Vault Hunters (Finished~)

[Katsuya]

- Isa Bianchi -
“Fallen Gaius”​

Isa perked up from Moss thinking of putting pretty glass windows, smiling. He nuzzled the merman’s shoulder with his cheek as silence accompanied them. It was strange now, the quiet. He never realized how loud everything was in this night until now and the redhead relished it. “Pretty stained windows sounds wonderful~” He whispered, gazing up at his beau.

Isa chuckled, cheeks dusted pink from Moss’ kiss. Happy to see the merman feel happy and comforted. “Anytime, Beautiful ~”

Suddenly, the couple heard a coughing fit close by. The redhead held Moss closer, alarmed as he didn’t know where that cough is coming from and became weary. That is, until he realized that nothing bad will happen t them. So let’s go of Moss to find the coughing source. Just around the goliath—-

“Oh! Hey.” Isa cooed, recognized the coughing figure. He was happy to see the stranger standing up, his face colored instead of paling. However that coughing fit sounds and looks horribly painful and he didn’t have any water on him. As the redhead wreaked his brain on where he could get water—probably from the camp that was nearby would be willing to pass a cup of water—- the coughing fit started to die down. He walked a little closer to the stranger and bends down to not seem intimidating.

“Want me to get water? I’m glad ya are feeling better to stand and walk around.” Isa grinned impishly as he looked up from his spot. ”Love! It’s the guy we found by the dome!” He piped up towards the merman, grinning. To the merman, he looked relieved, but to the newcomer, he seemed mischievous.

”Did ya eat something? I hope it was something light.”

Zer0 Sisyphus Happy

 

[Zer0]

- Moss Adamaris -
"Fallen Gaius, Hours later past midnight"​

Moss turned at the noise. He stayed beside the hill of books, leaning to the side to get a better look at who was coughing, while Isa approached. "Oh!" he relaxed. "Is he alright? He sounds like he's in a really bad way."

Katsuya Sisyphus Happy

 

[Sisyphus Happy]

Health: Bruised
| Toughness: Background Ability (10) + Armor (1) [11] | Spell Power: Background Ability (14) + Knowledge (4) + Equipment (1) [19] |Manna: Background Ability (4) + Knowledge (4) [0/8]
Condition: 0 | Roleplay Points: 1

Χάρων ​

Charon's form shuddered with one final cough and he balled up a fist wrapped in the odd-smelling cloth blanket hanging on his body to beat his sternum a few times for good measure. Red in the face and breathing heavily, he swallowed hard and drew the blanket across his face to better cover his features while he spoke. With a deep raspy breath, the figure straightened and blinked a few times. Features were obscured by grey shadows but his eyes and just the faintest topography of facial features indicated by weakly varying shadows projected the eidolon of his face. He appeared nearly in health with his entire body covered up and the details of his face washed out. Though his lungs burned and his wounds produced white-hot throbbing in his stomach and back, he quickly caused himself to breathe evenly and replied to Isa's question in his odd, raspy and growling tone, even more so after a coughing fit like that. It may have come as a surprise given that the man has not yet heard him speak. After a terrible coughing fit like that, his voice was more a terrible collection of hisses and growls, beyond anything heard in the civilized races allowed to gather in cities and countries.

"Mmmhh, I sshhhhaaaa-kh, kh-l geeet waaaaterrr ssooon," he assured him, that deep reptilian hiss and low animal-like growl present in his pronunciation. The way his shoulders visibly rose and fell, and the long pause he took after saying those few words attested to his condition otherwise. When he spoke again, it was a little quieter and much clearer, "I mmmusst thaaank youuu," he wheezed, reaching up and pulling his hood down over his head to cast his face deeper in shadow. His emerald eyes twinkled in the low light and their oblong vertical pupils shone faintly through, when he spoke again there was a great deal of hesitation and the dull ache of horror which had gripped him since he awoke swelled in his chest painfully again.

"I..." he began, an odd grumble in his voice, like a whine. Not that he had some intense movement of emotion, that much was clear, his eyes clouded confusedly in his cloak when he attempted to summon the words to speak, it was more that he ran out of words. Charon grumbled a few disconnected syllables before looking down toward the sand defeatedly. After a few moments of silence, it was clear that when he posed the word "I," that odd whine is his version of the tone someone takes when asking a question. The uncertain uptake in pitch at the end and protracted sound were somewhat clear. It did not appear that he would find the words any time soon.

 

[Katsuya]

- Isa Bianchi -
“Fallen Gaius”​

Isa listened to the stranger‘s words, gears turning in his head before peeked over his shoulder. Gazing at Moss with a somewhat worried look. “Mind getting water for him right now, Love?“ He asked. “He says he will get water soon but . . .it sounds like ya need it now.” He replied to the lizard-like stranger. The merman nodded and jogged over to the camp, leaving the redhead and stranger alone. He perked up when the stranger spoke again, noticing that him hissing and growling is part of his speech pattern. Though now he sounded clear compared to before and-

Oh~

Isa smiled, a corner of his lip raised higher than the other. Slightly revealing his sharp teeth as he sat next to the hunched over figure. He looked up at the moon, leaning on Gaius. “You’re welcome. I’m just happy that yur alive. How are ya feeling?” Then he chuckled. “Other than the coughing, of course. I know that’s painful.”

Zer0 Sisyphus Happy

 

[Sisyphus Happy]

Health: Bruised
| Toughness: Background Ability (10) + Armor (1) [11] | Spell Power: Background Ability (14) + Knowledge (4) + Equipment (1) [19] |Manna: Background Ability (4) + Knowledge (4) [0/8]
Condition: 0 | Roleplay Points: 1

Χάρων ​

Charon's face tightened a little, or seemed to, deep in the shadow of the blanket's hood, when Isa insisted on getting him water. A cold desert wind stirred the night and the hem of his hood fluttered a little, some sand tumbling lightly around his ankles. Had he the words, he might have resisted vocally but his mangled anatomy made no allowance for manners, or his concept thereof. A pained 'nnn' sounded from the hood, nearly silent, a grunt of pain or discomfort. The discomfort spread to his face, his eyes narrowing, his head turning away a little. Isa's manner put him off somewhat. Sharp teeth, lopsided expressions, extraordinarily keen expressions which hinge on the very moment in time. Brazenness, too, that he seemed unafraid to control the dynamic. Irony rose on the point of the sharp teeth, Isa's looked far better than his own, and Charon's own lopsided expressions, which were a matter of mismatched muscles. That irony spilled over the erupting landscape of his mind and settled in the deep. Tumbling around and rising above the calm he forced upon himself over the course of several hours, a ball of emotion barged into his thoughts again, especially when the man asked how he is feeling. A deep rasping breath -- not too deep -- cooled his lungs and he used the sensation to try to keep himself in the moment. With a tight, blinking expression, he regarded Isa with a little pain in his face. If Isa had any form of sight in the dark, it was clearly one of anguish, again. The muscles to make that expression tightened up, well practiced at it now.

"Thhhannnk yooou fff-ghhh-oor ssssavinnng mmme," he responded simply, obviously leaving out any mention of how he feels. Its tone was earnest and the distinct tone of a person trying to convince themself appeared there even through the hissing and growling. His eyes dropped down to the sand below him and over toward the caravan, anywhere other than Isa's -- in his opinion, penetrating -- gaze. He felt that the gratitude was thin and he should find a more appropriate apology, especially if he was going to interrupt their affectionate discourse. Aggressively, the will to properly thank his saviors and the will to leave clashed in his mind and his emotions threatened to spin apart in front of a stranger. Ruin and destruction was the backdrop to this fight. Blood and gore could be tasted on the wind. A sickened expression grew on his features over the course of moments when the last couple of hours rushed back to him once more and its horror washed over him anew, "I oooowe yooou mmy liiiife," he said hollowly. Better words to say but his attitude was very tense and exhausted. It was not a physical tiredness, that languid looseness, but a state of emotional defeat and the evidence that his attention kept switching elsewhere suggested further that he didn't feel as though he was defeated by being saved. He seemed at the same time grateful, unsure, and horribly pained.

