4209/The Library of Murdered Knowledge

The Library of Murdered Knowledge
Date of Scene:	11 June 2016
Location:	Lumiere
Synopsis:	A tower supposedly containing the sum total of all human knowledge is being explored. The explorers are not alone.
Cast of Characters:	Staren, Priscilla, 513, Count Kord, Kushiko, 974

---

Carna (974) has posed:
    A return trip to Escher, though this time they get to bypass not only the Mimic-infested entry way, and the confusing Escherspace that followed it. Now it's time to venture into another new area... The Library Of Murdered Knowledge! Everyone is probably very excited to go into a place with a name like that, right?

    Enark is there as well, trying to console his mimic recliner, Wilson, with the fact he's going to be leaving soon and might not be returning to the small, cramped personal library. The last surviving member of the Order known as the Blue Scholars is kneeling down near the mimic, but Carna is pulling non-mimic furniture away from the door leading into the next area, and throwing it carelessly behind her. She's keeping her distance from Enark. He's still wary of her.

    "Now, Wilson, this trip may be longer than the other times I've been away from you." Enark is explaining to the growling, salivating chair. "I might... Not be returning. But don't worry, if you need to eat anything to survive, I would have left you enough to last you until whenever some nasty monster comes along--"

    Wilson, seemingly sniffing around despite a distinct lack of a nose, suddenly lunges at Enark, stopping short at the edge of its chain bolted into the floor. Enark stumbles back with a yell as the Mimic snaps its cushion-mouth full of railroad-spike-sized teeth at him, but he spins on his heel, and turns the yell into a call of, "So, is everyone ready to go?"

    Carna pauses in the middle of snapping a Church pew in half with her fist and chucking the pieces aside into a growing pile of improvised barriers to just kind of stare at Enark.

    Enark looks around at everyone to make sure he has people to hide behind if things turn sour, and then back to Carna. "...What are YOU looking at?"

    "Do you recall yet for what purpose you barricaded this door? Or rather, what it was barricaded against?" the Lantern asks. She'd kinf of like to know before going in there.

    Enark just shakes his head. "It's been a very, very, very long time. Almost as long as the last time I spoke to another person. I'm fairly certain I closed it off AFTER everyone else was eaten by yo--Those things down below. The Unlit. But the details are foggy."

Staren has posed:
    Staren shakes his head a little as the obviously wild mimic jumps at its 'master' again. Then he turns to look at where Carna's dismantling the barrier. He removes his helmet and scratches his head. "Geeze, I hope I don't have to end up burning some books again. It just seems wrong..."

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord had been watching Enark's behavior with the mimic. The madman was treating something that obviously acted only with bestial hunger with some sort of affection, and treated someone with apparent intelligence with ire. It made the Count pretty unhappy with Enark, and caused the red-and-black figure to pace around the room some, notably avoiding proximity with the scholar and his pet living chair. He eventually decided in the middle of that to help Carna move furniture out of the way.

    "(Bedeviled spirit doesn't even know that thing only wants to eat him,)" Kord mumbles under his breath while he's near Carna, his frustration showing more overtly.

    "I'm ready to proceed," he tells Enark, his voice picking up. "Stay behind people that can protect you, unless you are very good at avoiding the Unlit that want to eat you." He thinks on what he just said for a second, realizing he probably is good at avoiding being gobbled up, and adds, "Just don't get in the way when we need to fight."

Kushiko has posed:
The decision to tag along was made once more out of some odd sense of curiosity. Rumors pass and circulate like a river sometimes, and hearing about Carna and this 'Unlit' place after the first visit inclined Kushiko to come, albeit through the surrogacy of her Warframes.

In this incidence, it was two that were uncommonly used, but within a strange reason: the gunslinger, the outcase Mesa, and the guardian wielder of electromagnetic force, Mag Prime, though it may be simpler to refer to her as Mag instead.

Regardless, they had been utterly silent and frankly, lacking a physical presence that most people, hell even phantoms might produce. Coupled with a lack of facial features on their helmets (with Mesa seeming /blindfolded/ of all things) they seemed at times more akin to golems.

But the nature of mimics was something that drew at least Mesa's curiosity; she was stationing herself nearer where the restrained mimic-furnishing was, quietly ready to express herself violently and swiftly with the twin machine pistols of AkSomati readied in both hands, arms folded just under her chest.

Mag on the other hand, had elected to assist Carna and Kord with the barricade. She felt the nuanced nature of the place: spiritual energy but it exhibited enough properties to be similar to what she could use her own Voidlight power on.

So she did. It was a mix of technical physics and laughing at physics as she gestured with a silver-edged hand, magnetizing and producing fields of electroenergy that simply shredded and broke part of it down, and simply /YANKED/ with that hand, pulling good amounts of it away when it was stable enough to not set the whole thing tumbling down on someone.

Finna (513) has posed:
"I'll give you three guesses!" Finna announces as she prances up behind Carna in her fox form. "And all three of mine are, 'something AWFUL!' Does anyone need guesses? You don't barricade to keep out friendly neighbors. Stay on your toes, boys and girls! ... and stay off the Mimics."

    She regards Wilson's last attempt at... something best not considered too much... with what might well be a sweatdrop.

Priscilla has posed:
    After already soldiering through this place twice, and with both an appreciable end goal and a personal investment after that meetin with Enark, it seems Priscilla is hooked into this thing until the end. Even if she might want to, having seen her symbol of office in the Book of Los has made her feel that the item is too important to leave at home now, and so the Hollowing Gem continues to react to the overwhelming Dark of this place, even kept at bay outside of the tower and its multiple Shrines.

    As before, Priscilla doesn't really have the energy or the predilection to try and get Enark to back off and respect Carna. In fact, she actually doesn't look like she has much energy at all. The fact that she could be described as pale and dark-eyed as compared to her usual is saying something, though she looks determined to go all the same. "That is a point of note." she forwards tiredly towards the scholar. "Art there any of thine mimics to be found beyond? I wouldst very much wish to knoweth if I am meant to watch books for signs of teeth." He has enough time to reply while she works the doors, shoving any remaining loose pieces of barricade along with them rather than waiting to pick every last item up. Someone needs to go through, and it seems to be a pattern that it is her.

Staren has posed:
    "I was going to watch books for signs of teeth /anyway/." comments Staren.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Once everything is cleared aside, through the combined efforts of those assembled, Carna stands alongside the doors, one hand cautiously placed on the handle, the other holding a long knife in hand. Enark nods nervously in response to Kord and stays at the rear of the group to avoid any danger to himsel. He is not one to throw his dead existence away carelessly after all this time and effort he has put into remaining safe.

