View source for 999999/Lofty Ideals

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2014/07/07
|Location=The Tundra
|Synopsis=Sir Bedivere of the Round Table, formerly of Camelot, now of the Union, leads a relief expedition high into the snowy mountains of the Multiverse. It's a treacherous winter road, and the threat of highwaymen and Confederates is a constant one. Whatever will this expedition of mercy find?
|Thanks=To everybody who came!
|Cast of Characters=3, 12, 42, 62, 140, 236, 307, 346, 482
|Tinyplot=
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  Despite the midsummer climate across so much of the Multiverse, there are places where summer is nothing more than a distant dream, where warmth never touches; where freezing wind, lack, and scarcity reign absolute. Many of the people of these regions are able to get by, but the war between the Union and the Confederacy has brought imbalance to such places, destroying livelihoods and robbing these people of the things they need to survive.<br /><br />  There are many who would offer aid to these people, despite their being strangers. Knightly ideals of chivalry and generosity to those less fortunate were a cornerstone of Camelot, and even if the kingdom he served is no longer accessible, he can still uphold its virtues.<br /><br />  So reasons Sir Bedivere of the Round Table, at the head of a long caravan of pack-horses, winding its way up a mountain trail through waist-deep snow.<br /><br />  He had expected it to be cold, but not quite like this. While he had brought fur lining for much of his armour and a much heavier hooded cloak, the wind still bites, and having to slog through waist-deep snow is a taxing endeavour even to the heartiest of men. His height and his strength help... and though he offers not a single word of complaint, he's really beginning to hope they reach their destination, a remote mountain village half-ruined by careless Confederate action, very soon.<br /><br />  A nice warm hearth is starting to seem like the most wonderful, rose-tinted dream a man can have in this frigid climate.<br /><br />  Still, he trudges gamely on, forcing himself to place one foot in front of the other through the snowpack. The horses aren't having much better a time, shaggy little ponies designed for such trails, but they struggle on as well. They're loaded down heavily with things that should bring some relief to the people here -- clothing, food, medical supplies, clean drinking water; and most importantly, fuel for their fires.<br /><br />  Bedivere hunkers into his cloak a little more securely as the teasing wind skirls through the pass, ruffling his long hair and his heavy cloak, and he grits his teeth so they don't chatter.<br /><br />  "A-according to the directions I was given," he states in that gentle, almost feminine voice of his, "we should arrive s-soon." He can't keep a little bit of stutter out -- he's freezing, and quickly attaining a state of 'soaked through.' Twisting, he looks back at his travelling companions, and his expression softens a little.<br /><br />  Truly, it touches him that there are others who would selflessly give of themselves like this. Arturia had spoken rightly; the knightly ideals they had striven so hard to follow have not died at all. Perhaps the people who follow them might be a little strange, by his reckoning, but there's nothing wrong with that. They certainly mean well.<br /><br />  The faintest smile touches his face. "And thank you for your assistance. I am certain the Good Lord will reward such generosity. A�! Come, we are almost there. Mayhap the people will permit us to warm ourselves by a hearth after we have finished our work." Not that he would expect a reward, of course, but maybe it'll motivate some of his allies, if their morale is flagging. "Eyes forward, though, my good allies. There are still highwaymen to be wary of, and though I have heard naught of the Confederacy, I'll not rest until we have arrived..."<br /><br />  Put simply, it's been far too quiet this far into the trip, and even he isn't so blindly optimistic to think that that's necessarily a good thing...<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:62|Elise Leroy (62)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Amongst the possible people to join this caravan on its route, one might stand out because of sheer mundanity. She clutches her jacket around herself, and adjusts the helmet just a bit, setting the HUD to warn her of incoming obstacles. She's glad she brought the heavy gloves this time, they usually make everything more difficult, but now they're a blessing for the warmth they maintain in her hands. Elise, or as she introduced herself, Elza, trudges along, and responds to Bedivere. "Providing aid to others can lead to aid being returned in kind should you need it later. Much like my world has received much aid, from both sides of this war, we're trying to give back what we can."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>Seemingly at home on the Tundra a large wolf stalks across the area, he's been taken to the larger wolf form, because of all the trouble he's been smack in the middle of lately, so his smaller wolf shape has more less been abandoned for now. Of course, at the moment the large wolf isn't looking for trouble. He's come because he is hungry and he's found the penguins and sea lions found here upon the tundra quite tasty. He is here for that very reason, he stops and glances at the flocks of penguins and herds of sea lions, keeping an alert eye out for any that appear sick, weak, or injured.<br /><br />He starts to stalk forward once he has found one that seems like an easy kill, but then he stops dead in his tracks and his ears perk as he hears the sounds of people approaching. He turns to watch them for a few moments, curious, but he doesn't appear to be threatening as he doesn't growl or snarl in their direction, he just watches.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:140|Ryuko Matoi (140)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Wow. Screw this.<br /><br />Granted, wearing something that has her blood constantly being pumped through it keeps her warm, despite how much it's not covering.. No one said anything about riding a damn horse. Or trudging through snow. Really, a lot of this wasn't mentioned to her at all. Just that some people needed 'help' and that Ryuko might get 'paid' when they were done.<br /><br />So, whatever, she's here. So much for charity work.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     At the side of the tall, silver-haired knight rode a much smaller figure with pale flaxen hair in a similar braid, wrapped within a thick blue woollen cloak, with the same stoic and determined expression on her face. One could easily discern that the two were knights within the same Order, sharing the same ideals and path of chivalry. However, it was only half-right; the tiny lady knight who rode silently beside Sir Bedivere was none other than his own liege, the woman who masqueraded as a man to become King Arthur of Camelot. <br /><br />     But that had been years ago. Now, in the current era, she was simply known as the Servant Saber of the Fourth Holy Grail War and member of the Union. <br /><br />     In spite of the harsh conditions and gruelling work, hidden behind a stoic mask, Saber was in good spirits. For one, this was a true noble task for a knight, and surely the supplies would help the people they were intended for; a knight could not ask for a more fitting mission. Second, it had seemed like centuries since she had ridden an actual horse...chocobos and motorbikes had their charms, but they simply weren't the same. And finally, once more one of her beloved knights was once more by her side. His presence had been a gift beyond measure, one Saber never would have expected in a million years. <br /><br />     Yet for her mood, she maintained her businesslike composition and remained focused on the task. Glancing up, she surveyed the cliffs with a critical eye. "There does not appear to be the immediate concern of an avalanche...still, we must remain vigilant." <br /><br />     Lowering her gaze, she likewise surveyed their surroundings. No sign of brigands....not yet. <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  Actually, Bedivere's shivering in his armour, but the heavy plate, chain, and thick cloth hides it well. So does the fact that he's slogging through snow like a champ. Or maybe a chump. Maybe he should've taken a heavier cloak...<br /><br />  "Returned?" The violet-eyed knight glances over to Elza, and he seems amused by her words, subtle though the reaction may be. "Ah, no. I do not d-do this for hope of r-reward. I do this because 'tis the r-right thing to do. Perhaps they may choose to offer a reward for such, but seeing these p-people do well; that is all the reward I wish for."<br /><br />  That wolf in the distance catches his attention, though. In Britain, wolves were dangerous predators that were not to be taken lightly. And they were often associated with devilry, evil, misfortune, and all manner of unpleasantries. Or maybe witchcraft. There were a lot of things associated with witchcraft. And Bedivere is fairly superstitious...<br /><br />  "Ah. 'Ware the wolf on the rise, over there," he calls, gesturing towards the creature. "I do not think it will trouble us yet, but mind the horses. And do not be afraid to show it steel if it grows too bold."<br /><br />  Half a glance is cast toward Arturia, as though gauging to see if she's doing alright. She has the benefit of being on a horse; he dismounted some time ago to make the going easier on his own animal, mostly because he'd also put a bunch of supplies on his own personal horse to carry just a little bit more relief up. Yes, that would be like him.<br /><br />  Bedivere's spirits are similarly high, even if he's quickly starting to not be able to feel his fingers, and his feet are distant strangers he lost a few hours ago.<br /><br />  "Aye. We must remain vigilant," he confirms, eyeing the distant hills himself. "I would be more wary of highywaymen. These supplies are more valuable than gold to these people." Of course, he's the kind of person who would stop the caravan and give some of them to the highwaymen, because clearly they're just misguided souls in need, right?<br /><br />  ...Right?<br /><br />  Half a glance is cast back to Ryuko Matoi, whose scarcity of clothing brings a flush to the knight's face that has nothing to do with the fact that Bedivere's skin has been scoured half off his face by the wind. Gah, that's so /immodest/. "Are you well, La--Ryuko?" he calls back, though carefully. It wouldn't do to start an avalanche.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:62|Elise Leroy (62)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Elza shakes her head. "Don't misunderstand me... I don't mean rewards, I mean favour. If you help someone, they're more likely to help you later if you're in trouble." she explains. "I provide 'mercenary' work, but ask no payment for it, save for what they are willing to give." she gestures to the large hammer slung over her back. "Such as an artefact, or offers of aid should I ask."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:3|Roll (3)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    "O-oh, wh-why was I b-ui-uilt to f-feel COOOooooold." Roll complains. She's been helping the caravan along by clearing snow from the path where need be, and looking after the wagons, running errands. Bringing food to people in need is an effort she can approve of! And right now, the little Robot Master's all bundled up in winter clothing with all the appropriately fuzzy trim. Mittens, boots, the works!