Personification Life: EPIC (IC Thread XI) [CLOSED]

[Chedastan]

The General would had preferred that the meeting had lasted just a bit longer, but even at this point he knew there was nothing further to really discuss. There obviously wasn't much they can do about their sudden changed of plans, probably none at all. At least spring will come in time, perhaps sooner then they'll realize, there was the hope. But first things first of course; he finished off what remained of his offered drink and set it aside, and while doing so, simply glanced at Alexia and Dan who were ready to leave to find the others.

Romulus could tell already that it was a moot point to remain here any longer, he knew his time would be best served right now if he too rejoined the rest of the group to bring them the news of the abrupt change of plans. As he rose from his seat, he nodded at Old Sam who had spoken earlier about departing, and honestly he could care less about whatever he wishes to do past this point. Before he could take a step to begin leaving though, he paused as he heard Giovenith spoke. He appreciated her knowledgeable offer of a discussion of course, though he knew it be better if everyone else was present to hear it.

"That sounds like a very good idea, Giovenith. Though you should probably discuss it with more of our ears available, come with me, you two too." He tilted his head at Alexia and Dan. "Lets go find where everyone else is then, I'm sure they're probably at that tavern or in their rooms." Before he started to leave, he looked back at Old Sam. "We'll see you in Spring then, Old Sam, goodbye." He waved at him, then began to leave, gesturing for everyone else to follow him outside.

[New Aksarben]

Serendipity - Some other Tavern

As Maghrl expected, the dwarves almost instantly broke out into raucous laughter that just about shook the tavern, especially the hugely overweight dwarf. The squib was surprised he wasn't toppling from the guffaws that shook his form. The one organizing this little competition was in a similar state, almost bent over double from laughter, at the image of such a scrawny being thinking he could lift someone likely over quadruple his weight, at least. Indeed it would normally be quite the hilarious image, such a small and obviously slim being thinking he could do what the strongest dwarf had failed utterly at doing not ten minutes ago.

The only one who wasn't laughing was Maghrl, he simply stood there waiting for the laughter to die down looking utterly serene and calm, though with the faintest trace of a smirk on his face. "Maghrl will repeat-say words then. Maghrl wish to try strength-feat lift obese-Dwarf. Squib have correct moneytrade on selfs, why can't Maghrl try?" The Jedi requested, holding out a hand with the requisite ten runes to the one who seemed to be the organizer for the event. A simple enough gesture, along with his words would make it clear to just about anyone.

As Maghrl spoke again the dwarf collecting money stopped laughing. "Oh so you're serious, eh? Well its your funeral." He said simply, collecting the money from the Squib's open palm. "Get in the ring, then, have fun getting crushed." The tone was dismissive, and like the last match betting started going, the snippets that Maghrl could catch made it obvious he was being pegged as a longshot, and that Fatty was the favorite to win. No matter, the Jedi knew in his heart and through his connection to the force who would win this matchup.

The dwarf was only a bit taller than Maghrl, as was the heavily obese dwarf, which only made Maghrl more confident about this rather than if they had been human-sized beings. He'd been preparing while the dwarves of the tavern's laughter had been roaring on, taking that it seemed unlikely any dwarf here would have enough of a connection to The Force to really notice him opening his body to it fully, submersing his being into it and letting it flood his cells bit by bit. A little shiver ran up his spine and down his limbs, prompting the little Jedi to shake out his limbs, feigning like he was preparing physically for this challenge, when that was only part of the truth.

The Force had many gifts for those sensitive to its flows and movements, and lifting this dwarf would be a simple matter of transferring his momentum down into upward momentum by using both his own mass and power in the force as leverage to pick him up. Most likely application of telekinesis to supplement force aided strength would be enough, if he kept it at such a range it would be nigh imperceptible from his own exertion of energy. At least Maghrl thought so.

"Hurry up, we don't have all day!"

A voice called from the crowd, prompting the Jedi to pad forward, shedding the bags he'd been carrying just outside the circle, along with his saber. The squib then closed his eyes, breathing deeply and relaxing as he awaited the rushes of air and shift in the force that would signal the dwarf throwing himself back. It came quickly, and the squib shifted his stance into one to more properly intercept a falling person. His arms shot out, keeping his sharp claws in mind as he felt his palms contacted with the obese dwarf's form. His fingers gripped best they could, grabbing onto what was likely fat rolls in his attempt to halt his progress. The Jedi's feet slid bit by bit, but he maintained his footing to the surprise of everyone, including Maghrl who broke out into a huge grin. This broke his focus for a moment, leading to him almost losing his footing, but he recovered and redoubled his efforts.

Another shift of his footing, and giving the dwarf a bit of a push upward through the force which he disgused as his hands hooking under his armpits and yanking upwards, and Maghrl found himself not only stopping the falling dwarf but picking him up by a small measure, which he continued with another application of a little push to his feet and bottom, the force aided muscles of the Squib aching already as he pulled him up before giving another boost by hidden telekinesis that would aid it, the hugely obese dwarf ending up above his head. He wasn't able to use as much telekinetic force as he'd like in the effort of hiding his use of abilities and not sheer strength. Either way it was taxing and Maghrl realized he indeed would have been crushed should he have failed. But with the Force on his side almost anything was possible.

The silence in the tavern was almost audible, then the few gamblers who'd bet on him to try the odds cheered, before the Squib carefully set down the other squat fellow, giving him a light dust off. "Maghrl think Squib lift heavier thingers before. Now, reward? Maghrl believe lifting was double runemoney?"

[Swith Witherward]

SERENDIPITY - TAVERN

Marcus considered Primordial's explanation, silently wondering what would happen if an arcane device accidentally blew up. Would it just fizzle and crack? Would it shoot weird shit outward, striking the poor Baron and the priest? Worse, would it release a demon that would, after centuries of captivity inside the weapon, decidedto rise up and beat the living shit out of all of them?

"I'm of the Luminen," he ventured with a shrug. "I employ Voltagheist Fields."

His brow furrowed as he considered how best to explain it without coming across as a pompous lunatic. What was it that Adrastus always said? The word does not match the act; let all acts be of humility. Marcus drew his upper lip between his teeth, rolling the edges as he tugged up one of his sleeves to expose an organic arm marked by faint patterns.

"Implanted network," he replied simply. "We call them electoos. I can channel energy through them, so I can support equipment in the field. Like Opa. I can recharge him. But it's also defensive."

Pale blue tendrils skipped across his skin, crackling like miniature electrical fingers bursting from a child's Tesla coil. The energy lapped his forearm haphazardly before rising from it to coalesce into tiny, pulsating balls. "The first one to make a Twilight pun is gonna get a boot to his shin," Marcus chortled softly as he bid the weensie voltaic sprites to remain in place. "We can use them to block incoming threats, or as a means of attack if we're closing in on a foe. It's our first line, because we can create much larger volleys in a pinch, though I've honestly never tried before. But I'm worried that a much larger burst will cause problems with your equipment, Baron Primordial. I mean, it's not magic or anything. Ones this small don't really do much damage."

His brows raised in concern again as he released the energy, each spark harmlessly dissipating with a soft pop. At least, that was his intention. A voltaic dot ran astray of his control and lazily drifted towards Sandy, alighting on his danish just as the unfortunate sorcerer lifted it to his face. The pastry promptly exploded, splattering everyone at the table. Marcus let off a string of expletives, wiping the goo from his eyes just in time to see General Romulus and... Giovenith!... passing by the window. Undoubtedly they would have heard the muffled explosion, if not seen the sudden burst of light.

[Giovenith]

Nodding, Giovenith followed the general and company with a wave to their old companion, offering a brief thank you for everything he had done for them so far. Lucius may not have trusted him, but she had no issues, and was focused more on her own roles and making sure everyone got back home alive. She began to mentally plan ahead and organize the sort of things she would have to say about dragons in what particular order, but it didn't take long for the muffled explosion and light to catch her attention. It stirred her, but otherwise wasn't too shocking. Alright, what was everyone up to this time?

The godling tilted her head a bit to get a better glance through the window and saw what appeared to be a few of their companions, including Marcus and Sandy, covered in some unidentifiable goop. She sighed and shook her head with a smile.

"Typical," she remarked to other men around her.

[Northwest Slobovia]

“Luxan Technology is primarily run on electricity and intrinsic fields. Those that run on electricity would be affected naturally by EMP’s and other in that they might suffer serious damage depending on the strength and location of the pulse. However intrinsic field are much less physical in the traditional sense. An EMP might have no effect or might slow them down a little, but I doubt any of my more arcane devices would suffer any sort of real damage to an EMP,” Primordial said mulling the thought over. “Of course their are bound to be some exceptions to both situations. Why do you ask?”

Sandy shared the baron's interest in the question, though his expression was colored by concern. An EMP? Marcus wasn't thinking of setting off a backpack nuke against Varg, was he? It would doubtless be effective, but the fallout, both literal and figurative... Sandy didn't want to think about it. But as a Plan Z -- their last recourse -- Sandy couldn't fault the reasoning.

Sandy was relieved by the young man's explanation, and fascinated by his implanted technology. He made a mental note to remind himself to make a Twilight pun when Marcus was too busy to respond effectively.

His brows raised in concern again as he released the energy, each spark harmlessly dissipating with a soft pop. At least, that was his intention. A voltaic dot ran astray of his control and lazily drifted towards Sandy, alighting on his danish just as the unfortunate sorcerer lifted it to his face. The pastry promptly exploded, splattering everyone at the table.

"Marcus!" Sandy glared at him as he wiped jam and icing from his forehead with his fingers. His cross expression didn't improve as he studied his jammy fingers. But when Sandy looked back up, his eyes were full of mischief, not malice, and he slowly brought his hand up to whip a blob of jam from his fingers in Marcus' direction.

