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

[scowlish]

[For a moment, when Reynir says he was making the wreath for him, Onni is startled, blinks several times in a row, and then Reynir laughs and says not about him, and Onni exhales a sigh of relief. Of course, he knows he's not dead at home, and he doesn't think that Reynir comes from a later time than him or anything, but for a moment it had been alarming.

When Reynir starts to talk about what the wreath is really about, Onni listens with interest, making a soft 'mhm' when Reynir asks if he remembers the priest lady from the Old World temple. He remembers her, of course. Her gentle half-attempts to convert them to her religion and her fluffy soft cakes and the drink she'd given them that he now recognizes as coffee. For a moment, he considers Reynir's question about whether he wants to know how things went with her and the ghosts and all of that, and realizes that he does want to know.]

Yes, I think I would like to know.

[Reaching over, he pulls Reynir's wreath towards him and nods when Reynir asks if he can take the wreath, he nods.]

Of course, that's why I offered it.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir handles the wreath gently, not wanting to dislodge or mangle any of the tiny, delicate flowers. He brings it to his face, close enough that the petals are just brushing against the tip of his nose, and inhales deeply.

The magic takes hold right away, and there's only a moment of disorientation before Reynir is seeing someplace else. He knows it must be Finland: the light is so different from anything in this place. He sees the inside of a home - the details are blurry but give off a feeling of a crackling fire, warm wood, woven soft things. But none of that draws his focus, when before him is a little boy with distinctive pale hair.

Reynir feels his heart skip a beat. Onni can't be more than 6 or 7 years old, and in his arms is a little bundle of blankets. Reynir can just see one pale, plump tiny arm sticking out from it. Onni is looking down at his baby sister's face, his own face still so round and big-eyed. As he is watching, little Tuuri burbles and babbles, her little arm waving until her hand bumps against Onni's cheek. She tries to grab at it with her tiny fingers, but finds nothing to latch onto. Onni reaches up to move her hand, and she wraps her whole hand around one of his fingers, clinging tight.

As quickly as it had appeared, the memory dissipates, leaving Reynir feeling like all the air has been knocked out of him. He stays still a moment, wreath held in his hands, stunned and inundated by emotion. It was such a cute memory, all innocence and safety. But of course, grief tinges it like a shadow, and he finds himself totally at a loss for words, just looking at Onni, his face so much longer and older and more tired, now. ]

[scowlish]

[Onni takes Reynir's wreath and holds it for a moment but keeps his eyes on Reynir as he handles Onni's wreath with careful hands and brings it to his face. For a moment, he's still, and then he fidgets slightly, his lips pressing into a straight line while he watches. He can't see what Reynir is seeing, but he can see the reactions on his face, the way his face softens and his eyes widen slightly.

Fidgeting more, he looks down at the wreath in his own hands, shifting from foot to foot until he can feel Reynir's eyes on him again. Lifting his head, he meets Reynir's gaze and exhales a long breath.]

What did you see?

[Probably, he shouldn't ask, isn't sure if he wants to know. He can't remember much from his childhood and is sure he hasn't been happy or content enough to have any other memories that would qualify for this sort of thing. He isn't sure if the wreath can show people memories unless he remembers them, and he suddenly feels a little strange about Reynir seeing the ones he remembers. Not like it's an intrusion of his privacy but...he can't quite tell why he feels uncomfortable. Vulnerable.]

[braidmage]

[ With Onni standing so close, it isn't hard for Reynir to feel the flickering of his emotions - curiosity, apprehension, hesitation. Onni isn't just asking idly; there's some anxiety behind it. Reynir can understand that, considering the memory was about Tuuri, and her memory is such a raw nerve for Onni. ]

It was just a flash.

[ He lowers the wreath, raising his green eyes to meet Onni's gaze, a very small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ]

You were a little kid, and Tuuri was- was just a baby. You were holding her, and she grabbed your finger with her hand and held on.

[ Reynir's heart feels full; there is sadness, there, but also a great deal of fondness, for Onni, and Tuuri. ]

You were such a cute kid.

[scowlish]

[For a few long moments, Onni just looks at Reynir, his mouth pressed into a straight line, his body held tense, while he explains what he'd seen. Onni as a little kid, holding Tuuri as a baby, who had grabbed at his finger and held onto it. Reynir tells him he was a cute kid, and he tries to remember what he'd looked like back then. If he was actually cute. Tries to remember what it was like holding Tuuri when she was a baby - some of it seems familiar, he knows that he'd done it and he knows that he'd felt good when he did, that he'd been happy and felt protective of her, this tiny helpless life that came from the same parents. He can imagine the scene, but he can't exactly remember it, not in the way he remembers other things, with that tactile, emotional sort of feeling.

