Scene #9126: BINDING BLADE Ch26: The First Day of the Rest of Forever

Owner	Pose
Marigold	After the last battle's dust settled, Shanna and Thea took to the skies and found a warpgate a 'mere' hour and a half's sandy walk away. Ninety minutes by foot and a howling sandstorm: that's how far Arcadia is from 'everywhere in the Otherworld' now. Igrene stared at the rip in space for a while. Yet another omen that Arcadia cannot stand as it is. Unless anyone from the Otherworld asks to take custody of them, the two dozen surrendered Bernish troops are disarmed, dis-armored, and... firmly asked to stay, at least until the war ends. 'No-one leaves Arcadia', after all. They agree, with varying degrees of restlessness and resentment. If you've stayed, the intervening couple days have involved Merlinus bartering for supplies, Lucius and a flannel-wearing-even-in-the-desert Clarine taking care of the wounded, Marcus commiserating with the old man about something-or-other, the kids playing with Fae, and Roy, Cecilia, Klein, and Lilina tensely putting their heads together about strategy. Even Elffin, the mysterious maybe-blind bard, gets in on the latter.
Marigold	THE NABATA DESERT, ETRURIA Back in the 'hidden village' of Arcadia. The warpgate trip back to Arcadia is smooth. Sophia, the shy half-dragon, is there to guide the way. Her hands are bandaged-glowing from where she tried to cast Athos's dragonslaying spell, but she still keeps that divine weapon-book clutched under her arm. Arcadia, through the barrier of the magic sandstorm, is blessedly the same as it was before. Gently-sloping sandstone walls shield an oasis village of a few hundred, all low clay-walled houses and green orchards. Its central ziggurat-temple-cistern-entrance is the most eyecatching feature, but Sophia doesn't guide you there. She takes you instead to a humble house, like all the others except for its deeply-worn front doorstep. The old man's reed-floored home is tiny and unfit to house thirty guests- which is exactly why it won't. Sophia leads you through, and out into something like a 'backyard barbecue' among the orchard trees. Rather than a single big table, people are scattered across many small ones all roughly equidistant from the big self-serve pile of food at the center. Fluffy breads, honey-drizzled fruits both dried and fresh, and something like quinoa tossed in citrus and oil are the main dishes; small helpings of a meat that must be either snake or desert-lizard are served fried overtop, while drinks range from wine to cactus-water. Dairy and red meat are nowhere to be found. Roy's army are already diving in, with no particular order; a couple dozen of the locals besides the ones you know by name are present, but you can imagine most have had their fill of excitement. "Heeey! It's the Otherworld heroes!" Echidna calls out, when folks start to trickle in. "You've got to try these dates, I swear." Armads is in her lap for close examination and... sharpening? Should a divine weapon really need something like that? Merlinus is crouched next to it with a look of concern, with Elffin and Larum habitually orbiting her. The old man rises from his seat, waveringly, to shake hands with any of the arrivals who'll let him. "Please, please. Go on and help yourselves; it can't be enough for what you've done. Fae is, ah, in a bit of a mood at the moment, but it'll pass." A chagrined-tired smile. Then he waves his hand at Roy, still sitting across from him: "I was just telling this young man about matters of bloodline. But if you had anything else to ask me..." Roy smiles mildly around a mouthful of quinoa, in the politely-bewildered way of someone who's been listening attentively with no idea of where the subject's going. Marcus hovers nearby, oddly tense.
Marigold	The two seats nearest the old man are vacant with half-finished plates, and it's not hard to tell who occupied them. Half-hidden by a palm tree and barely in earshot, Igrene and Fae- who looks perfectly human at the moment, excepting pointy ears and the odd trident tattoo(?) on her forehead- are having some kind of discussion. Or, maybe more accurately, Fae is bawling and Igrene is kneeling to comfort her. Chad, Lugh, and Lilina stand awkwardly ten feet away, the latter holding a ball they must've been playing with moments ago. "Ple-e-hease, Igr-hic-ene, Fae just... Fae doesn't want them to go! Please don't, auh, please don't leave Fae behind! Fae likes you, I rea-lh-ly like you a lot, so p-please..." She reaches past Igrene's embrace at the other kids, with a stubby little grasping hand. "Fae. Some of them are coming back. And the way things are going, I'm sure you'll have other playmates soon... wouldn't you rather end this on a happy memory?" she murmurs, back-patting. "No! Fae's tired of 'memories'!"
Dysnomia	Dysnomia had, for her part, stayed with Fae for much of their stay in Arcadia. Fae had expressed a desire to play 'dragon games,' and while Mia wasn't exactly sure what that entailed, she imagined it would be playing in a shape that otherwise wasn't well equipped to roughhouse with the rest of the villagers. She's self-concious of spending so long this way in front of everyone. It feels scandalous, wildly bared where people can gawk and gossip in the open. But, nonetheless, intent guided her shape, and Dysnomia was here to play. She was like a long, gaseous noodle the size of a house, with no mouth--even her claws were blunted and soft. She reacted to Fae's intent as much to her actual movements, allowing herself to be bowled over by the little dragon in a teetering, overdramatic fall, with a mourning rumble and slap of her tail that could only mean uncle. But Fae was perceptive. Maybe she noticed Dysnomia was trying to get some play in before something Fae wouldn't like. When the time came for the meeting, Dysnomia joined the rest of the adults, though she looked a bit hangdog. The ongoing backlash of Fae's panic, grief and loneliness was a little too much for her to shake off. She stood beside Marcus, laying a hand on his shoulder. A gentle squeeze. Her thoughts touched his, If it's going to be today...It had to happen eventually. Whether he tries to use one, or one is used against him...You saw what using it did to Sophia. "I was just telling this young man about matters of bloodline. But if you had anything else to ask me..." "I don't suppose you know anything else about these..." The word 'unnatural' floated through her head, but instead she picked "...Created dragons that Bern is fielding. This isn't going to be the last time we fight them, I'm sure." "If you know some weakness, or how they're made...maybe we can use it."
Echolalia	Echolalia didn't leave. She promised to play, after all! She joined in on the fun and games in he way that adults tend to play with kids and Mia didn't leave either so she had little reason to bounce. Besides, she DID promise. She's given Fae a loooot of hugs and compliments on her adorability, largely because she knows eventually the Army will have to move on. They can't guard Arcadia forever--and even if they could Bern would just keep coming back with more and more forces until they were overwhelmed! She has tried to convert the prisoners to the worship of Ran and has handed each of them a pamphlet whether or not they wanted one labeled WHO ARE THE TEARS OF RAN where it goes into the philosophy of the Not-A-Cult and the Goddess they love and believe in. She says Ran loves everyone, even 'people who, like, try to invade a town that's not harming anybody' and that is why they shouldn't do that thing anymore. Rather than rushing off to eat the foods, she approaches Fae and Igrene and the other kids, smiling because Echolalia does her best to smile in the face of life's little tragedies. "Aw, Fae--you're really too much of a sweetheart. You know, Fae... It's gonna be pretty dangerous where we're going. Fights like when they invaded Arcadia, except probably even worse." She crouches down and looks for Fae's eyes. "You get why we have to go, though, right? You remember those poor dragons they sent after us? They're going to keep making people like that, they're gonna keep hurting people. They're gonna keep using ''our shapes'' to hurt people and that will only make your word smaller and smaller in time. If we don't go and stop them--who will? But if we win, you'll get to go anywhere you want, befriend anyone you want. You'll get to visit people and be visited by them. That's why we have to go and fight because you're right--it's not fair you have to be trapped here with ''memories'' and always saying goodbye. But tha future we're fighting for sounds pretty cool, right?"
Flamel Parsons	"Hey there!" Flamel wanders over to Igrene. There's something weird about his face? "I'm Flamel Parsons, griever of a vast yet inarticulable pain!" He says brightly. Ah! Tears are streaming down his cheeks, but they're psychic constructs, so they look weird. "I think Fae here feels like the world's ending and it really hurts a lot. Do you mind if I share her pain and agony for a moment?" He doesn't exactly wait to kneel down. Still brightly smiling, still, uh, sort of openly weeping while he does, in a contradictory way. "Hey there, Fae! There's a lot of people you like hanging out with Roy, right? Roy's our boy. Well, they're also really in danger, and they like you, and they don't want you to be in danger, you know? And I think they're really sad about this too. It's like a really difficult puzzle!" He reaches out a hand to rest it on her shoulder. "Can you help me solve this puzzle together, Fae? Can you help me come up with a way to help as many people as possible not feel sad? You're so sweet, I know you'll come up with something!" He really is a summer camp counselor, but the emphasis, in his case, is on "counselor", not "summer camp". Don't disrespect children by insulting their intelligence and autonomy. The way to deal with a child is to be maturely open, give them the small share of the trouble that they can bear, and ask to work together to solve things. Or, at least, so the Psychonaut thinking goes, when it comes to kids. Like Lugh, for example! Who Flamel calls over to help with the healing. He recognizes that there's no way to square this circle. Maybe, though, at least Fae won't be deprived of her sense of love and connection in the separation?
