Event Log: February, Outpost Problems

[faileas]

Event Log: February, Outpost Problems

I. Adventuring We Will Go (Tomorrow) The word gets around pretty quick. Anybody who plans to journey with the group of Wilders venturing out to set up a new outpost is invited to attend a traditional gathering they have before an expedition: the packing party. On the evening of the 15th, the Wilders' HQ is bustling with activity. The whole group is present making the final preparations, sorting gear, and checking the carts for maintenance. The atmosphere is easy and upbeat, very casual, with Wilders laughing and telling jokes and stories as they work. One has to have a little fun before it's time to be serious, after all! A lot needs done, and more hands are always welcome. Camping gear and provisions need to be checked, inventoried, and dispersed into enchanted rucksacks that can hold twice as much as you might think they could - there will be enough rucksacks for each explorer in the party. Everyone is expected to carry their own. Shrunken-down construction materials for the new outpost need to be loaded into the three self-propelled carts the party will travel with (if only they were self-steering as well!). The carts themselves haven't been necessary for an expedition in a while; they could probably use some fixing up, greasing the axles and making sure the enchantments are fully charged with magic. And, too, this is a chance for the group to mingle and get to know each other. You have to be able to trust your fellows out there in the Wilde, after all. So there's a table with food bought off a few street carts: fried hand pies in meat (no one's sure what kind of meat, but hey!), veggie, and fruit varities; a pot of simmering jellied eel to be scooped into cups and eaten with spoons; fried squabs on sticks dripping grease. Beer is plentiful, as are bottles of a non-alcoholic ginger beer. Everyone is encouraged to eat, pack, and get to know each other. Especially because, the lead Wilders on this expedition will say, it's recommended that everyone going out there have a Bonded - whether it be their own normal Bonds if they're also going, or temporary Bonds with their fellow party members. The table also bears a few dozen of the temporary Bonding potions, and it's highly encouraged, though not required, that more experienced explorers temporarily Bond with those who are much newer to Aefenglom. It's nature's buddy system, you know. Whatever you're going to do, do it before the morning - the group leaves at first dawn, and will not wait for anyone too hungover to be on time. While having a Bond isn't required for the trip, the Wilders will strongly encourage it for anyone who isn't Bonded or whose Bond partners aren't going. The three-Bond safety limit does still apply to temporary Bonds, though! If you'd like to tag around for potential temp Bonds, head over to this thread right here!

II. The Silent Forest It becomes clear that, while the journey starts off easy, it won't remain that way. The group leaves out at dawn and passes first through stretches of land considered 'safe' - safe enough to be generally habitable, and the first couple of hours see the occasional farm on the way. There are few to no signs of Cwyld this close to the city, but then they start to slip into the region considered 'in progress'. These are the lands the Wilders have been focusing on, and so while there are the occasional patches of infected plants, they're easily dealt with by small, controlled burns. As the day drags on and the hike continues, though, the landscape changes. The trees grow thicker and the underbrush more dense. The machetes have to come out at points to clear the path for the carts; whoever is currently on cart-steering duty, please don't damage them! The atmosphere, too, changes around this time; the laughter dies down, expressions become more serious, Wilders are noticeably more alert to the possible presence of Shades or hostile creatures. By evening, the forest is thick and dark, the trees around them ancient and twisting. No one has ventured out to this area in quite a while, the more experienced Wilders will say, and that becomes very obvious. The once-beautiful forest is heavily infected by the Cwyld, and the small cabin that served as a Wilder outpost is overgrown, still bearing the 5-year-old corpse of a dead Wilder. Adventurers are advised to take caution when touching anything - wear gloves and heavy boots and watch your step out here, folks. The way still needs to be cleared. a. The Flora The oldest of the trees present are fully dead, thick trunks turned black and shiny, letting in light from above where their leafless branches reach out to the trees around them. The brush is thick and thorny; even small pricks and cuts in the skin are liable to be infected, a black ring forming around the wound, darkening the veins branching out from it, and need immediate treatment to keep it from spreading. It's hard to avoid other than by simply wearing thick clothing and hoping for the best. Nestled in the roots of the trees are pitcher-like plants filled with a sticky sap; the Wilders are excited to see these, and despite the dangers, comb through them to see if any remain uninfected. The sap in infected plants is black and tarry, while in uninfected plants it runs clear. This sticky liquid is excellent for smearing over wounds to seal them and draw out minor infection, and they'd be delighted to take some whole plants back for cultivation. As well, a certain breed of tree seems to have escaped infection entirely; these tall, woody trees have shiny green leaves, a contrast to the rest of the forest, and bear small green fruits that smell (and taste, should you eat one) deliciously sweet. All is not always as it seems out here in the Wilde, though - be careful which fruit you choose to imbibe. These trees are not immune to the Cwyld, they only hide their infection well. It can only be determined which trees are infected by cutting into them and inspecting the sap (difficult, because the sap of all the trees is highly toxic, and even inhaling near it will have nasty side-effects of vertigo, vomiting, and even temporary blindness). If it runs black at all, the tree is infected, and the fruit, sweet as it might taste, is deadly poisonous. Trees that are only mildly infected are a Russian roulette: you have an 80-20 chance of getting a toxic fruit or a good one. Most of the Wilders don't feel it's worth the risk. b. The Fauna The party spends a couple of days in the Silent Forest out of necessity. Initially, it seems as if there is no animal life left on this desolate patch of land. No birds chirping, no mammals scurrying about, not even an insect to buzz around the explorers' heads. It becomes quite clear that the Cwyld has consumed nearly everything, and the life left is hardly life at all. Shades are not uncommon. When camp is made for the night, capable fighters will have to rotate guard duty and patrols around the campsite, to fight off the shadows of what used to live here as they sense life and magic to consume. Dessicated, white-eyed bucks with cracking antlers, bloated and mutated birds screeching angrily, even, perhaps, the Shade of a bear, huge, enraged, and difficult to take down. But that second night, those who are alert may get the tingling sense that they're being watched. They are, in fact, by a band of nomadic Monsters, primarily Harpies and Arachne passing through. They don't approach the camp, and they won't speak to any of the Wilder group, merely watching them with something like curiosity before they flee into the forest again. It's hard to get close to them before they disappear, more at home in this dead forest than you will ever be, but close observation shows that all are scarred in some way; missing parts of limbs, eyes, or bearing even worse marks on their bodies. c. The Solution It's too thick an area to clear simply by burning. They'd set the whole dry patch of forest alight and kill who knows what along with the Cwyld. Some smaller areas can be taken care of with fire and careful supervision, but the rest of it... The lead Wilder on this expedition, a prematurely-greying Witch named Rilla Sparks, puts forth a suggestion. She admits, it's one based heavily on theory and speculation, along with the findings of certain prominent researchers in the city. If they can find the leyline, she thinks the Witches in their party can flood it with enough positive, nurturing magic to 'flush' the Cwyld out of the vicinity, so to speak. Or, she hopes, enough to make it passable in the future. It's experimental, but isn't that what this trip is about? Discovering new things? If enough of the party is game, the first step is finding the leyline in the area. This can be sniffed out by Witches and Monsters both, as they're drawn to sources of magic, even tainted magic; and, too, if anyone takes a look from the air, the leyline becomes obvious, as it cuts a much darker, more heavily infected line across the forest floor, like a blackened vein. Once it's found, it's up to the Witches in the group. Gathering over the blackened ground, anyone who wants to participate in the ritual should join in pairs or groups, down on their knees to be closer to the earth, and should 'push' their magical energy into the leyline through their hands pressed to the dirt. Each push results in a pulse of light beneath the blackness of the ground, weak at first, but stronger the more magic is expended. It will take several hours, which means the occupied (and then spent) Witches will require the protection of their Monster fellows, and interacting this closely with a tainted leyline will have side effects. A low degree of Cwyld infection is possible in the hands, but not guaranteed. Intense fatigue and dizziness is certain, along with pain when casting spells, and terrible nightmares for as long as the symptoms last - anywhere from 2 to 6 days, depending on how much magic the individual Witch expelled and how much rest they get after. It will take some time to see if their labors bear fruit. They'll check on the area again on the way back; they can't stay in one place for too long.