It's a little unnerving. But he just nods and makes a soft 'hm' in his throat, non-committal, while he feels Reynir radiating fondness and sadness and nostalgia and knows that he's projecting his own puzzlement and discomfort and sadness.]

I'm not sure if I remember that.

[Shifting from foot to foot, he shakes his head and then lifts Reynir's wreath, inhaling the scent of it. It only takes a few moments before he's falling into the memory. That horrific horselike creature with too many legs and a skeletal face entering the church and approaching the soft but practical priest woman, shouting at her when she tries to offer salvation, shouting about its pain and suffering, the injustice of it all. It's a little disturbing, to realize that he agrees with that thing, to an extent. The world is unjust and terrible, and people suffer who shouldn't be suffering. Onni doesn't deserve to suffer as he has, his family hadn't, and the souls making up that thing hadn't deserved it either.

The priest lady asks then, quiet and calm, if the thing is tired, says that she is, from waiting for these souls, explains that she was waiting and so they're not abandoned, just lost. He watches as the thing admits that they are tired and melt away into the form of a tiny, crying, three-headed sheep. And together, that sheep and the souls with it, and the pastor, a tiny sheep with glasses, gather together and fly into the sky, into the light, a column of settled souls, and the pastor calls back her name - Anne. The memory fades away, then, and Onni lifts his head, blinking at Reynir.]

That turned out well, then.

[braidmage]

[ When Onni says he isn't sure he remembers the memory that the wreath had shown Reynir, the redhead waves a hand carelessly in the air: ]

Well, yeah, you were pretty young.

[ It's not surprising to him at all that Onni might not remember something so mundane from when he was so much younger. That's totally normal, after all. Nobody remembers that many specific details from before a certain age...

But it's only after he's spoken that Reynir realizes what he is feeling through the bond with Onni. There's something about his sadness that feels... different. Not like his grief over Tuuri. And it occurs to Reynir, gradually, that Onni is seeing his lack of specific recollection of this memory as significant. Like he is worried about not remembering enough. Like something else is going on. ]

Do you... not-remember a lot of things?

[ He watches quietly as Onni goes still, eyes unfocused as he is seeing the memory of what had happened in that Old World temple. Reynir remembers it, as clear as if it were yesterday. He swallows, waiting to see how Onni responds. Will he be grateful to have seen it? Angry, that Reynir had shown it to him? That creature, those ghosts, had been the reason Tuuri died. And Anne herself had been a troll - perhaps Onni might not want to see them finding peace...

But Reynir knows his worries were unnecessary, as soon as Onni blinks and the brightness returns to his eyes. What he feels coming from Onni is too complicated and subtle for him to put a name to it, but it's certainly not bitterness or anger. ]

Yeah. I wish-

[ But Reynir cuts himself off with a little shake of his head. It's too dangerous, getting into what-ifs. ]

Remembering that... gives me hope. When those ghosts were following me, I started losing hope that I would find a way to get away from them. I thought I wasn't going to be able to ever go home again. But - even though it seemed impossible, there was a solution. All I had to do was... be patient and let the gods guide me.

[ Reynir looks at Onni, green eyes shining bright. Finding and defeating the kade by the end of the summer might seem impossible at the moment, but there could be a solution just as bloodless and merciful as this one, if Reynir only kept himself open to it. ]

[scowlish]

[At first, Onni is a little relieved when Reynir brushes off his inability to remember the moment he's talking about. Maybe it is normal, then, to not remember things like that from that age, even if it seems to Onni like something he should remember, and poignantly. Holding his little sister when she was a newborn seems like something a person should remember, but when he tries to retrieve it, all he gets are imaginings. Still, Reynir had said off-handedly that he'd been young, like it wasn't a big deal, and despite the complicated twist of emotions inside him, Onni wonders if it isn't actually something to worry about.

