3486/Mother, Maiden, Crone

Mother, Maiden, Crone
Date of Scene:	06 December 2015
Location:	Land of Steel
Synopsis:	Visitors to the Land of Steel meet a couple of its stranger denizens. One is much more frightening than the other.
Cast of Characters:	Riva Banari, 513, Inga, 687

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Ark Line (687) has posed:
The Land of Steel is an inhospitable place at the best of times. The dull grey sky is uniform and uninteresting; the ground, cracked, dry and dead, is covered in part by sands of the same color, and broken by human edifice stretched out across the world. There are no plants to be seen, and no birds or beasts cry to fill the skies. It is a place of silence. When the grim reality of it sets in, it is perhaps most important to remember that it is /an/ Earth, but it is not /your/ Earth.

But the most chilling thought about it is that perhaps, one day, it /could/ be. Agartha leads to all places, and to all times...

The warp gate opens up in the middle of a city. The gate itself stands in what once might have been a park, a large standing ring in the middle of a cluster of five stone rings aligned for each to be smaller than the other. It's some kind of sculpture that has a use. Nearby, what looks like a wooden gazebo stands, but the old, worn-out plastic surface betrays its true nature. Dry stream-beds are scattered around, bridged by the remains of picturesque walkways.

Skyscrapers stretch in every direction, towerig monoliths to a seemingly deceased civilization. It's just past sunset, and nothing else in the city is lit up -- except, that is, for a tiny flickering firelight swinging lazily near the far edge of the barren park.

Inga has posed:
Inga had been in a trance-state when Riva called. Who could know how long she'd been that way. Hours, maybe a dozen of them. Maybe days. She didn't /think/ days...but she couldn't be sure. Wasn't it Woden's day? Or was it wash day? Either way, she'd run out of roving and her spindle was full with freshly spun yarn.

Time to go do something.

She'd managed to clean up and put on fresh clothing before Riva showed up, hauled her over her shoulder and promptly taken off. Small blessings?

Now, she thinks maybe she should have stayed home. The sense of death--no, not even death, death sounds too active. Decay. The sense of decay is like a slap to the face--or the soul. It is jarring. That bright energy she's accustomed to feeling feels so far away, and what /is/ here feels...rotten somehow. "What is this...?" she asks, turning toward Riva as she tries to straighten her dress and cloak.

Riva Banari has posed:
ADVENTURE TIME!

Riva does this occasionally. Ususallly, it results in ice cream, clothes shopping, or random cool things.

This time, maybe not so much. The arrival in the Land of Steel causes Riva to kind of stop and look around with a frown, clearly unsettled. She sets Inga down so she can settle herself and she folds her arms, looking over the blasted landscape and decrepit archetecture. "This looks like a very bad place." Riva replies. "... But whatever happened here, there's an open Warpgate and that means what happened here can happen elsewhere. We should look around and see if we can find some hints on what's up."

She smiles, probably trying to put on a brave face for the much more serious and reserved Inga. "Don't worry about it! I'll watch your back. You're great at finding things out, right? Just head in whatever direction seems right. IT's not like we have any particular plan here..."

And then she squints at the firelight and points. "Inga, over there, do you see that fire?"

Finna (513) has posed:
    When Riva steps through the warp gate there is in fact a second ripple! But it's easy to miss, for the fox is colored similar to the flux of the warp gate and takes not another step on her padded feet more than Riva. Their steps are in sync, allowing her to slip around behind the wreckage of a bench and peek around, watching the two girls!

    At first the fox's tail was wagging, but after getting a few whiffs of THIS area.... not so much. Her initial playfulness and desire to prank the two has quickly dwindled away. This place.

    This palce is AWFUL.

    And it gives her the shivers. "Grbrbrrwarb... these two... think there's /adventure/ here?" She hisses under her breath, no longer so sure...

Inga has posed:
Inga leans on her staff, looking around what she now recognizes as a park. Or, what used to be a park, anyway. She looks up at the skyscrapers, frowning deeply. "They loom like the broken skeletons of giants. It is incredibly eery," she says quietly.

With a sigh, Inga reaches to her belt, begining to detach the leather bag that holds her runes. "I can read the runes perhaps. I am...not terribly inclined to open my Sight right now," she says. Of course, she might not have a choice. Sometimes the Sight opens her.

Something else prickles her senses, so Inga turns to see a fox has followed them. She raises a brow. "Finna? Well, why not," she says, looking back to Riva.

Riva mentions a fire. Inga squints, looking in the direction Riva pointed. "Very well, let's investigate. Do you think...people can still live in this place? It feels as though nothing is alive here."

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva shudders in response to Inga, nodding. "Yeah, I know... exactly what you mean." That pulse of life, always so close to her... It seems very far away, now.

However, Inga notices a tagalong. Riva starts, apparently not having even noticed the fox. "Finna?!" She says in surprise, blinking... And then she sees the fox. "Oh! Hi Finna! Come on over here!" She calls, stooping and holding out her hands. Should Finna approach, Riva will pick up Finna and lavish some attention on her. She's always liked it before!