Petra Soroka	The realities of having a job outside being an Elite is that sometimes, Petra is needed for other things besides a week-long trek through a desert in a foreign world. Doubly so when she's unquestionably the most valuable agent in the facility, with the problems that only she can be trusted to take care of safely increasing with each day the Seed of Light gets closer to completion, where her negligence could result in catastrophe for people who rely on her. Triply when she's already done that twice on this campaign, to sail to and from the Western Isles. And of course it'd be when an adorable dragon-child in a cozy little village has to fight for her life, along with people she actually likes! Starting to care about a growing number of people while also being somewhat reliable and competent frustratingly makes it so that Petra feels by-default guilty when missing important battles, on top of the shame complex she's had about that exact phenomenon since long before she was able to participate in them. If Petra doesn't participate in every single war on the superplanet at once, then she will DIE. So when Petra makes the journey from the nearby warpgate to Arcadia, it's not really to attend a farewell dinner to thank people for something she didn't do. In fact, it would be evil for her to accept any sort of praise at all! Instead, she is mostly pushing through the instinct to get weirder, so that she isn't entirely severed from the lore of this leg of the campaign, and hopefully can sneak in some brain-mending helpfulness while she's there. Probably, if anyone suggests literally any way she could provide utility, she'd take it. She restlessly frets on the way there, and chatters to Sophia when non-sandstorming opportunities arise. "Hey, Sophia, sorry I wasn't, like, able to help. Um, is that--" Meaning the burns on her hands, "Gonna be alright? Is it healing... normally? At all?" "Heeey! It's the Otherworld heroes!" Ah, you see, unfortunately, not being around for a singular event has stripped Petra of that title. Dutifully, Petra makes sure to not partake in any of the dinner that's set out for the others, because that's basically stealing food, so she mostly just hovers around. For whatever reason, Clarine is a safe person to stand relatively near, while she's in this mental state. She doesn't even complain about the fact that they're matching flannel again this time. "I was just telling this young man about matters of bloodline. But if you had anything else to ask me..." "Well, not really, but, um, if there's anything I could do to help, then I'd be happy to. I'm, uh, Petra, by the way." The introduction stands in for another apology. Those things are usually pretty synonomous to Petra, anyways.
Khosa	Khosa had some engagements that took her away from the town for some time, but she's spent more time here than not over the last week. She seemed interested in how the other desert nations (well, polities, anyway) handled things. Having some experience with handling captives, she double-checked all the surrendered Bernish troops for hidden weapons and tried to identify the troublemakers. She didn't use much in the way of psychic powers, unless a danger sense counts; she's just used to handling people caught up like this, soldiers and raiders (possibly involuntarily, if Bern is conscripting) who are now being kept for safe conduct. And past that, she healed. Khosa had to repair her arm and side after the dragonfire, and while Khosa regenerates so she can do that, it doesn't make it easy. It takes effort to put yourself back together properly and she spent some time with an arm that looked like it was mostly burn scars and a horribly stiff side. It also takes energy. She ate a lot of lizard. (She also found time to tell Clarine 'You're going to cook in that,' when she persisted in wearing flannel. No skin off her back, though.) But today, Khosa is looking much better. She's in fine health; her arm is all healed up, as is the rest of her. She insisted on helping with the dinner because she'd been going through more than her share of food while she was regenerating, and she'd actually brought something back from Athas as a local delicacy by way of apology, so added to the dishes is... Well, Khosa claims it's broiled eggs, but the whites are spongy and have a taste more like cheese than egg, the yolks are too red to be avian and almost zesty, and then the whole thing is spiced and meant to be eaten on flatbread. It's the eggs of a lizard-bird called an erdlu, she'd explained, if asked. It also happens to be one of the few things Khosa, who is not a particularly experienced cook for anything other than camping food, can produce perfectly (to her satisfaction, anyway) every time that's share-worthy. "I'll always eat dates," Khosa replies to Echidna. "Do they have the kind with fried lizard wrapped around it?" You show Khosa a bacon-wrapped or equivalent date just once... She glances at the sharpening Armads, does not see anything particularly weird about taking care of one's weapon, and turns aside for just a moment to shake the old man's hand. "Bloodline, huh?" is her not-very-veiled request for more information. "I got some ideas about that," she adds to Dysnomia. "I mentioned them, but I'll mention 'em again if we can figure out a way to use them." Khosa can hear Fae. Khosa can hear Fae pretty clearly. But she's not quite sure what to do with the kid; Khosa has limited child experience and the wailing is more grating than she wants to admit. Plus, she's being talked to by Echo and Flamel, she'll be fine. She thinks. She's slightly more worried about Sophia, because of her hands, and Khosa once again regrets not having mastered the skills that let her help with other people's injuries as well as her own. She frowns, but says nothing about it. Yet.
Odette Raskins	Odette is among those that stayed in Arcadia for those days, seeing as though there's still so much work to be done and so many thoughts to sort through. Treating the wounded locals of Arcadia and Roy's army is a given, of course, but her duties extend even to those soldiers that laid down their arms. Without their armor or weaponry in hand to threaten her with, she's a lot bolder with actually getting them treated properly and even scolding a few of them for being far too rough on their bodies ("Good armor doesn't mean you're invincible, you know!"). The warriors in Roy's army aren't spared that stricter treatment, either, as though Odette's gotten a bit more fire in her since the last time she was here. Something about Arcadia's vibe has certainly done something for that, although only a little as she's still easy enough to intimidate back into her usual anxious self. She's really starting to settle into the local fashion, too, although that's more by necessity than by choice thanks to so many fires in recent memory making her have to find a replacement here. Instead of her usual EMT jacket and skirt combo, Odette's wearing a dark blue dress that she might have borrowed from someone following that last battle. She's also got that white cape with the medbay insignia on it, and her cap has also somehow escaped being replaced even though it does look a little worn and burnt on both ends. She's eager to dig in at the party, too, but good manners means having to actually make a few rounds around to make sure nobody's left out and everyone's healthy enough to enjoy the festivities before she lets herself pig out. Seeing Petra hovering nearby without going for any of the food definitely gets her attention, and she nonchalantly walks right up to her from the front. "Er.. H-hey, Petra. Come on, who knows when we'll get to eat stuff like this again? Besides, we're..." She can't quite bring herself to call herself a hero like Echidna did so casually, but it's obvious she's getting a real ego boost out of it. Echidna calling out about the dates does have her doubling back to grab some for herself, too, and it's on the way back that she realizes what Echidna's doing with Armads. "Is that going to be okay? I-I mean, what if That scrapes off the... Enchantment?" She's not sure how weapons work, and it certainly doesn't sound as sensible coming out as it did in her head. Despite that, she watches Echidna at work curiously, squatting nearby and munching on dates at the same time. "Mrph... H-how're you feeling now, anyway? Um. Any ill-effects from using that, or lingering aches from battle that could use a...?" It takes a moment for Odette to remember that medicine here isn't the same as medicine back home, and she pats her medical bag seconds later. "Er. A pick-me-up. Some painkillers, maybe a... Hmm. Something light, so it doesn't mess with your sleep schedule."
Desire Stars	Ace had chosen to stay--mostly to discuss strategy, but also to keep Fae company here and there. Neon doesn't have that option, and ends up returning through the warpgate later. Rather than their DGP activewear, both celebs have dressed for the occasion of an oasis cookout. Ace wears a white summerweight cotton-linen blazer, matching pleated trousers and tee, offset with a red summer scarf and brown loafers. Neon, meanwhile, wears a light goldenrod, slightly ruffled linen western dress that sports a charmingly new-agey human-faced-sun print, paired with turquoise bangles and slate boots. You've got to try these dates, I swear. "Yeah. Been a long time since I've had them this fresh," says Ace, nodding towards Neon from his table as she enters. He's gotten himself a plate of the either-snake-or-lizard, a little of the tossed grain, a chunk of bread and a little island of the aforementioned dates. "Oh! Okay!" Neon beams. "Thank you for having us," she says to the old man, with a lively, grateful little bow of her head. With that done, she helps herself, starting with the dates and a few other fruits, a nice portion of the quinoa-like and a chunk of bread too. Fae is, ah, in a bit of a mood at the moment, but it'll pass. Neon glances in her direction with a frown. Could that be about the new 'guests?' About the fighting? Or, maybe, it's about who's leaving and who's staying. It wouldn't seem very fair, would it? Fae doesn't want them to go! Please don't, auh, please don't leave Fae behind! Fae likes you, I rea-lh-ly like you a lot, so p-please... ...Fae's tired of 'memories'! "Oh, Fae..." She sighs. "This must all be pretty hard for her." At his table, sat opposite from Echidna, Ace sighs, too, pausing in his eating to peer intently at that stamped golden coin that follows him everywhere.
