the clock tower

[groundrules]

Happy Hallow-elevator! The clock tower event lasts between 22 October and 8 November. ICly, the tower incursion stretches around a week, and you’re welcome to have your character investigate something else, if they finish early!

THE CLOCK TOWER

---

ALL IS AS ALL WAS| TRIAL & NO ERRORS | THE TOWER

Image source.

ALL IS AS ALL WAS

Play it cool, as Serthica’s customs officers pore over your passport papers, before grudgingly allowing you overground. Minaras, you hear, is hunting a delinquent.

Both it and Eidris fare well, with no sign of the damage that preceded the Unwinding. Locals no longer behave eerily, dragons and clockwork droids roam freely, and everyone hates taxes.

Yet perfect strangers insist they know you. Your assigned address leads to a different house. The roads, buildings and architecture look ‘lived in,’ but changed.

No one remembers the Unwinding.

■ Burlap mannequins sometimes watch from mirrors, windows and reflecting surfaces.

■ You might hear shifting and scratching in Eidris walls.

■ Minaras has doubled its bounty for a man not unlike Leonard McCoy.

■ Black fungal spores are found on the increasingly voluminous experiment vials, specimens and supplies thrown out by Minaras medical facilities.

■ Frail and confused, Ellethia survivor Zenobius finally awakens. A short thread is up for RNG grabs.

Image source.

TRIALS & NO ERRORS

The guard troops that Eidris and Minaras assign to the Neutral Zone now protect King Thivar and High Councillor Arabella during the annual Sanctuary Reckoning trials. Both adjudicate cases that violate the ceasefire.

Prolonging the trials buys time for your companions in the clock tower.

■ Create a distraction — flood the judgement hall rooms? Fire? Illusions?

■ Pose as trial participants: perhaps you are of Eidris, and you caught this wicked Minaraian raiding your home? Mayhap this wretched man of Eidris stole your girlfriend? Wait, you’re a Minaraian who wants to kill King Thivar?

■ …organise breakouts, if Thivar or Arabella have your jailed. You are first imprisoned in makeshift Sanctuary cells — all but poorly locked, glorified closets. Get a trial sentence!

■ Thivar and Arabella treat the trials as a box-ticking exercise.

Image source.

THE TOWER

As Eidris and Minaras play court, you can infiltrate the Neutral Zone clock tower of Vassarizhia.

■ Only token security remains. The door is unlocked.

■ Karsa supplies paper talismans that must be burned in the watch fire at the tower’s top level.

■ Each burned talisman amplifies the reveal spell that Karsa activates. Link a finished burning thread by 8 November to help the cause.

■ A November mod post will describe how much of Serthica’s ‘undeath’ characters can see.

■ Placing Magnus’ dragon eye before the tower’s telescope will allow characters to always see Serthica’s undeath, moving forward.

Image source.

✘ ELEVATOR ETIQUETTE

Imperfect stillness dominates Vassarizhia: your footsteps do not click, words die in your mouth. The tower’s rickety gear slither silently. Your heartbeat aligns with the clock’s tick… tock.
You have the growing, gnarly certainty that you have invaded something ancient and alive.

The tower’s entryway level is large, deserted, stacked with gears. At its core is a dilapidated open elevator shaft.

A large sign says to find and pull the floor lever, if elevators stop.

■ There are two elevators. Each narrow lift can hold up to four people, crammed. The upper half of the carriage is chain-link fence, while the floors contain hatches that sometimes open mid-travel for 30 seconds. Hold on to ceiling-bound leather straps.

■ The ropes holding the elevators are thick, but tattered.

■ The elevator’s creaking squeals can awaken swarms of 1m-tall bats and bat wyverns. They rattle the lift, but ultimately withdraw.

■ The elevator can stop at as many levels as you want (or none!).

■ Beyond the second level, you feel intensely paranoid and see your companions as the persons you most hate/fear for five to 10 minutes. Reaching the top, you are tempted to cut the lift ropes of those who follow. (The ropes and elevators recover, after crashing to the bottom. )

■ On each floor, as you exit the elevator, a nearby wall shows a different scratched instruction, signed by DAVID.

