Awakening: The Great Guardian

[moustre]

Miles beyond Aefenglom, past the ruins healing with the help of Mirrorbound and Wilders alike, lies a particular outpost. While they will be first to know, the news quickly spreads--

But not as quickly as the wings of a dragon herself, pieces of stone still falling as she lands outside of Aefenglom's Bright Wall, and makes herself known at the high of noon with a mighty voice that resounds across all the city:

"Thou who hath been born unto this world and whom shall die in it, thee who hath found thineselves in the midst of a land succumbing to ruin -- wherefore art thou, for I much desire to speak with thee."

Nessie, ever curious and vastly unaware of the dragon who speaks, will certain meet this entity later, as will much of the Coven... but Mirrorbound seem to have first speaking rights, as the house-sized emerald dragon ignores all but they, apparently having a sense for it. Her eyes gleam a vibrant, summery green, and the air around her smells like various earthy, tree-ish smells, such as pine and dirt. Waiting until there's a gather of all sorts of folk, she turns her head down politely and speaks again, her voice low and yet still heard no matter how far one may be within this crowd.

"I bow to thy tenacity, for thou hath done what many tried an eon ago -- and with more luck than they, for thou art not of this land. Thine presence on this earth gives us hope, and for that we will thank thee.

"I am called Créia, guardian of that which is called the Wilde. It has been too many seasons since the fall of the Court, and among thee who bear resemblance to such ancestry I see many changes, families mingling and becoming one with others unlike thine own. For this I admire thee, though I can see how it hath change ye -- and how it has taken thine power, weakened by mixed blood.

"There are many questions I would ask thee, and many more ye would ask of mineself; I implore thee to speak not over thineselves, and to fear no ridicule. I shall answer any question, however inane and trivial, and seek to give thee counsel in what is yet to come. I, Créia, have only one thing to request of thee, and it must be done before I am cast unto darkness once more..."

Créia, peering over the crowd, lets her strong gaze falter into something more grieving, wings tightening against her shining body.

"Seek out mine kin, and reunite we three."

––

Below is a short list of general information she will give, to lessen repeat questions regarding her request:

- The kin she speaks of are not of true blood relation, but of role; Créia will give their names as Uisce and Aer, though will admit that they may have changed them with time if time gave them such an opportunity.
- One is in the north, and the other is yet unknown to her; Uisce was always something of a wanderer, as per the nature of their essence, and Créia will admit she knows not if Uisce even remains in the form they were seen last.
- It is not necessarily urgent to find the two, as Créia will hold off yet, and she would encourage them to think of it more as a request to keep in mind as they cleanse the world. Her kin, should they live, will show themselves when ready, of this she has no doubt.

Otherwise, please feel free to ask her anything. Créia will not be a readily found NPC after this, seeking to return to her paths in order to cleanse the Wilde as she can herself, though one may still come into contact with her by chance. Simply reply to the investigation post for any contact past this date, and you will have a randomized encounter.

As a note, Créia is said CRAY-ee-ah, Uisce is ISH-kuh, and Aer is simply ayr.

Comments

First Dibs: The Outpost

[moustre]

As the first rays sprinkle across the chill of the Wilde, the more summery-like atmosphere of the tree swells and pushes further into the Cwyld surrounding the clearing, coating the air thickly with the smell of... pine? oak? perhaps some sort of flower, though few could rightly say.

The burst lingers, and then it beats almost like a heart; with each beat comes with sound of wings, but a look to the sky bears no answers; it is the forest line which trembles, and as the beats slow so do the sound with it. From the trees a radiant emerald dragon the size of a house emerges, not a lick of the Cwyld against her scales, and she saunters forward enough to give those who impose on the outpost breathing room.

"I owe thee mine gratitude," she begins with a bow of her head, voice strong but gentle. "I am called Créia, guardian of these paths, and I would allow thee to ask whatever thy mind desires."

[fiddlestick]

Elliot had been alongside Eren through this, helping out when he could spare the time to with clearing the corruption. Still, even if he had...it felt so unreal that they had actually managed to pull it off and that the dragon was actually awake.

Thus when prompted to ask questions, he feels like his mind is drawing a blank. Great timing Craig. So he can only do what he knows how to do best: be a nice boy. He'll walk up to the dragon and offer a friendly little wave.

