stage iii

[groundrules]

THE ASHES

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Rathakku’s forces deepen their siege, with sharp-clawed harpies, fire-bearing catapults and archers raining hell upon Alem. The last two watch towers collapse, along with half the roof of the Keep. Several structural pillars dissolve and most windows shatter.

The Lord Who Waits has tired of patience.

HIGH CASTLE

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■ Attack is vicious and perpetual: Rathakku’s creatures descend from above, harpies make lairs in dark corners, and the fallen rise as undead enemies. Rathakku now necromances even the recently deceased, who retain a sense of personhood. Characters with mind control and necromantic abilities can take over these units. The recently resurrected have yet to decay substantially and hide they perished in order to infiltrate.

■ The dragon Irenia dips in to breathe frost onto Rathakku’s forces, but never lingers long. She disappears on March 20 but will return post-Arc.

■ Aware of his native Ellethia’s implicit role in raising Rathakku, Zenobius offers to teach you how to use the rare metals and saltpetre of Alem to create generous explosives — a set that triggers a very high blast, and a smaller shipment that can annihilate any magic — including death and summoning sorcery — in a 20-metre radius for two hours. Zenobius is a hard, curmudgeony taskmaster: expect to be worked and criticised to the bone.

■ Expect frequent quakes in the fortress, as catapults strike and the roof and pillars wobble. A hard winter is no longer contained by shattered doors and windows. Fire kindle and other supplies run scarce. Huddle together.

■ Paladins fall into zealotry, calling to sacrifice young princess Cle-Florens to ensure their success in battle. Deimar does not dissuade them, but lowers the number of guards protecting Cle-Florens’ quarters.

■ The voices that haunted Alem now multiply, increasingly likely to drag you into a dream-like state to descend into the glacier lakes underground. Spy thereabout at night, and you spot demonic fire sirens of golden scales, who gather in the fourth glacier lake’s cave to urgently complete their task before Alem falls. Their leader produces a purse of dark glass shards. A siren painfully transforms her tail into human legs by consuming such glass — she intends to infiltrate the fortress as a refugee. Sign up for a RNG thread to interrogate this mermaid.

■ With a few more shard crumbs, the sirens summon a ‘Jatharin’ — a fast dispersing silhouette that floats ethereally. They give it a white-silver string punish Prince Haiva for wronging a sister.

■ The Jatharin survives only two hours in the human realm. It lacks human consciousness and memory, remembering little of its target’s description and pursuing what ‘young men (with pale hair)’ it finds in the Wards. It is invisible to all who did not witness its birth — so keep your companions out of its way. It approaches a target and chains itself to them with a shadowy ‘umbilical chord,’ before sucking dry their life force. It can also deplete energy through... mouth-on-mouth action. Clean executions: Victims make no sound and barely shudder throughout their entrapment. Some say, these are painless deaths.

■ Sirens summon a Jatharin for three nights.

	HARPIES Fast, perpetually furious, prone to consuming human flesh. Deterred by loud noise and vibrations. Imbue their claws with poisons that prevent blood coagulation, extending bleed-outs.
	CATAPULTS Deliver projectiles of stone, fire and minor explosives. Rathakku’s most ferocious instrument, taking down Alem’s foundations. Manned by four undead apiece. Sturdy but slow, best targeted aerially.
	FIRE SIRENS Native to Hell. Deeply bound to ‘sisters’ and ‘family.’ Possess golden scales and shards of the previously encountered dark water mirrors. Their song is tinny but compelling. Their speaking voices are crackling and gravelly. Survive the glacier lakes’ cold by exuding flame. Skin burns to touch.
	JATHARIN Smokey, dispersing silhouette. Invisible to those who did not witness its birth. Kills by consuming life energy. Descended from the Motherless of Hell. Cannot be outright stopped, only avoided, enslaved or consumed. Can be distracted if you take an aspect similar to Haiva. Leaves a golden string on unintended victims.

THE DEPARTING

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■ King Deimar orders caravans to urgently evacuate, carrying refugees and provisions through mountain routes into a new settlement. Able men, guards, healers and merchants make preparations around the clock and will gladly accept, command or guilt your assistance. Help them.

■ Courtesy of Jimmy and Nacho, merchants Batthour and Eles provide some last-minute wagons and resources. An Alison-coached Deimar strikes a tenuous agreement for supplies.

■ Having received ‘healing’ flowers, Prince Haiva seems entirely recovered — far more confident, he menaces guards to assist the caravans. Deimar watches uneasily. Haiva asks the party to lead the refugees through the icy mountain passageways, where Rathakku’s immense bat demons loom.