LEVEL I: THE LABYRINTH| LEVEL II: THE ANCESTOR | LEVEL III: TAG! YOU’RE IT
LEVEL IV: THE ROOM WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS | LEVEL V: IT’S RAINING (AGAIN)

Image source.

LEVEL I: THE LABYRINTH
CONTENT WARNING: MINOTAUR, BODY HORROR

Step into a jail maze, flooded to knee level. Confusing corridors narrow, widen and contort, while wall torches dim.

Intermittent howling reveals you’re not alone. Hiding, you see child-like chalk drawings of forest animals on walls — and a great minotaur. Keep silent.

■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, IT RUNS IN THE FAMILY.

■ Collect some of the many discarded daggers or axes. Rope bundles float in water — use them to paralyse your captive or briefly force them under your control.

■ Don’t linger in one place: rotting, bodiless hands surface to restrain you.

■ Bad news, if you swallow water when the minotaur or dead hands try to drown you: your skin stretches and bursts, while your bones pop and extend. You mutate into a half human, half woodland creature, all bloodlust. ( Inspiration, anyone? ) Your companions should still recognise you; between hazy memories and constant pain, you might struggle to remember them and even attack.

■ Morphed characters can (painfully) return to normal within minutes of re-entering the elevator.

■ A smaller and distressed three-headed minotaur also roams the labyrinth. Two of its heads sob, while the third urges you to hide with it when brother approaches. It tries to throttle you with a noose to make brother happy, if you follow. David did say.

■ The minotaur and its sibling have poor sight. They cannot enter a corridor where you’ve drawn or laid down a line.

■ Pull the lever, and a straight corridor leads you to the elevator.

TOP | LEVEL II | LEVEL III | LEVEL IV | LEVEL V

LEVEL II: THE ANCESTOR
CONTENT WARNING: GIANT SKELETON, BLOOD DRINKING

Here, only barren stone and thin rivulets of fresh water pouring from wall fountains with sharp-tipped ornaments — your spilled blood quickly infects the basins. Knives, pins and bowls have been abandoned nearby.

High pressure and vertigo overwhelm you. Follow a rhythmic heaving to where the upper half of an enormous skeleton — the Ancestor — has broken through a wall. White, silk thread fetters it. Dried blood rims its cracked mouth. Before it, the stone floor has been tarnished, up to a 5m radius.

The Ancestor appears dormant, a crown of iron thorns on its head. It clutches the lever tightly in its right hand. Above it, an engraving urges, SPILL WINE FOR YOUR ANCESTOR.

■ David S P’s elevator scrawl says, WATER TO WINE.

■ Dally staring and you feel dizzy, nauseous, depressed and compelled to share your close-death encounters. Before you know it, you are stepping into the Ancestor’s radius…

■ …where it plunges for you, if you don’t bear a filled cup. The silk ropes keep the Ancestor from reaching beyond 5m.

■ Two carvings under his fists read HONOUR THY FATHER and DISHONOUR THY MOTHER.

■ Quickly distract the Ancestor from crumbling his captives, tearing their arms or attempting to eat them.

■ The Ancestor is instinct-driven, consumed by thirst. It cannot see or smell, and only remembers taste. Sounds divert it.

■ Improvise: there is no actual wine here. Infuse water, spill blood, or vocally pretend you are delivering wine, and the Ancestor might spare you.

■ If sated, the Ancestor releases the lever.

TOP | LEVEL I | LEVEL III | LEVEL IV | LEVEL V

Image source.

LEVEL III: TAG! YOU’RE IT
CONTENT WARNING: SCARECROW, SKINNED CREATURES

Enjoy pitch dark, dread and bile spreading in your gut. Take a candle from near the elevator and roam through small, unlocked rooms that feature tattered beds, strips of tanning leather and blood or wax spilled on the floor.

■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, O CATCHES IT.

■ Ahead, you see candle-bearing mannequins that dance a hora to the same song played by Jim Kirk’s music box: “Up the mountain, in the grove, hand in hand to Ke-Waihu, fresh harvest’s a treasure trove, each fall we feast anew.”

■ The creatures are patched abominations of wax, skinned flesh and burlap. In the middle of the hora is a wiry scarecrow, eyes blazing with candle fire as it points a large cleaver. In certain lights, the scarecrow’s face briefly contorts into that of your mother. It wears priestly robes that Arc III survivors may recognise from the House of Ravens.