 

[Katsuya]

- Isa Bianchi -
“Fallen Gaius”​

Isa pondered for a moment as silence washed over the two. He waited for the answer to his question. When he did get a reply, he realized his mistake in asking such a question. He should have been more specific when asking on how the stranger felt. He meant the wounds, how his wounds felt. He couldn’t see in the dark nor was he looking at the stranger, so he wouldn’t know of the stranger’s tight expression. However his tone suggested something to the redhead, same with his wording.

And so, he’s going to steer away from the topic, about the small war. Hearing a familiar tone from the stranger’s voice. No, he didn’t know the stranger well enough to realize what’s causing his pain, however he does recognize the emotional exhaustion that’s seeping out of his seemingly grateful words. After all, he felt the same emotional exhaustion when he was cursed by someone close long time ago. That and wishing for his life to end by jumping off a cliff. Considering that the stranger’s exhaustion might be related to the horrific scene the redhead found the stranger in, he regretted asking the unknowingly insensitive question.

” I see . . .” Isa replied gently. Wondering how to go about this without bringing more pain to the stranger. Food? Maybe. Food is always a safe place but he didn’t know to how to bring that up without seemingly to be insane. Maybe not. Maybe later, when the stranger isn’t tired and achy from his wounds or mental flips. “My name is Isa Bianchi. It seems like I’m keeping ya from bed. I’m sorry.”

The redhead stood up again. “Do ya need a light? I have a ragnite lantern we could use. Where are ya staying at? Ya can just point if yur throat hurts. Oh . . . Um, do ya mind if I walked ya over to where ya are camping? Ya can nod me yes when ya do mind. I just wanna pass ya the pouch of water from Moss.” Isa hoped it’s not inside of Gaius. There’s a bunch of dead kutulu and purrsian mercenaries that were either bitten or ripped apart from Theosebia‘s rampage right at the entrance. He doesn’t know if someone picked up their bodies or not yet.

He still needed to pray for them too.

Isa kept his face straight as he was about to walk towards his dented motorcycle. Under the moonlight, Charon can see a ragnite lantern on top of a book stack close to the machine.

Zer0 Sisyphus Happy

 

[Sisyphus Happy]

Health: Bruised
| Toughness: Background Ability (10) + Armor (1) [11] | Spell Power: Background Ability (14) + Knowledge (4) + Equipment (1) [19] |Manna: Background Ability (4) + Knowledge (4) [0/8]
Condition: 0 | Roleplay Points: 1

Χάρων ​

"Iiiiiisssaaa," he replied hoarsely, nodding. The look softened in intensity and he sighed quietly. Like a tree rots from its core and collapses, the energy which would have supplied his emotional explosion trickled away. His redheaded savior was quite right and his shoulders slumped a little. While a number of questions came his way, the place that Isa found his energy a mystery to him. The time of the night weighed on him and while he was propped up on nervous energy up to this point, the tree was on its way to collapse. Gawking faces and wide eyes resting listlessly in crushed sockets and splashed with blood apparated at the behest of his exhausted horror and danced behind his eyes while he closed them and took a breath to capture the conversation again, having lapsed for a moment. Without the experience of sitting through lecture after dry lecture, he would have had to ask Isa to repeat what was said but it was not so in this case. Bed, right, light, camping, throat hurt, et cetera. Ragnite?

Isa had already turned away toward his machine when Charon started moving again. Clearing his throat lightly and going down the list of questions, frankly a little put-off by the gushing of words, a long scaled, slender dark-green tail gently unfurled from behind him and he reached back gingerly with his right hand, keeping pressure on the fresh wounds with his left, to, after a few jostling moments of clumsy fumbling, produce a little twine string loop with a small charm encased in unusual glass dangling from it. He peered at it to ensure it was not damaged in some way, he didn't actually think it could be, and then held it while walking over to Isa's machine. He didn't see it until that moment on account of his excitement, embarrassment and then awful coughing fit.

"N-nnooo liiight, I'mmmmm fffffine," he assured him, attempting to assume a falsely upbeat tone in order to make up for the frightful brooding mere moments before. Some abashed reservedness worked its way into his manner in how he kept his limbs away from Isa and folded them politely while standing back from the machine. The blanket bundle tilted and turned, looking intensely at it and breathing loudly. Perhaps in a person, the quickened breathing would have been subtle, but his monstrous form made it obvious.

"Mmmmm-mmagnnnifffficennnnt," he commented, reaching up and placing a hand on his chin. Shakily, he raised the glass bauble containing a tiny boat. It was quite unlike the boats in the section of the world they found themselves in, where the riverways changed often and appeared narrowly, feebly out of the desert sands. The form was quite wide, the bow was quite rounded, and the rear of the boat, roughly the last third of its length was covered by a squat wooden roof with sharp edges and rear walls. The moonlight showed only its silhouette and a few details, "I sssstayyy hhhere... uuuusually," he said, dangling it while leaning down toward the motorcycle without touching it, "buuut I shhal ssssleeep aaat theee caamp," he said shakily, motioning toward the glow of the fire cast around the corner of a feature of the goliath, even at this distance, turning the sand golden.

 

[Katsuya]

- Isa Bianchi -
“Boats”​

As Isa listened to the strange’s words, he stopped by the stack of books that was near his bike. Blinking owlishly when he heard that the stranger didn’t need the lantern. So he pocketed his gloved hands and turned around by slightly spinning on the heel of his boots. “Ahh~ very well. No lights needed.” Oh thank goodness he is not staying inside Gaius! He sighed in quiet relief before grinning. Curiosity beckoned him as the stranger pulled out a glass bottle with a . . . Is that a ship inside?

”Thanks~ her name’s Smoky~ . . . Ya stay in there usually? So cool~” Ah. The stranger can see Isa’s eyes brighten up in wonder like an innocent child. Staring at the boat that’s inside. Wondering how the stranger fit a boat inside there. Was it magic? A materia attached to the ship? Perhaps the alchemical components that the stranger found to construct the special glass?!

He might be overthinking it.

“That’s a lovely lookin‘ boat~“ The stranger can hear Isa’s excitement. “If ya dun’ mind me askin‘, what is yur name? And yur boat’s?” The redhead walked besides the stranger, following him to where he would be staying in. They would probably see Moss sooner than later since the stranger stays at the camp site.

Sisyphus Happy Zer0

 

[Sisyphus Happy]

Health: Bruised
| Toughness: Background Ability (10) + Armor (1) [11] | Spell Power: Background Ability (14) + Knowledge (4) + Equipment (1) [19] |Manna: Background Ability (4) + Knowledge (4) [0/8]
Condition: 0 | Roleplay Points: 1

Χάρων ​

When excitement flooded into Isa's eyes, Charon couldn't help staring for a moment. Pressed up against the back of this moment, all of the silent boat rides where he communed with nature and mutually ignored every person in the boat other than himself. Something lit up in his brain, something fundamentally freeing and enjoyable soothed his mind, something about communicating one's ideas to a physical face, another soul, and having it delighted. His face fell when he realized that the sensation was intense because he forgot about it for a while, and this was something other than business, even if it was at first businesslike gratitude. The feeling of falling overtook him and he inhaled suddenly. This feeling was brought on by another realization which materialized before thought and speech, somewhere so far within him he felt its aftershock first. Another memory fell into his mind and he pushed his hand to his head, holding it a moment to cradle his vertigo. The cold void which crept in back there. The warmth from the moment burned next to it.

