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Owner	Pose
Marigold	Great General Douglas and his daughter Larum are still clinging to each other in the courtyard in misty-eyed reunion.      "I'm sorry. Larum. Cecilia. For not trusting in you. What I did, I did to keep Etruria whole, but perhaps..."      "Hey, sorry, but can't you tell your men to stand down?" Echidna edges in from behind Larum.      "Oh-- SOLDIERS OF ETRURIA! CAST DOWN YOUR ARMS! Your brothers are your enemies no longer!"      "Thanks."      "Mmmmn.... never change, Echidna."      And they do (with a panicked placation of the Black Knight), except where they start to clash against the Bernish guard and assassins with Rutger's ample help. Everywhere but the central tower, still host to a few scattered enemies, green prevails against red.      Relief and a fatigued cheer passes through the gaggle of Aquleian citizens who rallied against the guards, though one of them throws a chair leg at Douglas's back. He doesn't feel it through his armor, but winces anyway, looking meaningfully at Flamel.      The former rioters murmur:      "It's over...?"      "Chancellor Roartz! Where's that traitor Roartz!"      "Oh, thank the Saint..."      "About time, old man!"      "Who's that wyvern rider? Don't let them take the King!"      Contrary to the crowd, letting 'that wyvern rider' take the King seems like a decent idea, though not the only option. There remain a few scattered Bernish archers and assassins who'd love to take a last-shot attempt on his life.      Melady, holding the wyvern's reins, and Guinivere with her arm outstretched in an offer to pull King Mordred up, both have definitely seen better days. The former's armor is dented and scratched, with evidence of a few new scars. The latter is still well-kept by her lady-in-waiting, but her once-royal robes are tattered and torn up by a prolonged misadventure, her normally-flowing hair in a tight bun for practicality.      "More than well done," Guinivere says to the tower-top Elites (though as ever she has a special fondness for Lilian), with an overflowing warmth too much for her urgent circumstances and scuffed appearance. "And here I thought we'd be staging this suicidal rescue on our own."      "I still can't believe you talked me into this, my lady."      "Yes you can."      "Alas..."      After seeing the spectacle of the jet shot down, the bulk of Roy's army must be crisply on their way- something evidenced by Shanna and Thea's pegasi in the sky to the west. Soon it'll all be settled. Etruria is yours.
Marigold	But there's something else more pressing- even moreso than Lucius's injury, now that Dieck has carefully climbed down the inner wall with him and remanded him to the care of a cleric in the crowd. (They quietly gawk at Aureola and the Saint's Staff in his possession, but decide now isn't the time.)      Sophia hasn't moved at all in a moment or three. Her eyes are on the ground-level door of the central tower; the one Ace punched a hole in, showing the back of a nobleman fleeing to the basement.      Cecilia is worriedly steadying the poor girl's shoulder. "Sophia, what is it?" She looks woozy, wide-eyed, terrified. Anyone with keen enough magical senses can pick out what Sophia's "seeing", though it's tough to tell if that presence just arrived, or if it was only hard to notice in the urgent struggle.      "Dragon," she says, pointing 'down' below the central tower- down those spiral stairs revealed by the shattered ground-floor door.      "Another one? We've dealt with--" "No!" "No?" "A... a real dragon..."      The breath catches in Cecilia's chest.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine is halfway through arguing against the wyvern as an escape route - "Galle's en route with his riders. Are you sure you can stay ahead of them with two passengers?" - when she notices the commotion downstairs. "That settles it," she says firmly. "Something bad's down there. Take Mordred and don't look back. He needs to survive at least until-" No time to explain the Myrddin situation. "He needs to make it out of here."     Then she's hustling down the stairs, and out into the courtyard to prepare for whatever's coming up from below. As she goes she forgets about Mordred's icy neck-guard and it melts, leaving the king somewhat bedraggled but ultimately not so worse for wear as the assassins would've preferred.
Riku Asakura	Poking his head in at the top of the tower, hands having had been used for offense and defense for those fighting up there, Ultraman Geed still stands like a giant over the tower and aims to protect the King from any outside attacks, but to make sure their rider gets off safely with the King so he can get medical assistance.  There wasn't much to do, but... The warning about a dragon coming puts him in a defensive position. Not all dragons are bad, but one of the major players on the other side of this thing was a dragonor claimed to be.  Riku isn't sure what will happen, but he feels bad about what might come.   Or he could be completely wrong.
Flamel Parsons	Flamel looks up with some awe, shielding his eyes. "Woah! Guinivere-- *wow*, I was planning a whole thing to go on a rescue! She really took care of things..." His smile is wide, if a bit haggard. He's set Larum aside and let her go reunite with her father in a much more healthy state for the both of them, hoping that nobody plans to hold him accountable for a few tiny hitches in that.     He doesn't get to hear Sophia's warning. He's off into the castle instantly. "Roartz, Roartz... where *is* he?!" He rambles, rapidly scanning every brain he can get his mind into for the man's location and little else. Anyone who's keeping this coup up needs to be dealt with, and now, it's a thousand times easier without a hostage! Thank goodness, nothing in the entire world can go wrong as Flamel rushes the castle and follows whatever information he can find to wherever it might lead him.     "Don't worry!" He calls out. "We've managed to find something good for nearly everyone who's surrendered so far -- so it'll all be fine!" More and more pulses of clairvoyance and astral scanning -- is he going to wind up catching a familiar brain-shape in all that? Hopefully. He's moving awfully quick in there, in and out of visibility...
Aidan Proudpick	A long relieved groan falls out of Aidan as the rest of the men stand down. He slides his hands down to his lap. Walls and wind unfurl, becoming ribbons once more, curling off into the air to fade away. A chair leg flies past Aidan's head. It bounces off Douglas' armor with little fanfare. A half hearted throw, with which Aidan blows out a breath. "If that's the worst you get," he offers to Douglas, with a little smile, "You'll be lucky. Something you have to endure. The price of living, ya know." He lifts his bag up to his shoulder and finds a place to insert himself. Some place to start- "Dragon," The medical bag drops against his side immediately, Aidan's eyes bouncing over towards the spiral staircase. From the Aidan shaped outline near one of the guards, Aidan rushes towards the spiral staircase, the tail the last thing seen as he starts down it. "I'll check!"
Odette Raskins	The battle for Etruria is over. Odette, having thoroughly embarrassed herself enough with that syringe-tossing stunt, quickly scurries over behind Echidna as the nearest loud and visible person nearby. Once the scattered fights tamp down, she gets right to work with her usual assortment of medicines and bandages and whatnot, checking on the injured citizens and guards alike even though they had been drawing blades upon each other moments ago. "D-don't worry. Roartz will.. He'll get his soon enough, okay? J-just focus on me, and tell me where it hurts." As usual, Odette's bedside manner is pretty decent, and telling people to tell her to identify their injuries is more for their sake than for hers. She has the HUD glasses to help her identify where those wounds are, after all, and sooner rather than later... It's time to check on General Douglas and Larum. "H-how are you both feeling? Um. Mister Flamel's stunt really looks like it worked, so... Did it leave any physical effects? Any nausea, any... Anything?" She asks while flinching at the chair leg impact, leaning over a moment later to glare in the vague direction of where that came from as though she might look threatening at all. Eventually, though, her attention shifts to Sophia, and the color drains from her face some at the seer's warning. It takes Odette a little while longer to actually get to Sophia, and she does so with a handful of pain meds that get distributed between her, Cecilia, Dieck, and Lucius to make sure they aren't left without. Odette looks at where Sophia's pointing, goes stone-faced, then starts trembling lightly even though she's trying quite hard not to show any fear on her face. "Sh... Should we be ready for a fight? O-or can we..." She swallows lightly, still trying to look calmer than she is. "Maybe... Divert the river into the... The basement?"
Dysnomia	Dysnomia is reporting her observations to whatever authority she can find, quick, machinelike. Crowds here. Unidentified forces here. Estimation until the rest of the army arrives. "Our goal should be to ascertion that all Etrurian troops are on the same page. The sooner we get the word out, the sooner we can present a united front againt Be--"     "Dragon,"     Dysnomia's voice immediately cuts off, her head turning toward Sophia.     "A... a real dragon..."     "Shit..." An old, leaden dread sat over her chest, pushing down, down. The smoke about her finger wrung anxiously. Dysnomia might be a dragon, but her senses magical left much to be desired. "We're here, Sophia." Dysnomia lays a hand on the seer's shoulder, trying for comforting--undercut slightly by her last exclamation. But comfort was all she could think to offer.
Desire Stars	SOLDIERS OF ETRURIA! CAST DOWN YOUR ARMS!     In the tower, Geats allows himself a satisfied chuckle. He extends the barrel of the Magnum Shooter, heading to the spot where that illustrative bottle of wine was dropped from. Propping one foot up on the lip of the window, he searches out any Bernish stragglers.     Those retreating are allowed to do so--but any who are looking to make attacks of opportunity are swiftly and decisively discouraged from doing so with quick peers down the scope and subsequent triggerpulls. And here I thought we'd be staging this suicidal rescue on our own.     "I'm just glad we got here on time," Na-Go says. "And that we could reach somebody when it counts. I'm gonna go check on Larum and Douglas now that things are calming down..."     She descends the stairs, unaware of what's going on, spotting Madeleine rushing down the stairs past her.     "What's going on?" And after the inevitable clarification--"A *real*... Odette," she calls, rushing out. "Is there anyone who absolutely shouldn't be here right now? I can take one or two and get them clear of here."
