The Call

[Rickter]

Frost 88th, 121 AoS

Darkness embraced him, that much he did know. Rickter felt himself slipping further and further away, the warmth of the ones he knew becoming distance as he plummeted deeper within. He felt it in his body, mind, and even within the core of his soul, as the entropic energy he encountered continued to seep deeper within. Yet as the cold embrace of those dark depths welcomed him, a glimmer shone at the surface above before the kick of ripples lapped from the metallic boot that rested upon the ocean's surface. "This... isn't how things are supposed to be." The ancient warrior sighed with a crack in his throat, his blue eyes rose from the ocean floor to the darkened skies above.

What once looked to be a clear and endless ocean blanketed by a pure heaven above was now entirely different. The waters stirred as black churned within the depths, while immense clouds blotted out any trace of light seeking to filter through. It was a dark and desolate change, one that not even Tiberius himself had expected to encounter. And he wore the ache within his heart well on his expression, his tattered cloak fluttering in the breeze as ripples stirred across the ocean's surface. "It seems we've run out of time. I did warn you during Searing though, Rickter." The glint on his armor faded as the azure knight watched the last bit of light above trickle out, his expression grim as the waters around him grew tense.

"Still, now it looks as though I must take matters into my own hands." All around him the surface of the water started to ripple as forms crawled out from the depths. Shadows both short and tall rose to a crawl toward the knight, as Tiberius himself drew out his right hand to call upon his weapon. "Not that you leave me much choice... Seems the best course of action now, is to use the Echo in hopes that others will hear the call." He looked intently at his right hand as he mentally called out, as if seeking something, before the soft flicker of a blue light flourished into the form of Howling Fang. "There you are." He mused to himself a little quietly, his eyes admiring the blackened steel in his hand.

As the shadows encroached Tiberius lowered the weapon from his gaze, his other hand held close to the azure plate guarding his chest. From within a heartbeat called out, generating a gentle pulse as the waters around him stirred. "To those of you who hear this, listen, and seek out the source deep within. I await all who would come to the aid of my successor!" The knight called out as the shadows drew closer, practically leaping for him now, as the blade and left arm of Tiberius both shone with a brightness akin to the sun. Immediately, the light that emanated from him became a shroud, casting the impending darkness away as the knight took his next step forward. Silver flames and comets of water swirled around him, until the next step Tiberius made led into that of another area.

A metallic platform elaborately decorated much like a mosaic, the embedded design that of a wolf caught howling into the dark of night. Within this place, Tiberius approached the center, the world beyond the edge of this platform a constant void of emptiness. Or perhaps even more darkness. There was no telling how deep the corruption had traveled within, only that time was of the essence now, and luckily the Land of Nod allowed such reprieve with time. "Come," He called again with his eyes down on Rickter's blade, "answer my prayer and heed my call. Bring to me the ones who offer salvation, who will guide our lost wolf back onto his destined path." Whether they were ones who knew him personally, or even just in name or passing, Tiberius reached out to them all so that they might answer the call.

A constant hymn or ringing that would ever so tug on the hearts of ones connected to Rickter would be their guide, bringing them deeper into the heart of where the wolf dreamt in his unconscious state. Where they would all arrive to meet Tiberius, on the mosaic platform he stood within the center of alone.

"Common" "Synskrit" "Norvaegan"
"Tiberius"

Off Topic

This is an open event that is taking place initially from the fallout of Aegis' Frost 121 Event, and will have a highly impactful outcome based on participants progression throughout the event!

[Imogen]

There was no telling how long the call echoed in the darkness before a light flickered in the distance, followed by the sound of wheels quietly turning against stone. Sometimes, opposites attract- in other cases, like calls to like. In this particular case, one could argue that both things occurred.

The light and sound and mists resolved themselves eventually into the image of an Ork woman, just slightly taller than Rickter himself. She was dressed in a well-tailored uniform, with a button-down shirt, red pants and shiny black shoes, completed by the half-body vest of a theater usher. No red cap, though; sometimes you could get used to a uniform and it would become part of how you saw yourself, but the hat was much too stupid for that.

