Scene #6217: A Chance to Catch a Breath ft Raha and Inga

Owner	Pose
N'Raha	It's a sight that will be very familiar to Inga, in general. The small home is along the shore in the Adventurer Enclave known as Mist in La Noscea. It's a thriving little residential district, chock full of Free Companies, adventurers and everyone else that wants to do business with them. But the Warrior of Light holds a rather unassuming place here. The little house on the beach doesn't have massive adornments or great and mighty trophies outside. It's got a set of trees. It's got a nice little firepit and some chairs. There's a clotheline out in the back yard. And there's a path down to the beach itself. It's down there that Raha is sitting, in the chilly fall air. Another bonfire has been started on the shore, and there's a pair of chairs waiting for the Chosen. The catman is out of his armor and is in some smart looking clothes, black pants and a green suit jacket, with a tie even. He's sipping on a bottle and waiting, for now.
Inga Freyjasdottir	N'raha's world is a strange one, but not the strangest. It is somewhere she doesn't feely wholly out of place, though she's come to feel comfortable in far more environments than when she'd first found herself dumped feet first into the multiverse. She doesn't draw too many looks from the crowded residential area as she makes her way toward the beach as directed. How long has it been since she's seen an ocean? Too long, she thinks. She's dressed warmly, wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, two long white braids of hair hanging over each shoulder. Beneath her cloak is her usual style of dress, a blue apron style dress in a rich wool, over a white underdress, pinned at the shoulders with two oval brooches with ornate knotwork in silver. N'raha will hear the cursing begin when she reaches the sand. Sand is difficult to walk in. She finds her way over however, and judges the view to be worth the sand. "Well, it is warmer than home. Almost balmy," she comments, looking toward N'Raha. She raises an eyebrow at his outfit. "Coming from a formal occasion?" she asks, setting her walking staff aside before flopping down into the nearest chair. She looks him over, her brow slightly furrowed, taking in any changes in his immediate appearance. Inga herself looks unnervingly the same--maybe a little tired. Sadder.
N'Raha	There's a smile from Raha, as he looks down at himself. "Oh, sorry, this is just sort of what I wear when I'm... not in armor these days. And not in my house lounging around." Well there's one change. That smile isn't quite as boisterous. The piercing green eyes of the young man are also slightly... harder than they used to be. A few more marks on his face, covered by those straight tattoos the Miqo'te seem to like. He mmmmms. "And balmy, I'll go for that. The ocean coming in is very warm which keeps the fog and moisture in the air. Mist, you see." He waves his bottle at the town behind him, before leaning forward to look at the witch. "Do you want me in something less formal?"
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga chuckles, shaking her head and waving her hand in dismissal. "No, I just did not recall you dressed so...what is the term...sharp?" she smiles. "I suppose I'm none to talk," she admits with a shrug. "I wear a dress all the time." Inga takes in the changes. Not just the physical changes, but his mien. He's sobered. Grown up. It makes her a little sad to see, but it is the way of things. She feels like she'd been put through the wringer recently. N'raha seems to have had a rough time of it as well. She looks away and out to the ocean. "Aah...at Dun Realtai, everything is well frozen over by now. The lake is solid enough for sleds or skating. I'm generally burried in snow." Well, if he's drinking... Inga reaches into her pouch and pulls out a small flask. It's probably mead. "It looks peaceful here, but I gather that hasn't been the trend outside of this area," she ventures. The look in his eye is one of a man that's been to war.
N'Raha	A small sigh from the catman, as he shifts and slides those sneaker-boots into the sand a bit. Ears flick a bit as well. "The Garleans made their reall effort to crush us all. Forced the Beastmen to resummon their Primals. Used... used the primals to fuel a war machine. Took me and a squadron of my friends to best it. Lost a few. Lost more than that among the Grand Companies." Those green eyes regard Inga a moment or two. "Mother Crystal will be happy to see more of you lot, though, I think. She didn't seem to mind you, anyways." A sip at his beverage, before he spots Inga's flask and he holds his up in a toast. "To those who gave all. ...to those who couldn't keep up."
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga's eyes close as she nods. "May their ancestors embrace them in the halls of the gods," she says solemnly. Gods, but she does not want to talk about death. It is the spectre she has been avoiding. She nods. "Mmm, I expect she will be glad of the help. Her and Gaia seem to have an...understanding I think," Inga replies. "Naturally, I'm at your service if you think I can be of use here." At the toast, she raises her flask, tears forming to blur her vision. "To the honored dead," she says quietly, pours a little of her mead out into the sand, then drinks.
N'Raha	The catman likewise pours out his, but it appears to the the last of his own bottle. He sighs, and sets the empty in the sand. "The honored, and the dishonored. I will never..." A grunt. "The Tempered, the Drowned, all those lost to the Primals. I'll still never get past that. It's understandable why the Garleans what us gone so they can get rid of the Eikons once and for all, but..." He sighs, and shrugs. A look to Inga, though. "...What can you tell me about those dark versions of your Chosen that you have floating around your world? We've had... similar ones that have been causing trouble in ours."