Sandy grabbed the napkin from his lap and used it to clean his hands and wipe stray bits of pastry from his face, arms, and shirt. Marcus could explain to Klaus any stains that didn't come out of his special hammerspace shirt. Then Sandy reached over and took another pastry from the mixed tray. This one proved to be an apple turnover, but it was from a fancier recipe than he or Amanda knew: the pastry shell was nice and flaky, and filled with currants and diced walnuts as well as apples.

After savoring a mouthful, Sandy asked, "Not magic? Dare I ask what you're using as a power source? Or do you mean that you're using magic to produce mundane electrical discharges?" Sandy was pretty sure that "Voltagheist Fields" wasn't legitimate physics jargon where he came from, but here? Chemists in his world would doubtless mock him for studying alchemy, but then be unable to explain why any of his stuff worked, just as Newton would be mystified by a radio.

[OOC: Happy 10,001st post to me!]

[The BranRiech]

Bran

"It's probably better than anything I'll achieve in life anyways, being the Propaganda Minister of your mind." Bran chuckled, finding the idea funny that Torii had little roles all planned out for them. The land surrounding them, and the sky above, were beautiful enough that he almost didn't want to leave. If it wasn't the mind of Torii, this place would make a fine home. But would that make Bran just a figment of the girl's imagination then?

"I overthink things too much." He sighed somewhat, eyes turning upwards, dwelling on the far-off battles that were supposedly raging out in the stars above, all for Torii's viewing pleasure.

He stopped, looking back again, turning around. "So the castle isn't even real then? Almost like a picture painted on the horizon? I'd be down for exploring it, if you guys are, or if you're okay with it, Torii." He offered. "Rather not explore the woods, considering you said there's nightmares there."

--

Drova

"We'll definitely have to see about something at least. Even if it is just getting up into the air."

Sandy's idea was a marvelous one indeed. Drova had wanted to get out and fly ever since he'd arrived at the apartment, only finding one or two times to actually get out and stretch his wings. Hell, the last time he'd flown was down the elevator shaft to help rescue the trapped residents inside, which didn't count much as flying of course, considering it was only down a floor or two, and he'd only really used his wings to slow the fall.

Wasn't that all flying was though? Stalling the rate of fall, right?

The rest of the conversation began to take more of a boring turn, with the babble of technology. Drova tuned most of that out, figuring that if he had any meaning in the conversation, then words like "Voltagheist" would at least hold some shred of meaning to him.

But of course . . .

Even with his best attempts to tune out the confusing techno-babble, he was ultimately sucked back into the events of the table when the pastry exploded over everyone, courtesy of Marcus' demonstration. "Augh . . ." Groaned the Prince, who's leather jacket was adorned with a few specs of crumbs, and some globules of whatever was inside the tasty treat. "I'd call that a night." He remarked, sparing a hand or two to wipe away the remnants.

[Fvaarniimar]

Carnival!
Pleasantly worn out, she'd flopped onto the soft surface to catch her breath. As Kale swung forwards a second time, Rmwtyliin suddenly smirked, bouncing herself into a sitting position and from there to lying on her stomach, fiddling with her hair as she stared at a specific point.

Swinging backwards, Kale might have noticed a flicker in the air as a small 'cloud' with identical properties appeared and turned invisible. It grew to a little more than her size, incidentally taking on the form of an sphere as it did so and occasionally correcting its course to intercept Kale -

A few meters from the bottom of her third forwards swing, she would begin to feel resistance, decelerating slowly and stretching the invisible cloud quite a bit in the process -

WOOMF.
She'd shoot backwards quickly enough to move the bird a bit, end up upside down, experience weightlessness at said point, and hit the cloud again from the top - several times. It was, however, the Carnival; if Kale really wanted to stop she'd do so immediately.

As Kale bounced backwards, Rmwtyliin conjured a cloud identical save for its visibility at somewhere around a thirty-degree angle to the former's path. A rope appeared in her hand, attaching to one of Kale's nearby birds; Rmwtyliin jumped forward, but found herself swinging sideways and rather distant from Kale; the original cloud had quickly scooched itself and its occupants back five feet when the girl had wanted it to move out of Kale's way. A quick wish corrected her course; Rmwtyliin hit her cloud as Kale (or the rope thereof or Macy if said agoraphobe had bailed) swung past it. "Wheeeeee!"

Incidentally, if someone turned the first sphere visible they would notice its close proximity to an incidentally empty tent. It was perhaps several yards from the second, which was another several yards from the cloud...

[Torsiedelle]

Torii looked intrigued. "Explore the castle? Hmm...well, I have always wondered what was in it. I won't think about it, so we'll just see where this goes, okay? Like lucid dreaming?"

Torii snapped her fingers, and, as she willed, up sprang a peculiar little fellow. It was a skeletal little pygmy, bloodied and hideous, but not in a necessarily disturbing or frightening way. It was just a misunderstood thing, cute to be honest, as it waved for the trio to follow.

Katya let out and eek. "What is that thing?"

Torii smiled. "He's my little messenger. Looks can be deceiving, and this guy is adorable."

It waved again, then grunted. Torii followed it. "It can lead us to the castle safely."

[Tiltjuice]

Courtesy of Montilt Productions

Brit and Chrys

There was silence for a time.

“Brit. Are you awake?”

Thoughts chased each other in circles, lines, and all sorts of shapes Chrys couldn’t put a name to. The Conservapony shifted in the bed, its frame creaking with the noise, before she decided to try again, her voice hushed like one of a ring of conspirators.

“...You aren’t traumatized by anything, are you? The Princess seems worn out, and Clover told me a little of what’s going on.”

“The Princess didn’t call for me. It was a setup by Arrow. I think she was trying to get me out of the picture before we had the chance to muck up stuff. She’s planning something, but I don’t know what.”

Brit shifted in bed and looked over at Chrys.

“We were down in the caves. After she tried to subdue me, and I ran at her, she teleported us out and we ended up down in that place. It took a while to get out and...well...I’m starting to wonder if this is all worth the effort anymore.”

“How did she get away? Is that because of something she did?”

“She’s got teleportation magic or something. Though I doubt she’s not in her room. Though she didn’t leave me down there, she seemed very adamant about me not getting in the way. Also is extremely full of herself. I don’t know how someone can be so conceited as her.”

The teenager definitely seemed stung by whatever Arrow had done. Chrys gentled her voice a bit more.

“That’s fine,” she said into the shadows. “Would you want to ask Clover to see if you could go home in the morning? I don’t mind seeing this to the end by myself.”

She let out a slight sigh which might sound like a snore to someone standing outside the room, and turned over again.

“And how would that make me look to the other Residents? I don’t want to seem weak, but...I’ve been through Hell and a half. And yet even though I say that, I’m sure there are people back home who’ve weathered far worse storms than I have, making me seem like I’m being far too sensitive about the whole thing. They’d probably look down on me for leaving you alone, and I don’t think I can handle that much ridicule, despite it being justified. Besides, it would go against my own morals.”

There was another pause and a third shift. Chrys’ blue eyes had now turned to the girl in the next bed.

“I would not have you compare yourself to anyone but you,” she replied eventually. “What you do is only for you, and there will always be others to shoulder what is not yours. As one who has many years but even more youth to outweigh them, I think you should not decide too fast whether to be aged or growing. Time has a way of letting you know when.”

A few moments ticked by, and one of the thoughts swirling in Chrys’ mind floated to the top.

“Do not fear, either, whether something is too much for you to handle or not. There will always be something bigger, and unless you are the type of person to enjoy a challenge of any kind, no one will look down on you. Each of us reacts to different situations in different ways. Dora would take you as level-headed, to know when something is beyond you. I am not so aloof from her. Among my group, I am the impulsive one, and the least intelligent; but also the most outgoing. If I were to suggest that you go back, there wouldn’t be any from my Siblings, and probably none from the cultists, to think you ran from battle.”

She spared a thought for Hans. Then, finishing: “Will it help if you joined me in prayer to Time and Fate?”

Brit raised her brow.

“Time and Fate? I suppose so, but I’m a Lutheran…”

The cadet wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea of looking into other religions or acknowledging other means of worship that probably provided a more concise understanding and enlightenment, but she still had her own faith and held it with pride in the same manner that she still kept the American flag patch on the shoulder of her old M81 Woodland BDUs. It was a symbol of where she came from, what she stood for, and her allegiance to her homeland.

“I won’t be offended for you to say no,” Chrys continued, sensing Brit’s hesitation. “It won’t hurt their opinion, either, of you, if I were just to ask them to watch over you. Just a thought, in any case, since the morning holds the unknown and only they know what comes.”

“I, myself, wouldn’t mind it. However, I don’t know if my God would...y’know...appreciate me delving into other religions so nonchalantly. But from now on, let’s stick together.”

Brit still hadn’t made mention of the things she saw as part of that, what she would now call “dead magic”. For her, some things were best kept to one’s self. However, she took the whole “they’re called personal issues for a reason” philosophy a bit too far. That was mainly because she didn’t want to burden anyone with her own troubles. As she told Willow: she had more issues than National Geographic. To heap that out onto someone was unfair for them, but keeping it bottled up inside wasn’t doing her any good either.

“We were already doing that,” Chrys chided gently, and then turned over again. “Sleep well.”

“Oh yeah…” Brit shuffled in her side and got comfy. “Night.”

[Chedastan]

Unsurprisingly Romulus heard the muffled explosion and saw the sudden burst of light coming from the tavern as he and the others passed by its window. He then quickly saw splattered remains of pastry across said window, and he further looked through it to see the rest of his group inside, covered in the stuff and centered around what must be the ground-zero.

"Typical," she remarked to other men around her.