<br /><br />    But even so, she's putting forth every effort to help the knights, despite the wind, and the snow. No mount for her, she can only run along and occasionally hop onto a wagon.<br /><br />    So it is though that eventually she strolls up alongside Elza, and shines a happy grin up at the 'mercenary!'<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Some days... just, very rarely.<br />    Mordred reminisces, too.<br /><br />    The days of the White Knight are far behind her. The days of being the perfect heir, the days of being a hero. The days of not having to think-- the days of simply doing what is Right, and attempting to impress the king. They were the days, really. It's too bad she's got such a mental block against getting past the hurdles that ruined them. She is the Knight of Treachery now; she can never be the White Knight again.<br /><br />    But, in some isolated parts of the world, she can pretend.<br /><br />    By pure coincidence, there is a massive ruckus off the road the caravan travels on. In a spot perfect for ambushes, there is screaming instead of knives and arrows. A knight in the purest white armor, with an ornate silver bastard sword decorated such to be dazzling and beautiful, brings his weapon down against three ruffians at once, felling them. Four more lay on the ground already, and one screams incoherently, fleeing for the road in hopes the members of the caravan he sought to rob moments earlier will save him.<br /><br />    The knight comes walking after him calmly, silently, but stops like a statue at the sight of Arturia and Bedivere. The illusion her helmet casts upon her shatters immediatly, and the White Knight's shine and aura fades into the silver and red, demonic-looking armor of Mordred, whose gaze pierces through the helm almost literally. And with incredible hostility.<br /><br />    That bandit fleeing is completely forgotten.<br />    But she does not attack, either.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  "I do not misunderstand," Bedivere corrects, voice gentle and good-natured. It's only loud enough to hear above the muffled crunch of snow, or the soft snorts of the horses. "Certainly I understand a favour for a favour, but that is not why I do such work. I expect nothing from these people, for surely when struggling so mightily, they have naught to give, do they not? I--"<br /><br />  The sound of screams punches through whatever he was about to say. Bedivere immediately puts his hand to the hilt of his sword, eyes snapping wide, but to his credit he does not draw. Before he even has the opportunity to consider it, the one to dispatch the unfortunate highwaymen strides toward the caravan.<br /><br />  And then he finds himself face to face with a ghost.<br /><br />  Bedivere's hand falls from its scabbard, and when he speaks, it's with uncharacteric hoarseness. One gauntleted hand rises to point at him, somewhere between disbelief and -- a rare emotion for him -- the beginnings of very real anger.<br /><br />  "Scoundrel. /Blackguard/. What are /you/ doing here? How /dare/ you show your face before the King! Were I not on a mission of peace, I would have half a mind to draw steel right now!" Bedivere very pointedly puts himself between Arturia and Mordred, cold and stiffness forgotten in the face of bright, hot anger. "Begone!"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>The wolf eyes the horses for a few moments, he really dislikes horses and for a few moments he even considers spooking them. He wouldn't waste time on trying to kill and eat a horse though, besides he just doesn't like the taste of horsemeat. The large wolf gives a sigh and then he manages to spot someone he knows from other adventures. Roll.<br /><br />His ears perk again at what sounds like screams humans sure are a noisy lot, he supposes he wont get any hunting done right now. He shimmers and shifts forms, a large eagle taking the place of the wolf and he launches into the air as he flies over towards the caravan. Well, maybe this form wont scare the horses as much as his previous, but who knows with those foul beasts?<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Caravan guard duty for a few hours? Sure, Staren can help with that. It'll be easy too, he'll just ride along in his mecha. /That/ should discourage any trouble.<br /><br />    What? What do you mean it's all narrow trails and there's no room for a mecha?<br /><br />    Mutter mutter. Staren starts out trudging through the snow, then decides that's dumb and turns into a cat, riding on one of the ponies' backs. Eventually he crawls into one of the packs for a nap. Look, he's still help. If they run into trouble he's carrying a small arsenal in extradimensional space.<br /><br />    The sound of conversation and a distant fight rouses him -- a furry black face peers out of one of the packs to look at his companions. His inertial tracker confirms they are indeed 'almost there'. In this form, his voice is high and squeaky: "You were probably built to feel cold so that you'd be wary of the hazards of your body icing up. Still, I'd think you could turn it off in situations like this..." He disappears back into the pack, peering out from the flap at the other side, now. "What's all this?" he asks Mordred, and then, ...eagle? What? He eyes the shapeshifter warily, not recognizing this form. Who's this? Does the knight have a pet? What's it up to?<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     That had been one argument Arturia had 'lost'; before setting out, she had intended to use her mount for extra supplies as well, only to be almost chastised by her marshal that one, she needed the extra height to be able to see anything, and second, she was a Saber, possessing the invaluable skill of Riding. She would need that skill should the caravan be attacked. She had somewhat grudgingly agreed that he was correct, having to reassure the embarrassed knight that he was not presumptuous to point that out. <br /><br />     The mask dropped subtly, and she smiled faintly at the Unionites who had joined them. As demanding as this mission was, they had committed to helping them. It was, for her, touching. "Once more, I thank you for your efforts," she told them. Whatever their professed motivations were, it wasn't easy for them. <br /><br />     Perhaps she should have expected to see Mordred again; she had not seen her 'son' for quite some time, though she had heard of her actions within the Confederacy. As a Servant, the both of them were bound and unchangeable in certain ways. Still, Arturia refused to believe it. Another Mordred had redeemed herself in some ways -- though still a member of the Confederacy -- and so this other Mordred could be, as well. Or so she insisted on believing. the trick was how to convince her 'son' of that. <br /><br />     The mask slipped just subtly, allowing the other Servant to glimpse at the concern and conflicting emotions below it before her mask resettled. Saber still wasn't sure what the other Saber was going to do. But she refrained from calling out Excalibur just yet. <br /><br />     She did, however, touch Bedivere's arm lightly. "Hold," she commanded calmly, keeping her emotions in check. "Whatever quarrel my son has is between the two of us." <br /><br />     She then looked back at Mordred. "That is, should she have one. For the moment, I see only a fellow knight." <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:3|Roll (3)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Roll turns a childishly indignant face to Staren moments after the explanation arrives. "/Smarty-pants./" But she doesn't have TIME to be grouchy over it, even with all the shivering. Something happens that gets her right out of that misery. SCREAMS. And everyone freaking out.<br /><br />    She immediately adjusts her stance and stops tromping forwards, looking about ready to break into a dash if need be. Towrds, away? Hard to say. Roll's eyes have a hin of fright in them - that, and terror. SCREAMS are not nice things to hear, and they evoke a deep urge to get AWAY.<br /><br />    But still, she stays, and then... scoots out in front of Elza, with a wary and wondering eye on the distant Mordred.<br /><br />    And now Roll shivers for a completely different reason.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Oh, does this bother Bedivere now?<br />    Mordred grins wide under the helmet. Well, 'dad' is right. Their quarrel is between them. This is kind of a shitty place to settle it, too. There's a shimmer coming from it, and a snap. It splits down the middle, and slams partway onto her shoulders and chest, forming an extra layer of armor there at the cost of not being a huge horned evil-looking helmet anymore. The blonde hair underneath flows free, revealing the fourteen, maybe fifteen year old girl-- barely but a bit younger than Saber over there, but otherwise identical. Bright green eyes look at those gathered-- Ryuko gets the closest thing to an appreciative glance, something that conveys 'welp, ain't you clever'.<br /><br />    The grinning knight hops onto the road, suddenly hurling her massive sword, Clarent, towards the fleeing bandit. It lodges into the ground, after passing through the bandit and putting an end to his life of awful things. She walks over, puts her hand back onto the blade's hilt, and picks it up, but doesn't raise it agains the others.<br /><br />    She just walks towards Bedivere, and puts one finger against his breastplate. With all the smooth-talking skills of her knighthood behind, she says:<br /><br />    "Hey. Fuck you too, guy."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:62|Elise Leroy (62)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Elza is quick on the draw. Always has been since certain incidents... A hand goes up to the hammer haft, the other, to the holstered pistol at her side, right hand drawing the hammer while left unclips the gun, but keeps it hidden within her jacket... She's making sure she's ready for a fight if one breaks out.<br /><br />    As Roll runs in front of her, she sets the hammer, head down, gently in the snow, before reaching forward and placing that hand on the Robot Master's shoulder. "Easy, Roll."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  Although he makes no move to bare steel, it's clear that the marshal is just a short ways away from it. The touch to his arm is like a bucket of icewater to his anger, though, and Bedivere reluctantly straightens from his unconsciously offensive stance. He straightens so much that there's no denying that he's still /angry/; such a change, no doubt, from the gentle and soft-spoken marshal, and the cold mask that had not been unlike Arturia's.<br /><br />  Bedivere inhales deeply, and lets the breath go through his nose. Some of the tension seems to bleed out of him, though those violet eyes are still bright and hard.<br /><br />  "Forgive me, my lord." He takes about half a step back to at least allow Arturia and Mordred clear view of one another, but it's obvious that the movement is reluctant at best--<br /><br />  He actually /snarls/ when his breastplate is jabbed with a forefinger, losing all pretense of calm; his gauntleted hand flies to the hilt of his sword. Only through incredible self-control does he /not/ draw the blade, but he trembles as he stands there, frozen while he struggles with himself, and in what is perhaps a startling change from what Arturia is so familiar with, the rage that radiates from him is almost palpable.