"H-Hi Créia! It's nice to see you awake! Um....feeling better?"

[moustre]

What a small, polite young one. She inclines her head, a trace of amusement evident in her tone. So that side of humanity, that they cannot think of what to ask when the moment presents itself, remains the same... how charming.

"I am, thanks to thine efforts as well as others. Though I am not fully rested, as battling the plague within this body of mine took much of that from me, even in slumber, there is nary a doubt in mind that I am much better than if I had not all of thee to rely on in the first place."

[fiddlestick]

It'll remain the same forever and ever. He rubs the back of his head a little sheepishly, but looks a little relieved.

"Well, that's good to hear...be sure to take it easy for awhile though. It'd be rough if it happened again."

Though, that does seem to remind him of why he wanted to know.

"Oh- is that why you fell into slumber? Because of the Cwyld? Or was it for another reason and the infection happened after?"

[stopfen]

Mikasa wasn't here for the first outing, too new, too inexperienced at dealing with what was in the Wilde. But at hearing they needed people to general work, she'd tagged along, like with the Northan Outpost. Then learned this one needed her area of expertise(even if the dumb plants in this place weren't like the ones the farm girl was used to)

She'd only come out for a short visit. To check the plants she and Maria had put in the area around the boulder. She couldn't stay long, she had a dog who'd get antsy without her and Tater the puppy to look after. She also wanted to see if she could still sense that pulse of the Ley Lines as she had in the roots and in the underground. It should take too lo-

Then the rock explodes into light. Her large black eyes stare at it narrowed. Arms raising ready to throw down. Blinking...She only understood about 60% of that Créia.

"How...How did you get infected?"

It's possibly a dumb question. But given she was told the dragons might be the source of a cure...

god i love that link

[moustre]

Well, if it isn't one of the Fae... nay, something alike to them; there is none who resemble the True Fae, but Créia finds herself bowing a tad lower in greeting as Mikasa speaks, rising after a moment.

"I and mine kin are to this world just as thy form is; we are close to its life, to its magic, and thus can be overcome just the same... It is shameful for a guardian such as myself to hath knelt against a foe which threatened all that which I hath strove to protect, yet it claimed me as it did all else; as the Wilde tired, so did I."

As far as Créia seems concerned, there is no dumb question. Perhaps it's her age, but she does seem ready to entertain all manner of it.

The mantis dance

[stopfen]

Her arms slowly lower, in part because...If Créia wanted to kill her, being on the defense probably wouldn't save her ass. And she wouldn't be talking.

So the tree dragon was tried.

"How long did it take to get that bad?" From how long the dragon appeared to have been trapped, and that most she'd spoken too didn't know of a time before the Cywd, Mikasa wasn't sure if anyone would remember that far back. It was a long shot. "And what will you do now you're out?"

[usurpers]

[ he's waited months for this, with only the voice of créia from the much earlier dream waltz— the first time they spoke and now it just feels like a phenomenon that make his spines from his back to his tailtip rise like gooseskin in the cold when there was no cold around the enchanted outpost protected by the witches keeping constant watch of the guardian's new garden. there's just a massive amount of energy. big mom energy.

the smaller, now more human shaped dragon can only bob his head with awed greeting. she's well again and the nature burst his tongue keeps catching in scents of pine and green are all proof that this had been the right thing to do. the wilde is alive. ]

I'm glad. [ greetings out of the way, though, he'll certainly step as close as proximity can lessen. ] You said Courts. The Fae Courts?

[moustre]

[What a familiar taste, an old scent she recalls from dream; Créia takes care to show little favoritism, though there's a noted warmth in her gaze as she looks over the more human-like dragon who sought her out so long ago. So this is his form, outside of that fantastical space.]

Indeed. Two sides of the same coin, yet either would have cursed thy tongue for even suggesting the idea; t'was they who resided above all in these woods, though I would not have called them the most welcome nor friendly of folk. Outsiders were prohibited from their haven, save for those they... invited themselves.

[One can get the feeling that "invited" is the nicer term.]

[usurpers]

[ a snort at the invitation. yes, he knows. ]

By leashes and collars. [ like self proclaiming owners to brand new pets they’ve found walking outside their homes. they weren’t human and a small part of eren couldn’t blame them for their behavior— the side that grew as much as his changes to resemble and transform him into the dragon he ages into doesn’t tolerate it. ] Some of us have been there— by dream. Have you seen them during your time?

