[Mission] Nightfall: The Unbreakable Cursed Sword? (Blue Pegasus Edition)

When she set foot inside the Blue Pegasus guild hall, Crisis was almost positive she had entered the wrong place.  She had never seen a guild hall quite like it.  For a moment, she thought she had walked into an upscale pub or maybe a night club.  The walls were covered in this pink padding that reminded Crisis of a leather couch.  The booths were quite plush, as well, upholstered in white leather.  Booths!  In a guild hall!  Even powerful guilds like Fairy Tail sat their members on wooden benches, saving the good furnishings for VIP areas, but this place was high-class from the moment you stepped through the door.  Mermaid Heel's guild hall didn't look this nice!  And that guild was all women! (Which didn't account for much in the grand scheme of things, as any room Crisis has to herself for more than twelve hours can attest to.  How a girl who wears the same outfit every day can drown a room in discarded clothing is a mystery for the ages.)  Undoubtedly the influence of Guildmaster Bob, if the intel she had on him was any indication.

She approached the request board with flier in hand, feeling quite out of place.  Everyone around her was far better dressed, the men with their shirts and ties and women in trendy dresses.  Crisis wouldn't be surprised if this place had a two-drink minimum.  She herself looked like she just stepped off the desert prairie, her poncho and cowgirl hat still covered in dust from her travels.  She didn't look bad by any means, considering, but her appearance more befit a western saloon than a classy place like this.

Crisis had hoped to be a little less conspicuous, but she was pretty sure that ship had sailed.  The location she listed on the flyer for where the mission would take place was just an arrow pointing to the side, as she was had intended to just hang out by the board until someone accepted her request.  She might get away with that in other guild halls, but she stuck out enough as it is.  She took out a pencil and drew a picture of the bar that was on the side of the hall opposite the entrance.  It was a pretty good rendering, considering she drew herself sitting in a currently unoccupied seat at the end closest to the board.  With any luck, it would be a bafflingly accurate depiction of what the prospective adventurer would see from the request board.

With that, Crisis stuck the request to the board, took a seat at the bar, and ordered herself a drink.

((457 words, if I'm supposed to be counting them now.))
((Also, to reiterate the listing in the Mercenary Request Board, there is no way to succeed in this mission, but participants will be paid nonetheless.))

Out of sheer luck or with some kind of divine power, Elrowan had actually managed to return to Blue Pegasus after his last little excursion in Hargeon. He could only hope that Lady Kayoko and her sister would make it here unharmed, especially with the Magic Council going partially crazy. He burst through the guild hall doors, using both hands to slam the double doors completely open.

“I have returned!” He shouted triumphantly. When the doors first opened, he had gotten a few stares. But by the time he shouted, the others were already going about their business. Their strange new member was starting to become less new and more of the norm, although he still earned a few eyerolls.

He strode dramatically to the back of the room where the request board was. It had become a habit to check it every day he was there, to find any new listings that really jumped out at him. One was there that he didn't remember being there. A cursed sword...? His eyes widened as he read the mission. Now that was his kind of job. He snatched the listing from the board, studying it even more intently. If anyone could help in the realm of magical blades, the divine, and cursed powers, it was certainly him.

Eventually his gaze came and rested upon the arrow, along with the detailed picture. “Is this... some kind of magical compass that will lead me to my destination?” He started to follow the arrow's direction. Regrettably, since he was holding the paper, all he managed was a small circle.

The paper was abruptly snatched from his hands. He was about to protest, but when he looked up, he saw a familiar face. “Um, Elrowan?” Kalika laughed a little. “If you're looking for the client, she's waiting over there,” she pointed to the correct bar entrance, where Crisis had gone.

“Ah, you have my thanks, Lady Kalika!” Elrowan beamed at her, accepting the offered paper back. “Your expertise might be very useful on a quest such as this. Would you care to join me?”