<br /><br />  Better hope Saber can hold him back. He might be ashamed for his conduct later, but... welp. Later. Right now he just wants to do something really painful to Mordred, and his desire to hold some tatters of knightly conduct is the only thing holding him back.<br /><br />  This is, as far as he's concerned, Arturia's murderer. Or somebody very much like her. Him.<br /><br />  Whatever. That distinction /so/ doesn't matter to him right now.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>Allyn circles around in the sky above the caravan and the knights and such, peering down to watch and see what is going on. Humans and such can be rather interesting at times, but he calls down towards the others, "Is everything alright here? In need of any assistance?" Yes, the large eagle is talking.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Knights are foulmouthed, eagles are talking, whaaaaat is even going ooooon<br /><br />    Staren starts to ask, "What is going-- no, you know what? That doesn't matter." The little talking (apparent) cat looks to Mordred. "Are you going to let us pass, or not?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    "Sure," Mordred grins towards Staren.<br /><br />    "Also I'm gonna escort the caravan with you guys. 'cuz it pisses off Sir Kissy Ass over here more than if I tried to murder father again," she even explains, with a glare towards Saber. "Or, you know, succeeded. Again."<br /><br />    Consider it a peace offering.<br /><br />    It's not like the bandits were Confederates anyway.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     This reunion was not going quite as expected. And yes, the setting and timing were /terrible/. <br /><br />     She dismounted, turning just enough to hide the fact that she was pinching the bridge of her nose in a most undignified manner. So many crises she could handle, so many disagreements she could mediate with relative ease...only to now be faced with one she obviously couldn't. <br /><br />     What to do, when the pinnacle of a knight in shining armour who is your best friend and an estranged magical clone of yourself get into this kind of spat? It's a bit much even for the Once and Future King. "Now is not the time nor the place," she scolded the both of them. "Sir Bedivere, mind the Code. Mordred, language." <br /><br />     When in doubt: Team Mom mode. <br /><br />     Thankfully, Allyn's distraction was well-timed. Without even batting an eye -- a sharp contrast to Bedivere's consternation at things like talking eagles -- Saber glanced up and answered. "For the moment....however, should you wish to render assistance in delivering these supplies, you would be most welcome." <br /><br />     With a heavy sigh, she considered Mordred, letting the comment go. "And yes, that does include you. Mind your manners, however....knight or not." <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Staren looks from Mordred to Saber. 'Father'? Oh. This girl must have two mommies, like Ariel, and calls one Dad. Clearly that is what is going on. Sounds like there's bad blood between them and she's tried to kill 'dad' at least once before. And Sir Bedivere is connected to it all somehow.<br /><br />    Still, it sounds like things have been resolved, even if awkward times are ahead.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>The eagle tilts his head at Saber's response and he ponders for a few moments, "I suppose a more suitable form is in order then." if birds could sigh, he most likely would. The large eagle lands on the ground and shimmers as he shifts forms once more, a human male standing where the eagle once was. He gives Saber a respectful bow, "At your service my lady, just let me know what I can do. I am Allyn."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  Bedivere visibly stiffens at that rejoinder, those three simple words like a bucket of icewater hurled onto his temper. He doesn't precisely shrink, but it's clear that Saber's chiding took the fight out of him. The tension bleeds from his broad shoulders; snow crunches underfoot as he shifts his weight uncomfortably. He's not uncomfortable just because he can't feel his feet any more.<br /><br />  "Milord." His tone is suitably mortified. "I offer my humblest apologies. I have forgotten myself. I would welcome Sir Mordred's assistance in guarding this caravan."<br /><br />  Somehow he manages to get that out, though something in his expression twitches, like he just bit into an overripe citrus.<br /><br />  And then he's abruptly distracted because there is suddenly an eagle turning into a man in Saber's immediate vicinity. Rather than leap to her defense, all he can really do for a second or two is stare, wide-eyed.<br /><br />  Uh.<br /><br />  What just happened, there?<br /><br />  Still, Saber seems to be treating that creature courteously, so Bedivere strives to do the same, no matter how rattled that might have left him. That's not the kind of thing ordinary folk of Camelot can do, you know.<br /><br />  He offers a slightly stiff bow to Allyn.<br /><br />  "Your assistance would be welcome, Sir Allyn. I am Sir Bedivere, humble servant of King Arturia."<br /><br />  There is a brief moment taken to glare at Mordred, though. He's not going to forget this. Oh, no.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Who does Saber think she is, her father?<br />    Ah fuck damnit.<br />    With a huff, the knight in red and silver walks past Bedivere, not giving him another biting retort to insult. For now! That could change. She's certainly not going to blanket agree to behave and mind her tongue, though.<br /><br />    "I'm not one of your armored slaves anymore, you can't tell me what to do. I'm up for a really god damn awkward road trip though. Maybe there's more of those suckers waiting up ahead thinking, oh man, screams, I bet it wasn't our guys at all, we should continue with the plan."<br /><br />    Shrug.<br /><br />    "What's in the caravan anyway?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     Arturia took no pleasure in scolding the knight; in fact, some part of her felt guilty about it. Bedivere's fierce loyalty was like the double-edged swords they wielded; both a benefit and a danger at the same time. And it /was/ touching that he remained as dedicated to her after all this time and in spite of her faults. Fortunately, he was also the most calm and level-headed of all her knights, only a mild chastisement was needed where she would have had to have been much more firm with Gawain. <br /><br />     This time, her mask was up to protect him. Mordred as she was right now would have tried to kill him just to get a reaction out of Arturia...and she would have succeeded. dly, she debated playing the 'bad cop' as the saying went for once, if it would make the angry young Servant satisfied, albeit temporarily. <br /><br />     At least things had settled down...for the moment. But that hardly meant Arturia was going to relax or let up her guard even for a minute. <br /><br />     Saber nodded at Allyn's perfectly chivalrous introduction, responding in kind. "Well-met, and I thank you for your assistance." <br /><br />     Looking past the entourage, she glimpsed an approaching figure, and there was something familiar about the person. Most likely from one of the Union's reports, since something seemed to suggest a compatriot to her. She waved, just in case, to let him know they awaited him. very impressive, to have caught up to them through the snow. <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>Allyn gives a return bow to Bedivere, though he does eye the man a bit warily. "Thank you Sir Bedivere." He seems like most people from Allyn's own world the people that would hunt down and kill those who showed any abilities that were considered 'magic'. Allyn had a feeling he would meet someone like that in his travels around here, but was quietly hoping he wouldn't, since he had only met those who accepted him since his first appearance.<br /><br /> He nods to Saber and gives a smile, "I am always glad to help those in need." He glances around alertly and frowns a little after Mordred heads away and then turns towards where Auron is approaching, ah he recognizes the outfit at least, he gives a wave towards Auron as well.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:236|Auron (236)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    A red spot in the snow is pretty noticeable. Particularly when that red spot is also carrying a sword on its back, and is seated atop a yellow spot. Even moreso because that red spot is approaching the group gathered, and the yellow spot upon which the red spot is sat is moving quickly through the snow.<br /><br />    Not to worry, it's Auron. Known Union member. And he's not here to cause trouble, just to help out. His red coat is thick enough to keep out the cold. But instead of that collar from way back, he wears a thick gray scarf around his neck for warmth. He's wearing those black glasses too, the ones he almost never wears anymore, but only to dampen the glare off the snow. He only has one eye, he doesn't want to blind that one too.<br /><br />    He's also seated astride a large yellow bird that only seems to be having a few problems with the snow. That's probably why he brought the bird, because slogging through waist-deep snow on foot, well, sucks! Astride a chocobo, it's only up to the bird's knees, so it can lift its much thinner feet more easily.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  It takes a few seconds of breathing deeply for Bedivere to bring himself back under control. Truth be told, it worries him how quickly he had sprung to anger, even if he hadn't acted on it. He had always been the calmest and most stable of the Knights of the Round Table. True, he had always cared deeply to Arturia, and responded swiftly and ruthlessly to anything he considered a threat to her -- but had it taken so little to let him actually show that?<br /><br />  The knight gives a bit of a shiver, violent enough that his plate mail is set to clattering a bit. Shouldering more firmly under his heavy cloak, his gaze is once more placid when he looks to Mordred, studying the other knight for a moment.<br /><br />  He looks away, then, and it seems he's truly dismissed the matter, at least for now. Once he's realised his error, it doesn't take much to settle him.<br /><br />  Fortunately for Allyn, Arturia has extended her good graces to the shapeshifter, and so her loyal marshal will do the same. Even if he still thinks it's witchcraft. Bedivere gives the other man the fish-eye for a moment, eyeing him flatly, before he seems to decide he's not really worth any trouble. Indeed, his opinion of him seems to go up a bit when he says he's glad to help others. "Ah, truly a noble ideal," he says, approvingly. Yep. Allyn's cool.<br /><br />  "Relief for the villages in this region. Clothing, food, clean water, and fuel. Certainly nothing that would interest the likes of you." This is given in an extremely level tone to Mordred. "A knight should not be eager to leap to blows. Your eagerness for violence is shameful."<br /><br />  His eyes slide past Mordred, also noting the approach of somebody wearing some very out-of-place red amidst all this snow. He strides away from both Servants -- probably a touching display, to Saber, that he trusts she can take care of herself -- and probably meant as a flat-out snub to Mordred, showing he's below the marshal's attention.<br /><br />  Raising his hand, Bedivere calls to Auron, though not so loudly as to threaten an avalanche. "Ho, there! Who goes there? Friend or foe to the Union?"