RP:The Demons Within Us: Team Six

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc

Part of the On Stranger Tides Arc

Part of the Time Heals All Wounds Arc

Summary: Traveling alongside the crews of the Tranquility and the Maighdean Mhara, Iintahquohae's Six journeys to the Demon Archipelago, a realm known only for the death it brings to those who dare grace its shores. Their mission: Find and rescue Lionel O'Connor. But Iintahquohae has a separate goal: Reach the Cave of Regrets, where she hopes that a pact can be formed with Sacred. Her sire, Kasyr, joins the away team alongside the stalwart Krice and seasoned Penelope Halifax. Nothing can prepare them for what is to come. Through sheer will and determination, the four endure months of helplessness over the course of only hours, thereafter arriving at the cave. Revelations abound. Krice builds a newfound resolve; Iintahquohae speaks with Sacred; Kasyr finds a cure for brash tendencies; and most startlingly of all, Penelope learns just how heroic she can be. Though they must fight the battle to end all battles against a swarm of restless souls millions strong, the combined efforts of Lionel and all three teams prove victorious. Despite an apocalyptic vision of a Xicotl-won future one year from now, the efforts of today's events have ensured that the future remains unwritten and the war against Xicotl has taken a turn for the best.

Team Mhara and Team Tranquility

At Sea

Lionel | Penelope Halifax was stronger than she seemed. What hadn't she been put through? Where once there was a frightened girl, now there stood a hardened woman. Even if she didn't look the part. Covered in a woolen robe to combat the chilly sea breeze, Penelope stood at the bow of the Six, watching as Iintahquohae's ship pulled away from Cenril's wharf and tilted toward the open ocean. The seas were choppy and the sky was overcast. Before long, as she stood on the deck and squinted at mists so thick she had to trust the sailors' intuition to know that they were headed in the right direction, Penelope's mind drifted to the past. How did she ever become embroiled in world-saving endeavors? The years were as hazy as the mists. She had only ever wanted to do her best. To help those in need. Was it Lionel who drew her into this nonsense? Years ago, when the girl was an idealist? If so, this rescue mission felt awfully fitting. Or was it something else? The collective plight of every Lithrydelian that Penelope had ever helped? Sooner or later, her old mentor used to say, she would step away from the patients in her clinic and accidentally save the universe. The voyage to the Demon Archipelago took the better part of two days. Despite the foul weather, Neither tropical storms nor hull-tearing sea monsters prevented progress, and the dense fog was at least kind enough to dissipate during the night, granting the Six all the stars in the sky to steer by.

At times, Brand Herzegler's Tranquility could be spotted in the distance; it made Penelope feel the fool for worrying. She could also spot Quinton Navarre's Maighdhean Mhara; the three-ship flotilla had formed a vaguely triangular sailing pattern in order to avoid inadvertent collisions if the fog grew any worse. On the third morning, Penelope spent much of her time stargazing, whereas not too long ago she'd have preferred to remain bundled-up belowdecks. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to do that now. Maybe it was the den of vampire slaves down there, or maybe she just did not want to feel trapped. It didn't help that Krice was here. The two of them were on rocky enough terms as-is. It wasn't that she was afraid of what he might say so much as she simply did not want to hear it. But she knew that she couldn't avoid the silver-haired warrior forever. If he had words for her, there wasn't exactly anywhere she could go to escape them. Kasyr was here as well, and only weeks ago he and Penelope had shared a naval journey of their own aboard the Mhara. Would he approach her as well? She wondered what secrets slept within those alleged time capsules that they had found in Northern Rynvale together. There hadn't been time for Jessie, Quintessa, Risu and the other talented minds to unlock them, nor to read the tomes. At least Penelope had found that much-needed herb. At least there was that. Would Captain Iintahquohae join her under the starry sky? Or would this be a quiet night, veering toward morning, close now to the Demon Archipelago. Penelope wondered a great many things.

Iintahquohae chose her crew (and prisoners from Cenril's jails, shoved below deck in a room for dinner) for the trip, making a point of only taking along the folk from her fleet's crewmen that had a similar mettle that she had: Stubborn and not afraid to die. It seemed throwing herself into preparing for Lionel's rescue mission and visiting the Cave of Regrets has taken the seamstress out of her slump, but she found her gaze turning westward often. Toward Xalious. Once Cenril's shores faded behind them as they set sail, hopefully she wouldn't dwell on the terramancer and the Guild as much. She brought her iron bat along as her weapon of choice, but one of the rooms below deck was stocked with weapons from the store room at home. Every blade in there was shown to her sire before being stowed away as she trusted his judgment on what was a good sword and what wasn't. She considered grabbing one to take along once they did arrive to the Demon Archipelago, but preferred the bat for now. Her uncle, a stocky high elf with shaggy blonde hair and grey eyes called Hasina Aertjii or Uncle Aer, acted as captain with her as first mate. If she wasn't in the company of Kasyr, Iintahquohae could be found at the helm beside him, talking in hushed tones while looking over a copy of the map they had of the Demon Archipelago while the remainder of the crew milled about, making preparations.

The Six itself wasn't a particularly remarkable looking ship. The Kraken's Eight Tentacles, as Father in his lack of cleverness liked to call the family's fleet, were all merchant ships, with the floors below deck fit to have false bottoms for hiding contraband as well as hollow walls on some interior rooms. Its sails were white, but the main sail had their family's symbol embroidered into it, for lack of a better word, as they did not possess a coat of arms: A pale blue kraken, eight tentacles outstretched, with a single open eye in their midst. As they sailed into fog, Captain Hasina called for light to combat it. From below deck, the crew hauled up great chunks of glowing stones attached to chains, and hung them off the ship. This likely made them an easily identifiable target should anything between the sea and the Demon Archipelago want to do them harm, but hopefully it only made the other two ships in their company have a better idea of where the Six sailed in relation to them. On the third day, after making a meal out of some of the prisoners stowed away for her, she emerges from below deck, carrying the shackled man's corpse over one arm to be tossed overboard. In hopes that nobody would see her chuck the body, she does so over the ship's stern, then walks for the bow, looking eastward in hopes that they'd reach the archipelago soon. She doesn't say anything to Penelope once she does come to a stop, instead resting her arms on the wooden railing. Her hopes are twofold: Lionel is found in hopefully one piece to be taken back home, and she's able to set foot in that cave.

Kasyr, for his part, was almost always in motion- to such a degree that it was apt to instill a sort of nervous energy into any crew members who lingered near him for too long. Some of it was merely the byproduct of his empathic leanings- an all too literal aura of anxiety accumulating in his vicinity whenever he was left pacing the decks, or staring off at the other boats. Yet even when he was able to channel that energy into more productive endeavours, such as practicing his swordsmanship, or making research notes in the journal he'd been keeping on himself- he was never quite able to master the sense of restlessness that assailed him. Too much had gone wrong all at once, and even now, he found himself worrying that they wouldn't be able to fix any of it before it came to a head. More than once, he'd gone to check on Iintahquohae and ensure that she was faring well- though truth be told, she was apt to be more seaworthy than he was. Penelope would also find herself subject to a few stilted exchanges with the Kensai- small attempts at pleasentries that end all too abruptly, if only because of his own internal awareness that he still owed her more of an explanation for the events of their last excursion together. And yet, what -would- telling her right now do, other than foster distrust, and an even deeper sense of existential dread.

Of the ranking Warrior Guild members, Krice was perhaps the least complicated dynamic- if only because Kasyr, at least, was under the impression there wasn't all that much that needed to be said. That, and the Enigma seemed entirely comfortable with silence. Really, the only concerning matter to the swordsman was simply the fact that they'd been positioned to the same ship, given their respective talents. "I'm sure they know what they're doing." He's anything but sure, though he's here anyways- even as the world is ends, several times over.

Island of the Cave of Regrets (South)

Lionel | The anticipated morning light never came. Not the right sort, in any case. Titanic, cylindrical illuminations of green, red, fuchsia, and yellow sprung up from faraway islands, meandering across a sky that refused to purple—let alone brighten. It seemed to Penelope as if the Six had ventured beyond the sun's reach and all the way to the edge of the world, where night refused to yield. The islands seemed huge, all but one; the sole exception, the southernmost, and still sizable enough to warrant the docking of both the Six and the Mhara. There it was, Penelope knew; the 'Cave of Regrets' wasn't far inland on that island. That was where Lionel had told Iintahquohae to go; it was more or less where he had told Khitti and Magik to go as well. Most of all, it was where Lionel was now. If it wasn't, then this trip was for nothing, and lives were risked for naught. "If that's the case," Penelope murmured, "I'll deck him in the face." It was all Penelope could do to hang onto that little smile as she waited for Iintahquohae to give the word. The Six was slated to dock at the southern tip of the island housing the Cave of Regrets, making the short trek toward the cavern mouth. There was another mouth further north -- that was where the Mhara's own away team would investigate. The cave was too wide-ranging and all-encompassing for Penelope and the others to see that other team. They had to trust that all was well and that Brand and his Tranquility would stay at sea to keep vigil on both ships from afar.