And then Reynir looks at him with that shrewd expression he gets sometimes, and asks if there are a lot of things from his childhood that Onni can't remember. He's about to answer when Reynir goes on about the memory Onni had seen, and Onni gratefully takes the distraction, listening to Reynir's slightly wistful explanation of how he'd been affected by it, by the ability to set those ghosts right, to get them to where they belong. It's a sentiment that Onni understands, and while he's aware that those things were responsible in a way for Tuuri's death, he can't bring himself to be angry at them, to resent them finding peace. After all, Finnish mages are born to be psychopomps, to lead those lost and wounded souls to their rest, and it isn't a purpose he can ignore, even in this case.

What does hurt is hearing Reynir say that he didn't think he would ever be able to go home again, and realizing that going home is something that he will never have himself. He doesn't begrudge Reynir being able to go home just because he can't, but it doesn't stop that sadness from welling up in him, that longing for something that's gone forever. Glancing up, he meets Reynir's eyes for a moment, and then exhales, his fingers moving gently over one of the wooden charms on the wreath he's holding.

Reynir looks so hopeful, his eyes shining and his voice full of determination, and Onni knows what he's thinking about. About the kade and Onni's deal with the Swan.

He can't bring himself to agree with Reynir about the possibility of an easy solution, but he also can't bring himself to crush that hope either. Onni has tried before, to tell Reynir about the world he sees, and Reynir has rejected it. For a moment, the divide between them seems huge, impossible to traverse. But he can still feel all that hope, emanating from Reynir through the Bond, and he gently sets the wreath down on the table.]

Maybe. But the gods aren't here. It's impossible to know what step to take next.

[A sigh, and suddenly the topic of his memories seems much easier than this one, so he goes back to it.]

And yes, by the way. Most of what I remember from before Keuruu is the voices of the trolls outside the village. I remember a couple of times when grandma or Hilja or Tapsa or one of the others would scoop me up when I was trying to follow the voices and take me home. I remember, I think, eating jam on bread at the table in my house, and probably...

[For a moment, his voice chokes out, and he has to take a breath.]

Probably my mother's hugs. And Tuuri calling me piss head. I think. But it's hard to be sure. I don't know if I really remember any of it, or if I just know it happened.

[braidmage]

[ That hope emanating from Reynir doesn't waver for a moment, even when Onni says that the gods aren't in this place. Reynir is certain that, even if they don't have contact with the gods from this city, the gods had some hand in deciding they would be brought here, and there is a purpose for it. When the time is right, they will both be returned to their world, and then the gods will make the way clear. And even if they don't intervene directly, he has faith in himself and in Onni and in their abilities when they work together.

Maybe Onni or others would call that naive, maybe they would disagree - but Reynir doesn't care. He continues, stubbornly, defiantly, to believe they will be alright in the end. ]

Ah.

[ All told, that's not a lot of memories, to be all Onni has left of the time before his village was destroyed. It is, Reynir thinks, not an entirely normal amount. Not all that hard, to guess why; Onni had been through something so traumatic, is it any wonder that it had disrupted things?

He hears the emotion thick in Onni's voice and silently swallows, caught up in the feelings but not wanting to interrupt. When Onni is finished, Reynir offers his own wreath back to him, saying in a soft but clear voice: ]

Then you should... make as many of these as you can, and use them. They said - the magic will let you see memories of happy times, even if they aren't your memories or you had forgotten them before. You - might see a few of the things you've lost, and be a little more sure.

[ A small, encouraging, sad smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he offers: ]

I'll do it, too, at the same time. So we can see them together.

[ It might be a daunting thing, after all - peering back into a past that's been shrouded from him by so much tragedy. ]

[scowlish]

[Even when Onni points out that the gods aren't here, that hope emanates from Reynir, along with faith. Where that faith is placed, he isn't sure - whether it's in the gods to provide an answer when they get home, or in the team following him and Onni himself. It doesn't particularly matter, what matters is that Reynir still feels that determined hope, and Onni can't help but take some of it into himself through the Bond and leave it be.

Maybe something will work out. He can think that safely, that maybe something will work out, but he still can't quite allow himself to have the sort of hope that Reynir is projecting. Their lives have simply been too different, he can't feel that way after the things that have happened.

Suddenly, the discussion of a memory is back on the table, and difficult again. Onni feels that strange squirming of discomfort that comes with being trapped between two different difficult conversation options, neither of which he wants to engage with. But there's not really any way out, and Reynir's suggestion does have some merit. Some. Onni isn't sure if he wants to remember any of that, any of the things he'd lost forever, the safety and comfort of his parents, the gentle teasing between himself and his sister...or even the not-so-gentle teasing. He would give anything to have her call him 'piss head' again right now, if it meant she was here.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he scrunches his nose up, knows that the edges of his eyelids are probably going pink from holding back tears, but he manages to keep it together. Exhaling shakily, he opens his eyes and takes the wreath back from Reynir, looking down at it for a moment, feeling shaky and vulnerable and hating every second of it.]

