Event Log: September, The Price of Revolution p1

[faileas]

Event Log: September, The Price of Revolution Part 1

I. The Freedom Festivities Behind the fortress-like walls of Dorchacht, what was once a gloomy, imposing city is lit up for the festivities to come. Septeril brings with it many mixed emotions for the citizens of what used to be called The Black City, though the overwhelming atmosphere is positive - this is a celebration of freedom hard-earned and prosperity hard-fought-for. The triple stars of the Resistance, now the current reigning party, feature heavily in decorations and in clothing: in pins, on hats, golden stars enchanted into fabric to dance merrily across skirts and cloaks. Stars light up the streets in decorative strings hung from lamppost to lamppost, flickering gently over the cobblestones. Mirrors, as well, feature into the decor, tiny round ones hung in multitudes from awnings and in windows like ornaments, catching the light and playing it across the otherwise-utilitarian architecture, lending it a sort of understated beauty. Much of Dorchacht has been rebuilt and repurposed by necessity since the uprising last year, and many new small businesses and restaurants are being featured at the festival - their goods or their foods on display in markets of street-side stalls or on the feast tables. Local handmade wares and crafts are out for sale for modest prices, and every sale helps out both the small business, many of which are started by former slaves, and helps the local economy, which is better these days but still recovering. The festivities go for six days, almost a full week, with feasting and bonfires every evening, and tours and tales of the city by day, as they display the changes for the better they have all made. And then, on the final evening, all are invited to watch a grand fireworks show that will be put on in the skies over Dorchacht, presided over by the Circle of Three themselves. Mirrorbound are welcomed warmly, whether they were present last year or not, and treated much like family - get ready to be pulled into activities and plied with food left and right. a. Join the Fun The children of Dorchacht are out by the dozens during the festivities, excited by all the freely-offered, special sweet treats and the magical sparklers and poppers being handed out by the fistful. The poppers explode when thrown to the ground in bursts of bright colors, completely harmless, and the sparklers are enchanted not to burn little (or big) hands if mishandled. Mirrorbound passing through may find themselves roped into elaborate pretend games of revolution by eager faces: the children name themselves either Resistance members or Mirrorbound, and 'do battle' with their magic fireworks against scarecrow-like constructions cloaked in dark bed sheets as 'the bad guys'. Depending on one's perspective, it may seem dark, but this is what these children have known very recently in their lives, and their caretakers or parents (there are more of the former than the latter, especially for the young Monsters) let them play as they will. If asked, they'll just explain that some of those kids even remember the fighting when it happened; this is just another way that they try to understand how the city has changed. More organized, family-friendly reenactment performances are also common, with several of the orphanage groups putting on small plays about the uprising, or moral plays about kindness and togetherness between Witches and Monsters. This includes a prominent set of performances by the Mirrored Hearts Home for Children - maybe you're helping out with their sets or costumes, or maybe you assisted with their scripts and songs. Those Mirrorbound volunteers will want to see the kids do well, right? They'll be heartbroken if you don't show. Of course, kids aren't the only ones doing reenactments. The newly formed Dorchacht Historical Society, dedicated to protecting Dorchacht's history going forward, puts on several - and may drag in passers-by to play different roles! Only the luckiest are begged to play the role of The Dragon, who valiantly rose up against their cruel former master, Morgana, and helped lead Dorchacht to where they are today. b. Forget-Me-Not While the overall air is celebratory, among the adults who are old enough to understand just what was lost as well as gained, there is an undercurrent of sombre remembrance. Many visit the burned-out Old Coven, left as damaged as it was when the fighting ceased, as a monument to how freedom fighters suffered and fought. Plaques dot the grounds and buildings there seemingly at random, until you realize that each metal plate bearing names is laid where someone died. To decorate these plaques, and homes and businesses as well, there are tables set up in the yard of the New Coven, heavy with a rainbow of small magical flowers called Forget-Me-Nots, and the supplies to make remembrance wreaths. In this new tradition, the flowers are chosen with a dead, missing, or simply absent loved one in mind, and woven together with glass beads, small wooden charms, and a spell written on a slip of paper. The enchanted fragrance of the Forget-Me-Nots allows whoever smells them to witness short, happy memories of the person the wreath was made for - whether they knew that person or not. The memories come from the wreath-maker, and are only short flashes (less than a minute long) or mere impressions, but all are pleasant or warming. With the spell woven in, they'll last for an entire year without wilting or losing their effects, a souvenir from the festival to take home. Mirrorbound are encouraged to join in, and make wreaths of their own, whether or not they lost someone in Dorchacht's uprising. It can be for someone who has disappeared from Geardagas, someone who died long ago, someone living they miss from home, anyone who is not currently with them.