<br /><br />  Yeah, he hasn't really met a whole bunch of people just yet.<br /><br />  The man's particular beast of burden is given a long, flat stare, because what the hell. Giant chicken.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    "MY eagerness to leap to blows?" Mordred asks, as she starts shuffling through a bag of supplies next to her. Let's see here. Bottles of oil, clean water... bread, score. She pulls half a loaf out, and chomps down on it like she hasn't eaten in days.<br /><br />    She is not actually starved, that's just how she eats. Saber eats that way too, it's in the family. Food plz. Insert food now. NOW.<br /><br />    "Well YOUR eagerness to lick the king's boots is disgraceful. A good knight should be willing to oppose the king when it is for his own good. You're no better than a slave, too loyal and terrified to state the truth. And when your king dies, then what~?"<br /><br />    Look at that smug smirk.<br />    Chew chew bread.<br /><br />    "Also that guy has cool glasses and a kickin' style, let him come."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  When Mordred addresses him again, Bedivere seems to have put up the mask again. He merely closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath through his nose, letting it go through his mouth as his breath fogs in front of him.<br /><br />  Insults to his own honour are easy to bear. He had borne some natural suspicion in Camelot when he had risen through the ranks so quickly, though there had been no question that it was merit, not favouritism. There were even some who thought he was the wrong choice for marshal of the realm.<br /><br />  He had borne personal criticism with such grace that his detractors had eventually ran out of things to pick at. A double-edged sword, perhaps, for they had soon turned to picking apart Arturia's reign.<br /><br />  Now, if Mordred were to start attacking Arturia's honour, he might just be tempted to run the bastard through with his sword and be done with it.<br /><br />  When he opens his eyes, Bedivere studies Mordred with such a bland expression that it seems like he's wholly over it. Arturia may think differently; to her practised observations, her knight is still striving mightily not to react.<br /><br />  "For your sake, Sir Mordred, I hope that is not a threat against the king." The mild reminder serves as its own threat. If the traitor thinks about putting so much as an eyelash out of line, he'll be there. He's watching her. Like a hawk. "As for my service, others may think what they will." The unspoken bit of that is that he's loyal and Mordred isn't, and Mordred can fuss all he wants over that. Bedivere knows the truth.<br /><br />  Hmph.<br /><br />  Bedivere ignores the slight twitch at the corner of his eye as he closes his eyes again, as though reaching for that meditative state of calm again.<br /><br />  ...Just having Mordred /near/ him makes him want to reach out and strangle the bastard, but /no/, Bedivere's going to be /good/. Strangling Mordred would not be the knightly thing to do, no matter how /cathartic/ it would be.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     Right, so Arturia knew full well that Mordred was doing her dead-level best to provoke an argument...admittedly, she didn't have to try very hard. She resolved not to snipe back, or to lecture /too/ much...though the normally calm, stoic Sir Bedivere was unusually snappish. In his place, Saber admitted, she would have been, and already the insults to knighthood were more than a little grating. Still, they had their duties and people depending on them. Even if Saber's first instinct was to start arguing back. Not that she minded giving the other Servant the satisfaction of provoking a fight, but they did have more important things at the moment. <br /><br />    B "/Later/. We may discuss the path of knighthood /later/," Saber reprimanded them both in a tone more firm than the ice around them. Unfortunately, only Bedivere was going to mind it, common sense told her. But there was something she did have to put her foot down on. "Mordred, put that down. You can eat later. And yes, I will take you out wherever you want to go." Sabers: in the case of food, they were simple like that. <br /><br />     But they did at the very least have some others who were knightly, if not in status, then deed. For Arturia, that was what mattered. "That is most welcome to hear," she replied to Allyn with a faint but warm smile, waiting for Auron to catch up. A chocobo....now that brought back good memories of another precious friend....even if some Unionites still spoke in fearful tones of the 'demon bird'. <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>Allyn nods to Bedivere again and smiles a little, "People in need and especially those without should be helped as much as possible. Most assuredly if they are unable to help themselves." unless of course that is unless nature has chosen that it their time has come. Yes, nature is cruel, but Allyn will always act as a force of nature if he has to, everything needs to be culled sometime.<br /><br />He watches Mordred eat the bread for a few moments and his stomach growls, reminding him that he hasn't hunted lately and that is what he'd originally come here to do. He chuckles some for a moment, "Anyone want some fresh sea lion? I saw there was an injured one and was going to hunt it before I came across this group." Though for a moment he does watch as Auron approaches on the chocobo and he considers maybe that would make a better meal, but it looks like it's in pretty good health to him. "No that's too healthy, and if I am right, it's rider is a friend, so I don't think he'd apprecfiate it if I ate his mount." he chuckles some.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:236|Auron (236)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    "Friend," Auron calls out quietly to Bedivere's question. "My name is Auron." The bird gives a soft 'Kweh~' as he pulls up near the group. It's clearly not a mount designed for battle. It's far too relaxed and seems almost oblivious to its surroundings. Mordred's statement he caught the tail end of, so he offers a nod of greeting to him as well as the others he doesn't know. Allyn he knows, he returns the wave, with a small smile.<br /><br />    "I'm a bit late, I'm afraid," he offers in apology. "The snow was deeper than I thought, so I had to go get transportation." Referring, of course, to his giant yellow chicken. And it really does look like a giant yellow chicken, with the legs of an ostrich...<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Mordred parrots straight at Bedivere: "I hope that's not a threat against the king~" Her smile never falters, at least until Arturia steps in. Then she frowns a bit-- and Bedivere may have a glimpse of victory for just that moment. The red and silver knight glares at the bread in her hand, and then tosses it towards Allyn.<br /><br />    "Here, have this. Yer hungry so whatever, these supplies're for hungry people." Saber will probably oppose to that sort of behavior way less.<br /><br />    Although... the promise to go out to eat wherever she wants...<br />    Bad blood or not, a good meal is still...<br /><br />    "Sure, whatever. We'll make a buffet regret existing sometime later. Got something I wanted to talk to you about anyway. Important stuff."<br /><br />    "Yeah, snow fucking sucks," she tells Auron, before glancing towards Bedivere again, green eyes settling-- without hostility, this time. "So. Whatcha been up to while we were dead? You don't feel like a Servant so I gotta guess you managed not to kick the bucket somehow. Still loyal after all the centuries too, god damn. Ever find your own magic sword while at it?"<br /><br />    Let's face it all the important knights have one.<br />    Don't you, Bedi~?<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Staren just watches the knights chatter back and forth.<br /><br />    He feels like he channel-surfed into the middle of some soap opera without having seen any previous episodes.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:3|Roll (3)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    There's seriously only so mcuh that Roll can tolerate when it comes to bad manners. Particularly from someone who's also been ruthlessly murderous not minutes ago. Teeth grit and temper rising, she's in a situation not unlike Bedivere's. It is only Saber's attempts at peace that keep HER from losing her top and launching into a scathing criticism of Mordred's attitude.<br /><br />    But with that urge clamped down, the mood for it quickly sinks and she stuffs it from her thought processes. Instead, Auron's approach grabs her attention! "heeey! Auron! Good to see you again. And yooouuuu!" This is of course, to the Chocobo, whom she dashes over to give a happy pat on the neck. "Chocobos. Too cool! ... Are they alright in this weather? I-it's pretty cold..."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     Once more, things /appeared/ to settle down, and Saber privately wondered how long /that/ was going to last this time. <br /><br />     "That is fair enough," she replied to Mordred, acknowledging that yes, they needed to have a chat in the near future, and it probably had little to do with knighthood and chivalry. There was their somewhat similar concerns governing the Abstractums... <br /><br />     With a slight shake of her head, Saber replied to Auron, "Not at all. Indeed, I thank you for rendering your assistance. We are most grateful." <br /><br />     Turning back to Allyn, she considered his offer. "Perhaps some hunting is in order, I believe..." <br /><br />     The petite knight cast a glance back to the rest of the caravan. "Would you be able to catch up? Our progression is slower than I would like...however, I am uncertain how fast you would be able to travel with what you can catch..." <br /><br />     Looking back at Roll and the others, she was definitely going to have to treat them all once their mission was complete. Adherants of various forms of chivalry or not, she owed them. <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  To his credit, Bedivere doesn't wince at Arturia's reprimanding tone, but she might catch that slight twitch at the corner of his eye. He probably won't need any more chastisement to keep him in line, and that seems to be enough that he won't snap and snarl at Mordred any more.<br /><br />  His lips momentarily thin as he resolutely turns his back on the traitor, focusing his attention instead on Allyn and Auron. That would be nice, anyway, except Mordred keeps talking. Like some kind of insufferable thing that won't go away.<br /><br />  Allyn's words on generosity are met with an approving nod. That kind of thinking should always be encouraged, regardless of whether someone's a knight or not. As both he and Arturia have said, knighthood is not always about swords and shining armour. It's about the spirit of generosity, and helping those less fortunate than oneself. It's about chivalry, and selflessness. Good. It's nice to see that kind of thinking elsewhere in the Multiverse, especially in somebody whom he had been pretty eager to label as a witch. Warlock. Whatever. That seems to have earned enough bonus points with Bedivere that he's not really inclined to pursue that.<br /><br />  The ease with which Allyn discusses butchering somebody's beast of burden out from under them does earn a bit of a look, which is thankfully interrupted by Auron's arrival.