It was all on 'Inks' now. Penelope would follow the woman whom Lionel had told firsthand to come here to the Demon Archipelago, where her salvation perhaps awaited. Penelope trusted, too, that Krice and Kasyr would follow their leader as well. The Six set anchor and lay down her gangplank, which struck the soft sand of the island's shoreline. Ahead of the sand was a short, grassy field lined with pine trees. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary between the Six and the hike to the cave, but it would be best to take precautions nevertheless…

Once the Six dropped anchor, her crew had their eyes locked on the perpetual night sky they stood beneath. This wasn't right. Iintahquohae on the other hand, didn't seem phased by this. If anything, it reminded her of Vailkrin. This only made her want to venture into the Cave of Regrets more. She wanted to practice some self-control during their trip and keep a few of the prisoners she brought along alive as bait, just in case there were creatures on the island that may cause trouble. Unfortunately, she failed at that practice. They'd go without bait, but she had her bat at least, and one of the swords that she didn't know how to use from below deck sheathed at her side. The gangplank dropped and she walked down it to the sand, turning to the others – Penelope, Kasyr, Krice, and any of the crew that decided to tag along (none wanted to – their bravery seemed to stop with the ship). “I want to go straight in. However,” she turns to Kasyr. She wasn't one for stealth, strategy, or planning, which he surely knew. “...what would be better? Under the cover of the trees?” Being the leader of their group felt unusual for her, as she never saw herself fit to lead, but something in the back of her mind whispered otherwise. The cave was so close now. Why not just barge in? “I can scout ahead,” she offers after a pause. “I believe I'm the fastest here, which may prove useful.”

Kasyr can't help but wonder if there's something acutely wrong with himself, for as that dreadful island slides into view- heralded beneath a seemingly perpetually bleak sky- there's only a sense of grim relief to be found. This, at least, promised answers- if only they had the strength to continue treading forward. Doing his best to adopt what he hopes is a convincingly cheerful tone, he begins treading after the rest of the landing party, only pausing when Inks begins addressing him. It's with all due seriousness that he contemplates the questions posed, his mind flickering over to what little bit of the island they can see, as well as the debriefing they'd sat in on. "I think- that it might be best we didn't seperate, en fait. Whilst normally agree that stealth et scouting would be the smart option, this place had been described as malign. Aware of sorts? So, I'd guess that however cautious we may approach, we're liable to be, er, c'est-quoi-le . . ." Folding his arms over his chest, he adopts a look of extreme concentration, only to finally add, "utterly screwed. Et- er, Whilst you're quick, alongside myself et Krice- Well . . ." There's a glance directed back towards Penelope, alongside a very awkward wave. "Not all of us are so gifted. Et je vous assure, splitting up seems less than ideal."

Krice was even quieter than usual for the entire trip, entirely introverted and not lacking in irritation (read: visible only in a sharp look on his otherwise neutral face) if one of the crew members wandered too close under the mistaken assumption that he looked like he needed a friend. He didn't even seem remotely aware of Quotes' method of eating,or Penelope's unease because of his presence. Being poisoned by god-level undead goop tended to do that to a man. He looked entirely devoid of injury, standing at portside with his hands pocketed, katana strapped to his back, crossbow slung over a shoulder (extra bolts strapped to one half of the handle) and maybe one or two daggers beneath his shirt. The warrior sustained himself with an occasional bite of some kind of pastry that was finished before long. Otherwise, he seemed perfectly ready for this encounter with the shadowy realm into which they were wandering. He was here for Lionel, that was the best reason of any to retire from his recovery.

Once atop the soil of the Demon Archipelago, the warrior turned outward from the others to scan their surroundings, his deep-red eyes scrutinizing every facet of terrain for landmarks. Under normal circumstances, he'd remember these details easily, but this was no normal place and he wasn't completely functional. In response to the musings of those behind him, the warrior's smooth voice interjected calmly: "No separating. Stay close to each other." At this, he wandered forward to give Quotes some confidence about moving. They needed to progress if they had a hope of achieving their goal. Once everyone was moving, the enigma took up position closest to Penelope, though still a distance away, to ensure speedy assistance to the woman if she needed it.

Lionel | Although she felt oddly foolish for it, it nonetheless comforted Penelope Halifax to know that Krice was somewhat closeby. Listening to Kasyr, the healer knew she was the weak link here and she hated it. But it was what it was, and she could do no better fighting that knowledge than slaying any 'demon', whatever sort of demon was in store for her here. They stuck close, then, and made way for the Cave of Regrets. Along the course, Penelope braced for something. Anything. Wolves in the woods. Dragons in the multicolored sky. Giant, horned behemoths not unlike Lanara's, only far less friendly. It was maddening, somehow, the lack of imminent danger. Yet that was no relief when the world suddenly changed. For Penelope, for Krice, for Kasyr, and for Iintahquohae. For them all, one moment they were approaching the yawning mouth of the cave and the next moment they were elsewhere entirely.

Island of Nocturne

Lionel | Night blanketed them like never before. Wherever this place was, the eerie glowing lights that had draped the sky in multicolored hues were gone entirely. There wasn't a single star to be seen. It was so dark now that even those with superhuman sight would only be able to see so far ahead of them before the world was shrouded entirely. The ground felt damp, the soil loamy. A mountain range, glistening like vague, dimmed diamonds upon the horizon, spread in the distance, encircling them. That was not how mountains worked, was it? Penelope pondered the obvious. She had never heard of a range forged in a perfect circle. How would they ever escape this place? 'By climbing,' she numbly thought in cynicism, but the mountains were so far away and besides -- how would they know if the trek would amount to anything at all? They had been teleported here, and who was to say whether or not they would be teleported again? Penelope felt helpless. Yet her resolve was unerring. "I've seen stranger games," she said after a sigh. "Whatever this is, we can overcome it." Where did those words stem from? She felt bizarrely heroic. But she trusted herself despite her emotionally tumultuous existence, and right now that was all that mattered.

Lionel | They were beasts of shadow. Penelope struggled to think of any other name for them, and this was hardly the time for etymology besides. They had emerged from the inky black as soon as the party had scarcely a moment to recollect themselves after being warped to this odd place. They were willowy beings, traveling in packs. Several packs, surrounding Penelope and the others from several angles. Their bodies were vaguely humanoid, as towering as frost giants and as hard as any metal, shaded obsidian with dull red lights traced down their frame and limbs. Their heads were grotesque; curved and plated to look like shields -- huge shields -- as obsidian as the rest of them and without any eyes to behold. They did not seem to need eyes. Tentacles, as malleable as elastic, extended from their shield-heads and reached out to wrap around the away team. The beasts then leaped, all at once, perhaps impossible to dodge. That wouldn't stop everyone from trying, no doubt, or from drawing blades and fighting back. But would it work? It was time to find out. Penelope drew her sword, the very sword that she had trained with alongside Krice. With death seemingly imminent, she looked at him at last. Pride blushed her cheeks. The pride of a woman who knew that she was quite possibly about to die but would never yield. What did she have to lose, but life itself? She rushed one of the beasts, shaking, trembling, but mentally maintaining her nerve, and then she prayed that she and the others would emerge from this alive…

Iintahquohae had a feeling no separating would be the right way to go, and reluctantly agreed. As much as she wanted to run straight for the cave and wander in, she led the way at a crawl compared to how she wished to move. As their environment abruptly changed, she finds herself grateful for their slow movement as it gave her time to take in their surroundings, or what she could make out, which wasn't much. Instinct brought her hand to her pocket to fish out the chunk of glowing stone she kept there to light the way, but recalling her and Kasyr's visit to the Underdark, she hesitates and her hand falls to the handle of the bat hanging from her hip instead. She took a breath and attempted to sense what lurked in their surroundings, and how close the others were – had they moved as well? Kasyr appears to be nearby, and the heartbeats of Penelope and Krice are close enough to hear. “I hope so,” she murmurs to the healer once she speaks. It appeared that they were in a gigantic pit. She considers saying something else to the others, but her gaze locks onto movement just before her. An ambush. Fear doesn't set in, but frustration does. They were so close to reaching the cave! The packs of shadowy beings that lunged for the group catch her off guard, but she remains still, waiting for tentacles to encircle her waist and lift her, presumably to the creature's maw? She squints in the darkness at its shield face. Did it have a maw? Her hands reach for either side of the shield-face so she can pry it closer and attempt to fold it in on itself, like a book – and hope it doesn't take a bite out of her first.

Kasyr wishes he could say he was surprised at this unfortunate turn of events, but after everything else that happened, it more or less felt par for the course. Trying not to grimace to hard, his hands come together in a dry clap, before promptly spreading apart to reveal a gleaming fragment of silvery light- the likes of which rapidly coalesces into the guise of a Katana. That said, whilst the swordsman is quick to level the weapon in the direction of the encroaching dark things, he's not quite so keen as to step forward- if only due to the disconcerting void they seem to exude. An absence that may as well be a wound in the world- a hungry yearning which seems all but poised to consume the gathered group. There's a familiarity in the sensation; a mocking, odious memory that's harder to dispell, and causes his grip upon his blade to tighten as he does his best to move in step with the seamstress- and eviscerate the shadow thing that had taken hold of her while she kept it busy. He can only pray he succeeds, especially in the face of how many more yet remain.

Krice was coma-walking a little bit, but that didn't mean that he was incapable of focusing. In fact, his outward attentiveness was so pointed that he didn't even give his squad a thought until their surroundings changed and suddenly they were somewhere else. He brandished his mythril katana without haste, though retrospective apprehension hit him a moment later; it wasn't strong enough to change his mind. After a cursory glance to assure himself that the others were still with him, the warrior once more scanned their new surroundings. " We've literally moved," he said quietly, hoping to offer his allies a tidbit of information on their whereabouts; this wasn't illusory magic but teleportation. Squinting into the darkness, he released a quiet grunt in grudging acceptance that even his sharp vision was severely limited here. He has little time to mull over this frustration before the sound of movement drew his eye. Retracting his katana to an ox-guard, which would have caught Penelope's reflection under normal circumstances, the warrior prepared to attack. Whatever was said by the woman, he focused on action; not even a flash of light in the dark--he may or may not learn later on that it was the materialization of Kasyr's katana--drew his focus.