■ As the dance finishes, you notice the lever in the middle of the circle, where flame spells out TAKE THEM, NOT ME. The game begins.

■ The abominations run, gleefully manic and screaming TAAAA~AAAAAG. YOU’RE IT! The scarecrow unflinchingly cuts them down while pursuing you. Hide in the abandoned rooms, or risk snuffing your candle to avoid detection.

■ Some abominations slap you, hold you, or alert the scarecrow. Others offer shelter. A few peel off wax skins from their limbs — showing black fungi beneath. They murmur, IT NEVER GOES AWAY.

■ Parchment strips fall from the scarecrow’s sleeves, reading, HAPPY NAME DAY, MOTHER KNOWS BEST, THE SIN RAN DEEPER THAN SKIN, IF YOU CAN BEAR IT, IT’S A GAME.

■ Bless David: draw the scarecrow into a drawn or makeshift circle to trap it.

■ Intense, paralysing fear arrests you, if the scarecrow catches you. The wax abominations chant, TAKE THEM, NOT ME. One might even take pity and move your numbed mouth to utter the words. Say them — and the scarecrow lands deep cuts on your arms, then pursues your companion.

■ If you betray someone, the abominations take the appearance of your worst version: whether physically mutated, with a temper that amplifies your worst features, or both.

TOP | LEVEL I | LEVEL II | LEVEL IV | LEVEL V

Image source.

LEVEL IV: THE ROOM WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS
CONTENT WARNING: MANIPULATION, MENTAL COERCION

You enter a quiet room. The lever sits on a table, beside rope and a dagger. As you approach, your surroundings transform: perhaps your dearest dead appear to warmly welcome you. Crowds of your doubters celebrate your success. Or you are in a calm oasis, where nothing hurts.

■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, THIS DREAM IS A NIGHTMARE.

■ Whatever your deepest wishes, the room’s vivid illusions provide. With time, your beautiful dreams deteriorate into horror. Sometimes, you hear whispers of, Make a wish.

■ The room increasingly drains your life force. Within half an hour, you have gaunt flesh, brittle bones and a hunched back. Or you might feel compelled to harm yourself, clawing your arms and face, or pulling your hair out.

■ The damage comes undone minutes after reaching the elevator.

■ The room focuses on one person: if someone joins you, they see fainter echoes of what the room shows you, but they are not enthralled. They must coax or drag you away.

■ If you are under the room’s influence, it forces you to make any later intruders stay.

TOP | LEVEL I | LEVEL II | LEVEL III | LEVEL V

Image source.

LEVEL V: IT’S RAINING (AGAIN)
CONTENT WARNING: PLAGUE, THE CHILD

At the tower’s open-sky top, fire crackles from a small stone pit, shielded by a familiar, immovable blood-spattered white umbrella. Nearby, discover an immense rusted telescope and other discarded astronomy tools.

You trip on rain-battered yellowed bones at every step. One skeletal hand holds a watch piece, engraved for Mr. David Sebastian Pumpkins.

■ David S P’s has only scrawled his signature.

■ You might reach the flame easily, or be overwhelmed by sickness, black fungal spores blooming on your fingers, while you cough blood and experience intense fever. The symptoms wane once you reach the fire.

■ Burn paper talismans and link finished threads to help Karsa’s spell.

■ The child with a fox mask from the Unwinding could appear. Sign up for one of three short threads, which must finalise by 3 November.

NOTES

■ Some of the bigger plot clues have been emphasised, to help navigate through the horror details.

■ You can hit up some NPCs during the trials.

■ Check out plotting posts for last-minute team-ups.

■ Back to the top.

QUESTIONS

Comments

[downswing]

( The white-fingered, hard-knuckled grip of his hands on Bichen's build, her waist. She might break in the corset of his palms, wrung. She might sigh and shudder for him, were she a woman trueborn, her spine curled by his violence.

You play well for a man who loathes my people. Beneath the vast, white calling of a steely sky, he feels watched, wanting, measures. If Wei Ying slapped his face, cursed his ancestors, clawed his core, Lan Wangji might name the wound terrible and known. Might breathe and recede into righteous indignation, turn on his heel and desert the war field his soulmate has won from him, fairly.

