RP:The Truth Is Stranger Than My Own Worst Dreams

Part of the Time Heals All Wounds Arc

This is a Healer's Guild RP.

Synopsis: Lionel is one curious dude. With Penelope absent and Krice's stand-offish behavior, it is no wonder that Lionel shows up on the healer's doorstep. Small bits of confession spill across the floor, though, the truth does not last long as Leon Lovik and Sofia Ulberg from Ardelia burst through the door. The foreigners are in search for the Ardelian twins in order to cure Leon, but there is only one problem... Pakellin Halifax is dead.

Halifax Roots

How long would the void of the past linger? It was still hard to catch her breath from what she left behind. Aeric had returned, called her heartless, and confronted her that the world had turned her into something new. He hated it. He hated her, and he should. Eyes squint while she focuses on the clip, peel, release. She inhales. “You’re doing it wrong,” she grits her teeth. Two silhouettes sit on barstools in the herbal shop. Supplies displayed on the counter. “You’re not supposed to prod my hand like that. It’s a second-degree burn—look at my hand closely. What’s wrong?” she observes as the apprentice, Ruari Erickson, clips the burned skin at her hand. “Wrong approach, young cricket,” she mocks before hissing in pain as her eyes clench shut to turn off the feeling of agony. “Peeling is for third-degree,” she says, and Ruari begins to mutter… “Well, why did you let me get this far?!” Penelope opens her eyes and her mouth opens, “Because it’s called teaching, and I thought you knew about blisters. You drain them with a sterile needle,” she admits finally, and Ruari does as told as he grabs a nearby stitching needle to poke into the bubbles that rest on her hand. Gently his hands press against her hand as the ooze comes out of her hand. “Actually I should be asking, why did you go that far?” He asks with a stern grey look in his eye, and in the reflection of his gaze, she is stone for moments time. “Why wouldn’t I… He’s in more pain than I,” she never blinks as she stares at her singed, blistered hand. “I put him there.” There was a long uneasy pause. “Penelope, I’m serious. You did the right thing to leave when you had the chance. This is not good. His skin was on fire. Aeric was on fire. He’s unpredictable. You’re hurt, Penelope,” the dark haired man insists with sincerity as he halts to hold her wrist as he stares at her to get her to listen. The healer shakes her head. “You act like I never faced death before,” she mutters, but Ruari glares her down. “You are blatantly admitting you are facing it. Penelope, you are facing death if you keep trying to prevent whatever is inside Linken.” The healer slowly looks at Ruari with a steady and firm gaze. There was nothing but grim emotion. She was silent with nothing to say as the man pokes at her skin and cleanses the wound.

Lionel hadn’t suffered any injuries during the Warrior’s Guild’s subterranean expedition three days past, which was a veritable miracle given that he no longer possessed an ounce of superhuman skillset -- something he had relied upon for most of his life. If he had been wounded, Penelope would certainly have been the first person he would seek out in the aftermath. Instead, she was the first person he sought out because an odd little conversational wrinkle had recently come up regarding the woman. It wasn’t in what Krice said when Lionel asked how things had been going between them, for the stoic warrior had said little at all on the matter. Rather, it was the unspoken void, the slightest uncomfortable shift that Krice portrayed. Something was amiss with Miss Penelope Halifax, and Lionel had needed to remind himself what was at stake in order to stay the course and investigate the chasm in the Southern Sage with his allies prior to finding out what that something was. With a knock at the door, the Catalian straightened the imaginary imperfections in his typical black button-up and waited.

Penelope heard the knock when the Ruari was putting the last secure bandage around her hand. The room eerily silent until the knock. The girl rises and heads straight for one of the windows to see who it was. The warrior. The warrior that she had avoided for maybe too long. The girl opens the door and the man is greeted with a small smile. “Well, aren’t you always just surprising me,” she then casts an open entrance way for the man to motion him through. In the background, Ruari is collecting supplies as he eyes the warrior with a brief nod. The nurse would bite his tongue for now and mind his own.

