330/Capture the Castle

Capture the Castle
Date of Scene:	02 August 2014
Location:	The Tundra
Synopsis:	In an attempt to relieve the villagers who had come under attack by ice elementals, Sir Bedivere mounts an assault on the castle, where the things controlling the elementals seems to have made its base... except things don't go at all as planned.
Cast of Characters:	73, 85, 134, 206, 255, 346, 482

---

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Much as the last time anyone had been here, the village is in a sorry state. Timbers lie splintered, stone foundations smashed, and the signs of battle are still fresh. The corpses of the ice-hounds lie where they fell, drifted in snow. No repairs have been done yet, for this place is still too dangerous.

The path uphill from the village is desolate. There might have been a road, once, but now only markers rise from the snow; icebound timbers with a few scraps of tattered cloth suggesting pennants snapping in the wind. The area beyond is a wasteland of snow, and if not for the markers, travellers might never find their way from the wastes again.

Sir Bedivere marches gamely up the path, struggling through waist-deep snow. He wears his heavy armour, reinforced with fur lining and a much heavier, fur-trimmed cloak; but the poor knight still looks cold and miserable. The howling wind has turned it into a cold and lonely march, too loud to speak over save by radio. Bedivere himself has remained largely silent, only answering direct questions. Arturia would recognise something's eating him, and maybe the others would, too.

He's worried. There's no telling what they'll meet beyond those gates.

It's been slow going, and he finally stops once they reach those gates, pausing to slump and catch his breath, breath fogging as he pants. A horse would have been useful, but impractical in a siege.

Before he can issue any orders, a voice sounds from within the courtyard.

I bid you welcome as guests in my hall, Elites.

The knight straightens; his violet eyes flick to Arturia. She would know the significance, even as his hand drops from where it had been creeping toward the hilt of his sword. /Brehon Law. We have been invited as guests./

Whoever owns this castle has effectively gutted his defenses.

Put up your weapons, and come in, for I promise you safe passage on my word as host. I invoke the ancient laws. So long as you remain within my halls, I shall do you no harm.

Silence falls. Even the howling wind dies down.

Bedivere glances back, torn. It may be a trap. Yet he can no more break those laws than he can work magic. Honour compels him to try for a diplomatic solution, if there is one to be had; and he suspects that by now, he's too cold and weary for a battle even if it came to it. Trekking through this heavy snow has been exhausting.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"We will accept," he says quietly, in a tone that brooks no argument. "Be wary, my allies, but show no ill will to our host. We will remain cautious, but if there is a diplomatic solution to be had, we must try for it."

The gates swing open and the portcullis raises in ominous silence. There are no men manning the gate mechanisms.

It was grand once, but the courtyard now lies in ruin. Buildings and curtain walls are sunken into their own piles of rubble. Shadows swirl and skitter at every corner. Nothing stops the Elites' passage, though there is a powerful lingering presence of something, and the eerie sensation of being watched. The door to the keep lies open in silent invitation.

The great hall is likewise a shadow of its former glory. Tall and bleak, light filters in from outside, through broken tall windows and the holes smashed through the roof. That presence is even stronger here. Torches burn in the recesses of the walls, but they offer no warmth and little light, blazing in unnatural blue.

A shadowy figure is seated at the head of the long table. It moves slightly when they draw closer, looking up.

Perhaps surprisingly, the figure appears to be a woman. She wears heavy robes, ragged and fur-trimmed, sunken into them as though they were ill-fitting. Her hair is red and wavy, and her eyes, when they lift, are the colour of blood. There is a gaunt and harried air about her, and even in stillness there's a tension about her suggestive of a predator waiting to spring. She looks young, but there are shadows beneath her eyes, and the lines of her face are too sharp and angular.

When she speaks, the torches gutter. Her voice is not human; her cadences are the dry whisper of a winter wind.

I bid you welcome to this hall. Her voice seems to resound from all corners of the room as her eyes fall on the Elites in attendance. She looks at every single one long and hard before moving to the next. When those blood-red eyes sweep over him, Bedivere shifts his weight in unease.

Despite the aggression they may have expected, the woman seems more thoughtful than anything else. You come to my hall, but I sense your wishes are not benign. Seat yourselves. We will speak like civil beings, for I will tolerate no mischief in this place, and you come here to this hall as guests. I respect the ancient laws. And I will expect you to do the same in this place. I will do you no harm if you will give me no reason to.

Curiously, she never once calls the place hers.

Bedivere does take a seat, though, albeit hesitantly, folding his hands in his lap and watching the woman obliquely. Not until everyone's taken a chair will she speak again.

Speak, then.

Saber (346) has posed:
     With a body no longer human and formed of pure magic, Arturia Pendragon -- the Servant Saber -- was not held back by normal human limitations. Even making her way through snow which reached her chest level -- another curse of her lack of height -- did not seem to exhaust her or even affect her in much way. Neither did the cold, in spite of her attire as a Servant, the silver armour etched with blue over a deep blue dress, the only extra clothing being her fur-lined cloak. However, she was not without her own limitations; if she spent too much of her magical energy in her current journey, her body would disintegrate into unformed magic as her soul was sent back to her dying physical body. Hence, even a Servant needed to be cautious and not overexert herself.

     Jade eyes glanced at the sorry state of the evacuated village as she frowned slightly, an expression her marshal could doubtless read; at the moment, the people of this village were homeless refugees, and would remain so until the situation was resolved. But at least they were safe for the moment, warm and dry. She could not say the same for the group of Union Elites Bedivere currently led to the lonely fortress. The King of Knights did not so much as move closer to her lieutenant, but there was a softened flicker in her eyes, a new part of their unspoken method of communication. Rather than a blatant look of worry, she learned to conceal it, even if she could not fool the keen-eyed marshal. For him, she might as well have asked him directly if his still-healing wounds were troubling him, or if he needed to stop briefly.

     And of course, he would insist it was nothing to worry about, that he needed to present a strong and confident front to...whatever it was they would confront; that particular worry was clear enough. But at least there was time to stop when they reached the gates; their travel had left them in less-than optimal shape for a battle. Even Saber would probably not find the magic energies particularly useful, stretching out with her preternatural senses, trying to read the currents.

     The group was even less fit for battle as a voice suddenly resounded through the courtyard beyond. As it bid them a strange but familiar welcome, her eyes found Bedivere, the both of them recognising that they were now bound by the ancient laws of their homelands. Though it was simply a matter of summoning her own sword into reality, she had remained ready to call Excalibur forth at the first sign of trouble. Only now, she relaxed her posture somewhat, still alert but no longer channelling magical energy to her hands. Even if it /is/ a trap, the King and the Knight of Camelot were honour-bound by that law, forbidding them from attacking their host for as long as they were guests.