Petra Soroka	"Lady Guinivere!"     Petra looks like she's been air-fried and then rolled down a busy highway, but the combination of Guinievere and Melady showing up, along with the king definitively not being assassinated, immediately boosts her mood. Because he's old and kind of contemptible in her eyes, though, Petra interprets King Mordred as a kind of inanimate quest object who can't do anything himself. She sees Guinivere's hand out, and interprets this as a request for Mordred to be placed into her inventory via trade, so she wanders over and nudges him towards her while chattering.     "God, how have you two been managing ever since the coup? I mean-- besides the fact that you look like shit. Like-- just beat up, I mean, you still look fine otherwise, besides that. Hey, did you know that the Tower of the Saint was blasting magic at us when we flew in and we only disabled it a few minutes before you showed up?"     After whatever that is gets resolved, Petra naturally gravitates to where Sophia and the others are, so that she can be assigned a new mission for helping with clean-up of stray Bernish troops in the city. Commenting on Guinivere's state of disrepair has also made her acutely aware of her own, so she's fidgeting by tugging scorched bits of her Elibean-bought cloak off of the destroyed fabric and idly wondering if the riots will settle down soon enough for her to go buy a new one in Aquelia, when Sophia's voice makes her blood go cold. "Dragon,"     "Shit-- another one? Lucius is--" "A... a real dragon..."     Petra tenses up, her mind spitting out a dozen rationalizations for why that isn't something to worry about, while instictively knowing they're all wrong. "Not... anyone from Arcadia besides you or Fae, is it...?"
Echolalia	Echolalia is an etherwyrm and that is basically kind of sort of a dragon, at least in her own mind, and Echolalia thinks dragons...are amazing! And wonderful! And even cute after meeting Fae, and majestic and so on and so forth!! And that means she knows how dragons tend to be in media, both good and bad, and that means she has a bucket list! One such item on her bucket list is that she wants to one day sleep on a pile of gold. To be clear, she doesn't want to OWN a pile of gold. Who owns the gold is immaterial! But she wants to flop down in her dragon body on top of a pile of treasure and see what it's like and also for the pure sake of doing it once. She's honestly a bit skeptical that it would even be comfortable and it is, maybe, inviting a knight to show up and stab her a little--regardless of whose gold it is--but the poitn is is that it is living the dream and she wants to experience it all. Echolalia is not presently laying on top of a giant pile of gold. What she IS doing, however, is wrapping her draconic body around one of the forward castle towers of Etruria and taking a nap there. She is being about as gentle about it as can be, but she really wanted to feel what it's like because she's seen THAt in dragon media all the time. And the perching! So much perching! There's no castles where she's from because she's actually from an entirely different setting, so this may be her ONE SHOT to wrap herself around a castle tower and feel what it's like. ''A... a real dragon...'' Echolalia blearily opens her eyes and cranes her neck down to look at Sophia from above. 'Is it a nice real dragon?' Echolalia asks Dysnomia., then notices the terror. 'Aw dangit, it's not a nice dragon huh.' And if it's a not nice dragon, a not nice REAL dragon--they only really know of one that's working for Bern. "...What should we do, Cecilia?" She asks the General, in a tone that can't help but be growly considering she's still in ehr own draconic form. But considering the circumstances, she's not sure fly out to battle is the right call.
Lilian Rook	'Mmmmn.... never change, Echidna.'     That's Lilian's cue to finally lower her guard. The remaining assassins are what the soldiers are paid to deal with; and what the rest of the Elites aren't paid for but will deal with anyways. When she breathes out, it doesn't quite feel like 'tension' that it releases; her heart rate is up, but nowhere near as high as it was in the Tower of the Saint. It feels like something else that she's too overloaded to name right now. She's sick of feelings that aren't quite familiar, and how this world keeps dragging them out of her.     "Guinivere!"     Now Lilian can't help but smile. Not only is she a welcome surprise, but her adventurous raggedness reminds her exactly of why she likes the Queen so much. When Guinivere lingers on her especially, Lilian's smile freezes in a definitively sweaty way, as she starts recalling the number of times she'd sighed and whined about leaving her behind. 'Oh god please don't let anyone else say I missed her or something' clearly passes through her head. "And Melady!" comes a full three seconds later. "Please let this incredibly unwise and yet dramatically successful idea be your last. I'm afraid what might happen if three times is the charm."     Looking up into the sky, Lilian wears a distracted little half-smile at Shanna and Thea scouting together. She's suddenly struck by reminiscence of their meeting; namely, how it went like 'why did you join the army you idiot? you're a tiny baby and you don't know what you're doing and you're going to get killed'; and now look at them. With Etruria finally a sealed deal, Zephiel's ambitions . . .     Aren't out of reach, but she finally feels as if they've reached a point of equilibrium. Where Cecilia had been afraid of losing the balance she perceived before, Lilian finally breathes a sigh of relief from feeling as if she'd been fighting up towards one from the very beginning.     Of course she trusts Lucius to Dieck. Lilian gives the big man her thanks (and an excuse to touch his bicep) on the way down. It's Sophia's total freeze that grabs her attention before she leaves. She merely needs to follow her gaze to feel the chill of premonition run up her spine; the prickle of magic comes late to what she already knows in her core is happening.     "Melady, I'm entrusting Guinivere to you again. Dieck, see the injured away from the area. General Douglas; I'm in no position to be giving you orders, but it isn't safe for the people to be here. Rutger, bring Durandal." Lilian barks out in quick sequence, practically storming up past the others to reach Sophia and Cecilia. "How bad?" she says to the former. "Even if they aren't like Fae or the old man, we can still deal with it. If that's the case, we'll need to eventually anyways. Let it be outside of Bern's territory." she says to Cecilia. It sounds like reassurance more than serious strategy.     And then people are chargng off down the stairs.     "You fucking assholes! Don't give away our position!" Unfortunately, now it is her (self-given) job to get ahead of them, if she wants to prevent them charging down the tunnel at noisesome top speed and heard miles ahead.
Marigold	"I'm sure. We've got two hours' head start at least, and Tryffin can outrun anything," the rider says to Maddie. The doddering old king is successfully foisted into Guinivere's inventory, who helps him up onto the fairly-overburdened wyvern's back. "Hup. Up you go, your majesty." "Ahh... if you say so..."      "God, how have you two been managing ever since the coup?"      "Poorly," says Melady. "Oh, it hasn't been that bad! Elen's a healer, so..." "Living off the land and scouting for Cecilia's irregulars." "Anonymously, of course! They've had no reason to trust a princess of Bern." Guinivere winks, three months of fatigue not quite able to extinguish the 'oh my how daring of me' glimmer in her eyes.      About the Tower's blasts: "Oh, that was our signal to go early! We were going to wait a couple of days, for the official treaty signing." Dashingly cutting in at the last minute...      As Melady readies to take off, Princess Guinivere still has time to giggle and pat the top of Lilian's head fawningly. "I'll stop risking my life when the world stops needing me to, Dame Rook!" "'Successful' is an overstatement. You all did all the work." "Melady, you must be nice to me." "Yes, my lady."      With a gust of air that kicks up dust, the wyvern- Tryffin- takes wing, soaring off west towards Roy's army. Thea's pegasus comes alongside, trading words.      Down below, everyone in the know is bristlingly tense, and everyone not is faintly bewildered. "One dragon? Surely we could handle--" Douglas protests. "You can't. Full evacuation," Cecilia says. "... So be it. EVERYONE! OUT OF THE CASTLE!" But it'll take ten or twenty minutes, at the least, for an order like that to be obeyed.      Odette can get most of the wounded in a fit state to evacuate, but there are a couple- mostly among the protestors- who should really be evacuated by Na-Go. Lucius, despite whatever protests he might make, may be another.      Rutger re-lands from a battlement next to Lilian, nods, flicks the blood off her steel sword, sheathes it, and then rests her thumb on Durandal's hilt. Sophia shivers, leaning against Cecilia and Dysnomia, and shakes her head.      "I don't... recognize them... they're immense... And, something's, wrong with them... not like the fake ones, but..." She grimaces, half-covering her face. Sophia struggles a little with words at the best of times, but this might be beyond them.      "...What should we do, Cecilia?"      "Near Roartz, I've got telepathic signatures for Zephiel and... her!"      Cecilia, who had her chance to strike down Zephiel once before and failed, who still bears that failure as a scar across her face and across her country, squeezes Forblaze so tightly to her side that the tome's spine creaks. She echoes Lilian:      "Get down there and kill him. I'm behind you."
