Iron and Blood

[Chalaza]

"Gather 'round, ladies and gentlemen, and watch the gifted Elijah tear the demons from the souls of the innocent!"

Chalaza's muscles suddenly tensed, nearly crushing the slab of meat she held in the hands of her puppet. The butcher seemed perplexed at the man's sudden change of demeanor, a shift brought on by the bustle in the streets as a group began to form around an unseen, but oddly loud, speaker. The demon's breathing became shallow, but she continued to listen, frozen.

"This gifted chaplain has traveled far and wide to rid the world of the scum, and now he is here with us, a living saint! Have you witnessed a loved one display unusual traits, such as a sudden increase in evil acts, babbling in an unknown tongue, or involuntary movements? What about strange increases in strength or magical ability? If so, they may be demonically possessed. Bring them to The Living Saint, Elijah, and we will forcibly banish them from their body!"

"Say, kid, you from around here?" asked the butcher, snapping Chalaza out of her fearful trance of sorts.
"I hail from what has been called the Looter's Fields," she replied through the mouth of Amos, placing the slab of meat back on its hook.
"The dragon farms? Damn. Must've walked a shitload to get here. Where you headed?" While Chalaza knew not what the term 'shitload' meant, it was possible to gather a meaning through context. She forced a smile.
"I travel in search of jobs to perform," the possessing hala stated.

A bloodcurdling, demonic scream rang out through the streets, coupled by the forceful shouting of what was presumably Elijah. Chalaza shifted uncomfortably, but otherwise gave the impression of not hearing them. She nodded politely to the butcher. "I shall return to buy this meat."
"Hey, if you ever need a job here like you said, the merchant Tethis could use an errand boy." The man did not respond, disappearing into the crowds.

Chalaza wanted to see this Elijah. She soon pinpointed the area where the crowds were densest, pushing through slowly and listening to everything that took place. There was a struggle, and the hala caught the last half of it when she successfully used her puppet to push through to almost the forefront of the crowd, to get a good look.

They had set up an elevated platform for the exorcist to work, and a pair of heavily muscled men were each holding a rebellious woman by one of her arms, heaving her up onto it next to the bearded and robed "holy man." She was screaming, but her exact words were barely discernible amidst the cacophony of sound. It was obvious the exorcism was against her will, though.
"Watch as the living saint, Elijah, rids this poor woman of the demon within her!" enthusiastically shouted the other man on the platform, a wide smile on his face.

The robed man briefly examined his subject, nodding but saying nothing while the crowd watched on. Chalaza was absolutely disgusted; they were all enamored of the man! She had to do something to break up this ridiculous spectacle. Falling back slightly and closing the eyes of her possessee, Chalaza became only dimly aware of her surroundings while she focused.

Elijah had shot his hand upon the woman's forehead, keeping it planted there even during her struggles. As he shouted incantations his hand began to glow, forcing an even more violent reaction from the girl. The crowd, unaware of the clouds forming above them, awed at the effort; a gasp echoed through the streets when the girl's mouth opened wider to bear a set of yellowed, pointed teeth. Chalaza reawoke to the screams of the girl, who keeled over, writhing in pain. The hala did not want to be next, that was certain. She tried to slowly back away, but the way out was difficult.

He seemed to have finished the exorcism, based on the rapid clapping of those around them. Chalaza stopped, looking to see the girl in Elijah's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Another success from the living saint, Elijah! Do we have anyone else in the cro-"
"Wait," Elijah said, holding his hand up and staring into the distance. Announcer and crowd alike seemed bewildered at his sudden speech. "There is a presence here. Yes, there is something unusual in the crowd. I can feel it." Chalaza froze. She was next. It was unavoidable now. Closing the eyes once more, she made haste to whisper the incantations needed to perform a second spell.

During the short time, Elijah had walked off from the platform and was staring into the faces of his audience. "Perplexing, perplexing indeed. Who are you, foul creature, and which victim have you claimed? What makes you different from all the rest?" At that moment, the bearded man caught glimpse of the young Amos, his eyes closed and his mouth whispering unheard incantations. A moment before the chaplain could react, the eyes snapped open once more and a sheet of ice poured upon the streets from above.

The hail's onset had been so sudden that some purveyors of the event screamed in horror. "You, young man. Please step up to the platform."
"I refuse, street performer, on the grounds that I am not possessed by a demon," Chalaza shot back, the tone of Amos' voice growing more firm. Most of the crowd had scattered from the hail as it pelted all in jagged, frozen chunks. Some remained, watching the confrontation.

