RP:The Voyage Home

Summary: On the return trip from the Demon Archipelago the weary heroes attempt to regroup on the Tranquility. Lionel and Kasyr learn of Quinton's fate, and as expected from the Warriors Guild, a fight nearly ensues.

Lionel || It had only been a month since his disappearance, but Lionel O’Connor felt like he had spent half a lifetime inside that damn cave. His amber hair had grown almost to his shoulders, and his face was filled with stubble. He was leaner, and not quite in a good way. He walked with a degree of awkwardness and even trepidation, but he’d ironed out some of those issues already thanks to fighting the soulstorm alongside the others. Nothing sets one's footing like imminent danger. All things considered, Lionel was more or less fine. In fact, on some levels he was thrilled. When he'd first been warped to the Demon Archipelago, he was just as clueless as any of his rescuers. At first, he absolutely resented the notion that anyone else should ever go there, because death followed almost everybody who had ever done so, but by the time the future incarnations of Penelope Halifax and Rilla O'Mordha had explained their aims, Lionel was more than onboard. He was eager to get on with it and gladdened when things progressed as planned. The allies had gained the abilities that those two time-altering saviors believed were vital to turning the tide against Xicotl before it was too late. And, with their arrival, he would have more than just the pair of post-apocalyptic survivors for conversation partners. So, why then did Lionel feel an uncomfortable pit in his stomach?

He was seated in the library, near the heart of the Tranquility, which had been Quinton Navarre's ship long before it became Brand's. Lionel wondered how Quinton was getting on after what must have been such a harrowing experience. Everything was far larger inside the Tranquility than it appeared to be from the outside, a fact that had been crucial in this crew's success on more than one occasion. Lionel sat near the left wall, which was lined with bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling. That impressive design was echoed on the right side of the library as well. More impressive than any bookcase, however, was the far wall, which was composed in its entirety of magically-reinforced glass that offered a view half-above and half-beneath the surface of the water. The skies were clear today, a stark change from the greyer weather the three ships had encountered on their way to the Archipelago. Lionel soaked in the incredible view, sipping tea and pondering the truth behind that pit in his stomach. Maybe he just needed to eat something.

Krice was the last to board the ship, hyped up on supernatural levels of resolve that enabled him to protect everyone else despite his own failing health. Standing at the bow of the Tranquility, he spent at least half of the homeward trip with his katana held at his side and a hard stare fixed on the archipelago - just in case they were followed by otherworldly threats. While his allies moved inward, he remained stalwart and vigilant on deck, though he eventually had to curl his free left hand over the railing in subtle support of his sagging posture. With the immediate threat seemingly passed, his heightened focus waned.

Kasyr is still trying to process everything that had happened. His flight from the island had been a blur, both literally and figuratively- and it had been all he could do to ensure the safety of his fledgeling, and of the man they'd set out to save. No doubt, that sense of concern is what ultimately led to him eschewing the carefully orchestrated squads that had been established by their interim leader, and following Lionel onto the Tranquility- his fledgeling still in tow. And yet, even with them safe, sound and proximal- the Kensai still found himself consumed by a terrible trepidation, his mind flickering back towards the image of the great serpent they had left in their wake. Both unchecked and unbroken, it's nightmarish image loomed large in Kasyr's minds' eye- coaxing him to obsessively watch the horizon for even a hint of it's outline. "Merde."

Rilla did not ask questions, did not pass go, did not even consider getting on another boat. She had questions and they needed to be answered. No one else could do that but Lionel. Had any of that really just happened? Was it possible that she in fact was squished to death by a monstrous whale and this was just her version of life flashing before her eyes given that she was already dead? All the same, aboard the Tranquility she went. Her cloak and most of her weapons were abandoned where she slept, but after what happened Rilla wasn’t certain if she ever wanted not to have a weapon on her again. She’d spent most of her time pacing, trying to burn off the excess adrenaline but today she had a different mission. Answers, the library, all of it. If she had to be inside it might as well be with books. She scuffed a foot against the floor as she approached to announce her presence and cleared her throat. One hand rose, pushed auburn curls back from her face. “Lionel, do you mind if I join you?” She questioned, “if you’re not busy, of course. Or tired?” Whatever people were after being yeeted by people from the future in an effort to save the world.

Khitti || Before they’d even gotten back to the ship, Khitti had been… well… Emotional. Kind of happens when you’ve had magic since your teens but it was never -truly- yours--even moreso that it was fully forced upon her. And now it -was- hers and she no longer felt trapped. She felt more of a connection to Cyris’ holy symbol--a broken shackle and chain--than she ever had before. Still way more cynical than most devout folk, this was not something Khitti chalked up to something Cyris did himself. Of course he hadn’t. But, that didn’t mean she still couldn’t have some sort of a connection to his domain. Brand was busy dealing with his crew and there was not a Dominic to watch over, and that left her with more time by herself than she wanted. Khitti was far too introspective about this. Amarrah’s appearance did not help things. What if her dead family members -wasn’t- in the void? That had been the agreement of the curse, but... What if -Khitti- hadn’t been in the void either, when she died almost three and a half years ago? What if she had been trapped with the other spirits of the Demon Archipelago and Vakmatharas plucked her out of it? There was movement about the ship. People shifting from one of the other vessels to the Tranquility. Quickly, she shut the door to her and Brand’s quarters, tears lining olive-green eyes again. She did not want to be around people just now… and yet, if Brand could not attend to them, then she probably should. The former templar took a few minutes to compose herself, wiped her eyes, and headed to the galley briefly. There she grabbed a silver tray, put several small mugs on it, two teapots full of water (which she heated with her magic), and a few different canisters of various types of tea. Khitti passed through the halls and decks in silence, carrying the tray, and did not make eye contact with anyone in the library. If she did, she might cry again. Khitti does not cry in front of -people-. So after making herself a cup of tea, she took it to one of the tables beside the left side of the room’s bookcase and left it there to steep. Khitti would then busy herself with looking at the texts on the wall. She never quite found what she was looking for, though. Mainly because she wasn’t looking for anything at all, in the first place.