Penelope's advance toward the tentacled creatures ensured that Krice advanced as well. Still about as quick as he always appeared, in spite of his Quintessa-borne ailment, the warrior met his ally's stance and turned mythril steel through the flailing tentacles around him, severing the grabby limbs before they could encompass himself or Penelope. Whether or not she managed to land a blow, the warrior then extended his right arm toward her with the intent to catch hold of her waist and draw her inward once more, back to where she had been previously. Above the din of battle, he spoke to her and the others, hoping they'd hear despite their respective situations. " Stay close! Let them come to us." Not one for clinginess, he would release Penelope as soon as she was back in the protective circumference of her allies, his spine turned to the other two as he faced a secondary onslaught of void-like humanoids, corporeal ghosts with nothing to lose. More tentacles would fall, and more shield-heads would be severed from wiry necks before this day was through.

Lionel | Every attack, a success. Every slash from every sword or bat, the cornered away team met their foe and then some. The creatures, even in leaping, were as cautious as their would-be prey; it was tit-for-tat, tentacle for slash, and while she was inwardly grateful for Krice's assistance -- she was, in fact, about to be mauled to death -- Penelope still felt blisteringly frustrated no matter how right her ally was to help her. But the frustration didn't last for long. It seemed like there were more of them, these strange shadow beasts, for every one that fell. This was not a game of attrition; it was a game that, even with the piercing steel and mythril and more that each of the four possessed, might still end in slaughter. Before long, the beasts began to 'skip frames' -- they were in one place one second and another the next, defying every conventional law of physics. It didn't feel like warping; it was as if the whole landmass that the team was caught upon was helping the shadow beasts to break all logic and appear wherever they damned well liked, until at last too many of them frame-skipped mid-leap and the RP event's author inflicted a terrible auto-hit upon you all for the sake of crude melodrama, because I'm evil like that.

Lionel | Days seemed to pass. They were all of them ensnared, coiled inside the surviving shadow beasts' tentacles, wholly unable to break free. No weapon, no spell, seemed to save them. Every action… simply wasn't. They could not move, yet nor could the beasts. Time lost all meaning. Weeks seemed to pass. The glimmering mountains in the distance grew dimmer and dimmer. Neither hunger nor thirst ever slew Penelope, never killed Kasyr, never harmed Krice, never even drew the vampire Iintahquohae to tears. There were no tears. It was as if their bodies had ceased all functioning and they would be stuck here forever. Months seemed to pass. The fortitude to remain sane would have to be tremendous. The night never faded into day, and eventually, the mountains could not be seen. Only the dull red lights on the shadow beasts that had caught the away team -- yet also suffered the same motionless fate -- broke through the inky darkness just barely enough for Penelope to see the others. She presumed that they could see her as well. Her mind wandered, as any mind would. Reflecting upon her life, she began to realize that this surely had to be hell. Some believed in fire and brimstone. Some anticipated relentless cold. Few could have imagined that hell would be in the mind; that eternity would carry on without the damned until insanity invariably followed.

Lionel | How did she manage to keep her wits about her? Perhaps through sheer tenacity. 'I've been through hell already,' she mused in silence -- after all, she couldn't speak if she tried. None of them could. 'I've been through hell already.' Whenever she could feel the last strands of her resolve threaten to fall away into whispers, whenever she knew that ceaseless craziness was about to consume her, she reminded herself… that she had been through hell already. Someday, somehow, some way, the four of them were going to be OK. All of this was happening for a reason. It had to be true. It had to be.

Lionel | In what way her similarly-frakked companions 'passed the time', Penelope could not say. It was up to each of them to endure this in their own way, or else lose their minds forever…

The effort it took to attempt folding the creature's face in felt far too little. This wasn't right. It couldn't be right, Iintahquohae thought, looking down at her gloved hands. She isn't that strong, is she? She knew that she was fairly durable, but... No matter, she jumps back into the fray again, going for another entity, bat in hand to take a swing. She finds that she is entirely unable to keep track of the ever shifting shadow creatures now, and while she keeps the bat grasped tight in her hands, trying to keep her eyes on one creature to defeat, she is ensnared, yanked to the ground, presumably to be eaten and unable to move and fight back. When nothing comes and she finds herself frozen, her mind initially believes that this is it. This is death, finally catching up to what she believed was her pure luck. A distinct hissing in the back of her mind tells her otherwise, attempting to egg on her hunger, force her to try to break free and move again, but her limbs are heavy, her un-beating heart is as well, and the dark sky above seemed to her more a blanket than anything else now. She just had to wait, and movement would come again, she hoped.

Her eyes closed and she slept as time sluggishly crept on. It reminded her of Sacred's awakening to some degree, without bouts of insatiable hunger and vomiting between days of sleep. Instead the hunger is replaced with wanting to see the cave, Kasyr, Penelope and Krice up and moving again, Lionel's rescue, Odhranos' rescue. The next time her eyes opened to the dark sky and an inability to move, she burrowed further into herself, wondering if this was the cave's game. This is how she could encounter the serpent. But how can she call out to it if she's frozen and cannot speak? How does one project their thoughts into the darkness that surrounds them, Iintahquohae wonders. She tries, first thinking Kasyr's name, then Penelope, then Krice, then Lionel. Then Sacred itself. Silence appears to be the response, and so she waits, staring skyward, wondering how long her patience would last until sleep or something else overtook her again.

Kasyr, in all truth, had not fully taken in the obscure nature of the place they had found themselves in, his attention essentially subsumed by the hostile forces that lay about them in such quantity, they may as well be legion. In that moment, his sole awareness rests within his body and the ground beneath his feet, weaving between tenebrous tendrils- until he can't. Until an inexorable combination of fatigue, and the uncanny movement of the creatures sees him overwhelmed- his limbs caught in a wretched quagmire of shadow flesh. It's only then that he moves to let out a frustrated cry- only for the words to choke in his throat, smothered by the oppressive nature of the place they'd found themselves in. Desperation sees him trying to wrench into himself, to try and tap into that primal force that lurks within himself, despite what it might cost- and yet, that too fails him. With no other options left towards him, the Kensai can only wait. There is, after all, a solace to this place- however bleak it may be. It's not the dismal familiarity of hell, nor the confines of his phylactery- and that means, no matter how long it takes, an opportunity may come. All he need to is nurse the ire swelling in his chest, and that singular sense of purpose that saw him even now seeking to challenge the ascended creatures that plagued the continent. And yet, that rage is not wholly tempered- for within it, a fragment of anxiety lurks- born out of the hope that when an opportunity arises to somehow scrabble clear- he won't be the only one able to do so.

Krice found it odd that the Shield Heads seemed to match his every move. Maybe he was more affected by Quintessa's poison than he realized. No sooner had he deposited Penelope to her feet than he was knocked from his own, subsequently held in place on his knees. At least he was he still holding his katana, but his tentacle-prison kept that limb and weapon outstretched. His right arm was folded against his sternum, hand up by his throat; he must have instinctively reacted to brace for impact in the moment before capture. Surrounded by darkness and silence, he tried first to break free. The warrior couldn't move, and he wondered briefly if his body had begun the final descent to death as visited upon him by a certain snarky brat and her literally god-given poison. What a way to go, dying from the very thing you'd thought you had beaten. Little shit.

Having been closest to Penelope, she was the first one he looked for; though with movement of only his eyes, this was fruitless. He called her name but found that his voice failed him. Everything was suspended, it seemed, except time, which dragged on for so long that he wondered if Lionel was even still here. This place was loathsome, a verifiable shithole. Minutes turned to hours which turned to days. At first he felt the pain of hunger, but that soon relented to the vague realization that he hadn't yet wasted away despite his lack of sustenance. And he didn't need to pee. Who goes even a day without peeing, let alone weeks? That was weird and completely against his understanding of natural things. Then again, nothing about the Demon Archipelago was natural.

Talyara's face flashed before his mind's eye and he was struck with a shocking sensation of loss. If something happened to him, she would believe herself incapable of existing in his absence. Her death would be a direct result of his own. He couldn't die here. The thought stole his breath and stung his heart. He needed to get out primarily for her sake. She was probably scouring the world looking. What if she had come here, in the direction toward which the ships had sailed from Cenril, soaring overhead atop his wyvern calling his name? What if the island had caught her too? Panic crept over his mind and he could feel his heartbeat quicken, his breaths shorten. If the love of his life was ensnared by the trickeries of this semi-world, would she succumb? Krice had killed the human hunters who had captured her in the past but what would he kill to free her from this place? The shadows?

This must have been what gave rise to the shadowy tentacle-creatures that had attacked them; the reason they all seemed so... empty, devoid of life. If this frozen state was something that dragged on long enough, even this warrior fortified of mind would struggle to retain his sanity. Yet these critters were suspended in time just as he and presumably his allies were. What of the other groups? Was this forced stillness something that affected the whole archipelago or just the cavern? Was he even anywhere near the cavern anymore? His muscles tensed as he attempted another escape but it was just as futile as it had been before. Left with little option but to wait, especially given how much time had seemed to pass, the warrior focused inward to slow his heartbeat, his breathing, and still his thoughts. Talyara would be fine, this he knew, because Krice himself would be. And whether he was months-missing or simply hours, he knew just as clearly that he needed to maintain his presence of mind.

Lionel | "So cold," a voice rang through Inks' ears. "I am always by your side." It was Sacred. But it spoke no more. Not in the alleged days, weeks, months, that transpired. Maybe it was a sign; a sign that she really would be able to commune with the being before all of this was over. Perhaps that was enough to help the seamstress remain sane in this world gone mad.