What if I've forgotten those things for a good reason?

[It's blunt and straightforward, but it's also quiet and heartfelt. His eyes search Reynir's face for some kind of emotional response even though he knows he would probably feel it through the Bond anyhow. Maybe it's just that he wants more connection than just the Bond. Who knows?]

It doesn't bother me if you see them, but I don't know if it's for the best that I do.

[He's dancing around it and he knows it, but he really doesn't want to say that he's concerned he'll fall apart and never pull it back together if he sees them. Concerned that he won't be able to do what he needs to do when he gets home, if he's falling apart.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir feels it all: the wave of sadness, the self-irritation and embarrassment that follow, and he doesn't say anything. Onni feels things so deeply and Reynir worries sometimes that if he says the wrong thing, does the wrong thing, he might do real harm. Onni's been harmed enough already, without him adding anything new.

So he chooses his words unusually carefully, when it comes time to answer. ]

Maybe... you have. Maybe it was helpful to you, for a while, not to be so aware of- of the things you lost.

[ Reynir meets Onni's gaze, his beautiful, freckled face soft with concern and deep affection. He chews at the inside of his lip, speaking with great care: ]

I understand it might be... scary, thinking about changing any of those habits you got into, when all you were thinking about was how to survive one day at a time. But- a lot's happened. You're someplace safe, for now, and- and you aren't alone.

[ And he reaches out, taking Onni's hand into his and lacing their fingers together. His heart stutters in bright happiness at the contact, and he pulls Onni's hand up, pressing it against his own chest, right above his breastbone. It's too much, maybe. He's too much, probably. Reynir knows that. But he keeps going. ]

You've got me now. So... it's okay if you decide you don't want to know. But if you do want to know, I'll be here. I can't tell you which is the right decision. I just - want you to know the option is there. It's your call.

[scowlish]

[It's easy to see the worry, the concern written all over Reynir's face. The Icelander has always been an open book that way, and with their Bond active now, and being this close to him, it's even more painfully obvious what Reynir is feeling, how carefully he is choosing his words in an attempt not to hurt Onni.

Mostly, Onni feels irritated at himself for so obviously needing to be emotionally protected that way. For being such an obviously emotional person struggling with things that he should have moved on from years ago. Pressing his lips into a straight line and trying to blink away the stinging from his eyes, he just watches and listens to Reynir while he talks about why his memories might have gone.]

I think it was. I had Tuuri and Lalli to look out for, after all. I had to make sure I got a job, that they would be fed, that they had someone who stayed with them who they could rely on. They couldn't rely on me if I was...if I cried all the time. I cried enough as it was, and I tried not to do it where they could see me. They had...they had enough to deal with.

[After a few moments, he can't maintain eye contact anymore and drops his gaze, fidgeting with the wreath in his hands.]

And I don't think much has changed, now. Tuuri is...Tuuri is gone, and Lalli has people who can take care of him now, but I'm still trying to survive, and to make things right. I can't afford to...

[His voice chokes off for a moment. Reynir keeps telling him he's not alone and that he doesn't have to do anything by himself, that he's safe and in a safe place. But none of that seems very real to Onni, he still feels like a threatened animal, backed into a corner, fighting to survive while wounded. It still takes the smallest trigger to have his system flooded with adrenaline and fear, or his eyes flood with tears and the grief open up like a bottomless pit.

There's no safety in that. He can't take care of himself like that.]

I don't know what I want.

[His voice comes out more strained than he'd intended, but he pushes himself to keep going.]

I'd like to...I'd like to see them again. But...

[It's not something he likes to admit, but if anyone would understand and, he thinks, not judge him for it...that would be Reynir.]

But I'm barely holding things together as it is. It's quiet here, I'm not on guard all the time, it's not as dangerous, so I keep thinking too much and I can't...

[He waves a hand, vaguely.]

If I see that, I don't know if I'll be able to keep holding things together. You understand?

[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?

[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... ]

[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?

