The Essence here is either very sparse or very passive or both. There's faint echoes of - something, it's not a total void, but nothing about it is usefully discernible.

She is at the edge of a forest, on a dirt road. It's slightly muddy where she fell. Must have been raining recently. There is one set of hoof prints in the road in one direction. There are some rolling hills sprinkled with more small patches of woods visible.

With it this sparse, she's going to have to be careful about how she uses her Essense. Not convenient, but doable.

She is a lunar, blessed with nature's power-- but running around an unfamiliar forest is probably not the best idea. Getting to civilisation, finding the lay of the land-- is a better idea. She follows the hoof prints.

She sees small woodland creatures, birds, and two deer that bolt into the brush when she comes into view.

It takes half an hour of walking but soon she comes over a hill and sees a drab little village with plain wooden houses, surrounded by pastures and crop fields. There are pigs and sheep and maybe two dozen people visible, even the children working by hand, and a well in the middle of the dirty place. The fanciest building there, made of stone, has a large wooden symbol hung up on the front - a vertical line with two horizontal lines near the top, one shorter than the other and slightly tilted. From the state of the crop fields it's summer here.

A village-- technically civilisation. It'll do.

She wishes she was wearing her bandana-- most people wouldn't be able to notice her fox ears, they are supernaturally difficult to see-- but not impossible to see. She doesn't want to stick out too much. (Okay, she wants to stick out a little. But only a little!)

She heads towards the stone building. It's the place most likely to have an authority figure, or someone who knows where the rest of civilisation is.

The people definitely mutter to each other about her! She looks rich. And probably magical - even without the ears.

The stone building has rows of simple benches and a sort of stage at the front. A middle-age man in nicer clothes is kneeling and praying towards another copy of the wooden symbol on the stage. He hears her footsteps and turns around and hesitates slightly before collecting himself, approaching, and saying, "I welcome you to my humble church, madam visitor. I am Father Cooperson, the priest. Is there some way I can help you today?"

Priests. Fun. At least he's not part of the Immaculate Order, unless their symbols are very different here. But still. Organised Religion. Fun.

She puts on her brightest, friendliest smile. "I got a little lost in that forest. I was wondering where we are?"

"This is the village of Clatworthy-on-Wellington, near to the town of Wellington, that being west of Taunton and south-west of Bridgwater. The coast is northerly, but the roads leading there are poor this time of year."

His mannerisms are - carefully respectful, unsure what to think of her.

Carefully respectful is correct. She loves it when people are carefully respectful.

Her smile is still bright, still friendly. "Thank you so much! If I wanted to go to, say, the nearest city, which way should I go?" There's a lot of other questions she should ask: What is the currency? Who is the ruler? Who do you worship? How do you feel about people empowered by moon-trickster deities? Why am I here? But those are rather hard to ask without blowing her cover.

"...If any city will do I suggest you could fly due north and cross the bay to Cardiff. Unless I am mistaken in my assumption that you are a witch, then you should perhaps go to Wellington and from there find passage along the old road to Bridgwater and on towards Bristol. I should be able to find you a guide and a horse to borrow, if you wish."

He is beginning to suspect something is off here, and wants her to leave - unantagonized - just to make sure any weirdness doesn't land on his people. But it wouldn't do to be unkind and not offer a guide. God impels all who follow him to help one another, after all. And she seems so nice.

She's a what now.

Okay, another question to add to list of ones she can't ask: what is a witch?

She could probably laugh it off, claim she isn't a witch and what is a witch anyway? ...but that would leave her without a horse or guide. She is magic, so she can probably pretend to be a witch.

"A guide and horse to Wellington would be lovely, if it's no bother."

He smiles and touches his palms together and it's only very slightly fake.

"Of course. I will ask everyone. You may rest here if you like, and take water and bread if you need them."

If she follows him out she'll make everyone more nervous than if he explains first and finds a guide for her, thus the subtle indicator that she maybe shouldn't.

She is very happy to stay here and eat free food. The best kind of food is free. She takes a reasonable amount.

The smile has somehow become brighter. "Thank you so much!"

"You are welcome in the house of Jesus Christ, as anyone, and I am glad I can help you find your way."

Out he goes.

He comes back after a few minutes with a man with better-than-local-average hair and a squashed looking nose.

"George here is taking goods to Wellington and said he will let you ride as he walks."

"Uh... Yes. Pleased to meetcha." (Wow, mystery magic lady is rather pretty.)

Another question to the pile: Who is Jesus Christ? ...a deity, presumably. 'How do his worshippers feel about moon trickster deities and their followers?' is definitely another question.

Mystery magic lady is rather pretty! She should feel bad about making someone walk, but ehh. She's Exalted. She deserves to ride. "Pleased to meet you too!" she says to Mr Above-Average-Hair. "Thank you so much for the help!" she says to both of them.

Are handshakes a thing you do when you first meet someone? Bowing? She'll follow their lead. Hopefully her waiting will read as 'well of course you introduce yourself to your betters first.'

He does something that could be... Charitably described as a bow and says, "George Baler, ma'am. It's no problem, seeing as I was going there anyway."

Marena copies the bow-- more elegantly of course. "I'm Marena. Even so, I appreciate the loan of your horse. If there's anything I can do to help--" 'within reason, that you would ask your betters' being the first unspoken caveat. The second being 'that you would say with a priest in the room.' (Though who knows, maybe this Jesus Christ likes to party.)

"Mayhap you can carry messages on to Bridgwater for me? If it's no trouble. I even know how to write so you won't need to trouble yourself to memorize anything, ma'am."

"Of course! After all your help, it would be no trouble."

"Thank you! Shall we start along then? Bessie's just outside."

There's a small but sturdy-looking horse towing a wooden cart out in front of the church.

"Certainly!"

She follows him outside.

Ahh, carts. So much better when you don't have to pull them yourself.

There's space in the cart to sit on a bale of hay, around the bags of apples and vegetables and grain. He starts walking, leading the horse gently.

"If I may ask, what brings you all the way out here? We're out of the way of anything important. Just farms and pastures."

Hmm, how to answer without breaking cover.

"I got very lost in the woods, unfortunately."

"Magically lost? I've heard stories about forests that'll keep you, but I don't really know what's real and what's not when it comes to magic."

You would know more about magic here than me, she doesn't say.

"I wouldn't say it kept me, so much as put me in a very different place than I expected."

"Ah. That's unfortunate. I hope you find your way."

"Same here." 

Speaking of which, the rest of her Circle is missing. They probably didn't get thrown into the same woods, or even the same world, but there's no way she could know. Due diligence: a thing she should do.

"I know I'm asking a lot of favours here, but when I got lost in the woods, I got separated from my friends. If you see, hmm,  a blonde doctor, a black haired girl with a metal belt, a drunk monk, or someone who looks like my sister, would you be able to direct them Wellington-wards? I don't think they'll pass through here, but they might."

"I can put the word out, but I also don't think they'll pass through here. Scattering friends to the four winds seems... More Wild Magic-y than taking them all to the same place?" He shakes his head. "I just know farm things. And not even so many of them. I mean, I know how to read 'cause books are interesting and stuff, but I'd probably just die somehow if I was picked up and put somewhere else by magic. You must have the most exciting adventures, you're... So calm and collected."

"Still, I'd feel very silly if they ended up passing through here and they didn't know I had. I'm not even sure the rest of them got scattered--"

Calm and collected. He thinks she is calm and collected. ...score one for acting skill?

"I wouldn't say you get used to the adventures, but you learn how to deal with them."

He stops the cart for a minute to write down her friends' descriptions, muttering the words as he writes.

Then, "I couldn't work up the nerve to run off to London and join the army or anything. I tried once. Got to Bristol and turned back for home."

There's a war on? Well, thats another thing it would be nice to ask about directly. Here's hoping that indirectly works.

But first, some buttering up.

"It was brave of you to even start the journey. And I'm sure you had good reason to turn around."

"Everything I heard about the demons sounded terrifying. And it's mostly only witches that can actually kill them apparently." He shivers.

Demons. Okay. Demons are probably a thing she can deal with. She could deal with them better if they could be intimidated or manipulated, but she could deal with them physically. Probably.

She nods. "That's a good reason. No point picking a fight you can't win. And we can handle it."

She's going to have to find out more about witches if she's going to keep pretending to be one, but that's a problem for later.

"I pray to the army, the witches, the King, and God all four that they will be defeated. Amen."

And what does praying even do? Everyone prays probably. I know I should trust in God but... I should try to join the army again. Try to do something. Fretting and not rising up is cowardly. The war has been going for years and the news is worse every season... Surely the witches need food, weapons, and housing. Perhaps I should ask if there's a less dangerous way to help.

He's in a more morose mood now and would be happy to just walk along quietly thinking if Marena doesn't have anything else to say.

Here's hoping repeating "Amen," is the correct response to praying!

Marena would like to cheer morose people-- but she doesn't have anything to say. Not anything sensible, anyway. She sits quietly.

George has several questions but suspects it would be rude to ask questions constantly.

They can just go along the road quietly for a while, then.

They pass the outskirts of another village, receiving stares and whispers. One group of gossipers chuckles and asks, "No chaperone for the lady, George?"

He blushes and urges his horse to go faster.

Oh, this is a chaperone sort of place. She likes chaperone sort of places. Well, flouting the conventions of them.

She leans over towards George, and speaks softly. "I hope I'm not doing anything too terrible to your reputation."

The blushing continues! Maybe even intensifies!

"Er- More your reputation than mine. Though, witches have it different anyway."

"I'm not that worried about my reputation, I'm only passing through. And anyway. I am a witch." Whatever that is! Though it is nice to know that propriety is looser for witches. She's never been one for propriety, unless it is absolutely necessary.

"They're only needling me, I'm sure." He clears his throat. "I'm not married and those fine people are well-known gabbers, so my reputation will survive."

"No one has caught your eye?"

"Oh, there's a girl I'm thinking of courting. Annabel. It's just - I was going to go off and join the army, and it'd be incredibly unfair to court and marry and then run off immediately, and even now I still might not stay in Clatworthy..."