She does, however, nod and agree with Inga. "Life finds a way, doesn't it? I'll take the lead." Riva says, and steps forward, waving with a free hand. "Hey you guyyyyyyyyyyys!" Riva calls to the fire. "What's goin on in this thread?"

Surely this won't go horribly at all.

Ark Line (687) has posed:
The dread that comes with stepping onto a dead world is understandable. To those sensitive to the pulse of Gaia, the /lack/ is a silence that is almost deafening in its intensity. Beyond the brief breeze from the gate's opening and closing, there isn't even a breeze. The lack of a scent of decay, or of anything but dust, is unnerving to those who rely on more than sight. Shouldn't something this dead reek, even to the mundane?

Riva calls out. The firelight in the distance... sways, and then moves. It seems to approach. It isn't a campfire, or anything of the sort; it looks like a little ball, swinging gently back and forth in the dark. It's low to the ground, coming across the bridges. Then... it winks out, gone entirely, as if it had never been.

The darkness closes in again. A tense few moments pass.

A little bit of light appears above the heads of the would-be adventurers. A tiny ball of fire flicks this way and that, directed by a dark shape sitting on the outermost ring of the sculpture the warp gate is part of. The shape opens its eyes, looking down lazily while its tail thrashes. The ball of firelight seems to be following the tip of the tail. It's... a house-cat? Here?

"Travellers from outside the Land of Steel," the Black Cat purrs. "From whence do you hail? Or, more importantly... whom do you serve?"

The cat is outside Riva's immediate reach, and for something so small, it's giving you an awfully predatory vibe.

Finna (513) has posed:
    Finna whiiiiines in protest. A squeaky, hacky noise. She even SNEEZES on the way to Riva... and seems all to willing to dive in for some good pettings! It ends with her CURLING AROUND the back of Riva's neck under the ponytail and leaning slightly forward.... like some weird, living neck-warmer. Finna's shivering a little. Childishly. "You weren't supposed to spot me so soon! This place suuuuuuucks, why'd you co--"

    FWOOOOOOSH.

    She's down on the ground INSTANTLY, on all fours. Her body's pointed like an arrow, ready to bolt in any possible direction.. and ears up and alert. The body language is clear.

    The verge of fight or flight.

    Oh no, she does not like this cat's sudden appearance. It snuck up on HER. That's impressive.

    "It is usually polite to introduce oneself before asking such things." She exclaims cautiously.

Inga has posed:
Inga heads toward the fire with Riva and Finna, her eyes still roaming, senses reeling from the downright /wrong/ feeling of the energy in this place. "What has become of this land? Is the whole world like this?" she asks aloud. She could find out, perhaps, by letting down her defenses and ushering in the potential of at least temporary madness. It was something terrible, that is for certain.

Inga looks to Riva, tilting her head slightly. Thread? "In this thread, I am afraid to look at the threads present to me at the moment," she says, obviously misunderstanding.

As they approach the fire, Inga looks for life. She's leave the calling out to the rambunctious Riva.

The fire is no campfire, but something else. A spell? A creature of flame? When they are plunged into darkness, Inga keeps her cool, breathing, preparing to let down her guard and open her magic sight...

Then, a cat. Inga turns, blinking. A talking cat. It isn't as though she hadn't seen stranger things, there's a talking fox /right there/. Inga bows her head to the cat respectfully in greeting. "Greetings," she says, pleased with this turn of events. Cats like her. She is most certainly a cat person. Chosen of Freyja after all. "We are from many places and times. I serve the gods. I am Inga, chosen of Freyja--chosen of Gaia," she replies.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva gives Finna some happy foxpets and everyone is happy, The Cuteness level may abate the inherent creepiness for a short moment.

... Okay, not that long. Damn. This place is messed up. With a foxwarmer around her neck, Riva discovers a cat, and...

It talks. Riva is brought up short, her initial impulses to treat it like a normal kitty overrun by the intense feeling this being exudes. Well, and that it's talking. It doesn't sound like it particularly wants or needs snuggles.

"Oh, so this is the Land of Steel? Well, um. I'm Riva Banari. We're from another world, and uh... I work for the Bees, the Knights Templar, Heaven or Hell, and the Union, in no particular order." She shrugs. She sees no point in lying right now, despite Finna being on super suspicious time. "So what's your name, pretty kitty?" Despite this, Riva regains an attempt at a minor charm offensive.

Ark Line (687) has posed:
The cat turns her eyes to Finna, fixing the Lunar with a feline stare. Don't cats usually stare at things they're hunting? That can't be comfortable. "It is usually polite for beasts who barge into another's territory to leave a gift," she says, "and to be less mouthy."