Lionel saw the bandages wrapped around Penelope’s hand immediately; as fate would have it, her hand was somehow the first thing he saw when she opened the door. It was on his mind before he even registered her face. It set the course for things to come. “I suppose I am,” Lionel said not quite as airily as he intended. “Ruari, right?” Lionel reached out to shake the nurse’s hand. “Good to see you again. And I’m glad you’ve been able to help Miss Halifax here with… well, whatever it is she’s needed help with, I reckon.” An innocent smile cursed his lips as he stretched away the soreness in his arms. “First things first, I suppose: I’m pleased to announce that the mission was as weird, sprawling, and altogether off-putting as usual. An elven war band ambushed us, enraged by perceived injustices. We certainly didn’t create that chasm, needless to say, though I can’t stand here and pretend injustices haven’t been committed unto the natives of the Sage Forest through the years. We fought some killer flowers, because you know, of course we did, and then we found a veritable treasure trove of material culture left behind by an ancient civilization who we know beyond the shadow of a doubt was eliminated by Xicotl. Once their works are translated, we’ll learn much and more on how to prevent that from happening to us -- at least, that’s the hope.” Lionel covered his mouth as he yawned. “But enough about stock end-of-the-world misadventuring.” It wasn’t a word, but that seldom stopped Lionel O’Connor. “I talked to Krice before he and I did the dungeon-hopping routine. Talked to him about you.” Lionel’s azure eyes met Penelope’s eyes straight-on now. “He didn’t say much, actually. Can you imagine? Krice, not saying much? Boggles the mind. But I digress. I could tell there were things left unsaid. And I’m wondering if any of those things happen to pertain to your hand.”

Ruari closes the medical bag that he had been carrying around. “Anytime, Mr. Immortal,” he almost gives Lionel a playful pat, but he refrains as he catches onto Lionel’s spew of information about the adventure. “Y’mean Penelope did not make it? Strange. I –wonder- where she was,” and with these last words, the man begins to wander off through the doors out of the shop while the girl sticks her tongue in her cheek out of irritation. Irritation. Always irritation. Perhaps the entity was wearing her down. Though, after Ruari walks out the door, she blinks and rests less aggravated eyes on the blonde. “Well, I’m glad that you came back in one piece because those killer flowers are… feisty,” pause. “Also, interesting,” she is about to tack on if Quintessa was going to translate the ancient treasure, but Lionel moves on about Krice and her hand. She looks down. “No,” eyes flick back up and she brushes her leather leggings idly before turning around to act as if she was busy with something else. She begins to organize oils that are on a shelf opposite from the room than him. “Krice has nothing to do with my hand. Just a little incident.” Horrible liar. “But Krice and I are no longer working with each other. That’s why he is more eerily silent on the matter. Which is no surprise at all. He’s Krice,” she tries to brush the situation off. Eye contact at a point zero.

Lionel took it all with stride. Ruari’s hints; Penelope’s evasiveness; the whole shebang. He stood with confidence exactly where it was that he had ceased walking several seconds ago with nary a hint of backing down. “Time was,” he started after a momentary lull in conversation, “I was totally unfamiliar with social nuances. A foreigner to nonverbal cues. A complete no-zone. I’ll be the first to admit I’m still awkward, but I’m starting to suss things out bit by strife-fueled bit.” At once, the Catalian took several steps toward Penelope; not in a threateningly sharp manner, but in a manner which bespoke the assertiveness in his tone. “Don’t try to emotionally dodge a notoriously savvy emotional dodger like me, Nelo. I’ve got that field on lockdown -- might I suggest a separate profession? Say, something to do with botany?” He winked and reached out to gently touch the healer’s bandaged hand. Would she let him? He hadn’t the foggiest idea, but either way it seemed a suave thing to do. “What happened? With Krice? He’s not the sort to walk away like that.” Lionel gave a conscious second’s thought to what he just said. “Well, no. Krice is a master of walking away. But you know what I mean.”

/squints at an oil at his verbal observation. She idly opens a vial to drop a dab of lavender on her wrist for a more calming sense of relief. She avoids his words, but as he nears the woman she automatically places the oil to the side. She is about to move to a different corner of the room, from the assertive mannerism he contained, but she halts in place as he calls her on her ‘crap’. The man, however, keeps the tone light as if she was a sensitive deer. “I think that I’ve been getting a lot better with my emotional dodging. It’s truly a talent. Except for the lying aspect, I try to say nothing at all anymore,” she releases a small breath as his hand gently brushes her hand, “You’ve caught me red handed—literally,” she lets him take the bandaged hand. “I said things I shouldn’t’ve,” her brows raise as she stares into the distance at her own thoughts. “The sucker might never walk away from me again,” moss eyes flick back over Lionel. “He was just trying to protect me… He’s worried. I’ve… well, not anymore,” the Ardelian sputters on her own words. “My ex… he’s kind have been back. For a while. But he’s not really my ex. He’s sort of a man I never met.“ Really, how well do you put the situation into words? “I was taking care of him because he has amnesia, but Krice didn’t think this was the right thing to do,” because he is a demon (cough), “and... he was right. I may have said unkindly things to Krice about the situation.” The woman then brushes her hand away from his clutch gently. “It’s all a blur.” It was not a blur. It was all she could think about.

