Grimoires and Gunsmoke

Toivonen was sitting in the conference room by herself leaning as far back in the office chair as she possibly could. Both of her hands were cupped over her nose and mouth as if physically trying to squeeze the mounting pressure out of her head. Around the wooden table, her staff members sat in varying degrees of unease, their eyes occasionally flicking to the ominously ringing cellphone in the center of the table.

The phone, a stark reminder of the chaos unfolding just beyond the walls of the conference room, had been ringing incessantly. It lay there, vibrating with yet another call that went unanswered, the screen lit up with a list of missed calls long enough to scroll through.

A young facility staff member, new enough to not recognize the perilous dance of approaching Toivonen when she was in this state, cleared his throat. "Ma'am, shouldn’t you—"

However, his words were cut off as quickly as they began.

Toivonen’s eyes snapped open, fixing the man with a glare that was as sharp as any knife, yet was deceptively calm. Her look had an edge that carried a not-so subtle threat that implied that If he ever considered finishing that sentence, she would assure that his next of kin will be receiving a letter of his sudden and inexplicable death.

The man immediately clammed up and looked away while the featureless black cellphone continued to buzz with a kind of persistence that seemed to echo the tension in the room. Each of the staff members exchanged uneasy, knowing glances with a mixture of fear and relief that they weren’t the ones in the hot seat.

The silence in the room deepened, punctuated only by the persistent ringing of the phone. It was a tense, almost oppressive quiet, filled with the unspoken thoughts of the staff members and the palpable stress emanating from Toivonen.

Finally, as if on cue with the collective anticipation, the phone ceased its clamor. A collective sigh was nearly released, but before it could fully escape their lips, the device sparked back to life, its shrill tone demanding attention once more.

This time, without a word, Toivonen slowly reached out and grasped the phone. She brought it to her ear with a resigned slowness that betrayed her inner reluctance. "Toivonen," she answered crisply, the single word a clear signal she was prepared to take control of the conversation no matter the tirade that might come.

"...the fuck is going on over there?!" The voice was loud enough that snippets of the outburst traveled across the room, the anger in the caller's voice leaving little to the imagination.

More yelling ensued, a stream of obscenities that painted the air blue. Toivonen listened, resting her elbows on the table as pinched the bridge of her nose. Her leg, however, bounced up and down, causing her heels to click against the floor in a rhythmic and agitated pattern.

“No, sir.” Toivonen replied, her voice slicing through the tirade with surgical precision. "Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

The room was utterly silent now, save for the one-sided conversation. Each "sir" was like a punctuation mark, signifying Toivonen's grasp on professionalism despite the storm of profanities lashing from the phone.

The staff dared not move and their eyes dared not to move towards Toivonen in fear of being dragged into whatever the hell was unfolding before them. They could only imagine the barrage being unleashed upon their stoic superior and the sheer force of the words that necessitated such terse replies.

"Yes, sir, we'll-" Toivonen began, but her words were cut short by the abrupt click of the line going dead. She let out a deep sigh, one hand sliding to cover her eyes, the other propping up her head, elbow resting heavily on the table. The room held its breath, the staff members frozen in a tableau of anticipation and dread.

After a moment that stretched too long, her quiet and subdued voice echoed throughout the room like a bomb. "Prepare for the director's arrival," she said, causing the entire room to stiffen.

A senior staff member, a man who'd seen been apart of the most adverse operations in the Middle East and Eastern Europe, let out a low, almost inaudible "Fuck..." It was a word that seemed to resonate with the collective sentiment of the room, a succinct summary of their situation.

But just as they all stood up to get to work, their own personal devices started to blare off indicating there had been an incident in the interrogation room and all hands were needed.

-

Yzael found herself in quite the predicament.

Darkness engulfed her world as the pitch-black burlap sack over her head cut off any glimpse of her surroundings. But the rough fabric that scratched against her skin wasn't the only reminder of her… ordeal in Lysandra’s room. Oh no, the ominous sack was accompanied by the gag in her mouth that prevented her from chanting any spells and the tight iron shackles that forced her hands behind her back to prevent her from gesturing any spells.

This wasn’t a completely alien experience to her however, as she and another… rather rambunctious student in High Elven Academics. Centuries ago, the two had delved into areas of arcane knowledge that were more frowned upon, if not outright forbidden by the scholars of her people. It was a time of reckless curiosity and thirst for understanding the depths and edges of their magical abilities.

Yzael's mind wandered to those days, a mixture of nostalgia and distraction from her current situation. She remembered the secret meetings under the veil of night, the thrill of exploring the uncharted territories of magic and the hectic escapes as staff chased them throughout the school in search of the offenders. The two troublemakers had delved into the more dangerous methods of magic.

While Yzael herself pursued the forbidden arts of manipulating mana, pushing the boundaries of what was deemed safe or permissible by their elders, her academic colleague chose… other specialties.

Wracking her brain to remember her name, Yzael could only remember the ambitious red headed woman who was always more daring than prudent, and had a particular fascination with witchcraft. She saw it not as the dark and profane art that many believed it to be, but as an untapped well of potential. Together, they experimented with spells and incantations that were whispered about in hushed tones, the kind that could tap into the very essence of that banished Fae Goddess.