■ The caravans journey to a well-warded settlement near the base of the mountain — former paladin monastery Hassir. Those who wish to avoid conflict can remain here. Prepare to kill any wandering pursuers, before they may alert Rathakku of the settlement's location.

	MOUNTAIN BATS Monstrous, blood-thirsting. To the size of 1.5-3 metres. Bulky, quicker to use their brawns than their speed. Stalk together, but compete for food and want to drag their prey to some great distance before consuming it, for privacy. Use that time to escape.
	HUNTSMEN Undead forces, typically old resurrections of Rathakku. Once human natives of Alem. Excellent knowledge of hiding spots and the mountain. Hostile, take perverse pleasure in the game. Will prolong a chase for sport and give their hungering hounds the chance to catch you. Unusual kinship with local animals, who sometimes obey them. Some scent blood.

COME HELL, THEN DARK WATER

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Hell is ruthless, but pragmatic — and must be sealed, before Rathakku controls Alem and weaponises it.

The growing cracks in Alem’s underground Room of Seals widen to reveal full-fledged stairs. More and more demons emerge as the rifts broaden. You have mere days to close Hell, ICly starting on 18 March.

■ Back/forward date your posts and logs as needed. Network access is spottier in Hell. Deimar’s paladins accompany the group.

■ To prevent the outpour of Hell, you must reach Level III and record disrupting at least three Motherless.

■ Each level of Hell shows shallow stains or streams of the familiar ‘dark water.’

LEVEL I

■ The Room of Seal leads into an underground stone passageway. Demons and skeletons are chained to stones or pillars, begging water. The dead are fickle: some offer directions, others answers to your questions. Most lie for their own gain.

■ The stairwell to Level II is behind locked gates, on a stone dais framed by a wall of flames. To reach it, cross a threadbare walkway of bones in a large hall room that has largely submerged into lava.

■ If the bridge ruptures, jump onto the nearby talking floating skeleton heads. Skeletal hands reach out to destabilise or drag you into the fire waters, as do demonic lava mermaids.

■ As you near the dais, the wall of flames might depict either the time when Thyvault’s people slaughtered the lava sirens, or your worst memory of betraying or failing someone. That same person is found shackled with long chains on the dais. If you never wronged anyone, this is someone to whom you are dearly indebted. At times plaintive, at others incensed, they appeal to your guilt or goodwill, bartering the gate key for their release. Their chains will only open if someone agrees to take their place in imprisonment.

■ You can steal their key, kill them — at which point, they return to their true form as a reptilian shapeshifter, or offer to take their place. Do so, and your character is stuck in Hell, suffering the intense heat and occasional clawing of mermaids, until Hell closes.

■ Up to you if anyone else can see your character’s memory in the flame wall. Please trigger warn adequately if you are describing sensitive memories.

LEVEL II

You descend deeper, into an underground urbanscape infested with flesh-like structures. Some stretches of land and stone are covered in membranous, dense, thick surfaces, letting you feel the faint, distant heartbeat of Hell. Other landmarks — lairs, adornments — are made of the remains of fallen demons.

■ Step lightly and rapidly. Flesh-eating demons roam these lands, as do hungering hell hounds and golems that chase you for parts to patch their limbs.

■ The next stairwell is guarded by a deathly groom or bride, their tentacles barring your path.

■ To proceed, you must gain the ring they are safe-keeping for a future ‘intended.’ You’ll need to persuade a local demon, assemble a passing corpse bride, sell a companion or offer yourself to betroth them — and negotiate a dowry.

■ The groom is crafty, cunning, eager to manipulate you into offering your soul as a dowry; the bride is cruel but irresistible, stirring you and your companion to violently compete for her hand.

LEVEL III

Behold true hell, an endless wasteland, its horizon fathomless and grey. Your mouth tastes of perpetual ash, bone dust scattered at your feet. You walk aimlessly for hours in fields of gravel, haunted by stone snakes and shapeless bone creations.

■ Demonic creatures rally as armies, fighting each other for crumbling territory or for overground dominion, as they prepare to invade Alem. Some drag rows of sullen, depressed or bellicose dead men behind them, whose souls you can liberate furtively when the demons make camp, or are assaulted by Deimar’s paladins. These captives did not all originate from Alem.

■ Some of the lesser demons may part with information, if you give them memories, important trinkets or a taste of your soul.

■ Most paladins are on this level and will shield you. You hear from them or from passing demons that Hell is now able to seep into Alem because of the Motherless — dark and flickering silhouettes, two-three times the size of a man, who float high above ground. They send down thick ropes like umbilical cords that consume the energy of whatever they attach to. They redeliver this energy as tectonic blows against Alem above.

