npc
New Member
Jade Rhade
Posts: 5
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Post by npc on May 21, 2010 0:52:43 GMT -5
Dirt and grime choked the moss trying to grow, thick and slimy, on the dungeon walls. Mold cracked the mortar between solid stone blocks on three sides, broken only by rusted iron lattice of a gate. Yellow lantern-light flickered through the bars on the door, casting a ray of light over three bodies lying prone on the floor from where they had been carelessly thrown.
Further down the thin corridor, one could see nothing but blank stone and evenly-spaced lanterns. If there were cells nearby, their occupants were one of three things: unconscious, mute, or --
dead.
These bodies had been thrown in one after another, an excessive amount of force applied to one very tall, very broad man that had landed him awkwardly on his side against the wall. As the red-haired sorceress thoughtfully tapped one crimson fingernail against her teeth, she hoped vaguely that he hadn’t broken any ribs. From their clothing, only the young woman appeared to be royalty... with an angry grimace, the sorceress made a mental note to have violent, magical words to... enforce certain distinctions between classes of people. The two men seemed more like travelers than nobility, the dust of the road barely beaten from their clothes in time to crash her little feigned "party."
"Well, is unfortunate for them," she remarked conversationally to one of her undead creations. The creature stared at her dumbly, unable to speak beyond a throaty gurgle. One of her fondest creations, many of these creatures, these fleshless, sexless creatures shaped like human skeletons with taut muscle stretched over their frames. The perfect guards, they were emotionless and fearless... she’d created them that way, after all. "They invited themselves, and now they’re paying the price."
"But oh my, look at that," she added, pulling her hand away from her mouth to lightly caress the slick muscle covering the creature’s skull. "Two young men, and one weak little aristocrat. That should be interesting."
The creature gurgled meaninglessly, but the sorceress smiled and patted its head. "She must learn to defend herself somehow. In this world, not only women, but everyone, must survive by any means necessary. The strong shall survive, and the weak shall not. One aristocrat woman’s well-being is not my concern."
Giving the creature one final pat, she moved on, wondering if the next time she ventured down to this level of the dungeon, if the young woman would be intact... or even the extremely feminine man. Then she shrugged. One way or another, they would be useful test subjects, and if the woman broke... well, what was one less aristocrat to the world? [/blockquote]
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Diran Parisyan
Junior Member
Ranger
"We are presumed guilty, even when proven innocent."
Posts: 54
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Post by Diran Parisyan on May 21, 2010 17:52:08 GMT -5
It's hard to stay sleeping for very long when one is cold and underground and unaccustomed to being so. Diran drifted into consciousness a while after his captor left, but not opening his eyes quite yet. Where was he? Was he on the bathroom floor? No, he could have sworn they had-- he ended the thought as rapidly as possible-- a-anyways, his Spaniard wasn't hereontopofhi-- with him, and his bathroom floor wasn't so cold and uncomfortable and didn't reek of dust and mold as this new room did.
Then he recalled what had happened the previous night, sitting bolt upright and throwing open his eyes. He discovered two things: one, that he was having a hangover, during which you should never sit bolt upright without properly steeling your entire being for it, and two, that he was in a dungeon of some sort, along with his big Russian friend and the Cambodian girl. And they were locked in a cell.
"Shit," he whispered, though it came out like a whine. He was stuck. He hated being stuck. Why did he have to come to this party?
Taking a deep breath, Diran eased himself onto his feet, wincing at the headache that he'd been trying to ignore since waking. Well, he told himself, it wasn't all bad, was it? At least he was down here with company, including his big, strong, vodka-bearing friend. He smiled confidently, though nobody was there to see it. With the Russian's strength and his incredible cleverness they were sure to get out! Veata... well, he didn't know the girl, so he couldn't tell if she would be any use to them, but no matter, because she could be in charge of keeping the morale up- she seemed like a cheery enough girl!
He sighed, putting his hands on his hips and surveying the cell. As the others weren't awake, he began whispering to himself. "It's too bad we didn't get to enact my brilliant plan. I was so proud of it, too."