"That's one of the perils of war, isn't it? You delay and delay, and then you might come back home dead, or with someone else married to your sweetheart."

"I suppose it is. But I wonder how much of a loss that would be? If I saw and did wonderful things while I was away, not pursuing marriage might be the lesser loss than not traveling."

His riotous blush is finally receding. "...And to be honest, my humility is not the best and I don't want to be a farmer. Herding and simple craft doesn't appeal either. It's just so - it's not stupid work, but it's simple work. Honestly, if you'll bear my complaining, ma'am, farming is boring. I want to find engineers. Schools. If I'm good enough for places like that."

So, they have schools and engineers. That's a slightly higher tech level than she expected.

(If they've got First Age level tech, she is going to kick herself. And then Misho, when she finds him.)

"It's a trade off. I chose adventure- but I didn't get much of a choice. Still, it was worth it.

I don't mind complaining. 'Farming is boring' is a pretty reasonable complaint! Even if you don't get in, I imagine trying to get into a school would be far more entertaining than farming."

"Hmph. Well, maybe I will go up to Bristol and beg someone to teach me science!"

So, she's probably given this poor sod terrible advice. And he took it. But hey, many great heroes and scholar came from people who were given terrible advice and took it.

"It's going to be more of an adventure than farming, so why not?"

"Why not? Bristol's not that far away. I can always come back here if there's no teachers and no work. M-Maybe I could even accompany you there, or find you there later."

(George, he tells himself, she's clearly a witch - or at least rich - and beautiful besides, and you're just a farm boy, do not get your hopes up.)

"We're both going the same way. I don't see any need to split up."

Oh that's, um, good. "Well, I didn't pack. But I have my coins, going to the market and all, it'll probably be fine."

"We'll work out something."

"Yes, we'll work something out. Maybe sell my horse and cart too, if we're heading to the city. I say we, uh, not that I'd presume anything..."

"Won't we need transport to the city?"

"Good point. I'm just worried about buyin' stable space and hay. A city is crowded, so will they even have stables?"

A question she should know the answer to: oh no.

"Probably? Cities tend to have horses." Which could be a very wrong statement! Hopefully not.

"I suppose they must. Yeah, I'm sure it'll be fine. It should only be another half hour or so to Wellington. I have to make some deliveries and then we can probably get to Taunton 'fore it's time to find an inn."

"You know the way better than I do."

"Suppose I do."

He goes silent for a few seconds, then, "What's your home like? If you don't mind the question."

The best lies have an element of truth-- but still, answering will be tricky. She doesn't know if any part would be deeply implausible.

The mostly true answer should work. "It's far away. It was a beautiful place --that was what it wanted to be, aimed for, you know? It was a city that wanted to be excellent. ...It doesn't exist any more."

"...Shame. War and destruction - I don't know why these things happen, if God is supposed to love us and want us to be happy. Maybe to make the good something to strive for and protect and not just the way things are. Maybe if we were all perfect saints, we wouldn't be people anymore. Wouldn't have proper souls. I don't know. I just talk to priests a lot."

Things to file away for later: 'God' supposedly likes people, and there's supposedly only one.

And this is why she likes Luna. Their opinion on bad things is 'not really my fault, go fix it anyway' and that's refreshingly honest.

"It's not nothing. Some of the most powerful things, the most good, come from people striving."

"I haven't seen much of that. Striving. Just trying to pull food out of dirt, which is hard enough work, but it doesn't feel like striving."

They come over the top of a hillock, and another village is visible. Well - it's many times the size of the other villages, with nicer buildings and another church with a stained-glass window, it has a windmill and what looks like a blacksmith and an inn and a few other shops and an outdoor market, but it's still essentially a low-tech village.

"Wellington!"

"Sometimes survival is enough striving."

--she really shouldn't be giving this guy advice on how to Exalt. Especially considering that may not be a thing here.

"It looks nice. Bit smaller than I expected."

"It's bigger now than it was when I was a child. Four hundred people or thereabouts. But yeah, it's small. Other towns have a few thousand people - Bristol has at least ten thousand. They make ships there, and probably a lot of other things."

George keeps walking towards the place.

A couple leading a horse passes them in the other direction. "Can't believe how cheap the almanac was, something about a press? I don't know how - oh, who's that? What clothes!"

The woman grips the man's hand tightly and bites out, "Don't point, dear. She's obviously someone important." She bows slightly at Marena. "My apologies for my husband's behavior, madam."

"I'm used to bigger." ...yeah, she's just going to leave that double entendre there.

Presses? Not sure how pressing books would make them cheaper. Maybe they're easier to transport if they are flatter?

"Don't worry, I know I look strange. I'm not from around here."

The double entendre appears to go completely over everyone's heads.

"Still," the wife comments, "It was rude. We're sorry. Right, Henry?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. Good day to you two."

The couple continues on and George shakes his head.

"...I just thought of something, though. Er. Do you have any money?" Or will you be expecting me to buy your meals and inn rooms?

Right. Money. Money is a thing people have. Jade is probably not going to work as money here. Though there may be someone interested in ~strange materials from foreign shores~ and willing to exchange that for money. Maybe not in a small village, but it's worth a shot.

Worst comes to worst, she can sleep in the wild; it doesn't bother her. ...may be hard to explain though.

"I've only got what I had before I was forest-ed. Don't think it's the same as your money, but what it's made of is valuable. I'm just going to go-- marketwards, and see if I can turn into money."

"If it's gold or silver, won't be a problem. If it's not I'm less sure. Good luck. We should meet up at that crossroads on the far side of the place in an hour or two, 'cause I'm going somewhere else with my cart."

"Yeah, it's...not that. I'll meet you back in an hour."

To the blacksmith! They seem the most likely to want weird materials.

The townspeople give her space.

The blacksmith is smithing with the assistance of three apprentices, all teenage boys! They seem really busy. There's a sign with things like horse shoes: 8p ea - nails: 5p for a score.

One of the apprentices, soot-covered, comes out front with a box full of nails and puts them on a shelf after a minute. "Hello, ma'am! You need somethin' made?"

"If only it were that simple.

Okay, short version of the story: I'm from far away, and got thrown here by a magical forest. I don't have any money from here, but I do have foreign money, which is made of an unusual metal. Would your boss be interested in exchanging an unusual metal for here-money?"

"Magical forest? Cor, spooky. Well, you do look witchy. What's special about the metal? I'll tell him and let him decide."

Oh, how convenient it would be to have Misho around. He knows like, 200% more about jade and making things and making things with jade.

She pulls the jade coins out her pocket to show him; there's about a knife's worth of metal. "It's unusually hard and durable, and can keep a very sharp edge. It's also somewhat magical. If you work it right, it's elementally attuned." Would it be usefully attuned if they aren't terrestrial exalted? No. Is she going to admit that? Also no.

"...Don't think magic works that way. But I'll ask Mr. Smithson to have a look at them if you want."

(She's probably trying to scam us, he thinks, looking at the coins doubtfully, as if we didn't know how witches work at all. Magic items, bah!)

Welp. She was going so well pretending she knew what she was talking about.

"Have you seen a metal that looks like this before? Even if magic 'didn't work that way' -- and you think you're more qualified than me because?-- it's durable, it holds an edge."

She should probably do something obviously magic. Preferably something plausible. No idea what that would be. Fuck it, she's going to use just enough Essence to make her caste mark glow, and hope that reads as 'witch' and not 'demon.'

Uh oh, angry witch. "-Okay, okay. Maybe you can do something to metal I've never even heard of. Sure. Sure. Fine. I wouldn't know. I'll tell him." It's probably some fancy alloy and not actually magic metal, but this is above his rank now. He retreats expeditiously into the back room.

A few seconds later the smith, a grumpy-looking bearded man, comes out and says, "I don't appreciate you frightening my apprentice, young lady. Even if he is a bit of a scamp sometimes. Put that glow away, now, and I'll have a look at your foreign metal."

Goddamnit caste marks-- "Hold on a second, I need to leave the room to get rid of it--" and she steps out the door, walks in a small circle, and the pattern spiders decide that a new scene has started.

This probably has helped her case like, zero percent.

"Behold, weird metal from foreign parts." She hands it to him.

Witches have some license to be weird. Especially foreign ones.

The blacksmith investigates the weird metal from foreign parts with a few different tools. He scrapes at one coin with a blade, leaving no mark. He hits one with a hammer and totally fails to dent it.

...He's interested and impressed now. "Do you know how hot a forge has to be to work this? And are these all you have? Do you know how to make more?"

Yes this is working out okay.

Though it'd be way easier if Misho was around, he actually knows how to makes stuff.

"I haven't worked with it myself. The forge has to be hot, but not impossibly hot. I have a few more. The material is mined, and I don't think there's likely to be deposits around here. I could be wrong though."

"Could you point it out on a map - this could actually be very important, see, one of the problems with the new weapons for the demon war is that they tend to explode a lot. If there were a steady stream of this metal it would be revolutionary. You should bring these to the Metallurgists Guild in London."

Aaaah she just wanted to turn this into money and now she has to go all the way to London, and probably disappoint them because jade may not exist in this world.

"I don't know if I could point it out-- I think I'm from somewhere very far away, considering I've never heard of this place. Even where I'm from, it's somewhat rare and hard to mine. 

Is there a Metallurgist's Guild in Bristol? I'm headed that way. "

"They won't be as advanced as London's, but yes. If it's rare - well, I suppose one handful of miracle metal won't win the war. I'll buy these five coins off you for eighteen shillings. Make something pretty out of them. Twelve pence in a shilling, twenty shillings in a pound. If you're not from around here - one penny will buy you bread and soup most places, two pence will get you an inn room."

"Sounds reasonable to me!" And she exchanges the 5 coins for the 18 shillings.

She's probably got some time before she needs to meet back up with George, so she heads towards the Church to investigate the local religion (while pretending she knows about it, of course.)

The Church stands in the center of the town with a small garden around it, made of grey stone, solidly built. It looks like it's even been washed some time in the last few months. There's a tower at one corner that holds a large brass bell. The stained glass window over the large oak door shows a man with golden light shining from around his head, holding a book and a copy of the cross symbol and smiling down at whoever looks at it. The door is closed.