Trudy Grimm	For the duration since the last battle, Arcadia has had three extras about; Trudy Grimm, the old sage Grimnir, and the Black Knight. Of the trio, the Black Knight has been the least intrusive. He has stood on the outskirts of the village, the tip of his sword plunged into the sand, his gauntlet-clad hands resting on its pommel. Like this, the silent warrior stares out into the sandstorm in a restless vigil. He does, after all, not even sleep. So even in the chilly desert nights, he's been out there. The old bearded sage Grimnir meanwhile has spent his time chipping in on various chores for the claim of seeing how they do it in Arcadia. Gathering water, helping with harvesting. At nights he would entertain the children by sharing ancient stories from the homeland he shares with Trudy herself; old tales of giants and heroes and gods. Just last night he had shared about how the son of the Allfather's favored hammer was stolen, and the misadventure surrounding its retrieval. Trudy had spent her time fussing over Sophia at first. Once certain the divine artifact left no discernable curse, 'merely' horrendous injuries, she busied herself with inspecting the leylines around Arcadia and doing what she could to bolster its defense. Disappearing mysteriously at night to sleep Elsewhere and returning with the morning. Today at the feast, the Black Knight is-- still out standing his vigil. Grimnir relaxes against one of the fruit trees, puffing on his pipe with a plate of fruits and fresh bread rolls balanced on one upraised knee. His single eye is fixated on Igrene and Fae, though it's hard to tell with the brim of his hat obscuring most of his face. Trudy, too, is paying attention to what's going on with the young dragon. She doesn't have the outstanding hearing of some others but it's quite clear she's upset and, given earlier conversations, it's not hard to guess why. With a little sigh, the witch closes her eyes and bites into a roll herself. The sigh quickly becomes a delighted (if muffled) noise. "Anything about the Iðunn you knew would help, Grandfather," She still insists on calling him that, opting also to speak to the Old Man rather than contend with a distressed child. No, it's the old sage who finally stands up, setting his plate on a table as he walks past, and shuffles his way to the healthy palm that Igrene and Fae are using as cover. As he approaches where the other kids are standing, he comes to a stop and leans on his staff with that kind, old, beard-and-moustache sort of 'you can't see it under all the hair but he's smiling' expression, "You may be young, child, but you have a great deal of love in your heart, I see."
Marigold	"It's... alright..." Sophia manages for Petra, even more halting than her usual. She holds up one wounded hand and flexes it, smiling sadly. "I couldn't help either... I hoped Forblaze wouldn't reject me... but I'll be better, in a week or two." Her eyes wander back down to the heavy gold-and-red tome under her arm. "I should probably give it to one of you... but..." That 'but' hangs heavy with nostalgia and regret. It's clear to see by the way she holds it: the book which harmed her is still like a keepsake. Fae's dragon games are the most childish sort- tag (she can't fly very far), hide-and-go-seek (her tail keeps poking out), who-can-breathe-fire-the-furthest (not her). Even so, they enrich her deeply. The Bernish former-captives accept Echo's pamphlets warily, and some of them even read them. Lucius takes a warm interest in Odette's burgeoning confidence, and spares a few hours for personal meditation with her. Grimnir's story-weaving accrues him a larger and more adoring audience every night; to the people who call him an 'Otherworlder', even the most classic stories are grippingly fresh. "I'm, uh, Petra, by the way." "Petra," the old man repeats. He's sitting now, but he tries to lean over to offer her his knobbly, delicate hand. "It's nice to meet you. I don't have a name, but you can call me the elder, if you like." "If you know some weakness, or how they're made...maybe we can use it." The old man shakes his head sadly. "While the Scouring was going on, I hid. It did surprise me that Fae's breath hurt them so severely. I suppose because she's from the Divine Tribe- so humans called them, though the 'Light Tribe' would be better- something of her energy opposes theirs? Other than that and the eight Legendary Weapons..." He glances over at Echidna, who grimaces subtly, and lifts up Armads. On the once-perfect lune of its edge, there's a tiny chip. She tilts it for Khosa, Odette, and Ace to see. "They can break now, I guess. Doesn't make sense, if they made it through the whole Scouring perfect. Maybe they're losing their power. Durandal's got a scratch, too." "Hector never chipped it," Merlinus complains from beside her. "Are you sure your skill is up to par?" "That was thirty years ago. It could've gotten weaker. And are you gonna fault Rutger's skill too?" "Hmph. Perhaps." Echidna is already constructing a fried-lizard-wrapped date on her own. By the way her eyebrows shoot up, she likes it. "What's that piece mean to you?" she shoots over to Ace, offhandedly. "First one you earned?"
Marigold	"Anything about the Iðunn you knew would help, Grandfather." "'Grandfather'. You're still too kind to me," the ancient man says, shaking his head fondly. His eyes settle on the wooden table, eyebrows furrowed. "I know... she was of the Divine Tribe, like our Fae. Most of them fled Elibe near the Scouring's start. Why Iðunn stayed, I don't know. And I heard she was quite young then- hardly more than a child. She'd be in her early middle-age, now. Why and how she became the Demon, I can't say at all. But I do know Athos was quite clear she'd been killed." He shrugs helplessly, fully aware that raises more questions than it answers. "Bloodline, huh?" The old man nods, using his fork to delicately apportion some quinoa on his plate. "It might not look it," he says with a fork-gesture towards Igrene, "but nearly everyone in Arcadia has a dragon ancestor, if one has a long enough memory. Half-humans like Sophia have a tenfold life, and might or might not transform. At a quarter, an eighth, a sixteenth, the differences hardly matter- except, perhaps, to things like Forblaze and Durandal." Sophia winces and looks away. "In fact, it might be that all humans have a very, very distant dragon ancestor," he sighs, having tuckered himself out a little. "Not that it matters now. Only... young man?" Marcus inhales, but tilts his head towards Mia- a silent response to her message- and nods hesitantly. "I'm sorry?" Roy perks up from picking at his food, startled to be addressed. "You're one-quarter dragon, aren't you? I thought I felt it. Where'd you come by your half-human parent, if not Arcadia?" Roy's face squirms. "I... no, there's some mistake, elder. My mother Ninian died of an illness. And my father Eliwood clearly wears his age. I'm certain I'd know if... if..." Gears click in his head and send goosebumps up his arms. The old man stares expectantly. "Marcus, I... what in the world? Tell him this is ridiculous. You, you wouldn't hide a thing like that from me. Marcus?" The old knight only averts his face.
Marigold	Fae is suddenly surrounded by well-meaning adults, and- at Flamel's direction- one well-meaning junior psychonaut. She sniffles and smears her tear-streaked face across Igrene's shirt while looking up, appraising the new situation with big watery eyes. "Fae knows it's for good reasons. It's always for good reasons," she sniffles at Echolalia. "Always good reasons Fae should be sad. Always good reasons Fae should be more patient. Good things always happen 'later'. When is it Fae's turn for later to be now!" Igrene looks off to the side awkwardly, stroking Fae's back. She doesn't have an answer, except a soft-murmured "Go ahead, if you're sure," to Flamel. The wave of indignation breaks. Fae tenses up and shudders, then slumps again, puff-cheeked and red and teary-eyed. "Fae doesn't know," she pouts to Flamel. "Friends always say 'I'll come back'. Lying, lying, lying. You can't stay, and Fae can't go, and Fae doesn't trust you." Lugh looks up at Flamel from his crouch, biting his lip. "I don't know. Is there some kind of special psychonauts promise we can make, Mr. Flamel?" Fae, meanwhile, is tearily nodding at Grimnir. "Fae loves everybody lots. But sometimes Fae wishes she didn't have any friends at all. Losing friends is hard... Fae can't take it." Clarine is trying unsuccessfully to apply Etrurian table manners to Arcadian food, while Rutger next to her eats without any rhyme or reason but with perfect fastidiousness. She scolds her about that, but it never sticks. "If you want to be a proper lady, you've got to use your dessert spoon here." "Not proper. And I don't have honey on my shirt." "Rrrr- well, maybe if you wore something other than that blood-red tabard, avoiding stains would be something to brag about!" Her frustration is habitually-performed more than real, though, which both of them know. She smiles up at Petra only a little suspiciously when the Corrupting Lesbian approaches. "Hello, Petra. I'm reading about military history and the Etrurian command structure. What are you up to?" "... Weird for you." "I don't know. Something about this village made me think of all the things I'll never become." Eyes on Fae. And then to scarred Cecilia: "And all the things I still can. Even if, er, dragons are a little less majestic than I thought they'd be, it's still..." She makes an ambiguous gesture.
Desire Stars	First one you earned? Ace smiles. "Yeah," he says. "I never thought of it that way, but guess it is." Rolling it across his fingers, he traps it between his middle and ring, then palms it. "But that's not what it means to me. How to explain it..." He glances over towards Fae. "It's kind of like Fae's stone. Or the old man's, if he still had it. Not that I can just change my shape whenever I want... but it's a reminder of what used to be--when the world seemed a lot smaller. It's also a reminder that I'm different from most people." He goes after the undisclosed reptile meat on his plate. "Tell me something," he says, between bites. "I've seen you live through stuff that'd put most people in the ground. Have you ever asked yourself why that is? Why someone like you exists? Or is it just something you worked at, on purpose?" Neon hasn't sat down yet. Fae is well attended, but there's something else that has her attention--Roy and Marcus. You, you wouldn't hide a thing like that from me. Marcus? "Marcus... Roy obviously trusts you a lot. If there's something he should know, shouldn't he hear it from you?"