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Post by Ivan Braginsky on May 23, 2010 13:59:58 GMT -5
The first thing that Ivan noticed was the dull throbbing pain in the back of his head and along his side. Bruises were forming with an angry vengeance along his body, focused mainly at his ribs which ached as bad as his head. At the very least Ivan didn't think they were broken, though that didn't stop them from hurting. Perhaps it was the awkward angle that he had been tossed into, but his neck and joints felt fairly stiff and sore as well. The Russian let out a hiss as he tried to move to get slightly more comfortable, shifting out his limbs with a slow stretch, muttering something, probably some sort of curse, in Russian.
Fingers reached up to rub at the back of his neck and his eyes shot open, a bit panicked, when he realized his scarf wasn't quite there. No, somewhere during the trip from where he had been to where he was now it had shifted, falling little by little until it only half hung around his neck bearing a good bit of the thick scars criss-crossing around his flesh to the open air. Once he was aware of it, however, he made quick work of wrapping the pale colored fabric back around his neck, grimacing at the feel of dirt and grime and even some sort of slime which he tried not to think about. But at least his scarf was back in place. He could worry about getting it clean later.
Where was he?
The question stuck in his aching brain after he'd fixed his scarf, and violet eyes flickered around, surveying the small dungeon cell he'd been thrown in. Small was perhaps the wrong word for it-- a more fitting description of it was tiny. Grime covered the walls, and the floor, the scent of filth and decay permeating through the air and invading his sense of smell. But what bothered him wasn't the smell or the look of the cell--no he could handle dirt and grime, and he had before even though it was never quite this bad--it was the size that bothered him. While he hadn't minded being trapped in the ballroom where it was spacious and he knew he could easily defend himself when the time came, he didn't like being trapped in small spaces with no escape. He really didn't like it.
Ivan wasn't quite certain on how he got there--something to do with some sort of red magic?--and he wasn't sure he cared--but he wanted out. Now. He pushed himself to stand up--too fast, and his head hit the rather low ceiling. "дерьмо!" he swore and hunched down, hand going up to his head as he stumbled forward.
It wasn't until he nearly ran into the Armenian that he realized there was someone else with him. His eyes widened a bit more staring at the smaller male for a long moment, recognition flaring, before his eyes flickered down to the still-unconscious girl, and then back to the only logical--and official--exit to the cell. He put his hand against the rusted iron and gave it a sharp tug. Out, he needed to get out, and he needed to get out now. It was obvious from the tightness in his shoulders and the wide, not quite sane, violet gaze that he wasn't exactly enjoying the small space, and the almost frantic tugs against the rusty metal was another rather obvious clue.
It wasn't sharp sting of metal digging into his hand that made him stop tugging against the iron framework. He pulled his hand away, ignoring the blood seeping from the shallow gash in his palm, going through his pockets with a grimace. His mood only worsened, when he couldn't seem to find what he was looking for. No more Vodka… The situation, as far as Ivan was concerned, couldn't get much worse. -------------------
Дерьмо// Der'mo: Shit
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Post by Veata Chea on May 26, 2010 15:52:34 GMT -5
It hurt, something hurt very badly inside of her. It wasn’t a physical hurt that made you bleed. It wasn’t a physical hurt that made a person cry out in pain. This was a different hurt; a choking hurt that rendered a person speechless and without thought. Something dark that crept out only in the safety of nightmares and past the presence of light…she’d felt this before…A long, long time ago Veata had felt this fear press down upon her late in the haunting night. Fearsome enough that it never left her, subtle enough that she had almost forgotten it.
Wincing and clinging to that blank darkness she tried to push the waking world away. There was no denying it now; this was a place she knew all too well and even the sweet promise of making it all disappear for just a few moments more would have easily convinced the girl to give up her soul. She had barely lived through this once already; she didn’t need to live through it again. And without her father and brothers at her side to watch after her, Veata wasn’t even sure if she could make it through a second time in this hellish reality.
A flash of soft gold, warm and gentle, crept into her mind’s eye and took her breath away. There was something so caring, so full of love that was meant solely for her that it left her speechless in a way that her fear hadn’t. Nobody had ever looked at her like that, like they would have given the world up for her and it broke Veata’s heart to feel that warmth wrapping around her quiet form. It pushed away those horrible memories splattered with red and left nothing behind but the feeling of strong arms wrapped around her and hugging her close.
