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Juniper Bough Ch. 7
🕑 Added 2021-11-10 14:00:10 +0000 UTCThere was always an electric feeling in Nora’s stomach whenever she was on a mission. That crickly-crackly tingle that came from knowing exactly what was about to go down, but being present for the execution. She was there for action at hand, and as she felt every step draw them inexorably closer to the legs that needed breaking, she felt like she was a magnet, inching closer to another magnet, the attraction of positive and negative drawing her faster and faster to her destination.
She and Pyrrha strode through the street confidently, flanked by robed acolytes. The acolytes were there to do little more than give them a train, to show that this was a religious moment to see the Vessel walking down the street. Believers fell to their knees as they passed, and even those who were strangers to the Temple saw the tall woman in the stone mask followed by robed cultists and knew to get the hell out of the way. According to Jaune-Jaune, weird religious processions were no novelty to a cosmopolitan port city like Beacon, but even against their predecessors—cultural, political, and religious—the Vessel stood out as something more than anyone else. And it sure felt like it, too!
Hefting her warhammer, itself an odd and antique weapon, Nora felt like she was an otherworldly being, part of Pyrrha’s cadre. She knew the truth behind the masks better than anyone, but even with that knowledge, she still felt almost angelic as she followed a half step behind Pyrrha, slightly to her left. To the uninformed, they must have seemed even more striking. But to Nora, she just felt badass.
Jaune had given them the place, and Ren had assured her that everything was set up just right. So as Pyrrha approached the gates to the Winchester warehouses, the walled-off compound of buildings that managed the exports of grain, timber, wine, and all the riches of the Valean countryside, they arrived just as their target was leaving from his regular inspection, caught exactly where they wanted him.
“Cardin Winchester.”
Pyrrha’s voice was clear, the muffling of the mask only gave it that unearthly reverb Nora had designed it for, and it was spoken with such confidence that even Cardin was startled into silence to hear it.
“You are accused of apostasy, of denying the Truth of the Temple, and furthermore, of committing treason against the Juniper Bough. You are ordered to surrender yourself to me to face an investigation of these charges by an ecumenical court and, if necessary, to make repentance.”
There was something about Pyrrha’s voice, whether it was her delivery, her office, or just the divine power bound within her as the Vessel that could chill the air. Literally chill the air, even if no instruments could pick it up. The temperature seemed to drop as everyone, believers, unbelievers, even Nora herself, felt that trickle of ice water down their spine as the weight of a divine commandment was brought down. Nobody spoke, nobody moved for a moment as the sacred meaning forced everyone into contemplation.
But of course, it was only for a moment before the tawdry rule of the Fallen World reasserted itself.
Cardin’s face turned a dark red, the fury building inside him as he realized he was being treated like a person, not a super special rich guy like everyone else did. A living reminder that all his wealth and high breeding was just the muck of the Fallen World told him that he wasn’t as special as he thought he was, and the real Cardin came forth—red faced and sputtering, as he growled, “There- I absolutely will not do any such thing! I’ve tolerated this- this nonsense long enough, and if your “elders” think I can be blackmailed into subservience to their- to this ludicrous- this insult, I- I-”
“Will you surrender yourself?” Pyrrha asked, her voice slicing through his protestations as surely as… well, as her sword sliced through unbelievers.
But Cardin rallied again to bark out, “I WILL NOT!” and then add the usual cry of, “Guards! Remove this rabble from my property!”
Showtime.
Nora readied her warhammer, but in the time it took to heft it into position, Pyrrha had already lunged forward. Not fast enough to catch the unfortunate Mr. Winchester before his bodyguard stepped in to intervene, but fast enough to make the silly man topple backwards in fright. And Pyrrha closed in on Winchester’s personal bodyguard—a massive Vacuan man—who was suddenly put under an assault faster and fiercer than he’d ever seen before.
Their acolytes fanned out, not to join the fight—they were hardly needed—but to witness divinity in action. They were hand picked by Jaune and Ren, those who had earned the honor and would return to their fellow believers with stories of the Vessel’s incredible ability.