II. The Uninvited Guests On the 25th, the final day of the celebrations, the partying lasts all day. Food and drink are abundant on every corner, upbeat music is played by street performers and over the radios that can be found in nearly every household and shop, and the bonfires have been enchanted to let the flames take fanciful shapes. Drinking games and dancing, storytelling and general partying all last clear into the evening, but once dusk falls, everyone gathers in the center square of the city for the fireworks show. The Three are there - the Witches Bryn and Hilda, and the Monster known as The Dragon, Starlight, or formerly Fafnir - with Nessie and Mhairi as guests of honor, and Hilda is the one to set off the first enchanted fireworks, after a brief speech thanking everyone for coming out to celebrate a year of freedom and independence with them. It's with bursts of colorful light in the night sky behind her that she seems to appear from nowhere: tall, dark and imposing, a sharp-eyed Witch that exudes power. Morgana Drummond is not alone, either, flanked by a dozen rough-worn Witches and a host of others. The chaos that ensues is immediate and violent. "All of this for me?" Drummond sneers. Attacks bounce off her, no matter how powerful - even Nessie's considerable spells. Witches will be able to sense the strong barrier spell close-fit around her body, and the others around her will not let Monsters get close. It's The Dragon who speaks, voice rough from disuse but loud enough: "How dare you return here-" "I built this city in all the ways that matter. I was never going to let you have it. You burned away my Dorchacht, so now I will make sure there is nothing left of yours but ashes." a. To Sleep, Perchance Unreachable, Morgana Drummond's form limns in a sickly violet light, the circle of a spell forming beneath her feet, steadily growing as her power gathers. So much magic gathered in one spot is bound to be felt by all the Mirrorbound, Witch and Monster alike, oppressive in nature as if it could steal the breath from your lungs. Perhaps it truly was a fluke that she was driven from Dorchacht, a happy accident caused by a timely distraction. The spell circle spreads, glowing, until it envelops the entire city, and it pulses once, blinding, before it sears itself across Dorchacht's streets and buildings in burnt lines and symbols. The fireworks continue to pop and burst overhead, casting shadows that seem suddenly sinister. Nothing happens for just a moment - and then all the people of Dorchacht collapse in waves. Next to a stunned Nessie and furious Mhairi, Bryn, Hilda, and the Dragon fall into a heap as well, the final three bodies to hit the ground. Mirrorbound and citizens of Aefenglom do not fall prey to the sleeping spell despite being in its area of effect. It happens in the span of just a few minutes, and then Morgana is gone in the blink of an eye, leaving her people to sow terror on the sleeping city. b. Battle on the Streets While she brought with her only a dozen Witches from her former Coven, she's collected a force in the Wilde. Blank-eyed rogue necromancers, mind controlled the way the Monsters of Dorchacht used to be, storm the streets controlling in turn their dead Monsters and creatures. A few even have with them dead Nuckelavee, which will require multiple fighters to take out. Wilders from Dorchacht gone missing on expeditions in the last year bear the signs of mind control as well - the ones who aren't dead, shambling around the necromancers. Maybe you recognize them, maybe you don't. Maybe you can help them, or maybe you can't. The mind control enchantments can be dispelled with a lot of effort or with the specific spells used often by the Resistance a while ago, for those who still remember it. In the slums of Dorchacht, the people who were convinced of Morgana's return, those who want to return to the days of slavery and terror, break free from the now-sleeping guards and failing wards that kept them contained and join the fighting, manic in their glee. The spell that put the rest of Dorchacht to sleep seems to slip right off them, perhaps sensing their loyalty to terrible causes. It is chaos, as the insurgents set fires and attack at will with magic, claws, weapons, anything they have. Mirrorbound will soon realize that they and the visitors from Aefenglom are not the only targets. The sleeping people of Dorchacht are ripe for the killing, unable to react or defend themselves. The fighting will continue into the night until the invaders are all dead or captured.