[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.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir is glad that he has his hand laced with Onni's; he gives it a squeeze, feeling the tide of sadness and confusion coming upon Onni. It might not have been intentional, but maybe it was a good thing, that they hadn't seen the memory Onni was bracing himself for. Sweet as it had been, there seemed to be more substance to this one.

When Onni mentions Tuuri's habit of playing with his hair, Reynir smiles, sad and quiet. ]

She was really cute. You both were.

[ He swallows, wondering how Onni would react if he asked to play with his hair. It's something Reynir has thought about. A lot, actually. He had assumed Onni would scoff it off out of indifference, but now he's worried that it might actually be painful for him. Bring up memories that had once been happy but are now layered over with a fog of grief.

Nodding along as Onni explains his memory of magic lessons, Reynir explains: ]

I have memories like that. Like... I remember my father taught me to knit, but I don't remember specific times when that happened or how long it took or what age I was. That's totally normal.

[ It seems important to reassure Onni that other people haven't got perfect recall of everything from when they were young, either. Just to give him a kind of baseline, for comparison. ]

She seems like she was kind of a harsh teacher.

[ Reynir makes the comment lightly, hesitantly. He's got a bit more to say about it than just that, but he treads cautiously. Family is a precarious topic. ]

You were so powerful. Even at that age...

[scowlish]

[When Reynir says they'd both been cute, Onni exhales a soft sigh, eyes sinking shut. They had been, yes, but most children are pretty cute, but he's not sure why that seems notable to Reynir. Maybe just another way that their worldviews are different. But he can feel the fondness from Reynir just as clearly as he can see it on his face, and it leaves him feeling...strange. He's not used to being the object of most of the things Reynir feels about him or the way he treats him. It isn't that Onni has never been loved or cared for, but he's not sure if it's ever been quite like this.

When Reynir tells him that he has memories like that, where he knows that his father taught him to knit but he doesn't remember any specific times, or when it was, or how old he'd been, and says that that's normal, Onni blinks and nods. That's a bit of a relief, though he still thinks that he probably remembers less than most people do about what had happened before he was 15.]

I see. Well, that's a bit of a relief.

[Frowning a little, he looks down at the wreath again, pale lashes shading his eyes while he considers it, tries to work out how he feels about all of it. He can't get the image of Tuuri, so small and clumsy and sweet, digging her fingers deep into his hair and pulling at it, trying to comfort him, and he misses her deeply, profoundly, achingly, like part of him has been lopped off and ground up. Squeezing his eyes shut, he takes a few short shaky breaths and tries to push it down.]

Ah. Um, yes. My grandmother...

[The change of track is a little difficult, but he takes a few more breaths and uses his focus on the talk of magic and his grandmother to try to distract himself from the yawning pit of grief.]

She was...practical. She wanted us to do it the right way. She was born just after the Rash appeared, she grew up in the worst of it, so she always had this attitude of needing to survive above everything else. If I didn't know how to do the magic properly, I couldn't defend myself against a Beast or Troll, and I would die.

[Exhaling again, he shakes his head, his mouth quirking just a little at the corners.]

It was surprising when they worked out that I was able to do what I could do. But in the end it didn't matter much. She stopped training me when Lalli turned out to be a mage too, but Immune.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir waits patiently as Onni speaks, letting him take the time he needs to gather his thoughts and choose the right words. His eyes are hot with unshed tears from the intensity of Onni's grief seeping through the bond. He shifts, moving close enough he can tilt his head and rest it against Onni's shoulder as he speaks. Being close to Onni, having contact with him, is such a calming, grounding thing. Some of that is the Bond, and some of it is just Reynir's fondness for physical closeness.

Once Onni is done speaking, Reynir chimes in, quietly: ]

So... not that practical, after all. She should've trained you both.

[ He doesn't make his criticism any more direct than that; he is still talking about Onni's grandmother, someone who had been very important in his life. He wonders, but would never ask, if Onni had ever blamed his grandmother for the mistakes that had led to the destruction of the village. Was he still angry at her? Sad for her? ]

And you turned out to be the most amazing mage I've ever met, despite all that.

[ And he had survived, he had helped Tuuri and Lalli to survive. That was more than many would have managed, at Onni's age. Reynir swallows, not sure he should ask what he wants to. But... Onni seems like he is doing okay. This isn't breaking him, and he is opening up, little by little. So... ]

What was your mother's name?

[scowlish]

[When Reynir says that she hadn't been that practical after all because she hadn't trained him, Onni just shrugs.]