Marigold	The spiral staircase leads down first into a wine-cellar, then into a series of rough-hewn tunnels that might be for ventilation, storage, or servants's currying. They're largely unlit, cool, fit for only three or four people abreast.      Up ahead is the firelight of a torch, though, and past that the faint lavender glow of a natural warpgate's tear.      "... to me without the Saint's Staff, without the treaty, without even Mordred, and you expect what, Roartz? Coddling for your utter failure?" "N-no, Your Highness, I only ask--!" One of those two voices is familiar.      Approaching, an aristocratic-looking man in an ermine cloak stands with his back to you, dwarfed by Zephiel in his royal armor and that cloaked woman who calls herself 'Iðunn'. Behind them is a warpgate, no doubt their escape route.      Roartz turns around in a panic and yelps. Zephiel turns Eckesachs from a scepter into a blade, levelling it at the first arrivals. When more Elites show up, however, he tenses and reassesses his odds.      "Not one step closer or Iðunn will kill us all," he says, as if that strange cloaked woman were holding a bomb. That spoken, he eyes the Elites a little more carefully. "Some of you I remember warning away from this world. Unfortunate that you've chosen to perish with it."      "Your Highness, we should really be going!" Roartz pleads, hiding behind the King's arm. Zephiel doesn't even turn his eyes towards him.
Riku Asakura	Ultraman Geed is stopped from his rush to the cellar by Lilian's call out.  He pauses, heeding her warning, and nods to her with an Ultraman huff of sound.  He quickly searches for something to do and finds it.  There were civilians still there and not evacuating, so he starts picking them up.  It's not much, but he can at least get them safely away before any real fighting starts.   Again, Geed doesn't have any deep senses or magical means of sensing things, just a feeling deep in his heart that something might go wrong if civilians weren't gotten out of here before the dragon and Zephiel were to get there.   He doesn't know that Zephiel and his party are leaving, nor does he know that Zephiel threatened the area with an explosion caused by Iðunn should people not try to let him leave peacefully.  Right now, all Ultraman Geed is doing is getting as many civilians OUT of the way as he could, and carrying them off to somewhere safe in the city.   "Come with me please, it's not safe here."
Aidan Proudpick	Aidan slides into the doorway first, only to wobble backwards a half step. Once the shock is over, Aidan hunches forward again, grabbing a shield from his waist, a white(and fur covered) knuckled grasp around the strap. Immediately, white wind starts to spill from his mouth until Zephiel lets out his ultimatum. Teeth clack together as he shuts his mouth, letting wind free. When he opens his mouth again, it's empty of the building magic. "You gotta ask anyone, I'm not very good at following orders," is the almost immediate snap back to Zephiel. His gaze then falls on Roartz. Aidan's eyes flick back and forth as he goes through the internal calculus. Let him go. Let him die. Finally, Aidan opens his mouth, "He's gonna kill you." Then his eyes roam back to Zephiel, "You can't fix the world is yer dead," he says, wiggling his fingers in preparation of magic.
Odette Raskins	"Is there anyone who absolutely shouldn't be here right now?" "Probably... Father Lucius, for sure. A-at best, he could be upstairs, but he still needs to recover from last time." Odette answers, gripping the strap to her duffel bag tightly as she tries not to psyche herself out of going downstairs when everyone starts charging down there. "And there's still a bunch of people outside that-hey!" She takes a deep breath, scurrying back to the outside of the castle for a moment longer to address the rioters. "It's going to become even more dangerous real soon, so you'd better go home! I-I can't promise I'll be able to fix you all up in time if you stick around!" She shouts, trying to sound as authoritative as she can despite being probably a good half foot (or more) shorter than most everyone here. Thankfully, having Na-Go and Geed around to push that angle might help tip the tide away from the castle. After that, she rejoins Na-Go to try and identify who else needs to be escorted out. "A-aside from Father Lucius and the townsfolk.. Um. M-maybe the king? He's probably safe now, but he might not be in the best shape if Roartz did anything nuts while.. Um. Everyone went to get him. E-either way, if that dragon starts breaking things on the way up, it might be too late to get him out of here even on a good day." Against her better judgment, Odette joins those heading downstairs, and she struggles a bit with the spiral staircase at first before finding her rhythm to get down there without falling. Spotting the trio in the wine cellar, Odette freezes up when she sees Zephiel pointing that great blade towards her and the group, complete with her hands going up in an almost immediate sign of not being armed. "W-w-we're not moving closer! Just..." Wait. Something didn't sound right about what what Zephiel just said. "'Us'? I th.. Isn't she on your side?" She looks from Zephiel to Iounn at that, almost forgetting about Roartz's presence even when he tries to assert that they should be leaving.
Flamel Parsons	Flamel tenses up, strains... He flutters out of invisibility. "Not even an inch of levitating drift closer." He says, hitting the ground. "Sure." He keeps his focus on the woman, though, watching her closely. "'Iðunn'. That wasn't just a name taken from history, is it? I think I understand. You found her somewhere, didn't you? The real Iðunn, from the Scouring. That's how bad this is, that's how *real* this is. Am I guessing wrong?"     He locks eyes with Zephiel. "I get the feeling you'd rather die doing this, than live getting trampled over. Well, that's why I'd rather stay with this world than leave it to die -- even if my resolve can't be as strong, I *do* have to try." He exhales, tense. What can he do in this moment? What can he *really* do? He thinks about Zephiel's psychology. What he knows about the man's mind. How can he get him in the mentals? How can he approach this situation?     "Roartz. Take responsibility for what's happened." He talks past Zephiel. "Doing what you've been doing hasn't worked. You grabbed for power and lost what you had. Put the good of Etruria and its people ahead of your own and you'll stabilize the fall. General Douglas is hated by the people of Etruria but he'll live and that'll have meaning." He goes for the man's mind, too. He can barely project much at all, but if he can repair some moral machinery, pull together a few lost scruples... "Surrender to the loyalist forces, Roartz. Show kindness to Etruria and the people you've harmed. You'll be treated humanely."     It's bad. It's bad to assign this sort of thing a singular cause. Especially 'daddy issues'. But what if his father's assassination, the treachary of Bernish nobility, the betrayals... what if they all form a landscape of completely absent integrity? What if Zephiel's hatred and scorn for mankind and its collectives has a root in lived experience? If Flamel can force Roartz, who Zephiel treats like dirt on his boot, to show a little merit, he might gain a little ground in the mentals. Just an inch. Maybe.
Echolalia	Echolalia is told to just up and kill someone and Echolalia startles a little because she's not actually--accustomed to killing. Intellectually, sure, killing Zephiel would probably save a whole bunch of lives--but she takes off anyway, coming to grip with the idea anyway, dust exploding away from her body as she pushes off the tower and comes FWOOMPHING down to the floor broadly in front of Zephiel, using the moments before to get in the mood of spewing death in his general direction. The earth around her shakes lightly as she her head jerks forward and-- ''Not one step closer or Idunn wlil kill us all.'' Echolalia snaps back, but starts walking around the duo in a circular portion, keeping equidistant from when the threat was issued, but still circling around like a beast trying to figure out if prey is poisonous or, well, okay, holding a bomb. She blows green smoke out from her nostrils. Doing this sort of thing is also something on Echolalia's dragon-style bucket list. Her gaze settles on the robed woman and she tries...communicating with her telepathically! She asks: Why are you helping this guy? But out loud she continues her pacing and probably ruins the effect she's going for considerably by asking, if in the low draconic rumble. "So--whadaya want? That guy? Who fucked up? You sure you want to go to all this trouble for him when you can just hand him back to Erturia? Not like he has anything ''you'' want."
Dysnomia	"And, something's, wrong with them..."     "I don't sense the same way you do," at the very least, she could be something for Sophia to lean on. That much at least. "But, she was strange to me too. The others, they were...Simple. Base programming, for a few specific functions. Serve. Kill. Talk." There was no doubt in her mind, now that things had intersected like this, that Iðunn was what Sophia was feeling. "But she...to me, she feels...empty. Like a hole where a person should be."     "I don't know how she walks. How she even THINKS. And yet..." ...She did. And so much more.     "...Hold onto a happy future," she said, to Sophia, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Don't get so swept up in what could go wrong it feels like the world is already over. It makes vision more a curse than blessing."     "You found her somewhere, didn't you? The real Iðunn, from the Scouring. That's how bad this is, that's how *real* this is. Am I guessing wrong?"     Dysnomia is almost the last to appear out of the flood downstairs. "She's supposed to be dead," Dysnomia can't help but say, but there's a upwild lilt to her voice. It was impossible. But, surely, more of these false dragons was also impossible? But...     "Not like he has anything ''you'' want."     "He is here for a treaty, two relics, and cooperation with his ongoing war effort." Dysnomia had so many minds to cling to here. Echolalia, with her irrepresible energy. "Alas. None seem to have materialized." And now, he'll make clear the price of failing him. Her eyes wandered toward Iðunn, wary.