With her white gloves, she grasped the handle of the cause of the noise- an old, but well-maintained cart, which did not squeak as it rolled but did look like it ought to. The cart contained the mop and broom and buckets you would expect, with a tub of water and lightly acerbic cleaner sloshing near the back. Unusually, it also carried a greatsword, an elaborate steel combat implement nearly the size of the usher herself, which burned quietly with bright sunfire, roiling against the shadows. It was lucky that the cart was not real, or this final implement of cleanliness would have quickly reduced it to a flaming mess.

Imogen Ward, smuggler, bodyguard and janitor, did not really understand where she was. The only thing visible, in every direction, was nothing; but it was a writhing, hostile nothing, which she did not trust even one bit. She kept her gaze focused ahead, encompassing her cart and the soothing light cast by her soul. Though she would be loathe to carry her sword in public, she had no intention of letting the darkness surround her.

She proceeded straight through the void, the only features her own tools and the ringing in her ears. It took the woman a while to reach the mosaic on which Tiberius waited, pushing her cart, but it was hard to feel urgency in this place. She cocked her head as she neared the scene, looking down at the image of the wolf in the night.

"Is something the matter, sir?” Imogen inquired politely, "Quite a noise coming from this direction. Did you need anything?”

She didn't really know what she meant by 'quite a noise', or even 'this direction', but she didn't feel much of a need to question that, either. This was just the place she was, at the moment, after all. She had her broom and her mop and her sword of sunfire, so she was apparently at work. And Imogen had always prided herself on her excellent interpersonal manner with clients of every description.

[Talon]

Talon’s eyes flew open, his wings flared and the first thing he realized was that he was falling. As soon as he came to this realization, he felt for the winds that were surging all around him. He listened to his instincts and he let his wings fold inward so that he could fall in a controlled manner as opposed to simply flailing around in midair. As soon as he did, his trajectory became a more manageable one. He blinked, quickly taking in his surroundings so that he could get a picture of what was happening.

Darkness and Mist.

Along with a rapidly approaching platform that had upon it the portrait of a wolf that he knew intimately. The sight of it confused him but he did no longer on it. Spreading his wings, Talon allowed the air currents to gather beneath their broad expanse so that his fall slowed until he was able to angle his body properly. He righted himself and landed upon the platform where waited an armored man and a woman that he did not recognize. Talon landed with a slight bend to his knees so that his legs could absorb the shock of such a rapid landing. Shadow and mist billowed out from his form and he flapped his wings in order to steady himself. Rising to his full height, Talon stood at least two and a half heads taller than Rickter himself. Dressed in the protective vestments of the Skyforge Raiment, Talon was garbed in what appeared to be a mix of black leather and cloth armor that hugged his frame comfortably.

The witchmarks upon his body were not the violet-blue that he had been born with but were the silver-white of who and what he truly was. Around his head glowed a soft corona of light that seemed dimmer than it should have been. It framed his black hair, which was styled in a warrior’s undercut with a ponytail that was woven into a loose braid that hung over his shoulder. He breathed calmly for a moment, allowing his nerves to settle as best they could after the sudden drop from above. Eyes of a mercurial silver opened and studied those around them.

“Tiberius?” He furrowed his brow in confusion as he beheld the ancient knight. It had been some time since the two of them had met. “What is going on?”

[Florian]

FLORIAN

Land of Nod, Frost 88th, 121

Amidst the shadows was where Florian opened his eyes. Though he was not afraid of the dark, it was through the roiling dark he walked towards the light, propogated by an Avialae, Orkhan, and another man. Where he had formed in the darkness wasn't far at all from the lit platform, but he could see them through the shadows with ease, while he was obscured from their sight until he was closer.