    He answers somewhat condescendingly, "I would IMAGINE I had Monstrous Invader Murdering Incognito Constructs EVERYWHERE, but what precisely required that I keep this area blocked off as opposed to others, I can not say. Perhaps some of those Unlit got in there or something." He gestures dismissively. "If they did, they have probably been eaten by now, so it should be safe enough. Aside from the M.I.M.I.C.s, I mean."

    Carna just mutters, "Wonderful." Then she pulls open the door slowly so that she can peer through at the area beyond. Only once she is sure there are no signs of traps or other hazards does she move quickly into the area beyond, whipping the door open and darting into a vast open space, knives in her hands, long coat flying out around her with each movement as she checks in every visible direction for danger.

    But eventually she stops, her arms lowering to her sides gradually, as she takes a good long look around at...

    It's another library, certainly, but to compare it to the small private study Enark has been spending all his time in would be an insult. The walls are bookshelves. A dusty handrail around a hole in the floor to the right provides a safe way to view the floor after floor after floor of balconies and bookshelves extending down into utter darkness, while a faint yellow light shines down from above, like the sheen off of tarnished gold. Carna looks up and finds many more balconies and floors, all with hundreds of thousands or millions or billions or more books everywhere in view.

    There are winding, open spiral staircases, marble steps leading from a sunken floor up to another area with labyrinthine passages between shelves. The source of the light that sends down shafts of illumination is unclear, just that it lies somewhere up THERE. And the further down one goes, the less the light reveals. Going down into those depths is probably not useful at this point in time.

    But Carna somehow feels a hunger for knowledge she has never before experienced. A hunger that may be creeping into the others as well. Like the very nature of this place is a mystical element all of its own: The Element of Curiosity. The Element of Scholarly Knowledge. The Element of 'Libraries'.

    And this... Is the greatest library, for it contains ALL human knowledge, EVERYTHING ever recorded, all memories, all writings... EVERYTHING. One could spend billions of years here and not uncover more than a fraction of what there is to be read. All this knowledge wasn't lost when it was killed. It simply moved on to reside here...

Carna (974) has posed:
    New Area Discovered:

LL IIII BBBBBBB RRRRRRR AA RRRRRRR YY YY
LL II BB BBB RR RR AAAA RR RR YY YY
LL II BB BB RR RR AA AA RR RR YYY
LL II BBBBBB RRRRRRR AA AA RRRRRRR YYY
LL II BB BB RR RR AAAAAAAAAA RR RR YYY
LL II BB BBB RR RR AA AA RR RR YYY
LLLL IIII BBBBBBB RR RRR AAAA AAAA RR RRR YYY

Of Murdered Knowledge

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord follows Carna into the Library. His steps are slow, compared to her own quick pace. It gives off the casual air he has shown before, an air that has proven to be a front to make him only appear to be vulnerable. He walks over to get a look at how far the library ascends, and descends. He whistles behind that bird-like helmet, and looks up into the eerie light that shines down and fails to reflect off his helmet properly.

    "Where would anyone ever start?" he wonders, while staring into the light.

    "I'm going up," he tells the others, hopping up onto the railing in a crouch and then leaping out into the open expanse. His wings manifest, and he begins to ascend, up and up and up, moving with feather-light steps on balconies on the way up. He has no interest in digging into the shelves to find information on the Lords of Silence, when the dragon at the top had been such an enticing sight.

Finna (513) has posed:
So. many. BOOKS.

    The white-furred fox looks around... and around... and around....

    Long enough that she starts getting dizzy whilst pacing, and begins a dangerous list to the left. Thankfully she does recover in time, avoiding bonking her head straight into a collection of encyclopedias and tomes.

    Curious, she pulls out a book - SOMEHOW managing this in fox form - and opens it up to the middle for a look...

Staren has posed:
    Staren's seen the Union's infinite library, but it doesn't look like this right at the /entrance/. After he's had a few moments to take this in, though, he scratches his head. "So... Does anyone know what number 'Lords of Silence' is in the Dewey-Decimal system?" He puts his helmet back on.

Priscilla has posed:
    "It is also quite possible that whatever thou hadst locked this door to bar from entry, is too, capable of devouring thine own creations. Wouldst thou ascribeth thine pride or thine fear the victor?" Priscilla muses, though she's already adamantly sure that if Enark had locked that door up from the inside, it had been for a more severe reason than he had for seeding the downstairs with carnivorous furniture, overkill as that may have been.

    A brief, familiar kind of nausea washes over her at seeing what lies beyond. Libraries are libraries, and so there is little their arrangement can do to be truly novel, but what that infinite well of spiraling, book-lined blakcness reminds her off is far from a pleasant memory, only magnified by its impossible scale. Even were she of the type to stick around to poke through dusty tomes out of curiosity, the lure the place has for her is cancelled out by the phantom sounds of murmuring, footsteps, churning mechanisms and distant, tinkling crystal in her ears.

    She watches Kord lift off without surprise, well used by now to seeing him only briefly before he sets off to do his own thing in the direction the group has to proceed, instead casting her gaze to Carna and Enark. She knows Staren and Finna can fly, and the two Warframes, of which she has not yet seen, and so remains mildly leery of, are up in the air, but she knows for a fact that the Lit and the Lantern can't produce wings or jetpacks to follow. "I must ask, how is it that thou hadst planned to ascendeth from here? There art a great many stairs.", stating the obvious. "After climbing such a ways, it wouldst be obvious not to descendeth from here, though wonder I may as to where it leads if not into the open floor we arrived in at the ground door." She then looks back up. "And I am admittedly loath to leaveth him to his own devices for long."

Kushiko has posed:
There's a stray thought; just one--that Kushiko might ought to have brought Nova along just as well.

Yet with the way they could hide themselves from the way it had been described, it might be for naught: one had to sense their enemies and in this case, she was not quite acclimated to this strangeness she felt through her Warframes.

Consciousness opened up, her voice floated in the air near Mag; possessed of an odd air given that the voice did not necessarily come from the armored humanoid: <"... suppose it goes to show how surprisingly weird things can be."> Given the talk of teeth and other things in places that shouldn't have teeth.

Of course, entry into the place, neither to the rear of the group nor too close to the front go the pair, Mesa leaping in a spiralling arc of her body towards one of the upper levels and grabbing a balcony edge nimbly and pulling herself up and over. Vantage points, yo.

Mag on the other hand simply walks towards the center, the cosmic spiral of the light within her dome seeming to flicker a little bit more for it. Something didn't feel completely right as her head canted up, the cyclopean diode in the center pulsing once. <"... just how /big/ is this pla"> that same voice muses softly. Feminine, and almost younger than it has any right to be. Almost.