Desire Stars	Na-Go can't help noticing the way Lucius needed to be helped down by Dieck, or the difficulty he's having just standing on his own. So, she does indeed usher Lucius over to the Boostriker insistently, "Father, if you're angry about this later... I think that's better than if you're happy about it and gone. No one can say that you didn't help us a ton, but if you push yourself too hard you can't help anyone."      With it transforming into the big mechanical cat mode, it's substantial enough to seat her, Lucius and one of the injured protestors. With a synthesized yowl, it takes off, running into the air and leaving patches of fire burning briefly in the wake of its 'footfalls'. "After things calm down... there are probably going to be plenty of people who need the kind of help that doesn't come from a staff or a book, too. You're one of the best we have for that, if not *the* best. So take it easy for right now, okay?" She'll put him down ahead of the other evacuees, once there's an appreciable amount of them in one place. After a ginger landing, she takes off again to rejoin... ---      Geats leans back from the window. On his HUD, multiple waveforms bounce in time with the communications from the local broadband.      "A dragon," he muses to himself. "Here? Determined, aren't they? I'll take it as a form of flattery."      Joining the others down the stairs-- Not one step closer or Iðunn will kill us all.      "You really mean that, huh," says Geats, lowering the rifle-config Magnum Shooter. "Then you must have a pretty reliable second-in-command. Interesting... based on one of our previous encounters with Galle, and the remains of that castle you guys trashed... I'd guess she's also where you're getting the knockoff dragons from, like that big red one you sent after us. It's her, isn't it? 'Kill us all' doesn't include her, because she's tough enough to live through it. Maybe... on account of being a dragon? Which would also explain why you're so confident in fielding her. If push came to shove, there wouldn't be much we could do to take her off the board."      "Still..." his helmet tilts briefly to one side. "That stay of judgment you mentioned at your banquet has given the defense plenty of time to work on strategy. Whatever the verdict is, don't expect it to fall without every last piece of evidence brought before the judge."     "I'm staying right here. But you should know you're not the judge any more than we are; you're just the prosecution. Will you give him to us and let us make our case?"
Petra Soroka	"Oh, that was our signal to go early!"     "Ohh... cool...." Petra's quiet awe at Guinivere's boldness is easily read off her, and it distracts her from doing anything else for a bit longer. She squeezes her fist in a vague encouraging gesture, nearly failing the QTE to follow up with another sentence. "W-well, I'm glad we were here to clear the way for you, and now you won't have to, um, survive off nuts and berries anymore." "... So be it. EVERYONE! OUT OF THE CASTLE!"     "If a dragon shows up in the middle of the city while everyone's still rioting..." Petra murmurs to herself while the castle stirs back into action. She gets a sudden spike of additional resentment for Saint Elimine for somehow being an obstacle to *them*, but not for the *fucking dragon* right below the castle in her city. Seriously! Spiritual imprint or not! It'd be really cool to be able to count on the tower dropping some divine bolts on a dragon right about now! "I don't... recognize them... they're immense..."     "Got it. They're a danger, then." Like she mentioned in the radio, Sophia's mood is as much of a tell to Petra as the information she can verbally explain. There's maybe no one as aware of the failings of language, especially when stressed, as Petra is, so Sophia being this unnerved is all the proof she needs to run down into the tunnels too. "Not one step closer or Iðunn will kill us all,"     Petra hasn't met any of the three down here before, but Zephiel couldn't possibly be anyone but Zephiel. Petra skids to a halt instinctively when he commands it, Fourth Match Flame in her hand to match her magic-scorched cloak, held low and behind herself for another dim source of firelight. Roartz is practically invisible to her as she gets her first close look at Zephiel and Iðunn, after hearing so much about them.     "Zephiel... but I thought there was also a..." Petra's eyes slide onto Iðunn, widening in realization. "... Dragon. Oh."     That puzzle piece suddenly fills in why Zephiel would refer to 'her' like that, in a way that might not be entirely true, but makes deep, intuitive sense to Petra. She looks past him to Iðunn, studying however much of her face is visible underneath the hood (or however much isn't-- a shadowy hood is a kind of face too), before flicking her eyes back to Zephiel's.     "The actual Iðunn. The Demon Dragon. You... found her? Healed her? And now you're her face and weapon for the new Scouring." Petra sounds probing rather than accusatory, though making those observations only makes her more heart-poundingly tense for being in the presence of Iðunn. The only two ostensible goals, *tactically*, for this encounter are to either kill Zephiel or prevent Aquleia from being annihilated by Iðunn, but something about those very first words from Zephiel makes Petra intensely curious.     "Did you look for her, or did she look for you?"
Madeleine Cadrasteia	By the time Madeleine gets to the ground floor, several others have already descended into the castle's basements. She follows close behind, gaining on some while the faster-still heroes rush ahead, finally skidding to a halt behind Flamel and Lilian as Zephiel readies his blade. Her eyes sparkle in the torchlight as she considers the king's ultimatum. A foe of unknown but terrible power is not something she wants to be stuck in close quarters with.     "The strangled sapling, come to collect his prizes. You won't be getting them. The plan's come apart at the seams, *your Highness*." She utters the title in a mockery of Roartz's tone. "Etruria has no more patience for you. Take your sorceress and go home. Wait for Galle to deliver the bad news. Brood over your failings, and learn to fear us."
Lilian Rook	'Living off the land and scouting for Cecilia's irregulars.' [ansi(198,"Then hardly any worse than our end.")] Lilian says, about hiding in the mountains and foraging.     ''Successful' is an overstatement. You all did all the work.'     "Well now you're helping me quite a bit. So be kind to Queen Guinive--" Lilian chokes when she starts to talk over 'be nice to me'. She double looks back at,     'Yes, my lady.'     ". . . Never mind. You have your own worries, don't you?"     'I don't... recognize them... they're immense... And, something's, wrong with them... not like the fake ones, but...'     Thirty seconds later, Lilian is finding out just how bad 'how bad?' is. Her lips turn down in a thoughtful frown, but her hand doesn't leap to her weapon for a little while longer. "I'd imagine something must be. There's no way that a living, breathing dragon is still lingering around in this era without being part of 'that town' or else having been rendered catatonic. I--"     'Near Roartz, I've got telepathic signatures for Zephiel and... her!'     Lilian's breath freezes. Her face falls. "No . . ." is whispered with the last of the air in her chest. "You can't be serious . . ."     . . . . . . . .     TwoThirty seconds of storming through the underground tunnels, and Lilian dares draw breath without her clenched teeth in the way. Her head buzzes with rapidly half-recalled memories of that first encounter on loop. Over and over, her thoughts circle the impression of what she had predicted at the time. When those two were right in front of her, what all possible futures had told her was 'leave'. When she sees the light of the torch, she almost fails to register it for a moment longer, turning out her lead foot and scraping to a halt only when she hears the boom of Zephiel's voice.     Only to stare at him all the same. First in disbelief, then in shock, then something as conflicted as betrayal without there ever having been a sense of trust. When she gathers herself and focuses on him properly, she's only modulated herself to neutral-seeming anger.     'Not one step closer or Iðunn will kill us all,' t"Us?" That word alone catches Lilian by surprise, and rouses her out of the heart-pounding haze of tense confrontation. "Certainly more than enough people will die in the collapse of the castle alone. Even if that includes you and, why is it us, King Zephiel."     The question is borderline nonsense, but Lilian doesn't know how else to put it. She could scarcely care less about Roartz right now. Flamel has the right idea, so the round of 'he's going to kill him' only gets an "Obviously. That's just the price of betrayal." out of her.     'Some of you I remember warning away from this world. Unfortunate that you've chosen to perish with it.'     "I remember you telling me to spend my life to bloody your nose, or to fix my priorities and join you." says Lilian. There's more than just a little bitterness in her voice. "And I still think 'join you in what?', because try as I might, I can't seem to understand what's wrong with you."
Lilian Rook	She barely dares look away from him to the Warpgate; a little saccade past Zephiel to curse the existence of the things, and her weakness in allowing Cecilia to lead a retreat through one. It's banished when her eyes return to his face; she doubts he would wait for them to lead by example before taking advantage of a naturally occuring strategic resource.     "I also recall you saying that you held no hate for the simple and the loyal. Where has that gone? Did you even mean it?" Lilian says instead, raising her voice. "Everything you've done has been for the benefit of loathsome traitors all across the continent. The only people who suffer are the ones you claim to care for; or at least tolerate. Every time I think I've seen the shape of why you're so hellbent on this ironfisted control of every nation in the world, you go and say something like 'perish with it'."     "What do you even want, Zephiel?! What justice does this serve?! Who are you retaliating against?! Who is going be uplifted by any of this?! As eloquent as you are about everything you hate, I can't remember a word of what I'm supposed to stand for with you!"