Trudy Grimm	> "You're still so kind to me." Trudy closes her eyes with a little smile, "I don't have many people in my life who deserve kindness. That just means I have more on tap for those who do." Her eyes open once again as the Old Man shares his knowledge, her gaze fixed on the half-eaten roll in her hand. She turns it over, watching how the sun and shadows play across its rich texture. > "She was of the Divine Tribe, like our Fae. Most of them fled Elibe near the Scouring's start. Why Iðunn stayed, I don't know. And I heard she was quite young then- hardly more than a child. She'd be in her early middle-age, now. Why and how she became the Demon, I can't say at all. But I do know Athos was quite clear she'd been killed." Trudy's eyes shift from the food in her hand towards Sophia, still clearly hung up on the girl's startling resemblance to their quarry. Whatever ideas she has don't seem to fit, though. One by one, in the library of her mind, she tucks them away to contemplate later as more information is uncovered. Instead, she only shares what she knows for certain, eyes closing again, "The woman who is advising-- or perhaps, controlling-- King Zephiel and thus Bern as a whole, looks remarkably like your sweet Sophia. Not identical, but-- she could be mistaken for an older sister, or perhaps her mother. It's stuck in my mind since I met her. I don't suspect her of foul play, but something has me convinced there's some connection yet to be revealed to me." "That woman calls herself Iðunn, but would that description match the girl you knew?" The business with Roy gets her attention, green eyes shifting his direction, then onward to the old knight Marcus when he's questioned further, "Oh come on now, is it really so salacious?" Near Fae, Grimnir leans forward a bit and settles down, sinking down amidst his bulky traveler's coat as he is known to do. While this is something he pretends is just for comfort, it also puts him conveniently at eye-level with the young dragon. His gaze shifts to his palm though as he taps the ashes out of his pipe, "You know... They say that the two sons of the Allfather had their first adventure when they were ten and nine summers." The now emptied pipe is used to point at Fae directly, indicating this seemingly unrelated story is in fact relevant, "Oh, how angry their mother was, but those young boys knew what they were doing would be the right thing in the end. By the time they returned to Asgard, soaking wet and with the sword of Surtr carried between them, even she had to forgive." His head cants. One could intuit a wink, if he had more than one eye, "I'll have to share the in-between part later. Rest assured the lesson is clear. Heh heh..." "Have you figured it out? You're a bright girl, I know you can."
Echolalia	The pamphlets describe Ran as a being that loves all her children and is saddened when they kill and torment one another, hench 'Tears of Ran'. The best way to make Ran happy is to live your best life without harming others and to break bread with your neighbors when you can, so to speak. The pamphlets are kind of made for people living on the Nine Moons though so there's undoubtedly lots of strange terms in them that don't translate well from space colonies to medieval knights. Even so. Echolalia glancesback to the meeting for a moment--Marcus's fretting is making her a bit nervous too. But she focuses on Fae. She's at a loss. Sure, they let her fight for her home, but taking her along on a WAR where she'd kind of innately be a high priority target, well--it's hard to justify that no matter how amazing her stat growths are. She supposes SHE could stay. How much longer has this war got? A couple years? She'd have to go home eventually though even if she gave up on the war itself. And besides, there's still the other kids leaving. ''Always good reasons Fae should be sad. Always good reasons Fae should be more patient. Good things always happen 'later'. When is it Fae's turn for later to be now!'' "Gosh... When you put it like that, you've really put me in a pickle, Fae!" Echolalia sits right down on the ground. Flamel says her reaction to this is apocalyptic. It's not just a kid being pouty. "Hey Flamel... Can't we like... give her one of our radios maybe? That way she can always be in contact with everyone. I know it's not the same as being WITH everyone but maybe we can still keep her company over comms. Or maybe we can set up a Warpgate here so we can pay a visit whenever we find one on the road? I don't think we can leave until we figure this out, Flamel! Do you got any bright ideas?? I don't want Fae to be sad. I know you're a good guy, Flamel...!" She gives Flamel the patented Echolalia pleading-face stare. "Maybe I could ...stay behind until the war's over? Gossshh...." She punches the air with both hands repeatedly. "This isn't fair, Flamel! You gotta figure this out, man! Unfair! Unfair! Unfair!" ''Grimnir winking and nodding and going ehh? ehhh?'' "...Oh, like, you mean Fae should just..." She remembers to lower the tone of her voice rather than shout this out for everyone. "Are you saying Fae should like sneak out and join us sneakily or something???"
Dysnomia	If Dysnomia could still feel the currents of time roilng underneath her, she was sure that this would be a loci of it. A pivotal moment, a churning pool in the rapids of possibilities. The inevitable revelation, and the hundred hundred potentail flavors of its potential resolution. She was blind, for once, to those possibilities. It made her feel almost sick. "You, you wouldn't hide a thing like that from me. Marcus?" "Sometimes, things have to wait for their proper time." Dysnomia said, carefully. "...I didn't want to fool your army, or you. But, I would have rather waited until you found something like Arcadia to show myself. It would have meant something different, if they hadn't already met Fae and Sophia, after all." "Marcus... Roy obviously trusts you a lot. If there's something he should know, shouldn't he hear it from you?" "Neon's right, you know." Dysnomia said, her voice gentle. "All anyone else can offer is guesses." No matter how educated they might be. For once, Dysnomia's secretiveness was a virtue, ceding the moment of revelation to a time and person more suitable. "And it would mean more, from you."
Khosa	Khosa played with Fae only once. In theory, Khosa likes children. In practice, she finds them kind of uncomfortable or awkward to deal with for very long... she didn't have much of a childhood and has no idea how to interact with one. She's found during this trip that she enjoys the concept of children a lot more than the actual flesh and blood kind, and isn't sure what that says about her. It's probably a good thing she's a bit far away to hear Fae and the others talking about what she should do, though. Probably. "I thought, if they're all being made the same way, we could do something with that... a vulnerability one of them's got is one all of them's got, the war-constructs. Or some magical laws... but I'm not the best person to ask about that." Khosa has her own plans: the next time she fights one, she's going to get inside its body, see what it feels like from the inside. That's her talent, her wild talent, though Khosa has never tried to use it on anything quite so... big as those dragons. Or artificial. Animals, yes, and people, and monsters, but never something made like that. Honestly, she's a little worried about managing it, but refuses to let it show. It mostly works. "How do you not have a name?" she asks the Elder, curiously. "Gave it up?" She can't think of any reason why anyone wouldn't have a name at all - only reasons why people choose not to use them. "Don't feel you need to answer me to be polite or anything." She cranes her neck around to look at Armads' chip. "Could be because they're a different kind of dragon?" she says, making a guess. "Or... I dunno. Maybe it fixes itself if you leave it alone long enough and that's how it's survived since the Scouring?" Khosa listens in to the rest of it, and she snorts, once. "Pretty sure not all humans," she says, amused. "But you're lucky that half-dragons can have kids at all, then. Honestly, I'm surprised you can get half-dragons in the first place, but... I mean. Obviously you can." Though... she looks over between Marcus, then Roy, then - Khosa opens her mouth. Then she closes her mouth. Even she can tell when she shouldn't say anything (sometimes). I am never going to get used to dragons being people, Khosa thinks to herself, somewhat hypocritically given she's been treating Dysnomia and Echolalia like ordinary people for weeks, even if their full dragon form sometimes is unsettling. Not to mention 'everyone else in Arcadia'. She listens into Ace, too, even though it wasn't really meant for her. "Huh," is what she says, thoughtfully. Then: "Mind if I ask a question?" Hopefully the answer is no, because she's going to ask anyway: "How old are you?" She's only heard words like that from the very old, or some full dwarves. "Not dying is someone almost everyone works at, more or less," Khosa adds, even though she wasn't asked that, either. "I know I did. And look at me now, ha ha!"
Odette Raskins	During those hours Lucius spends with Odette, it quickly becomes clear she's benefiting quite a bit from his meditation lessons. Although she's not really any calmer on average than before, spending any amount of time actually focusing inwardly and letting some of the stress go through everything she's learned from him does seem to be offsetting the usual lack of sleep. When they're not meditating, she regales him with stories from the Otherworld: daring rescues from all sorts of places and with all sorts of people even in the midst of spooky stomping creatures, roving packs of zombies, and space lasering heroines. She also proudly shows off an ID card indicating her as a 'grade 7 fixer', whatever that means. She seems really proud of that one. Despite her upbeat retelling of those stories, however, there's also an underlying current of her downplaying her own role in all those things, and pie-in-the-sky'ing about how much more she could be doing if only she was faster, stronger, magically-capable, taller, and the list goes on. AT THE FEAST Peering at the chip in Armads, Odette pushes her medical glasses up to get a closer look at it before leaning back and munching on another date. "That does sound like the most likely reason. I-I mean, even the sturdiest laser scalpels need replacement parts every now and then, and the batteries alone don't..." Wait. That's not tech that exists here. "Um. E-even the stuff from the Otherworld has to be replaced sometimes, although the stuff I'm thinking of is usually replaced in months rather than.. Er. Decades and centuries." Clearing her throat at the little back and forth between Echidna and Marcus, the EMT lets out a more thoughtful noise moments later as Her train of thought continues. "Actually... Um! Miss Echidna. Does magic ore exist anywhere in this... Here?" She waves her arms around a few times, loosely trying to indicate 'the world' and not just look like she's flailing. "Something to replace or rech... Refresh tthe magic that's inside Armads? If it really is running out of power, then maybe we can add more to it." "Not that I can just change my shape whenever I want... but it's a reminder of what used to be--when the world seemed a lot smaller. It's also a reminder that I'm different from most people." Listening closely to Ace as he speaks of things she can really only guess about, Odette soon has her hand in her chin while she gnaws on some reptile meat without a hint of hesitation. "Before you became the.. Um. What you are back home, right?" She's really trying not to spill the beans about his and Neon's suits. "I-I'm kind of curious what that was like, Mister Ace. Did you.. Er. What were you like before all that? Were you more like... Most people?"