In a manner only cats can, the one on the stone ring goes from intense staring to mellow lounging like a switch was flicked. The cat flicks its ears, and twitches its tail. "You have picked a poor time to be chosen by Gaia, little ones, who smells so sweet." She's apparently addressing both Riva and Inga. "But these names... I know some of them. 'Union'..." The cat says it like it was tasting it.

She looks down through sleepy eyes. "You may call me Archer of Green, sweetlings." The intonation is all wrong for it to be a deliberate choice of word. "My Master's ally has been working to secure the aid of the Union, so it would be remiss of me to allow you to go on without a proper warning." The black cat's tail twitches. The ball of firelight swings up and points towards the path like an arrow.

"That way lies danger, little ones," Archer of Green says. "But perhaps a sort of danger that can provide answers to your questions. There is no reward without an element of risk, yes?"

Finna (513) has posed:
    The fox frowns. Then answers the return with a grin. "Well, then. That makes us even. Finna Snowdancer, Chosen of Luna and ally of the Union."

    She's rather unsettled by this cat's choice of words and tone... but manages to hide it. With a few seconds of shifting flesh and fur, she raises up in full human form with tattoos, tell, and glimmering Caste Mark on full display, though the latter gleams only just enough to be noticed. Ends up on a rather sly expression too.

    "A Servant, I see. We ran into quite a greeting party."

Inga has posed:
Inga nods, folding her hands atop her staff. "It was not out decision to be chosen. Matters not, our Gaia is...different," Inga answers. Is this yet another midgard? "It is a pleasure to meet you, Archer of Green. I am also of the Union. Someone has come before us then?" she asks.

A warning is then given. Inga's lips dip into a frown, looking down the path. Her pupils widen as she lets down her guard, opening herself to the Sight. She searches for a likely thread, prepared to sort through the strands of fate to find the most likely occurance...

Riva Banari has posed:
The way the cat says 'sweetling' causes Riva to shudder. She is currently experiencing 2 stacks of SPOOKED OUT, resulting in an estimation of P. SPOOKY. "I'm sorry, um, Archer of Green. I didn't expect to find a Servant here. Um.... What would be an appropriate gift for you? You don't seem like you'd be satisfied with catnip..."

She pauses, and then nods. "Thank you for the warning, too. Danger, but maybe some kind of danger that can provide answers. Got it."

Ark Line (687) has posed:
"How interesting," the black cat says in Finna's direction, with the kind of tone that says it really isn't. She might still be miffed about the politeness jab. Cats can be kind of... catty. Inga gets a more direct answer. "The Union has not come to this gate before, no. To our world? Well, of course. Ever since the Liners went out into the greater Multiverse, things have become more... complicated."

"Mmmm... food from somewhere else," Archer of Green replies, watching Riva sort of out of the corner of her eye. "Something that doesn't taste of this dirty Grain." The cat sort of yawns. "I'm sure you can think of something else, though. Consider it when you return this way, hmm?"

Inga's vision is... strange. It's not so much that it's difficult to find a certain thread as it is difficult to find a thread /at all/. There is nothing that lives here that they did not bring with them, at least not within sight of her. Things came to the ends of their threads a long, long time ago. Though, there is /one/ thing...

Inga sees something superimposed on the darkness, as clear a vision as she's able to get: a cottage, resting within a yard of dead or dying plants. Kneeling in front of a flowerbed is an indistinct woman, trying to coax life out of the long-dead soil. The plants immediately in front of her look healthier than the specimens around, but Inga can see the life flowing out of them.

She gets the impression this is the present, not the past or the future. She's seeing what's directly down that path. The thread is strong enough to follow without missing where it's going.

Inga has posed:
Inga stands very still, staring down the way the cat indicated, a look of concentration touched with confusion on her face. "Strange, they are all so old, so faded...all go backward....no. Wait. There is one," she says quietly, brow furrowed. "Yes...we could follow this."

Inga closes her eyes, taking a few breaths in and out...then she turns back to the others, reaching into her pouch. She digs for a bit, then finally brings out what appears to be a piece of meat. It's probably goat. "A gift," she says, offering it to Archer of Green.

"There is someone that way...could be fruitful. I can try to give us wards," she offers.

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Dirty's such a strange word to use in combination with Grain." Finna exclaims. "This Grain though.... I can feel it crawling up my SOUL!" Can she really? Well. Maybe sorta kinda.

    And that's enough to garner some sympathy from the fox. She digs around, pulls a leather draw-string bag out of seemingly NOWHERE... dangles and swings it back and forth a little... then gently tosses it Archer's way!

    It's full of some dried but fairly tasty meats, and a few odd snacks from various stores across the Multiverse.

    "Lead on, Inga! Anywhere is... better than this." Or at least, Finna suspects anywhere else couldn't be WORSE than this hellhole...

    "This place gives me the willies. WILLIES. The UNDERWORLD has more life in it than this." ... Kind of. Maybe. Sorta.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva nods to the cat Servant. "Allright, Archer. No problem! I'll make sure to bring you something good next time!" She winks and gives a thumbsup, still bravely trying to work through the despair and unnatural environment that seems to seethe from this place.