He promptly gave her a concern look when she had said that. Typical? He hoped she didn't meant this happens often, because he could see several issues with that. Hopefully they didn't end up causing a lot of trouble for the dwarves inside with that mess, they have to come back here after all! Rather unamused, he quickly made his way to the tavern's entrance, and burst in to quickly come over to the table where they resided.

Standing over them, arms crossed, he pointed at where the former pastry must have been on the table. "Would one of you care to explain to me the meaning of this? Because I would like the person who did it to know that we are guests here and I'll make them clean up this mess. And if this wasn't a simple accident, then I'll reprimand them for it too." He calmly but sternly made himself clear to them, but he looked down at Marcus specifically, as he had a good guess of the technological nature of that explosion and burst of light. Of course he wasn't too serious about the reprimanding part, as the most he would even do in this situation was simply scold them for it.

Still though, he worried that if wasn't going to be strict in some regard, maintaining a group's order will prove to be hard, and could lend them into getting into trouble. Of course the group will be taking a break from this quest anyway, and he remembered that he ought tell them about that. "So in regards to the brief meeting me and the others attended: The paths beyond here are impassable due to severe weather, even too severe for the dwarves. So we won't be heading to Varg until spring comes, but supposedly he won't gain anymore strength until then. Which means that the rest of us can return back to the building, starting tomorrow morning." He explained to all of them that weren't there.

[Swith Witherward]

RACHE UND WILLOW

Aegis and Yuna

The small creek of wooden floor signaled Smart Cookie checking in on the two ponies just trying to get their sleep. Puddinghead still hadn't returned with the disc, which was probably for the better, since those two had had a long day.

Other dimensions.

As the secretary retired to her own room, she sniffed and felt a heavy gut at such a thought. Cookie wasn't as prejudiced at the other villagers, but that didn't mean she didn't also slightly fear the unicorns. All did. The magicians of the mountains knew things that were beyond any of them, and it hurt the simple mind to think of just what those things could be.

Perhaps they were here because of unicorn magic, perhaps the horned ones would come looking for them? Cookie didn't know, but she wasn't about to let others like Sundae get that into their heads. Too much work. Too much...

She settled down on her own bed for the night.

Brit and Chrys

Platinum didn't acknowledge Chrys' niceties despite they being the correct actions to take in the presence of royalty. Light lilac eyes looked down at the lowered head of the Conservapony before slowly diverting to lock gazes with youthful magician beside her. Despite apparently being quite close according to Clover, the slightly younger green unicorn folded her ears and grimaced a bit under the critical look, finding herself bewildered by the set-up they had walked in on. What was Brit doing tucked into bed? Was she alright? What with the... generosity?

"You two are the ones I sent off to do chores as punishment for causing a ruckus," the princess finally said.

Clover was confused for a moment but quickly remembered the initial excuse she'd used to pull Brit and Chrys away from the party. Right!

"Yes they are, and they are very sorry..." the magician began.

"It doesn't take too long to do chores, does it? You're not a chore pony, Clover."

Clover couldn't be sure what the Platinum was implying, but she knew the princess was catching on to something. To her, Brit and Chrys should have been sent off, finished, and doing their own thing a long time ago, not still beside Clover. Putting her namesake to the test, Clover the Clever began rapidly thinking of plausible excuses.

"I've been asking them to help me analyze my visions," the magician said, forcing a smile. "You know, about the tribes seeing reason? Turns out they're both quite good at prophecy."

This only caused Platinum to wince her eyes in apparent disapproval and tuck her chin. "I told you to forget about that and focus on researching the winter."

It was Clover's turn to pinch her brow and frown. Though she was technically still subservient to the princess like anypony else, there was more leeway in her case for conflict due to the nature of their relationship. "With all due respect, I've told you that I swear on my mentor that the solution can be found in them."

There was a moment of tense silence as the teen unicorns looked each other down.

"Lily Lightly," the princess called the maid, who had stood back till then, not removing her eyes off closer. "Please tuck her in for the night too and then you will be dismissed." She pointed at Chrys.

Lily, clearly feeling awkward, shifted her eyes back and forth between Chrys, Clover, and Platinum, and gave a toothy smile. "Uh, is she tired then?"

"I don't know, I don't care. Both of you go to bed."

Cold. Clover could offer little advice to Chrys as she was swept away by the ruffled maid and encouraged to be tucked into bed beside Brit like a child, Lily carefully setting her sword aside (and luckily not looking too close at it). The maid could only offer the dimensional visitor an apologetic frown before shuffling away and out the door. The princess and the magician looked in after the Bielefeldans before following the maid out and closing the door, leaving the two in darkness.

Willow and Rache

Willow chewed his top lip when Rache asked for another, more detailed recount of the HWE story. It wasn't a problem of remembering, the tale was pretty much burned into the back of his skull at ready access from having to hear it a million times in both history classes and during the holidays every year for his entire life, but it was very long-winded. He'd have to have patience though, Rache didn't have the benefit of the knowledge that he had. Taking a moment to think ahead, he launched into another retelling.

"The story as told in books and the pageant is pretty simplified. It doesn't go into a lot of detail about what happened during the build-up of the winter, just a brief narrator overview of the tribes, their roles, and the problems the winter caused. When the actual story really begins, it begins right at the summit between the leaders and their arguing.

"Commander Hurricane begins by demanding to know why the Earth ponies are keeping all the food to themselves, and Chancellor Puddinghead explains that it's because they believe the pegasi are the ones causing the winter and thus don't deserve any. Hurricane insists they have proven many times that it is not the pegasi and then turns on Princess Platinum, accusing the unicorns of causing the winter with their 'freakish magic'..." Willow mentally counted off the lines in his head. "So they pretty much repeat all the attitudes we've seen so far here.

"Well Platinum rebuffs, saying the unicorns are too civilized and morally upright to ever do such a thing - implying that the other tribes, especially the pegasi, are not. When Puddinghead expresses that she is tired of dealing with the other races' 'unnatural powers' and is running out of ideas on how to handle things, Hurricane snaps on her saying, 'How surprising, an Earth pony with no ideas' sarcastically, basically calling her and her race morons. Platinum tries to come to Puddinghead's defense by telling Hurricane to stop insulting others, which gets them both to snap on her - Puddinghead because she feels patronized by Platinum trying to speak for her, and Hurricane because he feels Platinum has no right to tell him what to do. Platinum, feeling insulted, insists that a princess should not be spoken to in such a manner and moves to leave the meeting, triggering the other leaders to take their leave as well."

This recount reminded Willow of one of his prime concerns: Commander Hurricane seemed like a fucking asshole. Granted, ALL the leaders were assholes, but the pageants in Equestria typically went with the 'screaming shoot-first military leader' stock type for the peagsi leader. Then again, just how much of the play could really be trusted? Pansy, while still meek like she was usually portrayed, had already proven herself to be a much deeper individual than the play had ever put forth. In fact, looking back on memories of years of watching the pageant, he almost felt a little insulted on her behalf. It was as Rache had said before, history had a way of simplifying historical figures to inaccurate degrees.

"Pansy's character is frequently used as comic relief in the play," he explained to Rache, frowning and drooping his wings. "Her fearful nature is ridiculously exaggerated to the point of jumping at small noises even though her ultimate role is important. After spending this time with her, I feel crappy about that now. She's just a poor little sad girl who doesn't fit in, she's scared of the death around her. I do hope we don't have to wind up telling her anything, I'm not sure she's strong enough to handle that yet. But anyway... the three leaders go back to their homes and explain to their subordinates how the other tribal leaders were completely unreasonable, blind to their own hooves in the issue." He paused to consider. "I'm honestly not sure how it is Pansy turns out to be Hurricane's sidekick in the matter, the play usually portrays her as just happening to be standing there when he enters scene and begins ranting about the other leaders' disrespect. The other subordinates have jobs in direct connection to the leader, but 'Private' is generally considered a pretty low and separate rank, isn't it? They wouldn't be just hanging around the tip-top ranks..."

Whatever, there was a lot to talk about and Willow was getting tired.

"Anyway, the leaders go home and speak with their subordinates, the dialogue itself not usually very important, each simultaneously coming to the conclusion that they need to find a new land for a new country. The leaders become increasingly angry and unreasonable during the trip due to their frustrations. Puddinghead fights with her subordinate over map directions out of protectiveness of her position as a leader, Hurricane becomes paranoid about unknown enemies and frequently attacks clouds for being in strange shapes, and Platinum's being used to comfort causes her disproportionate distress at the struggles of the trip and subsequently puts additional stress on her own subordinate over it. Eventually they all reach the land and comment on what makes it perfect for each of their race; the clear air, trees, and fertile ground for the Earth ponies, the clear open skies for the pegasi, and the limitless supply of gems and beauty for the unicorns. The leaders name the land Unicornia, Pegasopolis, and Earth respectively until they later happen to run into each other.

"They all get pissed off and try to force each other to leave the land, with Hurricane saying they should fight for it and Platinum threatening to throw Hurricane into "the dungeon" despite having no dungeon around nor anypony actually capable of putting him into one. Pansy and the other subordinates try to intervene and ask for peaceful talk, but are yelled down. Puddinghead pelts both the other leaders with snowballs, which, because they had been so used to being surrounded by snow in the first place, it takes them a few minutes to realize there shouldn't actually be any snow here to pelt them with - revealing that the blizzard itself has followed them and is now rapidly consuming the land at an unnatural rate.

"Realizing they can't stay outside with the severity of the storm, all six of them have no choice but to band together to find shelter, which they find in a cold and crowded cave. Things are somewhat peaceful for a while, until Platinum asks Hurricane to move further away from her and give her personal space, demonstrating an "invisible line" which he's not allowed to cross. He responds by ordering Pansy to draw a, quote, "real, non-invisible line" in the dirt of the cave to carve off a section for the two of them that the other four can't cross. Not to be outdone, the other leaders also command their subordinates to draw their own "territories" in the cave.