<br /><br />  "Ah." Friend. Good. Even tall Bedivere has to crane his head a bit to regard the chocobo's face, before looking to Auron himself. "Quite alright. We have had struggles of our own thanks to the inclement conditions. 'Tis all the more imperative that we reach our destination, though, and we shall not falter. Forgive me; I have not introduced myself, have I?" His voice is so mild and soft it might be mistaken for a woman's, and his features are equally feminine -- but his broad shoulders and height set him apart; this is no woman, however questionable it might be from a distance. Bedivere's mouth twitches in what is almost a smile. "I am Sir Bedivere, Knight of the Round Table, loyal servant of King Arturia." That is to say, the Servant Saber, but that's not really how he thinks of her. "I am honoured, Sir Auron."<br /><br />  Oh. Hey. Mordred's talking again.<br /><br />  Bedivere momentarily closes his eyes and reaches for that inner calm again. The slight twitch near his eye suggests he has to reach pretty far every time he's addressed by that bitc--<br /><br />  "Must you be so crass?" Yes, probably, and probably just because it annoys the real knights. Bedivere sighs a long-suffering sigh before he deigns to answer the other's question. See? He's being civil. "I laid King Arturia to rest and I sought to return to Camelot; I was, after all, still marshal of the realm. I have learned now that at that time, the world Unified, and I must have found myself in a Multiversal forest. I wandered that realm unknowing for four years; Camelot is still lost to me." He turns to look more directly at Mordred, expression bland. "No. I have not. My own blade suits me quite well, thank you, and I have no need of such extravagance."<br /><br />  He seems about to say something else, but thinks better of it.<br /><br />  'But you wouldn't know anything about humility, would you?' Hmph. But he's going to be /good/, dammit, no matter how much Mordred goads him.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:236|Auron (236)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Staren's not the only one who feels like he's started watching a soap opera halfway through season 5. Presuming this look of 'wat' is visible on Staren's face -- even in kitty form -- Auron sends a sympathetic look and a nod to Staren. Mordred's mention of his opinion of the snow gets a wry half-smile as he remembers Jecht's complaints about the cold on Mt. Gagazet. "A friend of mine said something very similar, in both tone and attitude," he notes.<br /><br />    Roll's greeting gets his attention then, and he smiles in greeting as he looks in her direction. The chocobo gives a pleased 'Kweh~!' at the pat on the neck, and tilts its head down to examine Roll. "She'll be fine," Auron assures Roll. "Chocobos have thick coats of feathers." To demonstrate, he slides his fingers into the feathers at the bird's neck. His fingers almost disappear.<br /><br />    Saber's thanks gets a nod. "I'm glad to help, if I can." And, belatedly, he notes to Allyn's mention of eating the chocobo, "No, I'd rather find that a little rude." But he's smirking, so he's not angry about it. "They do raise them for meat, though. But those aren't able to be ridden. I'll bring you some from Kilika the next time I'm able to get in touch with Rin." Yes. 'Kilika Fried Chocobo' is totally a thing.<br /><br />    Auron nods his head respectfully to Bedivere's introduction. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Bedivere." The 'sir' form of address comes easily to him, and this much is clear in how he says the title.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>Allyn catches the bread and stares at it for a moment and then sniffs at it, though that's not going to tell him much. Darn human form he can't smell as well as he can in other forms.<br /><br />He does give Mordred a bow though, "I appreciate the thought my lady, but I am a predator and cannot eat this, besides it is cooked. It would be undignified for a wolf to eat something that has been cooked by the hands of a human. We are not dogs after all." he chuckles a bit after that and wanders over towards Auron's chocobo to see if it'd like the rest of the bread.<br /><br />He gives Auron a smile and nods, "I would never eat your mount, or anyone else's really." he winks, "Well unless I was starving and had no other options." He nods to Saber, "I will see what I can round up then. Maybe instead of sea lion or penguin I can find a nice, juicy caribou." he doesn't really need much more excuse to shift and change forms once more, returning to his dire wolf form and getting away from the hated human one.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    "Oh. Tough. So not from centuries ahead and immortal, huh? Boring. Yeah, I dunno, don't ask me. Last time I saw Camelot was when I set it on fire, remember? I'm sure it's still around. Some of it." She doesn't know whether or not the great realm was destroyed. She knows it doesn't survive into history, though, so even if it did, it's a matter of time. She's about to say something else, but Allyn trips her-- not literally.<br /><br />    Mordred turns a baleful gaze to Allyn.<br /><br />    "Okay, first up, I am not a god damn lady, I am a Sir, or just Mordred, or Saber if you have to. I put up with that shit enough from my allies. Second, whatever, your loss, food is food. Maker's way less important than the taste. Taste good? Eat it. Taste not good? Hurl it and demand compensation. Kill your waiter, maybe."<br /><br />    She'll stuff the bread back into the supply bag, either way. God, where's the rest of those bandits? It'd be a good distraction. They must be getting smarter about attacking a caravan with... how many fancy clothed people is that? Fancy clothes're death, yo.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Fancy clothes? Try black fur. Clearly, the bandits saw the caravan had a black cat and endeavored not to let themselves cross its path. Staren has saved the day :D<br /><br />    Staren shares a look with Auron. Then he gives Mordred a brief look when she considers killing the waiter a proper solution to the problem of disliked food, but he decides he'd rather not have to deal with her so he doesn't say anything.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     Oh boy. Mordred's assault on their sensibilities was relentless. In some ways, she had disagreed with her more than even the other Kings. Gilgamesh would have pounded her into the ground by now. She managed not to "correct" the other Saber, but only barely. Somehow, they were going to have to have it all out at the proper time and the proper place. Ideally, without an annoying Archer interruption this time. <br /><br />     "You have my gratitude," she thanked Allyn, once more not so much as bat an eye as he changes form again. <br /><br />     "Yes, I would prefer something other than chocobo, myself. I'm rather...fond of them." Even Alkoun, but really only because he's Agrias's cherished, hand-raised mount. <br /><br />     And the 'fanciest' piece of clothing is her cloak, a gift from the aforementioned holy knight of Ivalice. It's a present, so it's all right to use it. She'd be insulting her friend if she didn't. Then again, Mordred paraded around in a rather immodest set of civilian clothes, so 'fancy' to her would probably translate to 'properly dressed'. <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  Bedivere pointedly doesn't rise to the bait this time. Truth be told, the matter of Servants is still one he doesn't fully understand, but he's not going to give the traitor the satisfaction of knowing that.<br /><br />  "I am content to serve as I am," Bedivere replies, serenely.<br /><br />  Clearly, that's good enough for Arturia, because she immediately took him back into her service, didn't she? And look who's now a Servant and still can't seem to get on good terms with the king? Nyah, nyah.<br /><br />  He tries not to look smug when Mordred gets upset about being called a lady. That's a very good thing to keep in mind for later -- no. No, he's going to be good and not sink to Mordred's level.<br /><br />  "Best we continue on before the storms sweep through. They are dangerous in this land, and prone to suddenness." Bedivere turns away from Mordred, trudging onward down the path. "Mind the path carefully. The roads here are ill-maintained and treacherous."<br /><br />  Crunch, crunch, crunch go his sabatons in the snow. He's pretty confident he lost feeling in his feet a league or three back, but he offers no complaint.<br /><br />  He does glance back to cast a flat look at Mordred, though. 'Behave yourself,' it seems to say.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:236|Auron (236)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Another name! Mordred. And he's noticing some bad blood here, if the sensation of something sizzling from the crown of Bedivere's head is anything to go by. He wisely doesn't comment on it though, instead turning his attention to Saber's mention of being fond of chocobos. He nods. "That's understandable. Someone I knew felt the same." Bedivere's warning of the path being dangerous gets a nod. "Thank you," he offers. He slows his chocobo's pace so it can be more careful in walking.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>Allyn was just about to run off when Modred says that, when she says her or his name he just blinks, yep stunned wolf, "Saber? No, I don't think I can call you that. You do not look like the one known as Saber that I danced with a little while back. You don't act like her either, so I suppose it'll have to be Mordred." he shakes his head, still a bit stunned, "Cooked food is disgusting and should be eaten the way it was meant to be, fresh off the kill, especially the heart while it is still beating." He then runs off to go and search for something suitable for everyone to eat.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Staren looks over the snowy mountains. "Man. Why the heck would people /settle/ out in the middle of nowhere, anyway? Clearly it's not a good spot or they wouldn't need supplies... and since they picked a place where they need supplies, why someplace so far from a warpgate through snow-covered mountains, uphill both ways?"<br /><br />    That last bit is hyperbole. Although man, Staren thinks, there's probably some terrible place in the multiverse where space warps so it's true.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:3|Roll (3)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Smiling, and giving the Chocobo another friendly pat, Roll dashes across the snow while yelling back to Auron, "Better NOT let anyone eat them. That bird's cool!" And now, with renewed vigor, she charges back towards the rest of the caravan...<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    At least the hostilities are dying down.<br />    Mordred is putting SOME effort into not being a huge free-roaming douche. Just, you know. Some. A bit. Mostly it's because there's a lot of people here, all of which would turn on her if she went openly hostile. She knows she can handle any one of them-- one on one. Two on one, three on one, four on one, it starts getting a bit more dangerous. Fun, maybe! But pointlessly dangerous. And not dramatic enough for her scuffle with Arturia, ROUND TWO.<br /><br />    "God, do I gotta do everything myself?"<br /><br />    The knight walks back towards the ponies of the rear caravan, and hops onto one of them. Prana gushes out of her body like red swirls of blood, washing over the steed. It is infused, fortified by the Servant's ability to ride. Also wicked cool red and silver plates of armor adorn the pony now. It looks war-ready, just like that-- and catches up in a heartbeat, without effort, or damage to the caravan and its goods.