Though at this point, she turns to look to Inga, and frowns. "You see a path, Inga? All right. Let's head that way, but, um... Let's be careful. This place feels really messed up, and I get the feeling this isn't going to be so simple... If you wanna ward, go for it." She nods to the wisewoman. SHE'S CALLED WISE FOR A REASON.

She does, however, reach out and give Finna a comforting scritch. They can be all creeped out together, it seems.

Ark Line (687) has posed:
"Mmm-hmmm." You'd better remember, Riva.

Archer of Green rouses. She stretches at length. Then, she jumps off the stone edifice and onto the wisewoman's shoulder, landing with a light touch and taking the offered morsel out of her hand. Finna's belated offering gets a little tailflick; the fire dims, and the bag just happens to land with the cord looped around her tail.

The black cat jumps to the ground strewn with steel sand, and, without further commentary, saunters off into the darkness. The little ball of fire drifts to the ground near Inga's feet, and puffs out with a little flare. The darkness settles in again. The cat is gone.

There is one benefit to such a dead world and a clear sky: starlight and moonlight illuminate the way. If there is one thing to be taken as a comfort, it's the moon, shining as it ever has. Inga's Sight leads them along the path, over the footbridges and through what must have once been a copse of trees, towards the mental image of a cottage in this dead and desolate place. They pass abandoned food stands and a low building that looks like it might have once been a bathroom, and around the corner...

...is, well, a cottage.

The building is a little oddly-shaped, but it's hard to see why in the darkness. The peaked roof stands out; so does some kind of extra bit sticking out the front of it, making a vaguely triangular awning. It stands on short and thick irregularly-placed stilts, with steps leading onto the porch. An old lantern hangs on a hook, casting light downward from the wooden porch over what looks like flowerbeds. The beds themselves are set-up along the interior perimeter of a rickety, uneven fence that surrounds the yard.

Kneeling at one of the beds is an old woman in patched and ragged clothes that have clearly seen better days. Her dress is deep but faded blue with a dark red stripe up the middle. Her pink sleeves, even rolled up, are still patched nearly as much as the front of her dress. Her hair is stringy and white, and falls down around her face while she remains hunched over the barren beds of turned earth.

"Terrible, just terrible," she mutters to herself, clearly irritated. "This wretched place, where nothing grows..." A few plants are clearly withered in front of her, but everything else is just that same grey sand. "A proper garden is going to be /impossible/ to cultivate again...!"

Inga has posed:
The wisewoman isn't sure how well this will work, but she's willing to give it a try. Inga draws her knife and slits into her inner arm, drawing upon her anima.... except that what she usually draws from is very, very far away. It is accessible, but it would take too long to draw from it. There is an energy around them, she'd been feeling it...but it is like the sweet honey of the usual anima has turned to ashes. It is rotted. But could she still use it? "Nnnn..." she groans, drawing on the energy of what the cat calls Grain.

Inga turns a very interesting shade of pale green, smearing herself, Riva and Finna with the blood in a quick rune, whispering the words of her ward.

She then promptly turns to the side and loses her lunch.

Once that has been taken care of, Inga reaches for a flask. It is filled with whiskey. She takes a generous drink, shuddering. "The anima in this place....it is vile," she breathes.

The cat jumps onto her shoulder, luckily not knocking her over in the process. She gives the scrap of goat meat to her, watching the cat stalk off. Their light disappears as well, naturally.

Still, the moon is bright above them. Their eyes will adjust. Inga begins forward, leaning on her staff as she follows the path she knows now is there.

Around the corner is the cottage, standing out like, well, a cottage in the middle of a city of steel and glass.

Inga approaches, stoppping an acceptable distance away before hailing the woman there. There's something uncanny going on. She's sure of it. This is entirely out of place from what they've seen so far. "Hail," she calls. She bows some if the woman turns at her greeting. "No, the soil here appears to be very poor. The earth is dead. I have dried herbs to offer if you have need. I am Inga. This is Riva and Finna....we're travelers," she explains, watching the older woman, glancing now and then to her cottage and failing garden.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva blinks at the reaction when Inga draws upon the native energy of the place ."Eeeeeeeew." She sums it up.

However, she accepts the ward. She sure as hell isn't going to quibble after Inga went through that for it.

Riva follows Inga's nose (or Sight, as it were) to the cottage, where she sees cottage and a woman in the area in an unusual location.

Oh well, there's weirder things here, right? With a wave, Riva greets the woman. "Hello, ma'am." She says politely. "Nice to meet you!" This feels like an Inga thing. Riva was never all that good at gardening.

Finna (513) has posed:
    Finna ends up scritched! While in human form. This gets a much more vivid reaction from her than she wants people to see. A pleased, dopey look is teased out of her. Only for... only for her to shiver and batter away at the hand with a fluttering motion of her own. "Gah-yah-yah what are you doing!"

    Well.

    There's one weakness revealed.