Kalika shook her head. “I'm about to head out on a mission with some others. But if you're taking it, good luck to you.”

“Then good luck to you on your journey, as well.” Elrowan grinned, turning towards the bar. He pushed open the door only slightly less dramatically. Sure enough, he found the same scene that was drawn beautifully on the mission request.

“Salutations!” Elrowan greeted loudly. It was good that it was still early in the day, or the bar might have had more customers that would have stared at him. As it was, he had gone unusually silent after his first greeting, staring at the woman sitting on the bar seat. “You are... the one who seeks to break the curse upon your sword, yes?” He asked, a bit more uncertainly. Normally he was able to quickly discern the people before him, but he had never seen clothes like the ones she was wearing. He felt like perhaps he should know them, as a cowboy... but … she was a girl... so she could not be a cowboy. It was hardly the image of what he expected a cursed sword wieldeer to be, even with the accurately drawn picture to show him the client beforehand.

[557]

While Crisis was waiting at the bar she ordered herself a Holy Night Eve, a non-alcoholic drink named after Blue Pegasus’ youngest well-known member Eve Tearm. In many universes, this is known as a “Roy Rogers,” and consists of cola and grenadine syrup and garnished with a cherry, but Roy Rogers doesn’t exist in this particular universe so the honor of having this particular mixed drink being named after him goes to Eve. Had Crisis been aware of this alternate naming, she might be amused at the thought of a cowgirl like her ordering a drink named for a famed cowboy singer and actor. Instead, she held more regard for the cherry, which she promptly ate. She wasn’t one for drinking alcohol, but she didn’t like looking like a wuss by not drinking it.

She could hear Elrowan make his entrance all the way from her seat at the bar. She glanced back, even though she couldn’t actually see him through the wall that apparently divided the bar from the Guild Hall’s entrance area. Still, she could sense his enthusiastic energy despite the barrier and smirked to herself. This place as feeling a tad less stodgy now.

While she couldn’t see through the wall, there was a window in the door and from she was sitting she could easily look back and see the request board through it. Even though she had done this many times, she couldn’t help but feel a little anxious whenever she watched someone approach the request board. Would they see her request? Would they take it? Would they finally succeed where others had failed? Her heart skipped a beat despite herself as she watched Elrowan pluck her request from the board. She watched him follow the directions on the flyer… in circles, like a dog chasing his own tail. She had picked a bad time to take a drink, because the sight caused her to choke on it. The chances of her getting her sword uncursed were low to begin with, but now fate wanted her to put her faith in this clown?

A woman directed Elrowan to the bar and Crisis turned back around. She didn’t want to seem anxious. She didn’t react at first when Elrowan made his second entrance. She was going to wait for him to a walk up to her, but he addressed her from the door and she couldn’t just ignore him. She swiveled around on her barstool and stood up to face him. While her lavender poncho had covered her completely in back, it stopped just shy of her exposed abs in front. Another lavender wrap draped around her waist, barely covering her leather skirt, which itself was over leather leggings. The hat and the boots, of course, are what sold it as a “cowboy” ensemble.

“Indeed,” she said, mirroring Elrowan’s formal speech. “It was I who posted the request for the breaking of the curse upon my sword.” She stepped to the side, drew her sword and placed it on the bar. “This is Nightfall.” It wasn’t especially fancy for a short sword, except for the blade. It was stained with deep shades of red, purple, and orange, the colors of sunset. “It’s full of painful memories, painful emotions, and painful…” She paused for a moment as she tried to think of a third word. “...Pain. Mayhaps you have it within your power to alleviate some of that pain.”

((574 words, 1031 total)

“My name is Elrowan de Sabeur,” he introduced himself, sweeping back his cloak dramatically. While his style could probably be considered upscale, it was more along the lines of the Renaissance, unlike the suit and ties most other men of the guild wore. Curiously his gaze turned to the sword she had set on the table... but he made no move to touch it. At least not yet. Cursed swords could be dangerous... even moreso for someone like him.

