Broken Chains

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//\ The sun caressed the mountain plateau in its morning warmth. Light glinted off the aspides standing sentinel atop the marble temple, each one gilded with a unique symbol. Twelve fluted columns, thick like the eldest of oaks, stood in silent judgement of the proceedings below, fierce beasts of air and earth perched in stone atop them. A lone gull circled above the towering peak, its unmelodic squawk defiling the holy sanctum of the goddesses. Calm seas lapped playfully at the cliffs far below, ambling jovially into the horizon in all directions. The lone island thrust upward from the placid surface in lonely fashion, three peaks towering in dominance over the ocean. Uncowed, the water waved playfully at the rocks, remaining welcoming and alluring in stark opposition to the roiling drama unfolding atop the mount. One short of three score winged women stood at the foot of the temple around a rectangular dais, feathery appendages of all shapes, sizes, and colors sprouting from their bare shoulder blades. To the left, nine and twenty silent observers clad in elegant blue chitons. To the right, twenty and nine more wearing red. Standing regally in the center was a tall, slender beauty with dark hair. The jet black strands curled in soft waves down to the curve of her waist. An elegant white dress, ruffled and accented in gold, hung from her shoulders, the fabric falling gently over her breasts and hips. The hem fluttered in the wind just above her knees. Bare shoulders glistened in the sunlight, glare from the bangles and bracelets adorning her wrists bouncing off of the shiny, pristine marble. A golden tiara clutching a single, fist-sized sapphire balanced atop her head. Her large wings resembled those of an eagle, rich, earthy brown feathers flecked with white. Fifty-nine pairs of eyes fixed upon the center of the courtyard. A lone woman knelt on the warm stone. Her body had been stripped of the luxurious silk dresses donned by her jury, all jewelry and adornments yanked from her person save the single gold ring in her left nostril. The expensive garments had been replaced by a simple tunic of rough brown sackcloth. Her hands were planted flat upon the marble shoulder-width apart, fingers splayed. Heavy copper shackles locked around her wrists, chained to the ground and connected with a metal bar between them. With her ankles subjected to the same fate and a metal bar connecting the ones between her upper and lower limbs, the restraints forced the goddess to kneel in submissive supplication to the goddess of goddesses, Althea, Queen of the Heavens, Goddess of Rule and Sacrifice, Patron of Monarchs. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded around her bowed head in a waterfall of shimmering gold. Her powerful wings, white like the noble swan, were chained shut and drooped sadly at her sides. Althea's perfect lips pursed, her sharp blue eyes sparking with anger, betrayal, and pain. "Bethea, Goddess of Order and Punishment, Patron of Lawbringers." Her lips turned down at the corners, a slender hand raising at her side. "I, Althea, proclaim you guilty of blasphemy against the goddesses and label you Betrayer of this Court, Traitor to the Goddess. What have you to say in your defense?" Bethea said nothing. The thick metal brank covering her lips and the metal plate invading her mouth made sure of that. The heavy collar encircling her neck was chained to the bar connecting her wrists, keeping the goddess's head bowed in deference to Althea and her icy blue eyes fixed upon the streaked white marble. "You say nothing, for there is no defense for what you have done. For your reckless and foolhardy actions, you are stripped of your seat in this court." That no murmur rippled through the assembled goddesses at this unprecedented sentence was a testament to the fear and respect they all held for Althea, goddess of goddesses. "If it were within my power to revoke your immortality, if I could shatter your aspis and snap your spear and cast you into the sea, you would be there even now." A soft gasp sounded to Althea's left. Ignoring it, Althea lifted her hand, light shimmering around it before a thick, bladed polearm blossomed in her hand with a blinding flash. "I have always wished for nothing but the best for any of my sisters, but your brash and foolish actions could be fueled by nothing but hatred for your siblings. That you should do such while our people live in fear of monsters and beasts that even we, their Godesses, do not understand is the pinnacle of betrayal." Bethea's eyes flared in anger, her hands curling into fists. Had she been able to respond, she would have. Althea's keen eyes missed nothing. Her full lips turned upwards in a vitriolic sneer, continuing her pronouncement. "As it is not within my power to erase you from our sisterhood, I can only cast you out." Turning, she hefted her polearm easily with one arm and flung it towards the temple. It flew straight like a hunter's arrow, finding it's mark in the center of Bethea's aspis. The gilded bronze shielded tumbled to the steps below, landing with a clang, Althea's polearm stuck in the center but not penetrating fully through the gilded bronze.. The Patron of Monarchs stalked over to the aspis and yanked her weapon free. A jagged scar marred the shield's surface, bisecting the symbol of Order and Punishment. <img src="Ch1/BetheaBroken.svg" alt="Bethea's Corrupted Symbol"> "You will never again live amongst your sisters in this eden. You will be cast out to wander amongst the mortals." Walking over to her prisoner, Althea dropped the broken shield in front of her. The torn aspis stared up at Bethea, mocking her failure and her helplessness. A single finger trailed down Bethea's shoulder, and she felt a torrent of Althea's power rip through her body. "You have a choice. Your precious Order, the rule of law and civility that you so crave, will be a stranger to you. Your lineage, your blood, will only respond to chaos and discord. You must spend eternity feeding that which you hate most to maintain your wings and your strength." Bethea's wings shimmered, flexing as foreign energy forced them to glow and dissipate. Only a tattoo of their shape upon the former goddess's back remained. "Your temples will crumble, and the people will close their hearts to you." Althea stepped in front of Bethea and knelt, using a finger to tip the blonde's head ever so slightly forward and lock gazes with her. "Or you can give up and die like you deserve. Hide away in a cave until your memory is nothing but words on a page. Fade away into nothingness, where the filthy strife you so loathe cannot corrupt you. The choice is yours." // ----- Bethea wakes with a start, head snapping up with a quick jerk. She blinks blearily, dreams of a time not long past melting into bleak reality. [[Having spent enough time moping, Bethea investigates her bonds.|Ch1-Investigate]] [[Bethea seeks escape in the land of dreams once more.|Ch1-Dream]]

<<set $land_name = "Theaonia">>\ <<set $female_city_name = "Gynepolis">>\ <<set $bethea_place_name = "Nomos">>\ <<if $chaos === undefined>>\ <<set $chaos = 0>>\ <<endif>>\ <<if $true_path === undefined>>\ <<set $true_path = true>>\ <<endif>>\ <<set $alternate_passages = []>>\ <<set $night_chapters = ['2']>>\ !Broken Chains Centuries have passed since the war between the Court of the Goddesses and the Court of the Gods, one century less since the Court of the Gods was imprisoned deep in the Earth and the lands of <<print $land_name>> returned to the Court of the Goddesses. Bitterness and resentment seep through the land like a poison, tainting the hearts of men. One goddess's ill-fated attempt to cure the strife forces fate onto a voyage towards catastrophe. Stripped of her goddess-hood and shunned by her kind, she alone can sway the winds of change guiding the ship of fate. ----- [["Chapter 1: Escape from " + $female_city_name|Ch1-Start]] <<if $ch1_end>>\ [[Chapter 2: Of Greed and Goblins|Ch2-Start]] <<else>>\ Chapter 2: Of Greed and Goblins <<endif>>\ Chapter 3: Targa's Shackle (Coming Soon!)

Bethea stifles a yawn, wiping the dreams from her eyes. The rattle of chains accompanies the movement. Looking down, she finds her slender wrists encased in heavy steel manacles. Chains are bolted to the warm surface beneath her, restricting the movement of her arms. She has enough chain to explore her own person, but very little to reach anywhere else. The rough tunic thrown upon her by her sisters is missing, replaced only by a simple set of brown cotton undergarments. Bethea doesn't find them overly uncomfortable, although her body is used to the most luxurious garb and she can certainly feel the difference. Similar manacles are locked around her ankles, albeit with much shorter chains keeping her stuck in place. The blonde goddess looks up, shading her eyes against the unexpectedly bright sun with her hand. A grate opens to the sky above, heat drifting lazily down through the gaps and warming the stones atop which Bethea is shackled. Her perch is made of brick. The bricks sport a reddish brown color in the light, and from what little she can see of the rest of her prison, so do the walls. Surprisingly, the hole in the ground is not exactly a cell: it's circular in nature, with an impenetrably dark passageway directly in front of her. Bethea is chained in place atop a raised brick platform. A small moat, for lack of a better term, surrounds the platform. Stairs lead down to the floor in the direction of the exit, crossing the moat. Leaning over to the side, Bethea can see the brick through the water. Not particularly deep, then. Otherwise, the room lacks anything of interest. During her sweep of the room, Bethea's eye catches on the corner of her platform. There's a slight crack in the brickwork. She leans over, chains jangling, to get a closer look. Some of the mortar has eroded: no doubt the skylight allows the weather to attack the masonry. She pokes experimentally, finding a brick that is quite loose. With the right amount of force in the right place, she might be able to break it free and use it as a weapon. A quick glance at her shackles reveal metal aged and battered by time and precipitation, certainly not the most secure chains in the land. The captive's attention returns to her restraints. Turning them over, Bethea finds a lock along the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse. She peers inside, using the light from the ceiling to get a better look. The locks are not overly complicated, just a simple set of tumblers. Had she the right tool, it would prove no challenge to pick: observing black-hearted mortals for a few centuries apparently has its benefits. Searching deep within herself for power, Bethea finds almost none. A faint, smoldering ember is all that remains of the raging fire she's used to feeling. Closing her eyes and focusing, Bethea manages to conjure up a single sliver of light, about as long as her pinky and as thick as a tailor's needle. She might be able to pick the lock, if she can maintain her focus before the last reserves of her strength dissipate. Her gaze wanders to the doorway. She can't see anything, not even the light of a torch or a lamp. Surely her jailers wouldn't leave her in such relative freedom unwatched, would they? Perhaps she could call for help, feign distress to lure a guard close enough for her to overpower and steal the keys. [[Using the sliver of light, Bethea attempts to pick the lock.|Ch1-Pick]] [[Bethea tries to break the brick free and use it to smash open her chains.|Ch1-Break][$chaos += 1]] [[Feigning distress, Bethea calls for help, hoping to be overheard by a guard.|Ch1-Call]]

// Bethea groaned, flexing her tightly bound arms. The chilly night air and the ocean waves lapping at her nearly nude body sent a shiver coursing up her spine. At the conclusion of her "trial," the metal contraption restraining Bethea had been removed, replaced by simpler bonds of leather and hemp. Her slender wrists were crossed between her shoulder blades, vertical and horizontal wraps of scratchy brown rope fixing them in place. More rope encircled her torso, squeezing her breasts from above and below while fixing her arms flat against her back. A separate length of rope was looped vertically between the upper and lower bands, then coiled around itself in a spiral pattern. The heavy clump of hemp nestled against the flesh at the base of her breasts, drawing the ropes tighter and aggravating her sensitive skin. Her legs had fared little better, eight separate hanks of rope lashed tightly in place around her bare arches, ankles, shins, knees, and thighs. The ropes were tight and unyielding, making the soft flesh bulge outwards to escape the pressure. Each rope was looped around both legs four times before being cinched tightly in between. Bethea couldn't even protest the indignity, her mouth packed full to bursting with small shreds of fifty-nine separate pairs of underwear. Each sister had ceremoniously cut a thumb-length strip from their undergarments and packed them into Bethea's cheeks to silence her "traitorous" mouth. By the end, once a plain white cloth had been pulled tightly between her teeth and a second was tied in place across her lips, Bethea's cheeks felt as if they would rupture any second. The final humiliating facet of her hemp prison was the rope leash fashioned around her neck, as if she were no better than a fatted calf to sacrifice upon an altar. The whole ensemble had been reinforced by multiple thick leather straps, roughly as wide as Bethea's fist. They had been buckled around her shoulders, across her breasts, around her midsection, and across her thighs to make sure she couldn't wriggle free of the other goddesses' knots. Althea's command that no locks be affixed upon the blonde's person had been followed dutifully, leaving Bethea more helpless than any pair of shackles would have. Her sisters had then cast lots, Dalthea drawing the shortest. Dalthea, Goddess of Love and Jealousy, Patron of Spouses, was Bethea's elder sister. She was a dark-skinned beauty with curly dark hair. A gentle soul who experienced emotions in their most intense form, Dalthea's warm brown eyes were scrunched with worry throughout the trial. Being chosen as one of Bethea's executioners unleashed tears of sorrow. Her sisters gently stroked her vibrant blue wings empathetically, well accustomed to her bouts of crying and none wishing to take her place. While the other goddesses comforted Dalthea, Paythea, Goddess of Foresight and Resignation, Patron of Oracles, sidled over to Bethea. The movement of her lips was nearly imperceptible as she whispered to the tightly trussed traitor. "Cling to your anger, dear sister, and your Virtue. I plead you, though, know that this may not be right, but it is necessary. Through you, and only you, this Court will remain strong against the danger ahead." Paythea's kind green eyes met Bethea's blues beseechingly. "You must trust me on this. Althea may not know, but her actions this day and your actions tomorrow ensure our survival." Raven-colored hair fluttering in the breeze, Paythea pressed a sisterly kiss to Bethea's forehead and wrapped her foreboding black wings around the blonde beauty in a quick embrace. Bethea could say nothing, and so she didn't, merely watching as her sister slipped back into the throng and puzzling over her cryptic words. The remaining eight and fifty sisters drew straws again, Hethea, the youngest of the sixty drawing the shortest. A luxurious blonde like Bethea, shiny hair falling in gentle waves to her ankles, the Goddess of Autarky and Isolation, Patron of the clergy, Hethea was a quiet and reserved woman. She was often found sitting cocooned in her silent, owl-like wings introspectively. Her face wore an emotionless mask, this task like so many others failing to crack her outer shell. Althea silently and solemnly presented her polearm to Hethea, whispering instructions to her. The quiet woman took it after a brief moment of hesitation. It glowed in her hand, pulsing with light for an instant before disappearing in a much brighter flash. Grabbing the leash, Hethea had wordlessly forced Bethea to follow her, the prisoner hopping helplessly along behind the other blonde goddess. At the cliff's edge, Hethea looped the leash around Bethea's neck and tightened, holding the coil of rope in an iron grip. Any amount of vigorous struggling quickly had Bethea choking herself. With Hetha taking one shoulder, and Dalthea reluctantly seizing the other, the pair of goddesses launched into the sky on their powerful wings. Bethea dangled helplessly between them. The trio had flown for hours, the warm summer sun giving way to the cool embrace of dusk before the goddesses had alighted upon the first foreign shore they came across. Bethea was dumped onto the sandy beach unceremoniously by Hethea, but Dalthea broke her fall and eased her into the sand. Both seemed to dread what was to come next. Dalthea, fighting off tears once more, shook her head. "We can't just leave her like this..." Hethea stood, silent for a long minute. Her words emerged like the whisper of a weak summer wind, barely audible over the gently lapping surf. "Althea will do the same to us if we do not do this to Bethea." Still, Dalthea looked torn, alternating her gaze between her two blonde sisters. "If you can't do it, then I will." Hethea held out her hand, Althea's polearm reappearing in a blinding pulse of light. With an uncharacteristic warcry, she pivoted the polearm downwards and thrust it into the ground. The fearsome weapon sliced through rock and stone, sticking immovably into the trembling earth. Hethea unwrapped the leash from around Bethea's throat, but did not release it. Instead, she rolled Bethea onto her stomach and folded her legs up behind her. The rope was knotted tightly around her ankles before being anchored to the polearm. The tie left Bethea balancing on her stomach, roped into a hogtie that choked her were she to relax too far in either direction. The fallen goddess remained stoic and silent, staring straight ahead. Tears falling, Dalthea brushed her knuckles across Bethea's bulging cheek, gently placing her lips to the reddened skin. "May Mother's wings protect you." Tears flowed freely down Dalthea's cheeks. Hethea, watching, let out a soft sigh, a single tear slipping down her cheek as well. "Be safe, sister." Her sisters had left her then, leaving her helpless and hogtied on the cold beach, icy water seeping through her thin tunic and making her shiver. Hours passed, the stars watching over her in faceless pity. Bethea was exhausted, but the torturous pose kept her slumber at bay. As the first fingers of dawn pried at the inky black veil of night, Bethea heard voices behind her, followed soon thereafter by the crunch of sandals upon sand. "Oh, sisters, how you doubt the almighty Althea! Did I not say that she appeared to me in a dream, leading us to this very beach where a heretic lay awaiting our divine punishment?" Bethea shuddered, not liking the sound of that at all. The speaker and her companions moved around in front of Bethea. The speaker was fully nude, an older woman with slightly wrinkled skin and sagging breasts. Her black hair, pulled back in a wiry bun and flecked with gray, was the only thing covering an inch of her skin. Anyone would know the priestesses of Althea on sight, for they remained ever nude to praise the glorious female form favored by the Queen of the Heavens. Her companions appeared, in contrast, to be soldiers, three younger women with sun-bronzed skin and clad in light armor. "Let your doubts be forever cleansed, Althea makes her will known!" Bethea fought the urge to roll her eyes at the dramatic show, but the soldiers clearly were more impressed. Their wide eyes looked back and forth between Bethea and the priestess in awe. "As Althea commands, we must return this heretic to the fold of her bosom and teach her the error of her hateful ways!" // ----- Bethea's eyes fly open again, although with less force than before. Groggily, she sits up. Reality couldn't be worse than her dreams... could it? [[Bethea abandons sleep and looks over her restraints.|Ch1-Investigate]]

Keeping her hand as steady as possible, Bethea slips the glowing needle into the lock on her left wrist. The shaft clicks and clinks against the metal as she fiddles with the tumblers despite appearing to be nothing more than a bright ray of sunlight. The blonde's breathing becomes heavier, her heart beating faster and faster with the effort of maintaining the tiny lockpick. Sweat beading on her forehead, skin pale, Bethea manages to push the final tumbler into place. A gasp slips from her lips as the manacle clank to the ground noisily. Holding her breath, Bethea looks to the doorway. Time slows to a tortoise's pace as the goddess waits for the cry of alarm as guards pour upon her like waves upon the coast. But none come. Emboldened, she takes some time to rest before using the summoned lockpick to unlock the shackles encircling her ankles, the drain on her abilities even more noticeable than the last time. Having figured out the first lock, the next two are slightly easier, and she manages to free her legs just in time. Panting and drenched in sweat, Bethea collapses to the brick surface. She rests for a long time, weak and drained of strength. The light does not come when Bethea summons the courage to attempt to unlock her right wrist. It flickers and dies nearly immediately, just a few shimmering sparks around her fingers. The smoldering embers within her feel as if they've been submerged in a bucket. The thought of water fights off despair. The goddess crawls over to the edge of the platform. With her ankles and one wrist free, she is able to stretch out across the platform and reach down to scoop at the water below. Bethea is parched, but the thought of drinking the water pooling in the dank dungeon makes her want to vomit nearly as much as drinking it would. Instead, she dumps the water onto her captive wrist, scooping handful after handful until the skin is soaked, glistening in the sun. She then sets to work slipping her hand free of the cuff. It's tedious, painful work. Her smooth skin rubs raw against the aged metal. Back, and forth, tugging, pushing, pulling. Were her skin that of a mere mortal, surely it would be bleeding and ravaged by now. She pins the chain to the floor with her feet for leverage. Fortunately the shackles are slightly too large for the goddess's limbs, and after what feels like hours, Bethea manages to yank her wrist free. She nearly falls backward, surprised to be free. Grimacing, Bethea massages the poor reddened skin. Not wanting to waste time and be recaptured, she scrambles to her feet. The sight of the vacated cuff gives her pause. No doubt whoever discovered her disappearance would find it quite strange indeed that one shackle was untouched, as if she'd just passed straight through the metal. A wicked thought flickers to life in her brain, the confusion that would ensue were her captors to find her gone, vanished straight through the chains that remained locked around nothing. Kneeling quickly, Bethea hurriedly closes the unlocked shackles, hearing the satisfying click of the locks relatching. Her heart flutters in her chest, and she feels a surge of warmth deep within her, the battered embers of her fire giving off a soft glow. With a sliver of hope piercing her chest, Bethea quickly makes her way to the darkened passageway. [[Bethea slinks through the dungeon, looking for an escape route.|Ch1-Sneak][$chaos += 1]]

Bethea smacks the heel of her palm on the corner of the loose brick. It gives slightly, but remains mostly intact. Grunting, Bethea tries again, careful to strike at an angle to push it outwards. The second time is the charm, the brick popping out a thumb's length. Bethea grabs the end, twisting the brick up and down until it pops completely free. The goddess turns her shackles over, looking for the weakest point. Her focus narrows onto the chain on her left wrist. The links are ancient and rusted, and the first one off the shackle bears a noticeable groove where years of struggling prisoners and pounding rain have made their mark. Carefully, Bethea maneuvers herself with her left arm resting to her side. She kinks up the chain, carefully folding the links so that the surrounding links are exerting pressure on the compromised one. Pinning the chain in place with her bare right foot, Bethea raises her brick aloft and brings it down on the chain with all her might. A loud cracking sound echoes around the chamber. A chunk of Bethea's brick goes flying across the water, clattering to a standstill near the wall. Frozen, listening for any cries of alarm or shouts of surprise, Bethea waits. Hearing nothing, she tries again. A good quarter of the brick fell victim to her first attempt, so Bethea flips it around and swings again. The chain rattles under the impact but remains unbroken. Fortunately, Bethea's weapon does as well. Throwing caution to the wind, the goddess begins to savage the chain. She grunts with each strike, hammering the rusted metal like a blacksmith. Finally, the chain pops free. Bethea collapses in a heap, breathing heavily. Despite her exertions, she feels something surge within her, her inner fire flickering to life. Apparently a prison break counts as "chaos and discord." Bethea inhales deeply. Pulling at her blood, coaxing her gifts forth, Bethea gives a tug on her right wrist. It pops free with little effort, the chain giving way like wheat to the scythe. The goddess easily shucks off the shackles around her wrists. Breaking free her legs require merely a handful of steps. With a glimmer of her former abilities, the chains break and shatter under the attack of a normal walking motion. She surveys her handiwork, the mangled and broken metal sending a trill straight to her blood. It certainly isn't the height of her power, but Bethea certainly feels more like her usual self. The blonde goddess makes her way to the passage, making sure to move slowly and quietly through the shadows. She feels some strength, but has no idea how reliable it will be. Best not to tempt fate. [[Bethea slinks through the dungeon, looking for an escape route.|Ch1-Sneak][$chaos += 2]]

<<set $ch1_call_guard = true>>\ Convinced that no one would go to the trouble of chaining her up on a pedestal in the sunlight and just leave her alone, Bethea begins formulating a plan. She angles herself on her side, left arm beneath her and right arm twisted awkwardly behind her. She lies facing the entryway, allowing her to watch anyone approaching through her eyelashes. She can form a quick battle plan before feigning unconsciousness once they get closer. Inhaling deeply to calm her nerves and steady her resolve, Bethea lets out a blood-curdling scream followed by a low moan. Then she remains still, splayed atop the warm brick as if struck. Forcing her breathing to remain shallow yet steady and her heart to cease its frantic pounding, Bethea waits. For a long, brief moment, she hears nothing. Perhaps she really is alone. Seconds pass like hours before she hears the quick staccato of sandals on stone. Gradually, she sees a young woman emerging from the darkened corridor. Her skin is a sun-kissed olive hue, with dark raven locks tumbling to her shoulders. She has the toned muscles and fit form to be expected of a competent soldier or guard. A midnight blue, knee-length dress hangs off of her right shoulder. The left is bare. Brown leather sandals hug her feet and calves, criss-crossing straps forming an intricate diamond pattern over her shins. A featureless brown belt cinches the dress around her waist, a simple wooden cudgel tucked against her flat stomach. A simple leather breastplate and a bronze helm, shaped like an upturned bowl and sporting a single metal spike on top, complete her light kit. Bethea's anger surges as she sees the breastplate is gilded with Althea's crest: <<print $female_city_name>>. She isn't going to find much sympathy here. <img src="Ch1/Althea.svg" alt="Althea's Symbol"> Bethea closes her eyes and remains limp as the guard approaches. She desperately tries to draw on her power, the effort making her skin pale and her breathing more ragged, her heartbeat flickering. Hopefully the effort, while painful, would add credence to her ruse. The chained goddess hears the woman's sandals tapping on the brick platform, feels the warmth disappear as the guard's shadow blocks out the afternoon sun. A foot prods her, and she schools herself to not react. "Hey. Wake up. What was that scream?" The woman kneels down, running her hands over Bethea's prone form in search of an injury. With her this close, Bethea is fairly certain she could reach the cudgel. If she were fast enough, she could fell the woman and hope she had the keys upon her person. The woman's fingers press against Bethea's neck, feeling the erratic and weak heartbeat Bethea willed into existence. "Dammit." Bethea feels herself being rolled over, her arms untangled once she's laying flat on her back. The woman leans in close, inspecting the goddess's torso for obvious signs of a wound. The blonde beauty probably won't get a better chance to strike than this, her captor easily within reach and quite distracted. She could go for the cudgel, or make one last-ditch effort to call upon her power. Surely it wouldn't abandon her when she needed it most... [[Bethea calls on her inner power, preparing to smite the mortal guard with her holy might.|Ch1-Power]] [[Bethea feigns a punch towards the guard's face before grabbing for her cudgel.|Ch1-Weapon][$chaos += 1]]

Bethea moves slowly and carefully, thankful that the passageways of the dungeon are dark and gloomy. She skulks to avoid attention, keeping low to the ground and feeling her way forward with a feather-light touch against the brick wall. <<if !$ch1_call_guard>>\ A few hundred paces from Bethea's abandoned chains, the goddess encounters a guard. She is a giant of a woman, easily a head taller than Bethea. Her skin is a sun-kissed olive hue, her hair a rich black glistening in the flickering light. The guard's chest rises and falls gently beneath a simple leather breastplate and a thigh-length midnight blue dress. A generic yet effective copper helm rests snugly atop her head. The guard is snoozing in a rickety wooden chair, sandaled feet propped up on a rough wooden table. A lone candle flickers atop it. Bethea's lips purse at the sight of the deep blue dress, Althea's color mocking her. Her elder sister's crest glistens on the guard's breastplate. She should have known she was in <<print $female_city_name>>. She isn't particularly thrilled about it, either. <img src="Ch1/Althea.svg" alt="Althea's Symbol"> Bethea spies a club of some sort tucked into her belt. She briefly considers trying to overpower her, but quickly rejects the idea. The woman is a veritable mountain, and there is no way of telling how deep of a sleeper she is. Having only just escaped from her chains, Bethea isn't keen on being manhandled into more. Stealing carefully by on the balls of her feet, the golden-haired beauty dissolves into the gloom once more. Safely past the guard, Bethea continues on her way. <<endif>> Bethea's escape proceeds slowly but steadily. The majority of the torches in the prison remain lifeless and dark, aiding her efforts to remain unseen but hindering her ability to move quickly. The goddess is fortunate in that the prison seems nearly deserted. Save the lone guard, she hasn't seen another soul for what feels like an hour. The maze of passageways writhes and twists through the darkness, empty cells lining Bethea's way. Each time the goddess comes to a fork or an intersection, she peers down each potential path. After determining which one seems the darkest, she takes it: only people who had a reason to be walking freely through a prison would want to give themselves away with a torch. After hours, possibly minutes, of wandering aimlessly in the thick darkness, Bethea finally spies light at the far end of a passageway. Not the wavering orange flicker of fire, but the steady white haze of sunlight. The goddess forces herself to contain her excitement and sneaks forward. Doubly cautious, Bethea makes it to the end of the hallway and peers around the corner. The first thing she spies is a wooden door with a semicircular window. Iron bars set in the window cannot block the sun's warmth from streaming inside the dark prison. The welcoming rays bathe the small entryway in natural light. The room is circular, a table and two chairs in the center. A long black cloak is draped over the back of one chair. Another guard sleeps in the second, slumped over the table with her head resting on her folded arms. A dainty snore wafts from her lips. Her hair is a blazing orange, skin pale and smooth like pearls. A dark blue dress hugs her slender form. Armor is discarded in a haphazard pile at her feet, matching the equipment of the other guard. Atop the table is a discarded book and an unlit candelabra. Twinkling in the afternoon sun, the solid gold ornament could easily separate someone from their consciousness. Especially if they were so foolish to remove their helm. As silently as possible, Bethea slides the cloak off of the chair and slips it on, closing it around her nearly nude body. The goddess fastens it in front and flips the hood over her pale hair. It fits nearly perfectly, falling not an inch above the ground and hiding everything but her face and toes. Satisfied, Bethea turns her focus back to the door. She doesn't see a lock of any sort. While her chances against the slumbering wisp of a woman are favorable, it might also be prudent to just slip outside quietly. [[Bethea slowly wraps her fingers around the stem of the candelabra, raising it and slamming it down against the back of the guard's head.|Ch1-Assault][$chaos += 1]] [[Not wanting to draw extra attention, Bethea slips out the door while the guard is sleeping.|Ch1-EnterMarket]]

Trusting her blood, Bethea snaps her eyes open and shoves at the guard. Surprised, the woman stumbles backwards. She trips over her own feet and falls to her butt atop the brick. Letting out a fierce cry, Bethea flies to her feet and surges forth. She draws on her inner fire, calling forth her wings and her spear. The goddess barrels down on the stunned guard... ...Only to stop short in an instant. The chains snap taught with a clank, holding firm against the powerless goddess. She turns instinctively, surprise radiating from her rich blue eyes. Bethea yanks against them, dumbfounded at her helplessness. The goddess turns back to the guard just in time to see a club slam into the side of her skull. Letting out a pained groan, the blonde goddess collapses to the ground in an undignified heap of metal and flesh. [[Bethea slips unconscious and slumps to the cold stone floor.|Ch1-Defeated]]

Bethea's feint works, eliciting a startled cry from the guard as she instinctively raises her hands to protect herself. Bethea's hand moves like lightning, snatching the cudgel from the guard's belt and swinging it towards the right side of her head. No slouch, the guard recovers quickly and catches the goddess's forearm, surging forward and pushing the chained prisoner onto her back. Growling, the blonde goddess yanks backwards with her trapped arm, pulling the guard down towards her. Bethea uses the momentum to hit the bridge of the dark-haired beauty's nose with a vicious headbutt. Their heads collide with a crack, the goddess's aim being true as her head avoids slamming into the guard's helmet. The olive-skinned woman's head snaps back with a groan, and Bethea presses her advantage. She snaps her arm forward and slams the cudgel into the side of the woman's helmet. A ringing clang reverberates around the prison walls. The guard is stunned, collapsing to her side in wobbly fashion. Smelling blood in the water, Bethea swings the club one more time, connecting with the back of the other woman's head. She collapses in an unconscious heap with a pained moan. Unsure if anyone heard her ring the guard's bell, Bethea works quickly. She rolls her unconscious victim onto her back, performing a perfunctory search of her person. A single key lays between her breasts, hanging from a simple chain. Extracting it, Bethea tries the key in her shackles. They drop away with a satisfying click. Now free, the blonde goddess stretches luxuriously. She quickly strips the guard to her skivvies, tallying up the useful information. In addition to the armor and dress, the guard is carrying a small bronze dagger. Bethea finds a few hanks of thin cord in one of her pouches: certainly suitable for restraining a captive. She could tie up the guard to keep her out of the way, although that would take precious time in which she might be caught any minute. There was a definite appeal to masquerading as a guard herself, although perhaps the best strategy would be to just get out of here as quickly as possible. [[Slipping into the shadows, Bethea leaves the guard, trying to escape as quickly as possible.|Ch1-Sneak]] [[Bethea takes the time to restrain the guard, not wanting her to raise the alarm too soon.|Ch1-Restrain][$chaos += 1]] [[Bethea takes the time to don the guard's gear, hoping to blend in on her way out.|Ch1-Gear]]

Having lost their prisoner once, the guards of <<print $female_city_name>> didn't seem too keen on allowing it to happen again. As such, Bethea's current predicament can only be described as... excessive. Leather straps, complete with padlocked buckles, encircle her ankles, shins, above and below her knees, and her mid-thighs. Each is fastened brutally tight and forces the soft flesh to bulge around the intruding belts. Apparently this is not sufficient, however, as rope and cord is strictly knotted around the goddess's legs in between each belt. A delicate toe-tie and ropes around her bare arches make sure that even Bethea's feet can't move. Bethea's upper limbs suffer a similar fate, belted stringently together at the wrists, forearms, and elbows with reinforcing rope and cord around her palms, forearms, and upper arms. The tightly trussed limbs are totally trapped against Bethea's back by four wide leather straps. One encircles her torso just above her bust, while the other one does so just below. The resulting pressure forces the soft flesh outwards, only to be caved in by a strap pulled tight over top of her nipples. Flesh balloons outward above and below the leather, discomfort and pain flaring through the goddess's breasts. The final strap is locked about her waist and forearms, drawing her sides inward and making breathing laborious. The blonde goddess's mouth is faring little better, muted by a Scold's Bridle of particularly cruel design. A thick steel band travels over her head and between her eyes, splitting around her nose. The unyielding metal ensures that any attempts to remove the cloth blindfold beneath are futile. This connects to a wide metal plate which encircles the entire lower half of Bethea's head from septum to chin. It is molded perfectly to the goddess's form, leaving no space. A large steel sphere is bolted onto the interior of the plate and stuffed inside Bethea's spread lips. The girth alone would likely suffice to stop her from spitting it out even without the steel frame, but the sharp metal plate pressing against the underside of her chin ensures that any attempts to open her mouth further are punished promptly. Bethea would be helpless and hopelessly trapped even if she weren't dangling upside down from chained ankles. Said chain plus the noose looped about her exposed neck and anchored to an eye bolt in the floor just make matters even more uncomfortable. Of course, the fact that she is strung up so inside a shoulder-width cylindrical oubliette buried deep in <<print $female_city_name>>'s dungeons with nary a sliver of free space to squirm is merely an additional complication. Each slight movement causes her breasts, arms, and backside to brush against the rough stone surface of her prison. Sealed in inescapable bondage inside an inescapable cell within an inescapable prison and isolated from any source of discord or chaos by tons of thick stone and brick, Bethea's power lays dormant and useless. Just like her. [[Bethea hangs helplessly in the darkness.|Ch1-BadEnd]]

// The moon bathes the mountain plateau in cold blue light. It settles calmly over the empty temple roof, unbroken in its descent. Twelve fluted columns, thick like the eldest of oaks, stand in silent mourning of the broken and crumpled shields dotting the courtyard below. The cracked and shattered remains of once noble stone beasts cling lifelessly to their tips. Nothing moves atop the mountain, a dead silence weaving through the menagerie of statues. Dozens of statues, frozen monuments to the variety of life, dot the hillside and the temple courtyard, faces frozen into grotesque contortions of fear and rage. Wind whips the sea into a frothy frenzy, wave after wave crashing angrily into the shoreline. The three solitary peaks cast monolithic shadows across the turbulent tide, rising in fearsome dominance against the clear night sky. Deep beneath the highest summit, tucked away from the angry moon like a gang of weasels ravaging a rabbit's warren, an army of cloaked figures chant monotonously around a slab of obsidian glass, colored as the deepest crevices of the sea. Its pure surface bounces the flickering torch light in every direction, appearing more alive than the mountain's now dead temple under the undulating array of reflections. A thick gold chain composed of sixty solid links is bundled about the impressive shard, shimmering in the light of the flames. The chanting remains a constant thrum, each voice uttering the same three word phrase in perfect unison to form a physical force of sound. A lone figure stands apart from the throng, shrouded in a hazy black cloak and a thick mist of mystery. Its right hand clutches an impressive sarissa, exceeding the figure in height by nearly a full head and sporting a wickedly sharp blade. The deadly polearm emits a hue of golden light, bathing its wielder in a soft glow. With the dark fabric of its cloak snapping like thunder, the figure smashes the weapon into the golden chain. The malleable metal cracks but holds firm, rebuffing the blow. Accompanied by a ferocious cry mirrored by each and every chanter, the spear falls onto the chain again and again. Each strike introduces more fissures and dents into the precious links of the chain. Finally, the chain snaps. Golden chips rocket about the cavern with enough force to draw blood. The obsidian slab shudders, shaking under some unseen force. A raucous cheer shakes the entire subterranean system, molten liquid bubbling out from beneath the massive black rock. // ----- Bethea wakes with a start. ----- <<print $land_name>> yet tumbles towards an irreversible calamity, the forces of hatred and bitterness marching towards one another to create utter bedlam. Only one can prevent the madness, yet only with better decisions may she succeed. Use the navigation buttons in the menu to go back and try again, or click [[here|Ch1-Start]] to begin the chapter anew.

<<set $ch1_bind_guard = true>>\ Bethea rolls the guard onto her stomach, admiring her physique. The woman is quite pretty, although she is clearly a woman of work. Firm, toned muscles shift beneath her skin. Said skin, while gloriously tan, is marred in places by thin and thick white scars. One might even describe her as an amazon, nearly a head taller than Bethea with biceps the size of the goddess's whole arm. Bethea is quite glad she'd opted for the element of surprise rather than a head-on confrontation. The goddess sets to work making sure the impressive woman is well and truly trussed. Bethea collects the guard's wrists together behind her back, then wraps some cord around them horizontally. After a handful of loops, the blonde beauty cinches the cord vertically between her victim's arms. After checking the knot, doubling it for added security, Bethea repeats the process just above the unconscious woman's elbows, drawing them together until they nearly touch. The guard is quite flexible despite her muscular stature. Bethea moves downwards to the guard's long, muscular legs. Pushing them together, the goddess binds them at the ankles, knees, and thighs with three separate lengths of cord. Each piece is wrapped and cinched into a tight two-column tie matching the ropework around the guard's arms, tight strands pressing into the skin and forcing the flesh to bulge outwards. Bethea has quite a few ideas of how to improve the tie: A cord traveling from the elbows around the shoulders to force her chest out, cords sandwiching the soft flesh of her chest and trapping her arms against her back, a devilishly knotted cord traveling deep between her legs... Unfortunately, she only has one cord left. Opting to use it for added security, she folds it in half and centers the bight just beneath the guard's ankle bonds. The cord wraps vertically around the cinched wraps, then is slipped through the bight. As Bethea tightens, the cord grabs the ankle restraints snugly. The goddess pulls upwards, tucking the amazon's feet up against her rump. She then winds the cord around the elbow bonds, tying a knot to lock the unconscious woman into a strict but not backbreaking hogtie. Bethea wishes she had the material for a gag, but she had other plans for the pile of clothes she'd stripped off the dark-haired beauty. [[With the guard properly incapacitated, Bethea turns her attention to the pile of discarded gear. Its owner won't be needing it, after all.|Ch1-Gear]]

Quickly, Bethea slips into the guard's discarded clothes. The dress is a little loose, the neckline having been relatively modest on the large guard. On Bethea, it shows a fair bit of skin, and the hem droops below her knees. Once she dons the breastplate and buckles it into place, though, the former problem is moot. Carefully, the goddess uses the dagger to cut around the hem of the skirt, shortening it to mid-thigh to match the style of its former wearer. She doesn't want to appear out of place. <<if $ch1_bind_guard>>\ Considering the discarded strip of fabric, Bethea looks to the bound guard with a devious grin. Inadvertently, she had solved her previous problem. Kneeling next to the hogtied beauty, Bethea pries open her mouth. Using the dagger to cut the discarded hem in half lengthwise, the blonde goddess shoves one half into the unconscious guard's mouth and tightly knots the other between her lips, sealing the wad of fabric inside. <<endif>> Bethea dons the greaves and sandals, tightening the laces extra tight to compensate for the slightly too large size. After hooking the dagger to her belt and slipping the club into place, the only remaining item is the helm. Like the rest of the gear, it is slightly too large and has a tendency to slip down over her eyes if she isn't careful. Still, her brilliant blonde hair is rather distinctive even amongst her sisters, let alone mortals, and a skewed helmet is still less noticeable than a blindingly bright mane of hair. Not wanting to be caught standing over an unconscious guard in her prison, Bethea shuffles quickly to the passageway and into the darkness, occasionally touching a hand to the helmet to right it. She walks with purpose, her back straight, not wanting to attract attention by skulking. The prison seems to be mostly empty, over half the sconces sleeping silently in darkness beside rows upon rows of empty cells. Either <<print $female_city_name>> has very little crime, or Bethea was purposefully imprisoned away from the rest of the jail's residents. Bethea liberates the first lit torch she finds, fortunately not having to stumble too far in the pitch black tunnels. She passes numerous forks, peering down each potential path to try and ascertain which, if any, has more light. Where there's light, there's escape. After nearly an hour of trekking, Bethea hears the soft murmur of carried voices. Weighing the pros and cons, she figures the possibility for getting out of this place outweighs the risks. Following the sounds, heart beating a sharp staccato in her chest, Bethea stumbles into a small, well-lit chamber. Three guards, dressed identically to the imposter amongst them, sit at a small table in the center of the room, playing a hand of cards. The Goddess must have smiled upon her errant daughter, for none of them look up as she enters. She takes the time to observe her surroundings. A circular room fashioned from the same brick as the rest of the prison, Bethea spies three exits. In addition to the passageway she has just emerged from, there's an imposing wooden door to the left, and a curved staircase to the right. The staircase seems far more well-lit than all of the passages Bethea has found so far. She guesses that it doesn't lead to more prison cells, although she can't be certain. Keeping her pace so as not to draw attention to herself, Bethea steps into the room. Just then, the door on the left flies open. Bethea nearly jumps out of her skin. A tall, imposing amazon strides through. Pale-skinned with a fiery sunset for hair, the guard is even bigger than the one Bethea overpowered. She managed a grunt of greeting to the three guards on her way by, nodding in Bethea's direction as she passed her. Not having seen any other guards or prisoners on her way out, Bethea thinks it's a safe bet that the warlike woman stomping past her is about to find her unconscious comrade. She needs to move fast. Bethea exhales slowly as the guard marches past, her disguise having passed its first test. The goddess sneaks a glimpse through the now open doorway. Her breath catches. Two-story beds line the far wall, and long tables occupy the center of the room. Dozens of women mill about in varying states of dress, those fully dressed clearly guards. Some sit at the tables, eating and engaging in games of chance, while others sleep or recline in their bunks. It's the guard barracks. A barracks must certainly have a way outside, and she might be able to glean some useful scuttlebutt, but it would also be incredibly dangerous. The safer play would be to sneak up the stairs and out of sight, though. Should she really risk entering the lion's den? [[Bethea slips up the stairs to look for a way out, thinking the less guards she runs into the better.|Ch1-Palace]] [[Bethea walks into the barracks, pretending to belong and hoping to overhear some useful information.|Ch1-Barracks]]

Bethea makes for the stairs without breaking stride. Her heart hammers in her chest. Every second passes, another chance for her to be called out by the surrounding guards gone. To the goddess's great relief, she makes it to the stairs unchallenged. Forcing her breathing to remain steady, she begins climbing. It's a short climb, leading to a thick wooden door. Fortune remains with Bethea and the door is unlocked. Slipping through, Bethea finds herself in a basement of sorts. The room is clean and well lit, a cool, comfortable air wrapping around the escapee in welcome. Rows upon rows of stacked barrels extend down the hall to her right, and a second flight of stairs curves out of sight to her right. A wine cellar, perhaps? The blonde beauty turns to the left and mounts the stairs. She's not likely to find much assistance in a wine cellar. What could she do, ride out in a barrel? That would be absurd. The second flight of steps is even shorter, only a few dozen steps before Bethea is at the top. The second door is much different than the previous ones. While also made of wood, it is gilded in gold and features mythical epics in artistic relief, heroic tales and tear-jerking tragedies inscribed in beautiful detail. Bethea feathers a touch across the familiar stories before shoving the door open and stepping through. The goddess finds herself in a palace fit for her lineage. Fluted columns stand watch over pristine marble floors. Nude sculptures of perfect women stare blankly at the goddess, who herself marvels in awe at the grand artistry on display. Even the walls feature intricate reliefs detailing the long history of <<print $land_name>>, paints and dyes bringing each to vibrant life. Or, at the very least, <<print $female_city_name>>'s version of history. Bethea loses herself in the craftsmanship, drinking in each masterpiece in turn with equal reverence. While no stranger to artistic elegance, Bethea had never been so aware of the works of humans and their unique style. Bethea's trance is broken by the sound of footsteps echoing along the corridor. Schooling her features, Bethea returns to her purposeful marching stride. Relief washes over her as she passes a plainly dressed young woman carrying a bucket of water and a mop. Refocusing on finding a way out, Bethea tries to guess where the servant came from. A servants' entrance would be the perfect escape route. Unfortunately, the goddess doesn't have much luck. Every intersection or fork or staircase she comes to leads to an area just as opulent as the last. Minutes turn into hours as Bethea wanders the massive palace. The artwork is never boring, but frustration begins to set in. Eventually, finally, Bethea turns the corner to find a row of doors on the right and glorious, blessed windows opposite them on the left. The goddess pokes her head out the first one, scoping out the situation. The earlier afternoon sun has faded to the glowing pink of sunset, the heat giving way to cooling comfort. Bethea's heart sinks. The window opens up onto a picturesque garden, which itself overlooks a bustling bazaar far below. That would have been excellent, were the garden not three stories below the window. Growling in frustration, Bethea scans the courtyard. Her eyes catches on the wall further down the hall. Walking swiftly, Bethea moves to the end of the corridor and looks out the far window. A wooden trellis is propped against the smooth stone wall. Purple flowers bloom along its length, waving a greeting in the gentle breeze. The goddess smirks: Finally, a way out. The trellis looks sturdy, with enough space between the slats to serve as both foot and handholds. Climbing down would be a cinch. The pitter-patter of little feet on smooth marble reaches Bethea's ears. A door opens around the corner. The goddess whips her head around the corner, heart pounding in her chest. She's just in time to see the door inching shut. Voices sound behind her, down the corridor. "Find him! You three, check the gardens. The rest of you, come with me and search the rooms." Bethea looks around frantically. She hadn't heard the door lock, so she could take her chances slipping in there and hiding. Her original plan might still work, although if the guards came upon her climbing down the trellis her disguise would be well and truly cooked. [[Bethea slips into the room to hide and eases the door shut, locking it behind her.|Ch1-Hide]] [[Hunkering low to avoid attention, Bethea ducks out the window and clambers down the trellis.|Ch1-Garden]]