Oh what fun they had, pushing the limits of their abilities, reveling in the raw power they were able to summon. Their experiments, often teetering on the edge of control, drew them into a world of arcane secrets and mystical discoveries. The red-haired High Elf, whose name still eluded Yzael, was a whirlwind of energy and ambition, always eager to push further, to unravel the next mystery.

It didn’t take long for them to leave their studies behind and venture out into the world, but their paths eventually diverged as their interests deepened in different directions. Yzael focused more on the refined control of mana, seeking to understand and master its practical application as a Freelancer. Her colleague, on the other hand, delved deeper into the realms of witchcraft and the power that drove the hells, drawn to the wild and untamed aspects of magic, often leaving Yzael both awed and concerned by her daring.

Now, in the darkness of her captivity, Yzael found herself drawing upon those memories, those experiences from a past long gone. The knowledge she had gained during those heady days of forbidden study might be her only key to escape. Without the ability to chant or gesture, she would have to rely on the more subtle, intrinsic aspects of her magic.

After the unfortunate events that may or may have not led to the death of two human warriors, her own demise seemed more and more likely as time went on. Yzael focused on her breathing, calming her racing heart, channeling her thoughts inward. She sought to tap into the raw, untamed mana that she had once toyed with, the kind that now coursed through this world that seemingly flooded in from heaven’s knows where. It was a dangerous game, one that required immense concentration and control – especially without the usual outlets of spoken words and hand movements.

Channeling her focus, Yzael began to work on her escape and started the slow and meticulous process of drawing upon the mana around her. A rather difficult task under the current states, but energy started to course through her, a familiar sensation that reignited a sense of hope as long as she maintained control

Gradually, she directed the mana towards the burlap sack over her head. She felt the energy accumulating, concentrating on a small point. Then, with a mental push, she released it in a controlled burst. The fabric singed and smoldered, creating a tiny hole. The faint light that filtered through was a welcome sight, a small victory in her dire situation.

Peering through the hole, Yzael surveyed her surroundings and her eyes shone in recognition. She was in the very same gray and featureless room that they interrogated her in. Her eyes turned to see the large mirror that stretched across on one side and knew it was a two-way. Her own people used to observe students, which meant she was probably being observed.

Realizing she had to take a risk, Yzael decided to act. She needed more visibility to work on her shackles, which meant removing the sack entirely. Bracing herself, she focused her mana once more, directing it towards the burlap fabric.

With a subtle manipulation of her energy, she increased the intensity of the burn, and soon enough, the fabric began to smolder until it burned away. Yzael shook her head free from the still burning sack as a few strands of her silver hair singed away in the process, but she cared little as she sat up and blinked against the sudden influx of light.

Standing up cautiously, Yzael scanned the room. The mirror was silent, no sound or movement indicating the presence of observers. After a tense moment of waiting and listening, nothing happened. It seemed, for the moment, that she was alone.

A small, triumphant smile crossed her lips. "Wonderful," she whispered to herself, a mix of relief and satisfaction in her voice. It was a small victory, but in her current situation, any victory mattered. “Perhaps they’ve gone to lunch…”

Now, she turned her attention to these strange and intricate shakes that bound her wrists. They were a far cry from the simple iron bands with a chain link that was used to in her world that she could just rip apart with a spell, instead these were intricate, with a locking mechanism that seemed to require a key. Yzael knew that physically breaking them would be nearly impossible without hurting herself, so she had to commit to sitting down and figuring out how to manipulate the lock with her limited magical abilities.

She carefully sat down, positioning herself so she could better access the handcuffs. Closing her eyes, Yzael focused her mana, directing it toward the tiny mechanism. She had to be precise and the slightest mistake could set her back or, worse, trigger a mechanism that would tighten the cuffs.

Yzael visualized the inner workings of the handcuffs as her senses extended to the mana that she was manipulating and felt the pins and tumblers inside. She gently tapped and nudged away, trying to feel for any subtle movements within, but her eyes shot open when the thing clicked. All she did was apply pressure to the mechanism holding onto the teeth and felt it click a little looser.

“Huh…” The elf mage murmured to herself as she did it again and felt one hand come free from the restraint. Yzael stared at her now-free hand in a mix of disbelief and relief. “That was… simple…” She said to herself as she stood up and cautiously tried to open the door. Her instincts told her that it would be locked, and a quick test of the handle had confirmed her suspicion.

With one hand now free, Yzael felt around and studied the door and its locking mechanisms. The mechanical nature of the locks were unfamiliar to her and had more in common with what goblins or to a lesser extent, in her realm. But even then, she was unfamiliar with those types of doors and was more used to those reinforced with enchantments or ones with a traditional latch that required a rudimentary key. This modern door, with its deadbolt and sophisticated locking system, was a new puzzle for her to solve.

A puzzle she didn’t have time for, though.

