closed.

[cozen]

WHO: Bastien, Byerly, Darras, Edgard, Ellie, Gwenaëlle, Julius, Loxley, Yseult, & Special NPC Guest Stars
WHAT: THE FATE OF THE FOX
WHEN: Shortly post-mod plot
WHERE: Arlathan Forest
NOTES: OOC post! Use TWs in your subject lines as required.

It's a long shot. Bastien returns to the campsite they've all been sharing with only a silver, black-corroded medallion held carefully in his palm. With the dirt washed off, there's no question that the angular, geometric face stamped onto the front of it is a fox's.

"It's dwarven," he explains, more than once. "It's, look, 8:84, that is Ansgar Aeducan's reign. That is around when the Black Fox met Bolek. He came to the surface with them to help with—well, there four or five different things they are supposed to have been helping with. Most commonly it is bringing back the king's wayward daughter without letting anyone find out she had been exposed to the sky. This was over near one of those tower—cliff—cave-things, that way. There might be more."

Again, it's a long shot. But it's not nothing. Even if the medallion is all there is, it's not nothing.

And—for those who notice and care about the subtle differences between his sometimes-artificial chipperness and his stiller, quieter happiness—this is the best mood Bastien has been in since the sacrifices, the longest he's gone without tapping or tugging at his newly deafened ear. By the end of his brief, earnest-eyed it's not far, we could go look while there's still daylight and be back in plenty of time campaign, with no real protest from anyone, he's practically glowing.

The tower-cliff-cave-thing in question is one of the elven structures half-swallowed by earth, accessible through what was once a balcony door, now framed by vines and tree roots climbing in and out of the opening. They have to climb a root-threaded mound of dirt and rock to reach it, but they're rewarded almost instantly by the remnants of a 50-year-old campsite, a pair of leather boots that have only mostly rotten away to nothing in the humidity, and a change in the air (veil? vibe?) as they descend the uneven stone steps (or drop more impatiently through a nearby hole) to reach the next floor.

It's not good, the air-change. It's also not the energy-sapping miasma of shades or the tension of some nearby malevolence. It's the kind of not-good that makes one want to look. When they do, they see the skeletons first—five of them, half-jumbled, partially dressed in what metal and leather has survived the decades—and only for a second, before the thing waiting behind them in the dark reaches out to make them see something else.

OOC | Reply with your character's heroic dream as a new top-level! We're tagging them all at once. No tag orders. Don't boomerang so quickly that people get left completely behind because they're busy/asleep for a day but also skip people as needed—all nine of us don't need to tag every single round. Aim for brief threads!

NPC CAST: DESIRE: Charlie / REMI: Cass / KAROLIS: Brooklyn / SERVANA: Libby / BOLEK: MJ / CLEMENTIS: Ammmy

Comments

julius's dream

[overharrowed]

Those who have been to the Cumberland Circle before won't have any problems recognizing the College of Magi's traditional gathering place. For those who haven't been there in waking life, the lavish surroundings are striking on their own merits, even before the observer can register just how many Southern Mages are gathered in one place. Nearly everyone present is in robes and carrying a staff. While there's no particular indication of time period in the setting — the golden opulence looked much the same on the recent trip some of their number made to Nevarra — the number of mages present suggests they're occupying a moment before the war(s) that decimated the former members of the assembly. (In reality, there would have been Templars present, surely; there's no sign of them in the dream.)

One mage, a man of about Julius's age, approaches him, ignoring the others for the present. "Senior enchanter," he says in a low, Marcher-accented voice. "The College is ready for you to speak." Julius seems momentarily shaken, though whether by the unfamiliar title or the news he's about to be given the floor is not immediately apparent. The man, seeming to sense his hesitation, lowers his voice and says, "A lot of us are behind you. We just need someone to put it clearly. We won't desert you." He gives Julius a small, inscrutable smile.

He can, evidently, see the others, finally turning his attention their way. He glances back and says, "You should take your seats. The College is about to reconvene." Whatever he sees of them doesn't seem to give him pause, but it's also clear he's about to pull Julius off, away from the group.

[elegiaque]

Servana, holding her staff rather than carrying it on her back as many of the others of this dream and perhaps her temporary, living companions— has a faint, indulgent smile on her face. It looks a little like the way she might look at her own child (she had not betrayed Remi in truth, but played a dangerous long game to rescue their daughter held for his exchange, and even this spirit-echo is hungry for news of her that none of them have—), a sort of oh, bless mixed with the aromatic flavor of lol, nerd.

“You needs must keep it brief, Senior Enchanter,” she says, instead of sitting. “You know that we have an urgent engagement.”

[notathreat]

The flowing robes and a staff in her hand are easily the most uncomfortable thing Ellie's been equipped with today, but the pattern is starting to emerge, even if she can't focus. The woman looks familiar. She's seen Servana before. And Julius, and the people with them-

Fuck, it's happening again.

The edges of the dream ripple, and the man who approached Julius is still smiling, but there's something just too serene about it, too poised.

"Can there be anything more urgent than this?"

[cozen]

Dwarves cannot be mages. Ergo, Bolek should either not be here or not be a dwarf. The dream has chosen not a dwarf. He is present, accounted for, and very tall, though still proportionally built stocky and broad. At this height, his beard looks arguably wizardly when he strokes it.

"Let the man speak," he says.

He is enjoying this. This one small part. Just a little.

Bastien is, too, just a little. He is moving his leg in such a way as to make his robes swirl, somewhere in the background, and then there is a visible, eye-widening moment of realization. He holds his hand out. Somehow—will and imagination substituting for the missing years of training, in addition to the missing magical ability—a perfect miniature fireball appears above it.

He sits down in the chair behind him without snuffing it out or taking his eyes away from it, mouthing, "Ça décoiffe." (He will quickly pay attention again when the speaking starts.)

[overharrowed]

The man who came to fetch Julius says, "Yes, yes," a bit dismissively, to Servana and Ellie's respective concerns. (If he registers Bastien's behavior as unusual, he gives no sign.) Nodding to Bolek, he takes Julius by the elbow and steers him to the center of the assembly. Julius seems to straighten a bit as they move, the dream catching at him more firmly and dispelling the hints of disorientation.

The crowd begins to quiet down as it's clear he's preparing to address them, which is going to make moving through the room conspicuous absent new developments. In the meantime, Julius begins. Most of the Riftwatch contingent has had the opportunity to hear him speak, but it's clear that in the dream, he's even more poised, more articulate. The way he speaks of a new future for mages has some things in common with the speech he recently gave in this room in reality, but it lacks the fatigue and the hard-won pragmatism of the real thing. Instead, he paints a picture of a world where mages can rebuild something new without the war that, in the dream at least, isn't an inevitability.

(It's an excellent speech and, in the way of dreams, Julius is going to be irritated he can't remember the specifics of it later.)