     Hopefully, this would mean some form of diplomatic agreement could be reached.

     Keeping her general silence even as she carried herself with a regal, imposing aura, Arturia took note of their surroundings as the Elites made their way through the hallway. The place seemed ancient, yet it was in terrible disrepair, though not, it appeared, on the account of battle. The true surprise, however, was the de facto mistress of the castle. She had eschewed speculating on what the mysterious summoner would be like, though she had expected at least some amount of aggression. However, this was just as well; she and her marshal were of one mind in finding a solution which would not devolve into aggression.

     "I thank you for your hospitality," she replied softly, seating herself with the practiced elegance grace of the years of ruling as king, clearly understanding the alluded-to laws. "Please, ask of us what you wish to know."

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Well now.

    Harry Dresden was not expecting a Civil Monster, but as ever, the Old Ones do like the Old Ways. Harry /did/ in fact come armed for bear, that was for certain. A lip twitches as he finds a spot to sit, his staf resting across his shoulder, the blasting rod and whatever else he's packing tucked away under his duster.

    The King Gets to Speak First.

Frederica (73) has posed:
    All too human, Frederica could be easily expected to have trouble pushing through waist-high piles of snow. And when she gathered with the rest, she was ... well, she was definitely not dressed for the weather. Her skirt is short, her outfit exposing way too much skin at neck, shoulders, arms and thighs for cold weather use. She's wearing a hood and scarf, but they appear entirely too ornamental to be of much use against the cold.

     Of course, as a pyrokinetic Frederica can be assumed to have a few issues with ice and coold besides. She remains undaunted however, and easily enough makes her way from village to castle. She does this by the extremely simple impediment of riding inside an elemental beast of flame, several feet higher than even a tall person and wide enough to sweep the entire trail clear if needed. What doesn't melt out of the beast's way is easy enough for it to push aside. She seems not to do a thing, merely sitting within the beast's translucent belly as it trundles along the frozen path, sending up clouds of steam all the way.

    Once at the castle itself, Frederica dismisses the flaming beast, drawing the flame apparently back within her own body without seeming to be discomforted in the slightest. At that point, finally, she begins to shiver. Hopefully the castle is well-lit and warmed by roaring fires... if not, she's brought her own.

    Once within, Frederica looks around curiously. "Put up our weapons, hm?" she mentions, grinning. Well, at least no one's asked them to disarm themselves. She shrugs, waggling empty fingers mischeviously.

Setsuko Kaminagi (255) has posed:
    Though they have as yet interacted only a little, it does not take much for Setsuko Kaminagi to recognize honor in a fellow warrior of the blade. Even if Bedivere had not been a sworn knight in Saber's service, the demigod would have been able to sense that integrity about him that she prizes highly in comrade and enemy alike. And so when Sir Bedivere calls for allies to meet a parley, she comes without hesitation.

    She can provide little to most parley other than her sheer presence; that indefinable 'something' about her which bespeaks someone who stands above, stands apart, can be an asset in and of itself. And should that parley fail, then she becomes truly useful, after all.

    In either case, they have been invited as guests, a gesture with significance not unfamiliar to the swordswoman either. Her brow furrows faintly, but she lets little of her concern over that show through otherwise. She merely takes seat within the battered keep calmly, and meets the woman's gaze with the stern blue stare of a half-divinity. "My blade does not leave my side, but I will not draw it against my host unless she gives me reason," she replies, her tone calm and even.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Kagenashi never seems to be bothered by much of anything. The frigid air doesn't make her shudder; no tension lingers in her form as the castle is approached. It is an effective mask, even beyond the literal one she wears over her face at all times.

    Inwardly, as she trails behind the group like a crimson shadow with Munashi padding beside her and Nageki tucked on her back, she is both curious and cautious. Relaxed though she may seem, nothing goes unnoticed in her surroundings. Every inch of snowy waste is scanned for movement; every whistle of the wind is noted for anything unnatural; every step is taken lightly before committing in case the white ground hides any danger. As lightly as she may have treated the elementals the other day, Kagenashi is certainly aware of the threats they pose even to her.

    The nogitsune is silent during the walk, letting others stay in front of the group as she moves with nary the crunching of snow beneath her feet. She's even resisted any urge to poke or prod Bedivere all the way from the village. What restraint!

    Kagenashi is only given pause when they at last meet the source of that voice. She stares from behind her mask, peering at the gaunt woman with an unreadable air...then bows at the waist, low and respectful, her hands coming to rest on her knees. Only then does she finally speak, her voice cool and serene as she lingers in that bow. "My thanks for your hospitality. You have my word that my blades shall not leave their sheaths unless a threat is posed. On my honor, I promise that much."

    Finally, she straightens up again and slinks into an isolated seat, once more falling silent as others take up the discussion. Maybe she'll chime in soon, though...she's the only Confederate here. Is she really going to go along with them?

Sakura Haruno (134) has posed:
    Flowers is not particularly happy in cold weather in the best of times, and marching to meet various attackers is rather not what she had in mind as the best of times. She's bundled up a bit better than normal, a heavy coat that she may or may not have stolen from Psyber wrapped around her, and she seems to be in an irritable mood even before they begin to head inside.

    Once they reach those gates, she'll look up and over at the knight to wait for his reaction. Hospitality like this is just a little bit foreign to the ninja; even in truces, attacks when people thought they could get away with them were somewhat common.

    "If you're certain, then." Is her only response, though, because she will take the lead he provides, heading into the hall, keeping her knives packed firmly away in a pouch with her other medical supplies. She'll drop into a chair, biting at her lip, waiting to see if a battle will break out. She could take the lead on diplomacy efforts... but that might go badly.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The surroundings are less than hospitable, but the greathall is not as cold as it probably ought to be. Either this creature has some manner of control over the weather, or the walls do afford some small protection from the howling wind.

Creature, indeed, for she seems only to be nominally human, if she does indeed control the winds and weather. The magically sensitive would sense that she has a great deal of power about her, but something about it seems subtly wrong; she still feels inexplicably... human.

Her eyes rest on each in turn, regarding every single Elite present with evident thoughtfulness. Perhaps they may have the eerie sensation of being looked right /through/ -- the cautious Saber, stoic Bedivere, Dresden as he sits down armed for bear, Frederica and her outo-f-place grin, Kaminagi and her otherworldly presence, even Kagenashi, who bows so respectfully; and finally Sakura, who seems miserable in the cold.

You do not trust me. The statement is given with some amusement. And why should you? I am the one who attacked that poor, defenseless village, am I not? Yet you do not know the whole of the story. You are powerful, every one of you. That much I can sense.

Gaunt fingers drum on the table. They seem pale; bloodless.