Nora, though, fought alongside Pyrrha. Winchester had more security than just the bodyguard who Pyrrha was so effortlessly defeating, and Nora took it upon herself to be beside Pyrrha as they battled. She would have been able to do it alone, but… but Nora wasn’t going to leave Pyrrha to handle all this by herself. In fighting, in her ordinary duties, in her downtime at the Temple, Nora made sure Pyrrha was never alone, and it was Nora’s job to remind her of that, even if she didn’t need the help.
Pyrrha fought with traditional Mistralian weaponry, the shield, short sword, and spear, and Nora had to admit… she sure looked like a warrior goddess as she fought, her red hair streaming behind her, her loose robe less an outfit for fighting, and her archaic, bronze weapons gleaming in the sunlight. The stone mask always made her look a little clunky, like a literal statue, on top of leaving her literally blind, so she also appeared like something a guard would think he could reasonably take on.
And yet, all these armed men were nothing against her. A man tried to take a swing at her, only to find himself on the ground faster than he could blink. Most of them didn’t have more than truncheons, but what did a pistol mean… when Ren had already come by to foul the cartridges in the armory. Guns went click as the men looked at their pistols in confusion and-
BANG-PLING!
Alright, so some of them carried their own weaponry that hadn’t been stored in the armory, but the idiot fired at Pyrrha—the terrifying lunatic in the stone mask—rather than Nora, and got to see firsthand that she was more than any human. The bullet struck her shield—revealing it was not actual bronze, but just a bronze coating over a complex piece of metallurgy of Nora’s design—at an angle that sent it spiralling off in a random direction. His finger barely had time to even let go of the trigger before Pyrrha was already on him, smashing into the rank of guards.
They were well-trained and well-equipped, but that just made them more vulnerable. These were men who knew what was “possible,” knew what they were capable of, and had the exact measure of what danger looked like. Jaune had chosen this clearing house as their target because it was exactly where Cardin would be at his strongest—where his utter defeat would be most magnified. These men weren’t the rabble who’d fall for rumors of an incarnate warrior-goddess who was impervious to bullets, they were experienced men, people who’d seen real action before and knew what violence looked like.
So when they met the Vessel face to face, they had no concept for what they were fighting.
The panic that ripped through them hit even harder as Pyrrha hurled men like rag dolls. She scarcely used her blade, the pommel caught one man in the throat, sending him, gurgling and choking, to the ground as her shield smashed a man hard enough to drop him without a fight. Guns, those that worked, at least, fired wildly, triggers pulled in a panic these men hadn’t felt since they were green, all for naught. This close, Nora knew they didn’t have a chance to point a gun even close to her without Pyrrha smacking their arms away.
But Nora was a Sacristan with the inside knowledge. The others were just acolytes or the unenlightened. So all everyone saw was a disciplined unit of hardened soldiers crumble like so much dust in the wind before the Vessel’s holy wrath. The acolytes were soon gripped so fiercely by awe that they couldn’t help but succumb to the mania they’d seen in their services, men and women chanting, ululating, raising their arms in supplication as they fell to their knees at the sight of the Vessel that would bear the new world, subjecting the old to the might of her will.
And the unenlightened bore witness to that might, the might of the Temple, the testimony of the Vessel, the mad whoops and cries of the Enlightened, and they became believers. Maybe not converts, but they would spread the word more dutifully than any of the Temple’s preachers. Nora grinned, feeling the satisfaction of a job well done, except…
Except they weren’t finished. Nora glanced to where Winchester stood, or, more accurately, where he once stood, only to have fled as his clearing house became an orgy of violence and belief proclaimed. Winchester raced to the door, but ah-ah-ah! Renny was there, keeping the door locked even as the apostate pounded on the door and screamed in fury… that turned to terror.
Nora glanced to the side door. Just as Jaune had predicted, it was where reinforcements were coming from, additional security with heavier guns. A problem, but one Jaune knew had been coming. So Nora had whipped together a little something for Ren to plant, aaaaaaand…
KA-BOOM!