[mensrea]

[ Where his first meeting with Eren, who had been in Dragon form at the time, elicited a starry-eyed reaction from Stiles, the sight of Créia in all her unpetrified glory has Stiles awestruck. He’s an irreverent, rude, and rebellious teenager – and yet seeing her move through the forest, as if the very trees were parting for her passage, is like a religious experience. One that he’s quick to shake off, mind you. When he has a chance to, Stiles steps forward to address her. ]

Uh, hey. [ Off to a great start. ] Nice to meet you, Créia. You can call me Stiles.

[ Not his real name, but it’s not like the protector of the forest has a lie detector built in, right?? ]

I get you’ve been asleep for ages – hope you had a nice nap, by the way – but do you know anything about the magic that’s keeping us tethered to this world?

[moustre]

[She most certainly does not! Just a Cwyld detector.

Anyway, Créia bows her head in greeting, and then shakes it slowly.]

Nay, I do not. It may be that this world hath chosen thee for a purpose, and once thy task is done thee may return from whence ye came, or it may be something unknown to me. The world breathes just as anyone else does, lives and desires all the same, so it is not impossible to imagine that, in its weakness, it would seek thine help by whatever means necessary.

[mensrea]

Alright. Kinda figured it was a long shot.

[ Disappointing, but Stiles knew it wouldn’t be that easy. He’ll continue searching for a means to return home, one way or another. As for now… ]

How about the Underground? We recently stumbled across an entire civilization – you guessed it – underground. They’ve been keeping the Cwyld out of their city through this weird moss that eats people to power it. Ringing a bell?

[silentsavant]

Soren, too, had volunteered his efforts in the healing process in league with the others. Her appearance here is proof that their work was not in vain. He didn't get Cwyld-infected maggot guts splattered all over him for nothing... She really is quite majestic, exactly as one might expect of an ancient dragon who seemed to bear the weight of a large portion of the world on her shoulders. When it is his chance to hold audience with her, he begins by greeting her in his soft, level voice.

"...Guardian of the Wilde, Créia. My name is Soren." He nods his head in a bow and then fixes his bright, penetrating eyes upon her. There is a restraint to his bearing, one fashioned of an impersonal politeness, and a mature austerity that may seem too soon on a dragon who looks so young. "Thank you for allowing us this chance to satisfy our curiosities. I may have a few questions, but I will try to be mindful of your time. I would like to know more about the Sisters. Who, or what, are they?"

[moustre]

There are many kinds in the world. Créia bows her head at his greeting, looking him over as she has the others, and hums softly. Very much a question she could ask him in return, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out the only pair which has much meaning -- be it under the same name or not, as culture trends.

"Those are the moons high in the heavens, yes?" Somewhat rhetorical, as she turns her head skyward. "Perhaps thy kind hath a different tale attributed to they, but they are not... Rather, they were not called such before mine slumber. They were referred to as The Mothers, and all whom are blessed are kin to them."

What that means is anyone's guess, though Créia seems to contemplate something before speaking further.

"I do not believe any whom are directly related to they still live among thee, however. The blessings thy hold are of descendants of they, spread thinly with weakened blood. These are of times much before even mine own, from when I was no bigger than a hare."

[silentsavant]

Créia may well be the oldest living being Soren has had the opportunity to speak with in this world. That the Sisters were once Mothers so long ago intrigues, but altogether it is not so surprising to learn that stories have shifted, exactly like how the surface of a pond scatters the light of the moon into a skewed image of the real article. It reminds him of how the story of the primordial goddess who created the life of his world got twisted with age, age and the constant flux of which mortals wielded enough influence to decide which details should be added, omitted, emphasized, downplayed for the masses to digest and regurgitate. He contemplates that idea while she contemplates her next words, and then he listens to those, too.

"That must have been ages ago," he remarks. "You're old, but are you as old as my dead dragon grandpa? Stories change with the flow of time, don't they? Well, whether they are regarded as mothers to some or sisters to others... if these beings can offer such blessings, would you also say they are goddesses?" And since this is Talam, and creatures like these exist... "Or something more akin to the Fae of old?"