Her whimper fell quiet, tears accompanying the gentle fluttering of her eyes, as the warmth faded away. It had been for just a mere moment but the pain it left behind in exchange for the warmth was scarring. Who had that male been? That male with warm golden eyes that had wrapped so gently around her and soft brown locks of hair that had brushed against her cheek…she’d…she’d never seen him before in her life.
Inexplicably the single tear that had fallen from her cheek earlier gave way to a gentle stream of tears arising from her dark brown eyes. Slender, pale fingers went up in her confusion to catch the small droplets with a confused expression. Something inside of her hurt so badly but she couldn’t explain it. Veata couldn’t explain why the thought of not knowing that male with his warm embrace made her want to cry out when she had never met the man before in her life.
Reality came crashing down upon her within seconds, her body shifting away from her position upon the ground. The memories of her past and the life of her present blurred together as her eyes took in her cold surroundings. For a moment, one moment, she had found herself a small child again locked away by the Thai soldiers again. Fear birthing over the years of memories hidden away tore out in that single moment and her anguished cry came sharp in the cell, swiping her pain over a precious male that did not exist in a tide of worries that she had not felt since she was a child.
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Diran Parisyan
Junior Member
Ranger
"We are presumed guilty, even when proven innocent."
Posts: 54
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Post by Diran Parisyan on Jun 3, 2010 3:12:37 GMT -5
Diran made a move towards the Russian when he saw his body stirring, but took a few steps back when the large man started to seem a little panicky. His eyebrows furrowed deep over his eyes in concern. Damn... his friend looked like he was having some kind of episode, rushing at the bars like a madman and- Diran saw blood glint in the poor light and rushed towards him.
"Please, Mister Russian, Հանգստացեք ! Er, be calm-Vy ne panikuite, da?" He reached into his limited knowledge of Russian and attempted to soothe his friend.
As soon as he saw the blood on the other's hands he pulled off his shirt without hesitation and began wrapping it around his hands to stall the bleeding. He was determined to make sure they all got out unscathed, and wouldn't even have noticed if Ivan pushed him away- he would just have gone right back to bandaging. That is, until Veata stirred behind him and he rushed over to her.
"Pardon me, little Asian girl, are you alright?" He asked in a gentlemanly fashion, extending a hand to lift her to her feet. His gaze was intense, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere.
A plan. They needed a plan, and a good one too. How else were they supposed to get out if they had no plan? His eyes darted to the exit and Ivan, to the walls of the cell, to Veata, to himself. They had few resources at hand, aside from the obvious strength and size of his Russian friend. It seemed hopeless to even try. Hopeless made things more interesting.
"I would like the both of you to stay of sound mind. We are going to get out of here."
[Translations: Հանգստացեք: Hangstats’yek’- Calm down! Vy ne panikuite, da??- You will not panic, yes?] (Finally back, sorry for the long wait and mild lameness of post. Russian is in phonetic because stupid proboards rejected it.)
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Post by Ivan Braginsky on Jun 5, 2010 13:02:57 GMT -5
Ivan didn't understand the Armenian's words when he spoke in his own language, and the English didn't truly reach him. It was easy to ignore when one was thinking of other things, mainly getting out of this uncomfortable situation as quickly as possible. No, it wasn't the English or the Armenian words that finally got him to pause--it was the words in his language, his mother tongue. It was perhaps the only thing that could have gotten him to stop what he was doing, and get him to pay attention.
Ivan's eyes widened, until the violet was surrounded by white, and he turned to the other. His own language, coming from his friend? He obviously wasn't Russian himself, but… he knew the language. Suddenly the confines of their cell seemed to be a little bit easier to deal with-- but that little bit of comfort was better than none at all. For both him and the other inhabitants of the cell. Because while the tension was still in his shoulders and body, he was a bit less likely to lash out. "Ty… Ty gorovis po-russkie?" Ivan asked, slipping into his own language. "Ah, d-da… ya postarayus'…. No, ya ne lyublyu malen'kie pomeshcheniya…."