You, with the regal air. Those red eyes turn to Saber. You, the subervient. Bedivere startles a bit when he's looked at, regarding the witch warily. You, the girl with the fire; oh, yes, I can sense it. Frederica. You, who who also remember the ancient ways. Dresden and Kagenashi. And you. Those blood-coloured eyes linger on Sakura, as though intrigued. There is more to you than meets the eye.

But I did not call you here to discuss appearances. The woman doesn't so much as move, but somehow her presence seems to grow, to stretch; her shadow filling the very hall behind her. The shadows themselves seem to skitter and move. Nor did I call you here for a fight. I called you here...

To parlay.

Her presence seems to diminish at that.

I did not do these things, you who so quickly accuse. Oh, yes, I see it in your eyes. The woman's mouth twitches, as though in disdain. That village was my home. The one you seek is not fool enough to be here, for he is cautious, and he has moved to find a place to rob that will not challenge him. You slew my hounds, but I daresay you did the poor beasts a favour.

She falls silent, then, waiting and allowing the Elites to absorb that information.

At his place at the table, Bedivere's gaze slides toward Saber; clearly questioning whether or not they should believe her. He is slow to trust even in the best of circumstances, and even less so when the situation is so obviously suspect. His eyes sweep the others, as well, guarded but momentarily uncertain. /What do we do?/

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry Dresden's lip twitches a moment, as he chews on those words for a few moments longer.

    "We know they were your creatures, Miss. We know they came from here. We also know that this place used to belong to the people below." He meets her eyes willingly. This is no mortal, not any more. No proper Soul to gaze. "Are you saying your beasts disobeyed you in that assault on the village?"

Frederica (73) has posed:
    Frederica's not sure if the woman can sense her inner fire, or if she just has the eyesight to have seen them approach. Not that it matters really. She's had her power sensed before, and it doesn't bother her all that much. Many people know she wields fire. Few people know the depth of it, or the techniques she's developed over many long and hard years of training. Being a psychic is, in the end, about using your head.

    Still, Frederica huddles in on herself. This is a bit awkward, not to mention cold. Even with the place rather warm compared to the outdoors, it's still cooler than she'd prefer. Normally she'd use her own fire to warm herself, but she suspects that might be seen as rude if not outright hostile. She needs to show restraint, to not offend allies or even to prematurely offend an opponent. She has to show that she's a proper, dignified, respectable and trustworthy ally. And to kick some ass too, when necessary.

    "I assume you have some evidence to back up your claim that it was someone else, not you?" she says, voice pleasant with only the merest bite of sarcasm. "Since it was your beasts, by your own admission, and since you're the one who lives here?" she adds, entirely reasonably. Well, mostly so.

Setsuko Kaminagi (255) has posed:
    When that presence exerts itself, the demigod's own almost seems to rise in response, a faint sheen of blue flickering around her briefly before she takes a breath and forces it down. Fortunately the woman's 'exertion' fades shortly thereafter. "I am not here to accuse," Setsuko replies, her fingers laced together on the table. "I am simply here in support of my allies, to find the truth of this situation and stop it. And I am not one to mince words or dance around points. So I will simply ask- If you aren't the one we seek, then who is, and where might we find them?"

Saber (346) has posed:
    Saber remained perfectly still with her calm, impassive mask still in place, even as she was surprised; the summoner was not, as she had anticipated, a dead thing. Doubtless, she also knew that Saber was in some ways human, yet not, and a being of magic.

     She met the gaze unflinchingly, the one which saw though her, even as she listened carefully. The King of Knights was not certain she believed her, being of a cautious nature herself. But if she was indeed lying, what was her purpose for doing so? That was what Saber wished to find out.

     The sea-greed gaze flicked to Bedivere, catching his question. /We need more information, some way to discern her purpose./

     "You spoke of the person we seek. Was it he who has corrupted these beasts? As my ally has pointed out..." inresponse to Setsuko's question, "We wish to find him."

     Her questions and demeanour continued to be mild, yet she scrutinised the strange being carefully, continuing to try to read the currents of magic around her.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Kagenashi remains in her seat, hands folded carefully in her lap. Munashi curls around her feet under the table, seemingly relaxed and at rest. None of the woman's words seem to draw a response from her: she sits, stares, and listens, shifting neither her gaze nor her posture. If she has nothing else in a social situation, she at least has her stoicism.

    Finally, she speaks, her tone as calm as her air. "I trust few. That is not to say I accuse all. Your welcome is appreciated, as is your willingness to settle matters with words rather than arms." She pauses, a smile slinking into her voice when she continues. "...even though those can be more potent and damaging, when weilded by a skillful tongue."

    Her glance shifts aside to the others as they pose their questions, and soon hers comes as well. "You call the village your home, and yet this is where you sit. You say the beasts were mercifully struck down, and that someone else is to blame. Your words suggest that you do not belong in this role, this seat; you, like us, are not who you appear. So who are you, then? An unwilling servant, turned against those she cherished, perhaps?"

    An understading of those close to the target can often give an understanding of the target, after all.

Sakura Haruno (134) has posed:
    Sakura looks more than slightly uncomfortable under the gaze, but she'll straighten up after just a moment, returning it, gazing back, her own green eyes showing slight signs of anger. "If they were yours, then they are your responsibility. Either to control, or to warn of their approach. You can't just let them go..." She'll shake her head, trailing off as others make their cases, folding her hands in her lap and finally looking down. She's aware of how bad her temper can be, and she'd been perhaps a bit too torn up by the beasts to be totally calm about this. "If you can point us in the direction of someone responsible, then do so." She says, a bit more seething. "But I don't know that you're going to be believed by many of us if you cannot provide actual evidence."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
That is correct. They were my creatures. The emphasis the woman places on the past tense seems to suggest she means more than their deaths. Those blood-red eyes turn to Harry, unflinching. In a manner of speaking, yes, they disobeyed their mistress. They are guardians, not attackers. They should never have left the citadel.

Although the woman is not a dead thing, she still doesn't look right, and perhaps Saber can sense that there is something subtly wrong about the energy about the woman. There's something about her that seems almost forced, despite her calm treatment of her temporary guests. You seek Harkaitz. He was a sorceror of this village, once, and he sought beyond his power.

Something about her turns colder when she speaks that name, and indeed, the temperature of the greathall perceptibly drops; for a few moments, even Bedivere huddles into his cloak, shuddering.

He was a wiseman, who predicted the coming and going of the summer sun and the planting of the crops. His position was respected. But that was not enough for him. He learned the secret ways, the old ways, and he thought to control that which he had once merely foretold. One of her gaunt hands curls into a fist.

Bedivere's gaze strays upward, noting with some alarm that there are ice crystals forming on the ceiling.

