Into The Wild Blue

[Imogen]

Imogen levered herself into a slightly more comfortable position and folded her hands over her stomach, closing her eyes. She opened them a moment later, glancing to Hector and Hilana.

"Don't pay me any mind, now," Imogen said, matter-of-factly. She did not face the Sentinel, perhaps having noticed already that the Sentinel was already in compliance with her wishes. "I'll be alright by myself- or I won't, I suppose. But anything which can do for me, you're best well away from anyway."

The Sunsinger extended an arm and invoked her Runes for the first time since they'd arrived. The usual surge of aether came with an even greater surge of discomfort--her Cardinal rune was itself wounded, after all--but she persisted in her spell. It took much longer than she was used to, and she felt sweat beading on her brow, drawing salty trails across the raw skin.

Still, after a few moments of work, Imogen's sword, first of her Pact Weapons, materialized next to her, floating point-first just an inch from the scrivened floor of the chamber. The room seemed to darken for a moment as it drew in the light, building to a silent crescendo as it quietly caught fire. Unlike the gilt and elegant designs of Imogen's other pact weapons, the two-handed sword was painfully plain, as featureless and drab as it had been the day she'd bought it. Today, it was not even decorated by an inscription.

"You keep watch while I nap." Imogen instructed the weapon, as though it could take verbal directions. Inexplicably, it dipped slightly, as though nodding. She turned her head to the other side of her body, where a pair of little tawny eyes had opened in the long shadow cast by her Pact sword.

"I'd tell you to keep watch too, but I know you're going to fall asleep regardless."

The eyes did not react, and Imogen settled back against the wall and closed her eyes once again, her breathing slowing within seconds.

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

- - -

- - -

The Imperials were of two minds regarding the decision presented to them. Vergil, frankly, wanted to stay behind and provide continued triage to the two who'd accepted his help; he knew not the extent of the effects of the Sundering's magic that'd been rendered unto them. He was also patient; why rush into things when you could plan ahead? The doctor in him wanted both injured parties to rest and recover while the scientist wanted to observe; it would soon appear, however, that Aoren and Valæra were not of the same mind– nor was Hector.

- - -

On the subject of the Emperor's turtle, Hector would smile; evidently, the subject delighted him. And on chaos magic, "...but that's the fun part, no? The idea of wielding such rare and raw magic makes my heart sing," he'd say to her. Hector's voice and mannerisms were alight with a hungry sort of zeal, fully unaware of how he may be perceived.

Both he and Vergil would accept the offered magma blooms with thanks when Hilana presented them; the girl seemed trustworthy enough to not be offering them poison, at the very least.

The elven boy's ears visibly perked at the mention of the Lady of Whispers and had his Aidolon made manifest his elven guise prior, he would've done the same. Hector's lips parted to speak but the dissonant voices of the spirit rang audible first– the liquid shadow within Hector's own would roil and rise behind him, forming the silhouette of a man's bust as it spoke.

"Are you acquainted with her?" He would ask, his voice a chorus composed of many, chiming and curious about what the elder dragon knew of his kin– Lyrielle would be his blood were he a beast of flesh. Imogen would note that he spoke far clearer now, blending those dissonant voices together into something far more coherent than their prior interactions; this had taken time and effort on the spirit's end. The question was as much of a starting point to that subject as what Hector had wanted to say; he gave Aoren a look of interest instead of adding anything.

But as the conversation shifted to the gift Hector had been given, neither the elf nor his older companion knew much about it on their own– the spirit in their company, however? He did. Al'Kassis would whisper to Hector promises of untold power, granting flashes of its wielders of eld; old as this eldritch creature was, he'd seen many. Indeed, he had yearned to work alongside another of Chaonite ilk for quite some time…it was just that he had thought them extinct. Perhaps he was right, even, as the servitor proceeded to grant them insight: Hector was the first bearer of that brand to enter this tower in nigh three centuries. And bound to Hector as he was, Al'Kassis felt an intense bloom of an emotion he'd not felt in some time– purest joy, for his wish had been granted.

It was from those whispers and galvanized by that joy that Hector had fallen into listening to the amber crystal's arcane call– only he was stopped by his companion prior to making it there. Vergil saw that Aoren had tensed, poised to act, too, when Hector had started his path and this relieved him. They would do well to stay nearby to the dragon, then. The spirit, and by proximity, Hector, however, felt a twinge of confusion at Aoren's lack of recognition of the rune's name; had his memories truly been addled so thoroughly? The red dragon was recognized by the servitor and yet did not remember. His status as elder was given away by the servitor, too, so surely, Aoren was old enough to recall the havoc wrought by Chaonite hands, no? …a shame, then, that his memory did not extend to cover the full breadth of the magnificence that ought to compose the life of one such storied draconic elder.