[whomthebelltolls]

[Honestly, she's not expecting such a grandiose entrance. Hell, half of it is that she doesn't even expect this thing to even still be real let alone alive and able to shake off such a deep-rooted infection. Perhaps there is hope in this world, after all.

Her posture is stiff, at first, eyes immediately scanning every inch of the dragon for tells of aggression, or an incoming attack. She keeps her hands from her swords, but only barely. This is supposed to be a dragon guardian, so she has some idea that it's not supposed to be aggressive toward her. Unless it sees her as some kind of threat.

Luckily, it doesn't. And furthermore, it doesn't even tread on the flowers she planted. Small victory.

When she does finally relax, it comes with the bob of the feather in her tricorne hat, and her relaxing onto her back foot. She's not alone, there's nothing happening here. She waits a moment - and for a couple other people to speak - before she pipes up. Or as much as Maria's voice "pipes up" with all as soft as it actually is.]

You say counsel in what is yet to come - do you mean merely what you intend to do and what may happen if we find these siblings of yours - or have you prescience for something we know not of yet?

[moustre]

I am only afford so much knowledge of the world, and only due to mine connection to it. I cannot give such foresight as to what is to come in the latter's regard, and for that I feel much regret.

I speak of the first, and I can give to thee what I remember of mine kin -- be it habit, favored food, and even where I felt them last... It pains me to admit, but I cannot feel them in the present, no more than ye could feel mine presence prior.

[She dips her head in apology, lifting it after a moment.]

Though I cannot say for certain, I feel greatly they must be found, and we three must reunite. I ask thee for thy assistance, for I must attend elsewhere in the forest.

Aggressive irreverence thy name is Maria

[whomthebelltolls]

[Well, it would be rather useful if this thing was prescient, but the lack of it doesn't really detract anything. They're just... back to exactly where they were to begin with.

Maria considers the dragon, again.]

... Favored food... habits... do you think they'll all need some kind of... cleansing and ritual to wake them as you did? Since you cannot feel them as you once seemed to? You seem so sure they'll just... take up arms once more.

[She frowns.] You've all three failed your duty and abandoned this world to its fate before; now the blight spreads further and deeper than you last remember it, if my gathering of these conversations is correct. The wild is rotted and mostly dead and what life there is clings desperately in tiny corners, fighting what has seemed to be a losing battle. Most of this entire landmass is covered in that rot, like some awful rash. You're waking to find a task seemingly yet more monumental than even before, and you could not handle it then.

[Maria knows very well the sting of failure, and what it can do to your motivation. She's not sure she believes dragons to be any different in that regard. A failure as utter as theirs had to do something to at least one of them.] What happens if one or both of your fellows are dead, or refuse? Can you alone be sufficient? Two of you?

[slushfund]

(well, now. this is a sight. hiruma may stay a tail's length away, but his voice carries to her easily from his firm position below:) Ah, when people talk about "natural good looks" this is surely what they're talking about. You're fucking blinding. (gets a chance to speak with an ancient forest dragon and this is what he starts out with.

some people say "there's no accounting for taste," but hiruma begs to differ; everyone loves a playful compliment—especially the old ladies. she has power and magic enough to crowd his senses, impressive enough that his fingers shake as they fold behind his back.)

Got a few questions for you, since you offered. I think I wanna' know just what's at the centre of the Wilde, though, first and foremost. (since seeing a map of the land, the vampire's wondered this. it looks bleak enough, but if the outskirts of the wilde are bad then what must the core of it all be like?) Have you been there? If not there, then to the far reaches of this continent?

[moustre]

[How bold. Uisce would find this one charming, that's for certain.]

I have not been there as of recent. [Being, the last she was awake.] I was born there, however, as were kin of mine. Incidentally, I am the eldest of them, though Aer would claim differently.

[Just so you know.]

At the centre lies the land of the Fae and their Courts, or what remains of them. Should anything remain. In times before, it was beautiful and ran wild with magic –– the land flourished, and no matter who thee were thy footsteps would bring about life. Flowers and the like, that is. The forest surrounding the Courts is called Dewaint.

I have not been to the far reaches of this continent, however. These claws of mine have tread on paths guided by the life of this world, that which you call Leylines, and though they extend to the shores I was more inclined to remain at the edge of the Fae's boundaries, where the forest is thick and rich with life.