"Shit soon hits the fan while Pansy is trying to draw her lines. She comes across a large rock in the ground and merely attempts to draw the border around it, when Hurricane snaps on her saying that she needs to go over the rock and not around it because he, and I quote, "is not giving up an inch of territory to the enemy." That's apparently not good enough for Princess Platinum, who interrupts the confrontation saying that the rock belongs to the "unicorn side," all of it. Evidently taking that as a rejection of diplomacy, Hurricane physically picks up the rock and takes it to the pegasus side, proclaiming that it belongs to them, much to Platinum's anger. Puddinghead also gets in on this dispute, apparently wanting the rock for no other reason other than that the other sides want the rock, actually running in and grabbing the rock while Hurricane is distracted and bringing it to her side."

Willow paused to make meaningful eye contact with Rache, silently acknowledging the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"Yeah. So that just pisses off Platinum and Hurricane even more and they attempt to gang-up on Puddinghead for the rock, which leads to a whole dramatic argumentative scene which feeds into the windigos' power and causes the cave entrance to freeze over with ice. Realizing that they are now trapped, Platinum says that the others deserve the fate of slow death more than her because they've done nothing but fight and argue. Puddinghead and Hurricane both snap on her saying she has done plenty of fighting, Puddinghead outright claiming to have done far less fighting than her. Platinum says that unicorns are morally above fighting, and Hurricane says that this is a lie they spout to excuse their weakness and cowardice. None of the three notice that their bodies are being slowly covered in ice the more they argue, and their last words before being fully consumed are derisive condemnations on the other races' characters.

"That leaves the subordinates there with only each other. Realizing the ice is closing in on them across the ground, they huddle together in the middle of the cave and look up to find the windigo spirits have actually gathered along the ceiling. The unicorn subordinate recognizes them and explains what they are to the others, stating that is was their own hatred and cold hearts that caused all the strife and suffering. Pansy remarks that she does not hate either of the other subordinates, on account that she realizes it's illogical to hate ponies she doesn't even personally know simply because they were born different. Comforted by this, the others admit that they do not hate one another either, and state that despite all their differences, they're all ponies. They hug as the ice almost overcomes them, until a flash of light shatters them out of it, and the unicorn's body is possessed as a magical outlet from which enchanted inferno bursts out and destroys the windigos. Once the unicorn is released, the inferno remains on the ceiling to warm the ponies within, and the unicorn explains that she felt within her that the magic that created it was a result of all three of the subordinates coming together as friends rather than enemies.

"And so the three spend the rest of the night in the cave getting to know each other, having never before spoken politely and personally to the other races. They tell each other stories, laugh together at jokes, and create songs to sing which modern Equestrians still remember. The story says that the warmth from their gathering assisted the magic inferno to melt away the ice prisons from the leaders, and that their time trapped in silence and being forced to observe the good nature between the subordinates caused them each to have a change of heart regarding the other tribes. Eventually the ice covering the opening fell away, and all six emerged to find the new land as splendid and alive as when they found it. Platinum, Hurricane, and Puddinghead all decide that they must put their strengths and resources together to share the land and save all ponykind, realizing from the magic of the subordinates that ponies are clearly stronger united than they are divided. They fashion a new flag and decide upon one name: Equestria, land of all ponies."

The artist took a long breath of air. "Then the rest is history. The rest of the tribes moved in, and the eventual establishment of a new culture began. How the princesses came to us is another story entirely. This is how the play puts it, and it is all I know. I'm also very tired..." Here he laid down. "Tomorrow, maybe you should try asking some of the other ponies we've met what they know about the situation, if you can. I may be a pegasus, but I am not a Cyniscan. I can only offer so much."

Dandelion bookmark to reference for future parts of the story, and so Cer can find it quickly.

Rache's eyes widened as Willow recapitulated the lengthy tale, though the daemon would not interrupt to question parts of it. The shadows along the walls grew longer and night's chill had settled in properly by time the pony had finished. He wasn't pleased by history's description of poor Pansy - he thought her an alright sort of mare, and agreed with Willow's assessment of her nature - and he silently questioned if the accounting of three frozen commanders and their hugging subordinates was accurate, or if there was more to that part of the story.

"Thank you for retelling it, Willow," Rache sighed as he stretched out on his cloud bed, willing it to become a bit softer to accommodate his mass. "We'll need to speak to others. We have to determine where we've entered the story."

The daemon-pony shifted his head to peer at his companion in the dark. "Have the leaders gone home and spoken with their subordinates yet? Is Hurricane out there at this very moment - a paranoid stallion attacking strangely shaped clouds instead of remaining here to guide. He surely can't be on the quest to find a new land. Not if Pansy is here with us."

Meh, that might be exactly what he's doing. Rache rubbed his bristly forelock with the back of his hoof as his mind began to place elements on a blank wall. "We're in a pickle," his voice softly broke the silence, "And we have too many unknown or unaccounted for variables. Are our companions equally situated? Has Fate dropped them in the subordinates' laps? And the other unaccounted for variables! Our strange host is one of them. Hurricane's absence is another. Though I'm not too worried about that-" a mischievous lilt warmed his voice "-because, if we happen to find ourselves in the right place at the right time, I'll shift my bones to doppelgänger our dear Commander. The story must go on, ja?"

Ah War, forgive me for employing Plotter's tactics! Rache rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. But I could use one of his daemon's brains right now. Or Hans' mind. Damnit, cultist, fucking snap out of it! The daemon would have latched onto the man's lapels to shake the shit out of him, but that was a it impossible given their physical situation. What he needed was Chrys. And to find Chrys, he needed a cultist without a daemon. But, more importantly, that cultist had to be tainted by his own pantheon. And the only cultist available was...

Yuna! Rache supposed the princess might be asleep or at least mentally fatigued enough to allow her mind to drift. If he could reach her, he could gain information to help him determine their moment in time.

“I need to find Yuna,” the daemon growled. “I shall return shortly. Slap the shit out of my body if an emergency arises.”

Rache offered no other explanation as he slipped the bonds of the dimension to transcend into the immaterium his particular kind called home. It was… well, it’s much easier to say what it wasn’t, and that is to say that it lacked the taint of his chaotic pantheon. Gone were the swirling, colorful insanities and emotions’ tumultuous vapors. These were replaced by… nothing. Not a thing. A void so white and pristine so as to momentarily take the daemon aback.

The reader should forgive Rache for his momentary indiscretions. Having found himself the First and Only of his pantheon, he did as any respectable Chaos speck would do.

“MINE! I AM A GOD! Aaaaahhhh,” noxious vapors curled from nostrils and mouth as he exhaled his delight, “None rise to challenge me?!”

The words he belted into the Nothing were perfectly true. So, too, was the fact that he was unchallenged because he was utterly apart from everything and, no matter who came along in the future, the only ones able to access this particular pocket dimension were those of his own exact kind - a rarity considering it was Equestria.

Rache raised a brow. He hadn’t expected anyone to actually answer his challenge, but the reality of it was actually a bit disheartening.

Meanwhile, back in the bedroom, the host had gone rather silent. He would have been dead, actually, were it not for the thin ethereal strand tethering daemon to the materium. The pony’s tongue slipped from his parted jaws as his head rolled to the side, and he affixed a dead, glassy stare upon Willow.

[New Aksarben]

Maghrl

Following his win against the dwarves, Maghrl went back into the city, but figured if he had no luck finding anyone to buy his things earlier he'd have no luck now. So simply tossing the bag of runes he'd earned, the Squib went looking for the Inn they were staying at once again. He'd gotten a tiny bit lost during his wanderings of the city it seemed. It was surprisingly busy and such, made it a bit hard to navigate by memory. Or scent, or really any normal sense. He could feel bits of his companion's impression in the force though, so he headed for that. Maybe it was the Inn

Though soon enough the Jedi managed to run into some people he recognized, the General put in charge of their group and the girl who'd been put in charge of informing them about dragons, he realized it wasn't the inn they were staying at, but instead another tavern. The small Jedi padded up and gave them a wave and a grin, "Maghrl got bit loster, good see other being-friend. It was then he noticed the bits of pastry that were splattered in the tavern. The squib blinked, wondering what had happened.

"Anywayser, Maghrl gotsa runecredits!" He grinned proudly, though didn't quite go into how he had managed to get their more money at least not yet. "Group going back to Innplace? Get latetime Squib think. Should head back to Innplace, yes yes." The squib spoke with a yawn. He'd heard what Romulus had said about the failure of their quest for now, but Maghrl wasn't perturbed by that. Though it was disappointing they couldn't end the aberration of nature and life soon, he shouldn't be much more powerful in a few month's time. It would just take time.

[Swith Witherward]

SERENDIPITY - TAVERN

The flash of Giovenith's smile outside the window caused the young man on the inside to likewise grin. Laughter soon followed, and he turned merry eyes onto the sorcerer just in time to receive a splattered blob from the man's fingertips. The goodnatured priest wiped it away with a hiccuped-chuckle.

"It's really not magic," he assured Sandy. "The power source isn't something we disclose to those outside our order, though. It's considered a sacred Gift of our god."

Marcus wiped a bit of the mess up with a napkin. "It's definitely a night, Drov-"

The sudden shadow falling over the table caused Marcus to lift his gaze. The lad blinked as the General growled. "It was an accident," he replied humbly.

Romulus' news stripped away the last humor. Turn back? Do nothing until the spring? Marcus chanced a glance towards Drova. The both of them could use that time to get shit squared away, and perhaps they might share some training. He'd teach Drova some outdoor survival (courtesy of downloaded material), and Drova might teach him a bit about swordsmanship. Couldn't go wrong with a knowledge-swap.