Penelope rested against the ship’s frame towards the choppiness of waves. The girl made a clear move to board the Tranquility to remain in proximity of Lionel. The warrior being gone for a month had to have taken quite the toll on his body, so it did not really hurt to have a healer on board, right? In her hands, thumbs run over the cylindrical artifact, yet eyes do not necessarily focus on the object. Instead, serenity shined through and washed over her face. Serenity resulted from resolution from the mission, but she knew it was not over. The battle was not over, but they had a step in the right direction. Oh, do not worry, the lack of sleep over the past few months had been on that freckled face of hers too. Questions consumed her mind, obviously. Many. Future Penelope. How had she managed to survive that long? That would have to wait because out of the corner of her eye, she notices a man draped in black. Krice facing the same direction she was. It was time. The girl places the object in her pocket and keeps steady. “Thank you. For… sweeping me back there,” she begins gesturing towards the archipelago. A beat happens. "I think we should talk again, err--" breath. "I mean, I'd like to talk again. Not today, obviously, but.. I want to know if you would give me the chance? For real this time. No awkwardness. Nothing to hold back." Smooth, Nel. Great with words. Finger guns.

Iintahquohae felt like a word that is conveniently muffled by the sound of gulls flying overhead when she eventually came to. With that unimaginable pain mixed with the fear that still coursed through her, she clung as tightly to Kasyr as she might have clung to her parents as a child, after waking from a nightmare involving Cenril's anchor-toting boogeyman. With Sacred no longer possessing her and influencing her overall fearlessness, the phobia she had for snakes had reemerged, and she couldn't stop trembling. The more distance between the sight of the massive snake and herself, the better. What she doesn't see as they reach the Tranquility, is the fingers of black, primordial ooze that race out from the cave's opening, barreling over the Six trailing behind Tranquility and knocking members of the seamstress's crew overboard, heading straight for her. Once they are on board and the ooze reaches her, smacking her square in the back likely in the same spot the pyrefly hit her, it overtakes her form, wrenching her from Kasyr's grasp to be reabsorbed into her body through any visible flesh it can claim, eyes, nose and mouth. She is too weak to fight it off, and accepts her fate, crumpling against the railing of the Tranquility and doing what she can to keep herself from falling overboard. She eventually sinks to the floor to an uncomfortable seat, head leaning against the railing at a cross-beam so she can't slip through a gap. Through blurry, teary-eyed vision, she looks for her sire along with others on deck that are nearby, and tries to speak. It's garbled, due to some of the ooze forcing itself back into her body via that opening, but he can probably guess what his fledgling is attempting to say. “This is bad.”

Lionel took one of the cups of Khitti's tea before he even thought to ask. It was a bit chilly in here just now, and it had been that much cooler inside the Cave of Regrets. "Thanks," he said to his sister, though he immediately sat back down. Though he tried not to think about it, his legs were aching something awful. Sinking into his seat, he was just about to reach for his hot beverage when Rilla appeared. "Not busy," Lionel stammered. It was strange, seeing Rilla with much smoother features and empathetically awkward social graces again. In the heat of the moment, Catal's Last Prince had managed a cheeky, trademark, one-liner toward the woman. Now? Now, he had to really look at her, and it took a few blinks before his azure eyes could accept what he was seeing. "No, not busy. Just… a bit out of sorts, I guess. Who wouldn't be, eh?" Afterward, he rose and stretched, strolling several paces to Khitti's location. "Have some tea," he offered Rilla, confident that the mugs were for all to share. The only thing Khitti poured several mugs of and kept to herself was alcohol. "I'm sure you're wanting to know about your, uh, other-self. It's weird, but a little sad. I think that Rilla, and that Penelope, probably ceased to exist as soon as the future was altered. In a way, she's you now."

Krice almost didn't hear Penelope; a good portion of his mental fortitude was devoted to simply staying conscious, that devoting even a sliver of it to outside things - such as the introduction of conversation - required a little more effort than he presently found comfortable to expend. Still, the warrior turned his head toward the voice, a sentence spoken long enough to filter through the fog of his mind until, upon the words 'nothing to hold back', the familiarity of Penelope's tone unlocked all that she had said prior. An apology, an olive branch, and a request to at least be heard. His expression softened in reflection of an unspoken agreement to the latter, but now that his focus had been diverted from internal concentration, he caught wind of another potential problem. Kasyr and Quotes weren’t too close but they were within eyeshot, and within his hearing range. “ We’ll talk,” Krice said to the nearby healer, followed by a tired blink in the direction of the other two topside. “ Let’s check…” Without awaiting Penelope’s response, the warrior turned to approach their allies, his uneven gait slowing his progress. Following cues given by Kasyr, even simply reactions to the warrior’s approach, Krice would halt just outside Iintaquohae’s reach to stand guard while Penelope presumably stepped in to assist. He hoped to communicate his concern for them through the furrow of a brow and a lingering stare.

Kasyr finds himself at a loss for how to process the stomach churning confluence of ichor, or the way it so invasively moors itself into the seamstresses form. Some small, selfish part of him even feels relief- as it frees him from the lingering shadow of responsibility, that he should have endeavoured to suppress the creature rather then flee to the ship, even if it meant laying down his life. Yet, whatever fragment of absolution might be found in that guilty thought, it's overtaken by a fresh wave of concern at the pitiful state it leaves his fledgeling in. Really, all he can do in the moment is make sure to keep a hand on her back, despite his obvious discomfort at proximity with the viscous mess- to ensure she had support, and a means of tugging her back if it looked like she might fall in. When Krice makes his way over (and likely with Penelope in tow), the Kensai can't help but look grateful- "I can't say it's not worse than it looks. But . . ." But what? There's a familiarity to this atrocious ordeal, and one that has the Kensai adding, "I think, with somewhere to rest, et some food in her, she'll feel better." That latter bit earns a pause from Kasyr when he thinks a little bit harder on what getting some food for her means, but quite frankly- this was still better than the time she coated the floor of an inn in horrible ouroboros tainted bile. "Need a shoulder to lean on?"