Nevertheless, now was not the time to ponder the past of dragons. "Has it truly been that long?" He almost pouted; it was clear the magic's loss to the world vexed him. But then, his expression perked back up as his gaze looked to his new mark.

"An honor, then, truly, to be the first after so many years." He'd smile, self-satisfied, his words towards the servitor. Something about that was also foreboding. He couldn't quite decide which.

And then, Hector's focus, mercurial, fickle, was swayed again– this time back to the eyeless Sentinel; oddly poetic, that; a watcher with no eyes. Her words, however, surprised both vampyres. The elf had almost discarded her from his thoughts, having shifted the way he viewed her in a similar fashion to how he viewed the servitor– constructs bound by duty, despite the difference in composition. Vergil had thought she held little interest in their affairs.

She spoke words woven with magic, silken and sweet. Hector's only resistance to Mesmer came from the inherited fragments of it that his Aidolon had; born of Lyrielle, the spirit would employ his own skills to counter-manipulate Hector, normally, but this wasn't normal, now was it? Valæra's words rang in line with the spirit's desires and thus it would offer not a lick of interference.

Vergil's mind was as a steeled temple; it always had been, and he recognized the saccharine taste of her magic when it wove in with his Symphony. Being a Zaichaeri witch, he was all too familiar with Mesmer and its wielders; one need not be an erudite wordsmith nor paragon of charisma to sway others should one's arcane prowess with this rune flourish– and her words, evoking the domains of one of her gods, did glisten, indeed. His familiarity regarding the twins was vague, but he did recognize Their names and that which They held dominion over. In that moment, he wished that he held a bond not unlike Theirs with Hector– for it was Varvara who provided balance to Aværys and Him to Her. Alas, the boy’s own addled memories had obliterated the foundation upon which their bond had been formed and so it was…fragile, in a way, because to Hector’s perception, it was new, not tempered by even a year's worth of time.

Hector, however, cared not for the theological context of her words– only that they resonated with him. They spoke true to his desires, to his ambitions, to his lust for power…and the taste of her arcana sparked enough defiance in him to spike aether through his system, his fourth cervical vertebrae erupting from the skin of his neck and puncturing the hand that gripped him. This was no vicissitude– the protrusion from his spine being blackened and metallic. He knew bone wouldn’t be enough to cause any real damage to his lover’s carefully reinforced body; no, he used the metal only he could compose. Vergil was stunned– Hector had never defied him like that before. And for that reason alone, he was dazed; eyes widened yet body unmoving as the elf dashed forward through the gate after Aoren and Valæra. It would appear that the decision of whether to stay or leave had been made for him…

Vergil’s bewilderment was only the length of a few heartbeats but to him it felt like an eternity– the older vampyr regained himself, then reacted, moving like a serpent’s strike after his partner.

- - -

Aidolon Speech

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Hilana Chenzira]

She heard Valaera’s words to Vergil, and smiled faintly to hear His Divine Radiance’s tenets espoused. Ambition, Hunger, and Power. She glanced at the Imperials as Valaera turned back to the archway, and went through it. As it had with Aoren, there was that light, and the runic markings had gotten brighter and slowed. Imogen had decided she was not going, and the Vastiana didn’t entirely blame the Orcana for her decision. But the way the sword dipped made her stare, and she only hoped that the Servitor’s words about safety and respite were not some strange trick. As much as she would have preferred otherwise, although the three strangers were unknown to her before now, the choice to split up had already been made. Aoren and Valaera had gone through, Imogen did not. Hilana already knew where she was going, because the Wildness that sang in her bones encouraged her on.

The Steward awaits.

Well, she needed to go. There was a good chance that this Steward had something to do with everything that was impacting their world, and any clues that she could find that might point them towards the one whom Æros needed vengeance against to satisfy his bargain with Shaeoth was well worth going through. Beyond that? Getting home might be another challenge entirely. She didn’t think her Ring would get them all through to safety, either. With the reminder of the ghost inhabiting the scroll case that secured her Volumen, and the fact that Valaera had gone through the gates after Aoren... Hilana was not about to stay behind. Long, long legs carried her swiftly to the Gate, her skirts swishing around her legs as she closed what distance there was. Her new hands gripped the straps of her rucksack before she stepped on through it after the other two. The shadows showed her the two Imperials behind her, of Hector breaking free of Vergil and dashing for the gateway, his much larger companion bringing up the rear.