III. The Aftermath When the fighting ends, the work begins. An entire city deep in the throes of an enchanted sleep is a worst-case scenario that none of them could have predicted, even those who had a hunch Morgana didn't die out in the unexplored Wilde. Miss Nessie and Mhairi will remain on the scene helping to direct the aid efforts in the aftermath of the battle. Fires must be put out, corpses must be rounded up to be buried or burned, captured attackers must be secured and questioned, sleeping citizens must be whisked from the streets to safety and shelter, and buildings ensured to be safe in the meantime. Aefenglom's Coven are called in to assist, anyone who is available, and Mirrorbound help is more than welcomed. They will need everyone they can get to make sure not all is lost in this tragic attack. Nessie herself will ensure the Three are taken to safety in Aefenglom until the people of Dorchacht can be woken. Action needs to be taken quickly. Morgana needs to be found as soon as possible, and capable hands will be needed to search the Wilde far outside Dorchacht, the most likely place for her to go. More urgently, however, are the sleeping citizens. Nessie announces late the next evening, the normally-bubbly woman gone solemn and serious: "I believe I've found a counter-ritual for the spell that nasty woman used, I have. I will need your help, though, Mirrorbound. Volunteers only, of course, of course, as it's likely to be quite dangerous, though the Dreamers and I will take every precaution we can. Discuss among yourselves, decide if you're willing. Those who are, meet at the Coven at midnight on the 27th. It's not right to just leave them all like that, not right at all..."

Welcome to September's event log, Part 1 of The Price of Revolution! This event will continue in the TDM posted on the 21st, with a foray into purposeful dreamwalking. It will be a hybrid test drive and event that current characters will be allowed to top level on as well. Quests into the Wilde to search for Morgana will currently bear no fruit beyond small clues, but Part 2 in early October will deal with her whereabouts and her final fate. As always, direct your questions about the event HERE! And finally, for those who are wondering what's up with Dorchacht, we have a Setting update for you.

Comments

[braidmage]

[ Reynir listens, quiet and still; a part of him is afraid that if he reacts too visibly, does anything unpredictable, Onni will startle like a wild animal. It has taken so long, to get just to this point where he will even admit that he'd been through hardship, that he has had to struggle to get through it. Back when they had first met, Onni would never have ceded that. He would have stubbornly insisted that was just how life was, how the world worked, nothing unusual about it, nothing worth discussing...

He pays attention for the moments when he feels Onni's emotions swelling up, threatening to break the dam behind which he is keeping them in check. And it is not, as he had expected it might be, when he is talking about Tuuri being gone, not when he is explaining that Lalli has found other people to support him. It is instead, when he says that he can't- when he tries to explain or even contemplate what might happen if he let himself give up control.

It wasn't what he had expected, but it makes sense. Reynir only wishes he could know for certain what is best. Is it the right call, to help Onni keep those walls up, patch the weak places in the dam? Or is it better to tear it down, and let the flood happen, because it would sooner or later, and at least then he would be there to help... ]

I think I do.

[ Reynir looks at those wreaths, looks around them. There is one thing that he is certain of - whatever they choose, they should not choose it in such a public place. ]

The... enchantments on these last all year, right? That's what the lady said?

[ He drapes one wreath on his wrist, carefully reaches out to take the other from Onni's hand and drape it there, too. Then, without thinking too much about it, he sets a hand against the small of Onni's back and steers him, heading in the direction of home. ]

You don't have to make a choice right now. I actually think... sleeping on it might be a good idea. My dad always said that any difficult choice looks different in the morning.