Rilla’s brows pulled together for an instant, her head cocked to one side at Lionel’s reaction to her. It must have been strange, she studied him for a beat as hundreds of questions threatened to bubble up all at once. “I can only imagine. I was there and back three times now, I’m still not totally sure I can comprehend most of it.” She shook her head, “I’m sorry, I guess I sort of did that to you.” Her nose wrinkled, and she followed him over to Khitti and the tea. “Thank you,” She nodded to Khitti, offered a smile as she took a cup. No sugar. “Tea usually helps if you’re not feeling well. Or liquor. I guess both is probably an option, and I wouldn’t blame anyone at this point.” She laughed, though the expression was suppressed and replaced quickly into something less-prominent. “I’m not sure I understand anything that happened if I’m being honest. Did we save the world?” She rocked back on her heel, bit the inside of her cheek as she considered it for a moment, watching Lionel’s face as if somehow she might find an answer there. “I’m sure that she - I knew what I was doing. Knowing me.” A quick shrug, it was a lot to process, but Rilla couldn’t mourn a future that she clearly hadn’t wanted. “Are you okay?” She asked more softly, concern colouring her tone. “You were there for what, a month? Were you alone?”

\Khitti || Oh, Khitti wished she had her whiskey with her, but it was probably for the better she didn’t. That’d probably come later on when Brand was free, so the two of them could just drink together. And she’d probably cry then too. Khitti sighed, did not choose a book, and headed over to the window to stare outside. The top half of the massive glass wall, the horizon could be seen, the same one that those up top were seeing. The bottom half gave Khitti the ability to see into the depths of the ocean itself. There wasn’t much to see, but she took to staring into the inky-blackness of the sea regardless. “If you stick around, you’ll find that the world is always in need of saving,” she said at length, her tone rather flat. It was clear that she was only half listening. “There will always be someone to frak it up. I don’t think I’ve had much downtime, when it comes to that sort of stuff, since I met Lionel. Once you really -see- things, you cannot unsee them. You cannot go about your life ignoring things as most people do. It is a curse and a blessing.” Khitti sipped at her tea, not once taking her eyes off the window as she spoke. It was not the first time she’d called something “a curse and a blessing”. Most recently it had been her magic. That thought process only sent Khitti back into introspection.

Penelope managed to finally gaze towards Krice’s way. To really look at him this time. Observing the stoic expression; the slump in his posture. Was he tired? Defeated? She could not pin-point it. She absorbed him with one easy glaze. They’ll talk. That was all she needed. Short. Then, attention is towards the woman that is sunken to the ground with barely audible words. Instinctively, the Ardelian’s wool robe is shrugged off to provide freedom, even if that cold brushed against her human frame. She nears and brushes past Krice and lowers to Iintahquohae’s eye-level. The black ooze. “What the…” In Nel’s eyes there was a look of momentary fear. A mild flashback. It vanished before one would know it came. The ooze reminded the healer of—forget that. That was over. Eyes cast up to the Kensai sternly. “What happen—“ he is already explaining. Well, sort of. Considering she had no idea what was going on in her array of healer knowledge, she would trust Kasyr’s words. “I would agree with that statement. Hydration, food, rest, and we can keep a close eye on her. I’ll help,” the healer automatically moves to the other side of the woman and lingers. Now if the woman chose, she would have not one, but two shoulders.

Iintahquohae seems to be recovering as the remainder of the ooze returns to her, though she is left covered in detritus that it leaves behind. Glasses lenses are smeared in it, her clothes are saturated in it, and as she comes to her senses with the assistance of Sacred encouraging her along, her head slowly turns to Kasyr. A grateful, oddly fanged grin spreads across her features, and the voice that falls from her voice is raw and hoarse, likely due to vomiting out the black ichor before and then forcibly having it shoved down her throat again. “T-thanks, Kas. Food sounds wonderful,” she adds, turning from her sire to Krice, then Penelope once she has drawn closer. Close enough to grab and bite, but she visibly stiffens and shifts to lean back against Kasyr again, whispering, “Keep an eye on me.” The healer is given an appreciative somewhat wry smile, with effort made on her part to not bare her fangs. Upon wobbly legs and the assistance of Penelope, the seamstress stands and immediately begins unbuttoning her shirt. She tries to wring the remaining bits of ooze from the grey button-up after removing it, then ultimately gives up and tosses it overboard. “Jacket please,” she says to Kas, extending a hand while the other the other yanks down her pants after she's kicked off her boots, peeled away wool socks, leaving her in undergarments. There's nothing special about them – just white cotton, stained grey due to the ichor that soaked through to them. Don't worry folks, there's nothing to look at here. “I'm not walking down there covered in this, but I want to at least look decent...But barefoot. It'll have to do.” Whenever the jacket is handed to her, she quickly buttons it up, blinks confusedly at the sheer weight of the contents of the pockets, but pats down at them in search for Kasyr's cigarettes, and tosses them to him once she's found them. “Add new jacket to the list of things I probably owe you.” With the jacket's collar popped a bit, she doesn't notice that the serpent tattoo that she assumed returned to her throat or somewhere else on her body has in fact become black scales encircling her throat where the tattoo once rested. Assuming that the Tranquility's layout is similar to any other ship, she heads below deck with the assumption that Kasyr, Krice and Penelope are following, marveling at the size of the ship's interior. The sound of familiar voices is what leads her to the library, and once she has arrived, the seamstress quietly pads in, keeping to the perimeter of the room with hopes of bumping into Rilla along the way. Unknown to her, much like the appearance of serpent's scales on her neck, beneath Kasyr's jacket, an ebon-bladed scimitar has gradually began to materialize within a scabbard at her right hip. She mistakes the weight for the weight of the contents of the jacket's pockets. Perplexed, she looks at her sire. The hell does he keep in this thing?

