Oberan finally left the ice-like slipperiness of the pub’s interior behind, stepping carefully around the stone table blocking most of the doorframe. From the front, some blackguard rushed in, pushing past him though failing to notice his presence. A couple elbows hit his ribs, the few soldiers they belonged to telling Oberan to step aside, only to be confused mere moments later, unsure why they spoken and unable to recall what they’d said. Not that they dwelled on it, more pressing matters dominated their minds.
Stepping on the ice with hesitant feet, they blackguard half-slipped half-walked towards their fallen comrades, taking over from the tavern patrons who already were helping Flaxxo and his men to their feet. Two of the Tower Guard did not rouse though, regardless of any prodding. Panic washed over those who shook them, fearing them dead. However, a quick inspection revealed them to be very much alive. The unconscious guardsmen still breathed, and their pulse could still be felt, though both were slowed to a significant degree, as if locked in a deep, deep sleep. It took no genius to realize something supernatural or magical had taken hold of them, and though no apparent harm had befallen the affected, they would not wake soon.
Meanwhile, Flaxxo confronted Kasoria once again, calling for his surrender a second time. Oberan did not think the Raggedy Man cared enough about the Perimeter folk for the threat to have any weight. Though perhaps his appraisal of Kasoria’s character was miles off. He waited for the assassin’s response, a tingling of anticipation tickling within his stomach.
Thinking himself completely undetectable, Oberan did not pay any mind to the child walking in his direction. Why should he? Though he brazenly stood in plain sight where everyone could and did see him, all those around ignored him against their will --not even aware they were doing so-- to the point they became unable to consciously comprehend they weren't looking at empty space.
“What’s going on here, Mister? Why is there so many guards out here? There’s even white blackguard! I’ve never seen one of those before! Did that short man do something bad?” The child stood right next to him, staring him right in the eye. A confused expression on his rounded face, oblivious to the impossibility of what he’d just done.
Oberan startled, pulling away by instinct. A sudden motion that drew attention, undoing the spell his body language put on everyone around him. One moment no-one had been there, the next there was a man in shabby clothes. In the few seconds it took Oberan to regain his composure and fall back into the bearing people subconsciously ignored, the blackguard matched his face to a sketch of his likeness. Gazes already trained on him, his technique had no effect, and they rushed to subdue him.
Cursing the child under his breath, Oberan turned to flee, yet found himself accosted by a small group of citizens. He punched two men in the face –one blow to the nose, the other to the tip of the chin—then whirled around to kick another in the ribs while a woman hurried the child away. More men joined in, grabbing hold of Oberan’s limbs and clothes despite his efforts to yank himself free. They dragged him down, forcing him to the floor.
A snarl escaped him as he lashed out with his Mortalborn power, draining all who held him down. Enough to knock them out for a little while, simultaneously pushing his own body to its limit. Adrenaline and strength gushed forth like a torrent, arms and legs defying the weight of the unconscious bodies weighing him down. The men slid off as he wrestled from hands and knees back to his feet, rising up in a display of awesome strength. Strength a man of his size and build should not possess.
The blackguard cried in alarm, arriving to thwart his efforts. A rough-hewn bag --it smelled vaguely like potatoes-- cut off his vision, steeping it in darkness. Oberan did not care. He grunted and growled, rising still as the blackguard threw themselves onto his back. More and more, until Oberan sank back down to one knee, then two, buckling under the weight.
Still he fought back, resisting as the guards struggled to pull his arms behind his back, needing multiple hands to make him budge. Oberan grabbed whatever he could feel, digging his fingers into flesh whenever he found it. Even the power of his grip was greatly amplified, causing cries of pain of the unfortunate victims. Yet, the superior numbers of the guard pried his fingers off one by one, but still he struggled. Flailing and trashing, making lightweight weapons and pieces of armor vanish when he hit them. Eventually though, manacles clasped around his wrists, locking them together behind Oberan’s back.
He deflated, pushing the excess Thrill out, returning to a more normal state. Already, his muscles ached with strain, leaving him feeling drained and exhausted. That was fine. Clearly there was no use struggling. If he wanted to, Oberan could easily escape the manacles, but what use was there if it’d cause more blackguard to pile onto him? Right now he was in no position to flee, so there was no point in trying. Best save it for a later moment, catching the blackguard by surprise. Besides, the Hall of Reprimand posed little threat to him. Between his domains and expertise as a thief, very few prisons could actually keep him contained. You’d need one without doors to prevent his escape.
Still, the triumphant cheers of the blackguard ticked him off, and Oberan could not resist getting one last jab in. Already captured, it didn’t really matter if this proved disadvantageous. Besides, there’d been very little opportunity to use it in recent times, rational mind deeming it too dangerous, too risky. Now though? Now he could let it loose.
Oberan grinned underneath his bag while the blackguard pulled him upright, one man grappling on each shoulder. He focused for a moment, accessing the wellspring of chaos and mischief within. He exhaled, and with it released a blast of raw power, rushing forth in all directions. Let the pandemonium begin!
Little did he know his hail mary resulted in several magnitudes less chaos than he hoped for.
Shenanigan Sphere effect
31: Anyone affected will feel extremely compelled to greet people by slapping them in the face (3 trials)