Flamel Parsons	Flamel cants his head briefly, picking up a little knowledge as it's spoken: "At a quarter, an eighth, a sixteenth, the differences hardly matter- except, perhaps, to things like Forblaze and Durandal. In fact, it might be that all humans have a very, very distant dragon ancestor, not that it matters now." He files that -- and knowledge of Roy's plausible draconic heritage -- away for later. Somehow, it feels relevant. Didn't Durandal try to... He focuses on Fae. He has to, after all! Her psychic blast is still causing tears to streak down his cheeks, despite his cheerful optimism. "That can be so tough, can't it? Losing friends... It can really, really be so difficult." He taps his cheek, looking to Lugh. "A Psychonauts promise... You know, we're not really allowed to invade the minds of the young. And, well, she probably has more years on me but I don't like to violate the spirit of the law either -- these days I have an ethics board on my butt about stuff. Still..." He leans in really close, whispering. "I do have surveillance bugs!" He snaps his fingers. It's a classic spy gadget, after all. "Not insect-bugs -- it's a special kind of thing that'll let you see and hear what we're doing, and know where we are, all the time!" He pulls out one of his surveillance bug monitors, flips the screen on, and points to one of the wagons in Roy's caravan. "See how you can see and hear from that?" A bit grainy, a bit staticky, but... He puts his fingers to his lips, imploring a little secrecy. "Limited surveillance can be a nice way to build trust! It can also destroy it, though. Do you think that would make for some better trust? Would that make all this less sad?"
Petra Soroka	"I couldn't help either... I hoped Forblaze wouldn't reject me..." There is no response that could have gotten Petra deeply, achingly invested faster than that one. She reflexively reaches out for Sophia's injured hand when she shows it to her, then flinches back to not aggravate the wound further, but her agitation remains. "But-- but you were at least..." 'There', Petra doesn't say, having succeeded an empathic skill check that usually takes weeks for her to even attempt. "... I wonder if there's a way we could trick it? Or convince it, like we did with Armads? I mean... we are fighting for the side that the Eight Heroes would've, like, preferred to fight for." She adds at how Sophia holds the grimoire, attempting 'understandingly-sympathetic', "... That was Athos's, right?" "Er.. H-hey, Petra. Come on, who knows when we'll get to eat stuff like this again? Besides, we're..." Petra smiles stiffly, not feeling confident enough in herself at all to muster up any snottiness towards Odette. The difference between a Petra who's feeling secure, and one who's feeling insecure, might be most obvious when approached by the technically innocent but still very abusable Odette. The emotional incentives that this observation drives one towards are unclear. "Well, uh-- you are, sure. I don't need anything; I'm fine." "While the Scouring was going on, I hid." After shaking the old man's hand-- the texture of soft old person skin gets stuck in Petra's head for reasons she can't place, and she surreptitiously tries to scrub her hand on her shirt to overwrite the texture-memory-- Petra gets gutted for a second time by as many residents of Arcadia. That line, actually, immediately gives context to the vague sense of dread Petra got from touching a sad old person: imagine making that mistake, the one that Petra made now (not that she had a choice) and back with Applied Ontology, and the one that Sophia feels like she made, and then when the opportunity comes around to run it back, your ability to do anything about it has vanished. Petra is now 10% more afraid of aging! "Ah, uh... well, you're being a good help now. I kind of have no idea how I'd wrap my head around all this stuff with, like, centuries and millenia and all, otherwise...." "I know... she was of the Divine Tribe, like our Fae." Well, there goes Petra's ability to categorize the tribes of dragons into good guys and bad guys. Why does this have to be so complicated? First the dragons are bad, and then, there's good ones in Fae and Sophia?? Why must the world be so cruel to Petra specifically. "Would that divine dragon breath only hurt... non-divine dragons more? Like, can we trace some sort of, alternate origin from the fake dragons we've been fighting, that would separate them from how the real Iðunn was? The Iðunn that's dicking around with King Zephiel now must have some kind of draconic origin to her power." "but nearly everyone in Arcadia has a dragon ancestor, if one has a long enough memory." In her head, Petra translates this into 'everyone has the same dragon ancestor'. She rotates the implications of this for a short bit before discarding them. "At a quarter, an eighth, a sixteenth, the differences hardly matter- except, perhaps, to things like Forblaze and Durandal." "Damn," Remarks Petra, unthinkingly, "Imagine outliving your great great great great great great grandkids. Kinda sucks to be born a quarter dragon, huh?"
Petra Soroka	"You're one-quarter dragon, aren't you?" "Oh." Petra blinks, and turns her face to Marcus as well. "Uh? Yeah, what's that about? Weren't we all certain that every dragon outside of Arcadia was, like, totally dead? And before here, that all of them were? Why are there so many dragons around? Why--" "Oh, but you did come through here before, didn't you..." Petra thinks about the age of a dragon that could be Roy's mother, and how she died after a tiny fraction of her life was spent outside of this town, and draws a mental connection to Everhood. It's kind of fucked up that people die like that, she thinks. "What are you up to?" "Feeling a bit weird, I guess. You too?" 'Something about this village', definitely. Petra props up her lean on the corner of the table Rutger and Clarine are at, to undermine the properness of the meal arrangement a little more. "It's weird, right? That just, because of how you're born, there's some stuff that'll never be yours, no matter what you do. That there's, like, a category of experiences you're built to have, and that it's kind of a really small category when you really get any perspective on it." Petra follows up on her previous thought, talking loud enough that Roy can easily overhear even though she's not directing it at him. "Like, it has to be so weird to be a quarter-dragon here, even though outside of Arcadia it's a normal lifespan. And then, living through millenia, or... it's weird. It does make you think a bit about how, like, choosing and not choosing both restrict that category of what you can be even further, I guess."
Flamel Parsons	"Hey Flamel... Can't we like... give her one of our radios maybe? That way she can always be in contact with everyone. I know it's not the same as being WITH everyone but maybe we can still keep her company over comms. Or maybe we can set up a Warpgate here so we can pay a visit whenever we find one on the road? I don't think we can leave until we figure this out, Flamel! Do you got any bright ideas?? I don't want Fae to be sad. I know you're a good guy, Flamel...!" "Good ideas! That's a bit of what had me inspired for the bug. Buuuuut... I get the feeling Arcadia can't be having a warpgate, sending people out a lot, things like that. It's a blacksite! An isolated place. It has to maintain some secrecy. You're right, waiting until the war's over is pretty unfair for a girl who's been told to wait all her life!" Flamel nods to Echo, solemnly, sympathetically. He's hoping this'll just be the last delay, but it's hard to hide how much he's affected by the telepathic intensity of connecting with this sentiment.
Marigold	Marcus backs up a half-step, hands raised defensively. The old man just looks like he regrets bringing it up at all. In the seconds that follow, Roy's heart-aching searching look only intensifies. "Wouldn't the proper time have been before my mother died?" he pleads with Mia, but that and Neon's prompting force Marcus to grit his teeth and let his hands drop. "I'm sorry. Lord Roy. He's right. Your mother, Lady Ninian, was-- it is as he said." A little tilt towards Petra: "After returning from an Otherworld she'd hidden in, she found your father on his adventure thirty years ago. I can offer you no proof, but--" "I don't believe this! Isn't that the sort of thing I would know?!" Roy cries, practically staggering up out of his chair. Marcus winces, but continues: "--but surely you know it. How she never spoke of her family. That strange gem she often carried. How she seemed young until the sickness took her, but your father-" "Marcus, stop this..." "... surely you remember her eyes." Roy half-chokes and puts a hand to his chest. The army has seen a lot by now, but the gazes resting on Roy have become just a little more guarded, now. "Then... then why not tell me?" he chokes out. "I thought I knew her." "You did, Lord Roy. You knew the 'Ninian' she wanted to die as." "But didn't anyone trust me?!" That wounds Marcus the worst of all. He looks over to Trudy and shakes his head leadenly, and his reply acts as an answer to them both: "It was a different time. People weren't ready. Maybe they still aren't. Dragons are the vanquished enemy. Wouldn't it be dangerous to tell the people that they walk among us? And that we're to be ruled by the son of one?" Lilina has by now gravitated over from the Fae pile, growing increasingly anxious and indignant with every word. For a moment it seems like she might be about to lay into Marcus... and then, instead, she hugs Roy's waist from behind. "... I'm sorry, Roy. I miss your mother too." He tenses up, and then the fight goes out of him, and he slumps forward from her embrace. "Auuhhh..."