Granted, her hunger might be for new knowledge on how to kill things. New techniques. Or maybe it was the simple, unfettered curiosity regarding her own lost memories and what precisely happened. The compartmentalized personas inhabiting the frames collectively within Kushiko's psyche could only wonder.

This was an odd sensation, to put it mildly.

On the other hand, one of the drones the pair brought was already putting itself to good use; a twitchy little thing, shaped like a 'U' with a node within it was the Helios drone, flitting about and putting it's extensive scanning to use.

Titles, energy signatures, to say nothing of attempting to ascertain whether or not there was something more hostile lying in wait otherwise; Mag herself elects to jump down with practiced ease, her body slowing to a float before she changes floors, but now she's careful to have a sidearm within reach.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Enark responds to Staren, "The Library is rather... Haphazardly assembled. One of the tasks of the Blue Scholars was to organize it. The knowledge that appears here does not do so in a fixed or sensible fashion. I have spent centuries trying to find one or two missing books here before, in order to complete a set. There are still some I've never located. However, if it is information on the Lords of Silence we seek, it would probably be at the headquarters of the Blue Scholars. A place we call the Grand Archive."

    Carna watches Kord's departure with suspicion, her gaze taken from the wonder of knowledge all around. But that name that Enark spoke sounds familiar for some reason... And when she looks to Priscilla to determine if the other woman recognizes it at all, she sees the same ashen countenance as has been carried so far on this trip has grown even paler upon entering the library proper. She feels the desire to say something as she has before. That urge to soothe that she has quelled because she felt it was not her place.

    But she does not know what to say. Compassion is new to her. Even so... "Enark, is there an easier way for her majesty to ascend?" She looks towards the Lit man, to see if he can recognize simple visual cues such as this. Things that, in a Dead person, would be unremarkable, but in the Living, are a sign of distress.

    Finna's picking up of a random book has her reading through what appear to be some interesting, if mysterious, writings.

    3. `O Times remote!
    When Love and Joy were adoration,
    And none impure were deem'd,
    Not eyeless Covet,
    Nor thin-lipp'd Envy,
    Nor bristled Wrath,
    Nor Curl�d Wantonness;

    4. `But Covet was pour�d full,
    Envy fed with fat of lambs,
    Wrath with lion's gore,
    Wantonness lull'd to sleep
    With the virgin's lute,
    Or sated with her love;

    5. `Till Covet broke his locks and bars,
    And slept with open doors;
    Envy sung at the rich man's feast;
    Wrath was follow'd up and down
    By a little ewe lamb;
    And Wantonness on his own true love
    Begot a giant race.

    6. Raging furious, the flames of desire
    Ran thro' heaven and earth, living flames,
    Intelligent, organiz'd, arm'd
    With destruction and plagues. In the midst
    The Eternal Prophet, bound in a chain,
    Compell'd to watch Urizen's shadow,

    7. Rag'd with curses and sparkles of fury:
    Round the flames roll, as Los hurls his chains,
    Mounting up from his fury, condens'd,
    Rolling round and round, mounting on high
    Into Vacuum, into nonentity,
    Where nothing was; dash'd wide apart,
    His feet stamp the eternal fierce-raging
    Rivers of wide flame; they roll round
    And round on all sides, making their way
    Into darkness and shadowy obscurity.

    8. Wide apart stood the fires: Los remain'd
    In the Void between fire and fire:
    In trembling and horror they beheld him;
    They stood wide apart, driv'n by his hands
    And his feet, which the nether Abyss
    Stamp'd in fury and hot indignation.

    Hmmmm. Interesting... But what does it mean? Two names that have been mentioned before have been referenced... Los and Urizen. Perhaps they're on the right course already?

Carna (974) has posed:
    According to sensory scans, it at least seems as though they're the only people in the area... Though that doesn't mean much in the long run, if there are things intended to mimic non-people around as well. There are magic sources in abundance, in many shapes and forms,and magic actually seems to be threaded throughout the environment in various degrees. Though there are two rather vast sources above them. One is farther above than the other by a wide margin, though the closer one is more intensely magic. Enark's answer to both Carna and Priscilla is to shuffle awkwardly and shrug, before saying, "Well, there are ways of traversing the Library more quickly..." He sidles over to where Finna is, and starts running a hand along the books without touching them, counting their spines just under his breath. He keeps this up, going around a corner and into another passageway, where many other aisles of books can be found, and starts counting the aisles. If followed (because apparently he is wandering off and endangering himself after all, now that he's in familiar surroundings again), he'll eventually come to a shelf of technical manuals and assorted other bland texts, pulls out a record of traffic tickets given in Los Angels, Califordnia, between January 1st and July 30th, in the year 1998, and presses a pair of worn spots on the wood with his index finger and thumb. There's a clicking sound and then the bookshelf near-silently slides aside, revealing an elevator beyond that looks like a gilded bird cage on a chain. "There we are. A shortcut. It does not go all the way to the top, but by using elevators like these, we can cover a lot of ground. Though I'm not supposed to show them to those who are not Blue Scholars."

    Carna pushes her way onto the elevator and says, "We shall discuss membership in your Order when we are in less of a hurry." She avoids a conspicuous button or tile or pressure plate or something in the center of the platform, but is glad there seems to be room for all gathered. Even if somewhat cramped.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Meanwhile, Kord, having flown up above, gets his first look at what kind of dangers there are, as a lightless torch stand suddenly bends down into his path as he passes it by, trying to club him out of the air. Mysterious figures in blue robes also seem to be chanting something as Dead Lights swirl between their palms, and soon arrows of deathly-cold ice, black as the ocean depths, are chasing after him as well! Weren't there not supposed to be any people left here!? So what are THOSE!?

    If Kord manages to dodge the attacks coming his way, as chairs suicide off of railings at him, mouths agape, and a suit of armor with a polearm takes swipes at him in passing, he may find himself eventually reaching a domed ceiling, wrought with intricate artwork of dragons and giants and gods doing battle with a huge, vaguely-humanoid shadow of oddly menacing form despite being so indistinct and non-detailed, and a glowing yellow crystal shining in the crowns or garments or weapons of several figures are likely the source of the light here. The barrier indicates an end to this method of travel. If forced out of the central shaft, Kord should be able to run along the edges of it to find less hostile locations and try to find an opportunity to fly again... But either way, take one of the many doorways and darkened passages leading off from the ring on any of the floors is likely to be necessary.

    It's just that if he makes it up to that domed ceiling, there are also a huge pair of dusty doors marking a clear method of advance as well.

Staren has posed:
    "So, where /is/ this Grand Archive?" Staren asks the obvious question.