Lionel | As it turned out, mental fortitude was the arduous lifeline through which the four of them could escape. As close to impossible as it was to maintain one's conscious mind through an experience so unsettling, it was exactly the way to freedom. Months into their capture, the shadow beings began to dissipate. Bit by bit, their corporeal forms faded into dust. Were these creatures trapped as well? Were they part of whatever sick game the denizens of this place had played upon everyone, as helpless as Penelope and the rest of them? Or were they the oppressors? The team might never know. What mattered was that they were free.

Island of the Cave of Regrets (South)

Lionel | Weirder than whatever fiction they had been subjected to was where they next wound up, and what they saw once they got there. As soon as the shadow beings had evaporated in their entirety, Iintahquohae, Krice, Kasyr, and Penelope would find themselves right back in front of the Cave of Regrets. They would see the Six not so far behind them, and Inks' sailors standing on the deck, confused, looking like mere hours had passed at most. The days, the weeks, the months… all of it was within the prison of one's own mind. The eerie, multicolored lights shone over faraway islands once more, and Penelope wondered if the four of them had been brought to one such island during their emotionally wrecking ordeal before being brought back here through sheer will. What kind of monster would do this to a person? Surely, the Demon Archipelago was worthy of its name. What terrors were the other teams facing? All she could do was hope that they endured as well.

Lionel | "Enough of this," Penelope snapped. In her skewed reality, several months had just transpired, but those were still the first words she uttered. Now that she knew it was a facade, nothing would stop the once-weak healer from following through with her convictions. "I'm going. I'm going right the frak now. I'm not going to wait for us to be yeeted off again into frak-knows-where. We all came here for reasons of our own. I came here to save Lionel." Without another word, she threw off her robes, more comfortable now in the simple shirt and trousers beneath. She lifted her sword ahead -- she still wasn't great with it, but to hell with technique -- and marched through the cavern's wide mouth like she owned the place. It remained to be seen if, and when, Iintahquohae would manage to commune with Sacred.

The sound of Sacred's voice, clear instead of a distant, quiet hiss, captured Iintahquohae's attention. She tried to clutch at her chest the way she had in Kasyr and her shared dream, to hold the voice close so it wouldn't leave her again, but is unable to do so. She struggles at the tentacles that bind her, but is immobile, instead left with her thoughts that shift from wanting to hear Sacred again and to be freed, among other things. The reassurance provided to her by Sacred's words helps her relax, despite the eternity that she feels has transpired, and she holds onto those words for dear life. As the shadows fade away, she finds herself able to blink again, and when her eyes reopen Iintahquohae is utterly disoriented. She is standing again, at the mouth of the Cave of Regrets with the others, bat in hand. In the distance, she spies her ship and can just barely make out her uncle who looks on, just as perplexed as the rest of the crew. With how much time she felt had transpired, she flexes her fingers in effort to take the numbness away, stretches her limbs all the while looking upon her sire, Krice and Penelope for some explanation, and to see if they were alright. Did they experience the same thing that she did? The healer's voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her to present. These were words she could get behind. “Right behind you,” she calls out, surprised that her voice didn't sound hoarse from what felt like ages of not being used. Dull eyes cast a brief glance to the men before she turns, following Penelope into the cave, bat gripped in one hand again. She had a feeling simply crossing into the cave wouldn't bring Sacred's voice to her again, but she hoped it would. Her hurried steps moved alongside Penelope's for a time before haste set in – she wanted to find Lionel too, but now Sacred consumed her thoughts – She had to speak to it again.

Kasyr's almost compelled to violence when he first feels the shadows slipping away- his mind seeking out something to lash out against for that torturous passage of time. And yet, he's not greeted by any obvious threat- save for the yawning mouth of the cave which stretches out before him. A quick glance around himself provides some small solace, both at the sight and sounds of their return to . . . "Are we actually here, or es this another trick?" It's a fair question, really- and whilst some part of himself certainly wants to believe they've been returned to the island, there's a part of him that still doubts it. That lays coiled in his guts waiting for the other shoe to drop- and which has him wondering if the vision of the crew waiting back at the shore is a mirage- or some form of wishful thinking after they had been stranded for so long. "If this place has a heart, I'm going to be tempted to try et cut it out." In that regards, Penelope and Inks seem to have the right idea- and the swordsman is fairly quick to follow after them, as much for his sake as their own.

Krice's whole body was starting to hurt. Even if frozen only for a few hours, the fact that he had been through a hellish battle only a few days prior to this mission ensured that he'd be sore. His left arm in particular, the source of his problems, was pulsing uncomfortably. Throughout his own shadowy prison, the warrior had passed out despite his discomfort, forced to rest his mind. He didn't dream about anything, at least not strongly enough to remember it, so always woke with renewed freshness of thought - and renewed frustration that the hours passed in sleep had not freed him. Where the hell was everyone else? With no sun to dictate the hour, he wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed but it felt indeterminable. It was his lack of hunger, lack of bodily functions, and distinct absence of facial hair that confused this reality with that which he knew to be true. None of these things would cease unless time itself ceased. Still, despite this flowering realization, he had to battle the weeks of time that this shadow existence had attempted to steal from him.

His sword clanked audibly to the ground and in the same moment, he realized that he could move when he turned his head to look at it. Having been frozen on his knees for what had felt like eons, the warrior dropped to his left one when the tendrils melted away to set him free. His right hand caught him, pressed to the earth between his legs, and his other arm hung trembling at his side. Looking up, Krice attempted to orient himself to the sights and sounds of the world around them. They were back where they had started. The sound of water drew his gaze over a shoulder to the Six and her crew. So it -had- been a type of time-altering illusion? Mind blown, point one to the island. The warrior was slower to rise than the others, given his aforementioned ailments, but rise he eventually did and, katana now gripped in his right hand, he proceeded onward into the cave. Given the stress of their capture, he worked pointedly to steel himself for whatever horrors lay ahead, senses attuned to the smells, sights, and sounds of the sinister world around them. Kasyr’s understandable anger inspired the warrior to speak, distracted as he was: “ Remain calm. Don’t give it something to attack you with.” It hadn't been weeks, maybe not even days, and Talyara was likely still waiting for his return somewhere safe. Secure in the knowledge that she was fine, Krice followed his allies ever forward in search of their missing friend.

The Nexus

Lionel | Inside, the cave was as dark as Penelope anticipated. Yet only for a moment. Before long, the already-wide opening expanded tenfold into a rounded room the size of Cenril's coliseum. Perhaps even larger. It was colossal. No wonder the cave covered such a vast distance on its island as to house two entryways. It was silent in that room, but so bright that the girl had to shield her eyes. The ground was strangely solid. Someone built this place, long, long ago. They must have. The rock face was as smooth as butter, making the whole area look like the biggest theater house the world had ever seen. Precious gems and minerals lined the walls, adding a shimmering glow to the already-bright environs. And at the very center of the giant room, on his hands and knees but slowly rising, his limbs shaking as though he'd been through armageddon, was Lionel O'Connor. He was in his simple silks, as always; all-black and loose enough for easy maneuvering. He held a sword unlike any sword Penelope or the others would ever have seen. It was relatively thin of the blade, though thicker than a rapier; it glowed a brilliant green, something magical and very, very powerful. His voice cracked as he spoke. "Thank you," he said before a harsh swallow. "I'm sorry for everything you've been put through. As are they."

Lionel | The far wall suddenly fulfilled its supposed duty as a kind of theater. A projection, distorted but discernible, appeared to depict -- of all things -- Rilla… and Penelope Halifax herself. They both seemed older somehow. Haggard. They stood near the single oddest contraption that the 'real' Penelope had ever seen, though she was quite busy gasping at this huge image of herself as-is. It was mechanical, whatever that thing was, and it clinked and clanked with echoing noise. None of this made sense, but Penelope somehow knew, or felt, that this was the real Lionel standing at the center of the cave. In that wild moment, after so much mental torment, that was perhaps all she needed to know. "Start talking, then," she worriedly requested. "But whoever that is up there," Penelope pointed up at the projection that depicted the contraption, the vampire Rilla, and Penelope herself, "they had best speak fast because we're getting you out of here." Penelope did not dwell upon the fact that Iintahquohae was here for a very particular reason -- to speak with the enemy within, as it were, and hopefully save herself from certain despair. Her mission was to get Lionel home and heal any wounded she expected to find among the other teams. It was as simple as that.

Iintahquohae tried to keep her movement fluid, but she is visibly stiff as she hurries along, prepared to spring at anything that may take them by surprise in the darkness of the cave. She is also straining, trying to keep an ear out for Sacred again. Disappointment mars her features when nothing comes, but that changes with the arrival of light. Like Penelope, the seamstress shields her eyes by lifting her arm, squinting ahead. That disappointment quickly fades, replaced with relief. There he is, with an odd-looking sword. He looks better than what she expected, and just as she is about to voice this, her eyes fall to the strange cavern's walls and their eerie projections of Rilla and the healer at her side. Uncertain if this is an illusion or not, she figures the best course of action is to scoop Lionel up and carry him out, as that seemed to be her solution to most problems as of late. “You're welcome,” she replies, while stepping forward. “Can you move well? I can carry you. We can save talking for once we've gotten you out of here...” In reality, she wanted to deposit him somewhere safe and double back to the cave for Sacred, but is uncertain what the large, elderly versions of Rilla and Penelope she sees mean. Her head turns to Penelope, brow raised while she gestures at the projections. “D'you know what that is?”

