As #Witches' duels went, what happened next was supremely unimpressive. The twelve chanting coven members were still managing to prevent Brin or Hawkeye from using even the simplest of spells. Brin, however, had a bottle in her hand that she'd palmed from up her sleeve, she had her staff, and the #Oakenling had his sword. It would be enough. - #TwilightRealm and its residents are the intellectual property of @LadyLeaf.
"You have given some thought to the fact that I'll be easily recognizable as nonhuman, I assume, Mistress Brin," Hawkeye said, regaining his composure. "I've told you it's all right just to call me Brin... and yes, you are different looking, without even mentioning the sword, but I didn't use any fresh magic at all during my confrontation with Isthare, so it's time I got to work." "Of course, Mistress Brin," Hawkeye replied, somewhat mollified beneath his sangfroid. "I've never seen a city."
By this time they were well beyond the wood, across the meadow, and picking their way as rapidly as they could down a scrubby slope in the weakening gale. "I know it seems odd when they can cross as easily as we can, but where one redhead with a staff might pass as unremarkable in a city full of humans, thirteen of them in a group will attract some attention, and that's the last thing they want. They won't come after us until they've recovered enough to disguise themselves or go invisible."
"All we really need to do is effectively break the circle. And then we'll put some distance between us and them!" "Wise," the Oakenling approved, "the storm they stirred up and the mist you unleashed should slow them at least as much as it hampers us, and probably more so." "Plus, I don't think there's any chance of them following us into Warsaw right away, and I know that city moderately well," added Brin. "City?" Hawkeye sounded troubled. "We're going back into the mortal realm, then?"
Stepping quietly up to the choking woman, Brin whacked her tidily against the side of the head with her staff. Isthare dropped to the ground like a stone. Satisfied that she had merely stunned her former captor, Brin raced back to find Hawkeye before that part of the glade was completely overcome by whiteout conditions. Taking his hand, she said, "Focus on the sound, either of chanting or of coughing, pick a Witch, and hit her. With the flat of the blade, please." Hawkeye actually grinned.
Brin threw the bottle at Isthare's feet, and the glass shattered, flinging chalky powder in a fairly wide radius. Activated by the rain and melting slush, the potion began to bubble and foam and froth, sending out dense, clinging fog that wound up Isthare's legs like a snake and kept climbing. The Dark Sister opened her mouth, not to scream, but to spell cast and shout orders to her coven, and the nearly opaque mist flooded her throat, making her cough. Meanwhile the fog was still spreading.