III. Ruins of a Past Life In the next couple of days, as the journey commences, the obvious signs of infection lessen in the landscape. The trees thin out again as they head further north. With the Wilde just barely dipping toes into autumn, and no thick canopy of foliage to block out the sun, it's a hot, uncomfortable walk. Those on cart-steering duty are considered lucky, getting to sit for a few hours, but it doesn't last - the duty is rotated between volunteers. Enjoy it while you've got it. At one point, with the sun high in the sky, they stop to refill canteens and jugs with fresh water and to take a bit of a swim. Here, the water cascades into a wide lake below, which eventually feeds back into the main river that cuts through Aefenglom farther south. At the top of the waterfall, it's much easier to see something in the distance, that isn't specifically on the route but is a small enough detour (only a mile or two off) that the guides permit it. It's the ruins of a former settlement, clusters of shells of burned out houses and buildings, a dried up well, and the crumbling remnants of a wall - reminiscent of the Bright Wall, but much, much smaller, only about eight or nine feet high at its tallest point. There is no magic left in it, though, nor any people in the ruined town. There haven't been for years and years, judging from the mossy overgrowth and state of disrepair. Some signs of the former inhabitants can still be found in the houses; the Wilders agree to make camp here for a night, to give everyone some time to explore. a. In The Daytime The ruins are depressing, but safe, in the daylight. It isn't hard to put together what happened here - a Cwyld outbreak must have come on them quickly, and judging from the hasty, half-burned homes, it was poorly contained. Some homes still contain skeletons in rotted scraps of clothing, some bones charred and others picked clean by animals. Many of their possessions still remain, except there are no books left anywhere in the town, even on shelves where books obviously were before. The patterns in the dust indicate that the books, all that survived the fires initially, were removed much more recently, within the last year or two perhaps. Otherwise, much is untouched. There are still dishes and flatware on broken tables, rotted blankets on beds, children's toys scattered over floors, axes hung on walls. A sort of thick, somewhat mucous-y grayish-green moss grows in flat sheets over most of the ruins. It isn't infected by the Cwyld; in fact, the areas where it grows seem to be free from it. Coincidence? Not? The Wilders have never seen anything quite like it, and are interested in taking samples back to study. (And for those of you who can't help but put things in your mouths: yes, the moss is edible. It tastes a little... earthy, but gives a pleasant caffeine-like buzz and burst of energy. Good for Witches still feeling the effects of the leyline flushing.) Outside the remnants of the wall, there are years-overgrown gardens, and perfectly good potatoes, asparagus, and raspberries can be found still growing, hardy and perennial even without human hands to tend to them. These people lived a more simple life than those in relatively-modern Aefenglom, as there isn't any magitech to be found, but somehow, they made themselves a home out here in the middle of nowhere. b. Ghosts of a Forgotten Settlement After nightfall, the dead town comes alive again, in a morbid sense. The party will soon find that the sunset brings the emergence of specters of the town's deceased residents - ghastly semi-transparent echoes of humans and Monsters, men, women, and children, in the state they were in at their deaths. Some are badly burnt, others were obviously infected, on their way to becoming Cwyldtid. Now, they go about their former lives every night, filling the ruined town with a sense of dread and foreboding that is impossible for the living to ignore. The ghosts cannot be touched or physically interacted with, and many of them simply ignore the Wilders and Mirrorbound completely. Spectral children play in the streets, adults tidy shops that are no longer there, or head out to the field to farm. They do so with expressions full of sadness, and desperation, as if trapped in this cycle of un-life. Others not only notice the group, but try to turn on them, enraged at the sight of intruders, though their shouts and screams are silent. They can't do any damage, but if they pass through you, you'll feel a bone-deep chill, despite the late-summer heat hanging in the air, and the specters' 'touch' will fill anyone with an aching, heavy despair, or rage - echoes of the emotions the ghosts experienced before their deaths.

