocean maybe. There was a wide strip of sandy beach, then grass, then thick forest beyond it. On the beach, Crow could make out two dark dots. At a thought the view of the pool zoomed down and panned, until he was looking at Ignatio and his abductor from the surface of the water. Brannagh was standing tall and humming something under his breath, pacing the sand and fiddling with his bracers. Ignatio, by contrast, was on his knees, head bowed, his hands bound behind him by a thin silver cord. He spat out occasional words in a language Crow didn't understand; in reply, Brannagh lashed out with a foot every time he passed the fae, striking his face, his side, his bound arms.

After a minute or so, Brannagh stiffened and stopped, turning slowly until he gazed out over the water. He locked eyes with Crow, as impossible as that was, staring the hero down. The other man slowly drew back his fist and punched -- and Crow felt the brow across the bridge of his nose, pushing him back from the scrying pool. As the vision ended, he heard a cruel, disembodied laughter swirling around him and dying away.

[Quinn]

"...When I get my hands on that guy, I swear I'll punch his teeth out one-by-one. And make him eat 'em."

He spun on his heel, marching away from the pool and up through the floors of the hotel, to one of the spire rooms. Rene had talked about establishing a dimensional portal, and a few of the others had helped him with it (way above Crow's skill to help with, sadly). Time to see if prior preparation would pay off. Taking a moment to stop by one of the salons, he dashed off a note explaining the situation and left it there, requesting the ghosts ensure that the first one of his cohorts to arrive would recieve it. Then he was off again.

The door flew open, and Crow stepped inwards into the room that would hopefully take him to where he needed to go. Doublecheck the runes, no damage to the coat. Steel plates on gloves, check. Metal-soled boots, check. Hood and bandanna. He had no plan, beyond beating the tar out of Branagh. He had no backup, unless someone saw that note. The teen cracked his knuckles, then he murmured something he distincly disliked.

"Mór-Ríoghain. Morrigan. Mother. One hast grievously insulted our line. Has stepped into a place of safety, taken one who sought asylum, who I had given my hospitality. He spits upon our blood, that of Red Hand, of Cu Chulainn, of you and I. I go to revenge this slight. I'd ask that you watch over me, but to hell with that. Either give me victory, or I'll take it anyway. I'm going to save that flamebrain, no matter what!"

And with a laugh, he vanished, leaving the room empty.

[Raveled]

As Crow stepped into the magic portal, the room swirled around him disconcertingly, the walls falling away and the roar of open water filling the hero's ears. The world finally stabilized -- and dropped him about five feet, so he landed sprawled out on the sand. He heard that cruel laughter again, echoing all around him. Crow pushed himself to his feet and discovered that he was standing on the shores of Lake MacKenzie, and fifty feet in front of him stood Brannagh, clapping his hands together slowly. The man cupped his mouth and shouted at the hero in old Gaelic, "I was expecting a battle, not a show!"

[Quinn]

One rune in the middle of Crow's back flared to life, smoking and burning even brighter than normal, and a loud rush of wind rushed to fill the gap from the space where he had stood. In the blink of an eye he was in front of Branagh, coat whipping up behind him as he smashed a vicious steel-soled boot into the Autumn Child's face until he could hear a crack. The teen's eyes looked absolutely cold when he delivered the blow, snarling at his opponent in the same old language.

"Tell me, why the hell did you think it was a good idea to piss off the son of Death?!"

[Raveled]

Brannagh's head snapped back and he followed it for a few stumbling feet, then met Crow's gaze with his own warm one. The hero instantly recognized the mercenary as the type of fighter who wouldn't go down when pushed, who would always get back up and swing again, who wasn't in a fight for honor or a cause but simply to shed some blood and make someone hurt -- and if he got hurt in the process, well, he was someone, wasn't he?

Brannah spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm into the lake. He raised his hands in an odd, open-palm style and Crow could see, by the light of the rising sun, the intricately worked Celtic knots on his bracers. The warrior moved forward, fienting left and right before jumping clean over the hero and spinning his body, launching a sharp chop with the whole weight of his body behind it. Time fighting supervillains in Boston and Freedom meant that Crow wasn't taken in by the leap, but he still on the wrong foot from his impassioned blow earlier to dodge this one.