So, the building is important enough for the effort and water for washing it. The stained glass also has to be expensive: more evidence it's important. (More evidence that any screwing up might be bad. Very bad.) The cross symbol is widespread, and a book is involved. That's not nothing, but not a lot.

She knocks at the door.

(Some of the townsfolk are wearing miniature cross symbols as necklaces and the like, too.)

Another priest opens the door slightly and edges out and closes it behind him after a little while. He looks tired. "Hello, stranger. My apologies that I cannot welcome you inside right now. What need have you from the House of God?"

Welp, she didn't plan this far. Well, she did. Her plan was 'walk in, see if there is a book, read it, become more knowledgeable.' But no, she's going to have to pretend she knows what she's talking about and gently fish for info.

"I was planning to pray." Prayer is pretty universal, right? Not a weird thing to go to a church for.

Also God has a house? Is this a metaphor or what,

"Oh, I see. I'm very sorry. We are rebuilding the church's interior to meet the greater spiritual needs of Wellington as the community grows. Unfortunately, we've had to close to the public for most of the week. I regret the necessity, but this allows construction to proceed much faster." Indeed, building sounds are coming from inside the church, faintly. "I would be glad to see you return for the regular service on Sunday, or I would be happy to pray with you here, if you wish."

Okay, you know what, being foreign and confused has worked so far.

"Oh, I'm only passing through, I probably won't be here sunday. I was thinking more-- I'm from somewhere far away, and I wanted to see how churches were different around here. But I wouldn't want to interfere with the construction, or take up your time too much. I can always go to the church the next town along."

And here's hoping the pitchforks don't come out,

The priest is actually really excited to explain Christianity to a foreigner! God in his infinite wisdom and mercy calls upon him to spread the Good Word, after all. Christianity is definitely a monotheistic religion! There's a lot of emphasis on helping others and having faith that things will be better in the end, and how you will get into a good afterlife if you are virtuous.

The chaperones-having norms come from the religion - according to this priest the only reason one should ahem ahem is if you want children, though he dances around actually saying this, limiting it to vague comments about possibly getting 'more sensible' clothes. God uses angels instead of exalted as instruments of his divine will. He doesn't explain how witches fit into the picture.

Jesus Christ is some kind of avatar of God, and sacrificed himself and suffered for everyone, even those nasty- er, misguided heathens on other continents. The important book is the Bible and she can almost certainly buy one cheap, they're one of the first books the printing presses started mass-copying!

Yay, she can more effectively pretend to be Christian now! (Some gods would be bothered by their followers pretending to be part of another religion, but not Luna. She is the god of deception after all.)

And Jesus isn't a party god, that's a shame. She's going to make noises like she is going to follow the clothes advice, but she isn't actually.

...she's just going to mentally replace every instance of 'God' with 'the Unconquered Sun' and 'angel' with 'exalted.' That's probably not completely wrong.

And now, better equipped for Operation Lunar Operative Undercover, she's going to head George-wards.

George has a mostly-empty cart now. A few bundles still sit in it but there's more than enough room for two this time.

"Hello again. I made good time on the deliveries. Glad I didn't keep you waiting. You find what you needed?"

"Yep! I'm all set. And I can pay for my food and board."

That's a relief. He probably would've paid for something cheap, you can't just leave someone to starve or sleep on the street, but it'd have been annoying.

"Well, hop in and off we go! I heard something interesting too. I asked about the presses - the book presses - turns out it's a clever new invention! Have you seen, say, nobles' seals before? Stick them in ink, press them onto paper and make a nice neat mark?"

"I've seen them used occaisionally, yeah."

"The idea is - you make letters of those and arrange them and now you have a stamp for a page in a book. Stamp it a thousand times and rearrange them and do it again and again, and you have a thousand books! Really fast compared to copying them by hand! How clever is that?"

"I have a friend who'd love that." When they somehow meet up again, Misho is going to be so jealous. "Must be why the books are getting so much cheaper."

"Indeed so. I'm going to be buyin' books. I'll have a shelf of them before long! Like I was rich or something." He calms a bit.

"Your friend sounds smart. I don't know how you can find your friends, but I hear some witches can just know things. Pull facts from the ether and be right. Maybe you'll find one of them."

"Yeah, Misho is going to be jealous of that. He had a shelf of books, but it got destroyed. Somewhere where replacing it would be no big deal? He'd love that."

And ohohoh, a lead!

"I'll have to keep an eye out for that sort of witch when I get to Bristol. Probably the best way to find my friends." And blow my cover, but whatever.

"Well, Bristol's fifty miles from the inn we're heading for now. That's a day and a half of travel, I figure. So you'll be there soon enough."

"That's good.

Have you been to Bristol before? What's it like?"

"Only once. It's along a river, and by the sea. Built into the hills and cliffs. More people than I could count, doing all kinds of work. Craftsmen of all kinds, musicians and painters, doctors and chemists, rich lords walking the same street as humble dockworkers, schools, shipyards. I didn't stay long and I can't compare it to other cities, but it seemed a busy and cheerful place."

"That's nice. I like coasts. And bunches of people all mixed together."

"It felt very - overwhelming to me at the time. And smelly. Though I hear that's gotten better, somehow. I could see what people mean when they say pastures are nice and peaceful."

He fidgets one arm nervously, tapping at the cart's edge. "I can go back home if it's too much, if I can't find a school to study at. Boring, or overwhelming? Peaceful, or exciting? Hmm."

"Some people get used to cities, some don't.

Have you ever heard the phrase 'may you live in interesting times?' A lot of people disagree about whether it's a blessing or a curse."

"Can't say I have. Makes sense, though. And I'm committing to this, I've tried the first path, time to try the other and see if I like it any better. There's different kinds of 'interesting', of course. Fighting rings for the bloody-minded, books for the scholars, pubs for the revelers."

"It's worthwhile trying things.

I think the different ideas of interesting are where half the arguments come from. Back home, there's a bunch of scholars shouting 'I wanted it to be interesting because of the printing press! Not a civil war! It should be interesting differently!'"

"Hmph. Well call me blind but I can't see why anyone would think war and pestilence is interesting. Books and debate, of course. Drink and gambling and debauchery, I see the appeal. Even fighting I get that some people want and need that kind of thing. But war's just bad for everyone. My great-grandfather told tales of the war against the Welsh and how it turned men to monsters."

Marena isn't sure how literal the 'turned into monsters' thing is, but she isn't going to ask.

"Some people just find war exhilarating. They're-- deeply weird, but I've met a few.

And some more don't find it interesting-- but they like the opportunity to do good, and there are few places that need good people as much as a war."

"Oh, I understand that. Saving another's life surely must be a very fulfilling thing. We've had peace in our time, until the Neuroi invasion, thank God. I've never so much as seen a killing blade or an arrow not meant for deer."

"Yeah, war's generally bad" 

"Truth, amen." With that George settles in for a quiet ride. The weather is clear and warm and bright.

They get to the next town in about an hour and a half. With a few rows of streets, several manor houses, and a grander church than the previous one, it's almost enough of a town to get lost in. George heads for the inn near the outskirts and pays to stable his horse and store his cart, then heads inside.

...There's something different about the lack-of-Essence here. It's not quite so lack-y in one direction. A faint whisper of energy and power coming from somewhere in the middle of town.

"Hey, George, do you mind if I quickly hop off and investigate something?"

"...I've no claim on you, of course, madam witch." He glances at the stableworkers, "Just mind to find me again tonight or early in the morning, or I may need to leave without you and you'll need another guide."

"This shouldn't take that long, I'll be able to meet up in the morning."

And she heads to the middle of town, towards the not-Essence weirdness.

It's coming from an old lady sitting in the front garden of one of the fancier houses, dressed in a fancy outfit in a strange fashion, smoking something out of a pipe. She fingers a jeweled ring, turning it over and over in her hand as she watches passers-by. She holds herself like someone who used to be alert and active, but is very, very tired now.

"Hello?"

She sets down the pipe and puts the ring on and gives Marena a skeptical look. "Hello. Who are you?"

"I'm Marena, I'm just passing through.  I was just wondering what you were up to? " 

"Why, I am simply enjoying the time I have left in this world as best I can. And you, an inappropriately dressed foreigner, come to chat with an old witch in an out of the way town? I must admit I am curious what you want."

Aha, a witch! An actual witch! Who she can mine for information! Subtly!

(And now she knows what witches being around feels like.)

"I got lost in a magic forest. That's a bad description of what happened, but it'll do. I'm slowly working my way back towards civilisation, and I thought I might pop by to say hello to one of my people." 

"Your- Hah! Ahem. Miss hasn't-introduced-herself, I am British before I am a witch. I feel no kinship for you."

Oh, she's going to do this dance. Lovely.

"I'm Marena of the Red Cresent, from Thorns-as-it-was. Pleased to meet you. And you are?"

"I am Elizabeth Setters, from Taunton. Likewise. Would you like some tea?" (Emotional read: Smug, this is a small social victory.)

Sometimes you just got to let people feel like they've won.

"Only if it's no trouble."

"No trouble at all."

She clears her throat, and the essence stirs. "Mary, bring out two more cups of tea, please. And crumpets... Thank you."

And it settles again. "Tea will be out soon. Please, sit."

She sits down, and tries to not be obviously weirded out by what just happened.

"So, how have things been treating you?"

"I'm getting old, but you can tell that. I am content. Money makes many things more comfortable, does it not? And how has our quiet English countryside been treating you? No trouble, I hope."

"Everything's easier with money.

It's been nice and quiet, and the people have been very helpful, which I'm thankful for."

"That's good to hear. Our country is full of hardworking and kind people. Well, aside from the Welsh. Oh, a word of advice - I don't know how it is in your homeland, but while we are largely free here compared to our continental neighbors, the Crown is very keen on its taxes. Especially lately, with the Neuroi wrecking things in Karlsland and us sending so much over there to help."