But Absterge wails on, tremulous, negligent. Lacking the filigree of qi infusions that a veteran practitioner of Gusu Lan might carefully infiltrate, with the appropriate teachings. It slips and skids off Lan Wangji's skin, like oil coursing water.

Patience is in the harrowing wait until Wei Ying has done. At his feet, he feels bones that have slipped, cracked under the violence of the Patriarch's song. Finding them, he chases his footing, then the threads of his qi required to whisper his guqin summoned before him.

He answers Wei Ying with the scattered, saccharine, self-indulgent, self-referential, irreverent, wrong, wronged notes of a familiar, cavernous song.

Within heartbeats, he dispels the zither. Then, midnight is his gaze, chasing Wei Ying, running raw over his face, the absence of his wounding. A distraction would have been simple. )

...wuji.

( Gasped breath, and memory sobs in him once, quiet. Like for like, kind for kind. Amends are concessions, waiting. He cuts his truth from himself and lays it bare, vivisected.

Come down, then. Silver on the table. )

[clavesregni]

[Caitlyn begins knotting the bedsheets together, gladly accepting the Doctor's help as she arranges them into a loose circular shape. Her hands are shaking from a terror that feels almost as though it's coming from outside her own mind, as if it's being imposed on her rather than something she's truly feeling, but it affects her just the same. Her movements, though, are neat and precise. Corners tucked, knots pulled tight. One of the stains is disconcertingly damp, but after a moment of hesitation, she frowns at it as though it's done her a personal wrong and grabs it, knuckles turning white as she arranges the sheet just so. Perhaps it's her imagination, but she can almost feel the blood oozing out of the sheet between her fingers.

She swallows the bile rising in the back of her throat. She is not going to throw up.

She recognizes what the Doctor's trying to do: cheer her up, take her mind off their likely impending deaths. Her muscles are so tense she can barely manage a smile, but she does. Just for him, really, to let him know she'll be alright. As long as she has a task to focus on, something to think through, she knows she can work through the fear.]

Somehow, I doubt they've got a comments box.

[The sheets are arranged into a circle, and she leans back, surveying their handiwork before looking back up to him.]

Now we just need to lure it in here.

[clavesregni]

[Caitlyn hears the heavy footsteps of the minotaur stalking towards them, and quickly folds herself into the alcove alongside the others. She's tall but lithe, easily able to hide in the shadows. Certainly more easily than the three-headed creature.

Her jaw clenches as she strains to keep her breath steady. Her finger remains on the trigger of her rifle, ready to raise it and fire if necessary. But the minotaur passes by, seemingly oblivious to their presence. She's peering out of the alcove after the retreating minotaur, allowing herself to feel a moment of relief that it didn't notice them, when she hears the man behind her hiss.

She whirls around, aiming the rifle at the three-headed creature.]

You heard him. Let him go.

[But she's not fast enough. The creature lashes out with its free hand, slamming her into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of her, before reaching down to its belt to draw out a noose.]

[clavesregni]

[The false Caitlyn scoffs derisively in Eda's direction. So this is who I'm meant to ally with? This creature?

Caitlyn is perfectly happy to take Eda's advice, and starts to make a run for it, but the other her grabs at her with a strength that the real Caitlyn doesn't have, snarling, Mages are dangerous, you know. They're criminals.

The real Caitlyn cries out as she's yanked backwards, towards the wall of plants. On the other side, she can hear the scarecrow laughing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of another wax figure stepping out of the darkness, reaching for Eda, and it... also changes to look like her.]

Watch out!

[clavesregni]

[Caitlyn's never actually shot anyone before, and if the creature roaming these corridors possesses human intellect, she'd rather avoid shooting it, too. But she has hunted animals, and she was always taught to aim for the vital organs. As an enforcer, she was taught that if she needed to shoot another person, she should aim for their center of mass.

Debating what body part to aim for becomes a lot less important when she realizes it's right there, and it's clearly spotted them. She quickly shouts a warning to the beast.]

Drop the weapon!

[Its only response is to roar one last time before it barrels down the corridor towards them.