With a shuddering sigh, he cleared his throat and responded, "myyy naaaame issss... I aaaam caaaalled Chaaaaroooon," he said closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself again, "thee booat hass no naaame."

They proceeded past the gloomy mound of rock and technology of Gaius. Charon may have been more excited about it if he weren't so horrified. That cold burning in his chest released finally when, in spite of himself, after a moment of silence during Isa's walk and his limp, "I fffeeel liiiike... khhhh, I dooon't wissssh to diee alooone," he uttered vehemently, looking away and biting his lip with those razor sharp teeth. The gesture was without purpose given the darkness blanketing them. That darkness cleared when he saw the orange quivering light of the campfire splash his foot. The sounds of talking felt new to him, but his eyelids felt like stones and he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

 

[Katsuya]

- Isa Bianchi -
“Shadowy claws”​

The redhead waited, staring at the boat until the stranger spoke up. He peeked past the boat, though the glass, and saw Charon’s veiled expression. He seems happy to hear his excitement about his boat. Slight worry flickered in indigo eyes when he saw Charon struggling to focus. Having a hand on his head after an inhale. Isa prepared himself, taking a hand out of his pocket secretly to reach for the staff with a raven at the top to hold. The dark materia shimmered as it felt it’s caster’s hand close by.

Nothing happened since Charon managed to steady himself and Isa relaxed a bit. Visually have not reacted to the boatman’s obvious distress as he stood straight and walked with him to his tent. “Nice to meet ya, Charon.” He grinned impishly.

Their walk was quiet. Isa didn’t mind it as he figured Charon was tired. Understandably so too. However he kept an eye on him, making sure to walk slower than usual in case the boatman couldn’t keep up with his wounds. Then he heard his words, causing the redhead to stare at him in surprise. That surprise turned to worry as Charon became unsteady on his feet, ready to collapse-

A blanket of shadows supported his back and sides, molding around him a bit in case he fell. Yet supported him up should he stay on his feet. Isa held his staff, frowning softly. Two large shadowy claws stemmed from his staff. “Point where yur tent is and I’ll carry ya there. I’ll call L to check up on ya afterwards.” He explained quietly, shifting his staff to make the claws cupping and lifted Charon off his feet—-tail included— and carried him to where he was staying with haste. Being careful to not jolt the boatman around either as he called out for the Gnome healer.

Zer0 Sisyphus Happy

 

[Sisyphus Happy]

Health: Bruised
| Toughness: Background Ability (10) + Armor (1) [11] | Spell Power: Background Ability (14) + Knowledge (4) + Equipment (1) [19] |Manna: Background Ability (4) + Knowledge (4) [0/8]
Condition: 0 | Roleplay Points: 1

Χάρων ​

Budding warmth spread through the creature while his tail traced a shallow trench through the sand. Whether it was the unfamiliar relief of talking to someone without fearing harm or loss of reputation or the insistence of the body on sleep, he could scarcely imagine. A giddiness danced in his head at the realization that he had opened up to someone, a huge step forward. After some time on the open riverways on his own, his head began to tight, one can only think in circles so many times before the territory is well marked. Perhaps his time to find a pack has arrived, to escape the shade of his limited childhood experiences and listless current ones, so to speak. "A lone wolf," he mused, "I might despise it before long," while the tree set to work decaying into rubble. The stars and Isa watched him stumble around in the sand, having overestimated his ability to walk forty feet or less.

His ankle rolled and the slender tail protruding from his lumbar did little to steady him. Sleepy resignation overtook him while he waited for the mildly painful impact with soft sand which never came. After a few moments and a groggy breath, he opened his eyes to find an expanse of darkness, of some kind of energy enveloping him. He realized all along that on some level he acknowledged Isa to be a person of some capability, one does not keep a rare mechromantic contraption in their possession without having some skill in violence. Reaching out gently to brush against the black matter, he mumbled, "mmmnh, niiight," which could have meant any number of things, but he was far out of it until Isa's question worked its way through a layer of delirium to reach him. His loose blanket slid away from his face and revealed his mangled visage yet again, lips and jaw slack to reveal the similar sharp teeth, face patched with irritated skin and ears split by a wing-like appendage.

"Mmm, Iiiiii doooo nooot hhhave aaa tennnt... sssimply plaaace mmmmeee nneaaar the ffffiiiire," he requested lethargically, turning over in Isa's shadow hands and folding his rough hands like a pillow, drawing his knees up. His tail gently lifted up and slid into the blanket. It was a familiar arrangement to before when he was overcome with his grief in the presence of the worried Leonid. This time there was no sobbing, only the heaviness of sleep overpowering his slight form and shutting his eyes with a smooth motion of the eyelids beyond intention.

 

[Katsuya]

- Isa Bianchi -​

Isa almost dropped Charon when he mentioned about not having a tent to sleep in. Shocked to hear that this traveler did not have a tent- He felt his eye twitch. Wasn’t it common sense to have a tent before traveling? Then again, he shouldn’t judge the boatman. For all the redhead knew, he might not be used to traveling in land. Or have metals. Or just didn’t care. Whatever it may be, he is perturbed by the notion that this injured person is not able to care for himself. Not when he has severe injuries.

As he glanced at the now sleeping figure within his shadowy claws, Isa sighed. Being able to relax now that Charon is not paying attention, his brows furrowed. “Don’t want to die alone, huh?” He mumbled quietly. Sadly, as the redhead knew from personal experiences dealing with death and demons, everyone dies alone. However, he is also aware that there are people waiting for them on the other side; on the Southern lights, as his Gramps would tell him.

He walked closer to the fire and stared at the ever burning flames. Frowning in seriousness. Pondering. Wondering. Thinking hard as he processed on something-

“L is gonna kill me if I leave him out here without something to cover him.” Isa mumbled, having a cold shiver down his spine at the thought of the tiny gnome getting mad. He has seen what she can do! It’s not fun! Not at all!! “Sleeping bag . . . Sleeping bag.” He mumbled at the end as if to confirm on what he can do. After carefully placing Charon on the sand and close to the fire, the redhead went to look for Leonid and asked him for a sleeping bag for Charon to sleep in. Then he found Moss, kissing his cheek as he received the satchel of water. “I’ll help ya set up our tent as soon I leave his water near him.” He told the merman. Isa and Leonid tucked Charon inside a regular 2 person tent and sleeping bag, making sure he wouldn’t be cold. The redhead left the leather water bag besides his head while Leonid folded his cloak and placing it close as well.

Once that was done, Isa returned to his beau. Smiling happily as he helped him put up their tent, ready to finally relax and cuddle with the love of his life.