Exuding a confidence she doesn't possess, the blonde goddess strides into the barracks, shouldering her way past a guard with a murmured apology. The barracks is spartan in decor, cold brick walls lined by simple wooden beds and little else. None of the guards seem to be much in the way of personal expression: Bethea doesn't see any personal knickknacks or trinkets anywhere. Perhaps they frequently rotate through assignments? Glancing about furtively, Bethea makes her way over to one of the empty bunks, moving as if she has every right to be there. It wouldn't do to stand around gawking like the interloper she is. A simple black cloak is draped over the side of the bed, clean and neatly folded. She picks it up and drapes it over her arm. A quick visual sweep reveals a locked trunk beneath the bed. There might be something useful inside, but trying to break into a locked chest in front of nearly two dozen guards probably wouldn't go over particularly well. "Hey, newbie, come join us." Bethea fights the urge to freeze in her tracks, turning casually to face the speaker. A half dozen guards sit around one of the tables surrounded by three times as many empty tankards. Each is wearing a dress to match Bethea's stolen garb, but lacks the matching armor. Based on the cup of dice and the slight sway to some of them, they've just gotten off duty and are taking full advantage of their free time. The speaker is an older woman, long black hair streaked with grey pulled into a tight bun at the top of her head. Her steel grey eyes are sharp as a blade, although her weathered face is turned up into an inviting smile in Bethea's direction. She's only slightly shorter than Bethea, albeit the tallest of her group. She drums her fingers on the table, shooting Bethea a wink. "Come on, I could use someone fresh to swindle out of their pay, these suckers have given me all of theirs." Bethea glances around. The barracks has somewhat emptied out during the exchange, leaving just the goddess and the group making merry. Joining them would no doubt be quite dangerous, but she could potentially be rewarded with some juicy information. The exit is closed, although Bethea doesn't see a lock. She could make her excuses and slip out before they become too suspicious. Or perhaps they already suspect she's not who she pretends to be. Bethea might need to fight her way out, in which case attacking first could prove the difference between success and failure. [[Warily, Bethea joins the guards for their game, not wanting to attract attention.|Ch1-Join]] [[Mumbling something about being late for guard duty, Bethea slips outside before the women can protest.|Ch1-Leave]] <<if $chaos >= 2>>\ [[Realizing her cover is blown, Bethea launches a pre-emptive attack.|Ch1-Attack]] <<else>>\ [[Realizing her cover is blown, Bethea launches a pre-emptive attack.|Ch1-Lose]] <<endif>>\

With a slight smile, Bethea makes her way over to the group. She slips her helmet off, giving her head a little shake, the blonde waves shimmering. The guards cast a surprised look to her brightly colored hair, but otherwise say nothing. Two of the women scoot apart, making space for Bethea to sit between them, directly across from the speaker. Not wanting to appear rude, the goddess steps over the bench and sits. "Thanks." "Name's Cassia." The older woman smiles at Bethea, reaching for the dice and dropping them into a small wooden cup. "Haven't seen you around before, first day?" "Beth. And no, second." Bethea shoots the dark-haired woman a sheepish smile, hoping to disarm any suspicions she might have. Cassia returns the smile then shakes the cup violently before dumping it out on the table. The dice skitter across the surface, eventually coming to a halt with twenty-six dots facing upwards. Cassia smirks, handing the cup to Beth. "Beat that rookie. Harmonia, get the newbie a drink. Don't just stand there." The guard sitting next to Cassia, a much younger woman with skin as dark as night and eyes to match, nods and gets up, not sparing Bethea so much as a glance. Bethea ignores her, focusing on collecting the dice and plopping them inside the cup. Shaking it, albeit not quite as forcefully as her opponent, Bethea lets the dice fly. The cubes rattle and clack across the table surface, coming to a stop with only thirteen dots staring skyward. Cassia smirks, taking a sip from her tankard. "Better luck next time." Harmonia returns with a new tankard, holding it out for Bethea. "Thanks." Bethea reaches out to take the vessel, but Harmonia suddenly thrusts it forward, launching the wine into the goddess's face. The blonde cries out in surprise. Instinctively, Bethea's hands shoot up to cover her eyes. The guards sitting next to her were clearly expecting this, as each grabs one of her wrists and pulls her arm straight out from her shoulder. Simultaneously, the women push their forearms into the tendon just above Bethea's elbow and force her down against the table. Her skull smacks into the wood with a thud, eliciting a loud groan from the goddess. Cassia's blurry smile through glassy eyes is the last thing Bethea sees before an explosion of pain in the back of her head sends her into the land of dreams. "Alert the Arbiter. Take her..." [[Bethea goes limp, unconscious in the guards' grip.|Ch1-Defeated]]

"Erm.. Sorry... I'm, uh, late for guard duty." Bethea ducks her head and makes for the door, slipping out before anyone can stop her. She emerges into an empty courtyard, an open gate directly opposite her. Walking with purpose, Bethea hurries through the gate without stopping to assess her surroundings. There's a row of dense bushes directly outside the gate. A quick glance over her shoulder reveals no one in pursuit, so, the goddess dips into the bushes and hides. Forcing her breath to remain slow and steady, Bethea waits. After a few minutes without any sign of a chase, the blonde beauty relaxes. Knowing she's been seen garbed as a guard, Bethea strips off the armor and hides it in the foliage. She slips on the cloak and fastens it to hide the tell-tale dress. It fits well, falling to just above her feet and covering everything else. The goddess flips the hood up to hide her unique locks. Satisfied with her disguise, or as satisfied as she can be given the circumstances, Bethea inspects the area more thoroughly. She's just come from an imposing, walled palace. The wall at her back stands nearly three times her height, although that is dwarfed by the gargantuan palace it protects. With pristine white marble and ornate sculptures on the outside, one wouldn't expect the maze-like dungeon beneath. Glad to have escaped, and hoping to remain free longer than a handful of minutes, Bethea turns her attention forward and strides down the path purposefully. A loud, bustling city sits but a stone's throw from the palace wall. Fancy white buildings face the palace, impressive in a vacuum but downright shabby compared to the magnificent palace. Fortunately the streets are deserted. The goddess hurries across the short open space between herself and the buildings, then slips into a side alley. Bethea skulks through the deserted alleys, avoiding attention. Eventually, Bethea stumbles upon a crowded market. There are plenty of guards milling about, but twenty times as many civilians. A hooded figure in the shadows would draw far more attention than a hooded shopper. Steeling herself, she disappears into the throng. [[Bethea slowly makes her way through the crowds, heart hammering in her chest at her narrow escape.|Ch1-LeaveDungeon]]

<<set $chaos = 0>>\ Letting out a fierce cry, Bethea suddenly leaps forward. The goddess calls on her blood for strength, feeling it surge into her muscles. She quickly withdraws the club from her belt and fells the nearest woman, whirling and attacking the next. Stunned momentarily, the guards sluggishly rush to engage the goddess, slowed in their efforts by drink. The second guard manages to partially deflect the cudgel, but Bethea immediately follows up with a headbutt. A loud clang reverberates through the barracks as the helmet collides with the guard's skull. She crumples to the ground next to her compatriot with a groan. Bethea turns to face the remaining guards, eyes flashing. The door flies open, one of the guards from the hallway drawn from her card game by the noise. While partially inebriated, <<print $female_city_name>>'s peacekeepers seem to be well-trained, and they've armed themselves with clubs and whips while Bethea dealt with the first two. The guard who invited Bethea to join them, lips pulled back in a hateful grin, rushes forward. The blonde beauty neatly sidesteps her, bringing the club down at the base of her neck with a crack. The guard crumples. However, three more rush in from the hall to replace her. Bethea curses under her breath. A leather whip snakes around Bethea's neck, snapping taught. With a growl, she turns and grabs it, yanking hard to pull her assailant off balance. Divine might sings in her veins, the air around Bethea taking on a slight glow. The guard is pulled off balance, falling forward into the goddess's sandaled foot with a sickening crack. Another guard rushes her, only to be felled by a single club strike to the temple. A club smashes into Bethea shoulder from behind. She stumbles, spinning to face her new attacker. With a ferocious cry, the woman raises the club again. Instinctively, Bethea raises her left arm defensively. She draws on her power in an act of desperation, calling on her aspis, feeling her inner fire beginning to flicker. There's is a flash of light, and then a loud clang. The club smashes into the goddess's shield, the golden circle holding firm despite Althea's ravaging of its surface. Bethea grunts, feeling the force of the strike cascade down her arm. Fighting through the pain, she pulls back and smashes the scarred aspis into the guard's face and knocking her to the floor. The remaining guards, stunned by Bethea's display, turn and flee towards the dungeon. "Witch! The heretic is a witch!" Bethea sighs, collapsing to her knees in exhaustion. Her shield shimmers once, twice, then disappears, returning to its place atop her sisters' temple. Forcing herself to her feet, Bethea grabs the discarded cloak and staggers out the door and into the evening sun. Knowing the guards will be hot on her heels with reinforcements, Bethea doubles her pace, moving across the abandoned courtyard towards the gate. She slips through, and then ducks into some bushes on the side of the path. The goddess kneels down, catching her breath. Knowing they'll be searching for someone in a guard's uniform, she strips off the armor and hides it in the foliage. Bethea pulls the cloak around her shoulders and flips the hood over her head to hide her distinctive hair. Making sure no one is looking, she slips out of the bushes. She's just come from an imposing, walled palace. The wall at her back stands nearly three times her height, although that is dwarfed by the gargantuan palace it protects. With pristine white marble and ornate sculptures on the outside, one wouldn't expect the maze-like dungeon beneath. Glad to have escaped, and hoping to remain free longer than a handful of minutes, Bethea turns her attention forward and strides down the path purposefully. A loud, bustling city sits but a stone's throw from the palace wall. Fancy white buildings face the palace, impressive in a vacuum but downright shabby compared to the magnificent palace. Fortunately the streets are deserted. The goddess hurries across the short open space between herself and the buildings, then slips into a side alley. Bethea skulks through the deserted alleys, avoiding attention. Eventually, Bethea stumbles upon a crowded market. There are plenty of guards milling about, but twenty times as many civilians. A hooded figure in the shadows would draw far more attention than a hooded shopper. Steeling herself, she disappears into the throng. [[Bethea moves carefully, doing her best not to draw attention to herself.|Ch1-LeaveDungeon]]

<<set $ch1_key = true>>\ Bethea creeps silently over to the table on tiptoe. Careful not to disturb the slumbering guard, the goddess's long, slender fingers wrap slowly around the stem of the candelabra. She picks it up slowly. Carefully. Moving at a glacial pace so as not to make any noise, Bethea raises the heavy ornament above her head. She brings it down swiftly on the redhead's skull, aiming carefully so the base lands flat on the bone. She wants to knock the guard out, not cave her head in. The metal collides with a loud thunk. The redhead lets out a long groan, her eyes flickering open only to roll up into her head. Bethea checks her pulse, relieved when she feels a weak but study thumping in the woman's neck. Moving quickly, the goddess searches the guard's slumbering form. A ring sporting a single key hangs from her belt. Bethea double-checks the door. There is no lock. Unsure what the key is for, Bethea takes it anyway. She'd hate to leave it behind only to be stopped in her trail by a locked door. The goddess slips it into her top for safekeeping. Unsure of how much more time she has and finding little else of value, Bethea makes her escape. [[Armed with the key and hidden by her cloak, Bethea slips out of the dungeon.|Ch1-EnterMarket]]

Bethea pushes her way through the market crowd. Someone bumps into her back, nearly knocking her over. Whirling, the goddess glowers at the portly woman. Uncowed, the woman makes a crude gesture in Bethea's direction and shoves her aside, ambling on her way. Bethea hugs the cloak tighter about her form to protect her anonymity. She tries to get close to the numerous vendors hawking their wares, but the crowd is too thick, too desperate to finish their last-minute shopping before the red setting sun dips into the darkness below the horizon. Without any money or substantial items to trade, it would achieve little purpose anyway. <<if $ch1_help>>Even if she could find Damasca, there would be no privacy that any meaningful conversation would require. Her best shot is to try and meet the older woman on the road tonight.<<endif>> The goddess retreats to the fringes of the marketplace and picks her way around the outskirts, careful not to attract too much attention. Without so many bodies pushing and shoving, it's easier to keep the cloak neatly in place around her body. The market is large, but Bethea makes good time by avoiding the thickest portions of the throng. The street opens up while the crowd thins out, the packed bazaar giving way to a quieter residential area. Elegant homes surrounded by pristine green gardens dot the marble pathway. Unsurprisingly, the city's wealthiest live closest to the castle. Bethea ignores the fine sculptures and ornate fountains dotting the neighborhood, remaining focused on finding a way out of the city. The foot traffic is minimal but not non-existent, mostly mothers and their daughters walking hand in hand on the peaceful summer evening. Most seem to be traveling in Bethea's general direction, away from the market. Bethea briefly considers whether she should follow them or not, but she doesn't really have much of a choice. The street features no intersections or alleys to change direction, so her choices are limited to proceeding forward, heading back to the market, or trying to cut through one of the houses. Seeking to remain unnoticed, Bethea opts for the first option. The residential area opens up into a temple district. Altars to Bethea's various sisters surround a large amphitheatre. Bethea spies her own, clean and well-kempt like the rest. A massive, multi-story temple supported by thick doric columns dominates the entire plaza, Althea's crest emblazoned on a gigantic copper shield hanging above the doorway. <img src="Ch1/Althea.svg" alt="Althea's Symbol"> A collection of smaller temples dedicated to various goddesses also surround the amphitheatre behind their respective shrines, although all of them are dwarfed by Althea's. There are various smaller paths and alleyways leading away from the central amphitheatre, offering Bethea plenty of choice to make her escape. The amphitheatre is a large half-circle cut into the very ground itself. Three sets of carved steps lead down towards a rectangular marble dais, flanked by curved stone benches that line the perimeter of concentric curves converging on the platform. A smattering of children and their mothers are gathered on the lower benches close to the stage. An older woman, basking in her nakedness, sits on a simple wooden chair atop the dais, flanked by two guards. Her voice filters up towards the cloaked goddess. "...gather to hear... Goddess and her daughters... creation... treachery of..." Bethea's anger flares. None in this city can possibly know the world's story better than she, and yet she suspects Althea's priestess will give a particularly bastardized version of the tale. Curiosity pressures her to stay and listen, however self-preservation suggests that she continue on her way. [[Bethea skirts around the amphitheatre and ducks into an alleyway.|Ch1-Ignore]] [[Bethea makes her way down the steps and sits in the center of the front row.|Ch1-Listen]]

<<if $ch1_listen>>The goddess forces her way through the crowd, not caring overly much whether she draws attention to herself or not. Her mind is solely focused on resisting the urge to turn around. One foot in front of the other, Bethea manages to slip down an alley and out of sight of the amphitheatre. The pressure eases in her chest, and she lets out a sigh of relief. While the lies were egregious, Bethea can do more good by escaping to fight for the truth another day.<<else>>Not caring to hear whatever bastardized version of history Althea has fed her puppet priestess, Bethea continues on her way. Making sure to skirt the outer edge of the amphitheatre, the goddess slips into an alley on the far side. She keeps her pace steady yet unhurried to avoid appearing in flight.<<endif>> The outer wall looms ahead of Bethea, white-grey stone gleaming in the setting sun. The goddess quickens her pace, desperate to finally be free of this maddening city. The wall is formidable, easily four times Bethea's height. The surface is smooth, yet cool to the touch. The heavy blocks, limestone if she had to hazard a guess, don't provide any purchase for climbing. Had she her wings, even a wall such as this would provide no challenge. <<if $chaos >= 2>>Bethea feels her power singing inside her, hardly at peak strength but much stronger than before. She probes, sending droplets of energy along her back. The tattoo shudders in response, as if trying to break free and soar.<<else>>Alas, Althea's trickery keeps them emblazoned upon her back in tattoo form, hardly useful for such a situation. Bethea feels bereft without them, but currently she can only press onward until she can better understand her predicament.<<endif>> There's a solid wooden door set in the wall along the southern face. It's not overly large, and seems to be designed for a quick ingress or egress for those with enough authority to bypass the main gatehouse. For someone of fugitive status like Bethea, the main gatehouse is too risky. <<if $ch1_key>><<if $ch1_help>>Fortunately, Bethea still has the key given to her by Alexis. The redhead had assured her that it opens any door along the walls.<<else>>Bethea slips her hand into her top and withdraws the key she liberated from the guard. There's no harm in trying it to see if it fits.<<endif>><<else>>Unfortunately for the blonde goddess, the door doesn't budge. The portal seems to be locked up tight, and a quick investigation of the lock reveals that it's highly complex. Were she an expert sneakthief, Bethea might be able to pick it, but it is beyond her modest talents.<<endif>> Further along the wall, a few hundred paces from the door, the stone structure juts into the sea before coming to a halt. While the water is relatively calm, it is no doubt cold and unforgiving as night is beginning to settle over <<print $female_city_name>>. Swimming out around the wall is certainly a possibility, although it would definitely be unpleasant. [[Stripping off everything but her undergarments as the fabric would only weigh her down, Bethea dives into the water and swims to freedom.|Ch1-Swim]] <<if $ch1_key>>\ [[Bethea fits the key into the lock and turns it silently. The lock clicks open, barely audible. |Ch1-Unlock]] <<endif>>\ <<if $chaos >= 2>>\ [[Bethea closes her eyes, concentrating on her power. After slipping the cloak from her shoulders and letting it drop to the ground, wings slowly take shape behind her in a flash of light.|Ch1-FlyOver][$chaos -= 2]] <<endif>>\

<<set $ch1_listen = true>>\ The old woman flings her hands out to her sides, flabby arms dangling from the motion. Her voice emerges in a surprisingly steady and forceful tone for someone her age, weaving an enrapturing spell around her mostly young audience. "Before the land and the sea, before the beasts and the trees, before you and me, there was the Goddess. She had skin of the darkest alabaster, and hair of the brightest black. The Goddess, possessed of a full and pure heart desperate to unleash its love, bore herself five dozen daughters in her own image, each a goddess in her own right. Each is as stunning as her mother, yet distinctly different from each of her sisters. The Goddess laid down the sixty Virtues and sixty Necessities in the form of her offspring. So became the Court of the Goddesses." Bethea's lips thin at the story's telling, the Virtue of Order screaming with outrage in her heart and the Necessity of Punishment growling in her head. The priestess's animated demonstration is drawing more people. Many women coming from the marketplace stop to listen, just as enthralled as the children. "The Goddess and her daughters were happy, yet unfulfilled. No Virtue should be unlived, no Necessity should be unnecessary. Heart still brimming with love, the Goddess laid down the firmament and the foliage, the soil and the sea. She laid down the animals of the earth and the creatures of the deep. With special care, the Goddess hand-crafted the sacred winged birds of the clouds. The almighty Goddess created a bird whose wings were fashioned in perfect likeness for each of her daughters, that all of her creations might remember the Court of the Goddesses. And that, little Sophie, is why we don't eat birds." A small girl sitting in the front row, no older than four, turns an embarrassed shade of pink, scuffing her bare foot along the ground. The elderly priestess chuckles, giving the toddler a jovial wink before continuing. "But for all of her marvelous creations, the many Virtues and many Necessities still remained unfulfilled. So the Goddess created the ultimate tribute to the glory of her and her daughters: you, and you, and you, and you." The old priestess points her crooked finger randomly throughout the gathering crowd. "Through womankind, the Virtue of each goddess would be lived, the Necessity of each goddess would be realized. So became Life, and so became Woman." Bethea's ire dims only slightly. While the woman's tale agrees with the truth in slight fashion, the details remain maddeningly inaccurate. The goddess remains composed, watching the elderly woman recount her version of history. Bodies begin to press against Bethea, the amphitheatre filling with listeners. "The Goddess's heart still contained love, although the genesis of the world had taken a heavy toll. For a time, her creations lived in happiness and harmony throughout <<print $land_name>>. Yet, it is difficult to dedicate ample time to worshipping the Goddesses when one is worried about felling trees and tilling the land. In her mercy, the Goddess created servants for her creations. Strong of body yet weak of mind, she called them Man, for they were but half of Woman. Man was taught to work the land and provide labor for Woman so that she may better worship the glory of her creator and her daughters. However, the Goddess's love was running out, and she could no longer give unconditionally. If Woman were to shirk half the duties of life, then she could only do half the work required to make life. So became the Curse of Man." The muscle above Bethea's left eye twitches, forehead wrinkling above a wicked frown. She isn't certain how much more of the bastardized tale she can endure. Meanwhile, the children listening to the story seem to be rather confused by the last part, but the older woman makes no effort to explain and hurries on. "This last act of creation drained the Goddess of her love, and so she forsook her physical beauty to become the sun above, radiating her protection upon her creations. She left her eldest daughter Althea, Goddess of Rule and Sacrifice, Patron of Monarchs, to lead her sisters in her stead. For many years, the Goddess's creations lived at peace. Man, however, with his black and jealous heart, grew resentful of Woman's beauty and grace. He began whispering lies and spreading falsehoods, claiming that Woman was not the only creature made in divine image, but that Man was the image of alleged "gods," mirrors of the divine goddesses which appeared as rough and ungraceful as man. Woman, in her kindness, took pity on Man and indulged him. Some women were even swayed by the untruths and began to worship the false gods of Man's own creation. To this very day, outside our own protective walls, many continue to believe the fiction. The Goddesses, disgusted by Woman's disloyalty, turned their backs on her. Man, empowered, used his physical strength to enslave his mistress. Woman, in despair, called out to her Goddesses, but they remained silent. So became the Millenium of Man." Bethea folds her arms across her chest. Her blue eyes sweep the crowd, gauging its reaction to the priestess's proclamations. Based on the worshipful expressions, the women believe every word. The crowd is becoming particularly thick, with some even sitting on the dirt between the stairs and the speaker's platform. "For a thousand years, Man reigned over the land. With his dark and twisted heart, he brutalized and punished Woman, his former overlord. She cried out in anguish for her Goddesses to save her, but they were not so quick to forget her treachery. After a millenium of enduring her suffering, the Goddesses swept back into <<print $land_name>>. Wielding mighty weapons imbued with the light of the sun and impenetrable aspides bearing their personal crests, the vengeful Goddesses drove man from power and restored the rightful order. Althea, mightiest of the mighty, extracted an oath from our beloved queen's great, great, great grandmother: never allow man to overrun <<print $land_name>> again, never allow him to once again overthrow the Goddess's favored, and never again to allow him to escape his place of servitude. In possession of Woman's oath, the goddesses departed once more. So became the present day." Order whips Bethea into a frenzy, Punishment salivating at the prospect of a righteous battle. Bethea is hard-pressed to keep them at bay. She could turn and flee, escape the desire to expose the truth in lieu of self preservation, or she could yield and expose herself in the name of all that is right. [[Bethea turns on her heel and melts into the crowd, shaking with the suppressed urge to turn and rail against the priestess.|Ch1-Ignore]] [[Setting her shoulders and slipping back the cloak's hood to reveal her shimmering blonde hair, Bethea parts the crowd with a striking rebuke.|Ch1-Confront][$chaos += 5]]

Making up her mind, Bethea slips silently over to the door and pushes it open. She ducks inside and slips it shut, turning the lock with a soft click. Mind racing, she turns to survey the room, looking for her fellow fugitive. The room itself matches the splendor of the rest of the palace. A large canopy bed with blue silk drapes is in one corner, flanked by two stone sculptures. The sculpture on the left features a nude woman wearing nothing but a blindfold, a scale hanging from her outstretched hand. The right sculpture features a soldier in full armor, her spear embedded in the corpse at her feet. The walls lack the intricate carvings of the palace's halls. Instead, they sport a light red paint gilded with minute gold filigree. There's a door to Bethea's left, perhaps a connection to an adjoining room or a bathing area of some sort. The goddess creeps over, slowly turning the knob. Locked. Undeterred, she continues searching the room. One entire wall is covered by shelves upon shelves of scrolls and books, a miniature library unlike anything Bethea has ever seen before. Goddesses have little need of books, after all. Ignoring the marvel for now, Bethea moves over to check the large archway. It opens onto a small balcony. Unfortunately, that balcony overlooks a steep cliff and the gently undulating sea. It's a long drop, far too far to jump. So much for escaping that way. Bethea turns back to the room, her eyes catching on the bed. There's... something pressing against the sheet from beneath it, forming a noticeable lump. Curious, Bethea kneels down and lifts the fabric. Her eyes lock with those of a small boy, no older than six or seven. His saucer-sized orbs are a verdant green. A mop of blazing red hair erupts from pale, freckled skin. Bethea's mouth hangs open. She isn't sure what she was expecting, but this certainly wasn't it. In <<print $female_city_name>> of all places. The adjoining door creaks open, and Bethea scrambles to her feet. Her gaze meets that of a woman wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her torso. The woman's eyes travel back and forth from Bethea to the young boy, skin growing whiter and whiter. Bethea notes her bright red hair and terrified green eyes. The woman's voice emerges on a croaking whisper, her arms clutched tightly to the towel. "Please... I can..." A knock hammers against the door, making everyone leap out of their skin. "Open up! Is anyone in there?" Bethea looks at the door, then at the woman. Clearly the boy's mother, she mouths "please" to the goddess, eyes beseeching. The guards must be after the boy. While Bethea, as the Goddess of Order, despises <<print $female_city_name>>'s hatred for the male sex, causing a ruckus and sacrificing the boy to the guards might be her best chance at getting out. That would be a gargantuan compromise of her principles for her to make, though... [[Bethea shouts for the guards, hoping to use the ensuing mayhem to slip away.|Ch1-Betray][$chaos += 2]] [[Nodding, Bethea holds her fingers to her lips and remains perfectly still, waiting for the guards to move on.|Ch1-Help]]

<<set $ch1_key = true>>\ <<set $ch1_help = true>>\ "If anyone is in there, open this door now!" The boy lets out a soft whimper. Bethea swiftly presses a finger to his lips to keep him from giving them away. "Go get the master key from the Captain. I'll make sure no one comes out." Bethea, mind racing, turns and looks toward the window, but the redheaded woman catches her eye. She shakes her head slightly, holding up a hand in caution. She pads stealthily over to the bookshelf on naked feet, carefully reaching out towards it. Her slender hand rests gently upon a thick red volume, easing it outwards. Bethea's brows bunch together in confusion. This is no time for reading! Much to her surprise, the bookshelf slides slowly back across the floor, making a low scraping sound. "Hey! Is someone in there!?" More pounding sounds at the door. If possible, the redheaded woman's skin is even paler now. She motions frantically at Bethea to follow her, stepping inside the small tunnel revealed by the moving bookshelf after replacing the book to its proper position. Taking the trembling boy by the hand, Bethea hurries over to his mother and ducks inside the passageway. The woman scoops the boy up into her arms and holds him tightly against her chest, moisture pooling at the corners of her eyes. Wiping it away, she pulls down on a lever set in the wall. The shelf moves back into place with more noise, sealing the trio in darkness. Bethea feels the woman's hand snag her own, yanking her forward and leading the goddess through the pitch-black tunnel. Not having much of a choice, the blonde beauty follows the woman through the twisting and turning passageways. The path descends at a slight slope, only leveling out briefly to reverse direction. They walk so far that Bethea is certain they've descended into the depths of the earth, although walking slowly in absolute darkness tends to distort one's sense of time. Eventually, Bethea feels her guide stop. Surprised, she bumps into the woman's back, but fortunately without enough force to knock her over. Bethea hears her partner in crime fumbling around for something, then a scraping sound. There's a flickering of light, the redheaded woman's face illuminated by a dancing match. Cupping the flame with her hand, she walks over and lights two lanterns hanging from hooks on the wall. The goddess blinks rapidly, eyes fighting to become accustomed to the sudden influx of light. The room is tiny. Bethea isn't sure she could lay down completely flat in either direction. Its walls are composed of tightly packed dirt. Does the passageway lead beneath the castle entirely? In addition to the small opening they just emerged from, there's a barred wooden door across the room. A small, crude bed sits in the corner, perfectly sized for the young boy clinging to his mother. A table and boy-sized stool sit next to it. The ginger boy stares unabashedly at Bethea as his mother sets him gently on the edge of the bed. She dashes her forearm across her eyes. "We should be able to talk here. I..." The woman pauses for a long while, eyes locked on her child. "I don't know how to thank you." Bethea shrugs noncommittally, leaning against the wall. "It was the right thing to do." The red-haired woman raises an eyebrow. "Bold of you to say so. You should be careful of speaking so freely." After a moment's hesitation, the woman steps forward, hand outstretched. "Alexis" Bethea, with double the hesitation, grasps it firmly. "Be... Beth." Alexis squints her eyes, focusing on Bethea's hair. "Goddesses above... you're the heretic." Momentary panic flares in her verdant green eyes, before her gaze shoots to her silent son. "I guess that adds some context, doesn't it?" Bethea nods, keeping her expression purposefully neutral. Alexis is still for a moment, before snapping into action. She reaches beneath the bed and withdraws a small wooden trunk. Popping it open, she withdraws a simple cotton dress, a pair of leather sandals, and a dark cloak. The redhead drops the towel and slips on the dress before sitting to lace up the sandals. She tosses the cloak in Bethea's direction. "I assume you'll want to get out of the city. Based on how you're dressed, there's a guard somewhere who isn't dressed. It's only a matter of time before that disguise becomes a hindrance." The logic is sound, so Bethea acquiesces. She quickly strips out of the armor and slips into the cloak, pulling it closed over top of the dress and slipping the hood up over her distinctive hair. The cloak is a nearly perfect fit, hanging down to just above her toes. "Here, take this." Alexis gently tosses a small brass key towards the goddess. "It opens all of the doors along the outer wall. It'll be easier to get out that way than the main gate." Bethea looks over the key before slipping it into her dress, watching as the redhead turns to her son and kneels by the bed. She runs a loving hand through his hair. "I know you hate it in here, honey, but you can't go running off like that. It's not safe." She presses a kiss to his forehead, fighting back more tears. "Mommy loves you, and she couldn't handle it if you got taken away. Can you stay here, for me?" The boy nods solemnly, glancing between Bethea and his mother. Alexis smiles, patting his head before rising and facing Bethea. "Follow me." Alexis leads Bethea through the barred door, closing it behind her. The goddess can hear the bar sliding back into place. Apparently Alexis has at least drilled that into her son's head. "Are you sure he's not going to sneak off again?" Alexis shoots Bethea a sad smile over her shoulder. "Kassander is a smart boy, he understands the danger. He just gets... lonely at times." Alexis swallows briefly, turning her head forwards once more as she leads Bethea through the tunnel. "He'll be fine until I can visit him tonight. Right now it's critical that I not be conspicuously missing as the guards search for a red-headed boy in my chambers." Bethea can't argue with that. The pair walks through the darkness, Alexis leading Bethea by the hand as before. "I'll let you out of the tunnel, but be ready: I'm going to close it behind you. You're going to exit into a cave along the shore. Walk straight ahead and turn right, then left. That will get you out onto the beach, beneath the wall." Bethea nods, demonstrating her understanding out of habit without considering that Alexis can't see it. "Follow the beach wall south until you hit the fisherman's wharf. That key unlocks the door, and any door along the walls for that matter, but make sure no one is watching. Once inside, head for the market just across the street." "Won't there be guards watching the market for thieves?" "Yes, you must remain inconspicuous, but your best option is to find a rug vendor, goes by Damasca. She's ancient, but she knows about Kassander. She can get you out of the city. If something goes wrong, get out of the city however you can. Damasca will drive her wagon south tonight, but she doesn't move quickly. You should be able to catch up with her even while staying out of sight." "If I get out of the city, what need do I have for this vendor?" "She can get you food and clothes, and she has connections in the shipping industry. You won't be safe until you're off the island. Inform her that I will cover double the expenses that you incur." This journey doesn't feel nearly as long as the first, although Bethea doesn't have a particularly reliable way to measure. The redhead comes to a stop, running her hand along the wall. Her fingers catch on a small indentation, and she slips her hand inside. After a soft click, the stone in front of them begins to move with a low rumble, sliding glacially along the ground to form a small opening. Bethea can see a cave on the other side illuminated by a small amount of diffuse light. The walls are of natural rock unlike the smoother, man-made walls of the tunnel. The goddess steps out, turning to clasp Alexis's hand firmly. "Thank you, you've been a great help." The beleaguered mother merely smiles, squeezing Bethea's hand. "No amount of coin can ever repay my debt to you. If you ever need anything, anything, send word." "Thank you, Alexis." With a parting smile, the redhead presses into the wall again, and the rock begins to slide back into place. Not wanting to waste time, Bethea hurries forward. She processes the directions in her head, committing them to memory. Just as predicted, after two twists the cave opens up onto a serene, sandy beach. The sun has dipped down towards the sea, sending a fiery orange ray across the water towards <<print $female_city_name>>. Bethea moves swiftly along the beach, finding the door with no trouble. True to her word, Alexis's key opens the door easily. Hinges rusty from the continual battering of the ocean air, the wooden portal creaks open. Bethea double checks to ensure her cloak is still in place before slipping inside. She returns the key to its place inside her dress. The wharf itself is nearly deserted, only a few grizzled fisherwomen working the impressive fleet of boats. The crowded marketplace would be nearly impossible to miss, loud and undulating as shoppers clambered to make their purchases before the sun's disappearance signaled the disappearance of the vendors. Bethea melts into the crowd quickly, pushing her way through in search of Damasca. [[The goddess slips through the crowd, careful to avoid any extra attention.|Ch1-LeaveDungeon]]

<<set $true_path = false>>\ <<set $ch1_betray = true>>\ Forcing her conscience to the back of her mind, Bethea makes her move. "Help! He's in here! She's locked the door!" The boy's mother lets out a pained screech, flying to her son and wrapping her arms around him. Bethea throws herself to the ground, clutching the side of her helmet as if she's been struck. There is a loud thump against the door, and shouting on the other side. A second thump, and then a third, before the wood gives way in a shower of splinters. A quintet of guards bursts into the room, swarming all over the place. One helps Bethea to her feet, but all of them only have eyes for the young boy and his mother. Tuning out the woman's sobbing and screaming along with the boy's cries, not to mention her own berating conscience, Bethea inches away from the group, turning and slipping out the door unnoticed as soon as possible. [[Once in the hall, Bethea ducks out the window and clambers down the trellis while no one is watching.|Ch1-Garden]]

Bethea's initial estimate was correct: the water is freezing cold. It nearly sends her into shock as she dives in, although life on an island with her sisters has made Bethea into an expert swimmer. Keeping her mind focused on the task and ignoring the discomfort, the goddess slices through the water. She gradually rises to the surface, kicking her legs and paddling with her arms to propel herself forward. It's about a javelin's throw from the shore to the wall, ample time for defenders to make pincushions out of any attackers attempting to swim into the city. Bethea briefly contemplates clinging to the wall for a break, the water's icy temperature would no doubt sap her energy more quickly than she could recover it. She pushes forward around the wall, lungs beginning to burn. Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke. The goddess doesn't even bother looking up to gauge the distance to the shore. No matter how close it is, it'd still be disheartening. She swims for a few more minutes, exhaustion creeping in. Eventually her hands scrape up against the sandy sea floor. Relief surges through Bethea, and she scrambles to her feet. Blonde hair matted to her skull in thick clumps, the goddess wades to shore and collapses on her hands and knees. Loud gasps tumble from her lips as she sucks in air. Wary of being found, Bethea forces herself back to her feet and into motion, looking around. A short expanse of open grass yields to a dense forest of leafy green trees. The woods stand along the coast, separated from the lapping water only by a thin strip of sandy beach. A well-worn cobblestone road runs parallel to the shore on the other side of the forest, traveling away from the city towards the interior of the island. <<if $ch1_help>>That must be the road Alexis said Damasca would take.<<endif>> The terrain to the west of the road is hilly and uneven with little cover to protect one from the weather or from observation. Stumbling a bit, undergarments soaking wet and plastered to her goose-bump pebbled skin, Bethea hurries over to the woods and slips into the shadows. She does her best to stay close to the road without being visible. Carefully, the goddess starts to put distance between her and <<print $female_city_name>>. [[Beth creeps into the forest cold, wet, and free.|Ch1-Damasca]]

Bethea slips through the door swiftly. She eases it carefully shut, then uses the key to re-engage the lock. There is no point in making it obvious how she'd escaped. Outside <<print $female_city_name>>, the sea sprawls out to Bethea's left. The shoreline extends southeast from the wall. A short expanse of open grass yields to a dense forest of leafy green trees. The woods stand along the coast, separated from the lapping water only by a thin strip of sandy beach. A well-worn cobblestone road runs parallel to the shore on the other side of the forest, traveling away from the city towards the interior of the island. <<if $ch1_help>>That must be the road Alexis said Damasca would take.<<endif>> The terrain to the west of the road is hilly and uneven with little cover to protect one from the weather or from observation. The blonde goddess hurries across the open expanse to the forest, only relaxing once she's safely embraced by the shadowy darkness. The trees offer her best chance to avoid detection, Bethea carefully picks her way through the woods. She does her best to avoid stepping on branches or leaves to remain quiet. Hiding won't do her any good if she tramps around like an elephant. <<if $ch1_help>>Bethea keeps as close to the road as she dared, searching for Damasca.<<else>>Bethea tries not to stray too far from the road, thinking it best to keep an eye out for other travelers.<<endif>> [["Pulling her cloak closer around her body to ward off the encroaching chill, Bethea slips into the darkness to put some distance between her and " + $female_city_name + "."|Ch1-Damasca]]

Bethea's wings flex and stretch, flapping experimentally a handful of times. It feels incredible after their absence. With a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips, the goddess leaps into the air in an explosion of long, soft white feathers. She rockets up over the wall in seconds, wings pumping furiously. Bethea can't help but let an excited giggle leak out of her lips. Flying is exhilarating! Were it within her power, Bethea would fly and fly and fly until the end of <<print $land_name>>, and then fly back again. Unfortunately, she can already feel her limited strength beginning to wane. Her wings push and tug against the exhaustion reeling them back into tattoo form. Begrudgingly, Bethea uses her last few moments of flight to survey the land below. <<print $female_city_name>> sits at the tip of a short peninsula. It abuts the sea to the north and west, with the land marching away to the southeast. She knows <<print $female_city_name>> dominates a large island, although she's not high enough to see the coast in all directions. A well-used cobblestone road snakes its way south from the city. A dense forest of leafy green trees follows it along the western coast, providing a buffer against the salty sea air. <<if $ch1_help>>There's no doubt that's where Alexis intended Bethea to catch up to Damasca.<<endif>> Having a rudimentary map tucked away in her mind, Bethea drops into a dive and plummets towards the forest. She rockets downwards towards the earth in an exhilarating rush, pulling up at the very last second before alighting gracefully on the ground. Her chest heaves from the exertion of flying, the act feeling so much more cumbersome than it had before. No doubt Althea's doing. After a moment's rest, the blonde goddess slips into the forest. She'd be far too exposed on the road, and the forest would prove useful in concealing her from anyone traveling along the along the cobblestones. <<if $ch1_help>>Bethea makes sure to keep the road within her vision so she can look for the elderly rug merchant.<<endif>> [["Chilled in her meager garments, Bethea slips into the darkness to put some distance between her and " + $female_city_name + "."|Ch1-Damasca]]

<<set $ch1_end_chaos = $chaos>>\ <<set $ch1_end = true>>\ !Chapter 1: Escape from <<print $female_city_name>> - Complete! <img class="map" src="Ch1/Ch1End.png"/> ----- Bethea has escaped Althea's stronghold for now, but her journey is just beginning. Forces at work in the minds of the people aim to enslave heaven itself, but Bethea won't be able to stop them while chained and helpless. Who is Damasca, and what of the powers of the skeletal hand? The goddess of Order and Punishment will need to brave vicious goblins and the brutal mines of <<print $female_city_name>> to unravel the tangled threads of fate, but danger lurks just out of sight... [[Return to the Chapter Select|Chapter Select]]

Letting out a fierce cry, Bethea suddenly leaps forward. The goddess calls on her blood for strength, feeling it surge into her muscles. She quickly withdraws the club from her belt and fells the nearest woman, whirling and attacking the next. Stunned momentarily, the guards sluggishly rush to engage the goddess, slowed in their efforts by drink. The second guard manages to partially deflect the cudgel, but Bethea immediately follows up with a headbutt. A loud clang reverberates through the barracks as the helmet collides with the guard's skull. She crumples to the ground next to her compatriot with a groan. Bethea turns to face the remaining guards, eyes flashing. The door flies open, one of the guards from the hallway drawn from her card game by the noise. While partially inebriated, <<print $female_city_name>>'s peacekeepers seem to be well-trained, and they've armed themselves with clubs and whips while Bethea dealt with the first two. The guard who invited Bethea to join them, lips pulled back in a hateful grin, rushes forward. The blonde beauty neatly sidesteps her, bringing the club down at the base of her neck with a crack. The guard crumples. However, three more rush in from the hall to replace her. Bethea curses under her breath. A leather whip snakes around Bethea's neck, snapping taught. With a growl, she turns and grabs it, yanking hard to pull her assailant off balance. Her strength is waning, though, even the chaos of her brazen attack not fueling her inner fire enough. Instead, Bethea herself is yanked forward, stumbling over her own feet in surprise. The breathe wooshes from her lungs as one of the guards connects a vicious knee to her midsection. Sensing the escaped prisoner's weakness, the remaining guards dogpile her, sending her to the ground with a loud "ooomph." Bethea tries to fight back, pushing, kicking, shoving, and biting at the guards as they attempt to get her under control. She's mostly unsuccessful, the women swarming her and laying on her limbs to take away her leverage. It's a scene of utter madness, the guards and Bethea shouting and cursing angrily over the thumping and banging of the struggle. "Call the Arbiter!" "Let me... go!" "Get the cuffs!" "Hold her down!" One of the guards puts her foot between Bethea's shoulder blades and pulls up hard on the whip still coiled firmly about her neck. Her blonde head is pulled up, turning red as the blood and airflow is cut off. She groans and wheezes, the fight draining from her. The rattling of chains strikes dread in her heart, but she's powerless to resist. Moving efficiently with practiced expertise, the army of guards quickly restrains the gasping goddess. Her legs are forced together, thighs shackled together with a short chain connecting them. Her supple arms are pulled behind her back, wrists crossed between her shoulder blades. The guards produce a cross cuff, two metal circles attached at a right angle by a hinge on one side and a lock on the other. Once the lock is opened, the circles open so that the guards can shut the lengths of steel around Bethea's crossed wrists. The contraption is then locked shut, enforcing the uncomfortable position. A set of shackles is locked around her forearms, just past the elbow, for added security. With the goddess restrained, the guards haul her to her feet. More and more guards continue pouring in, drawn by the commotion. They gawk at the bound blonde beauty, whispering amongst themselves. The one holding the whip pulls on it like a leash, causing Bethea to stumble forward. With her thighs hobbled by chains, the goddess struggles to keep up with her captor. Smirking at her prisoner's lack of grace, the guard hands the whip off to another. "Take the heretic to the Arbiter. Then make sure she won't escape again." [[Overpowered and restrained once more, the hobbled goddess is frogmarched back the way she came.|Ch1-Defeated]]

"How easily you remember the bird's wing in all of its shapes, be it the mighty eagle, the vengeful swan, or the brooding raven." Bethea's voice stuns the crowd into shocked silence, the previous murmuring and chattering dying a quick death. "But you forget that for every hen, there is a cock. For every tiercel, there is a formel. By your own admission, every woman needs man to beget offspring, and every hen needs a cock to lay fertile eggs. So too do you forget the Court of the Gods." Sensing the impending trouble, and not wishing to be associated with whosoever would be foolish enough to challenge the priestess so publicly, the crowd shuffles away from Bethea. She stands alone, an island amidst a sea of souls. Her eyes flash blue fire, locked on the priestess's elderly, naked form. The older woman frowns sharply, climbing to her feet on creaking, arthritic knees. Silence descends like the darkness of night, smothering the crowd. They look between the women, anticipating the priestess's inevitably violent response. The woman's wrinkled, cracked skin compresses about her eyes as she squints at Bethea, taking the measure of her opponent. "You dare blaspheme Althea and her sisters here, in Althea's sacred city?" She steps down from the dais, tottering towards the goddess weakly. Her eyes are clearly not as sharp as her ears, as she continues to squint and peer at Bethea as if unseeing. Bethea scoffs, spitting on the ground. "Althea's sacred city, where she poisons your minds with lies and wages a war of hatred and vengeance on the innocent." The ancient acolyte's face twists into a vile visage of pure rage. She stops a mere handsbreadth from Bethea. Her eyes take in the glimmering blonde hair of the blasphemer and her brilliant blue eyes. The priestess's face takes on a mottled purple hue of outrage. "You! How have you come before us, heretic!? How have you escaped from the chains of righteousness?" The goddess responds with a wolfish grin, looking down on the old woman with contempt. She bends down until she can smell her target's fetid breath. "Your chains are no more righteous than your story is truthful." Bethea probably shouldn't goad the poor priestess too much, she might have a conniption, or an aneurysm. Her wizened lips curl up in disdain, taking a few steps back. Her words emerge not in her steady, practiced speaking voice, but in the shrill screeching of a crone. "Guards! Guards!" The crowd erupts into pandemonium at the escalation, drowning out whatever orders the elderly priestess attempts to give. The guards from the dais immediately rush forward at their matron's behest. Whirling, Bethea sees a handful of guards shoving their way through the crowd from every direction. She could surrender, or stand her ground. Fleeing on foot isn't much of an option. [[Bethea does not resist as the guards approach.|Ch1-Surrender]] [[Bethea drops into a fighting stance, eyeing the approaching guards warily.|Ch1-FightBack][$chaos -= 1]]