A bullet whizzes past its horn, snipping a few hairs off the top of its head. The warning shot goes completely ignored. The second bullet hits its shoulder, aimed to drop or at least slow the beast without killing it. But that bullet is all but ignored too, merely causing its body to jerk backwards briefly before it lowers its head and continues its charge. The third bullet hits a fraction of a second later, just to the left of its sternum. If she has to kill it, she reasons, she can at least give it a quick death with one clean shot through the heart. But that bullet doesn't even slow it down.

She takes a slow breath in, sighting down the barrel of the rifle as she raises it to aim between the eyes. It's a much trickier shot, but one she'll take if her companion fails to freeze the water again or perform some other useful feat of magic.]

[thedreamer]

[ In his veritable tug-of-war with the hands nearly pulling him under, the Doctor isn't as quick to move as he desperately wants to be and normally would be. He can't get a good look at Red until he frees himself; this is honestly more annoying than anything else, he doesn't have time to waste, she's too important. He slashes at the hands with all his might, falling back into the water when they release him, nearly up to his neck, but then he scrambles quickly back to his feet, fighting against the hands and sloshing water everywhere as he runs with uncoordinated precision through the obstacle course of the undead. Vanessa is safe, he assures himself, passing her on his periphery, just barely glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. ]

No! No, no, no, not today, not ever. Red! Let go of her!

[ He gets just close enough, just at the perfect angle to trust himself enough, and then the axe is thrown, a little off-center because he's not even running in a straight and balanced line at this point. He shouldn't be throwing this while he's running, but there's simply no time to waste. His eyes are locked on Red's face, worried, needing to assure himself she's still breathing. The axe is aimed at the minotaur's legs, not wanting to kill it outright, but needing to stop it quickly. ]

[downswing]

No.

( This, certain, slant of his gaze sharpening further when it lands on the scarecrow again, when he glimpses wood and twigs and twine. When the creature's false mouth seems to broaden, while the chanting stokes.

It will erupt soon, this tension, this rite. Whatever it is they summon will come, and Lan Wangji's hand is yet too soft on his sword, he should know better than to lie in wait. Unless he kills. Unless he heeds his nature, his duty, cold sweat parading down his nape.

He knows, intrinsically, the true options set before them. Sleep of the dead or slaughter. He travels with a woman-wraith already. Might as well. )

I believe... ( And uncertainty settles and stretches here, like a marine current absorbing all the space available to it. ) My own mother. It makes weapon of memories.

[downswing]

( Craftily, carefully, with impunity. By trembling the line of his shoulders once, in what lesser men might name a shrug, but only translates as a choicely measured interruption of Lan Wangji's composure.

There is something in the air here, mould and stench of mildew, like the aftermath of drunkenness in a soiled, crass tavern. Only water, he supposes. )

Your dignity and discipline will enforce it.

( A man reminded of his failures will surely seek to remedy them. Surely. )

[blackscales]

[ Wrathion takes a deep breath, surveying the field of discoloured bones, then begins to pick his way forward with slow, careful steps. ]

It seems we are not the only ones who have passed this way.

[ All these bones. How old are they, he wonders. ]

This tower is... unnatural, as I suppose all of Serthica is.

[ He dreads what they will uncover, but they cannot look away now. ]

[downswing]

( Please. And fare-thee-well, and thank you.

How he has come to loathe courtesies, the weapons of his brother. How they bruise and cut and leave wounds, bleeding. Later, he will count his blessings: at least, this way, her hair is spared.

At least, part lifting, part dragging, part pushing the table until it is propelled futilely with a hefty thud into the diminishing illusions — they make advance.

He does not utter word for the better part of their blitzing trek, satisfied with the dust swept by his feet, with the creak and wailing of the elevator doors, when they gape open for Clara to pass through. )

We need not speak of this. ( Her privacy, her fears, her loss. His gaze lands low on barren ground. ) But we may.

( After. )

[faceblocker]

[ This would be awkward in even the most ideal scenario, really, but in this case there's just a sense of could-be tragedy that taints every face Vi glances to, with a lingering sorrow on the ghostly images of Caitlyn's parents. They had actually been pretty nice to her, compared to other topsiders, even with the gun in the face.