Lionel was quite possibly the worst person Penelope had ever met to try phrasing things evasively with regards to people not quite being themselves. Not because he possessed a detective’s intuition or incredible intelligence. He was simply prone to inadvertently hitting the proverbial nail on the proverbial head via stark cynicism. “He’s your ex, but he’s not your ex. What is he, then, a demon?” Lionel said the words passively whilst examining Penelope’s hand with a scholar’s scrutiny though lacking any scholar’s wisdom. “Amnesiacs need all the help they can get, though.” Lionel knew it well, and from rather recent experience; he would inform Penelope about the Briar Ku Risu issue soon enough, though not today; today was well and truly booked with clear and present dedication to Penelope’s wellbeing. “But Krice wouldn’t advise against it if he didn’t have a decent reason for it, don’t you think? Just the other day, the chap warned me about my decision to promote a certain Lady Dragana to the rank of lieutenant. And you know what? To a tangible extent, he was right.”

Penelope stops, again, and turns around slowly at his guess. “Ha, ha,” she dramatically says with a sort of roll of her head. “Yes,” she says flatly before moving to another counter. “Amnesiacs do. Normally, I would send him to another clinic—not the hut—or let him even stay in my room,” she points to the upstairs with the thumb. “But, he only remembers me. Lucky me, right? So I guess I’m part of the key which I don’t want to be. I have to remind him of everything we have been through which has been…” The woman stares at Lionel with a stare so ghostly unfamiliar, but quickly the stare is gone has there was a loud swing of the door to the closed shop. “I’m looking for Lady Halifax of Ardelia! He needs your help, please!” A lady blows in who is around the warrior’s and the healer’s age. The woman has copper brown hair, sun-kissed skin, and hazel eyes. Her accent thicker than Penelope’s very faint tone. The woman looks dirty, her lips dry and chapped with tangled hair. In her hand, is a smaller hand of a boy who appears to be around eight years of age. He has dark brown chestnut hair, similar to Penelope’s, and olive skin. Engraved in his olive skin is unfamiliar runes that appear to be burned into the boy’s flesh. The boy’s shirt is stained with a spurted blood stains, and he appears, too, dehydrated. The physician does not have time to stare at the Ardelians. Ardelians? Why? Automatically, Penelope drops the conversation between Lionel and herself before moving to the boy’s side. “Lionel, clear space, on the counter please.” This was not a request, this was a demand. If Lionel abides, the woman would lead the strange copper-haired woman to bring the boy to the counter.

Lionel was thrown through a sudden tempest, which felt weird because in his experience it was usually due to things related either to him personally or all of Lithrydel which threw conversation partners of his -- rather than himself -- through sudden tempests. “I, ah,” he stuttered before doing precisely as Penelope requested. “Yes, this I can do.” He could do the thing. His mind was somehow preoccupied even in the midst of such a stunning moment; not for want of empathy, but because there was something about the boy’s features which felt familiar to the man. It hadn’t clicked yet just how similar the boy’s features were to Penelope’s, and now that they were in the thick of things it likely would not dawn upon him for some time yet. “Tell me what else to do, or else I’ll go silent and let you do what must needs be done.” It was a reflexive response. Lionel was here now, in the real world, attentive as intended. Whatever happened next, he knew that he didn’t need to play the hero. Halifax was the heroine, and he had every confidence in her ability to help this child through the crisis which so clearly plagued him so.

Penelope would almost help assist the boy with one hand, but Sofia Ulberg was not about to let the Ardelian touch him. “You have to be careful. His skin is inflamed to the touch. Where is Lady Halifax?” The translator says before Penelope keeps her distance at the boy’s engraved skin. “I am she—Penelope,” moss eyes reflect over the boy. “Who sent you?” She is talking to the boy and at the woman at the same time. The healer makes other observations momentarily. Dry lips on both of them, sun burns on Sofia, a few open wounds for both from the trek, but the boy’s runes unknown. Eyes fall on the blood-stained shirt. Internal bleeding? Why? “Lionel, you fetch water? I should have a pitcher in the fridge,” she lowers her tone realizing that throwing him in the medical moment may have been a little harsh, but she did have only one hand in use.

“Leon doesn’t speak common, Lady Halifax. I’m the chief’s translator, Sofia Ulberg. This is the chief’s son… from Ardelia. We don’t know what happened to him. All we know is that this was left with a note that lists ingredients that are rare to find and…” the copper haired woman begins to dig through a satchel that she carries at her hip. Through the rummaging, a small pyramid-shaped, enclosed dome is shown with an octogram outlined in crystal was on the shape. “This artifact. It shows the octogram. This resembles the twin linkage, Lady Halifax. You and your brother are the last of the line. We need you two to help us. We don’t know how long Leon has,” the woman explains slowly. She begins to cough out of dehydration. “The chief needs you.”