Marigold	"Have you ever asked yourself why that is? Why someone like you exists?" Echidna takes a good second to chew on that, under the guise of chewing on her food. "No. She's just a normal person who should take better care of herself," Larum says half-poutily from behind her shoulder, but Echidna holds up a hand as she swallows. "Dunno why. It'd be flattering to think I've just worked harder, but I am made different. I stay too busy to worry about 'why'. I can't change or forfeit it-" did she look at the old man just then?- "so I've just got to use it to help people. Sounds like you've got more time for 'why' than me, huh?" She arches an eyebrow when Khosa asks Ace his age too, silently echoing it. To Odette, she shrugs her great big shoulders before turning back to her food: "Damned if I know. The Western Isles have everything from tin to silver, but I still don't know what Armads is made of." That strange beautiful man who attends her chimes in: "It's known that many things from before the Scouring simply can't be reproduced now. Something in the fabric of the world changed. We can certainly hope Armads will mend itself, but once the pages of Forblaze are consumed..." Elffin shrugs, looking to Khosa. There's no replacing it. "Hah. No pressure, huh?" "That woman calls herself Iðunn, but would that description match the girl you knew?" That furrows the old man's bushy brow with worry. "I never met Iðunn, thank goodness," he hastens to say, "only heard of her. But... Sophia's dragon parent was also of the Divine Tribe. We were never more than a few thousand. If she's her cousin, or niece..." He lowers his voice so Sophia can't hear, but she does anyway, and the look they share is disquieted. Nobody wants to be related to the Demon. "The next time you see that woman," the old man says, "see if she has a 'brand' on her body, or slitted eyes in the light." He smiles tiredly at Khosa, then shakes his head a little. "No; nothing so dramatic as giving it up. Humans can't hear or speak the dragon language--" Fae's crooning is half-audible at the best of times-- "and I'm too close to death to bother with a proper human name now." "Elder... you've been saying that for centuries..." Sophia gently prods. "Hmph. I'll die this year. You just see." About half-dragons: "The stones make a lot of things possible. Including just talking to each other. Not to excuse it, but it's no wonder we fought long ago."
Marigold	Sophia has absorbed passive misery from the Roy-centered exchange, but has no idea how to solve it, so she slips around the tables with Petra to sit on the opposite side of her from Clarine and Rutger, thumbing that heavy book. Her other hand holds a single date for tiny nibbles. Answering one of Petra's questions in the old man's stead: "I think... Fae's breath hurt them more, because they're dark magic beings... not because of what kind of dragon made them." So that can't disprove that the modern Iðunn is the same as the ancient one. Rats. "... That was Athos's, right?" "It was..." she murmurs. "I was stupid... this isn't, um, the kind of magic I'm good at... even if it didn't reject me, I shouldn't have tried. But right then, it felt like fate..." Her mentor's signature magic, used in desperation to defend her mentor's home from her mentor's enemies. Her face tenses while her fingers trace the cover's ornate designs, hand staying mostly limp to not aggravate the wounds. "... I guess my fate of being useless was stronger." "Don't put yourself down like that. It isn't polite," Clarine cranes around to say. "! ... I'm sorry." "And don't be sad like that either. You've been more of a help than I ever was, so it's not allowed." "Haha... okay..." "I understand, though," Clarine sighs. The way she eyes Petra indicates a wary sincerity, to match the other blonde's. "I used to think life was infinite. Sometimes I even thought about dressing up as a man to join the military, but I suppose that's small potatoes." Rutger stares at her like she's grown a second head. "Being reminded that it isn't... well, it's soothing in a way. Does it soothe you too?" "...Oh, like, you mean Fae should just..." Whether or not Igrene, huddled over Fae, has figured out Grimnir's little puzzle- Fae has, by the awed slight widening of her eyes- she catches Echo starting to add to it for sure. "If you're about to say 'run away with you', don't," Igrene says guardedly. "She isn't even just a child. She's a child with a ten-thousand year future ahead of her. Which means she has to take a hundred times less risks than most people, and a thousand times less than you, old man. If she ran off on every adventure, she'd have died centuries ago." Uh-oh. That doesn't sound like a malleable stance, and Igrene is the closest to a mom that Fae has. Fae and Lugh clearly don't understand a thing about Echo and Flamel's technological solutions, but the way they look at each other and the grown-ups indicates a tentative hope. Igrene hesitantly nods along with the idea of keeping up comms, and scrutinizes the bug technology closely, as if she might discern some hidden evil in it. "Seeing friends from far away... is that okay, Igrene?"
Marigold	"Do they know you've been peeping on them?" she finally says, about the view from the wagon. But then she sighs. "Fine, I suppose." "Really?!" "It risks breaking our secret, but we're past that point already. I can't sacrifice your happiness to minimize every risk, Fae." "Auhh, tha-ha-annk you! Thank you! Igrene is the best! Thank you, E-cho-la-li-a! Thank you, Mr. Griever! I can look at you and talk to you whenever I want??" She leans up on tiptoes, half-escaping Igrene's hug, to try and hug them too. Chad, deeply relieved, filches the ball back from Liliana and crouches down next to the group hug. "Hey. Your mom's right about memories, though. Want to go finish up our set?" "Y-yeah!" Her eyes, still teary, almost sparkle.
Echolalia	''I get the feeling Arcadia can't be having a warpgate.'' "Dang!" Echolalia says. "Oh but--something to keep in touch is okay?" A SPY GADGET way to keep in touch! Surely, this won't result in any sort of hijinks. "That's a pretty good idea...!" ''If you're about to say 'run away with you', don't.'' Echolalia actually did say that, if softly. Her cheeks get a little darker and greener. "Well... I wasn't suggestin' it..." Echolalia mumbles. "But I dunno if 'four hundred year old child' is quite the same as being a nine year old child even if in some ways it is--like, otherwise she'd be feeling like she's only experienced a few years of goodbyes rather than a few centuries, right? Man, I guess I can't really imagine it yet." She cups her chin, puzzling out fantasy lifespans for a moment. Wait, even though she's not a child mentally, she's still got centuries left in ''her'' lifespan too, at least potentially. If she keeps taking risks herself will probability mean an early grave?? "Huh..." Echolalia says, now thinking of her family all dying and her sticking around. "Huhh...." She shakes her head to clear away her thoughts. She can do what she always does whne she's kind of considering something she doesn't really want to consider and that's to just not think about it. She clears her head and becomes invincible. "Well, it seems like you get to keep us company. I know long distance isn't quite the same, but now you can ''make sure'' we won't forget...! I mean, you know, not that I was plannin' on it or anything." Echolalia happily returns Fae's hug and lifts her up in the air with a Nononesque "Ga Ha Ha!" before setting her back down. "Chad's right, go have fun...!" She says, turning to Flamel and giving him a thumbsup. And then looks back to Grimnir and gives him a thumbsup too. "I don't know you at all but thanks! Fistbump!" She attempts to fistbump Grimnir and then hesitates with Flamel because he's old do old people fistbump she's not sure. Wait IS he even old? She makes the motion anyway just to be safe.
Trudy Grimm	> "The next time you see that woman, see if she has a 'brand' on her body, or slitted eyes in the light." The witch pauses, glancing back towards the Old Man. While she had listened to his entire answer, regarding the Divine tribe and how he had not actually met the one who carried the name Iðunn, it's the directive that catches her attention the most. She blinks slowly at him for a moment, then lifts her eyes skyward in thought. Had she noticed anything, that one time she had met that woman up close? Details escape her memory. Returning her gaze to the elder, Trudy nods once, "Alright. Thank you, Grandfather. If I meet her again in person, this gives me something to look for to confirm that woman's identity." The corner of her lip curls, "She may use that name, ahh, but that doesn't necessarily mean that is who she is, no?" "Oh, I am not saying much of anything," Grimnir closes his eye with a laugh, "Your wish to keep this little one safe is heartfelt and genuine. No power I have could possibly get in your way." He glance down, rummaging in his sleeve as Igrene's attention is stolen by Flamel's tech demonstration. Hopefully while her attention is still occupied, he pulls out some honey candies wrapped in wax paper and reaches out to slip them to Fae, "Hearts filled with love are precious things, and powerful too." His grandfatherly duty completed, Grimnir does not hesitate to return Echolalia's fistbump-- without even looking. Right after the bump, he draws his hand back and spreads his fingers out.
Desire Stars	Auuhhh... Neon steps forward, plate in one hand, the other outstretched to rest upon and squeeze Roy's shoulder as Lilina embraces him. "I know how it feels to be..." Her brows knit together, as she searches for a word. An emotion felt profoundly, but rarely expressed. "'Handled,' like you're going to break if people don't take care. Like you have to be protected from the world. Even if it's true that the world is a dangerous place, it feels awful to have things kept from you, or kept out of your reach, by people who go out into that world all the time." She sighs. Her food is getting cold. As cold as it can in a place like this, anyway. "Roy... the way things are right now, the world is pretty hostile to... little refuges. I think Marcus knows that. And I think he's willing to fight to make it a place you can live in, as the best, most real Roy you can be. Otherwise... well, he wouldn't be here, at your side, fighting Bern with just a handful of soldiers, would he?"