Even here he had only one arm, but he was dressed more Zaichaeri than Kalzasern in a white button-up shirt and black trousers tucked into a pair of worn boots. His hair was almost to his shoulders, a stark white and curly mess against dark grey skin. He was the shortest one there, and he could tell even from the small distance that still kept him from the mosaic. He didn't recognize any of the people there, let alone the man standing in the center. But Florian had been called like everyone else, even if he didn't realize what had happened, save for the ringing that he felt more than heard that tugged him from the gloom.

He emerged from the shadows and stepped onto the platform. He stood there for a few moments, but it was when he was close that he realized the source of light from the Avialae was from a brilliant, bit somehow dim halo, while the light from the Orkhan was...a flaming sword, stowed in a janitor's cart next to her. All three of the others created light in one way or another, and Florian was the odd one out, with the only light coming from the reflection of others' light to his scarred, gilded horn.

"Who are you?" He asked softly, looking at Tiberius. "What am I doing here?"

[Avamande]

A Window appeared in the air above the mosaic, revealing the interior of a small but comfortable Kalzasern apartment in which was lit a fire against the chill of Frost. A frankly bland looking man peered through from the other side, compelled to Vault within the strange chamber. They frowned as they considered the call that had sung out to them, the Window had seemed to be their own magic, but they knew such a technique was yet beyond them. Still, it had just seemed to make sense to travel to where they had seen, the Traverser following the lines of Slipspace - at least as far as they knew. Though they did not recognize the woman, the one armed man, or the knight, they did recognize Talon and Rickter. No one who lived in Kalzasi could fail to after all, or perhaps in all of Karnor as far as the Prince went.

Rather unassuming, possessing no flaming sword nor gleaming witchmarks nor bathing in shadows, Avamande was instead a relatively young Hytori wearing their best apparel, a finely tailored stiff black coat that exuded austere professionalism to match the frozen expression upon their face. Which were both doing quite an awful lot of work for them as they silently worked out what had happened to them - and evidently, the others. Though they at first also shed no light, it seemed to blur about them as they experimented with a series of basic Negation wards against illusionists and mesmers in order to answer that pressing question.

"We are not ensorcelled " they eventually hazarded, their calm demeanor slightly betrayed by the rising lilt of a question in their reply. As far as they could tell their senses were their own, no trickery had been played upon them. Evidently some powerful force had bodily brought them all together without any conscious recollection of their travels, but at least did not see the need to cloud their senses afterwards. Whether or not that was a good or a bad thing - or if the mage was simply unskilled enough to pierce the magicks weaved about them and was entirely wrong - was hard to tell, but they erred towards their summoner being benevolent. After all, if that weren't the case they all had far larger problems on their hands, and even Avamande could appreciate the benefits of optimism.

Intrigued at this unexpected turn of events, they only belatedly remembered their sense of etiquette and turned to bow before Talon. "My Prince," was all the greeting they gave however before their attention fell - and stayed - upon the knight, the mage guessing that he would explain why they had come.

[Euripides]

In dreams, she figured she was sane. It was the easiest way to make sense of what was and wasn’t reality, and most often the edges of sleep and awake blurred together. Perhaps not by choice, plagued with the remnants of memories past — the Warrens had their claws dipped deep into the waters of their psyche. There was little that would shake them loose, all truth told. Except now, as they strummed their guitar. A majestic thing of bone and gut-string and silk. Polished, gleaming like the finest pearl plucked from the sea the same way the notes she plucked with it sang out into the clouded realm of her sleep. Calling forth the creature she wished to see most, wide eyes framed by dark tresses staring out into a whitened oblivion. A vague shape formed in the void, and that attention she’d shown before sharpened. Whittled down to a fine point as the echo of lonesome strings answered her.

The call was not what she thought she’d been responded to. A quick, dramatic plinking of sangen strings. Like drops of water falling to the ground. two, one three. Copied, almost obsessively as she moved forward and she did meet water. Sliding over the tops of her boots, soaking stockings. She hardly noticed the squelch of her steps as she sank deeper and deeper. The sheer tulle of dress skirts floated over the surface of the water, bodice taking on water. They should have held her down as she p l u c k e d away at those strings. Waited for the response before repeating the cycle with ease.