Kasyr isn't quite sure what to make of the immense room they found themselves in, his mind vacillating between well earned-suspicion, and a sense of curious awe that he wished he could suppress. Perhaps if the situation had been different, he would have been inclined to pore over the curiosities and riches that were present- but right now, his only concern was the familiar presence his empathy was latching onto, at the very epicenter of the room. Whilst he can't help the twinge of distrust that wells up in his mind, he carefully begins to allow himself the luxury of hope that this isn't one more trick- offering up an altogether tentative wave to the Hellfireless Hero. "Hey. Your choice of vacation spots suck." It's a terrible time, to be fair, but it makes the Kensai feel immeasurably better. Plus, with that off his chest, it helps to eke out some small sliver of normalacy. "Just like those two, I'd appreciate a bit less cryptic remarks, et a bit more on the enlightenment route, s'il te plait. Especially since you requested I come here. With a sword I -don't- have." Or was it simply -tied- to them? Frankly, the memory was a bit jumbled at this point, with all the stress. "Honetement, I'll take anyones guess at what's going on, right now."

Having eyes adjust to the darkness like a cat's was a good thing, until it wasn't. The transition between shadows and light was less than gradual and Krice had to squint his eyes shut at first, opening them slowly a moment later to let light filter slowly between his lashes until those astute pupils narrowed to compensate. His arm trembled at his side and he willed it to f--king stop, fist clenched. The revelation of the coliseum-like room unsettled him but he remained mostly calm as he scrutinized the area. His eyes swept from left to right. " What's with evil beings and treasure? Seriously." It was an offhanded remark that trailed off upon sight of the very person they had endured this hell to find: Lionel. The name sat on his tongue but he refrained from saying it, lest the archipelago use even that simple phonation against him. He scanned the sword held within the missing warrior's grasp as he paused just a couple metres back from the group.

After a brief flex of right fingers around his katana, Krice hesitantly sheathed it - against his back - and then turned his focus onto the magical emanations of Lionel's green weapon. Sensitive to the presence of all magic, he acknowledged this one as particularly noteworthy; powerful and almost otherworldly. Potentially a fine replacement for Hellfire, especially if Lionel had survived wielding it. Krice's attention turned to the projection on the wall and he regarded it with a furrowed brow. The women in the image were immediately recognizable but the scene itself baffled him. He had no idea why they were older, what that contraption was, or why it was even Penelope and Rilla in particular who were projected. Twisting, he looked around the room in a brief attempt to find the source of the image. " It's future-Penelope and future-Rilla, given their apparent age." Even though Rilla was a vampire so that baffled him. " But I don't know why - or how." Ultimately, though, his desire to leave this hellhole now that they had achieved their goal - of finding Lionel - won out over curiosity. " Ask questions later, or tell us on our way out. We shouldn't linger." Krice would step forward to tuck his shoulder under Lionel's sword-free arm, if Kasyr had not done so before him.

Lionel | "That's fair," Lionel strained to say. Given that he was glancing at Krice, Kasyr, and Iintahquohae as he said that, it could be reasonably surmised that this was his two-word retort for them all. "I wish it was that simple, but it isn't. All of you… and all those who survived from the other teams," he added slowly, mournfully, "we're all here for a reason." He coughed, covering his mouth like any civil human being would, but his arm cracked in doing so; he was stuck here for weeks, ever since he was warped, and by the gods he felt those weeks in his bones. "They're coming now. The others. But something worse is also on its way. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We were supposed to have more time. But you," Lionel looked at Penelope before shaking his head, "I'm sorry, um… the other you, she and Rilla had no way of accounting for every variable." In all likelihood, nothing Lionel was saying right now was going to make a single lick of sense to any of them. "Everything that was meant to happen here, it will have to happen while we fight and run for our lives. It's not exactly a treasure-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow, but if you've ever trusted me before, trust me now; it's worth it." Realizing that he had only ever had one conversation with Inks, he quickly added, "and if you've never trusted me before, do it anyway."

Reunion

Lionel | At the center of the Cave of Regrets, there was a room so massive it was a small wonder that the cave itself was huge enough to warrant multiple entryways. Neither chained nor wounded, but exhausted and wielding a weapon he did not have prior to vanishing, there stood Lionel O'Connor in the middle of the room. Beside him stood numerous others -- those from the Six; Krice and Penelope, Kasyr and Iintahquohae. It looked like they had conversed, if briefly. More stunning by far was the strange projection that encompassed an entire wall, spanning uncountable meters. The projection was distorted, but discernible; a bizarre mechanical contraption and a visibly haggard Rilla and Penelope. They both seemed older, and the projection made them larger than life, but it was clear that they weren't actually here -- at least, not in the traditional sense. Who were they? By all standard accounts, they who precisely who they appeared to be. But why did it appear that they were from the future? Could it be -- somehow -- that they themselves had been the architects of this entire mission?

Lionel | "Thank you all," Lionel greeted the new arrivals. "Beyond words. Beyond measure. But I was yeeted here just as surely as any of you were yeeted across this frakking hellscape. All by the machinations of the millions of restless spirits who use this region as a nexus. They're angry, or hurt, or grieving, or something -- anything -- that keeps them trapped here. But despite that, the Demon Archipelago is the one place that can offer us salvation. Not from me… but from them." He pointed at the projection. "A year from now, and the war with Xicotl was lost. A year from now, and everything we knew and loved was gone. It's not for me to continue. But none of this has transpired exactly as intended. Those restless spirits? They're almost here now. They're going to exact their toll in blood. They want us all dead for trespassing. But we have to hold the line. Just for a few moments. And if we hold the line," Lionel concluded, "we can change history. We can win this war. Please believe me."

Lionel | The storm of lost souls that Lionel portended rushed into the massive chamber on cue, sparing the Catalian's allies no true time to process what he said. Even Lionel cursed up his own storm at that. Garbed in all black, his face pained but his azure eyes seemingly more resolute than ever, he raised his glowing-green sword into the air and prepared for the fight of their lives. The storm was like a hurricane. Millions of pyreflies, each one a vengeful soul, surrounded them, sealed off the exits, and sought to collide with flesh. One collision and a victim would feel a thousand knives upon their bodies, but still be fine in truth; two collisions, however, and they would burn away to nothingness. Lionel dodged and danced his way past the first few, slashing several at a time with a weapon that seemed destined to destroy them. He was at the center of one of the deadliest places Hollow had ever spawned, centimeters from his demise with every breath, but nothing would deter the Hero without Hellfire. "Just a few minutes! Just hold out and hear the tale! It's all we need!"

Rilla || “The war took a toll on everyone; all of the Great Heros are dead,” Rilla’s voice echoed from above - around - everywhere, the young vampire managed to look older, her hair cut shorter around her jaw, eyes serious but just as wild. The image and the voice didn’t quite seem connected, a fading power that threatened to give out as the images flickered and changed. Switched to snippets in time, fragments that had to be changed. A difficult trick to pull off but they had nothing but time. In flashes there was a battle, flickered and faded but each member of the expedition was within in. One by one they fell, Lionel first, torn to pieces as he stood and fought, but without his weapon he was no match. Then Khitti, screaming and kicking as she and her son were dragged and tied to stakes and set alight, left to burn while Brand just meters away was bound and held to watch only to be executed in his time too, beheaded as a part of some twisted game the world was held prisoner in. Krice died in battle, pushed back by the monsters as Talyara became food for the herd of thralls that only ever grew larger. Fangs and nails ripping into flesh. “Abandon hope all ye who enter here,” Rilla’s bitter laughter bounced off the walls of the cave.

Rilla || “Penelope and I were the last of us, a few foot soldiers remained, but no true leader.” The image changed to Iintahquohae and Kasyr near face-to-face with Xicotl, the closest to a success anyone came. Kasyr changed first, drawn into the darkness more readily after much longer living with the curse inside of him. Whatever sweet nothings his new overlord whispered soon overtook Iintahquohae as well, the pair of them turned into thralls and turned around back into the fray, but fighting for the wrong cause. Rorin, who had been close behind them, was the next to fall - and by their hands nonetheless. A first meal for hungry thralls who had no concept of whom it was their were feasting upon, who he should have been able to protect from such a fate. A brighter flash where the image broke into darkness for just an instant and sparked to life again with Magik on a wharf held by masked men in black, larger than any humans. One of them carried a large anchor and chain. He was bound, gagged, and thrown off the edge while the onlookers cheered. Bubbles rose initially, frantic as he scrambled to try to break free, but he fell still too, killed on his search for something - a secret that they would never know. “ I analyzed every move of every battle, but there was no winning. Not the way we were, there were always more thralls, always another monster, and there always will be until we face the source.”

Rilla || “But then Penelope remembered something she and Kasyr found before the war, something we had a feeling about.” The projection was fading, but Quintessa was clear all the same as the scene changed once more, Rilla was meters back with knives and arrows as they tried to push through and regroup at Vigilanti Sempir. Between them and the fortress were hundreds of thralls and vampires, followers armed to the teeth and monsters like no one had seen before. Quintessa jumped in, eager and aggressive, she was squashed like a bug by some Great Magic, not an ounce of fight left in the flattened-changeling. The image became more light than anything, Rilla leaned in close to whatever it was that they used to communicate in a last-ditch effort to help them. “It’s been all I’ve thought about, all we’ve done for months to get you here together. Whatever this place holds, it’s the key to surviving what’s to come. So if telling you this means that I don’t survive the next time so be it,” the voice centered around Rilla’s physical form, “you never ran from the fight, even when it looked like it was over.”