    And then attackers fly up from the depths. "Oh god damnit, what /now/?!" He turns around and runs to the railing, chucking a smoke grenade into the depths below. His missile racks pop up, and an assortment of missiles, the foot-long minimissiles and small, magic-marker-sized micromissiles, all designed to penetrate with speed and make a small, contained but powerful explosion, launch at up to a dozen targets going after Kord.

    Then he runs to the elevator and hands people minimissiles, "just load 'em into the back of the shoulder racks, there..." while pulling micromissiles from his bag and sliding them back into his forearm launch ports.

Kushiko has posed:
Well now. This is interesting to put it mildly. Some of the titles, the cursory visual scans being given without necessarily /opening/ the books out of suspicion of Awful Things to come forth.

Mesa, given where she is, is also party to seeing what's going up and above; she didn't necessarily fly as high as he did, but she's up on a balcony surveying the others. The blindfolded-looking Warframe seems to exchange glances with Mag below, who sends Helios over to where Finna is before she launches herself upwards instead.

Helios on the other hand, provides a secondary 'view' point; sure others may probably help Finna read this, but the drone is going to scan and feed in the script for safekeeping as well.

As much as the two could use the elevator, neither Warframe are terribly inclined to. It's just a matter of actually doing damage to things they need to uncover and glean knowledge from; using the balconies and ledges, both Tenno are making their way upwards, launching their bodies straight up, spiralling just enough that, at their apex, they seem to attach themselves to edges. They're keeping their eye out for further foes.

But once they're within visual range, Mag reaches out and exerts gravitational magnetic force in an attempt to pull some of Kord's attackers away from him; this is timed with Mesa hurling a three-pointed /glaive/ of some kind, but it doesn't look... /right/. It looks alive as it expands out into Mesa's fingertips before she spins it outward, bouncing off a wall near harmlessly to slice their way into some of the falling chair-mimics.

The glaive will continue spinning and scything through the air, dangerously close to the figures up there, potentially, but not enough to be anymore than a warning effort before the Infested Cerata glaive returns, being caught midair by Mesa.

Finna (513) has posed:
Finna's blue eyes scan back and forth over the pages again... and again... and AGAIN... before she finally yowls some agitated yammering into her radio. URIZEN AND LOS. She found IMPORTANT NAMES! But... "Story's really WEIRD... what does it mean? Like an old legend..." But the writing is so archaic and obtuse that she has a very hard time really thinking critically about MOST of it. She must read it five different times to understand the gist...

    Still in fox form, she picks up the book gently in her jaws and trots after Enark lest he wander too far... and sets it down on the elevator floor. Somehow, it isn't covered in fox drool.

    "Wandering off on your own's a bad idea, scholar!"

Priscilla has posed:
    Hearing Finna asking someone to take her book over the radio, Priscilla silently debates whether the Lunar has found something irrelevant she wants to share, something she needs help reading which will immediately turn out to be boring, or something she needs help reading which will immediately turn out to be relevant and useful. Plucking the book from her hand and scanning the page herself, Priscilla feels as if it's leaning into the third camp, whispering something to herself briefly, before snapping it shut and taking it wither her. "I wouldst pray not that such art the entities we shalt encounter, for such is clearly beyond the World of Ashes, as Los mentioned by name, and yet unfortunately relevant to what we seek." She casts a misgiving glance above, at hearing Kushiko's voice(?) reaffirm it.

    When she hears Staren's missiles going off, it's almost feels routine; as if it had been too long since he had last run into something hostile in the dark, and she hadn't realized she'd been expecting it until it had happened. She practically shovels Enark onto the elevator, doing him only the courtesy of keeping herself between him and Carna to preempt the inevitable panic of being within biting distance of a Lantern, and hitting the mechanism while she catches a bundle of explosives. She's hardly a missile expert, but she's seen Staren do this plenty of times before, and they're made for easy reloading, and so she has the racks refilled by the time the elevator gets anywhere. "If it is to say anything, Lady Finna, I wouldst reevaluate what Sir Enark didst sayeth about his lack of recollection of dragons, and be prepared to quickly evaluate what it is we expecteth to see at the end of this."

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord is a creature of battle! He is not easy to strike, especially because he's expecting everything in this library to try to attack him, and many pieces of furniture apparently do. Kord moves to evade, and finds all of the targets flying at him are being shot down by Staren on the way, which gets a momentary glance of distraction. This is bad, because a spike of ice slices at one of his arms, and he reacts in a way that most people would not. He gasps and immediately goes in for a landing. Oh, right, he can fly, so he must be Flying-type, and that means ice hurts him twice as much...

    But he isn't stopped by it and makes his way to a pair of dusty old doors. He chooses to wait there, having picked the most apparently safe perch where these things cannot attack him further. He assesses his wound after that, the ice having magically numbed his arm severely and forced him to wait for the others before he can proceed. They just had to shoot ice spells...

    "That is different than the rest of this," he murmurs through his discomfort, having looked up at the dome long enough to note the details. Particularly the artifacts, the distinctly non-human nature of some of the combatants, and even the vague figure they are fighting.

    He speaks into his radio to pass the time until the others decide whether to reach him or some other exit.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Enark tries to peer out of the elevator after he is shovelled onto it to see what all that noise is. "I certainly hope no one is setting off EXPLOSIVES inside the Library. The information here is literally invaluable! There is NO replacing it if it is lost!" Then Staren joins them asking them to load missiles onto his rack. "YOU SHOT OFF MISSILES INSIDE A LIBRARY!?" Enark shrieks in horror. At least Priscilla retrieved that one book Finna found. But there's so much more to lose!

    Perhaps worth it. After all, does anyone REALLY need a list of thoughts General George S. Patton had one February 1st, 1941, betewen 8 a.m. and 8 p.m.? Or a first draft of the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn? Or every NES video game cheat code?

    The effects of the missiles were what one might expect when they went off. The mimics may not be as flimsy as their forms appear to be, but they were definitely injured or destroyed, sections of balcony oddly left mostly undamaged, even if more mundane furniture was obliterated in the target zones, and enemies alongside such.

    After Staren joins the others and gets yelled at and his missiles loaded again, Mesa and Mag do their own part to eliminate enemies, sending glaives spinning through them, and carving them in two, or shattering them, or having other nasty effects upon the constructs. The robed figures do not seem inclined to charge into the warning slashes, though they do not necessarily seem fearful either. One of them appears to be chanting something different than was used before, as a murky purple-and-black ooze swirls around one hand.