Marigold	The people are a little scared of Ultraman Geed- it isn't as though there's any giant superheroes native to this world- but not as terrified as they are of the word 'dragon'. With only a little reassuring, he can scoop up as many as his arms can carry and bring them somewhere it's safe to put them down.      "Angry? Only with myself, I suppose," murmurs Lucius, ushered over to the motorcycle by Na-Go. "The old should care for the young, shouldn't they? Ahh. But there's no helping it. Thank you, Neon." He holds on as best he's able.      The town square is a nice spot for rescuees. Coincidentally, it's where Roy's army is en route to the castle... including Roy himself, having just spoken with Thea, despite his only-mostly-healed wound.      "You're one of the otherworlders, aren't you? Please! I've got to get to the castle!" he shouts up at Geed, and then turns to Na-Go, more familiar. Marcus has doubts. "Lord Roy, you must reconsider..." "Marcus, you can come with me, but if Zephiel is there I'm going!"      ----      BGM: https://youtu.be/o4BhaMSiPgM      "I think I understand. You found her somewhere, didn't you? The real Iðunn..."      "And now you're her face and weapon for the new Scouring."      Zephiel laughs, one syllable, with his eyebrows lifting. It almost sounds sneering, but it isn't. It's relief. "At last," he says.      A heavy, aching burden of secrecy is lifted from the shoulders of a man who despises lies. Almost rapturous, he spreads his arms, sword off to the side as if daring anyone to strike him down.      "You can't fix the world if yer dead."      "'Us'? I th... Isn't she on your side?"      "Then you must have a pretty reliable second-in-command."      "Wrong. I am on hers. I am pledged to her, body and soul." He's gaining momentum now. Roartz, stunned, looks at Zephiel questioningly. Again, he's paid no heed.      "With only a thought, she could shatter the castle upon us as her true form. Iðunn, show yourself, if it should please you." "As you wish, Your Highness," she says, her apathy making a mockery of the royal term.      Her hood falls.      It's all there: the slightly-slitted eyes like Sophia; the pointed ears like Fae; the unnaturally perfect skin; even the wretchedly evil-looking crystal in her hand, purple with a scarlet 'flame' inside it.      But her eyes are as dull as her voice. Her movements are lifeless. One might imagine in her slack face that, unlike Fae, she simply hasn't cared to learn how to properly wear a human body. In the way she lazily pushes past Roartz to take Zephiel's side, there's the demeanor of a great beast's coiling.      Why are you helping this guy?      "I am Iðunn, who humans called the Demon. I will rule this world and bring peace to it, as His Majesty wishes. This will be done through the annihilation of mankind. Such is my purpose." She has the accent of past ages, and her words feel rehearsed. Zephiel smiles grimly.
Marigold	With an up-tilt of his chin, he continues: "She was never dead. I found her where she lay sleeping. Here you see the lie of the 'Eight Heroes' laid bare," he continues, with a motion of his swordless hand to the impassive woman beside him. "They shattered natural law in their spite, and still they could not kill her."      "What do you even want, Zephiel?! What justice does this serve?"      "What do I stand for? Humanity is a failed race! We carved out this hideous new world from the guts of the old, one where the strong devour the weak, by the perverse right of violence! And yet that right is incomplete, because they could not grasp that some things are simply above the grasp of maggots. This age's end was in its beginning. Its unraveling is now."      He sighs. That's still a negation. Lilian's still got him. Softly:      "And so I stand for a world returned to the dragons. Not only because it is inevitable, but because it is good." He motions at Iðunn again, but this time tenderly with his palm, not as a sharp exhibit. She seems like the only thing that can soothe him.      His sharp rhetoric hadn't even twitched her impassive gaze.      "Look at her. Enlightened. Without hatred; even for us, who killed her kind. Already she is mending the world. The stars burn brighter, and magic waxes stronger. We'll return to an age where great trees will strangle saplings no longer. But humanity has spoiled the kindness of dragons before, and will spoil it again."      "There is only one solution. Having seen the wickedness of this world," he says- and his eyes linger for a moment on Madeleine's, recognizing them from the letters- "you must know what it is. Many bemoan the state of mankind, but only I have the resolve."      With a low and sweet relief, he admits: "I only hope to be the last to die in her jaws."
Marigold	"Will you give him to us and let us make our case?"      "Alas. None seem to have materialized."      "So--whadaya want? That guy? Who fucked up?"      "Surrender to the loyalist forces, Roartz. ... You'll be treated humanely."      Roartz, who has been virtually forgotten by Zephiel and Iðunn, looks terrified by everything he's hearing. He might try to justify it, to himself and out loud- "Etruria has allied with worse madmen in the past," he mutters- but he knows a man like this will have no use for him at all.      He shudders and swallows. His face contorts. "I... I...! I'm sorry. King Mordred is a senile fool! I know I bet on the wrong horse, but I would always have been a better ruler than him! I--" Zephiel glares at the poor man, doubtless about to call him a liar; Roartz cracks under the pressure and runs towards Flamel, only for Iðunn to snag him by the back of the neck.      "Hrrk-- let- me-!!"      Fae and the Old Man aren't stronger than any other humans untransformed. Iðunn, though, has no issue lifting Roartz off the ground with one hand.      "Do you really want a viper like him?" Zephiel says, almost bored. "Why?"
Riku Asakura	Geed is used to people being afraid of him, sadly.  His eyes bring back a lot of bad memories in the people at his home, and many still consider him untrustworthy despite his deeds for the city.  Well, at least the loud ones do, the ones that broadcast it on TV.  He still does his job, bringing back people to the square and keeping them out of harm's way.   This is until he's shouted at by a somewhat familiar voice.  "Lord Roy?  Shouldn't you be resting still..?" He asks but hears the determination in his voice, the desire to save people and he can't deny him.  "Alright, I'll get you there..." he says, and offers up his hand, open palmed so that Roy and whoever else wants to come can climb onto it.   He's flying to the castle this time, making sure to get there as fast as he can, and drops to the ground right above where people head down to face Zephiel.  He shrinks once everyone is off of him, into a form more suitable for climbing down stairs than smashing them.  "Here we are.  We have to quickly go down there from here, Lord Roy." Riku's voice will sound somewhat familiar through the face of Ultraman Geed, as the young boy who had questions for him over the radio.
Echolalia	Echolalia looks at first shocked to hear Iðunn's answer. And then saddened, looking away. The fight doesn't really go out of her, but it is pushed aside as she slowly transforms back into her humanoid form, dropping down lightly on the ground. She stops pacing around, looking for her eyes. She seems more comfortable in her other form too, but maybe thinks it's a faux pax to continue this while Iðunn's staying in her own humanoid form. "Hey. Hey... There's dragons out there that don't want to be the enemy of humanity again. Some of them still got growing up to do. You say it's your purpose, but are you sure that's what you want? Peace through annihilation and power isn't as peaceful as it sounds." She bounces on her feet, anxiously. She doesn't stop looking at her even when Zephiel speaks, but her ears perk up--she's listening. She's really listening. Zephiel, she thinks, Zephiel of all people found her. ''But only I have the resolve.'' "B..but your SISTER," Echolalia is flustered. "She'd be among the first! And-and...No! Dragons destroying humanity, that's wrong! Sure humans can be jerks, and they look down on the wyrms where I'm from too a lot of the time, but it makes the world sadder and lonelier to just...wipe it all away!" But hey, Zephiel is only working for Iðunn so that means Echolalia appeals to her, jerking her head over to her, distressed. "If you do this dragons will end up fighting ''you'' too, and I don't mean Mia and I. I mean your own people. You'll end up utterly alone." ''Do you really want a viper like him?'' "...I'd rather him be judged by his own people than by you." She says honestly, shoulders tensing, but even if she did move to get closer she wouldn't make it in time. "You just want to get out of here now, right? So just let him go. Either way he'll be judged so..."
Flamel Parsons	Flamel steps forward, speaking to Zephiel instead of past him. "I want..." A long, deep breath. Another. Another. Think. Think about what you've learned. Think, Flamel, really *think* about what lessons there are to take from this world.     "I want every mistake to stand and be learned from. I want every failure inscribed on the world, the people it affected, and the people who made the mistake. I want them seen, and I want them to be read, and I want them to teach. Whether someone is a viper or a saint, if they're willing to embrace the mistakes they made, take responsibility, stand in front of what they've done and see the outcome for what it is, then..."     He smiles, that wide, friendly smile again. "I think they deserve to do that. Integrity may be its own reward but a world where a little more is deserved for even a fragment of integrity, that's something I dream of. I think they deserve to embody the lesson and to learn from it too. None of the, 'I think we should forgive everyone' type of stuff. It's not my place to forgive anyone who does the treachary he did. But maybe the people whose right it is, will decide something, and he'll be their lesson in forgiving. Maybe they'll never forgive him, and he'll be their lesson in whether catharsis about ambitious traitors is real." He adjusts his sunglasses and reaches, just a little. "Maybe he has a child who'll learn more from dealing with the last years of their father's regret than they'd learn from some letters from Bern -- or a headstone."     "I won't take him if he doesn't walk here. But," Flamel focuses, firming up. "Let him go. If he's willing to face consequences, then he has enough integrity to deserve that in a better world."     Intel would be nice too. But, frankly, at this stage, Flamel's investment in the Bern incident has been fully influenced by the Eliminean teachings.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	"We'll return to an age where great trees will strangle saplings no longer. But humanity has spoiled the kindness of dragons before, and will spoil it again."     Madeleine frowns. She's avoiding eye contact - it can't quite show on her face, but it's evident in her voice. "There's- there's no going *back*, Zephiel. Even if this age is ended, even if humanity was a momentary blemish on this world, what comes after will be different. It has to be. By my count there's, what, three dragons on all Elibe, not counting Iðunn's replicas? Unless you can resurrect the ancient dead, all those slain by the weapons of the Eight Heroes, there's no turning back the clock to an age of dragons. All that would remain, had you your way, would be ashes. Ashes and three lonely souls."     Now she looks straight at Zephiel, surer of the point she's trying to make. "You can't get anything new through destruction alone. That is a lesson I have learned at great cost. You would do well to heed this from me, before you suffer the lesson yourself. Your dream, if what you dream of truly is an age where fathers will not turn on their sons, can only be *built*. Build, like Athos, like Elimine, like all the survivors of the Scouring. If you want something that isn't here yet, you have to make it, you cannot simply create a void and hope it will naturally fill with what you desire."
