RP:If by Sea

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc

Part of the Time Heals All Wounds Arc

Summary: Penelope and Kasyr, on orders from Lionel, set sail aboard Captain Quinton Navarre's Maighdean Mhara in search of clues for how to defeat Xicotl. Along the way, Kasyr has the chance to reminisce with old friend Quinton, but later comes face-to-face with old adversaries. Penelope discovers something that she desperately needed, and things take a surprising turn for the better.

The Maighdean Mhara

Once considered to be among the finest ships in the Catalian Royal Navy, the Maighdean Mhara -- Old Catalian for “Mermaid” -- survived her homeland’s destruction thanks to the inexorable efforts of the retired Admiral Auditore. Customarily sleek and boasting an impressive maximum speed of over 16 nautical knots, the Mhara was designed to be the foremost frigate guarding from the front of the most pivotal merchant fleets. Armed with nine large-bore guns on either side for a total of 18, she is capable of outclassing similar craft and going toe-to-toe with many galleons. Despite her excellent mobility and considerable fighting strength, this vessel’s construction is infamously uneven. An elm keel and oak ribs help to maintain a sturdy hull capable of withstanding challenging storms, but cost-cutting measures common during the waning years of the Republic led to some very marginal materials and workmanship elsewhere throughout the ship. Hardwood shortages at the time of the Mhara’s construction enfeeble large sections of her inner passageways with pine, whilst the entirety of the engineering room is comprised of malleable fir trim. Visible signs of numerous jury-rigged repairs can be spotted on the deck, belowdecks, in the crew galley and even the bridge.

Were it not for the Mhara’s clever personnel, she might not have earned her reputation for summoning improbable victories from the death throes of defeat. Alas, much of her original crew lost their lives during difficult skirmishes in the war against Kahran, leaving only a handful of formerly commissioned navy recruits -- now recognized for their gallantry as official officers -- to helm her. Now the Maighdean Mhara belongs to one Captain Navarre, a seasoned rogue who adores the open seas and searches for his long-lost sister. Not content to sit on the sidelines, Navarre and his crew ferry members of the Warrior’s Guild as allies in preserving the ever-delicate Lithrydelian peace, doubling Lionel O’Connor’s naval capabilities alongside Captain Brand’s Tranquility. Additionally, Navarre services other benign organizations by offering travel accommodations and exploratory ventures for a modest fee. Between deep sea adventures, canyon expeditions, and coastline patrols, the Mhara has quickly become a symbol of the possibility for a brighter future, her mast bearing the proud banner of a sapphire compass set within a host of strange new worlds. To the people of Chartsend, she’s an economical boon and a welcome guardian; to the Warrior’s Guild, she’s a flagship and a lifeline; and to all those who would prey upon Lithrydel, she’s a sworn enemy. Yet to a final few, the last surviving men and women from a ruined land, the Maighdean Mara means hope -- hope that all is not lost, and history will remember the realm called Catal.

Departure

Lionel || Amid the ramshackle floating huts and simple fishing boats of Chartsend’s northernmost and most eclectic quarter, the Maighdean Mhara stood out for her beauty as well as her size. The village folk had taken a surprising shine to this war-ready disruption from their quiet lives; buccaneers of the open seas had recently attempted to exact a ‘toll’ upon the town only to be sent home in kayaks or caskets – the choice, the young Captain Navarre explained, was theirs to make. Having been requested to board the Mhara and undertake a scouting operation in search of clues from ages past, Kasyr and Penelope were to be the last to board the Catalian vessel before her departure. Lionel had sent Quinton ‘Cid’ Navarre a detailed list of instructions for the journey – detailed enough that Navarre suspected someone else must have penned the letter. Once his longtime friend and his healer companion arrived, Navarre intended to read the letter aloud to them, sans the formalities. “Your mission is essentially a follow-up,” Navarre announced, holding the paper up while he read. “Since your most recent shoreline trip spotted evidence of old, unidentified structures from ages past, we want you to revisit both sites and send a landing party to investigate.” Navarre paused to explain, in case it wasn’t clear: “He means us, of course. I took the Mhara on a scouting op, primarily for signs of Kahran’s army. Ex-prince tells me the warlord’s dead and dusted but his cronies were probably still out there in the Shadow Plane and all.” He readjusted the paper and continued. “This will bring your crew first to the icy shores of Frostmaw and then the highlands of Rynvale Island. I don’t have to tell you that neither area is a safe one, so take caution and have faith in Penelope Halifax’s considerable ability to keep people’s organs inside their bodies.” Navarre cringed and glanced at Penelope with a mixture of awkwardness and appreciation. “So long, and thanks for all the fish.” Okay, maybe Lionel wrote this letter after all.

Lionel || “Anyway,” the captain went on after handing the letter to a woman whose skin was a caramel tint and hair was a gorgeous shade of raven, “here’s the real gist. We passed by the Frostmaw ruins beneath the Aurora polaris, which is why we were able to see them in the first place. I suspect many a sailing ship has sped by over the years but only a few have even noticed. They seemed to roughly match the guild’s description of the civilizations depicted in those paintings some of you uncovered in the chasm down in the Southern Sage last month. Rynvale’s deal is more or less the same; the ruins look the part. Only, they’re a lot easier to spot. It’s just that, well, dragons.” He trusted that was enough. “Risu here,” Navarre gestured to the raven-haired woman who in turn performed a peculiarly flawless curtsy, “just so happens to be an archaeological expert on par with the famed Jessie Raspberry and other explorers whose names I barely remember. If you two would be so kind as to ensure she doesn’t get eaten or struck by lightning or something, our voyage should be a good one.”

Kasyr hasn't had much reason to venture onto boats of late, but then- he'd also been making active moves to avoid the high seas. Internally, he very much wanted to label that aversion as prudence, but there was a steadfast doubt which seemed to press at the back of his mind, voicing cowardice as the reason. Whatever the case may be, it had made a quick venture to the slippery eel somehow palatable, enough so that he sauntered out of the building with a bellyful of rum and sauage, and a backpack with a few bottles to spare. Still, whatever inner turmoil was currently bubbling at the prospect of nautical nonsense- there's a certain degree of reasurrance that it's in familiar company, the Kensai having offered up a sloppy salute to Naverre when he stepped onto the ship. Penelope, on the other hand, gets a slightly more awkward wave, before the Kensai puts on his best listening expression for the ensuing bit of exposition/orders. There's a few moments where it looks like he wants to interject with comments, with his lips pursed and fingers wriggling- but he manages to hold off on doing something up until the last bit of introductions are made, "Right, so. What you're saying es I -shouldn't- stand next to her. But er, beyond dragons et the like, -are- you expecting anything from this...Kahran person? Rather, the remnants of his forces?" The Kensai hadn't ever gotten deeply embroiled in the matter. There'd been people stabbed, of course, but for all intents and purposes, Kasyr considered him a nebulous entity, a definition which also extended to his forces.