"My homeland was pretty keen on tax too, I'll make sure to chip in. I'm assuming the Crown has collectors?" Who I can avoid?, Marena doesn't say.

"Yes. I'm sure you'll be able to recognize them. You can smell bureaucrats a mile away, metaphorically speaking."

A small girl dressed in a demure black and white dress exits the house, puts down a silver tray containing a plate of warm crumpets and two steaming fragrant cups of tea, bows, and leaves without a word. "Thank you, Mary," Elizabeth says as she leaves.

"The tea is a black, grown in the Americas. I prefer Indian but it's not really available lately. Cream and sugar?"

"I'm sure sneaky bureaucrats exist, but I've never met any."

Who has tea with sugar? Or cream?

"No, thank you. Has something happened in India?"

"Oh, no, it's the trade routes, you see. Neuroi make the Suez, Turkey, and eastern Europa dangerous where they don't outright control it, so any goods from India must travel a lot farther. And tea from India is not really very urgent compared to weapons and food and so on for the soldiers."

She adds a bit of cream to her tea and sips it.

Yay, vague geographical knowledge!

"The prioritisation makes sense, but still, I imagine it's a little annoying."

"I don't harbor any illusions I'm suffering more than... Quite a lot of other people. Other witches, fighting witches, too, not just the magic-less people. But yes, it is, a bit."

"Just because other people have it worse, that's no reason not to grumble.

Have you heard any news from the front?"

"I don't really have military connections, you know. I just sell them a bit of mana now and then." She indicates the ring. "No more than a trickle really, but every bit counts, apparently."

Okay, so they have mana (instead of essence, presumably), you can sell it(?) and rings are involved. Somehow.  And the war effort really wants it.

...that's not nothing.

"I should probably donate some to the war effort, when I get a chance.

Did you specialise in anything before you retired, if you don't mind me asking?" (Hopefully she'll say what she did before she asks Marena, so she can come up with a plausible lie. Don't want to claim that she's a shapechanger, find out that's not a thing, then have to turn into a fox and have it be a whole malarky.)

"Messages. You saw me talk to Mary - That's my special magic. In my prime I could speak across the whole of the continent, and merchants and kings will pay a lot for fast secure communication. Not as flashy as some, but I liked it. Have you worked out yours? I would assume so, at your age, but it doesn't always work that way."

"That's very useful!"

And here's hoping that her powers aren't uber-weird: "I'm mostly a shapeshifter."

"Interesting! That sounds remarkably versatile. Mostly?"

"It is pretty versatile. I can do a few other things --a bit of defensive magic, that sort of thing-- but it's mostly applied shapeshifting."

"Oh, of course. Shields and brooms. I was just surprised - it sounded like your special wasn't limited to one category for a second."

Shields and brooms? Okay, quick, pretend you know what that means in this context.

"Yeah, it's more like-- Even if it is just one general power, shapeshifting lets me do a fairly wide variety of things. Like, I can become much stronger by turning into a bear, which on one level is shapeshifting, but could also be seen as strengthboosting magic."

"Hmm. Well, it sounds like you're probably going to make out well for yourself, whatever you end up doing. I wish you luck in ceasing to be lost."

"Thank you, that's very kind of you to say."

And Marena  heads off, kills some time, and meets back up with George.

George is sitting at a table in the inn, having dinner and apparently a beer. He grins at her.

"Welcome back! All went well, wherever you went off to?"

"Yeah, worked out what was going on. Turned out to be nothing concerning."

"Oh, that's good. If a witch finds something concerning it's bad news for the rest of us, eh?"

"Ehh, but some witches turn out to be a lil' prone to false alarms." She winks.

"Hah. Well, better to check and not find anything, than not check and miss something dangerous, I'd say." He raises the glass of beer and drains what remains of it.

"Hear-hear."

She goes off to acquire food and beer. She takes a sip of the beer, and fails not to make a face at it's taste.

The food at least is OK, if not spectacular.

A waiter comments, "We gots stronger stuff if you wanna pay for it. That's the one that everybody drinks, 'cause beer don't make you sick like water does sometimes."

"Nah, I'm good. Just found it surprising." She is a Lunar, she can deal with it. (She is a Lunar, she could also deal with the water, but she isn't letting that on.)

"So, George, how was your day?"

"Well, you've seen most of it, haven't you? Work and travel. It was good, though. You're more fun to talk to than my neighbors."

"I pride myself on being entertaining."

George makes a sound of suppressed amusement.

A table away, a relatively nicely dressed man comments not quite quietly enough, "Well, those clothes are certainly entertaining." He and his friends let out a loud laugh. A few other people make annoyed or irritated faces, including George.

The nice thing about being a Lunar on the road is you can fuck with people, and not have to worry about the consequences too much. So why not have a little fun.

"I'm sure you're very entertaining too--" she says in her best sugar-pie voice, before switching to more threatening tone "--when you're running." She shows enough fang to be subconsciously offputting, but not enough that it's obvious her teeth are actually sharp.

"Aheh, heh, heh... Heh."

"Uh... Clem, maybe you shouldn't have said that."

"Yeah, maybe not."

"Clem, maybe you should apologize."

"Nah, don't think I will."

Clem's friends glance at the probably-a-witch-given-current-social-context, and edge slightly away from him.

"You've got a good choice in friends. They're smart."

"I'm surprised you didn't hear something like that sooner, dressed like a French woman as you are."

"Clem..."

"No, shut up. I'll say what I wanna say, we got free speech 'ere, don't we? And if you're doing some kind of magic blathery to me, that's probably against some kind of law, innit? Can't scare me."

"Clem, if she turns you into a frog or sommat and gets tossed in jail you're still a frog."

This seems to get through his drunkenness. He twitches, looks around, and says, "...Sorry. 'M leaving now." And hurries, wobbling, out the door, leaving coins on his table.

She turns to George. "Sorry about that display.

And, uh, not meaning to show my foreign-ness too much, but what are the French like?"

"You seemed to teach him a lesson, just by talkin'. Best way to end a fight in my opinion - not having one. So it's fine. The French - er. I've never actually seen a Frenchman but when people compare you to one they're calling you a coward or weak or all fur and no meat or disloyal or, er, a, uh, whore." He rubs his head and looks away.

"Yeah, better than him getting a table thrown at him.

Ah, that makes sense. Still kinda a weird insult, I imagine French women have other things they do with their time."

"One would presume so, yes. Farming and housework and weaving or whatever their trade is if nothing else... I'm not sure why, but everyone hates someone, it seems. I'm probably guilty of the same sin, and just can't tell."

"It's a thing. I think people need someone they can point at and say 'I'm better than them'. Can't say I've never done it myself."

"Pff. It's my neighbors for me, if it's anyone. Clint will go on and on and on about his pigs, and Marla keeps dumping trash in my mam's field, and so on. Now, I try to take things calmly and be kind and understanding. My father said that a man that's as steady as a rock is more of a man than a knight, or even a noble, whose temper is like a flag in the wind. I'd like to think I'm good at it."

George finishes his food. "I'll probably turn in soon. Shall we get going bright and early tomorrow, or rest up a little?"

"You've struck me as fairly steady.

As much as I'd like a lie in, I should probably get to Bristol sooner rather than later."

"Thank you."

George knits his brows together and frowns slightly. He says, quietly, "You can't just find a broom and fly there if you're truly in such a hurry?"

Brooms can fly? WHAT

"I've, uh, lost mine. And where I'm from, it's very rude to just borrow someone else's. I'm not in that much of a hurry, I just don't want to lose too much time."

...Maybe she's not a witch. 

Has she actually done anything definitely magical as far as he can see? She's obviously a witch, bold and foreign and the way she carries herself, and yet...

Well, it's not his business, really, if she's pretending. Nothing he's done really changes based on this, except perhaps how trustworthy she is.

He thinks about it for a few moments, then shrugs. "Well, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, then." And goes to talk to the innkeeper about a room.

"See you tomorrow!"

And once George has finished his transaction, she goes and pays for a room for herself, and falls into bed.

The room is tolerable, if a bit cramped and very plain. It's also cheap.

The next morning George gets up at sunrise and goes to feed and water his horse, then sits out in front of the inn, snacking on bread from the nearby bakery and another mug of the weak but safe beer.

Marena also wakes up at dawn, and meets him outside the inn. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough. It's a bit odd to get up and not have to go to the field. Feels like Sunday. Shall we set off right away, then, since you're in a hurry?"

"That would be lovely, thanks."

They set off. The weather is overcast and damp today, not pleasant and sunny like it was yesterday. Still, the roads here are good quality, and they make good time. Though George does ask Marena to pay half the toll, when they encounter bridge tolls and toll roads.

By late afternoon the city of Bristol is visible in the distance. It stretches along the river from a port to at least two dozen miles inland, into some hills. Sailing ships are heading in and out of port, as well as a few ships with iron constructions of some kind, trailing smoke. George goggles at them and tries to guess why - presumably they're some kind of motive engine, to replace wind? The sails are furled, on that one, and yet it moves...

Even from here you can hear the low noise of a city. The character of this city's din is a bit - clunkier - than usual. Lots of construction going on? And there are clearly a lot of witches in the city. A few dozen, perhaps, though it's hard to make out individual ones from the essence impressions at this distance.

"I've heard of boats like that. Usually magically powered, but your tech is likely different."

Yeah those boats are super weird. She's heard of First Age tech like that... but that was First Age.

And the nice thing about Essense impressions is it's going to make it easy to find where all the witches are.

There's a fair bit of traffic on the way into the city. George continues speculating and gawking as they proceed inward.

The noise of construction is, apparently, half the city being torn up and built back down again with a sewer system underneath it. There are signs everywhere shouting that not using the sewer system in places where it exists is now illegal - it causes plagues, you know! It seems like kind of a monumental project - there are thousands and thousands of people working on it. Though there are also plenty of factories and workshops and shipyards.

It turns out that there are stables in the city. Though now that they're here, he'll probably sell his horse.

"I suppose this is where we part ways for now? I'm going to go looking for schools, and you're going to do whatever it is you came here for. Looking for a way home? I'd try the ports, I suppose, for that."