What if Alastor reacted to the demonic energy? Although... if anyone would know more about cursed swords, it would certainly be him. But just the thought of asking him for help made Elrowan's skin crawl. Worse than that, just thinking about him made his skin crawl. It was like one of those things in the back of his mind, where the more he thought about it, the more aware he became. He had yet to know if this was just a feeling or had some merit, but... there were times where Alastor felt more 'awake' than others, even if he didn't say anything. Now was one of those times.

“This sword... 'Nightfall',” he repeated the name, turning his gaze back to the owner. “Before I attempt to break its curse, I would like additional information. For one, such blades are certainly a rarity... if you do not mind my asking, where did you come upon this sword? And what exactly makes it 'cursed'?” There could be a variety of reasons for how the blade was cursed... “If I know the source of its curse, it will be easier to pinpoint a means of lifting it,” he said confidently. A lot of his actions would depend on her answers. Regardless, he was confident that he could indeed lift the curse.

[557+298=855]

“Chryseis Estoban,” Crisis nodded as Elrowan introduced himself. “But everyone calls me Crisis.”

As Crisis watched Elrowan’s reaction as he gazed upon the cursed sword Nightfall. She could tell by his expression he had dealt with this sort of thing before, and may even be a kindred spirit in a sense. Even now Nightfall’s curse caused her agony. For the moment, it was manageable, just a constant ache in her left arm that had become almost normal for her, but Nightfall could cause far worse depending on its “mood.” She could feel it tensing, for lack of a better word, as Elrowan examined it. Nightfall seemed to be able to sense these sorts of things and send painful twinges up Crisis arm, like an untrusting dog growling at a veterinarian that wants to fix its broken leg. In the back of her head she could feel it pushing her, its desire to lash out at the man that would even deign to try and break it.

She met Elrowan’s gaze as he looked at her. “As far as I know, the sword itself is nothing special.” The even pacing of her answer suggested she had said this several times before. “I’ve had it almost all my life. The circumstances of how it became cursed are... uncomfortable for me to discuss.” While absolutely true, as could be heard by her change in tone, even that pause was part of the routine now. She glanced away from Elrowan. “It was a part of my life I’d rather forget now, but I can’t. Not until this curse is lifted, at least. A terrible time, but I was so deep in it I didn’t know I was drowning. Long story short, there was a heated argument and I accidentally killed a man’s family then killed him in self-defense. Needless to say, he took it badly and called me a monster as he died on my blade. It’s stained with his blood, hence the color, and nothing can clean it off.” She pulled the fingerless glove off her left hand, revealing a black mark shaped like a boot with a skull on it in profile. “This was the mark of my guild at the time. It doesn’t come off, either. I guess it’s the curse’s mark now.”

((382 words, 1113 total))

Crisis was an unusual name, but Elrowan had met many with strange sounding names. With introductions out of the way, they were back to the business of the sword. Cursed swords rarely came with a dose of sunshine and happiness, so Elrowan was hardly surprised when she mentioned having an unsavory history. At first he feared to learn nothing at all, but fortunately she seemed to work with him, giving him a short version of specific details. So she 'accidentally' killed an entire family. Then there was the mark on her hand, from her former guild. It certainly seemed like something that would match the profile of a dark guild. But he wasn't about to ask. That part of life was behind her now, and he trusted her words that it was so.