IV. The Northern Outpost The sparse forest thins even more to the north. The terrain grows more uneven, rockier and hilly, with drier soil and hardy, sun-bleached grass instead of moss and leaf litter. Several natural rock formations can be spotted in the distance, growing larger as the group gets nearer. The trees here are few and far between, shorter and sturdier, casting only small circles of shade on the baked landscape. Wildflowers dot the grass in every color of the rainbow in the areas that remain uninfected. A low degree of Cwyld infection can be found here, turning the grasses overgrown, dry and brittle, and the sparse trees gnarled and blackened. This is to be expected, though. You can't venture this far out and expect anywhere to be completely untouched. The spot Rilla Sparks chooses for the new outpost is cradled between two large spires of stone, with a cliff-face at the back of it - protected on three sides to defend from animals and Shades, with a relatively clean stream within an hour's walking distance. Construction has to commence immediately. Once they land, it's a flurry of activity, as there is much work to be done. The building supplies are returned to their original sizes and it's all hands on deck to put together the low wooden building. With everyone working as quickly as they can, it should take about three days to get set up enough to consider the outpost open. Also on the to-do list: setting up the teleporter waypoint given to the Wilders by the Coven, to shorten the trip from Aefenglom to this far-flung outpost. It's smaller than the one in Dorchacht, only able to transport three people at a time, but the technology is the same. They'll need as many magitech-capable hands as they can get to calibrate it to the local energies and get it up and running. While all this is going on, exploration of the local area is high on the list as well, to ferret out any potential dangers that may be inherent to setting up here, or potential boons that can be taken back to Aefenglom, and to start work on their maps. There's a job for everyone, and while they're happy to let people do what they're good at, or rotate between different tasks, anybody slacking off will get the stink-eye - you came to work, right? This is no vacation! After the first day, though, things start... getting a little weird. Items start disappearing at random times, just out of nowhere, no rhyme or reason to the things taken. Hammers, half-drawn maps, scraps of wood, your half-eaten lunch if you look away from it for long enough. Personal items may go missing as well, if left unattended, so keep your precious things and weapons close. You may hear muffled voices - laughter, indiscernible chatter - around the times when stuff goes missing; it could be the voice of a stranger, or maybe it's the voice of someone you know, someone you've been traveling with for the last several days. But why would they want to steal your pen, or your handful of nails, or your drink cup? Weirder still, holes in the dirt start turning up in the night. Maybe six feet deep, dug at an angle like the beginning of a tunnel, and cutting off abruptly. Digging further down in these holes doesn't turn much up at first, but checking enough of them will turn up only a handful of the smaller missing items with teeth marks in them. Inconsequential, uninteresting, inedible things, or straight up trash in some cases. With enough persistence and maybe a good old fashioned stake-out, the culprits turn up: a pack of sand-colored, hyena-like animals that perfectly mimic human and Monster voices that they hear (often repeating words out of context, like much dumber parrots - they don't know what they're saying, only what the words sound like), and scavenge for whatever they can get their paws on. The hyenas are aggressive when confronted, and pack-oriented, but can be won over eventually by feeding them, or talking at them: different hyenas like different sounds and different words, so it might take some trial and error. Several bear low-level infections that can still be cured. Maybe eventually they can be trained. But then, where is everything else they stole? Please note that only a very small number of the items missing will be found on this trip! If you don't want something of your character's gone for an indeterminate amount of time, don't have it stolen. It's just possible they might turn up at a later date, however...

Welcome to February's event log, Outpost Problems! The expedition will last about an IC week for everyone who completes the trip; characters can return to Aefenglom with a pair of Wilder scouts at any stop along the way, though. As always, please direct your event-specific questions here! You can tag around for temporary Bonds in this thread, and if your character would eat the fruit in the Silent Forest, please post here for your dice roll (we did say it's a Russian roulette). Enjoy the trip outside the Bright Wall, everyone!

Comments

[gilgamess]

[ the answer to that is quite simple, but perhaps she will continue to refuse to believe it. ]

Because you say you are a King, and your legend is one of great renown. [ actually, it is more well-known than Gilgamesh's own -- which, though older, lay unknown to many eras until it was pieced together again from antiquity. but King Arthur? across the world, that name is spoken and has been for many centuries. ] Therefore, I must encounter you at your full strength once more. It is in my interest to support you until the day when our blades clash properly.