As her grandmother always said... The Gods always smile on the brave women.

[Aegis]

BIRTHDAY BOMB

The very instant that Imogen drifted off to sleep, she would find herself in a dream, in a familiar seeming jungle of normal dimensions and less normal elemental attributions, looking up at the starry sky, all three moons illuminated there, watching, waiting. She would feel the familiar metallic spirit's arrival moments before it appeared, much as it had multiple times in the past. The orb of swirling metallic colors and hues faded into existence before Imogen, bobbing up and down as it was oft known to do.

But this time, it did not ask of Imogen as it had previously, for there was an imbalance here that the spirit could fix for the woman. The spirit flashed, turning into gold, and the shards of Imogen's shattered shield began to fade into existence around the spirit, floating around it as the moons above float around Ransera. As they rotated, some blood from many of Imogen's wounds was pulled into the spirit's growing debris belt. The pieces of shield and blood orbited faster and faster, the spirit growing brighter and brighter until staring upon such an event would be too painful to see, even for one inside a dream, supposedly.

Then the glowing faded, and now Imogen's Shattered Pact Shield was floating around the little golden metal spirit. Every crack and fracture that had formed when it had shattered had been replaced by a beading of gold, binding the pieces together. The work was exquisite, far greater in detail than any master smith might hope to achieve, would feel as natural to the touch as the rest of the shield. With a helpful bounce, the spirit cast the shield back into Imogen's orbit, repairing the Pact that had been lost. Imogen would be able to feel that the repaired shield was stronger than it had ever been before, physically and more so. Imogen would know, absolutely know, that if such an attack came a second time, her Shield would be able to handle it.

With the Pact renewed, the little metal spirit had imparted some of its own energy into the Orkhan witch. She would feel her energy and aether levels rising, her mental weariness and fog fading, and her wounds, treated and not, were being glossed over with an iron sheen, the metals in her own body serving to expedite the healing, forming metallic scars.

The spirit, though tired, was not done, and bobbed one last time, in unison with the reformed shield. A Window opened before the woman, tapping into one of the quirks she'd earned in South Ecith helping this little spirit. Upon looking through the Window, Imogen would see that it led directly to where she was needed most in this current situation of hers.

!

Message from: Aegis

Heyo, this is a one of mod bomb in response to Imogen's request for power here for Ransera's 2023 birthday. viewtopic.php?t=4879 1. Imogen's Shattered Pact and Shield are now restored, repaired in a method aesthetically similar to the japanese art of Kintsugi. It is physically stronger than it was before, and additionally, should it be used to defend against attacks similar to that which Shattered it, it will hold. Below is an image of inspiration of the aesthetic style. 2. Imogen is revitalized and reinvigorated, her wounds now healed over with metallic scars forming. 3. Imogen now has a Window that will lead her directly to any other part of this quest that she is most needed (as determined by the writer). If you have any questions concerning this, just let me know. Enjoy your birthday present!

[Pharaoh]

As Vigilia Valæra returned through the portal, pursued by a hovering arcane glyph, the helm she'd doffed earlier reformed about her head in a series of articulated phases, until her fair face was obscured once more. Her senses informed her that Hilana had succeeded in crossing the threshold and returned with her in spite of whatever hesitation the Steward had elicited before they quit their presence. Had Aoren followed as well? After satisfying her curiosity on that particular matter, the Sentinel took stock of whom remained or had returned since the Solunarian party parleyed in private. She noted no sign of the Imperial pair, and felt no great loss at their absence. The younger vampyre had an unstable deportment and it would not have surprised her to find that he'd taken some ill-advised, reckless action that was received poorly by the powers that possessed this place.

From what she could glean, the female Ork was still there although in an improved state from that which they'd seen prior to their departure. To those who remained and those who'd returned with her, she proclaimed:

"Our business here is concluded for the nonce. We make for Mother Atraxia in haste to confer with the powers that reign above and beneath her sands." She could feel the veracity in the Steward's words when they bade them depart with no further obstacles, though many had they brooked to reach this palace lost to time. Valæra would never be the same after having come to this place, but that which had been taken had been duly claimed in Sacred Sacrifice to Her of the Scourge. There was nothing of regret afflicting Valæra, as she nodded to Hilana and gestured toward the path they would take out. If Aoren was with them, she'd have invited him to join them on the journey, but otherwise she resolved that they would reconnect via missives promptly passed between the Kalzasern and Umbrian embassies.

