There they were – the gates of Vienda, with the guard towers looming over all like a pair of vultures waiting for any prey below to make a wrong move as they passed beneath. Even the early morning sunlight did nothing to make their appearance less intimidating.

Merry cowered under their gaze. She was standing beside Beesly, absently brushing his coat as she spaced out at the structure ahead. It had to be today – she had to do it today. All her aspirations and dreams had brought her to this moment, and she had to suck up any further chicken-heartedness and just go.

She’d camped out on the Vienda Bridge, having left Jerzy’s caravan over a week earlier. After getting further advice and instructions from her friend, the young witch had tearfully left her friends and ridden boldly up to the outskirts of the city; she came a quarter of the way across the bridge when her courage completely dissolved. Old memories of her last encounter with the unfeeling city crashed in, and she jerked her kint to a halt on the side of the thoroughfare and sat for a while, breathing shakily as she stared up at the towers.

She could almost swear they were watching her…

So Merry bided her time, watching the locals conduct their business along the way, and managed to not only make a little profit from her hand-made jewelry, but pick up on a few of the mannerisms of the people who frequented this area. She’d gotten somewhat used to the drab city clothing Jerzy had pulled together for her, as well as tied back her dreadlocks with a strong scarf. Once the people around her got used to her, things began to smooth out a bit more.

It was the forged writ – lying under her pillow – that still gave her the jitters. She was still dreadfully aware that it might not pass off as the real thing to the guards at the gates; she’d been watching them carefully as the days went by, and keeping an eye on how local wicks would behave around them. What if it didn’t work? What if she was discovered? What would happen then? She always stopped there, dreading the conclusion.

Beesly grunted into his nosebag, adjusting his weight and bumping Merry out of her brooding. The young witch sighed and stopped brushing. “I’ll brush ye bald if I’m not careful,” she murmured with a slight smile, and set the brush down. She was glad that her neighbors – an older couple with a small plants and herbs stand – agreed to keep an eye on Beesly and the kint while she was gone. At least the kenser wouldn’t be without some company.

Well, better time as any to start. Merry sighed again and patted Beesly’s shoulder. “Wish me luck, ol’ kov – I’ll hopefully be back for ye later.” …if they don’t get me first. The kenser seemed to understand, and managed a parting lick to his mistress's face.

Merry climbed into the kint and pulled out the writ from its hiding place, safely stowing it away in a pocket on the skirt she wore. She then locked up the kint and put blocks in front of the wheels, hitched Beesly to it, and then turned and strode towards the gates. Each step brought her closer, and a small voice in the back of her mind kept bawling, “No! Don’t go on, you fool! Turn back while you still have your life!”

But on she went. She pictured the scarring on her back in her mind, and it reminded her – comforted her, even - of why she was doing this.

The front of the gate wasn’t as busy, due to the time of day, but there were still people milling about, entering and exiting through the massive gates. One of the guards was already preoccupied with a group of wicks and their writs, so Merry made a bee-line to the other. The sudden presence of a Seventen, mounted on a smug-looking chrove, caused Merry’s insides to spasm with fear. But she kept moving, and approached the guard with some measure of confidence, and forced herself to ignore the official nearby.

“Em…’scuse me, sir,” she said as calmly and carefully as she could. “I’d like ta enter the city this morn. Got my writ right here…” She pulled out the crinkly paper and held it up with a smile, but her hand had begun to shake a bit.

Oh gods help me – give me strength!

Zalika watched the guards at the gates, examining writs as they did, with a sort of frown on her face. They were so complacent, barely looking at the highly important pieces of paper. There could be a hundred fakes in that lot, and no one was paying attention. Which meant later on, it would be up to Zalika and the others to drag them back out again.

