Night 51: F21-30 Hallway

[no_dont_go]

The latest intercom announcement filled Aigis with a sense of dread. Aborting her attempt at writing in her journal, Aigis stood silent for a moment then paced to the closet to retrieve her baseball bat. She would normally have offered her roommate some assistance during her first night in the institute, but Kay had already expressed during

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F??

[unchasind]

Her search was fruitless; she could find neither her own gear, nor anything similar. The most useful item she turned up was a strangely-weighted sort of club, left, of all places, beneath the pillow of the bed she'd awoken in. The meaning of that was clear enough, she decided: survive if you can. Her top lip curled in distaste. Not the Chantry, then, but some other pack of fools who'd underestimated the power of a mage. Of all of them, really; the others were almost certainly there somewhere. She would simply have to find them.

The only other items of interest she found were a strange bundle of what, in the gloom, she took for sticks. Not sharp enough to be terribly useful as weapons, but still, she could get some worth out of them. She bound her hair back, quick and messy and familiar, and secured it with the sticks so it wouldn't get in her eyes.

Now then. The escape. She was hardly going to lay about and wait for the Warden to come rescue her. She'd barely lived it down the last time, though at least she had seen through the illusions, which was more than could be said for the fool or the two simpering Chantry mice.

The door, to her surprise, opened at the first try. The hall beyond was as dark as the room within; perhaps the owners of the place thought that would be adequate as a deterrent against wandering. More the fools they, then. She stepped back, away from the door, summoned up her will, and made herself small, shrinking down into a lithe and swift black cat.

Or she tried. The ceiling remained in the same place. The beds remained the same size. The strange, almost acrid smell lingered with the same strength in her nostrils, and there was no whisper of pressure and air against her whiskers to tell her exactly where everything was.

Morrigan stared at her hand, which was still very much a hand and not at all the paw it should have become. She willed it to change, unconsciously curling her fingers into a claw until they cramped. As the door swung open, her legs unhinged, and she sat gracelessly on the cold, hard floor. Her magic wasn't working.

Her magic wasn't working.

Whoever these people were, they'd found a way to block her from it, at least temporarily. They would have to pay.

Even with that in mind, it took her several minutes to force herself to her feet and out into the dark, back held rigidly straight, steps deliberate as though she knew exactly where she was going. Being armed with nothing more than a short length of what she supposed was some sort of metal or bone left her feeling acutely vulnerable.

[to here]