[ Reynir hasn't taken his hand from Onni's back, and light pressure there that is just as comforting for him as it might b for Onni. ]

But whatever you choose, I want you to know... you haven't got to hold things together here. That's what I meant about being here. I can hold things together, for a while. You can afford to- to fall apart and stuff. I'll keep things going, and keep you safe, and look out for you. So, if you want to look, even if you know it's gonna fuck you up... you can trust me to hold everything else together for as long as you need. Okay?

I always do them one tag late....

[stopfen]

[It was tragic really. That Mikasa was that busy smashing one crutch into the face of an undead turnskin to see him posing as he skidded along the cobbles. Gritted teeth bared as she almost swings to hit him as well when he got to close.

Of course, a wooden crutch wasn't the best weapon. Not even in a stronger monster's hands. Even if Mikasa was strong for a fae, stronger than a human should have been. Especially with that armour. It wasn't a match for the raw strenght of a turnskin...or a puca's legs apprantly. Because while that faun is absoulutely fucking gone. The crutch creaked and splintered against the bear-turnskin's skull. The sheer force of it ripping a chunk of fur and flesh off leaving a little bit of bone visable.

But unlike a human. Even discounting the fact that this was an undead. The skull wasn't damaged, no cracks... When she'd normally be able to brain someone the same way. Maybe against a less sturdy creature she'd have better luck. But for now she was teetering, having to hop on her good leg. Swinging the crutch on her bad side out to catch her. Then her wings flickered, taking the pressure off her injuried leg.]

Shit- [A little hiss, under her breath. This was not good. It might have been okay if she wasn't down a leg. But she couldn't fight. Not like this. And she'd already seen Mettaton fighting before. He had them unprepared now, or as unprepared as a corpse could be but...]

Can you carry me? [It'd...potentially suck. Given that the iron powder that had chased her out of her oringal hiding place had been wearing at her enchantment. But even if the magic did run out, there'd be clothes between them. That would have to be enough.

Mettaton... She regrets coming out to be honest. This friend-date as a trio was terrible. She has regrets.]

[darkcharge]

I smell so good, huh?

[ Vanitas can't help but smirk at that. He remembers when Sora had been addicted to the smell of magic - one of the many reasons he had backed off for a time - and what it had done to him. Is the Puca implying that Van's regular scent does the same thing. ]

Yes, I am really okay with it. I wouldn't ask you without knowing what all this would entail?

[weatherscience]

Ardyn...? [ hmm, not a familiar name from this world. which means, ] Someone from your home?

[ and, ah, right. she... kind of forgot about that, not having been here for that herself. ]

[scowlish]

[Reynir's attention is so focused on him that it almost feels like a physical touch, and Onni isn't sure how to react to that. Isn't sure what to make of it. In a way, it's uncomfortable, overwhelming - no one has paid attention to him like that in a very long time, trying to read him to know what the right thing to say is, or how best to respond. He can feel that conflict in Reynir through the Bond, and it's a little disorienting, a little startling and uncomfortable to be the focus of that much attention and concern and scrutiny.

When Reynir says he thinks he understands, though, Onni realizes that he's very sure Reynir does understand. It's sort of new, to feel that way, because generally he thinks he and Reynir have such different perspectives on the world that they might never see eye to eye about certain things. When Reynir asks if the lady had said the enchantment lasts a year, Onni nods and then allows Reynir to take the wreath from his hands and slide it onto his wrist along with the other. Glancing down at the table, Onni scoops up the other two or three wreaths he'd made and holds them as Reynir guides him away from the table with a hand on the small of his back. It's a sort of protective gesture, and he knows that Reynir has sussed out that he's feeling overwhelmed, that he might need the guidance to turn and move and get out of the public.

It's nice, that Reynir knows how uncomfortable Onni would be with breaking down in public, in front of this many people.]

Yes, I think she said it was about a year.