Not necessarily. She needed a scout, someone to take over for her once she couldn't do the job anymore. I was scared a lot and gave in too easy to the voices of the Trolls when I was young, I wouldn't have made a good scout without a lot of work. Lalli is Immune, and you know how he is. He's good at it.

[For a moment, he's quiet, and then he glances up at Reynir again. The change of topic is making it a bit easier to tamp down the grief that still sits in him as he remembers that scene with Tuuri digging her fingers into his hair - he can almost feel it, a tactile sort of memory that makes his chest ache. At Reynir's comment that he turned out to be the most amazing mage he'd ever met despite his grandmother handing over his training, he makes a small scoffing noise.]

I'm decent. And it isn't like I was never trained after that. There were other mages in the village who were more than willing to take over my training. Hilja was one of them.

[It's brisk and matter-of-fact, and he moves on from it quickly, not wanting to deal with that along with what he's still feeling about Tuuri. The question about his mother catches him a little off-guard, and Reynir can probably tell that's so, he thinks, from the way his body goes slightly tense. Reynir is holding his hand still, he's leaning against him with his head on his shoulder and the contact is comforting, but also leaves him feeling very exposed because he knows how clearly the emotions translate through the bond with this kind of contact.]

Her name was Anne-Mari. My father was Juha, he and my uncle, Lalli's father Jukka, were identical twins. That's why people always think Lalli is my brother, I think.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir listens to the excuses Onni makes for his grandmother without commentary. Perhaps it comes down to cultural differences; in his village, there was no skill that was taught to only one person. It had been a long time before Reynir had understood why the adults in the village always insisted on there being three young people who knew each craft, each important building technique, each traditional instrument... it was so there would be back-ups. So that if someone left for the city, if someone died... there would still be at least one person in the village who knew what to do when a sheep started bleeding and wouldn't clot, or who knew the recipe for the spiced cakes they made for a particular holiday.

And he knows that his own bias is, perhaps, clouding his judgment, here. Reynir recognizes that he has some bitter feelings about non-Immune people being pushed aside and shut out of opportunities that Onni might not share. ]

Decent?

[ That startles a soft, breathy laugh from Reynir, and he lifts his head, twisting around so that he can meet Onni's gaze, eyebrows raised. He shakes his head, mouth open in surprise, and curling at the corner into a warm smile, so very fond. Even if his face didn't give him away completely, his opinion on that would be all too obvious from the sudden rush of affection inside him, filling him up. ]

You really don't see it, do you? How incredible you are?

[ Reynir sighs through his nose, and settles his head in against Onni's shoulder once more, cuddling in a bit closer. At this point... he's not really doing it to comfort Onni. He just... wants to be near him. But there's nothing wrong with that, is there? ]

Well, you don't look all that much alike. But you do have lots of the same mannerisms, though. And you're both way too fond of sweets.

[ Reynir's cheerful voice trails off, a little seriousness creeping back into the conversation as he hesitantly asks: ]

That was okay, right? Seeing that, and... remembering?

[scowlish]

[It might not be cultural differences, exactly, because there had been other scouts besides Lalli, would have been other scouts besides him even if he'd been trained. There wasn't any special reason to train him to be a scout, and he knows as well as his grandmother had that he wasn't suited to it.

Practical.

The entire train of thought is derailed, though, when Reynir suddenly looks at him and starts radiating fondness and affection, smiling at him like a human ray of sunshine. Reynir asks him if he doesn't see how incredible he is, and Onni snorts, shaking his head.]

I'm not. I'm just me.

[No one is better than anyone else, really, at least as far as he's concerned. Everyone has talents. Reynir leans against him again, presses himself in against Onni's side again and rests his head on his shoulder, their hands still together. Reynir mentions that he doesn't think Onni and Lalli look too much alike, that they have the same mannerisms and like sweet things, and Onni feels that pang of sadness again. He misses Lalli. Not in the same gut-wrenching end-of-the-world way that he misses Tuuri, but he misses him all the same. Lalli is difficult sometimes, but Onni knows he's difficult himself sometimes, and even for all his difficulties, Lalli is a good boy who works hard, and Onni loves him.]

There's no such thing as being too fond of sweets.

[Very matter-of-fact, and yet his voice has the faintest tremble to it, because he misses Tuuri and he misses Lalli and he misses his mother and father and grandmother and aunts and uncles and even Hilja.]

I don't know. I wouldn't say it's okay. I miss them.