[Hilana Chenzira]

Hilana had hurried to make up for the difference in distance created by her pause, though Valaera had stopped to wait for her, at least, and as such, she was hot on the Princess's heels when they came back through the other side. She was certainly thinking about what the Steward had said, and how that related to what had further been discussed in there... but she could tell Valaera about it once they returned home. For now, she wasn't about to discuss it within a place like this. Even in their own tongue.

She did note that the vampyres from the Imperium were gone, and she had no idea where they'd run off to. Who knew, maybe the one with the Rune of Chaos touched that strange orb. But when she checked her Featherlight satchel, she noted that both of her petrified hands were within it, not just the one, and she had no idea what strange sort of magic that was. The Orcana was certainly looking better than she had, and while Hilana was curious to see just how her wounds had come together like that... she wasn't about to investigate. There was some strange aether in this place, and just as had been used to replace her hands, perhaps they had managed to do something like that with the rest of the Orcana.

It didn't merit fussing about - she nodded at Valaera's words, and when she was ready, started back on the path alongside her, quietly offering another restorative from her rucksack in the event that she could use it. She didn't know how much pain she was in from the loss of her eyes, but just in case it could be of use to her, then Hilana was happy to provide it. "Locutus est animus," she murmured to Valaera once they were well away the rest of them, and out of earshot.

It was time to go home.

[Imogen]

As the two wayfarers re-entered the annex, they found the Orkhan woman seated where they had left her, though plainly now awake. Her shield, somehow made whole anew, floated motionlessly behind her, dim light pouring through a hole in the center. She seemed quite distracted by whatever she was watching, and certainly Valæra did not care enough for the fascinations of barbarians to investigate.

Nevertheless, as the two Solunarian envoys began to move towards the edge of the room, minds on the road before them, Imogen called out:

"None too keen to speak on what you've seen?" she asked, her voice friendly, "And back without Mr. Arcas' husband, at that. I suppose that's between you and your gods, as it were." She snorted at her own joke, which was almost enough to make her flush with embarrassment, but she soldiered on, cavalier.

"You know, there are an awful lot of lessons you could draw from a place like this. Personally, I like this one: when someone with enough power's gone bad, it doesn't work to simply ignore 'em and hope that they ignore you. It can seem like the smart thing in the moment, but sometimes you end up with a blasted earth and a dozen dead gods, and the stars seared from the sky. Poor Ysadrin..."

The opal-studded ork sighed, and gestured at her reconstituted shield, wiping the window off the surface of it. With another wave, she wiped it out of existence entirely, and pushed herself up to her feet, looking every bit as lively as she had when she entered. She offered the retreating Solunarians what she probably imagined was a winning smile.

"Now, the master 'o this place asked me for a trifle in exchange for my life and I refused, 'cause of what that said about him. You stopped to heal me for free, even though I don't even get the sense that you particularly like me. You didn't really need to do that, but it's the thought that counts. So I'll give you a favor you didn't ask for and don't want."

Imogen turned over her left hand, revealing the firebird-shaped Rune of Elementalism upon it, brow furrowing in concentration. Power accumulated in her palm, then slowly manifested as a tiny disc of metal, emblazoned with a sunburst mark. The Ork caught the coin, flipping it over in her fingers until she was satisfied with its form and content, then tossed it lightly towards Hilana.

"Probably we'll never meet again, but you can call that if we do. Goodbye."

[Pharaoh]

Vigilia Valæra halted her steady gait sharply, and her helmed head slowly turned to regard the Ork. Though only darkness lay beyond the slits in her visor, her potent Craft of Semblance surged forth to do the work her absent eyes could not. Exploiting Focus to ascertain the intention behind the creature's interjection, she tilted her head. She arched an unseen brow at the artless request for information and, at the assumption of Aoren's absence, she merely glanced over her sharp pauldron to watch the very same scarlet-haired apparent-Avialus emerge from the portal a few paces behind Hilana, then said:

"His Lordship of Kalzasi will return with our party to Solunarium." She started to turn back toward her course, but the mental musings of the mercurial Ork halted her steps once more and she felt her Focus shift directly to Hilana as the repaired, but altered, shield was stowed. Sensing no overtly hostile intent, Valæra did leap to offence or defence as the creature crafted a coin... a process the mechanics of which she analysed with her Craft.