She starts to follow, but when Caitlyn's mother nears, Vi clenches her jaw, head hanging as she tries to step between them. She may not be able to easily block Caitlyn's view, considering her height, but she can still try to get her attention, even if it annoys her. She'd rather Caitlyn be annoyed at something real than...dealing with whatever weird mind trip this is. ]

Hey. [ Her voice is soft, but panic ripples quietly underneath. This feels too much like seeing Powder speak to people who weren't there. ] I'd probably like them a lot. Your mom already made a great first impression. So, let's do what we need to and get out of here, okay? We'll go see your real parents. You just need to trust me on this.

[somebadnews]

[ Five can't tell if he's really intimidated, or if it's part of the act. The threat remains either way. ]

Did you hear what happened to Hyang-Won?

[balancedwire]

[ That? It's a name he's familiar with. Though, it isn't normally from a female voice. Something that actually confuses him and when he turns to look at her, eyes watch her for a moment.

There's confusion in those eyes, especially considering the scenario around them. ]

A-Fei?

[matermali]

[ A strange weapon. Not enough to paralyze her, not like that, but enough to muddle and slow her. She worries at her lip to see the amount of monstrous fanatics that circle the scarecrow. Her knife, still sticky with grime, would do little against that number. Neither can she risk abusing the same curse again so soon.

Her worry is the effect such an illusion may have on him. How much will it slow him? He doesn't sound very convinced by what he sees. ]

So long as you remain wary, it should be a weapon too dull to cut at your heart. We are being tested.

[sansdoute]

I'm helping. They wouldn't stay happy, if...

( And, drip by drip, step by step, the menace of this child inches closer. )

You're sick. And you're making my thoughts sick, too. It's wrong.

[growlies]

( They don't leave her to be dragged away.

Vanessa shouts out no and release her with such command and power to the words as if she's angry at the beast, trying to draw attention without being afraid. The Doctor says not today, not ever as if her life is too important to be threatened. Logically, Red knows neither of them would. She understands it's part of having friends, real friends. They fight for one another. They put themselves at risk for one another, but it still manages to take her by surprise, to touch her, to reach her in ways she might never be able to formulate into words. Her fingers tighten their grip at the rope around her neck, struggling against it. Her lungs burn for air.

And then- then the Doctor throws an axe. The sharp blade manages to go over her head cutting through the rope and smacking the small minotaur in the back of the legs. Immediately, she falls to the floor, yanking the noose from around her neck (too much like a leash, like- ), and taking in multiple gasps of air.

Her gaze lifts from her spot on the floor even as she catches her breath, leveling a look of pure violence and ancient rage at the small minotaur who immediately begins weeping again. She wants to tear it apart. If she didn't need to regain the air in her lungs, she just might lunge right now and tear at it with her nails. )

[sansdoute]

( Sweet, isn't it? How the illusion of triumph comes and goes and wanes. How he looks at the old boy here before him and grimaces, seeing, not for the first time the faces of every man left behind. )

As little as they could, under the old regime. ( And wasn't that proper, failed merchantry? ) Or as much as they had to give, under the new one.

( His hand reaching for the paper is all withered claws. )

...you're making an old man think of follies. Should be ashamed of yourself. Or at least get me some honeyed cake.

( Buy an old soul a fancier dinner than hospital fare for the trouble of his unravelled memories. Please and thank you. )

[sansdoute]

( It seems, for a moment, as if he might be tempted to rip his hair out, to stomp. Hair cradling the sides of his head, digging it, never quite gripping, then letting go. His hands slip at his side, umbrella neatly knocked down, forgotten. )

I don't know what you're talking about. ( He does not stomp, but his leg trembles, threatens to. ) You're all coming to me and... and... and talking riddles. I didn't go to school that long, I don't know riddles. I'm sorry. And you're... you're too sick to talk to, anyway. You should go.

[binghua]

[Even though he cannot see the bones, he can feel under his boots that the roof of this tower must be covered in them. He hasn't found a single clear space to step. It must be a horrifying sight, but he can imagine it well enough on his own.]

I cannot help but wonder why all these people would have died up here.

[Careful steps, careful steps.]

...Though, they could have been brought here later. How dreadful.

[Xingchen doesn't know how long they make their way to the fire pit, but after a time, he starts to feel the heat.]

We must be close.