Nudging her chrove closer to the left guard house, the turquiose eyed Seventen watched the wicks, a disgusted turn to her nose, as though they smelled bad. Filthy, ratty half-breed scum. Her gaze fell on a young female entering the gates. She was so mismatched, all dressed in loud and clashing colors, her hair a ratsnest of reddish orange. Zalika watched her, thoughts wandering as she did, eyes narrowed slightly, as the writ came forth. It drew the Seventen's attention, and she scrunched up her nose. It was so crumpled an uncared for, and the girl seemed to be so on edge.

Unwilling to cause a scene right at the gate, Zalika turned her chrove slightly, watching the girl out of the corner of her eye.

Merry could've erupted with relieved laughter when the guard grunted approvingly and handed the paper back. Instead, she tucked the writ into her pocket once more and, with head down, scuttled through the gates.

She made it a few dozen yards and then stopped in the midst of the sleepy flow of traffic. What now? You wanted into this clocking city so badly - what're ya gonna do now? She looked around in a state of fearful bewilderment, for she had no idea where to go - it had been well over fifteen years since she'd been in Vienda.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, the witch took the opportunity to gaze at her surroundings. If anything had changed since her last visit, it was the atmosphere; it practically reeked of anxiety. It was still as dirty and noisy and crowded, even at so early a time in the day, but the tension was so thick, a person could almost choke on it, aside from the grungy, sweaty, greasy smells wafting through the air.

Merry had just begun to collect her wits when a harsh snort behind her caused her wits to scatter once more to the winds, and she curved herself backwards upon coming face to face with the same chrove from the gate. The galdor woman astride the chuffing beast had one hand on her hip, the other resting across the pommel of the saddle.

Merry could only gape like a landed fish, her eyes just as buggy.

Zalika frowned down at the witch in front of her, wondering how long it would take her to notice the chrove following her. Even the bewildered look on her face made the bastian shudder in disgust. How could they be so...mismatched and filthy. Eyes straying to the locks of matted hair, the half-mug wondered if there were lice. There had to be lice. Swallowing the urge to set fire to the messy lumps, she looked down again.

"I've noticed the guards have granted you entrance to this...fine city of Vienda. It appears that they paid but a cursory glance to your writ, a mistake of which I am trying to rectify. Now, as a..." her eyebrow raised.

"As a civialized person, when I ask you for your writ in a moment, you will hand it to me without arguement. If you choose to argue, I'm terribly afraid I will have to make a scene." Flexing her field, the Seventen smiled, a fake and very public eye smile.

"You wouldn't want me to make a scene, would you witch? I wouldn't think so." Leaning foward, she held out her hand.

"May I see your writ?"

If it were possible for a body to completely dissolve like sugar in water, Merry would've been a blob on the ground by now. Amazingly, her legs held steady, but her entire frame shook nonetheless.

"I...I..." She swallowed, tearing her eyes away from the chrove's piercing stare to that of the severe galdor, and she regretted it. But she forced herself to keep looking, out of the necessity of the situation. "H-h-h-here," she stuttered, fumbling furiously at her pocket for the paper, and pulled it out, ripping a tiny bit of the corner in the process. "I'm M-m-m-m-m..." She swallowed again. "M-M-M-Merry. Fitzborough. Merchant. I got me k-k-k-kint parked on the bridge right now, 'c-c-c-c-cause I was out gettin' more s-s-s-s-supplies." Despite stuttering, she spoke faster and faster.

With shaking hand, she lifted the writ and waggled it in emphasis - the quicker this soldier looked over the paper, the quicker Merry could disappear into the city and hide.

As he walked to the river to relax for the day, Solitais thought to himself, "There hadn't been a day of sunlight all week and it's just the right time to catch a dip in the river before returning home for the defiant later evening storm." He wore his traveling clothes, a stylish long coat of red with a black under suit, carried a potted plant that he would use when practicing his magic, and a small suitcase with a change of swimming clothes meant Solitais the galdor of the permit office was ready for a day off of fun.