"Why do you not show yourself in the flesh, hiding under the guise of a poor innocent male? Are you not powerful? Are you not different from the rest of the fodder I have removed from the bodies of men?" Elijah persisted.
"Your assumption that I have been possessed continues, and I do not understand why," Chalaza stated matter-of-factly, the eyes under her use narrowing.
"Then I will simply have to remove you by force."

[Veas]

It looked like rain. Though with the bone shattering temperature something a little more sinister was to be expected. Looking out over the ocean Veas could see something brewing on the horizon that could spell more than rain. A true sea storm was being whipped up into a frenzy. The sheets of water spilling down could be seen even from here and all that ignored the cloud that hung thick and heavy over the port. Veas's eyes ran over the city. He technically wasn't supposed to be here. He was a federation soldier in Etheos territory but he had a knack with people. He was good at manipulation and as a witch hunter he used peoples fear of the arcane to grant him entry to just about any land on this world. Though the two evil empires of magic may have something to say about him. For now he was in his element. The people of Etheos were relatively mundane, they needed protecting from the magic scourge so he could ply his trade here and maybe pick up a few pieces of gold along the way.

He stepped down off his vantage point. Following the stairs down, heeled shoes clicking on the gray stone as he hurried along them. There had to be some clues here. If he was in federation territory he would have a squad of men at his command and they would already be extracting information but he was cursed with doing his own dirty work. Still the crowd would be on his side. It always was, one way or the other. Through fear or reward he brought the sheep in tow. He was a sheapard really. Meerly tending to his flock.

He didn't look to out of place here. His brace of pistols meant he was keeping inline with Etheos weaponry. He slipped through the crowd with a lithe ease. He never jostled he just moved through each passing crowd with ease and determination. His break came when he heard the calls from afar. It was unmistakable. He had caused them a thousand times. The shout of the audience, an audience enraptured by the thrill of persecution. Joined together in the fear and hatred of one other. He honed in on the sound, he could almost feel the press of people, the beating hearts and the clenched fists and the hundred fold jeers.

There, he spotted it. Veas's eyes narrowing as he looked at the crowd gathering. He caught the spiel of who ever was conducting the hunt. He was almost eager to meet a fellow hunter, but he was sadly mistaken. His eyes fell on a "Chaplin" an exorcist, to save the witch. [i]"Save the witch? What the bloody hell was that going to do. She would just go about as she did before she unleashed her devil witchcraft again and screwed them all over. Bitches could never been trusted." Time to put a stop to this shit.

He began to force is way through the crowd as the Chaplin's attentions turned into the crowd. He grew angrier as he muscled through the throng of people. He was going to show him what the hell you do with witches. By the time Veas was done the man would be finished in Elanica. He stepped into the empty circle around the witch and the Chaplin. He roared, his voice rising above that of the crowd, even the hail that clattered down now. Even that didn't matter now. If anything it was proof of the womans guilt. She was conjuring a storm to protect herself "Fraud! Your a damn liar! Your are nothing more than a lying bastard, tricking these good folk out of their money and that person before you is no possessed innocent! That is a witch!" The crowd gasped in shock. They loved a show. This was proving to be a good one. "Run him out of town! For she is a witch and he gambled with your very lives! But whats worse! There was a witch among you! What do you do with witches? What punishment is enough for her?! What do you do?"

He was striding around the circle of space. Fear in the Chaplin's eyes. Veas needed no announcement. His hat, the cloak, the swagger in his walk. He was a witch hunter all right. The crowd recognized his authority. The crowd roared back. "BURN HER!" Veas smiled. Reveling in the anger. "Yes, burn her alive!" He squatted down and grabbed the woman, dragging her up, sobbing. His hand flashed into her clothes, depositing a small vial of gunpowder. The crowd loved the explosions. He threw her at the eager hands of the crowd before turning to the Chaplin. "As for you... I strongly suggest you get the hell out of here. Take your lies and go. Before I slit your throat for harboring a witch." The old man blanched.

He staggered backwards before turning on his heel and running. Veas turned back to the crowd before spotting something unusual. A witch hunters sense for magic was good to say the least. It was the fright in the eyes. Maybe the Chaplin was after him next. Or it could be the spectacle that Veas had just put on. Either way... This young man knew something about witches or magic. Veas stepped through the crowd as they charged to the main square. Screaming girl in hand.