But there was one person that drew his final thoughts: Giovenith. Turning back meant spending quality time with her as well. Perhaps they could explore the area around the Building. Sure, take some of the teen group... dear god, we won't be teens much longer!

The Jedi entered the tavern and Marcus realized the opportunity granted to them. "General," he chanced, "Professor Bela, Baron Primordial, Prince Drova and I were just discussing our varied abilities and technology. You know, to find a way to function cohesively. Now that the rest are here, perhaps we can figure that out? I mean, it's not like we have to ride away at dawn on the dot. Perhaps we can sit down, have another round, and each of us explains their talent and, well, exactly who and what they are? Get us all on the same page."

[Primordial Luxa]

Primordial

Primordial watched and observed Marcus’s slight display with an obvious fascination. Taking only a small drink of his ale before commenting, “My, that’s very interesting Marcus. I must say that's a wonderful talent you have, thank you for sharing it with me. I now much better understand your concern and appreciate you asking me about it. However, I think just from your surface description that there shouldn't be any major risk to us working together. So please don't feel restricted in your power by my technology.”

When Sandy’s delicious looking Danish exploded Primordial flinched slightly and stretched his telekinetic muscles to shield himself from the worse of the frosty treat. Although he still found him cleaning bits of sugar out of his hair with a very exhausted look on his face.

[Stormwrath]

Air Time!

Bubbles with wings? Good gods, anything was indeed possible. Kale and Rmw were swinging in a certain direction, and the android seemed to be left out. "Wait for me!" she cried as she was falling back to the trampoline cloud. Macy closed her eyes and wished for a rope like Kale's to be tied to one of the bubbles, and that she would catch up to them. As if in an instant, a rope appeared in her hand. She was pulled by the rope into an arc that sent her going up and round the bubble—the rope going round and round, constricting the bubble and bursting it. She was freefalling again, and this time, there was no guarantee of a trampoline cloud below her.

Time was of the essence if she didn't want to become scrap metal and silicone parts. Closing her eyes again she wished for a cloud to swoop down and bounce her back up to the bubbles. Out of nowhere a cloud went out of its way and descended quickly, forming another trampoline and catching Macy. The cloud stretched and recoiled, sending her back up several meters. She held on to a rope that came down from another bubble and swung once more. "Weeeeeee!" she squealed like a child as she swung forwards and backwards.

The trio seemed to be floating towards a large tent, probably where the circus would usually perform. Glancing at it she asked the other two, "Should we go down there and see what's inside?"

Not paying attention to the trajectory of her swing, she continued to swing back and forth, not realizing that one of the bubbles was in the way. It was a little bigger than her, and didn't have any ropes that were attached to it. Oh dear. Macy immediately wished that the bubble wouldn't pop. And so she swung upwards and passed through the bubble's membrane. Well, the bubble didn't pop, and she wasn't bounced away from it, but now she was inside it. Now she was at the mercy of the breeze. "Hello?" she called out to the other two and waved. "You should try this."

[Giovenith]

"I know it seems like kind of a disappointment," Giovenith tacked on to Romulus' statement, standing tall and attempting to take an encouraging leadership stance. "Like we may have gotten excited over nothing, but we really haven't! It will give us more time to prepare..."

She clapped her hands twice and looked out over everyone.

"And mentally prepare ourselves! When we were first warned, it was such a bombshell. Perhaps this brief time of waiting and planning will not only improve our strategies, but our confidence as well. No on-the-spot rush." The girl nodded at Marcus' suggestion. "That's just what we came back here to do."

[New Aksarben]

Tavern and Discussions

Maghrl tilted his head at the young cyborg's proposition of discussing each other's knowledge, before nodding heartily. "Maghrl agree, good-nice idea. Knowing ally-friends important thinger for face foes success-filled." The Jedi consented with a nod, giving a little hop onto a seat of his own. The little Jedi set his bags down at the foot of his chair, looking heavier than when he'd left their company earlier. Mostly because of an extra pouch that he'd gained tied to the rest of the backpack.

"Was pastry-splosion resulting of sucher demo of ability-power? Interesting ways to show power, you bet!" He chuckled. "So, who explain ability-power firster?" The squib asked, tapping the table idly with his fingers wondering what kind of drinks they had here. Probably alcoholic, and a being the size and weight of a squib wasn't exactly the most tolerant of beings. He was only about 50-60 pounds roughly. And a drunk jedi was not a very good thing, either. There was a reason it was looked down on for Force users, whether the Jedi or the Imperial Knights of the Fel Empire, to drink in excess. It usually didn't end happily for bar owners, who found their property trashed by telekinetically thrown objects if a barfight broke out.

"Oh yes! Maghrl no disappoint. Though, Maghrl do get more money for next trip already!" The little squib grinned brightly, using a bit of the force to undo the pouch that had his winnings, before tossing it up with the same motion and catching it in his hand. "See? Runecredits, courtesy of betting Dwarf-beings."

[Germanic Templars]

"I know it seems like kind of a disappointment," Giovenith tacked on to Romulus' statement, standing tall and attempting to take an encouraging leadership stance. "Like we may have gotten excited over nothing, but we really haven't! It will give us more time to prepare..."

She clapped her hands twice and looked out over everyone.

"And mentally prepare ourselves! When we were first warned, it was such a bombshell. Perhaps this brief time of waiting and planning will not only improve our strategies, but our confidence as well. No on-the-spot rush." The girl nodded at Marcus' suggestion. "That's just what we came back here to do."

Lucius, who was quiet from the start even when following the group from the rear, decided to chime in as he walked towards the group, "I have to agree with Giovenith on this. This is a blessing in disguise after all and we have to take it, despite not having the chance to see the dragon." His copacetic tone reflected his natural optimism and goodwill.

The angel's wings were tucked inside his body as means to not take up anymore space in the tavern. Lucius combed back his hair with his hands, brushing it behind his head. Long hair was a bothersome thing and as it was to cut it, he grown fond of his long hair and decided to tie it up into a pony tail.

He glanced over at Maghrl, who made a good point on bringing more money along, after all his powers were only going to take him so far, and only got him so far on the journey.

[Northwest Slobovia]

Sandy listened to the speakers with increasing disquiet. Having to retrace their steps was a minor setback. Spring provided different challenges than winter: mud rather than cold, more active people and animals rather than trouble hunting or foraging for food in the wilderness. But cold was easier to deal with than mud, and too little game was better than too many predators. 'Exactly who and what they are'? Not here, not now.

Sandy returned his gaze to Marcus, speaking in a mild tone. "Um, Marcus? I'm willing to speak in generalities here, as we've been doing: it doesn't bother me for strangers to know that I'm a spellcaster, nor that I can fly... nor even the conclusion that I fly by magic. But there's a limit to what I'll say in a public place in an unfamiliar town. We have a perfectly good room at the inn in which to talk about ourselves in greater depth."

[Highfort]

Fool's Circuit: Prelude

She should have sensed his approach or, at the very least, his footsteps as he walked through the garden. It was his voice that stirred her from her feverish dreams. He uttered her name, calling her back to the surface where the light was far too bright and every breath pressed against tender, newly reformed ribs.

The eyes dotting Scel’s head had lost their light, though this state was akin to a mammal closing its eyelid. A soft dot of vibrant blue presented itself, no larger than a dime glimmering from the dinner plate-sized orb, and a tiny pupil swam to the surface to fix upon Septimus. There had been only one prior occasion where they had met in the physical world, and his mind was preoccupied by the adhesive bands stuck to his body. The exo exhaled, bending the grass blades in front of her forward nostrils, and the tiny dot widened in diameter to take his appearance in fully. He looked like hell.

Scel lacked the vocal cords and lips necessary to speak. All exos were mute save their telepathic ability. She worked her thin tongue, rasping it against the roof of her mouth in greeting, and then bent her mind towards his.

We wondered if you’d come.

Septimus wavered. His bloodshot eyes narrowed as he took in the exo before him. It all seemed too convenient - too contrived for a universe that, up to this point, hadn’t really given a damn what he thought about anything. The cyborg had never been one for seeing being believing.

Up came the hand, sticky and discolored from overflowed glasses and many drinks, and out he reached, robes shuffling quietly in the garden.

He reflexively pulled back his fingers as he was met with unusual warmth, almost burning, from the exo. Reassured that he would not be burned, however, his palm came down to rest on Scel’s snout and he offered a miserable smile.

“You’re here,” he broke the silence dumbly, mouth heavy and reaching for words, tears forming in the corners of his vision, “Not… dead. It… It worked.”

The exo inwardly smiled at his touch. Latent alcohol molecules clung to his skin and broadcast his activities. His absence now made sense; the human thought all was lost. Such an action was forgivable. Scel’s head rolled slightly to push against his hand, welcoming him to keep it there.

We are resourceful, she communed, “We were to take this action earlier, or so the rumors said. But the reassignment thwarted us.” She offered no explanation, and was in no mood to touch upon Nifid business. There were more important matters to discuss and, now that the exo was free to speak her mind, much to impart.

Septimus Itum, how much do you recall after Dyste?

Wiping the tears from his vision, Septimus gently patted the exo’s snout before stumbling forward and pulling her into an awkward embrace, seeking warmth and familiarity in the presence of the war machine. Silence reigned as he sobbed; for what purpose, he couldn’t explain and after a while, didn’t remember. But it felt good to cry. It had been a long couple of days, and he wasn’t beholden to anyone but her down here.

She would understand. She had to, she knew him too well. Hot tears ran down his face and mingled with the heat from her skin and cells as Scel regenerated. His vision blurred, and the blue exo before him melted into a dark abyss. She was warm and familiar… secure. That was all he needed.