    Then a ball of some sort of ooze goes flying at Mesa. Whatever it touches is scoured as though by powerful acid. Whether that be Mesa or something else along that trajectory if she avoids it, it is still clearly something best not to get hit with if one can prevent it.

    Kord seems to be 'safe' at the moment near those huge doors, though there are another pair of suits of armor standing guard on either side that might or might not also be mimics. At least for the moment they aren't attacking. Which might be a ploy.

    Soon enough, as the elevator is triggered, those standing within it are sent riding up on a lengthy trip, made to seem all the more lengthy because she can't get off of it while others are fighting and struggling.

    Eventually, however, it comes to a stop on the same floor as Kord is on. There's just one problem: It opens onto not a library, but a hall of mirrors.

    Enark, after a period of silence, says, "...I do not remember this being here."

Staren has posed:
    Staren looks at Enark. "I used small, controlled explosions in the open area between the balconies. I /am/ trying to keep collateral damage to a minimum, but I'd expect /some/ to happen in a mission like this."

    Well, he hoped they could join Kord at the top, but apparently this elevator is going above the ceiling, so now the party is split up.

    Oh wait, no, it's just really slow. Staren's inertial tracker says they're no higher than the ceiling. But then, we've seen how much physical space matters to this world... Staren folds his arm at the mirrors. "Oh /great/. What's the deal with these? We have to fight our reflections, which want to take our place and kill everyone we love? If we break the mirrors, space breaks apart? If we trip and accidentally /fall/ into a mirror, we end up in an endless mirror dimension wandering among shadows and reflections and never able to find the real world? We see all of our worst memories and fears reflected in the mirrors instead of reality? /What/??"

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord frowns behind his mask. He stews many, many murder plans for Enark while he rubs feeling back into his arm, his eyes focused on the armored suits as they continue to stand there, pretending to be inanimate, or actually being so.

    "I think I'm going to throw him off the top of the library," Kord decides, the thought exercise concluding after that. He sighs and looks around for the others, though the presence of the Warframes is about all he can detect. The rest of the group sure aren't here.

    His head turns in a slow pivot, reinforcing his bird-like appearance, as he scans for their presence.

    "Huh."

Kushiko has posed:
Well, this solves the issue of whether or not to press hostilities rather quickly, now doesn't it?

Mag, on one hand, isn't as far up as Mesa is; so Mesa alone (albeit with Kord) gets to deal with the reprisal--at first at least. She somersaults backward not long after landing, the globe passing oh-so dangerously close to her before Mag arrives; the Void shielding on her Warframe flickers due to the proximity while Mag thrusts out a hand at one of those figures.

A strange measure of force is drawn up; Staren is going to likely recognize what it does, being the science-techy sort he is, if not /why/ it's capable. That will remain a mystery.

No, what this semi-transluscent field shaped like a spherical dome does is attempt to not only lockdown and slow the figures within, but those missiles and other projectiles are going to have problems leaving: the electromagnetic field is made of some kind of energy that defies reason.

And asides drawing in firepower to one of those those robed figures, it'll simply create a residual field that targets mimics and those robed figures in equal measure; being outside it and being one of Kushiko's allies (Carna, Enark, Priscilla, et all) won't feel the electromagnetic fields asserting themselves in impossible ways, but others will.

Mesa simply opens fire with her twinlinked machine pistols into the field as it becomes a swarming mass of debris and shards that'll be a danger to these monstrosities, Mag's arrival at the level Mesa is heralded by her adding her own sidearm's firepower to the mix. Even if that sidearm's more of a shortened lever-action style gun.

Finna (513) has posed:
"What's new? Forgot tons of other things!" Finna ribs at Enark lightly, stepping out of the elevator and... looking around at all the mirrors. Although she'd advanced slowly... she quickly starts backpedaling. Something about that many mirrors...

    Just creeps her the heck out.

Priscilla has posed:
    As much as Priscilla feels like telling Staren to pack it in, she can't help but feel the same way. This entire tower has been an enchanted nightmare realm from bottom to top, and if even Enark doesn't remember what these defenses were for, that says something about their probability of being just a deterrent to the Unlit. "Unfortunately, as it is, we shalt go no further unless we maketh some attempt or another." Is all she feels safe replying with immediately.

    Enark, though helpful thusfar, is useless here. Staren and apparently the little sentinel should be able to pick up discrepancies only a machine would. Priscilla can trust Finna's animal senses, both mundane and folklore-esque. All she can really do is examine the spirit-stuff around here to check if any of the mirrors happen to be alive, check her own reflection, lightly toss a small object towards one, and then maybe knock on the glass in that order, looking for any sign of the stimulus they react to, halfway wondering if someone had just stuck perfectly normal mirrors up here to throw people off after that hellish ascent. "Lady Carna, if there is anything thou might add, it wouldst be appreciated. Otherwise, Sir Staren, Lady Finna, a hand, if thou wouldst."

Carna (974) has posed:
    All of Staren's theories prove to come to naught, as all that happens as Priscilla begins to test the mirrors... Is for her reflection in one of them to mimic the movement, right up until the pebble passes straight through the glassless mirror, revealing it's more of an archway than a mirror. An actual open frame. So if it's not a mirror... What's that Priscilla on the other side? The Priscilla that even as they watch charges forth, scythe drawn, in clear defiance of Priscilla's actual movements, and losing the details of her appearance the closer it gets?

    The Mimic Priscilla loses the more fine-detailed aspects of its appearance as it comes closer, instead becoming more like a creature of brass pipes and obsidian, with glass eyes, and imitations of her clothing that don't match up when the illusion falls away. Mimic-selves. Superb. So now they can't even trust their reflections are really their reflections at a distance. And if they get closer to verify, they might turn out to be more mimics.

    Carna does not know what to add, other than, "Perhaps this is the situation where a great deal of damage inflicted on a large area would actually be wise." Then she throws a knife directly at Mimicilla's face. Sparks fly from the impact, but obviously the fleshless construct does not bleed.

    How many more of these reflections are mimics? It's hard to tell. They might all be. Though even more curious is how there are mimics of the exact right proportions to convincingly portray each of these Elites at a distance just waiting here... Even little fox Finna. Did Enark make ALL of these mimics? But if he has never seen these mirrors before, then he probably didn't make them. In which case... Who did?

    Enark hangs back behind everyone else and says, "I am in agreement with the Lantern. These do not belong here. There is no sense in preserving them!" Then he begins to weave magic of his own, chanting and causing water that moves more like a serpent to swirl around every member of the party, providing them with a buffer against any damage received. Oh, so he can do more than just recite lore. Good.

