Unsurprisingly, the prince wound up electing to wear the garment, if after a brief comment about how he intended to destroy the item completely once the night was over. It was only after he put it on that he spoke up again, completely annoyed over the apparent reality that the snow globe had actually been enchanted, and that he now had the voice of Santa in his head. What was worse was that it seemed Chris Kringle would be taking up residence in Vandrad’s mind until Christmas day. Serilda winced. “Suddenly, my rotten meatloaf doesn’t sound so bad..” She and Mythal were more than familiar with the experience, and it was not something that she would wish on anyone. At least his would only be temporary, however -- Mythal and Serilda were stuck with their disembodied voices for the rest of their very long lives.
The mistletoe incident went down about the way that Mythal and Vandrad both had expected, and after the fact Serilda would realize that she honestly should have expected about the same. Still blushing, she shot her fiance a defiant smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to actively pawn me off to other women. You certainly have a habit for setting me up with them.”
What happened next happened so quickly that it was nearly simultaneous. Vandrad froze for a moment before snatching a ghost out of thin air, snapping its neck in his hand and sending it back to the unknown. Shortly after, Mercury made a comment about how their outings always ended in fights before her demeanor suddenly became… well, strange. She was talking to them like they had said something concerning or accusing toward her, her face wrought with barely contained fear as she took a couple steps back. While she was dealing with that, Mythal was overcome with an assailant of his own, his words stopping in their tracks as he began to struggle as though also overcome with some kind of illusion.
Moonlight materialized in Serilda’s hand, the blessed blade glowing a bright white-blue color that radiated with holy magic. She frantically searched around for something, anything to attack, and found herself coming up empty handed. Unfortunately, ghosts were one of the very few things she could not sense with her magic. Fortunately, it took only a couple seconds for the director and the Silver Wolf mage to free themselves, with Mercury blasting an excessive amount of holes into the ghost that appeared behind her. Lux practically burst from Mythal, the first time the Lightbringer had shown himself since the night Mythal had nearly fallen to Faera’s schemes. It seemed the Seal was able to see what they could not, and he hastily turned Mythal around until a veritable grim reaper appeared before them.
In a flash, Curse was in his hand, its magical blade cleaving the spirit in two before he fell to the ground with tears streaming down his face. “Mythal?!” Serilda quickly knelt next to him, her sword still held out in a protective guard while her free arm reached around to draw him against her chest, holding him closely as she frantically searched for more attackers. “Lux, What’s happening?”
The Seal wouldn’t get the chance to answer. The sound of a hacking cough drew her attention toward the figure that approached them: an old man with a look of such consternation on his face that even Vandrad looked peppy beside him. “They are being assailed by my spirits, Lady Sinclair,” he said, putting a little too much emphasis on her title in order to be disrespectful. “My ghosts are drawn to individuals with deep struggles, using their powers to inflict their victims with visions of their past and present mistake, and even of the futures that await them on their current life course. This one clearly was not a fan of his future.”[/color]
The way he spoke his last sentence caused Serilda to draw up in full regal indignation, as though he had implied that perhaps it was something about her and their future together that had caused Mythal such pain. He only smirked at her. “I wonder, princess… what will you see?” He snapped his fingers and all three ghosts returned each of them rushing her. Before they could get nearly close enough to touch her, however, a wave of crimson energy that looked horrifyingly like fresh blood shot from Serilda’s body, overwhelming the ghosts and destroying them in one fell swoop. Serilda was already on her feet, bearing down on the old man as he scrambled to cope with the fact that all three of his spirits had been so quickly and easily overpowered.
He raised his hand to snap his fingers, but before he could manage it every single bone in his hand suddenly broke, his fingers and wrist all bent at jagged, unnatural angles. He screamed in pain, holding the limb gingerly, looking up only at the last minute in an attempt to spare himself from Serilda’s wrath. She cracked him hard over the head with the pommel of her scimitar, coolly knocking him out cold in a single swift and precise strike. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Shaking with rage, Serilda visibly fought back the desire to beat the man further, but only briefly. Her cool mind and cooler discipline won out with only a brief flash of desire toward further retribution before she sighed and waved Moonlight away, replacing it with a set of handcuffs.
She quickly cuffed the man’s wrists behind his back, the enchanted shackles cutting off the flow of his magic so he couldn’t use it when he awoke. Pulling out her iLac, she contacted the local squad of Knights that were milling about the festival and dispatched a pair of them to take the apprehended man to jail. Once they were on their way, she hurried back over to Mythal and pulled him close to her again. Looking up at Vandrad and Mercury, a number of questions raced through her head, particularly toward Mercury… but rather than voice them, the only words that came to her mouth were, “Is everyone okay..?”