Zer0 Sisyphus Happy

 

[Sisyphus Happy]

Health: Bruised
| Toughness: Background Ability (10) + Armor (1) [11] | Spell Power: Background Ability (14) + Knowledge (4) + Equipment (1) [19] |Manna: Background Ability (4) + Knowledge (4) [0/8]
Condition: 0 | Roleplay Points: 1

Χάρων ​

"Oomf... oomf... oomf..." was his first awareness just before waking when his evidently dreamless sleep broke the liminal surface again. The dull ache of a dehydrated morning bloomed behind his forehead. Blood pulsed through his chest and through the tips of his fingers, and odd sensation, his own heartbeat in stark evidence. His eyes fluttered open to a cold sensation trickling down his neck and he was laying on his back with his blanket laying over his face and some kind of restricting device wrapped around his legs. There was sweat dried to sludge coating his arms and legs and the place where his head attached to his neck which produced. The cloying smell of reptile flowed from the blanket gently bobbing up and down in the mounting morning wind. Just about that time, that cold sensation dripped down his neck lukewarm then for whatever reason dripped onto his back with the feeling of ice. With a mild hiss, his minuscule form tensed, as though to get up but stopped. A dull pain ignited on his lower side and he laid back down, his eyes roaming around the light filtering through the rough blanket. Inhale, exhale, the pain which thumped in time with his heart faded eventually.

The icy sensation trickling down his back eventually stirred him to roll over and clutch his banket around him, adjusting it so that his face never showed. A few moments of stiff movement and he sat cross-legged on the ground, gently smoking ashes to his rear, people milling about without trouble behind him. Everything is tender. Sitting down made his thighs ache and the act of pulling himself up felt taut like the head of a drum and moving it brought such an odd, satisfying pain. Tense resistance on one side sandwiched by simultaneous release continuous through the movement felt the same in his back as it did in his arms and all of it popped when he began reaching out to stretch for the morning. A loud series of pops and snaps not unlike firecrackers plucked away at his joints while he reached forward and flexed his shoulders, reached up and stretched his neck, placed his hands on the ground and pushed in different directions to twist himself around almost the other direction. When he made that motion, there was something like a pulling sensation at his stomach, but it was simply nothing compared to the pain from the previous night. The previous night.

Perhaps he ought to have woken up with a dismal attitude, a walking dark cloud. The creature seemed to release its tail from its curled up position from the small of his back and stretch out. Last night, the first thing it did when it could move again was cover back up, but here it seemed comfortable that its outer appendages slid out from the blanket and became exposed. After a few moments of subtle looking around and finding no paladin maces nor any zealous absolution (in the form of disgusted words) hurled his way, he gently slid the blanket off of his head so that it rested about his shoulders and pooled around his waist on the ground around it. His scaled feet dug into the cold sand and he draped his hands over his slightly parted knees. Sand pressed and hugged his skin comforting, smooth and grating simultaneously. The emerald green eyes surrounded by disorganized and patchy scales darted around in a Brownian manner. Silent thoughts acted on them. After a few moments, apparently when the dry burning in his throat became painful, he turned toward the source of the recent icy sensation to find a waterskin. The previous night.

He reached toward it with his clawed fingers splayed and stared at them. There seemed to be some freedom in the way he moved. After a moment with his hand on the water-skin, staring at the back of it, his fingers closed and flex, gripping it. His eyes danced over their features, the deep wrinkles and loose-fitting flesh covered in scales which in some places poked out from extreme curves. The black and pointed claws, slightly hooked, pressed into the leather and made dimples. At first, a distant and crestfallen look lingered on his face, his eyes dark while he stared at the claws with resentment, visible in the tightness under them and around his nose. Its long neck flopped over his crooked thumb when he lifted it and bit the cork off of the top to take a long drink, loud gulps, until his lungs burned. He breathed then drank again until it was empty. After a few more moments of looking at his hand, the waterskin deflated in it, he gently rose and lifted his head to survey the state of the camp and the people in it, looking for Leonid, L, Isa and his b-b-b-b-boyfriend.

 

[Zer0]

- Next Day -
"Fallen Gaius, West of Barad Eithel, December 29, 600"​

Far over the shadowy dunes, the morning sun peeked over the gray horizon, painting the endless sea of sand with wavy red beige and rocky rust browns. Golden copper glinted off the scarred ruins of Barad Eithel. The shadows curtaining down, revealing the leaning shattered golden dome, where a breeze was ruffling the tops of a pale white tree. The sunlight continued down through broken colorful stained glass, to the bottom of the ruins where Gaius lay stretched across the sand, dotting its giant head, the peeking face of Charon, and a blue banner tent by a small hill of books next to it with colorful dancing lights.

Speckles of gem light played across Moss' face. He was sitting in front of Smoky, which he and Isa used as a lean-to with the blue banner over them, Okami and Pluplu. He was leaning over his damaged armor, carefully rearranging the pieces of Isa's hook poem. He had delicately pressed books over them last night, just leaving them out to dry. Now the ink had faded and was blotched in many places leaving most of the words smudged and blurry, but he was relieved that the parchment didn't flake and was firm enough to glue together.

A small rustle of cloth. Moss glanced down his sleeping beu and smiled softly. He gently caressed his cheek, still grateful Isa was here safe beside him and well. A slow finger lightly pulled his shirt, and teal eyes softened, reassured to find that there was no new blood on Isa's bandages, just the dried crusty stain from last night.

* * * *​

Outside, most of the sleeping rugs were empty around the smoldering remains of the bucket fire; Leonid was curled up in his cot hugging a rolled up tent tightly and snoring softly; L was not around, though the trauma kit she had left behind had been restocked, and next to Charon and the others' empty sleeping spots were vials of medicine labeled in loopy handwriting that was same as the vials in the kit, and some makeshift bandages that looked clean. In the distant ruins the group of tents folks had set up last night had grown into a large camp with a new color of people walking around. Purrsians had furs from cinnamon to red and black to white, while the humans were dark skinned, but now there was the dark purple and white hair of the enslaved drows. And a new banner flew among those of the three gangs. One with a silver tree. The emblem of the Templars, which seemed to have been painted in a make-shift way on whatever cloth they could find. There were also dozens of sand boats parked around now. In fact, there seemed to be a loose ring of widely separated sand boats around the shattered dome, Gaius, and a few distance away towards the desert and to the side of Barad Eithel. There were armed Purrsians looking outwards; a couple of them were putting out their lanterns. Beyond them, one could make out unmoving heaps in the sand and the glint of fallen weapons.

There was another feature a ways away west of the leaning dome: a wall of sandboats were curved protectively around mounds of bodiess that were speckled green, as though small plants were growing on the corpses. A huge crowd had gathered here. Smoke slowly rose from the base of some of the mounds, and one could hear the faint sound of many singing mournfully and weeping, broken every now and then by the solemn beating of drums.

Until now, folks were still dragging bodies from the dome to the mounds. And the dome, its stone walls had changed, white branches were sprouting out of them now.

Katsuya Sisyphus Happy

 

[Katsuya]

- Isa Bianchi -
“A glimpse of the moon’s glory”​

A happy sigh escaped from his lips. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he mumbled something under his breathe. Too quiet to form words yet something made this red haired man be joyful in his dreams that are ending. Yet he dreamed of nothing, he only felt a comfortable warmth. So precious of warmth that’s close, he is actually snuggling and nuzzling his cheek into it-

Isa blearily fluttered one eye open, half of his waking mind realizing that he was nuzzling into someone’s thigh. Reddening cheek plumped up to his one of his lower lids, causing it to stay close. He peeked up and silently admired what he first saw, laying still. A focused Moss trying to piece together something. He could hear paper crinkling quietly as the merman moved. The sun’s light that’s coming through the stained glass kissed Moss’ tanned face and creamy white hair, giving him a subtle glow of different colors. Purples, blues, and teals with hints of yellow and reds-

Unable to resist, the redhead lazily pushed himself off with one arm and pressed his lips onto his beau’s. Red strands veiling his left eye as he smiled rakishly. Not hiding his love for the man in front of him as he playfully greeted him. “Gud mornin’ . . . . . Didn’t want the sun to kiss ya first so- mrph.”