As the coin was tossed to Hilana it halted halfway between Orcana and Vastiana. Slowly, Valæra rotated the item in the air. She was not so potent a Kineticist as her brother Phocion, but more than capable of intermingling the talents of her Capital Craft with those of other complementary Runes. In this instance her æther sight favoured her inspection of the structure and physical properties of the item, even as she sought the intention behind the bequeathment from she who'd offered it.

When all was said and done, if nothing untoward was ascertained, the coin would float toward Hilana, toward whom Valæra's helmed head was now facing directly, to accept or decline as she deemed appropriate.

[Hilana Chenzira]

Hilana paused when Valaera did, listening to the Orcana talk. She did turn to face her, and when she made the comment about it being between them and their gods, she blinked, smoothing down her skirts. She knew better than to explain about what had gone on in the other room beyond the portal; that was for Vigilia Valaera to disclose if she felt that it was a good idea. The Vastiana had put her foot into her mouth far too many times when it came to talking about things she needed to be quiet about, and she wasn't about to risk her place in Valaera's esteem right then by talking to one of the enemies of her people about what had waited for them beyond the gate.

Especially since Hilana's first inclination might have been to toss the Orcani of the Ecithian Commonwealth as sacrifice for her homeland.

Her head tilted, though, at the mention of a blasted earth, a dozen dead gods, and Ysadrin. She was certain that that was probably another god, but she didn't know about that one for sure. She might have to ask when they got home. She let her talk, though, noting the gold and opal, and the way that the shield - a shield that she remembered having been broken before - was back before it wasn't. Whatever had transpired while they were gone had certainly improved the warrior's status as it had been when she'd laid down for her nap while the Solunarian party had carried on through. But Valaera didn't talk about their meeting with the Steward of the Tower, and Hilana would follow her example.

She watched with interest as the metal was Manifested and shaped into a coin, and as it was tossed to her, she very much would have asked Valaera to check it and make sure that she wasn't missing something obvious about it. Fortunately for her, the Re'hyaean was already on the case, as the coin stopped midway between the two of them. Her gaze left Imogen to return to Valaera, watching her for any signs from the veiled elf. She trusted her to know if something was off with it, because her own skill with Semblance was simply not up to par. But she seemed satisfied, and the coin came towards Hilana. She reached to accept it with her remade hands, feeling the ridges and emblem of it before tucking it into her Featherlight satchel.

She was a packrat. She kept a lot of things that may or may not come in handy, and sometimes something that was tucked away from one excursion served her on another down the road. "Thank you. Goodbye and good luck, Imogen. Safe travels, wherever your path leads you."

[Imogen]

Very curious folk, this bunch. The human woman seemed quite nice, in spite of all. The elf was not, which was also not particularly novel, and it was clear which one deferred to the other here. Well, wasn't that always the way of things? Still, there was no point in casting judgment and aspersing someone she hardly knew and was unlikely to ever see again, even in the security of her own mind.

The Ork stood, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with one finger. The room had been surprisingly comfortable, but she didn't intend to rest again until she was well and truly quit of this strange echo of a place. None of the watching gods could say just what caprice could occur next, after all.

For all the woman's caution, Imogen possessed no magics which might lurk within the newly-formed seal and strike out later. It was no more than it appeared to be- a token. Although... it occurred to the Ork that there was just such a thing she could have done, if she harbored such ill intention. She'd have to keep the thought in mind for some future excursion, though she wasn't certain it would do any good. It wasn't as though she could fool a Sembler, and anyone she'd want to kill who couldn't employ a Sembler was well within her power to simply destroy by conventional means.

"Quite unlikely," she groused, acknowledging Hilana's blessing, "But I appreciate the thought. Truth and light be with you both."

The dramatic way to exit would have been Traversion, but Imogen was unsure just how steady the veil was in this place- besides, she'd walked in, and it made sense to walk back out. Still, there was no need to bother the Ataraxians any further. Instead, the Sunsinger gathered her meager possessions and Kitty in her arms, shuffling clothes and cat about until one of them was comfortable and waited for the desertfolk to depart before she began the long road back.

As it happened, she had a story to tell somebody.