Despite Diran's use of the Russian language calming him somewhat, he still shifted away when he saw the other coming close. When the other male grabbed his hand, he tried to yank away, but it was obvious that Diran wasn't going to take no for an answer. His back went stiff and he made the mistake of jerking fully upright once more, hitting his head on the low-hanging ceiling of the cell. Again. It distracted the Russian enough that he didn't lash out, instead ducking his head down.
Ivan grimaced, watching Diran wearily as his hand was bound with the other's shirt. The ache didn’t bother him, and neither did the blood, so why was the other bandaging him? With his own clothing….
"Spasiba…." he said after a few moments, looking down at his hands. As soon as his eyes were off Diran, the other male rushed to the unconscious girl's side. Or the previously unconscious girl. But the Russian didn't take offense to the sudden leave of Diran's presence at his side. Instead he peered at the small Asian that Diran went to, watching them both curiously.
Ivan slid one of his extra layers off, slowly moving closer to the two-- not that he was very far away to begin with, given the size of the cell--before draping the fabric over Diran's shoulders, almost like a peace offering. It would be a bit large on the other's small frame, but… it would have to work. After all the man's shirt had been ruined because of him…. Sharing was the least he could do--and he had more than enough layers to do it with. That being done, he peered back down at Veata. She looked rather upset and very much not alright, but it couldn't hurt to wait for her answer to Diran's question.
------ Translations:
Ty govoris po-russkie?: You speak Russian? Ah, d-da… ya postarayus'…. No, ya ne lyublyu malen'kie pomeshcheniya…: Ah, yes... I'll try. But, I don't like small spaces.
That Russian up there is probably terrible. >>; I have no idea on the conjugation of Russian verbs. Or grammar. >A>;
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Post by Veata Chea on Jun 9, 2010 18:41:57 GMT -5
Veata's eyes flicked up in fear, teeth bit into a lip being the only thing that stopped her from crying out in fear. For a moment the lines between her past and her future had blurred together and for a moment she had thought he was a Thai soldier. A slender hand slapped his own away out of horror when it came to her mind; this wasn't a Thai solider. Everything about him was different down to the very sound of his voice and the look of his warm hand. Soldiers had rough, dark hands that would hurt without a single thought but these hands looked gentle and kind, like they could help her instead of hurt her.
"I-I'm sorry," the young female muttered quietly, eyes darting nervously back the cold, stone floor. There was a difference between self-defense and paranoia; the latter was probably what she had come off as and the knowledge ashamed her. It wasn't right for her to have suddenly snapped like that even if she was fearful. The Khmer were a people meant to have the ability to easily shade away their emotions without trouble; stoic, strong, even emotionless at time in the worst of moments. It was supposed to be a means of defense, of cutting yourself off from the world so that nothing hurt, but Veata had forgotten her life lesson. "Yo-you surprised me…"
Her eyes darted around the dungeon one last time, taking in the smallest details of the area. Now that she looked at this dank place again, really looked at it, she could spot the small details that set it apart from the refugee camps. Dark as it was, this place was much better than the place that she had been forced into as a child…in fact, this place was like a palace compared to that place. "Be careful to not get too close to the walls…there could be something there that we can't see. Almost like what they used at the refugee camp that I lived in as a child…never thought I'd ever end up in a place like this again."
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Diran Parisyan
Junior Member
Ranger
"We are presumed guilty, even when proven innocent."
Posts: 54
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Post by Diran Parisyan on Jun 10, 2010 20:11:54 GMT -5
Diran breathed a sigh of relief when his friend calmed down, stopping for a moment to decipher the Russian- he'd never been much good at it. He turned back to look at him briefly, nodded an affirmative to his question, and then turned his attention to the Cambodian. His intense eyes softened when he saw how frightened she was, and he used one of his gloved hands (he thanked any present god for letting him keep them) to pull her to her feet.
"There is no need to apologize, little Asian girl... whose name escapes me, meaning no offense in that respect... It is alright to be frightened. And if you say so, I will not be touching the walls. Do you have any idea how we could escape?" The last bit was directed to both of his cellmates, his voice never rising above a murmur.