However, he saw the playing of a theatrical chase about to begin as a pitiful wick was about to be found out by the seventen. He thought to himself again, "If it were any other day I'd probably confront the woman myself and make the foolish wick pay for her insolence. But today is not like any other day, today is one of the fewest mornings of sunshine that have come recently. I can't just leave it alone..."

His mind raced with ever possible outcome. He approached the woman and the galdor who was checking the writ, and hopefully would not waste too much time there. He could not leave this insult to the city of Vienda unattended. He took his steps up to the two and calmly spoke up in his most gentle voice.

"Excuse me, I work for the permit office in Vienda. Do you require any assistance?"

Raising an eyebrow as she took the writ, Zalika held it like a used hankie. It was obvious the witch was on edge, and it didn't take a professor to figure out why. Inspecting the wrinkled and torn paper, she took a breath to speak.



Closing her mouth, Zalika turned her turquoise eyes to the gentleman beside her and smiled, face polite and friendly.

"My good man, I do appreciate the offer to help, thankyou. I've a writ here, and I am just checking it for genuinity." Glancing down at Merry, she pursed her lips.

"Tell me your name, witch."

Didn't...didn't she hear me the first time? Had Merry not been so petrified, she might have had room for a bit of impatient snark. The writ did have her name on it - the only thing fake about it was the fact that it had been created by some wick, and not an official writ officer. But as it was, she knew now was definitely not the time for any such thing.

"Merry Fitzborough, marm," she stated again, more clearly this time, keeping any shakiness to her hands only. "Got me writ through the permit officers here..."

And speak of the devil...

The woman closed her eyes and sighed slowly, realizing that even if the two gollies before her didn't know it yet, she knew the jig would be up very soon.

Sole smiled coyly at the woman. He had hoped to force the woman to simply give up and walk back out of town. But, in case she didn't, he was ready to assist in apprehending her. "Her words are quite amusing," he thought "There must be many permit officers that worked in the offices of Vienda, but not one of them would've given a proper writ to this dirty street beggar.

He smiled at the seventen's situation, it wouldn't have hurt to ask a simple question or two to the witch. Nothing a normal permit officer wouldn't have been asking right? This miserable creature didn't stand a chance of making it into the city without a fight, and she was heavily outnumbered. Nevertheless, he leaned over to the woman and nodded, speaking as coyly as his smile,

"Tell me...'Merry'...What is it that you do? What skills are your bringing to the fine capital city of Vienda? You wouldn't by chance be a butcher? We are needing one of those as of recently..."

His joke held more weight to his own thoughts. Having gone through the mess involving the last wick butcher Fendin, it would be funny if she quickly agreed. It was also a clever trap to see if the wick truly remembered anything of her 'supposed' writ meeting. To his own knowledge, he was sure he had never seen this dirty wick before. At the very least, he hoped he wouldn't have to see her again after today. It was still plenty early to get a relaxing swim int he river.

Zalika stifled a laugh with the back of her hand, shaking a finger at the gentleman.

"Indeed, we do have need for a butcher now. Funny how these things work out Miss...Fitzborough." Looking closely at the writ, she glanced at the girl over the top of the paper.

"Answer the man, witch. He asked you a perfectly good question. What is your intent in our city?" The emphasis on her words seemed to imply exactly what she meant it to. Wicks didn't belong in Vienda, or anywhere infact.

They were laughing at her. There'd been a joke - what it was, Merry hadn't the foggiest - and they were laughing. It was painfully obvious by the way they looked down their alpine noses at the young woman that they thought she hadn't the sense of a clod of dirt. It was pointless to even continue the charade now; they were simply waiting for her to give up.

Slowly, Merry looked from one galdor face to another, and she felt the shaking fade. Some hidden spark of courage flared a bit inside her, and she clenched her fists. Pigs. Lousy, clockin' pigs. I ent gonna give 'em the satisfaction. In that same moment, she made up her mind for her next move. It was pointless, but she might as well give the tsuter pair a run for their money, and she'd go out blazing...probably in more ways than one.

