The outskirts of the city are a familiar place to Blaise, the wooded terrain a perfect place to reconnect with her more animalistic desires; often, one could run into minor fae hiding amongst the trees, pixies nesting in the moss-covered roots and will o' the wisps floating in and out of the bush, their haunting glow illuminating the darkness with a soft yellow light. Very few mortals would know the dangers of following the ghost-lights, how they were prone to mischief and often lead travelers astray from their paths, though perhaps folklore and its habit of sugarcoating the things they don't understand could be more to blame for the ignorance of men.

She, however, is well versed in the tricks of some of the more unsully fae and when the will o' the wisp bouncing about the wild fern across from them starts beckoning, she turns from it, leading the way further into the forest and off of the worn path they had followed up to this point.

The answers they seek won't be found on a trail worn flat by mortal and superhuman feet, but in the heart of the old wood, where the darker creatures of fae tend to lurk, waiting for the lost traveler to stumble. She glances back at Archer to make sure he's close behind, her ears busy listening for the sound of danger lying in wait.

It is dark, the air around them thick with humidity and heavy with fog, the perfect hour for those wicked beasts of lore to crawl from their dens, preying on the weak and outnumbered. Were she a lesser fae, Blaise might've been frightened of the wicked things they might encounter. She fingers the bronze dagger at her side, the point of it deathly sharp.

She turns again to whisper to Archer, a warning about what he might see in the next few hours of their search, when the whistling sound of an arrow cuts the air, whizzing past her head so close that the wind of it kisses her cheek.

No, she thinks in disbelief, her heart constricting with fear. Vaughan had found them, she's certain - only he would be prone to miss, if only for their shared history. He wouldn't want to kill her, but his pride would force him to announce his presence. He would want her to know that hell was coming.

She whips her head back to Archer, her voice soft and steady despite the blood rushing in her head, clouding her vision with that nagging terror, a feeling she hated for the weakness it gave her. "It is Vaughan, but he will not attack us himself. It is a game to him - cat and mouse. There are others," she pauses then, listening intently before nodding with resolve. "There are two others, Vaughan is retreating."

He won't attack her today at all, and suddenly she is more annoyed than frightened. She is tired of it all, tired of him playing this game and when the first of their attackers breaks through the foliage to her left, she is fast and determined, her hair snapping and whipping at her cheeks as she palms the dagger. She locks eyes with the girl, her mouth turning up into a feral grin as all of her hate and rage at her aunt pours out and into her magic - the dagger is an extension of her own body, another apenddage that is thirsty for blood.

"This one is mine," she snarls to Archer, her eyes never leaving the fairy she's known since childhood as Ivaine. "Her brother is not far behind."

As if on queue, she hears Icarus rustling the underbrush to her right, his ice blue eyes a wicked gleam in the dark.

Of the twins, Icarus had always been the more calculated one; Archer would have his hands full with that one.

Without another thought, Blaise lunges for Ivaine, her dagger cutting slices through the air, the sound of her bronze dagger and Ivaine's ice blade shattering the tranquility of the forest.