Lionel needed to hear his sister's voice first. Not just because he knew she would have a unique answer for Rilla, but because he missed her, even if he might never admit it aloud. "Yeah." He took a deep breath and gave the ocean a brief, aimless observation before returning his attention to Rilla. More needed to be said and he was the only one now who could ever say it. "You gave the world a fighting chance," Lionel said after a moment. "That's what was needed. That's what one of the civilizations that fell prey to Xicotl had tried to do but failed. A lot of things had to be lined up just so." He took a sip of his tea, his mind a mess that was still trying to process everything even after spending so much time connected to the two women who knew it all. "Penelope and Kasyr unearthed the pieces of that civilization's ill-fated little science project weeks before your future self pulled me to the cave. I think whoever it was that built it knew they were going to die soon and hid the parts away in the hopes that they might play some small role in helping others. Distant, distant, others. A millennia and more away from them." Lionel shook his head at the sheer luck required for this hard-earned victory. The past, the present, and the future had to combine with such exactitude. It felt good, though, knowing that for once the luck was on their side.

"After the rest of us all kicked the bucket, Miss Halifax introduced one Miss O'Mordha to the machine. Together, they pieced it back together. Their studying -- your studying -- wasn't enough to save their Lithrydel. But it could erase it altogether, resetting the board and changing the course of history. That's why my life was spared. Why her life was spared." He gestured to Khitti. "Brand's. Their kid's. Krice's, Kasyr's, Rorin's, Quintessa's. Hundreds of thousands more. We may yet die trying to thwart this latest foe despite your future self's little intervention," he admitted dryly, "but our fates are our own again because of you." That was a lot to say. He could barely imagine how much heavier a task it must be to learn it all for the first time. "You were hesitant to tell me much about yourself for the first fortnight or so. I got the feeling the Lionel who died out there never knew you very well. But sooner or later, I suppose Penelope wasn't the only conversation partner you needed. That's why --" Lionel was caught off-guard when Iintahquohae entered his peripheral. At one of the junctures through which he had vanished, he was literally meeting and greeting the woman for the first time and telling her of the Demon Archipelago. He felt disoriented but recovered himself just in time to see the others who were traveling behind her. "Penelope," he breathed raggedly but with visible relief. Seeing her again, like this, felt even stranger than seeing Rilla. No doubt because he and Penelope were far closer.

Krice’s poor posture was indeed caused by exhaustion, overuse of his abilities while already in a state of disrepair circa Quintessa-poison. He was not likely to have told Penelope that, though, even if she had asked. When the healer brushed past him, he moved to lean against the railing near the now-trio of his fellow adventurers in search of discreet support from the strength of the ship. His focus was on the small group, notably Iintahquohae’s struggles that seemed to intensify - however briefly - as Penelope neared. Still, it seemed as though the afflicted woman harboured sufficient levels of control over her ailments that he didn’t ever feel a need to intervene. While the healer talked with the pair, he remained quiet at her back and once more turned his attention to himself, focusing inward on whatever strength he still had to remain on his feet. So absorbed in his concentration was the silver-haired enigma that he almost got left behind topside when Penelope moved with Kasyr and Quotes toward the lower decks of the ship. He followed with a slight shuffle to his step, gingerly lifting his arm to sheathe the katana in its scabbard upon his back before they descended below. With a final glance back toward the Demon Archipelago just to reassure himself that there was no danger pursuing the fleeing ship, Krice turned to follow his comrades into what ended up being the library, the sound of voices drawing him from his musings about the ship’s interior and how he wished he possessed more awareness to truly comprehend the floating structure.

As they entered the library, Krice felt a distinct disturbance in the air around him and he found staring at Iintahquohae specifically, though he couldn’t understand why. The atypical energies caused him enough concern that he reached out to brush one of Kasyr’s sleeves, to as silently as possible warn the Kensai, with a nod, to keep his eye on the woman. Eager to maintain some kind of distance not related to the woman herself, he took up a seat near the bookshelves and sat a little heavier than intended, causing wood to grind against wood. The resulting noise was sudden and loud and he grimaced out an apology to his friends as he slumped onto folded arms over the table in front of him, right forearm up, palm platformed beneath his cheek. Like this, he observed his allies and listened attentively to Lionel’s conversation with Rilla alongside intermittent comments from others.

Kasyr can't count the ways in which his awkwardness his ramped up exponentially in the last few moments. For one thing, there's the perpetual awareness of his fledgelings appetites, and the fact that he'd dragged her to the ship -without- a ready supply of prisoners to nibble on- something which is hammered further home by the seamstresses quiet request to him. This is made even worse, in fact- when he provides her his coat for modestys sake, something which lays bare the sheer amount of self inflicted wounds that the invocation of those fulgur-related forces had wreaked on his form before Empera had intervened. "I'll do my best." He tries to afford the seamstress what he thinks passes for a brave smile, the likes of which he also extends towards Penelope when she moves to take up Inks' other arm. "And Thanks." That said, when Krice finally reaches out to tug at him, the Kensai finds himself almost wondering if it's due to how unsteady his steps are on the way to the library, a hypothesis that only lasts until the nod and glance signal his actual cause for concern. Unsure what else to do, Kasyr finds himself offering a tentative nod back, before trailing after Inks in order to find a seat to collapse into. At the very least, he could try to tune into the tail end of whatever heroic bits of exposition were currently going on in the library. "Hey", he manages to blurble out- seemingly heedless of the fact that he sounds like he's just served as a blood donor to a pack of vampires. Okay, that exhaustion was really starting to catch up, now that he didn't have the looming threat of unattended snake thing to help keep him awake by sheer virtue of distress.