He shuffled himself to sit next to the merman, shoulders touching as he reached for a book, and started to read. His smile stayed on his face despite reading the intricate studies Manuel wrote down. “I win, sun~” Isa stuck his tongue out before focusing back to the book. Not pointing out or mentioning the fish hook poem. He knew what Moss was doing and the merman hadn’t ask him to re-write the poem, so Isa wouldn’t ask if he could re-write it.

After all, it’s a precious memory to the couple and Moss wants to save it.

Isa quietly hummed, audible enough to the pair to hear as he read. Turning the pages and holding the glue for his beau as he tried to figure out how to contain the oozing manna. Comfortable in their little abode of books and sleeping Okami and Pluplu.

————-

Later in that early morning is when Isa noticed the mournful singing from the outside as he looked up from his book. Staring out of their little makeshift tent’s entrance. The redhead frowned, peeking at Moss. “Seems like they recovered some of the bodies.” Isa guessed, closing the book and placing it on top of the small pile he created. He finished reading three slim books and the fourth is a thick one. He hasn’t finished that one yet, folding a page as to indicate his last page.

”Perhaps I should go out and offer my services in case they want it.” Isa hoped he doesn’t get hunted down by Barad Eithel’s citizens. He still remembers about his head having a bounty in this city. So he emerged out of their makeshift tent and started to walk over to the mounds. He can still feel the aches of last night, but he felt better. Not as tired nor bleeding from his stitches . . . Again. He made sure he hadn’t ripped another stitch before leaving the tent in case L spots him.

Zer0 Sisyphus Happy

 

[Sisyphus Happy]

Health: Healthy
| Toughness: Background Ability (10) + Armor (1) [11] | Spell Power: Background Ability (14) + Knowledge (4) + Equipment (1) [19] |Manna: Background Ability (4) + Knowledge (4) [8/8]
Condition: 1 | Roleplay Points: 1

Χάρων ​

After drinking the vial left by L, over the course of several minutes, Charon spiraled through the camp, looking around sluggishly, a timid air about him in the way he slumped his shoulders and kept his hands near his chest. His dark hair fell in disorganized waves around his ears and neck or lifted off of the curves of his head to form a somewhat pointed halo, unkempt and evidently cut with a knife and not by a steady or well-practiced hand. Near Leonid's cot, he stopped and looked curiously for a moment, a gentle expression crossing his face afterward which then turned into a paranoid glance in the other direction. He moved on with a backward glance. The assumption that Isa and Moss had left already was quickly disproved when he skirted the side of the goliath and found that machine standing near a hill of books. For a brief moment between the fluttering banner, Charon thought he saw them together there. Out of respect, he turned his face away quickly and looked in the direction of the city, following a minuscule decline in the landscape around the foot of the hill it demarcated until he was past their structure twenty or thirty feet.

Spoiler: Music?

Away from the book-tent, away from the camp, and away from the city, Charon inhaled deeply and reached for the odd power flowing through him. Over the night's sleep, though he awoke feeling drained and dirty, his connection to the poorly understood power he played conduit for was restored fully and he had little difficulty producing that glass necklace once more. He grasped the string loosely in his right hand and placed his hands at his sides turned up toward the sky. With closed eyes, he began the process of restoring his Boat to its rightful size in this clear space between two sandy dunes, themselves between two rocky structures. Perhaps the remnants of a poor mechromantic education flitted through his head playfully but his process was something far more nebulous. As always, ever since a very young age at least, all he needed to do was breathe and remember. To recall a memory beyond the somewhere memories go. As always, a vast thing brushed up against his mind in an inexplicable way, and the old feeling recalls itself. Once, he didn't know the outside was there, that his mind was held in such a tiny bowl, until something touched it and all it could be. In the same way that a baby realizes that the sensation it receives of touch comes from the stubby appendages attached to its body, and that those appendages could be manipulated, Charon called to a memory. Of red and water and the endless shore, of the layer traversed in an instant even though it is interminable.

Later, a child realizes with growing proficiency with its appendages and novel sensations go somewhere and they come to understand that they are a self. The sound of a shoreline filled the area, emanating from him. To those who have any sense of magic and manna and even to some who don't, the buzzing mirage of water appears, as red as blood and nondescript features appear, of a place which should not be familiar even though it stirs the sensation of remembering. In the same way that that an intravenous administration of saline stirs the sensation of smell and taste even though no consumption has taken place, one feels they have seen it before, a long time ago. Unmistakably, one can hear water flowing through the area. Tugged at the string by an invisible force, the bauble leapt from Charon's hand and sank into the illusion of water, on which it bobbed and began to swell. Through that remembrance of the self, relationships are formed, needs expressed as more than the cries and babbles of an infant. The growing self attaches to the world. Some needs can be denied, some created, pain has a destination other than the air around, on which it is deposited in infancy by wanton bawling. Desire, pain, the seeds of poetry, experience, death and love.

To this day it cannot be said whether his next step is a blessing or a curse. This next step is the memory he calls to, through which the world shudders at his thoughts and will, when he realizes these sensations come to him from stubby appendages suspended in the flowing stream of life and death and energy, attached to his body, and with which those appendages could be manipulated. Of red and water and the endless shore and the dusky sky which meets it, of the layer traversed in an instant even though it is interminable and endless in depth. Later, this child realized with growing proficiency with these appendages that these novel sensations go somewhere and they come to understand that they are but one self. By this point, the bauble swelled to the size of a small cart, floating on the ethereal water haunting the ground up to Charon's waist. On that red shore, he saw refracted a hooded figure on a dark and twisted boat peer to him a million times in one motion, the sensation of it splintered a million times and replayed until everything of it, the most of it still indescribable, sizzled on his senses until nothing else remained. And then the next moment came.

The figure looked away and passed. He could not remember the color of the robe or the comportment of the figure. Looking back from now, the two adjectives that one could ask for were meaningless. All he could say is that the water was red. Before the passing boatman, he saw nothing. As it passed, he saw nothing that he could utter with language. At its back, he saw reflected himself but more. All of the children to have ever seen the boatman were he, all of the children who scraped their knees were he, all of the children who blew their nose, breathed, ate, slept, were gladdened when their parents hugged them; it all has happened before behind infinitely many faces and it all pressed in until nothing was left in him. Before that time, he has no memory, all of him starts back there, where his actions were not his own but everyone's, everyone who had done them before, and each instance of it played nonsensically over and over, and he saw all of it and knew all of it until the memories destroyed themselves and more entered over and over until everything became nothing again as it does in all creatures.

Inspired by the realization that desire makes the self, there are takers in this world who live lives heavy with the need to satisfy desire. Inspired by the realization that the self is the source of desire, and desire the source of pain, there are monks in this world who reject desire and thus reject the self, who are said to live lives without pain so pure that when they die their bodies become air. Inspired by the realization that the self is the source of experience and experience is the source of knowledge, knowledge and experience is the bartering chip the self trades with the future and the present. It has all happened before, the experiences, the knowledge, over and over until everything became nothing. Then, Charon must reject the...

His body was statue-like during the process, so still that the movement of his clothing, lifted off by an invisible force different from the wind around, half-submerged in ghostly water as red as blood. Eyes open and unseeing, head tilted slightly upward. Though the wind was blowing through the dunes from his right to his left, across the walls of the city, his pants tossed and lifted as though they were submerged in the water, tugged at gently from right to left and waving slowly in the superposed liquid. His hair danced to and fro as though a soft wind blew toward his face, and the face of Leonid waved on his body in the same way. Such a ghostly sight in clear morning light. So far, nobody has strayed close enough to see his proceeding. The boat continued to grow unceremoniously, as though it were a dried noodle being boiled. It tottered and rocked on that red sea, widening, lengthening.