Penelope :: Emilia was never found. The disappointment was undeniable, and the trek back to Kelay had been silent. The stop home was brief before heading the polar direction to Chartsend. New bags packed and carried on the healer’s back for the stay in the unfamiliar town. Today was a new day to set sail again. Eyes stare at the wall with the abstract art to give the inn in Chartsend a “comforting” feel, but instead made the place feel bland and over, neatly placed. Hands tie the folded triangle chocolate bandana around her head—her frizzy hair remaining down in the back with strands still framing her face in the front—before she stands up to grab her belongings for the journey ahead. A medical pack on her back, an herbal green pouch around her torso, and a blade sheathed on her hip. It was time to go, and hopefully today, not waste any more time. The healer shows at the meeting spot that was requested of her in detail. Although Captain Navarre would not be a face to recognize, nor the Catalian ship, Kasyr’s face would be one of familiarity and the awkward wave is returned. She boards with the silent hopes of not becoming a seasick mess, and quietly she listens to the letter Navarre reads from Lionel O’Connor. The letter of faith that Penelope’s duties would be performed made her sort of clear her throat in awkwardness, and the look is reflected to Navarre as well with a nod. Not like she doubted this capability, but that was a broad statement in her ears. Everything that was listed with the journey was unsettling, but again, the healer remains silent only for the frontlines to converse. As for the healer, she needed to keep herself away from the madness for the sake of others’ health on board. The Ardelian only now is watching and listening and observing each person who was aboard the ship. Size and predictable anatomy. She was about seventy-five percent sure people on board would be in decent hands. After all, trauma was her desired specialty—to think on her feet, anyway.

Breaking the Ice

Lionel || “Well, I sure as hell hope not,” Navarre answered his friend. “I wasn’t here for any of that and if I had my way I wouldn’t be here for the rest of it. You and me fought some dastardly sorts back in the day, but ‘dastardly’ was far as I ever went. ‘Catastrophically demonic’ is a bit outside my paygrade.” Having never met Penelope Halifax, or at least not in a formal enough sense to have remembered, the captain chose to take her silence at a surface-level analysis – namely, that she simply had nothing to say. Anyone Lionel had praised for their prowess was probably at least worth having aboard, he figured, and that, as they say, was that. Once anchors were aweigh, Navarre would join Kasyr in a chat for a while if the Kensai were feeling up to it, and catching up on the absurd number of things Navarre had missed would be the order of the day. And so it was, and so things went, as the ship left her ramshackle port in search of clues. Though the seas were choppy and the sky was overcast, the Maighdean Mhara proved a worthy adversary to nature’s temperament. Sturdy and with a decent swiftness, the ship rocked to and fro only modestly, and it was only a matter of hours before the horizontal northern peaks that separated cold Frostmaw from the utterly frigid seaside tundra were within visual range. Captain Navarre had wisely timed the Mhara’s approach such that it was midday by the time they neared the ruins, which meant that rather than the bone-chilling and deadly nighttime temperatures in the area, the away team merely needed to deal with the comparatively manageable wintry-crisp air and the softly-falling snows. As was to be expected, the ruins could not be seen from the frosty shoreline. Risu, the archaeologist with the perfect curtsy and an evidently high rank aboard Navarre’s ship, had dressed in a thick coat and put on her best boots. There were coats and boots available to Kasyr and Penelope as well, should they have decided they would need them. Accompanying the three were two sailors – a fresh-faced lad from Cenril named Harry and a grizzled, middle-aged orcish lass named Sali. Along the way here, Harry had eagerly told the guild representatives of the time when he had first met Sali, and how enchanted he was with her ability to kill things. Sali, in turn, had thrown in the occasional grunt but was otherwise disinterested in the tale. “Well, here we go.” Risu’s voice sounded equal parts adventurous and aloof. There was something about her – something not quite right, though not in any evil sort of way. It was like she was trying to be multiple women, and the real Risu was somewhere in the middle of them all. Still, she truly was the expert that Navarre had claimed. She led the away team simply by charting the most likely route to any old civilization crazy enough, or furry enough, to have chosen to live here. That meant seeking a place of shelter, though not one so thorough as to have prevented the Mhara’s crew from seeing the ruins in the first place. “And that means,” Risu thought out loud, “that forested area over yonder.” She pointed enthusiastically and all but bounced forward. Before long, her hypothesis was proven correct; stone monuments so tall that they jutted out from the cedar treeline by several meters were espied. It wouldn’t be long before the team would enter the forest for a much closer look. Would hostile creatures be lurking within?

Kasyr is having a bit of a difficult time suppressing the grimace that threatens to overtake his expression as their good captain expresses just how fervently he wanted little to do with the far end of awful antagonists. Ultimately, the Kensai's able to assert something seems like a grin, even if the illusion of mirth is mired by the occasional nervous lick to his lipos, "Yeah. Definitely had my fill." I mean, that's at least -true-. Just, those issues haven't had their fill of his company. Still, the fact that Naverre was quick to switch topics to a far less volatile set of subjects at least means that the Kensai doesn't have to overthink things for too long. Frankly, it's a great distraction- and there's a lot to cover, givent he wide range of opportunities and obstacles the Kensai had encountered over the years, since he'd been a fledgeling crew member. It does a lot to improve his move, and by the time they arrive at the first landing site, the kensai is feeling notably chipper enough to make a bit more of an effort to address Penelope, "I'm , uh, glad that Lionel left us in your hands, en fait. I'll try not to bleed on them too much." . . . Maybe repeatedly sipping at rum the entire journey -wasn't- the best way to fix things up. Apologies, though. "Et, er, uh. I hope you know that I tried my best, " there's like the distinct sense he should stop, but he's commited now, "Not to stab Linken too much." Kasyr's pretty sure he wasn't even going to go there with it, but the combination of mortifaction and second guessing words doesn't really let him consider how to disentangle his thoughts, so he instead chooses that time to take another sip of rum, and promptly make a quick exit. The need for coats and boats definitely makes for a great excuse, and from there, he at least has yet -another- layer to wear, in an effort to ward off any awkwardness. Frankly, he's fairly grateful for the enthusiastic banter of the sailors, and Risu's showmanship approach to archaelogy, since it's at least an adequate distraction. That, and it the fact that ti carries substantially more weight to him then the rocks themselves. Really, it seems like the sort of thing Quintessa would feasibly be gushing over, but Kasyr's attention is more focused on the surroundings- and the simple possibility that they were a few steps away from getting stabbed by overzealous elves, giants, . . .or just starving animals.