Desire Stars	How old are you? Sounds like you've got more time for 'why' than me, huh? For his answer to Khosa, Ace smiles, his usual smug variety. Despite that, though... he does have something more substantial to give to Echidna, and doesn't seem to mind Khosa listening. "Yeah. For what it's worth, I feel the same way about putting it to good use." I-I'm kind of curious what that was like, Mister Ace. Did you.. Er. What were you like before all that? Were you more like... Most people? "I've never been like most people," Ace answers Odette with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. It'd look smug, like his usual, if it didn't look so much more distant. Maybe the direct questions from Khosa and Echidna have him in a sharing mood--or maybe he just figures that his reputation for deception and his quietly boastful demeanor will render half of what he says in a doubtful light at the very least. "Even before I became a mercenary." That's the word he and Neon use with Dieck and the others in Roy's army. It's not entirely untrue. "As for what it was like in those days... languages, calendars, measurements, technology, that was different, sure. But people, and the things that moved them--those were mostly the same. I was less experienced about what other people are like than I am now. Less familiar with myself, too, I guess. Less disciplined." "Originally, mercenaries like Neon and I... the reward was the prestige at the end of your stint. The best among them would get one of these," he says, holding up the coin. "This represented a power that you couldn't seem to escape. No matter where you went, no matter how strange the people or the sights, the agents of that power would be there, advancing its interests--and crushing anyone who got in its way." A pause, to look evenly between the three of them. Khosa, Odette and Echidna are probably all familiar, in their own ways, with that sort of power; one for the history of her people, one for her daily life and the third for the very context in which she met Roy's army. "To have this meant that power recognized you, out of all of the others, as the best of the best." He smiles smugly, flipping the coin into the air with his thumb. "It was alright, I guess. Didn't get me what I really wanted." A little nod towards Echidna and Khosa. "Besides--enough pressure, from enough directions, and even something that seems inescapable shatters into pieces. Right?" A knowing smile. Maybe a little reassuring for Echidna, too, if the implication is that he saw an inescapable force shatter in his lifetime. "How long have you been a--mercenary?" asks a late-to-the-conversation Neon, sitting down to pick at her food finally after consoling Roy. Ace flips the coin again, catching it with the same hand. "Since 1 A.D." Neon shakes her head. "Don't be ridiculous." "Don't bother asking questions if you don't want to hear the answer."
Flamel Parsons	She's a child with a ten-thousand year future ahead of her. "...Otherwise she'd be feeling like she's only experienced a few years of goodbyes rather than a few centuries, right?" "Not to say she should come with us -- I think that'd be a big risk for her! -- but Echo's not wrong here. Ten thousand years of life is important to preserve, but ten thousand years of regret can be pretty awful too. Not all years are equal!" Flamel sheepishly tempers any holding Fae back, because, well, he's still feeling what she's feeling! "Do they know you've been peeping on them?" "Every day," He emphasizes, with bouncing hand motions. "Every day, I say to people: 'I'm an agent of a vague yet menacing government organization!' Or, 'I'm an acolyte of a mysterious yet ominous order!' Or anything I can do, to tell people who I am, and what I'm like, and what I do. I promise you this: If someone thinks I'm not surveilling them to further a mysterious agenda, I think at this stage they're just not listening!" He laughs brightly, his annoyance pretty much all performative. "In this case, my agenda is the wellbeing of a small child who's trying her best."
Dysnomia	The army has seen a lot by now, but the gazes resting on Roy have become just a little more guarded, now. Dysnomia could feel the eyes turned toward them, the suspcion, the undercurrent. Nothing direct or individual, just the background radiation, a backwash of thoughts. She stirred, her eyes turned momentarily outward. Go on. Watch. Take it in. "People weren't ready. Maybe they still aren't. "... I'm sorry, Roy. I miss your mother too." Still scared? She breathed through her teeth, as though her standing there stiff-backed had any influence on the people watching as the little lordling they'd followed her broke down in tears. It takes her a long moment to register that there's nothing to defend them from. She offers Marcus a sad little smile. It might take a while for him to forgive you. She thought-spoke, for the record, though she was sure he already knew. But. I think this was one of the best ways this could've ended. It was strange to say that, when she wasn't actually certain. But it...Felt right. "... I guess my fate of being useless was stronger." "You know, fate is a hard thing to understand, even when you can see the flow of it." Dysnomia said, finally allowing her attention to shift from Roy, "Even a perfect lens is limited by its perspective. And no lens is perfect." "It's an easy trap, to let what you think is true bleed into the ways you interpret your visions. And your present." Her eyes lingered on the book a while longer. It still sit ill in her, that that man had spent the rest of his life helping guard a village of humans and dragons. It grated, a piece of sand in her shoe, grinding against her image of the Eight Heroes--or was it generals? "Who knows...Maybe you'll take after him in other ways."
Khosa	Khosa is still trying not to listen in on Marcus and Roy, because it feels... wrong. Voyeuristic. She is giving them the politeness she learned in close living in camps: pretend it doesn't exist unless it affects you, so that someone else will give you the same courtesy later. If she really needs to talk, she will. "Ah, that's not so bad," Khosa agrees with the Elder and his name. "I'm only half-human myself, though. Feel free to give it a shot if you want." Though, a dwarf is no less mortal, and Khosa does not really expect to hear anything clearly - but she's damn well going to try, if she can focus through it. As for dying this year or another: "I dunno. You might not want to go until you see how this ends," Khosa adds, popping another one of her lizard-wrapped dates in her mouth with a deliberate look toward Roy and Fae. Beyond that she doesn't press. Instead, Khosa leans well over to get a better look at Armads. "Metal?" is her flippant response, though judging from the grin it's meant to be taken lightly. "I don't know. I assumed it was steel. I know that a long time ago, where I'm from, they made metals out of iron that nobody knows how to make anymore. They don't exist outside ruins and maybe some treasure vaults, and they're worth a fortune if you find any... I don't own anything that old myself. I guess it's the same here, huh?" Khosa cranes her neck around to look at Clarine, thinks twice before answering, and speaks to Sophia instead. "You know, I kind of want to hear about this Athos. I wonder if the name means anything. I'm from a world called Athas. It's probably nothing, but you never know." A pause. "But fate's not a thing - I mean it is but it isn't the last word. It gets a say but it's not all-powerful, and being useless isn't anyone's fate. What's important is how you act. Maybe it was a little foolish, but it'd be worse to try nothing and then never know." Ace, though. Khosa is absolutely familiar with that sort of power, and she nods, slowly. She understands him better, now; in some ways they're the same, though in other ways they couldn't possibly be further apart. "I get it," she agrees. "As for the pressure, it all depends how you push. And which way." How long have you been a mercenary? The answer is meaningless to her. "What year is it now," she asks with a sigh, because she expects to have to do conversion to the Athasian calendar, again. (It isn't obvious to her that '1 AD' is a very, very long time ago.) "And what changed the calendar?" A longer look at Ace, and Khosa makes a completely wrong guess: "Please tell me it wasn't you."
Petra Soroka	"... I guess my fate of being useless was stronger." A seer saying that about herself, in the context of a conversation about the potential encoded into a person from birth, to Petra Soroka, is particularly rough. She winces, sympathizes, slides Sophia up a dozen more ranks of likeability, and then sighs while trying to get her thoughts together. "Yeah... because you feel like you're supposed to be the 'next generation' and all, right? Like, who else around got mentored by him? Who else has a more personal connection with the tome than you? It's fucked up feeling that, like, after spending most of your life there learning from him, it's not-- it's just not an option that was ever in the category of things you could've done, ever." "Well, um, I'm projecting a bit, maybe." Petra drops her eyes to the ground, leaning back on her heels with her palms braced on the table. "But, um, what you wanted to do was protect the place you love, right? Not necessarily that you wanted to get all the credit for it. So... really, by leading the army here, you managed that better than anyone else could've; even if you'd been here the whole time and were able to use Forblaze." "I think it has to be alright to be 'second place' like that. Maybe the best you can do is support other people who can do better, but you still care about those people, and care about the result of all of it, right?" Petra awkwardly flickers her gaze away and picks at the table with a fingernail, ending her explanation with a trailing "So, yeah...." "Sometimes I even thought about dressing up as a man to join the military, but I suppose that's small potatoes." "God, you too?" Petra damns Clarine to yet another association with herself, and drags Rutger down by glancing over to her too. After all, that was why Clarine was so confused at first, right? "I mean, I was lucky that, like, the military in my world already accepted women. But there's still a whole... association with it all." "That, uh, 'like this', you couldn't ever run off and do something dangerous, because no one would ever take you seriously, but you can put on, like, a costume that makes people respect you more. I really liked those stories when I was a kid. Not that I ever would, but--" Petra hesitates for a moment, and in that moment, she has to grapple with the fact that for once she is intensely grateful that Lilian isn't present. "But I did steal a guy's military jacket." "Being reminded that it isn't... well, it's soothing in a way. Does it soothe you too?" "... I don't really know." Petra sighs and sinks against the table. "I don't really know if it's soothing, or, just, like, I've just figured I'm fine with-- like I was saying to Sophia. I mean... either way it's not like you ever get to work less hard."
Petra Soroka	"I thought I knew her." Petra listens to Roy's revelation from a somewhat awkward distance, because these sorts of dramatic teary breakdowns have magnetic opposition to her approaching when she feels like she's too inexperienced or sheltered to have anything emotionally relevant to say. She likes Roy, though, and so spends the mental chips in order to attempt to generate an understanding of how he's feeling. In doing so, she imagines how she would feel if one of her parents turned out to be half-dragon, and feels a reflexive glimmer of surprise and disbelief that she is hereditarily descended from her parents. Maybe there isn't a good well of experience there to draw from. "Um... but you didn't know anything about her family before now either, right? And it wasn't that important to you then. Having a big blank space on half your family tree was just... fine, and didn't bother you, because you just were happy being 'your mother's son', right?" Petra attempts to reason out her feelings, predicated mostly on the biological nonissue of being a quarter dragon, sounding like none of her questions are actually rhetorical to Roy.
