RP:Being a Fish in Lake Frysta

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: Lionel at last reunites with Rorin, who had been missing in action since the final battle against Kahran. As the two share an ill-fated fish over a warming fire, they muse over the past, present, and future of not only the Warrior's Guild but of themselves as well. It seems a mere random occurrence when a deadly plant-like monster called an ochu rises from the ground, feasts on a deer, and vanishes from whence it came. The truth, shrouded in mystery for now, is far darker.

Lake Frysta

It wasn’t easy being a fish in Lake Frysta. Despite evolution’s kindnesses -- namely, the fact that the fish here were evolved to handle the cold -- winters were increasingly harsh over the past decade, and evolution’s kindnesses only went so far before rudeness prevailed. The fish in Lake Frysta weren’t meant to handle a climate that was slowly but surely pushing toward a miniature ice age. They, like everyone and everything else in Lithrydel, did not realize that the miniature ice age was en route in the first place. There was no canon that claimed otherwise, however, allowing authors to ruthlessly impose harsher and harsher weather conditions upon the fish in Lake Frysta. One such fish, a quite sizable fish with silver scales and yellow eyes that looked deader than Ayras herself, had taken on the moniker among mankind of “The Legendary Fish of Lake Frysta.”

It had been known to the local fishermen for as long as anyone could remember, which truly illustrated the limits of fishermen’s memories, because the so-called legend was only twelve years old. But twelve was a long time for a fish in Lake Frysta, and this fish swam proudly, even as the frigid lake slowly turned frozen with winter’s chill. Frozen waters at the surface of the lake were not a problem for fish in Lake Frysta, least of all this fish, because -- again -- evolution had prepared for this inevitability. The issue here was that the ice crept deeper and deeper into the waters with each passing winter, and this year it looked like it would turn several meters into Lake Frysta’s depths into glacial matter, which -- again -- made things difficult for the fish in Lake Frysta. Even the legendary fish of Lake Frysta, who swam proudly as has been previously mentioned, was not savvy on this recent turn of affairs. It said as much to its peers, being that the legendary fish of Lake Frysta had been born with the uncanny ability of speech despite a complete lack of vocal chords, but none of its peers ever knew what the legendary fish of Lake Frysta said because none of its peers could speak. Because -- again -- evolution’s kindnesses only went so far before rudeness prevailed.

This disappointed the legendary fish of Lake Frysta ad nauseum, such that the larger the legendary fish of Lake Frysta grew, the more frequently it used its size against its peers, thwacking them and occasionally inadvertently slaughtering them, in which case the legendary fish of Lake Frysta decided to eat the slaughtered fish, because to leave them to rot was uncouth. One day, as a golden-haired Catalian former prince approached Lake Frysta, the legendary fish of Lake Frysta decided that it would eat the golden-haired Catalian former prince, because the legendary fish of Lake Frysta was quite hungry that day, and pickings were scarce, because other fish were dying off rapidly, because it wasn’t easy being a fish in Lake Frysta, but they all succumbed to frostbite, and frostbitten fish were not easy to bite into, even for a legendary fish of Lake Frysta. When the golden-haired Catalian former prince came perilously close to the shores of Lake Frysta, the legendary fish of Lake Frysta leapt out of the water quite dramatically, but it missed its target and landed on the icy dirt with quite the thud. It flipped and flopped, breathlessly, until it was dead. The golden-haired Catalian former prince, whose name was Lionel of course, watched this event play out, blinked, and skewered the dead legendary fish of Lake Frysta carelessly with his katana. “It must not be easy,” Lionel reflected, making preparations now for dinner, “being a fish in Lake Frysta.”

Rorin walked out of a steaming fishing hut to the edge of the lake and saw Lionel talking to himself again. “Hey there, Commander,” he said loud enough to be heard but hopefully quiet enough not to startle him. Rorin was well aware of the time that had slipped from the legendary heroes mind in his age, and the toll that being involved in the grand unseen battles to save Lythridel. “It’s good to see you again,” Rorin was only slightly concerned, looking out over the empty space of the meters deep ice at the trails of hut steam perishing in the sky. “What are we here to talk about?” Hope was that Lionel would remember, and not just rattle off something half sane again. Rorin started thinking about that weird green crystal skull and trying to piece together what exactly was going on with that a while ago. Worry beset the boy that one day he might also be found muttering nonsense to himself on a beach.

Lionel was thirty-two years old, for the record, which was nowhere near the age that Rorin’s writer was implying. Regardless, the simplicity of the lad’s approach, and the familiarity of his words, struck Lionel -- who was only thirty-two -- as more alarming than anything loud and worrisome Rorin could have possibly said instead. “A simple greeting and an easy inquiry?” Lionel could barely believe it. He stopped carrying the dead fish toward his campfire and blinked. “I’ve searched all over for you since the final battle with Kahran! You were injured. Maybe not nearly as injured as I was, granted, but Penelope and Lanara told me you looked pretty bad nonetheless. You’re here? In a hut? You had me worried sick!” The Catalian shook his head, shrugged, sighed, and tilted his chin toward the fish. “Anyway, let’s eat.”