<<set $true_path = false>>\ As the guards approach, Bethea raises her hands in a show of peace. Despite her anger at the priestess for her falsehoods, Bethea thinks it easier to influence the minds of the people as a peaceful protester than as a violent interloper. The guards are not so accommodating, crashing into the goddess and driving her to the ground face-first. The two guards from the dais, a bruising amazon with raven hair and smaller redhead, straddle Bethea's prone form and withdraw coils of rope from their belts. The dark-haired giant sits on Bethea's lower back, driving the breath from her lungs with the combination of her weight and the knees she jams into the goddess's ribs. Bethea's arms are quickly pulled behind her back. No mercy is shown as the rope is wrapped tightly above her touching elbows five times. The rope is cinched and knotted off to form a strict two-column tie that welds the goddess's arms together behind her back and pulls her shoulders back. Her breasts are also thrust into the stone floor of the amphitheatre by the tension. Meanwhile, the second guard is straddling Bethea's thighs and binding her legs. Slim ankles crossed, the rope is wrapped vertically and horizontally to keep them there. Before knotting the tie off, the guard incorporates some rope around Bethea's arches to keep her feet pinned together and useless. Fortunately, each guard seems to carry a very limited amount of rope. Unfortunately, a veritable army of guards now surrounds the bound goddess. Copious coils of cord abound as Bethea is trussed up tighter than the sturdiest bridge. Her wrists are brought together behind her back and bound tightly to match her elbows. The guards are thorough if nothing else, using a third rope to bind her forearms in the same fashion for added security. Rope is run from her elbows, around her shoulders, and behind her neck. Shoulders yolked, Bethea's bust is pushed out further and her arms become nearly immovable. The guards, however, are seemingly not satisfied. The blonde beauty's wrists are pushed up to the middle of her back and anchored in place by a savagely tight waist rope. Her arms now stick up awkwardly behind her shoulders in a brutal chicken-wing tie. Bethea's legs receive similar treatment. Multiple guards work together to nearly cocoon her lower limbs in flesh-dimpling bands of rope, cinched and knotted with biting tightness. The goddess is hauled to her feet, panting and disheveled from the abuse. She can barely move an inch, able to bend at the waist only slightly and crane her neck. To ensure she isn't carrying any weapons, the guards strip Bethea to her undergarments with sharp knives. Much of their ropework extends beyond the grounds of mere submission into purposeful humiliation. Ropes are looped tightly above and below her breasts in a crushing figure-eight pattern that squeezes and balloons her chest outward. A second waist rope is adorned by a savagely tight crotch rope that digs uncomfortably between the goddess's legs and anchors to her bound wrists. Were Bethea fighting back, the whole process would have been much more difficult. With their sheer numbers, though, <<print $female_city_name>>'s guards probably could have handled it just the same. The priestess steps in front of Bethea, admiring the guards' handiwork with gleeful satisfaction until her eyes come to the goddess's face. "Why is she not gagged? Heresy cannot be allowed to spew from her foul mouth!" Parts of the crowd agree loudly, while another faction rumbles their uncertainty as to the whole situation. The largest guard, the amazonian brunette, steps forward and retrieves a wadded up cloth from her belt. "Open your mouth, prisoner." Mulishly, Bethea clenches her teeth shut and shakes her head. It is a matter of principle at this point. Annoyed, the guard steps forward and presses her fingers into the hinge of the blonde's jaw. While far from comfortable, Bethea is more than tough enough to resist. Swearing under her breath, the the dark-haired woman nods to a second guard. Dutifully, she steps forward and takes the cloth. It is positioned in front of Bethea's pursed lips with one hand, and her nose is pinched shut with the other. Unimpressed, Bethea breathes through her clenched teeth. The crowd and the elderly woman begin to grow agitated at the guards' failure. Growling in frustration, the leader changes tactics. She uses her large hands to grope and maul Bethea's bound breasts. Her fingers dig in, pulling and kneading at the sensitive flesh. Bethea grunts and groans through her locked lips, fire blazing from her eyes and searing the woman's soul. "Fhhccckk oou." Unphased, the guard starts to slap Bethea's breasts, stomach, thighs, and buttocks until the skin glows a pleading pink. A third grabs her nipples through her thin top and twists cruelly. Bethea groans in frustration. Clearly the guards are well-trained in coercing recalcitrant prisoners that good behavior isn't so bad. After a few minutes of enduring the abuse at the hands of her captors, Bethea submits and opens her mouth. The rag is shoved deep inside, followed quickly by a second, a third, and part of a fourth. A fifth is tied between her lips to seal the massive wad of fabric inside, a sixth is tied tightly over top of her spread lips, and a ridiculously unnecessary seventh is tied over her mouth and nose to render Bethea nearly silent. "...nnnnnn..." Her jaw is already aching, the massive mound of cloth very nearly dislocating it. Satisfied, the Priestess fixes her guards with an imperious glare. "Take her to the Arbiter. Inform her that I expect this heretic to be executed tonight." The crowd murmurs louder, even some of the loudest proponents of Bethea's subjugation and subsequent humiliation unsettled by the rush to judgement. Simply following orders, the guards box in the tightly trussed goddess and force her to hop between them back towards the castle. Bethea squirms and pushes against their touch, shouting quietly into the large gag. "guhth ofhmf muh!" With her ankles crossed and feet bound together, each tiny and ineffective hop sends discomfort shooting through her body. Each movement causes the tight crotch rope to saw against her. Perhaps she should have fought back after all... [[Bound, Bethea is dragged back to the castle for judgement.|Ch1-Judged]]

The priestess's personal guards reach her first given the clearing the crowd formed during the confrontation. The larger of the two, a true amazon with sun-kissed olive skin and night-kissed raven hair, makes a grab for Bethea's wrists. Moving with the speed of a viper, the goddess grabs the outstretched wrist and spins to her right. The quick attack pulls the guard off balance and exposes her back to Bethea. The blonde beauty takes advantage, slamming her left elbow into the giant's kidney as she releases her wrist. The momentum of Bethea's spin carries her through the strike and in a full circle. Her right elbow slams into the hollow of the guard's neck just below her left ear with a loud crack. A long groan accompanies the unconscious brunette to the amphitheatre floor. The second guard slams into Bethea just as she turns, barreling into the goddess's midriff with her shoulder. Bethea grunts, falling to her back and rolling backwards. Her foot plants in the guard's stomach and pushes. Her assailant tumbles over and lands on her back, Bethea rolling gracefully to straddle her torso. Growling, the guard fires a sloppy punch towards Bethea's jaw. The goddess easily parries the blow and returns with an expert punch of her own. Her fist crashes into the woman's jaw, snapping it and her eyelids decidedly closed. Bethea scrambles to her feet. The words of the crowd meet her ears on a whisper and a shout. "Heretic..." "...not natural..." "...gods... real..." "...witch!" The confusion is certainly feeding Bethea's power, energy coursing through her veins like she hasn't felt since her sham trial. Her body feels invigorated, invincible. Her wings beg to be released from their prison on her back. More guards shove through the crowd, trying to reach their target. Bethea feels more than enough strength to take on the world, although she could easily escape to the air with her wings. [[Bethea calls forth a little of her power, using her strength to attack the remaining guards.|Ch1-FightRun][$chaos -= 1]] [[With a flash of light, Bethea lets her wings stretch out behind her. She shoots into the air, making her escape upon the wind.|Ch1-FlyAway][$chaos -= 2]]

The next guard reaches Bethea with her cudgel raised and a loud cry. The goddess ducks under the attack easily. She sticks her leg out and spins, sweeping the guard's legs out from under her. The woman's momentum sends her tumbling face-first to the ground. Someone leaps on Bethea's back from behind, attempting to encircle her neck with their arms. Using her opponent's momentum once again, the goddess drops quickly and yanks on her attacker's arm to send her tumbling atop of the first guard with a thud. A whoosh of air is Bethea's only warning as a spearhead slices through the air towards her. She twirls backwards, a lock of whipping blonde hair falling prey to the razor sharp edge of the weapon. Her blue eyes lock with the honey brown eyes of the attacking guard. There's little mercy to be found in them, just steely determination. Bethea turns her torso to avoid the second thrust, wrapping her hand around the shaft. She yanks forward to pull the guard off balance. Moving with the grace of a dancer, the goddess maintains her grip on the spear as she darts behind the guard. The weapon's wooden shaft is pulled up against the woman's throat, hands still clutching it. Her left arm is easily freed by releasing her grip, but the right is pinned in place once Bethea grabs the butt of the spear and pulls backward. The guard's back is bowed and she gasps for breath from the pressure put on her neck. Her other hand quickly returns to pull the polearm away, but Bethea is far too strong for her to make any progress. Bethea steps backwards slowly, inching her way towards the dais as the remaining guards circle her. The crowd parts as if she were a leper, lacking the courage to challenge the woman who so brutally dispatched four guards and counting. Anger sparks from the soldiers' postures, but they don't dare rush her while she holds one of their own hostage. Buying time, the goddess pulls her captive up on the dais and continues to back slowly towards the alleyways on the opposite side of the amphitheatre from the bustling market. The priestess, meanwhile, has retreated to the safety of the crowd, hurling orders and insults at her thugs. "Get her, you idiots, there's only one of her and seven of you. Can you not count?" To their credit, the guards seem to understand the true threat Bethea poses, keeping their focus solely on her and ignoring the old bag's tirade. Having successfully maneuvered herself to the steps, Bethea begins ascending to the street slowly, goading the priestess into serving as a more effective distraction. "Based on the skills of your goons, Althea herself must train them!" Bethea sees more than one eye muscle twitch at the blasphemous insult, but the well-trained guards remained steadfast. The elderly acolyte, however, does not. "Shut that bitch up!" The woman's screech is perhaps the most painful weapon present, nearly possessing the ability to make one's ears bleed. She could notify the whole city if she needed too. Bethea is now only a few steps away from the nearest alley, and she maneuvers towards it still keeping her hostage under complete control with the spear. "What is the purpose of all this blasted noise!?" The newcomer's voice booms like a thunderclap, silencing the jeering crowd and even the priestess herself. It even surprises the guards, causing their focus to momentarily falter. Bethea exploits their failing to the fullest. The goddess brings her foot up to her chest and gives a mighty thrusting kick to her captive's back. Simultaneously, she pulls back the spear and hurls it. She aims slightly above the soldiers' heads, high enough to miss but low enough to make them duck. Bethea's hostage tumbles to the ground at their feet, impeding their progress to give her a head start in sprinting down the alley. Running as fast as her divine feet will carry her, Bethea flies through the narrow corridors, ducking, twisting, and turning at every intersection she can find to throw her pursuers off the trail. Gradually their voices become quieter and quieter, their footfalls weaker and weaker as the goddess evades them amongst the buildings. Soon Bethea has lost them entirely, hoping that means they have lost her as well. She slows to a quick walk to preserve energy and makes a beeline for the imposing outer wall. The wall looms ahead of Bethea, white-grey stone gleaming in the setting sun. The goddess quickens her pace like prey keen to outrun the hunter. The wall is formidable, easily four times Bethea's height. The surface is smooth, yet cool to the touch. The heavy blocks, limestone if she had to hazard a guess, don't provide any purchase for climbing. Had she her wings, even a wall such as this would provide no challenge. Bethea feels her power singing inside her, hardly at peak strength but much stronger than before. Even the brawl has done little too diminish it surge. She probes, sending droplets of energy along her back. The tattoo shudders in response, as if trying to break free and soar. There's a solid wooden door set in the wall along the southern face. It's not overly large, and seems to be designed for a quick ingress or egress for those with enough authority to bypass the main gatehouse. For someone of fugitive status like Bethea, the main gatehouse is too risky. <<if $ch1_key>><<if $ch1_help>>Fortunately, Bethea still has the key given to her by Alexis. The redhead had assured her that it opens any door along the walls.<<else>>Bethea slips her hand into her top and withdraws the key she liberated from the guard. There's no harm in trying it to see if it fits.<<endif>><<else>>Unfortunately for the blonde goddess, the door doesn't budge. The portal seems to be locked up tight, and a quick investigation of the lock reveals that it's highly complex. Were she an expert sneakthief, Bethea might be able to pick it, but it is beyond her modest talents.<<endif>> Further along the wall, a few hundred paces from the door, the stone structure juts into the sea before coming to a halt. While the water is relatively calm, it is no doubt cold and unforgiving as night is beginning to settle over <<print $female_city_name>>. Swimming out around the wall is certainly a possibility, although it would definitely be unpleasant. [[Stripping off everything but her undergarments as the fabric would only weigh her down, Bethea dives into the water and swims to freedom.|Ch1-Swim]] <<if $ch1_key>>\ [[Bethea fits the key into the lock and turns it silently. The lock clicks open, barely audible. |Ch1-Unlock]] <<endif>>\ <<if $chaos >= 2>>\ [[Bethea closes her eyes, concentrating on her power. After slipping the cloak from her shoulders and letting it drop to the ground, wings slowly take shape behind her in a flash of light.|Ch1-FlyOver][$chaos -= 2]] <<endif>>\

<<set $true_path = false>>\ <<set $ch1_fly = true>>\ Bethea relishes in the return of her might, sending it gleefully to her wings. They stretch ecstatically, appearing in a gleaming flash of golden light that is nearly blinding in its brilliance. Wasting no time, the goddess squats down and leaps into the air, wings pounding furiously as she flaps upwards. An excited laugh bubbles free as the wind rushes to welcome her. The voices of the gathered onlookers are lost to the whooshing air, but Bethea is certain that her display has done nothing to assuage the tumult. Bethea turns for a moment, hovering as her gaze scans the crowd. Blue eyes find the enraged priestess in the crowd, her utter disbelief at the display of divinity tasting as the sweetest nectar. Her distraction proves costly, however. A lasso flies out of the crowd below and tightens around Bethea's ankle. Acting quickly, Bethea bends down and pulls, easily ripping the rope out of the thrower's hands with her strength. She makes to fly out of range, but someone else, or many someones, grabs the rope and yanks her back down. Bethea fights to break free again, but more lariats arc into the sky towards her. The blonde goddess avoids the first, but the second lands haphazardly around her right shoulder, wing, and arm. It tightens, trapping her wing to her side. With only one left, Bethea begins to fall to the ground, flapping and struggling frantically to remain aloft. A third lasso snares her other wing and tightens across her breasts, killing her ability to fly and making her plummet to the ground. She lands on the amphitheatre's dais with a loud crash. Her impact leaves an impressive crater in the surface. Feathers flickering with a weak golden light, Bethea's wings seem to crumble away from reality itself, a tattoo taking their place once more. Th fallen goddess is immediately swarmed by guards who attempt to use more rope to further secure her. Bethea fights, scratches and claws against them. She puts up an impressive display, fighting off half a dozen women while partially bound. With her strength waning and outnumbered by an ever increasing margin, there is only so much Bethea can do. Eventually the blonde beauty is dogpiled and mummified in rope, every stitch of clothing save her undergarments ripped from her body. There's no artistry or strategy to her bonds, an absurd amount of cruelly wound rope that clings to Bethea's struggling form and pinches every bit of exposed flesh. Her breasts are crushed beneath the onslaught of strands, causing no small amount of discomfort. Even her mouth is covered in rope, pulled back and distorted by tight windings of the stuff that could very generously be called a cleave gag. Bethea is still capable of making some noise, but it is garbled and unintelligible. Bethea's bound body is hoisted onto the shoulder of a particularly amazonian guard. A hand rests on her upturned derriere, which elicits a growl from the helpless goddess. Her complaint is ignored, the soldiers forming a procession escorting her back to the castle. The priestess crows victoriously. "She is to be taken to the Arbiter then executed. Althea will be furious if it is not finished by midnight." Bethea thinks the Arbiter's presence is pointless if her guilt is already determined, but she is in no position to argue. [[Bethea's bundled form is roughly carried back to the castle for her appointment with the Arbiter.|Ch1-Judged]]

Tightly tied as she is, Bethea is dragged back to the castle from whence she just escaped. Rather than being dumped unceremoniously back in the dungeon, the goddess is carried through expensive and ostentatious living quarters and official areas. Had she the time and freedom to do so, she would have been enthralled by the wealth of artistry. Unfortunately, Bethea has far more pressing concerns. Her captors take her to a small chamber on the third story. It is noticeably bare compared to the opulent palace surrounding it. A lone window cut into the stone wall allows the twilight to partially light the chamber. A simple wooden chair sits before four metal posts anchored upright in the marble floor. An abundance of chains litters the area around the poles. Each is brightly polished to glow in the soft light, however scuff marks around the hinges reveals a history of use. Painted on the far wall in blood red is Bethea's own symbol. <img src="Ch1/Bethea.svg" alt="Bethea's Symbol"> Given that Bethea is to ostensibly see the Arbiter here, the presence of her symbol is far from surprising. The guards force their prisoner to kneel in the center of the posts. A heavy steel collar is locked around the goddess's neck. The weight alone nearly drags Bethea to the floor. Four chains are anchored to the collar, one pulled tight to each post so that no link shows any slack. This contraption effectively traps the goddess in place, however her captors are just getting started. With two guards holding each arm to ensure their captive does not mount an escape attempt, the ropes are cut away and replaced by heavy steel manacles. Each is adorned with a long chain attached to the two posts behind Bethea. The guards begin to wrap the loose portion of each chain around its respective post, slowly tightening until each arm is held straight back diagonally behind the prisoner with no room to struggle. Bethea's legs receive similar treatment: her body is now being pulled backwards by each limb while her neck is trapped in the center. This is balanced by a final metal cuff, the largest, which is locked about Bethea's waist and anchored to the two poles in front of her. Once tightened, the chains pull Bethea's midriff forward. The entire ensemble leaves the goddess in a painfully contorted position. Satisfied that she is going nowhere, the remaining ropes and bonds are stripped away until only the chains remain. Bethea works her jaw, grimacing from the lasting discomfort imposed by the cruel gag. Unfortunately, that is really all that she can move in her current state. Most of the remaining soldiers file out of the room, leaving only four to guard Bethea. Minutes pass, all remaining silent as they await the arrival of the Arbiter. Voices begin to drift in from the hallway, penetrating the thick wooden door. The conversation becomes more intelligible as the accompanying footsteps approach. "...Queen... demands... !" "My position... the law..." "The priestesses will never... madness!" "I don't answer... concern is the law." The door flies open with a loud bang. A loud, commanding voice slices through the air. "Out. I will speak with the accused alone, as the law demands." <<if $ch1_help>>Bethea recognizes the speaker's voice, confusion setting in.<<endif>> Dutifully, the guards file out of the room accompanied by loud protests from out in the hallway. The door slams shut, leaving the Arbiter and Bethea alone in the chamber. <<if $ch1_help>>\ Alexis steps before Bethea and sits gracefully in the chair. She's no longer wearing the simple garb from before. A long, figure-hugging gown of crimson silk clings to her now, a single gold chain over her right shoulder holding the dress in place. The sides of her hair remain loose and free, however the hair atop her head is braided backwards into a bun that is perched artfully at the back. A gilded band is woven into the braids, the small details of leaves glimmering faintly in the light. Despite the pomp of her attire, Bethea can clearly see the creases and dark circles of worry and exhaustion around her eyes. Alexis smiles weakly, leaning close so that Bethea can hear her without those no doubt listening at keyholes being able to do the same. "I must say I had hoped they had captured a different blonde, blue-eyed heretic." Bethea suppresses a smile, merely watching to see what Alexis, the Arbiter, will do. <<if $ch1_fly>>"After that display with the wings, though, it is obvious you are no mere heretic. Bethea's wings, the swan's, an apt choice if I do say so myself. Especially for one called Beth."<<else>>"Although something tells me you're not just a mere heretic, are you Beth? Some say you're a witch, others a servant of the godesses."<<endif>> Alexis fixes the chained goddess with a curious look, but the blonde offers nothing and the Arbiter doesn't press the issue. The redheaded beauty releases a weary sigh, rubbing her temples. "Witch, goddess, monster, or woman, it matters not. I owe you a great debt." Her green eyes briefly flicker to the shuttered door. "Unfortunately, they want your blood and your blood they shall have. If I try to get you released, then they'll have both our blood. Regardless of what one thinks personally..." Alexis's eyes return to Bethea's. "...of your views, it is against the written law of the city. There is little I can do." She curls her fingers into fists in frustration. Bethea shakes her head slightly. "Don't fret over me. I can handle myself." Alexis cocks her head, not necessarily convinced but also not underestimating the enigmatic prisoner. "They're going to chain you up and throw you off a cliff. That's not something everyone can handle." Bethea shrugs, at least as much as possible in her current position. <<if $ch1_fly>>"If they choose to execute someone with wings by throwing her from a cliff, then they deserve to fail." The Arbiter grins in response, suppressing a chuckle. "Well said."<<else>>"I'll think of something. I'm resourceful."<<endif>> Alexis stands, kneeling to give Bethea a firm hug. "Thank you again. I trust I'll see you after this is over. You'd best make sure of it." The embrace is quick but heartfelt. Standing, Alexis bites her lip, worry briefly flitting across her brow. "If you go..." She pauses, shaking her head. An errant red curl dances. "No. No. I can't ask that of you. You've done too much already." The Arbiter strides quickly over to the door before Bethea can press her with questions. Her voice echoes as she gives orders. "It is without question that the accused has publicly disagreed with the teachings of the Priestesses of Althea in front of many witnesses. They demand her blood, and the law must obey. Take her." <<else>>\ <<if $ch1_betray>>\ An older woman with wiry black hair strides before Bethea and sits purposefully in the chair. A long gown of crimson silk clings to her form, a single gold chain over her right shoulder holding the dress in place. While opulent, the garment is ill-fitting, slightly too long and tight around the midriff. Her hair is swept into a firm yet unspectacular bun atop her skull. A gilded circlet is perched atop her head, the small details of leaves glimmering faintly in the light. "I apologize for the lateness of my arrival. There was an incident." The woman offers no explanation, and Bethea doesn't seek one. The goddess remains silent, warily eyeing up the Arbiter. <<if $ch1_fly>>The Arbiter's eyes sweep over Bethea's mostly nude form. "After that display with the wings, it is obvious you are no mere heretic. How curious that one about to be called before the Arbiter would choose the swan's wings, the wings of Bethea. Some are saying you're a goddess, Bethea herself even. Others think you're a witch, or some kind of creature." Bethea refuses to give the woman any reaction.<<else>>For her part, the Arbiter merely shrugs. "You're pretty enough, a bit young to have such extreme opinions if you ask me, but then again the young always believe they have the world understood." Bethea barely suppresses the sudden urge to guffaw loudly. Young indeed.<<endif>> The Arbiter shifts in the chair, crossing her legs. "Witch, goddess, monster, or woman, it matters not. You've blasphemed Althea, publicly and with witnesses no less, and the law says that is punishable by death. While I find the priestesses'..." The woman pauses for a moment, casting her eyes to the ceiling as if the perfect word would descend from there. "...enthusiasm for the application of justice rather gauche, in this specific case their stance matches that of the law." Bethea merely shrugs, remaining silent and composed. The Arbiter looks her over once more, taking in the steely determination in her eyes. "While I must confirm your execution, I have no personal quarrel with you. May the Goddesses have mercy upon you, sister." Her hand briefly rests atop Bethea's head to give solace before she marches to the door and flings it open. "It is without question that the accused has publicly disagreed with the teachings of the Priestesses of Althea in front of many witnesses. They demand her blood, and the law must obey. Take her." <<else>>\ A stunning redhead with vibrant green eyes steps before Bethea and sits gracefully in the chair. A long, figure-hugging gown of crimson silk clings to her lithe form, a single gold chain over her right shoulder holding the dress in place. The sides of her hair remain loose and free, however the hair atop her head is braided backwards into a bun that is perched artfully at the back. A gilded band is woven into the braids, the small details of leaves glimmering faintly in the light. Despite her elegant and official dress, the Arbiter doesn't view Bethea with hostility or malice. Rather, her eyes appear inquisitive. She smiles and leans in close so that their conversation is not overheard. Whether she is being friendly or disarming, Bethea cannot say. "Alexis." Bethea tilts her head, not following at first. She contemplates her options for a moment before responding. "Beth." <<if $ch1_fly>>Alexis raises a brow. "After that display with the wings, it is obvious you are no mere heretic. How curious that one called Beth would choose the swan's wings, the wings of Bethea my patron." Alexis makes a show of inspecting her fingernails. "Some are saying you're a goddess, Bethea herself even. Others think you're a witch, or some kind of creature." Bethea refuses to give the woman any reaction.<<else>>"Beth, a lovely name. You aren't just saying that to appeal to my loyalty to my patron, are you?" Alexis smiles again. Bethea smiles in return this time. If only she knew.<<endif>> The redheaded beauty's smile dissipates, replaced by a frown. "Witch, goddess, monster, or woman, it matters not. I don't necessarily share the priestesses'..." Her green eyes briefly flicker to the shuttered door. "...fervor when it comes to such matters. Unfortunately, they want your blood and your blood they shall have. If I try to get you released, then they'll have both our blood." Bethea shakes her head slightly. "You needn't stick your neck out for me. I can handle myself." Alexis cocks her head, not necessarily convinced but also not underestimating the enigmatic prisoner. "They're going to chain you up and throw you off a cliff. That's not something everyone can handle." Bethea shrugs, at least as much as possible in her current position. <<if $ch1_fly>>"If they choose to execute someone with wings by throwing her from a cliff, then they deserve to fail." The Arbiter grins in response, suppressing a chuckle. "Well said."<<else>>"I'll think of something. I'm resourceful."<<endif>> Alexis stands, fixing Bethea with a curious glance. She remains silent for a moment, then kneels down in a heap of silk to whisper in Bethea's ear. "There is something I would have you do, if you survive that is." Wary, Bethea remains silent. "There is a prisoner, a..." Alexis stops, shaking her head. As quickly as she knelt, the Arbiter scurries to her feet. "No. No. I can't ask that of you. You have your own problems to deal with." The Arbiter strides quickly over to the door before Bethea can press her with questions. Her voice echoes as she gives orders. "It is without question that the accused has publicly disagreed with the teachings of the Priestesses of Althea in front of many witnesses. They demand her blood, and the law must obey. Take her." <<endif>>\ <<endif>>\ The guards obey solemnly, marching to Bethea's side with chains in hand. [[With little choice in the matter, Bethea's bonds are changed and she is led to her execution.|Ch1-Execution]]

Bethea swiftly and silently makes her way down to the garden, fully aware of how exposed she is every second she spends on the trellis. Fortunately the flowering vines bear no thorns, so Bethea's descent is relatively painless. As soon as her sandaled feet meet the waiting path, the blonde goddess ducks into a neatly pruned row of hedges and hides. <<if $ch1_betray>>\ Bethea's distraction works flawlessly. She can hear the guard's shouting, the boy's mother crying, some loud thudding, and then nothing. She waits in agonized suspense as silence slowly descends. Minutes pass, and yet there's no sign of the guards returning to search for her. Slowly, she emerges from the hedges, head on a swivel. There are no guards in sight. <<else>>\ Heart pounding, Bethea peers through the leaves. She appears to be just in the nick of time, as three guards emerge from an archway mere moments after she disappeared into the shrubbery. "Spread out, search for anything suspicious." Bethea holds her breath, keeping herself tucked into a tight ball. The guards move slowly through the garden, peering into the greenery and poking with their weapons. Bile rises in Bethea's throat as they approach her position, mind racing to find an escape avenue. Luck takes pity on the goddess. There's a loud bang, and then a cry of alarm from the window above. The guards freeze, looking up towards the commotion. Another guard pops her head over the window sill, gesticulating wildly. "Cut him off at the western gate! Move!" The guards spring into action, sprinting a mere hand's breadth from the bush concealing a certain escaped prisoner. They disappear into a small door set in the back wall, yanking it open with a bang and leaving it gaping in their wake. Bethea waits agonizingly as the sound of their hurried footsteps wanes into the palace. Once silence has returned to the small garden, she emerges carefully from the bushes. <<endif>>\ The garden is green and lush, clearly well-tended. Immaculately trimmed bushes and hedges line a small, winding gravel path. There are a small handful of fruit trees interspersed amongst a handful of flower beds and burbling fountains. The fountains are ornate and carved of stone, featuring nude women pouring water from urns into the shallow pools below. While the garden paints a beautiful scene, there's very little of value for Bethea's immediate needs, so she forces herself to keep moving. She makes her way over to an archway set in the wall, stepping back inside the palace. Bethea finds herself in more magnificent, opulent halls. This time she manages to stay on task, ignoring the artwork and making her way quickly through the palace. Almost immediately, the blonde beauty catches a whiff of something succulent. She follows her nose, soon finding herself in the kitchens. There's a large pot of stew bubbling away atop an open flame. Women bustle about the hot space in simple white dresses, kneading dough and baking up a storm. One or two cast a curious glance in Bethea's direction, but most keep their heads down and stick to their work. Grateful that the sight of a guard in the kitchen didn't send the staff into an immediate panic, the goddess picks her way through the kitchen, making sure not to get in the way. There's a wooden door set along the back wall, so Bethea strides in that direction. The door slips open with ease, so Bethea steps through and shuts it behind her. She's in a small alcove, cloaks, hats, and wraps hanging from hooks along the wall. No doubt the servants store their belongings here while working in the palace. There are two doors, the one leading to the kitchen and a heavier one with a barred window that leads outside. The soft hues of sunset filter through the gaps. Bethea liberates a simple black cloak from one of the hooks before trying the outer door. It's unlocked, easing open with the loud groan of a poorly oiled hinge. Bethea winces at the horrid sound, hoping it's not the harbinger of a swarm of guards. Poking her head out the door, Bethea finds a small abandoned courtyard. It's enclosed by a large wall, easily three times Bethea's height. A large portcullis stands open just across the courtyard. A bustling city center can be seen not a stone's throw from the wall. The entrance must be meant to provide the servants easy access to the palace. The throng of people appears from this distance to be a marketplace of sorts, the muffled din of hawking vendors and haggling shoppers drifting to Bethea on the wind. The goddess is surprised that she's seemingly found an unguarded exit given the frantic search. <<if $ch1_betray>>Apparently the guards had relaxed, having found their quarry.<<else>>Whatever is happening at the western gate must be serious.<<endif>> Not wanting to question her good fortune, Bethea slips into the courtyard and makes for the marketplace. She takes a moment to stop by the gate, stripping off the helmet and armor and discarding it behind some bushes. She slips on the cloak and pulls the hood up, striding with purpose out the gate. The goddess manages to make it to the undulating crowd and melt into it without being challenged. [[Bethea carefully pushes through the crowd, making sure to avoid unwanted attention.|Ch1-LeaveDungeon]]

Bethea emerges into the evening sun. She's alone. Sidling up against the wall to minimize her visibility, the goddess takes the moment to look around. She's just come from a magnificent marble palace. There's a massive wall ahead of her, presumably surrounding the structure, although it is dwarfed by the gargantuan palace it protects. With pristine white marble and ornate sculptures on the outside, one wouldn't expect to find the dreary, mazelike dungeon beneath such an architectural marvel. Bethea can smell the sea on the breeze. Glad to have escaped, and hoping to remain free longer than a handful of minutes, Bethea makes her way to the wall. There's a small door set in the wall. No doubt an entrance for guards to access the dungeon from the city outside. The door is barred, but fortunately from Bethea's side. She slips the bolt and opens the door. She ducks through and eases it closed, surveying her surroundings. A loud, bustling city sits but a stone's throw from the palace wall. The smell of fish lingers in the air, not surprising considering the wharf just down the hill. A handful of people are working the ships, but it's fairly deserted. Bethea takes advantage, scrambling down the hill and slipping into an alley without being seen. Skirting the edge of the wharf, Bethea keeps her eyes open for guards as she considers the possibility of escaping by boat. The sleepy seaside opens up into a raucous marketplace, vendors barking their wares and shoppers haggling vigorously. Guards oversee the proceedings, but they don't seem particularly urgent. It's unlikely they're aware of her escape yet. The market is thriving, and a hooded figure in the shadows would draw far more attention than a hooded shopper. Steeling herself, Bethea disappears into the throng. [[Pulling the cloak tightly about herself, Bethea slips into the crowd.|Ch1-LeaveDungeon]]

Global: chaos - How much chaos Bethea has caused. Used for choices true_path - Whether the player can get the secret ending Chapter 1: ch1_key - The key to the outer wall's gate. ch1_help - Whether the player found and helped Alexis ch1_betray - Whether the player found but did not help Alexis ch1_call_guard - Whether the player lured the guard to escape ch1_bind_guard - Whether the player captured the guard ch1_listen - Whether or not the player listened to the priestess ch1_fly - Whether or not the player was lassoed trying to escape ch1_escape - Whether the player escaped her execution ch1_attack - Whether the player attacked Damasca Approx 30k Words Chapter 2: ch2_ambushed - Whether the player ignored the goblins ch2_goblin_captured - Whether Bethea was captured by the goblins ch2_power_escape - Whether Bethea used her power to escape the goblins ch2_kick_knife - Whether Bethea kicked the knife to Keyve ch2_keyve - Whether Bethea rescued Keyve from the goblin camp ch2_sneak - Whether Bethea snuck away without saving Marianna ch2_commander - Whether Bethea met the commander at the mine ch2_slaves - Whether Bethea met the slaves at the mine ch2_targa - Whether Bethea was captured by Targa Places/People: land_name - The name of the continent/universe female_city_name - The name of Althea's cult's city bethea_place_name - The name of where Bethea hid Betheos's hand Names: Alexis - Gynepolian arbiter Damasca - Witch Penelope - Mine Commander Marianna - Keyve's "girlfriend" Pyrros - Alexis's baby daddy

The blonde beauty picks her way through the forest, shivering slightly in night's cool embrace. Fortunately, the forest floor is soft and welcoming to Bethea's tired feet. A blanket of leaves carpets the dirt. Considering that she could be making her way through discarded needles or thick underbrush, Bethea considers herself lucky. Thank the Goddess. The goddess walks for nearly an hour, legs beginning to complain. Bethea makes a note to herself to exercise her lower limbs more even if she does regain regular use of her wings. A flickering light on the opposite side of the road catches her eye.<<if $ch1_help>> Bethea crouches down low to the ground and slinks closer, checking to see if it is Damasca.<<else>> Bethea crouches low to the ground and sneaks to the edge of the wood, hoping to catch a peek of whomever it may be.<<endif>> Sheltered underneath a small overhang, an open fire burns calmly. An elderly woman sits before it on a log, stirring the contents of an unimpressive rusty kettle. She wears simple clothes, a well-worn brown frock covered by a white apron. The woman's wispy white hair is tucked inside a plain white cap. A rickety old wagon rests in the fringes of the light. Bethea peers closely, but can't quite make out the contents. A bedraggled old ass grazes nearby, completely untethered. No doubt even the elderly woman could outrun the aged donkey were it to decide to flee.<<if $ch1_help>> Bethea isn't completely certain if it is Damasca or not. The age fits, but she had expected a rug vendor to be wealthier.<<else>> She clearly has very little, so Bethea doubts she'd be able to offer much in the way of assistance.<<endif>> "Come on out, child, don't be shy. Yes, I'm talking to you, and yes, I know you're there." The woman's voice emerges on a throaty, cracked mumble. She doesn't even look up from stirring her pot. Bethea nearly leaps out of her skin in surprise, emerging from the cover of shadow and making her way closer once her heart returns to a normal pace. As she approaches, she gets a better glimpse of the ancient's face. It is wrinkled and cracked with age, although gleaming brown eyes suggest the sharp, scheming wit of one not to be underestimated. The goddess approaches slowly, watchful for any tricks the woman may have up her sleeve. The elder shoots Bethea a grin, her old and unkempt teeth glimmering grossly in the firelight. <<if $ch1_help>>\ "Damasca?" Bethea asks, looking to the wagon for signs of an ambush. The old woman nods, continuing to stir her pot. "I've been expecting you. I have a bundle of clothes for you in the back of the wagon, I'm sure you're eager for a change. There's some water in the flasks, so feel free to wash up." Bethea hesitates, wary. The old woman rolls her eyes. "Go on, girl, I don't bite. Hard, anyway." She chortles. <<else>>\ "How did you know I was there? Who are you?" Bethea flicks her gaze between the woman and the wagon to ensure she isn't ambushed. Still stirring, the ancient seems to take amusement in the goddess's defensiveness. Waving a wizened hand, the old woman brushes off the questions. "Damasca. Time for questions later. I have a bundle of clothes for you in the back of the wagon, I'm sure you want out of those old rags. There's a few flasks of water behind the wagon for you to wash up with, too." Bethea opens her mouth to speak, but the ancient waves her off again in annoyance. "Questions later. Change now." <<endif>>\ Figuring she has little to lose, Bethea shrugs and makes her way over to the wagon and looks inside. Up close, she gets a better look at the conveyance. It is larger than expected, with four wheels and a bench in front for the driver. The back contains a modest stack of rugs of various materials and patterns. They are somewhat poorly made and kept.<<if $ch1_help>>That would explain Damasca's own less than wealthy appearance.<<endif>> Stuffed down next to the rugs is a small satchel. Bethea peeks inside, finding an elegant white dress and some matching white undergarments. Underneath the bag she finds a pair of nondescript leather sandals. The clothes are smooth to the touch, silky and appealing. They almost certainly cost more than everything else in the wagon. Taking the pack, Bethea ducks behind the wagon for modesty and strips off her clothes. She retrieves some water from the wagon and gives herself a quick scrubbing, washing some of the dirt and filth from her skin. Feeling better already, Bethea slips into the underwear. It is soft and comfortable. The panties are nearly perfectly sized, hugging her hips gently. Whisper-thin lace flutters against her skin. The top is a soft length of white fabric with a red and gold cord around the perimeter. Bethea wraps it around her torso to cover her breasts, then ties a knot in front with the cord to tighten it to her figure and keep it in place. The dress is next. Similar in feel to the underwear, the dress is a pure white in color. Bethea slips it over her head, finding that the gold-embroidered hem falls to mid-thigh. A cord matching that on the chest wrap functions as a belt, highlighting Bethea's figure once it is tied in place. The neckline is not necessarily modest, dipping to a point where her bra is visible. The back is even less so, dipping down well below her shoulder blades. That is for the best, though, as it leaves plenty of room for Bethea to stretch her wings. The goddess straps on the sandals and steps back around the wagon. Damasca sits on the ground before the fire, knees drawn up to her chest as she leans against the wagon. Her flat lips compress as she blows on a steaming bowl of... something in her hands. She looks up at the goddess, holding up the bowl. "Stew?" Bethea looks at the murky brown sludge in the woman's vessel and shakes her head, suppressing a shudder. "No thanks." The elderly lady shrugs, raising the bowl to her lips. "Your loss." Bethea leans against the wagon and pins the rug merchant with a sharp look. <<if $ch1_help>>\ "The clothes fit well. I'm surprised Alexis was able to pull that off." "Bah." Damasca sips from her stew, smacking her lips. "Alexis hasn't spoken to me. I knew you were coming." Bethea scowls, but Damasca meets her gaze unflinching. "I know a great many things, Bethea." The goddess blanches, eyes widening. "How do you..." <<else>>\ "Who the hell are you?" Damasca simply shrugs. "But a simple rug merchant. Far from a goddess such as yourself, Bethea." Bethea blanches, mouth dropping wide open. She wrangles her surprise, closing her mouth. "What do you know? HOW do you know?" <<endif>>\ Damasca smirks, setting the bowl aside and rising to her feet. "Come." Joints protesting, she steps over to her pot. "I'll show you how and what I know, but then you must do something for me." Bethea moves closer. Damasca pulls something out of her apron. The white bones flash against the fire's light. Bethea's skin pales to match her new clothes and her heart pounds in her chest. She remains unmoving, panicked blue eyes locked on the skeletal hand clutched in the old woman's grip. The various bones are held together by crude lengths of twine, knotted to retain the hand's form. The lone appendage sports only three fingers. The index finger and pinky finger are glaring in their absence. Bethea's voice emerges on a deathly exhale. "Impossible." Damasca looks up sharply, confusion swirling for a moment before she takes in Bethea's fixation with the bone hand. Her lips firm into a thin line. "Come here, we haven't all night." Bethea pulls back her lips into a snarl, stepping forward menacingly. "Give it to me." Damasca falters for a moment, stepping back before returning the angry look. "No. It's mine." She hugs the hand to her breast protectively. The goddess glares at the old woman, weighing her options. While she's frail and a woman of her stature should be easily overpowered, Bethea knows that the skeletal hand in her clutches is more than just bone. She can't let Damasca keep it, but now might not be the best time to press the issue. [[Annoyed by the old woman's blatant refusal, Bethea tries to take the hand by force.|Ch1-AttackDamasca]] [[Recognizing the situation and potential benefit of allying with Damasca, Bethea acquiesces for now.|Ch1-SpareDamasca]]

<<set $true_path = false>>\ <<set $ch1_attack = true>>\ <<set $chaos = 0>>\ Bethea easily snatches the collection of bones from Damasca's grip, ignoring the elderly woman's squawk of displeasure. Tendrils of white hair having escaped from her cap, the rug merchant starts to charge towards the goddess with surprising agility, but Bethea fixes her in place with a deadly glare. "Stop! Don't. move." Blanching at the violent look smoldering in Bethea's eyes, Damasca obeys. Bethea turns her attention to the hand, flipping it over and peering at it. There is no gouge on the inside of the palm, and middle finger isn't shattered. A close inspection of the ring finger reveals no grooves or depressions, although Bethea isn't sure if there would be any. Bethea suppresses a sigh, knowing that there were only a few possibilities she could have confirmed so easily. All she can really do is find a way to <<print $bethea_place_name>>. Contacting her sisters somehow would be necessary, if she could get them to listen... Noise jerks Bethea's attention upwards just in time to see Damasca slap a second three-fingered bone hand across her cheek. Immense surprise dominates her thoughts. One hand is a sign of incredible danger. Two, possibly more, is an unmitigated disaster. Paythea's words whisper through the channels of Bethea's brain, suggestions of danger on the horizon. To the goddess's even greater surprise, though, Bethea finds she cannot move at all! Her arms and legs remain locked in place as if carved from stone, and even her mouth and eyes refuse to obey her commands. Damasca seems even more puzzled by the effects of her attack, staring dumbly at the jangling bone hand dangling from hers. "Well... now that is interesting." Greedily, Bethea's elderly assailant grabs the collection of bones dangling from the goddess's grip. "I told you this was mine." Damasca circles the frozen beauty, poking and prodding at her statuesque form. The ancient soon finds that Bethea's body remains soft and pliable, easy to manipulate for all present save Bethea herself. With a sadistic grin, the old woman pushes the goddess's arms together behind her back until her elbows and wrists touch. The goddess's fingers are interlocked, and her arms are pushed into her back. Damasca also pushes Bethea's legs together. "I wonder..." Bony fingers press into the hinge of the goddess's jaw, and her mouth drops open. With a cruel smirk, the old woman pries it as far open as she can. Throughout the process, Bethea realizes that she can still feel, but she cannot move. As such, her mouth and shoulders begin to ache as she is forced to remain in the uncomfortable position. Damasca looks at her curiously, poking and prodding. She mutters something under her breath, retrieving one of the skeletal hands from her apron and touching it lightly against Bethea's stomach. Nothing happens at first. Then, suddenly, Bethea feels the life woosh back into her body. She breathes heavily, the entire experience leaving her sore and exhausted. Only, everything is not normal. Bethea's muscles have regained their agency, but she remains locked into the position. It is as if tight ropes are constricting her body and trapping her in the pose Damsca chose, yet there are none. Even her mouth remains agape, although she is able to mumble unintelligently. "Uhahk hahvuh ufhh uhunuh!?" Chuckling, Damasca gives Bethea a condescending pat on the cheek. "Perhaps this will teach you a bit of respect." Fury flashes in Bethea's eyes and she lunges at the rug vendor, but the elderly "merchant" simply takes a step backwards. The goddess falls flat on her face with a loud oommph, momentarily knocking the breath from her lungs. Sucking in air, the goddess rolls onto her back and tries to kick out at the old bag. Whatever magic or trickery keeps her bound makes the effort weak and ineffectual. Clucking her tongue, Damasca waddles over to her wagon. With a strength belied by her wizened frame, she hefts a rug out of the wagon and dumps it onto the ground next to the captured Goddess. This sends clouds of dust and dirt into the air. Bethea coughs and sputters as the particles invade her mouth. "Nufhh nuh gu ufhh fhhikfhh!" Damasca unravels the rug, then rolls the kicking and squirming blonde onto it. In short order, the rug is rolled up once more, only this time Bethea is trapped in the center. Her head pokes out of one end and her feet out the other, but the constricting fabric limits her breathing and her wiggling. The old woman attempts to lift her back into the cart, but the combined weight of the rug and the goddess proves too much. Shrugging, she steps over to the wagon and rummages around for a moment. After a few muttered curses, the white-haired woman triumphantly produces a coil of rope. She binds it around Bethea's exposed feet then anchors it to the back of the wagon. Chuckling at the blonde's predicament, Damasca sets to work cleaning up her campsite. She ignores the wiggling goddess and her garbled curses. Finally, Damasca has her things stuffed into the back of the rickety vehicle and the tottering old donkey hooked to the front. She snaps the reigns, leading the carriage slowly onto the road. Bethea grimaces as she's dragged behind, shards of pain radiating up her body with every bump. "Uufhh! Fufhk..." [[Inescapably bound, Bethea has little choice but to wait until Damasca arrives at her destination.|Ch1-End]]

Bethea folds her arms, glaring at the old woman. After a pregnant pause, she exhales and walks over to stand by the pot. "Fine. Keep your trinket." She mutters under her breath. "For now." Eyeing the goddess warily, Damasca positions herself on the opposite side of the fire. No doubt she doesn't trust Bethea's easy capitulation. Moving slowly, gaze trained suspiciously on the blonde beauty, Damasca dips the bones into the pot so that the fingers are submerged but the palm is not. She begins to stir slowly. Bethea watches closely as the foul-looking stew begins to shimmer. The surface transforms from an impenetrable brown. Bethea gasps, leaning forward as an image begins to shine through the liquid. Bethea sees... herself! Specifically, her trial at the foot of the Godess's temple, Althea's anger, and her own exile. She watches partially in awe at her own escape from <<print $female_city_name>>, appreciating just how lucky she was at times. The image suddenly shifts, the civilized structures of <<print $female_city_name>> giving way to crude, wooden structures illuminated by flickering flame. Strange creatures clamber along them like ants. They sport dark brown fur which is marred by wrinkles and dangles from their bony frames. Their heads feature glowing red eyes and pig-like snouts with pointed, triangular ears. The creatures, or more aptly monsters, are convened around a blazing fire inside a deep cavern. They dance in frantic and inhuman fashion as the flame hungrily consumes whatever it reaches. Damasca continues stirring, and the image shifts once more, seemingly remaining in the same cavern but in a different time. The fire is dead, not a single ember smolders. Gruesome corpses lay lifeless around the space, both those of the frightening creatures and humans. Peering closely, Bethea sees the tell-tale uniform of <<print $female_city_name>> adorning the dead women. To her surprise, there are some dead men visible as well, some naked and others barely covered by threadbare loincloths. The stew shakes, changing one last time. The image appears to be but black nothingness at first, but the goddess looks closer. Charred wood and bones covered in ash sit blackened by fire. Nestled amongst the pile sits a skeletal hand, white, untouched by time or flame. Bethea's breath catches. The hand has no index finger and no pinky finger. Suddenly, the old woman withdraws the hand from the stew. The spell breaks, the pot containing nothing but repulsive stew once more. Bethea looks up, meeting Damasca's avaricious gaze. "What is the meaning of this?" The witch smiles, showing off her crooked yellow teeth. "Simple. If you want this..." Damasca rattles the broth-covered collection of bones. "...then you're going to have to get me another first." Bethea's gaze grows closed, icy blue eyes glaring at the old hag. "You can't get it yourself?" Damasca shrugs, emptying her pot on the ground. The grass hisses and dies beneath the foul concoction as it seeps into the soil. "I had someone working on it, but there have been no results. I grow tired of waiting." The witch says no more as she sets about packing her campsite. Not feeling particularly generous, Bethea doesn't help. After a few moments of tense silence, Damasca has packed her things and re-hitched her donkey. The fire has been doused, living on only as a single torch. With a groan, the ancient climbs aboard the wagon. "Come on girl, we'll talk on the way. I've helped you, and now you're going to help me." Scowling darkly, Bethea nonetheless obeys and mounts the wagon. While dreading the idea of working for the vile old bag beside her, she can't ignore the pressing need to ensure no one else gets their fleshy hands on those skeletal hands. [[Bethea rides atop the wagon with the old witch, dread unfurling in her belly as Damasca eases the wagon onto the road.|Ch1-End]]