■ Beyond a hatred of the Room of Seals, the Motherless lack conscience, speech or allegiance. They are drawn to the warmth of living things, or the purity of their spirit. Their ropes are broken easily — but the presence of a Motherless can quickly drain you.

■ The Motherless are briefly visible when they fling their ropes down, but otherwise roam invisibly and can only be recognised by the trails of barren land and aridity in their wake. You know a Motherless has stopped above you when you are suddenly paralysed by chilling fear — run, at all costs.

■ The Motherless swarm when endangered. They cannot be killed.

■ Deimar’s paladins share that, hundreds of years ago, their brethren committed ritual suicide, so their spirits could perpetually hunt the Motherless in Hell. You find ghostly paladins walking listlessly in lakes of dark water, seeming to remember nothing of their mission or their former selves. Try to remind them of their duties without entering the water and stranding yourself.

NOTES

■ Hell demons can recognise if your character is canonically connected to hell. Up to you if that’s a (dis)advantage!

■ Everyone should eventually make their way to the Hassir monastery.

■ Sign up for a RNG thread with an unexpected travel companion on the trek to Hassir.

NPC THREADS

QUESTIONS

Comments

NPC THREADS

[groundrules]

Drop a line with a starter here or in the NPC inbox to speak to Deimar, Haiva, Galatea or Thyvault.

Cle-Florens is strictly watched, but can receive correspondence. Sadly, others might read your letters.

Rathakku can receive missives.

Galatea

[bravelyrunsaway]

( at some point, toward the end of this or however long she remains alive, look, who necessarily survives this, he finds Galatea with a container of thin soup, more about warmth and the ghost of nutrition and water to keep her going, like it is for the rest of the paladins and likewise guards who're eating the very same thing. )

Your portion, love, rations are going out and the cooks are minding who hasn't had what.

[jatharin]

I do not wish to be your love, I am a warrior.

( At once spiteful and calm, barely lifting her gaze from where she's taken a moment to rest, back to hard wall in the ruins of the Gut's Bind, inspecting her shield for resilience. It'll do, another round. Another round after.

Finally, she nods to the soup. )

Take that to a child, or those in need. We fast and give alms, as the old ways intended.

[bravelyrunsaway]

You can't be both? ( an amused look. ) Not that it matters to me, you're not mine anymore than I'm yours.

( he doesn't leave with the soup, lifting an eyebrow. )

Were the old ways well versed in last stands after extensive sieges? The children and those in need are likewise tended. Turning down the well wishes of those who rely on you when it's their way to support you in turn? Think on it a little harder for their sakes.

( that said, he does move to set the soup down near where she is at the wall. if she feels strongly enough about it, she can walk it back. )

Besides, most stores have already been moved. Like most your people have.

Deimar

[bravelyrunsaway]

So.

( if the stench of death and fire and offal from those who died unclean and hadn't enough left to be resurrected isn't enough, there's always the scent of moving dead to keep his nose over busy. not that it's strictly on his mind right now; licyn simple notes it, and in the moment where deimar is here and licyn is the temporary single guard (attendant, look at his virtue here, all those who keep thinking heroics are actually a viable trade) between yelena returning and others of the paladin's, he asks: )

At what point are we allowed to attempt your evacuation? We're down to the dregs, and word on Hell is coming sooner, not later.

( so he presumes. he has yet to throw himself near there after being wrath's magic extra hand, so to speak, in keeping it sealed as long as they could. moot point now. )

[jatharin]

( Excuses must always be made for madmen and kings, both likely overcome with the instinct to not run, man, run at first opportunity. For his part, Deimar appears — tired, blood-smeared, still futilely waving the sword he thrusted in something, earlier.

Something with viscera and hurt. )

Out of rats? ( In terms of evacuation priority, the humble rat should really get to go first. )

[bravelyrunsaway]

( he barks a laugh at that, shaking his head. )

The rats? Smarter than you lot, they left a while ago.

( patting down one of the many depleted pockets, attachments, the casings of things he keeps on him as he moves, and there. tosses the clean enough rag and oil to deimar, the small leather bulb of it meaning a dropped catch only makes for sad sounds on contacting the ground, not broken bottles. )

For your sword.

Cle-Florens

[beitangmoran]

"Your Highness,

As honored as I am that you would entertain my suit, I once again must stress that I do not feel it is appropriate, given the circumstances and the fact that we have not even formally been introduced at all.

It would rather quiet my heart if we could at least meet, for I am not one who will entertain wedding anyone I know not at all, not matter their riches and virtues, of which I know you have many.