[ besides, he is Deeply Twitterpated, ok. even if it makes you recoil, and even if you do not understand it.

but really, it would be an absolute waste if Saber were to perish through some unworthy means. Gilgamesh may enjoy watching her struggle, and there may be a certain sadism in that, but... a King has a certain understanding of another, much as Saber herself might disagree.

as Gilgamesh is musing to himself, however, he is drawn out of this reverie by a certain sound nearby. turning, he beholds shapes moving through the forest. underbrush crunches, and through the swaying leaves, he sees them -- ]

Hm? [ his expression goes flat. it is an indifferent sort of look, and yet his natural expression when faced with danger, even so obvious a danger. ] ... tsk... such mongrels... again...

[ but really, were he being completely honest in his assessment of danger, which he so rarely is or which he so rarely has (had) to be, Gilgamesh is in quite a precarious position, being alone on the ground and without access to any weapon besides Ea, which lacks not only its usual powers, but the typical use of a sword, being a conical blade which functions rather differently. and as for his magic -- that is a work in-progress.

still, he does not flinch, but stands at the edge of the forest, eyes narrowing and posture going into rigid defensiveness. the low sounds of the forest rise in pitch, and Gilgamesh instinctively steadies himself for whatever may come next. ]

[arturiarex]

[ Saber snorts. She can sort of respect that, but she's also seen what his idea of strength and victory is and she has no desire to suborn herself to him or to allow him to torture her until he gets what he wants from her. She glances down at him again, pausing again in her climb. ]

I do not plan on allowing you to be victorious-

[ She falls silent, because from where she is, she can see the movement in the tree. Shades - white and misshapen, coming through the trees toward them. They seem drawn to them - probably because they're the only two living creatures around for a good distance. She glances down to shout a warning to Gilgamesh - noble to a fault - and pauses when she sees he's noticed. He also seems to not be in a very good position to defend himself, if he only has the limited magic of this place and not his own power.

She weighs her choices for a moment and then begins to go down<. She releases her grip and drops, catching herself on one of the sword hilts that still protrude, and then scrambling lower, as fast as she can manage. She's on the ground inside of thirty seconds - she simply jumped when she felt it was safe - and running to join Gilgamesh, hand reaching for the hilt of her blade. ]

There are more of them.

[ It is not in her nature to abandon him or anyone else, whatever her distaste. ]

Can you fight?

[gilgamess]

[ -- so now we know one means of bringing Saber closer to Gilgamesh, eh? He looks over at her, quirking a brow. He does not know whether to be surprised by this outcome or not. She is a knight, and a king. Still, that she rushes to assist him, whom she finds so obviously disasteful... it would seem her honor code runs deep, indeed. But when Saber acts with such poise, she is at her most striking. Gilgamesh is not one to accept companions. Not usually. There is a certain sting to his own pride. But he did agree to a truce, for the sake of the battle ahead of them. And as much as he may be one to court danger, there is also the more subtle and unspoken fact that he must keep himself alive to ensure that no harm befalls Enkidu again. ]

Hah. Of course.

[ he hefts up Ea. although, you know, since it lacks its magical properties, it now looks like a ridiculous conical club of some kind. but there is a sharp point at the very end -- one fine enough that he can use it to slice the skin from their adversaries, provided they are within a close enough range.

still, he does have magic. but -- ]

Hmph, that said, Saber... [ the Shades continue to emerge from the forest, ghostly white wolves treading on dead feet, with empty white eyes. the King of Heroes looks to the King of Knights, his expression somewhat sour, if more serious. ] ... hn. We could both make better use of this magic were we to imbibe that potion.

[ there is a certain hesitation in how he says it. that may surprise her. but an obsessive fascination with Saber is not the same as willing her to share any sort of intimacy with him, his own desires in that regard being unidirectional and his own sense of self being entirely closed to others. still, from a strictly pragmatic perspective, with each passing second, it grows obvious that they are more and more outnumbered and pinned into this clearing alone, and without their spiritual cores as Servants. ]

Indeed... I might be able to lend fire to that Holy Sword of yours, and my own.

[arturiarex]

[ Excalibur comes out of its sheath and it blazes in the light, as if already lit with flame. It isn't, of course, but even if it's no longer magical, the sword itself is still a masterwork of craftsmanship. She lowers it into a guard position and breathes out, eyes still locked on the wolf-like shades that creep towards them from under the trees.

They do not have long to decide, do they?

The idea of bonding with Gilgamesh - even temporarily - is distasteful in the extreme. He's right, though. It would help them gain an advantage in this fight against so many foes, especially since they both lack the abilities and strength that come from being heroic spirits. Her nostrils flare for a moment as she breathes in and then shoots him a little glance, one hand stealing toward her pocket.

She still has one of the potions they gave her. There's a noise from her - something disgruntled. ]

A temporary bond, you mean?

[ She shoots him a long. It's not quite venomous, but it's certainly suspicious and a touch hostile. ]

If you are intending to take advantage of this situation, I will not allow it to pass unchallenged. But... [ She grits her teeth. ]

I will do so. If only for the sake of winning this battle and ensuring our survival. [ She withdraws the small flask, her other hand still holding Excalibur out in front of her. ]

On your word. [ Although she sounds as if she'd rather be doing anything else. ]

[gilgamess]

[ he holds out his hand, only giving her a cursory look as his eyes linger on their approaching foes. ]

On my word, King of Knights.