Rilla was, truthfully trying very hard not to react to Khitti and the emotion that came off of her. She didn’t know what to say, wasn’t close enough to know what was and wasn’t alright. “Someone else told me that once.” She mused, but left it alone. It was painful for her, and Khitti was already losing herself into thoughts again with or without her. Rilla hesitated, glass in hand which she raised to her lips as Lionel explained, blowing on it before she took a sip. She worked to keep her face even, bit her tongue, but she couldn’t keep the surprise off of her face when he said her name. Her hand twitched, breath stopped and for a moment her body tensed. But he wasn’t done, and she didn’t interrupt. Not until she heard others enter, and she turned to look at them. Her first instinct was to be defensive, but there was nowhere to go and these were not her enemies. “Who told you that was my name?” She asked under her breath as she looked back at him, bright-blue eyes flashing with some unnameable emotion. They were all tangled up, and it had been too long since she’d had to navigate such things after succumbing to more base urges. For a moment she was torn, but with all of these new visitors, she took a step back. Licked her lips and took a breath as she looked at them each one by one and then back to Lionel. “I haven’t given anyone that name in nearly a decade. Did I -” she stopped, eyes widened in surprise - “when we’re back on shore I need you to tell me what she - I told you.” With that she pulled her eyes from his face, rolled on her heels as she tried to resist the urge to pace now that they were less-alone. Every person in the room seemed to have their own difficult inner-monologue running across their face - blank or not, she could only assume that everyone’s experience was just as confusing as hers.

Khitti || [1 of 2] Ugh, why was she feeling so clingy right now? Khitti fought off the urge to go find Brand again. He needed to work. The ship needed its captain. He had things to do. She wasn’t like this during all of her other near and actual deaths. Or maybe she had been, but she’d just ignored it. She’d been so focused on things during the Frostmaw War. During her quest to get her vampirism cure. And she’d been hellbent on saving Brand from being ripped apart that day she died at Cenril’s bridge. But now? Things felt weird. Maybe it was the shift of alternate timelines. Things had felt weird for a while after Onyx and Facilier died and there had been far too many timelines involved in that. Or maybe it’s because she’d been grieving. And she grieved some more when she found out Onyx had been her child in another timeline. Was she grieving now? Khitti looked down at her hands where the alchemical symbols had once been, one of purification, the other of putrefaction. What was she grieving for? The life-that-almost-was? The fact that they even killed Dominic? A three year old? It reminded her of the nightmares Amarrah forced on her several years ago. Dominic had died in his early twenties, taken his own life. She could do nothing then in those dreams, just as she could do nothing during the life that Rilla and Penelope’s other selves lived through. The former templar should be celebrating though, shouldn’t she? Because they lived? Because now she was free? And Lionel wasn’t dead? And they all got to go home?

Khitti || [2 of 2] Tears had made themselves known again as her mind did loop-de-loops and figure eights, tying it up in knots like a cat with a ball of yarn. And once they started, she couldn’t really stop. Something felt different. Something… something… something... She couldn’t put her finger on it. And she wouldn’t have a chance to as her train of thought was derailed by people finally filing into the library. Immediately, the look of panic and confusion that was written on her face was wiped away. The tears were likewise gotten rid of. Only a sniffle or two betrayed her previous disposition. Maybe she was getting sick. Yeah. It was allergies.

Penelope could feel the stiffness in the woman, and easily she lets the woman take her time. There was no hint the girl would know the strange woman was fanged. A wave of short patience and then they are up to assist the woman take off her garb to get out of the ichor-covered clothing. “It works. You’re good,” the Ardelian says in a softer tone. She then follows suit, and keeps a close eye on the woman that now had… black scales encompassing her throat? Was that what she was—and then the Kensai is giving his gratitude. “Anytime.” The voices throughout the Tranquility become clearer. Explanations echo through the walls. Future Rilla and future Penelope reset the playing board. How did she survive? That was the only question that casts through her mind. She survived. Kasyr did not. It was hard to wrap her head around, but there was a feeling of… strength that settled in her spine. The library comes into view, and the healer hears him. The Catalian was in one piece. The Ardelian moves beyond Iintahquohae’s back. How long had it been? It had been as if they were on two different planes. “Hi,” she breathes and eyes linger on him for a long pause to take him in. It was a strange feeling to see him sitting there leaner framed and uncut. “Look who pulled our chains again,” a light, drier humor, but one gentle all-the-same. Humor was her usual coping mechanism. Where else would she put her emotions? “And you thought you could get away,” she remains standing. “Not so easy, Sir O’Connor.” She plays with his surname at first, like usual, until the ease dies in her face. Her tone then reflects something distant, “Not at all.” It was not easy for her to play off, but with a few blinks the calmness returns, for there were far too many people to truly react. The warrior’s disappearance did not settle well, and she still felt the unsettled simmer. “You should be resting not—” a hand gestures around the library with brows crinkling. A faint smirk forms. He would get the hint, however it was obvious she would not completely uphold him from explanations. Questions needed to be answered and comments needed to be made.

Iintahquohae is caught off guard by Lionel being caught off guard, but mostly she's made aware of the state he looks to be in. Not that her outward state is any better, really, but she has a feeling he's worse off than she, what with disappearing for an extended period of time in that cave and all. “You look terrible. You should fix that,” she remarks with a smile as the others file in. This is not how you greet people who have gone through the wringer, but she hopes her hoarse voice sounds lighthearted. Besides, it looks like the healer has a similar sense of humor, so hopefully her comment is acceptable. Catching the tail end of Rilla's exchange with Lionel causes a raised brow, but she makes no comment as it isn't her business. The redhead looks okay, and for her that's good enough. Her eyes, after wiping dried up black ooze from them with the back of her hand, fall to Khitti next. She missed the woman's tears, but figured she should say something to the ship's owner. Following her sire's lead, all she can think of is, “Hey,” with a little wave.