<br /><br />    "Why'd you bring a horse anyway, father? That bike is way cooler."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     With another stifled sigh of reluctance, Arturia returned to the saddle of her steed, hefting herself up effortlessly. As a Servant, the snow and the cold were little trouble, and she felt a ping of guilt for those others without such abilities forced to traverse it on foot. <br /><br />     But she was a pint-sized knight, after all. She needed every bit of extra height she could get. <br /><br />     Saber awarded the other Saber a flat look, one that Bedivere had seen not too long ago. "The motorbike...though this snow?" <br /><br />     In all fairness, with the Riding skill of all in the Saber class, it was possible. But it would have been a huge pain in the ass, not to mention cost considerable amount of prana to defy physics. "It would have been impractical." <br /><br />     She looked back, watching Allyn head out before turning back to the path ahead, frowning with a hint of worry at Bedivere's back. "I had considered a chocobo, however," she admitted distractedly. The 'kweh' was rather cute.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  By this point Bedivere is quite content to ignore Mordred and slog through waist-deep snow. To his credit, he doesn't go too slow, considering he's wearing heavy plate mail, or the fact that that ornamental heavy waistcloth is pretty much soaked through. Mumble. When they get where they're going he's going to just... indulge in curling up in front of a fire for a little bit.<br /><br />  Bedivere squints a little as Allyn takes off, but doesn't seem inclined to call after him or pursue. If he wants to go hunting, well, great. More supplies are helpful.<br /><br />  His eyes flick back to Staren's general direction, though he still seems a little weirded out by a talking cat.<br /><br />  "We will be there soon. As to why, they have no need of help in the good times, but as with all such places, war has found them. The village's way of life has been destroyed by Confederate collateral damage." His violet eyes turn forward again. "Thus, they need a helping hand. And we are to provide that to them. 'Tis the least we can do. As for isolation, I imagine that their village is otherwise well-defended. Hilltops are always a desirable, and easily-defensible, position." Those eyes go a bit distant. "Camelot was on such a hill..."<br /><br />  His eye twitches again when Mordred decides to be a pest. And maybe on a very quiet internal level, he's a bit convinced that Mordred takes a horse just to rub Bedivere's nose in the fact that he's not riding one.<br /><br />  Calm. Peace. Serenity. Bedivere takes another breath and lets it go slowly.<br /><br />  "Such odd beasts, chocobos." His voice is muffled, because he's forced to look forward and away from Saber and Mordred, gamely struggling through the snow. "I imagine it would be difficult to balance on such a beast. I find horses much better-suited to riding."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    "Difficult? Oh. Oh! I'm sorry. I forgot SOME OF US don't have the supernatural power to ride anything we want and immediatly figure out how it works and balances. Shit, sorry," Mordred grins towards Bedivere, musing happily about the benefits of her current state of being.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  Up ahead, Sir Bedivere's jaw works in a silent effort not to turn around and backhand Mordred across the mouth with a steel-plated gauntlet. It's pretty visible. If Mordred listens closely he might even hear teeth grinding.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Staren ohs. "I see." He /did/ kinda only glance over the mission briefing. Whoops. Still, maybe he'll plant some nanomachines to grow the town food and clothing... wait, the resources here are kinda crappy. Nothing to make food and clothing /from/. Darn. "I think horses don't exist in the worlds chocobos are from." He looks over at the pony he's riding along with. "In some worlds, the local horses aren't exactly suited to riding anyway."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span> Oh damn it all. Distraction time. <br /><br />     "It does take some getting used to," Saber opined with deliberate, almost icy calm and deliberately ignoring Mordred's jab, "For beasts one is unaccustomed to. Perhaps I can teach you, Sir Bedivere, should you wish to learn." <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:236|Auron (236)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Auron has to speak up at Allyn's words. "Humans generally can't digest raw meat." He says no more because his voice won't carry that far while Allyn's running off. He recognizes Staren's attempt to joke, and smirks. "Perhaps they have nowhere else to go," he suggests. Roll's instructions get a chuckle. "I won't," he promises. "This one's safe." Patpat chocobo.<br /><br />    However, Mordred's transformation of the horse gets his attention, and prompts a quirk of the brow of his remaining eye. But he's aware the world that these people come from is... unique. "That would be a useful ability," he comments. Saber's comment of the chocobo gets an interested, "Oh? You've seen them before, I take it."<br /><br />    He listens to Bedivere's explanation of why they're going out here. And to Bedievere's statement of how difficult balancing on a chocobo is, he nods. "A problem of perspectives. I've never ridden a four-legged animal before. From my perspective it looks like it's terribly easy to fall sideways off of one."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>Having run across the snow rather easily in his wolf form Allyn continues on, but doesn't get too far behind. He may be large and strong in this form, but it'd still take a bit to drag even a young caribou back to wherever it is the others are stopping. Well, no time to think about that now as he sniffs the ground, tracking down the scents of a herd and once spotting one he sizes it up, looking for a weakened, older or injured animal, perhaps even a young one that is bit itself, crouching down as he watches a few long moments. Having found his target he lopes off after it to bring it down. Well, now he begins to drag it back towards the others, though it'll be slow going.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     Fortunately, Auron provided some help with her distraction effort. "Indeed," she replied with a fond smile. "A knight of Ivalice has been a dear friend to me, and though her mount is...spirited, I find they are generally agreeable creatues." <br /><br />     Being so very polite.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  "You need not concern yourself with so insignificant a concern, my king." Bedivere ducks his head, but only so he can bulldoze through a particularly dense drift of snow.<br /><br />  It speaks to his physical strength that he's held up this long. Some might have thought him womanish in the courts, but there's nothing weak about his physical training. He's kept himself fit, and that serves him well, because at this point he's not going to give Mordred the satisfaction of commandeering a horse to climb aboard.<br /><br />  Nope. Not gonna give him the satisfaction. Nope, nope, nope.<br /><br />  "Not so much," the tall knight counters, to Auron. "One need only grip with one's knees, and provided the animal is well-trained, many find it quite secure and comfortable. I fear it would be easy to slide backward off such a creature as that, though certainly it seems well-trained."<br /><br />  Strange as hell, but at least it behaves itself. Unlike other chocobos Saber mentions. 'Spirited' is one word. 'Savage bloodthirsty hell-beast' would probably be another acceptable description.<br /><br />  As for Bedivere, though, he gamely continues shoveling his way through the snow, looking up at a jagged outcropping ahead. "Ah. We are nearly there," he calls back, though softly. "This should be the village outskirts."<br /><br />  Indeed, there are a few scouts clustered together, perched high on the rocks. They have bows and arrows with them, but they don't fire on the party. One of them, presumably the leader, lifts a fist and cheers at the approaching caravan.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    "Man, really? You have giant riding chicken ostriches but you don't have horses?" Mordred asks, because the idea seems ridiculous. It's okay, it's not totally true. Some of those worlds with Chocobo have, like... nightmares! And centaurs. Those totally count, right? Because obviously what you want to do is ride a horse that's on fire, or ride a horse with a human torso.<br /><br />    "Can I watch when you teach him and he stumbles all over himself? It'll be like watching Lancelot trying to cook. So, hey, whatever happened to the guy anyway? I wanted to high-five him for going against you, but then you led a small army out to go kill him and I was too busy doing evil traitor things to your country." Jab jab.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:3|Roll (3)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    "Good!" Roll calls back, only to struggle to keep up with the mounted riders. Eventually she gives up on this, as her servos protest. they would overheat if they weren't all in the middle of all this snow. So she hops on the wagon instead. She only weighs as much as an adult, thankfully, and no more.<br /><br />    "So many places that are far from the warp gate network and at the mercy of the weather... there's not much technology way out here to make it any easier on people!"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Staren looks back at Auron. "Not true! Haven't you ever had sushi? The problem is, raw meat gets infected with diseases pretty easily, or with microorganisms that break down the meat and leave poisonous toxins. Plus, an animal could already be infected when it was killed, making even some fresh meat poisonous. People before the invention of fire would have had to eat raw meat all the time. And they'd have gotten sick sometimes. Some would die, others would get tougher immune systems. Of course, in a society where people only eat clean, cooked meat, people won't be exposed to as much disease, so many more will survive... but they also won't have any resistance to the diseases in uncooked meat."<br /><br />    Lecture complete, Staren looks to Roll. "Truly? With the advancement of your own world, if humans chose to colonize a place such as this, would they not have their own nuclear reactor for power, providing them with plenty of heat and light, which could even be used for greenhouse or hydroponcis gardens? There is /plenty/ of technology to make it easier on people." He looks back in the direction they're going. "It's just not in all the places it should be. /That's/ what we should be bringing them. Technology."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:3|Roll (3)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    "Sure, if people from my home nation did. I don't think nuclear power's in reach by the locals here though, Staren. They don't sell those at the marketplace!" Roll jokes back.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:236|Auron (236)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Oh! The look on Auron's face gets that rather knowing hint to it. "Ah." That one syllable speaks volumes. As for 'spirited'? He nods. "I've found the chocobos from Ivalice tend to be on the... 