[ words spoken with that characteristically sharp little bite, that smugness which she so despises.

yet there is no insincerity, only haughtiness. if anything, his hero's blood thrills a little at the situation, even though he would prefer a much grander scale and he would prefer to be at his full capabilities. ]

Let us see you in your proper form once more.

[ not as this self-effacing, backwards-looking woman who drowns in her own despair, lovely as that may also be, but as the noble knight who shines brilliantly in her righteous path of safeguarding the masses, the heroic spirit Arturia. ]

[arturiarex]

[ Well. He has given his word. And Saber trusts that word, despite her lack of trust in his overall character. With a grimace, she uncorks the flask, waits for him to prepare, and tosses back the potion, drinking quickly and deeply.

The sooner this is over the better. ]

Let us begin.

[ She speaks the words as she finishes and tosses the flask aside. ]

[gilgamess]

[ no sooner has he consumed the potion than Gilgamesh feels solemnity wash through his mind like the gentle breaking of a low wave on a distant shore. the sense of resolve, the steely edge of a sword, is nothing with which he is unfamiliar, though it is quieter somehow than his own experience. somewhere beneath, there is a well of sadness, or something like sadness; an ineffable burden that he has imagined the taste of.

yet he has never truly touched it before, never fully grasped its shape, and even now that they are connected, he merely graces his fingertips along the edges of her brilliant and ephemeral sorrows: a distant hill and pouring rain, the crushed bodies of the fallen all around, a knight holding her sword as she gives way to grief, and another sword in a stone, an arm held high with the pride of a kingdom, and a figure watching from behind, murmuring prophecy.

the constellation of images flashes only in pieces; a corner revealed here or there, but nothing lingering or substantial. what loneliness. what sense of purpose. and yet, there is nothing which surprises him. ]

Indeed. [ he laughs softly to himself, giving little to no indication of that sudden influx of subtle feeling. ] You even have my permission to strike first. It is for me to behold what you will do, after all.

[ and so saying, he reaches out, taking hold of the hilt of her sword. the feelings are suddenly muted by a much stronger wave: energy, power. it rushes through him -- a white, hot light, like a surge of mana. holding Excalibur, he hastily murmurs a spell, one of the very few he has learned, but one of those he viewed as most important for battling such foes. not a white-gold light, but the warm orange-red of fire magic engulfs her blade, giving it a new light. a signature of heat all around the steel.

it is not mana, for they are not Servants, and yet it feels something like this; so similar, so familiar. Gilgamesh replicates the touch upon his own weapon, setting it ever-so-lightly ablaze with a ghostly fire that does not burn through, but lingers, potent and controlled. ]

Go forth, King of Knights.

[ and shine brightly once more. ]

[arturiarex]

[ For Saber, the sensation is different. Instead of an emotion, at first there is a wave of remembered heat - the sun beating down against desert sands, contrasted against the cool of a flowing, green river. A flicker of a memory that is picked up and swept away a moment later. With it comes a sense of grandiosity; the idea of being set against the world, of standing above it all and having creation roll out in front of her like a great carpet or as if she stood atop a mountain, the air clear and all the fields and cities of a great nation laid out before her as if on a map.

Isolated and alone, regarding everything with a judgmental eye. Supreme. Supreme and in that power, wrenched from all else around her.

There is the memory of a great battle, of being so closely matched so as to be unable to land a blow and the satisfaction that comes with that sense of equality.

Rain clouds and tears.

This flickers last only as long as the sparks from a flint. They flare briefly and brightly and then they wash away in the moment. She breathes out, determined not to be distracted to to display a reaction. She does not need that now. She is still steeling herself when his hand settles against the hilt of her blade and she shoots him a withering look.

The sword is hers, but - but it is only a moment. Then there is a rush that she feels only tangentially or distantly, as if one of those automobiles from Fuyuki had gone rushing past and she felt the wind of its passing and Excalibur flares with the flames of his magic. It is not the same. It is not the golden light she remembers.

But it will do. ]

Do not stray.

[ Her only words. And then she goes forward, feet digging into the earth as she launches herself forward in a lunge at the first shade - a twisted incarnation of a hound or a wolf - that has strayed too close. The blade swings in a quick arc, whipping around and there is the smell of burned fur and scorched flesh as Excalibur bites deep.

The fight is on and the shades leap forward to the attack. ]

[gilgamess]

[ Having felt that strange, foreign flicker of intimacy, Gilgamesh must naturally wonder whether some kindred experience overtook Saber. Could she have seen a glimpse into a memory, or even waded a little deeper than that, into the realm of substantive feeling?

He shall not ask, and if she has, then so what? What of it? Unlike her, he has nothing of which to be ashamed. He lived according to his own principles, regretting nothing and never looking backwards, only forwards. Considering their most recent exchange, there is much which he would prefer not to delve into with this other King, this woman whose ideals and selflessness are such a violent contrast to everything which he should naturally epitomize and embody. Still, if her own mind should brush ever-so-lightly past his down that dark and isolated hallway of consciousness, then he rationalizes that his own nature forbids him from ever rejecting any part of himself. So be it -- if whatever she saw should arise later, for whatever reason, then he shall address this as he addresses all things.