Rorin was slightly more concerned. “I lived,” he said with gentle positivity, “I went to a couple healers and then back to my old room at the guild. Maybe if you stopped by or entered your office,” he trailed off as he went to join the catalian and took a seat by the fire, pulling out something to season with from a pocket. “come out here and spend some time in the saunas or converse with the giants. Their language is coming to me, what little they will give me of it. What about you? What’s next, Commander, now that Kahran has been vanquished, for however long?” Rorin looked tired and worn. It was to be expected, probably, but he seemed a bit far off as he listened to Lionel talk.

Lionel went back to blinking. He’d admitted a certain changeling into the guild via an entry spar just outside headquarters not three days past; he just hadn’t bothered stepping anywhere near his office -- office work was, after all, a bitch. “Frost giant language is problematic,” he admitted uneasily. “So many accents. So little time.” Dragging the fish the rest of the way into the fire, and after a few moments passed, watching Rorin season it suitably well, Lionel poked around at the embers with his sword. “I’m damn well glad you lived. I might not say it often, but you’re one of the closest friends I have left. Maybe even the closest.” The fish was coming along quite nicely and the Catalian indeed noticed the paladin’s emotional distance. The best remedy, he decided, was to carry on conversing as though nothing were amiss until such incident occurred as to stymie that approach and force some other form of resolve. “Oh, he’s dead and dusted. I hope you’ll trust me on that front, seeing as I never believe a villain’s truly gone until they are. But his armies are still out there, somewhere in the Shadow Plane. They’ll be in chaos for a long time. Sooner or later we’ll have to face what’s left of them. And Esche is still MIA, but what else is new, I guess.” Lionel seemed resigned to it at this point; indeed, his insistence on locating the elf had led to months of imprisonment and a family who now scorned him so. “We’ll get the guild back up and running full-time again,” he continued. “Plenty of monster hunting to be done, and it’s only a matter of time until some fresh upstart shows up and commits genocide.”

Rorin smiled and gave a laugh. “Thank you... Lionel. We need friends in times like these.” He sighed a bit, though it was a bit longer than a boy his age should have want to sigh. “Who would lead them now? Another shadow or a phantom. Perhaps. What of the sword... the shards of it, I’ve seen. They have some fire left in them yet. Esche...” Rorin has never liked him. He spoke in the way older, wiser people spoke - the kind that have been playing an unseeable game for far too long a time. He was always standing just-over-there in the shadows and never seemed to get his hands dirty. Rorin couldn’t stand politicians, sleazy salesmen, or armchair generals, and although he couldn’t place why exactly - and he would never say say to Lionel’s face, the man had far more experience picking advisors than he, Rorin simply didn’t like the one named Esche. Out of his pocket again the paladin fingered a small sliver of metal, not quite shiny or dull. Carried in an old red cloth, he brought it towards the fire. “I picked it out of my leg. I had dragged myself across it when you... when you were hurt. There are far more of them out there, I’m sure.”

Lionel brought the fish to a nice, blackened state and started carving ample portions for the both of them. “In my experience, wraiths are bastards,” he said casually. “So maybe one of them. Or maybe some vile fiend someplace in the Shadow Plane, creeping creepily toward the army’s remnants, hell-bent on asserting dominance. You know how it is. Cliche, really.” Once the helpings of fish were portioned, the Catalian bit into the meat and smirked. “That taste -- it’s downright legendary.” Lifting two bottles of beer up from the frozen grass beside him, he popped the corks and handed one to Rorin. “I’d thought Hellfire completely destroyed. I suppose it’s still true,” he said, watching his friend bring the shard to the flames and seeing its telltale heat within the steel. “But I didn’t realize even shrapnel remained. Halycanos himself is dead; I sensed his passing. Without him, those shards will never be reforged into something quite like what came before. But a fiery sword is a fiery sword, I guess. We’ll head down there and gather what’s left.” After a few swigs of his beer and two more bites of fish, Lionel opened up a bit more. “I’m on walkabout,” he called it. “Wandering. I’m reconnecting with stuff. It’s hard to explain and I’m not the right guy to give weight to words. I just say it how it is. But I’m wholly human again and it feels strange. All I know is that I want to build the guild and I need to find… myself, in the meantime.”

