[ CLOSED ] Grief will have to wait.

[blackscales]

WHO: Wrathion & fellow travellers
WHEN: Travel Arc!
WHERE: Mistress Isakanami's inn.
WHAT: A multi-prompt travel arc extravaganza! Check here for planning something custom, or he has an end of Serthica network post here or an open inbox!
WARNINGS: None at opening




Wrathion is exhausted.

So much as he is pleased to leave Serthica, so much as he is relieved to have had results there the whole experience has left him drained. The concept, then, of having some reprieve before they launch into more lengthy travel is... appealing, to a point.

It does, he assumes, mean staying somewhere else -- and based on their previous accommodation this may not necessarily be... pleasant.

Although it would be nice if it was.

The journey is long, but being flown there is at least pleasant initially. Far better than hiking, a wagon, or having to ride another creature. Then the weather begins to cool further, and Wrathion senses that they will not be relaxing in a tropical climate.

Snow. Of course.

The Merchant, at least, appear to have selected somewhere with pleasant-seeming facilities. They are, naturally, housed with the staff and expected to perform some minor tasks...

Still. If this place is devoid of any major problems, it does have potential. A hot springs in the mountains brings back fond memories, of a far flung place long ago. Of a time when he was young, before he felt the bitter sting of consequence.

It is also, so far, blessedly free of hozen.

Comments

[bearshermark]

The Merchant. There's that surge of tight displeasure again. To think there's someone he's come to dislike so much that just the name of him can threaten his mood. But that's not what's important in the moment.

An accelerated life cycle, life and death in visible turns- yes, he can remember something to that effect, now.

Eleven tips his head back, eyes on the rafters overhead, then slowly closes them. He lets himself drift in the humid heat of the room and the water that's grown comfortable against his skin. A long, pleasant silence, calling up echoes of lost memories and piecing together undercurrents of feeling.

He returns to the present with a thoughtful hum. "..I was worried this world didn't have a cycle- that it was interrupted by undeath. It could be that it holds true, though perhaps not on a cosmic scale.."

Eleven lifts his head and straightens up to peer at his companion again. "There are undead warlords still?"

[blackscales]

"Yes," Wrathion accepts. A moment of hesitation, then: "although I'm not certain I'd term all of them warlords. The minutiae of their alliances, their agreements, is something I couldn't speak to."

Another pause, a hint of wariness, then he blinks it from his expression into an even mask of indifference.

"For one thing, the last one we encountered was a child. He had some control over his powers, but not enough to stop things when he wanted."

How much of what the child said was truly a lie? He couldn't say, but it hadn't seemed as if he wanted to make people sick. That was just an... unfortunate side effect of his presence, of his state -- something perhaps done to him willing or unwilling. Only the child or the White Wanderer could tell them that.

[bearshermark]

Eleven frowns at that, brows creasing. An undead child warlord? A shiver passes over his skin and he sinks a little further into the water's warmth.

"They were called brothers, I think." For some reason, that small detail comes to him, absent others. Again, he's struck by the knowledge that he knows more than he does in the moment- that there's some understanding locked behind a particular branch of memories, behind a name that sets his heart stuttering.

He breathes. "Five said.. that we're the one disrupting this world, because we aren't supposed to be here, but I can't imagine we're the ones behind the disrupted cycle. The warlords existed before we did.."

But neither does he look too certain of that suddenly, attention casting into hazy memories as far as he can throw it.

[blackscales]

"Some call them the Brotherhood," Wrathion confirms. "If they were gifted abilities from the same source, certainly they'd be brothers of a type. I have begun to suspect that might be so. As for disruption..."

He tilts his head, as if considering the point.

"I suppose if one were to be precise, we are disrupting it by apposing this force. Were we not here, things would continue along a different path. If path is ultimately better or worse, I could not say."

That's the trouble with interfering for a greater good -- the ripple of consequence can behave differently to your expectations. A pause, as he considers this.

"... The child in Serthica, for example, assured me that the people were not unhappy. They did not know what was going on, their... awareness of some of those around them being raised undead was masked. He didn't understand why we would interfere, if they were not unhappy."