Penelope simply had nothing to say. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity that was on-board. People that were rather more adventurous than she ever would be, or maybe she thought she never would be. It was always her goal to live a simplistic life, yet that road was beginning to disappear with each step she took. The rough waters of the sea begin to rock the ship with uneasy patterns. The same feeling of light-headedness happened when boarding a Cenril ship to Rynvale for the hunt a few days prior. This time the girl was prepared with ground ginger and peppermint that had been in a canteen around her pack. Penelope could not do boats, who knew? Easily she takes sips before the sea-illness settled, and in that time-span, Kasyr is addressing her with the thick smell of rum on his own breath. At first she blinks at him before she looks out at the grey waters. “I think a lot of people over-estimate the potential, for I’m only an adeptus minor, yet I’m glad you can find some sort of…” she looks at him. “…comfort?” She questions this, but only leaves him with a shrug. Moss eyes sort of look over the Kensai before staring out at that water again. His buzzed slurs sort of throw her off-guard, and there is a slight tightening of her hands on the ledge of the ship. Not anger, more anxiousness, though her visage reflects nothing of the sort. The force is pressed in palms. “Honestly, I was hoping your blows would bring his memories back,” long pause. “…and I was just hoping that you would be fine.” Her words are slow, genuine, and cool. She leaves the conversation at that, for the sake of, yes, discomfort. Eventually, a coat is borrowed from the ship to use and shrugged over the long-sleeved white tunic she wore. The Ardelian finds herself staring at Harry talk about Sali who was really good at killing things, however, Sali makes the freckled one smile with the detachment she has from the tale. She stares off at Risu’s vision of the forest that rested ahead. “Has anyone ever been in those… forests?” Hesitance was relevant in her accented chords, but she could handle her own; she sure had... luck.

Lionel || “I’d imagine so,” Risu answered Penelope with more than a hint of joviality. “After all, someone had to have constructed those buildings!” The timing was to Penelope’s disadvantage; by the time Risu had realized she owed the healer a reply, the team had already spotted the structures. What followed wasn’t so much a giggle as a blending of accidental laughter and a half-cough of disbelief. Risu briefly wondered how such a storied healer could be so… cute about all this. The woman’s bounciness persisted as she led the way for a closer examination. The stone ruins had endured countless ever-winters here with remarkable resolve. Their builders knew their craft – perhaps even better than those who dwelt in Lithrydel today. They were marvelous to behold; marble-made at the base with matching marble pathways surrounding the structures on all four sides. Each individual monument had taken on the general shape of an impossibly tall weapon, and yet each contained a door which led into its own habitable abode. Risu opened one of the doors immediately, but for her efforts she found only ashes and bones and twigs where once there were surely cooking pots and people and wooden furnishings. Three other structures each had a door of their own. Neither Harry nor Sali seemed thrilled with the prospect of opening them, which meant that either Kasyr or Penelope (or both) would take up the task, or surely Risu would eventually do so herself. For now, the decision was Kasyr’s and Penelope’s to make.

Kasyr is trying not to think too hard on the earlier exchange, if only because he's certain it'll exhaust him. The seemingly more daunting matters, like deranged demi gods, are weirdly easier to process- than thinking too long on the aftermath of his actions? Especially since he currently didn't have vampirism to help suppress any pangs of conscience that threatened to crop up. At the very least, however, there's a sense of gratefulness that it had somehow not ended up worse. It leaves plenty of room for him to mess things up now, after all. "..Heck." That was definitely not the most reassuring thought, and certainly warrants another swig of rum. To be fair, it also allows the Kensai time to thoughtfully consider whether he shoudl engage in some amateur anthropology, as well. A moment passes, and then another, before he finally directs his attention towards Penelope and the sailors, "...Ruins things are normally fragile, right? Should we have maybe set up signals for when she started searching? Like, call out every little while so we know you're alive, enchanted, ou quoi-ce-soit?" I mean, they're a small group, it definitely warrants discussion.

Penelope stares out at the architecture, and a slow shifting stare moves to Risu who seems to be overly giddy about the whole experience. Eyes would look to Kasyr in a “what-the-what” sort of way, yet he was probably invested in the sight at hand, and she starts to follow his trail. The commander addressed Kasyr on this mission for a reason, and the Ardelian did find her own faith in that—yet she would keep that to herself. The buildings made of marble were something that she had never seen before, for the healer was from a town of wood and trees. The marble seemed modern and tall. She did not get out much. The weapon structures were… strange. Penelope knew nothing about architecture. This was new. “Well, Lionel did say that we should… investigate. That was our mission,” she says blatantly looking to Kasyr. Though, as Risu takes the courtesy of opening up a monument where ashes, bones, and old furnishings relied, the Ardelian was now unsure to approach the other doors. Then, the Kensai speaks up for her. Thank goodness, a sigh is released. “I think… it’s best if we do have some sort of communication. Maybe some call if we know others are in trouble instead? That way, I know who is of the most importance in the group when it comes to possible physical harm.” Pause. Eyes flick over to Kasyr. “I think… we should team up. You’re… physical... Great on your toes, as I’ve seen before.” The duel she meant. “Perhaps each of us pair? Doesn’t matter who, but I feel like I should follow –someone- quick in dangerous situations? Then… if we hear that someone is in danger? We leap to… help, and I can try my best to mend anyone who needs it in the meantime. If we hear said-call?”