Bethea soon finds herself sporting a third set of bonds in as many hours. The restrictive, sedentary bonds of the Arbiter's chambers have been replaced by a more mobile set of jangling metal shackles and chains. A single hinged set of cuffs is locked around her upper arms, just above the elbows. Its iron grip holds said elbows together behind Bethea's back. Conversely, Bethea's wrists are each encircled in a steel manacle and pinned to her side just below her ribs via a chain tightly encircling her midriff. Her legs are locked together by steel shackles at the thighs, knees, and ankles. Each set of leg restraints is connected by a short chain no longer than Bethea's index finger. The goddess is able to waddle, even hobble, but is unable to move quickly at all. The gag, all things considered, could be far worse. It would be unseemly to allow a blasphemer to espouse evil ideologies on her way to her execution, but apparently someone takes perverse pleasure in the more humiliating ways to block a prisoner from speaking. A large metal ring, similar in size to Bethea's fist, had been wedged, pushed, and forced into place behind her teeth and buckled in place via a leather strap. Four metal hooks welded to the ring curve out of her mouth and push into her cheeks. The size alone leads to a dull ache in the blonde goddess's jaw, but the lack of stuffing makes it bearable, save the drool leaking out of her mouth and coating her chest and chin. Perhaps the visual of a heretic with her mouth open and drooling like a simpleton is exactly what the priestesses wish to achieve. By far the most insidious part of her bonds are the "boots." Not satisfied by the hobbling chains, Bethea's captors have locked her into a painful set of footwear. It starts with a metal cuff locked around each ankle. Said cuff is bolted to a thick metal ring oriented vertically. All of Bethea's weight is forced to rest on the ground through the tips of her toes and on top of the metal rings through her heels. The pointed position would be bad enough, but the insistent pressure of the rounded metal into her soles is maddening. Bethea can barely walk in a straight line without tottering on bendy ankles. Perhaps because of this, Bethea had been collared and leashed like an animal and forced to walk slowly to her fate. She had fumed, red from anger and embarrassment: quite the crowd had gathered to catch a glimpse of the evil heretic's comeuppance. It had been slow going, but eventually the procession of guards, priestesses, and gawkers had reached the cliff top overlooking the castle and <<print $female_city_name>> as a whole. Hair whipping in the night wind, Bethea peers over the edge. A fat droplet of drool falls down, down, down towards the jagged rocks poking through the sea's relatively serene surface. The anxious crowd is whispering and murmuring at a dull roar. Bethea can still feel some of her power deep down, the last ruckus of the last few hours having stoked the flames high and hot. Goddesses cannot die, but they can be mangled upon sharp spires. Bethea has no plans of doing either. The entire contingent of the Priestesses of Althea is on hand to witness Bethea's quite literal downfall. The angry shrew from the amphitheatre seems to be but a bit player, lost amidst a phalanx of naked bodies young and old, pretty and repulsive, fit and unfit. The leader, an ancient, stooped woman with frizzy white hair and hawkish grey eyes stares down Bethea like she is prey. Her voice is cracked and unsteady under the weight of decades of use. "Let all of Creation know... " Her words are interrupted by a nasty fit of coughing that sends convulsions shooting through her frail form. "...that this woman has blasphemed Althea and the Goddesses under penalty of death." The subsequent coughing fit certainly sounds like someone is to die soon. "Cast her down." The two closest guards obey, grabbing Bethea's restrained arms and hurling her over the edge. For a brief moment, the goddess feels as if she is floating, time stilling to a crawl. And then she is falling. [[Bethea's stomach lurches into her throat as she plummets towards the sea.|Ch1-Escape]]

<<set $chaos = 0>>\ <<set $ch1_escape = true>>\ Bethea immediately sets to work freeing herself, in no mind to spend her night bleeding and broken. Furious with Althea's cult and Althea herself, Bethea lets out a primal screech and lets every bit of her power woosh through her veins like flame through a field of wheat. No match for her strength, the elbow cuff and rib chain shatter like glass as the goddess pulls her arms free effortlessly. The chains attempting to entrap her legs suffer the same feet, bent and twisted links falling to the ocean below. Bethea's pristine white wings appear in a roar of light, blinding even far above on the clifftop. It requires but one tug to pop free each disconnected shackle dangling from her limbs. Wings pounding ferociously, the divine beauty wings her way back up to the crowd above. One hand reaches up and grabs the gag strap, ripping it as easily as if it were paper. The gag too falls forlornly into the cold water. Bethea's wings continue to fuel her surge upwards. Her undergarments glow to match her brilliant wings, light coalescing into matter in the shape of Bethea's battle garb. A bronze helmet with burning crest does little to diminish her terrifying visage. A small bronze chestplate covers her upper torso while a strapless thigh-length dress of the purest white covers the rest. A Goddess's skin is the most effective armor at the height of her power, so armor is more of as stylistic choice. The insidious "boots" are replaced by knee-high wooden sandals painted crimson red and glorious gold. Golden bracelets adorn her wrists. <img style="width: 100%" src="Ch1/BetheaArmor.png" alt="Bethea's Battle Armor"> As she crests the cliff, Bethea comes to a stop and hovers over the ocean, her furious eyes burning into the crowd. Screams rise up as the mass of people turn to flee en masse at the terrifying display. Only a handful of guards and priestesses stand their ground. Some of the priestesses are gesturing and yelling something fierce, but their words are lost to the air. The remaining soldiers scrambling, a few using slings to fire rocks at Bethea while others nock arrows and let fly. The goddess holds her arm out, summoning her aspis in a spectacular flash of light. The arrows and rocks smack into the shield with a few harmless dings, the shield holding strong despite the damage done by Althea. Bethea's voice is loud and booming like thunder, amplified by her divine anger. "Let the Goddesses make known their opinion of your cult's lies!" She holds her hand up, summoning her spear in all of its glowing glory. With a mighty war cry, the goddess hurls the spear at the cliffside. It sinks deep into the rocks, fissures and cracks chasing the fleeing people of <<print $female_city_name>>. Her point made, Bethea wings south over the island in a furious tempest of feathers and light. Althea's accursed curse remains ever constant, though, and the show of force is taking its toll on Bethea's strength. She angles herself towards a dense forest set a short distance from <<print $female_city_name>>'s outer wall. Her weapons and armor begin to shimmer, flickering in the dark night sky. One by one Bethea loses the power to keep them, each flickering and vanishing in turn. Bethea drops into the tree tops, dodging the outstretched branches with only modest success. Finally, she falls to the forest floor exhausted, wings reforming into tattoos branding her shoulder blades. She spends a few minutes kneeling in the dead leaves, panting heavy from the effort of her show of force. A well-worn cobblestone road runs parallel to forest's edge, traveling away from the city towards the interior of the island. <<if $ch1_help>>That must be the road Alexis said Damasca would take.<<endif>> The terrain to the west of the road is hilly and uneven with little cover to protect one from the weather or from observation. Bethea forces herself to her feet and begins to pick her way through the forest, attempting to remain hidden from pursuit. The goddess makes sure to keep the road in sight to aid in navigation. [[Bethea moves quickly into the shadows before any pursuing guards can catch up, doing her best to avoid making noise.|Ch1-Damasca]]

<<set $ch2_ambushed = false>>\ <<set $ch2_goblin_captured = false>>\ <<set $ch2_power_escape = false>>\ <<set $ch2_kick_knife = false>>\ <<set $ch2_sneak = false>>\ <<set $ch2_keyve = false>>\ <<set $ch2_commander = false>>\ <<set $ch2_slaves = false>>\ <<set $ch2_end_chaos = 0>>\ <<set $ch2_end = false>>\ <<set $chaos = $ch1_end_chaos>>\ <<set $alternate_passages = ["Ch2-Port", "Ch2-PortKeyve", "Ch2-RecapturedBound", "Ch2-Sailor", "Ch2-ShipCapture", "Ch2-ShipBoard", "Ch2-End"]>>\ !Chapter 2: Of Greed and Goblins ----- <img class="map" src="Ch2/Ch2Start.png" /> <<if $ch1_attack>>\ [[Start|Ch2-StartBound]] <<else>>\ [[Start|Ch2-StartFree]] <<endif>>\

<<set $ch1_key = false>>\ <<set $ch1_help = false>>\ <<set $ch1_betray = false>>\ <<set $ch1_call_guard = false>>\ <<set $ch1_bind_guard = false>>\ <<set $ch1_listen = false>>\ <<set $ch1_fly = false>>\ <<set $ch1_escape = false>>\ <<set $ch1_attack = false>>\ <<set $ch1_end_chaos = 0>>\ <<set $ch1_end = false>>\ <<set $chaos = 0>>\ <<set $alternate_passages = ["Ch1-BadEnd", "Ch1-Execution", "Ch1-Escape", "Ch1-Damasca", "Ch1-AttackDamasca", "Ch1-SpareDamasca", "Ch1-End"]>>\ !Chapter 1: Escape from <<print $female_city_name>> ----- <img class="map" src="Ch1/Ch1Start.png" /> [[Start|Ch1-Flashback]]

Bethea is dragged along behind the cart, grunting and moaning as she is jostled about on the uneven road. The older woman doesn't offer conversation, not that Bethea would be able to reciprocate. The night, while chilly, is rather beautiful. A cloudless sky yields an unobstructed view of the twinkling army of stars. The waxing moon smiles down on Theaonia with a kind, yellow light. Excepting the nighttime chirping of insects and the occasional hoot of an owl, the night is calm and silent, a perfect night to stare at the heavens. If only Bethea were doing so from the comfort of the wagon rather than bundled up in a musty old carpet and frozen in place. Damasca and her decrepit ass wind slowly along the southbound road. The old witch is either an abysmal driver or a sadist, as she seems to drag the bound goddess over every bump, pothole, and rut to be found. Bethea is left little option but to observe her surroundings. The forest to their left only gets denser as they travel further from the walls of <<print $female_city_name>>. The rocky terrain to the west begins to mellow, calming into a gentle stretch of welcoming, grassy plain. The plain is not overly large, the forest having taken advantage of the hospitable terrain to cross over to the right side of the road. Given a few centuries, no doubt the wood would grow right up to the rocky crags and leave no pastures to be found. After an hour, or perhaps two, the old witch turns off of the main road onto a bumpier dirt path. Bethea lets out a loud grunt as a large rock stabs into the carpet, jabbing into her rump. Bethea thinks she hears a snigger from the front of the cart. No doubt Damasca is enjoying the blonde beauty's humiliation. The forest grows denser still, encroaching right up to the unkempt trail. A few shoots of grass and even the odd sapling sprout up from the packed dirt ruts running through the wood. Bethea's body aches from being dragged across every one. But for Damasca's trips along this path, the trees would surely regain this ground as well. Bethea's view of the stars is impeded by the brazen canopy of leaves overhead, and their surroundings darken without the guiding light of the moon. Eventually the path opens up on a small clearing. There's a rickety wooden cottage with a thatched straw roof, its back to the glittering sea. A small lean-to bedded with straw squats beside the cottage, most certainly for the aged donkey. Perhaps the most surprising portion of the admittedly idyllic scene is the stone statue standing proudly in the center of the clearing. Proudly might be a strong word, though. The artist had inexplicably seen fit to carve a feeble old man wearing an ill-fitting set of trousers and nothing else. He is bald with a scraggly shock of facial hair. Despite the odd subject, Bethea has to admit that the detail work on the beard is nothing sort of an artistic marvel. Not that she's particularly keen on appreciating the artistry in her current situation. Damasca pulls the ass to a stop and climbs down from the wagon on creaking, arthritic joints. With one hand on her lower back, the old witch shuffles over to the peculiar statue. She shoots one suspicious glance over her shoulder at Bethea before withdrawing a jangling collection of hand bones from her apron and holding it up to the statue. The old woman's body obscures the goddess's view partially, but Bethea can see a soft glow. Suddenly, the stone melts away into skin, and the statue transforms into a feeble old man in its likeness. He collapses to the ground with a hacking, rheumy cough. Bethea's eyes narrow, glimmering with a dangerous light. It's imperative that she liberates the artifact from Damasca as quickly as possible, especially given how much the woman seems to know about them. She isn't certain which hand Damasca used for her latest stunt, but it's largely irrelevant. Noting Bethea's frosty glare, Damasca snaps smugly at the disheveled and dirty goddess. "Don't get mad at me, gel, you did this to yourself." Bethea lets out a muffled, garbled curse. "Fufhk ufhh." Snorting, Damasca turns her back on the goddess and totters towards the forest. "Take her into the cottage, Thaddeus, and make sure she's not going anywhere. Make it tight, she's a hellcat. I need to collect some firewood, but you had better be finished by the time I return." The elderly man's gaze rakes over the carpet-bound goddess with keen curiosity, but based on his avoidance of Damasca's gaze he doesn't dare pry. "Yessum." Thaddeus, as Damasca called him, walks over to Bethea and peers down at her. He shoots her a grin of missing and rotted teeth, bending over and picking at the knot around the goddess's ankles. His old, wizened fingers seem to struggle with the knot initially, but eventually he manages to unfasten it. With a loud grunt, the old man attempts to lift Bethea and the rug onto his shoulder. He huffs and puffs, but is unsuccessful. Bethea hears a painful-sounding crack before Thaddeus lets out a groan and clutches at his lower back. Wheezing, the white-haired codger adjusts his strategy. Bethea lets out a squawk of surprise as he begins unrolling the carpet, spinning her rapidly. The blonde beauty's vision is shaky as she rolls to a stop on the soft grass. Grinning, Damasca's ancient servant lifts the goddess onto his shoulder. The hag's spell remains in effect as Bethea is able to wiggle somewhat but remains mostly trapped in the same uncomfortable position. Taking a moment to regain her equilibrium, Bethea shrieks in rage as Thaddeus lifts her onto his shoulder. "Guhk ufhhl fhilkhu hahnuhh ufhfh nuh, ufhh fhuuhguhl!" She kicks and squirms with all her might, thrashing as much as her invisible bonds will allow. A hand crashes into her exposed buttocks with a loud smack. Bethea stills momentarily, stunned, before her face flushes a deep red and she begins thrashing anew accompanied by a stream of colorful, garbled invectives. The hand assaults her behind again. "Calm down, gel, none o' that now!" Seething but humiliated, Bethea stills her struggles for now as she's making no progress. Thaddeus carries his bundle into the cottage, one hand resting on her delectable derriere. He shoves the door open with his hip, and Bethea only gets a good look at the small structure as he turns to shut the door behind him. [[Bethea looks around the room, desperate for something to aid her.|Ch2-Chairtie]]

Bethea rides along with Damasca in silence. The older woman doesn't offer conversation, and neither does the goddess. It's an amicable silence, though, despite the earlier tension. The night, while chilly, is rather beautiful. A cloudless sky yields an unobstructed view of the twinkling army of stars. The waxing moon smiles down on Theaonia with a kind, yellow light. Excepting the nighttime chirping of insects and the occasional hoot of an owl, the night is calm and silent, a perfect night to stare at the heavens. Damasca and her decrepit ass wind slowly along the southbound road. The forest to their left only gets denser as they travel further from the walls of <<print $female_city_name>>. The rocky terrain to the west begins to mellow, calming into a gentle stretch of welcoming, grassy plain. The plain is not overly large, the forest having taken advantage of the hospitable terrain to cross over to the right side of the road. Given a few centuries, no doubt the wood would grow right up to the rocky crags and leave no pastures to be found. After an hour, or perhaps two, the old witch turns off of the main path onto a bumpier dirt path. The forest grows denser still, encroaching right up to the unkempt trail. A few shoots of grass and even the odd sapling sprout up from the packed dirt ruts running through the wood. But for Damasca's trips along this path, the trees would surely regain this ground as well. Bethea's view of the stars is impeded by the brazen canopy of leaves overhead, and their surroundings darken without the guiding light of the moon. Blonde hair shimmering in the torchlight, Bethea continues to ride on in silence. Eventually the path opens up on a small clearing. There's a rickety wooden cottage with a thatched straw roof, its back to the glittering sea. A small lean-to bedded with straw squats beside the cottage, most certainly for the aged donkey. Perhaps the most surprising portion of the admittedly idyllic scene is the stone statue standing proudly in the center of the clearing. Proudly might be a strong word, though. The artist had inexplicably seen fit to carve a feeble old man wearing an ill-fitting set of trousers and nothing else. He is bald with a scraggly shock of facial hair. Despite the odd subject, Bethea has to admit that the detail work on the beard is nothing sort of an artistic marvel. Damasca pulls the ass to a stop and climbs down from the wagon on creaking, arthritic joints. With one hand on her lower back, the old witch shuffles over to the peculiar statue. She shoots one suspicious glance over her shoulder at Bethea before withdrawing a jangling collection of hand bones from her apron and holding it up to the statue. The goddess's jaw drops open as the statue thrums with a pulsing golden light. Suddenly, the stone melts away into skin, and the statue transforms into a feeble old man in its likeness. He collapses to the ground with a hacking, rheumy cough. Bethea's eyes narrow, glimmering with a dangerous light. It's imperative that she liberates the artifact from Damasca as quickly as possible, especially given how much the woman seems to know about them. Noting her possessive gaze, Damasca barks frostily at Bethea. "Don't just sit there, gel. Gonna need some firewood to ward off the chill tonight, and you're far better equipped to gather it than old Thaddeus or me." Bethea locks gazes with the white-haired "merchant," briefly debating blatant disobedience. After a few tense seconds, the golden-haired goddess grunts and swings down off the wagon. She turns her back on the old couple and saunters into the woods. It would be foolish to let her guard down around the ancient hag, but for the moment she needs as many allies as she can find. A quick glance over her shoulder reveals the pair of elderly mortals shuffling towards the cottage. Bethea picks her way through the woods, using the time to herself to think through the ramifications of what she's seen. She picks up dead and discarded sticks as she finds them, occasionally finding a sturdier broken branch to add to her collection. It's not long before the goddess has an armload of dry wood. Her meandering has brought her near the beach. The ocean undulates calmly against the sand, the transition from warm day to cold night having generated fingers of fog creeping over the surface. Bethea squints, peering at something through the filmy grey wisps of condensation. It almost appears to be a person, watching her from a dark black cloak. Bethea looks closer. It certainly could be a person. Or it could be exhaustion and stress playing a cruel trick on her. There's nothing stopping her from investigating, other than the possibility of it being a complete waste of time. [[Squaring her shoulders, Bethea marches towards the apparition.|Ch2-Investigate]] [[Shaking her head, Bethea turns and makes her way back to Damasca's cottage.|Ch2-Ignore]]

The single room cottage contains what one might expect considering the poor state of the exterior. No bed is to be seen, although Bethea would guess the elderly couple sleeps on the pile of straw in the corner. A small stone hearth inhabits the other corner, and a crude wooden table sits in the middle. There are two empty stools of questionable structural integrity beside the table. A small pile of dead grass sits atop the hearth, but it is not alight. Moonlight filters in through a small window, however it is just barely enough to distinguish the various shapes. Thaddeus dumps his bundle onto the stool with a loud groan. Bethea lets out an undignified squawk as she nearly topples over from the rickety stool's leaning to and fro. Leathery, wizened hands quickly grip her sides, righting her. They linger on her unprotected flanks. The trapped goddess shoots the doddering lech a withering glare, earning a toothless grin in response. Bethea thrashes, careful not to tip too far on her unstable perch. "Guhk ufhhl fhilkhu hahnuhh ufhfh nuh!" The elderly man chuckles, shuffling over to the corner of the cottage and poking through a ramshackle pile of junk. "Got me a feisty one this time, she did." He mutters to himself as he searches for something. For a brief moment, Bethea is left alone. Drool leaking out over her open lips and dripping onto her chest, the goddess stews in frustration. Despite being left unattended for now, whatever magic Damasca has worked leaves her as helpless as if she were back in the dungeons. As much as she loathes the idea, Bethea has little choice but to wait out her current humiliating predicament. The golden goddess isn't left to her thoughts for long as Damasca's servant shuffles back over with an armful of scratchy-looking coils of brown rope. Despite his clear propensity for sticking his hands where they don't belong, Thaddeus sets to work binding Bethea in a practiced, detached fashion. He begins with the basics, winding the rope around Bethea's wrists four times before tightening the rope between them and knotting it off. The same tie is used on the goddess's ankles. While the witch's spell currently keeps Bethea from moving as it is, Thaddeus seems intent on keeping to his mistress's orders. A short rope is looped between Bethea's ankle and wrist bonds. Once tightened and knotted, it keeps her lithe legs pinned against the seat of the stool with her heels brushing her hands. Bethea is forced to remain relatively still with her back straight and chest pushed out to avoid tipping the stool over. With the basics complete, Thaddeus sets to work adding to Bethea's bonds. Her elbows and forearms are bound together in like fashion to her wrists. Bethea's initial assumption about the rope proves correct: it's scratchy and irritating. More rope slithers around her thighs and knees, squashing the soft flesh and trapping the goddess more firmly to the stool. The old lech starts forming a strict chest harness, wrapping the rope tightly around Bethea's torso above and below her breasts. The irritating strands push and squeeze her bust, and her rigger's hands brush against her more than once. If looks could kill, Thaddeus would burst into a raging conflagration instantly. Bethea pushes out a garbled warning through her forcibly opened lips. "Uun'k fhufhking kuufhh nuh, ufhh hfhun." Thaddeus merely chortles, well aware of Bethea's current position. In short order, rope is looped over the goddess's shoulder and down between her breasts. It is coiled around the upper and lower wraps of the harness, pulling them together and making everything tighter. After three vertical wraps, the rope is run back over Bethea's other shoulder. Thaddeus pulls out the slack, then pushes the rope through her left armpit and loops it around the strand crossing her clavicle. Reversing tension, he pulls the rope back through her armpit. After the same process is repeated on the other side, the shoulder ropes are pulled away from Bethea's collarbones, tightening up the whole harness. Intent on scowling intently at the harness taking shape around her squashed and presented breasts, it takes the blonde beauty a moment to register the rope coiling about her waist. Each wrap is very tight, pulling her sides inward and making breathing laborious. Awareness registers just before Thaddeus's hand dives between her tightly trussed thighs, taking the rope with it. He yanks it up behind her savagely tight, the crotch rope sawing against the goddess's new undergarments. "Hrrrrrrrk!" Bethea pants and grunts, breathing heavily at the unexpected sensation. Eyes dripping with molten rage, the goddess unloads a choice slew of invectives on the ancient oaf. "I'n guing ku fhhluhahk ufhhl fhufhking hahnuhh ufhh uhihguhking luhfhhuhl!" Damasca's servant shakes his head, clucking his tongue. "Got quite the mouth on ye, loud 'nuff to wake the dead." Mumbling to himself, he totters back over to the corner to get something. Bethea thrashes angrily in her bonds, the spell and the ropes combining to ensure she barely moves at all. The cottage door flies open with a bang, revealing Damasca carrying a pitiful stack of dead sticks and branches. Using her booted foot, the witch nudges the door shut and meets Bethea's furious eyes. "Forget something, Thad?" Bethea makes to communicate her anger to the ancient hag at the treatment she's received, but a large wad of cloth pops into her mouth. She is stunned into silence as more and more fabric is jammed into her gaping maw. "No mum, just doin' eet now." At least the fabric seems relatively clean, not tasting overly foul. Or, anymore foul than cloth can taste. A length of rope is tied around Bethea's face. A big, fat knot sits between her teeth over top of the stuffing. "uhuu uh huu." Damasca nods, satisfied. She dumps the wood in an undignified heap by the door, gracefully occupying the stool across from Bethea. "Get a fire going, and heat up some stew. It's in the wagon." Thaddeus ducks his head and sets to work pleasing his mistress, while her hardened gaze turns to her captive. Muttering under her breath, Damasca pulls out one of the hands from her apron and rests it on Bethea's bound bust. At first nothing seems to happen. Then, suddenly, the goddess lets out a whooshing breath and slumps in her bonds. She wiggles her fingers, experimenting. Save that stolen by the ropes, it seems she has her ability to move back. Smiling smugly, Damasca leans forward on the table. "Despite your little outburst, I still need your help. Whether you want to give it or not." [[Huffing around her mouth-filling gag, Bethea has no choice but to listen to her captor's request.|Ch2-ListenBound]]

Damasca reaches into her apron and withdraws the artifact of bone, setting it on the table. Bethea's eyes flick to it, Damasca's hand still resting possessively over it. "As I suspected, you know exactly what this is." Bethea's lips compress into a distasteful line, but she says nothing. Damasca leans forward, avarice glinting in her orbs. "Which is why I suspect you'll be keen to help me recover the one you saw in your vision." Bethea shrugs noncommittally, leaning back in her seat slightly and folding her arms over her chest. "I'm not sure why you think I'd help you. If you know as much as you say, then you know I'd never let you keep it." Damasca smirks, reaching into the sleeve of her threadbare frock and withdrawing a rolled up piece of paper. "I'm sure we'll be able to come to some sort of agreement. After all, I have something you want and you can get me something I want." The old woman unravels the scroll on the table, smoothing out the creases. Bethea leans over, studying the parchment. Faded, worn ink stares back. It takes a moment for the blonde beauty to realize she's looking at a map of Gynepolis. Damasca's bony finger stabs a small peninsula centered along the southern coast of the island. "You're here." The wrinkled appendage traces a path north and west towards the far tip of the island. "There's a mine here. Copper, for those preening zealots in the city. The artifact you saw is in a cavern off the main tunnel. You're going to get it for me." Bethea's blue eyes rake the old witch. "And those creatures? You expect me to deal with them too?" Damasca shrugs. "A bunch of soldiers cleared them out of the cavern, they were hurting the productivity of the mines. Nasty habit of capturing and eating the workers you understand." Bethea can tell from the old woman's expression she has little sympathy. "If they aren't a problem, what's to stop you from getting it yourself?" "Those creatures aren't in the caves anymore, but they're still crawling all over the western side of the island like rats, clear down to Siren's Cove. Nothing a big, strong woman like yourself can't handle, of course." "Siren's Cove?" Damasca grins. "Port Town. Technically a hive of smugglers and villainous men, but Gynepolis turns a blind eye. Luxury goods don't sail themselves, and not many women live on the sea. Having a few filthy men kicking around is a small price to pay for silk and chocolate." Damasca taps her finger on the mine. "That's not the only problem, though. Paranoid bunch of broads, those guards. They don't let just anyone into their precious mines. I had someone working on it, but there haven't been any results and I'm not getting any younger." Bethea raises a delicate brow. "You seem certain that your agent hasn't found the artifact already and kept it for themself." <<if $ch1_help>>\ Damasca snorts. "Because he's a worthless sod. Alexis's plaything, she swore he'd do whatever I wanted in exchange for helping her and the brat. Terrible investment on my part." That revelation catches Bethea's attention. She leans forward on the table, planting her palms flat on the rough wooden surface. "Alexis has a man?" "Got a kid ain't she?" Bethea chuckles, the sound dry and humorless. "I was more surprised that he's still alive. Or was at some point." Damasca scowls. "No thanks to him. He's clearly too much of a dullard to handle a simple task, so one must guess he's just lucky." Bethea doesn't respond for several seconds, wrapping her mind around this revelation. <<else>>\ The old witch waves her hand dismissively. "Spineless waste of flesh. Can't even make good on a generous bargain. That's the last time I help someone without payment up front." Bethea has the distinct urge to pry, but figures her time is better suited getting as much information about the artifact as possible. <<endif>>\ Thaddeus brings over a bowl of the foul stew and sets it in front of Damasca. He holds up a second bowl and lifts it in Bethea's direction, but she rebuffs it with a disgusted shake of her head. Shrugging, the old servant sits on the floor by the fire and starts to slurp noisily. "So let me get this straight. You want me to infiltrate this mine, get the bones, and bring them back to you. Furthermore, you think I'll just hand them over to you?" The witch's eyes gleam cruelly, her grin turning sinister. "Of course not. You're a smart woman, and I know how much you value the hands. I'm willing to trade you, the one in that mine for the two I have." Bethea nearly leaps out of her seat. "Two!?" Damasca smirks, sensing victory. Wordlessly, she reaches into her apron and pulls out a second skeletal manus, laying it atop the table beside the first. Bethea's brilliant blue eyes bulge in their sockets, her breathing short and unsteady. There is a pregnant pause, only the crackling of the fire and Thaddeus's dreadful lip smacking. Clenching her fists, the goddess returns to her stool gracefully. "Fine. A trade, two for one." Cackling, Damasca shoots out her wizened old hand in Bethea's direction. Cautiously, the goddess grips it and gives a firm handshake. The blonde beauty suspects neither of them have honest intentions of upholding their end of the bargain, but that is a problem for later. "Now why don't you catch some sleep before you head out. You'll need it, and there's no point going until tomorrow night. The guards will be looking for you." [[Mind mulling over the recent revelations and her options, Bethea catches a few hours of rest.|Ch2-LeaveCottage]]

Bethea strides forward with purpose, keeping a firm grip on her bundle of sticks. Putting it down would just show fear. The goddess approaches the beach, the fog battling her vision. Focus trained on the mysterious figure standing in the sand, Bethea doesn't see the snake-like root protruding from the ground. Her sandaled foot catches, and she tumbles to the ground with an ooomph. A mild curse slips from her lips. Bethea's arms shoot out and she catches herself on the soft bed of leaves. Her bundle of wood scatters as she drops it to avoid face planting into the forest floor. Her head whips up towards the beach. The cloaked figure is gone, or never was. Growling in frustration, Bethea scrambles to her feet and dusts off her hands. The goddess doubles her pace and marches onto the beach. Her blonde hair shimmers in the moonlight as she casts her gaze about in every direction. Nothing. The blonde beauty nearly convinces herself her mind was playing tricks on her, but she forces herself to calm and does a more thorough investigation. The coastline is mostly flat save the odd dune squatting near the treeline. Bits of driftwood and seaweed speckle the pristine white sand. Mostly pristine, anyway. Bethea kneels down, carefully inspecting the fine grains. A collection of small holes battle hopelessly against the lapping waves, water filling and collapsing the sand walls. Based on the remaining shape and the spacing, they are almost certainly footprints. They lead back into the water until they are invisible amidst the frothy, swirling waves. Bethea sees no one around now, but it's rather obvious that she isn't losing her mind. The mysterious figure seems to have no reason to want to be found, so Bethea merely shakes her head and walks back up the beach. The discarded firewood is not too difficult to gather, and the golden-haired goddess makes excellent time back to Damasca's cottage. The clearing is, well, clear. The feeble donkey is laying down beneath the shaky shelter next to the small dwelling. Bethea can't tell if it's asleep or dead. Ignoring the beast, Bethea strides across the lawn and uses her hip to push open the door. The single room cottage contains what one might expect considering the poor state of the exterior. No bed is to be seen, although Bethea would guess the elderly couple sleeps on the pile of straw in the corner. A small stone hearth inhabits the other corner, and a crude wooden table sits in the middle. The witch herself sits at the table, eating some of her foul stew. The elderly man, Thaddeus as Damsca called him, is gently blowing on a tiny fire fueled by straw and tiny twigs. He looks up at Bethea's entrance, shooting the beauty a toothless grin. "Oh aye, bring eet 'ere, keep us warm." Damasca looks up as well, motioning for Bethea to sit across from her. "Then have a seat. We need to talk." Nodding once, the goddess drops the wood by the hearth and sits. The stool nearly topples over, one of the legs clearly shorter than the other. Bethea adjusts her weight to create some semblance of balance. "You wouldn't happen to have any neighbors this far out, would you?" Damasca's expression reveals nothing as she spoons another clump of gruel into her mouth. "Nope, just old Thad and me." Bethea shrugs. "I saw someone out on the beach. I didn't get a good look under the cloak." The witch's eyes narrow, and she studies the goddess for a moment. "Perhaps it was the fog playing tricks on you." "Fog doesn't leave footsteps." Damasca seems pensive for a moment, scratching her bony chin. After a moment of silence, her gaze snaps back to her guest's. "I'll check it out later. For now, you and I need to have a little chat." [[Bethea folds her arms and leans back, careful not to tip over.|Ch2-Listen]]

Shrugging her shoulders, the goddess whirls on her heel and marches back the way she came. It's probably nothing. Jumping at shadows can't be good for her mental health, either. Bethea makes excellent time back to Damasca's cottage, the forest being rather pleasant to traverse once one is familiar with it. The clearing around the old witch's cottage is, well, clear. The feeble donkey is laying down beneath the shaky shelter next to the small dwelling. Bethea can't tell if it's asleep or dead. Ignoring the beast, Bethea strides across the lawn and uses her hip to push open the door. The single room cottage contains what one might expect considering the poor state of the exterior. No bed is to be seen, although Bethea would guess the elderly couple sleeps on the pile of straw in the corner. A small stone hearth inhabits the other corner, and a crude wooden table sits in the middle. The witch herself sits at the table, eating some of her foul stew. The elderly man, Thaddeus as Damsca called him, is gently blowing on a tiny fire fueled by straw and tiny twigs. He looks up at Bethea's entrance, shooting the beauty a toothless grin. "Oh aye, bring eet 'ere, keep us warm." Damasca looks up as well, motioning for Bethea to sit across from her. "Then have a seat. We need to talk." Nodding once, the goddess drops the wood by the hearth and sits. The stool nearly topples over, one of the legs clearly shorter than the other. Bethea adjusts her weight to create some semblance of balance. Damasca just smirks behind her spoon as she shovels another clump of gruel into her hungry mouth. "You and I need to have a little chat, girl." [[Bethea folds her arms across her chest, raising a brow.|Ch2-Listen]]

Bethea carefully picks her way along the dirt path from Damasca's cottage, the bright moon of the previous night covered by a blanket of clouds. The fluffy white clumps aren't particularly ominous or foreboding, but they nonetheless coat the forest in a thick darkness without the heavens to light the way. Bethea is forced to rely on the weak light of her flickering torch to make her way. <<if $ch1_attack>>\ Having spent a very uncomfortable night roped to the crude wooden stool in the witch's abode, Bethea's every muscle is sore. They protest the goddess's movements as she steps carefully through the forest. All things considered, her day could have gone worse. She had managed to snatch a few fitful hours of sleep despite the uncomfortable pose. Furthermore, despite clearly having a wandering eye, Damasca's servant Thaddeus hadn't touched her again once the witch returned. No doubt he feared angering the ancient hag. The most repulsive thing Bethea had been forced to endure had been the awkward slapping sound of the elderly couple engaging in... something. The golden-haired goddess DEFINITELY doesn't want to know the details, and had been awarded the inestimable mercy of not having to watch the act due to the direction her stool had been facing. The couple had seen fit to free her at dusk, and Bethea had been in no condition to seek her vengeance, cramped and hunched from the strict bondage she'd spent hours in. Even now after stretching her weary limbs for an hour or more, Bethea still feels tired. Damasca and Thaddeus had seen fit to provide the ravenous goddess with something edible, roasted meat from a slain rabbit. While not particularly trusting of the elderly pair, the meal hadn't been nearly so revolting as the woman's black soup and Bethea's grumbling stomach had made the decision for her. No longer hungry and with her freedom for the first time in nearly a full day, Bethea admits to herself that things could currently be worse. Even if she still has a few scores to settle. <<else>>\ Surprisingly, Bethea had managed to catch a fair bit of sleep. She had woken in the soft embrace of dusk, having slept through the remnants of the previous night and all through the day. Her ordeal in Gynepolis had proven quite exhausting. Despite its simple nature, the straw mat in Damasca's corner had proven surprisingly soft and comfortable. The blonde beauty had slept like a rock, waking only at the prodding of her "host." Thaddeus had managed to catch a rabbit. The roasted meat had tasted heavenly to the famished goddess, and she ate nearly the whole thing by herself. Satisfied and rested, Bethea finds herself more hopeful than she can remember since her trial despite the current crises warring on her mind. <<endif>>\ After nearly an hour of trekking through the forest, Bethea emerges from the overgrown path onto the main road. Still wary of patrols from the city, Bethea melts back into the forest. She uses the road as a guide, darting through the shadows while keeping the path in sight to her right. According to Damasca's map, the road will take her right to the mine. Bethea continues traveling west towards the mine. The forest begins to thin, the towering trunks and nearly impenetrable leafy canopy giving way to a much more sparse smattering of thin trees. Large bushes and clumps of tall grass replace them. The goddess is forced to move more carefully to remain hidden from the road. She ducks low and scrambles from bush to bush. While it is immensely comfortable, the pristine white of Bethea's new dress isn't exactly an asset in her quest to remain out of sight. She makes her way across a small creek, careful not to get her feet wet. Gradually, the goddess becomes aware of movement in the bushes around her. Noises are nothing to be alarmed about, especially in a forest, but instead of bolting or stilling like a frightened creature, the sounds seemingly become louder. More numerous. It sounds like they're coming from all around, although nothing so definitive as the crack of a branch or the crunch of leaves. A swish here, a rustling there. It's entirely possible Bethea is seeing ghosts. The goddess's pale hair whips in the wind as she hears a soft snap to her left. Her blue gaze lands on a particularly large bush. It waves softly, although whether that's from the soft breeze or something inside is difficult to tell. Nothing looks out of place... [[Shrugging her shoulders, Bethea continues forward. She must be imagining things.|Ch2-ContinueWalking]] <<if $chaos > 0>>\ [[Aiming to utilize the element of surprise, Bethea suddenly leaps into the bush with a mighty shout.|Ch2-AttackWin][$chaos -=1]] <<else>>\ [[Aiming to utilize the element of surprise, Bethea suddenly leaps into the bush with a mighty shout.|Ch2-AttackLose]] <<endif>>\

<<set $ch2_ambushed = true>>\ <<set $true_path = false>>\ Bethea strides purposefully forward. She really needs to get a grip on her nerves, or she'll never recover the artifacts. There's no telling what could happen to the people of Theaonia then, or even her sisters. The goddess hears another rustling noise behind her, but she forces herself to keep moving forward: it's most likely just an animal. Quickly, and before Bethea can react, a loop of rope drops over her head and tightens about her neck. The goddess gasps, feeling the rope squeeze the exposed column of her throat like a python. Her fingers scrabble at the strands ineffectively as they tighten, making her wheeze. Bethea briefly registers a pushing force on her neck, as if the rope is attached to a stick. The force slams her forward and knocks her head against a tree. The blow stuns the gorgeous goddess, and she crumples to a heap on the forest floor. She breathes heavily, vision blurry. Bethea is dimly aware of some type of... creatures scrambling out of the bushes and dogpiling atop her. "Palie! Get palie!" The goddess groggily feels strange claws or fingers tugging and poking at her body, more ropes encircling her limbs and restraining her. The blonde struggles weakly to rise, but her assailants pile their weight atop her to keep her from standing. One steps in front of her, gripping her hair and forcing her to look up. Bethea blinks, trying to focus her vision on the creature. <img style="width: 100%" src="Ch2/Goblin.png" alt="The Monstrous Creature"> At first glance the creature appears almost human in shape, although a closer inspection yields some striking differences. A coarse brown fur, unkempt and matted, coats the creature's skin. The monster's arms are disproportionately long, nearly long enough to reach from its shoulders to its feet by Bethea's estimate. On the contrary, its legs are short and stubby compared to those of a human or goddess. The most distinctive features of the foul-smelling beast are the large leathery flaps dangling from the spindly arms, although given the rounded gut and overall size of the monstrosity Bethea doubts it can properly fly. The head is decidedly more animalian than the body, with pointed triangular ears and a curled, pig-like snout. Filthy fanged teeth flash in her direction almost like some sort of smug grin. "Stoopid palie!" It's clear that this creature is the same sort as Bethea saw in Damasca's vision, although it is smaller than she expected, standing no higher than her own thigh if she had to hazard a guess. "Rope-uh, more rope-uh!" Bethea grunts, feeling more strands of scratchy brown rope slithering over her skin. She feels her wrists captured in vice-like grips. Despite her struggles, the beady-eyed monstrosities manage to force her wrists behind her back. The supple limbs are wrenched up between her shoulder blades, crossed over her spine. Bethea squirms and struggles furiously, but is unable to stop them from encircling her wrists with tight wraps of rope. Their rigging lacks artistry or finesse, but the goddess's futile wiggling is a testament to its efficacy. Soon the creatures have tightly trussed the squirming beauty, strict yet artless ropes nearly cocooning her thighs, stomach, and torso. Curiously, her legs remain free from the knee down save the disgusting beast sitting on them. The scratchy strands rub against the soft skin of her chest and legs uncomfortably with every movement. Bethea thrashes furiously, having overcome the lingering effects of her skull meeting the tree trunk. "Get your disgusting paws off of me you fucking fr...!" Her voice is weak and raspy around the rope encircling her neck. One of her captors keeps a tight grip on the capture pole trapping her head, effectively maintaining control over her entire body. The blonde goddess inhales sharply as something slams into her defenseless derriere suddenly. "No shouty-shout! Shut face!" "Don't touch me you... Fthopf!" Bethea's eyes shoot open in surprise as a foul tasting cloth is shoved between her lips. Bile rises in her throat at the horrific taste, causing her to cough violently. Taking advantage of her distress, the creatures pack more of the stuff between her lips. Each strip of fabric is just as scratchy and vile as the first. One of the monsters produces a leather belt and yanks it between her teeth. It pays no attention to her hair as it buckles the length savagely tight around her lower face, tangling wads of the silky golden waves in the buckle. "u'm ghmmhngh hu huuguhngh guhmmh uh!" Satisfied that their victim is suitably bound, the creatures haul her to her feet. She wobbles unsteadily, needing to grow accustomed to hobbling with her thighs and knees lashed together. Bethea feels curious claws prodding and groping at her chest, which is smooshed by coils of rope. "hu! un'h hmmh muh!" The monsters pay her no mind, pushing and shoving at one another for a chance to touch the soft, bulging flesh. "Boo-som! Boooo-som!" Bethea squawks indignantly as she is manhandled... monsterhandled? Wobbling about unsteadily on her feet, Bethea lashes out, trying to kick at one of the creatures. Knees tightly trapped together, the kick isn't very effective, but she does succeed in stomping on the beast's toe. It screeches indignantly, and Bethea wishes dearly that she had the mobility to cover her ears against the grating noise. The rope around Bethea's neck tightens. She squeaks, feeling her face flush a warm pink from the lack of blood to her brain. The goddess gasps, feeling the rope squeeze the exposed column of her throat like a python. After a moment the beast relents, allowing Bethea to breathe just a tad easier. The damsel helplessly follows their direction to avoid choking herself into unconsciousness as they push and yank on the stick. Chattering excitedly, one of the monsters digs its claws into Bethea's buttocks. "Palie move!" The thing holding the stick thrusts it forward, forcing the goddess to stumble awkwardly ahead under their mercy. [[Helpless and bound, Bethea is frogmarched away by the creatures.|Ch2-Captured]]

A horrendous screeching noise splits the night as Bethea bursts into the bush. Her fist thuds into something warm and fleshy. More ear-splitting shrieks assault the goddess's ears as a small body topples out of the bush and flops into the grass. Bethea steps over the shaking form, holding up the torch to get a better look at it. <img style="width: 100%" src="Ch2/Goblin.png" alt="The Monstrous Creature"> At first glance the creature appears almost human in shape, although a closer inspection yields some striking differences. A coarse brown fur, unkempt and matted, coats the creature's skin. The monster's arms are disproportionately long, nearly long enough to reach from its shoulders to its feet by Bethea's estimate. On the contrary, its legs are short and stubby compared to those of a human or goddess. The most distinctive features of the foul-smelling beast are the large leathery flaps dangling from the spindly arms, although given the rounded gut and overall size of the monstrosity Bethea doubts it can properly fly. The head is decidedly more animalian than the body, with pointed triangular ears and a curled, pig-like snout. Filthy fanged teeth flash in the flickering firelight of Bethea's torch. It's clear that this creature is the same sort as Bethea saw in Damasca's vision, although it is smaller than she expected, standing no higher than her own thigh. The creature scrambles backwards, beady red eyes locked on the beautiful goddess. She notices that it sports a rough loincloth fashioned from some form of pelt, as well as a surprisingly robust leather belt. More likely than not stolen from somewhere given the fine quality compared to the shoddy stone dagger dangling from it. The monster snarls at Bethea, flailing its claws in her direction, awkwardly mimicking a punching motion. The goddess nearly thinks that the strange sounds coming from it are... words? "Hit! Hit I!" Bethea tilts her head to the side, confused. Any attempt at translating the creature's gibberish is interrupted by a whooshing noise from the nearby bushes. A rope lasso drops down over Bethea's shoulders and tightens just beneath her bust. The goddess reacts instinctively and yanks sharply on the rope. Her efforts are met with a squawk as a second mongrel-like beast comes tumbling out of the brush clutching the other end of the rope. Its skull crashes into a sandaled foot, spinning in place with a sickening crack. Another rope whips through the air, but Bethea is expecting the attack now and easily weaves out of the way. More of the ugly... things start to crawl out of the foliage, eyes glinting in the dim light accompanied by muttered gibberish. "Palie! Get palie!" Bethea silences one with a vicious elbow to its snout-like nose. The monster goes down in geyser of blood, bellowing in pain. The monsters chatter angrily and rush forward as an undulating mass. Bethea's limbs fly into action, feet, hands, elbows, and knees smashing into the snarling, grabby creatures. Her divine strength easily overpowers the primitive beasts even with their drastic numerical advantage. As one animalistic mass driven to avoid pain, the creatures snarl and hiss, backing off as their numbers fall under Bethea's deadly strikes. "Palie hurt! Hurt I!" Their shouts drown each other out as they scramble to get away. A handful of bodies lie in their wake, bleeding and unmoving in the grass. Bethea watches the mass of a dozen or so creatures pushing and shoving their way in the same direction as they gradually disappear into the night. Their brazen assault leaves no doubt in her mind that they are a menace, and the Virtue of Order beats a drum of annihilation in her head. Bethea has bigger fish to fry, though, and following them could prove a fatal mistake in her urgent quest to recover the skeletal hand. [[Knowing it is the right thing to do, Bethea stalks after the creatures to end them once and for all.|Ch2-Follow]] [[Bethea weighs her options and decides that the potential damage of the bones in the mine are far greater than a handful of smelly, primitive monsters.|Ch2-Continue]]