 

[Katsuya]

- Isa Bianchi -​

The redhead hadn’t expected to see a boat to suddenly appear and grow. Yet it did. Just as he was about to reach the mound, a small figure grew and grew into a big boat. Isa slowed down and carefully backed away from the red waters. He knew it wasn’t really water, but the image was so sudden that his fear of swimming in it took over. He can see the threads of manna weaving together as the castor was frozen still in the middle of it. The redhead squinted his eyes.

Is that . . . It is. Charon is casting his spell.

Not wanting to disturb him while his casting, the redhead continued on his path to the mound. Though curious as he is about how Charon was able to make his tiny boat grow, he knew better than to interrupt someone while they are casting spells. It’s just not a good idea in general.

Zer0 Sisyphus Happy

 

[Sisyphus Happy]

Health: Healthy
| Toughness: Background Ability (10) + Armor (1) [11] | Spell Power: Background Ability (14) + Knowledge (4) + Equipment (1) [19] |Manna: Background Ability (4) + Knowledge (4) [8/8]
Condition: 1 | Roleplay Points: 1

Χάρων ​

A vacuous silence filled his waking mind which teemed of thought, it did not benefit from that inner voice which narrates to him most of his musings. Words would be a cage for them anyway. Manna arranged itself strangely for him, in pools and splashes and eddies, as though invisible hands were cupping it, splashing it, stirring it. Its movements were inefficient and artful, more like dancing. Nothing at all like the ordered beauty found in Mechromancy. The creaking of timbers stirred Charon from his trance and he paused for a moment as the water seemed to sink into the sand under him.

The boat stopped growing unceremoniously. The trance ended without a fuss and the huge vessel floated to the ground as though deposited by a receding tide. The crest of its lower curvature dug into the sand and pushed it into a large pile while the weight of the structure sent the ship several inches into its surroundings. It leaned horribly away from Charon and rested on the opposite bank of the small valley between two dunes. He himself stood there looking at it glassy-eyed for a few moments. The rituals were always sort-of draining in some way. As though, in the absence of the need to trade his own manna, it puts him into a musing state. Or, a fog settles in his brain. Shaking off the commanding stillness which took his mind, he quickly approached the boat to retrieve some of the things contained inside.

 

[Zer0]

- Funeral Pyres -
"West of Barad Eithel, December 29, 600"​

Isa was met with towering pillars of flames lightly showering the loud wailing mourners in powdery ash. Now that he was close, he can see the dark stacking platforms of wood, wide at the base and smaller at the top, the bed for dozens of burning bodies. Among the licking flames were trinkets of metal, weapons, and gems glowing orange hot across the chests of the brave fallen folks who fought for their home and for Leor. The mourners around him were singing or crying to the drums of a group of male Purrsians that looked old enough to be fathers or grandfathers.

"Wux men zyak kiarf ekess shio di udoka
wux jahen specari vur thas thric wharac
wux itmentora svern wer narkest kear
vur wer clounied svant

dout quo'quegl loaw varmath hartub
dout gneshgnesh jahus hefoc itisko ekess nymuer
si ornla majak tenovi tivol
ekess tepoha wux algbo vur stanwig leirith

ti vi jiilral pasis
svadrav vur ti shafaer hesi ricinic
dout itov yth geou nurti norgev
wer ouith geou escho persvek tairais

throden tears si tepoha ocuirtor vur crinid
astahii tepoha shio poure ekik hefoc oposs
vucoti batobot wux re lotoc jaka
vur thric drongilt persvek tikil loerchik.”​

There was no familiar face among the crowd. Except . . . a familiar short Purrsian lady who barely reached Isa's waist, with very sun bleached fur and a familiar ceremonial golden dagger around her belt. It was Kettlewhistle . . . and she was alone.

Katsuya

 

[Katsuya]

- Isa Bianchi -
“Funeral pyres“​

Isa took a deep breath, familiarizing the ashy smell of death as the warmth of the fires blazed on. Walking between the mourners and drummers as if he was a spirit: unnoticed and not the center of attention despite his height difference with the purrsians. His fear of being recognized as the bounty prize hadn’t come true as he was just a shadow to those that lost their love ones and he is fine with that.

The words in the song sounded sad . . . He didn’t understand their words but he can hear their sadness of parting so soon with their love ones.

The redhead stopped in place, surprised to see a familiar face in this mournful crowd. Mrs. Kettlewhistle and she’s alone . . . That woman is never alone at her home so why- He took a shuddering breathe in. Did she lose a love one too? Isa changed his mind of finding the leader, he wanted to comfort the cheery purrsian who allowed him to use her blacksmith shop. So he walked over to her side and cleared his throat, gently sitting down as to not startle her.

“ . . . Mrs. Kettlewhistle.” Isa spoke softly, sounding like the woman he disguised himself as before . . . But he wasn’t right now. He didn’t look like the purple-haired woman that worked on daggers. The black dye in his hair is almost gone, his dark clothing ripped and shredded, revealing the bandages underneath, and his shirt advertised Leonid’s shop . . . It was still a weird looking shirt design.

“Mrs. Kettlewhistle, may I pray with ya?” His voice melded back to normal, wanting to let her know that he is that same lady she met, and that he felt sad she lost a loved one— a son, a nephew, perhaps a daughter or niece. The woman is capable of raising tough girls like herself. Isa wanted to comfort their souls along with the others. Have them see their love one, one last time before they said their goodbyes . . .

Zer0

 

[Sisyphus Happy]

Charon exited from the low roof occupying the back of his vessel, tilted toward the nearby bank of sand in a pale grey robe with a trim of a gold color. Back to the way he entered, ghostly, covered, protected (and stylish?). Low rasping filled the area while he took a deep breath. Once again, much like the time he first donned this sort of robe, the fabric felt constricting in spite of its familiarity. Accompanying that rough fabric harrying his skin, a heaviness settled in his chest and he looked down at the garment as though in a trance while a slow and warm wind invaded it, pushing and pulling the cloth while grains of sand chased each other around the folds, getting lodged, then knocked loose and tearing away down the path of the wind, or getting stuck between the fibers. He continued to stare for some time.


"I died last night."

Spoiler: Obnoxiously long internal dia-monologue

"Yeah. Time to retire?"

"I don't think it changes things."

"That's absurd. You weren't living the way you wanted to before, you almost lost everything. Never to find love, never to fix yourself, never to find a friend, understand your power, a sad and joyless life."

"Ouch. Why am I even alive?"

"Some other dude with pointy teeth thought you were a relative."

"I think I'm alive because I have this weird power and didn't ask for it."

"What does that mean then?"

"I have to do something with it, right? It's been kind of fun."

"Fun, right, the constant fear, getting tangled up in wars between cats and octopi."

"They might have been squid; I never counted their tentacles."

"Stay on topic. We've forgotten more than most people will ever learn."

"Isn't that sad?"

"I don't know. What is sadness? What am I even doing? I'm trying to better myself? For what? All is forgotten in time. The names of all those people slaughtered right next to you will be forgotten -- you never even knew them. All of the people who broke apart on the walls of the city turned sideways will be nothing but names, if they feel like erecting a monument."

"You're right. Knowledge doesn't change that either."

"Then what? Should I just thank the guy who saved me kindly one more time and drown myself? Throw myself off of a cliff?"