Risu and the Revelation

Lionel || “A damned valid idea,” Sali concurred with Kasyr – and especially with Penelope. “And a good enough one that I’m not standing around out here while she’s in there alone. Harry, you’re on watch. Consider me Risu’s escort. You two go do your thing.” The orc took steps to enter the doorway through which Risu had gone. Harry swallowed hard before nodding in the affirmative. “Aye,” he said. That left the healer and the Kensai to search another door. What they found inside was more of the same; at least in this case the dust hadn’t done full damage to a child’s doll. Someone had lived here – perhaps a family? Risu cursed her luck and, with Sali close behind, tried another door. Long-emptied wooden crates were stacked high. Nothing of value at all. It was beginning to look like none of this would lead anyone to anything when Kasyr and Penelope’s second venture brought them something… far more decisive. “You shouldn’t be here,” an almost ludicrously thin figure groaned from the shadows of the room. It stepped forward, revealing skin so pale it matched the snows outside the room and hooks where hands once were. The figure’s robes were decorative, though nothing about them suggested this strange hominid had ties to any of the old civilizations wiped out by Xicotl which had been depicted in the chasm’s old paintings. Instead, the cloth was draped in a myriad of bright and vivid colors, drawn like stained glass; first was a bastard sword, then to its right a broadsword, and to its right a gauntlet, followed again by a nodachi and lastly a pair of katanas. Beneath all five weapons there was depicted a monster, serpentile and with its fangs outstretched from a menacing mouth almost into a trail of vapor. And lastly, beneath the monster, a word written in scripture: ‘Gospel.’ “You shouldn’t be here,” the figure repeated. “Especially you.” It pointed a hook toward Kasyr… and then it vanished, alongside the ruins themselves. Like a whisper in the wind, the monuments evaporated from reality, leaving all to stand upon the marble path that remained in the middle of the forest. At the center of the path, a single stone tablet was left in the wake, and upon the tablet was a perfect painterly representation of the precise coordinates where the Kensai would find the figure and its allies. How could he be certain? It was simple: a tower stretching out seemingly to the moon was illustrated, with a row of robed ones matching the figure to a tee. “That has never happened before,” Risu said blankly, tilting her head toward Kasyr. “It is my archaeological assertion that ‘Gospel’ is a dangerous weapon and that was a dangerous person.” She seemed completely convinced of it. Meanwhile, Harry’s eyes were as wide as a deer’s, and Sali had long since drawn her axe in a defensive effort that now seemed fruitless.

Kasyr can't have anything nice. Whatever small satisfaction he'd gotten out of a nice bit of on the spot strategizing, and the ensuing exploration and it's relative lack of issues comes to a complete, grinding halt at the figure. This would have been an opportune time to take a drink, and yet when he moves to do so, he finds his hands bereft of his prize, the bottle shattered on the ground by his feet, a casualty of momentary surprise. It's only when his chest begins to ache that he becomes aware he's been holding his breath, a quick breath taken as he tries to gather his thoughts. Risu's current bit of informativeness felt like a priority, if only because of the orders that had accompanied the note, "Was this the ruins you'd seen? With it gone, are you done here?" There's a distinctly sharp emphasis on 'You' in that sentence- the likes of which is made more pronounced by the manner in which the swordsman begins to step closer towards the tablet and peer at it. Whether or not these were tied to the figures in the desert, it had been longth months since he'd caught trail of any cultists or individuals associated to the ouroboros. And as much as a part of him desires to simply clap his hands and take the rational decision of rapidly retreating from the area- he simply couldn't. He'd been practically consumed by indecision by the sword and most things related to it, a chronic, paralyzing uncertainty that had consumed long hours of his life. If the beast or it's minions had seen fit to roll out a red carpet for him, who was he to turn down teh opportunity to get some sort of answer. "...I would say that if your business is done here, it might be a wise idea for the crew members to have you withdraw to the ship. Because you're certainment correcte, about it." Especially if it was a trap. The potential probability that it was meant he'd owe Lionel an awkward conversation later, if they'd been able to plan ahead for something like this. But it was just sinister serendipity? Then maybe, just maybe he could manage something meaningful. For anyone unfamiliar with teh Kensais affinity for swords, the altogether uncanny manner in which a Katana matter-of-factly materializes into his grasp, probably doesn't help with the overall idea that he's about to do something stupid. "Oh, et I guess that wasn't clear. If we're still doing calls. You're welcome."

Penelope nods as they make the agreement. The healer has no objections when paired with Kasyr, for who she thought was probably the best to stick by. She keeps a couple feet distance apart, only for the sake of her own nerves as they venture off to lurk within the doors of the strange buildings. The freckled woman lets the Kensai take on whatever path they take next, and she keeps her distance while pulling at her coat like she was focused on something else important (she was nervous, okay?). The figure appears, ‘you shouldn’t be here’ groans out of the darkness. The Ardelian feels like her breath is caught in the whirlwind caused by the creature with the hooks for hands. An eerie sounding spill and an indication towards Kasyr specifically. Penelope was in the blurred zone of what this all meant. The figure did not lunge, for only vanished. The monuments evaporate, and well, the Ardelian is left with a small gape in her mouth, though that vanishes quite quickly. The girl sort of just looks at the rest of the crew with confusion internally, but stoic on the out. “You’re not going alone, if you mean you’re actually going. If you’re going, I’m going with you,” she says straightforward to the Kensai. “If that’s what you’re thinking, that is.”

Lionel || Risu shared Harry in wide-eyed eccentricity now. The two of them were as lambs next to Kasyr, and Sali firmly shook them both, responding with that guttural orcish tongue an easy, “I’ll send them both back.” Five words; five syllables; one rock-solid promise. Risu and Harry were under her protection. The orc gave Kasyr one last appreciative nod – she was far more straight-laced, and he far more drunk – but it was a mutual admiration, or at least so she had hoped. Her last glance was saved for Penelope, however; she sized the healer up a tad mischievously and barked out a laugh. “I’d do well to avoid making foes of you,” she grinned. The grin seemed genuine, though laced with truth. Doubtless, this orc had suddenly grown an interest in healer and Kensai alike. The chill northern wind filled the forest. In time, the two were alone. The ship would wait for them – they had little reason to worry. Captain Quinton ‘Cid’ Navarre was not going to leave his friend behind, nor a woman in distress who looked even five percent similar to his sister Caedan; in Penelope’s case, the resemblance was as high as ten percent, and that just made things all the more sorted. Whatever Kasyr was about to do, the story was his now.