Love ya da, daoa, twins...an' Beesley, even...

One hand came up slowly to the side of her neck, as though she were rubbing it sheepishly. Then, with a quick flick of her arm and a harsh mutter of the monite for Sparks, the witch sent a barrage of lights blazing into the midst of the two smirking gollies.

Then she turned tail and ran like she'd never run before.

In the same sense children were given more leeway with pranks than their elders, so it was for wick magic. The Noble uses didn't limit them in the same way the laws held Galdori fast. As Merry began reciting the words for Sparks, she felt a sizzle on her tongue, minty but sharp. It was the only sense she got that her casting had gone correctly. The spell was a small enough one that she still had the energy for her sprint, however her endurance had taken a hit; lightheadedness dogged her every step.

Zalika and Solitais, however, were rather distracted, and Merry had something of a head start. Some of the sparks lept up at the Galdori; Zalika was hit worst, however the small blemishes on her face left by the witch's spell would soon fade; they appeared to be nothing more than a resurgence of acne rather than anything more disfiguring. Both Zalika and Solitais's clothing had suffered, little pinprick holes forming in the fabric. And the forged smoldered in one corner before dying. Nobody was truly hurt, but the pair definitely felt the sting.

"Clocking Wick!" The galdor screamed in his mind. Although in real life all the galdor could really mutter out was a loud cry of pain to the sensitivity of his eye and the singeing of his outfit. "My outfit! My beautiful gorgeous traveling clothes! That blasted wick...! I will have her head! Alright...calm down Solitais..."

He only had a split second to think about his next move, if he were going to move at all. What was more important, the wick, or the safety of the woman who was with him? The answer was obvious. When he regained his composure and sight he turned to Zalika, she was hit hard by the spell. But if all the guards went after one wick...then more wicks would get through. Solitais spoke hastily to the woman with both hands on her shoulders for support.

"Miss, you don't seem badly hurt, we must give chase to the wick! Keep your guards here we can't afford to have more of them trying to sneak in with the commotion!"

Zalika made a high pitched sound, slipping off her chrove and slapping at her clothing and her face, before growling through her teeth. The black beast snorted, growling deep in its throat.

"My uniform is positivly ruined! And my face! You...you...!" She was speachless with anger.



The Seventen nodded, fists clenched, already starting towards the direction Merry had fled.

"You are quite right, sir. Come, we shall give chase on foot. I do not think my chrove can follow this girl through the back alleys." That being said, she turned and ran after the witch, long legs stretching as she ran. She was fresh and fit, and angry. It would not be hard to catch the rotten little scamp.

Running, running, running. It seemed as though Merry had been running forever - in and out of alleys, over obstructions in the road, darting through crowded streets and bumping into now disgruntled passers-by.

Merry had heard the enraged snarl of the female soldier as the young witch had fled. That snarl seemed to follow her as she went, and Merry would frequently glance back over her shoulder, not seeing the woman but knowing both she and the permit officer weren't too far behind. If she'd been terrified before, no words could describe the state she was in now.

She ran frantically, her legs pumping like pistons, her arms swinging madly. She thought she heard a voice or two call out to her now and again as she ran past stalls and walkways, but she ignored them and kept running. Stopping meant...

She wouldn't even bring herself to think of it.

Distracted, she faltered and smacked into the corner of a building. She gasped, feeling the burn of scratches in her palms and the side of her face where she'd fallen against the rough wall. But she could've cared less about the stinging - it was what she'd heard in her gasp that caused the blood to drain from her face as she took off at a sprint again.

It was a deep wheezing sound.

No! Not now...gods, not now!

Already, her swift steps were beginning to lag, and her breathing grew more and more ragged. Merry looked around frantically, her jaw sagging as she tried to get more air into her rapidly closing lungs. Hide, she thought despairingly. Hide. There was an alleyway nearby, the road in it meandering past shabby shops and small homes, and along the road squatted dumpsters and rain barrels.