For now, they have more immediate and more external opposition.

This blue Saber is truly a wonder to behold in battle. Even with her spiritual core entirely crushed and reformed so that she is no longer the Servant she was, the trained grace of her body and all actions are so perfectly splendid. Gilgamesh admires her quietly as he leaps beside her, though the ripple of his own muscles and his own fighting stance are altogether different. Whereas Saber is an expert swordsman whose technique is refined and specific, clean and precise strikes, Gilgamesh, even without his proper abilities, and weakened thusly, utilizes all of the tyrannical brutality at his disposal -- not hesitating to loop those chains around necks and jerk them into crushing bones and undead windpipes, mangling fur and crunching the bones of skulls with the heavy side of his weapon. Soon, the air fills with the scent of seared meat, and the sound of breaking, creaking forms and splintering, crunching bodies.

... oh, no. ]

Fuahahaha, well met, Saber!

[ -- OH, NO. WHAT IS THAT GRIN!!

before he knows it, Gilgamesh is laughing, which of course, for him, means he is absolutely cackling.

normally... normally, he should not take such a battle seriously, for it is beneath him, and quite contemptuous, and yet... ]

Hm, could it be? Indeed! It seems I have even begun to enjoy myself.

[ you know, he tends to want to do that, even if you do not.

as another wolf lungs at him, frozen-white fur and mangled by the illness that takes life from itself, the King drives his foot into its belly, kicking the animal so high that it is sent flying into the pack, scattering others with a soft thud of flesh and fur. ]

[arturiarex]

[ That lingering sense of isolation is hauntingly familiar, in a way. She knows that this bond works in different ways and she wonders, however briefly, if that's a reflection of what the King of Heroes actually feels underneath that arrogant, haughty exterior. She does not know his story, not in full, and has never desired to learn it. She tries to ignore that moment of empathy, having no desire to know more - but in a way, she is drawn to it.

It feels too close to her own sense of isolation. Is that what it means to be a king? To be forever alone?

She doesn't have time to think about that. There is a battle to be fought.

Saber moves with all the power and grace she can muster, tail flickering behind her as she moves through their chosen battlefield. She is no longer a heroic spirit and she is no longer empowered by the magic that was with her in life. She still has strength and speed and a lifetime of battle behind her and it shows in every movement, every swing of the sword, every time Excalibur cuts into flesh. She is focused, almost a machine in how practiced every move is. Efficient.

She stays close to Gilgamesh, protecting his flank and darting out to drive back those shades who creep too close. It's his laughter that earns Saber's attention, an incredulous look shot at Gilgamesh in a brief moment of breathing space. ]

We are not here for entertainment.

[ Her lips purse. She definitely sees the Gilgamesh she knew in him - but that fierce joy that filters through their weak, temporary bond is empowering - even as the cool, deep water of her own stoicism and reserve flows back to meet and quench it. She goes forward again, whipping Excalibur around in a vicious arc that severs a head from a neck and then skewers another that leaps on her. The weight of the body drags her sword down and for a brief moment she's vulnerable as she tugs the blade free of the corpse. ]

[gilgamess]

[ it really is a shame that this incarnation of Gilgamesh lacks their shared memories of the Fourth Grail War; though they may not have had many, it would at least inform his comprehension of certain of her actions and attitudes. also, he would be more thoroughly versed in Saber-isms.

but, then again, if there is one thing you could say about this woman, it is that she has a very straightforward way about her.

so, he can say with some degree of assurance -- ]

How typical of you, Saber.

[ no fun allowed.

listen, Gilgamesh may be ten kinds of terrible, but what is so wrong with celebrating a victory? ]

If you cannot take joy in vanquishing so vile a foe, then how --

[ -- but as much as he would love to continue monologuing, it appears ya girl is open to side strike. naturally, Gilgamesh intercepts, slicing half of the head off a wolf that lunges at Saber. ]

Tsk... how many more do you see?

[arturiarex]

You do not know enough of me to know what my "typical" is.

[ Saber's response comes through gritted teeth. However, she's quietly grateful for his interference. She could've handled it, of course, but it's much cleaner this way. By now, they've cut a swath through the small pack and there are only a few left.

Easy pickings. ]

Three, at most.

[ She does not deign to answer his other question. ]

We should be able to handle them without trouble-

[ And she goes forward, sword glinting in the evening light. As she goes for one, another attacks from another side - and this one catches her pack between its jaws and tears, ripping and spilling some of its contents. Saber reverses her grip and stabs under her arm, skewering it with a sharp exhale.

One left. ]

~gross innuendo escalates >;P

[gilgamess]

[ very business-like, yet always effortlessly graceful. give credit where it is due -- this Saber's movements truly are worthy of the name of royalty, as much as Gilgamesh would hesitate to praise her so explicitly. still, to say she is a woman deserving of his attention (however undesired by her) is from him no small thing.

he has known goddesses as well as mortal women, but the rigid purpose, the extreme obstinacy, of this woman who took a country upon her shoulders contains in it something that is poignant and all too familiar... and yet different somehow. utterly different, so much so that it is hard for them to begin to understand one another. how can it be that there is such resonance, and yet they are so absolutely opposed in nature.

almost as an afterthought, he drives that conical blade down into the back of the final shade, skewering it onto the ground with a force hard enough for a last violent sound of pulp and crushed bone.

the victory having been achieved, Gilgamesh hoists himself up, momentarily leaving his weapon buried within the creature's spine as he takes a step back, pausing to -- more utter strangeness -- catch his breath. he is still composed, still the King of Heroes, only his chest moves with a rapidity that acknowledges there was exertion here and that this body needs oxygen, not mana.

but of course, he still manages to look in Saber's direction with a rather mischievous smile. ]

Oh? Do you have some surprises in store for a man, Saber?

