... This is definitely sized appropriately if it were, in theory, for her. The blood's splattered at the appropriate location, too. Right at where the chest of the subject was.

She ignores the growing sense of dread coiling into a knot in her stomach, and she gingerly reaches out to touch it. Was she fully unconscious, or was there some fuzzy, hard to remember haze of pain that reminds her of this place...? She doesn't know which is worse.

The tabletop is smooth. Polished. Something twists inside Ciaveth, where the shard once lay.

Her ears ring, filling with noise. A voice rises through the din: a woman's voice. Or is it two? They sound so much the same. Her vision blurs; dark shapes are standing over her, tightening the straps on her hands and feet, so tight that her wrists and ankles burn and bleed from struggling. The shapes clarify: two women, their faces nearly identical to each other's and to Safiya's, one garbed in red, the other in white. Other figures lurk behind, shadowy and more bestial in form. The cold fingers of the women brush Ciaveth's chest, run a cold blade across her skin. She cannot move. She cannot scream. She can only watch.

The twisting in her chest becomes a burning. An echo of blinding pain, growing and growing in its intensity. The women's arms are red to the elbows, their faces spattered in blood. One of the women, the one garbed in red, withdraws her hand from inside Ciaveth's chest. She holds a glittering shard.

The red woman lowers her eyes, gazes into Ciaveth's. For love, she whispers.

"Oh, fuck off with that bullshit," she hisses to ghosts, unable to stop herself from shaking.

Ciaveth removes her hand like the table burned her, and closes her eyes and focuses on breathing. Okay, so. So. Bright side. At least one of the people responsible for this... situation... is dead. That's good, probably. It saves her some time. It also loses her some satisfaction, but satisfaction is fleeting, death is more permanent. Of the two, she'll take death of the one responsible over the petty satisfaction of getting to kill her.

"But did I see what she did with the shard...?" she murmurs, jaw setting and reaching forward to touch the table again. C'mon, c'mon, she was at least a little bit awake for this, even if the Plane of Shadows remembers it better than she does, maybe it'll remind her of what she's forgotten.

The table is bloodstained wood, and nothing more.

"Damn it," she snarls with more heat than she intended, and she doesn't quite feel herself doing it, but it's her fingers on the edge of the table, flipping it and kicking it brutally into the nearby wall. It crashes with a much less satisfying crunch than she'd have liked. Still. Fuck that table. She'd set it on fire if she had another Burning Hands prepared, but she does not. Maybe she'll come back and finish the job, except she doesn't ever want to come back here again how dare they—

—She turns from the table and begins marching towards the exit before the tears start threatening to come. She does not particularly want to cry right now. Maybe later. For now, back to business. Lingering on loss and violation and agony and and and whatever else is going on in her head is not going to help her accomplish anything she wants to accomplish right now. She'll sort it out when she's run out of things to do for the day. When no one is there to see or hear her cry.

Safiya runs into the room. "Are you alright? I heard-"

She looks at Ciaveth's face and shuts up. "Let's get out of here," she says instead, following behind.

"I'm fine," she lies, and not even well. "Sorry for worrying you. We should probably not bother to resurrect Lienna immediately if we decide to, I'm. Going to need time to collect myself."

"Of course. We'll talk to her actors, first, and then we can seek out a local inn or flophouse where we can rest and recuperate. Or we can ask the actors after we've rested, perhaps that's a better idea."

"Let's find them, make sure they're okay and not going to flee the city in fear of more Red Wizard attacks, and ask basic questions to see if it'll turn up any more leads beside resurrecting the bitch. And then go sleep. I think I am quite done with today."

"I can understand the feeling."

They pass back through the shadow portal, out through the dressing rooms onto the stage, and out through the audience into the sunlight.

Three masked women teleport in formation in front of them.

She stares at them with the cold, uncaring eyes of a woman who is fully expecting them to either kick her out of the city or throw her into jail for unjustified and absurd reasons.

"We handled your Red Wizard problem," she says. "You're welcome."

The women look at her, unsmiling. "You crossed spells with our mortal enemies, foreigner, and drove them from our midst. For that, much may be forgiven... but not all."

"I've studied your laws, witches, and we've broken none. Why do you speak of forgiveness?" Safiya asks coldly.

"You know our laws, but I know you, child, even if these others do not," says the eldest woman. "You'll be better served by keeping silent."

"Look, Sheva," the right-hand witch says angrily, "the sharp-eared one! It's her who offends the land, and will draw the army to our gates!"

"Speak your name, foreigner," says Sheva, "and be warned that you address the Wychlaran."

Ciaveth turns her icy stare to the witch who called her ears sharp. Great. Racism. She missed that. A quip about them not being the only sharp thing she has dies in her chest, because just because she's had a long day doesn't mean she should be stupid. She smiles the same smile she aimed at Bishop before she gutted him like the traitorous dog he was. It is not a nice smile.

"I'm Ciaveth Farlong. Hello." She does the lovely little curtsy that's appropriate for Neverwinter's court, out of sheer petty spite. It is executed perfectly. She had plenty of reason to practice. "What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. To what do I owe this honor?"