<<set $true_path = false>>\ A horrendous screeching noise splits the night as Bethea bursts into the bush. Her fist thuss with something warm and fleshy. More ear-splitting shrieks assault the goddess's ears as a small body topples out of the bush and flops into the grass. Bethea steps over the shaking form, holding up the torch to get a better look at it. <img style="width: 100%" src="Ch2/Goblin.png" alt="The Monstrous Creature"> At first glance the creature appears almost human in shape, although a closer inspection yields some striking differences. A coarse brown fur, unkempt and matted, coats the creature's skin. The monster's arms are disproportionately long, nearly long enough to reach from its shoulders to its feet by Bethea's estimate. On the contrary, its legs are short and stubby compared to those of a human or goddess. The most distinctive features of the foul-smelling beast are the large leathery flaps dangling from the spindly arms, although given the overall size of the monstrosity Bethea doubts it can properly fly. The head is decidedly more animalian than the body, with pointed triangular ears and a curled, pig-like snout. Filthy fanged teeth flash in the flickering firelight of Bethea's torch. It's clear that this creature is the same sort as Bethea saw in Damasca's vision, although it is smaller than she expected, standing no higher than her own thigh. The creature scrambles backwards, beady red eyes locked on the beautiful goddess. She notices that it sports a rough loincloth fashioned from some form of pelt, as well as a surprisingly robust leather belt. More likely than not stolen from somewhere given the fine quality compared to the shoddy stone dagger dangling from it. The monster snarls at Bethea, flailing its claws in her direction, awkwardly mimicking a punching motion. The goddess nearly thinks that the strange sounds coming from it are... words? "Hit! Hit I!" Bethea tilts her head to the side, confused. Any attempt at translating the creature's gibberish is interrupted by a whooshing noise from the nearby bushes. A rope lasso drops down over Bethea's shoulders and tightens just beneath her bust. The goddess reacts instinctively and yanks sharply on the rope. Her efforts are met with a squawk as a second mongrel-like beast comes tumbling out of the brush clutching the other end of the rope. Her foot meets its pig-like nose, causing the creature to fall to the grass clutching its snout and keening loudly. Another rope whips through the air, dropping over the goddess's shoulders and tightening uncomfortably across her chest. More of the ugly... things start to crawl out of the foliage, eyes glinting in the dim light accompanied by muttered gibberish. "Palie! Get palie!" As one, the disgusting mongrels dogpile the lovely goddess and drag her to the ground. She feels clawed hands grasping and pulling at her clothes and flesh, more ropes encircling her limbs and restraining her. Bethea tries to sum up some of her power, but it lays dormant. Without her increased strength or holy weapons, the blonde beauty is no match for the writhing colony of monsters. The goddess is dragged to the ground face first, a mountain of odorous monsters holding her down with their weight and claws. "Rope-uh, more rope-uh!" Bethea grunts, feeling more strands of scratchy brown rope slithering over her skin. She feels her wrists captured in vice-like grips. Despite her struggles, the beady-eyed monstrosities manage to force her wrists behind her back. The supple limbs are wrenched up between her shoulder blades, crossed over her spine. Bethea squirms and struggles furiously, but is unable to stop them from encircling her wrists with tight wraps of rope. Their rigging lacks artistry or finesse, but the goddess's futile wiggling is a testament to its efficacy. Soon the creatures have tightly trussed the squirming beauty, strict yet artless ropes nearly cocooning her thighs, stomach, and torso. Curiously, her legs remain free from the knee down save the disgusting beast sitting on them. The scratchy strands rub against the soft skin of her chest and legs uncomfortably with every movement. Bethea thrashes furiously. "Get your disgusting paws off of me you fucking fr...!" The blonde goddess inhales sharply as something slams into her defenseless derriere suddenly. "No shouty-shout! Shut face!" "Don't touch me you... Fthopf!" Bethea's eyes shoot open in surprise as a foul tasting cloth is shoved between her lips. Bile rises in her throat at the horrific taste, causing her to cough violently. Taking advantage of her distress, the creatures pack more of the stuff between her lips. Each strip of fabric is just as scratchy and vile as the first. One of the monsters produces a leather belt and yanks it between her teeth. It pays no attention to her hair as it buckles the length savagely tight around her lower face, tangling wads of the silky golden waves in the buckle. "u'm ghmmhngh hu huuguhngh guhmmh uh!" Satisfied that their victim is suitably bound, the creatures haul her to her feet. She wobbles unsteadily, needing to grow accustomed to hobbling with her thighs and knees lashed together. Bethea feels curious claws prodding and groping at her chest, which is smooshed by coils of rope. "hu! un'h hmmh muh!" The monsters pay her no mind, pushing and shoving at one another for a chance to touch the soft, bulging flesh. "Boo-som! Boooo-som!" Bethea squawks indignantly as she is manhandled... monsterhandled? Wobbling about unsteadily on her feet, Bethea lashes out, trying to kick at one of the creatures. Knees tightly trapped together, the kick isn't very effective, but she does succeed in stomping on the beast's toe. It screeches indignantly, and Bethea wishes dearly that she had the mobility to cover her ears against the grating noise. Quickly, and before Bethea can react, a loop of rope drops over her head and tightens about her neck. The goddess gasps, feeling the rope squeeze the exposed column of her throat like a python. The short circle of rope is attached to one end of a long stick, which the monsters twist and yank to and fro. The damsel helplessly follows their direction to avoid choking herself into unconsciousness. Chattering excitedly, one of the monsters digs its claws into Bethea's buttocks. "Palie move!" The thing holding the stick thrusts it forward, forcing the goddess to stumble awkwardly ahead under their mercy. [[Helpless and bound, Bethea is frogmarched away by the creatures.|Ch2-Captured]]

<<set $ch2_goblin_captured = true>>\ Bethea stumbles forward, seething around her mouth-filling gag. The annoying monsters continue to poke, grope, squeeze, and pinch the tightly trussed goddess as they frogmarch her to Goddess knows where. The beautiful blonde has to focus on her feet to not stumble, unused to walking without proper use of her knees. Her captors don't seem to much care, tormenting her with every step. The pack leads her for nigh on an hour, although the going is slow and the group covers comparatively little ground. The goddess is led out of the woods and out onto an uneven stretch of grassland. By Bethea's estimates she's being forced west, as the terrain is growing hilly and rocky. In the distance, Bethea sees the flickering glow of flames. She sucks in a breath: the creatures must have a camp. Soon, the goddess and her captors stand atop a hill overlooking a shallow ravine. A small creek meanders along the southern side of the dip, skirting the perimeter of the camp nestled inside. Bethea inhales sharply. The camp is more sophisticated than the appearance of the monsters would suggest. A large central bonfire burns bright, with a large number of the offensive beasts pushing and fighting against each other around it. Nestled amongst the shadows near the fire is a large pile or mound of... something. From up here, it is difficult to tell what it is. Tents large and small dot the ravine with smaller fires interspersed amongst them. A large, circular tent dominates the smaller triangular ones. Based on the relatively high quality of the tent fabrics, Bethea guesses that some humans are missing their tents. Hopefully they aren't missing their heads too. There’s a surprising lack of trees inside the camp. She isn’t sure if they’ve been uprooted or never grew there to begin with. Bethea's time to observe the encampment is cut short by more insistent shoving and manhandling from her captors. She is forced down the small incline towards the central bonfire. The odious beasts grow more agitated as they get closer to their kin, snapping and growling animalistically when some of the creatures scrabble out of the camp to meet them. "Us palie! You no gobblin' us palie!" One creature from Bethea's entourage steps out in front, getting into a minor skirmish with another from the camp. They scratch and claw at one another, making more of that infernal howling noise that the goddess is certain can make one's ears bleed. All of the monsters start to become agitated, growling and snapping at one another. More brawls start to break out, some of the monstrosities even swinging their rudimentary stone weapons at each other. Suddenly a deafening, ear-shattering screech echoes throughout the whole ravine. Bethea drops to her knees as the painful sound batters her ear drums. The capture pole gets tight against her throat as she drops. The creatures still, halting all combat and turning as one to look towards the bonfire. One of the creatures, larger than the others, waddles towards them. The... thing stands a head and shoulders above the other creatures. Its arms are slightly thicker, more defined and human-like than the spindly wing-like arms of Bethea's captors. Its torso is big and round like a barrel, although Bethea wouldn't really describe it as fat either. While big, the monster still only barely rises to her navel. A rough circlet made of twine and teeth adorns its furry brow. The creature looks her over, stilling. Its voice is slightly deeper and steadier, although it speaks in the same nearly incomprehensible language. "No you palie. Gobblin' Ruler palie. All gobblin' palie." It flicks a claw in the goddess's direction, baring its teeth at the other creatures. "Boo-som make sack fice. All us gobblin'." After further thought, Bethea decides that the ruler's speech is slightly more complex than his kin. She can't really tell if the creature is implying that they'll be eating her or if they refer to themselves as goblins, but she decides that it's as good a name for the disgusting beasts as any. Besides, assuming the latter helps take her mind off the former being a possibility. One of her captors snarls, gesturing angrily at his bound beauty before making a rude sound in the ruler's direction. The ruler bares his teeth, darting forward and jabbing a jagged stone shard into the creature's eye. The victimized goblin lets out a shrill wail, babbling and clutching his eye while writhing on the ground. Their ruler puffs out his chest, gesticulating at his subordinates, daring any of them to challenge his might. They shrink away, muttering peculiar sounds of submission. The goblin ruler starts to bark out orders. "Boo-som cage. No fur." The entire camp moves to put their filthy claws on Bethea, but the king snarls, shaking his head. The teeth of his crown slap lightly against his skin. He chatters incoherently before holding up two claws. "Dis. Rest bye-bye." Another wave of biting, scratching and brawling ensues before two of the monsters come out victorious. One grabs the capture pole and the other slaps the curve of her butt, screeching in glee. Groaning, Bethea has no choice but to follow along. The goddess's captors walk her through the middle of the camp. Goblins on all sides gawk at her, the throng particularly thick around the central bonfire. This close, with the oppressively hot fire licking the air to her left, Bethea gets a good look at the mound she saw from the ridge. She hisses into her gag. The pile is composed seemingly entirely of charred bones. Not just any bones: human bones. Skulls, femurs, hands, ribcages, feet, spines. There is the odd glimmer of white here and there, but the majority of them bear the black mark of flame. A shiver runs through Bethea's body, finally translating the ruler's words. Fortunately, Bethea isn't on the menu just yet it seems. She is walked past the bonfire and the bones, back towards a much quieter area of the camp. A large stone juts out of the hillside, the dirt below having been worn away by time and weather. The goblins have set up a small collection of wooden cages beneath it. They surround a campfire. Given the two large (relative to their own kind, anyway) creatures standing guard, it's understandable that there aren't more of the ghastly things milling about. One is even sporting a simple bronze helm, shaped like an upturned bowl with a single metal spike on top. The two brutes give Bethea's handlers a snarl, and receive a few in response. One steps forward, wresting the capture pole from her captor and pushing her towards the cages. The contraptions appear... less than sturdy. They are composed of dead sticks and branches no doubt scavenged from the surrounding woodlands. Scratchy rope like that restraining Bethea is lashed in place at the joints to hold the small boxes together. They are small, looking more fit to cage a goblin than a person. A human just barely fits when scrunched over into a tight ball. Bethea can tell because, to her great surprise, the goblins have two other prisoners. Their features are difficult to discern in the dim light, but the goddess is able to determine that they are a man and a woman. They are also nearly naked, clothed only in their undergarments. Both are tightly trussed like Bethea and scrunched into a tight ball to be able to fit in their cages. A soft whimpering comes from the woman's cage, but the man's gaze meets Bethea's curiously. Bethea briefly wonders where the goblins obtained a man so close to Gynepolis, but then remembers they originally came from the mine. There'd be no shortage there. Bethea's newest captor pulls a rough-hewn stone dagger from its loincloth and starts to saw at the ropes of the nearest unoccupied cage. Meanwhile, the goblins begin to argue with the other guard, pointing at the caged woman and talking in their guttural nonsense. "Biggie want boo-som." The guard shakes his head and bares his fangs. Bethea's guard manages to cut through the rope, and one side of the small box flops down to the dirt. "Us palies. No you palies. Bye-bye." He delivers an open-palm smack to the head of one of the smaller goblins. The other snarls angrily and leaps at him, sinking sharp teeth into the scraggly fur at his shoulder. The guard lets out a pained squeal, battering at his assailant in panicked fashion. Bethea's captor growls, shambling over to help his compatriot. Alone for a brief second, the goddess notices that he dropped his knife in the dirt. It appears relatively dull, but given the open cage before her it is still able to cut rope. She could try and take the knife for herself and slowly saw her way free. However, Bethea has a pretty good idea what they're going to do to the poor woman if they take her from that cage. All three of them might have a better chance of surviving if Bethea herself is the one taken back. If she could get the knife to one of the prisoners, they might have a chance to mount an escape while Bethea stalls. The woman appears to be a sobbing, useless mess, but the man might prove capable. [[Bethea kicks the knife into her awaiting cage surreptitiously, hoping to have a chance to cut her way free once she's left alone.|Ch2-Cut]] [[Attempting to save the sobbing prisoner, Bethea kicks the knife to the man and hopes he'll have the wherewithal to escape and rescue all three of them. She then explodes into action.|Ch2-Kick]]

The brawling goblins pay little attention to Bethea, scratching and smacking one another angrily. The goddess surreptitiously kicks the discarded knife into the empty cage. She uses her foot to nudge it behind one of the sticks composing the cage to help keep it out of sight. An earsplitting screech nearly brings the golden goddess to her knees. Turning, she sees the portly goblin ruler ambling towards the small clearing. Bethea quickly shuffles a step or two away from the cage to ensure that their focus is on her and not the hidden knife. Meanwhile, the large goblin wades into the fray. He jabs a claw into the eye of one goblin, while soundly cuffing another on the back of the head. Both go down, one clutching his eye and shrieking angrily. The goblin king snarls, glaring at his underlings as they gradually stop fighting and, recognizing his presence, begin to cower. "No scratchy. Make sack fice." He extends a wicked-looking claw at the cowering, caged woman. The burly guards pick themselves up off the ground and scramble to obey. One grabs Bethea by her loose blonde hair and jams her into the tiny cage. It is quite a tight fit, the goddess forced to kneel with her back pressing into the top of the cage. Her head rests on the back of the cage, and once the goblin has closed the "door" and lashed it shut once more, the sticks pole uncomfortably into her defenseless derriere. Bethea dares not go for the knife just yet. By the time Bethea is corralled, the other guard has cut open the other woman's cage and dragged her out into the clearing. Attempting to watch over her shoulder, Bethea finds that her hair and the cage conspire to block her from getting a good viewing angle. She's stuck just listening. The woman's whimpers turn into full blown sobs once she's been dragged out of the cage, and Bethea winces as she hears the sharp sound of a hand hitting flesh. The goblins' prisoner cries out. Clearly she is also gagged, the garbled and muffled utterance a tell-tale sign. There are more sounds of struggling, and Bethea has to admit the prisoner is feistier than she'd first thought. Gradually, however, the sounds lessen and Bethea deduces that her companion in bondage has been dragged away. The goddess counts silently in her head, only trying to go for the knife once she is certain the cages are no longer being watched. Twisting and contorting herself in the close confines, Bethea is just able to get her fingers to brush against the dirt. With her wrists bound between her shoulder blades, the goddess inearly needs to lay on her back, legs scrunched awkwardly against the cage. She feels about blindly for the blade, eventually managing to grasp it. The sharp edge draws across her finger, making her hiss. Careful not to knock it out of reach, the blonde beauty maneuvers herself until she's able to wrap her fingers around the crude hilt. Resisting the urge to crow triumphantly, Bethea rolls over into a more comfortable position and starts to carefully saw at the ropes binding her. It takes a modicum of finesse and more than a modicum of patience, but Bethea manages to cut through the ropes lashed about her wrists. With her arms free from the strict position, the goddess makes relatively quick work of the remaining ropes. While the desire to avoid detection forces her to move deliberately, the knife is surprisingly effective in cutting away the artless restraints. Using her newfound mobility to carefully move inside her cage, Bethea turns around. Only one guard remains, his wistful attention on the loud center of the goblin camp. Careful not to make a sound, the goddess reaches behind her head and unbuckles the belt. A sodden wad of fabric falls from her lips, and she works her jaw in relief. Bethea slowly saws the knife against the rope holding the cage door in place. It's relatively flimsy, probably easy for her to break, but the goddess prefers not to draw the guard's gaze. Once the ropes are severed, the blonde beauty eases the patchwork door to the ground silently and inches her way out of the tiny cage. Gripping the knife in one hand, Bethea crawls towards the guard. She waits until she's nearly breathing down his neck to strike. Darting forward, golden hair shimmering in the light of the small fire, the goddess reaches around the goblin with her left hand and wraps it around his snout. Her fingers tighten, keeping him from crying out and alerting his kin. Simultaneously, Bethea's right hand jams the knife into the base of his throat and pulls. His artery bursts open in a geyser of crimson blood. Bethea releases his snout and lets him fall. The goblin clutches his throat, a soft gurgling noise the only sign of his swift death. Wiping the blood from her arms, the goddess moves over to the occupied cage. Able to move freely, Bethea makes short work of the cage's door and pulls out the bound man inside. Clad only in rope and his underclothes, Bethea can't help but catch an excellent view of his body. He isn't overly muscular, lacking the large bulk of one who relies primarily on brute strength. Rather, his body is well defined and lean, sporting toned yet muted muscles. The man lacks the fat of one who lives a sedentary existence. Bethea realizes that he's watching her peruse him over his heavily-stuffed mouth, locks of slightly long, dark brown hair brushing his shoulders. Blushing, she reaches behind his head and cuts away the rope. The prisoner spits out a giant wad of cloth, similar to the stuffing Bethea endured. He studies her as she sets to work cutting away his bonds. "Thanks." He turns his head to the side, stretching out his neck. "Being locked in a cage for a day or two gives a guy an awful crick in the neck. Name's Keyve." Bethea remains focused on her task, careful not to slice his skin. "Beth." Arms free, the former prisoner starts massaging feeling back into his legs as the goddess cuts the rest of his ropes away. "Thanks for the rescue. Nasty little cretins, those things. I'll be glad to be away from here." Bethea quirks a brow, slicing through the last rope with a flourish of the pitiful knife and rising to her full height. Keyve stands up, dusting himself off. The tip of his head comes up to just under Bethea's eyes. "Hang on, we can't leave just yet. We've got some things to take care of. Rescuing your... friend, for one." Keyve grimaces. "Yeah, uh... friend. Definitely." Bethea wings a brow at his peculiar hesitation, but doesn't believe now is the best time to press for the truth. She turns back to the dead goblin and pulls his corpse back inside her cage. It won't fool anyone for long, but it's better than leaving it out in the open. Finished, she turns back towards the goblin camp and studies it from the cover of the shadows. Keyve slips up behind her, speaking softly in her ear. "How do you plan about doing that? Cut them all down with your fancy sword?" He gestures to the bloody stone knife in her hand. Bethea rolls her eyes, focusing on planning a strategy. "If you can't be useful then keep quiet." There are dozens of the foul creatures, but most of them seem congregated around the central campfire and large tent. The rest of the place is nigh on deserted. Perhaps they could find some better weapons in one of the tents. After all, Bethea had already witnessed the goblins using stolen armor, why not stolen weapons? <<if $chaos >= 1>>\ Bethea closes her eyes, tapping into her power. Despite her mistreatment at the claws of the disgusting beasts, some of her divine strength still thrums within her. Surely the mangy animals don't stand much of a chance against a mighty goddess? <<else>>\ Bethea closes her eyes, attempting to tap into her power. Her ordeal has exhausted her, leaving the goddess not so very goddess-like at the moment. She might not be able to rely on her natural strength to take down the monsters, but trying might be her best option.<<if !$ch2_ambushed>> It may have failed her once, and it could fail again, but eventually she'll have to get a better handle on the extent of her power at a given time. That can only come with practice.<<endif>> <<endif>>\ Bethea bites her lip, thinking. Keyve nervously peers over his shoulder to the beckoning darkness of the forest. "Surely you don't mean for the two of us to go charging in there after her, do you? Wouldn't it be better to come back with help?" Bethea twists around to look at him over her shoulder. The woman would surely die before they ever returned, and neither a heretic on the run nor a man would be likely to find much help so close to Gynepolis. Still, a foolhardy rescue attempt might cost two lives (and a mountain of pain for Bethea) rather than just one. [[Keeping low to avoid detection, Bethea sneaks through the camp looking for some stronger weaponry, beckoning for Keyve to follow.|Ch2-Weapon][$chaos += 3]] <<if $chaos >= 1>>\ [[Trusting her power, Bethea charges into the goblin's camp to face them with brute force.|Ch2-Charge][$chaos -= 1]] <<else>>\ [[Trusting her power, Bethea charges into the goblin's camp to face them with brute force.|Ch2-Defeated]] <<endif>>\ [[Deciding that in this instance discretion is the better part of valor, Bethea follows Keyve into the shadows of the forest.|Ch2-Sneak]]

<<set $ch2_kick_knife = true>>\ Meeting the male prisoner's eyes, Bethea kicks the knife over towards his cage. Casting a quick glance towards the brawling beasts, the captive twists his body around in the cage so his hands are skimming the crude frame. Holding her breath, the goddess watches his fingers flutter around behind his back in search of the blade. Not daring to move in that direction for fear of drawing the monsters' attention, the blonde beauty waits with baited breath until he finally manages to brush against the handle with the tips of his fingers. Reaching just a bit further, he grabs the knife and quickly pulls it inside the cage. The prisoner re-adjusts his body back to his original position, the knife concealed behind his back. He nods surreptitiously at Bethea. Putting her fate in the hands of her fellow prisoner, Bethea makes her move. Growling furiously into the mouth-packing gag, she lunges forward and barrels into the back of one goblin. He topples forward with a screech, landing on another in a heap. The creatures stare in surprise for a moment, giving the goddess a precious handful of seconds to continue her offense. She whirls in place, the abandoned capture pole whipping around behind her and smacking one goblin in the jaw. Bethea, tightly bound as she is, has few options for attacking the creatures, so she settles for what is available. She starts stomping at the fallen monsters, aiming for paws, throats, and joints with her feet. The creatures howl and writhe on the ground, curling up into fetal tucks to avoid the goddess's punishing feet. The blonde beauty can feel her power spark within her at the keening cries and desperate scrambling of the pitiful creatures. Any thoughts of escaping outright die a swift death as something latches onto the capture pole dangling from Bethea's neck. A great force yanks her backwards and off balance, then twists her face first into the ground. She collapses into the packed dirt with a hard thud. "Uuunnnnghhh..." Her attacker plants a foot in the small of her back and yanks back hard on the pole. The blonde beauty's back arches and the twine constricts about her lovely neck, choking her. "Hurk! Glack... Urk!" Bethea's breaths emerge rasping and weak as she quivers weakly in her predicament. "Palie feisty! Much fun!" The goblin king pulls harder on the wooden rod, cackling in the creatures' bizarre language. Bethea squawks into her mouth-stretching gag and flails around on the ground. Her nose flairs like that of a racehorse, desperate for air. Just as the goddess is certain she is going to black out, the ruler chortles to himself and releases the pole. The blonde beauty face-plants in the dirt, gasping for air. Growling, one of the underlings lunges for the catch pole, no doubt looking for a bit of revenge. The king clobbers him upside the head, sending him to the ground howling. "No touchie! Palie Biggie's!" The big brute's filthy claws sink into Bethea's hair, jerking her up. Still breathing heavily, the goddess scrambles up on her knees to ease the pressure. The goblin king twists her head, forcing her to meet his cruel eyes. "Palie make much fun!" She can only scowl back in return, deprived even of the ability to curse or spit. Still laughing, the disgusting creature pulls sharply on the tangled blond locks. "Keep other boo-som cage. Biggie back later." He yanks her back towards the main campfire, forcing her to stumble awkwardly to her feet. The monster's grip on her hair ensures that Bethea can only shuffle forward awkwardly, bent at the waist due to her captor's short stature. The capture pole drags noisily through the dirt behind them. Proudly parading his pretty prisoner through the goblin camp, the king growls and bares his teeth at any of the creatures who dare come close. His ferocious displays of dominance easily cow his subordinates, who seem to fear him greatly. Bethea is more angry than afraid, itching to snap his neck. Unfortunately, she is in no position to do so. Although she's most likely doing far better than the sobbing prisoner would have had Bethea let them take her as initially planned. The thought is a small comfort, and given her current position the goddess is willing to take any comfort she can get. For the second time in a short span, Bethea finds herself the main attraction in the center of the goblin throng. Biggie proudly marches her straight past the central bonfire towards the largest tent. It stands a head taller than Bethea herself, towering over the diminutive vermin dancing around it. The fabric is a pleasing light blue, or was before it was soiled by the filth of these creatures. A single central pole holds up the fabric, with ropes and stakes anchoring it in place. Bethea is unsure if the monsters managed to pitch it themselves, or if the previous owners had already put it up when the goblins "liberated" it. The pack of beasts howl and screech excitedly at the sight of her, jumping up and down in a strange, savage facsimile of a dance. Biggie growls and lets out and ear-splitting shriek that cows them somewhat. "Palie Biggie's, no touchie!" Her scalp on fire from the cruel tugging of her captor, Bethea is hauled over to the tent and tossed inside. She falls to the dirt with an ooomph, landing face first on the ground. The goblin king turns in the entrance to glare at his followers menacingly. "No bother! Biggie busy!" With that, the big beast turns and closes the flap. Save the little bit of firelight that penetrates through the fabric walls, the interior is dark. While she hopes that the other prisoner won't just run off and leave her once he frees himself, Bethea stills plans for the worst. She desperately casts her eyes around the tent in search of something to help her escape. [[Suddenly the goblin ruler pounces on the goddess, straddling her lower back.|Ch2-Punished]]

The air whooshes from Bethea's lungs as the surprisingly heavy creature lands on top of her with a thump. The goddess scrambles, writhing and kicking beneath the goblin king furiously. Despite his size relative to the others of his kind, the beast is still much smaller than the blonde beauty and struggles to stay atop her. Twisting his body, the monster tries to pin down Bethea's flailing legs with his meaty paws. He catches a heel to the jaw for his efforts, toppling backwards with an awkward squawk. The golden-haired woman tries to scramble away from her captor, but the large pole dangling from her neck makes it difficult. The brute easily wraps his dirty claws around it and yanks her back to him. "Palie hurt Biggie." Using the capture pole for leverage, the goblin rolls Bethea over onto her stomach. "Palie naughty." Demonstrating a surprising amount of intelligence, Biggie aligns the pole along the goddess's spine. Her head is pulled back and up. He then sits on it, his weight keeping the wooden rod in place and thus effectively trapping Bethea's head. His weight also adds an uncomfortable amount of pressure to her wrists, still crossed between her shoulder blades. She dares not struggle for fear of tightening the rope around her neck. Maintaining the punishing position, the goblin ruler leans over and rummages through a pile of junk along the side of the messy tent. "Rope-uh, rope-uh, where-a rope-uh..." After a moment of searching, Biggie lets out a triumphant crow and produces a hank of old, frayed rope. Leaning forward, the goblin ruler collects Bethea's unbound ankles and forces them together. With a skill belied by his crude appearance, the monster loops the rope around her slim ankles four times before cinching between them twice. A neat and tidy knot traps her legs together completely. A length of rope dangles freely from the knot. Shifting his bulk off of Bethea's back, Biggie pulls the rope up to her bound wrists and loops it around them strictly. Cackling strangely, he pulls out the slack. "Hurk!" Bethea grunts as the rope bends her back, making her arch until her thighs and chest are lifted off of the ground. Once her ankles are nearly brushing her hands, Biggie ties off the rope to leave the goddess in a back-breaking hogtie. The blonde beauty's nostrils flare, her muscles already starting to ache in the painful position. Satisfied that his prey is properly trussed, the goblin king mercifully removes the capture pole from her neck, letting Bethea breathe a little easier. With a ferocious grin, Biggie puts his foot on the goddess's shoulder and pushes. Bethea is rolled over, her stomach and chest pointed skyward by the arch. She grunts, the goblin ruler straddling her and dropping his weight on her belly. His filthy claws grab her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress. "huu! hu! uhg huu humh!" Bethea groans, unable to stop his sharp claws from mauling her sensitive flesh. "Palie jiggle!" The goblin crows excitedly, poking and prodding at the soft mammaries between squeezing and twisting them. Bethea writhes, glaring daggers up at the beast. "Squishie-squish!" The dark cackling of the ugly brute echoes through the tent as he mauls Bethea's chest. The goddess's face flushes a deep red, a mixture of embarrassment and anger coloring her cheeks. Biggie's wandering claws move downward, skimming over her stomach through the thin fabric of her clothing. The goddess squirms, struggling to keep her laughter in check as the probing paws tickle her sensitive belly. "Oooooooh, palie squirmy! Squirm, palie!" The assault continues, Bethea sucking air through her nose in a desperate attempt to breathe. Muffled, garbled laughter spills out of her jaw breaking gag. "huuuhuu! h-mm-h--mmpfh! huuuhuuuh!" Wiggling under the insidious touch, the goddess's chest heaves, a slight sheen of sweat coating her skin. Her hips shake and buck, managing to throw the gross goblin off of her with the force of her desperate struggles. The ruler topples backwards with a beast-like giggle, enjoying Bethea's discomfort. Clambering back to his feet, Biggie uses his foot to push Bethea over once again. A loud groan escapes her at the shifting position, being on her stomach far preferable the unpleasantness of being trapped like a turtle on its back. Unfortunately, the hogtie leaves her derriere particularly defenseless. Doubly unfortunately, her crass captor seems to have a fascination with the more luscious portions of her anatomy. His claws trail over the curve her buttocks, barely protected by the (formerly) white dress. "HNNNGH!" She squeals and thrashes as the creature's meaty paw suddenly crashes into her flesh. Biggie enjoys her reaction to the spank immensely, crowing excitedly and adding another for good measure. "Palie lotsa jiggle! Much fun!" A loud shriek penetrates the walls of the tent. The goblin ruler ignores it, but it is quickly followed by a second shrill cry, then a third. Bethea hears a growing din of chattering and squabbling from the pack of monsters. Muttering to himself, Biggie leaves his captive to amble over to the tent flap and respond with his own loud squawk. Instead of cowing to his authority, the sounds grow louder and more numerous. The flicker of flame is visible outside the tent, although Bethea is unable to determine if it is just the central bonfire, or something more. Muttering under his breath, Biggie ducks out of the tent. The flap falls in place behind him, leaving the bound goddess alone in the darkness. Quickly taking advantage of the solitude, Bethea desperately looks around for a means of escape. As befitting the station of its current owner, the space is cluttered with piles of the monsters' loot. Of particular interest to the blonde beauty is a small stack of human weapons in various states of upkeep. Grunting from the strain of the strict hogtie, Bethea manages to rock and roll her way slowly across the dirt floor. Fortunately the tantalizingly sharp objects are but a few paces away. Even that short distance has Bethea huffing and puffing through her nose, the strict ropes doing all in their power to halt her movements. More shrill shrieks echo through the thin fabric of the tent. Bethea can feel her power stirring somewhat in her chest, reacting to the creatures' confusion and seeming panic. Rejuvenated, the golden goddess redoubles her escape attempts. Careful not to cut herself, she twists onto her side with her hands facing the weapons. Blindly fumbling around, Bethea eventually manages to close her fingers around the hilt of a small dagger. She starts sawing at ropes trapping her wrists. The knife seems fairly dull, making slow work of the crude restraints. Bethea decides it's still faster than groping around for a better tool, however. Exhaling, the bound beauty finally manages to free her wrists. Arms still restricted by the copious amounts of rope coiled around her torso, she nevertheless has quite a bit more range of motion now. With the hogtie previously anchored to her wrists, Bethea is also free to stretch out her body. Taking advantage, Bethea starts cutting away at more of her bonds. Suddenly, the tent flap flies open. Biggie stomps back inside, his snout curled into an angry snarl. His eyes dart about the tent for a moment before finding his captive. Seeing her uncoiled from the restrictive hogtie and sitting next to his loot, the beastly brute flies into an unholy rage. "PALIE BAD! PALIE DO NAUGHTY!" The monster lunges in her direction, claws outstretched in the dim light. Thinking quickly, Bethea rolls back and brings up her still-trussed legs. Her knees touch her chest before rocketing forward in a two-legged kick. The goddess's feet slam into the goblin king's chest and sending him careening backwards. He hits the ground with a thud. Sputtering angrily, the beast scrambles to his feet and lunges once more. The goddess is quick, but hampered by the ropes. She tries to chamber another kick, however Biggie crashes into her before she can extend her legs. Menacing claws descend towards the goddess's face. Before they can score a hit, Biggie is suddenly yanked off of her. In shock, Bethea stares up at the male prisoner from before. He is barely dressed, wearing nothing but his undergarments. A simple bow is slung across his bare chest and shoulders. Not sparing a glance for Bethea, the former captive keeps his focus on the goblin king. A metal knife glints in his right hand. Snarling, the beast dives at the man, knocking him to the ground. The pair thrash about and struggle on the ground. Bethea focuses her attention on getting herself free rather than gawking like a simpleton. Twisting her arms upwards, the goddess begins sawing at the ropes around her torso. Having freed her arms, she has more room to maneuver and squirm her way out of the ropes. Due to the haphazard and less than intricate nature of the goblins' ropework, Bethea is able to make quick work of the coils. Worming her way out of the remaining strands, the blonde beauty reaches down to free her legs, working twice as quickly now with her entire upper body unbound. Bethea's escape attempt is suddenly thwarted by a writhing pile of man and monster smashing into her. Despite his inferior stature, Biggie seems to be more than a match for the escaped prisoner, swiping and grasping with his sharp claws. The pair's momentum carries them into the tent's central support. With an audible tear, the squawking of the goblins outside, and a splintering crack, the tent topples down atop the trio. Struggling beneath the canvas, the goddess turns the blade of the knife on the collapsed tent and cuts her way free. Emerging into the night air, Bethea glances around furtively. Half the camp is aflame, panicked goblins scrambling too and fro with seemingly no notion of how to douse the conflagration. Biggie and the male prisoner continue to tussle beneath the canvas, a writhing, squirming lump beneath the fabric. Wasting no time, Bethea turns the blade on her leg bonds, sawing through the ropes and finally freeing herself completely. The goddess feels her power surging at the utter chaos unfolding around her. Springing to her feet, the blonde beauty rushes to assist her rescuer. With a mighty tug, the mighty goddess rips away the tent canvas, revealing the brutish goblin ruler strangling the weakening prisoner with an evil glint in his beady eyes. Bethea jams her blade into the base of its neck, or tries to. The dull blade does not penetrate very far into its skin, but it does get the monster's attention. Snarling, Biggie leaps at Bethea. Twisting out of the way, the slender beauty plants her foot on the creature's rump and shoves, sending him sprawling in the dirt. [[Drawing on her divine might, Bethea faces down the goblin king.|Ch2-Clean]]

Biggie scrambles back to his feet, baring his fangs and snarling in the goddess's direction. The creature rushes the blonde beauty once more, squawking loudly as her leg elegantly kicks his own out from beneath him. The cry brings more of the foul beasts shambling forward, confused yet eager to assist their leader. Scowling darkly, Bethea taps into her inner power. Divinity swims through her veins, and the goddess calls on her battle armor. The helm, breastplate, and aspis flash upon her in the darkness, fitting like a glove. She holds out her hand, a long spear appearing in a similar display of light. Powerful white wings splay out from her back in a shower of golden sparks. The show slows the advance of the confused creatures, and Bethea leaps into action. <<if !$ch1_escape>>\ <img style="width: 100%" src="Ch1/BetheaArmor.png" alt="Bethea's Battle Armor"> <<endif>>\ Blood splatters the firelit clearing as the goddess's spear penetrates the nearest goblin's gut. Whipping the weapon in a sideways arc, she launches its corpse at another like a projectile. Snarling, one of the brutes leaps on Bethea's back. The shimmering goddess ducks forward, using his own momentum to catapult him to the ground flat on his back. An ear-shattering scream rends the air as Bethea jams her sauroter through his right eye and into the dirt beneath his skull. Winging forward with a ferocious battle cry, the goddess charges into the massing goblin crowd. Spear tip and shield rim dance in an elegant choreography of destruction and violence as she fells the primitive abominations. Some try to scramble away, squawking in terror, but Bethea cuts them down all the same. Eyes sweeping the squirming sprawl of screaming savages, Bethea spies Biggie in the melee. Grabbing him by the ankle, the furious beauty yanks him back. The large beast snarls up at her, eyes wide with fear. His claws lash out, only to fall limp at his sides as Bethea's spear penetrates his neck. Blood sprays upwards in a geyser, reddening the earth. The goblins, seeing their leader felled in brutal fashion, turn screaming and snarling to scramble into the forest. The goddess kills many, only a handful escaping into the shadows of the wood. Order calls for her to hunt them to the last, but Bethea feels her strength waning. Deciding to conserve as much strength as possible, Bethea stays her chase. "That was quite the show." Bethea whirls, startled by the voice. Her rescuer sits in the dirt, clutching a torn scrap of tent fabric to his cheek. The goddess can see a dark red stain on the cloth. Her armaments shimmer briefly before disappearing in a quick flash of light. Striding over to him, Bethea offers her hand to help him to his feet. "Thanks for the rescue, um..." She lets her voice trail off inquisitively. The stranger shoots the blonde beauty a roguish grin as he takes her hand, although it quickly dissolves into a grimace of pain. He hoists himself to his feet with her assistance, still pressing the scrap to his face. "Keyve. Name's Keyve." "Beth." Bethea graces him with a smile of her own, letting her gaze travel over him properly for the first time. He isn't overly muscular, lacking the large bulk of one who relies primarily on brute strength. Rather, his body is well defined and lean, sporting toned yet muted muscles. The man lacks the fat of one who lives a sedentary existence. Bethea realizes that he's watching her peruse him with a lazy grin, locks of slightly long, dark brown hair brushing his shoulders. Blushing at being caught staring, she busies herself by inspecting his cut. "You should clean this out. I can't imagine that monster's claws are too sanitary." Keyve grimaces, pulling away. "Filthy creatures. Can't say I was planning to fight one of the things. I'd hoped the fire would have drawn it out and I could have cut you loose, but... yeah." With another smirk, he smiles slyly at Bethea. "Had I known you weren't alone I'd have put on some clothes first." The goddess rolls her eyes at the blatant flirtation, smiling despite herself. "Well you should got on that. You might catch cold." Bethea sweeps her gaze around the camp. Flames still lick at the tents, the fabric having been consumed quickly but the supports and contents still burning. It appears Biggie's tent is the only nearby tent not aflame. The goddess kneels down, pulling away the shredded fabric and sorting through the monster's looted goods to look for some clothing for Keyve. "Where's the other one, the girl?" Keyve shrugs his shoulders noncommittally. "Ran off as soon as I cut her free. Can't say she's the reliable type." Bethea quirks a brow curiously, sensing more to the story. "You going to go after her?" "No." Keyve kneels down next to her, also sorting through the discarded possessions of the goblin chief. His tone belays further questions, and Bethea defers out of gratitude for his rescue. A drop of crimson blood splatters on the ground. The goddess glances at her rescuer's cheek, noting the gash marring his otherwise handsome features. Spying a dented metal goblet, the blonde beauty grabs it and rises to her feet. "I'll go get some water for you to wash out that cut. Be right back." Keyve nods, watching her go before turning back to searching Biggie's things. [[Bethea makes her way towards the small creek, cup in hand.|Ch2-WalkMineKeyve]]

Bethea fixes Keyve with a dark look. "That's exactly what I mean. You wouldn't want her to leave you, would you?" Keyve mutters under his breath, scuffing the dirt with his bare foot. "Not that she'd be any help anyway." The goddess rolls her eyes and slips forward, sneaking through the camp. She doesn't much care if the grumbling grump helps or not at this point. To her surprise, Keyve does fall in step behind her. He drags his feet like a recalcitrant child and mutters something about crazy witches, or at least Bethea thinks it's witches, but he does follow. "Just so long as you have a plan. I'm not running in there and trying to punch those things to death." Letting out an exasperated sigh, Bethea scowls over her shoulder and puts her finger to her lips.<<if $ch2_goblin_captured>> It'd be just her luck to escape only for a certain loudmouth to get them both caught again.<<else>> She has zero interest in rescuing the ungrateful lout only to have him get them both captured.<<endif>> The blonde beauty grabs his arm and leads him towards the edge of the camp, whispering under her breath. "I have a plan, now shut your mouth and follow me." Bethea tows Keyve towards the nearest cluster of tents, ignoring his sarcastic muttering. The first few tents prove useless, the pair finding them completely empty. The fifth proves slightly less so, the dirty space containing a simple wooden cudgel. Bethea's certain that it came from one of Gynepolis's guards. She offers it to Keyve, who looks positively horrified at the prospect. The man shoots her a look like an offended child might at being denied his favorite dinner. "While you're clearly a... shall we say take-charge sort of gal, I prefer to solve my problems with my wits." Shrugging, Bethea stuffs the cudgel into her belt and continues on her search. "What wits," she mutters under her breath. "I heard that." The next tent yields another dull rock knife, a dented bronze shield, and the back half of a snapped arrow. Keyve rejects the shield, but grudgingly looks over the knife. He scratches the back of his head with one hand, looking over his shoulder like goblins are going to pop up behind them at any moment. "I'm, uh, not exactly good in a brawl. I can throw a knife, but this one is..." Keyve scrunches his nose in disgust. "This one wouldn't go twenty paces." In contrast, he runs a finger over the fletching of the broken arrow. "Goose... nice. Now a bow I could use." Unfortunately, the pair ransacks quite a few tents and finds nothing much of interest. A loud scream from the center of camp makes them both look up suddenly. Bethea bites her lip. "We're running out of time." Keyve grunts, folding his arms across his naked torso. "I don't think they'll wait around for us to smith some weapons." Bethea looks over the tents, noting that they get bigger closer to the bonfire. "Seems like the better stuff is closer to the fire. We should search in that direction, there has to be more." Her companion seems less than enthused with the idea, but to his credit Keyve follows silently without comment. Hunkering low, the two dart through the shadows towards the bonfire. The sound of the goblins grows louder as they get closer, excited chittering and annoyed growling interspersed with exuberant shrieks. The goddess's hunch proves correct: the first tent they check, a mere stone's throw from the loud gathering of goblins, contains a chipped xiphos and a battered bronze breastplate. Keyve attempts to put it on despite the blood spatter, but the piece is clearly crafted to the form of a woman. Most promising, however, is a quiver. It's not full, but there at least a dozen arrows. Bethea tosses it to Keyve. "Now we're getting somewhere." The golden-haired goddess ducks into the next tent. She's so focused on watching the exterior that she bowls over one of the small, smelly creatures. It is hard to tell which is more surprised. Suddenly the wide-eyed monster starts screeching painfully loudly.<<if $ch2_goblin_captured>>"Palie! Palie out!"<<else>>"Boo-som! New boo-som!"<<endif>> Grimy claws grasp for the goddess, but she quickly jams the knife into its throat. The headache inducing sound subsides into a gurgling geyser of blood, but the damage is done: Bethea can already hear the the mass of monsters crying out in alarm and scrambling around. Bethea's gaze whips around the tent quickly. Luckily, she spots a simple wooden bow in the corner. Hurrying over to grab it, Bethea also spots a trio of javelins. It seems their luck is finally turning. Heart hammering, the blonde beauty grabs the javelins and tosses the bow to Keyve. "Get up on the hill and cover me, I'll draw their attention." She doesn't wait to see if he obeys, darting out of the tent with her borrowed shield and javelins at the ready. The cudgel and sword dangle from her belt. Emerging from the tent, Bethea immediately hurries towards the center of the camp. The goblins are shouting and screaming excitedly, a writhing mass of hungry fervor. Two stumble into the angry goddess's path, looking at her and barring their teeth. A javelin bursts through the chest of one before they can even charge her. The second squawks and shields himself from the spurting blood with his leathery wing flap. Bethea is upon him before he's ready. She slams the rim of the shield into his skull. The creature drops to the ground in a heap, and Bethea quickly yanks the javelin from the other's chest and dispatches him with a quick jab to the neck. Three more barrel around the corner, eyes glinting hungrily as they take in the warrior goddess before them. She fells the middle monster with a javelin to the stomach. Its slender, gangly arms grasp frantically at the air as it falls. The creature's graceless fall drags down his compatriots, who are spitting and snarling angrily. Bethea quickly closes the distance. She tries to retrieve the javelin once more, but the shaft snaps in her hand. The goddess doesn't miss a beat, jabbing the splintered end into the left eye of one of the goblins and stomping on his throat. The final one clutches desperately at her bare thigh, but receives a forceful kick to the head for his efforts. Bethea hears the sickening crunch of his neck breaking as his head snaps awkwardly to the side. Another scream echoes above the din of the goblins. Bethea shifts a second javelin to her right hand and rushes into the center of the camp. Dozens of goblins stare at her sudden appearance. The large goblin ruler stands before the bonfire, the tightly trussed woman kneeling in the dirt before him. Bethea looks her over. Other than the long strands of silky black hair now adorning the ground around her, she appears more or less unharmed. The beastly brute holds a wicked looking knife, resembling a fang more so than a blade, to the woman's throat. He extends a claw in Bethea's direction, snout curled up in a peculiar grin. "Pokies down. Or Boo-som bleed." The ruler draws his claw across his throat in a universal gesture. Bethea scowls, tightening her grip on the javelin. Before she can do anything, an arrow slams into the goblin king's right eye socket. He lets out an ear-shattering screech, dropping the knife and clutching his skull. The prisoner hits the ground, whimpering. Bethea moves with the speed of a viper, leaping forward and burying her javelin in his gut. Twisting and pulling, she snaps the shaft and buries the jagged end in his throat. The goblins erupt into motion, screeching and clawing at the goddess. She attacks like a tornado, spinning, thrusting, slashing, and slamming the ugly monsters. Her javelin snaps in the neck of one, so she draws her xiphos in one smooth motion and cuts off his head. The goblins fall on her like the tide, and she stops them like a levee. Through the chaos, Bethea can hear the wish-thud of arrows, accompanied by shrill screeching. She's grateful that Keyve didn't run off and leave her to fend for herself. "Palie kill Biggie! Biggie Dead!" Soon, the crazed creatures start to realize that their ruler lays dead in the dirt. Their assault abruptly halts, the monsters stilling as if unsure what to do. An eerie silence descends as they stare at Bethea and she stares back. After a pregnant pause, the goddess goes back to slaying the goblins en masse. Squawking in fear, the few remaining monsters turn and scramble every which way into the darkness. Their chaotic retreat leaves many tents and goblins trampled in its wake. The fierce battle has left Bethea's power thrumming beneath her skin, and Order begs her to give chase. However, she foregoes chasing down the stragglers in order to free the poor woman huddled in the dirt. It's unlikely the goblins will be much of a threat now with their leader killed and the majority slain. [[Bethea kneels down and uses the xiphos to cut the woman's bonds.|Ch2-Free]]