Kasyr isn't quite sure if he should be feeling relieved, or incredulous. But then, given the faith Lionel had placed in her, and her own willingness to venture on this expedition- a part of him feels like he really shouldn't be surprised. Still, it takes him a few moments to compose himself properly and respond, "Fine. Same rules apply, enfin. We don't know what we're facing, but magic es involved, maybe illusions. Communication es key here." Penelopes backbone isn't the only pleasent surprise either, given the manner in which Sali manages to rather brusquely take control of her particular end of the situation. Okay, it's maybe not quite pleasent for Risu and harry, but Kasyr definitely cracks a grin at the authorative manner in which the orc shakes some sense into the pair, "It's appreciated, on both fronts. Safe travels." That said, when he casts his gaze back towards the woods, and the frigid ambience within, his next words don't quite seem as certain, "See you soon. " With everything that needed to be said out of the way, it was as good as time as any to begin treading through the soft carpet of snow on the ground, the Kensai steadfastedly marching in the direction that the stone had depicted. Internally, a part of him can't help but wonder if there might have been some small hint that he might have discerned from further studying it- but the simple possibility that they might not have been ready for him makes it hard to do anything but march forward- eyes flickering over the trees in search of the first hint of that ominous tower.

Penelope could only cant her head at the laughed remark. Avoid making a foe with the healer? Her stare is one that is of emptiness. She carried this heavily with the unknown faces that surrounded her, though a small smile begins to form before it fades away. Though, she turns with purpose as she follows the Kensai’s way. Why? Internally, she had no idea, but her conscience told her otherwise. The two of them walk in the forest, and although, this is a weird, out-of-place pair, she decides to say something anyway. “For what it’s worth, I trust you.” Odd start, but okay. “Did you see something before this investigation? Something that related to what we just saw?” For all she knew, she was in the dark about most of it, though she was dealing with her own intense dealings. The girl also looks over trees and the building while talking to him. She was trying to figure out any out-of-place hint.

You Shouldn't Have Let Me Die

Lionel || It wasn’t an easy road, and not only for the lack of one. The hills that the statue pointed toward were more ice than snow. A howling wind picked up as they climbed, signifying that springtime held no meaning once the brave and the foolish headed wayward of the coastline and into the white. Bones cracked beneath their feet, likely the last signs that ill-fated travelers had ever drawn breath. The bones were in good shape, if not working order; their killers weren’t wolves nor monsters, but purely the cold. What had drawn them here in the first place? Perhaps it was something wholly unrelated to the endeavor at hand. There were a plethora of reasons that hikers hiked, and not all pertained to the end of the world, even here at the very edge of it. Yet there was a chance, if only just the chance, that these were victims of the weapon Kasyr knew all too well. For the trail of skeletons continued, and flesh still clung to a few. And, as the peak of the last in this line of hills was reached, a structure in the shape of a polyhedron came into view. It was constructed of peerless marble, shining in profound luster beneath the weak, cloud-piercing rays of the northern sun. It felt malevolent, as much as any building could. The evil came in a pulse, a pulse which neither Kasyr nor Penelope would miss – it was vivid, and warming, but not in an agreeable way. It felt like raw heat boiling inside them both, but it left no physical mark and it was gone as quickly as it came. Afterward, the pyramid remained, but the world around them did not. Everything was white, endlessly white, though not snow; it was simply a bright, beaming light, and upward was the origin – a moon, so vast as to cover the horizon and so detailed as to reveal each and every puncture mark. The moon contorted and a deep fault line erupted upon its surface, a fault line which gave the satellite the look of a vindictive grin. Laughter pierced the air all around the healer and the Kensai, and a force not unlike gravity began to suck them both toward the structure ahead. No harm had befell them as of yet, but the pain was real.

Kasyrs march foward carried all the determination of a man resolute to meet his own execution head-on, a grimness etched into his features which only grows more pronounced when she makes her query. For some time, the silence deepends between them- punctuated only by the faint crackle of ice and weather damaged bones. But as the first hints of something ahead begins to gleam in the distance, the urge to break that macabre ambience becomes unbearable, "I -dealt- with something related to it, yes. Poorly, if what's going on es any indication. Similar, in a sense, to what we were trying to hunt." As he strides forward, his foot abruptly plunges into the ground, leaving him lurching forward until he's practically face to face with the frozen death mask of one of the many travellers on the road. What sets this one apart from the others that the Kensai had so callously tread upon, is their diminuitive frame, and the ruins of a youthful face. And they are far from the only one, a fact that the Kensai is left to face as he begins to track over the other small carcasses which begin to thicken as they grow closer to the structure. "It's one of the few things that terrify me." That quiet admission is nearly swallowed hole by the pulse of warmth that envelops the area- that malign sensation seeming to drown out both the sound and sight of the surroundings. The bleached world that greets him is almost a welcome sight, but whatever small iota of relief he started to feel becomes arrested by the insidious manner in which the looming moon begins to stain the ominous crimson shade of Ahr'nuk. When that unnatural tug begins to take hold, he finds himself moving with it- seeking refuge from the bloody glow bathing the surroundings, and the way the ground begins to slicken, and abrade beneath his footfalls- as though it were flesh being rubbed raw. "On y va."He manages to keep the quaver out of his voice, even as he passes over the threshold of the Pyramid.

Penelope , at times, felt herself shuffling her feet against the ice in baby steps. Slipping would have been, what was the word? Oh yeah, embarrassing. Then again, the road was not easy, but she was lucky she chose good adventure shoes for the day. Hiking boots. The shapes of bone debris has her slightly uneasy and her heartrate sort of kicks in abnormal rhythm. Lionel was right, perhaps getting back on the training field was not the worst idea for her. The silence had not bugged her, for most people claimed her to be nosy most days, so the silence is comfortable—she was patient. The grimness that he bears, however, does not ease her jumping beat of a heart. Her face remains stoic, however. Well, until he breaks the quiet, eerie atmosphere with a short, disturbed response. Eyes only land on him which bring back the silence between them again which brings her pace to a slow. The tense heat wave jolts through her before the white words blinds her to a squint. “Oh, no, no,” and perhaps the Ardelian now would not want to step forward. Wrong instincts were kicking in, for she knew evil. She halts her steps until the pull envelopes them both and they are moving closer to the Pyramid. Instantly she is reaching for a her dagger to squat down and stick it in the ground where the bones remain to hold herself, but the ground is hardened with ice, and her feet slip forward and force themselves to move and keep her right on Kasyr’s tail. Lovely.