Lionel was honestly experiencing some severe sensory overload. It only took a month and change for him to grow accustomed to being around only two people, day in and day out, and then only through voices and distorted projections. That didn't mean he wasn't happy to see them all. He was looking forward to seeing the others, too; Rorin, and Quintessa, and Quinton, and Sundance, and even Risu. But there was no controlling the somewhat shell-shocked impulse to want to flee. That was when he noticed his sister again. Khitti looked like she was suffering from severe allergies. Lionel had dealt with allergies before and it wasn't pleasant at all. A wave of sympathy drew over him and he decided that his allergic family member would be happier if she could sip her tea in peace. Hopefully, whatever she was reacting to would leave when they all did. Maybe she was allergic to Iintahquohae? "You did," he finally answered Rilla. Rilla told Lionel her name. It was as simple as that… and as complicated as that. He had half a mind to suggest everyone get some shuteye. Maybe he would have, even, had it not been for Penelope. Lionel couldn't help but fix her with a smirk. Her wit was still intact. So long as Penelope had her wit, her will remained. And oh, how Lionel knew the healer's will better even than she would now. "Let's take a walk," he suddenly suggested, leading the way outside the library and down a long hall.

Krice knew that everyone in this room had his or her own kind of strength, his or her own method by which they dealt with things that were stressful. Granted, being stuck in a mind-trap for perceived-months and learning that you’re part of an altered timeline that once ran toward a destination at which you and your loved ones perished, was a little more than just ‘stressful’. It would take some time for them all to come to terms with it, even he of resolute mind and inherent fortitude. For now, he remained in his upright slump so tired from battle and undeath-poisoning that his expression changed even less than normal, despite the positive realization that Lionel, the friend they had come to save, was in once piece.

Cheek bunched beneath his eye, by the pressure of the palm upon which his face rested, the warrior swept the room with half-lidded eyes to nite those who remained - and those who would leave now that Lionel's story was - for the moment, anyway - over.

"Penelope and Rilla took a big risk, resetting the timeline," he mused thoughtfully, tongue heavy behind his teeth but not hindering his speech too much. " We could have failed again... But I guess they felt like they didn't have much to lose, anyway. But they survived, somehow... " They could have reset the timeline and sealed their deaths alongside their comrades in so doing. Maybe they would all expire before their time regardless. The thought reminded him of the imagery up on that wall, his fall to the enemy which led to the brutal death of the most important person in his life. The memory of it caused a visible grimace and Krice turned his face into his palm, rubbing at his eyes in tempered distress as if doing so would relieve him of those images.

Kasyr can feel his cheeks puffing out as he observes the quick exchange of glances between Lionel and Khitti, as well as the ensuing invitation to shuffle. With an exasperated sigh that rather promptly transitions into a yawn, the Kensai staggers back up to his feet and begins to stagger out from the library, a hand extended out to take hold of Inks sleeve and tug them along. Still, before he departs, he finds himself fixing a tired look in Krices direction, "There's a difference between survival, et living. Et given what we saw, that's the sort of situation that tends to justify any risk. Though I wonder how much of it was calculated, et how much was a gamble." The Kensai, in truth, was leaning more towards the latter- with the cave of regrets having served as a crucible to temper the warriors, and a mirror to showcase just what would have occured otherwise. That he had become one of Xicotl's thralls was hardly lost on him, either- a disturbing thought twisting his features into a grimace. Lionel's addressed at this point, the Kensai trying to force the edge out of his voice, "You spent a while there. Do you have any more insight?"

Rilla was off again as soon as Lionel’s focus changed, still uncomfortable around people - in particular him, though before it hadn’t been an issue. Before he hadn’t known her name and whatever else a version of herself might have told him. She strode to the window, thin form silhouetted in the light as she collected her thoughts. With one ear she listened, the other she tried to just remain still. Unless she was jumping off of this boat and swimming home, she needed to be able to stay the night here. “Lionel is right, whatever I did, that person doesn’t exist anymore. She knew she wouldn’t.” She’d said so, in her own way. If anyone was going to understand Rilla, it was her. “I’d do the same thing -” obviously - “because whether we succeeded or not there was nothing to lose,” and softer, “still isn’t, but at least there’s a chance for the rest of the world.” She clenched her jaw, hands rested on her hips and her shoulders curved under whatever weight she carried and refused to let go of. “But I promise you that if it was my plan we were pretty sure it would work, or that at least we knew the reward was greater than the risk.” She turned, a wry smile on her face as she looked from Krice to Kasyr - both relative strangers - and shrugged. “I’m sure that I’d do it again if I had to, all of you can save everyone. I can’t. If all I could do was help save you, I guess I did my part this time.”

Penelope reflects Lionel’s smirk. A small crack of light. Despite it all. As the others disperse from the exchange between him and his sister, she is right to follow suit with the others. The atmosphere was thick with emotion. Before she leaves, however, she looks at Krice who has the look of grimace. The feeling underneath the surface was evident. Nel would know. “We got a foot forward. Remember that,” it is a soft note before she exits the library to the hall. Her back leans against a nearby wall not too far down from where she overhears Rilla’s words. A wave of melancholy sets in, and the healer remains silently fixated on the similar thought of Rilla’s. There was nothing to lose. The two women were not fearful of death. That was evident. And to save the rest of the group, Nel would repeat the same process over and over again. Until it was right. Well, if she could, but she keeps her thoughts private on the matter. Just so the crew could give the rest of the world another chance at life. Including their own. The woman rolls against the wall lazily before pushing herself forward to move down the hallway. Again, questions are being asked. Pieces were trying to be puzzled. And the healer could not even think of a single thing to ask. Or say. Not with the unbalance of emotions in the area. "I think I’m gonna go back to the deck. Get some air. Keep a look out. You all should get some rest,” she echoes towards the crew, though she knew they would all take that with a grain of salt. The air was too thick right now in the confined space with too many ticking, solemn minds. Before she makes her way out, she would stop at Lionel. “Especially you, Li,” she says gently before heading through the halls for cooler outside air again.