Indoor plumbing. Sweet.

"Yeah, I'll see you again, if I see you. Good luck with schooling!" And then she heads off in the direction of the greatest amount of Essense disturbances.

There are two roughly equally strong greatest-essence-disturbances. One close to the shore, and one towards the east end of the city. There are more witches scattered throughout, but those two feel like groups of about a dozen. The shore is closer.

To the shore! To pretend to be a witch!

The collection of witches near the shore, it turns out, is a few blocks inland from the docks.

It's a rather luxurious-looking three story building in the richer parts of town. There's a doorbell. A collection of sparks are inside, mostly on the second story of the building. The sign says St. Lucille Preparatory School for Young Witches.

Hmm... On the one hand, she is young, but not that young, as much as she hates to admit it. Probably not going to fit in in a school.

...And she can always head back here if it turns out to be her best option.

She heads towards the other concentration of witches.

At least one of the other random witches in the city is flying! She can see them sitting side-saddle on a broomstick, floating almost leisurely over the city, though far from where she is at that moment. The essence-feeling is muddled from this far away. And the smoke and soot from all the factories and workshops, and the dust of construction, makes it a bit hard to see.

The other collection of witches is a post office. Actually, the post office is just the closest entrance of what looks like a decently sized complex. Storage areas, some kind of training ground, living quarters, offices. Uniformed and armed men stand at the other entrances to the place, carrying - obviously weapons of some kind - a metal tube and a wooden frame and a short blade attached to the end. They look bored. Most of the witches are inside the complex, in the housing buildings or offices. One is walking towards the post office from inside the complex.

The post office itself is inviting and fairly busy. There are lists of prices to carry mail and packages to various places. (Apparently there's also a new tax on mail, according to the signs.) There are orderly queues, scales, carts loaded down with stacks of letters and boxes, busy clerks who occasionally shout 'NEXT!'. There is also a sign that says - 'REFUND NOT AVAILABLE if any witch-carried mail is delayed due to military priority'.

Okay, trial by fire time. Lets see if she can successfully pretend to be a witch.

(...and why are the broomsticks flying? Why.)

She looks for someone who looks in-charge-ish and not-busy-ish.

There's probably a manager or something around here somewhere? Most of the clerks seem-

Wait, yeah, that guy right there who just came out of a side office and got called 'sir' and started issuing instructions, he looks in charge. And he looks and smells bureaucrat-y.

Yes! A bureaucrat!

She walks over to him purposefully. "So sorry to bother you, I was just wondering if there was a way a somewhat lost and foreign witch could help with the war effort?"

"Oh, how unusual. That's not really my department, I'm in the Royal Mail Service. I organize the mail, sorting and dealing with companies and coordinating it all and so on. I don't usually talk to the couriers. There's always demand for witches, though. Hmm, maybe logistics? You won't have the training for... Hmm... What's your special ability? Do you have any specialized skills or knowledge? We could always use more couriers, but there are other magical needs and there may be somewhere else I should send you than the logistics service recruiting office."

"I'm a shapeshifter, with wilderness survival skills-- though for a different kind of wilderness, unforturnately. If you tell me where logistics is, I should be able to find my way there."

"Wilderness survival might be helpful, actually. I wouldn't know. There's a logistics office in the compound out back but you probably shouldn't just walk up there. I can send a runner to ask for an appointment and get back to you. As long as it's not a total waste of time and you are, in fact, a witch."

Ehh, she can spare the Essence for dramatics. She turns into a small bird, perches on the nearest perch like thing, cocks her head, and does her best to look expectant.

He blinks once. He writes something down on his clipboard. He turns to one of the clerks and commands, "Jeffrey! Go tell Lieutenant Reynolds I have a witch who wants to chat, please. As soon as possible, I presume?"

She turns back into a human. She now also has a silver glow around her, and a crescent moon in the middle of her forehead.

"That sounds lovely, thank you."

The bureaucrat asks, "...Is that a side-effect of the transformation?"

Jeffrey the clerk goes off at a fast walk, nearly bumping into the witch who has been walking towards the post office on his way out. The witch dodges around him. "Well, excuse you. Oh, hey, Sims! Turns out I'm free for the afternoon if you need an extra broom. Oh, and who's this?"

The bureaucrat shrugs. "I haven't actually caught your name, miss...?"

"Yep. And I won't be able to transform again until I stop glowing. It should only last a few minutes though.

I'm Marena."

"Weird. I can do my thing whenever, however as long as I got the mana. I'm Sandra."

(The bureaucrat excuses himself to go over to a desk and starts investigating some paperwork.)

"You're new in town, huh? Noisy, isn't it?"

"Nice to meet you.

I am, but I've been in louder places."

"Likewise, probably. Well, now I'm curious. No offense, but you kind of seem like the 'wandering the middle of nowhere' type to me. You going to sign on with the military? Fight the good fight, it's all for the good of the world, be happy for the opportunity, all that junk?"

"Yeah, not normally a middle of nowhere type. I don't know the details, it happened, but I ended going from being in a forest with my friends to being in a very different forest sans friends.

Probably. As much as I'd like to reunite with my friends, there's not really a clear path to that. Clearer path to helping people, by joining the military. Also 'with great power comes great responsibility' and all that junk."

"Hmm. Well, my advice... Read your contract. That was my mistake. Couldn't read at the time."

"Yeah, contracts are nasty business. I'll check there isn't anything too terrible, and I'm not signing away my first born child or anything."

"Well, dire warning delivered. I've got a free afternoon and it doesn't look like Sims has a side-job for me today. Wanna hang out after you talk to the big brass, or something? Show you around?"

"I always appreciate dire warnings.

Being shown round would be lovely, if it isn't a bother or anything."

"Nah. Meet a cool-looking new witch, who doesn't have to report me to the commander if I relax a bit and isn't all discipline-discipline-duty every day? And won't silently hate me for not being a Catholic? Chat about magic, adventures, whatever? Sounds like great fun. The ears are pretty swanky, by the way, wish I could do that."

Oh Luna-damnit she can see the ears. Damnit.

"Well, you're in luck, I don't even know what Catholic is. Pretty hard to silently hate somewhere for that. Oh, and I'm definitely Captain Duty, so.

The ears kinda come with the whole transformation package. They're not... super intentional."

"...That's. Actually very strange. I mean, stranger things have happened, but still. Most specials are just-"

She snaps her fingers and - disappears. One moment there, the next nothing, not even any lingering scent or essence signature.

And then she exists again, on Marena's other side. "Like so. I just do, no light show required."

"Neat.

If anyone was going to get unnecessarily flashy special powers, I'm not surprised it's me."

"You'll certainly dazzle the regular old humans like that. Some witches might not take you as seriously, smells like showboating. Like, if you're really that good, you're not supposed to need to show off? But whatever, I can't stand that kind of posing and posturing. You do much flying? I like it. Peaceful up there."

"I'm not doing the flashy-ness deliberately, it just sorta how my thing works. Though I'd probably would be the sorta person who'd do it deliberately. Flashy-ness is fun.

I fly a fair bit. Mostly scouting though. Bird form is useful for that."

"Yeah, I can see that. They tell me I'd make a good scout. 'Cause of the invisibility, and apparently I notice details? They had me do some kind of test. Flash and noise is fun as long as you don't do it constantly, I think it'd get old eventually." She shrugs.

The bureaucrat's runner comes back. The bureaucrat walks towards them. "Miss Marena, Lieutenant Reynolds will see you now if that is convenient for you. Rogers can show you to his office and back."

"A keen eye is good for scouting." 

She turns towards the bureacrat. "Now's a great time."

And she waves goodbye to Sandra.

"See ya in a bit. Don't let Rey steamroll you or anything."

The clerk says, "Right this way, ma'am."

The compound out back doesn't look particularly different from this angle. Stacks of crates, a running track and open field, low, utilitarian buildings here and there.

She follows the clerk.

The clerk takes her into one of the buildings and into an office stacked high with paperwork and a giant map of Great Britain and northern Europa. This place is an island, apparently. A big one, but an island.

The logistics officer is a sharply dressed witch about forty years old, with short hair tied back into a ponytail.

"Welcome, Marena. All I've heard is that you want to help with the war effort, but that's good enough for me. I'm Lieutenant Alyssa Reynolds, United Defense Force Logistics Group. Have you heard much about the UDF yet?"

"Pleased to meet you. Most of what I've heard is that you're fighting demons,"

"Yes. Well. Whether or not the Neuroi qualify as demons, strictly speaking, I don't know. But they are incredibly dangerous. They burn whole regions to the ground, left unchecked. They don't speak or even think in ways we recognize, though there is clearly some kind of intelligence at work, they fight well enough. And they emerge from a giant eternal storm hovering over what used to be the nation of Ostmark. Neuroi are made of black flat panels that somehow move without sinew or muscle or gear or piston. They can be hurt easily enough. Bludgeons, arrows, mana-blasts, fire. But they quickly regenerate unless one destroys the crystal within, the core. Witches are the most promising combatants - and the only combatants possible against the ones that fly.

As for the UDF itself, we are an international military organization. Our mandate is to coordinate and collect forces from all around the world to more effectively oppose the Neuroi. By taking the ultimate decision power out of any one nation's hands, we can be trusted to defend all nations equally, and not reserve as much for internal defense or petty squabbles over territory, which, sadly, is still happening even with a world-class threat in the field. We're still getting our feet under ourselves in some ways, but we have come a long way in a short time in many ways, thanks to the hard work and dedication of tens of thousands of witches and hundreds of thousands of non-magical soldiers and other staff."

Oh wow this is sounding very Scarlet Empire. So very, very Scarlet Empire.

"Okay, so a few questions: How vulnerable is this core, generally speaking? Is there a reason normal ranged weapons don't work on the fliers, and only witches can do it?

And do you have any safeguards against countries, or charismatic people, taking you over from within?"