Inga Freyjasdottir	The witch offers her flask over when she see's he's out of drink. Heavy talk demands heavy drink. "I have more," she informs him, less he feel bad about drinking it. "There's little sense to death. I've seen enough of it. To those that die fighting...we tell a story, that Odin recieved a prophecy of the end of the world. Warriors that die in battle go to Valhalla, where they will fight and feast until the end of days. Then they will fight the most important of all battles. I think it helps, believing that. Of course, what of those left behind?" she muses. Inga frowns then, thinking about his question. It throws her for a bit of a loop. "Dark versions of the Chosen? I'm not sure I understand."
N'Raha	Raha lets out a breath. "That's... actually pretty comforting, in some ways. here we just get pulled back into the great Lifestream, to be repurposed out the next time something needs a soul." A little sigh, his ears folding back against his head. And a look. "I'd thought Wuyin had said something about... filthy stuff." He works his jaw a moment. "We've been fighting dark spirits that we have a very hard time killing. That ust keep coming back to sow chaos. Teach people how to summon primals. That sort of thing."
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga nods, pursing her lips. "I suppose that is something...to live again, another life," she replies. Her brow furrows, then she nods. "Ah. Yes...people are taken by the Filth. They become abominations. If that were happening here, you would know. I have not met a Chosen that had been taken by the Filth but...I know it is possible. We are made to be resistant to it, but we are not immune," she explains. "As for how to deal with such a being...It is not pleasant to contemplate. We are very difficult to kill as it is. Add the Filth and..." Inga visibly shudders. "Someday, I am sure I will find out." Inga is quiet for a while, her expression thoughtful. "If they are anything like us...I would guess that you must interrupt their cycle somehow. If they cannot be killed without returning, perhaps they can be imprisoned."
N'Raha	The catman sighs. "That's what I figured you might say. Some of our people had thought the same as well. But we managed to defeat one ourselves. And we'll keep doing it as long as wel can." Raha looks to Inga, and with only a slight hesitation, reaches over to take the wisewoman's hand. No words. Not just now. But he exudes a measure of wamrth that wasn't there before. Comradery. He gets it. "There, but for the grace of the Gods, go we?"
Inga Freyjasdottir	"I am glad to hear it. How did you defeat one?" she asks. When he takes her hand, she looks genuinely surprised. She startles slightly, but doesn't pull away. They're friends, and gods know she has too few of them these days. "Mmm. I do not recognize the quote."
N'Raha	"Oh. Well, just that it would be so easy to turn around and use what we have for ourselves, you know?" Raha snorts and squeezes that slender hand, before letting it go. "And we had help. Mother Hydaelyn stepped in and provided the killing blow, as it were. Though I doubt that was the only one. The damned thing had taken the body of Thancred as his own. I think you've met him. The dashing rogue who fancies himself a ladies hyur?"
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga smiles softly and gives his hand a squeeze in return before he pulls it away. "Ahh. Well, I am glad she did so then," she replies, then furrows her brow as she thinks back. "Ah, yes, I do believe I remember him, yes," she says. Good looking enough, but sort of too pretty for her usual tastes. "Is he well now or...?" she asks, looking back to him. Was he one of those lost, she wonders?
N'Raha	"No. We drove out the Ascian, though now he's at a loss to touch magic the way he used to be able to." Raha scratches at his cheek and sighs. "But that hasn't deterred Thancred from his spycraft. It's made him more daring. If that's a good thing, which it may not be." A look to Inga. "How about you? How've things been? You look... ah. Sameish."
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga nods. She should perhaps ask what exactly an Ascian is but....another time perhaps. "I'm glad," she replies. At his question, she almost winces. "Well, I do not...really change physically," she replies. "I'll always return to this, for good or for ill." She looks away, back toward the ocean, watching the waves roll and crash. "Things have been...very difficult. I was away for a while, dealing with...things," she says. "Then I was just...not fit for company for a while. I'm trying to get back to...something like normal. I do not know if I am doing a very good job of it," she confesses, her voice quiet. "I feel hallowed out, like those pumpkins people carve for halloween." Inga shakes her head, takes another sip of her mead. "But I am trying."
N'Raha	Raha just sits and listens to all that a bit, his tongue working across fangs a little bit. His tail flicks against the back of the beach chair a few times in thoughtful contemplation. She lost someone. She lost someone and doesn't want to talk about it. Which is alright. Though he does look at the woman careful, sagely, and murmurs. "I'm not sure how else to assist other than saying 'I know how that feels, and I'm sorry'." A mmmm. "But yes. That's the sort of thing that takes... time. Which both of us have a lot of."
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga keeps her face turned slightly away, a few small stray hairs being pulled from her braids by the wind off the ocean. She reaches up, presumably to wipe tears from her cheeks. She's quiet a while, listening to the sea. It helps to calm her, focusing on that rhythm. "Thank you. Yes...more time than I can contemplate," she sighs. When she looks back toward him, her cheeks, nose and eyes a little red. "I am glad you are back. I have few enough friends these days."