    The mimics assembled on the various platforms and balconies within range of Mag's electromagentic field are pulled forth, and directly into the storm of weapons fire from Mesa. They don't appear to have any counter to that, though the suits of armor seem to be able to get filled full of holes quite thoroughly before they take enougyh damage to fall apart. Dead Lights have been swirling out from the monsters as they're slain, going to whoever killed them or whoever was nearest when they were destroyed, depending. For those new to the sensation, it's a chilling feeling of spiritual energy stolen from the thinking Dead to feed the mindless and which has now been passed on to these Elites.

    It serves little purpose except as currency for those not native to this place... But it may still wind up being better used in the hands of them than filling the hollow bellies of Unlit or powering frightful constructs.

Count Kord has posed:
    When the others don't show up immediately, and the Warframes seem to be more than a little occupied with the many constructs filling this place, Kord decides he was going to take advantage of his arm's feeling slowly coming back. He pulls his own scythe out of its holster, the weapon snapping into its ready state with a flick of his arm. He steps up toward the doorway with a slow and deliberate pace, keeping his eyes on the suits of armor. He makes sure to watch them for movement as he approaches, hoping they were installed before the inhabitants of the Library became mimic-happy freaks.

    Kord makes a couple of quick slices toward the armored suits, trying to knock them over or antagonize them into movement so he can fight them properly. "Damnation," he hisses, the pain in his arm fighting his movement. He hopes silently no one sees how much that hurt him, earlier, it would be very bad if his elemental weaknesses were open knowledge.

Staren has posed:
    "Thanks." Staren comments after she reloads his shoulder racks, and then he follows Priscilla, ready to grab her if the mirror tries to suck her in, but that becomes moot: "I knew it! Mirror-selves!" Staren shouts as Mirror-Priscilla charges, and then... "Mirror-us are robots? Sure, why not." He opens fire with his beam cannons on the mimics... and when Enark and Carna agree the mirrors should be destroyed, on said mirrors.

    Particle beam cannons aren't lasers or light -- they're really hot, low-mass matter. Maybe they'll melt mirrors or maybe not -- either way, Staren checks to see if they work, then pulls a man-portable railgun out of his bag (It actually looks and weighs about the same as a regular assault rifle -- this is a design from Transhuman Space, not his home) and just sweeps it across the mirrors, trying to shatter them.

    Hopefully this won't result in countless shards releasing hundreds of constructs at a time or something. That would suck!

Kushiko has posed:
And when it comes to new sensations, the one that passes through the Warframes--and thus, to Kushiko herself some distant place away? Yeeeah that's not normal feeling at all. Oddly weird and familiar but at the same time, /not/.

The short, bursty blasts of the AkSomati's twin barrels necessitated a reload, ejecting the curved magazines which prompted her suit's systems to push a fresh pair of mags into the guns as Mesa brought them down towards her legs, the energy field she inherently puts out deconstructing the remainder of the half-spent magazine to be repurposed later.

After all, they can't quite... dwell on these sensations very well can they? Not with the potential presence of more mimics, and what lie above them. Given where Kushiko's frames were versus where the others were, it would do well to establish a secure the balconies they're at.

There was a sense that if they went towards where the elevator should have let out, they might not get there, and if they did, it might magnify the trouble.

... on that note, Mag switches to her breech-load grenade launcher, colliquoally known as 'Tonkor' and starts throwing out more of those self-same magnetic fields, and sending powerful grenades into those fields. Mesa begins to pepper newly emergent mimics with short bursts, careful not to waste ammunition as she and Mag begin to secure the area.

At least as much as it can be secured, but dangit, the Warframes know how to secure a spot.

Finna (513) has posed:
"Oh... mammoth shit!" Is all Finna can get out the instant that Priscilla's clone goes on the offensive. She'd been tailing behind at the last moment, but staying FAR away from the actual mirrors as well as possible. NOT TOUCHING A ONE!

    And this instinctive fear proves true and valid in no time at all. With a sharp shriek of, "SEE?! TOLD YOU THIS MANY MIRRORS WAS NOT GOOD!" the little animal bursts into motion. BOUNDING forward on all fours. But in moments... she isn't so little. The lithe creature glows from within, silvery light and shadows shimmering from every pore of her body, every inch of skin and every bit of hair. Like flowing water her flesh extends and reshapes, remaining four-limbed... but MUCH, MUCH BIGGER. Almost the size of a horse, and easily seven feet tall if this great, more human-like fox were to stand fully upright instead of loping on all fours.

    She does just that after taking a position in the hallway guarding Enark, growling warningly. She isn't about to rush out into the mess, not when she has a squishy to guard and they're surrounding her in a water barrier.

    But she bares teeth and makes a warning swipe at the air with lethal-looking claws. ALL her natural weapons shine a brilliant, opaque, flowing silver that leaves contrails in their wake.

    Getting too close is probably the worst idea ever.

Priscilla has posed:
    Priscilla can figuratively sleep easy knowing she hadn't chided Staren for the doomsaying; one of his guesses was roughly correct. She practically leaps back as the mimic emerges from the glass, her head tilting back to allow Carna's knife to fly past, and then her whole body pivoting as Staren fires his particle beams past, her dagger abruptly flashing from her sleeve with a flick of her wrist, and then coming streaking around at neck level as she complets the motion, aiming to take the expedient route of burying itself in the seam of her ugly, unnerving mimic-self's neck plates and using the leverage to topple and nail it to the ground, necessitating her foot against its body to wrench the blade free, not stopping to check whatever kind of blood or oil or other hideous thing it might let out.

    Whether or not she's finished it, Priscilla moves straight through the illusory arch anyways, waving the others on behind her. "Stay well away from the others! There is no need to engageth each and every one! Form close behind mine path so that thou strayeth not near enough to any other mirror to resolveth thine reflection into detail!" She's hoping that people sticking to her cleared one will prevent more mimics from appearing, since hers had only turned from reflection to reality as she had approached closely enough to see it.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Priscilla's brave plunge into the fray, after a combination of arms and her own skill and weapons dispose of the mimic-self, for a single, horrifying moment, seems to have been equivalent to suicide. As she leaps through the empty mirror frame, a pair of jaws made of glass slam shut, closing off the path behind her.

    But then the mirror frame grows arms and legs, standing up, and it's revealed it wasn't just an illusory archway, but a mimic itself. And as Staren's weaponsfire fills the room, striking other mirrors, both empty and not... Well, while some fall into pieces, others expose their true natures by standing up, their broken-glass jaws with uneven rows of mirrored teeth grinding together, they then charge the Elites en masse.

    They continue to fall to the onslaught, but the claws of one of them successfully seize Carna, lift her up, and in one smooth motion, the mirror bites off her head.