The charges went off, not enough to blow the men to kingdom come, but enough to collapse the ceiling, and the shower of rubble blocked their approach. Not the subtlest move, but Jaune said they were past the need for all the mysticism… though not far enough past that Nora could get really creative with what she could do with a shaped charge!
What had once been the heart of commerce, the exchange of goods and money, the source of wealth for one of the oldest families in Vale… was now consecrated to a higher purpose. Pyrrha had subdued all opposition, the enactment of Jaune’s brilliant planning with Renny and Nora’s secret support. Now all that was left was a belief, a belief in the new world, wielded by the personage of the Vessel and borne upon the apostate.
Pressed against a wall, nowhere to flee, no one to protect him, was Cardin Winchester.
Who had learned what it meant to believe.
LINE BREAK BLAKE
Breaking and Entering were Blake’s bread and butter. She’d always done it for a cause, for the White Fang or for the Ruby Masque, but… there were no illusions, not anymore about what she did. She was a burglar. Her parents would surely take no pride in it, though she prayed they would never know, but it was the truth. She saw the world through a lens of entrances and egresses, of unsecured windows and unguarded, pickable locks, whether it was a bank, an armory, a warehouse… or the Temple of the Juniper Bough.
Winchester might be a racist piece of shit spoiled rich boy, but… his information was good. So was his money, but the information was the thing helping her now. Blake doubted she’d have realized this building was the headquarters of a cult if she had just been looking at it. It looked so… ordinary, another facet to this religious cult/criminal gang/… well, they were going to find out what else the Bough was.
With the information Winchester had turned over when he hired Yang, “on the recommendation of a distinguished peer,” combined with Blake and Ruby’s advanced scouting, Weiss had been able to develop a full model of the Temple, its security features, its patterns of movement, and the plan that Yang and Blake were now executing. Burglary was… a much cruder word than how Blake liked to imagine her work, but, in truth, it was where she shined.
Yang boosted her to the improperly secured window Ruby described in her report—Blake easily pried the cover loose, undid the lock, and from there, could pull Yang in behind her. Guard patrols, well-hidden, but Blake could pick up when someone was looking to not be noticed, would come by to see nothing out of the ordinary as Blake and Yang entered the building. They’d done enough asking around and sifting through the gossip—time to get some real information.
The Temple maintained impressive operational security, but the demands of a growing operation meant that they couldn’t be perfect. And so, Blake could move through the halls like a ghost, signalling to Yang when to follow behind, as they looked for where they could find the information they needed. Fortunately, the estimates they’d made from the design of the place were dead on. Didn’t take long to find the right door to pick and enter, a collection of cabinets telling them they found their goal.
She and Yang made a good team, as much now, where they leveraged Blake’s strengths at stealth and infiltration, as when they were leveraging Yang’s strengths in intimidation and… leg breaking. Most people didn’t think one of the biggest loudmouths in the city wasn’t capable of being quiet. Didn’t think a dockside thug could have dimensions. But as the lone clergyman at the filing cabinets raised an eyebrow in surprise to see unfamiliar faces, Yang was already on him, his mouth covered with one hand as the other choked him out. Once on the ground, she wasted no time gagging and tying him up, plus, she was real good for a hasty exit if things went rough.
“Didn’t get a long enough look at our faces to give a description,” Yang reported once she was finished with her knots, “People’s memories get wild when they lose consciousness—though I wouldn’t be surprised if they just blame you anyway because of the Ilia connection.”
Blake shrugged. “They seem smart enough that they might remember they have a lot of potential enemies, rather than just blame the last name that came across them.”
“Even though you’re totally the one burgling them.”
“I said ‘smart,’” Blake grinned, “Smart people make mistakes dumber folk wouldn’t even dream of.”
Yang chuckled, taking a key off the unconscious cleric and passing it to Blake, who quickly started unlocking cabinets and rifling through documents. Another problem of both growing organizations and people too smart for their own good—they had to document everything, and that was paydirt for spies like the Masque.
But this org...