    Embarassingly so. Finna starts blushing so hard that she shifts swiftly back to fox form. Foxes don't blush. Remarkably, the blood ward remains through the shapeshifting, though is hard to see through the fur.

    In fox form she slowly paces up to the old woman. "You're brave, old woman. But the earth here has no blessings to yield, does it? Why spend your life so far out in the middle of nowhere, alone? My people would weep seeing anyone living this way..."

Ark Line (687) has posed:
"Yes, yes," the old woman says, waving a gnarled old hand in Inga's direction without looking up. "But even dead things have their uses." She traces a circle in the turned soil with a fingertip, muttering something that sounds like a kind of gutteral coughing noise. The withered little plant seems to gain a little of its color, slowly straightening, starting to stand tall...

...and then it wilts again. It withers in fast-forward, shivering and drying up. Flakes of it break off and drift to the ground, grey like the sandy earth.

"Bah!" The crone starts to stand. She snatches up what looks like a thick walking stick next to her, using it to get to her feet with some effort. She turns to the trio, fixing suspicious eyes on them over a hooked nose. "You must have travelled far to carry with you herbs of any sort," she observes. "I know of only a few who could make this worthless poison," she spits, "yield anything of /use/. At least," she sighs, "in the /old/ ways."

Her lip curls into a smile. "Such polite travellers. For the most part, that is." She lifts her smooth stick, pointing the bottom at Finna and staggering towards them. It looks like it's wider at the top and the bottom, and narrows somewhere just beneath the top of it. Odd. Her expression sours. "Why indeed? Your people would have stories about folk such as I, living in places such as this. The deep forests do not /exist/, child. Where else would one such as myself live, if not among the towering trunks of the old and dead?"

She stops on the far side of the rickety, uneven fence, just on the other side of the gate. The old woman eyes the trio. "You may call me 'grandmother,' if it pleases you. Why have you come here? Merely to mock an old woman?" She glares daggers at the Lunar. When she looks at Riva and Inga, at least, she seems... a little bit more pleasant.

Inga has posed:
Inga nods to the old woman, smiling slight at her comment about dead things. "Yes, that is quite true," she replies, watching the woman...the...entity, perform a spell. A twinge of excitement plucks at her heart. "The bones of a sacrificed man make a good talisman against famine, the blood of a sacrificed king even better...It is said if you sit on a grave mound through the night near the winter solstice will tell you all about the year to come," she says, leaning on her own staff. Inga isn't an old woman, but she needs the staff all the same. She suspects this is someone whom she might just have a few things in common with.

But caution is called for, because she is generally not an idiot.

"We have come very far indeed, grandmother," she answers. "I would be willing to share what herbs I have grown and harvested. A gift. We hope to find out more about what has happened in this place," Inga continues, remaining respectful. Careful.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva continues to take this with a soft touch. After the black cat that was also a Servant, this person, well... Seems strange. Inga also immediately takes to her, which gives her more hints on what's going on here. A fellow wise woman? Maybe.

Or something else entirely.

Riva nods and bows to the ages woman. "Thank you, grandmother. No, we're not here to mock you. We're here to, um, explore. We're not from this world." Riva points out. "As Inga said, we're trying to learn what happened to this place. It looks pretty extensive." Yeah, way to understate, Riva.

Finna (513) has posed:
    Oh yes. Finna's people have some stories about strange people hiding in the boonies.

    Rarely good ones.

    "They do not." Speaks the fox. "For the ice and the snow claims the elderly who stand alone. To be without one's family and people in their elder years... that's embracing death with open arms, it is." Her words are delivered in a sad, morose tone.

    Finna would frown, were she in human form. That problem is solved in no time at all though. She shifts back after hopping backwards. She's not keen on being so much SMALLER than this woman when she's clearly capable of sorcery. So she is left frowning pretty clearly.

    "Finna Snowdancer of Luna's Chosen." The frown's wiped away in a hurry, exchanged for a rather genuine display of youthful, charming rascally-ness. There's warm affection and respect in her eyes, smile, and tone. Just... not her phrasing.

    "There are greener pastures I could introduce you to!"

    But her tail isn't wagging. As genuine as her words are, she's WARY of this woman...

Ark Line (687) has posed:
"A king? Ha. There is little enough order in this place for there to be kings. No one has the ability, and certainly not the will." She plants the end of her stick on the ground in front of her and leans on the end, her hands folded. "It would take a much greater sacrifice than blood and bones to make these lands green again. Hard work. Discipline. Sacrifice..." A look of intensity crosses her lined face. "...and the willingness to pay whatever price there may be."

She switches subjects, the intense look fading. She considers Inga for a moment. "If a cat washes its face, one can expect guests soon. As it happens, the only cat I know of did that very thing mere minutes ago. I suspect it was having a laugh at my expense." Her tone of voice makes it clear what she thinks about /that/. It isn't anything good.