<<set $ch2_power_escape = true>>\ "No, I mean to go charging in there and for you to wait here." That statement certainly surprises Keyve, whose mutinous look quickly turns to one of shock. "Alone? That's suicide!" He shakes his head, dark hair bouncing lightly. "Two lives instead of one. Stupid. Out of the question." Bethea whirls on her heel, giving Keyve her back imperiously. "Just stay out of my way. I can handle myself." The goddess strides forward, making her way back towards the bonfire at the center of the goblin camp. Keyve shuffles along behind her and reaches out to grab her arm. "Are you even listening to me? Don't be daft!" Bethea pauses, looking down at his grip on her arm. "Look, I'm not some helpless damsel. Now go find someplace safe to hide." The blonde beauty pulls her hand free, not particularly liking the look she's getting from the man. She doesn't have time to ruminate on it, though: she has another prisoner to save. Putting Keyve from her mind, the goddess makes her way to the center of the goblin camp. As she nears the crowded gathering of gross creatures, the blonde beauty ducks into the shadow of a tent to scope things out. Dozens of the smelly brutes are congregated around the raging flame, pushing and snapping at one another territorially. The large goblin ruler stands before the bonfire, the tightly trussed woman kneeling in the dirt before him. Bethea looks her over. She appears to be mostly unmolested, although the gruesome goblin holds a wicked looking knife, resembling a fang more so than a blade. He crows excitedly, grabbing the woman's raven locks and slashing through them. Her muffled sobs grow louder as the luxurious strands start to flutter to the ground in hideous clumps. The goblins take in this show with some delight, chanting in a tribal manner. "Sack. Fice! Sack. Fice!" An animalistic growl of fury erupts from Bethea's throat at the sight. The furious goddess darts into the clearing in a flash of white and gold. The closest creatures turn in surprise at the sudden movement. Bethea's fists collides with the snout of the closest one. He drops with a howl. The vengeful woman tears through the pack of shocked beasts like the scythe through the harvest. Her foot slams into the side of one's head, twisting it sideways with a crunch. Another meets the same fate at the point of an elbow. The beasts scramble away rather than face the ferocious onslaught. In their haste to flee, they bump into tents and each other, knocking over all in their path. Bethea can feel her power singing at the chaotic scene before her, her blood blazing to bring Order to these monsters. The goblin king, in contrast, gestures and points angrily at Bethea. "Get palie! Cow herds no gobblin'! Us gobblin' cow herds!" The majority of the pack ignores the commands and scrambles off into the night in terror, but some seem to fear their ruler more than the goddess. A handful of goblins rush at Bethea, while the others scatter into the fallen tents and claw through the fabric. The goddess easily dispatches the unarmed creatures with brutal efficiency, but the others have scavenged weapons. Some advance with stolen human weapons, while others brandish makeshift knives and clubs of goblin construction. Smiling darkly, Bethea closes her eyes and calls up all of her might. Divinity swims through her veins, and the goddess calls on her battle armor. The helm, breastplate, and aspis flash upon her in the darkness, fitting like a glove. She holds out her hand, a long spear appearing in a similar display of light. Powerful white wings splay out from her back in a shower of golden sparks. The show slows the advance of the confused creatures, and Bethea leaps into action. <<if !$ch1_escape>>\ <img style="width: 100%" src="Ch1/BetheaArmor.png" alt="Bethea's Battle Armor"> <<endif>>\ Blonde hair emitting soft rays of light, Bethea wings up into the sky over the disorganized mob of brutes before dropping into them like a lead weight. The tip of her spear slides through two goblins like a fish knifing through water. The golden goddess lands on her feet, twisting her hips and pulling. The polearm slips free from the corpses easily, whirling outwards in an arc that creates blood and severed limbs. The soft, flabby flesh of the goblins yields no resistance to the deadly point of Bethea's weapons. In mere seconds the beautiful warrior stands in a pool of flesh and gore. An ear-shattering screech splits the air. Bethea whirls, breathing deeply from exertion, and fixes her gaze on the goblin ruler. His creature glares at her, a glimmer of fear in his eyes. The poorly made knife is held to the bound woman's quivering throat. "Pokies down. Or Boo-som bleed." The ruler draws his claw across his throat in a universal gesture. Bethea scowls, tightening her grip on the glowing spear. Before she can do anything, an arrow slams into the goblin king's right eye socket. He lets out an ear-shattering screech, dropping the knife and clutching his skull. The prisoner hits the ground, whimpering. Bethea moves with the speed of a viper, leaping forward and burying her weapon in his gut. The shaft glows to a blinding golden light. Bethea tightens her grip and pulls to the side. The wooden length, imbued with her power, cuts through the creature's abdomen like the sharpest blade. It all but separates his torso from his legs, the two pieces connected only by a thin isthmus of flesh and skin. She sends silent thanks to Keyve, who she is sure is responsible for that show of marksmanship. The few remaining goblins gawk in shock at the mangled corpse of their dead ruler. They turn and flee as one, trampling and clawing at one another to flee from the mighty goddess. "Palie kill Biggie! Biggie dead!" Order begs her to give chase and cut them down to the last monster, but her use of her power has already depleted that generated by the confusion. Her weapons and armor shimmer and disappear, and Bethea falls to her knees with heavy breaths. Blinking to focus herself, Bethea sets to work freeing the prisoner. It's unlikely the goblins will be much of a threat now with their leader killed and the majority slain. [[Bethea kneels down and starts untying the crude knots binding the prisoner.|Ch2-Free]]

"No, I mean to go charging in there and for you to wait here." That statement certainly surprises Keyve, whose mutinous look quickly turns to one of shock. "Alone? That's suicide!" He shakes his head, dark hair bouncing lightly. "Two lives instead of one. Stupid. Out of the question." Bethea whirls on her heel, giving Keyve her back imperiously. "Just stay out of my way. I can handle myself." The goddess strides forward, making her way back towards the bonfire at the center of the goblin camp. Keyve shuffles along behind her and reaches out to grab her arm. "Are you even listening to me? Don't be daft!" Bethea pauses, looking down at his grip on her arm. "Look, I'm not some helpless damsel. Now go find someplace safe to hide." The blonde beauty pulls her hand free, not particularly liking the look she's getting from the man. She doesn't have time to ruminate on it, though: she has another prisoner to save. Putting Keyve from her mind, the goddess makes her way to the center of the goblin camp. As she nears the crowded gathering of gross creatures, the blonde beauty ducks into the shadow of a tent to scope things out. Dozens of the smelly brutes are congregated around the raging flame, pushing and snapping at one another territorially. The large goblin ruler stands before the bonfire, the tightly trussed woman kneeling in the dirt before him. Bethea looks her over. She appears to be mostly unmolested, although the gruesome goblin holds a wicked looking knife, resembling a fang more so than a blade. He crows excitedly, grabbing the woman's raven locks and slashing through them. Her muffled sobs grow louder as the luxurious strands start to flutter to the ground in hideous clumps. The goblins take in this show with some delight, chanting in a tribal manner. "Sack. Fice! Sack. Fice!" An animalistic growl of fury erupts from Bethea's throat at the sight. The furious goddess darts into the clearing in a flash of white and gold. The closest creatures turn in surprise at the sudden movement. Her fist slams into one, and it stumbles with a clawed paw clutching its snout. She hits another, knocking it to the ground, but her power resists her calls. The flame of her divinity flickers weakly, refusing to grant her the might she seeks. A pair of goblins slam into her lower body and lock their spindly limbs around her lithe legs. Bethea struggles to remain on her feet, toppling over as more goblins grab her and pull. Bethea, kicks, scratches, and claws at the creatures with equal parts fear and fury. More and more monsters dog-pile atop the writhing mass of bodies. Without her power, the goddess slowly succumbs to the weight of her assailants, her struggles weakening. "Rope-uh!" <<if $ch2_goblin_captured>>The blonde beauty feels the sinister slithering of scratchy strands over her skin. She growls, unable to preserve her recently won freedom.<<else>>The blonde beauty squirms as she feels the surprisingly coordinated creatures sliding lengths of rope over her smooth skin and binding her tightly.<<endif>> Soon she finds her wrists bound crudely behind her back, crossed over her lower spine. Her elbows are drawn close together with more rope wrapped and knotted in place around them. With their quarry mostly tied up, the goblins roll off her and pull her to her feet. Still exchanging excited chatter in their strange, guttural language, the creatures harshly lash Bethea's knees together to keep her from running off. Another rope is looped around her neck, knotted close to restrict her breathing. The free end is tucked through the front of her belt and held by a goblin like a leash. Forced to bend over or choke herself, the goddess is tightly trussed and hunched forward. The goblin ruler waddles forward, his whimpering prisoner forgotten in light of the beautiful firebrand before him. Circling the furious goddess, his gruesome paw smacks her left thigh. Squealing, Bethea tries to kick out at the monster, but with her knees trapped together she loses her balance and falls flat on her face. Looming over her with his wickedly sharp teeth curved in a sadistic smirk, the goblin king plants his foot on her head. "Palie no sack fice! Much fun, we keep!" His underlings hoot and holler, some enjoying the proclamation and others howling in outrage. Bethea seethes, thrashing about in her bonds. "Get your filthy foot off me, you beast!" Letting out a peculiar chuckle, the large brute jerks his head at the throng of goblins. "Take Palie Biggie's tent. Sack fice, then fun!" The goblins grab the prostrate goddess and drag her to her feet. Bethea spits and struggles, trying to dig her heels into the ground as the goblins raucously shove her forward. Annoyed by her struggles, the leash is tugged. The rope tightens around the goddesses neck and jerks her forward, nearly toppling her once more. Bent and bound, Bethea's struggles are futile as she is led away. [[Bethea groans in frustration, helpless and unable to break free.|Ch2-BadEnd]]

<<set $true_path = false>>\ <<set $ch2_sneak = true>>\ Bethea sighs, casting a look towards the camp. Raucous sounds filter through the camp from the central bonfire, the goblins clearly worked into a frenzy by their ruler. "... Fine. We're no good to her captured, and the two of us alone don't stand much of a chance against a whole pack of those... things." Keyve gives her a weak smile. "It's always a pleasure to deal with someone who has a logical brain." He moves to step past the goddess, but she catches his arm. Her blue eyes remain fixed on the flickering light of the bonfire. Bethea's voice emerges in a hissing whisper. "Before we sneak out of here, let's be honest with ourselves. You can't go anywhere on this island for help, and from the fact that I took my time to free you, you can probably guess that I'm not exactly popular around these parts either." Keyve's lack of reaction tells Bethea he'd already guessed something to that effect, but he says nothing. The mysterious man simply stares stonily into the woods. "If we walk out of here, we're leaving her here to die. You okay with that?" Keyve shuffles nervously, glancing at his feet before giving Bethea a sidelong glance in his first real sign of contrition. "Not super happy about it, but I'm not gonna get myself killed over her if that's what you're asking. You?" Bethea waits for a moment, then lets out another sigh. "Can't save everyone I suppose. Doesn't mean I have to like it." Keyve nods, swallowing visibly before walking towards the treeline with purpose. "Glad we understand one another." Bethea falls in step behind him, angry at herself, him, and the entire situation. They walk in silence for a few moments before a blood-curdling scream splits the night. Bethea grimaces, noticing Keyve's back stiffen. Wordlessly, the pair continues to walk away from the goblin camp. They move quickly, putting as much distance as possible between them and the rabid pack of goblins. Keyve struggles to keep up with Bethea, the goddess moving like a woman possessed. To his credit, though, he scrambles along behind without complaint. Their pace quickly has them back at the road. Deciding to travel on the road proper for a time to quicken their path, Bethea starts making her way west. It takes her a few moments before she realizes Keyve isn't following her. The blonde beauty halts, looking back to where the nearly naked man stands in the middle of the road. "Well, are you coming?" His eyes narrow. Keyve folds his arms, leaning with feigned nonchalance against the trunk of a tree. "Where, exactly, are you going? Because all I want to do is get off this rock, but clearly you have other plans since the port is this way." He jerks his head southwards. Bethea eyes him curiously, unsure how much to tell him. He doesn't seem to be the particularly charitable type, so she doubts he'd be much help. "The mine. I have... something I need to get." Keyve snorts. "Yeah. Captured." Shaking his head, he stands up straight. "Look, good luck with that. I mean it, no sarcasm here." Keyve smiles roguishly. "Just a warning, that place is locked up tight. Paranoid bunch of guards there, too. I appreciate the rescue and all, but I can only stick my neck out so far." Bethea nods, shrugging. "I understand. May the Goddess bless your travels. And stay away from the goblins, I'm not saving you again." "Goblins? I suppose it fits, they'll eat anything." With an oddly cheery wave, Keyve turns on his heel and saunters down the road. "Stay out of trouble, toots." Bethea shakes her head, watching him go. She can't really tell if she wants their paths to cross again or not. Keyve is certainly a strange fellow. With the distance put between herself and the goblin camp, the goddess decides that she has more to fear from guards and soldiers patrolling the roads than she does from creatures in the brush. Blonde hair glittering in the moonlight, she slips into the trees and shadows the road. After a lengthy walk, following the trail takes Bethea out of the trees and into open ground. It's not exactly a plain, the land rough and hilly, the surface broken up by large rocks and crags. Surprisingly close, heretofore hidden by the dense foliage, stands an imposing mountain. The rocky peak is no more than a league away from the treeline. Bethea can see the tell-tale flicker of a dancing flame against the base of the mountain. That must be the copper mine, or the encampment outside at any rate. While not nearly as concealing as the shadows of the wood, Bethea is able to find some cover in the uneven landscape. While her travel through the darkness has heretofore been hindered by her lack of a light, it proves a boon in keeping herself concealed on the open ground. The goddess makes good time, arriving at the outskirts of the camp while the moon still dominates the night sky. Bethea creeps forward in a low crouch to observe the fortifications and prepare a plan. [[Hidden by darkness, Bethea sneaks forward to investigate the mine.|Ch2-Mine]]

// The moon bathes the mountain plateau in cold blue light. It settles calmly over the empty temple roof, unbroken in its descent. Twelve fluted columns, thick like the eldest of oaks, stand in silent mourning of the broken and crumpled shields dotting the courtyard below. The cracked and shattered remains of once noble stone beasts cling lifelessly to their tips. Nothing moves atop the mountain, a dead silence weaving through the menagerie of statues. Dozens of statues, frozen monuments to the variety of life, dot the hillside and the temple courtyard, female faces frozen into grotesque contortions of shocked fear and unbridled rage. Wind whips the sea into a frothy frenzy, wave after wave crashing angrily into the shoreline. The sea protests the very presence of the invaders' ships by beaching them upon the sand. The three solitary peaks cast monolithic shadows across the turbulent tide, rising in fearsome dominance against the clear night sky, uncowed by the unwelcome ants crawling beneath. Deep beneath the highest summit, tucked away from the angry moon like a gang of weasels ravaging a rabbit's warren, an army of cloaked figures chant monotonously around a slab of obsidian glass, colored as the deepest crevices of the sea. Its pure surface bounces the flickering torch light in every direction, appearing more alive than the mountain's now dead temple under the undulating array of reflections. A thick gold chain composed of sixty solid links is bundled about the impressive shard, shimmering in the light of the flames. The chanting remains a constant thrum, each voice uttering the same three word phrase in perfect unison to form a physical force of sound. A lone figure stands apart from the throng, shrouded in a hazy black cloak and a thick mist of mystery. His right hand clutches an impressive sarissa, exceeding his own domineering height by nearly a full head and sporting a wickedly sharp blade. His bony left hand hangs limply at his side. The deadly polearm emits a hue of golden light, bathing its wielder in a soft glow. With the dark fabric of his cloak snapping like thunder, the figure smashes the weapon into the golden chain. The malleable metal cracks but holds firm, rebuffing the blow. Accompanied by a ferocious cry mirrored by each and every chanter, the spear falls onto the chain again and again. Each strike introduces more fissures and dents into the precious links of the chain. Finally, the chain snaps. Golden chips rocket about the cavern with enough force to draw blood. The obsidian slab shudders, shaking under some unseen force. A raucous cheer shakes the entire subterranean system, molten liquid bubbling out from beneath the massive black rock. The figure smiles, the ice of his blue eyes burning hotter than the bubbling lava. // ----- Bethea wakes with a start. ----- <<print $land_name>> yet tumbles towards an irreversible calamity, the forces of hatred and bitterness marching towards one another to create utter bedlam. Monsters ooze from the darkest crevices of the continent to wrestle with the people. Only one can prevent the madness, yet only with better decisions may she succeed. Use the navigation buttons in the menu to go back and try again, or click [[here|Ch2-Start]] to begin the chapter anew.

"Oh thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou!" As soon as she's free from the scratchy ropes, the prisoner flings herself at Bethea and traps her in a vicious hug. "IthoughtIwasgoingtodie, theyweregoingtoeatme!" Trapped in the awkward embrace, Bethea pats the girl's shoulder lightly. "There there, you're safe now." "Iwassoscared, butyouweresoincredible!" The never-ending torrent of words hurts Bethea's ears, making her grimace. Gently, the goddess tries to push the babbling beauty away to loosen her grip, but to no avail. "Erm... excuse me... I..." Keyve bursts into the clearing, still wearing nothing but the scrap of loincloth around his waist. He's a little worse for wear, with a few minor cuts on his torso, one more noticeable slash across his cheek. A wooden bow is slung across his chest, a half-empty quiver held in his hand. Hearing his approach, the babbling woman shrieks and scrambles to get behind her rescuer. Recognition flares in her eyes, and the fear quickly turns to anger. "This is all YOUR fault!" The petite young woman stomps over to Keyve in high dudgeon, uncaring of his or her lack of clothing. "You lying thief!" Her hand snaps out towards his face, but the dark-haired man nimbly ducks beneath the slap. "Marianna..." Another swing, another duck. "Just calm down, it's not like you think..." The scorned woman ignores Keyve's protests, stomping angrily after him and flailing her arms wildly. "You lying..." Woosh! "lecherous..." Wiff! "thieving..." Whish! "...asshole!" While managing to deftly dodge an impressive number of strikes, Keyve stumbles backwards over the corpse of a goblin. He falls down in a tumble of limbs with a yelp of surprise. Sensing victory, Marianna pulls back her hand for a vicious slap. Keyve braces for the attack. It never comes. Bethea deftly catches the irate woman's wrist, staying her assault. "Calm. Down." Turning, Marianna glares at her blonde rescuer. Sputtering, she gestures angrily towards Keyve. "I demand that you arrest this... this... man!" The final word drips with malice. Bethea opens her mouth to speak, but she is cut off. "Wait a second... you let him go, didn't you? You released him before saving me!" Scuttling backwards, the hysterical woman casts her gaze about wildly. "You're in cahoots! You planned this whole thing!" The goddess takes a step forwards, trying to calm Marianna down, but that only excites her further. "I'll make sure all three of you rot in a hole!" Whirling on her heel, Marianna speeds blindly away into the darkness. Shocked, Bethea starts to hurry after her, but Keyve's voice stops her. "Don't bother. She'll be fine, rat-faced gremlins ran off in the other direction and they aren't smart enough or brave enough to circle back around." Frowning, Bethea turns back to the supine scoundrel, who has yet to rise from the ground. "I should make you go after her, this is clearly your fault." Bethea scowls at him, noting the cut on his cheek again. While not overly deep, blood seeps through the slash. Keyve shrugs, finally sitting up. "Not ENTIRELY my fault to be fair." Bethea raises a brow. That would explain the chit's use of three instead of two. "Besides, even though you're not involved, she thinks you are. Her mum'll have you in prison before the morning." Keyve turns to look at Bethea, a knowing glint in his eye. "Furthermore, you helped me out. One has to figure you're not exactly popular around here yourself." Bethea's lips compress into a thin line. "How very keen of you." Keyve quirks his lips in a week smile. "They don't call me Keenve for nothing." Despite herself, the blonde goddess lets out a chuckle. Spying a dented metal goblet discarded near the main fire, Bethea grabs it. "I'll grab some water so you can wash out that cut. Can't imagine those goblins' claws are sanitary." Keyve snorts. "Goblins. A fitting name for the greedy mongrels." Bethea smiles, turning. "Find some clothes while I'm gone. You look ridiculous." [[Bethea makes her way through the deserted camp towards the creek she spied earlier.|Ch2-WalkMineKeyve]]

The mountain rises up from the ground, dominating its surroundings. The flickering lights of the fortifications illuminate the near face, save for the gaping black maw a short ways up the slope. No doubt that is the mine entrance. The encampment sits at the north side of the peak, sandwiched between the mighty mount and the cold sea. Sharp wooden palisades protect the ramshackle log structures, from three directions. The stone of the mountain protects the fourth. In theory one could get around the walls by climbing the slope, but it is very steep. Any climbers would be exposed to the guards below. The only sensible way in is the front. A gap in the walls meets the approaching road, but the entrance is guarded by two armored women. Their attire matches that of the city guards, simple copper armaments with midnight blue tunics. The construction of the buildings pales in comparison to the mighty architecture of Gynepolis. The camp is made up of little more than log huts of varying dimensions yet all composed of only a single story. Two large longhouses sit side by side at the foot of the mountain. If Bethea were forced to bet, she'd guess that those are the barracks and prisoners' quarters. Albeit difficult to see from her current angle and distance, she spies a window of sorts on the closer one. Most likely that's the barracks, then. She isn't sure what the smaller buildings are, perhaps officers' quarters or ore processing stations. The only other structure is an open air stable of sorts along the foot of the mountain, although there are no animals inside that she can see. In addition to the guards at the gate, Bethea spies a handful more patrolling the compound. At least four more. Each carries a torch, and additional torches stand in sconces along the walls. Even though it is the dead of night, the many light sources have the camp well-lit with few potential hiding places. <<if $ch2_keyve>>\ Bethea slowly backs away, motioning for Keyve to follow her. The pair quietly and cautiously move far enough away to have a whispered discussion without being overheard. "Any idea how many guards there are?" "I saw four when I was here two days ago, but none of the ones on duty tonight look familiar. At least as far as I can tell from here. So at least ten, possibly more, is a safe bet." Bethea purses her lips, thinking through their options. "With the two of us, we could probably subdue them if we're smart. You stay back and fire arrows to keep them occupied while I get in close." The goddess cracks her knuckles, a gleam in her eye. "Ten at once would be difficult, but if we're smart we can neutralize them in small groups before they can organize. Lock them in their own cells." Keyve shakes his head incredulously. "That sounds risky. And stupid. It'd be much easier if I caused a distraction to get most of the guards out here looking for me, while you slip inside." Bethea thinks for a moment, weighing the merits of Keyve's plan. "Don't you need to talk to one of the prisoners?" Keyve nods. "Once you're in, you'll release them all and that will cause all sorts of confusion for the guards. I'll grab the one I want and bug out while they're busy and you can do whatever it is you need to do." Neither plan sounds foolproof to the goddess, but she has to choose one. [[Bethea settles for Keyve's plan, letting him distract the guards to let her sneak in.|Ch2-KeyveDistraction]] [[Bethea decides to follow her original plan of attacking the camp head on.|Ch2-KeyveAttack]] <<else>>\ Bethea wishes she could simply fly over the barriers, but she might as well announce her presence via trumpets for all the lack of stealth. She'd have to fight her way through the entire garrison, and she has no clue as to how many guards there are. Fighting is not a valid option. Seemingly her only way forward is to sneak in. Unfortunately, the encampment is well-defended and thoroughly locked down. Managing to sneak in would be quite the feat indeed. Of course, she could simply try to walk in. In theory it's possible news of the heinous heretic hasn't reached this remote outpost. Unlikely, though, considering at least a full day has passed. Still, the commander might be willing to listen to something she has to say. According to Damasca, the guards have already fought the goblins before, so Bethea may be able to leverage her own fight against the creatures to talk her way inside. It's a long shot, but then all her options are severely limited. [[Bethea creeps forward, trying to sneak past the watch.|Ch2-SneakMine]] [[Bethea stands to her full height, approaching the two guards at the gate slowly and with her hands up.|Ch2-Approach]] <<endif>>\

After retrieving her torch and dousing it in the creek to hide her presence, Bethea follows the retreating monsters for nigh on an hour, although the going is slow and the group covers comparatively little ground. Their unorganized retreat takes them through the woods, back into the denser parts of the forest. By Bethea's estimates she's still moving west, as the terrain is growing hilly and rocky. In the distance, Bethea sees the flickering glow of flames. She sucks in a breath: the creatures must have a camp. The monsters disappear over a ridge. Following discreetly so as not to draw attention, Bethea slips up to the ridge and crouches down to survey the encampment. She inhales sharply. A small creek meanders along the southern side of the dip, skirting the perimeter of the camp nestled inside. There's a surprising lack of trees, whether felled by the creatures or prevented from growing to begin with Bethea knows not. The camp is more sophisticated than the appearance of the monsters would suggest. A large central bonfire burns bright, with a large number of the offensive beasts pushing and fighting against each other around it. Nestled amongst the shadows near the fire is a large pile or mound of... something. From up here, it is difficult to tell what it is. Tents large and small dot the ravine with smaller fires interspersed amongst them. A large, circular tent dominates the smaller triangular ones. Based on the relatively high quality of the tent fabrics, Bethea guesses that some humans are missing their tents. Hopefully they aren't missing their heads too. The sheer number of creatures is mind boggling, dozens upon dozens of the odorous cretins. A large group is clustered around the central bonfire, their strange, guttural utterances lost in the distance. Their movements appear tribal, primitive, but in a ritualistic way. Something is afoot. Going down there is risky, but Bethea's Virtue of Order screams for her to right whatever grievous wrong created these... things. Sticking to the shadows and the brush, the blonde-haired beauty stealthily picks her way down the hill towards the camp. The perimeter is deserted, and Bethea uses the empty tents as cover to sneak closer to the raging bonfire. Listening closely, the goddess begins to pick up on some of their conversations, although translating them into intelligible words is another matter entirely. Nevertheless, their chattering seems excited and anticipatory. Bethea finds a small tent partially shielded from the large collection of creatures by an uprooted tree. Peering inside and finding it empty, the goddess slips inside. The tiny abode is bare save a forlorn knife. It is a poor excuse for a blade, made of rough stone and haphazardly fashioned to a stick with twine. The monsters that had attacked the goddess had used rope, though, so Bethea slips the knife into her belt. It may come in handy. She hides in the tent, peering out through the branches of the dead tree and watching the gathering of ugly beasts. One of the creatures, larger than the others, preens in the center of them. The... thing stands a head and shoulders above the other creatures. Its arms are slightly thicker, more defined and human-like than the spindly wing-like arms of the ones Bethea trounced in the forest. Its torso is big and round like a barrel, although Bethea wouldn't really describe it as fat either. While big, Bethea would wager he still only rises to her navel or thereabouts. A rough circlet made of twine and teeth adorns its furry brow. The creature screeches in horrifically ear-shattering fashion. The blonde goddess winces, covering her ears. The other creatures stop chattering and still, deferring to the brute. His voice is slightly deeper and steadier, although it speaks in the same nearly incomprehensible language. "Bring boo-som palie. Palie make sack fice!" All gobblin' boo-som." It flicks a claw towards the back of the camp, baring its teeth at the other creatures. "Make sack fice. All us gobblin'." The leader's speech is slightly more complex than his kin. She can't really tell if the creature is implying that they'll be eating this "boo-som" or if they refer to themselves as goblins, but she decides that it's as good a name for the disgusting beasts as any. The goblin ruler starts to bark out orders. "Boo-som palie. Biggie's roost." The entire camp starts to rush back towards the opposite side of the camp. Following the direction of the goblin king's claw with her gaze, Bethea sees a large rock jutting out of the far hill, creating a small, sheltered space beneath it. The ruler snarls, shaking his head. The teeth of his crown slap lightly against his skin at his vigorous movements. He chatters incoherently before holding up two claws. "Dis. Rest bye-bye." Another wave of biting, scratching and brawling ensues before two of the monsters come out victorious. Crooning in glee, they scamper off on all fours towards the overhang. With a feeling of dread settling in her stomach, Bethea slips out of her hiding place and follows them discreetly. The tents and shadows provide copious cover, and the goblins appear to be a rather dull lot, so the goddess is able to move undetected. Bethea sneaks through the camp, approaching the overhang. Time and weather have worn away the dirt from beneath the rock slab, creating a natural bunker of sorts. The goblins have set up a small collection of wooden cages beneath it. The area is barely illuminated, a small campfire the only source of light with the stone obscuring the heavens. Given the two large (relative to their own kind, anyway) creatures standing guard, it's understandable that there aren't more of the ghastly things milling about the area. One is even sporting a simple bronze helm, shaped like an upturned bowl with a single metal spike on top. Bethea hunkers down, watching as the two goblins from the main group approach the guards. The two brutes give the newcomers a snarl, and receive a few in response. The guards posture angrily, beating their fists against the ground. One goblin points at the cages. "Biggie want boo-som. Make sack fice." The contraptions appear... less than sturdy. They are composed of dead sticks and branches no doubt scavenged from the surrounding woodlands. Scratchy rope is lashed in place at the joints to hold the small boxes together. They are small, looking more fit to cage a goblin than a person. A human just barely fits when scrunched over into a tight ball. Bethea can tell because to her great surprise, the goblins have two prisoners. Their features are difficult to discern in the dim light, but the goddess is able to determine that a man and a woman occupy the cages. They are also nearly naked, clothed only in their undergarments. Both are tightly trussed and scrunched into a compact ball to be able to fit in their cages. A soft whimpering comes from the woman's cage, but the man watches the arguing goblins keenly. Bethea briefly wonders where the goblins obtained a man so close to Gynepolis, but then remembers they originally came from the mine. There'd be no shortage there. After a short, tense conversation, one of the large monsters shambles over to the woman's cage and starts sawing at some of the ropes. It doesn't take very long before one side of the small prison is free and falls flat in the dirt. The creature reaches inside and drags the bound woman out by her feet. She shrieks and thrashes furiously, her protests coming out garbled and unintelligible. No doubt she's wearing a gag. Bethea seethes in frustration as the two messengers help the guard drag the poor, sobbing woman back towards the bonfire. Every fiber of the goddess's being begs her to intervene, but she's not in a great position to help. She knows first hand how loud the smelly creatures can be, and if she were to charge in four against one they'd surely bring the entire camp down on her head. She doesn't have much of a choice but to wait for a more opportune moment. The three goblins drag the sobbing prisoner off towards the bonfire, leaving just one two watch the caged man. Seeing her opportunity, Bethea sneaks around so that she's behind the semicircle of cages. The goddess slips forward in a crouch, moving silently and quickly up towards the guard from the rear. Withdrawing the crude knife from her belt, Bethea creeps up on the lone guard from behind. Inching forward on the balls of her feet, the beauty ignores the prisoner's sound of surprise and focuses entirely on her prey. She waits until she's nearly breathing down his neck to strike. Darting forward, golden hair shimmering in the light of the small fire, the goddess reaches around the goblin with her left hand and wraps it around his snout. Her fingers tighten, keeping him from crying out and alerting his kin. Simultaneously, Bethea's right hand jams the knife into the base of his throat and pulls. His artery bursts open in a geyser of crimson blood. Bethea releases his snout and lets him fall. The goblin clutches his throat, a soft gurgling noise the only sign of his swift death. Wiping the blood from her arms, the goddess moves over to the occupied cage. Bethea makes short work of the cage's door and pulls out the bound man inside. Clad only in rope and his underclothes, Bethea can't help but catch an excellent view of his body. He isn't overly muscular, lacking the large bulk of one who relies primarily on brute strength. Rather, his body is well defined and lean, sporting toned yet muted muscles. The man lacks the fat of one who lives a sedentary existence. Bethea realizes that he's watching her peruse him over his heavily-stuffed mouth. Blushing, she reaches behind his head and cuts away the rope. The prisoner spits out a giant wad of cloth. Bethea grimaces, knowing all too well how uncomfortable the gag must have been. He studies her as she sets to work cutting away his bonds. "Thanks. Name's Keyve." Bethea remains focused on her task, careful not to slice his skin. "Beth." Arms free, the former prisoner starts massaging feeling back into his legs as the goddess cuts the rest of his ropes away. "Thanks for the rescue. Nasty little cretins, those things. I'll be glad to be away from here." Bethea quirks a brow, slicing through the last rope with a flourish of the pitiful knife and rising to her full height. Keyve stands up, dusting himself off. The tip of his head comes up to just under Bethea's eyes. "Hang on, we can't leave just yet. We've got some things to take care of. Rescuing your... friend, for one." Keyve grimaces. "Yeah, uh... friend. Definitely." Bethea wings a brow at his peculiar hesitation, but doesn't believe now is the best time to press for the truth. She turns back to the dead goblin and pulls his corpse back underneath the overhang. Bethea pushes the corpse into Keyve's cage. It wouldn't fool anyone for long, but it's better than leaving it out in the open. Finished, she turns back towards the goblin camp and studies it from the cover of the shadows. Keyve slips up behind her, speaking softly in her ear. "How do you plan about doing that? Cut them all down with your fancy sword?" He gestures to the bloody stone knife in her hand. Bethea rolls her eyes, focusing on planning a strategy. "If you can't be useful then keep quiet." There are dozens of the foul creatures, but most of them seem congregated around the central campfire and large tent. The rest of the place is nigh on deserted. Perhaps they could find some better weapons in one of the tents. After all, Bethea had already witnessed the goblins using stolen armor, why not stolen weapons? <<if $chaos >= 1>>\ Bethea closes her eyes, tapping into her power. It thrums in response, eager to spill some goblin blood. Surely the mangy animals don't stand much of a chance against a mighty goddess? <<else>>\ Bethea closes her eyes, attempting to tap into her power. Her battles have exhausted her, leaving the goddess not so very goddess-like at the moment. She might not be able to rely on her natural strength to take down the monsters, but trying might be her best option. After all, it worked the last time. <<endif>>\ Bethea bites her lip, thinking. Keyve nervously peers over his shoulder to the beckoning darkness of the forest. "Surely you don't mean for the two of us to go charging in there after her, do you? Wouldn't it be better to come back with help?" Bethea twists around to look at him over her shoulder. The woman would surely die before they ever returned, and neither a heretic on the run nor a man would be likely to find much help so close to Gynepolis. Still, a foolhardy rescue attempt might cost two lives (and a mountain of pain for Bethea) rather than just one. [[Keeping low to avoid detection, Bethea sneaks through the camp looking for some stronger weaponry, beckoning for Keyve to follow.|Ch2-Weapon]] <<if $chaos >= 1>>\ [[Trusting her power, Bethea charges into the goblin's camp to face them with brute force.|Ch2-Charge][$chaos -= 1]] <<else>>\ [[Trusting her power, Bethea charges into the goblin's camp to face them with brute force.|Ch2-Defeated]] <<endif>>\ [[Deciding that in this instance discretion is the better part of valor, Bethea acquiesces and follows Keyve into the shadows of the forest.|Ch2-Sneak]]

"Palie hurt! Us gobblin' other." The creatures scramble off into the night noisily, the crash of foliage and screeches of annoyance shattering the previous silence of the night. She can hear the faint splashing of their no doubt filthy feet in the creek as they flee. Bethea isn't certain what exactly they're off to gobble, but she's glad it isn't her. She can't shake the feeling that letting the goblins go (as good a name for the peculiar monsters as any) is a major miscalculation. However, she well knows the danger the artifact in the mine represents. It is priority number one. Retrieving her torch from where it fell during the melee, the blonde beauty continues on her journey. Fortunately the wet foliage isn't conducive to burning, and she is easily able to stamp out the small fire in the grass. After waiting for a moment to ensure that the monsters won't circle back and follow her, Bethea continues on her way. The night reverts to its previous silence, a blanket of darkness muffling the forest. The goddess proceeds much more carefully after her run in with the grasping goblins, freezing and taking stock of every minute sound around her. Only the occasional owl or small mammal skitters by, though. No monsters. After a lengthy walk, the road takes Bethea out of the trees and into open ground. It's not exactly a plain, the land rough and hilly, the surface broken up by large rocks and crags. Surprisingly close, heretofore hidden by the dense foliage, stands an imposing mountain. The rocky peak is no more than a league away from the treeline. Bethea can see the tell-tale flicker of a dancing flame against the base of the mountain. That must be the copper mine, or the encampment outside at any rate. While not nearly as concealing as the shadows of the wood, Bethea is able to find some cover in the uneven landscape. She avoids standing atop any rises with her torch shining for leagues like a beacon, instead skulking through the lower areas and only popping her head up to remain on course. The goddess makes good time, arriving at the outskirts of the camp while the moon still dominates the night sky. Loathe as she is to abandon her torch knowing she must enter the dark mine in the near future, it would make her easy for the guards to spot. Extinguishing it, Bethea creeps forward in a low crouch to observe the fortifications and prepare a plan. [[Hidden by darkness, Bethea sneaks forward to investigate the mine.|Ch2-Mine]]

While sneaking in seems to be a gargantuan task, Bethea doesn't believe the guards would be receptive to a parley. Maintaining a low crouch, Bethea slips towards one of the darker sections of the wall. Moving slowly so as not to make overmuch noise, the goddess searches for an alternate way inside. With the sharpened stakes forming the palisade, there's no safe way to climb the wall. Try as she might, the blonde beauty is unable to find a hole to slip through. The only option appears to be climbing the mountain. Bethea slips across the relatively open ground slow and low to avoid detection. She ducks into the wall's shadow next to the mountain's face to plan her route up. A cliff face would be a more accurate description. The natural topography appears to have been hewn away to leave a vertical surface, although there are some jagged outcroppings and holes in the rock. No doubt the cliff is yet another defensive measure to protect the camp, although the goddess has a sneaking suspicion that the intention is to keep the slaves in rather than intruders out. Bethea sees a route for climbing up, but it's well lit by the torches along the walls. She'll need to be quick and lucky to avoid detection. From her current position, the goddess can't see any of the guards and has no idea where they are looking. She climbs a short way up the rock face and peers through the spikes of the palisade in an attempt to rectify this, her view is still less than desirable. Other than confirming that the guards at the gate haven't moved, Bethea isn't able to see the other guards. Having delayed too much already, the blonde beauty does her best to scramble up the cliff as quickly and quietly as possible. Her initial climb is moderately successful, getting her over the wall as she grabs the meager hand-holds and pulls herself up. Moving swiftly, the goddess looks for a place to climb down. She moves away from the wall, glancing down behind her in search of the guards. Unfortunately, her foot slips on a loose rock. It clatters down to the ground below, knocking others loose in a small shower of natural debris. "Hey! You there, on the wall! Stop!" Her mishap having seemingly alerted the guards, Bethea glances towards the palisade. She's too far to go back over, so her only options are being isolated on the rock face or to jump down into the camp. With only one viable, Bethea flings herself downwards. She lands with a thud, tucking into a ball and rolling to help dissipate her momentum. A guard rounds the corner at a run, charging towards Bethea. Rising to her full height, the goddess lifts her knee to her chest and thrusts her leg forward with force. She catches the soldier by surprise, her sandaled foot slamming into the woman's breastplate and knocking her flat on her back. Taking off at a sprint, Bethea searches for a place to hide. She can hear the thundering of footsteps all around her as the garrison springs into action. Unfortunately, the camp is uncluttered and organized with few places to hide. Avoiding the larger buildings for fear of stumbling into a barracks, Bethea finds the smaller buildings locked. No hiding in there. The footsteps are getting closer, and the goddess can hear shouted orders and commands right around the corner. "Over here! I've found her!" Whirling, Bethea finds herself staring down a diminutive redhead. Letting out a shrill shout of fury, the guard charges at Bethea with her club aloft. The goddess nimbly ducks beneath the weapon, snapping her leg out to trip the woman and send her face first into the dirt. Before she can follow up, a large body slams into Bethea's back. Miraculously, the goddess manages to remain on her feet, stumbling to maintain her balance. Her assailant takes advantage of the goddess's surprise to snag her wrist in a vice-like grip. The goddess cries out, her shoulder burning as her arm is twisted into a painful hammerlock. Struggling to escape, Bethea is unprepared as a second arm snakes around from behind her. A large, meaty hand clamps down forcefully over her nose and mouth in airtight fashion. Struggling for air and wiggling to try and free herself from the armlock, the goddess is at a distinct disadvantage. Bending her knees and shoving back, Bethea tries to throw her opponent off balance. Her efforts meet a wall of solid muscle, though, her amazonian attacker at least a head taller. Shaking her head desperately, the goddess is unable to dislodge the thumb and forefinger from her nose. Lacking air, the blonde beauty feels her vision dimming. Gathering her strength for one last ditch escape attempt, Bethea thrusts her weight backwards. The move takes her assailant by surprise, toppling both of them onto the ground. Bethea lands atop the amazon, but the hold doesn't abate. A groan is the only reaction Bethea can sense. Big, muscular thighs suddenly slip around her and clamp tightly around her abdomen. Had she the air to do so, Bethea would cry out in pain as her stomach is crushed by the powerful legs. Weakened and totally trapped, Bethea whimpers softly as she slips into unconsciousness, unable to escape the brutal hold or breathe through the meaty paw smothering her airway. [[Unconscious, Bethea is dragged away.|Ch2-MineCapture]]

Considering the tight security, Bethea opts for the more straightforward approach. If sneaking in, she'd likely be caught and forced to explain herself anyway. The guards have a better chance of listening to her if she approaches them honestly in her estimation. Rising to her feet, Bethea makes for the road and walks confidently towards the gate. The guards sense the goddess's approach before they can see her fully in the gloom. One of them calls out authoritatively, squinting towards Bethea's vague shape. "Who goes there? Show yourself, but slowly!" Obeying, Bethea makes her way forward until she's standing just within the flicking light of their torches. She holds her hands up in non-threatening fashion. "I..." "Get on the ground!" Recognizing her, one of the guards starts towards her, reaching for her weapon. Her partner, slightly older with wiry grey hair, puts a staying grip on her arm. "Back off, this could be a trap." Stepping forward, the older woman holds up her torch. "What are you doing here, heretic? You can't possibly think news hasn't reached us of your crimes." Bethea notes the guard has an old cut along the side of her face, jagged and uneven. Both guards' armor sports a few dents and chips. They've clearly seen combat, and recently. The goddess has a pretty good idea with whom. Bethea has no choice but to admire the woman's sharp intellect. Rather than moving closer and putting herself right in their hands before coming to an agreement, the blonde beauty keeps her distance and hovers just at the edge of the light. "I need to talk to your commander. I have information about those... creatures." Their faces remain impassive, so Bethea contin ues. "Short, hairy, like to screech loudly and grab things." She looks between the two soldiers pointedly. "Based on the state of your armor you know what I'm talking about. And you might be interested to know where they're hiding. The ones still alive, that is." That gets their attention, the two guards sharing a look. The younger one still glares in Bethea's direction. "As if we'd ever trust anything you have to say. You're... !" Her older partner shoots her a look. "Go inform the Captain." The dark-haired firebrand appears to want to argue, but the grey-haired soldier's look is made of iron. Letting out an exasperated huff, the angry woman whirls on her heel and storms into the camp. She intercepts one of the patrolling guards and motions to her. Together, the pair disappears behind one of the buildings. She shoots Bethea one final glare over her shoulder before moving behind the structure. The remaining guard eyes Bethea with suspicion. Her hands rest on her belt, one on the hilt of her club. The pose is no doubt practiced to exude calm, but she appears anything but. "I don't know what your play is, but I don't trust you. One wrong move and I'll put you in chains myself." Her look is hard and unyielding, but Bethea returns it in kind, saying nothing rather than going on pointlessly and potentially giving something away. They wait for a few moments, sizing each other up in the dim light. Eventually, the other gate guard returns with two others marching behind her. Bethea can feel the heat of the woman's furious stare on her skin. "The captain will speak to you. Please follow me." She looks like she'd rather ask a snake to bite her, but nevertheless she turns and motions for Bethea to follow her. Two guards, including the older gray-haired one, wait for the goddess to move, but she motions them ahead. "Please, you go first. I insist." Not particularly happy about being ordered about, the guards nonetheless do move ahead of her. No doubt they recognize the goddess doesn't trust them. Bethea moves cautiously through the gate, following the four soldiers. Moving with purpose, the quartet of guards lead Bethea into the camp, turning past the largest two structures and heading towards a smaller log structure in the back. <<if $ch1_escape>>\ Bethea is brought to the front door of the building. One of the new guards raps on the door sharply. Nothing happens for a brief moment, and the goddess feels all eyes on her. "Come in." Wordlessly, the guards open the door and stand at attention. Bethea moves forward and steps through the door, feeling all of their stares burning into her back. [[Bethea steps into the room, hopefully to speak with the camp commander.|Ch2-Meet]] <<else>>\ Suddenly, as the group rounds a corner, someone attacks Bethea from behind! Before she can react, she feels a coarse cloth clamped down over her nose and mouth, blocking her airway. Inhaling in surprise, the goddess detects a sickeningly sweet smell. Within seconds, her brain is muddled and jumbled. Trying her best to fight, she tries to grab for the hand crushing her lower face in a vice-like grip, but the attacker's other arm snakes around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. Apparently having expected the attack, three of the four guards leap at Bethea and lock their arms around her, further trapping her and restricting her movement. Eyelids heavy, the last sight Bethea sees is the older, grey-haired guard looking on with some confusion at the scene. Her brain, taxed by the drug, shuts down and the blonde beauty goes limp in their arms. [[Bethea's unconscious form is dragged away by the guards.|Ch2-MineCapture]] <<endif>>\