The woman had sunken down to her lips, attention still miles away. And as she finally slipped under — she resurfaced. Seemed to walk back up from a nebulous void of nothing into something. The strings had been silenced, but her own song remained. Namely, the same three notes to mimic the three strings she had heard before. Voices filtered into her reality — unreality — and she frowned. Not the voices she wanted to hear, by any means, though several tugged at her memory. Vaguely, uncertainly.

Her gaze found first the prince. But, of course, the gem of their city, the feathered pinnacle of perfection and upright. How should he not answer such a call? All the more reason for her to wonder why she’d been pulled from her own search to land in another’s. Narrowed eyes slid over those that had already gathered, grip on her guitar tight until — she r e l a x e d. Shoulders slumping slightly and back hunching just a touch as she dropped down into a sit. Placed her guitar on her lap.

If she’d played her way into this, then she could play her way out. That was the matter of things in this unreality, wasn’t it? Where her hair should have been wet and her clothing drenched, she was dry and comfortable and found that her fingers slid over strings easy. Unhindered. She would not hum the melody this time; that must have been her undoing the first time around.

[because I have work brain]

[Rickter]

Like moths drawn to a flickering flame, they started to arrive one right after another within the desolate void that Tiberius lingered in. The first was the Orkhan woman Imogen, who strolled in with naught but a uniform and mop bucket which illuminated her path here. The knight stared hard at her while the woman approached the mosaic, the first of her steps onto the platform rewarded with a few slow paced breathes in his observation. Her politeness would've garnered a fair if not friendly smile were the situation not so dire, however, the pointed pauldrons of the knight raised slightly when he spoke to her in return.

"In due time, til then I welcome you... Imogen." He uttered the name as though she were indeed a stranger to him, yet, the mere sound of his voice felt laced with underlying whispers. Whispers that were only brief in their manifestation, yet similar to the resounding call that brought her here in the first place. With the widening of his eyes though Tiberius looked above, the uncertainty in his gaze filled with a flicker of hope suddenly. Perhaps because the one who carried hope wherever he went had arrived, the winged prince finally reaching the platform after his careful descent into the abyss before him.

Talon had questions just as everyone who would arrive would, the knight merely offered a perplexed grin before he lowered his head in respect. "Prince of Light... Your arrival could not be any more fortuitous." When his blue eyes returned to gaze upon the Synnekar, Tiberius clutched the blade in his hand tighter, as he could feel the warmth coursing through Howling Fang even in this dark place. Yet the connection wasn't strong enough, not even for Tiberius, when he sought to trace the source within the blade. "A terrible fate has befallen my successor, which is why you and the rest have been called here tonight."

With the brief explanation provided to Talon, the knight looked onward past him toward the next arrival. A Lysanrin stepped forth from the shadows beyond the mosaic, the curiously one-armed individual investigating their approach with but a couple of questions. Tiberius knew those that gathered would be lost, uncertain as to what exactly called out to them, much less brought them so deep into the unknown within the Land of Nod. Another arrived centerfold on the platform, his presence suddenly there as Tiberius gazed down on him with curious intent in his eyes. A few more whispers hummed around those that gathered, except for Talon whose ears traced naught but the echoes of silence. There was still that undeniable hum, however, of something reaching out to everyone that gathered.

Then came the woman with a bone-crafted guitar, her melodies stirring a haunting sense of melancholy as Tiberius gazed upon her sincerely. She hadn't entered the same as the others did, and yet, she quickly immersed herself within the very depths of this realm almost too naturally. "Imogen, Talon, Florian, Avamande, and... Euripedes." He greeted each one individually with a sense of small understanding, their presence merely hinting at what their true identities were to the knight. Tiberius looked to them all with a bit more hope in his eyes, seeing that a small gathering had already commenced from the few who had luckily arrived. "No, this is not a spell that has ensorcelled all of you. You all have come here of your own volition, because you have heard the call and followed it, and now it is time that you all know why."