"We are Witches - ambassadors to the hidden realm of spirits, and keepers of the sacred law. We bow our heads to the Triune Goddess, and to no one else. Magda told us of your... heroics... in the Veil, but the spirits tell a different story. They say that in one day's time, the bear king Okku will march an army of spirits to our gate, roaring for your blood. They say that you defiled his sacred den, and loosed a great evil upon the world. And the spirits do not lie. I can smell the wrongness on you, foreigner; it hangs upon you like a corpse-shroud."

She smiles pleasantly at the witches. It's... still not a nice smile.

"If you mean I was dragged into Okku's den while I was unconscious shortly after I had my chest forcibly cut open and woke up there, oh, yes. I know precisely what you're talking about. I am very sorry for accidentally bleeding all over Okku's nice den, I'm sure it makes perfect sense that he wants more of it to make up for it. Fortunately for you, I don't have any intention of staying here for very long. I came to question person responsible for my kidnapping and non-consensual surgery, Lienna," she points with a thumb towards the Theatre, "but the Red Wizards beat me to it, so I cannot, actually, ask her what the fuck. I'd like to ask her staff if they, perhaps, know anything about what the fuck. And then I will sleep in an inn, probably go throw lots of money at your market, and be on my way."

She is being purposefully unhelpful and petty and spiteful, but look, they started it. Who even wastes teleports on stupid shows of intimidation? If they wanted her dead they'd have disintegrated her from invisibility like a proper fucking wizard. Instead, they descended upon her like a pack of buzzards, expecting her to flinch. Surprise! She is not flinching.

"Then Magda spoke true?" the youngest witch says fearfully. "She said there were Thayans, that they appeared from the very shadows-"

"Calm, Katya; you are a Witch now, not a farmgirl," Sheva interrupts. "I do not doubt that you have suffered, stranger, but the bear god will not rest until one of you is dead. Until you have made your peace with him or defeated him proper, we will keep Magda and her crew safe - from Okku, and from you, if need be."

'If she had anything to fear from me she'd be dead,' Ciaveth doesn't say. It's not like she didn't have ample opportunity. Not to mention that it was Ciaveth who sent Magda to the witches! This is a paper thin pretense; they are using what little pathetic leverage they have against her to try to force her to do what they want. It's rude, and dumb, and most importantly it's really getting on her nerves.

"Oh, all right, you can supervise while I very politely ask her questions, if that would be okay?" she asks, perfectly innocently.

Sheva looks like she'd have a very nasty smile if she ever smiled. "We do not know what you are capable of," she says. "Perhaps you would rip the soul right out of her body as we watched, like a monster from the old tales."

The urge to burn this city to the ground is rising. Neverwinter first, then this fucking place.

"Oh, for the love of—! Look. I do not want to hurt Magda, as far as I can tell she had nothing to do with anything that happened to me. She just might know something about what did, so I'd like to ask now before she forgets any critical information. If I wanted to hurt her, I would have done it shortly after rescuing her, but instead I sent her to you, because I wanted to make sure she and the others were safe.

"I do not want to draw Okku the rainbow bear god to your city and cause a slaughter. If you want to toss a woman out to be eaten by an angry bear god to save your wretched cowardly skins, fine. I'll make sure he doesn't hurt anyone undeserving besides me, but don't you dare stand there and pretend you're being haughty and wise and reasonable. You are cowards who could not protect your citizens from murder. You show up after the real fighting has passed with your paper-thin scare tactics and expect me to flinch and bow my head and be cowed and play along with your farce. Fuck off with your sanctimonious narcissistic games, I am not playing."

"How dare-" the racist witch begins.

"It is good that we understand each other," Sheva says over her colleague, with a wicked smile. "You may go to the prison at the northeast of town, and tell the inmates that anyone who fights alongside you against the bear king will receive a full pardon. But before that, come; let us speak with Magda."

"Great, thank you," sighs Ciaveth, anger dissipating in the face of someone actually being reasonable and helping her. Amazing. She was beginning to think it was impossible. "That's very helpful, and I appreciate it very much."

Sheva dismisses her companions with a wave of her hand; they walk up the hill, casting confused glances back at Ciaveth and Sheva occasionally.

"You may come as well, Red Wizard," Sheva murmurs, walking towards the residential district.

"How did you know?" Safiya asks, following.

Sheva sighs. "You have make-up on your forehead, you're wearing a hooded cloak, and you have no hair. Please do not insult my intelligence."

"...how didn't those other two notice, if it's so obvious?"

"I didn't say don't insult their intelligence."

.... Ciaveth can't help it. She snorts, just a little. She follows the witch she admittedly kind of respects now. Okay, Mulsantir, you can escape from her list of theoretical cities that need to be burned down, one semi-cool old witch lady is all that stands between you and destruction. You'd better hope that racist one doesn't end up in charge.

"We can see about finding you some kind of wig, maybe. Or just go looking for a spell for it when we go shopping, that'd be more versatile."

Safiya sighs heavily. "I hate wigs, they itch terribly on bare skin. There's a reason I didn't pack one. I'd rather a disguise spell... but, once again, illusion is one of my prohibited schools, for reasons that seemed to make perfect sense at the time."

Sheva's eyebrows can't be seen behind her mask, but they're raised. "No witch would ever forego illusion. A good illusion is all things: defense, offense, utility... how could you do without?"

"I don't enjoy deception," Safiya sniffs.