[Reynir goes on to explain that maybe it would be best to sleep on it, but that he doesn't have to hold things together here, that Reynir can do that for him and that he can afford to fall apart and deal with it. Pressing his lips together for a moment, Onni glances down at the wreaths he still has clutched in his hands, and exhales.]

I can see that. But we don't know when we're going to go home, at least from what I've gathered. If I go back to that forest while I'm in the middle of all of...that...

[braidmage]

[ Reynir shakes his head slowly as they walk; at this point it is not a surprise that Onni has another reason at the ready, for why he can't even think about letting go of control for a moment. It's been a long time, Reynir can tell, since anyone really pushed him, tried to get him to re-evaluate the way he was dealing with things.

He knows, too, that this is a part of all of it. Onni has always had to consider the long-term, is always peering around the corner for imagined future disasters. He's pretty sure that might not be something that will ever change. But it might do him some good, to hear another perspective. ]

You're right. We don't know when that will happen. But trust me - I'm the one who was here and went home again, remember? If that happens, it's going to be jarring enough you'll have a chance to reset. And besides, we were pretty close to catching up to you. I bet I'll be there in Finland in a day or two, max.

[ His face is soft, as the two of them move further from the sound of the crowd, winding into more and more empty streets. Reynir says: ]

Something could always happen, Onni. You're never gonna... know it's the perfect time, safe from any possible danger of disruption. But... you shouldn't throw out a whole sweater for one dropped stitch.

[ Reynir feels an idea unfurling in the back of his mind, hesitates a moment before following his impulse. It would be nice, if all he had to do to convince Onni to address his trauma was say it would be good for him in the long run. But he's seen already how little Onni has been considering the long run, for his life. He is flinging himself into danger with nearly-suicidal indifference... so perhaps, another kind of motivation will help. ]

And - and I'm not saying this because I'm trying to convince you to do it. If you decide you don't want to mess around with memories, fine. But... what if there's a clue there somewhere in what you've buried, some bit of information that might help us to deal with the kade? This might be the best chance we have of getting that. And... and like I said, I'm here. To help you pick up the pieces. And I'm not gonna leave your side. Not for anything.

[scowlish]

[While Reynir leads him away from the festival and in the general direction of the inn they've been staying at in Dorchacht, and he talks to him about what he'd said. Explains that they don't know when it'll happen, but that if it does it'll be shocking enough to reset him anyhow, that they were close to catching up and so Reynir will be with him in Finland soon anyhow. Onni opens his mouth to respond, but then Reynir goes on - it cuts off the protestations that Onni had lined up because he's saying that something could always happen, that he's never going to know when it's the perfect time.]

That's true...but wouldn't it be best not to bother in that case?

[But then Reynir is saying that he's not trying to convince him to do it but that it might give them some new clues about how to deal with the kade. For a moment, it seems reasonable, but a few seconds later his brain supplies a lot of reasons that it doesn't make sense. The things he would remember would be before the appearance of the kade and he wouldn't even have been around when it showed up...if he had been, he would be dead now. How could it help to remember things that had happened when Tuuri was a baby or before she was born, memories from when he'd been just a child?

Then he realizes that it isn't really about that. Reynir is trying to give him a logical reason to look at those memories, he's appealing to Onni's natural logic and practicality. At the same time, he feels both slightly manipulated and a little and a bit flattered that Reynir knows him well enough to appeal to him in that way.]

Maybe. I don't know if there would be anything useful there, since most of it is before the kade came. But I also...I'm not saying that I don't want to see them. It's just everything that comes after that I'd rather not deal with.

[Frowning a little, he looks down at the wreaths in his hands, brows furrowing a little bit as he thinks about it. The tension and anxiety and shame are still wound up in his core, and he tries to squash it down as they get to the inn and start inside, going up to their room.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he looks down at the wreaths and takes a deep breath.]

I would like to see the one you saw, I think. I know what to expect...I think it would be okay. That I would be okay.