Tiberius turned to face partially away from the small crowd, his eyes fallen back onto the handguard of the blade he held. "Where you stand, as of now, is the Crossroads to a deeper place. Within that place you will see what may look and feel are other worlds... They are not." He remarked as he rested the tip of the bastard sword within the center of the mosaic. "They are considerably the Foundations of someone whose life is in great peril, someone who is very dear to the Prince of Light as a matter of fact." He looked to Talon perhaps a bit too knowingly, his eyes quickly separating out the rest in just a few seconds. None save Talon beheld the Echo of familiarity, yet, all who came here were essential to the cause. "Right now, the life of Rickter hangs in the balance. His soul teeters on the edge as the light wavers, and the dark continues to consume what remains. Your purpose here is twofold;"

After his statement Tiberius shoved the blade into the heart of the mosaic, a sudden glimmer filtering through from where the blade poked into the stone. Howling Fang emitted a higher resonance as the light that stemmed from it increased, before swirling out into five separate tendrils away from the center of the platform. Where each light reached near the edge, a flash erupted as golden framed doors materialized from their endpoints. Five doors. Each and every one of them glimmering only for a second, before small tendrils of shadows would poke through every crack in each door. Howling Fang remained jabbed within the center of the platform, with Tiberius releasing the blade as to focus on the group behind him once more. "you must venture into each Foundation and undergo a trial, to restore the light that has been put off balance within them."

Above each door resided an emblem in each frame, representing what type of trial awaited beyond each one of them. "Power," Tiberius gestured toward the door with a mountain emblem, "Wisdom," He then gestured toward the door with a tree emblem, "Valor," toward the castle emblem, "Vitality," he added once more toward the plains emblem. "... And Soul." The final door he turned to was the door at his back, the emblem above it representing a ripple or wave. "Within each trial you will find that darkness seeps into everything, waiting to consume anyone who might possess even the faintest glimmer of light. These are the shadows, and they will not rest until all is consumed."

As if on queue a pool of black began to ooze from beneath the door to the Soul, a shadow of a burly figure rising from its depths as the knight turned to face it fully. "Speaking of which," with just the flick of his hand toward the entity, lights danced away from his form as two blades spun away from Tiberius. Both cut through the shadow as the darkness seeping through lessened, and the form he dispatched quickly dissolved with a glimmering orb left in its place. "There." A gentle wave of his hand caressed the orb toward his possession, the knight quickly turning back to the group as he held the object up for them all to see.

"Within each trial, there are keys you must attain to complete them. These keys are known as Concepts, and are the components necessary to restore the lost light." The orb dissolved within his hand and Tiberius lowered it with a sigh, a somber gaze in his eyes when he looked pleadingly to those who gathered before him. "I cannot collect them as you can see, otherwise, I would not have needed your aid. It falls to you to search for the Concept in each trial, or scavenge fragments of them in whatever way you deem sufficient. The shadows have consumed much, therefore, they possess the smallest of Fragments. You may find larger ones hidden away within a trial, Essences that can be merged to create a Concept, or perhaps even find a fresh Concept itself if you are fortunate enough."

Tiberius then bowed to everyone present on the platform, his tone earnest as he beseeched them all to lend him their aid. "Please, go forth and brave the shadows that haunt each Foundation. Restore the lost light of my successor, so that new hope may rise from this grim reality."

"Common" "Synskrit" "Norvaegan"
"Tiberius"

Off Topic

This event is still open for players to participate in if they choose, the objective of the event is as described below:

Shadows plague the very depths of Rickter's soul now, Tiberius has revealed five Trials that can help restore balance. Within each Trial there is a key that must be obtained, named a Concept, that must be used to restore the lost light in the Foundation of each Trial.

There are a couple of ways of accomplishing this;
1. Scavenging the Trials themselves for these Concepts
-Scavenging can yield up 3 Essences that, when collected, will merge into the Concept necessary to complete the trial.
-It is also possible to find a Concept within a trial without even scavenging Essences

2. Quell the Shadows within a Trial
-Rather than searching the location each Trial is based on, one can also just cull shadows and collect Fragments from them instead.
-Fragments are lesser components of Essence, which in turn can be made into Concepts when enough pieces have been accumulated.