Rilla not only did not know how to react to what was laid out before her, but didn’t truly have time to. Her jaw dropped at the sight of herself, but different, scattered in light and sound, her mind reeling at the onslaught of information. Her body reacted faster, though there was no weapon that was likely to defeat these strange magic things that she had in her control. Instead she focused on staying alive, keeping an eye on the strange projection the whole while her thin form twisted and contorted out of the way. No time to fully understand, all that she could do was react.

Rorin || There was a moment when Rorin created the final threshold and stood in the center of the cave where righteous indignation turned to exasperation. “What?” He looked to Rilla. He looked back at... this mess. Whatever it was Rorin expected to find here, this wasn’t it. Exhaustion and confusion threatened to settle in as the pilgrim shrugged his shoulders with dim resignation. Everyone dies. Some in odd, ironic, and even seemingly unrelated ways. These were visions from a Rilla and Penelope in the future, somehow. But everything would be fine if they survived here? “Okay.” Before the word was out of his mouth a fearsome breeze thudded into his back. The cave was full of angry spirits. Lionel had said hold the line, and that was what Rorin would do. He wielded no particular weapon, taking only defensive stances or strikes with flashes of light to ward off the enemy. Then the near impossibility of a defense while so thoroughly surrounded began to sink in. He would slip up if he kept trying to shrug them off with glancing blows. Rorin would need to erect a total defense. The pilgrim took a knee and began to chant a solemn prayer. A dome of swirling light would slowly encompass him, growing outward, a maelstrom of energy that pulsed and thrashed as it deflected the innumerable gusts of accursed phantoms assaulting them. Stuck still, fully concentrating, Rorin had faith he could hold his own against the rising tide of darkness. Just buy a few minutes. He could do that. As long as nothing interrupted him...

Khitti || [1 of 2] Khitti just stared at the projection of Rilla and Penelope. She… died? She’d died just as the Council back home had promised she would so long ago. It was always the flames… why? Why was her world consistently on fire? She had not even been safe in her dreams, so long ago, before she’d cured herself of the vampirism. Even then, when she’d been a lich in her dream--yet another alternate timeline, though this one her and Brand had managed to escape from--Brand had to set her aflame to realize that she couldn’t die until her phylactery had been destroyed. Always the fire… Always. She had long since resheathed her swords. Khitti tried hard to push through the thoughts of her and her three year old being burned while Brand watched. It was no different than what people in Dhavislaav, where magic was banned, had experienced. Well, she leaned on that fire now as the spirits rolled in. Still unsure of her light magic, Khitti tapped into her shadow magic, slinging fireballs here and there as she dodged as much as she could.

Khitti || [2 of 2] There was one spirit in particular, however, that took notice. Unlike the others, this spirit had only been trapped here for three and a half years. It had felt like forever though to Amarrah Facilier. She had even wished she was still trapped within Khitti’s body, as she had been for so very, very long. That was HER magic that bitch of a redhead was using! HERS! As with most things with Amarrah usually went, she did not take kindly to this. The instant Khitti left an opening, the former Shadow Plane denizen honed in on her, enveloping Khitti with her ethereal form, forcing Khitti to feel those invisible knives. Khitti screamed. It reminded her of that night Emrith almost killed her. So many near deaths and here was yet another one. “YOU! You are the reason why I’m here!” Amarrah’s voice shrieked at Khitti and only Khitti could hear her. But, just as it had been in the past, Khitti was already done with the umbrawisp and summoned all the shadows she could to her. Much like Amarrah’s spirit had, the shadows engulfed the redhead, doing everything it could to burn the spirit with its acidic touch… and hopefully some of the other spirits around them.

Brand was slow to react. He was caught off guard by the projection of future deaths, but even moreso by the form of the spirits attacking them. They looked the same as those souls he had seen in his vision, just minutes before. But that hadn't been real. It couldn't have been, because --

Brand [2 of 2] || There was no more time to think. The spirits enveloped him, and Brand still had not mounted a defense. He braced for impact, but... none came. The spirits surrounded him, but did not touch him. He raised an arm. The spirits flowed around it like a rock splitting a stream. "Odd," he thought, but his speculation ended there. He couldn't seem to muster any further curiosity. Instead, he used his newfound immunity to shield Khitti. He stood with his back to her own, and waved away any spirits that tried to get too close.

Magik knelt down after entering the center of the room and placed his bow just in front of him as Lionel spoke. He removed his backpack and quickly searched through it. First, his goggles were strapped to the top of his head, just incase. Next, his fully loaded quiver was found and slung over his shoulder to sit on his back comfortably. Now we are ready to go. His backpack is secured to his being once again as he stands to watch the impressive display on the walls. Well, the content could have been a little better, to be honest. Magik looked at each victim after the display went through their deaths to look for a reaction. Magik’s heart sunk at the sight of his merciless death. The elf shook his head and took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled through his nose..Until the spirits showed up. “Just a few minutes! Just hold out..” Just a ‘few’ ‘minutes’. Okay, fine. Each of Magik’s arrows had been runed for a few special effects. Explosive tips, toxicity, chain lightning, and some freezing spells would surely help slow down the swarm of souls. Magik’s first loosed arrow impacts a soul but there’s a couple second delay before it explodes and causes damage towards the middle of the swarm. His next arrow freezes some, sending the frozen souls crashing to the floor and shattering to pieces. His next grabbed arrow is pointed and fired to the ground. A sigil appears on the ground below the entrance in which the souls arrived. The gravity increases in the area around the sigil, pulling the lost souls towards the floor should they not escape the field to be crushed or simply pinned against the ground. Any stragglers are handled accordingly. Sniped out of the air, batted out of the air with the heavy long bow, etc. Magik’s moves are quick and precise until a rogue lost soul zips passed him and circles back around to collide with the elf. The Lyastri’s bow is tossed to the side out of pure reaction before he crumples to the floor where his form ignites into his familiar fire. The elf let’s out a blood curdling scream as he rolls onto his back to spot another soul coming in for the kill. Magik is quick to open his left palm towards the incoming target. A black arrow rips through his palm towards the soul, but misses. Dread fills the pyromancer’s eyes as his left arm twitches violently. Another arrow is produced and hits true. Magik’s pain remains but he scrambles to his feet to resume the fight against these lost souls. Just a few minutes longer..

Iintahquohae , pleased to see that the others have arrived because to her it meant that they could get going faster. Of course she is wrong she realizes, once Lionel begins to speak. Scooping him up and running for the exit is too easy. She grips her bat as he explains, poised to swing at whatever souls may be coming their way. Sidestepping, she moves to stand closer to Kasyr, whispering out of the side of her mouth to the Kensai “The f-” in come the angry spirits, conveniently masking the curse, “-did I get pulled into?” Rilla's – older Rilla's, the seamstres blinks - voice provides an explanation, though it confuses her more than anything as she swings for the pyreflies, likely not destroying them with her bat but scattering them. As one veers straight for her amid the chaos surrounding the rescue party, she's certain her aim will shatter the thing as iron completely phases through pyrefly, rendering her bat useless. She ducks and the thing zips by, but as she cautiously stands up, the seamstress doesn't realize that the little thing is zooming straight for her back. It meets its mark, hitting her square in the shoulder blades, and the agony Iintahquohae finds herself in makes her cry out and double over. Losing the grip on her bat, it falls to the floor with a loud clang, and she clutches at her stomach. Unbeknownst to her, the serpentine tattoo that encircles her throat is on the move, circling as it did when it first moved from shoulder to shoulder, then up the side of her neck, returning to its original hiding place behind her ear. The ink seems to have morphed into a different image. Instead of a serpent poised to consume its own tail, it is a great serpent's maw, open, fangs bared. A familiar, terrible feeling settles over Iintahquohae as she clutches at her stomach, eyes snapping shut. No, no, no not again please – Bile builds up in her stomach. A torrent of horrible, black vomit pours from her mouth, unending despite her efforts to try closing her mouth again.

Kasyr affords Lionel another sidelong glance, before casting his gaze towards the rising swell of rage and unrest swimming through the air towards him. That sheer outrage and odium is enough to coax the Empath to force his eyes shut, as though he might be able to close himself off from that swell of emotion. Already, the Kensai can feel a weariness building up inside of himself, fueled in part by that vast emptiness that had taken hold of him ever so recently, and worsened now by his awareness of what he'd been asked to do. "Slave driver. Not even a smoke break between orders." His fingers flex, his grip tightening about his Katana- but it's the words of the future-born Rilla, their collective harbinger of doom, that serves as the impetus for him to finally ready his weapon, alongside a long exhale. Still, he does manage to crack something of a smirk when Inks gives her own insight on the situation, as it provides the Kensai with that most traditional of remarks, "Unfortunately, This really es Business as Usual." And that's all the warning the seamstress gets before the kensai begins to once more draw upon that familiar well of primal strength- the scent of the cavern giving way to that of ozone, just as swiftly as the swordsmans flesh begins to give way to lightning. It's a vicious exchange to start with- a blood sacrice for unnatural strength and speed. And yet, it does not suffice, in the face of that seemingly insurmountable tide of spirits streaming into the cavern. Even as Kasyr's form flickers forward to cleave through a line of ephemeral beings- he continues to dig even deeper into that elemental connection. The line needed to be held, after all, even if it meant that he could begin to feel some essential part of himself begin to flicker and gutter away. And perhaps, one part of this catastrophe could be averted- both his part, and that of his loyal fledgeling, if only his own role came to an end here. A jagged row of wisps burst apart with a sweep of his blade. And he draws deeper still.