Grandmother turns to Finna. "I do not fear the cold. I have no need of family, and my 'people' have been dead for the span of an age." She scowls, but not necessarily at Finna. "This is my home. If it wishes to come for me, death will have to pass through the gate like anyone else. It is here I will stay." She lifts her staff, and pounds the end against the dry earth with a heavy 'thump.'

A ripple of dark blue spreads out from the bottom of the staff. It rolls across the interior of the yard and strikes the perimeter fence, lighting it up with sparks of flashes of amber light like momentary fireflies. Motes of it scatter, the reacting Grain casting odd light across the front of the cottage. The triangular portrusion is no simple overhang, but an old and scratched beak. The stilts are not stilts at all, but the legs of a chicken, bent low with its feet planted firmly.

The fence is not rickety at all. It stands strong, and gleams white -- the white of clean bones, standing like fused spears all around the yard. A greatsword made of too-white, too-luminescent bone flickers and hisses with amber sparks, the weapon worked into the grotesque gate of human (and... not quite not-human) bones. Another, similar display is coming from the fence that runs along one side of the house, but it's difficult to pick out the shape among the rest of the patchwork barrier.

The gate swings open noiselessly, admitting the trio. The hunched crone turns, starting back towards her chicken-legged hut. "Come. There is bread, and drink. I will not speak of ancient matters on my step, gift or no. Far be it from me to ignore portents and turn away guests."

Inga has posed:
"No...not this land. This land would take much more," she replies, frowning gently. But the woman seems to understand. Inga is sure she is on the right track. She is sure they are dealing with a wisewoman, and one of considerable power.

This is only reinforced by her next actions. Inga's eyes widen a bit, a smile unable not to appear as she sees a bone fence surrounding the strange cottage...a hut with chicken legs and a beak? How strange! Strange, but powerful magic.

Then, there is a brief moment of unadultered glee. She gazes as the bone fence as one would gaze at work of art. For that is what it is. "Ooh...your bone fence. It is impeccable," she compliments.

She swallows, regaining her cool, nodding to Grandmother. "We thank you for your hospitality grandmother," she says, then follows the old woman inside, where she would begin to produce her gifts of herbs. She has some goodies. Henbane, deadly nightshade, mugwort, mandrake root...it's all dried and tied up neat, fresh from her garden and harvested during the correct moon phase.

If a seat is offered, she takes one. "We did meet the cat, Archer of Green. She pointed us in your direction," Inga confirms.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva does not jump in on the intense subject of the land recovering being discussed. This seems to be a conversation between the old woman and Inga, something passing between them and she doesn't understand.

She really needs more dots in Occult.

"The cat does seem to be pretty cat-like." Riva shrugs, offering a response kind of lamely. When the staff strikes down, lighting things up, Riva blinks and gapes at the realization that she's looking at a bone fence, like Inga's, but... moreso. The strange greatsword catches Riva's eyes and makes her shift nervously. Something about it makes her uncomfotable... Both protection and warning, it seems.

More importantly, the sight of that cottage. Something stirs in the back of Riva's mind, but... What? She works her jaw for a moment, a memory on the edge of recollection, but it slips away. That's important. There is an invitation, however, and Riva isn't going to slight her by turning it down. That would be rude. And it's /very clear/ what the grandmother thinks of rudeness.

Riva walks in, deferring to Inga and letting her take the lead on things. She has a feeling this is going to be something Inga and Finna are going to be better at handling.

Well, maybe Inga, anyway. Poor Finna. Riva sits down after Inga does if seats are available. Otherwise she stands nearby. It seems safer to her to make it appear that Riva is Inga's attendant in some manner.

Finna (513) has posed:
    Really? SHOCK breaks Finna's typically rascally demeanor. Her eyes go wide. "... My apologies, grandmother. Though I should have guessed from before. Nobody who needs food or water can survive out here." She does indeed sound genuinely sympathetic to be facing someone who's lost everything at least!

    Though flickers of fear flash in her eyes with every show of Great Magics. Particularly for what it reveals. The fur of her tail stands out straight and she actually starts taking a few steps backwards. Struggling to not start hissing and panicking.

    Particularly when she starts offering food and drink. ALARM BELLS TIME.

    "This land isn't merely dead. It's cursed. The Grain is like sandpaper on my soul. A poison that's found everywhere. ... I hate to say it, but most people would be better served leaving through the warp gates..."

    Nevertheless, offered hospitality, and in the face of such sorcery, she does bow her head gratefully at the old woman. "Now I regret giving all I came with to the cat. From where do you come, Grandmother?" She walks in, but is remaining on guard. And definitely uncertainw hether it's actually safe to eat the food here...

Ark Line (687) has posed:
"It takes wisdom to recognize that," the old woman says, a little mollified. It /is/ a nice fence.