The village was not enough for him. He wished to be a king, the woman scoffs. When they did not bow to his skills, he wrested control of my hounds, and he loosed them on the village. I raised those hounds myself. There are but two of them left, and one has gone mad, fled into the weald. The other is in the dungeons, for I would not risk that it hear Harkaitz' whispers.

She shifts, gathering her heavy cloak and furs around her; at closer inspection, they seem somewhat tattered, like something once magnificent left out for a little too long; a shadow of former glory, much like she herself.

Those blood-red eyes turn to Kagenashi, then, narrowing slightly. This one is clever, and it seems she does not trust the nogitsune any more than the nogitsune trusts her. A flicker of a blade-thin smile crosses her gaunt features.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
You are a wise one. Perhaps she senses Kagenashi's hidden motives. It was once home. This is indeed where I sit, but this is not my hall. I am a servant, in a manner of speaking. The people made a promise with me, long ago. In exchange for worship, I would protect them from the worst of the winter winds. My hounds would protect them from the beasts and the dark and terrible energy that lives in the deepest parts of the weald. Until that coward made his play for power, it was a satisfactory arrangement, and I was not left wanting.

But he sought to bind me with his power. Her presence seems to slowly fill the room again, shadow broadening over the wall. A cold wind skirls through the holes in the roof. He sought to bind the wild, the winter wind, the breath that lives in the wood when the storms rage. The fool. And yet... he succeeded, in part. The woman seems to diminish again; anger spent. I was once a simple woman of the village, mortal, but I strayed too far into the wood in my youth. As I lay dying in the snow, I struck a bargain. In exchange for my life, I would serve the wood for the rest of my existence. And now I am more than human, and will never be human again.

My name was... Those blood-red eyes grow distant, as though seh were genuinely struggling to remember. Gods above and below, it has been so long. No one has spoken my name in seven generations. I was Alaia... though now you could, in a manner of speaking, call me a spirit. I am bound to this place.

She raises a hand, gesturing lightly. Wind plays about her fingers, ice crystals swirling through it. It forms the loose image of a hound in scattery snowflakes, a sleek and slinky thing not unlike a greyhound, bounding among the falling flakes. This is what my hounds once looked like. Those monstrosities you fought were not my guardians. I had created them and set them to guard the people I had once lived among. They were to report to me when they sensed the approach of that which they could not defeat, and those stronger entities were to be my prey.

I struck my bargain with the winter wood. But Harkaitz sought to bind me in midsummer, when my powers are at their weakest. As they are now. It is why I cannot simply create more hounds, or soothing the madness in them.

Her eyes flick to Sakura.

]ansi(xterm147,I would be thrilled to point you to Harkaitz, but I do not know where the coward has fled. As I said, I am bound here. I cannot follow, and I cannot sense that which lies beyond the weald, and he has fled it. Perhaps he has gone into hiding, for a time.)]

Hmm. Evidence?

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Slowly, very slowly, the woman pushes herself to her feet. Perhaps she does tell the truth, for her movements seem laboured, like a creature vastly older than her appearance. You may think it midwinter here, but that is Harkaitz' work. It will fade in time, now that he has fled. She snaps her finger again, and they might hear the scrabbling of claws...

The hound that leaps up the stairwell from below is nothing like the monstrosities they had fought. Where those had been chunky and misshapen, this is a creature of grace, almost deerlike in how slender and graceful it is -- the eyes are the same formless light, though yellow instead of red, and it splits its narrow jaws wide to show its teeth and its icy tongue. Fog rolls from its mouth as it pants, standing with all four legs braced.

Something about it seems almost puppyish. Maybe it escaped because it was smaller, even though the thing is almost the size of a saddle-horse. The woman reaches out, cupping her hands around its nose; its tail wags fiercely as it just sort of mushes its face into her hands.

This is Kepas, last of my faithful hounds. This is what they should be. I will assume that this is not what you fought, one week ago, when you slew the rest of my hounds. You may inspect him if you wish.

She releases the hound, which pads over to the table, tail still swinging behind it as it indelicately shoves its nose into each person present. It's not wet, thank goodness for small favours. But it's very, very cold. And it doesn't seem to care about shoving its nose into the unguarded necks of the visitors. It seems more curious than hostile, certainly nothing like the ice-demons they had fought their way through; when it makes its way over to Saber and Bedivere, the poor marshal jumps in his chair at the shock of cold.

The woman resumes her seat, falling back into her chair; the hound meanwhile makes its way around the table, carefully giving every visitor a once-over with its icy nose and its eerily formless, glowing yellow eyes.

Meanwhile, the woman's blood-red eyes flick toward Sakura, one red brow lifting.

Is that proof enough, or do you require more...?

Setsuko Kaminagi (255) has posed:
    A woman who struck a deal on her deathbed, service for another chance at life.

    It is a story all too close to Setsuko's own.

    The demigod meets Alaia's gaze squarely, and this time the stern calm has softened to a much simpler look, one speaks of too much understanding for anyone save 'one who has done the same'. Only once she's held the woman's stare for long enough to convey her message does she speak. "A pact made on death's door. Power and life, a chance to do that which you were unable to before, in exchange for an obligation. I can see the truth of it in your eyes and hear it in your voice," she declares simply. "You have nothing to fear from my blade."

    Unlacing her fingers, the demigod sits back. "With Harkaitz fled, are /you/ still under his power? Do we need to seek him out to set things right, or will time salve this wound as well?"

Frederica (73) has posed:
    Frederica shivers some more, wrapping her arms about herself when the snow-spirit woman lowers the room's temperature even further. She looks worried, not sure if it's an attack or if it's an accident. When the woman then holds up her hands to form the ice image, the pyro's temper flares. Along with her temper, her power flares as well. She keeps it under control of course, simply lighting a fire right in her own lap. It's a relatively small flame, nothing more than a foot high. Still it crackles merrily, and it throws off significant heat. She sighs, then abruptly looks around guiltily. This IS technically raising arms during a parley, since fire is her weapon. Not that she's using it as a weapon right now... it's merely a tool, and she meant no harm.

    Eyes shifting about, Frederica clears her throat. "Hey, if she's allowed to half freeze us with her magic, I'm allowed to try to stay warm right? Doesn't violate the parley or whatever, right?" she suggests, sounding a little embarrassed. "If anyone else wants to get a little more warm, you're welcome to come closer?" she offers, grinning sheepishly.

    As for the proof offered, she doesn't really have anything to say. The demonstration of the hound seems rather effective to her. It's no monster. It's actually pretty cute, if a little large. If this woman creates such creatures, then perhaps the crude attackers from the previous time she'd heard of were really the work of another. But she'll let others decide that question's fate. When the huge hound comes to sniff at her, Frederica very politely shifts the flame well away from the beast. It's made of ice; she's not about to risk inadvertent harm... especially not to a poor innocent-seeming creature.