[ WINK WONK. ]

[arturiarex]

[ Much like Gil, Saber is caught a little off guard by the way she needs to pause and catch her breath. It's been a while since she's had to do that. But there she is, chest rising and falling, sweat beading on her brow. Her blood is rushing in her veins and she feels... very alive. She begins to clean her blade off and then pauses to give him a withering look. ]

No. None that concern any man, particularly you.

[ She does not want to deal with that. And across the bond comes the faintest wisp of distaste. ]

Does your mind always turn to such things?

[gilgamess]

[ what? just look at his face. it is clearly the epitome of innocence. ]

You must think I enjoy opposition much more than you do and that makes me disgraceful in your eyes. [ he totally understands the situation here and why she is offended, right. ] Mainly, I just do not entirely believe you do not take some similar pleasure in your own deeds. Battle, for example. I witnessed that competitive spirit... only just now.

I think you live in a state of self-denial. I suppose that is why you inspire so much fascination in me.

[ see, he does not just like you for your golden-haired, green-eyed beauty, Saber. he likes you because you intrigue his psychology in a fundamental sense.

holding the hilt of Ea, he removes it from the corpse, expression turning darker at the gore which cakes his own blade. he removes a towel from the rucksack and wipes it away, turning to look at Saber as she methodically resumes her stance as a living weapon. ]

Well, are you going to return to that mountain of yours, or do you intend to return to the group?

[ you know, he would give you aaaaallll the alone time you need, wifey4lifey, but it might be just a little safer to be in a pack right now. ]

[arturiarex]

[ Saber remains intently suspicious of him, even with their bond. Even with having fought alongside him. There remains something in him that she cannot trust. So she moves with quick, efficient purpose, choosing not to respond or to indulge his attempts to get under her skin. ]

Whether I deny myself or not is no concern of yours.

[ She glances skyward, judging the position of the sun. She would rather not linger. But there is a sliver of interest that creeps along their bond. It's his, of course, and she is at a loss as to how to respond. So she tries to throw up a shield of her own cool disinterest, but there's a spark of something else. A curiosity about that deep sense of loneliness and isolation she felt a few minutes ago.

She tries to ignore it. ]

We should return. It will be dark soon and I do not know if we will cover the ground in time.

[ She kneels and begins gathering up the scattered items from her torn pack. ]

[gilgamess]

It was not, perhaps...

[ and that is the most he shall ever concede to her -- ]

... until a few moments ago. [ he tilts his head, the amusement honeying his voice. ] When I began to feel your interest opening to me. Do not mind about that, Saber. Without my kingship, yours would not exist. It is natural that you should wish to question me, or know me.

[ not in the Biblical sense, even.

well, that too, if he had his way. admittedly.

but there is some There there. he is certain of it. she lived a life as a King and has never encountered someone of her own model. knights, followers, an arranged bride, enemies and their warlord leaders -- her countrymen and those beneath her, and even that would-be mentor of an incubus, but never, not ever, had she encountered someone whose sense of isolation and sense of their own purpose is so similar in strength to her own. ]

But very well. Heh. This topic may be revisited at a later point. [ he is generous like that.

anyway, he will just be gradually approaching her now, idly surveying the darkening woods. ] Do you have the map, Saber?

[ because ya boi is yoloing it, so someone better. ]

[arturiarex]

[ Saber doesn't want to talk about her "interest". She feels more irritated than anything else that he can read her more easily now. Of course, the reverse is also true. Not that she ever wanted to be able to read him.

But a part of her can't help but feel drawn in - or at least a degree of kinship. Her own life has been nothing but isolation from those around her. Does he feel the same?

That's a thought for another time, though. She can consider that later. She frowns and rifles through the remains of her pack and comes up with a shredded map.

Oops. ]

I did. [ Her comment is more than a little dry. ]

Our opponents seem to have destroyed it.

[gilgamess]

Oh? Indeed, Saber?

[ and so it goes. Gilgamesh's ... silkily-inviting-but-rude tone shifts into full on tone-of-mounting-aggravation. Eyebrow Game Intensifies. ]

Woman, were you not supposed to be a King with all the talents thereof? How is it that you can slay foes with such abandon, yet allow a simple map to be destroyed?

[ never mind that this was precisely because she was slaying foes with wild abandon; a similar outcome could have occurred for him, but you know, Gilgamesh, double standards, etc. ]

Hmph, I hope you remember the way back through these woods. I see no one around whom I can command to give us directions.

[ "asking" would be un-manly and un-king-like and such. but also, they appear to be entirely alone. ]

[arturiarex]

I was focused on slaying our opponents, not on protecting my bag.

[ Saber responds with a cool expression and a look of scorn to match his own. What a petty person. Had they not successfully escaped with their lives? And now he wishes to blame her. ]

I can find our way back, but I doubt we will manage before the sun sets.

[ She starts to walk without waiting for him to speak, radiating a sense of disdain. ]

You are meant to be resourceful and cunning; perhaps you should act like it instead of calling for someone to save you.