[braidmage]

Yes, yes, I know that. But doesn't the kade have the memories of the- of the mages it takes? Couldn't there be some information, about Hilja, or um, or your grandmother, that might come in handy at a key moment? Something to use as a distraction or- or to goad it into acting rashly?

[ He is reaching, and he knows it, but it isn't just manipulation to try to get Onni to face his past: what if there really is something to be gleaned? The only reason Anne had been able to deal with those trapped ghosts was that she understood them, their torment and spiritual needs.

It's a long-shot, and Reynir knows it, but it's not nothing...

Reynir follows Onni up the wooden stairs, into their little room. It is tiny, barely large enough to contain the bed that they'd been sharing since their arrival, but it is warm and dry and the walls are thick. He sits beside Onni, looking at the wreath. For a moment, he hesitates. He must have missed the part where the woman had explained how to pick a particular memory. But he doesn't question it, because Onni sounds so confident. Probably just need to focus on it. ]

Alright.

[ He holds up the wreath Onni had given him in one hand, reaching over with the other and lacing his fingers with Onni's. He glances to the side, ready to breathe in. Thinks of that image of Onni, so small, holding Tuuri in his arms.

They inhale together as one. But the memory they see is not what either had anticipated... ]

[glitzandglamour]

[It wasn't as though he could predict that this would happen! ...Actually, he could. However, his precognitive Puca senses only kicked in within moments of Morgana's reckoning, unfortunately. But there's no use in crying over spilled milk.

By the time that Mikasa's asking if he can carry her, he's beheaded yet another necrotic Witch trying to sling a spell their way and sent another Faun flying, kicking her corpse straight in the gut. His heel, indeed, pierces a hole through her as Mettaton balls his fists tight enough to pierce his palms, if his hands were made of skin and not silicone — body language to suggest his raw determination to fight tooth and nail to keep Mikasa safe. The Turnskin Mikasa's dealing with might be a bit big, but if he had to, he's sure he could handle it.

But upon her request, Mettaton doesn't even answer in words. He lunges for her and sweeps her off her feet in a bridal carry, one arm against her back (NOT touching the wings!) and the other under her knees. No matter how heavy she is, he manages without any trouble: he has no muscles to exert. (He carries Emet-Selch all the time.) He flashes her a confident smile.]

You've got it! Anything to dazzle you.

[If he still had his monster magic, he'd make a heart appear. Insufferable.

But that Turnskin's still swinging its arms. Mettaton's ear swivels, sensing the danger before it even gets close, before he even sees it coming. With Mikasa in tow, he springs off his feet without looking behind him, bolting down the street and away from Mikasa's tormentors.]

We have to get you somewhere safe, Mika-darling. You're not in much condition to fight right now. I'm sure you agree.

[islandhuntress]

I am just wanting to see the celebrations. The fighting here was done before I had arrival here. I am not having familiarness with this town.

Did you help fight, Hubert?

[It strikes her as something he was likely to volunteer for, though she thought as much about everyone she knew in this world. She couldn't imagine anyone she'd met standing idly by as either monsters or witches suffered.]

Can the bond between us... can it- does it draw us to one another? I was not looking for you and I am wondering if it is coincidence or not.

[scowlish]

It does.

[That is a good point, and he carefully fits that in with the rest of the reasons on his mental list of pros and cons to experience whatever memories are in these wreaths, woven into the flowers and charms and twigs. It's not necessarily a great reason, but it's still a reason, and somehow having actual reasons gives him some leeway in allowing himself to do this thing which is dangerous in its own way.]

I don't know how much use it will be, but it's worth looking at.

[Putting down the other wreaths he'd brought from the table, he lifts his hands to take the one Reynir is holding out. Onni had, for some reason, thought that the wreaths only provided one memory each, didn't realize that there could be more than one. So he closes his eyes and inhales the scent of the flowers, thinking about being a child and holding Tuuri.