Lionel || “You shouldn’t have let me die,” Linken said. His face, his form, it was all as Penelope remembered it. Even his attire was of her most recent memory of him. As she and Kasyr drifted forward, Linken stood still above the snow-white earth, and they drifted straight on through him. “I just wanted to live,” he spoke behind them with a weep. The children whose bones were threadbare now stood eerily still as well, their eyes glossy and their decaying skin akin to cracked porcelain. “It’s all we ever wanted,” they said in unison. “To live.” The pyramid overwhelmed Kasyr and Penelope now, as they sped past the dead offspring and into its gravitational web. Everything white went black and still and acrid-smelling. The whole world was bathed in shadow now, but for the dimmed light of a moon above them even now. From the moon, like an ill-fated broadcast, an angry voice cascaded, bounced around them, reverberated and then echoed and never went still. “Master,” Quintessa Dragana snapped. Her broken body, face ravaged with an unknown disease, drifted downward from the moon. Her lips were smashed, her fangs shattered, her legs bent in grotesque angles. Her arms were folded inward, directly through her chest and out her back like exit wounds. “I hate you.” She sneered, and everything sinister she had ever tried to portray in life paled in comparison to the sneering of a woman dead. And then she was gone. The pyramid, too, vanished into the void, leaving only that damned moon… and the sword which slew through the air, piercing first dozens and then soon hundreds of silhouettes, causing each silhouette in turn to cry out in anguish. A veritable army of people without faces was slashed through and silenced. Blood replaced the blackness, a red so thorough that Penelope and Kasyr would feel as if it had splashed upon them in waves. It would take a substantial effort to remain aloft, even in the air of this strange dimension where they dangled, and if they failed to maintain what little semblance of balance remained in their keeping they would fall into the sea of red forever.

Kasyr isn't quite certain of when he'd drawn his blade clear of his scabbard, but it's not long before the weight of the blade feels alien within his grasp, upset by that tendril of force which had ensnared them and made them bare witness to this parade of spectres. Faces familiar and otherwise loom before them, and yet, the Kensai can only feel his heart harden at their plight. A brutal sense of resignation reigns in the Kensais mind, painting their loss as unfortunate casualties- yet beyond him. And yet, he cannot tune out the serpentine susurration that sounds in his own mind- reminding him of his dereliction of duty- the manner in which he had stood aside. It's the merciless mimicry of Quintessa, however, that sets his veins afire with an intensity that even the vile pulse of malignance could not. The memory of her wielding Gospel's power scratches at the inside of his mind, alongside the sight of her crumpling to the ground in the aftermath, barely alive. The slaughter of silhouttes that plays out before the pair is almost a welcome sight in comparison- though any morbid sense of relief is dashed when the sanguine tide begins to rapidly rise, greedily moving to suck them beneath it's surface. He's barely able to drag himself free of his own coat before it vanishes within those seemingly endless depths, leaving him to flail against a miserable rising tid of red. And yet- that pang of anger remains. An indignation he nurses and hones into a razors edge as he reaches out with his empathy in search of anything that he might be able to wield it against.

Penelope :: As Linken’s face appears in the distance, she tries to press herself within the earth, though those feet kept dragging with the pull. Linken was draped in the white clothing to match the snow. The white clothing of the temple of Arkhen where she left him. She had promised to return. Return for a day of serenity. He left the temple? Had she waited too long after her promise? Was this the malign entity’s bidding? There was no time to say words as she slips through the ghostly illusion and his weeps follow behind her causing pricks to start at her neck before coming face to face with the decaying offspring. The atmosphere had been too thick to even form words, and there was a lump sitting in her throat at the possibility of failing Linken, more-so his children. Then, the world around them goes black except for the moon above, and she is blinded by the switch in sky. The dots form until she is blinking severely to focus on the anguishing, distorted figure of what is Quintessa Dragana. “No, no… that’s not real.” It was not. It could not have been. A ferocious, feisty; intelligent woman mangled? No. “It’s not real!” She tries to convince herself and him both, yet… well, then there was this dark, twisted moment. Faceless silhouettes slaughtered before them. The Ardelian widens her gaze at the large wave of crimson becomes evident and even more pulling than before, and because she is so extra, automatically she is reaching out for the Kensai. Because if anyone was going down, they would be going down together.

With a Frakking Moon On It

Lionel || “I’m afraid it is,” Risu said, tapping Penelope gently again in the hopes of stirring her awake. If she opened her eyes, she would find herself in the infirmary of the Maighdean Mhara, likely staring up at the wooden planks on the ceiling first and foremost. Kasyr would likewise awaken, the two of them resting on separate cots with four people huddled all around them, concerned looks on all their faces. Navarre stood beside Risu, arms crossed and eyes dark with worry. Harry and Sali stood on the sidelines, facing the rescued passengers from the doorway. The slow creaking of the ship meant they were back at sea, and the starry sky visible through portholes near the patients told the time. “What the bloody hell happened?” Navarre unfolded his arms and approached Kasyr for an answer. “Ten hours and no sign of you. Sali and I go waltzing out and find you both at the base of a hill so slippery my ankles may never be the same. And while I’m busy interrogating you, I’ll add that I’m glad you’re both alive.” He sighed and shook his head. Risu showed her hands, revealing to Penelope a beautiful opal tiara engraved at the head with a pristine moon. At the center of the moon was a dazzling ruby, its color a deep though glowing crimson. “Your arm was outstretched,” Risu explained. “As if you’d been reaching out for something before you fell unconscious?” Her voice rose on the last few words, hoping to stir memories. “This was in your grasp. You were holding onto it for dear life.” The tiara pulsed immediately thereafter, and the infirmary was briefly filled with a peculiar distortion representing a castle surrounded by sand. It was glorious to behold, though in utter disrepair. Its finer features could not be ascertained through the static and it was gone in the blink of an eye. “I didn’t do that,” Risu yelped, even as the tiara’s pulse diminished and it returned to whatever state of relative normalcy it had previously beheld. “I swear.” Navarre, however, was already piecing things together. “Kas,” he spoke, startled. “Those dunes.” The remembrance of it came back to him whip-smart, and the same remembrance might affect Kasyr now as well. It was the scene of their very first mission together, a mission to deal with bandits the Tranquility’s crew had been hired to handle. But the castle wasn’t there thirteen years ago – only the dunes. “I know exactly where that was. It’s a real place. A place we’ve been to. Someone kindly explain to me why a gaudy piece of jewelry with a frakking moon on it is showing us… that.”