"No. That's ridiculous. You have some things to work out."

"Yeah, yeah. I just died. Killed everyone around me too, in the same move."

"That's irrational. If we bothered tallying up all the times someone else had to deal with our carelessness, everyone is a criminal, every soldier is a mass murderer. Of his own people, I mean. You could never make it up either."

"So what, I just pretend it never happened?"

"You have to. Or at least, attempt to make up for it."

"What if they forgive me though."

"You should ask. You should ask them what they want you to do."

"I should just give up ownership of my life, just like that? For one mistake?"

"I can't tell whether that's justice or absurdity."

"Didn't I just say that all is forgotten? Do you want to carry your transgressions to your grave? You need to ask."

"I can't remember if he ever said anything about this sort of situation."

"You know, I think my master is an idiot. He called my dancing stupid, he called my magic silly and absurd, he says all the time that feelings are meaningless."

"He's just used to mechromancy -- I bet he got dumped one time and now doesn't like dealing with feelings."

"If he heard me saying that I'd be carrying the water for the rest of his life."

"That was already the case."

"My magic overwhelmed like three of those things at the same time too, they couldn't throw their cute looking fireballs."

"I'm so used to red, maybe green would look nice."

"Back on topic. You didn't even have to help. They might not have even gotten that far without you."

"You might be right."

"Just go ask. I'm going to go ask."

"So why do you feel like crap?"

"..."

"It's the robe, isn't it?"

"Last night, I didn't wear it, and people nodded at me and talked to me. It felt..."

"Amazing. It felt like freedom."

"I didn't even know I was feeling trapped."

"Feelings."

"Maybe I should be paying more attention. There's no way I deserve unhappiness, I haven't done anything on purpose to warrant that."

"Does anyone deserve unhappiness?"

"That's a long conversation. I can think about it while I'm working for Shaara for the rest of my life, after how hard I crapped the bed up there."

"Just ask. I'm going to go ask."

"And stop wearing that thing? Why do I even wear it?"

"Because you're ugly."

"I've seen worse, haven't I? I don't have tentacles on my face."

"Maybe. What if someone attacks you anyway?"

"That was one instance a long time ago. Maybe I'm thinking too much about it."

"Can you really risk it now?"

"Now? I think I can. Is it worth it though?"

"No. What, do you think you can find love with a face like that?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not."

"Is that what this is about?"

"Maybe. You saw them right? Time hasn't stopped for me. What if I go my entire life without finding someone? What if I die without myself?"

"Then so be it. You did this yourself. Your boring personality, your body."

"That's true enough. This feels wrong though."

"Feelings don't matter. The world doesn't run on feelings, it runs on rules and probabilities. Suck it up."

"That's just him talking, him and bitterness. We just died. Thoughts have to mean something though, they shape the physical world, don't they? Are you just trying to avoid pain now?"

"You almost died last night because you stopped being careful. Are you insane? Stupid?"

"I was being careless during a battle. The risk here is relatively little. I've dealt with hostile people before. I have more experience there than with dealing with friends."

"That's your fault too."

"You see? I really do want to find some company in this world. Your argument just broke down."

"Do what you want. All you have is a responsibility to help out when you're qualified. It's your argument too. You're me, and I'm you. We're going to ask Shaara now."

"Step one it is then."

He entered again and reemerged a few moments later holding Leonid's shirt in a bundle, wearing a frayed black shirt of dull material, parted in the front but held closed by a similarly frayed black strip of cloth around his waist. Pants of undyed fabric which did not quite reach his ankles exposed yet more flesh flayed by encroaching scaly patches of dark green. There was once dead skin, both reptilian and human, mingling and irritating at the borders between his own body and that of the monster clinging to him. Releasing a clenched fist at his side, a handful of those somewhat gross scraps fluttered away in the breeze to locations unknown. The condition of his skin seemed to improve in appearance just a little by his extra care. It glittered faintly with some kind of ointment, probably protective. His eyes glittered in the stark sunlight while they turned past the landscape of sheer, dry rock and ruined buildings to a column of smoke rising to the baby-blue and cloudless sky. The bandages around his head removed, a long horizontal scar ran diagonally across his forehead. Realization found him quite quickly and he sighed, turning his eyes to the path before him while he entered the city nervously to search for Shaara.

 

[Zer0]

- Shattered Golden Dome -
"West of Barad Eithel, December 29, 600"​

There was a thick white canopy peeking out the roof of the golden dome that morning. And a wind, that felt like the brewing of a storm, that made small sparks of magic cackle from one's hair making it frizzy and stand was blowing out of the windows.

The place had changed. White branches were twisting out from the rocks, fading from bark to stone, and all manner of plants, ferns, summer mushrooms, winter berries, and autumn leaves were swaying from the boughs. From the puddles of blood grew grass and lichen. The bodies from yesterday had been removed, though Charon could see some, stuck between white roots, flesh melted away revealing a helmed skull crawling with ferns and bracken.

There were folks here, hauling out rubble from dug openings, dressed for rescue, already working hard to look for survivors. Most of them were drow. They didn't know who Shaara was, but the Purrsians, they all told Charon different stories. Some said her body was already in the pyre, others said they didn't find it, some said maybe it was still inside as there were corpses overgrown with plants that they couldn't get to. Something about being afraid to go close to the magic well inside the tree.

"Hey, careful about going inside!" called one to Charon, a drow with high cheekbones who looked like he had no sleep and had a terrible gash across his face. "The wind from that magic well and all the branches growing have caused a few cave ins!"

Much of the beams of wood from the dome had been taken away, there were some folks who were even chopping the white branches and piling them for firewood. There were no corpses. Until Charon came upon the chamber where the massacre happened.

The wind here blew strongest, and there was a loud rustling. It was wilder than when Charon first saw it, purple leaves swirling about, and twisted around the center was a white tree that seemed to be magic and bark all at once. Its trunk was being made and unmade neverendingly, trailing wisps of blue light between the gaps of splintered bark. Around it were little bumps of corpses, covered thickly in shrubbery, with bits of glinting armor poking out from the mushrooms and lichen. They were within the snaking clumps of swirling leaves, and among these mounds, Charon could see the familiar armor of Shaara peeking out from a bed of orange mushrooms.

Suddenly there was a bark.

A familiar large rust-red coyote, saddled still, and looking dusty, was lying above the rubble surrounding the well, just out of the swirling leaves. It was Nava. She wagged her tail. She seemed to be lying on a mound of bracken and plants too.

Sisyphus Happy

- Funeral Pyres -
"West of Barad Eithel, December 29, 600"​

The short sun bleached mama Purrsian jumped to see that voice come out of the wrong person. "Y-you?" she seemed to recognize the empathy in his eyes, and she relaxed back to her melancholic mood. She looked tired, as though she didn't sleep at all last night. "I saw you on the bounty board . . . but you don't seem like a bad man . . . of course you can pray with me . . ." she looked back at the flames and was quiet for a while, the kind where it was difficult to speak.

"M-my husband . . . and my eldest. I found them at the dome steps. B-burned. Do you remember one of my children? Kowooa, my daughter? Blue eyes, fur like mine, but her front is very fluffy striped chestnut? Round face? I've been looking for her all night, but I can't find her. She went after Lwuso. If she made it far, she may have been on the dome when it --- when it flew and -- and fell."

Katsuya

 

[Katsuya]

- Isa Bianchi -​

“I’m sorry for tricking ya, ma’am.” Isa apologized quietly, settling himself on the ground as he cupped his hands together. He nodded. “A . . . A bad man put a bounty on my head because he knew I’d stop him.”