But when the memory starts, it isn't that. Onni is still a child, about 8 years old, standing solemnly in front of his grandmother, who is sitting on the front steps of his old home in Toivosaari. Her hands are lifted and she's gesturing, speaking in crisp, brisk Finnish. Lips pressed together into a line, Onni lifts his own hands and tries to copy the movements that his grandmother is making in the air, and she reaches out to correct his form, lightly slapping his wrists and knuckles and fingers until they're making the right shapes, at the right levels. She repeats a line of poetry to him, makes the gestures at the same time, and he repeats it back to her, stumbling slightly over the words and making the gestures she had.

Nothing happens, and she leans in to scold him lightly about belief and spirit and the strength of the gods, and then they do it again. This time, his grandmother produces a small flame between her hands at the end of it, to demonstrate, and then Onni recreates it, his face screwed up into an expression of concentration. When he finishes the spell, a massive burst of flame shoots up from between his palms and he yelps and falls back just fast enough to avoid losing his eyebrows to it. The flame disappears as he flails his hands and his grandmother's eyes are wide and a little surprised.

The noise catches the attention of the people inside the house, and Tuuri, only two years old, toddles out of the door towards them, a little off balance, her arms spread wide.

"Onnniiii...okay?" she squeaks, and squats down by where his head is still lying on the wood of the porch, digging her fingers into his hair and tugging. He laughs, he tells her he's okay, and then his mother shows up in the door, comes out and has a quick, whispered conversation with his grandmother about the fire and the magic.

Once they're done, his mother scoops up Tuuri in her arms and plants her on her hip, holds her hand out to him. He takes it, and starts talking excitedly about the fire he'd made and how big it was and how scary it was while she leads him inside the house, to where a wooden cutting board holds a fresh loaf of bread and a little glass jar of homemade preserves.

Opening his eyes, Onni gasps softly, stares straight ahead of him, shakes his head.]

That wasn't the same memory, was it?

[hegemonwings]

[ the thought of bathing together had crossed byleth's mind, but perhaps it would be best not to tonight, given the state they're both in. she smiles a bit at the suggestion, joy still lingering from the kiss. even a hot bath alone sounds lovely at the moment. ]

Thank you. And... you looked beautiful tonight, at the party. [ edelgard always does, really, in her eyes. but still. ]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir sees the memory; he isn't aware of Onni witnessing it, too. He doesn't see the grown version of him in the memory itself, and he thinks perhaps he had done something wrong, not focused hard enough...

But all those concerns are swept aside as he watches the scene that takes place. Onni's grandmother is still a little scary to him--he's not sure if that is because he knows what she would later become or if she was just kind of a scary lady. Maybe it is a mix of the two.

She certainly seems to be, to Reynir's eyes, a very stern teacher. He watches as little Onni conjures a flame, and Reynir can't help but feel a small burst of pride. So powerful, even at that age.

He watches the family from a small distance, little Tuuri and her love for Onni and his love for her, Onni's mother, the warmth and belonging wrapped up in that memory. And then he is back at the inn, with Onni sitting beside him, looking... blank. Shocked. ]

No, it was- it was another one. You saw... little you creating a flame with magic, right? Your grandma was there and then she talked with your mom, and Tuuri was pulling on your hair?

[scowlish]

[The memory was intense, despite how calm and somewhat idyllic it had been. He isn't sure if he remembers that, though he's sure he knows how his grandmother had trained him, the way she'd pushed his hands around was intensely familiar, and he knows about her surprise at how much force and power his spells had had, even at that age. Thinking about Tuuri that young, about the way she'd dug her fingers into his hair and pulled and babbled at him leaves him feeling twisted up and sad all at once.

But abruptly, he does remember that.]

Yes. That's what I saw. And...I'm sure that I remember that. Tuuri did that all the time, with my hair. She would pull on it when she was little, and then when she got older she would try to comb it or braid it...

[His throat feels suddenly tight, and he swallows hard, looking down at the wreath.]

I know that my grandmother would teach me about magic on the front porch, and I know she was surprised that my spells came out that way. I don't remember it, but it seems right.

[unyieldingmarch]

She used to rule this city, and she enslaved monsters.

[Edelgard flicks her blade clean, then re-sheathes it too.]