The Trials and their component Keys are as followed:
Trial of Power
1 Concept of Might
-Can be melded from 3 Essences of Strength
-An Essence of Strength can be melded from 3 Fragments of Tenacity

Trial of Wisdom
1 Concept of Insight
-Can be melded from 3 Essences of Judgement
-An Essence of Strength can be melded from 3 Fragments of Experience

Trial of Valor
1 Concept of Bravery
-Can be melded from 3 Essences of Courage
-An Essence of Strength can be melded from 3 Fragments of Determination

Trial of Vitality
1 Concept of Fortitude
-Can be melded from 3 Essences of Vigor
-An Essence of Strength can be melded from 3 Fragments of Durability

Trial of Soul
1 Concept of Spirit
-Can be melded from 3 Essences of Heart
-An Essence of Strength can be melded from 3 Fragments of Conscience

[Talon]

Talon inclined his head to the Hytori who acknowledged him graciously. He tucked his wings in close as he listened to what Tiberius had to say. With eyes that widened in horror, Talon felt a tremor of dread pass through him. Rickter’s life was in danger? He had felt nothing across the Bond. He had spent so much time worrying over the fate of his beloved wolf that to be faced with the fact that Rickter was in genuine peril, lost to the shadows, it disturbed him more than he could say to have not felt that. He looked around at the platform. He watched the doors form and shimmer, watched Tiberius slay the shadow that formed. Question. Endless questions raced through his mind and he desperately reached out across the Bond to find Rickter.

Nothing.

Panic momentarily flared inside of him until he felt the faintest brush of something on the furthest edges of his awareness. Talon mentally tried to grab a hold of that something. He reached for it but it was no more substantial than a wisp of cloud. Like sand falling through his fingers, Talon felt it slip away every time he tried to grasp it.

“Sorumeito…” Talon whispered. His jaw flexed in barely contained emotion. Talon’s fists clenched at his sides as he fought the urge to turn and scream in frustration. The muscles in his neck bulged briefly as he held back his swelling anger and frustration. Kisorika. Kalzasi. Zaichaer. Everything was piling up and now his beloved Rickter had been lost to a darkness with no name. The dim halo of light around his head grew brighter and brighter with each passing moment until finally it flared to life with a burst of silver-white fire that blasted out from Talon in a furious inferno. It scorched the shadows around Talon, burning away the darkness in a flare of intense divine fire that held within it the mounting wrath that had been building up inside of the young demigod for months.

“NO!” Talon’s eyes flashed with a searing silver fire as he immediately turned to the door that called to him most strongly. He looked at the shadows writhing around the edges of the door, a sneer of absolute fury crossing his features.

“Rickter is mine. You cannot have him! Do you hear me!?” The shadows seemed almost alive to him and he would not stand for their mockery. Not this time. He turned to the rest of those gathered, searching each of them.

“I implore you all…” Talon pressed a hand to his chest over his heart. “Please.”

He pleaded to them, looked to all of them in earnest.

“Do not let him fall to darkness.”

With nothing more to say, Talon walked to the door of Soul. The silver feathers of his wings captured the light of the dawnfire that burned around his body, reflecting the light of his nimbus. Talon was not going to lose Rickter.

“Hold on, my wolf. My soul. My Rickter.” Hold on.

[Imogen]

Imogen listened patiently as the man spoke. So, it was one of those. Spirit journeys, or whatever the Kindred called it when they got high off their own shit. She couldn't recall imbibing or smoking anything, so presumably it was the ringing which had summoned her out of the sunlit world to... this dark place. Well, spirits had to come from somewhere, yeah? It made plenty of sense to her that she would be conscripted for that purpose. She fancied that she would do a great job in the role.