[gilgamess]

[ listen, he just has a temper sometimes.

ah, possibly that had been mildly unfair of him to say. at least if he were ever capable of being less than perfect in all of his reactions. which he is not. only that if such a possibility were imagined, in that possible world, such a remark could have been called mildly unfair.

that is fine. Gilgamesh will gently make this up to her and set things a-right as her Kingly husband. ]

Do not presume I desire anyone to save me, Saber. [ clearly, her feminine sensibilities offended, he must remind her of her charm. ] Rather, to stay out in the woods with you, on the edge of danger -- nothing could be more delightful to my heart.

[ that... that is a compliment, right. ]

Ha, I have absolutely changed my mind. Let us build a camp and enjoy the bliss of the evening with one another. If there are great dangers, that only makes it all the more befitting a true courtship.

[arturiarex]

You were just talking of how there was no one to command to lead us out of here. A brave attempt to save face.

[ Saber is having none of this and she's still walking. If Gilgamesh doesn't keep up, she's leaving him behind. ]

We will walk as far as we can before darkness threatens too deeply. The farther we get, the better.

[ The last thing she really wants is to spend an entire night out here with him, but it's looking like that's going to happen. Nothing to be done about it. ]

[gilgamess]

[ wow, Saber, you are entirely misinterpreting his remarks!! ]

What? I have no fear of this place. [ seriously, that would require self-preservation instincts. Gilgamesh shakes his head. ] It seems I must clear up your misunderstanding.

[ indeed, the words he shall necessarily speak are:

>> It is only that demanding of and berating others is a great joy in life. Where is your sense of your own noble birth, Saber?
>> It is only that a King's time is of immeasurable value. ]

It is only that a King's time is of immeasurable value. Thus to have it wasted is a great nuisance to me.

[ >> However, my friend believes I should endeavor to be kinder.
>> However, that was only a moment of frustration.
>> However, I did not mean to imply that time with you is a waste of time.
>> However, it will be time well-spent with our lovemaking.

ugh, this one is so difficult. answer four is Extremely Tempting. honestly, reminding her of his love for her should be a strong compliment to evoke her maidenly swooning. but hm. maybe a slightly different answer.

>> However, that was only a moment of frustration. ]

However, that was only a moment of frustration. [ again, he has a lot of those. ] Do you not take any pleasure in the unknown or in exploration, Saber? [ or anything. really, anything. ] Woods such as this evoke nostalgia for me. For one who, by reputation, led the hunt so thoroughly in Britain, I find it strange that you should have no similar pleasures.

[ or maybe she has some potential for such enjoyment and his golden thot presence is just ruining it? or maybe she is All Business, All The Time. still, much to her probable annoyance, he does not fall behind whatsoever, and true to his words, he looks fairly at ease in the woods, even bereft of his vault. really, it is already getting dark enough that they will most likely have to make camp soon. but either should be up to that task, yes? what kind of adventure-kings would they be, otherwise? ]

[arturiarex]

[ Wasting time. Wasn't this whole excursion a waste of time? And yet he wasn't complaining about that, was he? Saber tries to ignore him, choosing not to rise to the bait. But at least he... sort of apologizes. Which is progress of a sort. Still, their flickering bond reflects frustration and irritation beyond her cool exterior as she trudges along. ]

I took pleasure in hunting, when I was a king.

[ She replies over her shoulder; those were some of the few times she remembers being happy during her kingship. A chance to stretch out and see her kingdom in ways that she normally couldn't. The thrill of the hunt, the closeness of her companions. She never allowed them to see it, but joy had burned in her heart. ]

But the woods of Britain were green and overflowing with life. Not so this place.

[ Which is true. It's tangled and dead and infected and not a pleasant place for a stroll. She slows to a stop as she picks her way into a low-lying hollow in the ground. There's a bit of a clearing and she nods to herself. ]

This will do.

[ So saying, she begins to collect dead branches and begins construction of a lean-to. ]

You can build a fire, can you not? That is not a skill you have forgotten?

[gilgamess]

[ ... did he sort of apologize? did he even approximate a sort of apology? by his own reckoning, Gilgamesh would say absolutely not. though perhaps -- he had ever so slightly rescinded the brunt of his anger.

that was more than she would have known him to be capable of, granted. and were one to accuse him of such an act, he would probably deny it rather fiercely. indeed, he could scarcely say why he might downplay his temper, especially with this Saber who provokes such aggravation and who fuels so many of his worst instincts. it could be the delayed effect of his friend's urgings, or perhaps it is some contrivance of their temporary Bond. he feels her exasperation with him, though why should he mind about that? to separate himself from others, up to and including soaking in their animosity, was his natural philosophy of solitude.

-- ah, but Saber's words are strikingly sincere. not surprisingly sincere. sincerity is her nature; she is without guile or artifice, an absolutely honest existence. still, to hear them in conjunction with the joy he feels ripple across to him from her at that memory... it is something like feeling the sunrise on his face in Uruk, a heartbeat of warmth.

still, the King of Heroes is made of walls stronger than those of his city. his reaction does not falter. he watches her as she sets about the task, and for now, he lets the subject move on to what must be done. ]

You have now witnessed my magic, Saber.

[ Excalibur no longer burns with it, but she certainly grasped that he is studying fire spells -- she has felt the heat. ]

Though, even were I not in possession of it, I, the King who journeyed to the abyss, should naturally remember so necessary an aspect of travel.

[ nostalgia... as he said. ]