He placed a hand under his chin, contemplating deeply about her story and the implications. The curse was likely the spirit of the man. Discontent with his life, he had cursed the blade.... and her hand, apparently. "I understand," he confirmed. "Spirits are drawn to 'containers' of sorts - if removed from one, they instantly seek to possess another. Even should I manage to extract it, since the curse is tied directly to you, there is a chance that the spirit may try to possess you instead of the sword." Elrowan spoke like an expert, explaining the matter as a doctor would give a prognosis. If his experience could match up, however, was an entirely different matter. "First, let us leave this bar and move to a solitary room in Blue Pegasus - I know just the place. If you would be so kind, please bring Nightfall as well." He turned, planning to take her to a quieter section of the guild. It had to be a place where they wouldn't be interrupted, as any wizard could become a casualty without due caution. Elrowan also wasn't that keen on touching the blade... After the story, the curse seemed directly tied to Crisis, but still... he had to be wary. Even if the sword's spirit behaved, there was no telling what Alastor would do.

They passed the more active parts of Blue Pegasus, instead finding a small room. Inside was a small table and some lavishly decorated furniture. On a normal occasion, this was a tea room reserved by a small group of friends. The chance that they would stumble in at this particular moment seemed slim, and Elrowan planned to lock the door. "Now then," he turned to Crisis. "Please place the blade upon the table. I know a few methods of exorcising demons and spirits, but as I said, the result may prove dangerous, especially should you be present. It might be safer to wait outside, although as this is personal to you, I leave the decision ultimately in your hands."

[855+475=1330]

Crisis nodded as Elrowan gave his prognosis. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. Words and philosophies varied, but the main idea was always the same; The spirit man she had slain was bound to the sword, a spirit so picante with hatred it burned at her very being. She had heard other theories, as well, but she felt this one was closest to the truth. The curse didn’t just mindlessly torture and torment her. It had moods and proclivities. Sometimes seemed to glory and revel in her pain. Other times it languished, seeming to suffer just as much as she did. Rarely did it show sympathy, it refused to be anything more than her executioner, but in those rare moments she got the sense that its continued existence hinged on her survival. Or perhaps it simply wanted her to suffer for as long as possible.

“Very well,” she said as Elrowan suggested a change in venue. Despite his earlier moment of literally dizzying stupidity, he did have at least a glimmer of common sense. Rarely were these sessions pretty, especially when they were really putting their all into breaking the curse. It wasn’t unheard of for Crisis to pass out, albeit less likely after so much time and many attempts. She would’ve suggested the move herself if Elrowan had immediately attempted more than a token sprinkling of fairy dust. She picked up her sword with her left hand in the defensive underhand grip she was accustomed to holding it in and followed him to the tea room.

“I will stay here,” Crisis said as she placed the sword on the table. “This sword is an extension of me. I could no more leave it here than I could my own arm. Besides, if I am truly to make peace with my past, I have to confront it face to face.”

((311 words, 1424 total))

Elrowan nodded at Crisis's determination. She had to be strong, if she was suffering under that curse for so long. Elrowan respected her decision... even if it was more dangerous for her to stay, he wouldn't dissuade her. Well, that and she'd said she couldn't be separated from the blade. "It is as you say," he agreed with her. Whatever foe emerged from the sword, they would face together. Locking the room's door, he then stared at the sword intently, as if he could see the evil within.

"Now then, whatever transpires here, I ask that you remain calm. If it comes to a fight, I am proficient with both magic and blade, and will protect you from harm," he claimed confidently, despite not actually owning or having a blade with him. He walked slowly to the table, still staring at the sword... stopping right above it, Elrowan folded his hands in prayer. He closed his eyes tightly, before continuing...

"In the name of all that is good and just, evil spirit, heed my voice!” Elrowan began dramatically. Reaching in a pocket, he took out a holy talisman that he always kept on him. He held it above the sword, praying fervently. “You shall torment this woman no longer! In the name of goodness, I command you to leave!” He fell silent, as if waiting for a response, whether it complied or resisted. He cracked open one eye, but the sword before him lay unperturbed by his chant. Nothing happened. “Hmm...” Elrowan pocketed the talisman. If there was at last some kind of response, he could've narrowed it down, but nothing... that was harder. “Perhaps if I had some holy water.....” He was thinking of other methods that might extract the demon.

