Ascent of the Archmage: Azcasu

Prompt 1: Leaving

It’s an overcast day, in the middle of summer; the air feels heavy, humid, like there is thunder brewing beyond the horizon. Azcasu wipes her brow, squints as she watches the dusty road in front of her. Rolling hills pass by, fields golden with ripening produce, and the wagon is slow, its creaky movements soothing, almost mesmerizing. Part of her is always sharply aware of her surroundings; escape routes, hiding spots, cover… old habits die hard.

Not her usual work, certainly ‒ Gába would be the one to pick up supplies from a nearby farmer, but he’s caught a summer cold, with fever and a racking cough as a result. Business at the Jug is still slow, with the renovations ongoing, and Az doesn’t mind getting out of Faline, though she already misses the fresh breeze from the sea.

A village appears behind the next turn of the road, nestled among the hills. She passes through it slowly, watches the low, sturdy houses with a thoughtful frown. She’s heard some worrying rumours about Witchfinders being active in the area, and while she usually takes care to not appear too mage-like, her eyes are hard to hide.

The farmer she’s doing business with lives outside of the village, though, and she knows him to be an honest, down-to-earth man, with nothing to hide; supportive of mages, his own daughter showing obvious signs of becoming one. After an afternoon of haggling and bartering, coins change hands, and when she turns the wagon back towards Faline, it is laden with vegetables, sacks of dried peas, three large smoked hams, and a keg of beer (the latter which the farmer had been very proud of).

As she returns through the village, curiosity gets the better of her. When she passes the low wall that marks the edge of the village, she leaves the wagon, somewhat away from the main road, not immediately visible, and slowly makes her way back among the houses. There seems to be some kind of commotion on the street before her, and a small crowd of people. She watches from a distance, half-concealed beside the crumbling stone wall of a house. Her magic is as much of a help as a hinder ‒ the crowd is a blur of people and images, but somewhere in the middle, standing on an upturned hay cart, someone who seems to be in charge.

As she suspected, it is a Witchfinder, having gotten their hands on someone they claim to be a hidden mage. The rhetoric is the same old dravel that has floated about ever since the fall of Archmage Hagia. Azcasu doesn’t overly care; she has no opinions on the Order besides general contempt, though this development is… worrying.

Still. This is absolutely none of her business, and she turns to leave. In doing so, for a brief second, she catches the gaze of the Witchfinder through the crowd. Their expression is stunned, only for a moment, their eyes turning comically big before an angry redness spreads on their cheeks. In the split moment, Azcasu sees their heart laid bare ‒ bright outlines of hidden contempt for the crowd, a hundred little unimportant secrets and lies, and deep-set fear.

She hears a shout. Well, fuck.

Prompt 2: Hiding

In the bustle of the crowd, and with the added confusion of the yelling, pointing Witchfinder, it’s not hard to slip away and lose any pursuer among the houses. This is what she has trained for all her life, and it is with a kind of rugged grace she scales a wall to get onto a slate-tiled roof. People seldom look upwards when they search for things, or people, and she is counting on that.

Still, being on a roof is a very precarious position, and when the crowd below is busy looking for her elsewhere, she makes her move. Some more climbing, a few jumps, and soon enough she’s tucked away behind what she thinks is an outhouse, at least judging by the smell. Fucking nasty, that’s what it is.

Prompt 3: Evasion

She can hear the cries of the crowd, the shouts of the Witchfinder, and the desperate pleas of the supposed hidden mage. Her hiding spot is good for now, but as soon as the people calm down, they’ll start looking more actively, and ideally, she’d like to be out of the village before then… or perhaps it would be easier to give herself up, pretend to go along with being arrested, and then slip away; she’s done similar things before. These countryside vigilantes have never impressed her with their lack of discipline and half-assed, thug-like methods; getting away from them would be child’s play. That still leaves her wagon, though, and she’s not going to let the afternoon’s hard work slip out of her hands. Gába would never forgive her if she lost those hams.

With a frown, she gets up from her crouched position, brushing dirty straw bedding out of her hair, muttering a few well-chosen obscenities about Witchfinders and their various relatives under her breath. She’ll definitely have to write a warning message to the farmer and his daughter, as well.

As she leaves, she only happens upon one surprised villager, who is in her way more out of pure luck than any skill in searching, and they are easily subdued. When she finally makes it to her wagon, she digs out a cloak and scarf to hide her features with, and with a rude gesture at the cluster of houses behind her, she starts out again towards Faline.