'spirited' side, as you put it. Though perhaps it's a side effect of their abilities." Bedivere's mention of falling backwards off the chocobo gets a shake of his head. "As you said, grip with the knees. In this case, lean forward."<br /><br />    The mention of horses also gets a negative shake of his head. "The closest thing we had to horses was the Aeon Ixion. And the Aeons are gone now," he replies. Fact, were there even any hooved fiends? Not that he can remember.<br /><br />    Staren's sudden lecture about the safeness of raw meat gets a raised brow. He's about to speak, but when Staren starts his lecture on what they 'should' be doing instead of bringing supplies, he just... stops. Doesn't even bother. He's known Staren to get on a tear like this, and he knows nothing will shake him out of it. So he just keeps silent.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  The urge to backhand Mordred is almost irresistable.<br /><br />  Bedivere works his jaw in silence again, eyes bright and angry as he glares straight ahead, but he gave his word that he would misbehave no more. And so he doesn't, resolving not to speak, but to focus his anger and use it to overcome the snowdrifts that lie before him.<br /><br />  So sorry. He can't really help it if some of that snow gets thrown back in Mordred's general direction.<br /><br />  Technology? That comment from Roll earns a raised brow as Bedivere momentarily pauses, glancing back. "Technology? These people are fortunate if they've clean water to drink. Such was a luxury even in Camelot." And that's why a quarter of the pack ponies are weighed down with big casks of water. "They are perhaps more able than you think, but even the proudest must ask for aid when their fortune turns ill."<br /><br />  He shrugs broadly, putting his back into chipping out a path from the snow. "They happened to be misfortunate, and in the path of the Confederacy, and were struck down."<br /><br />  Fortunately, the going seems to be easier. There's something of a footpath ahead, packed snow trodden down by the comings and goings of villagers; Bedivere seems glad of the respite, shaking snow from his numbed limbs as he struggles forward.<br /><br />  He sighs in relief when he finally finds himself /above/ the level of the snow, making his way to the village's barren square, and holding up a hand that the horses might be halted. Some quiet words with the village elders, and they seem to reach an accord; one that Bedivere strides away from, looking content. As content as he can be in Mordred's presence, anyway.<br /><br />  "The village elder bade us unload the horses here, in the square, and the villagers will move the supplies where they are needed." Bedivere pauses a moment to shake some feeling back into his limbs, frowning slightly. Far be it for him to complain, but it's hard to take hold of supplies or unbuckle straps from pack-saddles when you can't feel your fingers.<br /><br />  He looks toward the caravan, squinting a bit at Staren. Apparently he just plain doesn't understand most of what he says, though, for he doesn't bother to answer. It's all Greek to the knight.<br /><br />  "I suppose so, Sir Auron." This, dubiously, on the matter of riding chocobos.<br /><br />  Rather than wait ofr anybody else to start, he starts right in on unloading. Far be it for him not to want to help these people, but the cold is a single unrelenting /ache/, and he'll be glad of putting this place behind himself. These people might be accustomed to living in this. He isn't!<br /><br />  "I thank you all for your assistance, in any case. I will not soon forget your generosity and kindness. Nor will these people, I think." While he doesn't smile, his expression does lighten a little. "Ah, thank the good Lord that we have arrived unscathed."<br /><br />  His eyes slide toward Mordred. He half expected the traitor to, well, do traitor things.<br /><br />  And then his eyes slide right past her, and to the horse he'd been about to unload. He pats the beast's neck, before unbuckling the leather straps holding down what appears to be sacks of grain.<br /><br />  "This should not take long."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>Allyn eventually makes it to the village where the others are, dragging the carcass of the caribou with him. He then flops down beside it, not too tired, but a little bit, it was rough over some of the terrain even if he is made for such things. Maybe he should think about a goat form? Or if he ever gets to meet a dragon maybe he could learn enough to take on that form as well. He glances over towards the others, "Whoever leads this pack, should eat the heart, it's the best part" he then nuzzles the dead animal, "Thank you for giving your life to nourish those who wish it, you will live on in us all."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     Fortunately, Mordred's jabs miss the mark this time. "Ah. Sir Lancelot," the blue-clad Saber quipped with a fond smile, deliberately ignoring the 'traitor' jab. "Yes, I encountered him not long ago. He has returned to my side, as well...though his own Master has busied him with the task of finding an untainted Holy Grail. Perhaps I should invite them to dinner again soon..." <br /><br />     Her smile may have also been a satisfied one as she recalled how he had gotten under the King of Heroes skin, turning his own Noble Phantasms against him even as the insufferable Archer launched them out of the Gate of Babylon. At the time, she had been more concerned for Irisviel's safety, but in retrospect, an unknightly part of her found that comeuppance rather satisfying. <br /><br />     The fond smile never left her face as she relied to Auron. "The ones from Ivalice are like that, you say? I was unaware. How interesting." <br /><br />     "No, there is not," Arturia called back to Roll. "Technology is not always easily accessible...and what is almost magic to some is taken for granted by others. There are places where even what we would consider the most trivial things are like miracles." After all, she and Bedivere still marvelled that starvation was practically unheard of in the current era. <br /><br />     And it looked like the Round Table spat isn't the only one going on. It looked like she would be fighting several wars on several fronts. What fun. "There are some beings who cannot digest raw meat, and there are others who require it and may even need those impurities. The multiverse is vast, and many different beings exist within it." <br /><br />     It was with no small relief that the Servant glanced up to note the scouts. Even more than alleviating their own discomfort, she had been anxious to provide the necessary relief to the remote village. With a dancer's grace, the petite blonde dismounted and made her way back, noting Allyn's return. "Ah. Welcome back, Sir Allyn. For bringing this to us, I believe the honour of the heart should fall to you," she replied, understanding that the heart was the highest honour, typically reserved for the Alpha. Though they were essentially equals, he /had/ taken the trouble to hunt for them and haul it back. <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    After a moment, Staren corrects himself. "Well, okay. They need food and stuff NOW, not in several months after the infrastructure's had time to get going. So we should be bringing them these supplies /now/, but seriously, why /haven't/ they traded for technology, or been given it in aid?"<br /><br />    Staren stops as they ride into town, taking it in, looking around at this poor, backwards village. Camelot doesn't even have clean /water/? Poor, backwards /city/.<br /><br />    Staren hops down to the ground once they stop, shifting back to his normal form -- his clothes then shift to a parka and snow pants, though it's mostly for fitting in -- he has a charm to protect him from hot and cold weather. He helps unload the ponies, but then he speaks up again. "They had the connections to get /us/ here. /Union elites/. They could have obtained technology. What, you say they're proud but not too proud to ask for aid? But they're too proud to better themselves and... ARGH! It's negligence, is what it is... And all the people born into this, do they have any idea? Do they have any choice? How many suffer or worse, because of pride about some way of life?"<br /><br />    Staren paces in a little circle while he rants. "Then they shouldn't have been too proud to ask for a miracle... or, if they didn't know, it should have been offered to them. Geeze, if /anything's/ gonna make me go all dark when I'm a centuries-old immortal, it'll be centuries of watching stuff like /this/." He makes a sweeping gesture at the town.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:236|Auron (236)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Once they get to the village, Auron is careful that his appearance doesn't frighten the villagers. Or maybe he just looks like a clown of some kind, looking all serious while riding a giant yellow chicken. Maybe it'll brighten someone's day! Either way, when Bedivere indicates they should start unloading the wagons, he dismounts from his chocobo -- notably, he does this similar to how one dismounts a horse; in response the bird dips down forward, making the stirrup on the saddle hang straight and giving him something to stand on.<br /><br />    Once he notices Bedivere's discomfort he reaches in his coat and pulls out a small red fragment of what might be glass. It's warm. "Sir Bedivere." Once he has the other man's attention, he tosses the fragment towards him. It's a Bomb Fragment. It's also very slightly magical, and those who have the ability to sense these things will probably know it. It's a minor thing, though. And he also moves toward the caravan itself, intending to assist in unloading it as well.<br /><br />Allyn's appearance gets a nod of greeting from Auron, though he looks around to see if the people here are panicking too much over a talking direwolf bringing in a dead caribou. Hopefully not, it would be kind of unpleasant to end up chased out of town by a lynch mob. He also notes, "Thank you."<br /><br />    Saber's mention of the Ivalician chocobos draws a nod. "Nowhere else have I found groups of wild chocobos that attack passing travelers," he comments. "They're quite dangerous in flocks." Smirk. "I would call them a 'murder', since that's exactly what they do, but they aren't crows."<br /><br />    Suddenly Staren's REALLY on a tear, and Auron sighs. This is going to get out of hand if something's not done. "Staren. I am asking you politely. Please stop." It's a firm but gentle tone.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:12|Mordred (12)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    "Oh, come on, we both know I meant whatever did you do with him when you found him. You know, all that time ago. Gee, fine, be that way. Servant too, huh? Starting to think all of us made it to that status. Well..." Mordred hehs, glancing towards Bedivere. "Most of us. Ah, well, who knows! Maybe when you die you'll become one too. No use rushing to it."<br /><br />    They're reaching the safety of the village, now.<br />    Mordred did not, in fact, do traitor-y things.<br />    Well, besides provoke people a lot.<br /><br />    She hops off the pony, and it, gradually, starts losing the benefits of both Prana Burst and Riding, though not so quickly it'll fall behind again before they get there. The Servant dusts his hands, armored as they may be, and then lets her arms drop to her side.