Sakura Haruno (134) has posed:
    Trust is not something that comes very easily to Sakura; she'll make her way to her feet, as well, glancing at the hound. It does not look quite like the one that she had fought before, and she intends to approach and try to examine it with chakra, drawing a green light to her hands...

    And then the thing manages to get its nose in her neck, getting a cry of surprise out of the medic, her arms lifting up to push it away, but not in a hurtful way.

    Still, the group as a whole seems to have made their determination, and the medic will, slightly reluctantly, nod. "...Fine. Is there anything you can tell us at all about where he might have fled to, something he mentioned, or whether he might return?"

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    DOG. Harry doesn't flinch at the cold cold cold dog nose, but does look quizzically at the Lady as she brings her pet forward.

    Deals with the Devil are not unfamiliar, no. The Wizard stays quiet for now, though.
    He does pull a piece of jerky out of his cloak for the dog, though.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    The nogitsune nods faintly at the woman's explanation. It's about what she expected, all things considered. Her voice shows neither amusement nor satisfaction when she speaks, however; it is only serene, as always. "You have my sympathies. Surely he is a dishonorable individual to have made such a play of your arrangements."

    The hound appears, and while Kagenashi pays it no attention, even when it slips in near her, Munashi lifts her head and pads over to the frosty hound, slinking around it and sniffing it curiously. Of course the fox is made of shadow; it wouldn't care about the biting cold of the creature's form.

    "No, that is very much not one of the creatures we met. I can see what you mean. This Harkaitz -" Her Japanese inflection seems to twist the name a little. "- had clearly warped their noble forms."

    Kagenashi's head tilts slightly, the only sign of her vulpine curiosity she has thus far allowed to show. "So your servants are twisted and cast against your will. Your pact with the nearby village is tainted. What, then, is left for you? Forgive my bluntness - I merely wonder, at this point, what now comes of you, after this dishonor."

Saber (346) has posed:
     While deliberately avoiding glancing up at the forming ice crystals, Arturia kept her eyes carefully trained on the woman as she related the wiseman who had caused the corruption. It was a common enough event, to seek further power and consume or destroy what was necessary to achieve that. Even if this woman was not speaking the truth -- a judgment the Servant nevertheless kept an open mind on -- it would still prove necessary to find him. If she was lying, perhaps he would set the story straight....and if not, put an end to his ambitions.

     Arturia frowned as she studied both the woman and the magical energies around her, through her. She was beginning to form her own suspicions, though she did not want to make any assumptions, not until she knew more. Not until she could know for certain.

     She didn't have to wait long, when the woman who had become something like a goddess answered the nogitsune. It was certainly a familiar enough tale -- her slightly surprised look betraying her recognition in it -- and one which had played out for Saber herself, ending in the dying king becoming a Servant for the purpose of fighting in the Holy Grail War. Yet this was different, the woman becoming an elemental spirit -- just as Arturia was -- yet bound to a single place. Like her, a sort of artificial god. "So you had become goddess of this place, so to speak," Saber observed. Being bound there would make it considerably more difficult to find the errant wizard, and it would make purification considerably harder.

     The Servant did not so much as blink as the true elemental ice hound came sniffing around, suppressing a sigh as the overenthusiastic ice hound shoved its cold nose at her, turning hand with her palm facing up so he could get a good sniff if he chose to. However, she did not look away from Alaia. "Still, the corruption of this place remains, which must be rectified. We must find this Harkaitz, if that taint is to be removed."

     Unfortunately, Arturia was at a loss for how to find him, exactly, risking a glance at her marshal. hopefully the ice hound wasn't giving him too much trouble. She hoped. "If there are other ways, we would be eager to hear of them."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The winter-spirit meets Setsuko's gaze evenly. It seems she speaks the truth, even if the Elites may have no reason to believe her. There is a slight flicker there that suggests she does not miss Setsuko's unspoken sentiment; and a very slight dip of her head -- understanding between equals.

Good. I had hoped it would not come to violence. Whatever their names in other realms, even the spirits are held to the Ancient Laws. It would have reflected poorly on me if it had come to blows. Her voice is just a little sarcastic. This time of year does not suit me. I should be sleeping beneath the lake until the winter winds return.

Her grumbling is almost reminiscent of an old woman being made to do something she's too old for. Despite her reasonably youthful appearance, this woman has seen seven generations come and go in her village. She probably has a right to grumble like that!

To answer your question, Warrior, I am under no power of his but to be present before you. I should not even be here. I do not see the sun in the spring and summer months, for I cannot bear it. The woman spreads her arms in placating gesture. The spirits of spring and summer and I, we have an agreement. They mind their business, I mind mine, and our paths do not cross. Not usually. There is a lake in the weald, the lake where I struck my bargain, that I dwell near until I am needed.

Meanwhile, the ice hound seems happy enough to investigate the others. It wags its whip-thin tail, narrow jaws falling open in happy panting, which seems to produce puffs of bone-chillingly cold air. It bounds about the hall a bit clown-like, as though it were still more of a puppy than a grown hound, its icy claws scraping on the stone. Apparently it's still kind of derpy... though when Frederica suddenly summons a fireball, the creature instantly whirls, bowing low and snarling.

The sound is not like something out of a mortal throat. It sounds like the scraping of ice, and its countenance changes, slightly. Its ears flatten, hackles rising in sharp, spiky ice around its thin neck. Something in its mien seems much sharper, more threatening; gone is that puppyish enthusiasm. This beast is a protector, and it shows, once it perceives something as a threat.

Kepas. Peace. The woman doesn't so much as raise a hand, and the hound seems to cower a little, though it watches Frederica warily. Theyyyy don't seem to like ice very much. Summoning fire in the middle of a winter-aspected spirit's court seems to be a pretty unsound idea.

In fact, Bedivere flicks her a warning glance.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
It was not intentional. The woman's blood-red eyes settle on Frederica, and her tone of voice is flat. She sighs, a cold wind gusting through the chamber. Were I more a vengeful spirit, girl, that would be tantamount to a threat. Fire, in the midst of a winter court. Fire and heat are the domain of summer.

Sakura's careful examination with chakra would reveal that it is, in a strange way, a kind of 'natural' creature. It's a creature of the spirit world, but there is nothing twisted in its purpose here, and it seems pure in a way that the creatures they'd fought had not seemed. It sits down and cocks its head at her, drooping a bit when she pushes it away, like a disappointed puppy.

...It seems happy enough to take Dresden's jerky, though the instant it meets the creature's teeth of ice, the piece flash-freezes. It wolfs it down very noisily, because the jerky is now crunching like broken glass. Nomnomnom!