Thinking as fast as she could with hardly any oxygen, the witch wove into the alley and sank down behind one of the dumpsters and leaned her back against the wall. By now, she sounded like a set of ruined bagpipes, and she fumbled weakly at the pockets of her trousers - there had to be a spur in there somewhere...

Tears of frustration began to well up in her eyes. She hadn't made it very far - 'ol' wheezy' had seen to that. So much for her dreams. So much for anything else. She finally found the medicated spur in her pocket, only to realize in the same moment that she had no matches. Sighing, albeit shortly and painfully, the young woman draped her arms across her knees and leaned her head forward to wait.

Zalika couldn't quite see the witch ahead of her, but she could follow the gawking faces and shocked expressions. Jumping over obsticles and shoving her way through the shoppers, she ducked down the same alleyways as Merry, hot on her heels, breathing steady in her chest.

Burting out into the open plaza again, she spotted the girl turn into an alley way, her steps slowed and more lethargic. Fantastic, she was tiring, and Zalika had all the breath in the world. Unsure of the helpful gentlemans position with her, she ran across the court and into the alleyway. It was empty and rather secluded. It was also quite a dead end.

"Alright witch, where are you?" She said in a low, menacing voice, breath puffing as she stepped into the alley. There was a ridiculous sound coming from just further ahead. It sounded like someone choking. Frowning, she walked down slowly, approaching the sound. Turning, she looked down at the wick, an eyebrow raised.

"Oh my, you are terribly out of shape. Almost a shame to have to march you back out again." Lowering her eyebrow, she realised the girl wasn't just catching her breath. There was something wrong. Zalika despised the wicks, but..well...she was no murderer.

"Are you okay witch?"

Vrunta! Startled, Merry jerked back against the wall at the sound of the woman's voice, thumping her head against the wall, though hardly feeling it against the burn in her chest. She sat still and watched the gollie creep forward, and she forced herself to put on a bold, defiant face, despite slowly suffocating.

The snide remark flung at her did hurt, and this time, Merry did react: she tried to draw a breath in order to spit right into that leering face splotched with slight burn marks from the distracting spell. A bit of spittle might improve those looks.

But her attempts at hocking a lob of spit failed; she rasped painfully and went into a small fit of hyperventilation. That only served to make the witch even more frustrated, and she smeared her eyes and face angrily with the back of one hand.



"Does it *wheeze* look like it, ya *wheeze* mooney erse?!" she snapped hoarsely. She could've laughed at the irony of the woman's query, had she any breath to do so. Then she realized that the woman seemed genuinely concerned, so she lifted the spur weakly. "If it's *wheeze* not too much trouble, gimme *wheeze* a light. 'Splain *wheeze*...later..."

Zalika's sprint wasn't too much for the galdor. Although he was an office clerk, he could have gotten his career in the seventen if he truly wanted. He ran with her trying not to interrupt. Zalika was on the A game with keeping up with an escapee. It wasn't until they actually caught up with the wick that his breath was taken away.



He had just rounded the corner and saw the wick lying on against the wall, completely out of breath. But when he heard this exchange he about lost his own. After the insult of trying to break into his city; after the sparks and the chase; and after the seventen stepped forward and showed compassion this useless horrid creature had nothing else to say but spew vulgar insults. How could this creature become any worse?



Oh yes, that was one way it could become worse. The foul creature could ask for a light and simply 'splain later'. Sol had enough of this tripe. If the seventen wasn't there he probably would have ripped the creature's face off. All the same he bellowed at the wick,

"Foul creature you try the patience of two galdor who have very little of it! You assaulted a seventen officer and a permit officer! You insult us with your lies and cheap forgeries! You run into the city as if somehow you deserve to be here even though you belong in a ditch outside! Then when the woman who should rightfully smite you with the true power of the mona finds you, and takes compassion on a pitiful creature, you lash out at her as if she was to blame! You insult the very nature of the galdor, our pride, our dignity, you make a mockery of it! I could not have imagined a worse way for this to go, but then you top it off by mocking our good nature and intelligence by asking for a light!"