[slushfund]

Then do they readily accept visitors and people wanting to parlay, or are they the "get off my lawn" sort of Fae folk? Either way, it sounds difficult to get there... but I assume one of those leylines is a direct enough path...

(the momentary look down, somewhere around her belly, once again flicks up to meet her eyes. their lambency is spellbinding, the colour more so. if no useful information is obtained from this meeting, it won't matter; she's a sight to behold, worth the visit.)

If you haven't been to the far shores, then does that limit your knowledge to only what's in the forest? If I asked you if you know more about Vampires—which is what I am, apparently, now that I've been stranded here—where they came from, and how they came to be, would you have any answers?

Would your kin?

if there is no such thing as a late tag

[unsundered]

Had Emet-Selch done absolutely anything to help with this dragon's revival? Of course not. This world's fate yet concerned him very little, and even if it did... well, it's the sort of task he'd encourage erstwhile heroes to busy themselves with and sacrifice themselves for. No, he remained an observer.

And so he observed. And when one hears of a successful revival of some ancient, undoubtedly powerful entity (which in itself seemed to him a dangerous manner of achievement), is that not something worthy of more direct observation? Perhaps it would just be a trap, or someone would offend the rousing beast and she'd kill them all, but that's the risk he's apparently taking to get a better look at their self-proclaimed Wilde-guardian.

But the Ascian was both skeptical and wary upon learning of this Créia's request: to find more dragons, and for that matter, specific dragons. What promise did any of them have that these entities were ultimately friendly to their cause or existence? Emet-Selch was well-versed with considering the affairs of short-lived, broken mortals as being completely beneath him, their lives no more notable than that of as any insect. And while it was galling to even consider placing himself into that lesser category... it wasn't hard to imagine that creatures like these dragons would consider them (and more pressingly, him) as some similarly unremarkable entity. When there was that much of a power differential, it was inevitable.

Yet here he was. And here he finally approaches, steps carrying a certain heaviness to them as though weighted down by something invisible, yet permanent. Years, perhaps. It's nothing new, and though his gaze is sharp- half-blind as it now is- there's an edge of tiredness to his manner that he's never entirely able to disguise.

But while distant in attitude, and suspicious in thought, the Ascian has no particular intention on being rude. Being rude to a recently-awoken-dragon-the-size-of-a-house did not sound conductive to his continued health, and as complicated as it was, he did prefer to remain among the living.

"I hope you weren't awoken too abruptly," he finally begins, tone mild if idle as he stops before her. "I do so dislike being roused myself from a rest long desired, faced with tasks of unpleasant urgency."

Thusly greeted, he continues: "Why would you prefer to speak to those of us who don't belong here, and who may be snatched away at any moment? Why not those who have some chance of remembering aught of your request...? We're hardly the most reliable group to be tasked with anything of grave import."

...Well. No particular intention of being exceptionally rude. Only a bit.

there certainly is not!

[moustre]

Another who seems aged beyond their years, however much that means to Créia herself; she takes in the man before her, bowing her head slightly in greeting and acknowledgement of his cordial greeting.

"Because it is thee who hath been called here by the lands, and it is thee to whom I owe mine awakening. Is it so unreasonable that I should owe thee and thy own what answers I can give? They who have ties to this world, those whom are born and shalt die in it, may assist me from hereon just as well, but it is the earth that I place mine faith in, and to thy sorts as a result of that."

Which may not sound very confident in practice, given that the land takes just as much (in the snatching sense), but Créia seems very certain that this is the right choice of action.

[unsundered]

It's an answer that gets a faint hum from him, and he spreads in arms in something like an apologetic gesture. Like the geniality of his tone, it's more theatrical than remotely sincere.

"Well. To be honest with you, you owe me naught at all. I played no part, and will take no credit nor blame," and there's a hint of sharpness in the last word, for all that it eases back into mildness, "for anything that results from this... venture."

This could all resolve in a resounding success, world saved, plagues destroyed, and Emet-Selch would remain skeptical. Pessimism was too ingrained of a habit to be broken now.

"You say we're called here by the land- now how does that work? I was under the impression it was the fault of the native mages that we're dragged here unwilling. And I don't suppose you know anything on how we may remain tied to this place or not- or if we're destined to return, what manner of information we may take with us."