Kagenashi, however, earns a more detailed study. So does Munashi. The hound sits itself down, lowering its pointy muzzle to touch noses with the shadow fox. It seems as though it doesn't know what to make of Munashi at all, one ear cocked up and one flopped over in obvious indecision. Munashi is a spirit creature, too, but like nothing the hound would ever know -- not a spirit of nature, of the four seasons; and not created by the same forces that had created it.

He was a coward, the woman says simply, in response to Kagenashi. She ignores the puppy's clowning around, looking directly on the nogitsune. At mention of the village, her mien seems to turn sorrowful. Ah... the villagers. If I may ask, what remains of them? Do any still live? They did not deserve their fate, and that I was too weak to resist Harkaitz' influence is no excuse at all.

She seems to care genuinely for the people, at least. Her blood-red eyes turn to Saber.

I would not be so arrogant as to call myself a goddess, but I am certainly bound to this place. That was the nature of my bargain. That would be ideal, though I cannot leave. This is the time of summer, not winter. The best I can hope for is the coming of autumn. I am still weak, then, but I do not overstep my bounds to act then.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
She shakes her head, considering with distant eyes as the hound settles for throwing itself down at her feet, panting happily. (Visitors!) It is possible that Kepas may track him. Under your protection, he would not fall to madness as his brothers had... and perhaps you may administer judgement where I could not. I am powerless but to wait here.

Bring him to me in midwinter, and he would have no hope of escape. I would be all too happy to set right what was wronged. Those blood-red eyes narrow. I cannot bring him here myself, but I will give to you these lands if you can do that for me. Spend the autumn repairing this place. Watch over my people. I will gather my power, and we will have a grand hunt come the winter. She reaches down to rub the hound's ear, which tilts its head up and lets its tongue loll sideways in a foolish canine grin. I will lend you Kepas at that time. He will be stronger, and in winter, at the height of his power. He will remember the scent of Harkaitz' power. Until then, I fear little can be done. I have no way of knowing where he has gone. He has gone beyond my weald, and my senses end there.

Having been quiet until then, Bedivere steeples his fingers over the table, regarding the winter witch with violet eyes. "You ask us to watch over your people, and give us this place. Even if we were to accept... where will you go?"

The woman seems thoughtful at this. I will return to my lake. Someone must watch over them. I have not the strength to do so myself. She looks away, to the tattered greathall. That much is evident. Will you do this favour for me, Elites? Will you help me right these wrongs?

Bedivere looks down at his gauntlets, frowning, before glancing back to Arturia. His silence is eloquent; when he finally does speak, it probably won't surprise her at all.

"My lady." He looks to the winter witch, though he doesn't meet her eyes. "I would ask to watch over your people. As a knight, and as a member of the Union, it is my duty to protect them, if it is protection that they require. I have listened to your tale, and I have judged you truthful." He lifts his violet eyes, looking at her directly. "I cannot speak for my companions. But I, for one, will honour your bargain come midwinter." His eyes sweep his companions, then, one brow arching slightly. "What say you?"

Except maybe Kagenashi, who he still doesn't trust. At all. And in fact may be wondering what her motive is for being here, other than simply To Mess With Him.

Setsuko Kaminagi (255) has posed:
    In silence, Setsuko listens. The cold does not seem to bother her in the least; even as a mortal, she hailed from a land that grew truly frigid for much of the year, and her constitution now is far beyond that of a mortal. So there is no hint of discomfort or distraction as she hears the spirit-woman out. At the end of that impassioned plea, as Bedivere declares his intent, she is silent for just a moment, and then speaks, shaking her head faintly.

    "I'm afraid I can't linger here. The power that has become part of me is born of War, and it calls to itself. If I stay in one place for more than a couple of days, it will start having an effect on the land around. Tempers will begin to flare. Disputes will happen. It will grow worse the longer I stay."

    Lacing her fingers together on the table, she continues, "But I can at the least visit once in a while. Venture out from the castle, sweep the surrounding areas now and then. I can sense conflict, whether in progress, already past, or yet to come. And if my blade is needed, I can be here swiftly."

Frederica (73) has posed:
    "Sorry." mutters Frederica, somewhat sullenly. The apology's directed more at Bedevere's glance than at the ice maid. He was only cautioning her, it's true. He'd warned her, and she had fully intended to keep her tongue in check. The fire is so much a part of her however, that she reached for it almost without thinking. It was a defense, not at all meant to threaten or harm.

    This, she tries to explain to to the winter-spirit. And the giant ice puppy too. "I've sworn not to let my fire harm those who aren't a threat." she claims. The oath is to herself only, but no less binding for that. "I'll send it away if you like, but it's no less dangerous inside me than it is in my hands. I just needed some warmth, that's all." she says. "If you'd rather I leave and keep fire out of your halls while you're here, I'll do that too. But if you'd have me stay I'd be willing to help?" she offers.

    Frederica takes in a breath, letting her fire simmer down but not bank out entirely. Not unless asked. "You said yourself, you protect your people from the worst of winter winds. Fire may not be your power, but you understand that sometimes fire is needed to defend against the cold." She smiles, somewhat tentatively. "I-if my fire can be used for protection, I would be honoured to help however I can. If you and the others will have me." she finishes, this last a bit quieter than the last. Almost shy.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Arturia was content to simply listen, her face composed in its usual impassive mask, hinting at nothing of her thoughts or feelings in the matter. It was almost as if she was doing so to act with as much impartiality as possible. Perhaps that was precisely what she was doing.

     "They have been safely evacuated," Saber explained. "As of now, they have been given a safe haven, though it is nevertheless a temporary one."

     She nodded as the weary spirit continued, confessing her limitations on the matter. "We will do what we must to bring him here, when the time is a more auspicious one and have him answer for his wrongdoings," the knight replied.

     She caught Bedivere's glance to her, nodding subtly before he spoke, trusting him to give the appropriate pledge as a Knight of Camelot. Satisfied with that, she waited a moment before giving her own, with the same formal gravity. "It is as my marshal has said: it is the sworn duty of a knight to come to the aid of any in need. The Round Table pledges its assistance to you and the people of this village."

     While it was true that the Round Table itself was no more, the ideal itself lived on as long as they upheld the same chivalry they always had.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry Dresden tosses another piece of jerky in the dog's direction, before leaning forward and looking at the Watcher.
    "They are safe among the people of my world. The Chuch of the White God is handling that right now, and they are very good at the charity thing." A little chuckle, and then he looks at his feet.
    "Do you have any piece of... him, that's Thuamaturgically active? Something we can track? Something to back us up so we don't have to put your last pet at risk?" A glance over at the 'puppy'. "I gotta admit I'd rather not have to do that, and I am quite adept at handling the issue of 'tracking'."