"I never saw combat, this is just what I heard, but our ranged weapons are... Not particularly accurate. And massed ground forces with arbalests and mortars are not nearly as mobile as a flying witch. There are checks and balances against magical mental influence. I don't know the details, by design. Though I would say the Unity Mother, the founder, is very charismatic - and as far as anyone can tell, sincerely devoted to saving the world."

Single charismatic founder? Oh hiya, Scarlet Empress-alike!

"Those answers make sense.

Though fair warning before I join, most of my shapeshift forms are small. And while they're useful, I'm not sure a fox can really take down a whole panel-monster-thing." Okay, so she has her warform, but that's really only an emergency back up.

"We wouldn't ask you to go into combat without plenty of training. Shapeshifting doesn't have any immediately obvious applications, as far as I can see, but the usual witch abilities - brooms, shields, mana-blasts - tend to suffice. Having a useful special ability is not necessary, especially if you want to be a courier and not part of a strike wing. Witches are as yet unmatched in speed and flexibility as couriers. Steam engines are advancing quickly, but they can't hope to hold a candle to witch-power yet. We're developing advanced devices that can be flown just like brooms, but allow carrying heavy loads, or moving extremely quickly. One witch can do more to bring weapons to the front than a hundred logistics workers, who must themselves be fed and housed and supported."

Mana blasts. She's meant to be able to do mana blasts. How on Creation is she going to pretend to be able to do that.

"I could definitely courier. I've got a bird form that can fly a reasonable distance, if you wanted something less obvious than someone on a broom."

"Stealthy deliveries, hmm, there's something interesting... There might be a need for that somewhere. You can carry things in that form? Well, either way, I won't be able to sign you up right now even if you decide you're interested in joining. There are procedures and paperwork. It would take a week or so. Though I could pay you to make individual runs at a reduced rate by tomorrow, possibly. Why don't I give you a quick tour as long as you're here?"

"I can carry a bit more than a small bird could carry. Small piece of paper: yes. Heavy book: no. Small book: maybe.

I'd be happy to take a tour."

"Tour it is. I can show off the heavy-lifting 'wings. You can carry literal tons of stuff, flying one of these. Burns through mana faster, so you have to watch yourself, but they're useful."

She heads out into the yard and turns for one of the storage areas.

She flips the tarp off of a bulky metal construction with a seat and spiky, angled protrusions at the back. "Heavy lifting wing mark two."

She does --- Something, something indescribably weird, with the essence. Pushes it into the 'wing', shapes it, molds it, and then pushes it out. And despite the turbulence of essence, the mass of metal gently lifts off the ground without so much as a ripple of air. Then it scoots forward, and the lieutenant flies a lazy circle around the yard before landing again.

"Not too impressive to look at, but I could do the same carrying a half-dozen crates. They're considering making a variant to carry bombs and drop them on Neuroi, too."

"That is... quite impressive."

"Technology and magic together really can be. We're only just starting to explore the possibilities there. I wish I could be closer to it, honestly, but the powers that be need me here, so here I am."

"If you don't mind me asking, but do the powers that be have a reason? Particular talent for logistics, that sort of thing?"

"Precisely. That, and experience managing other witches, and the combination of familiarity with the needs of the UDF and familiarity with the area and the people we source from here."

"It's a shame when your talents keep you away from the exciting stuff. But worth it, usually."

"These idiots would hardly get anything done without me, to be honest. Well, maybe not, but I'm usually busy and I usually don't feel like my work is useless. And I do get to talk ship-building with some of the locals."

She lands the 'wing and pulls the tarp back over. The weird pattern of essence she made while using it disappears slowly. "Honestly, there's not much else to give you a tour of. This area is mostly for storage. Quarters, mess hall and lounge?"

"I should probably be able to find those myself. How 'bout I meet you tomorrow, and we can discuss under-the-table stuff?"

"It's not under the table, it's just not as a member of the UDF. I'll see if I can find the time. We're handling a large prototype headed for Manchester tomorrow, so it'll be busy. Probably best to plan for some time in the afternoon. Okay. I'll start on the paperwork if I get the chance. Good evening, and I look forward to working with you."

"Ehh, it doesn't matter to me what level of official it's on. Though it not being under the table is, like, nice. Good evening to you too, and I'll catch up with you tomorrow afternoon."

She heads off to find Sandra.

Sandra is leaning against a wall inside the post office, reading a letter. She folds it up carelessly and sticks it into one of the big pockets on her jacket. "Hey, welcome back. Ready to take off? What kinda places you want to see?"

"Hi! You've probably got a better idea of what's interesting in this city than me, so you should probably lead."

"Music? Good food? Shows? Shopping? Gambling? Fights? Parks? Library? Heh. Library. I'll cover you for the day if you pay me back later."

"On the one hand, I feel like I should be the responsible adult here-- but watching fights is just so fun!"

"I don't know how exciting it'll be as a display of martial skill, but watching shirtless guys hit each other is usually exciting in at least one other way. Let's go." She starts heading for the door.

"People who know what they're doing are fun to watch-- but people who don't are ten times more entertaining."

Marena follows.

Sandra comments on this or that store or park as they make their way to a fighting arena she knows.

They walk up in the middle of a bout between a beefy blonde guy and an older, wiry man. The old guy almost casually picks apart the young guy's defense and batters him with punches that get past the defense. The young guy manages a heavy hit, but the old-timer ducks away casually, turning it into a glancing blow.

"Farm muscles don't make you a boxer, sonny!"

"Yeah," Sandra comments, "My money's on the old guy. That's Slim. I don't recognize the slab of muscle, he must be new."

"I'm assuming Slim is a regular? He definitely looks like he has a better idea what he's doing."

"Yeah, Slim's a regular. The army wouldn't take him, too old. But he says he won't quit until someone manages to break him. I guess it's his prerogative. Teach this kid a lesson, Slim!" She shouts the last bit.

The fight continues. The big blonde guy focuses on defense as people jeer and make bets. Most of the money is on Slim to win. Big Guy barely seems fazed by Slim's attacks, though he still doesn't manage to land more than a glancing hit in return.

"Yeah, go Slim! ...Didn't know the army had an age limit. Hopefully I'm not over it."

"I think they figured he'd be more trouble than he was worth."

"Okay, yeah, streetfight guy would probably cause problems.

...probably wouldn't do anything too bad for morale though, if he picked the right fights."

"These rinks are legal, you know. Just frowned upon by the hoity-toities. They'd rather experience more refined and sensible violence, like hawking, horseback duels, or hunting foxes."

"Ah, so this is the sport of the common people got it. All the best sports are. Once the nobles get in, everything becomes stodgy and gets a multisyllabic name."

"Some people say witches are a little bit noble-y. Forget 'em. Ooh!" She winces as the big guy manages to feint and jab Slim hard. "I think Slim got overconfident. Maybe I should bet on the new guy just in case. That hit was nasty."

Slim laughs and just steps up the taunting more, trying to get his opponent angry and off-balance.

"...Nah, nevermind, he's still got this."

"Ehh, I was a noble. So not worth it.

Big Guy isn't bad, but Slim knows more of what he's doing. Yeah, Slim's got this."

"Plenty of people would've rather grown up noble than poor. Crazy social rules, heavy obligations and responsibility, no real choices... But cake twice a week, meat every day, warm every day." She shrugs. "Plenty of girls would've rather been witches for that matter, and we're the lucky few. Life ain't fair."

"Yeah, can't really complain when people have nothing. But having managed to escape the concept of social class: 10/10, would reccommend. But I have weird circumstances, so. Life ain't fair."

"Indeed not. Especially when even as a witch you can still get thrown to the wolves. So I'm just gonna enjoy-" 

WHAM. The crowd goes wild as Slim lands a devastating punch square on the new guy's chin. He follows it up with more, mercilessly.

"Yep, Slim wins."

A couple of referees-or-something are dragging the buff new guy to the edge of the rink. Slim is mostly shouting to the sky. An announcer starts yelling about the next match: A grudge fight between two rivals with stage names of 'Snarl' and 'The Butcher'.

"Want to try and get a better spot?"

"Sure! ...I love how the names have just become, like, ten times more dramatic."

"Well, I don't care about New Meat's stage name, and Slim is kind of a phenomenon all by himself. But yeah. Dramatic names are the norm. It's a bit cheesy, but also fun."

She pushes her way through people. They get a better spot.

"Yeah, if you get to pick a name, may as well pick a flashy one.

What'd your stage name be? Like, hypothetically, if you did these fights. I think I'm legally obligated to be 'Foxy.'"

"Maybe 'ghost'? 'Specter'? Because of my thing. Oh, so you can be a fox as well as a bird? Neat. Bet foxes have good senses of smell. What else?"

"Ooh, that'd be a good name.

Hmm, I can do a few other things. Horse, man, really big fox, really big bipedal fox-- that's pretty much it. I could learn to do other things though."

"You can turn into a guy? Hmm..."

Sandra is distracted from whatever thought that prompted by the start of the next fight. Snarl and The Butcher both seem to know what they're doing, and to a practiced eye, seem to be putting on a little bit of a show. They're still fighting each other mostly seriously, just going out of the way a bit to emote and exaggerate the hits.

"Ooh. I usually favor Snarl, but he's a bit slow today."

"Yep! I still look more or less the same though, other than being a guy.

Ahh, fighting as performance art. Such a wonderful thing."

"-Ooh, nice hit. Yeah. All that's missing is a snack. Too bad they don't let women complete, at least in this one. I bet I'd kick butt."

"Huh? Why ever not?"

"Because even the lower classes seem to agree with the nobles that we're too gentle and pure to punch each other in the face? Not saying it never happens, but it's not normal. Also, fighting tends to involve baring some skin, another no-no."

"...have these people even met women? Ever?

Ehh, and this place could really do with some more skin."  

"Hey, I'm not defending it, just explaining it. Plenty of women think the same thing, heaven knows why. As for skin... You seem to have that covered. Or not, rather. Notice how nobody says anything about my scandalously bare knees and visible neckline?" She gestures at herself. "Well, we're witches, the rules are different. Hypocrites."

"The breeze is nice. They should feel it some time.