[Quinn]

Crow took the blow clean, the foot connecting with his head as Branagh landed behind him, the young hero's head tilting to the side with a crack. For a moment, neither of them moved, then the runecaster turned his head to the side with another audible crack.

"Ow."

With speed honed from years of training and fighting beasties a hell of a lot faster than himself, Crow spun on his heel in the sand, lashing out with a fist wreathed in strange, ghostly power. It slammed into Brannagh, the energies lashing out and into the Autumn Child's body, tendrils of ethereal magic stealing his resilience from him and casting it into the ether. Without so much as a by-your-leave, Crow tweaked Brannagh's nose with his free hand and vanished, reappearing under the waters of the lake. He remained motionless, holding his breath as he closed his eyes and waited...

[Raveled]

The warrior made a whuff sound as the blow connected, feeling the strange rune energy try to leech away his vitality. His magically-enhanced nature fought back, though, and he felt barely any effect from it. He stood on the beach and cast his gaze around; when he couldn't find the hero, he sped to the bound Ignatio, form blurring with speed. The Autumn Child lashed out with his boot and knocked the fae swordsman to the ground, then spat on the beach. "Son of Morrigan! I would never believe you would be such a coward, as to abandon your charge like this!"

[Quinn]

Branagh's taunt was cut short as he picked up a presence right behind him, and turned around just in time to feel the pressure of a familiar, albeit invisible, boot crunch into his face and drive him into the sand. A dry voice came from above him before a light breeze ruffled his clothes and sent some sand up his nose, and the pressure was taken off of his face.

"Hey Iggy, your wife and kids are alright. Don't let this idiot knock you out, a'ight?"

[Raveled]

Brannagh was waiting for the hero's blow, and even as he appeared the mercenary was reaching up. He took the blow to the head and rolled with it, grabbing Crow's leg and slamming him against the sandy beach before he could teleport away. He laughed in triumph even as he struggled to his feet, stumbling towards Ignatio. "Knock him out? Who said I was going to be so gentle?" Brannagh snatched at the extra length of silver chain that bound the fire fae, looping it around Ignatio's neck. He pushed the tiny fae's face into the sand with a booted foot, hauling on the chain until Ignatio's face went red -- well, redder than normal. "I'll choke the life out of him. Then what will you tell his Lady when she comes looking!?"

[Quinn]

"That I stuck your head on a pike as a trophy."

The thin veil that was around Crow disappeared directly in front of Branagh, the same fire that he'd used earlier to cut the fence into bits extending from his hand like a forged blade fresh from the furnace, pointing right at the mercenary's eye.

"Ignatio's a warrior. He'll die to keep his family safe and be free of your tyranny, and he'll do it with a smile on his face. But your hands are busy now, and the second he dies, your leverage goes poof. Then I use this."

He shook his hand slightly, and the young man could see Branagh's eyes following the waves of heat from the blade.

"My mother's the Morrigan. You think she hasn't taught me how to take a long, long time to make sure a job's...done? Get out of here, Branagh. Go back to your lady and tell her she won't have them, or she'll have to go through me. Either way, you'll get another chance soon enough."

[Raveled]

Brannagh smiled into Crow's red-hot hand. "You are simply too easy," he hissed. "But I can't kill you yet. This is too much fun!" The warrior spun and hauled Ignatio's body into the air, suspending him from the silver cord and whipping him around into the hero. The pair went down in a tangle of sprawled limbs; as Crow was sorting himself out, the Autumn Child stepped over the pile and drove the heel of his boot into the hero's mouth. "Now, didn't you say something about a pike?"

[Quinn]

The foot crunched into his nose, flattening it. Crow's sole reply was a roar of anger, and he spat blood upwards into Branagh's face as he yanked on the foot. As Branagh fell forward, Morgan brought up his fist, rumbling earth energy, even more than normal, erupting from the fist as he swung it up and forwards; the Earth rune on his cuff blasting into full flame as he struck. As Branagh reeled backwards in pain, Morgan staggered to his feet, eyes beginning to turn red, and yanked his bandanna down, blood streaming from his nose and mouth.

"I am Morgan! Son of Red Hand! Scion of the Morrigan! Blood of Cuchulainn, the Hound of Ulster! I have fought Fomorians! I have faced Bres the Beautiful and laughed! AND! I! WILL! NOT! FALL!"