Veas's hands shot to his breast and pulled a pistol from its bindings. His hand slipped over the mans shoulder slowly, drawing him in near as the pistol pressed into the mans gut. His leather coat hiding it from view to all but him and the young man. He put his mouth close to the mans ear and whispered. "Quiet boy, don't move a muscle. I would strongly suggest that you come with me." His hand tightened around the boys shirt, Veas began to walk backwards, slipping out of view into a back ally way. This was time to extract information.

He maintained his grip as the boy was dragged into the dark ally way. Pistol pressed firmly into his gut. Veas actually began to smile at this point. "Well, time to talk. What do you know? I suggest you talk, I strongly suggest you don't resist because I have enough gunpowder and shot here to blow out the back of your spine. Now... Witches... magic. Talk, before I actually start trying." This was the beginning.

[Chalaza]

She was afraid, but did not show it in the facial expressions of her puppet. The chaplain, if he lived up to his word, would have scores of holy spells and abilities at his disposal that could tear a hole in Chalaza's facade and, most importantly, her life and general well-being. Commendable, considering the so-called "living saint" was probably as old as she was. Eyes never leaving Amos', Elijah called for the pair of muscled men to approach and presumably take Chalaza to the platform for the exorcism. She would not allow that to happen. Time seemed to slow with every footstep, and the hala knew what she was to do.

Struggling not, she would be brought before the crowd. Unlike the other banishment the demon had witnessed herself, she would act first; leaving the body of Amos, she would swiftly sweep up her host and fly away, far away from this place. There would only be a disintegrating hailstorm in her wake.

The moment to enact the plan, however, did not come. It never would. The two men stopped halfway to their destination, and the crowd was focused on the appearance of a new, heavily adorned male human. He spoke of charlatans and witches; moreso, he directly approached Amos and threatened him.

Cold steel pressed against her host's shirt, and they were surrounded by relative darkness. The hala stared emotionless into the eyes of her captor, and she knew at once that defiance would not be an option until her puppet was not in such a prone position. Any injury Chalaza sustained while possessing Amos would be carried over to her natural form if she chose to leave him, and a hole blown through her stomach would not be very useful for either of them.

"Well, time to talk. What do you know? I suggest you talk, I strongly suggest you don't resist because I have enough gunpowder and shot here to blow out the back of your spine. Now... witches... magic. Talk, before I actually start trying." She was visibly unfazed by the intimidation, but continued being as wary as humanly possible.
"Witches," Chalaza began, searching for words in the eyes of the adorned man. "Female magic-users that sometimes consort with 'demons' in exchange for wealth or power. Is that not their proper definition?"

The possessing demon continued, accenting her speech with various idle hand gestures. "As for magic, are there not far too many kinds to go over with you, sir hunter? I am but a farm worker that has traveled here to Cryton for business with family. There is surely no need for this." Chalaza's last gesture was a seemingly idle vertical 'slash' through the air. "Right, sir hunt-" she abruptly interrupted her own speech to begin her counterattack in a blur.

Amos' hand shot forth, attempting to powerfully knock aside the threatening pistol and the hand that firmly but futilely grasped his shirt. She briefly struggled to jump back, and just as she tore her host's sword from its scabbard, a powerful gust of wind formed from seemingly thin air, barreling from about the hala and straight toward the witch hunter.

Muscles infused with demonic strength fired rapidly, pushing her host's legs to their limits in a swift sprint past the man and out of the alley. The moment she could feel the pelting hail once more, she rounded the corner and bolted at full speed down the streets of Cryton. While she did not prompt her puppet to look back, it was almost certain she was being chased. The bloodhound of a man would sink in his teeth and never let go.

Shoes skidding against fallen ice shards, the hala rounded another corner into a much less restricting alleyway that led to a central garden of sorts nestled in between clusters of buildings. After passing a pair of houses, one sporting a stone staircase on its side, she pressed her body against the corner of the vegetation-filled section, trying to catch her breath. If Chalaza knew anything, it was that she would not be able to run forever. The man would have to fall. A whispered unknown tongue gave way to a spark of life from within Amos' sword hand. Tendrils of blue-colored electricity sprang forth and weaved their way up and down the blade her host held.

He would find her. It was not a matter of if, but when.