Extending her free hand, Yzael focused her mana on the lock and with a subtle gesture, she applied a shearing force, causing a loud snap to resound before the deadbolt and the locking mechanism gave way. The door then drifting open, the elf cautiously poked her head out and peered out. She kept one hand forward, prepared to cast a barrier spell just in case one of those guards decided to end her little foray.

But to her surprise, the hallway was completely empty. The usual hustle and bustle of the facility’s guards and staff gave way to an eerie emptiness. The strange quiet added a new layer of danger and unease to her situation and as Yzael stepped out into the hallway, she maintained her heightened senses in an effort to make sure she wasn’t going to run into any surprises.

With twitching ears listening for the faintest noise, Yzael kept her head on a swivel as the thoughts of her stepping into a trap entered her mind. But at the same time, shouldn’t quite accept that people that were as logical and meticulous as her own would do something so… contrived.

If they really wanted to end her, they would have done it when they first captured her or gagged and bound her in the interrogation room… “No, there must be something else at play….” She murmured to herself with her hand outstretched as she peered around another corner. ”Maybe something had happened that caused an evacuation?”

The thought lingered in Yzael's mind as she navigated the corridors. Her elven instincts told her that something significant must have occurred to cause such a drastic change in the facility's usual rhythm. An evacuation, a lockdown, a security breach or maybe a renewed attack…

There were numerous possibilities, and none of them offered any real comfort.

As she ventured deeper, her focus abruptly snapped back to the present as the faint sounds of shouting and a scuffle further down the halls broke the eerie silence. Nevertheless the noise spurred Yzael into action as she threw caution to the wind and took off running. Her heart raced with the mixture of fear and dread, hoping to the heavens that Lysandra wasn’t the epicenter of this conflict and was in mortal danger. After Gideon's disappearance, she wouldn’t be able to handle the loss of another ally. Not here, not under these circumstances.

Ignoring the cold tile floor on her bare feet, Yzael ran through the corridors, closing in on the scuffle when she finally noticed the presence of a peculiar and powerful energy that permeated the air. It was a familiar arcane presence that felt… ancient and it reminded her of the forbidden arts that she had once explored in secret.

Yzael’s sense screamed at her to turn away and run back to that tiny room she had crawled out of, but her curiosity got the better of her as she peered around the corner. There she saw a horde of those soldiers, clad in garments of blotched and irregular patterns that would blend in with foliage, stood in organized columns. Their uniforms however, were slightly different and much more armored with large shields raised in front of them, creating a formidable wall.

Most interesting however, were the unusual face coverings adorning the soldiers' faces. These masks were a curious blend of function and intimidation and featured large, transparent lenses that sat prominently where the eyes went, giving the soldiers a wide, unobstructed field of vision. But the most striking feature of these masks was the prominent filter that protruded from the front, resembling a snout, giving them the visages some kind of mythical beast.

“MA’AM WE DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU! PLEASE WALK OUT-” The leading soldier yelled before looking behind him at another individual that held no armor at all and that just stood around with an annoyed look. “FLOAT OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

“Bro, shes going to fuck all y’all up.” The unarmed and unarmored soldier warned his compatriots with a chuckle. “I’ve killed this fucking menace probably 10 times. What the hell do you even think you’re going to do?”

Yzael's interest was piqued by the unfolding scene, her head peeking cautiously around the corner. The casual mention of killing someone multiple times puzzled her. In her realm, death was final, and the concept of multiple deaths for the same person was only reserved for the gods.

Did this man mean it in a figure of speech? Was he just exaggerating? Or was this a hint at something more sinister, perhaps some kind of magic or technology far beyond her understanding?

However, her thoughts were interrupted when a loud thoomp resounded as one of the soldiers shot a strange canister into the room they seemed guarded against. The canister hissed as it released a thick, billowing smoke that quickly filled the interior. This was immediately followed up by an order to ‘go’, causing the stacked soldiers to flood into the room with their strange staffs, shields and club-like weapons.

Yzael instinctively recoiled, pulling her head back as the canister discharged its contents. She was familiar with the tactics of using smoke or gas to disorient or flushing out more entrenched foes. She had used similar methods when trying to flush out kobolds and scroungers.

Tucked away in the corner, Yzael debated her next move. It was unlikely they were subduing Lysandra, considering one of them had evidently ‘killed’ whoever was in the room… But the strange tinge of arcane energy in the air made her overly curious as to who they were trying to subdue…

Shaking her head, Yzael turned around to continue her search for her commander. Her primary concern was Lysandra's safety, and the faster she found the good commander, the faster they’d get out of here.

But just as she was about to turn away, the sounds of pain and yelling reverberated through the halls, drawing her attention back to the scene. Yzael cautiously peeked around the corner again to see a chaotic retreat of soldiers stumbling over themselves.

The soldiers who had confidently entered the room moments ago were now scrambling to get out. Their gear was in disarray, ripped and torn, and they were covered in an assortment of light magical wounds. Burns, frost marks, and electrical scorching indicated they had been on the receiving end of a powerful and varied arcane onslaught.

“Tried to tell you.” The unarmed soldier said, with squinted eyes, fanning his face as the smoke leaked out.