[sansdoute]

( Click of his tongue a little mean, a little forced. Neither bitterness, nor impatience, but their strained reunion. )

I worked there, boy. In Ellethia's finest. If I didn't admire it, I wouldn't have participated, now would have I?

( But he's shrugging, and this round, it's to signal, he did, oh, he did. )

Can't be thinking there's much you can make an old mule do, if he doesn't want to, now can you? Though I wasn't there for any mirrors, me. Sounds too brittle. Too fragile. You don't make good work out of something that breaks.

[sansdoute]

( Hyang-Won.

And he stops. Everything stops with him. Sound, the fire's crackling, the spell of wind that had stoked in increments. Nothing breathes.

Not even the countless bones and skulls at their feet rattle, when the child steps suddenly closer. )

What happened to him?

[matermali]

[ The Doctor's actions startle her, if only because she had been about to yell for him to do something with that axe. For a split second she worries it might hit the girl, stumbling at the relief of seeing them both collapse.

For the moment, Vanessa leaves him to retrieve his weapon however he sees fit from the minotaur, and she kicks off a struggling disembodied hand before racing to the stretch of dry (debatable) ground to reach down, hoping to pull Red back onto her feet to wonder at the possible damage done to her neck. She keeps her knife stretched out between them and the minotaur, who now wails as it struggles to yank the axe out of its leg. It's only for her confusion at its tears that she doesn't try to rush past the Doctor to free the axe and remove all of its heads. ]

[somebadnews]

[ It's impossible not to notice the shift in the air and at the very least know that got his attention. This is a dangerous game, but Five is past the point of caution and he's tired of dancing around the subject. ]

My brother put a knife through his chest. Then he disappeared under mysterious circumstances, just before you showed up and jogged my memory.

If he's dead, what does that make you?

[valeas]

Emilia loosens a breath in her chest, squares her shoulders. Grim determination, not without curiosity, propels her further still. She must be in command of herself, having come too far to unravel.

She peers into the room, her assessment shrewd.

The lever, the rope, the dagger. The wall scrawl and Wrathion.

It is not kind, necessarily, the near-satisfaction that fills her upon meeting his gaze. She's had to negotiate her anger for so long that it does feel gratifying to watch someone else wrestle with their own. The rage that simmers under the surface, the flame that he wields: it is all familiar to her, and so she does not look away, does not recoil. Zuko, Karsa, the Bessis, now Wrathion — many in this world possess fire, and her magic always responds to it.

The lava pit that bubbles inside of her, ready to erupt at her command. She steps inside and holds out her palm before her, a ball of rose-gold flame hovering above it. Not a threat, not quite a challenge. An unspoken understanding: should this room turn on them, they will be ready, more like.

The illusion is fainter for Emilia, like the age-worn pages of a book, the blurry edges of a distant dream. Wrathion is real, however. Has his voice ever sounded this soft? Not in her presence, not that she can recall.

"Who is she?"

[clavesregni]

[At first, Caitlyn takes it as joke, and her eyes roll at the comment about her mother's 'first impression.' She's ready to give a snarky reply about shotguns when she hears the very real alarm in Vi's voice. Her expression falls, eyes dropping from her mother's face over the top of Vi's head down to Vi's eyes.]

I trust you. [No doubt. No hestitation. If Vi says they need to leave then...

But then the thought's gone, slipping away like water through her fingers as her mother's hand comes to rest gently on her shoulder. Vi should stay for tea, don't you think? her mother says. We hardly got to know her the last time she was here. The butler is already setting out the tea, her father's lighting his pipe, and Caitlyn knows she has to stay.

There's a twinkle in her father's eye as he comes around to Vi's other side. You know, Vi, as worried as we were, I'm not surprised my daughter ran off on an adventure and met you. Has she told you that when she was five years old--]

Dad!

[Her mother keeps one hand on Caitlyn's shoulder, as though she's afraid that if she takes it away, Caitlyn will disappear again.]

There are a lot of things I need to tell my mum. I need some time with her. [She says it quietly - her mother's still right there, hand on her shoulder - hoping Vi will pick up from her expression how complicated her relationship with her mother's been lately and how badly she needs to mend it. She stumbles slightly, feeling like she's becoming more exhausted by the moment, leaning on Vi for strength.] At least stay for tea.