Dysnomia	"What do I stand for? Humanity is a failed race! We carved out this hideous new world from the guts of the old, one where the strong devour the weak, by the perverse right of violence! And yet that right is incomplete, because they could not grasp that some things are simply above the grasp of maggots. This age's end was in its beginning. Its unraveling is now."     Dysnomia can't help but feel some sense of relief, on some perverse level. Mocked, needled and made a target for daring suggest the extermination of a race was foul. His own righteous sureness, his absolute conviction was like a sun. It was intoxicating. It was...     ...Terrifying.     Her hands clenched, bone-white. It's Echo's voice that jerks her attention back, and relief paints itself clearly on her face. She was an anchor in rough seas. A lighthouse in the storm. She steps beside Echolalia, a hand reaching searchingly backward.     There's something in all this, some connection waiting to be formed. A piece of something, frustratingly beyond Dysnomia's comprehension, past what Zephiel is saying. They slip, elusive, away from her. It was hard to think, with him so close. "People are people." Dysnomia said, flatly, "Nations are nations. Be they human or be they dragon. Pretending they're above it all just gives you a clean reason to imagine you've found an 'out.'"     "...you must know what it is. Many bemoan the state of mankind, but only I have the resolve."     "There is an old man I've had the pleasure to meet. In a little village you tried to burn, to murder a little girl. Hearing that, I think, would grieve him. Even though he'd survive her purge..." A pause. A correction: "...No. Especially because he'd survive it."
Aidan Proudpick	"Wrong. I am on hers. I am pledged to her, body and soul." as His Majesty wishes. Aidan's eyes dart back and forth between Iðunn and Zephiel. "Mister Parsons, is he mad?" He uses that version of mad where you draw the 'a' out for just a single fraction of a second longer so one can tell which version of mad he's using. "Not just principled, but yanno, crazy." His gaze travels back towards Zephiel. "You... you coulda changed things and this is what you did? You pulled together all these kingdoms, all these generals, all these PEOPLE, and you aren't even gonna try and change anything?" Aidan points a finger at him, lifting his own chin in that belligerent defiance. But humanity has spoiled the kindness of dragons before, three dragons on all Elibe, "There should be something for the dragons, a better life, and the humans gotta give them that, but bringing this all down isn't gonna bring them back." He points a finger at Zephiel, "You've hurt. You've been hurt." Fingers grip so hard to squeeze his claws into his palms. "But you could do ANYTHING. You could make ANYTHING. You don't get to choose to wipe everyone out." Finally, he points a finger at Iðunn, "And you can't use her! That's sick!"
Odette Raskins	Odette's feeling quite grateful that Na-Go took Lucius out of here because she's feeling terribly small around everyone as the confrontation with Zephiel becomes tenser by the second. Sure, Geats is lowering his rifle and Flamel's trying to talk some sense into him, Mia's being pretty calm about the whole situation, and Petra's connecting some dots loudly enough that Odette's able to see the line towards Iounn being the dragon that Sophia detected. Even with that, however, the threats coming out of Madeleine and Aidan have her fearing more for how Zephiel might react rather than the threats themselves, and Lilian's outburst has her utterly confused. "He wanted you to...? I-I mean, I guess that'd make sense, but... Yes, there's not really anything in it for anyone. So what's the...?" "I am on hers. I am pledged to her, body and soul." That explains so much more, and Odette's gaze slowly shifts over to Iounn. Her breath freezes in her lungs as she realizes just how little room there is to actually move in here, how quickly Iounn could just turn the castle into an oven, and how little any of that would matter next to the very real possibility that Iounn could just accomplish everything Zephiel's saying at that moment. What really stings for her, though, isn't the sinking feeling that her gut reaction to Zephiel's stated goal of a mass extinction couldn't possibly change his mind at all. It's the fact that she can't think of any other solution but killing them both, and that she's nowhere near being the sort of person that ever accomplish that. Then again, there is a key difference between what Zephiel's saying and what Iounn's saying. Small as a chance as that might be, she still has to chance it. "I will rule this world and bring peace to it, as His Majesty wishes." "I only hope to be the last to die in her jaws." "Is... Is all that something you really want, Miss Iounn? N-not just peace, but re... Restoration of the world for dragons? Ruling over all the ashes? B-because just getting peace and quiet... There's much easier ways to go about that, you know? W-without having..." Odette swallows anxiously, deliberately trying not to look at anyone else but Iounn. That, or the EMT's gaze is just stuck on that dull stare of hers. "Without having a target on your back because of how..." Wait. Crap. She can't just say 'humans, even if she's thinking it real hard. "Um. Everyone might react. Even though humans have been really awful bef-" In some gut-churning sense, Odette even finds herself sympathizing with what Zephiel's describing. How many times has she seen humans betraying others here already? Hell, how many times has she seen it happen here alone? her gaze goes right towards Roartz for several moments, then she forces herself to look back at Iounn. "A-are you sure you wouldn't rather.. Um. Find another place for.. You and dragons? O-one that won't need so much fixing up or g... Genocide? A-and even that wouldn't guarantee anything gets fixed, either, if..." Odette takes a deep breath to steady herself, then speaks up again. "You've seen the humans here turning on each other plenty of times. Do you think the.. Um. Your people never would, given enough time to become as.. Um. Comfortable and entrenched like him?" She indicates Roartz with a glance. "Do you really want a viper like him?" Odette looks to her right, then to her left. After hearing Roartz' barely-justification for all his actions, the EMT purses her lips. Her face is saying 'ew, what? no', but her mouth says nothing.
Lilian Rook	'Wrong. I am on hers. I am pledged to her, body and soul.'     Lilian feels as if something inside her chest has suddenly lurched forward. Her unblinking stare clouds over with uncountable thoughts about the shadowy corruptress dragging a once-noble king from the path of righteousness, veiled and silent and always at his side, whispering poison in his ear. The thought of 'saving him from her influence' makes her stomach churn. The idea that Flamel was right, but in this way, and that she's staring at the man who should be the hero and the villain who lead him astray, makes her hands feel clammy on her sword.     'Iðunn, show yourself, if it should please you.'     'As you wish, Your Highness'     When Lilian's eyes widen, and her pupils dilate; when her breath escapes from the ginger circle of her parted lips, Iðunn's fingers are only on her hood. The solitary sound of "Oh." slips out just a moment before it drops.     'I am Iðunn, who humans called the Demon. I will rule this world and bring peace to it, as His Majesty wishes. This will be done through the annihilation of mankind. Such is my purpose.'     "I . . ." Lilian's throat clenches up. She feels inexplicable pressure behind her eyes. The misplaced gravity in her chest compensates for the truth, and sinks to a tightly-knotted rock bottom. "You're . . ." Lilian starts to say, but when her eyes find Zephiel, it's like she doesn't have the heart to finish.     'They shattered natural law in their spite, and still they could not kill her.'     "You mean that Hartmut would not." says Lilian. Her voice is is rough, but the words are uttered with strange, painful tenderness, as if she were trying not to place weight on an injured leg. "Isn't that why you despise him? Why you call him a fool?"     The moment Zephiel sighs makes her feel sick. She wanted him to keep ranting about the 'failed race' of humanity. For the little while he can shout over her with bellowing invective directed out against the entirety of their shared species, she can breathe easy, grip her sword tightly, and look at him with resolve. Perhaps it was even pride, in her eyes. It leaves when he stops, and because she knows he stops only because he cannot stand to give her such a non-answer, its departure feels gutting.     Not a sound passes her lips at 'because it is good'. She is overwhelmed by a vision of a Lilian in the future, whom she can see without magic, that hopes for nothing more than to hear those words spoken about her.     'Look at her. Enlightened. Without hatred; even for us, who killed her kind.'     Lilian takes a deep breath.
Lilian Rook	'I only hope to be the last to die in her jaws.'     "Is that 'his majesty's wish'?" she says. "Why is it that when you said 'if it please you', Iðunn sounded just like one of your Generals. No, perhaps bent to a deeper knee than that." Her voice cracks in frustration. She swallows hard. "Why is it her 'purpose', Zephiel."     Lilian closes her mouth, and then finds herself rousing to speak again. Her gaze hastily deflects away, then tracks halfway back. The words are swallowed twice, then come up irresistibly like vomit.     "What do you know of dragons, king? How can you possibly be sure of what will come after. Surely anything is worthy of replacing the rot of mankind; even nothingness. But putting every loyal, simple, faithful, loving and beautiful soul on the pyre alongside them, those you know exist, Zephiel; whatever comes after them has to justify it, and you don't even know what that 'after' is."     "Can you say that every good man and woman should die just to be rid of the wicked, and that alone would be worth it? You weren't always a man who would slit his sister's throat to slay his father. I recall that you took up the sword and did it yourself."