<br /><br />    "You guys have fun with this. I'm gonna go back and find the last clump of bandits. Feels like I missed a bunch. You should eat something before you leave, Bedivere, wash the taste of Arthur's boots out of your mouth. Ta~."<br /><br />    Mordred's form shimmers, and she dissipates into tiny red wisps of magic, which eventually become incorporeal as well. For those capable of sensing her presence even as a spirit, she is, in fact, leaving.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  The pale-haired knight watches Staren rant around in a circle somewhat blandly for a few moments. Several times he almost seems inclined to speak up, but ultimately, he just shakes his head and lets the other go on.<br /><br />  Instead, his eyes are drawn for a moment to Saber as she vauls so gracefully from her own steed; how she seems to have no trouble at all even in the heavy snow. Was this what it meant to become a Servant? To suffer no ill, and to find strength beyond the measure of mortal man? In truth, he had attributed those qualities to her before she had ever struck her contract with the World.<br /><br />  "Hm--?"<br /><br />  The red stone caroms off Bedivere's head; the unfortunate knight flinches a bit. Whoops.<br /><br />  Auron caught him at a particularly distracted time. Fortunately, he snatches it neatly from the air before it has a chance to fall, leather-padded and steel-plated fingers closing around it. He brings it up to squint at it, expression bland as he turns it over and over in his hands, as though trying to see how it works and why it's emitting heat and... oh dear gracious Lord, he can feel his hands again.<br /><br />  "My thanks, Sir Auron." Was that a smile? It was almost a smile.<br /><br />  Bedivere tucks it into his belt, where it can spread its warmth nice and even-like, because his feet are what are /really/ suffering.<br /><br />  "You have our thanks, Sir Allyn. Such creatures as you may have been hunted under witchcraft in Camelot, but you... you are not so bad." It's high praise from Bedivere, and given with the ghost of a grateful smile. "No doubt you have the thanks of these people, as well."<br /><br />  Actually, the people seem to be marvelling over Allyn. They look like steppe hunters or the like, and they probably put a lot of stock into predator-creatures. Maybe they think he's a god, or the aspect of somesuch. Is one of those hunters actually /kneeling/ in front of the shapeshifter? Yup.<br /><br />  He also burns off a whole lot of self-control in not rising to more bait from Mordred... but there is in fact a very loud CLANK as Bedivere's hand reflexively clenches a fist.<br /><br />  One of these days he's going to slip and backhand Mordred while he's wearing his steel-plated gauntlets, and it's going to feel /great/.<br /><br />  Exhaling, struggling to calm himself, he clears his throat politely and starts in on the next horse's load. "Fare thee well, Sir Mordred." Nope. Not gonna sink to his level. "Until we meet again."<br /><br />  May we never, he almost mutters under his breath.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>Allyn bows his head respectfully to Saber and thumps his tail on the ground, "If you insist my lady, I will accept the honor you show me." he ponders a few moments and then says, "If you are ever in need of me and think that I can be of aid, do not hesitate to call upon me. I have met many of the Union and some are pack to me. I will extend the offer of aid whenever, wherever you may have need of me."<br /><br />He then looks to Bedivere, staring at the knight for hsi words for a few moments, "Not too unlike my world then. Anyone that was hinted at having 'magic' was hunted down and slain it was an order by our king and queen. I was just a peasant of course." he sighs a bit, so there are other worlds like his out there.<br /><br />He then tilts his head at the hunter kneeling before him and thumps his tail a little, not really sure how else to respond, "You do not have to kneel to me. I am just a simple wolf, but I will bring fresh kills here as long as I am able to. I hunt here often, now that I know where to find this place I will not forget."<br /><br />Then since he had Saber's permission he digs into the chest of the caribou and seeks out the heart to eat it, trying not to make too much of a grisly scene as he goes about it.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     Saber suppressed a sigh. It took a considerable amount of her rapidly-depleting willpower to keep from going into lecture mode. Staren meant well, but he was only seeing what he chose to, and venting his frustrations was misplaced. Still, he /had/ come, perhaps against what he thought was his better judgement. <br /><br />     She likewise didn't argue when Mordred decided she'd taken as much boredom as she could stand. That she held up that long was remarkable in itself. <br /><br />     Smiling with gratitude at Allyn, Saber nodded. "And to you as well, Sir Allyn. Have you need of our sword, you need but as it of us." Turning back and dusting some snow from her hands, she made her way back to Bedivere, allowing her mask to slip away as she frowned slightly. "Forgive me...I had hoped for a more fortuitous time to have warned you that Mordred was here, as well." <br /><br />     This time she did not suppress a weary sigh. "Please, go warm yourself inside. It would be undignified to collapse in the snow..." <br /><br />     Was she fretting? Why, yes she was. <br /><br />     Then she seemed to adopt a stern demeanour before he started to protest...and he would. "That is an order. Go." <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:42|Staren (42)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>    Maybe Staren's getting a bit carried away, but how does noone else SEE what's right in front of them, he wonders? He glares at Auron and grumbles incoherently, then coherently mutters as he wanders aimlessly: ''Staren, you're making us uncomfortable, shut up.' Never 'Staren, you're wrong and here's why'... but of course, I'm talking to the UEF... should know better than to expect it, after all these years... grrr...'<br /><br />    He wanders by Allyn. "Your kingdom was ruled by evil jerks. Same as the coalition. Claim anything they don't like is evil. Keep the people in the dark. Control them. Grrr... mnnn..." back to incoherent grumbling. Eventually he ends up following Bedivere inside.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  It takes a considerable effort of will for Bedivere to respond to the mention of Mordred calmly. He simply closes his eyes, the perfect picture of calm, save perhaps the tension in his neck. When he opens his eyes again, that violet is as mild as a still sea... though perhaps a sea becalmed before the storm.<br /><br />  "Forgive me, my lord, but I cannot find it in my heart to trust Sir Mordred. 'Twas her fault that you were laid low at Camlann, and through her treachery that Camelot fell." His voice is low and quiet, but no less earnest for it. "Mayhap you may find forgiveness for her, for in this I fail in the knightly virtues of forgiveness and mercy. But I fear I cannot. Putting aside her crass nature and her disrespect, I do not trust her."<br /><br />  Once a traitor, always a traitor.<br /><br />  He blinks when she bids him go inside and sit down in front of a fire, as though he didn't quite understand the request. In fact, he's just about to cock his head and offer some gentle argument to the contrary when she says those four awful words that he's helpless to disobey.<br /><br />  Bedivere just sighs a long, drawn-out sigh.<br /><br />  "Yes, my lord." He eyes her for a moment, frowning. "Would you do me the honour of joining me? Surely you must be cold. And you others, as well," he adds, to his allies. "Warm yourselves by the fire once you have finished. The elder has opened his home to us all, so long as we have need of his hearth."<br /><br />  Home is probably a misnomer. It's a huge long-hall, but the hearth is bright and the fire is roaring. It'll be a nice place to regain feeling in limbs before getting back to whatever it is they'll all be getting back to.<br /><br />  Bedivere appreciates the hospitality. It's a knightly, proper thing to do.<br /><br />  But damn if he won't be happy to leave this place behind him when they're done.<br /><br />  Staren is given a bit of an odd glance, but Bedivere offers no complaint as he's followed inside.<br /><br />  And there he'll wait for the others until they've finished.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:346|Saber (346)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>     Not that Saber was inclined to argue at Staren over his last bit of mumbling before he went inside; to Arturia, all the people of Britain were her people to protect, human or otherwise. Still, she was going to have to chide him later in other things. Maybe. <br /><br />     Fortunately for her marshal, her chiding of him was done. he had only disobeyed her order once...or so she had been told. She was still trapped in that moment before he had found her, back in her own time. Unlike all other Servants, she wasn't quite dead /yet/. <br /><br />     "What she has done cannot be undone. Nevertheless, part of the blame for her condition lies with me, I cannot deny that." <br /><br />     She smiled slightly at him then, warmly, to lessen the sting of her earlier chiding. "That said, however...I am grateful for your loyalty. I hope to be worthy of it." <br /><br />     Glancing back at the wolf, a soft 'hm' escaped her lips. "Should Allyn have need of help to butcher and partition the beast he caught, I shall be only a little while. However, once the work is done I will be happy to join you." <br /><br />     She smiled again, with a subtle hint of fondness. "I promise...you need not worry that I shall disappear again." <br> <br>

:'''{{#var:307|Allyn (307)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>Allyn thumps his tail lazily against the snow as he finishes eating the heart. He's as delicate about it as he can be for a wolf and then works on cleaning his muzzle off. There's no reason for him to scare folks by being too gorey. His ears perk as he hears Saber's words, "I would be grateful. I could do it, but I'd have to return to human shape, but that's a story for another time I think." he ponders and agrees, "I'll make sure she does not vanish on you Sir Bedivere, I'll guard her with my life and I will keep watch while you all rest."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:482|Sir Bedivere (482)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>  The tall knight halts in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder at the last his king has to say. He doesn't offer an answer of his own, at least not in words. He does offer her the faintest ghost of a smile, though, when she thanks him for his loyalty, and says she hopes to be worthy of that loyalty.<br /><br />  Maybe she'd understand the subtext -- stop being silly, of course you're worthy of it. It is a faint expression, though, and perhaps easily missed by the others. With that, he pulls himself around the doorframe to enter the hall, wrapping himself in his half-sodden cloak to hunker down in front of the fire.<br /><br />  It's there that they may find him some time later, once they've unloaded the supplies, helped the peasantry move them where they need to go, and all that; by then, Bedivere has since tipped over onto his side, wrapped himself up in his cloak, and probably fallen asleep.<br> <br>


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