Zalika allowed the man his tyrade, flattered by the way he spoke about her compassion. It was true, she had showed compassion in the face of extreme insult. Reaching out, she rested a hand on the man's arm, the other on her chest with a small smile.

"Sir, you are a man after my own heart. If only more of our race were like you and less the embarassment I see out there. Indeed, this witch has the gaul to insult me, even in my good grace to show concern. Alas, it is a curse that I will not have someone die by my hand, or at least, not like this. Please, sir, if you have one, can you spare a match for it? I will not dishonor the mona by trying to ask them to light a cigarette." Looking down at Merry, she sighed.

"Once you've gotten your light, for your sake, I do hope you have an explination. And for the love of the Gods, do not start running again, because I am not in the mood to give chase." As if to confirm that, Zalika drew in her field, Adhere at the ready on her lips.

Sol's heart filled with pride and joy. It was joyous to be praised by another galdor, especially the charming and beautiful Zalika. He smiled happily as he placed his hand softly on hers and spoke to her.

"My dear seventen, I am Solitais Bolave...that may not hold much merit but know that you words have touched me as well. I do not have a match or suitable lighter on me, and I would not wish to disgrace the mona either. However if you would forgive me, I will ask the mona to show compassion to this creature like you have. Perhaps they will be as kind as you have been."

His anger was quelled quickly, he still did not feel very compassionate for the wick, but it did occur to him that there must be some need for the spur. He turned away from Zalika and put his hand out carefully to the spur. His eyes glared at the wick as his discontent with the woman grew. He calmly spoke the mona for Ignite. Although he didn't feel the woman deserved it, he would attempt to give the woman's spur a simple light, even though the woman deserved a good burn to the face.

Whatever the mona preferred—compassion or cruelty—was something apparently indeterminable by the current limitations of galdori thought and philosophy. Whatever their intentions, it was clear they weren't about to share any real insights at this moment in time. Everyone could smell sulfur as the air near the cigar shimmered, sparked, and finally lit.

A bright flash of flame, perhaps a little blindingly bright, caught the end of the spur on fire but spared any hint of damage to her face.

Solitas' mouth felt like sandpaper as he finished the words of his spell, but there seemed to be no other real ill effects despite the situation.

Despite her lungs flaming with each harsh breath, Merry patiently waited out the ranting of the permit officer, silently amused at all the hot air he was expelling; she could see he was nothing more than a desk job, using this opportunity to exercise his right to scream. She was a bit surprised, though, that the soldier woman was a member of the Seventen. But even she had the decency to be calm about things. Merry allowed herself a bit of grudging respect for the soldier, but she certainly wouldn't say so.

It was the man's jab at her need for the spur that got the witch talking again. "*wheeze* The spur's fer me *wheeze* breathin', ya dolt! It's herbs an' such that'll *wheeze* keep me from these attacks!" She snorted a bit. "Some intelligence...what good *wheeze* would I have fer a real smoke when *wheeze* I'm chokin' enough as it is?"

She struggled with what air her lungs would allow as the Seventen officer began to speak, praising the fellow for his words. Merry would've snickered at such brown-nosing, but she didn't have enough wind to get it out, nor the energy to show it on her haggard face.



"I don't *wheeze* plan on it...marm," the witch gasped, tossing in a bit of manners. She wouldn't tell of her speck of respect, but she'd at least show some gratitude that the soldier was showing some compassion, amazingly enough. "I'll explain soon enough, *wheeze* but for gods' *wheeze*sakes, gimme a clockin' *wheeze* light!!"