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Kagenashi simply listens once more, her questions answered. Munashi is engaged with Kepas for as long as the hound holds interest, but once the frigid beast is done, she returns to curling around Kagenashi's feet.

    Interesting how it's all played out. The castle is now Bedivere's, it seems, and...hm. Is she included in this? Her head tilts curiously when Bedivere looks back. What must she be thinking now?

    She says nothing, however. She doubts she is counted among Bedivere's "companions" at the moment, and what reason would she have to assist him here? Really, it would probably just make everyone even /more/ suspicious of her if she agreed to protecting the area.

    "I am sure you will uphold this bargain wonderfully," she remarks at last, her tone simple and sincere enough. She's probably smiling faintly behind that mask.

Sakura Haruno (134) has posed:
    Flowers sighs at that offer. It seems sincere enough, but.. she's rather tied to other places. But Setsuko provides a guide to what it is that she can offer. "I'm not really.. likely to do very well, trying to live in a place like this, I'm afraid. But I would like to check in, and I would be more than glad to come in when it's time to hunt. I do know a number of things I could do to help, after all."

    She'll crack her knuckles as she considers what else to state, before looking over at the more honorable knightly sorts. "All of you seem very agreeable to it, anyway, so I trust that you'll take my help when I can manage to give it?" She'll ask.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Blood-red eyes turn to Setsuko, with the spirit of winter regarding the spirit of war for a long moment. Although she doesn't speak, whatever passes behind those eyes must be significant, for she watches the other woman for a long moment.

That is unfortunate, but I sense in you a kindred spirit. The woman stares hard at Setsuko. You are no more human than I. But you are honourable. This is the most you can offer; I sense that much, and I graciously accept it.

It's to Frederica that those red eyes flicker next, staring hard at the girl. While she might have been insulted if this were actually winter, she seems weary and diminished in this, still so near to the height of summer. There's no point in taking offense, however thoughtless the action, and in any case, she wouldn't have enough strength to make a point. Very well, then.

To Saber she looks next, simply staring down the impassive Servant with what seems equal blandness... but she eventually exhales softly, in what sounds like relief. It comes along with a gust of cold air, swirling snow through the greathall. (Bedivere offers no complaint, but he hunkers down into his cloak and shudders again. You know what? Plate mail is a really bad thing to wear when it's hot or cold.)

Thank the gods. You have my gratitude for that. I had hoped for parlay, but you have given me something much greater. Blood-red eyes sweep the assembly again. You are honourable. I thank you for that, for it is a rare quality, and I had thought it a dying thing in this world.

The lord that once laid claim to this castle is no longer among the living. She regards the defenders thoughtfully. Whether my hounds were at fault or Harkaitz, I do not know, but this castle belongs to none. The villagers will not come near the place, now. I offer it to you, that you might make better use of it.

I do not think it would be fitting to give to you; this place does not suit you. Blood-red eyes flick to Sakura. And you do not seem a castellan. This, to Kagenashi. Dresden is given a long look, as well. I have nothing. I am sorry. However, Kepas will remember, provided he comes to no harm.

You cannot remain here, for you are War... This, to Setsuko, who's given a thoughtful look by those red eyes. The woman reaches up, rubbing at her jaw in thought.

Her eyes finally settle on Saber, considering. You are regal. You claim to be a knight, but you are no more human than I. Yet I feel you would uphold your honour. Will you accept this citadel and watch over my people?

Bedivere flicks a glance at her, but his expression is unreadable. Would she accept it? She considered her rule a failure, and Camelot eventually fell to fire, and then to ruin; to be offered another realm to rule... would that not only open old wounds? The marshal swallows, harshly. Part of him almost wants to intercept that offer and volunteer, but he had never accepted territory for his service; had never even borne heraldic arms.

Well, maybe he can just see what she says.

Setsuko Kaminagi (255) has posed:
    "I cannot remain, no," Setsuko agrees, bowing her head politely. "But if war should come here without my presence drawing it, I won't hesitate to leap to this place's defense. And I don't need to linger overlong to help keep watch." She settles back in her seat one last time; all that remains is to hear the final decisions of Saber and Bedivere, to learn what this place's future will be for the next few months at least.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    A faint sound of amusement rises from Kagenashi. "I had a palace of my own, long ago. It was a grand thing, but...it was lost, in a battle equally as great. I know how to keep a royal status, though I may not look like it." She pauses, then adds, "Though I believe no one here would entrust me with something so close to...innocents. Perhaps I may offer my assistance, tending to rabble who threaten the surroundings. But..." Her head turns slightly to Bedivere and Saber in thought.

    "...no, I doubt I would be welcomed to much of any role here."

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Well, that's a thing. Harry just grumbles and goes quiet again. He's not the king here, he's just the hired help. A glance over at Saber and Bedivere though, before he leans his staff back against his chest and shoulder.
    It's not like he needs a castle.

Frederica (73) has posed:
    The last place Frederica would want as a home is a castle in a winter wonderland with waist-high snow in the middle of summer. Okay maybe that's not the LAST place she'd want, but it's got to be right up there. She appreciates air conditioning as much as any. More than some considering she can regulate her own warmth but she can't cool herself off... but this place would be wearying. She's a bit disgruntled at the cool (hah) reception of her offer, but what can she expect? At least she wasn't berated... yet. And the ice ghost was cool with everyone really. Frederica is magnanimous and quite willing to grant anyone the benefit of the doubt... so long as they aren't boys at least.

Sakura Haruno (134) has posed:
    Sakura will not object to that assessment, nodding in response. She doesn't really fit this place; even now, she feels a little uncomfortable in her own skin here, twitching just a little bit at the thought. "I.. agree with that. I'm really more of a spring sort of person, myself." And not really much for castles or their villages, either; she'd rather just stay far away from remote villages. Too many bad memories. Still, a little bit of helping out now and then never hurt anyone.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Though the mask would seem to never so much as waver, the Left Hand of the King would surely catch the conflicted emotions beneath. That the winter witch would known she was no longer human as well was entirely expected. What surprised Arturia was instead a plea she could not have foreseen. She could surely defend a village, help rebuild...but to lead again?

     When she had accepted her role as the next King of Britain, it had entailed far more sacrifice, and yet...even now she remained uncertain that history would not repeat itself. During the course of the Fourth Holy Grail War, she had come to believe that Camelot fell because of her inferior rule, and that if she were to change history and allow a different king to rule in her place, her country could be saved. To accept something of the same, in a different land...it surely it would meet that same tragic fate.

     And yet, she could not turn her back while the people -- any people -- suffered. Had she gone back in time and refused to pull Caliburn from the stone, and no one would step forward in her place...in truth, Arturia would repeat history all over again, if only to save her country at that moment in time. But this time, she was no longer alone. She could trust those beside her, allow them to share in her burdens. Had he not pledged to be her shield?