I've been given the 'you must be French' talk, and the 'cover yourself in the sight of the Lord, lest he be scandalised.' I think I've only got away with it because I'm scary. Which like, yes I am. But that shouldn't be why I'm getting away with it."

"The French aren't that bad, you know. But yeah, it's stupid. Society has an annoying and stupid rule, what else is new? The world would probably be better if guys and girls both showed a bit more off. Less stifling, anyway."

"Yeah, I assumed as much about the French. People are people are people.

Meanwhile, I'm showing off behalf of all the poor people who can't." 

"I'm sure they appreciate it."

They watch the fights for a while. Snarl beats The Butcher, and goes on to beat someone called Ox-Man, and then the rotation of fighters changes. There's lots of betting.

Eventually, it winds up for the day.

"You tired of me yet?"

"Not if you aren't tired of me. If there's something else you'd like to sure me around, that'd be great."

"The fights were my big thing. I guess I know some good restaurants and bars."

"Well, if you wanna go get sloshed--"

"Absolutely."

This bar has much better beer than the last place. They proceed to get sloshed.

Marena is difficult to slosh, but not impossible!

This has done bad things for diplomatic skills. "So, like, the thing with the contract? What, like, was it?"

"It's - y'know - money. It's aaaaall money. Folks were - some damn fool loaned 'em half a house and they bet it all and lost, so now I'm on the hook to pay or my whole fam goes to debtor's prisons. That shit's noooot fun."

"Shiiit. That-- that sucks, man."

"Yeah. The rich spit on th' poor. The powerful on the meek. Witches on everyone else's stupid rules. Is the way it works. I hate 'em. I'm workin' for 'em. Some days I feel like I should set all their stuff on fire and hide an' watch... I dunno, thas' a bit much."

"But, like, you're a witch. You could spit on the rules about-- spitting on the rules. Like."

"They got witches too. Witch police. And, like, I don't wanna kill people or wreck shit or anything. Is just so - bleagh."

"They've got, like, witches in case you witch too hard?

Like, there's gotta be away to like, mess with the rules with no one getting hurt."

"Witch police don't care unless you, like, kill people or blow up buildings or do nasty curse stuff. I think."

"Yay witch police: not total killjoys."

"Yaaaay... I should. Go home before I get any more drunker. Back to work t'morrow. Gotta get paid."

"Yeah, work is, like, a thing you gotta do. G'night."

Yay, Lunar metabolism! Marena is not going to be hungover tomorrow.

"Come see me 'gain. Today was fun. Byeeeeee."

This bar doesn't have an inn in it, but there are plenty of places like that nearby.

She finds the nearest inn, and crashes for the night.

(She could probably have found someone to sleep with easy enough. Not everyone is a prude, and the city folk seem to care about that a bit less than those in the countryside. There were some attractive guys at the bar.)

But in any case, the city goes to sleep around her.

The heavy background roar of construction starts back up the next morning, just after sunrise.

The attractive guys will just have to wait another night. Duty calls! To Reynolds! To do the not-under-the-table-jobs!

She has to wait outside for a bit while this random guard who is definitely not ogling no sir waits for someone to get Reynolds to confirm she should be let in.

And then she can go back to Reynolds' office.

"Marena, welcome back! I've got a couple options for you if you're still looking for work. A short hop to Cardiff that is a bit too bulky for one broom, or if you'd rather, we can pay you to store up mana for other witches. A friend of mine in one of the other divisions told me about that program."

And Marena is definitely not standing in a way to show off her best features for ogling, oh no sir.

...okay, she has no idea if she can store mana, so let's not try that one. "I'd be happy to head over to Cardiff."

"Grand. It's a round trip. About a hundred miles. The pay for freelancers on this flight is-" Easily two weeks' worth of inn rooms and food, with some left over. "I'll just need you to read and sign this... You can read, yes? I've been learning not to assume that."

It's a document saying - basically - that if she screws up and crashes there will be an investigation, if she deliberately tampers with or steals it there will be Witch Police after her. Less than one page.

"Yeah, I can read. This sounds reasonable."

And, after a bit of thought, signs her name 'Ragara Marena.'

"And that's all the paperwork you need to do! For this sort of job, at least. I'll take care of the rest later. But first, let's show you to the yard and the delivery you'll be making, yeah? Follow me, please."

And out to the yard and across it to where two of those big steel machines are sitting, being loaded up with packages. "Helas, I found you a freelancer for the other 'wing. You won't have to make two trips after all."

Helas, who looks almost startlingly young and is only slightly less fair-skinned than most people in this city, replies in a heavy accent, "Ah, thank you! I do not mind work but two times the same fly in one day is enochlitikós."

"Glad to be of help. Marena, she'll show you the ropes. Sorry to pass you off like this, I always have more work to do. Unless you have any questions for me...?"

"Nope! I'm good!" She says, desperately pretending that she can definitely fly that thing.

"Hi Helas!"

"Hello! A new face. Good." Helas looks about fifteen, from a little closer. Small-framed, short. She looks Marena up and down a bit jealously. "You might get cold up there. Have you ever flown big-box brooms before?"

"Ehh, the cold's never bothered me. And no," she says, not mentioning that she's never flown a broom before, how the heck is she going to fly this?

Helas shrugs. "You northerners and your cold. I saw snow first time earlier this year! Bah. Hokay. I tell you, Marena. It is not like small broom. Small broom, you just want, go, magic in broom, you fly. Easy. Big wing-broom, you must push magic. Fill whole thing with magic. Only then you fly. Be careful and slow. Do not get distracted in the air. Watch."

She hops onto the large metal 'broom' and closes her eyes. The incredibly weird thing with the Essence is slightly less weird, seeing it a second time. It rushes along the metal struts and spiky bits, down, out.

She grips the handlebars at the front of the thing and lifts gently into the air, breathing deeply. She rises a couple of feet, and then just as gently sets down.

"You must stay balanced and focused, like riding a horse. And like riding a horse, maybe you fall first time. We should both sit on one so I catch you if you are going to crash."

"Sounds good. Don't want to splatter myself"

Marena sits in the broom and tries to do the pushing thing?

It takes a moment to click but then the essence, or mana, flows. It's surprisingly - natural? But not in the same way as using her other powers.

The broom-thing jerks a bit but does not leave the ground.

Why is this working this should not be working.

Let's up the Essensce flow-- a little. Let's see if getting air borne will be a thing, with a minimal risk of zooming away down the field.

And the 'wing wobbles and shifts forward slightly, scraping along the ground...

"Steady, steady," Helas comments. "You are trying to go forward, not up, right now. Try to go up if you can."

Okay let's see if 'up' is going to happen.

...let's see if visualisation will help.

She's transformed from feet-on-ground-lunar to flying-bird before. She pictures that shift in centre of gravity, that shift upwards in space. Does that help?

(how the heck is this working at all)

That does help. It's accompanied by a distinct shift in the pattern of Essence-flowing-through-metal beneath her. The sliding stops and the Lunar, the witch, and the big metal thing go up a couple of feet.

However it works, it's not working like Lunar powers usually do, but it is working. It's almost a sort of constant draw, like a taut muscle. If her concentration slips, they'll fall towards the ground again.

Well she's going to keep concentrating then, isn't she.

WHY IS THIS WORKING

It's certainly not like using a charm! Up and up and up... "Good, good, steady. You are okay?"

"This is deeply weird but I think I am fine," she says, lying through her teeth.

"It's much like flying a regular broom, like usual. Just... Easier to go in the wrong direction. You are doing fine."

Ahahaha yep she's definitely flown a regular broom, yep for realsies.

"Okay."

"Well, go forward now. Practice. Unless you do not want to learn and work?"

"No, I can do this."

Okay, let's see about going forward --gently-- while still staying up.

They go forward, but dip and wobble slightly. Behind her, Helas pushes a trickle of magic into the 'wing, stabilizing it.

It's like the first time riding a horse. 

...This essence-pushing feels a lot like doing something complicated with muscles you've never used this way before, actually.

"Steady, steady. Okay. When you feel okay, slightly turn right."

Yeah, still feels weird, but it's getting less actively freaky.

--Here's hoping she doesn't run out of Essence mid-flight. That would be bad.

Let's see about this whole 'turning right' thing.

She can successfully turn right! She can even successfully make two big circuits of the yard! And then Helas says, "Okay, try to land now. I will catch us if you can not."

Okay, gently does it. Like a teensy songbird landing on a teensy twig without disturbing it.

She tries to land.

It's a little wobbly, and it's kind of a hard landing. But it's a landing!

"Not so bad, yes?"

"Yeah! We didn't die!"

"Hmph. I would have caught you if you were going to kill us. Can you do that for one hundred miles, though?"

It definitely used Essense, but not that much?

"I should be able to?"

Not that much on the grand scale.

...On that note, her Essence is filling right back up almost as fast as the flying around drained it.

"Is your head. You want the money, I want to not make two trips, good deal all around, hokay. I go grab my canteen and then we go."

Hey, sweet, more Essense! If she doesn't quite have enough in her tank, she can always make an emergency landing, sit around for a minute to get more Essence, and then go back up. --That's maybe not the most sensible plan, but it is a plan.

"Sounds good to me."

"If you want snack, get now. Once we fly, follow me, okay? Okay."

And Helas slouches off into one of the side buildings for a minute, then comes back.

Food can wait till money.

Postal workers load up the two 'wings with various boxes and bundles. And then it's time to go. Helas waves jauntily as she rises over the city and banks left, towards the sea. She keeps relatively slow, which about matches a horse going very quickly. They can shout at each other over the wind still.

Marena is going to try and keep steady and not wobble about everywhere.

And memorise the route. That seems like a good idea.

The route is west-northwest. It's apparently not that hard to fly these things (in a straight line) once you get used to it. It wants to keep moving in the same direction.

The route takes them over the ocean, though. That might be a bit of an issue for the 'land for a bit' plan.

Not needing to steer much is nice.

Okay, Emergency Plan B: pray you're not over water. By the time she's nearly out of essence, her anima banner is definitely going to be showing, and then she can't escape into a bird.