In the calm between the pair, the redhead stayed quiet as he could tell that she wanted to say something. Of course, it’s difficult to talk about her lost loved ones. It took Isa months until he could finally talk about his mother to Gramps and Doc. They understood. Then Mrs. Kettlewhistle spoke of her family. He became crestfallen and then surprised. “She made it that far?”

Maybe . . . Maybe she’s still alive.

From Isa’s understanding, the people inside the dome were safe-ish when it moved around. Of course if she was inside the dome. Outside of the dome is a different story. One that would make Mrs. Kettlewhistle even more sad. The redhead pondered and silently nodded. “I remember. If ya like, ma’am, I would like to help ya find Kowooa. I was planning to go back to the dome today . . . But I wanted give peace to the souls first.”

Then he sang in a different language, one that she has never heard but sounded fluid and warm. Inviting even the living to hear if they like as he followed the drum beats, intertwining his lyrics around the purrsians’ songs as if he was accompanying them. Never overstepping nor overwhelming as a halo ring of golden flames appeared above Isa’s gloved hands.

“Kuwata tsunowo vralai
Tsuriji pufuralekai
Kwondzuvai undovartsu wronduwail
Tjortetei jeki liago~”

Every resident of Barad Eithel that was near the funeral pyre would see transparent golden orbs floating around the flames. Gently floating with a few floating closer to the mourning families and to their surprise, they would see a transparent form of their passing loved ones. Looking at peace and wanting to give them their goodbyes and ‘I love you’ s before they leave into their next lives. Ready to reincarnate. That included Mrs. Kettlewhistle’s husband and eldest son who ran over to her, her son hugging her while her husband snuggled her. She can feel calm and love wash over her. Walking around the flaming pyre is a white dog with bird talons with feathery fur and red eyes, howling in tune with Isa’s singing as he tenderly guided the spirits after their goodbyes; he is leading the soul shards to the spirits’ families instead of near Isa. Just like how the redhead wanted.

”Only if ya would like my help, ma’am.” Isa said quietly to the purrsian family, dazed with a warm smile. Waiting for her permission. He should be fine now, not as tired as last night after resting with his beau and Okami and Pluplu.

Zer0

 

[Sisyphus Happy]

Health: Healthy
| Toughness: Background Ability (10) + Armor (1) [11] | Spell Power: Background Ability (14) + Knowledge (4) + Equipment (1) [19] |Manna: Background Ability (4) + Knowledge (4) [8/8]
Condition: 1 | Roleplay Points: 1

Χάρων ​

Charon would have bowed pretty deeply in response to the warnings and information he received since his voice was such a grating tool to use. Hesitation overcame him on his way by the workers, he had every intention of helping in this, but there were priorities. Holes in his memory of the incident appeared when he reached for them and a cavernous feeling consumed his chest. So much for asking Shaara. The crunch and jab of scattered rubble under his feet distracted him. Thankful, he looked up from the pensive attitude, he was in no location to start musing, more attention was required of him than that. The uproarious gnawing, biting and scratching of the guilt in his body tried to torture him but he assumed some degree of mortal danger and kept a sharp eye out for further danger or collapse. Cut stone passed by and by until he reached the familiar chamber. His mind became the building around him while he navigated around the ghost of treachery on the part of the ruined building and his anguish was muted by the focus. Once the doors and the chamber were upon him, he felt a weakness in his body and looked down to find his legs and arms shaking violently and his breathing began to constrict. Like an alarm muted by a pillow then uncovered, his ignored turmoil fell upon him and he bit his lip, leaning against a nearby wall and pressing his face into it. The events came back more vividly now.

Blood everywhere again; the crushed skulls and viscera, all of the life extinguished. After it happened and he woke up the next day, it became easy, somehow, for him to proceed as though he were copacetic and willing to move forward with his life. Leaning against the wall and forcing himself to breathe, the events played themselves over and over in his head. Guilt washed over him like a tide. Had he bothered with breakfast or dinner the night before, he might have vomited. Instead, his teeth gnashed and the telltale "hurk" of heaving sounded through the hallway a few times. Several minutes passed where he simply leaned against the wall with closed eyes and breathed evenly, his heartbeat slamming his ears, his fingers and toes tingling, aided by the energetic breeze emanating from the chamber. Slowly, the cycle of events began to transition. Fewer crushed skulls and scattered limbs flew through his mind. Slowly, the lives these people might have led before came up. The grief was less horrific but deeper. The lives which would have to proceed with a piece of them missing. This prospect would be more intense but Charon had few connections in the first place. Loss hurt less to him. Slowly, he righted himself and walked in, really seeing the tree for the first time with eyes glassy from attempting to vomit.

His eyes lit up when he saw all of it, though. Manna washed over his limbs and battered his senses. The sensation which comes from licking a battery battered his mind. Distractions pulled at him from every angle, he had to blink and look away. A bark from his front drew his gaze again. A horrified expression dawned on his face, looking around at the matter around them turning into plants and then to the creature. His eyes darted between their prone forms. Shaara's armor stuck out to him and a hand went to his mouth. Somehow, he had wished she might have survived and held on long enough to be rescued, however that wish was fleeting enough that even when it came down, he could not help but forget about it immediately. The surging manna in the area worried him, the idea of casting a spell in it sent shivers down his spine, to ignite this maelstrom in any way could be disastrous. Instead, he did it the old fashioned way, by squinting his eyes and skirting in a curve away from the tree as best as he could, he stood at the bottom of the pile of rubble and looked worriedly toward Nava, inspecting her condition and position, as well as a route to get to her, his eyes darting nervously around all the time.

 

[Zer0]

- Shattered Golden Dome -​

Nava was easy to get to. The pile of rubble she was on was easy to climb with all the white sprawling roots and branches. She seemed to be all right. This close Charon could see poking out of the mound she laid on, the armor and weapons of the two Purrsians tasked to guard him and who had brought out Nava to him. The giant coyote must have been close to them for her to stay and not leave their bodies.

She wagged her tail at him when he came close and whined, looking at the rest of the bodies that were within the radius of the flying, swirling leaves. She barked at the base of the tree, then looked at Charon, whining, then barked at the leaves again, and then looked at him.

Sisyphus Happy

- Funeral Pyres -​

The short sun bleached-furred lady purrsian looked at Isa hopefully. "Any help would be most welcome! And do not worry about tricking me, I forgive you. It's not important at all. But what about you, dear? It's Isa isn't it? Have you lost anyone? Are you searching for your loved ones too?"

When Isa sang his song the mournful wailing of the survivors slowly hushed, and they stared as golden lights floated from the burning dead. They were amazed at the peace that they felt, an actual last goodbye from their loved ones who suddenly ripped from them.

Many heads turned to Isa, even Kettlewhistle stared at him in a new light. This wasn't something that they saw everyday, it was as though the priest of an ancient had suddenly appeared and honored their dead in a way they've never experienced before. Many Purrsians and dark skinned desert folk began to cry, because they understood what the souls of their loved ones were telling them, and it gave them closure, a parting piece that would help them move on in the coming days. And at the end of Isa's song, Kettlewhistle was sobbing on the sand, hand outstretched to two golden orbs gently brushing her palm, before they flew up and faded into the morning sky.

The crowd started to approach Isa, imploring to him in purrsian, some in common. He was obviously a foreigner with his pale skin and red hair. "Son who are you?"; "Can you resurrect the dead?"; "Are you an acolyte of Ifrit?"; "Where did my brothers so go?"; "Are you here to help us?"

Katsuya