     "I accept. However..."

     She turned to regard Bedivere thoughtfully. "I believe that my marshal would be an ideal choice to become the lord of this land in my stead. I trust him with my very life. What say you, Sir Bedivere?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The winter witch seems satisfied with this arrangement, falling silent for the time being while the allies hash things out amongst themselves. Her hand idly rubs the ice-hound's ear, and the steady thumping of its tail is audible.

Bedivere is being watched. He can sense that much. He also knows exactly who's looking at him, and he can feel the beginnings of suspicion rise when he hears Arturia giving the winter witch her acceptance--

The marshal makes an undignified sound. If it had any more heart to it, it might be called a squawk. It's stifled and quiet, though, and almost forlorn. He had never accepted any offers of land, in Camelot; had never quite trusted himself to the responsibility of watching over the commonfolk. He had led Arturia's armies, but he had never trusted himself to so much as advise over a fief, and now...

He just stares at her for a moment, almost mortified. /What are you doing? I cannot accept this./

Except he's being watched by the winter witch, too, and she seems to be expecting an answer. Certainly, somebody has to watch over these people. They deserve that much, to be in safety while they rebuild, while the winter witch gathers her strength and prepares for the hunt.

But... why him?

Bedivere makes a quiet, uncomfortable sound, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"I... I do not know what to say. I am unworthy of such a task. I beg you, please reconsider."

I do not see any others willing or suitable here. Someone must watch over them.

The knight looks to Arturia in entreaty, but she's of no help.

"Ah, Lord God grant me strength," he mumbles under his breath. Sighing, he slumps a bit in his chair. "I cannot gainsay you, my king. If no one else will do this, and if they have no one among themselves to raise up, then for their sake, I will accept, Lord God and you all as my witness. I do not want to do this, good lady, but for their sake, they who have lost so much, I will."


I am pleased. The woman even offers a faint smile. Truly, you are all honourable beyond measure, that you would look after these people with less strength than yourself. Yes, they are my responsibility, but I am touched that you would take it on yourselves, where I have not the strength. You have my thanks. And this service will not be forgotten.

She stands, leaning on the sleek, horse-sized hound for support. If you will look after my people, then I am freed of my obligations. I will return to my lake, and I will gather my strength, and prepare for the hunt. You may visit the lake if you wish to speak to me again. Facing the others, the winter witch bows deeply, respectfully. Spirits watch over you.

Abruptly, a cold wind howls through the hall -- stirring swirling snow, flinging into the eyes; whipping about the tattered remnants of banners that hang from what remains of the ceiling.

When they can bring themselves to look again, the winter witch is gone.

In his chair, Bedivere just drops his head into his hands, like a man lost and bewildered. /What in the hell just happened?/

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Well. What an interesting turn of events.

    Kagenashi at last slips from her seat once the woman has left, slow, slinking steps carrying her over to Bedivere's seat. As the knight practically collapses where he sits, she lifts her hands to rest them on his shoulders. With that, she leans in to offer a brief murmur, amusement faintly coloring her serene tone. "Congratulations, Lord Bedivere. I am sure the throne will fit you quite nicely."

    The nogitsune suddenly vanishes, then, with that bizarre invisibility she holds.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Slumped over the table with is head in his hands, Bedivere is vaguely aware of the hands that rest over the pauldrons on his shoulders. All he knows is that it's probably somebody he doesn't want in his immediate personal space. In fact, there are very few people he wants in his immediate personal space. Only one, in fact.

And it sure as hell isn't Kagenashi.

The grinding of Bedivere's teeth is extremely audible after Kagenashi plays her vanishing trick.

Saber (346) has posed:
     In all his years of faithful service, Bedivere had not so much as taken a squire, much less accepted heraldry or lands. Going from landless knight with naught but a title to practically having a castle dropped in his lap was more than a simple bolt out of the blue. The knight's horrified reaction might have made Saber feel somewhat guilty for foisting this burden off on him, especially after his expression of entreaty. But her own expression pleaded with him, in turn.

     /I need your help. You are the only one who can do this./

     As Alaia thanked the Elites, Saber stood, rendering a proper knightly bow. "Rest well, my lady. Until we meet again."

     The Servant turned back to her marshal, though he might not have caught the subtle expression, another unspoken thought that only he would be able to discern. /Please. I meant it. I trust you./ It was selfish, she knew. But perhaps...it was better if she stood beside her knights, this time.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Although he tries to cover his face, Bedivere is still watching Saber from the corner of his eye, on the off chance that she might have orders for him. He's certainly loyal, there's no questioning that.

He only sighs unhappily at that unspoken plea. He knows that it would cost her dearly to take control of this place, and never mind that she owes more obligations to the Union than he does; obligations that would prevent her from watching over it the way it truly needs.

Straightening, the quiet knight rubs at his face with the leather pads of his gauntlets, looking around the greathall with a vaguely unhappy expression.

Home sweet home, looks like. He stands, looking about the greathall; then looking up, to the great holes torn in the ceiling, where the stars are visible. The tattered remnants of banners flutter in the cold breeze.

"D�n R�alta�," he says softly. The words are soft, spoken in Irish, not the ancient form of Welsh that he usually uses with Arturia. The Fortress of Stars, he says, though whether it's a sarcastic allusion to the holes in the ceiling or a more literal meaning of how many of them are visible outside, it's hard to say. His faint smile is exceedingly bland. "I will name this place D�n R�alta�, the Fortress of Stars."

He turns to Arturia, bowing his head. "My lord..." Sighing, he shakes his head. "I am not worthy of commanding a castle, but if you feel there is no better choice, I will accept this." Not exactly happily, but even he can see that there aren't any better options. He was the Marshal of the Realm; if anybody knows how to run a castle and manage a village, and do those things well, it's him.

"I mislike such responsibility on my shoulders, but... these people have no one else." He sighs, wrapping himself more securely in his cloak; for there are still holes in the greathall, and the night is cold. "So be it. I will restore this place, and make of it a worthy home for them."

He offers a faint, wan smile to Arturia. /And I will make of it a castle worthy of a Knight of the Round Table -- and a castle worthy of you./

"I think," he states thoughtfully, looking up again, "that my work will start with that roof. But not tonight. It is too dark, and too cold, to work. I thank you for your help, my allies." Turning, he issues a bow to the table and the assembled Elites, what few remain. "Ah, there will be much work to be done here..."

Bedivere sighs. "For now, though, best that we all have what rest we may. My lord." He'll wait to depart with Saber, because he is a loyal knight, and it's his chivalrous duty to slog a path through the snow for her so she doesn't have to. Also, because he's about a foot taller than she is, and digging a path for her is perfectly reasonable.