Iinthaquohae tried to be attentive to the conversations at hand, but found her eyes going heavy-lidded as she zoned in and out. Most of the voices she heard were interpreted as not much but incomprehensible noise. She needed a bed – and to probably be locked into a room with hers and likely Kasyr's concerns that she may wander the ship and devour crew-members or the folks gathered in the library. In her state, she unfortunately couldn't contribute much. Her desire to be composed and in control, despite her haggard appearance, fights to quell the desire to want to eat more. Thanks, Sacred. “Are there extra bedrooms? ...Lockable from the outside, preferably?” The seamstress eventually croaks out to no one in particular, but her eyes fall to Khitti. To her understanding, this was her ship, likely a second or third home due to how spacious it was, and she didn't want to be a nuisance. “It doesn't have to be nice,” she adds, despite protests from the serpent reunited with her that she deserved a comfortable, luxurious bed to rest after presenting it with such a wonderful gift in the cave. It's difficult to resist asking, but she presses her lips into a line to keep her mouth shut.

Rorin worked his way onto the tranquility from the mhara. He hadn’t really been looking forward to the discussion but it was necessary. Rorin was just tried, frustrated, and confused. Mostly tired. The pilgrim asked around and found Lionel. Whatever else was going on could wait. Drawing up a chair and taking a seat, Rorin sighed audibly. “I have a report.” Despite the resigned but official tone, he was just sort of staring off into space. “The Mhara is uh... the sailors on the Mhara are- talking about who will be captain. We lost a few good people on the way to the cave. Quinton was one of them. He uh, well, they all fell prey to the illusions of the mind thresher. Except Harry. Technically he was murdered, but, the uh, murderer had been under the same illusions, so... really not anyone’s fault there. Salli went the same way as Quinton after she saw Harry. That’s about it really. That all happened before getting to the actual cave. I’m sorry.”

Lionel considered Krice's spoken thoughts, his eyes briefly downcast as he reflected on the silver enigma's musings. Noticing Kasyr's stagger, and certainly Iintahquohae's need for lodging, the Imperator realized that the offer of a stroll was as challenging a prospect for almost everyone else here as it would be for him. A short walk, then. "You did damn good," he told Rilla in reply to her self-assessment, "and now we get to keep on keeping on. We make the best of it. The rest of the job is for us present-day people." He didn't bother pointing out that he meant Rilla as well. Something told Lionel nothing would stop her from doing her part all over again even if, for some odd reason, he didn't welcome the help. Just as Penelope voiced her need for fresh air and lingered near Lionel for a short moment, he was simultaneously in the process of giving her another glance. The glance became a lingering stare. "You did damn good, too." Lionel now knew more about Penelope, just as he knew more about Rilla. Unlike Rilla, however, he had already been close with Miss Halifax. Hearing her future self's lamentations as she worked diligently on the machine had brought him that much closer to her. Closer than he knew how to express. In typical Lionel fashion, then, he failed to express much of anything at all. "I will, Nel."

He would rest. He had to rest. His mind was racing, but his legs were lagging behind. Now that a few of them were away from the library and Khitti's line-of-sight, Lionel took it upon himself to get Iintahquohae's situation sorted. "Funnily enough, we're already rather close to one of the few spare crew quarters available," he told Inks. Even in a ship that was this much bigger on the inside, Brand's hundred-strong crew ate up all sorts of space. "And I reckon we can arrange for it to be locked from the outside." Lionel knew that he was responsible for sending the seamstress to the Demon Archipelago. It all worked out precisely as the future versions of Rilla and Penelope had intended, but even as a pawn in their benevolent grand game he still felt bad about it. "Once we're ashore, I'll be holding a meeting at Vigilanti Semper. We need to rest, as Penelope said, but we also need to discuss what each of us have gained." Finally, he addressed Kasyr's inquiry. "I think so." It wasn't the most assuring reply -- but it was genuine. "We've scratched the surface. There's so much to figure out and I am going to make sure we do. Let's wait until Quinton and the others from the Mhara and the Six are together with us again before then." That sentence, as it turned out, was dreadfully-timed.

When it rained, it poured. It might have been sunny outside today, but Lionel heard the thunder. Rorin had found perhaps the only chair inexplicably centered in this hallway, sat down, and delivered news that struck a blow to him that he knew was going to be felt tenfold by Kasyr. "What?" Lionel's legs weren't just lagging behind now. They threatened to buckle. Inks had been shown to her quarters by now, and Penelope was headed for the deck. Whoever was here, whoever else heard Rorin's words, doubtless the mood grew heavier. "Frakking…" Lionel couldn't even think of a way to end that phrase.

Krice mumbled to Kasyr, " I was just saying - could've been for nothing. Obviously I'm glad they tried." Though he was also sad that they had become so desperate, Future Penelope and Future Rilla. Poor women. Yet here they all were; obviously it was a gamble worth taking. They were all alive - though he barely felt it at present, and really, he was way too tired to have this conversation in any meaningful way. As Iintahquohae was drawn by Kasyr's grip, the warrior's eyes shifted to follow her, squinted in tired scrutiny. That sense he got from her general vicinity just a few minutes earlier now seemed to move with her. Thus, he surmised in his tired brain that it must have been attached to her somewhere. That same brain prevented him from joining the obvious dots, however.

His concluding words were, " Love t'know how they did it, though," muffled by his folded forearms as he slumped to rest his head upon them. Questions would have to wait for a later time, when everyone was rested and perhaps had come more to terms with their roles in both the previous and current timelines. It would take mere seconds for the enigma to fall asleep in this new position, silver strands splayed over his eyes and arms like a blanket, messily shielding him from nearby candlelight and prying eyes.