[1622]

"Right," Crisis said when Elrowan told her to remain calm. "I'm all about remaining calm. Except when I cut loose. Then I'm all about the crazy." She tapped the side of her head. "Keeps the enemy on their toes."

She watched intently as Elrowan produced a talisman and began to pray. He gave the invocation the old college try, but the sword refused to respond. Not outwardly, at least. The rhythm of the pain in her arm was almost tickly. Nightfall was laughing at him. Crisis found herself smirking a little, as well, despite her disappointment.

"That better be the holiest holy water you can get," Crisis said. She leaned against a wall of the tea room and crossed her arms over her chest. "I should probably level with you; You're up against some stiff competition. You're not the first person I've brought my sword to. Since that day, I've seen every exorcist, witch doctor, and shaman between here and the far end of Desierto, and they've used every trick in their books to lift this curse. I've thrown it into every volcano I can find, scabbard and all, only for it to appear on my back again by the time I reach the foot. If this isn't the best you can do, I suggest trying that next."

((233, 1657))

Elrowan's fist tightened. He couldn't give up, not like this. Crisis's words could not discourage him. The curse was hardy, but that didn't mean it was unbreakable. "Stay right here. I shall return with holy water!" He insisted. Without waiting for her consent, he unlocked the door and dashed off. To get the holiest of holy water, however, would be quite the journey...

Wait... you just told her to wait there... and now you're leaving on some adventure for holy water?!

Alastor had been watching the entire time. Most of the time he was completely ashamed of Elrowan's actions, the boy living off in some delusional fantasy world. But the woman he was trying to help was legitimately cursed. Not some made-up curse that Elrowan had imagined, but a real curse. Which made the current events and his actions even more unbearable than normal.

---

Only a minute or so passed when the tearoom door opened. Not with the usual energy that Elrowan had been flinging the door back and forth with, but the way a normal person would open the door. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe there's a reason behind this curse, something that you're supposed to learn from all this?" The voice, while certainly Elrowan's, was at the same time completely different. The intonation and words were much less formal, and he spoke quieter. Visually he looked the same as Elrowan, even with the same ridiculous outfit. "If you just happened to be a victim, maybe it would be easy to break, with a few magical sparkles or the wave of a hand. If there were no lasting effects, it'd be easy to forget about, and your life would continue on like it was before."

[1912]

Crisis watched Elrowan rush out of the room, then shook her head and chuckled. That was a level of enthusiasm she appreciated. Even if the situation was hopeless, it made her feel optimistic to see someone give it their all. It may be a fool-hardy quest, but no one got anywhere without risking looking like an idiot. This sight in particular reminded her how children put so much energy into everything they do. It was kinda cute. She considered following him to see what he was going to do, but figured that just seeing the end result was would be worth the wait.

When Elrowan returned, Crisis was fussing one-handed with some kind of pocket-puzzle. She looked up in surprise, partly expecting him to take more time and partly expecting him to kick down the door with a grand declaration while carrying a huge tub of holy water over his shoulder. Instead he just walked in casually and empty-handed. She smiled at him expectantly as she slipped the puzzle into a hidden pocket on her backside and was about to remark on how quickly he returned when he spoke up. Her smile quickly faded into a small scowl when she heard "Elrowan's" voice. Everything about the man had changed except his appearance. It was like watching someone walking around in an Elrowan suit. She suppressed the urge to draw her gun and demand to know who he really was. She didn't detect any untoward hostility or ill intent from him, so she decided to conclude for now that Elrowan had brought in a consultant of sorts.

Her left hand picked up her hat and ran her right hand up her face and through her hair before replacing it with a sigh. Her placid smile returned. "Yeah. I've heard that one, too, unfortunately. The 'Divine plan' angle. Never really put much stock in higher powers, not when my own were far more reliable, but when nothing else seems to work it seems a lot more worth considering. Lord knows I've tried to figure out when and where it all went wrong. I can think of one man I can directly blame for everything, but he's dead or worse if there's any justice in this world. But from then on I only have myself to blame. I was willfully blind for too long to what was going on around me. Everyone else saw it, though. I should've taken the hint. Too wrapped up in what was to see what is."