Desire Stars	Na-Go seems to freeze, astride the transformed mechanical cat, at the mention of Zephiel's name. There's a moment wherein she has to steel herself, but she does. "Okay," she says. "If you come along, that's fine. But Ultraman is right--you should be resting right now. Don't make us regret it, okay?"     The ride back to the tower is tense and silent.     --     Na-Go enters on foot, with Roy and Marcus behind her, after Iðunn's introduction, in the middle of Zephiel's explanation. This age's end was in its beginning. Its unraveling is now.     In the banquet hall, Neon Kurama had been frightened by the overpowering zeal of Zephiel. She is still intimidated--but underneath it is a steadily growing current of anger, traveling outwards from her core to the her fingers. They curl audibly into a fist. Do you really want a viper like him? Why?     "Great trees and small trees are both part of nature," answers Geats. "Vipers, too. A viper's fang is a bad thing for a village, but in a forest, they have their place. We have a tendency, as humans, to see vipers, or ants, or wasps, and to say it's an infestation. I've even heard some people call it 'invasion.'"     "But of everything that exists in the world, only those burdened with knowledge of what they are would--or can--ever try to be something different. I want him because you and I disagree on what part of us is nature and what part is delusion."     "The big trees choking the saplings were saplings themselves, a long time ago. And the saplings were big trees." Geats traces a thumb across the studs on the breastplate of the Magnum armor; their shape resembles the chamber of a revolver, but also the tear-shape of prayer beads.     "The universe exists in cycles of motion and stillness. A flowering tree reveals the truth that the prosperous must decline. That's why I want him--because whether he knows it or not, he'll prove the impermanence of 'the state of mankind.' That's why I want him. You're the prosecution; I'm the defense."
Lilian Rook	'Mister Parsons, is he mad? Not just principled, but yanno, crazy.     There is a limit to what Lilian can hold together. Even if it only proves them right, the gravity of the moment takes all of her strength to stand under it.     'And you can't use her! That's sick!'     "Shut up you irredeemable worm or I will cut out your tongue myself!"     'nations are nations. Be they human or be they dragon. Pretending they're above it all just gives you a clean reason to imagine you've found an 'out.''     "Then defend Etruria. Defend the way the world steps to the ambitions of Roartz and not Cecilia; why Arcard runs a death camp of slaves and Douglas hasn't heard of it." Lilian's hands ball into fists; her shoulders tense, and her voice raises to a shout, directed away from any of her allies. "Tell me why Hector came home to Ostia ruled by Leygance and Devias! Erik at Laus and Wagner at Thria, while Roy walks through the mud to beg deaf ears! Tell me how the Djute gave up Sue and half the Bulgar threw out Rutger is 'just how it is!'"     Squeezing her eyes shut, Lilian yells at the top of her lungs, "Defend Bern! Is the world quaking in the grip of Zephiel while Guinivere is treated like a criminal just because things can't be any other way?!"     'If you do this dragons will end up fighting ''you'' too, and I don't mean Mia and I. I mean your own people. You'll end up utterly alone.'     "How do you not get it?! If this is all just human nature then what point is there in living?!"     'Do you really want a viper like him?'     Lilian wasn't asked. She rasps out the words anywyas. "I want him beheaded before an audience, and then the next viper after him, as each and every one of them deserve, until the children in the crowd finally know that this isn't the way the world works."
Petra Soroka	"Wrong. I am on hers. I am pledged to her, body and soul."     Petra closes her eyes. She heard it in the first syllables of his voice, and saw it in his posture towards her. She can't help a quick side glance to Lilian, and an internal sense of triumphance that has absolutely nothing to do with getting out of this situation alive. Understanding Zephiel means fewer options, unfortunately, not more.     One thing she can do, at least, is try and model how she should greet Iðunn based on how she would feel if it was Lilian. Besides the obviously best option of 'getting on their knees and pledging loyalty', what kind of treatment towards Iðunn would best make sense to Zephiel? Presumably, whatever makes Iðunn herself feel respected, even as an enemy, but with that expression of hers, Petra finds it much easier to read Zephiel than her.     "Iðunn. I've heard some about you, but didn't think I'd ever get the... chance, to meet in person. I'm Petra. Fighting for... the continued existence of humanity, conditionally." "She was never dead. I found her where she lay sleeping."     "They couldn't kill her, so they just put her to sleep... so it really was inevitable that we'd end up here, huh. And Athos only died recently, just in time for it to all fall apart." "I only hope to be the last to die in her jaws."     "Okay. Yeah." The prickling energy Petra feels inside her chest from Zephiel's passionate speech isn't shock or horror; the content was just the natural, inevitable conclusion of the very first premise he stated. Instead, it's electrifying-- not from agreeing with him or being swayed to his perspective, but because conviction for another in of itself is something that elevates a person above others to her. "I get it."     "It's just going to be exhausting listening to every inane point these idiots bring up to try to prove that they're morally superior to you, I think. They're not going to get it, because whatever they say about the intrinsic fucking worth of humanity or whatever is just missing the point. Because your morality comes from her, so everyone else is just a lesser consideration."     "... I get it, Zephiel." Petra drops her sword down to her side, suddenly drained of feeling threatened by Iðunn's presence, even with the distant intellectual knowledge that she could kill them at any moment. "It feels like the world is rotting. That the seed for it was set forever ago, and it's visible everywhere you look. You're a lot more efficient about burning it out of the world than I am, but...."     "Is it just her being a dragon that makes her that incredible? Or is it what comes along with it? Her wisdom, her enlightenment, the ability to heal the world and feel so *different* from all the rest of it that you know?"     Petra looks at Lilian out of the side of her vision again, then Roy once he appears, before staring into Zephiel's face. "Humanity might be a seething mass of animals who created a system that drags all of them down, but it's their 'humanity' that ruins them, not their 'humanness'. If there's just one in a thousand, or one in a million that measures up, that are 'like her'... then they're worth finding."     Petra scuffs a toe against the ground, finally a little bit flustered after all that talk, but she pushes through to the end. "Those one in a million are the people I fight for. And they're who I'll make a 'better' humanity for. Killing everyone else and leaving them alone is the same as them dying too."
Marigold	"I should be resting," Roy admits to Geed and Neon, sheepishly. The cut on his chest still faintly glows through the fabric of his shirt. "But I... I can't just do nothing. Please." Marcus sighs, but doesn't outwardly object.      "Thank you," he says, climbing onto Na-Go's cat-cycle. Marcus boards Ultraman's palm.      ----      With Roartz gasping, sputtering, and trying in vain to pry Iðunn's fingers off his neck, neither of them take any notice of him. He even kicks back at her once, which draws Zephiel's sharp gaze, but Iðunn doesn't so much as blink. Like a statue.      "You mean that Hartmut would not. ... Isn't that why you despise him?"      "The Binding Blade enacts the victory that is in one's heart," he says, uncomfortably heavy. "Killing Iðunn was beyond even the reach of Hartmut's imagination. What weakness exactly crept into the heart of that worshipper of strength... who knows?"      "Iðunn sounded just like one of your Generals."      "Why is it her 'purpose', Zephiel."      "Mankind needed eight heroes to overcome her. Dragons had only one. What she bears, I can't imagine," he says, again uncomfortable. "Surely she is scarred. And yet..." Yet she's still perfect to him. Even damaged.      "I've heard some about you, but didn't think I'd ever get the... chance, to meet in person. I'm Petra."      "A pleasure to meet you, Petra." That's probably just hollow recycled politeness, but it still makes Zephiel trade a rare glance with the dragon, perplexed.      "You say it's your purpose, but are you sure that's what you want?"      "I have no greater desire," Iðunn answers Echolalia. Her eyes only lazily track Echo's bobbing and circling. "So the dragons of your Otherworld are unenlightened imitations, are they? I'd hoped for more, but feared as much. Perhaps Iðunn will deign to turn her attention to your homes next," Zephiel judges of her.      "People are people. Nations are nations."      "Do you think the.. Um. Your people never would..."      "Then why the Scouring? If dragons and humans were truly alike..." But with Lilian launching in, Zephiel sees no need to continue. The end of her shouting is the start of his shockingly warm, approving laugh.      "Then you truly do understand. I judge humanity not by its peaks but by its oceans of dross. Make no mistake," he says, eyes scything across Odette, "humans need not die so that dragons may flourish. There is more than one reason I do not merely call for our enslavement:"      "This is a mercy killing."      Iðunn's fingers tighten slightly on Roartz's neck. He panics. She's the wrong way around to be choking him, but it's easy to believe she could just decapitate him by squeezing a little harder.