Feeling a weight suddenly drop onto his shoulders, he looked back to see that one of Ivan's layers had been deposited on him. He nodded his thanks to the Russian, suddenly realizing just how cold it was. Suppressing a shiver because he had to look in-control, he darted over to the rusting metal bars, laying his hands on them and generally checking them over. Despite being rusty and probably weakened from years down here, they were strong.
"Այս ... կարող է լինել խնդիր," he muttered, not bothering to speak a language the others could understand. Perhaps if there was a weak spot? But there really was none that he could see- and it would make so much noise if they tried breaking it down. What if there was a loose bar, or if the lock could be picked, or if the hinges were weak?
Wiping rust, dampness, and the blood still left on the iron off, he scurried back and extended a hand to the Russian. His hurried speech and the way he was chewing on his lip were the only signatures of the Armenian's distress- he was only going to outwardly panic when he knew for sure he was going to die. "Diran Parisyan, pleasure to meet you. It would be most helpful if we had your strength so as to escape, yes? So have good ideas too."
[Translations: Այս ... կարող է լինել խնդիր: Ays ... karogh e linel khndir- This... could be a problem.]
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Post by Ivan Braginsky on Jun 13, 2010 21:09:30 GMT -5
The Russian took Diran's hand in a weary grip, as he introduced himself. "Diran Parisyan…." Ivan repeated, accent causing him to stumble slightly over the male's last name. He said it a few more times, until he felt as if he'd pronounced it correctly, before nodding his head and finally tightening his grip on the hand giving it a shake. "Is a good name. And I am very happy you speak my language... Ah, my name is Ivan Braginski. Is good to be knowing your name." After all it seemed rather silly to have a friend and not know what that friend was called. "Ah, da, da, strength is very useful, and I be very strong! I do not think I can break the bars enough to get us out, though… unless there are two very weak bars in a row?" which was terribly unlikely. Then again, the two others stuck in the cell with him might be able to make it out with only one bar broken--they were rather tiny! "I can try again, though…?"
Ivan frowned mulling over the small Asian's words about being careful around the walls, as if her words just registered. The walls… could be dangerous? His eyes widened, until the violet was once again surrounded by white, and his gaze flickered back to the walls, staring at the moss and damp grime covering the stone. He didn't see anything out of place, or anything that could harm them, but… maybe he just wasn't seeing it. Ivan backed away from the wall, nearly tripping over the girl who'd warned them in the process. Of course backing away from one wall put him close to other walls, and he ended up just moving back to the bars, where, he deemed, it had to be safe. Of course, her reminder also made him remember he was trapped, and the tension stiffening his shoulders intensified.
"Malinkaya devushka… " Ivan mumbled to Veata, chewing on his lower lip. "Might you know the way to get out of here?" If she'd been in a place like this before, maybe she knew… For the most part, Ivan had been stuck in either smaller spaces, with no way out, or tied down and immobile in larger spaces. Other than the obvious way out, Ivan couldn't think of another way--especially if the walls were not safe.