Krice retrieved his mithril katana once more, drawn from the sheath on his back to a tight hold beside him – in his right hand. His left arm trembled almost imperceptibly but he ignored it in favour of scanning the faces of the other teams who now joined them. It was good to see that all of them had survived – at least, all of the people he knew. Lionel’s hasty retelling of events yet to unfold disconcerted the warrior at best. There were a lot of powerful and skilled people on their side. -All- of them fell? It didn’t bode well for the future. A year from now... Naturally his thoughts returned to Talyara, and it was with the witch firmly at the forefront of his mind that he observed not only the death of his friends, but his own death as well – leading to the evisceration of the woman who held his soul. The projection of Lionel’s story at once filled the warrior with dread for the loss of his friends and loved ones, and a renewed sense of purpose to make sure that they all survived this hellish place.

Krice It was easy to find motivation to fight when you were protecting people you cared about. Talyara’s death on the wall was the perfect catalyst for Krice’s unabashed defence of his friends, and his attacks against the encircling spirits. Their rage was palpable, the magical presence of their network near-tangible, and he raised his katana just as Lionel raised his green-glowing sword in preparation for the rush. Where before he had fought while keeping his own team as close together as possible, now the warrior separated from those who had entered this vast room with him, moving around the collective to fortify those who were more at risk. A swipe of his katana and the shooting of two bolts from his crossbow – still slung over one shoulder – dispersed souls from their convergence above the fallen Iintahquohae, whose screams echoed loudly in his ears just as clearly as the rest.

Krice :: With the cluster of angry spirits dispersed from the fallen woman, she was left a momentary reprieve as he backtracked toward Rorin. As the ice of Magik’s frozen souls scattered around him, Krice pressed onward to sweep his katana in wide, fast arcs above the shield of the kneeling paladin to ensure that he was not disturbed during his prayer, clearing the space for his ally’s success. Evasive maneuvers and calculated hits of his katana spared him the trauma of those spirit-attacks that pained some of his allies, while spreading out the spirits from their concentration-points of attack more than outright dissipating them. And like this he fought, compelled to succeed by not only Lionel’s message and Older-Rilla’s explanation of the future that awaited them if they did not, but by the very real motivator of Talyara’s future death at the hands of hungry hordes. He would -not- let his allies fall here today, and by extension, neither would she.

Resolution

Lionel | The maelstrom raged. For every soul they bested, the barrage was without end. The moments that Rilla and Penelope's future selves vitally needed seemed almost to shatter. The fate of Lithrydel hung in the balance, but the most lethal spiritual storm Hollow had known pushed its assault. It was the most hateful thing in the world. A chorus of dissent filled the room, drowning out all shouts. Millions of voices cried out in terror. Millions of voices wanted to be silenced. Millions of souls reached for those precious few who held the line. Had this gone on any longer, all hope would be ended.

Lionel | Some felt the transformation from within. When Krice's vigor returned, it enraptured the silver-haired warrior like nothing ever had. It emboldened him. A reminder of what as at stake was the boon that Krice needed. A reminder that he could never yield, no matter the odds. Not today. Not any day. His sword arcs had always struck true. But this was different. This was something more. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.

Lionel | Some felt the transformation upon their hands. When Khitti's ability to use both dark magic and light returned, it enraptured the heroine like nothing ever had. As the alchemical symbols faded, she unlocked the boon she needed. A reminder of what once was and what could be again. But this was different. This was something more. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.

Lionel | Some felt it upon their forearms. When the shield fell beside Rorin, it was unlike any shield he had ever seen. Glistening and sapphire-studded, with buttons hidden within its interior to launch the protective device like a boomerang, tearing off heads on a whim with its vicious spikes. It seemed magical somehow, powerful in ways he would not yet comprehend. It wasn't what he'd had before. But it was the boon that he needed. A reminder that standing firm to one's convictions was what it took to save the universe. No matter the horrors the boy had borne witness to today, there would be a tomorrow. A new dawn. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.

Lionel | Some saw it on the wall. Written in the boldest ink. Written with the future itself. When Rilla heard the words of her future self, it solidified the wary woman's resolve. It amplified everything she once was and reminded her why the future was worth fighting for. She hadn't always made the best decisions in life, but who had? She was gazing upon the courage and heroism dormant within her. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.

Lionel | Some came here to be free. When Sacred erupted in front of Iintahquohae, the serpentine spirit gazed coldly upon the spiritual maelstrom. "So you have come," it said. "Good. We shall speak on my terms, elsewhere from this place." Was that a no, then? Was all of this for naught? All pretense was abruptly tossed aside as the creature snarled… in the best possible way. "You have proven your worthiness by bringing me here. You are perhaps more than a vessel after all. Thank you… for the feast." Sacred struck the wall of souls with the intensity that only it could summon. Thousands died in one sick beat. Thousands more thereafter. A clearing formed through which the survivors could escape. But with all these awakened powers among all these people, was escape necessary? The tide was turning. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.

Lionel | Some fought tooth and nail to their own ends. When Kasyr electrified his surroundings, he might have died on the spot. His vices were many. His soul still yearned for redemption. In that yearning, in this place, at the edge of the known world, he found his boon. His virtue weapon shredded two of its forms, leaving gloves to help conduct his lightning overture and save his own life. This was something new -- something that could save his life long enough so that he could keep on saving others. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.

Lionel | Some of them found solace within newfound spells. Magikrios was one such man. In a flash, the Lyastri possessed the capability to control light itself. Absorbing it, he could cast the shadows necessary to linger in the darkest crevices, slinking through the inky blacks of the world in order to enact change on his own terms. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.

Lionel | Some had what they needed, but not in the way they would have ever wanted. The clock would tick for Brand Herzegler until the truth emerged. But for it, he would arise stronger. This, too, was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.

Lionel | All of them felt it in their veins like an elixir. All of them were mighty alone; mightier together. As Sacred raged, the maelstrom flinched. As Krice arced, the maelstrom shivered. As Khitti struck, the chorus took on a dire, fading tone. Each of them changed the world that day. Lionel slashed through dozens of the souls, twisting around, dodging as he always did, and he too felt the strength that was needed. The great gamble from a post-apocalyptic future had paid off in spades. Some had lost their lives. Their sacrifices would live on in those who survived. And the sacrifices of their future selves would be remembered. Rilla and Penelope had given earth a fighting chance. It was up to all of them now to finish clearing out this suddenly-underperforming mass of tempestuous spirits and return to their ships. Return home. To Lithrydel, where the war with Xicotl was about to take a turn for the best. "I see you were intrigued by my offer after all," Lionel called to Rilla with the subtlest, happiest, little snicker. "Rightbackatcha."

Khitti || Something felt different, but Khitti had no time to dwell on it. Brand would protect her from the spirits, but he could not protect her from Amarrah. So much shadows had gathered around her that it was like a fog; if she had a moment to look over her shoulder, she’d barely be able to see Brand now. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to get rid of Amarrah. Would anything? She could not let Amarrah plague the people she cared about again. As she tried to fight off Amarrah’s spirit as best as she could with one hand, she reached behind her and grabbed Brand’s hand, squeezing it three times. I. Love. You. This was neither the time nor the place for mushiness, but it wasn’t that. Khitti was about to do something just as bad as the last time she’d died. Self-sacrificial as always, the hand was soon removed from Brand’s own and a ball of pure light conjured inside it, her opposite hand creating one just like it. Gone were the holy flames, replaced with the magic that looked like sunlight shining through a prism. Still she willed the shadows to her as the light grew brighter and brighter. The dark and light mixed together, like a strange shimmery vortex, surrounding both Khitti -and- Brand. As the shadows protected Khitti like a shield, the light burned Amarrah away, the spirit screeching as it faded from existence. And then that was it. The magic faded away and Khitti braced for the oncoming storm that was to another one of the magic-induced heart attacks… but it never happened. That should’ve been it. It should’ve been The One. The one that was going to kill her. But, it didn’t. Confusion was written all over her face and she looked down at her palms. Oh. The alchemical symbols were gone? She was… free? No magic scars or Tenbatsu Kaji to hold her magic back anymore? It’s safe to say that once things were finally over, Khitti looked like she wanted to cry. It was not often this happened in public. In an attempt to try to hide it, she clung to Brand and hugged him… completely unaware of the danger that was now lurking within her husband.

Rorin tried to concentrate. Don’t think about dying. Don’t think about letting everyone down. Definitely don’t think about them eating you because you couldn’t save everyone and then the world ended. He couldn’t think about them the way a fish couldn’t breathe under water. The malevolent maelstrom made its way around the room in a whirl of violence and it slammed against his defenses. The rocks must give way to the tide. Rorins shield was not so much penetrated as it was bored through. The pilgrim was knocked back, his breathe taken out of him, his flesh aflame with the endless piercing light. It was there, gasping for breath, hand reaching out, that he grasped it. Reflexively jerked overhead, the instrument bestowed on his forearm batted away the angry sprit that dived towards him. Rolling and thrashing, Rorin managed to get to his feet, beating away the ethereal assailants on instinct alone with the flat and edge of the new armament. Stumbling his way towards the center of the room Rorin had found Lionel. Taking up his proper stance as the heroes shield deflecting the endless litany and drone of spirits from the flanks. Side by side, at the ends of the earth. A green sword and a blue shield that cut and smashed their way through the endless torrent of light. “Let’s go Commander. We’re walking out of here.”

Iintahquohae stumbled, falling to her knees as the great serpent that possessed her slithered free. The tattoo, unbeknownst to the seamstress, is gone. Looking at her hands, she notices the lack of darkened veins, the unnatural boost to her already excessive confidence that swelled within her as of late fading away. When her dull eyes meet Sacred's much larger eyes, she visibly flinches. The one fear that possesses her is back – snakes. A terrible, impossibly large one...If she could run, she would, screaming – likely into the wall of pyreflies to her end. Instead, with the pain still racking her form and her throat, raw on the inside from all the retching, she can hardly speak, let alone stand. Kasyr did explain that the more souls it eats, the stronger it becomes, no? Well... “Eat,” the seamstress manages to croak out. “As many as you can. All of them.” She slumps over, vision blurring into a mass of color as the chaos continues around them. Hopefully her sire stood somewhere nearby, as the seamstress felt herself begin to fully tip over to a side on the floor.