The spell was uttered, and the cigar flared at its tip, filling the air with an earthy herbal scent. Merry inhaled as deeply as possible, filling her throat and lungs with the desperately needed medicine, and feeling some of the tightness recede. She exhaled a shuddering relieved breath and watched the blueish smoke curl about in the air near her knees. Thank the good gods...

Once her breathing was a bit more steady, the witch stuck the stogie between her teeth and glanced up at the two gollies, sullenly nodding her thanks. "Muj...thanks," she mumbled. "Believe what ye will, but I am grateful. And, like I said, I'll tell ye what I was doin'." She made a point to focus only on the Seventen soldier when she spoke; the permit officer pissed her off.

She tugged at one sweat-dappled dreadlock, thinking fast. ""Tis a fake writ, 'course. I was lookin' ta get in to find a job, 's all. I didn't want no trouble, but I got scared enough ta run." She sighed, the smoke billowing out of her nose, making her look like some sort of winded dragon. "I'm sorry to've caused a ruckus, an' ye can take me in now, if it makes ya feel better 'bout it."

No sense in trying to play it up, she thought grimly. But the one hope she clung to was that they'd take the bluff.

He could tell the was at this point telling the truth. The honesty of her vulgar arrogance was showing out. Those who are in a desperate need of help are more willing to show off their true personality, it was the job of a permit officer to know when people were lying and when they were not. He had no problems believing the woman's need for a light. After the spell had gone off however the flash of light irritated him only slightly. He spoke softly as the woman breathed in a long puff of smoke.

"Do not be cross, I am only distrustful of those who have deceived me. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."



He was being ignored, that was obvious because even though he was knelt down before her the wick had made it a point to look at the seventen woman Zalika. What's more Sol believed the woman to be stalling her words, buying time to come up with something better to say. It was partially that he was distrustful but also because he was accustomed to wicks lying about what they were doing. If the wick was a rebel it wouldn't have been the first time. He didn't prod the woman, but gave her a chance to continue.



I was scared, and so I ran. Those words resonated in Sol's mind. The only reason a person has to be scared of an official is because they have something to hide. Even if the wick had every good reason to believe the seventen to be violent and biased, it was no excuse for throwing sparks and then running into the city.



He knew he was being ignored, and that made him all the more distrustful. In Sol's mind the following dialogue played out.

She is obviously angry at me. She should be, I just called her out and confronted her with all her mistakes. But her tone just changed, suddenly she was being as calm as submissive as possible. She has to be hiding something, if she was truly being honest then she'd have no reason to believe she was in the wrong. The wick knows she was doing something wrong, I have to expose it somehow...

Sol decided to fight fire with fire, he held out a hand to Merry with a calm even face. If Merry was honest, and truly a wick of poor reason, then it would be proven to Sol now. He spoke so calmly that a mouse would've taken cheese from his hand.

"Miss Merry Fitzborough yes? I think that was the name you told us. Do you require any healing? I apologize about my anger, it was uncalled for and I was only upset at the situation. Forgive me. If the seventen would permit it perhaps we can forgo any legal action to see if perhaps we can sort this little mess out here"

He turned away from the wick to look up at Zalika. He wished and hoped the woman would catch on to the plan.

"Wouldn't you agree miss...?"

Eran was out running an errand for Maria that morning, when he saw the Seventen harrassing one poor scared little witch. All this writ business made him so uneasy. Who had the right to deny people entrance to a city for doing nothing? He had seen a brawl awhile back...might be time to use it.
"Excuse me, officer? Saw a fight back there. It's looking like it could get dangerous. Think you could maybe go take a look?"

Sole stood up and looked to see who was addressing the officer. It was that stuttering human from the last time! Blasted humans, another brawl? He didn't have time to consider the possibility of a lie, he looked down at the wick with a smug look before turning to Zalika.

"Miss, go follow the human, I'll go alert more of the guard."

With that he ran off towards the nearest guard post to find more seventen. He never even got the chance to find out the woman's name. As he cursed his own missed fortune he prayed he would be able to find the woman again. Maybe another day...