“These… I don’t think Weiss’s notes are this detailed,” Blake said, marveling at the extensive notes and documents, and how much of it was clearly made in the same, neat script. That detail really made her think of Weiss. Upper class education turned towards crime… and the handwriting looked like it was the same for all of the analysis parts. That wasn’t just a good scribe, here. They had a Mastermind of their own, just like the Masque’s Atlesian.
Blake didn’t like this at all.
“Quick,” she said, turning to Yang, “Find anything they might have on us, and-”
“Already ahead of you,” Yang said, carefully tabbing through a detailed filing system. It was the sort of organization that proved fatal in situations like this, putting all their info into a neat, easy-to-pilfer centrally located space, but… well, that was a tradeoff made to make it easy to communicate intel to different teams. In the White Fang, Blake always struggled with communicating across cells and branches, when any paper trail could prove to be their undoing. But they weren’t like the Fang. They weren’t like any street gang or crime family, they were like a military organization, or an office of state. They were willing to take these risks because they got so much more out of being organized.
She couldn’t let that throw her off. If anything, this was what Blake knew—orderly ledgers and chains-of-command like in mining corporations and their hired mercenaries, not the ad hoc organizational structures and endless backstabbing of the Valean underworld—and that meant she could feel the familiar flick of stiff paper beneath her fingers as she quickly tabbed through files to look for what might lead her to usable information. They were meticulous note takers for a cult, and extremely plainspoken for a cult, and their international existence, spread between old Mistral and the diaspora in Beacon, meant they cast a wide net. Mistralian and Valean organizations and individuals, even Atlesian overseas shipping companies had records… but for as much as they had, they didn’t seem to have everything. The Ruby Masque wasn’t a name Blake saw anywhere, even among their known criminal organizations. It made some sense—in the Masque, they were more in the business of doing crimes as a service, whether burglary or blackmail, than holding territory, and though they were located not far from the Temple, they were based on the edge of the Mistralian Quarter at best, and served a higher-class clientele that didn’t often set foot in the Lower Quarters.
But with nothing on them as an organization, Blake had to look if they had anything on them as individuals. And she knew where to start… Schnee, Schnee, Schnee that was- well, they had a surprising amount of info on Winter Schnee, but the file on Weiss was much smaller. It mostly focused on her as a wealthy resident of Beacon, overseeing her family’s operations in Vale, and very much seen as a non-permanent resident. The “Weiss” Weiss presented to the world around her. Blake was relieved to see that, knowing that knowledge was power, and the less they knew about Weiss, the less danger she was in. Amusingly, her file had a note suggesting she might be a possible target for friendlier overtures, perhaps using Cardin Winchester as an ambassador. Errors like that were a reassuring sight, and Blake allowed herself a small chuckle at the mental picture of Cardin serving as an evangelist to Weiss.
But Weiss wasn’t the only one who they could have a profile on. Swiftly moving to the other side of the alphabet, Blake nervously tabbed through folders until-
BELLADONNA, BLAKE.
Flipping it open, her eyes ran down the first page, seeing the details they had on her.
AGE: 27
FAMILY: Ghira and Kali (Parents)
KNOWN ASSOCIATES: Amitola, Ilia (White Fang), Taurus. Adam (White Fang commander- missing, presumed deceased), Wukong, Sun (ex-fiancé), Xiao Long, Yang
A former lieutenant in the White Fang who continues to be a presence in Beacon after the collapse of her previous organization, though her actions remain largely under the radar. It is believed that she and White Fang leader Adam Taurus were intimate, though the exact measure of their relationship was unknown. A highly skilled operative in the White Fang despite her young age, Blake was credited with several successful bombings of...
It was surreal to see her history reported back to her, a mirror image in text with the faint distortions of what they got wrong seeming to magnify how much they got right. Blake didn’t like being identified. She knew she’d been recognized, her name had been given to Ilia by the assassins, but matching a name to a face was one thing. Matching the both of them to a history was another. And Blake felt very, very unsettled to see Yang’s name on there, too. It wasn’t secret that they worked together, but still...
“Shit…” Blake hissed, “Who are these people?”