<<set $ch2_commander = true>>\ Bethea steps cautiously inside. The small building seemingly consists of a single room. It is sparse yet quaint. A small desk and two chairs sit on the opposite end of the room, one chair on either side of the desk. Two flickering candles sit atop it next to a neat stack of ledgers and an inkwell, illuminating the room for her perusal. Save for one well dominated by a large shelf of more ledgers, scrolls, and books, the room is spartan and undecorated. The door through which she entered is the only one, although the far wall sports a tiny window. A small stone statue of Althea, garbed in her ferocious battle gear, occupies the windowsill. A tall woman sits in the chair behind the desk. Her features are somewhat difficult to discern from across the dark room. She motions her hand towards the goddess, gesturing towards the chair. "Please, have a seat." Warily, Bethea crosses the room and sits in the unoccupied chair. No doubt this is the captain, as she motions dismissively towards the guards who accompanied Bethea. "Leave us. Back to your posts." Bethea doubts the guards are overly happy about the command, but by the click of the door closing behind her they comply nonetheless. She doesn't bother to look, too busy studying her host. The captain is a slender woman, the top of her head just in line with Bethea's eyes in their seated positions. Her hair is a rich brown in color, the gentle, flickering of the candles making it dance a lively amber to match her golden brown eyes. While not elderly by any stretch, the captain's face does sport some shallow wrinkles, although they are only visible under intense scrutiny. Clearly she has been woken from her sleep, as her slender body is clad only in a prim sleeping gown. The garment has full length sleeves and falls all the way to her ankles. The two study each other for a long minute, remaining silent and waiting for the other to make the first move. Eventually, the captain leans forward in her chair and speaks. "You told my people you had information about the monster menace? If that's no longer true, they'll be happy to see you to the gaol." Bethea smiles, leaning back and meeting the captain's gaze with an arrogantly serene smile pasted on. "My name is Beth. Nice to meet you too, Captain... ?" The woman merely raises an eyebrow in response to the goddess's cheek. Unless Bethea is mistaken, she does her best to suppress a smile. Good to know her host isn't entirely without humor. "Penelope." Bethea inclines her head. <<if $ch2_sneak>>"I ran into those creatures east of here, in the forest. They have a camp of some sort by the creek." She leans forward in her seat, pinning Penelope with a knowing look. "A small army of them out there, although I suspect you already knew that.<<else>>"Some of those... things jumped me in the woods east of here. They fled south, towards the coast." Bethea leans forward, resting her elbows on the arms of her chair. "I think there's more out there. A lot of them."<<endif>> Cursing, Penelope rises to her feet and strides to the window, staring out. It must be from habit more than anything, as the portal offers a poor view. Just the mountainside and the entrance to the mine. No doubt it's there to allow the commander to survey the comings and goings of the cavern entrance. "We haven't a clue how many are out there. By the time we arrived, the entire garrison was dead. Only a few prisoners locked in the gaol survived." She drums her fingers on the windowsill in agitation. "Took a few days to fight them off, they'd overrun the camp. By the time we had control, any number of them had fled into the woods." Penelope rubs her eyes wearily, then casts a wry look at the goddess over her shoulder. "I'm certain the priestesses would call for my head if they knew I was confiding all of this to you. They'd probably accuse you of creating the vile things to begin with." Bethea keeps her face emotionless and impassive, curious to see where this is going. Penelope turns and reclaims her seat, meeting the goddess's gaze. "If that were the case, though, you wouldn't have come here seeking an audience. Of course that begs the question of why you are here. Clearly you want something from me." Admiring the captain's astuteness, Bethea chooses her words cautiously. "I want you to tell me everything you know about when they appeared and where they came from. I have my suspicions of their origins and I need to see for myself. If I'm right, there's more at stake here." Penelope lets out a weary sigh, eyeing her guest warily. "I suppose if you were going to enlighten me as to your thoughts, you'd have done so." Bethea merely nods, and the brunette gives a dry, humorless chuckle. "There's not much to tell. Roughly thirteen days ago, a rider reached the city from the mine. The miners had dug into some sort of chamber, and the monsters within had attacked. By the time we'd killed the bastards, everything was too much of a mess to piece together what had happened." Bethea nods, rising to her feet. "Then I need to visit the mine. It's not much, but it's helpful nonetheless. Thank you." The blonde beauty alternates her gaze between the door and the window, deciding which will make for a better exit. She's keenly aware of the brunette watching her every move like a hawk. The captain remains seated, keeping her face neutral. "Look, Beth, I only agreed to meet you because I heard about your little display with the wings and the flaming armor." She leans back in her seat and steeples her fingers in thought. Bethea meets her gaze, not backing down but remaining silent to hear what she has to say. "I'm not entirely sure what to think of you. Some say you're one of the goddesses, some say you're a witch, others a messenger. But I'm not one to ignore portents. It is my belief that, whoever or whatever you are, you're not entirely an enemy of the goddesses. If you were, you'd not be here after so blatantly appropriating their imagery." A fair assessment, especially considering that Bethea herself doesn't quite know where she stands with her sisters. The captain continues, closely monitoring the goddess for a reaction. "As such, I trust that for the moment it is better to be your ally than your enemy. I fear what those monsters will do if unchecked, and we'll be overrun eventually if you do nothing. However, for my own sake, I can't help you any more and it cannot look as if I have aided you." Penelope motions her hand towards the statue on the windowsill, grimacing. "I need you to hit me with that so it looks as if you've overpowered me. And make it look good." Bethea shifts her gaze between the heavy stone decoration and the captain. Her host has been nothing but civil and rational, and she feels a twinge in her stomach at having to strike her. She mulls over her options for a moment, looking for a better way. [[Bethea looks around, mind working quickly to find an alternative.|Ch2-TieCommander]] [[Bethea agrees with Penelope, knocking her out cold with the statue.|Ch2-HitCommander]]

Bethea makes her way to the mine entrance, moving quickly but quietly. While she should be relatively safe for now, there's no point in taking chances. Fortunately, she makes it there unmolested. The entrance to the tunnel is rather underwhelming considering the camp's impressive fortifications, only wide enough for three people to walk shoulder to shoulder and a mere head taller than the goddess. Liberating the torch from a nearby sconce, the blonde beauty ventures into the cave. Bethea ducks through the tunnel, keeping the torch aloft. The cavernous maze is pitch black mere strides from the entrance, and the blonde beauty is glad she has a light. <<if $ch2_commander>>Bethea runs over the commander's words in her head. The goblins seemingly came from a chamber the miners accidentally broke into. Fortunately enough, the discarded and broken equipment makes it quite simple to follow the miners' progress.<<endif>><<if $ch2_slaves>>Bethea recalls the slave's words. The miners dug into the goblins' chamber and were attacked, so following the discarded mining equipment should lead her to the hand she seeks.<<endif>> Broken picks and crude carts litter the tunnels. Occasionally Bethea comes to a fork in the path, but the trail of litter ends within a handful of steps at each one. Backtracking, Bethea is able to return to the path. After an hour or perhaps longer, Bethea finds herself peering down an impenetrably dark hole. A rickety rope ladder dangles from the far side. The goddess briefly surveys the small space, but she can't see another way forward. Climbing down with the torch would prove very difficult, as keeping it in her hand would certainly burn the ladder. Tucking it in her belt would burn her. Letting out a hiss of annoyance, Bethea kneels down and holds out the torch, hoping to see below. Her efforts are met with nothing but darkness, the drop clearly quite large. Fortune smiles upon her though, as something glints beneath a rock on the far side of the pit. Carefully making her way around, Bethea rescues the discarded object. It's a glass lantern, four rectangular panes set in a metal frame. One pane is shattered completely, no doubt why it was discarded. Surprisingly, there is still oil in the reservoir. Bethea is nothing if not resourceful, though, so she lights the lantern with her torch. Careful to keep the broken pane facing outwards away from her body, the goddess hooks the lantern to her belt. Now prepared for the descent, the golden-haired goddess leans over the hole and drops the torch. It plummets down, down, down, nothing but the rope ladder and sheer rock walls rushing by in brief exposure. The torch finally plunks into the floor below, still burning fortunately. With it as a guide and the lantern lighting her handholds, Bethea begins her climb. The going is slow and arduous, but not overly treacherous. The rope ladder is sturdy and well built despite Bethea's initial impression. By the time the goddess finds herself at the bottom, she is grateful to have her feet on solid ground again. The torch still burns at her feet, so she retrieves it. Dousing the lamp to conserve oil, the blonde beauty makes her way forward with the torch once more. She quickly sees that this passageway is... different from the last. More refuse litters her way, but weapons and corpses instead of tools. The smell, previously musty like stagnant air, has turned fetid and foul. Covering her mouth and nose with her hand, Bethea presses on. The tunnel descends at a steep slope before opening up into a surprisingly large cavern. In the dim light, Bethea can see the remnants of rickety structures and piles of corpses and garbage. [[Cautiously, Bethea enters the room she saw in Damasca's vision.|Ch2-FindHand]]

Bethea worries her lower lip, eyeing the statue. It looks heavy, solid enough to crack a skull if one isn't careful. "There must be another way. You've been nothing but fair, and I'll not run the risk of severe injury." Penelope shakes her head sadly. "I appreciate the concern, but this is the way it must be. If you don't do this, then I'll be arrested and possibly executed. As you well know." The goddess frowns, looking about the room for a better option. Finally, her gaze alights upon the captain herself. An idea strikes her as she examines the woman's gown. The garment appears designed to warm one's body rather than entice in any fashion. It is sturdy with no sign of lace or adornment, an entirely practical outfit. There's copious amounts of fabric. "I have a plan. Do you have a knife?" Penelope's eyebrows shoot nearly to her hairline with surprise. "How would that help?" Bethea motions towards the woman's modest attire. "There's more than enough fabric to tie you to the chair and gag you. I can mess up the room so it looks like we fought and I overpowered you." Pursing her lips, the brunette considers the proposal. "I'm not sure they would buy it. However, I can't say I'm overly eager to be bashed in the head either, so I'm willing to try it. Once the deed is done, climb out the window. It should be a clear shot to the mine, my women will be focused out front." Opening one of the desk drawers, the captain retrieves a small steel knife, no doubt for opening letters or other mundane office tasks. She stands, giving the goddess easy access to her person. Smiling, Bethea takes the blade and kneels down next to Penelope's chair and sets to work. "Excellent, now hold still." Using the somewhat dull yet sufficient knife, the goddess cuts vertically from the hem of the captain's ankle-length gown up to the top of her thighs. After starting a horizontal cut, she rips it the rest of the way for aesthetic purposes. A real attacker would have ripped the fabric rather than taking the painstaking time to cut it. The long, severed skirt is now a large, nearly rectangular piece of fabric. With the garment prim and practical, the fabric is solid and sturdy. Using the same method of starting a cut and finishing with a tear, Bethea breaks it into a number of long, thin strips. Bethea guides Penelope back to her seat and sets to work restraining her. Each leg is bound to one of the chair legs, a strip of fabric looped around the ankle and wood twice before being cinched and knotted. Intending to lash the captain's knees together, Bethea finds the strips of fabric not quite long enough to do so thoroughly. She is able to solve that by knotting two strips together so there is enough fabric to loop and cinch around Penelope's thighs. The goddess also secures the captain to the chair by tying a few strips around her abdomen and the back of the chair, knotting the strips together as necessary to achieve sufficient length in the restraints. The blonde goddess eyes her captive's arms. She's run out of fabric strips, and with Penelope's arms as of yet unbound she must make more. Reclaiming the knife, Bethea begins making more bindings. "Won't be a moment." Careful not to mar Penelope's skin, she cuts away each sleeve of the gown at the shoulder. Each sleeve is cut into two separate strips, which the goddess believes should be enough for her purposes. Guiding the captain's arms behind the back of the chair, Bethea presses her wrists together. She makes good use of the sleeve strips to bind and cinch Penelope's wrists and elbows together firmly behind the back of the chair. To her credit, the brunette captain grunts softly but otherwise doesn't protest. "Now, one final thing. Open up." Bethea balls up one of her two remaining strips of fabric into a thick wad. Penelope eyes it with distaste, scrunching up her nose. "I suppose it IS necessary, if unpleasant." She opens her mouth obediently, and Bethea shoves the wad of fabric inside. It's quite large, and the goddess needs to push and prod with her fingers to get the entire mass behind her lips. The brunette's cheeks are packed to the brim, bulging outwards. The goddess pulls the last strip between Penelope's teeth and winds it tightly around her head, tying a knot beneath her hair at the nape of her neck. Bethea checks her knots to make sure everything is tight and secure. She's not worried about Penelope getting free, but she is worried that her guards will suspect she could have freed herself but chose not to. Satisfied, Bethea pats the captain's bulging cheek. "Thanks for your help, captain. Good luck." "Guun nufhg." Penelope squirms in her bonds, getting comfortable but not trying to escape. Satisfied with the scene before her, Bethea slips out the window after casting Penelope's bound body one last look. [[Bethea ducks out the window and makes her way to the cave, careful to remain out of sight regardless of Penelope's assurances.|Ch2-Cave]]

Bethea compresses her lips unhappily. "I'd really prefer not to. You've been nothing but helpful. But... " The goddess worries her lower lip, glancing about the room. "...I have to agree with your assessment. It can't look like you've helped me." The blonde beauty makes her way around the desk and picks up the statue. It is surprisingly heavy. Nodding, Penelope stands. "Once the deed is done, climb out the window. It should be a clear shot to the mine, my women will be focused out front." The captain straightens her back, seemingly preparing herself for the blow. Bethea looks at the statue, then at Penelope. "Why don't you sit down? It will minimize the noise and the risk of striking your head on the floor." Looking over her shoulder, the captain gives the goddess a tight smile. "No one would believe I'd sit at my desk and allow you to strike me. It must look believable." Bethea purses her lips, eyes lingering on the sharp edges of the shelves and desk that bracket the lovely commander on both sides. Were her head to make contact with either, she could be severely injured. Not to mention the threat the hard wooden floor poses. "It's too dangerous. I'll not have you injured more than necessary. If you sit down, then I can pose you afterwards." The captain considers this for a moment, eventually nodding and returning to her seat. "An acceptable plan. Now do it, before I lose my nerve." Grimacing, Bethea hefts the weighty statue and brings it down on the thickest part of Penelope's skull. She is careful to strike her with the flat of the carving's base rather than the edge to minimize pressure. Penelope slumps forward with a groan, clearly unconscious. Working quickly, Bethea pulls the woman out of the chair and lays her gently on the ground. She arranges the brunette so that it appears as if she was struck from behind, but purposely knocks over some of the meager furnishings to make it look as if a struggle took place. Satisfied with the scene before her, Bethea slips out the window after casting Penelope one last look. [[Bethea ducks out the window and makes her way to the cave, careful to remain out of sight regardless of the captain's assurances.|Ch2-Cave]]

The stench assaults Bethea with gusto as soon as she enters the cavern. The goddess collapses into a violent coughing fit, hiding her mouth and nose in the crook of her elbow. Eyes watering, Bethea looks around hoping to get what she came for and get out. Quickly. Brow wrinkled in concentration, Bethea plays over the vision in her mind. Mounds of corpses occupy the large cavern, goblins stacked atop each other and mangled humans scattered about. The goddess recalls that the bones weren't in a pile of corpses, but a charred pile of other bones and wood. Her gaze sweeps the room, looking for such a heap. She can't see anything from her current spot, so she carefully steps further into the room. Bethea is careful not to step in... anything. The further the goddess moves into the room, the worse the odor becomes. It's nearly a tangible physical presence. Bethea devolves into another coughing fit, barely managing to resist casting up her accounts. Gasping, tears trickling down her face, Bethea looks over the back of the chamber. More corpses, more bodies, more rotting flesh. Suddenly, she sees what she's looking for. Stumbling forward, the goddess approaches the pile. Not keen on rooting through the filth with her bare hands, Bethea uses the bottom of the torch to sift through the pile. Based on the vision, it should be near the top. Bethea sees a glimmer of white. Gasping, she carefully digs out the collection of bones. Unlike Damasca's artifacts, there is no string tied through the bones to hold the hand's shape. Bethea is careful to collect all of the bones, save those of the index and pinky fingers which the goddess knows are absent. Fortunately all of the pieces are in place, and she doesn't need to dig through the filthy heap of charred trash to find any. Unfortunately, the disconnected nature of her prize makes it difficult to transport without a proper way to contain each bone. Thinking for a moment, Bethea collects the bones into one hand and sets the torch aside. With her now free hand, she reaches into the neckline of her dress and unties the cord holding her breast wrap in place. The goddess pulls out the sash of fabric and dumps the bones inside. In short order, she has the cord tied firmly about the fabric to form a makeshift pouch for the hand, which she attaches to her belt. Possessing that which she sought, Bethea makes to leave. Her eye catches along the back wall of the chamber, noticing a small cleft in the rough stone. Looking closer, she realizes it's actually a small passageway. It would be a tight fit, almost certainly requiring her to squeeze sideways to fit through, but Bethea is sure she could manage. Of course, there's no telling what is on the other side, it may be a dead end. Or worse. The goddess could also return the way she came, although that would be sending her straight back into the teeth of the Gynepolians. Sneaking back out of the camp would be no small task. [[Bethea turns back the way she came, far preferring to know what she's up against.|Ch2-Recaptured]] [[Bethea sneaks out the small passageway, wishing to avoid being recaptured if at all possible.|Ch2-LeaveCave]]

Bethea makes her way back through the tunnels, stopping for a few gulps of air once she's free of the wretched goblin tomb. Thankful to be able to breathe freely once more, the blonde beauty continues forward. There's a bit of a spring in her step now, albeit an unearned one. She still has to deal with Damasca and recover her artifacts, but she savors her minor victory for now. The blonde makes her way back to the rope ladder. She relights her broken lantern, using the same care as before to make sure she doesn't light herself on fire during her ascent. Her torch presents a different problem. Loathe to give up a source of light and risk the lantern running out of oil before she gets back to the surface, Bethea peers contemplatively up into the darkness. She could extinguish the flame and carry it with her, but she isn't confident the flame in the lantern would be able to reignite the torch. The kindling has long since burned away to leave only stout wood. The shaft is long, quite long, but not endless. She might be able to throw the torch up to the top and get it stuck on the rim. Pulling back her arm, Bethea hurls the torch. It spins through the pitch black air rapidly, light twirling in a dizzying display. It smacks into the wall with a thud and tumbles back down towards her in a shower of embers. The goddess ducks out of the way to avoid being struck by the errant flame. She's not sure, but she thinks she very nearly had it. Tapping into her power, Bethea gives the torch one more mighty heave. It whips through the air, twirling like a dancer. The flame disappears over the lip, falling to the stone path with a muted clatter. Pumping her fist in silent victory, Bethea starts her climb. The flickering light at the top of the ladder keeps her oriented in the otherwise impenetrable blackness. A whisper of noise floats past Bethea's ear. She freezes, remaining completely motionless and listening intently. A soft rustling noise makes her inhale sharply. Seconds drag by like days as the goddess waits in her vulnerable position for something, anything to pop out of the darkness and assault her. Suddenly with a loud screech, a bat swoops up from the tunnel below. It flaps upward furiously, squeaking at the top of its little lungs before disappearing out the mouth of the shaft. Exhaling, Bethea resumes her climb. Her heart hammers in her chest like a mighty smith forging weapons of war. Eventually, the blonde beauty reaches the top. She hauls herself up over the edge, resting for a moment on her knees. Breathing heavily from the exertion and her fright, Bethea climbs to her feet and retrieves the torch. She's nearly home free now, the most difficult stretch of spelunking behind her. The goddess steps into the passageway, torch aloft... when a massive spike of pain explodes in the back of her skull. [[Bethea collapses into an unconscious heap on the cave floor.|Ch2-RecapturedBound]]

Bethea sucks in a deep breath, squeezing through the tight passageway. Her breasts and buttocks brush against the rough rock uncomfortably, and her once beautiful dress is becoming quite filthy. Bethea briefly considers abandoning this plan, but backing out from here seems even more uncomfortable than just pushing forwards. The goddess isn't certain what she'll do if this is a dead end. Fortunately, it is not a dead end. After a claustrophobic few minutes, the passageway opens up into a much wider tunnel. Unlike the excavated caverns Bethea traversed on her way into the goblin lair, these appear natural. Ancient stalactites hang from the ceiling above old stalagmites, forming a wicked, tooth-filled maw. The goddess is unable to stand upright due to the low ceiling and sharp protrusions, forced to hunch forward instead. She shuffles onwards, torch still burning brightly. An angry shrieking noise to her left makes Bethea jump. She whirls, the flame of the torch whooshing at the sudden movement. Heart pounding, the golden beauty peers around the cramped cavern in search of the noise's source. A tiny pair of red eyes flicker in the light. Bethea lets out a breath. It's just a bat. The goddess observes the creature, who stares back in equal boldness. It is no larger than Bethea's fist, sporting short brown fur and a snout for a nose. It lets out a shrill cry, barring shiny white teeth at the interloper. Seeing a slight movement, the blonde looks closer. A tiny baby bat clings to the larger one, poking its curious head out from beneath the leathery wings. A slight smile tugs at Bethea's lips, observing the adorable mammal and its mother. Another red-eyed creature, also sporting a snout and rough brown fur, flashes into Bethea's mind, teeth barred in an angry snarl. The smile slowly transforms into a frown, and Bethea casts a blue-eyed gaze to the makeshift pouch on her belt. After a moment, she shakes her head. There will be time to piece things together after she's out of this hellhole. Skirting around the defensive mother bat, Bethea continues to follow the tunnel. The path begins to slope steeply upwards. The goddess navigates more carefully as she ascends, certainly not wanting to topple backwards and tumble into a shattered heap at the bottom. Finally, blessedly, mercifully, the blonde beauty looks up and sees the twinkle of stars ahead. Reinvigorated, Bethea scrambles forward and out into the open night. She gulps in air, hoping to never enter another cave. The blonde beauty has emerged high atop the mountain, far further up than she entered it. She can see nearly the whole island, the gentle ocean undulating around a lake of leafy green trees waving back in the wind. Gynepolis glimmers at the far side of the isle, pristine white marble glowing in the moonlight. Damasca's puny cottage, on the other hand, is completely hidden by the forest, although the road to it snakes lazily away from the base of the mount. Bethea glances down. With a grimace, she confirms that her dress is, indeed, positively soiled. Wanting to remain hidden, Bethea leaves the torch inside the mouth of the cave. She'd prefer to douse it for future use, but doesn't currently have the means to put out the flame. A lone light on the side of the towering peak would be a beacon for leagues, as there are few trees to hide her. She keeps the unlit lantern just in case. Bethea then begins to make her way down. The descent is fairly steep. The coarse grass proves to be an annoyance, slick with dew that heralds the approach of morning despite the darkened sky. Bethea makes good time traveling down to the rocky foothills below, although more than once she nearly tumbles all the way down from one disastrous slip. Just barely, the goddess manages to make it to the bottom unharmed. Bethea starts her journey back to Damasca's cottage. She hurries across the open ground until she can make it to the cover of the treeline. With protection from the shadows, the goddess starts following the road back to the old witch's abode. Her mind works overtime, planning exactly how she can take possession of all three hands. Even if she could trust the ancient hag further than her decrepit old servant could throw her, giving her even one was out of the question. Untenable. Of course Bethea has no illusions to the fact that Damasca is going to try and get all three as well. Lost in her thoughts, the blonde beauty nearly misses the overgrown path to her destination. Fortunately she's traveling on the same side of the road, so she steps right into it. Adjusting her course to follow it while remaining safely ensconced in the trees, Bethea keeps walking. The smell of smoke drifts to Bethea on the breeze. She freezes, head swiveling. Then, the goddess breaks into a run in the direction of Damascan's cottage, a faint orange glow flickering through the trees. [[Bethea runs towards the fire, a sinking feeling in her gut.|Ch2-Revelations]]

Bethea groans, shifting uncomfortably in her bonds. Having been thumped upon the head and knocked out cold in the mine, the soldiers had dragged her unconscious form back to the camp. The reinforcements had arrived from the city mere hours after Bethea herself, fresh and eager to quell the monsters in the wood and find the heretic. They'd even arrived with a prisoner transport, which Bethea currently finds herself in. The contraption is a flat wooden cart with a vertical steel pole in the center. The goddess's legs are shackled and chained near the sides of the vehicle, spread quite wide in humiliating fashion. The cuffs at her ankles are reinforced by thicker steel manacles around her bare thighs, also chained to the surface of the cart to stop her from closing her legs at all. Bethea's back is forced flush against the pole, elbows touching behind it and trapped in place by copious links of chain. Her wrists fare no better, also trapped together behind the pole. The strict pose forces her chest outwards, which is doubly humiliating considering the guards stripped off her elegant, if filthy, dress. The goddess stands shackled and humiliated in nothing but her panties. Having already removed her chest wrap to store the skeletal hand, Bethea's luscious breasts are bared and on display for all to see. The cool morning air has hardened her nipples and pebbled goosebumps along her exposed skin. The chains looped and anchored around, above, between, and over top of her breasts don't help matters by making the flesh bulge and balloon around the links. More strict chains tightly encircle her stomach and waist, further pinning her to the metal pole and driving the breath from her lungs. One insidious chain even dives between her legs. The cold links are nestled against her sex through the thin fabric, every movement and shift causing them to rub uncomfortably against the sensitive area. Bethea's face is flushed a deep crimson in embarrassment. The gag certainly isn't helping on that score: a large metal tube is wedged between her teeth. Hollow in the center, a leather strap runs through the core and is buckled beneath her hair at the nape of her neck. The large girth of the bit gag forces the goddess's mouth as wide as it can go, an ache already set deep in the hinge of her jaw. Drool flows from her lips, splattering over her chest. Two large black horses are hitched to the front of the cart, pawing the ground in anticipation. Guards and soldiers leer at the trapped goddess triumphantly, cracking jokes and making rude gestures in her direction. Her blush deepens, a loud moan and weak wiggle her only defense against their attention. One cracks a whip at the pair of horses. They whinny, setting into a quick trot back to Gynepolis. Bethea groans, the shuddering movement of the cart making her precarious position all that much worse. "Umhmn..." [[Bethea, a bound and helpless prisoner, is hauled back to Gynepolis.|Ch2-BadEnd]]

Bethea barrels into the clearing, skidding to a halt. The small hovel and the donkey's lean-to are engulfed in flames. Casting her gaze around furtively, Bethea looks for Damasca and Thaddeus. She sees no sign of them, however the door to the cottage is ajar. Sheltering her nose and mouth in the crook of her elbow, Bethea moves forward to investigate. The blonde beauty nearly trips as she steps inside the burning structure. Looking down, it takes all of her strength not to retch. Damasca's corpse lies stretched out on the floor. Or rather, what is left of it. The old hag's head is conspicuously missing. The arms lay outstretched, capped off by bloody stumps rather than hands. Careful not to touch the ever-widening lake of blood beneath the body, Bethea reaches down and searches the witch's apron. She confirms her fears, finding no trace of the skeletal artifacts. The severed hands was a pretty telling hint. Rising, the goddess sweeps the small space, struggling to see through the thickening smoke. There's no sign of Damasca's head or the bony artifacts, but she does spy something in the corner of the hut. Bethea rushes over and kneels down next to Thaddeus. His chest rises and falls in short, pained breaths. A large, gruesome gash snakes from his left hip up to his armpit, blood exploring the wooden floorboards. His left arm dangles limply at his side, while his right clutches futilely at his wound. Bethea loops an arm around the elderly man's waist, lifting him to his feet. Fortunately for her, his frame is frail and light. The elderly man can't even support his own weight, so the blonde beauty is forced to drag him out of the cottage by herself. Holding her breath so as not to breathe in smoke, the goddess lugs Thaddeus out into the clearing and leans him up against the wheel of Damasca's wagon. For the first time since she arrived, the old man's eyes open. His meet Bethea's, widening in sheer terror as he stares into the blue orbs. Croaking unintelligibly, the dying man shoves weakly against the goddess. Grabbing his one good wrist to still his struggles, Bethea tries to calm him. "What happened? Who did this?" Thaddeus's breaths come out in short, ragged intervals. He calms somewhat, the gentle embrace of death momentarily returning him to lucidity. His cracked lips move, but no sound emerges other than a hoarse croak. The old man gestures at the goddess, jerkily grabbing a strand of her shimmering blonde hair. Bethea frowns. "Blonde hair? They had hair, like mine?" Thaddeus grimaces, his head tilting forward. Bethea is unable to tell if he's nodding or if he just lacks the strength to keep it upright. A wracking, choking cough drags itself from between his lips, carrying his life along with it. His body slumps to the grass lifelessly. Rising to her full height, Bethea turns away. There's no point in looking for the artifacts. The message that they are the reason for this attack has been made more than clear. However, there might still be something that Bethea can use. A loud creak accompanies a plume of sparks as one of the hovel's beams collapses inwards. It's too dangerous to go back inside the building. Fortunately, Damasca's wagon sits a fair distance away from the flames. She searches the conveyance for anything of use. Very little is left in the back, but the witch's pack sits atop the worn seat in front. Rummaging through it, Bethea finds a rough map of the island and a few pieces of silver in a small pouch. Some stale bread and moldy cheese is also in the pack, but Bethea would rather go hungry. Attaching the pouch of coins to her belt, the goddess stumbles into the woods with the map as her guide, heading for Siren's Cove to find a way off this forsaken island. She needs to get to <<print $bethea_place_name>> as soon as possible. [[Bethea heads towards Siren's Cover, hoping the crude map is not leading her astray.|Ch2-Port]]

Bethea moves quickly through the forest, stopping for only a brief moment at a small brook to wash some of the stench and filth off of her skin and dress. The water is frigid, but still preferable to the layer of grime clinging to her. After wringing out her clothes as best she can, the goddess dons the still damp garments and continues on her way, stumbling out of the woods near Siren's Cove just as the first hints of dawn peak over the horizon. She looks down at the town from the top of a small ridge. The port is a humble affair, no more than a dozen sturdy yet weather-worn wooden structures standing beside a rickety wharf. Considering its dubious legal status, though, Siren's Cove is surprisingly permanent in construction. A large central building, a tavern of sorts based on the grimy sign out front, sits along the wharf flanked by smaller structures. One appears to be a shop of some kind, although it seems closed this early in the morning. A few bawdy sailors, male and female alike, continue to enjoy the night's entertainments. There's a steady stream of them stumbling between the tavern and what can only be a brothel based on the garish advertisements plastered to the front. Bethea wrinkles her nose. A handful of ships are anchored in the gentle water, roughly half a dozen. The majority bob lifelessly in the surf, although two are alive with sailors. One is an impressively large vessel with three masts and a surprisingly warlike appearance, while the other is a smaller one-masted affair with no apparent weaponry. Large stacks of crates and barrels line the walkways of the wharf. Men and women rush to load them onto the vessels, handling the containers with varying degrees of caution. Bethea isn't certain if some cargo merits a more delicate touch or if most of the workers just do not care overmuch. Figuring that her best bet off the island is to tag along on one of the imminently departing ships, the goddess makes her way towards the wharf. Her stomach rumbles hungrily, and the blonde beauty shoots a quick glance towards the tavern. However, she's not keen on being stuck in a small building with a large contingent of drunken smugglers, and the food is probably foul anyway. <<if $ch2_keyve>>\ Bethea makes her way down the ridge. Staying nondescript is rather futile: rumpled as they are, her clothes are still much fancier than the garb of a humble sailor. Walking as if she belongs, the goddess makes for the wharf and its stacks of cargo. Surreptitiously, she glances around for a man with stunningly blonde hair like her own. She keeps an eye out for Keyve, too, careful not to gawk too much. The rogue had said he'd meet her here, but the goddess doesn't trust him enough to stick her neck out to try and find him. She reasons that he's most likely to be on one of the ships preparing for departure anyway. The goddess sets her sights on a sailor inventorying the contents of a few crates. He is working next to the larger ship, and Bethea hopes that he won't be as annoyed by her interruption as much someone carrying a heavy load would be. She steps around a large stack of crates blocking her path. Suddenly, an arm snakes out from behind the containers and clamps a hand tightly over the goddess's mouth. The blonde beauty is yanked into a small recess between two piles without warning. [[Bethea struggles against her attacker, jamming her elbow backwards into their midriff.|Ch2-PortKeyve]] <<else>>\ Bethea makes her way down the ridge. Staying nondescript is rather futile: rumpled as they are, her clothes are still much fancier than the garb of a humble sailor. Walking as if she belongs, the goddess makes for the wharf and its stacks of cargo. Surreptitiously, she glances around for a man with stunningly blonde hair like her own. There's no sign of him. More likely than not, though, he's also looking for a way off the island. If Bethea spends too long hunting, she might miss her own chance at escape. The goddess sets her sights on a sailor inventorying the contents of a few crates. He is working next to the larger ship, and Bethea hopes that he won't be as annoyed by her interruption as much someone carrying a heavy load would be. She steps around a large stack of crates blocking her path. Narrowly avoiding an unexpected pile of fish refuse, the goddess squares her shoulders and walks to the sailor. [[The sailor looks up from his work at the sound of her approach, inspecting her warily.|Ch2-Sailor]] <<endif>>

Bethea cries out in surprise, although the sound is muffled by the fingers covering her lips. Reacting instinctively, the goddess slams her elbow backwards into her assailant's stomach. The strike is met with a grunt as the handgag drops away from her mouth. The blonde beauty whirls to meet her foe head on. Instead she finds Keyve, doubled over and clutching his midriff with one arm. His other is braced against a crate as he sucks in air. "Hell's bones, that hurt." Bethea notes that his rather ridiculous dress has been replaced by a simple pair of brown breeches and a white shirt which hangs halfway open. Bethea harrumphs, folding her arms and leaning against a crate. "Serves you right. You startled me." The rogue glares at her, finally managing to compose himself enough to stand up properly. "Keep your voice down. I'd prefer not to attract attention. Any more than you already have." Bethea shrugs. "Get your things back from the thief?" Keyve eyes her warily, shrugging with feigned nonchalance. "As much as I could. Enough, anyway." He peers around the crates, then motions for the goddess to follow him. "Come on, Captain Jurgensen has agreed to get us off this damn rock as long as we work," he whispers. Keyve makes his way across the docks furtively, ducking behind the odd crate or barrel. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder. "You can work, right?" Bethea follows behind him, curious as to the need for stealth. "I'll survive. What's with the skulking?" Her companion cringes, putting his finger to his lips despite Bethea speaking in her normal tone. "I said keep your voice down." The rogue inclines his head towards the large ship preparing to depart. "Targa's ship. The //Ripper//. She's a nasty piece of work." He darts across a small gap to a stack of flour sacks. "She... erm... let's just say we're not friends. And she wouldn't think twice about picking a fight with you either, especially if she saw us together." Accepting the explanation for now, the blonde beauty follows the scurrying scoundrel across the pier, eventually putting a fair bit of distance between them and the //Ripper//. Satisfied that it was too far for him to be recognized, Keyve starts walking normally. Bethea does the same. They approach the smaller of the two active ships, Captain Jurgensen's according to Keyve. With an air of excitement, Keyve turns to face Bethea, walking backwards along the cluttered pier with surprising success. "This is the //Mermaid's Demise//. Beauty, isn't she?" The goddess inspects the vessel. It's not particularly domineering, but it appears well built and well cared for. A sturdy, solitary mast sits in the middle of the upper deck, a plain rectangular sail being hoisted into place by agile sailors. A bank of oars line the side of the ship, and Bethea has a strong inkling of what kind of work she'll be expected to do. An ornate carving adorns the prow, and Bethea can see how the ship got its name. Looking closely, the goddess realizes that the carving is of a mermaid. Her arms are shackled above her head, leaving her bare bosom exposed to the elements. Bethea finds the statue a bit over the top, however there's no denying the artistry. The sculptor captured the scene in vivid detail, right down to the young woman's fearful expression. Bethea follows Keyve up the gangplank. Sailors passing by with cargo greet him, and he greets them in return. They say nothing to the goddess, but they watch her with blatant interest. Keyve waves her after him. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the captain. Won't be long before we're on our way. Can't wait to get the hell out of here." Bethea couldn't agree more. [[Bethea follows her new friend to meet the ship's captain, ready to embark on her journey.|Ch2-End]]

The goddess approaches the sailor deliberately, careful not to sneak up on him. She catches him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't move to acknowledge her presence. The laborer's movements stiffen, though, a telltale sign of his apprehension. "Excuse me, sir, I was hoping you could help me," Bethea greets. The sailor exhales audibly, straightening his back before turning to face her. He casts a quick glance over Bethea, distaste marring his features briefly before he schools them into practiced nonchalance. For her part, Bethea merely gives the man a friendly smile in return. "Ow may I 'elp?" "I'm looking to book passage. As soon as possible." Bethea motions towards the two ships swarming with activity. "Do you know where they're bound?" The sailor snorts, shaking his head mockingly. "Look 'ere, we don't do no business wit' fancy birds like yew. Go back to yer city." He goes to turn back to his work, wearing his disgust plainly now. The goddess stops him with a gentle hand to his shoulder, retaining her smile. "Please, sir, I'm not what you think I am. I'm not like them. I promise I'll be no trouble." He eyes the blonde beauty suspiciously for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. Eventually the sailor lets out a sigh and shakes his head once more. He jabs his finger towards the larger of the two vessels. "That beaut be the //Ripper//. Cap'n Targa's in charge. Talk to 'er, she might pity you. 'eadin to Kha Lain we are." He tips his head towards the smaller ship, greasy black hair dancing slightly about his shoulders. "Don't bother wit that 'un. Cap'n Jurgensen is a mean ol' coot, an 'e don't much like yer kind. Besides, 'eadin down to The Nest. Ain't nothin' there fer a woman like yerself." The last statement is punctuated with a slow, leering look at Bethea's body to drive home his point. Suppressing the urge to shiver under the uncomfortable gaze, Bethea thanks the man and strides down the pier towards the ships. She pretends not to feel the hole his stare burns into her back as she departs. Bethea mulls over her options. Kha Lain is nearly due East, about as far away as one can get from <<print $bethea_place_name>> in <<print $land_name>>. The Nest is south from Gynepolis, directly along her path. Of course, it's also a cesspool of pirates and smugglers. The blonde beauty glances over her shoulder, meeting the sailor's eyes. He looks away quickly. Bethea isn't completely certain she trusts him, either. The man clearly has immense distaste for the women of the city, although she can't really blame him. Despite her protestations that she wasn't one of them, it's possible he purposefully attempted to lead her astray. Regardless, Bethea hasn't much time: she must choose a ship. [[Bethea approaches the larger ship, reasoning the safer her travels the better.|Ch2-ShipCapture]] [["Bethea veers right towards Captain Jurgensen's ship, determined to make it to " + $bethea_place_name + " as quickly as possible."|Ch2-ShipBoard]]

<<set $ch2_end_chaos = $chaos>>\ <<set $ch2_end = true>>\ !Chapter 2: Of Goblins and Greed - Complete! <img class="map" src="Ch2/Ch2End.png"/> ----- <<if $ch2_targa>>\ Bethea's escape from Gynepolis should be a joyous occasion, but her capture at the hands of the treacherous Targa is grave indeed. The surfacing artifacts pose an even greater threat that Bethea must resolve with all haste upon regaining her freedom. That someone would kill for them speaks to that. The murder of Damasca is a dark portent. Is the killer merely an opportunistic bandit, or someone far more sinister as Bethea expects? Whomever they are, the Patron of Lawbringers must bring them to justice before all out war engulfs <<print $land_name>>. <<else>>\ Bethea's escape from Gynepolis should be a joyous occasion, but the surfacing artifacts pose a grave threat that weighs on her mind. That someone would kill for them speaks to that. The murder of Damasca is a dark portent, and the former goddess of Order and Punishment must make for <<print $bethea_place_name>> with all speed. Is the killer merely an opportunistic bandit, or someone far more sinister as Bethea expects? Whomever they are, the Patron of Lawbringers must bring them to justice before all out war engulfs <<print $land_name>> once again. <<endif>>\ [[Return to the Chapter Select|Chapter Select]]

<<set $true_path = false>>\ <<set $ch2_targa = false>>\ Bethea approaches the //Ripper//. Better to get to her destination late than never arrive. The ship is a three-masted behemoth sporting four banks of oars along the side. Looking closely, the goddess can also see arrow slits in the hull. A wicked looking ram affixed to the prow only adds to its war-like appearance. No doubt that has something to do with the name. Dodging the various sailors hauling cargo and the black looks they shoot her way, Bethea makes her way to the gangplank and climbs it to reach the deck of the ship. A few sailors hustle too and fro atop the ship. The majority of them are bare chested, wearing only a simple pair of loose-fitting trousers and a sturdy pair of boots. A few of the women sport simple cloth bandeaus, but many of them are bare-breasted as they work alongside their male counterparts. "Oi! Wot 'ave we 'ere?" Bethea's eyes snap to a large sailor leaning against the center mast, arms crossed. He's a behemoth of a man, easily two heads taller than the goddess. Like the others he wears naught but some pants and boots, but he does have a belt of daggers strapped across his chest. Unfolding his arms and shoving away from the mast, the brute saunters over to Bethea. He crowds into her space, leering down his crooked nose at her. "Pretty boid like yew don' belong 'ere." Bethea notches her chin up, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "I wish to speak to Captain Targa. I seek passage to Kha Lain. I can pay, and I can work." The sailor wings on eyebrow, looking over her before glancing at the pier. "Kha Lain ye say? I'm sure the Cap'n'll see yew. Wait roight 'ere, and stay outta' the way." Turning on his heel, the lummox lumbers towards the stern and ducks into the cabin. Bethea obediently ducks out of the way whenever sailors come near her, careful not to cause trouble. It wouldn't do to make a bad first impression. After a few moments, the large sailor returns. Behind him is a woman, a head shorter than he but still taller than Bethea. She's amazonian in stature, strong and muscular with the build of someone who works for a living and works hard. She is pretty in her own way, albeit not in the traditional sense of beauty. Her skin is a rich tan from years at sea, which complements her jet black hair and rich golden eyes. Unlike her crew, she is not clad minimally. She is adorned in a black leather bustier covered by a somewhat ornate steel breastplate. The bustier gives way to a skirt composed of dangling leather strips. Her shoulders and thighs are bare, with greaves and gauntlets completing her armor. A curved blade is sheathed at the woman's hip. Bethea doesn't doubt that the formidable woman knows how to use it. Arms folded across her chest, the woman returns Bethea's appraisal. "I am Captain Targa. I hear you wish to travel to Kha Lain?" Bethea notes that her speech is much finer than that of her rough-and-tumble crew. The goddess nods, careful to not seem overly eager. "Yes, Captain. My name is Beth. I have some silver, and I can work as well as anyone." Targa exchanges a look with her looming subordinate for a moment, before turning back to the blonde beauty. Her lips split into a wide grin. "We'd be happy to have you, Beth, as long as you can indeed work. One can never have too many hands on deck. Come, let me show you what you can do." Moving with the lithe grace of a predatory cat, Targa walks over to Beth and puts an arm around her shoulders. Tensing at first in surprise, Bethea nevertheless allows the captain to lead her over to the rail. "You can help young Axios load the tea leaves. See him, there?" Bethea leans over the rail to follow Targa's pointing finger. Suddenly, darkness envelops her as a canvas sack drops over her head! A cord tightens about her neck, choking her and trapping her in darkness and locking the bag on her head. Gasping in surprise, Bethea gets a mouthful of sickeningly sweet air, and her brain immediately becomes fuzzy. Struggling desperately, panicked and unable to call upon her power, the goddess's fingers scrabble at the thin cord. Strong hands grab the goddess and twist her arms behind her back into a painful double hammerlock to keep her from prying it free. Crying out and leaning forward to ease the pressure, the blonde beauty is quickly succumbing to the effects of the drug. Her limbs turn to jelly and she slumps forward against the rail. Hearing a far off chuckle, Bethea is pulled back from the edge of the ship and dumped on the deck like a sack of vegetables. Through the fog of her addled mind, Bethea can barely make out words. "...fighter ...never go wrong with mornos root. ... take her below... the others. Make sure ... the chains." The goddess slides into darkness, fully submitting to the insidious drugs inside the hood. [[The unconscious goddess is hauled below decks by the //Ripper//'s crew.|Ch2-End]]