The interior of the hut is... well, it's probably bigger on the inside than the outside, anyway. It's difficult to tell -- the oddness that is the huge iron oven that seems to wrap around the interior, covering a single wall and all three others simultaneously, definitely throws off estimations of space. Still, shelves are ever-present, full of bottles, jars, trinkets and sundries, plus the occasional bunch of drying herbs. It looks like there are a lot more gaps in those than there should be. It must be difficult finding proper herbs on this world.

The crone gestures at a round table. There are a number of stools around it, plain but solidly built, and enough for everyone. Precisely enough, in fact. "Sit, sit." She moves over to another table, or... maybe the oven...? ...and busies herself with something or other. Glass clinks. "She would. She thinks I like her company." She scoffs. "Presumptuous creature. She was probably hoping for scraps from my table once your visit was concluded."

She turns, and puts a plate on the table, along with a glass for each and a small, stoppered bottle. A measure of clear liquid is poured into each glass. She very deliberately cuts the bread with a sharp knife, a thick piece of the hearty loaf for each person. Only then does she actually sit.

"Humility sits better with these old bones than childish antics," the old woman says to Finna. She lifts her glass, taking a drink. Anyone who guessed 'vodka' for what she poured would be right. "I am from very far away. If you wish to know where, you must do for me a service, like all the others. I will speak on this world I live in, and little else." A little gesture. "Your food is not made with the poisonous Grain that fills the air. My home, it is clean." It certainly doesn't smell the same -- but there's a sort of musky smell instead. It's probably coming from her.

"You are my guests." She puts the glass down with a scowl, eyeing the three. "Relax."

She seems to take her own advice, at least a little, after that. "It is cursed, yes, and dead besides. An ancient curse... it has polluted this place, and given rise to all manner of mischief and chaos." She waves one hand towards the ceiling. "The beasts who speak like men, they say it is the humans who must go. The toy soldiers made like humans, they say it is the beasts who must be slain. Back and forth, this way and that... fie on them, and their 'war'."

Grandmother snorts. "Babel's Tale... poetic, ehn, perhaps, but wasteful all the same. Sacrifices in the name of nothing are /worth/ nothing. Wouldn't you say?" She turns to Inga, staring. "You are a wise one, yes? Speak wisdom."

Inga has posed:
Inga looks to Riva, raises a brow slightly. She's feeling a bit out of place she thinks. Nervous. Well, she probably should be. They all should be.

A glance and a smile toward Finna. She's given her warning. That's all Inga can really do. There's danger here, but opporunity as well.

Inga accepts the drink and the bread, thanking Grandmother. She takes a sip of the vodka, recognizing it for what it is only because she's had some schooling in alcoholic beverages since her arrival in the multiverse.

Inga looks around the hut, taking note of things. How it is bigger on the inside. That's not completely foreign to her these days, but still a bit unsettling. She does note the herbs present, then reaches into her pouch to pull out a few dried bundles she thinks the wisewoman might find useful. "I hope these will be a useful addition Grandmother," she says, laying them neatly out on the table like an offering.

Inga has a bite of her bread too, trusting that it is good. As Grandmother said, is is not made here. That much is plain.

Inga frowns thoughtfully then. "A curse. Quite a curse," she comments. She can't imagine the raw power that would be needed to curse an entire world...for it is the whole world, isn't it?

When addressed, Inga's lips thin slightly in thought. "I am unfamiliar with this tale of Babel, and as for wisdom, I am not as wise as those who have come before me. But I know, at least, that a sacrifice must have true worth to be a sacrifice. It must have value, or it is no sacrifice at all," she agrees.

"You mentioned a service to be done. What could we help you with, Grandmother?" Inga asks.

Finna (513) has posed:
    "mmmmhhhh...." Finna's struggling to show manners. It's not natural to her. She's consistently glancing at the others for leads. But that seems to be enough after a bit. A bit of focus and rapid study of Inga's manners is all it takes. Just a minute of hyper-observation between her and the old woman...

    After a deep breath, her whole demeanor seems to slowly drift into a new style. A new calm.

    How irritating it is though. IF she's going to be drinking she'd rather it be in a nice big hall that smells familiar, full of rowdy tale-telling and egotistical guys trying to win her favor. Crazy things like that.

    This setting is cramped. But... this whole world sucks.

    "Sacrifices to gods are meaningless without gods to answer. Sacrificing sweat and toil won't bring anything green from this soil. Fighting over a decaying corpse is a losing battle for everyone.... just what happened here, grandmother?"

    How acting this way goes against her grain.

    But it is perhaps wiser to not rouse the ire of a strange sorceress with such disturrrrrrrrbing tastes in aesthetics.

    When Finna leaves here, she is NOT coming back.

Riva Banari has posed:
As much as Riva wants to Google what's up with this, the collective knowledge of Mankind is not available to her.

Not since she can't get signal, because she does.

It's because it's /impolite/ to use your cellphone at the table, and it's /very clear/ that impolitness is something that is not appreciated by Grandmother. So Riva keeps her hands on the table, her back straight. Something about this makes her feel like she's 10 years old again, sitting at Grandma's table and being really polite at a house that smelled weird.