Rorin took a bite of fish and a swig of beer appreciatively, stroking his newly sported goatee. “The shadow plane,” he said thoughtfully and trailed off again. Rorin seemed to chew his words with tepee fish, nodding when Lionel had finished. “I get that. The wandering knight gig. I’d like to say my pilgrimage is over and finally state my vows in an official sense, but I think I might go on this way forever. There is always growth, there is always change, there is always something more to learn about myself, the world, and my place in it. But I do swear, Lionel, I would go to the ends of it with you, whenever you ask. We do what others fear, we help those that cannot help themselves. You’d make a wonderful paladin you know. You certainly have the heart for it.” Rorin spike from the heart, but it was a heart clouded, and although he had occasionally looked up from the fire to emphasize a point, he still stared through it as he stowed the shard back in his pocket. “A guild of heroes, really. I know we aren’t supposed to stand for politics, or anything, but there’s a lot of good we could do in the world if we did stand for that.” The fire seemed to stir inside him a bit as he thought of something or other again. “So where will you go next?” His question was just as sudden, bringing it back off himself.

Lionel hadn’t really thought of the walkabout as a ‘wandering knight gig’ but he took the term with the appreciation he knew that Rorin intended. “Official schmicial,” he critiqued the idea. “You don’t need vows to be a good person and do good things. Quite like you’ve said, yourself. The Warrior’s Guild is supposed to be certain things and it isn’t supposed to be others. But you know, I’ve never cared and nor have you. We do what needs to be done. And in Lithrydel, there’s a lot of it.” Lionel had once been told by Donovan Keane that he had the heart to become a paladin. Back then, the Catalian was all sound and fury, and he’d laughed at the notion and ran off to slay another serial killer sycophant, leaving Donovan to shake his head in disappointment. Somehow, the idea didn’t sound so terrible now. “We saved the West from saurians. We saved the surface from Haathian experiments. And what we did against Kahran -- well, I suppose that was a much larger thing than any guild. But we did it because it needed doing. We’ll continue to operate that way, and I will continue to slash all the bureaucratic red tape to make it happen.” Where -would- Lionel go next? He wasn’t sure. “Maybe someplace warm,” he said, finishing off the fish and beer and then standing to stretch. “I’ve only been to Chartsend to fight invasive naga. I wonder what it’s like there?” No sooner had he mused the question to himself than a vine snaked outward from the ice several meters away from them. It quickly rose to a startling height and several more vines followed, culminating in the unearthing of the creature to which all vines were attached -- an ochu by the looks of it, a plant-life beastie with a menacingly large maw. Rather than attacking Lionel or Rorin, however, it caught a fleeing deer and swallowed it whole before returning to the deep from whence it came. “Strange to see something like that this time of year. And really quite random.”

Rorin chewed his fish and listened, nodding. “Khitti likes it there...” he began to say before the plant beast emerged, sending Rorin back pedaling a few steps as he readied himself for a battle that never came. He stared at the ice for a while skeptically. “Yeah...” it was almost possible to see the gears turning, thoughts whirring, and questions mounting as Rorin peered down. “Remember when the bugs tunneled over to the guild and tried to blitz us? Did we ever seek those tunnels? It would be awfully warm down there, nice and deep. And if there’s just one of those things, then....” He looked almost ready to jump in after it before taking a deep breath and straightening up. “Maybe I shouldn’t worry about it. There are bigger fish in the world to fry.” He said cryptically before sitting back down. “Larket is in trouble, won’t lie. It could use a few more heroes. Venturil, Rorin had heard, isn’t doing so well. “Vailkrin and the Underdark stir occasionally. Necromancers have some kind of new problem I don’t know much about.” He shrugged and spread his arm as if to indicate that there were plenty of troubles to go around.

Lionel had to laugh at the number of times recently that he’d been spared from having to mention that his sister had been trying to kill him by the abruptness of something completely unrelated and similarly unresolved. Taking it with grace, he focused instead on Rorin’s follow-up remarks. “We sent scouts down there. They found a few bugs but nothing major. Mind you, I only let them go so far. They weren’t prepared for a hive. By rights, all remnants of the Haathian freak experiments should have perished when we fired that big beam of light from the island. But I’ve learned that ‘rights’ only gets you so far in life, so it might be worth another check.” Rorin began listing various regions and their woes. Larket was, as ever, a problem. How long had it been since Lionel had defied orders and gone to war with them? Nearly three years had passed, he realized. Given their ongoing persecution of witches and anyone else that so much as looked at them the wrong way, he wondered if it was time to take up the sword against them anew. “There’s always something,” he summarized the reports. “You know, Chartsend can wait. I think Larket could use a visit. Might help clear my mind,” he said slowly and meaningfully. The purpose of walkabout was to reconnect with the world around him from freshly fully human eyes. He needed to see the plight of that kingdom again to remind him what was at stake. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Rorin smiled something fierce. “Way ahead of you, Commander.” Rorin sat down with a new flair of excitement that brought him out of his far away thoughts and to the forefront of his recent plans...