Making a snap decision, Bethea turns and heads towards the smaller ship. Not looking to see if the sailor is watching her or not, the blonde beauty strides with purpose towards Captain Jurgensen's ship. She has no reason to trust the sailor's description of the captains' temperaments given his obvious hatred of her. Given she didn't disclose her intended destination, he had no reason to lie about their headings, so she chooses the quickest ship for her purposes. As she gets closer, the goddess inspects the vessel. It's not particularly domineering, but it appears well built and well cared for. A sturdy, solitary mast sits in the middle of the upper deck, a plain rectangular sail being hoisted into place by agile sailors. A bank of oars line the side of the ship, and Bethea has a strong inkling of what kind of work she'll be expected to do if she's allowed on board. An ornate carving adorns the prow. Looking closely, the goddess realizes that the carving is of a mermaid. Her arms are shackled above her head, leaving her bare bosom exposed to the elements. Bethea finds the statue a bit over the top, distasteful in concept even, however there's no denying the artistry in the execution. The sculptor captured the scene in vivid detail, right down to the young woman's fearful expression. Bethea makes her way for the gangplank. She passes a handful of sailors on her way. They view her with open suspicion, but not necessarily hostility like the first one she questioned. Climbing the gangplank, the goddess finds herself on the deck of the ship and surveys it. Workers move about preparing the vessel for departure. To her surprise, she finds an older woman directing orders. Muscular with the build of a hardened sailor, she wears a simple shirt and pants like the rest of the crew. Her dark brown hair is pulled back in a strict ponytail and flecked with grey. Noting the interest directed Bethea's way by her subordinates, the woman turns to face her. Her eyes study Bethea, sweeping up and down her form with a piercing gaze. "State your business." Bethea takes a step forward, pasting on her friendliest smile. "I'm Beth, and I'm seeking passage to The Nest. I have some silver, and I can work as hard as anyone." The woman eyes Bethea, narrowing her eyes slightly as she looks over her arms. No doubt she's skeptical of her ability to work as hard as a sailor. After a pregnant pause, the woman shrugs. "Only the captain decides who comes and goes." She jerks her head towards the cabin at the stern of the vessel. "He's in there, talk to him. Now get out of the way, we have work to do." With that, the woman turns back to her sailors and resumes barking orders. Summarily dismissed, the goddess makes her way to the rear of the ship. She is careful to stay out of the way of the scurrying workers so as not to annoy them. Reaching the cabin door, she knocks on it firmly. There is silence for a short moment, then a voice. "Enter." Bethea turns the handle and opens the door, slipping inside and shutting it carefully behind her with a gentle click. She sweeps her gaze around the room. Light streams in through an opened shutter at the back of the room, illuminating the spartan cabin. A simple hammock occupies one corner, and a desk and two chairs sit in the center. Bethea notes they are bolted to the floor, no doubt a necessity at sea. An older man with a shaved head and bushy white whiskers is hunkered over the desk. He glances up briefly, spearing the golden goddess with an intelligent look before returning to the ledger on his desk. "And you are?" Clearly she'd been lied to about the captain, as his face bore no hint of hatred or malice whatsoever. That or he was the greatest thespian to ever helm a ship. Bethea steps forward, gracing him with her sweetest smile. "Beth. I'm looking for passage to The Nest." The captain eyes her, laying down his quill and leaning back in his chai. "You got coin?" Nodding, Bethea takes Damasca's small satchel of coins and dumps it onto the corner of his desk. He gives a derisive snort upon seeing the meager amount. "Can you at least work?" The goddess notches her chin up, meeting his gaze without faltering. "As well as anyone." The captain casts a look over her body that suggests he doesn't believe her, but Bethea refuses to back down. After a minute or so of the tense standoff, the balding man shakes his head with a sharp laugh. "Well if you have half as much muscle as you've got gumption then you'll make a fine sailor. Come, let's see what you can do." The captain rises to his feet, extending his hand in greeting. "Captain Jurgensen, although the crew generally calls me Cap'n." Bethea grips his hand with her own, smiling as they shake hands. [[Bethea follows the Captain from his cabin as he sets off to find work for her.|Ch2-End]]

Damasca reaches into her apron and withdraws the artifacts of bone, setting them on the table. Bethea's eyes flick to them, Damasca's hand still resting possessively over both hands. "As I suspected, you know exactly what these are." Bethea growls angrily into her massive gag, but she is unable to say anything intelligible. Damasca leans forward, avarice glinting in her orbs. "Which is why I suspect you'll be keen to help me recover a third." Bethea lurches forward furiously, held fast by Thaddeus's tight rope work. The movement causes the insidious crotch rope to shift against the thin panties, making a red flush descend on the goddess's cheeks. Damasca smirks, reaching into the sleeve of her threadbare frock and withdrawing a rolled up piece of paper. "No need to be so violent, Beth." "I'm sure we'll be able to come to some sort of agreement. After all, I have something you want and you can get me something I want." The old woman unravels the scroll on the table, smoothing out the creases. Bethea leans over precariously in her bonds, studying the parchment. Faded, worn ink stares back. It takes a moment for the blonde beauty to realize she's looking at a map of Gynepolis. Damasca's bony finger stabs a small peninsula centered along the southern coast of the island. "You're here." The wrinkled appendage traces a path north and west towards the far tip of the island. "There's a mine here. Copper, for those preening zealots in the city. The third artifact you saw is in a cavern off the main tunnel. You're going to get it for me." Thaddeus brings over a bowl of the foul stew and sets it in front of Damasca. He holds up a second bowl and lifts it in Bethea's direction in a mock salute, grinning toothlessly at her helplessness. Dismissed by his mistress, the old servant takes a seat by the crackling fire and slurps at the bowl noisily. Once they are left relatively alone, the witch slides the bowl over in front of Bethea. Damasca picks up one of the skeletal hands from the table and starts to stir it in the foul concoction. To Bethea's surprise, a hazy image begins to form in the black sludge. Squinting, the goddess ignores the fat droplet of drool that splatters onto the table as she focuses on the image taking shape. Bethea sees... herself! Specifically, her trial at the foot of the Godess's temple, Althea's anger, and her own exile. She watches partially in awe at her own escape from <<print $female_city_name>>, appreciating just how lucky she was at times. The image suddenly shifts, the civilized structures of <<print $female_city_name>> giving way to crude, wooden structures illuminated by flickering flame. Strange creatures clamber along them like ants. They sport dark brown fur which is marred by wrinkles and dangles from their bony frames. Their heads feature glowing red eyes and pig-like snouts with pointed, triangular ears. The creatures, or more aptly monsters, are convened around a blazing fire inside a deep cavern. They dance in frantic and inhuman fashion as the flame hungrily consumes whatever it reaches. Damasca continues stirring, and the image shifts once more, seemingly remaining in the same cavern but in a different time. The fire is dead, not a single ember smolders. Gruesome corpses lay lifeless around the space, both those of the frightening creatures and humans. Peering closely, Bethea sees the tell-tale uniform of <<print $female_city_name>> adorning the dead women. To her surprise, there are some dead men visible as well, some naked and others barely covered by threadbare loincloths. The stew shakes, changing one last time. The image appears to be but black nothingness at first, but the goddess looks closer. Charred wood and bones covered in ash sit blackened by fire. Nestled amongst the pile sits a skeletal hand, white, untouched by time or flame. Bethea's breath catches. The hand has no index finger and no pinky finger. Damasca stops stirring, withdrawing the hand and shooting Bethea a smug grin. "I see I have your attention. I want that artifact, and you're going to get it for me." Glaring, Bethea wiggles in her tight restraints. She demands to know what she just saw, what in the Goddess's name those creatures were, but it just comes out an unintelligible mess. "mhuu muhmuh huu huungh!?" Damasca shrugs, somehow understanding the noises. "Who knows? They won't be a problem. A bunch of soldiers cleared them out of the cavern, they were hurting the productivity of the mines. Nasty habit of capturing and eating the workers you understand." Bethea can tell from the old woman's expression she has little sympathy. "Of course they're crawling all over the countryside like rats, so you might run into some. Clear down to Siren's Cove I hear, but they're nothing a strong woman like you can't handle." The witch's tone is faintly mocking, a challenge glittering in her eyes. "uhmuhn'h huuh?" Damasca grins. Somehow, despite the incredibly muffled nature of her speech, the old witch understands Bethea. "Port Town. Technically a hive of smugglers and villainous men, but Gynepolis turns a blind eye. Luxury goods don't sail themselves, and not many women live on the sea. Having a few filthy men kicking around is a small price to pay for silk and chocolate." "The larger problem is with the mine itself. Paranoid bunch of broads, those guards. They don't let just anyone into their precious mines. I had someone working on it, but there haven't been any results and I'm not getting any younger. You're much more capable than Alexis's toy, and have more incentive to boot." <<if $ch1_help>>\ Bethea's eyes narrow as Damasca mentions Alexis, but she isn't in a position to ask many questions. <<else>>\ Bethea isn't sure who Alexis is, but she isn't in a position to query the witch further. <<endif>>\ Damasca leans back in her seat, eating a spoonful of soup. "So you see I'm offering you a splendid deal. If you retrieve this artifact for me, I'll give you the two I have. Not that you have much of a choice, if you want me to let you out of that." Bethea seethes in her bonds, wishing she could smite the arrogant ancient. However, she's neatly trapped at the moment, and sees no other way out of this. Hesitantly, the blonde beauty nods her head. "u'mmnmmh." The hag cracks a sinister smile, rising to her feet. "Excellent! We'll leave you like that for now, it wouldn't do to have you attack us in our sleep. We'll let you go tomorrow evening, no doubt the guards will be searching for you all day tomorrow. May as well rest until then." [[Bethea stews in her strict bonds, resting fitfully and intermittently in the uncomfortable position.|Ch2-LeaveCottage]]

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<<set $ch2_keyve = true>>\ Bethea makes her way to the creek, observing the now silent goblin camp.<<if $ch2_kick_knife>>Keyve's campaign of carnage has left most of it a smoldering mess, with few tents unscathed.<<else>>With the goblins having fled under Bethea's assault, the quiet is eerie. The abandoned tents flap forlornly in the breeze.<<endif>> Stopping at the edge of the gently burbling creek, the golden goddess takes a moment to wash the blood and grime from her skin and clothes as best she can. While she'd kill to have a luxuriously hot bath and proper soap, the cool creek water is better than nothing. Once finished with her hurried ablutions, Bethea fills the goblet with water and makes her way back to Keyve. Returning, Bethea finds that Keyve has indeed found clothes. Stifling a laugh, she walks over to him and hands him the water. He snatches it from her hand with a scowl, setting to work washing his wound with a clean strip of white cloth. "Not. One. Word." Smiling innocently, the blonde beauty folds her arms across her chest. "Well I for one think you look fabulous." Keyve merely glares, intent on his washing. She inspects the garment, noting that it is rather high in quality even if it is not a perfect fit. All things considered, his ability to find suitable men's attire on this island is rather limited. Keyve now sports a rather beautiful one-shoulder dress, midnight blue in color with whisper-thin lace accents of a lighter sky blue. With the ruffled hem and circular cutout designed to show cleavage. there would be no mistaking the feminine garb for a tunic. A delicate silver chain belt matches the bright silver bangles and heeled sandals that complement Keyve's attire. <<if $ch2_kick_knife>>"I appreciate the rescue, Keyve. Truly it was very brave of you. I need to be on my way, but I wish you the best of luck."<<else>>"I need to get going, I trust you can handle yourself?" <<endif>> Keyve nods, getting to his feet and following a few steps behind the goddess. "Headed to Siren's Cove? I assume you're as eager to get off this rock as I am." Bethea shakes her head. "No, not right now at least. I'm headed west. There's a copper mine at the far end of the island." The roguish man tilts his head. "The mine? You shouldn't go there. Guards are jumpy and have the place closed down." He shakes his head as if to emphasize his point even though the blonde beauty isn't watching. Bethea turns to face him, stopping in her tracks. "You've been there?" Keyve shrugs, his eyes carefully expressionless. "Yeah, needed to talk to one of the prisoners. He stole from me. Couldn't get in though. Paranoid lot those guards." Bethea has the gut feeling that her temporary companion is withholding information, but doesn't press him for now. Suddenly his eyes light up. "Say, you put on quite the show with those grubby monsters back there. Between the two of us I'm sure we could get past the guards." Bethea folds her arms and leans her weight to one side, studying Keyve. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. I work better alone." The dark-haired man waves his hand dismissively. "I'd stay out of your way, I'm something of a loner myself. Still, two heads are better than one, especially if one of the two is mine. Trust me, you won't get in on your own." Pursing her lips, the goddess thinks through the proposal. While Keyve has proven himself at least competent thus far, she isn't sure how much she can trust him. Not to mention the innate risk of being seen with a free man on Gynepolis. "No offense of course, but you know I can't be seen walking around with a man. My situation is already tenuous at best." Keyve shoots her a sardonic grin, motioning to his body. "I am wearing a dress. How will they know?" Bethea snorts. "Can't say your disguise is very convincing. It fits poorly, and you don't have the face for it." Suddenly, an idea strikes Bethea. She gestures to his dress. "Where did you find this?" Looking one part intrigued, one part confused, and two parts annoyed, Keyve nods his head towards a mussed pile of rather expensive looking belongings. The goddess starts to sift through it, mentally cataloging the items. Whichever poor soul had owned these things could certainly afford to replace them. Assuming they are still alive, which seems unlikely. After a few minutes of rummaging, Bethea spies a rectangular silver case. A few gemstones embellish the clasp. Opening it, she finds various powders and pastes of differing colors. Jackpot. Smiling triumphantly, the blonde beauty turns back to Keyve with the case in hand. He eyes the box warily. "What is..." His eyes widen, and he stands up suddenly. "No. No way. Not gonna happen." "Don't be an idiot," Bethea chides. "You want to join forces, but I don't want you giving us away. A little makeup will make you look a little more convincing. It'll be a perfect disguise at a reasonable distance where your shape is less distinguishable. Probably won't fool anyone up close for too long, but it's better than sticking out like a sore thumb." Keyve scrunches his nose unhappily, but sees the logic in Bethea's plan, or at the very least is smart enough to know he won't convince her otherwise. "Fine. If that's what it takes to let me come along, then I guess I don't have much of a choice." Sighing heavily, he holds still and lets the goddess do her work. She tries to work quickly, making it look good but not paying too much attention to the minute details: if anyone got close enough to see them, they probably wouldn't be fooled anyway. First is a whitish-cream colored powder for the foundation, followed by a very faint pink tinge for blush. She uses a dark black to shadow Keyve's eyes, and a bright red paste on his lips. The resulting contrast is strong, the completed face popping with color. "Is all this really necessary?" Keyve mutters, more to himself than to her. "Yes. You look fabulous." Suppressing a giggle, Bethea turns and heads into the forest. Keyve falls in step beside her, still muttering unhappily. The pair make their way through the woods, skirting along the edge of the path to remain relatively hidden. Bethea lets Keyve take the lead, following him through the foliage. The pair keep an eye out for any goblins, but there's nary a sign of them. After a lengthy walk, the road takes Bethea and her partner out of the trees and into open ground. It's not exactly a plain, the land rough and hilly, the surface broken up by large rocks and crags. Surprisingly close, heretofore hidden by the dense foliage, stands an imposing mountain. The rocky peak is no more than a league away from the treeline. They can see the tell-tale flicker of a dancing flame against the base of the mountain. That must be the copper mine, or the encampment outside at any rate. While not nearly as concealing as the shadows of the wood, Bethea and Keyve are able to find some cover in the uneven landscape. They avoid standing atop any rises for fear of being silhouetted against the shining moon, instead sticking to the low ground and skulking through the shadows. The pair makes good time, arriving at the outskirts of the camp while the moon still dominates the night sky. Holding her finger to her lips to signal Keyve to be silent, Bethea creeps forward in a low crouch to observe the fortifications and prepare a plan. Her companion slips quietly along behind her. [[Bethea and Keyve observe the encampment, looking for a way inside.|Ch2-Mine]]

Considering both proposals, the goddess nods her head. "Fine. We'll do it your way. Just don't get yourself captured again." Grinning, Keyve shoots her a wink and starts to scuttle back along the path. "No promises. Count to two hundred then start moving closer." Bethea's strange companion quickly disappears into the gloom, only to pop back out seconds later. "Oh, one more thing. We can regroup in Siren's Cove at Dawn. Should be enough time for me. You?" "Plenty. I hope." "Perfect. Until then, toots." Bethea mutters something unkind under her breath as Keyve disappears again. Dutifully, the goddess counts silently to herself, turning back to watch the encampment. Once she reaches the count of ten score, Bethea starts to slip across the rugged terrain. Keeping to the darkness and fortunate that the simple construction doesn't allow watchers on the walls, the goddess reaches the palisade and hides in its shadow. Positioning herself in a place where she can see the front gate, the goddess waits. She doesn't need to wait long. Within moments, she can make out the figure of Keyve stumbling along the road towards the camp. At this distance, the guise of his dress and makeup works to good effect. His cries drift to her, audible even at this distance, and Bethea must admit that he is surprisingly talented at shifting his voice. "Oh, please someone help, I've been attacked!" The guards are immediately suspicious, hands reaching for their weapons. One nudges the other. "Go check it out, I'll alert the others." Nodding, her partner starts forward with torch aloft to light the way. "Hold! Who goes there?" Sparing a glance for Keyve, Bethea notes with some satisfaction that he's already disappeared into the darkness once more. Eyes sliding back to the gate, she notes the other guard has already run inside to recruit backup. Figuring she won't get a better chance once the guards are on alert, the golden goddess darts forward and slips inside the wall while the gate is unguarded. Her dash is successful, making it through to the heart of the compound without any cries of alarm rising in her wake. Not wishing to be found by the guards no doubt already rushing to begin the search, Bethea glances about furtively for a hiding spot. Unfortunately the pickings are slim. Dashing for the first viable spot she sees, the goddess slides into the narrow gap between two small buildings and crouches down. It's risky, with no room to maneuver or escape, but hopefully their search efforts will be focused outwards. The blonde beauty hides herself none too soon. Soldiers begin arriving at the group, murmuring amongst themselves. From her position, Bethea is unable to watch them, but can her snatches of conversation hear and there. She hears nothing particularly useful at first, mostly just confusion as to what is going on. Only when the commander, or at least an officer of some sort, arrives does her eavesdropping pay off. "What's the situation?" "Captain Penelope, Ma'am! Lydia went to investigate but hasn't returned. So far we've seen nothing else. We've called out to Lydia, but there's been no response." "We can only assume, then, that she's been waylaid." "Do you think it's those... things?" There's a short silence, and Bethea can sense the unease. Clearly none of the guards are too keen on facing the goblins again. Eventually, the commander speaks. "I don't think they're smart enough to pull off a ruse, so if it is them then someone out there needs our help. Either way, we aren't leaving Lydia alone. Day watch, you're with me. Night watch, return to your normal duties. We'll call if we need you." The guards speak as one. "Yes, Ma'am!" The goddess can hear footsteps from her hiding place, sandals pounding the earth as the guards sally forth. While the remaining guards still pose a threat, Bethea is relieved she doesn't have as many to contend with now. Easing herself towards the far end of the alley as silently as possible, the blonde beauty pokes her head out just far enough to scout out the area. Fortunately there are no soldiers in the immediate vicinity, so the goddess slips out of her hiding place. Noting the beckoning cavern entrance, Bethea briefly considers ignoring the prisoners and breaking her deal with Keyve. However, without the added distraction of escaped prisoners, her partner might get captured himself. Additionally, questioning the men as to what she can expect in the mine would no doubt be useful. Mind made up, Bethea sneaks across the camp. She keeps herself to the shadows and skulks close to the buildings as much as she can to avoid attention. Fortunately, she is able to make it to the two largest buildings without issue. Confident in her earlier assumption that the gaol wouldn't have windows, the goddess approaches the windowless structure and eases the door open. [[After peering inside to ensure the building is not a barracks, Bethea slips inside.|Ch2-PrisonersRelease]]

Bethea folds her arms, biting her lip in thought. "I can't afford to escort the slaves back out here, and you can't afford for your man to get caught on his way out. It's best we both go in." <<if $ch2_power_escape or $ch2_kick_knife>>\ Keyve shrugs. "Well unless you're planning to get all glowy and feather-y on me again, we can't just attack them head on. We might beat the first two, but the rest would overwhelm us." <<else>>\ Keyve lets out a sound of annoyance. "Well I think they're a little sturdier than those goblins, even if we had more weapons they'd overwhelm us. I could probably pick off a fair few of them from here, but there'd be no subduing them. <<endif>>\ Bethea purses her lips. She has no plans to start killing them for simply being in her way. There has to be another way. Keyve begins to idly chew on his fingernail. "If you're insistent that we both go in, the least we can do is do it quietly. Sneak up and take out the gate guards before they can raise the alarm. Skulk around, sneak up on any others that get in the way." He moves from his index finger to his middle finger, chewing pensively if that's even possible. "Risky. Could work. Could be a disaster." Sighing, the goddess stretches her arms above her head. "It's worth a try I suppose. Worse comes to worse it goes ass over tea kettle and we're back to my plan." Keyve grins in carefree fashion, cracking his knuckles. "It's settled then." Bethea crawls back to the top of the ridge, motioning for Keyve to follow her. "Here's the plan. We'll split up here, approach from opposite sides. I'll take the north, you take the south. Once we're both in place, you pop out close enough to take the first guard, and I'll get the second from behind. Hopefully your outfit will provide enough of a distraction." The last comment makes Keyve scrunch his nose and scowl in her direction, but Bethea ignores him. "Understand?" "Easy as pie. We should split up once we get inside, easier to hide that way. We can meet back up in Siren's Cove at dawn. Enough time for you?" "Yep. I hope." "Great, it's a date." Keyve claps the goddess on the back and sneaks into the gloom, quickly dissolving into the darkness. Rolling her eyes at his peculiar jocularity, the blonde beauty makes her way in the opposite direction. Slinking low to the ground, Bethea circles around to approach the gate from her appointed side. There is little cover over the last stretch to the wall, Bethea darts forward quickly under cover of darkness. Letting out a breath when no cry of alarm goes up, the goddess slowly sneaks up to the gate. She gets almost close enough to touch the nearest guard, holding her breath so as not to give herself away. She only has to wait a few moments before her partner materializes from the darkness just on the other side of the two soldiers. No matter what one might say about Keyve, he appears to have a great talent for stealth. "Excuse me, do you think I might..." "Wha..." "Who... !" Both cries of surprise are swallowed up by Keyve and Bethea's simultaneous attack. The goddess snakes an arm around the closest soldier from behind. Her free hand clamps down on the woman's nose and mouth. Keyve's hand snaps forward and smothers the other soldier's airway as well. His other arm hooks around her waist and pulls her close, trapping her arms and limiting her leverage. The two struggle valiantly, but Bethea and Keyve are unyielding. Slowly, the two guards slip into unconsciousness. The limp bodies are laid softly in the grass, in the shadows beside the gate. Keyve scrambles over to Bethea's side, whispering. "We should restrain them, they won't be out for long." "With what?" "I dunno." Keyve bends down and quickly pats down the prone guard, ostensibly searching for restraints of some sort. "Maybe their clothes or something?" Bethea shakes her head, grabbing Keyve's arm and pulling him forward. "No time. We'll just have to hurry." Shrugging, he follows. Once inside the camp, the pair splits up with a nod. Keyve slinks around the outer perimeter of the wall, heading for the two largest structures. Turning to her own task, Bethea makes her way towards the cavern entrance. The goddess sticks to the shadows, sidling along walls to remain hidden as best she can. The goddess fights her inner urge to hurry, not wanting to bumble into a guard in an unnecessary rush. She makes her way through the stable, noting the lack of animals. Straw and hay litter the open-air structure. It appears to be used, just not at the moment. Between the goblins and the heretic, communication between the city and the mine must require frequent riders. The emptiness serves Bethea just as well, and she exits the far side. The mine entrance is just ahead, at the top of a small incline. The ground between her and the dark cavern is open and well-lit. Lurking in the shadows, Bethea looks around for guards. She doesn't see any. The lack of loud shouts of alarm suggests Keyve has been similarly successful thus far. Steeling herself, the golden goddess makes the mad dash across and up the hill. She throws herself to the ground at the top, turning to survey the camp behind her. No one cries out, and she sees no one running to investigate. It appears that she made it. [[Sending Keyve silent wishes for luck, Bethea turns towards the mine.|Ch2-Cave]]

<<set $true_path = false>>\ <<set $chaos = 0>>\ Bethea's head pounds. She attempts to open her eyes, but the weight of her headache drags them closed again. Eyelashes fluttering, the goddess forces her eyes open. Blinking, she's grateful that the few torches don't leave the room overly bright. Still, it takes her a few moments to let her eyes adjust to the light in a way that doesn't pain her head overmuch. She tries to massage her head, but her hands are stuck fast, unable to move. Once she's able to survey her surroundings without a drum banging in her skull, Bethea begins looking around. A noise in the far corner catches Bethea's attention. She's not alone. A group of four, maybe five, men is pressed into the corner of the room, as far away from her as they can get. All of them are eyeing her warily, not necessarily trembling in fear but also hesitant to investigate their newest cellmate. Their shapes and colors vary, all of them seem to be underfed. Despite the hard muscles that no doubt originate from working the mines, all of the men sport a leanness that doesn't come with mere exercise. They are clothed, albeit barely, in dirty white tunics that cover one shoulder and drop down to mid-thigh. Brown and black smudges mar the rough fabric, as well as some dark red stains in places. Unlike the goddess, they are unbound, constrained only by the locked metal door. Noting their apprehension of her and not confident they're allies, Bethea dismisses them for now and investigates her prison. Her prison is a rather dull affair. Plain wood comprises all four walls. The room is cut into two sections by a floor-to-ceiling metal grate composed of thick metal rods welded together. A rectangular door is closed, and no doubt locked, in the center. About one quarter of the room is outside the cage, where two flickering torches bracket a wooden door. The door appears to be the only way out, Bethea sees no windows, which confirms her earlier suspicions. The door's side composes about a quarter of the space, while Bethea's side takes up the remaining three quarters. She spies a ring of keys dangling from a hook by the wooden door, but there is definitely no way to reach them from this side of the bars. The cell is mostly empty. Some iron restraints are bolted to the walls, and a few chains are scattered about the floor. Speaking of restraints, the goddess is tightly locked in place in the center of the back wall. While her position makes them difficult to see, Bethea is able to map out her restraints with a bit of shifting and moving about. An iron bar is bolted to the wall horizontally, about chest high if Bethea were standing at her full height. There is a steel cuff at each end of the bar, and a larger one in the center. The blonde beauty's wrists are locked into the outer circles, and her neck is affixed inside the center one. Flexing her wrists and feeling with her fingers, Bethea can just barely brush her skin over the locks on the front of her wrist bonds. Unfortunately, the awkward height of the metal stocks leaves the goddess half-dangling in a rather uncomfortable position. She doesn't have the room to straighten her legs, but the floor is too far away to kneel. With her back flat against the wall, there isn't room to bend them behind her either. With a bit of her power, she may be able to make a thin lockpick out of pure divinity. Closing her eyes and relaxing her breathing, the goddess probes within herself for her shackled magic. It is there, flickering dimly in her heart. It's not much, but it should be just enough. She opens her eyes, gaze returning to the prisoners. Perhaps trying to get them to talk would be helpful. They may have information about the goblins' origins, and they might be useful in getting out of the lackluster jail. Trusting strangers is rarely wise, however, and they could sell her out to the guards for any number of reasons. [[Bethea tries to talk to the other prisoners, hoping to reason with them.|Ch2-CapturedTalk]] [[The goddess sticks to her own devices, using the last vestige of her might to make a slender lockpick.|Ch2-PickLocks]]

<<set $ch2_slaves = true>>\ Deciding to adhere to a certain maxim about enemies and friends and hoping her comrades in captivity do the same, Bethea decides to reach out. "Psssst." She doesn't dare speak too loudly for fear of her voice carrying outside the building. The men flinch, but don't otherwise acknowledge that they heard her. Grimacing, Bethea twists her shackled wrist into a position so she can beckon with her fingers. "Come here." For a moment, they do nothing. The goddess is nearly resigned to ignoring them when they huddle together for a brief discussion. Their words are muted and whispered, impossible for her to make out at this distance. The conversation continues for a brief moment, then one cautiously makes his way over to her. As he nears, Bethea is able to make out his features. He's rather tall, half a head taller than Bethea even were she standing up straight. He's not quite as gaunt as the others, although he still couldn't be considered well-fed. Forest-green eyes meet hers, suspicion blazing from their depths. His temperament matches his blazing red hair, accusations and suspicions dripping from his whispered words. "What do you want?" Unable to hide her annoyance at his clear hostility, the golden goddess whispers back through clenched teeth. "I was going to help get you out of here in exchange for information, but clearly you're not amenable." Focusing what little of her strength she has left, the blonde beauty pretends to dismiss the prisoner and focuses her power into the fingertips of her right hand. After a moment of concentration, Bethea manages to summon a sliver of hardened light. It's no longer than her index finger and thick as a sewing needle. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches with some satisfaction as the red-haired prisoner blanches but doesn't retreat. Bethea forces her wrist to bend forward so she can fit the tool into the lock. After a moment of maneuvering, she manages it. The tool slides into the keyhole, and Bethea maneuvers it gently to get a feel for the lock's construction. It's a tumbler-style lock. Working off of feel alone, the goddess begins attacking the tumblers. Her audience appears to be working up the strength to speak, so she spurs him on. "Well, speak up! I haven't got all night." The lock is tough, but spending many centuries watching over mortals with an interest in their systems of justice has a tendency to make one intimately familiar with the ways in which one may imprison another. After a bit of concentration fueled more than a little bit by her peevishness, the metal cuff pops free. "Who... what are you?" The prisoner takes a small step backwards, although Bethea guesses it's more an involuntary reaction to his shock than a genuine attempt to flee. The goddess immediately sets to work freeing her neck next. "I'm Beth if you must know. I'm also busy, so unless you'd like to help I suggest you stay out of my way." Still unable to see the inner workings, the process of freeing her neck is nevertheless easier given she now has full range of motion to work with. Once free, she takes a moment to massage her sore neck and stretch her legs, purposefully turning her back to the man standing gobstruck a few steps away. While her power is waning from use, Bethea's resolve is redoubled by her success. "Pyrros. How... how can I, we, help?" Bethea smiles to herself, careful to hide it from Pyrros to maintain the brusque facade that appears to be working. "Tell me everything you know about the creatures from the mine. Where they came from, what they did, how you're still alive." The goddess focuses on the lone remaining manacle, using her pick to gently poke and prod at the tumblers. Able to see what she is doing now, the process is much quicker than the previous two locks. Pyrros seems uncertain at first, perhaps unsure of why she wants to know. Apparently satisfied that she isn't asking for anything that could get him or his fellow prisoners in trouble, he speaks. "There's not much to tell. We were instructed to dig and so we dug. Broke into some chamber of sorts and there they were. Killed everyone they saw. Only those at the back of the pack survived." Bethea finally manages to unlock the last shackle, letting out a sigh of relief and stretching her back. The goddess interlaces her fingers and raises her arms above her back, then turns to face Pyrros. She crosses her arms. "And if I wanted to find this chamber, how would I do that?" Pyrros shrugs, his earlier trepidation replaced by a careful neutrality. It is clear to Bethea that he still doubts her intentions, but is also curious. His companions are staring at the pair with wide eyes, unable to hear their whispered conversation across the cell. "Just follow the blood and broken shit. You can't miss it." Smiling, Bethea makes her way over to the cell door. "It's not much, but I suppose it's something, Pyrros. Thank you." The red-haired prisoner trails behind her, seemingly overcoming his trepidation of her. "What about getting us out of here?" Ignoring Pyrros for the moment, Bethea investigates the metal door. The lock is rather simple, however accessing it proves challenging. The keyhole is centered in a large rectangular panel that houses the locking mechanism. Combined with the relatively small spaces between the vertical and horizontal bars, it takes the blonde beauty a few minutes to find an angle that allows her to poke her arm through and reach the keyhole. Reforming her lockpick, the goddess sets to work assaulting the tumblers one final time. "I'll get out of here and cause a distraction. Once you hear a commotion outside, it's up to you to run. Best I can do." "What are we supposed to do once we get out of this cage? Surely they'll hunt us down." Bethea feels the lock pop open with an audible click. She remains still for a solid minute, somewhat exhausted from the effort of sustaining the lockpick. "Unfortunately there's not much I can do on that front. You can stay here if you wish." Somewhat rested, Bethea eases open the door. She cringes as the hinges protest the movement audibly. Holding her breath, she counts silently to herself. Pyrros is stock still behind her. Hearing no cry of alarm, the goddess feels confident in continuing. Opening the door only far enough to slip through, Bethea checks the outer door. Fortunately there is no lock. The goddess isn't quite certain why, but she decides to not look a gift horse in the mouth. <<if $ch1_help>>\ Bethea briefly considers asking Pyrros if he knows Alexis, or at least knows her son's father, but decides against it. Odds are her paramour is dead, and it also seems unlikely that the prisoner's association with her would have been widespread considering the laws governing such relations in Gynepolis. Mentioning it to the wrong person would just put the woman in unnecessary danger. <<endif>>\ Turning, Bethea looks back to Pyrros. "I appreciate the help, and I truly am sorry I can't do more. Remember, once you hear a commotion, make your move." He nods. He looks like he has something he wants to say, his annoyance clear on his face. Eventually he decides to drop the issue, stalking back over to his compatriots and speaking to them in a hushed whisper. Ignoring him, the goddess turns her attention to her own escape. Cracking the outer door, Bethea doesn't see anyone directly outside, however she sees the moving flicker of a torch. She closes the door carefully, certain to make no sound at all. Her hand hovers on the handle, breath held. After counting out sixty seconds, Bethea tries the door again. This time, there is no light. Hopefully the guard has moved on. The goddess slips outside and closes the door behind her. Thankfully there are no guards in the immediate vicinity. The prison exits facing the mountain. Bethea ducks into the shadows and scurries through the camp. She sticks close to the buildings, hoping to duck out of sight at the first sign of trouble. Slowly but surely, the goddess makes her way past two structures. Sidling along the wall, she sees the entrance to the mine. It is just ahead. It's a straight shot, although it's illuminated and there is little cover. The blonde beauty quickly surveys her surroundings, but she doesn't see any soldiers nearby. Steeling herself, Bethea scrambles across the open ground and up the short incline. She makes it without issue, panting softly. The first order of business is to make good on her promise. Recalling the stable-like structure near the mine's entrance, Bethea grabs a torch and slips over to inspect it. It lays just below her, at the foot of the mountain. Definitely no animals inside, although there is plenty of hay and straw strewn about. Bethea guesses that communication between Gynepolis and the garrison here about her and the goblin menace has required a constant stream of riders. That suits her plan just as well. She carefully judges the distance, then tosses the torch. Her aim is true, and the flaming stick lands atop a pile of straw. Within seconds, the entire stack is ablaze, with the flame leaping to the other nearby piles and quickly threatening to set the whole building alight. Dropping to the ground and hiding in the shadows, the goddess waits for the guards' response. It takes a few moments for someone to notice the conflagration, but soon a shout goes up into the night. The guards start emerging like roaches, running from every direction. The commotion quickly rises to a loud din as they struggle to get the flames under control. Satisfied that the distraction should be more than sufficient, Bethea creeps back from the edge of the ridge and heads towards the mine. [[Confident the guards will be too preoccupied with the fire, Bethea stands and heads for the cavern.|Ch2-Cave]]

<<set $ch2_slaves = true>>\ <<set $chaos = 0>>\ Bethea enters the jail, easing the door shut behind her. To her surprise, it is lit by two torches flanking the entrance. They illuminate the space remarkably well, with only the far corners shrouded in darkness. Plain wood composes all four walls. The room is cut into two sections by a floor-to-ceiling metal grate composed of thick metal rods welded together. A rectangular door is closed, and no doubt locked, in the center. About one quarter of the room is outside the cage, on Bethea's side of the bars. The remaining three quarters comprise one large cell for the prisoners. Speaking of the prisoners, a group of four, maybe five, men is pressed into the far corner of the room, as far away from her as they can get. Their features are difficult to discern in the darkness. All of them are eyeing her warily, not necessarily trembling in fear but also hesitant to investigate the interloper. She is somewhat surprised to find them awake, but likely the commotion of Keyve's distraction woke them from their sleep. While she doesn't wear the garb of their guards, they have no reason to suspect she isn't with them. While Bethea can't quite make out their finer details, she does note that all of them seem underfed. Despite the hard muscles that no doubt originate from working the mines, all of the men sport a leanness that doesn't come with mere exercise. They are clothed, albeit barely, in dirty white tunics that cover one shoulder and drop down to mid-thigh. Brown and black smudges mar the rough fabric, as well as some dark red stains in places. Fortunately they are unbound, constrained only by the locked metal door. That will make freeing them easier. The cell is mostly empty. Some iron restraints are bolted to the walls, and a few chains are scattered about the floor. It seems peculiar that there are so many restraints if they aren't used to secure the slaves at night, but she guesses that an uncomfortable night chained to the wall doesn't lend itself to effective digging. A cursory search of the entryway reveals a ring of keys dangling from a hook by the door, well out of reach of the prisoners in the cell. Snagging it, Bethea steps over to the cage door and inspects the lock. There are a variety of keys on the ring, perhaps two dozen or so, and they are all roughly the same size. The goddess sees no better alternative than just trying them until one works. Fortunately, the fifth key slides into the lock smoothly, and the blonde beauty is able to turn it. With a soft snick, the lock disengages. Cautiously, Bethea eases the door open. Even opening it only slightly causes the hinges to creak in high-pitched protest. Wincing, she slows her movements until the metal only groans quietly as the door is fully opened. Satisfied, Bethea looks to the prisoners. None of them move, staring at her with wide eyes. The goddess suppresses her annoyance and beckons them with a wave and a whisper. "Come on." For a moment, they do nothing. The goddess is nearly resigned to dragging them out by their hair when they huddle together for a brief discussion. Their words are muted and whispered, impossible for her to make out at this distance. The conversation continues for a brief moment, then one cautiously makes his way over to her. As he nears, Bethea is able to make out his features. He's rather tall, half a head taller than Bethea. He's not quite as gaunt as the others seem to be, although he still couldn't be considered well-fed. Forest-green eyes meet hers, suspicion blazing from their depths. His temperament matches his blazing red hair, accusations and suspicions dripping from his whispered words. "What do you want?" Unable to hide her annoyance at his clear hostility, the golden goddess whispers back through clenched teeth. "What does it look like I want? I'm getting you out of here." "Who are you?" The prisoner eyes her with simmering anger lacing his tone. "I'm Beth. I'm also not keen on getting stumbled upon by the guards, so unless you and your friends want to be stuck here I suggest getting a move on." "What's in it for you? How do we know you aren't going to turn us over to the soldiers?" Bethea rolls her eyes. "If that was my plan I'd have just left you here to rot." The prisoner doesn't seem completely convinced by that, although based on the flush of his skin he's somewhat embarrassed. Either at not having thought of that himself or Bethea's snippy tone, the goddess isn't sure. "If it makes you feel less suspicious, though, I could use some information." The prisoner's eyes immediately shutter at that, his posture becoming even more defensive. He probably expects her to ask him to sell the others out or something equally ludicrous. "What do you want to know?" "Tell me everything you know about the creatures from the mine. Where they came from, what they did, how you're still alive." The prisoner seems uncertain at first, perhaps unsure of why she wants to know. Apparently satisfied that she isn't asking for anything that could get him or his fellow prisoners in trouble, he speaks. "There's not much to tell. We were instructed to dig and so we dug. Broke into some chamber of sorts and there they were. Killed everyone they saw. Only those at the back of the pack survived." He pauses for a moment, eyeing Bethea before sticking his hand out in greeting. "Pyrros, by the way." Bethea grasps his hand and shakes it. "And if I wanted to find this chamber, how would I do that?" Pyrros shrugs, his earlier trepidation replaced by a careful neutrality. It is clear to Bethea that he still doubts her intentions, but is also curious. His companions are staring at the pair with wide eyes, unable to hear their whispered conversation across the cell. "Just follow the blood and broken shit. You can't miss it." Bethea bites her lip, planning her next move. "It's not much, but I suppose it's something, Pyrros. Thank you." Leaning over, the goddess peers around the red-headed prisoner at his compatriots. "Now let's go. I'll help you get out of the camp, but then you're on your own. "How are we going to get out of here? Do you have a plan to get past the guards?" Bethea smirks, returning her gaze to Pyrros. "Half of them are already out of the camp. We just need to distract the rest. Organize the others, and make a break for it as soon as you hear the shouts. You need to be gone by the time the other guards come running back." Pyrros nods, returning to the other prisoners. Bethea turns and takes her leave. Cracking the outer door, Bethea doesn't see anyone directly outside, however she sees the moving flicker of a torch. She closes the door carefully, certain to make no sound at all. Her hand hovers on the handle, breath held. After counting out sixty seconds, Bethea tries the door again. This time, there is no light. Hopefully the guard has moved on. The goddess slips outside and closes the door behind her. Thankfully there are no soldiers in the immediate vicinity. The prison exits facing the mountain. Bethea ducks into the shadows and scurries through the camp. She sticks close to the buildings, hoping to duck out of sight at the first sign of trouble. Slowly but surely, the goddess makes her way past two structures. Sidling along the wall, she sees the entrance to the mine. Just around the corner, though, Bethea can see the flickering light of a torch moving into sight. Thinking quickly, the goddess darts back around the opposite corner and squeezes into a narrow alley between the two buildings. The sound of footsteps precede the appearance of a guard as she passes right by Bethea's hiding spot. Holding her breath and keeping perfectly still, she manages to avoid notice as the soldier marches by. She waits for a few seconds for the guard to move away before slowly retracing her steps. The cave mouth is just ahead. It's a straight shot, although it's illuminated and there is little cover. Steeling herself, Bethea scrambles across the open ground and up the short incline. The first order of business is to help the prisoners slip out. Recalling the stable-like structure near the mine's entrance, Bethea grabs a torch and slips over to inspect it. It lays just below her, at the foot of the mountain. Definitely no animals inside, although there is plenty of hay and straw strewn about. Bethea guesses that communication between Gynepolis and the garrison here about her and the goblin menace has required a constant stream of riders. That suits her plan just as well. She carefully judges the distance, then tosses the torch. Her aim is true, and the flaming stick lands atop a pile of straw. Within seconds, the entire stack is ablaze, with the flame leaping to the other nearby piles and quickly threatening to set the whole building alight. Dropping to the ground and hiding in the shadows, the goddess waits for the guards' response. It takes a few moments for someone to notice the conflagration, but soon a shout goes up into the night. A handful of guards comes running from various directions. The commotion quickly rises to a loud din as they struggle to get the flames under control. They cry for help, and one sprints out the gate into the darkness. No doubt on her way to call back the search party. Waiting, Bethea keeps her eyes pinned to the prison. She doesn't have to wait long before it creaks open, and five shadows slip out. They hurry none too stealthily towards the gate. Fortunately the remaining soldiers are too preoccupied by the flames to notice, and Bethea watches them duck out the gate at a near run. [[Having done her part for Keyve, Bethea makes her way back to the cavern entrance to continue her mission.|Ch2-Cave]]

Bethea eyes the prisoners, noting their looks of fear and distrust. No doubt enslaved by the Gynepolians for most if not all their lives, she doubts they'd willingly trust her just because she'd been locked up with them. In their place, she'd be tempted to rat herself out for a nice meal. It's better she works alone in getting free. Focusing what little of her strength she has left, the blonde beauty closes her eyes and focuses her power into the fingertips of her right hand. After a moment of concentration, Bethea manages to summon a sliver of hardened light. It's no longer than her index finger and thick as a sewing needle. Keeping her eyes closed to maintain her focus, Bethea forces her wrist to bend forward so she can fit the tool into the lock. After a moment of maneuvering, she manages it. The tool slides into the keyhole, and Bethea wiggles it gently to get a feel for the lock's construction. It's a tumbler-style lock. Working off of feel alone, the goddess begins attacking the tumblers. Bethea simply focuses on picking the lock, manipulating the mechanism slowly with feel alone. While she's certain her fellow captives are no doubt watching her and wondering what she's about, the distance between them and the position of her hand should make it impossible for them to see her display of the supernatural. The lock is tough, but spending many centuries watching over mortals with an interest in their systems of justice has a tendency to make one intimately familiar with the ways in which one may imprison another. Finally, after a few long minutes of work, the metal cuff pops free. Letting out a sigh of relief, Bethea takes a moment to massage the sore skin around her neck and still-captive other wrist. She opens her eyes for a brief moment to look over to her comrades in captivity. She raises a finger to her lips, urging them to remain quiet. Either out of fear, self-interest, or curiousity, they comply. Bethea's next goal is to free her neck. Still unable to see, the process is nevertheless easier given she now has full range of motion to work with. Once free, she takes a moment to massage her sore neck and stretch her legs before tackling the final cuff. While her power is waning from use, Bethea's resolve is redoubled by her success. Now in the swing of things, she easily unlocks the remaining manacle and frees herself completely. Finally able to stand to her full height, Bethea places her hands on her lower back and stretches. She doubts she was locked into the contraption for too long, but she is already quite sore from the unyielding apparatus. Looking over to her fellow prisoners, the goddess finds they are staring at her aghast, no doubt in shock that she's managed to free herself. Holding a finger to her lips again to keep them from crying out, Bethea silently slips her way over to the locked metal door. Her path brings her closer to the huddled group of men, and they scurry back to the other end of the cell to keep out of her way. Ignoring them and their terror, Bethea investigates the door. The lock is rather simple, however accessing it proves challenging. The keyhole is centered in a large rectangular panel that houses the locking mechanism. Combined with the relatively small spaces between the vertical and horizontal bars, it takes the blonde beauty a few minutes to find an angle that allows her to poke her arm through and reach the keyhole. Reforming her lockpick, the goddess sets to work assaulting the tumblers one final time. Her strength is nearly at its limit, and she feels sweat beading on her forehead. Closing her eyes and channeling the last tatters of her focus into the lockpick, Bethea presses onward. Just as she feels like she is going to collapse, Bethea feels the lock pop open with an audible click. Tumbling into the metal grate, the goddess catches herself. She remains still for a solid minute, breathing heavily and recovering her strength. Somewhat rested, Bethea eases open the door. She cringes as the hinges audibly protest the movement. Holding her breath, she counts silently to herself. Hearing no cry of alarm, the goddess feels confident in continuing. Opening the door only far enough to slip through, Bethea checks the outer door. Fortunately there is no lock. The goddess isn't quite certain why, but she decides to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Bethea spares one last look for the other prisoners. They remain huddled at the back of the cell, eyeing her with trepidation. Shrugging, the goddess leaves the metal door ajar. The captives can choose to escape if they wish, but she isn't going to wait for them. Cracking the outer door, Bethea doesn't see anyone directly outside, and the area doesn't appear to be illuminated. However, she can see very little to determine if there are soldiers nearby. Deciding to just go for it, the goddess slips outside and closes the door behind her. Thankfully there are no guards in the immediate vicinity. The prison exits facing the mountain. Bethea ducks into the shadows and scurries through the camp. She sticks close to the buildings, hoping to duck out of sight at the first sign of trouble. Slowly but surely, the goddess makes her way past two structures. Sidling along the wall, she sees the entrance to the mine. Just around the corner, though, Bethea can see the flickering light of a torch moving into sight. Thinking quickly, the goddess darts back around the opposite corner and squeezes into a narrow alley between the two buildings. The sound of footsteps precede the appearance of a guard as she passes right by Bethea's hiding spot. Holding her breath and keeping perfectly still, she manages to avoid notice as the soldier marches on by. She waits for a few seconds for the guard to move away before slowly retracing her steps. The cave mouth is just ahead. It's a straight shot, although it's illuminated and there is little cover. Steeling herself, Bethea scrambles across the open ground and up the short incline. [[Having hopefully made it past the patrolling guards, Bethea approaches the mine.|Ch2-Cave]]

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