Odette Raskins	"I don't need anything; I'm fine." ODette furrows her brow at Petra, peering at her thoughtfully while trying to decipher why she's not eating. It's possible that the cuisine style might not be to Petra's liking, or there's something in it that she's allergic to, but that doesn't seem quite right here. It's more like she's being... Standoffish? Distant? Like she's uncomfortable, but about what? "Well, uh-- you are, sure." It takes Odette a bit longer to remember and reprocess what Petra just said. Petra just called her a hero, didn't she? Now it's Odette's turn to try not to show too much, although the corners her mouth do turn up a bit as she struggles to hold even that in. "Ah, w-well... If that's the case, you'd still fit right in! I mean, sure, there's stuff that you did on other worlds, but it's not the same as here, right? So it should be okay. Besides..." She looks over at the various little groups of people mingling, eating, chatting each other up. "It looks like a lot of people are.. Um. Busy with some heavy stuff-" She says, deliberately trying not to put more eyes on Fae or Roy despite really wanting to go over there to help them somehow. "-and a lot of this food might go to waste if not enough people eat it." She guesses, not really knowing what exactly the people of Arcadia do with their older leftovers. Still, it worked on her, and perhaps.. Wait. Crap. What if she's dieting? Odette hadn't considered that before, and it's a jarring enough shock to realize that her own face goes a little stiff as she tries to backpedal immediately. "Oh, but if you're not hungry, then yeah! Y-you shouldn't force yourself. Um. Sorry!" "Damned if I know." "We can certainly hope Armads will mend itself, but once the pages of Forblaze are consumed..." Thankfully, Echidna and Elffin gives Odette an out with more talk of the Armads and technology from the Scouring. "Darn. I haven't heard of self-mending metals even back home, but... No, I've only seen that for medical treatment and cutting boards." Elffin says something else that gets her attention, though, and she follows his gaze over to KHosa for a moment before looking over at Sophia as well. "That's right... Books can't really regrow pages, no. But what about copying them over to a new one?" It couldn't possibly be that easy, though, and she continues. "Father Lucius mentioned that magic's done by writing the symbols correctly, and most of these tomes jsut have.. Erm. Partially-complete patterns. Could we still get.. Like. A weaker version of Forblaze put together that way? With Miss Sophia's help, maybe it could even be as good...?" "I guess my fate of being useless was stronger." "Mmn.. Miss Sophia, everyone knows that you aren't useless!" Odette calls over to Sophia, sitting up a bit to gesture widely around at everyone. "If you didn't lead us here, who knows what would've happened to the village? Or Miss Cecilia, if you didn't take care of her as long as you did?" "B-besides, I don't even know how to use magic properly or fight anyone yet. How's that supposed to make me feel?" She asks in a joking tone, putting on a clearly fake pout while not realizing just how hypocritical she might sound right now.
Odette Raskins	"I've never been like most people," "As for what it was like in those days..." Ace's demeanor and general vibes do certainly have the intended effect on Odette, at least, even with her trying to actively decipher what he really means as he speaks. Does mercenary mean something else in idol-speak than it does for everyone else? No, she's just overthinking things. He must be talking about slang and technology, and that already makes plenty of sense as is. "I think I get it... Even the stories mom and dad told me about from when they were younger made it sound like people were just.. The way they are now, but a couple of decades ago. They didn't know much back then, either, and... Yeah, it sounds like you and them and everyone else go through that same kind of thing as they... You got older." She gives Ace a reassuring smile at that, like she's trying to get his smile to reach his eyes, and- "No matter where you went, no matter how strange the people or the sights, the agents of that power would be there, advancing its interests--and crushing anyone who got in its way." "Besides--enough pressure, from enough directions, and even something that seems inescapable shatters into pieces." -then her smile goes a little more open-eyed, like she's holding it to avid showing too much herself and failing. If even he has that kind of corporate structure existing in his world.. No, in his world's history, does that mean things really are as hopeless for hers as it feels? "So even reaching that.. Erm. This point you're at. I-it doesn't sound like it's all it's cracked up to be..." No, that can't be it. That's why everyone she looks up to has been fighting the way they have, right? That's why he brought it up at all. "That pressure... If a little isn't enough, then there just needs to be more." She affirms with a quick nod, that forced smile turning into another firm one before long. "And not just from one or two people, but a whole... E-everyone, working together, right? All the mercenaries and the.. Heck, even the smaller rulers, to get rid of those agents trying to crush it all. Like..." She looks around at the gathered heroes, locals, and everyone in between, getting fired up enough to even pump her fists at her sides. "L-like everyone here!"
Marigold	To the best of Trudy's recollection, that woman's eyes had been shaded by her hair and hood; the light never shined harshly into them. No-one saw a 'brand' of the same kind Fae has, but then, nine-tenths of that woman's body had been covered up. "You're very welcome, young lady," the elder sighs in his slightly-quavery tones. "Even though signs point that way, I have a feeling our 'Iðunn' isn't the Demon of the Scouring. If the Demon truly returned, she wouldn't need Bern." "Uuuuaaaaah! Ehehe!" Fae has all the normal kid reactions to being scooped up, except maybe that she's a little more used to heights. Her legs kick giddily, and she squirms out of Echo's hands and manifests downy wings to flutter back to the ground on her own. "E-cho is the best... Fae will make extra-extra sure she doesn't forget!" "I don't think it's complicated," says Igrene from her crouch. "Fae's nine, and she's been nine for a hundred years; and she was eight for a hundred years before that. She's just a kid who's experienced at being a kid. And that includes lots of experience being manipulative," she sighs fondly, rising to dust herself. "... But she really is trying her best." Fae turns and winks back at Grimnir just then, hiding the candies in her sleeve.
Marigold	Echidna stares at Ace for a good long moment. Her eyes believe him, after a glance to Neon. But her mouth says "Bullshit," and then she laughs. "You're, what, maybe fifty? Looking at Lucius, I could buy that. Sounds like you were a real piece of work when you were younger; glad that wore off. Is helping people getting you what you really want, though? Or just filling the hole?" For Khosa, she shrugs lightly, cradling the cursed axe almost like a baby to get a closer look at its nicked head. "Dunno. It's not like 'don't know how anymore'. It's like..." She tilts her head back, looking up at the sky as the first stars come out. "After the Scouring, the world went a little off-kilter. I think the bookish types called it the 'Ending Winter'. Old star charts are wrong. The seasons are different. Magic can do less. I think trees don't get as big anymore." "But near the village where I grew up, there's a petrified tree, on its side. It's bigger than anything I've seen living. My uncle said if a tree got that big now, it'd just snap and fall over." Her lips press, then part, hesitantly. "... What if Armads is like that tree? What if they just don't get like that anymore. Left over from when more was possible." Elffin leans in to support her. The way his barely-open eyes scan Odette indicates an appreciation for her thought, but: "Sophia gave me a look at Forblaze. If you drew it now, parts of its diagram would resolve to a lesser spell. But Forblaze is a leftover from when magic worked differently." Who is this weirdly scholarly twink? Sophia, meanwhile, is crumpling with a sympathetic smile. "It does hurt... you understand. I, don't mind being second place... it's nice, sometimes... but I wish he had a better pupil. Um. Not that I'm too good to support people... but that 'the student of Athos' is too good for me..." Her hands worry at each other, habitually picking at cuticles where the glowy wounds didn't hit. "You know 'not living up to something', too...?" "Mm-hm, mm-hm," Clarine chin-propped-nods at Petra. "It's about the thrill of the total break, too, isn't it? To want escape so badly you'll throw your whole old self away... like a wolf chewing off its leg, but it chews everything..." Rutger, refusing to meet Petra's eyes, is turning slightly purple. "But I did steal a guy's military jacket." "Really??" +1 Clarine Crush Points
Marigold	For Khosa, Sophia brightens up, palms pressed peacefully together. "He was amazing...! Serious, gentle... He, um, had his head in the clouds a lot... and he was, 'detached', but that usually means 'cruel'... he wasn't cruel at all. I think... he was caught up in the ways knowledge could help people... but he didn't forget it was for helping people." Joking-smiling: "If anybody deserves a world named after them, it's him..." Khosa and Mia's admonitions about fate both make her eyes slide sideways and down, guiltily, but still guilty-smiling. "Sorry... complaining is another way of being useless. I'll do better." Roy is, finally, starting to recover. He flinches slightly from Neon's hand on his shoulder, but doesn't fully pull away even as he averts his face. "I know. I just wish... people could make up their minds, whether they're going to put responsibility on me or not." "Roy... it's awful you've had to carry this much already," Lilina says, craning her neck to peep over his shoulder at him. "You shouldn't be asking for more weight." "You're right. I just..." Eyes trailing over to Petra. "It wasn't nothing. It wasn't an ordinary secret. She must have had heavy feelings too. I wish my mother could've talked to me about it, instead of dying silent." A teenager probably shouldn't be thinking about sharing his parents' burdens, but that can come later. For now, Marcus smiles feebly at Mia. He'll be alright, the old knight thinks back at her. And if he's alright, I can stand being unforgiven a while. Thank you, Mia.