Lionel focused on the here and now for as long as he could. The water was fetched; the suture kit fetched as well. Simple tasks for a medically uninclined makeshift protege. Easy. Contrite. Forthright. He eyed the boy compassionately, worried for his health. Who wouldn’t be? But Lionel was also a student of culture, of world history and geography -- not by choice, perhaps, but by travel. He considered his familiarity with many parts beyond Lithrydel a boon, for it was a handy thing to know foreign invaders and prospective pilgrims before they stepped foot upon fair Hollow’s earth. If only he could recall more about Ardelians! Their nation was a tickle at the tip of his tongue. Studying the boy told him little. His features were similar to those seen in half a dozen other locales, including the southern stretches of former Catal. Perhaps even the word “Ardelia” was being conflated with something else. He all but kicked himself for failing to piece it together now, but that feeling quickly faded when Lionel saw the octogram and heard Sofia Ulberg’s words concerning Penelope. Now it was a challenge not to fixate on Halifax at the expense of everything else around him. He controlled that urge and remained at the healer’s service.

As the words flowed from Sofia’s chapped mouth, the color within Penelope’s face flushed with white. ‘We need you two to help us’. The room slowly circles, and Penelope remains motionless with an unreadable gaze on her face. Moments passed as the Ardelians and Lionel wait for the next move. “Kel. Kellin, right,” she snaps out of her unfamiliar daze. The girl, normally, was a quick wit to answer. “I say, we get you clean, stitched, rested, and fed,” the twin would coo. Something was not right, but Sofia nods all the same with the round-eyed boy who appears confused. The woman moves behind the counter to grab a couple glasses to pour the pitcher of water in for the two foreigners. She slides the glasses their way with a, “Here, start by hydrating,” and eyes shift to Lionel. Fixated. A stoic line on her lips, but concern all the same in the irises. “A word?” She mouths before pointing to the door to the outside to gesture him outside. If the Catalian moves forth, Penelope would hold a digit to the foreigners and she mumbles a phrase in another language—Ardelian—to get the two to remain where they rest. She did not know much as the tongue had faded over distance, but she still knew basic words. The physician then strides towards the door into the chill of the outside.

Lionel was relieved when Penelope called him away from the scene. Not because he didn’t care, but because he needed context. He hated not knowing a nation’s name off the top of his head, not only for reasons of realmwide security but out of an almost boyish fascination with the world around him -- the world he’d fled through at such a young age and reacquainted himself with in his early twenties. Once he and Penelope were a suitable distance wayward of the foreigners, Lionel studied the woman’s concerned gaze, ignoring -- or perhaps savoring -- the crisp weather which awaited them. “Of course,” he said. “I don’t immediately recognize ‘Ardelia.’ Nor you being the last of any lines for that matter. Though I suppose you often get the last line.” He bit his lip. “Sorry, the puns are relentless. My brain… is… anyway.”

Penelope makes sure she is out of window sight. Hands move to place themselves on her hips as if she is catching her breath after a blow to the gut. Her chin is tilted towards the sky to inhale and exhale briefly. The paleness in the woman’s face is still evident, but after a moment or two, she blinks the concern away as he turns the mood into puns. “Ardelia is very far off from Lithrydel, through swamps, past deserts—which explains the dehydration—over mountain ranges until really you reach a lush part of the earth.” Think the version of Hollow Norway landscape. “Very small. A village. Not even a huge piece of land. Sort of like a tribe,” she attempts to explain. “A tribe of druids.” She sort of rubs the side of her scalp to pin point how to explain where she came from. “I know long ago, I told you I was originally from Cenril… but I’m not. My parents were banished from Ardelia, so myself and my brother Pakellin were brought to Lithrydel. My parents were horrid people who were involved in gang related activity.” She bites the inside of her cheek to get her back on track. “What Sofia meant by the last of the line is the twin line. Our village is so small, and well, it all started with the Soren twins. That’s where the family line started. Apart, the twins only inherited certain properties when it came to divine magic, but together… they are stronger and are whole.” She inhales. “So,” she pulled up her sleeve to her white blouse and on her wrist is etched in ink of an eight-pointed star. “A symbol to mark that I am in the line with my brother. That pyramid can only be open by… us.” The freckled woman eyes the window to gaze at the boy who could not see her through the shadows. “It’s complicated. Strange, really.” A furrow comes to her brows in a squint of distant thought. “I think he’s going to die.”