How about the others? Were they also real? She'd never heard of any "Florian", "Avamande", or "Euripedes", but they could be symbolic of something. The glowing Avialae was obviously mostly metaphorical; she had no doubt that the real Prince Talon of Kalzasi might see himself as a being of divine light, but that particular conceit was endemic to the high nobility everywhere. The small, pale woman too, could certainly be symbolizing something, though Imogen chose not to dwell on what. The one-armed Lysanrin struck her as an especially ominous metaphor, scarred and intense, keeping to the edge of the light. The Hytori...

Well, they looked like a pretty regular Hytori. Imogen struggled to conceptualize them as anything other than "a Hytori" and gave up. Whatever, nobody had actually hired her to try to categorize people into metaphors anyway. That was probably someone else's job.

That just left the matter of the doors. She had never heard of "Rickter" before, but she was adamantly opposed to the idea of allowing anyone to be consumed by darkness, whatever that symbolized. Furthermore, while all of the Foundations seemed fairly important to the life of anyone, no amount of power or virtue would benefit a dead man. That was really why she had taken all of her oaths and suchlike, and spent half her life cleaning vomit off ancient stone floors in a city which hated her guts- to keep living people from becoming dead people when they didn't deserve it.

"St-” The Sunsinger's thought stopped at a single syllable as the enormous glowing spirit representing Prince Talon reacted... strongly to Tiberius' words. Her limbs tensed, skin hardening beneath her uniform as the strange nimbus of white fire expanded outward from him. The sudden inferno awoke a wind through the void, blowing her ponytail backwards and causing the sunfire resting in her trolley to ripple angrily like a candleflame reacting to the passage of a giant. It probably should have sent her running for cover- or at least made her flinch- but something of the calm illogic pervading the darkness held her fast. So Imogen simply stood there, blinking at the enraged Talon, until he made his angry charge to save the man and vanished into the door of Soul.

Then there was darkness again. She took a moment to regain her bearings, though that wasn't an entirely fruitful experiment while on a mosaic platform in the middle of an endless void.

"Straightforward enough.” Imogen allowed, reclaiming her thought from before the sudden eruption of divine light and wrath, "Best to keep your... friend?... healthy, then.” The armored man had called him a "successor", but she didn't dive too deeply into the lives of clients, even the weird possibly-metaphorical spirit clients.

With that said, Imogen Ward took her cart in both hands and pushed slowly into the Door of Vitality, humming softly as she went.

[Euripides]

Her gaze flicked up to Tiberius when he had first spoken her name. A tremor of curiosity to the strings she plucked, before her attentions shifted. She had yet to find her way back out and he was talking, yes. She gathered that much from a quick glance up to see his lips. She understood, at best, very little of what was being said. Truly — had she even been listening? The shift in the speaker’s cadence, the urgency of his tone. That, she did listen to. If only to match the strum of the guitar to the his speech. Because this was a dream — what need of she for true comprehension? What need of she for any this?

Her attention shifted as the god-prince spoke, feathers ruffled by the plight of his lupine lover. Oh, but what of her lover? There had been no grand quest in saving her, in bringing her soul back. No, well — it was just her and her guitar. That faithful strumming thing that continued on as the prince implored them move on.

“Oh, how he beseeches, steady now! Go forth, for my love!” An enthusiastic burst of song, hoarse and her tone the least bit sane. She dropped to a whisper, gnarled like old bones and the twisted hands of trees. “Forget thee not to bow, for a god-prince wants it, the great dove.”

If her gait could be equated to anything, it might be the shuffling of a necromancer’s first risen corpse. The trudge of long dead bone and flesh holding itself upright after so long of laying down. A tired exhale of breath forced from her lungs on a wheeze, and punctuated with a slight laugh as she turned her attention to the door that pulled at her most. Her guitar strap, links of silver circles, scraped together with each step. Created an eerie choral take to add to her shuffle and strumming.

“The Wolf of the Wharf, a whore’s hound.” Grin wide as her steps quickened, righted themselves to be almost a march for the door of Power. “Steady now! Lest the poor pup find himself in a pound.” Wolfish was her grin as she pushed the door open with her boot. None too kindly, at that.

The smile on her face dropped as she disappeared within.