Kasyr had spared one last concerned glance in the seamstresses direction as she'd ventured off, before his attention had slipped back towards Lionel- whose words held a distinct air of truth. Certainly, giving everyone time to sink in, and then convening a proper debriefing would be the best course of action. But it's never quite that simple, is it? When Rorin had begun to make his way down the hallway towards them, Kasyr began to feel a heaviness welling up within himself- and yet, even his empathic senses couldn't properly convey the sheer depth and range of emotions that the awkwardly developed message managed to evoke. The mention of a new captain being needed has the swordsman looking on edge, concern for his friend and culpability for not being there flooding through his mind. "Wha-" That Rorins next mention was that a few vague individuals were lost actually provided a morbid sort of hope spot- the possibility that perhaps Quinton had merely suffered some serious injury- suffering, but not one of the suffering few. "Uh-"

Instead, Kasyr finds himself internally reeling as Rorin clumsily narrates the ultimate fate of one of his oldest friends- leaving the kensai slack-jawed and a few shades paler then he had been before. Disjointed thoughts flickered through his mind, of years spent on and off searching for the captain, of the animosity he had held for Lionel, who had been ultimately protecting the man. Of the sister left behind, who he was practically obliged to find and inform. "I should have been there." Within moments, he's grown so numb that even the act of cupping his mouth with a hand feels foreign. He's trying to brace himself, to find some sort of equilibrium in that moment- but he feels so lost. And so, very angry. He'd wanted to be there, to mind after Quinton- but when the orders and crew arrangement had been set by the interim commander, he'd heeded it. That frustration, at Khitti, and at himself was growing by the moment- but it peaked as he realized Rorin was still seated there, vacantly staring off at the walls of the corridor.

There's a simple irrational convenience to it all- and Lionel might be a bit too familiar with the way in which Kasyr's gaze seems to deaden, or the manner in which the swordsman Jaw sets, and his lips press together into a grim line. It's only the satellite awareness of the commanders own sense of loss that helps to maintain some fragment of lucidity, the Kensai finally managing to eke out an uneven, "This. Happened. Under. Your. Watch."

Rilla was not looking for reassurance with her words, she shrugged at Lionel’s reply. Had she done well? Had she done anything at all? There was a lot to consider given the gravity of the subject; somehow she and Penelope had reached through time. For someone with no particular affinity for magic or science it was hard to imagine. As the group left, so did she. She followed just behind, arms crossed over her chest in silent watchfulness at the scene that began to unfold in front of her as Rorin approached. Though she was entirely outside of it emotionally she stiffened, at Kasyr’s tone, or maybe just the energy that had changed so rapidly. She stepped closer, closed the gap between herself and the group, one cool hand rested on Lionel’s back gently for just an instant before the young vampire put herself between Kasyr and Rorin. She fixed her bright-blue gaze on Kasyr’s face and shook her head, stepped into him in hopes of putting a little bit of space between the two men. “You couldn’t have stopped it and neither could he. He tried.” She said softly, if urgently. Why she’d stepped in between them was beyond her, she glanced over her shoulder at Rorin who thus far had mostly just been an irritation - too much of a stickler for the rules. Her head turned, looking between the ones who were left, finally getting to see their faces. “Who was he?” Rilla asked after a beat of silence not to anyone in particular, brow furrowed with concern as she looked between Lionel and Kasyr.

Rorin had been there when Lionel and Kasyr trecked into the monastery and found Quinton to be among the living. He had spent some time working with him since then, and could say Quinton was a good man, deserving of a better fate than this. He could even give a eulogy, in a pinch, but knew he had no personal right to do so. There were plenty of things Rorin could have said, but nothing he really could have done. Salli and Harry deserved just as much farewells. Rorin had fought with them side by side since the first ambush by Kahran. It wasn’t a failure of leadership that lead to any of their deaths, but that didn’t stop the shaking. The rage that had followed him in the moments after their deaths. The deep well of emptiness and regret that he teetered on now. Shock kept him sane in moments like this. He cried not the body wracking wailing cry of grief, but the quiet, hot tears of someone lost inside themselves and far away.

Lionel knew the look. He knew it well. Kasyr was not so much wobbling on the edge of an eruption as he was dangling in midair precisely at the precipice. The man had lost his someone who was quite possibly his best friend to a terrible end only months after their reunion. If Kasyr had decked Rorin in the face right here, right now, Lionel wasn't sure he would immediately intercept the following blows. But he believed Rorin when the paladin had described Quinton's death, as well as Harry and Sali's. Belief was what spurred his left foot forward; Lionel was going to step in the middle of Kasyr's wrath and Rorin's tears, not out of any sense of real anger or spite but because he knew that they all had to get past this, collectively, or the future would never truly be rewritten. Rilla's touch didn't startle him until he realized that she'd beaten him to his plan.

"He was brave. Selfless. He liked to put on a facade, but at the end of the day he was one of the best human beings I ever knew. If life was a game of Three Dragon Ante, the gods never gave Quinton the luck to draw a hand worth a damn, but he never let that stop him. He'd just play his cards and take whatever he could get, and whatever he got, he found a way to use it for the rest of us." Lionel's eyes never left Rilla as he said this, but only because she was directly between two men who desperately needed to hear it. "He deserved far better than this and so did the others who died alongside him." Conviction fueled Lionel now; a burgeoning need for justice to be served. Walking past Rorin and then Rilla, he paused beside Kasyr Azakhaer, his azure eyes gleaming with intensity. "And before this war is over, we are going to make this 'mind thresher' know a pain so profound that nothing it has ever inflicted upon any of its victims can compare." With that said, Lionel O'Connor began to make his way down the hall and toward his room with more spring in his step than his aching legs preferred.

Search

RP:The Voyage Home