Kasyrs' first reaction when consciousness returns to him, is to lean over the edge of the cot, and begin dry retching- a slow miserable process that seems at first to yield no results. But after a few long hideous moments, a trail of red issues up from his throat, something dark slinking out from the sanguine muck and slithering away into the shadows. Frankly, Kasyr doesn't really notice given he's just busy gulping in lungfuls of fresh air. It's only once he's caught his breath that he becomes aware that Naverre had been talking to them, an owlish blink managing to cue up a repeat of the question. "Followed a lead." Is what he manages to unhelpfully croak out. Penelope is given a sidelong glance during this time, the Kensais expression at once miserable and a bit guilty. Still, he's not apt to wallow for long, given both the nightmarish vision that splays out across their surroundings, and the unpleasent heat that swims through his skin- far fainter, but unpleasently familiar. Navarre, in this case, serves as an excellent anchor to reality- his declaration about the dunes causing the Kensais head to almost drunkenly swivel in his direction. Recollection is slower for the swordsman, but bit by bit, he begins to nod along - vestiges of prior events bubbling to the surface of his thoughts. "Then you can lead the way." There's a pause, before he rather emphatically appends, "Later." Kasyrs hands are already in the process of filching a cigarette from his coat, seeking out the solace a fresh light might bring. "As for that. I think it's an invitation. From, " He almost names it, but there's a sense of dread in voicing the word, of making it just that more solid in this place, "a creature in my past. The thing that was in my old sword. That was the sword. Quoi-ce-soit."

Penelope feels a faint tap on her shoulder before she jolts and moss eyes spring awake in a heavy gasp as if she is breathing for the first time. The air seems clearer and saltier. The salt and the sea. The girl stares at the ceiling before sitting up in almost near-panic, and the way she does, she becomes light-headed and sinks herself back into the cot as the pain fades away. She looks at each individual face and then finds Kasyr in the opposite cot. She stares at the remorseful gaze with one that is of sheer sweat and confusion. “What the hell just—“ A brief hand runs over her bandana to tug off the damp cloth before tracing her gaze to Navarre. “It happened so fast—I,” Kasyr fills in the gap vaguely. The Ardelian remembered, but she was just not sure what that was, or what it meant. What the darkness held was something she could not form into words. As Risu holds out the tiara with the crimson ruby, her eyes begin to squint. “I wasn’t holding onto this, I was holding onto… him.” Eyes would find Kasyr in the opposite cot with a strained line in her forehead and then there was the pulse of the tiara. The castle reveals itself and then vanishes away, and in the meantime, Penelope is pressing herself slowly back up in weakened curiosity. The healer then listens to the captain and the Kensai exchange words and meaning… the meaning of one that the Kensai had trouble naming. Probably for reasons he could not explain in the trek through bones and snow.

Lionel || It was deeply unfortunate that none among the crew noticed the product of Kasyr’s retching; only the sound of it. Had Sali been a few centimeters closer, or Harry a bit more to the Kensai’s right, things might have turned out differently. Instead, Navarre merely waited to make sure that his friend could still draw breath – let alone speak – and took the affirmative as a strong enough sign to continue. Water was served to the weary passengers, Harry earning his keep more as a butler right now than anything intrepid. “I will,” Navarre told Kasyr. “Lead the way, I mean. And we’ll get to the bottom of this, as we always did – except when we did not.” It was a rather Catalian thing to say. “Though I don’t suppose I have to tell you this, but the Mhara can’t exactly fly. We’ll suss out the finer points soon enough, but frankly the two of you look like the seventh hell right now and I’m concerned. I’ve got the ship trailing the coastline and Rynvale’s eight hours away but Chartsend’s only eleven. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to finish the mission right now.” He bit his lip, searching for comforting words, but Risu was tending to Penelope and decided to speak up as she did so. “Well, I’d be remiss if I neglected to mention that I’d love to study this thing,” she said, nodding toward the tiara which she had placed at the healer’s side. “But goodness, the captain’s not wrong. You were both soaked in so much sweat I thought at first it was water from the ice. Which, in hindsight, I suppose was still possible, but there’s no doubt in my mind that the bulk of it was sweat.” The choice was theirs, Penelope’s and Kasyr’s, to make. Did they press onward or end things here for the time being? The latter seemed wise, but the former had a bit of an hourglass appeal to it as well; after all, there was no telling when Xicotl would awaken. The Mhara would be there for them, rested and refreshed, to make the trek to Rynvale in the hopes that the second of the two locations would contain clues to Xicotl’s destruction. It was also there for them now, but their physical conditions must surely have been weakened.

Kasyr pauses from his attempts at lighting a smoke to accept te glass of water- glugging it with a greed partially borne from a desire to purge the taste of bile from his mouth, and partly so he'll have both hands to resume trying to stress smoke. A few more awkward moments pass where he's sitting there snapping his fingers and making sparks at the smoke until it finally lights up- a few quick puffs taken so it properly catches. Only then does he start responding to the continued discussion, "Calice. I've been worse." The snort he makes is almost derisive, but when he turns his attention towards the healer, his expression briefly turns appraising. "Have any herbs for being a bit spirit sick?" Spirits, of the drinking kind, were the Kensais general remedy to these kind of woes- but having a proper medic around certainly had it's advantages. "Honetement, I'd rather see things through- given there's a list of horrible end-of-the-continent level creatures. But, I'm not going to drag you through the same suicidal marches I take as a matter of habit." Intentionally. There's almost guaranteed odds she'll be dragged through by sheer proximity unintentionally.

Penelope reaches for the water hastily before downing it quickly. Her mouth had been dry and lips chapped by the winter air, although laced in a mixture of water and sweat. Navarre takes the lead in telling the two that they look like a hard sight. They were worn and tired. The healer does remain silent. This was a mission. A mission for the guild. If they stopped, they would waste time. The girl watches the flame that is trying to light the cigarette. Poor choices, but she knew he was taking the edge off. “I’ve felt worse, as well,” for, death had called for her once with the plague. “I would rather not waste time. We were called out here, we can do it.” The girl then looks to Kasyr. “I could pull whatever the Healer’s Academy has in the greenhouse. Haritaki is a good rejuvenation… or amalaki. It will help with rejuvenating our nervous-systems. It helps with weakness as well. It’ll give us a small spring of something, I’m sure. Lots of water. We should be okay. We weren’t injured. I can muster it up. Just… give me a bit to… get my groundings.”