Marigold	"Maybe he has a child who'll learn more from dealing with the last years of their father's regret than they'd learn from some letters from Bern -- or a headstone."      "The big trees choking the saplings were saplings themselves, a long time ago. And the saplings were big trees."      There is enough warmth remaining in Zephiel's heart that those two implications affect him, even as he bitterly knows he's being played to. He winces.      "... Iðunn. Do you think it wise to kill Roartz now?"      "Now or later is inconsequential, Your Majesty."      "If it matters not to you, I'd rather you not dirty your hands."      And so she drops him, without comment. He drops a foot to the floor, staggers, and immediately rushes to hide behind Flamel and Ace, gasping. "Thh-a-aank you, I-- never again...!" "Hmph."      By now- and it has been a minute- others have caught up. Cecilia hovers anxiously at the back, well aware that using Forblaze in a tight tunnel is only marginally less omnicidal than Iðunn transforming. Rutger stands within arm's reach of Lilian, thumb on Durandal's handguard, asking her a silent question with her eyes.      "And you can't use her! That's sick!"      Those words, from Aidan, entertain Zephiel in a sort of smokily lazy way. Something not unlike a smile plays across his lips, and a conversation passes between him and Iðunn without either glancing at the other.      "Iðunn, have I ever 'used' you?"      "I do not feel so, Your Majesty."      "Could you kill me any time you wished?"      "Easily, Your Majesty."      "Why, pray-tell, haven't you?"      "You were the light at the end of my slumber, and help me achieve my purpose, Your Majesty."      "Hmm. Interesting. Thank you for indulging me."      "By my count there's, what, three dragons on all Elibe..."      Madeleine, by virtue of their correspondence, merits a bit more sustained attention. "Ah. So the rumors of Arcadia were true. What a sad state of affairs. Still, wrong. You presume Iðunn cannot create true life: she can. You presume there are no other dragons: there are."      "Beyond all that-" his voice lifts. "You are utterly morally bankrupt. There should be no reckoning for the Scouring because its extermination was too effective? Do the voices of the dead not cry out to you? Filth."      "... I get it, Zephiel."      Without prejudice to the fact that this is being said by a short scruffy blonde girl, he arches his eyebrows and sincerely listens for a moment. Perhaps it's because Iðunn acknowledged her.      "Those one in a million are the people I fight for."      "Then you're as wise as any worm can be," says Zephiel, in the surprisingly-gentlest tone that anyone has ever called Petra a worm.      "But it's that woman there whom you revere, isn't it?" He tilts his head at Lilian, eyes still on Petra. "As the greatest among humans, it is my purpose to judge mankind worthless. If she is also its greatest, by her words, does she not fit that pattern? Then what right have you to demand that she suffer you?"      It's probably the plural 'you'. It doesn't feel like it, though.
Marigold	"But putting every loyal, simple, faithful, loving and beautiful soul on the pyre alongside them..."      "Killing everyone else and leaving them alone is the same as them dying too."      Finally, at the end, he breathes out, heavier than when he'd started. Zephiel's shoulders have begun to slightly sag. This particular conversation, this one thread, feels like one he's had in the mirror many times.      "If there are pure souls among mankind, all the more reason they should not have to suffer the ocean of the wretched! Yes. I will put them on the pyre." He tries to roar it, but even though his conviction hasn't flagged, his energy has. "I must, because no-one else will, and then the next generation of traitors and murderers is born."      "And it is 'if'. I know no pure souls. Loyalty to me counts for nothing. I am a king! Of course they serve me! Were I an exiled orphan- even when I was a wretched prince- who would be loyal to me then?!"      Having said that, his slumping is complete. A white-hot, rich, cathartic sigh rises out of him. He turns to go, but--      "You would have had other friends," Roy coughs out, pushing his way to the front.      "Hmmm?" Zephiel turns with a curious not-quite-disdain. Roy has a pleading look, without even knowing what he's pleading for. "Not generals and court mages! But... you were kind, once. Fair-minded. Princess Guinivere says so! In another life... there still would've been those faithful to you. I think."      Zephiel pauses. His eyes linger on the glowing Maltet wound on Roy's chest, but he addresses neither that nor Roy's words.      "... Well. The leader of the Lycian League. This changes the equation. Iðunn. Would you think it wise to trade everyone here for my life? I admit they've set back my plans."      "... No, Your Highness. Your death would upset Bern. The people would not accept me ruling in your place."      "Then I continue to live at your pleasure. As do they."      Zephiel and Iðunn turn to go. If not obstructed, they simply vanish through the warpgate. Pursuit, where Iðunn would be unconstrained in transforming, would be unwise.
Echolalia	Echolalia almost misses Dysnomia's hand. She's that distressed. Once she realizes it's there, she grabs it tightly for support. She is quietly relieved when the man is dropped. Now or later, it really doesn't matter, they say--but she the idea of letting Zephiel judge their own traitors makes her feel sick. And then Zephiel threatens her home. "Plenty of dragons back home agree with you. I just ain't one of them. I'd say come at us, but she's gonna eat you when she's done here so we won't be seeing you." She glances to Dysnomia and worries for a moment she's being selfish. And then pushes that thought away with the acknowledgement that mass murder and genocide is bad and she doesn't need to fucking win an argument to believe that. It's good they let him go or she might have attacked them independent of that warning. ''I have no greater desire.'' "That's depressing!" Echolalia says but otherwise does not chase them down. Her gut tells her that despite all conventional wisdom with an army next to her, and only two threats before her utterly alone otherwise, that it would be a mistake to strike. And so she lets them go, listening to the grass for their movements until she can no longer hear it.
Petra Soroka	Petra is prouder than she has any right to be that Iðunn acknowledged her in return. There's a measure of trust she's invested in Zephiel by default, that Iðunn *is* worth idolizing tautologically because she's idolized, and Petra always unconditionally appreciates a reserve of extra attention from powerful women. "Then what right have you to demand that she suffer you?"     Petra lets out a sharp, genuine laugh, gesturing with her hand out. "I'm *always* saying this!" She sighs, lowering her hand to her side and quieting down again. "Like you said. I'm *not* the greatest among humans, not even close. But I know what that means, for me."     "Humanity might be irredeemable, but I'm always going to defer to Lilian on what to do about that. If she wants them to be forced to listen and improve, so that the best of them get to be better, then that's what I'll do. If she changes her mind and wants them all put down, then I'd do that. It's not up to me to decide."     "But... I can say there's more than I would've expected, before her. More people that matter, I mean. One in a million might not be a lot, and really, most of the people I care about aren't, like, actually 'human', but... they're still 'a society' to me. It does exist. But it wasn't there where I was born, either."
Desire Stars	The release of Roartz is received with a sharp sigh of relief from Na-Go and a conciliatory nod from Geats. So the rumors of Arcadia were true.     "Are they?"      "Humans and dragons, living together... if something like that existed, I think *that* would be 'the reckoning for the Scouring.' Refuting a question that should never have been asked, and trying to be something beautiful instead."     "Then again, if something like that existed, secrecy would be their best defense against people whose understanding falls short of them. Yeah," he says, with the same tone as someone stretching before heading out for errands, "It's a sad state of affairs it's probably just a fairy tale. I think there should be hundreds of Arcadias. Thousands, even."     Then I continue to live at your pleasure. As do they.     "Try eating a plate of your own words," says Na-Go, using one of Geats' lines. "Roy doesn't have the experience you do, the resources you do, or any way to reward us like you reward all the Narcians and Arcards you manage to find. Guinivere basically *is* an exile! Dieck could find more stable pay guarding some merchant's stall far away from here, Larum could have just kept her head down the whole time ... Maybe it's not as big an 'if' as you think it is."      "Bye for now." Geats stays and watches them go--or appears to. In truth, he's keeping an eye on some of the people he's here working with. *It would be really stupid if I died here because somebody tried the most obvious trick in the book.*
Flamel Parsons	Flamel isn't about to interrupt. But he sees his moment, the moment he would. When Zephiel shows his feelings at full intensity, where he's both physically and mentally present. But there's no chance, no opportunity to land it -- and if he did, would he be able to fight past all those years of objective truth? No, probably not... But it's agonizing. He's so close. So close. And... Flamel recognizes that this concession, this brief taste, is messing with him. He pulls back. He takes Roartz, yanking him away from the gate just a little -- and making sure he's safe.     He watches Zephiel leave. "Th--" Stop. He focuses, now, on Iðunn. To *her*, he briefly whispers, "Thank you." Both of them would deflect quite a bit, but her, less so. He tries to keep a determined face. And he tries not to instantly sink his astral teeth into the fresh meat, so to speak.     He turns to Roartz. "Alright, let's go make sure you don't regret this." He says, trying to keep that positive, friendly tone. "And I need to get the jet back."
Dysnomia	Dysnomia clasps Echo's hand back, forgetting for a moment in the quivering wake of powerful feelings and unbreakable wills all the walls to keep raised, the feigned indifference, the--     "--You SAW him!" She snapped at Lilian. "Don't tell me you didn't feel his regret! His pain! His self-loathing! The Scouring made him feel that, all that! He looked at humans and was shaken by waves of how he WRONGED THEM! And he wants to bring it back?! You think that could be better than Ostia? Than the mines?! It's not! IT'S NOT! You used to be so SURE of it!"     "Roland writhed with guilt, and you said it didn't mean anything. Then, the old dragon writhes with guilt, and now, you say it doesn't mean anything! 'Anything would be better?' We KNOW what a Scouring looks like! We KNOW it's worse! And now you just pretend it makes sense, because of some traitors HE found, and HE propped up, and HE gave opportunity!"     It's a lucky break that the Dame Commander's psychic presence is so muted, or Dysnomia would find herself ripped apart twice over.     It's not until Zephiel leaves that Dysnomia allows herself to relax. She trembled, breathing hard. She's leaning into Echo hard, now. "He wants to make the world pay," she says, to herself. "He sees what makes it true. He sees Narcians...and ignores the Galles. The Guineveres. Because. To trust them. Give them the chance to prove him wrong. Would make him...Vulnerable."     Dysnomia shuddered, again. Said no more.