They pass over the smoky city, out the busy harbor, over ships under sail and steam alike. "I hate smoke ships," Helas complains. "Ugly. Smelly. Awful. I hope they do not come to my home."

"You're not from here?"

Yeah, yeah, different accent, but there are too many accents here.

"I am not. I am from a place with islands, long shorelines, warm always. White stone, sea air, olive trees... I do not know much of history but even I have heard that Athens was an important place for a long time. A city that has stood for more than two thousand years."

"Two thousand years? That's impressive."

It isn't, but hey, no reason to contradict her.

"But it is going to be destroyed by the demons. Like everything else. I will go to combat school when I am old enough, and fight them."

Okay, how is someone old enough to pilot one of these ridiculous things, but not old enough to fight? What.

"Are the demons imminently near it?"

"Last I heard, the line of defense was from Tirana to Thessaloniki, two hundred miles from Athens. But I know that will not hold forever. My home will be destroyed. Is it not better to accept that now and mourn in advance than to hope and hope and have that hope crushed? Besides, my mater and pater and sister are safe, so perhaps I have brought my home with me."

"There's something to be said about mourning before hand. Less gut wrenching when it finally happens." ...and nope, not going to get maudlin about Thorns at someone who isn't even old enough to fight, even if it's really tempting.

"Though it's always better when you're family manges to get out too."

"Yes. They are safe. I made sure of it. Everyone says I am too young to do these things. What am I supposed to do, weave baskets and fret about the demons? Bah."

"'Oh, howabout I just sit here and wait for someone else to do it! That's a perfect plan," she says in a sing song voice.

"Right! Oh, how about I just pray and burn a sacrifice to the gods, I'm sure they'll solve all my problems! My fate is already decided! Not!" Helas is speeding up steadily as she works herself up.

Marena is going to try and... not to do that. And maybe chill Helas a bit? That seems like a non terrible idea.

"I know some people who think that spiders enforce fate. Special ones. But still. Spiders. Spiders of Fate."

...and here's hoping she won't be struck down by some narky pattern spiders. Sorry spiders, no mid air sacrifices for you.

Nothing reaches down from the heavens and smites them into the sea.

Helas slows down again. "Who controls the world? Spiders. Ghostly animals. Petty godlings living on a mountain. Giant winged lizards. One all-powerful vain man who we must venerate, as is the fashion here. Or humans?"

"Wait there's only one vain man, I thought they were three? ...though that just bolsters your point.

Humans have a lot more power than most give them credit for."

"Yes. Even those of us without magic to call their own have more power than they think they do."

She sighs loudly and closes her eyes, maintaining perfectly level flight despite this.

"We are here. It is now. We have a job to finish, yes?"

"Yeah, let's get this over with.

Thanks for the lessons. And making sure I didn't splatter myself."

"No problem. Maybe you stop me from splatter myself some day."

Helas goes quiet for the rest of the trip. They pass a few more ships in the sea, and eventually come to the shore again, on another, slightly smaller city's port. Helas goes in on a smooth, slow descent to land.

They spend about two hours in the air in total. And when Marena stops flying this thing, there's a strange sense of soreness that doesn't seem to have a particular location. Probably from all that flying.

That is... hella weird. Essence expenditure doesn't usually make you sore. ...and there's no good way to ask if she's pretending she's a normal witch.

Probably a bad idea to go straight back in the air while mysteriously sore and Essence depleted. Unless they want her to turn straight around, she's going to find a pub, and regain some Essense (or "regain" some "Essense"), then head back.

It'll be a couple hours, that's standard. They need to sort and unload and stuff. Helas finds a friend of hers and disappears somewhere.

There are plenty of pubs! Some with live music and everything! They're not as busy as they could be since it's still early afternoon, though. This city has less constant noise and construction than Bristol, and the buildings are a different style and on average cruder, but it's still a city. And the Christian code seems to be less strict here - there aren't nearly as many random crosses on things, and people are dressed more relaxedly.

Two hours might be a little short to do anything in quotation marks, but it's totally enough time to get a drink and some food. It's a shame though, considering the levels of relaxedness.

She heads towards the grimiest and cheapest looking pub nearby.

The most promising candidate, the Stubborn Donkey, has a few scruffy men and a couple of women sitting at tables or the bar, one bored-looking bartender, and two musicians arguing about what to play next.

"A fairy! Beauty of the forest put in flesh!" Proclaims one of the drunks.

"That's no fairy, ya idiot. Just another girl from the colonies or somethin'. Come on, I think that's enough. Your wife'll kill me if I let you drink yourself asleep again."

"Don't mind them," the bartender tells her. "What'll you have? I got ales, beers, brandy, wines, and a little of this vod-ka stuff I got from a friend if you want something exotic."

She probably find it funny that the drunks are not entirely wrong. She's definitely on some level forest-y.

"Hey, at least they were complimentary about it. I'm feeling a little exotic--" she sticks out her tongue "--so I'll try the vodka."

The bartender blinks at the tongue, then breaks into a grin. "Hah! Well, most of my usual b- er, my fine and kindly patrons have never seen anything more exotic than a particularly fat sheep! I don't know your story but whatever it is I'm sure it'll be entertaining. I'll get the vodka. Mind, it's strong stuff, and exotic doesn't necessarily mean good..."

With that caveat he pours her a shot glass of clear, strong vodka from a tall bottle labeled in Cyrillic.

"No one has ever accused me of having good taste in alcohol. Or anything.

My story's interesting-- but hard to tell in a way that sounds true. As soon as you say 'magic forest' people start going 'uh-huh, and I bet the fat sheep flying were flying too.' Not unreasonably."

She takes a sip from the glass. Fuck that's strong. She just about manages to not make a face, and downs it all.

"There's room in the world for all kinds of crazy nonsense. I was a sailor half a lifetime ago, saw some crazy stuff. Magic forest? Maybe I'll reserve judgement until I see it, but I won't go 'yeah, right'."

At the vodka-downing, "Impressive. This brew is from Orussia. The Rus take their drinking seriously, that's for sure."

"The magic forest story would probably be more plausible if I knew how it worked. All I know is that I was in a forest with friends, in a country where I don't look odd--" Okay so the moonsilver tattoos look strange everywhere, but leaving that aside-- "and then I ended up in a different forest sans friends. So.

I might have to see if I can work my way over to Orussia at some point. Sounds like a fun place."

"Some people don't believe in Wild Magic. I know it's rare, but it does exist, and it does things like that. Sorry for your, er, displacement. As for Orussia, they have a dour sort of culture - perhaps not as fun as you're thinking. I'd advise talking to a Rus before going through the trouble to get all the way there, at any rate. You could stop over in Suomus or something maybe, halfway between here and there."

One of the bar patrons says, "You kinda remind me of the, what's the name, the Maya? Tattoos. You from somewhere with a lot of steep mountains and ocean on either side?"

She waves a hand. "Ehh, don't worry. I'll work my way back. I'm probably gonna stay round these parts for awhile before heading off somewhere else, and who knows, may be I'll find a way to get back by then."

"Nah, I'm from a forest-y place with pretensions of irrigation. Only got ocean on one side too."

They both scratch their heads. "Never heard of somewhere like that where they look like you do. Big world, I guess."

"I've never heard of anywhere like this until I fell here, so-- yeah, big world."

"Aye. Not quite so big for witches, what with the flying. I've been assuming you are one, lass, but come to think of it, it ain't necessarily so."

"You assume right! Looking like what you are: so convenient," she says with enthusiasm and barely detectable sarcasm. "Though today was the first time I flew, so that was... fun."

They look a bit confused at this. One guy from one of the tables (most of the bar is paying attention to her, now) pipes up, "What, is flyin' a sin where you're from? My aunt's cousin is a witch and she says everyone starts flying when they're like twelve!"

...damnit. Time to come up with a plausible lie about Creation! "They don't think anything is wrong with flying, it's more-- I don't think we have as many witches? There seem to be more witches round these parts. So even if someone came up with a flying contraption, the know-how didn't travel far."

That's strange, but who really understands how witches work, anyway? The bar crowd seems to accept this explanation.

"Another shot of vodka, miss? I don't think I have your name yet."

Yay, her answer was non suspicious!

"Ehh, I've sated my curiosity. And I should probably stick to weaker stuff, seeing as I'm flying back out later today.

My name's Marena. And yours?"

"The name's Arwen."

The bar patrons all want to introduce themselves to the exotic witch, too! "Brynmor." "Lloyd." "Harold." "Maddox!" "Garreth."

Yay, attention! (Love of attention is gonna shorten her lifespan, but still. Attention: it's great.)

"Hi all!"

The bar crowd wants to know: What kind of adventures does a witch get into? Has she ever seen a Neuroi? Does she want a tour of Cardiff? What's her home like, was she someone important there?

(The musicians at the side of the place have finally decided what to play next, apparently. Something cheerful but slow on a stringed instrument and some kind of woodwind. Someone flips them a coin - buskers with permission to play here, apparently.)

"Apparently, getting very lost. Back in my home country, I worked as a wandering helping person; protecting places from bandits, giving advice, checking things were all going okay." ( She guesses 'Beating up gods and retrieving magic keys' is probably the wrong answer.)

"I might have? I've seen some dangerous supernatural critters, but I'm not sure they're the same as what you call Neuroi."

"I might have to pass, I'll be back up in the air pretty soon."

"I came from a city. Beautiful place. That was our main export: fancy shit. Got, uh, unfortunately conquered some years back. That's when the itinerant helper thing started."

Paris over in Gallia is famous for that. London, to a lesser extent, London's fancy shit is more like, high-tech shit? Sort of.

Someone has a sketch of a Neuroi.

Being an itinerant adventurer sort sounds risky. Is it sort of like being part of a wandering knightly order?

"I'm... pretty sure I haven't seen one of those.

It was risky, but eh, it was worth it. It's not quite like being in a knightly order? My group was a little more vigilante. They were wandering monastic orders, but they didn't go out as far into the wilderness as we did."

Monks!

The bar's opinion varies wildly on monks. Eventually the argument concludes and they come to an agreement that they're best left alone on their hills singing or copying books, or whatever it is monks do.