The Princess and the Blade

[Soran Nightblade]

He followed after her, glancing down with her at the two story drop. "Give me your bag to carry. If whatever you did to me wears off, I need to know it."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara nodded, dragging the bag's strap over her shoulder and slipping it onto him. She had to stand on the tips of her toes to get it over his head, and she almost stumbled into him as she did. She settled onto her feet and grabbed his hand, slipping his arm through so the bag's strap hung across his body. The burly man started into the bedroom behind them. "Go! Go!" she said, pushing on his chest before clamoring over the railing and preparing to leap regardless if he was down there to catch her.

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon muttered a curse that had no Heirotian translation as he realized she planned to jump. She was still injured, and she'd lost all that blood...

"Wait, I'll catch you." He vaulted hastily over the railing and dropped to the ground. His long legs bent to absorb the impact of the landing, and he looked immediately back up at her. His arms spread, ready. "Come."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara nodded, looking down at his open arms. The man burst from the balcony door behind her, sending a startled cry from her lungs as she jumped. His hand passed through the air where she'd been.

[Soran Nightblade]

He stepped quickly to catch her. After the impact of the catch, her body seemed light in his arms. He let her down to the ground in a smooth movement, but held fast to one of her wrists.

"'Ey!" shouted the man above them. He turned and shouted something to his colleagues inside. "They're in the alley!"

Havitharon glanced at the mouth of the alley. They wouldn't be alone for long. "Keep your hood up," he warned, remembering what she'd been told when they reached the harbor. "Can you run?"

[Emora Deen]

Tenara grabbed her hood and tugged it over her head, hiding the glint of her hair from view. "I can run," she said, keeping her hand on her hood so that it didn't fly back as they did.

[Soran Nightblade]

"Come," he said, taking off around the corner with her closely in tow. He kept track of her smaller stride and took care not to outpace her as he drew her quickly down another side street, back in the direction of the harbor. The dockyards were surrounded by many small shops and inns, trading posts and whore houses, everything visiting sailors would want during their stay. More importantly, they were crowded with people too busy to notice a couple of weirdos running through. After he felt fairly confident they'd lost their pursuers in the crowd, Havitharon's route took them around back of one of the shops. A large storage shed stood behind what appeared to be a tailor's shop. The lock on the door had been left unclasped, which meant either the shopkeeper was very trusting, or that this place was used frequently. It would be bad news if the owner came back and discovered them before they did what they needed to do, but it was risky to head back onto the streets too. "Here," he said, opening the door for her.

[Emora Deen]

She eyed the building skeptically before entering. She slipped into the shed, looking at the walls covered in shelves and clay pots, vases, and other storage types. She ran her hand over one of the shelves. It was dark inside, save for one small window tucked near the door. She pulled the sword from her back and leaned it against the shelves. "So... do we draw another symbol on the floor? Strip naked and paint ourselves in blood?" She winced. "That last part was a joke."

[Soran Nightblade]

He let out a short bark of a laugh that time, but not necessarily because it was untrue. "Last time, we used soot to create the sigil because we had no better medium. But for the moment at least, we have what the ritual actually called for. He looked along the wall, exploring the shelves to see what was available. "Let me borrow your knife."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara bent and reached into her boot, drawing the small dagger she'd stolen from the sorcerer's boat out and handing it to him. She thought about the book. She'd looked through it several times since meeting him, and had seen every manner of illustration, some of them quite scandalous. Hesitantly she asked, "What does the spell actually call for?"

[Soran Nightblade]

He raised an eyebrow, wondering what she was expecting him to say. "Blood. Not yours, blood from my world." He took the knife from her offering hands, a little surprised at how readily she'd given it to him. This woman was far too trusting. Such a female would normally never survive the physical and political dangers of society where he came from.

He set her bag off to the side, drew the knife neatly along the back of his forearm, and then set the weapon aside as well. He knelt on the floor and dipped the fingers of his opposite hand in the bloody wound, and began to paint. He made the sigil as large as he could in the small space of the shed, and hoped that the gaps between the floorboards wouldn't be enough to interrupt the sigil's continuity. "I'm getting too good at conducting cultish rituals," he sighed as he worked.

[Emora Deen]

"Hopefully this is the last one?" she said, leaning against one of the shelves. Maybe it was all the running but her legs felt a little shaky. Then, a pang of hunger rolled through her and she remembered she’d had very little to eat. "Do I need to get in there with you again?"

[Soran Nightblade]

His eyes rose to hers. "Yes. I made it... slightly bigger this time," he said, remembering how they'd been crammed together last time. If standing chest to chest had been strange then, it would be doubly so now that he was corporeal. "Please bring the sword. And..." he held his wounded arm out to her. In the dark of the shed, it could almost be mistaken for human, but up close, his blood was the color of gray soup. It painted rivulets over his muscled silvery skin. "I need you to coat the blade, as well."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara took up the sword and drew it from its wrapping. This was just like last time. Except, she could touch him, and he could touch her, and she needed to coat this thing in his blood. She stepped into the circle with him. They weren't touching but it was still extremely close. She reached her free hand towards his arm and swiped her fingers along the blood running over his skin, careful to avoid rubbing the wound. She took the blood and ran it over the blade, then went back to his arm and stole a bit more, swiping her hand down the other side. It took several turns of the sword and several passes of her small hand along his arm to get enough. "Alright," she said. "I think... I think that's good."

[Soran Nightblade]

It was a very strange thing, letting her touch his wounded skin. As usual, he couldn't quite look directly at the sword. He didn't even try to touch it. Maybe he would have been able to, in this state, but the thought was deeply unappealing, as would be opening up his abdomen and touching his own organs. "Okay. En riem Kralis," he reminded her quietly, repeating the words.