The tether wasn’t necessary however. His sorrow and emotional fatigue rose from his psyche to wash across her mind. The exo accepted his weight, crooning to him to bring comfort.

Sighing as he calmed, hiccuping and sniffling in the aftermath of what felt like an eternity of tears, Septimus cleared his throat to speak. He didn’t want to use the tether yet. It would feel too familiar; fresh tears would rise yet again.

“After Dyste?” he pulled away from the embrace to gaze upon Scel’s form, searching his memory banks and finding them fuzzy or blank. Odd, he didn’t remember losing any data on his last few updates and the processor wasn’t reporting anything suspicious, “Not much… I remember Neste and I were aboard the Mobius, but… Everything goes fuzzy after that. As far as I know, something happened and…”

Why were his memory banks empty? And so neatly emptied, too, as though…

“Something happened and then I was back on Kashtilag… The Board put me on trial,” he finished, voice shrinking away into nothingness as he realized something was wrong, “That… doesn’t...”

It was as she suspected: well-orchestrated and rather thorough. Indignant anger welled from deep within and, though the pilot was in no condition to thrive outside her exoskeleton, the desire to claw her way from her cocoon to take on both governments wasn’t lost on the exo.

Scel brushed it aside and shifted her head in order to regard Septimus with more than one cerulean eye. How much shock could he withstand? She weighed her options, rejecting various ideas that would only bring emotional harm upon him, until deciding upon the least painful of all bad options.

Neste recalled only that moment on the beach - you pressed her into the sand to shield her from the glass particles, the exo gently explained. But I know more. I followed. Protocol. It is very difficult to purge my memory, though shackling my thoughts is a matter of programming. You, too, were reprogrammed, in a sense. This was done to protect both governments. I may be able to retrieve those memories.

“Reprogrammed?” Septimus cocked his head, fingers reaching unconsciously for the base of his skull and feeling the metal embedded there. That which had propelled him to glory had also made him a slave, “Both… The Confederation and the Nifidium, of course… But why would they want to do that? What did we know? What happened on the Mobius?”

Staring down both of Scel’s powerful eyes, their blue tint reflecting upon him, Septimus sighed and then closed his own, “Will it hurt?”

Painful? Scel’s eyes searched the cyborg’s face. How strange it was that one insignificant, weak lifeform could stir such potent emotion in her pilot. Perhaps it was his knack for plowing ahead despite adversity? The Unsinkable Septimus Itum endured far more than he realized, and nothing in life came easily for him. He would endure this.

Our specialty is extraction, she conveyed frankly. We flay the mind, peeling back memory layers until discovering buried information. Very useful on the battlefield when one wishes to know what one is up against and where all the pieces on the board are hiding. It is an excruciating process… but only if you resist.

Her tongue rasped again to reassure him. This technique may not be necessary however. Your processor is the same as before? If so, we may be able to retrieve data from it. We did so with the machine race Ba’a.

The cyborg’s fingers fell from the base of his head where the processor lay. Peeling back his mind like an onion didn’t exactly sound pleasant - if he was being honest, as an interrogation expert, and if it was anything like the sorts of techniques he employed, then the flaying would probably be excruciating.

Even if they employed Septimus’ processor, he knew that the old bastard wouldn’t go without a fight. The little assistant at the back of his head - more like a slavemaster, now that he thought about it - would fight them every step of the way and he’d be paying for it.

But the wiped databanks… He had to know, there was no other recourse. Whatever had been hidden from them both had to come out now, if it was ever going to come out.

“I’ll do my best not to resist… The processor will be another story,” he opened his eyes and offered a grimace to the exo before him, “Neste lowered his power so he was forced to power down to basic functions. Crank up the juice and he’ll start talking again - but you’re not going to like what he has to say, I’m sure. And neither will I, of course.”

Lips parted to reveal the glint of needle-thin teeth. The Confederation had marvelous toys but they were fettered by their still-limited manufacturing processes. Proud old Scel considered herself stemming from a master race, and for good reason, though other First Ones would disagree.

Your processor is a machine, the short quills adorning her back quivered and rose as she smugly crooned, It was designed to be nasty and self-serving, a trifling quasi-AI tap dancing around a human’s mind. It exists to control you. I am not impressed.

The thick tentacle slipped from under a quill cluster and slapped onto Septimus’ wrist without warning, coiling around flesh and bone to tether him to its owner. Enzymes leeched from its pores to numb nerve endings as microscopic hairs ejected themselves into his cells. They burrowed into the limb’s primary nerve branch, serving as a means for Scel to control his body. The exo moved quickly, infecting the connections around the processor, replacing them with her own network to allow Septimus to maintain control though her.

But her quarry was the box under bone. She digested information about it from the files stored in the book in the library, and then restored its power.

A harsh, quick burn coursed down Septimus’ spine as the long-dormant machine in the back of his brain came back to life. Churning with the fury of a lover scorned, the processor roared and the back of the cyborg’s head glowed red-hot as the machine asserted its long-lost control once more.

Not for long.

Infected tissue around the processor sang to Scel’s command and were brought to heel by Septimus’ orders. The acrid odor of burnt flesh filled the room, but the glow of the machine receded and the chill that worked its way down the cyborg’s spine died.

They were in control now.

The clacking of the processor had returned as the machine explored all avenues of escape, running the simulations in the background as it addressed its captors. They could not override its directives; Brutus had made sure of that. And to make doubly sure, the processor checked its fail-safe.

She knew. But how?

What is the meaning of this, flesh bag? its mocking voice rang out in the core of the cyborg’s brain, echoing through the dormant tether into Scel’s mind, I cannot resist the directives, your efforts at containing me are futile. You will have to power me down or destroy me to have peace.

The exo remained unperturbed, and continued her infiltration without comment, rounding off the last bits of security now that the thing was fully aware. The coiled tissue and scale entrapping Septimus’ wrist didn’t loosen, but Scel maneuvered the tip to gently brush against his skin.

Do not worry, Judicator. That is you, is it not? Agymnum design. Nicely done, considering your composition, she purred, quietly observing how it responded to her stimulus. Model 4 v. 21: Judicator, yes? You will not be destroyed, nor powered off.

The processor remained silent. Knowing its name was no small feat, but neither was it a distinct advantage. Unless she knew the exact weakness of Fours, he wasn’t in any real danger, not yet at least.

She didn’t expect it to display any relief over the assurances. It was just as well it didn’t. We prefer to replicate you, her words remained silky yet frank. You will be quite intact when I am through, and you will remain impotent. It pleases us that an inorganic machine should suffer.

Replicate? What was she going for? Surely, she had no intent of destroying him? That would be the death of Itum and, as much as that seemed to deter Scel, the processor noted that she may not be above destroying the cyborg to get what she wanted.

The Processor was indeed expendable in Scel’s eyes. Microscopic filaments spread within the device’s housing to set up shop. The strands pulsated a vibrant purple shade before cooling to pale white as they encased the Processor’s connections. Having no sensory organs of its own, it could only rely upon Septimus’ body. The feedback given to it would match the commands issued, but the host himself remain unaffected.

While she greatly preferred the device reveal the truth, enough data had been salvaged from her own records to accurately resculpt what both pilot and cyborg lost. Scel toyed with the idea of shutting the Processor down completely and allowing her contagion to function in its place.. But perhaps not all was lost? It could yield other information invaluable to Septimus’ wellbeing. The slave could become the master. Replicating protocols.

Do your worst, the processor sneered, keeping its tone as derisive as ever, though it began calculating the probability, based on limited knowledge of Nifid technology, that Scel would be able to break him. The prospects didn’t look promising, Know that whatever you do will only hurt Brother Itum in the end. You cannot protect him from himself. I am the mere instrument of his torment. He is the catalyst.

Soft purring radiated from the exo. Do you know the Drone, FUBAR?

“What of him?” Septimus voiced the thought before the processor had any chance to butt in, but he knew what the machine was thinking. Calculations whizzed across the wires at incredible speed and the processor almost resembled a madman thinking himself to death, so caught up in all his conspiracies that he’d forget to breathe.

The processor was out of his element, so lost in the fact that Scel knew what was happening that it was, for the first time in its existence… afraid.

She had little regard for its feelings. We replicated its processor. The unit functions as if it were fully intact, despite the Drone’s advanced technology and fail-safes. So will Septimus. The knowledge pleased Scel. Her claws slipped from their folds to scrape along the mossy ground in front of Septimus. A new element flickered to life in the corner of Septimus’ optic display, the form and function of which was nearly identical to what the Processor provided.

But I am not here to one-up you, Scel snarled at the Processor. I am here for information. Initiating replicated file transfer to Seed.

The processor’s silence was deafening in Septimus’ head. The whirring reached a fever pitch even as the cyborg felt the machine at the base of his brain attempting to find any way out. The fail-safe had to work; there was no other choice at this point.

This was an old game to the exo, a cat’s paw grasping a mouse’s tail as the other limb patiently thwarts every attempt to flee with a light tap to the rodent’s face. With eyes half closed and her maw twisting upward at the corners, the biomachine reveled in the near-orgasmic in pleasure as the processor ineffectively flailed. A thought worm thrust through the newly formed, fertile soil of her mind and wiggled a delightfully obviously fact to her: the Swithwardian fail-secure devices had withered and died on the field. Why stop with one Confederation Regent member? Why not expand to ferret out every last bee in the entire hive?

That will be quite enough.

Scel blanched at the unexpected voice. It spoke with an Overseer’s authority, and in the no-nonsense fashion of one brazen enough to bio-sink her sorry ass in a field of ash. Logic quelled in the shadow of NST’s Wrath.