Rilla had no shield, no magic, nothing to protect her from the coming onslaught of spirits but her ability to move through them. Her shortsword was drawn and all she could do was focus. There were too many of them not to, despite the sounds and smells coming from the others. All she had to do was survive, hold the line, make it out alive. A million ways to say the same thing as one of the spirits collided squarely with her shoulders, causing her to cry out. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, stifling the sound as she whipped around her blade to deflect the ones that came after as she sprang away, back past Krice and Rorin, away from where the spirits came from and the magic. She moved through the world, more shadow than woman just as she had been as a human, just as she would always be. She fell back, but slashed at the onslaught all the same, in constant motion as she avoided the strange burning beings that threatened them all. All at once she realized what she’d missed before, that if she were the coward she’d thought herself, she would have never come back. Nevermind the small detail of reaching through time to change history as if that was some achievable feat. With this renewed vigor the running stopped, the fending off stopped and she moved with a purpose again, shortsword arcing in practiced swings as she joined into the dance as the tides turned for the band of heroes - a word she would have never applied to herself.

Rilla || Then there was Lionel, a Great Hero who she had met maybe twice, who’s books had guided her into this cave the first time. Crystalline gaze fell on him, a dangerous little smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “We’re going to have some words when I’m not busy saving your ass.” She called back to him, one hand left the handle of her sword and in a flash retrieved a throwing knife only to throw it in a smooth arc past him, into a spirit that promptly disappeared into nothingness too. As the onslaught slowed, she moved towards the mouth of the cave and back to the boats, eager to finally walk out instead of being flung through time and space again.

Brand [1 of 2] || As the tide turned and the spirits began to dwindle in number, Brand would push his way towards the exit, and then lead the way towards his ship for any who chose to depart on it. The Tranquility was a beautiful sight, and he paused to look upon it while it was still far enough away to take in at a single glance. He couldn't quite say why, but now more than ever the ship brought up swelling feelings of freedom in him, of sheer delight. He'd finally escaped, after what felt like years. It was as if he'd found a new lease on life...

Brand [2 of 2] || He was torn away from his thoughts by an itch at the base of his forearm, right under layers of rolled-up sleeve. He ran a nail over the offending spot, but it gave him no relief. Fine, then -- he'd slip a finger underneath the fabric and scratch that way. Only, when he moved to do so, he was greeted by a rash of scales in a sickly, iridescent black-green. A woman's laugh, full of venom, echoed in his head. He should know that voice, but... he couldn't place it. He blinked, and the rash was gone. The laughter had never been. He was... fine?

Kasyr had not called for Empera, the weapons alignment towards temperence having oft put him at odds with the spiritual arnament- and yet, as his form began to dissolve and waver, and his very soul sat poised to rupture apart into a brilliant incadescence - it took hold, dragging the Kensai back from the brink of that self destructive impulse, and forcibly solidifying his body into flesh and blood. Perhaps moreso the latter than the former, given the grievous wounds his actions had already inflicted upon himself- the weapons manifestation unable to reverse the damage done. And yet, the Kensai doesn't have the time to marvel at his brush with oblivion- nor even at the manner in which his lightning comes rushing back to him, this time without it's voracious appetite for flesh. Around him souls still rage, and within his vision, ab abyssal serpent rises- feasting upon a well of souls in a vision that he can only view as horrifying. And whether it's by some residual element of their connection as fledgeling or sire, Empathy, or merely chance- he sees the seamstress, even as she begins to collapse before it. "Inks!" Kasyr's skidding to a halt next to the seamstress before he's even fully cognisant of the movement, before she's even had time to crumble. Mid-way through the motion his sword is abandoned, if only so he can catch her before she falls- and yet he cannot bring himself to stay still. Instinct takes hold of him; instinct and a mortal terror of the enormous serpent which rampages so close by, carving out swathes of souls. A part of him screams that it needs to be suppressed, to avoid becoming yet another monster he failed to slay. But it's pragmatism and a need for himself and the seamstress to survive that wins out, the Kensai launching himself through the array of spirits in a literal streak of lightning that sees him clearing a path through the cave before his sword can even finish hitting the ground.

Magik || As a fireball spins out to keep the lost souls at bay, there's a distinction in how the shadows twist along the cave's walls. Trying to see if it happens again, the pyromancer hurls wave after wave of fire, watching as the shadows flicker across the walls to reveal what is undoubtedly the silhouette of a familiar symbol: a phoenix. Magik continues throwing fireballs at the lost souls who get too close while paying mind to somehow release the phoenix from the shadows. Upon throwing another fireball with his left hand, he notices his sleeve as become uncuffed to partially reveal Magik’s family tattoo on his wrist. On any normal day it would be pulsating and plumming off black smoke due to the intensity of his family’s magic coursing through his veins. Today was not a normal day though. He was far from home, in pain, and fighting side by side with some of Lithrydel’s toughest warriors. The Lyastri kneels down while keeping an eye out for any soul targeting him yet again as he scrambles to rolls his sleeve up to see what’s going on in there. His hands are too shaky for such a task. His fire extinguishes as he tries to calm his nerves long enough to accomplish such a task. Frustration gets the best of him and he is quick to simply rip his sleeve off to reveal his phoenix tattoo with a shadow swirling around it. The area starts to darken with thick shadows until the phoenix on the walls becomes its own entity. The shadow bird pulls itself out of it’s own shadow and takes flight immediately to devour any lost souls heading towards the Lyastri. Once again Magik is a target of another rogue group. Magik stands to face the incoming enemies head on. Another explosive arrow is picked from his quiver before he knocks it and pulls on the string. Before he can loose it, the phoenix swoops down and devours the souls and flies right through Magik, leaving the elf unharmed. A wicked grin creeps across the elf’s face as he’s hit with a sudden realization. His body ignites yet again before he starts yeeting fireballs about to help the cause. The phoenix continues to bite, slash, and devour as many lost souls in the room as possible. Finally seeing an out, Magik starts backing out towards the exit and eventually back onto the boat he arrived on to meet up with the others.

Krice had been so lacking in energy before, courtesy of Quintessa’s attack, that he was practically a different warrior. He moved around the group and inserted himself into the battle wherever he was most needed, supporting those allies who looked as though they might be overcome to at least tip the scales more evenly for his interjection. Of course he wasn’t able to help everyone at once, but his clarity of intent boosted him to be successful with most. Ever more quickly he moved around the circumference of his allies, expending what must have been enormous amounts of energy to maintain such high rates of speed. Each swipe of his katana was powerful and tight, never wasteful, always clear on the mark. Rilla would feel at her back the pull of air that followed Krice’s blade as he swept it upward in a tight arc, the tapered point passing harmlessly through red strands of hair toward the spirits swirling between him and the vampire. A clap of sound followed the crescent explosion of air that followed, compressing between blade and spirit to shred the swarm overhead upon impact. Without the slightest hint of tiring, Krice moved through the group, artfully evading the attacks of his allies en route to Magik where he provided similar supportive attacks against the spirits encircling his space. At some point he cast a look toward the large snake and shadow-phoenix but actually comprehending the existence of those two creatures would have to wait for a later time. Keeping up the rear, Krice would be the last to board a ship in favour of ensuring that few if any of these spirits followed his allies to the sea, ducking beneath fireballs as he went.

Lionel | The fight was over and the Catalian rescued. The Demon Archipelago still loomed, its malevolent powers and myriad terrors doubtless undaunted by a defeat at the Cave of Regrets. This was still the scariest place she had ever been, but Penelope Halifax didn't care. As the others rushed to their ships, the girl turned and faced the cavern mouth one last time. Rain fell in sheets, soaking her, but she didn't so much as squint. "Lass," Sundance cried out as he almost darted past her. "It's high time we leave before who-knows-what happens all over again." Penelope offered the dwarf a polite smile. "I know," she reassured him. Something about the seriousness of her visage must have given Sundance the hint he needed because he nodded slowly and kept going toward the Tranquility, maintaining eye contact with the healer just in case anything went wrong. Penelope tasted the raindrops on her lips, thoughts dangling in her head. It still felt as though months had passed, courtesy of her team's time-bending perils. Maybe that was a boon of its own. In her mind, Penelope had been here, in this damnable region, for so terribly long. Just being coiled within the slowly-eroded tendrils of those shadow beasts had been enough to give the girl the time she needed to prepare for the revelation that followed. Running a hand through her water-mop hair in a smooth motion, she remained in place even as the scattered spiritual aggressors gave chase behind Krice. "I helped," she said, mystified by the existence of her future self. A future self that, now that the timeline had been changed, had quite possibly faded into nonexistence. No. That was the darker way of looking at things. Even after everything she had been through, Penelope Halifax preferred the lighter touch. "She's me now," the woman realized with a dawning smile. A single, shiny object beside her boot drew attention wayward of the battle's denouement. Lifting it up into the palm of her hand, she examined it curiously. It felt right somehow just to hold it. She knew in her heart of hearts that it was something good and pure. Whyever it was out here, she could not say. But like so many things about the Demon Archipelago, it wasn't wise to dwell overlong; things simply were.

With one last glance at the Cave of Regrets, Penelope shoved the small cylindrical object into her damp pocket and ensured that Krice held his pride as the last to board the ships.