In fact, it's exactly like that. It's both familiar and disturbing. Riva fidgets a little in her chair, and takes the vodka and slice of bread. "Thank you, Grandmother." Riva says, smiling faintly. She takes a drink, blinking in surprise at the vodka, but she doesn't seem to have too much trouble with it. The bread is chewed slowly, but steadily. She's going to clean her plate just like she's supposed to.

She does, however, nod in agreement with Inga. "It's true. What can we do for you, Grandmother? If something can make things better for you, we can give you a hand." Just... not literally.

Ark Line (687) has posed:
The crone examines the offering critically, and nods. "They will. Thank you, child." She sounds positively, well, grandmotherly, when she says that. She carefully sweeps the offered herbs... somewhere. They end up with the rest. A number of the gaps have been filled, if only a little.

She drinks, and pours. It seems like she is intent on making sure the bottle is emptied over the course of this discussion, even if at least Finna is eager to make that as short as possible. "You owe me no service. Those coming to ask for charms, or knowledge... /they/ will serve. There are always tasks to be done, and failure... well." Her eyes trail to the door. The fence of human bones suddenly comes to mind.

The old woman smiles, though, and it is not wicked or ugly for a change. "Your generosity towards an old woman is touching. However." She raps a knuckle against the wooden tabletop. "Rules are rules, eh? They will perhaps change for next time you visit. You /will/ come again, I hope." Oh dear.

She becomes serious again. The almost friendly demeanor melts off her features. "Babel's Tale is what they call this newest war of theirs. It is as useless as all wars are." She drinks again, her scowl returning. "An argument between petulant children, cast in blood and fire and the tools of the 'civilized' as they remember what it means to be wild. A fable, writ over the rust and dust of a dead world, that none will ever read."

"Mankind -- humanity, as you know it -- is all but gone. They have sequestered their survivors in cradles of iron, sealed against the poisonous outside. They do not leave their precious cradles, yet they work, and toil, and make their false children, the toy soldiers: Liners. The Liners leave the cradle..." She walks two fingers across the surface of the table as she speaks, away from her glass, covered with her other hand. "...and find the other legacy of humanity. A-RAYS. Beast-men. Proud warriors, prouder still of their wars without war. The strong survive, and though the Liners live in this poisonous air, oh, they are not truly /strong/, not like they. They take a stone, and --"

She lifts her other hand, and slams it onto the table, rattling the glasses. "-- dash the Liners' brains across the ground with it. They are not strong, you see," Grandmother says, eyeing the three, "but they are the /strongest/. Without them, what is left of the humans will surely curl up and die, like wounded animals must."

The old woman snorts. She refills her glass. "Surely. That is what humankind has always done. Simply laid down and died. Surely that will work here." She chuckles, unkindly. "I do not need to tell you that it did not, and will not. They made stronger soldiers. Strengthened the mold. Added more of the poison, to make them swllow it down more readily. 'Take your filthy medicine, child,' the men in the cradle say, 'and it will make you big and strong!'"

Her scowl deepens. "It did."

"They call them the Ether Liners. They face the A-RAYS with sorcery that has not been seen..." She looks suddenly thoughtful, like she's reminiscing. "...for a very, very long time. Weapons that warp time and space. That govern life, or death. They change the world to their wills. And instead of fixing it, what do they do?" She lifts her glass, saluting mockingly. "Pen another line of the Tale in blood, all across the dust. Well done, 'heroes.'" The crone tosses back the liquid without expression.

"They are strong, and they are worthless, so long as they fight for the purpose of fighting. They do not make sacrifices to their gods," she tells Finna, "but to the cold, warped altar of /progress/. The A-RAYS treat them like animals that need be culled, but not an infestation to be exterminated, and every generation is stronger than the last. They underestimate their resolve. Yet none, still, will break this curse that holds this world drowning beneath the surface of a sea of corpse-dust."

Ark Line (687) has posed:
With a slow, deliberate motion, she puts the glass back on the tabletop. "The world did not die a good death," the crone says. "A ghost in the shape of a man laid it low with evil power from a contest he did not rightly win. And so, it could still be recovered. Clung to, until its proper time. Perhaps. Perhaps..."

She sighs. "But I ramble, and carry on. Eat. Drink. Leave when you are finished. Return when you have more questions, and are prepared to work."

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva listens to the information given studiously. Her phone is also listening, of course, but Grandmother doesn't need to know that. Over time, the information is given, food is eatenr, drinks are finished, and then they are dismissed. Next time, they will need to be prepared to work.

As they leave the bone fence, Riva pulls out her phone and taps at it. There is a moment as she flicks over the lambent light of her display...

And her eyes widen. "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" She yells, suddenly turning and picking up Inga. "Inga, WE ARE LEAVING NOW. FINNA, MOVE KTHANKSBAI."

She immediately begins fireman carrying Inga to the gate at top speed, panicked.

Sometimes, even Google doesn't give you nice answers.