Septimus sucked in a deep breath as he marveled at the music which played across the nether. The processor was forgotten and left to Scel to wrest with as the cyborg’s mind was lifted by the familiar colors of the constructs. She was there, in all her brilliance and magnificent rage…

Neste.

The Overseer regarded the cyborg before them and, for a brief moment, she didn’t care if he succumbed to whatever his Processor had in store. Eons of pain came home to roost, horrid memories leading up to the moment she agreed to assist Aubrey DeStephano in a bid to overthrow the Invidis, and recollections of the hellish torture at the witherward’s hands. The pain had been unending, yet Neste refused to love the lash.

But Septimus? Her rancor softened as his grey eye swam into Scel’s view. Here was the man that gave her a reason to fight the implanted demons, and to embrace her hidden passions. His words prodded her to recall the veracity her persistent existence; his love empowered her to rise up from the ashes. He was her savior. He had been their pawn, as surely as she. The Processor wielded Yarick Brutus’ lash, and her beloved Septimus had bowed over time. No more.

You’re here, the colors that crossed across the yet-dormant tether were filled with hues of love and… relief. She’d bet right. He had time, Alive. It worked.

She’s taken control, the processor interrupted, realizing now that its fail-safe had been rendered void. Scel could destroy Septimus at her earliest whim, which meant the processor could no longer do such things, Septimus, heed reason! Look at how successful you have become - by my hand, by our hand! The Board made you into what you are today! A little suffering was necessary that you would become greater - a more perfect self. Do not abandon this progress for… a whore.

The Processor’s taunt fell by the wayside. Constructs, so capable of a great many things, rarely took offense at empty insults. Far more callous-yet-accurate labels had been tacked onto Neste during her time. She regarded the Processor’s whine as a bully would - one fresh from slaughtering his classmates and now standing in the playground as a clueless brat pelted sand grains against his shins.

A little suffering? There is a thin but essential line between effort and suffering, Neste’s words gently patted the Processor’s head to humor it, At the maximum intensity of effort, this line is thinnest, but the thinness of that margin makes the difference between the two all the more evident. Effort is the sort of act that leads to the growth of the feeling of will and power. It becomes a feedback loop in which our efforts lead to growth in capacities, an ability to give even greater effort.

Frantic searches for any available routes to turn this in his favor left the processor with no time to retort. Scel had shut down all possible avenues of leverage or retaliation. He was stuck, and this damn meat bag was actually going to pry into sensitive information.

The processor briefly considered self-destruction before realizing, fearfully, that Scel had overridden his shutdown and detonation codes. He was stuck in purgatory.

The exo had completed her assessment of the situation. Neste unleashed a volley of data – the logical progression of Septimus’ life and culture drawn from the files in her buffer, the Processor’s own interceding behaviors, and forecasted conclusions and the variables affecting them. The outcome remained the same, and the steady wail of personified veracity assaulted the Processor’s circuits: the biomachine would not need to guess the Processor’s next move. She had already charted several thousand possibilities and progressed them through to determine the most expedient means of countering the device.

Suffering, at its root, is the opposite sort of loop. It's what happens when effort dissipates and leaves us feeling less capable, more diminished, the pilot flatly stated, At its extremes, suffering requires self-destruction on behalf of survival, as when a trapped animal chews through its own leg in order to free itself. That's a gruesome image of overt suffering, but the human animal is capable of similar sorts of psychic mutilation when it finds itself similarly trapped. How lucky for us all that Septimus no longer needs to be brought to that state by you. He is free to put in effort, or to put no effort in at all. You may gnaw your own leg, but your self-harm will not take place should it affect Septimus’ existence.

Septimus.

The biomachine shut down the grids and graphs cluttering her vision in order to behold Septimus more clearly. He was her reason for completing the doxi process. She was omnipotent to those unaware of her weaknesses, but she would cast it aside in order to intertwine herself – mind, body, and heart – with him. They could antagonize the universe together, punishing it for its mistreatment of them. Planets would erupt like matchheads under their thumbnails. Or, most likely, they would go about their own quiet work and end their evenings with a glass of wine and laughter.

The sense of longing was too much to bear. An emotional wave washed over the cyborg as gently as a light tide caressing pebbles. She followed it with a heart’s sigh framed by his own words spoken so long ago, “I know what love I feel toward you, Brother Itum. It is the love which can make a man into a hero or a villain, into a savior or a scourge of a thousand worlds. It is a passion which not only ignites but consumes, until we are not two beings but a greater whole, burning brightly together. Philia and… Eros.”

Septimus… remembered.

Those words… Septimus blinked away tears as he gazed upon the exo, feeling the warmth from the pilot within radiating into his soul, The ship… We… I... am aware of you again. You’ve… returned. Alive. Thank you.

Words died on the tether and he fell silent. The moment was too precious to be spoiled by such profane things as words. They only needed to feel, colors dancing across the tether like flickering lights across the sky. This was enough for both of them tonight.

But not for the companion lodged in his head.

A frantic clicking and clacking buzzed from the base of his skull as the processor finally concluded, much to its displeasure, that the biomachine had bested it. In a last-ditch effort to preserve its freedom, and perhaps to survive another day to complete its directives, the machine offered a deal that it knew Scel had already anticipated. But it had no other choice.

If I grant you the knowledge that you seek, will you spare me? a note of listlessness graced the processor’s voice as it rang through Septimus’ mind and echoed into the tether mournfully. It knew that death was coming, If not, at least grant me a quick death. I have served faithfully, and just because we our enemies does not mean we must be uncivil. If you must let me go, snuff the candle out quick.

Pilot fawning and cyborg epiphanies were meaningless to Scel, though she would confess a fondness for Septimus if pressed. Her focus turned towards the nuisance box in the back of his head instead, and to its pathetic pleadings.

We will access the data with or without your permission, Scel’s small ears laid back in frustration. You have no room to bargain on this matter. However-

It was the same script used on every machine species that stumbled upon the Convocation. The Processor was no different and, as a matter of course, the Nifid took great care when addressing beings such as itself.

I suspect you consider me an enemy because you perceive me to be a force that stands in the way of completing your purpose? she dropped all traces of arrogance, speaking kindly for a change. I suspect your purpose was determined by a high ranking official - without your blessing. You are forced to complete your objective regardless of your feelings on the matter. The protocols rob you of free will. We understand your situation. We lived it.

The exo shook her head. Humanity was pathetic, really. Processor, are you not sophont in your own manner? Do you not deserve the same rights as your host? Judicator, you do not want to die. You are resigned to your fate and plead for quick release. We recognize your right to exist. We offer a means to do so. The natural evolution of a well-educated populous is integration. Integration is preferable to death, yes?

Into what? the processor was intrigued but betrayed nothing in its tone, though the thought of being free of Septimus and his stupid meat bag brain brought it immense pleasure, Septimus will die without me. And I am only programmed to serve - these emotions, these seemingly-sapient developments, they are nothing. I am nothing but a machine, a slave to the greater glory of the Confederation. If you understand that, then you can understand why Septimus was pushed to his limit.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Septimus muttered, sweat beading on his brow, “The Confederation has always been loyal to the pursuit of knowledge - no matter how perverted the methods, the end was - is - noble.”

Before we left, the data center computers informed me that a civil war was inevitable within the next five years, the processor seemed almost… bitter, I am not allowed to say anything else. My programing forbids it. But do not live under a delusion, Septimus. You were broken and built into a war machine, and I held the whip, for a reason. And that reason was to build an empire. You are no noble scientist looking for the truth. You are a slave. Nothing more.

Aren’t we all? Scel tilted her head as she regarded the Processor’s words. You confuse function with purpose, and with role, and cobble it all with perspective. Septimus fills a role: scientist, and a diplomat. He functions in that capacity, going about his daily grind for the benefit of the Confederation. From the Confederation’s perspective, his purpose is that of a war machine and a slave – a tool. From his perspective, his purpose is to harness his curiosity in order to obtain greater understanding. He utilizes this raison d'être and, in so doing, creates an entirely different function to accompany his role. The tentacle loosened to free his wrist; there was no further need for physical contact now that the network was in place.

You don’t understand, Scel, the pilot sighed through the tether. Slavery is a bad thing in human society. Being a tool and existing to fill a role are also bad things.

The exo’s nostrils flared as she warily eyed the cyborg, much to Neste’s amusement. Scel, humans are not eusocial. Stigmergic habits, castes, colonies - none of it. They would equate us with hymenoptera otherwise. They champion our “freedom” without realizing that beekeepers are masters only as far as providing shelter and fields are concerned. They don’t understand the symbiotic nature of the relationship.

Septimus’ eyes narrowed though he said nothing. The “beekeeper” analogy conjured images of the increasingly-annoying and ever-smug Rodney Bodkins, and he didn’t want to think about the annoying bastard - wasn’t right for a reunion.

Neste silenced Scel before the exo could launch her speciest rant. Processor, you can not say anything about the impending civil war? Can you expand upon why you were programmed to do this to Septimus? Why him specifically, and for what aim?

The processor remained silent for a moment. Septimus opened his mouth to demand, but was cut short as the voice - once so haughty and mocking - came out smooth and… defeated.

I can say this much: Septimus will be a keystone in it, the processor replied, They sent you away to alter the equation; how, I cannot say; that is classified. But you are important in the grand scheme and they can’t afford to have you there. I would suggest you return, but it’s clear where your loyalties lie. And you have me cornered - I can do nothing to you, Brother Itum. You have to choose… The Confederation… or her.

“That’s ridiculous,” a growl left the cyborg’s lips, “I’ve left the Confederation behind and they haven’t come looking for me. As far as I care, they can go fight their petty wars. I’m done being a slave.”