    The rest of her decapitated party starts to receive the same treatment, even as she begins to dissolve into spectral mist, the splashes of luminous 'blood' from her wounds staining the floor and the monster alike.

    Enark is too horrified to keep casting spells, instead just running after the others, and hoping someone clears a path. Getting caught by one of these things is apparently quite lethal.

    As some Mirror Mimics give chase after the Elites, others open their damaged jaws again, and start repairing themselves with fragments of their fallen brethren, draining the Dead Lights from the remains to fix their own bodies.

    The chase that follows is a nightmare of reflections that are sometimes actual reflections, and other times imitators whose movements don't quite synch up... The only 'tell' as they try to get close enough to attack.

    The confusing maze of mirrors and mimics SOMEHOW gets navigated successfully, regardless of who suffers what kinds of injuries. But there was at least one fatality. And it looks like Enark has been gouged across the back by a raking claw strike, based on the more clearly red blood than the coagulated muck that leaked from Carna's body when she was slain.

    And they all come spilling out into the library section as Kord finishes knocking over a couple suits of armor that clatter harmlessly to the floor, exposing a chain in a wall that seemingly controls the huge doors. Mag and Mesa were starting to run out of targets, but with the flood of walking mirror frames, each screeching with the sound of metal nails on glass chasing after the explorers, and the bottle neck formed by them all coming out of the same passageway, it seems there's suddenly an ABUNDANCE of targets while the doors are worked open.

Finna (513) has posed:
"CLIMB ON!" Well, Finna's not actually going to wait for Enark to do that. She's unbelievably STRONG in this form. She reaches out with an arm nearly as long as her normal human body is tall, scoops Enark up, and plops him on her back as she gets down on all fours again, the Deadly Beastman shape altering into a sleeker, more speed-oriented HORSE-SIZED FOX. "AND HOLD ON!"

    She is NOT going to fight these damned things. For starters, everyone else here's far better in a fight than her. Second, SOMEONE has to keep the squishy scholar alive.

    As it turns out, she's damned FAST when she really wants to be. Far faster than she is strong or clever. If anything, RUNNING THE HELL AWAY is one of her absolute BEST specialties.

    Her four-legged stride's lightning fast, with seemingly perfect traction across all the debris. SOMEHOW she doesn't step on any broken glass and debris. Each casual bound she makes is a leap that would make an olympic long jumper jealous beyond reason!

    The only problem is that this is by no means a comfortable ride. Worse than any roller coaster, in fact. Here's hoping Enark has a strong stomach.

Staren has posed:
    Staren just growls as AN ARMY OF MIMIC MIRROR-FRAMES appears. He drops the railgun and pulls from his bag a wand. It is the most stereotypical magic wand ever, a short stick with a clear crystal in the base and a star-shaped head on the end. And he swishes and flicks the wand like crazy, conceptually messing with temperature and pressure at target points in the air to make them explode in fireballs.

    When he sees damaged mimics trying to repair themselves, he comments, "Oh no, none of THAT nonsense," and draws his beam saber, trying to cut at least one down before it can repair itself. Eventually he has to run with the others, though.

    When they arrive at the slowly-opening door, Staren turns to hold the enemy off with repeated fireballs.

    If Priscilla's there at the door, then since she understands the basics of how this stuff works, he clips his beam saber back to his belt and pulls out what looks like a slightly-oversized assault rifle with huge bore, tossing it to Priscilla, followed by a long and wide magazine of six missiles. Together it all weighs like 40 pounds, but a giant half-dragon is surely pretty strong, right? "Melt them!"

Kushiko has posed:
On the one hand, Kord had everything well in hand; this had been thus far a very interesting affair, and with the Count working his way on the armors, they had in turn ensured no other harassment would befall them.

And then the remainder of the group made their way into the same area as them. Not without harm, as she could tell. In this circumstance, both Mag Prime and Mesa sprinted for Enark, Priscilla, Staren and Finna, helping those up who might need it, or at least ushering them past.

The potential horror of Carna's loss is outweighed by the current concerns and needing to rain down a special brand of destructive capability. Mag Prime is first: twofold does polarizing magnetic energy radiate out of her, the lavender-tinged shell of energy blossoming over friend and foe alike; but it is only the foes that this energy seeks to rupture the physical stability of the mimics over. It might reach the armor Kord was dealing with, but that's not her concern.

Mesa takes up a stance facing the passageway alongside Staren, intent on capitalizing on what Mag has done: supernatural force seems to envelop Mesa as the twin tonfa-looking things on her forearms reveal their true purpose: dropping forward, into her hands, thumb and index fingers locking into place as part of the hammer and trigger mechanisms.

It is with incredible intensity and focus, her movements damn near instantaneous as she unleashes a field of firepower that puts the earlier show of gunfire to absolute shame. Unerring accuracy, and one key benefit: never stopping to reload. The Regulators she's using now are an intrinsic element to her body.

The presence of Finna, however brief, does not halt her. Every movement she makes to aim at a different mirror mimic or otherwise is taken intaneously, a ghostly phantasm momentarily shown in the wake of her movements.

Coupled with the fire and flame and electromagnetic energy, it ought to lay down quite a swath of vengeful ruin, shouldn't it?

Priscilla has posed:
    At this point, Priscilla is almost on board with Kord. As good of an idea it might have seemed with millions of years of spare time, these mimics are so out of control she is sorely tempted to hit Enark after all of this. Coming up with these things out of boredom is irresponsible beyond belief, or so she believes when she realizes the mirror itself was a mimic sitting in front of a regular hallway and narrowly avoids having her tail bitten. Carna appears not to be so lucky, but out of /all/ the people in the Multiverse, Priscilla has the least excuse to be shocked and distraught at that.

    From then on it's a straight run. She's glad to see Finna in her element for a change, letting her carry the scholar as fast as her giant mutant moon fox paws will carry her. She isn't too far behind her, save for where she has to slow briefly to use the momentum of a turn to smash something attempting to ambush her at a blind corner. Reaching the final set of doors, even if they're opening painfully slowly, is something of a blessing.

    She catches the heavy rifle meant for powered armour from Staren with a brief look of surprise, that swiftly becomes 'why the hell not', backing up with the others to shore up the widening exit and form a firing perimeter around it, not exactly needing to coordinate to find targets. Firearm training a few years old suddenly pays off for the first time, and makes her feel very vindicated with the entire ordeal as she quickly figures out the mechanics of the weapon, and then levels it on her shoulder like someone who isn't a dangerous novice.