Lionel || Navarre whistled. "The more things change," he muttered. "I should have known you'd keep going. And I'll be glad to be done with this as well. I'll give the order." With that, the captain departed. Risu assisted Penelope as best she could while a tug was felt belowdecks -- the Mhara was full-sails for Rynvale. Eight hours passed relatively uneventfully. Cards were played, cigars smoked, alcohol consumed, and Harry had somehow been conned into removing his shirt, which was played more for jokes than lust, given that the poor guy was pale as a ghost and as scrawny as could be. Still, a good time was had by all. And what more could be asked for after whatever that was that Kasyr and Penelope had endured earlier? They both knew from plentiful life experience that disaster didn't always wait long before striking twice, but the seas were modest tonight and the starry sky lit the way. A crescent moon shone above leaping whales to the west, and a salty tang filled the air. Dinner was crabcakes and cheddar biscuits, which felt almost cliche, but no one seemed to mind.

And Oddly Enough, The Rest Goes As Planned

Lionel || In the mists of morning, the Maighdean Mhara set anchor along the primal northern Rynvale shore. It was a shorter trek to this second potential artifact related to Xicotl, and a more pleasant one at that. The sand was a welcome warmth for Harry and Sali, at least, who had found a bit too much coldness clinging to the Mhara's wooden decks. A considerable distance away, atop an emerald hill, a young black dragon waged war against a band of ogre hunters who couldn't have been any older apropos to their own species reckoning. For the purposes of this mission, it was irrelevant; if anyone chose to interfere, it surely wouldn't be Harry, nor Sali, and especially not Risu. Eventually, the dragon would tire, and falter, and fail to prevent what now seemed inevitable. The ogres prevailed. If any of them had vision strong enough to notice the away team in the first place, they didn't seem to care. They had enough on their shoulders now as-is. Slicing open the dead dragon for its best parts, they hauled what they could onto a cart and disappeared down the valley.

Lionel || The obelisks here were a far cry from those that Penelope and Kasyr had encountered previously. They immediately appeared more promising: carvings of thralls in service of Xicotl were marked with a foolproof identifier: namely, 'X I C O T L' written in blood red ink across the stone. It was a frightening image of savagery spreading across Lithrydel, from region to region, landmark to familiar landmark. Beneath the ground, a being of impossible size was drawn; something that seemed to stretch its hideous form all along the subterranean world. Whether or not this was an exaggeration, it was clear that those who drew this understood Xicotl was gargantuan. And these were no cultists; tomes, written in a recent enough cycle to be largely readable to those who spoke the modern common tongue, were chock full of detailed script about the fall of the great civilizations of their time. Alongside the tomes were pewter and bronze and silver inlaid boxes, hidden beneath rubble that was no match for Risu's inquisitiveness. Locked, but far from impossible to crack, the woman offered a hypothesis. "Time capsules? Perhaps these unfortunate victims of a prior cycle knew they were at their end and wanted something of theirs to stand the test of time. Perhaps," she said hopefully, "that something will aid us in avoiding their sad fate." Whatever was inside there, there was a chance it could prove invaluable. But there was too much here to process, too much to begin to dive into out in the open where fortune could fade fast and dragons and ogres and other beasts and scoundrels could descend upon them at any time. Risu scooped up whatever she could, and implored the others to do the same. Penelope, however, might have been distracted by an unexpected boon -- unmistakable sprigs of an all-important herb jutting out from the loamy soil. It was an herb she had long sought, and it was hers for the plucking. As wild and untamed as this area was, it seemed rather agreeable today.

Kasyr couldn't help the odd sense of uneasiness that accompanied him- not because of the uncanny events which had befallen himself and penelope, but more due to the disarming tranquility which accompanied the ensuing portion of the journey. There was something altogether soothing about being able to take in the sights of the sea with little in the way of interruption other than the call of an imminent landing. Even as they piled out onto the land, and meandered towards the dreadful obelisks that had been raised in Xictol's honor- there was no further calamity waiting in the eaves. Really, the worst thing to occur was the way his pockets decided to spontaneously begin shedding their cheese-biscuit-y contents, as he otherwise tried to engage himself with the task of optimizing a personal game of time capsule Tetris. Their sacrifices will be remembered, but in any case- he's not willing to collect any of the fallen, instead making good on following Risu back to the boat, "I wonder what's going to be next on the agenda? ....I also wonder just how much all this stuff es worth, enfin?" Did museums buy things? When they finally figured out how to deal with Xicotl, and ideally lived- would there be funds to be found in the vending of these cultural artifacts? These were the important questions. "You coming?" That last comment was reserved for Penelope.

Penelope (Part 1 of 2):: Penelope had still been confused on what had happened before. Risu’s help was appreciated, and easily, with Penelope’s magical herb pouch, the herb she needed to crush in order to make some sort of mixture in water to down it easier. The water would taste sour, but it would be offered to Kasyr to get his bearings back when he was ready. For the rest of the time being, the healer would join the others with the cackles, the card playing, and give lectures that ‘smoke kills’, but really, she gave this lecture to anyone in a teasing manner because Sven knew that chaos in Lithrydel had been an obvious one. Least smokes took the edge off for some. Either way, time passed, y’all, and the dawn came after a crooked sleep, but the druid did not mind. Rest did not come easy for the past month or so since Leon Lovik stepped into her hut. As the group reached ground, the girl finds her balance from the rocking of sea. The term nauseous was an understatement, so no she did not go attempt to fight a dragon today, but she would be there on the sidelines for any of the impaled. She keeps near Risu instead during this feat against the beast.

Penelope (Part 2 of 2):: Moving onward, when the crew strode to where the obelisks come to view, the freckled healer comes to a slow at the oh-so familiar pillars. Though, these were eerier than the first one she had discovered with Lionel—red-stained with the clear name of Xicotl. How many obelisks would rise from the soil? Moss eyes reflect over the scene and reflect where Risu goes. The two may or may not have bonded slightly on the ship, or perhaps Risu was a security blanket, who knew. Anyway, besides the point, the boxes are observed over, and Penelope looks at the witty woman. “Maybe, and if so, it wouldn’t hurt to find out. Perhaps… someone got close to the case before—“ and in her peripheral, she notices a faint color of wine. The smell of honey. “You know,” she finishes before departing from the group. She finds herself observing buds, wine-colored buds. Her gaze looks up at the sky, it was light, the buds were closed. Curiosity struck her. With one snatch, she plucks the herb and pries open the closed bud. The herb had a white inside. The sweetness begins to stick to fingertips. Thin heart-shaped petals and a yellow center. This was it. “No freakin’ way,” a crooked grin is slapped upon her face. Quickly, she plucks a handful before carefully stuffing them away. Eyes then catch Kasyr’s, “Coming.” And with that, she would follow the rest of the lot and relieve anyone who had full hands with the artifacts.