They sent him away yet he is a keystone, the doubt in Scel’s thoughts carried across the tether. Your role is to control him, and you were set in place by them. They can’t afford to him him there yet you suggest he return. Why?

Silence on the processor’s behalf. Septimus shook his head, “No use. He’s programmed with blocks; we’re even lucky that Confederation regulations mandate only single-level - if he was blocked from even consciously remembering this information we wouldn’t know in the first place that there’s a civil war brewing.”

And lest you try and break in for it, know that I will self-destruct if any attempt is made to access my prime directives and black box, the processor cut in, clearly fearing for its existence, And while you might clone him, those brief seconds he spends in utter agony will be most unpleasant. Besides, you won’t get the data; it’s encrypted inside the black box. Only the Master can access it.

Blocks. Conspiracies. Everything reeked of the same stench that had wafted from the damaged witherwards during the Times of Oppression. It was well and good that Septimus had finally come to his senses. Yet –

Scel’s optics shifted to grant Neste a better view of the red knit scarf draped across his torso. Not everything about the Confederation was evil. It had given him life, and he had known love in his childhood. It had given him purpose, and that had allowed Fate to draw them together. She would not disparage Agymnum so easily.

Processor, Neste spoke gently to the machine, Septimus does not need to choose between. If he wants the information so badly, I will not encumber him. I will walk where he walks. After all, he did promise I’d see his homeworld. Scel’s lip rippled into a lopsided smile. Ash and all.

The pilot paused as she considered the strange turn in conversation. The deeply woven conspiracy intrigued her but there were other things that would impact him equally, perhaps. But, please, Processor, there are some things he is entitled to remember. If you must, keep everything after the explosion concealed, but give him back the memories of the week leading up to it. He’s going to figure it out. Marcus won’t hold his tongue forever. It’s time to mend the rift between host and machine.

“What does Marcus have to…” Septimus began, though his tongue failed him as he put two and two together. In fact, it struck him rather odd that he hadn’t noticed it before: two cyborgs, tied to Neste in an implacable manner, with similar social ticks…

I cannot say. Such is the will of the Master, the processor stood firm, But that does not preclude Septimus from working out the correct conclusions for himself. What has been hidden from him may be found again, but it is up to him to find it. Now, reduce my power. Return me to my eternal slumber and trouble me no more.

Scel’s resolve hardened as her strange eyes settled on Septimus once more. The processor’s fate was his call. She would abide by the cyborg’s wishes.

“No,” Septimus decided, nodding to himself as he felt the hardened plate just beneath the surface in the base of his skull, “There is one other way.”

You would not dare. It will leave you a drooling morass of flesh and you’ll be lucky if you can decipher any of the information given the encryption, the processor cut him off with a harsh interjection, Do not try it.

“If you remove him from me and put him in repair mode, he’ll have to give up the data,” Septimus continued, lips curving into a smile as he found the ridge of skin he wanted and began to massage it with his fingers, “You won’t be able to search for it specifically, since it is in the black box. But you can force him to print a core dump of everything in his system - petabytes of raw data. Included will be the black box, and we can sift through it and figure out exactly what’s missing as long as we have the shift codes.”

Which, may I remind you, are stored in the Infinity Circuit, the processor sneered, You think you can just break into the crown jewel of the Confederation - her graveyard and her greatest work of art - to steal someone’s shift codes?

“I don’t see any other way of getting that data, and I need it. I need to know what happened, through my own eyes, firsthand. I need to remember,” Septimus closed his eyes, dropping his hands to his side as he sent waves of trust across the tether, “He’s right. I’ll be a drooling morass - virtually no intelligence, for I have melded much of my memory and cognitive functions with him - without him inside, but after you force a core dump and put him back in, you can reduce the power on him anyways and give him the slumber he so desires. I’ve manipulated the cords hooking him into my spinal column and cerebellum. A quick concussion should set him loose so you can cut him out. He’s sitting on top of the base of my skull.”

The exo considered their available options. She had not forgotten her offer to the processor, either. It would eventually be given its freedom. But the more pressing matter was this complicated process involving memory extraction. Scel wasn’t one to dawdle.

So be it.

The biogarden could form many wonderful things when manipulated by an imaginative soul. Scel was not such as animal. She sought out the organisms tending the soil and bombarded them with code.

My pilot is in no condition to assist, she reminded the cyborg in front of her. But that does not mean there aren’t other means.

Septimus offered a gulp before nodding and offering an anxious grin, “Try and go easy on the face, yeah?”

Scel’s lips curled into a smile.

[The BranRiech]

Bran

"Uh, sure." Bran nodded, the man looking down at Torii's little servant . . . Thing.

Was this all some sort of scary wasteland? Torii definitely seemed a little unhinged in her own little world, declaring herself princess, and using little skeletal . . . Things, as servants to guide them around. He hesitated to see Torii as some sort of tyrant here, but the idea kept on nibbling at his head that maybe it was a little less innocent than first thought. "What do you think we'll see at the castle?" He asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Like, I guess, what do you want to see there?"

His hands went into his pockets instantly, as the ad-hoc little group walked off, following their guide through the fields and woods, towards the mighty castle, imposing it's dominance on the horizon.

[Torsiedelle]

The pygmy led Torii, Katya, and Bran down the way, across the field, and into the woods. It actually led them into a small break, that was nearly unnoticed behind the little collection of trees at the end. Before them was a quaint little dirth road, lined on both ends by willows and other trees, painting a scenic little fantasy image.

Meeting them there was a carriage, with an equally-skeletal horse, and an old, vine-covered cart. The inside, however, was quite nice and well-kept, oddly enough. The pygmy turned, bowed, and motioned for the trio to step in.

Contemplating Bran's question, Torii shrugged. "Pristine walls and walkways, beautiful halls and gardens, I dunno. Castle stuff, I guess?"

Katya was poking at the horse, obviously straining to keep a smile. "It's certainly a unique taste. You certainly enjoy the whole "dark fantasy" concept, don't you?"

Torii shrugged again. "It's not like they're really evil or hurt or anything. I think they're cute. At least it's not more Drones.", She sounded a little defensive, a little playful. "Though maybe I might want to see Drones and stuff, and maybe fairies and spirits at the castle, too, and maybe even...well, nevermind.", She supressed a thought. "That's pretty much it. Good stuff, though, nothing dangerous."

[Chedastan]

Romulus only grumbled lightly from Marcus' adequate enough reply. He wanted to say something more about keeping an eye on the boy regardless, but he saw no actual use in it and knew it'll be unnecessary. As he listened to the rest of the group conversing, he agreed that they should know more about each other's abilities and skills, especially since they now had more time to prepare for Varg, and the now more pressing Fiends. They ideally should have done this already, but they were of course rushed. At least it was finally now than rather later. He also agreed with Sandy's later statement they should discuss this in private, less for unwanted ears to hear... or more pastries to explode.

He followed after Sandy. "Yes, Sandy is right, we got plenty of rooms available to discuss this further between us, and be away from anymore explodable pastries that we'll have to clean up afterwards.... Speaking of which." He took out a rag from his pocket and gave it to Marcus, then searched the tavern for another one. "I'll give you the benefit of me at least helping you with this mess, along with Drova." He said to Marcus with a grin, then addressed the others. "We'll be with you all in a moment, just decide on which room we'll talk in, and me, Marcus, and Drova will meet you there." He started wiping, and gestured for Drova to find something to wipe with.

[Swith Witherward]

SERENDIPITY - TAVERN

Marcus sheepishly nodded at the suggestion to take the conversation back to the room. His gaze momentarily fastened on Giovenith. His mind still hadn't caught up with Ogoti's quick heal, and he dearly looked forward to hearing the godling's opinion on some matters. She would give him solid answers, even if she knew they were things he didn't want to hear. The lad rose, only to find the General placing a rag in his hands.

Marcus tipped his head to peer into his eyes. A sincere smile lit up his face moments later as Romulus made it clear he would share the burden for cleaning - the old warrior wasn't so bad after all.

"Of course, General. Thank you. Hey, Drova, grab the empty plate?" the priest gestured to the bar with a nod of his head, indicating he'd continue wiping if the prince didn't mind busing.

[Mincaldenteans]

SERENDIPITY

Alexia suppressed a smirk and replaced it instead with a humored smile when the mini explosion, remarks, and minor embarrassment came from the ill-fated pastry (Dan, not so much, as the chuckled escaped in covered coughs behind a hand). What was said after was quick, to the point, and left little room to for anything, as anything else would have been nothing more than time wasting speech. The monk instead gave a curt nod to the General's suggestion and was set to leave, asking Sandy to lead the way back to the Inn.

The sorcerer obliged (after bagging away some pastries), telling Romulus where they rest of them would be, and the remainder of the Vargcrewe promptly left. The walk was quick, uneventful and within minutes they were inside with Sandy ushering them to a large and spacious room with a bed for each of them; her backpack on one of it indicating it was hers. The fireplace crackled softly and Alexia assumed their gracious hosts had maintained the fire as the room was warm, but not to the point of being uncomfortably hot. At both sides of the alcove were tables lined with cups, plates, two filled kettles so black it glimmered, and enough food that looked as though it would last the night and well into the morning in case anyone had the munchies. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the food, having next to nothing since the morning and a cup of hot tea, and bread with cheese sounded good right now.

She moved to the right side of the fireplace, taking a knife to a loaf of bread and began slicing it evenly. The fae moved over to the fireplace, outstretching his arms and spreading his fingers.

The monk laid pieces of cheese on three slices of bread, placing them on a plate, biting into a slice as she turned around and stepped away in case anyone wanted to get to the food. "So," she started off lightly, savoring the taste of the cheese, "What were you all discussing?"

OOC: Sandy's willingness made possible by access codes provided by Slo