It was obvious that Ivan was nearly panicking once again, and that was not the best thing for anyone in their cell. After all, when he panicked he tended to lash out at anyone near him, and given the size of their cell being only as wide and long as he was tall, there was no way not to be near him. A giggle bubbled past his lips, and though the giggle started out as childish it quickly turned into something else--something a bit more menacing if not downright creepy; sounding a bit more like 'kolkol' rather than his normal 'fufu'. He wanted the woman to come back--wanted to make her hurt, to make her bleed, to make sure she never, ever trapped him again. ---- Malinkaya devushka- Little girl
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Post by Veata Chea on Aug 31, 2010 8:44:28 GMT -5
A small, undignified yelp was torn from the young female's tongue as she was nearly stepped upon by the much larger Russian. In this small of a space it was nearly impossible to dart out of his way even with her slender frame. At most this room could hold perhaps six full-grown men standing shoulder to shoulder; throw in somebody like the European male and the space was cut down dramatically. It would have been hard enough to move around as it was even if each person was to step slowly and calmly; knowing this did not supress the slight irritation still that Veata found irking her mind. Being angry provided a good distraction from her own fear of this hellish place that had been all too familiar to her ten years ago. True while there were minor details and shifts in their cell it shared in common with the camps that dank smell of hopelessness that brought even the strongest to their knees. This was a place where those who entered never came out and in a moment like this, the younger preferred to allow irrational anger to take a hold rather than to face the bile rising in her throat. Veata did not even bother to hide her sudden annoyance with the European male, reflecting the emotion with a sharp frown pulling at her lips and a slight glare tossed his way. Knees pulled in to give the illusion of more space and her arms wrapped protectively around her form, hands rubbing at her bare skin as it finally registered into her mind how cold the room was. Growing up in only tropical climates and warm temperatures for her whole life, that had been what her world consisted of. There had been no such thing as a chilly night that sent for thicker clothes that could warm some. In fact, the idea of cold weather was so foreign to the Khmer that she had at first rejected it as...as somebody's joking with her. Somebody had warned her about cold weather, a smooth voice with comforting tones that had enveloped the young female with a shiver of excitement. Male, it was male. He had whispered in her ear quietly about the weather even as he had slid his jacket off to wrap it around her shivering form. Nighttime? Had it been at nighttime? Exasperation towards the European dissolved as a different sort of frantic pain settled upon her foggy mind. That voice had been important to her, very important to her so much in fact that she had trouble sleeping at night without hearing it first. And...and...and there had been calloused hands that would caress her cheeks moments before something soft fluttered against her lips. There was somebody that had kissed her before lovingly and gently. There was somebody that loved her very, very much out there but try as much his face nor name would come to mind. Bile that she had managed to choke back down only moments before began to rise again as her fingers dug into her trembling form and wide eyes snapped close desperately. A name at the very least, Veata had to remember a name at the very least. What was going on? Where was his name? Where was the boy whose touch she could recall but whose face remained blank. She loved him too, didn't she? Why couldn't she remember? Where was he? Where was he? Eyes snapped open almost immediately as she found a thick, Russian voice calling her back to the room. As easily as Veata had begun to press to remember the voice of somebody she could not name she turned her thoughts back to escape. The way her mind slid with ease back into a reality she had known was almost unreal as the thoughts of the male dispersed as if they had never been. It was not a normal type of forgetting, a magic perhaps that would have alerted most upon discovery but when the victim of the spell, Veata didn't even notice how the thoughts flickered away from her concious. Their only mark left behind was evident solely in the female's sobered mind, free of any type of pain or panic now because of the sweet memories that could only echo. "I-I...there was...a spell..." Dark brown flickered towards violet, focusing on the clear color she had not noticed before. "Some type of binding spell that turned the barriers of the walls into itself but..." At this moment she bit into her bottom lip. "...but I don't know how to perform magic on my own. I'm a Gambler so the few spells I can do I usually need help with." Her pale, heart-shaped face lifted back up towards the stranger as his laugh echoed throughout the small cell, sending a shiver of uneasiness down her spine for a single moment. Within seconds though something akin to pity took to the Asian, her body inching forward slightly towards his own. All too often as a child she had seen how dark knowledge could take a person's mind. When the "illness" had taken to her own father he had acted in a matter much this way, throwing his head back with a laugh at the most grieving moments because he had not known what else to do. During those times she had wrapped her tiny fingers into his own, much larger hand and whispered to him the words of a child calling to her father to come back home. Without fully understanding what compelled Veata to do so she reached a hand out to Ivan hesitantly, resting it atop of his own gently lest he choose to draw away before giving a light squeeze slowly so as not to surprise him. Perhaps it was because she had seen the insanity of her own father in his eyes that she acted impulsively. Perhaps it was because she could not fix this with a simple spell to break all three of them from this room and it was her way of apologizing...Maybe it was nothing more than the fact that she needed a hand to hold onto herself. "I...I bet though...that if all three of us could use a little bit of magic we might be able to do something together." A reassuring smile that did not reach her own eyes. "Three people all working together on one spell might make it strong enough to get rid of the bindings, don't you think? And then we could find a way out together. It's not like it's impossible to do."
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