She's a tyrant, plain and simple, and Aefenglom upset the balance.

[unyieldingmarch]

[She gives him a few moments to prepare, and then she starts off. The Necromancers have no idea what hits them. There's a flutter of fabric before it dissolves into mist and the Emperor of Adrestia manifests behind the group. One of them dies immediately, her sword shoved mercilessly through the woman's chest.

Edelgard is already withdrawing her blade and moving to carve through a man's arm, cutting it off at the wrist as he screams a warning.

Now the fight is joined...]

[unyieldingmarch]

[Another night, surely.]

And so did you. [Edelgard smiles, finally turning the corner to their street.]

Your smile was radiant, as well.

[clickclickbang]

Yeah. Big drama king, I'm counting him as a witch because of the shit he could do.

[zewu_jun]

[Upset? Lan Xichen looks up, his expression thoughtful and conflicted. He isn't happy, that much is certain, but the words for what he is feeling don't come easily.]

I am frustrated. There is a lot that I desire to repair.

[And he is starting to figure out that he might be the only one that actually wants to fix anything.]

I wish I understood.

[bloodypath]

[He shakes his head.]

No. Her Majesty and I arrived just after the revolt. Next moon will mark a year of our stay in this land.

[Another scarecrow springs to life, straw arms encircling a caretaker. She gives a startled scream, and fluffed-up monsters are on the attack again.]

Not that I'm aware of, but I wouldn't see it outside of the realm of possibility. Bonds are... impactful.

[zewu_jun]

[They are in a bad position, but at least with the two of them something stands between the innocents and a merciless slaughter. The powerful necromancers and their leader with her prejudice against all monsters should not be allowed to kill so easily. Lan Xichen would remain in her path even if no one else were to fight her.

Still using a mix of his blade and magic to block the various attacks the dead that are lunging at them, Lan Xichen draws his magic in and attempts to cast a spell toward the necromancers controlling the corpses. It's a distance he's not used to pushing his magic, but a sharp blast of wind goes howling through the air, cutting into them and managing at least to draw some blood. Unfortunately, that much spent energy leaves Lan Xichen temporarily drained. He stumbles and falls to the ground, looking faint.]

[piromare]

( another thoughtful hum, and he looks deep into sora's bunny eyes. he's definitely seen someone with that kind of clarity? that level of kindness which no one else he knows can match. it's true; he does know one other puca relatively well, but she's not like sora.

...

hm... )

Okay. I have an idea. Make one noise for 'yes', two for 'no'. If you understand, answer me this: do you know me?

[getting_better]

[ The plan is to attack, obviously but how to go about it is the question. ]

Our advantage is the element of surprise, theirs is superior numbers. There's also still a lot of sleeping people on the street so our attack has to be fast, precise, and ruthless. Have you fought zombies before? They're bumbling but surprisingly strong. I imagine that with fresher bodies, they're faster too.

[zewu_jun]

[He is used to this scene. Not as much as others, of course, but he has faced some of the hard times of war. He knows at least enough of them to be aware that injury is unavoidable and that sometimes he has to be the one to drag himself through pain to assist those around him. But Leanne's request catches him off guard. He's not used to other people caring about him in return. Gratitude he is used to. Sometimes even fear or mistrust depending on who he is helping, but her persistence and the way she actually calls him friend surprises him.]

Ah, but- Very well. We should at least try to get off the street first. Are you able to stand?

[yesdoubt]

[Momo blinks at the vision, momentarily surprised but his expression softening a bit after that. He'd always been very close with his family before his career choice had driven a wedge between them, so it's nice to see others with such a good relationship.]

You look alike. [A gentle enough observation, he feels.] I've never been much of a gardener, admittedly, but my darling's house is full of plants, so sometimes we go to places like that and sometimes for work too. It'd be nice to see what another planet's gardens look like.

[His hands move meticulously over his wreath, weaving the flowers in tightly again so they don't show what's underneath. Something like this would probably be cute in Yuki's hair too, he thinks, but possibly at a less somber time.]