    There is one added benefit however. Everywhere she looks down those sights, her eye glows, painting targets with her gaze so that the hordes Staren and Mesa find themselves standing against suddenly light up with rows of baleful orange eyes of fire blossoming into the air above them like rows of candles, closely following their position. As if the amount of firepower they have, quickly bolstered by Priscilla going Rambo with her ridiculous strength eating all of the recoil, wasn't enough, every single hit, even stray, poorly aimed bullets, would now deal absolutely devastating damage, as if the mimics themselves were fated to meet with calamity the moment they reached the final room.

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord hears the battle get much, much noisier. He pauses, his claw-tipped gauntlet fingers spread right before he grabs the chain. He has the scythe in his off hand, and his head turns to look over his shoulder. He listens to the sounds of death and destruction for a moment, as if it were music to his ears. He enjoys it, even if he's in no real rush to leap into a battle that everyone else has clearly got handled. He's never been invested in helping the heroes or otherwise neutral parties, and it's only his weird nature that halts him from just going through the door without them.

    But after that, he pulls the chain and prepares to step through the door, hoping that whatever meets him on the other side is definitely not something with more ice spells. He largely misses the visual fun that's happening over there, but he has other, nebulous goals in this world and they don't really require him to sit around and enjoy a good fight or five.

    "Terrifying lot, indeed," he murmurs to himself, sounding happy about it despite the words.

Carna (974) has posed:
    An onslaught of firepower, bolstered by the effect of fating them to be obliterated, has Staren, the Warframes, and Priscilla annihilating the mimics as they continue to pour through the corridor. It was only a single room's worth of them, but it was a sizeable room, and given their dimensions, a lot of them could be put into one location. Even so, eventually the steady stream of crazed monsters becomes more erratic, until the last of the creatures runs directly into the kill zone and faces destruction.

    Thankfully, Enark was spared worse injuries than he received via Finna carrying him, but despite his terrified mental state, he takes the time to start chanting and casting healing magics of some kind on any who need it. Water that looks NEARLY clean flows over any wounds, washing the injuries away.

    But what he is most eager to do is get inside the secure Grand Archives because of course they would be secure after all this time, right? Only... Once he enters, along with everyone else, after the doors grind open thanks to Kord... Enark, still somewhat in shock over the loss of one of their companions, as suspicious as he was of her, finds two unpleasant things.

    First of all, there's no Shrine of Light in view to help them leave her promptly. Second, the platform they've arrived on overlooks an enormous chapel-like facility, with more blue-robed figures all around on various platforms, down among pews and worshipping at altars...

    And a vast painting is hung on the far wall, of a land of ash and snow, with a bleak, lonely, crumbling ruin overlooking it.

    Enark finally has something to say. "Not only did I not make those mirror monsters... But this is not what the Grand Archive is supposed to look like." he says faintly, shivering all over at the freezing cold that leaks from the painting. And the sight of creatures seemingly made out of paint and dye wandering out of the painting and into the 'real' world.

Staren has posed:
    Staren notices someone's missing. "Shit, did we lose Carna? ...At least she respawns..."

    Kord's got the door. The Warframes, Staren, and Priscilla, throw magic and science at the horde of monsters -- each mimic a system, which energy -- heat, kinetic, and magical -- is poured into until they are reduced from mimics to mere physics. Finally, it's over.

    Staren turns, with a slightly tired look, to regard the open door. He's about to reach for nanobandages, but Enark's got healing spells ready. Slowly, he walks into the room. "Maybe this isn't the Grand Archive."

Kushiko has posed:
There was an odd... /twinge/, Mesa and Mag felt when it came to what Priscilla did. To say nothing of what the collective efforts of the infused Regulators (indeed, some might have noticed that the rounds being fired were /very/ potent--well, probably just Staren) but the lack of a proper Sanctuary?

... yeah, no, this isn't good at all.

Mesa's guns holstered and no longer taking up the 'you shall not pass' stance of her Peacemaker ability, she's left to catching up with the others--once she's probably taken on some dead light again. So weird, that sensation.

"... we're stuck heading in further then." comes the disembodied voice. More through the radio than anything else but it plays upon that ephemeral Void energy that the Warframes channel.

... yeah this is going to get weirder, but weird is something the Tenno needs understand.

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord looks at this new room with silence at first, and tries not to attract the attention of the fake scholars filling this area of the library.

    In fact, he looks at it for about thirty seconds, standing perfectly still...

    "Enark." He turns to look at the real Blue Scholar. "If you ever make another mimic, you are getting dropped from the top of the library, but ... I have to admit you were good at it," he says, turning away on that last part, having found new conviction in the thought he only entertained earlier because of how annoying the consequences of the madman's... efficacy with mimics had been.

    "I hoped you wouldn't say that," he admits to Kushiko, though he doesn't seem THAT bothered. He sighs, lifts his battle scythe, and prepares to join the fight himself. "Beginning to wonder if Yveltal just wants to get me killed. Best get to it..." At least he's resigned to being useful for the next stretch in this, if only because this place is more hazardous to him than anyone else in the party thanks to his elemental alignments.

Finna (513) has posed:
Out of one freaky situation of pure creepiness... and into another. Finna lets Enark off as soon as things seem... RELATIVELY safe again. The Giant Fox form shrinks down to normal size again, though she's glowing. Thankfully, not terribly brightly. A peaceful aura of silvery-blue and purplish-shadow extends about a foot around her, illuminating the platform... but not going much farther than that. And she's quite aware of it, and so she's positioned herself behind Priscilla in hopes of keeping the flare from being noticed elsewhere. But she does steal a few glances around...

    "Is there ANYWHERE in Lumiere that isn't creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy?"

Priscilla has posed:
    The rifle feels significantly lighter, all told, when Priscilla has exhausted the full supply of plasma rockets, so she'll refrain from tossing it and making Staren unhappy for the time being, lowering the heavy piece of metal, plastic and ceramic with a long exhalation as the last of the mimics topples over in pieces, completely shredded by the abilities of two Warframes, her own, and the firepower of all four gunners. Seeing Enark continuing to prove that he can do something other than nearly kill everyone with masses of inconvenient mimics is a relief, as is seeing him still alive, and as is further finally heading into what he swears is a safe sanctum.

    Seeing the Archive itself is not a relief however. It is the exact opposite, even if Priscilla feels nothing of the cold that radiates from the gargantuan painting that awaits them; rather that she feels it as a part of her so old that she can scarcely remember a time before it. She barely notices Priscilla getting behind her as her weary gaze casts over the rows of blue-robed worshipers, trying her best not to think of their parallel, and then over the bizarre, painted beings, before the context of the artwork itself; an unnervingly precise depiction of what an 'artist's interpretation' would be like from the perspective of a permanent dweller of the dead.

    "Lord Tharmas, thou industrious knave."