She looked at her left hand and flexed her fingers. "It hurts less when I talk about it, but it never goes away. Not fully. If that's all it is, then is it not enough to know it? How hard do I have to believe it?"

((491, 2148))

Alastor remained completely stoic, even after the very visible scowl that Crisis gave him. She had given up pride very quickly, admitting fault multiple times. "It's not enough to say 'I'm sorry' or believe harder. The spirit is bound tightly to your past and wants its legacy to be carried on to the present, and future." There was a fine line between justice and vengeance. Alastor was inclined to believe that justice had already been met. Although he had little knowledge on the exact events, justice would be satisfied by simply altering one's fate. Vengeance, on the other hand, would want her to suffer indefinitely. The curse would have to be very strong for it to prevail over ... whatever methods supposed exorcists did; even Alastor didn't know.

"There doesn't need to be this third party involved, whether it's 'God', me, or whatever other kind of help you hope to get. It's between you and the spirit. If he's not willing to let go, then it's not time yet. Maybe it never will be," he shrugged. "If you've come to Blue Pegasus, I'm guessing you've tried better methods and more notorious guilds... but in the case that you haven't... I suggest you stop wasting your time. In any case, I can't help you." And he didn't want to, even if he could. Justice and vengeance were too close for him. He wouldn't overstep his bounds and simply free this woman from the curse, just because she was being hurt. The spirit had been hurt too, and had every right to remain angry.

[2,174]

Crisis became more and more crestfallen as Alastor went on and came to his conclusion.  This was how it always ended.  Ultimately, nobody could help her.  She was on her own.  It never got easier to hear, and it was always as painful as the curse itself.  At first she had felt like she had a terminal prognosis and was told there was no cure.  More and more, though, she felt more like Baron Munchhausen, telling the stories to anyone who would listen.

"Yeah, well, I'm not so willing to let go of some things, either," she said as the took up her sword again and slid it back into its sheath.  She then produced a purse (which is to say, a sack of money) from somewhere behind her back and withdrew from it the full payment for the job, which she placed on the table.  Alastor might notice the same guild logo on the purse as the one on the back of Crisis' left hand before she put it back where she found it.  "Compensation for your time.  I don't know what your policy is, but I feel like I owe it to you even though you couldn't help me."  She tilted her head to the side quizzically.  "I'm only paying for one of you, though.  I don't know what your story is, but I don't count people sharing the same body as more than one person."  She straightened up with an awkward look.  "Oh!  Not that I doubt your personhood.  I've just been burned before, so..." She trailed off, scratched the back of her head, then gestured at the door.  "...I'll just be going now."

With that, Crisis walked out the door.

((300, 2448))

Alastor remained silent as Crisis declared she'd keep trying anyway, and then set down the payment. He didn't really feel like payment was deserved here, since in the end nothing was solved. He had really just given his opinion and little else. And Elrowan, well, he wasn't the type to take a job for its money. Alastor replicated the same quizzical look that Crisis gave him, before smirking a little. She was the first person to assume that he and Elrowan were two separate entities. Most either didn't mention the difference, or assumed Elrowan was only acting before.

"Goodbye, Crisis," Alastor let her pass. "Even if you don't find what you're looking for, I'm sure you'll find something." He said. Encouragement in a way, though perhaps not what she would want. If she was insistent on pursuing a cure, he wouldn't try to stop her any further. After a long additional moment, after Crisis had left, Alastor pocketed the money. Someone was going to take it if he didn't, and it probably wouldn't be Elrowan, so that would be a waste otherwise. Maybe he could use it to buy some less ridiculous clothes, although convincing Elrowan to drag them around would be a different matter.

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