Lionel O’Connor only flinched when Penelope Halifax informed him that she was from abroad. That part stabbed at him somehow, and at first he had no idea why. Slowly, he began to realize that when first they had met, it was her own mysterious origins which had called to him, though he could never have consciously realized it; the sense that Penelope was as a stranger to Lithrydel at her core, no matter how long she had lived here. It was something Lionel himself would always sympathize with, and it was something he could always tell he shared in common with someone. “The Tongzhen,” he said simply. “Those swamps you mentioned. And the deserts? The Yasha-Tar Sandsea. The mountain ranges certainly include the Greater Dewbacks, although some countries know them better as the Aurens. I get it now. I know where you’re from.” He paused, placing a hand to Penelope’s cheek in a gentle, brushing manner. Her lack of tears meant nothing to him; he could feel the sting on her face as though it were her own. Watching as Penelope revealed the eight-pointed star tattoo, he nodded and offered an oddly simple shrug. “So that’s what this is all about. Got it.” Lionel’s azure eyes swept back toward the door. “I’d rather that boy didn’t die. Is there anything I can do to help prevent that from happening? Anything at all. And as for this pyramid business, it wouldn’t be my first trip through a trapezoid.” Two things were immediately apparent after that sentence: Lionel was volunteering himself unequivocally, and Lionel did not understand basic geometry.

Penelope searched his gaze as if piecing together the map she once lost. Everything made sense. “The Aurens. Between the Aurens,” she confirmed. As he brushed her cheek, her face remains in that emotionless expression that showed strength. When had been the last time Penelope let tears flow freely? “I’d rather not either,” she shakes her head. “I suppose all we could really do right now is study the ingredients on that list. Figure out where to find what we need to at least.” Her lips pucker and twist at the mention of trapezoids. Her smile feigns, but at the same time, the humor rests within her eyes. “Triangle,” immediately she shoves on him gently and a little playful, however the playfulness fades and she is back to that stumped expression as she remembers reality. “As for the –pyramid-…” Her eyes squint a little as the waves of pain wash over her. Her gut felt tight as she sensed the void within her back. An emptiness that was normally carried since the incident long ago. “My brother died.” At this point, she is staring through the window at the boy with avoidance of the warrior before her. “So, I need to study the pyramid. Find a loophole. There has to be another way.” A sharp breath is sucked in and her moss eyes that are normally doe-eyed are hardened. “You can’t say a word. To anyone. Not yet. They can’t lose hope knowing that Kel is gone.” Especially because Pakellin Halifax was always the stronger twin of the two. Her arms slowly cross across her body to keep herself steady.

Triangles. Trapezoids. Why would these two words with separate meanings sound somewhat similar, but to mock Lionel -- to label him a fool! -- on this most auspicious of evenings! He could think of a few time-traveling archvillains, alive or dead -- one of whom was both! -- whom he could blame for such nonsense. And blame them he would… were there time for some tomfrakkery. “There is a loophole. There will be another way.” Lionel spoke with authority on the matter, though Penelope knew him well enough by now that she ought to have recognized he was making a grandiose claim for the short-term optimistic betterment of those around him. In this case, that meant Penelope and Penelope alone. Some through the years had found the Catalian’s wild proclamations, unfounded and not always well-timed, to be annoying or worse. And, truth be told, he knew it too. But bolstering the beliefs of those who needed to believe? That never felt unwise. “Got it, lass. Not a word.” Lionel dealt in hope; it was the currency through which he aimed to trigger good things. This would be no exception. He led Penelope back inside as best he could, adding steel to her steel.

Penelope did not know whether to feel reassured or if his words should take an exit out the next ear. For his sake and sanity, she gives him the reassuring nod and forces the tenseness in her shoulders to relax, but she even looked stiff doing that. “Thank you,” and with that, she is led back in to face the foreigners with the dirty secret she was keeping from them. The lie, however, would bring a new sort of hope to their lives, and would give the reassurance they needed. For the betterment of their lives. For their people. For Penelope’s people. Before Lionel has anymore interaction, she moves to block him from the path. “For now, you have enough on your plate with man-eating plants,” part of her was trying to add a comedic light to his situation. A hand is held up to intervene before he disagrees. “Let me handle this. Let me research the herbs. Let me focus on the vault.” The woman would eye the Ardelians from across the room. “Remember when I said that a simple ‘see you soon’ would suffice? Right now is that time… and I’ll find you. Let me find you like you always find me. I won’t keep you in the dark. Not this time.” Her face was tender, sweet, and sincere, and her hand moves to gingerly touch his arm to pluck away the doubts he may have.