I pray Your Highness will allow me this moment of selfishness and allow me to pay you a visit, at whatever time would be convenient.

Respectfully,

Wei Wuxian"

[jatharin]

Master Wei Wuxian,

Long may the skies hold you in high regard and bright esteem, for I am certain your kindness pleases them. I do not understand much of your missive, for which I pray you must forgive me, for I am but of the weaker feminine persuasion and therefore a small and humble mind.

But my master of letters and my master of the feminine arts, in which I work to be accomplished, and my brother's master of guards have read this. And it pleases them to have put in less refined words, so that I may grasp your truth and answer it with mine. And I thank them.

If I have misled you, I am told with grace and honour to kindly discourage the notion. For am I a princess of the blood, and soon to reconcile with the skies as their unworthy chosen, and so I do not pick the matter of my husband. That is for Alem to decide, as those of Alem are my people, and those of Alem are my concern. Though I know this will injure you, I pray you strength and much kindness, for we cannot be wedded, and so we need not kindle a formal courtship.

May there be only light in your darkest hours.

→ kamala

[aprescoup]

( She is a force, a beauty. The largest dragon the realm has beheld, her glory shadowing stretches of land wide and deep.

When Irenia disappears from Alem, Rathakku calls for her — summons and claws and does not have his way. Days trickle, in her absence. The world, as ever, turns. Then Alem falls, all that cannot be evacuated is lost — and as the refugee convoys drip down the mountain in strategic silence, as the last of the otherworlders follow...

She returns. Soft in landing, nearly protective. She spreads out the great span of her wings and might cover the sun. Might eat it. Off her back slips a man weighed by his white mantle, struggling to stretch out his flight-stiff limbs. He remembers, absently, to turn back to the dragon once he has procured his footing and pass a hand over the great, thickened cords of her neck, and he woos her, gratefully. )

Off you go. Yes. Thank you, thank you. ( A good girl, calm under his touch. She concedes only after she sees him standing, ready. Only once he persists, a final huff and snort announcing the displeasure of her dismissal. Then, she flies on.

The man lingers, average in every respect: middle-aged, not too tall, not too short. Not too thin, not too rounded. Neither pleasant nor beastly of features, his hair and eyes pale. A person so entirely unremarkable, his mediocrity might almost pass for conspiracy.

His smile's gaunt when he spots Kamala nearby, when he falls in step with her — apologetic. )

Hello there. You can have her back now.

[cosplayqueen]

[It's been a rough... what? Small eternity? For Kamala Khan. It's not that she doesn't know loss. She lived her formative years in what was essentially a post-apocalypse world. The loss of Alem isn't something she sees as reversible with a plucky team and some magic stones. No, this is more like the loss her grandmother knew as a toddler, the one she witnessed firsthand after traveling through time. This is something that cannot be changed. This is something that will scar these people forever as it did her community. She is sorry that they couldn't do more even if some of the people they're trying to help clearly suck.

The real live dragon does kick her out of her sad girl mood TM pretty quickly. Kamala remembers a time where seeing this dragon would be a bad thing. They saved her, right? She remembers reading about that on the network and feeling a little surge of happiness because at least they're doing some good in a tough situation. She openly stares while keeping her feet moving forward. It is so freaking cool to see some random guy riding a dragon.

She can't believe this guy is apologizing for hanging out with the cool dragon much less talking to her. The teen awkwardly waves at him and laughs.]

Hey! Pretty sure she's her own person or I guess dragon. She can hang out with whoever she wants. It's not like anyone rescued her to be the class pet or something.

[aprescoup]

( His smile is a patient thing, long-drawn, warm. Even now, the dragon absent, he seems to for something to clutch — a rein, a lead creature. He puts that nervous energy to purpose, rubbing his hands of invisible motes of dust. There you go. Be free. )

Is that what happened? She was rescued? ( Polite, in the way of guests who know part of their hospitality is paid by agreeing to listen to their host's bizarre antics and entertain the possibility that they are not raving madness.

Perhaps he has spent far too long in other men's homes. He is learned in polite pleasantries. ) She looks in fine form. I'm glad to see it. You've done well for yourselves.

→ caitlyn

[sansdoute]

( It is troubling, to course and they course, gracelessly and stumbled. The two stumps of her new limbs barely carry her. Twice, on the way out of the glacier, she trips, then collects herself.

She was told to anticipate it. The hurts, also. Pain laces through her feet, as if she steps on the very glass that has reshaped her. She bears it — anything for a sister, for their purpose.

Until she has nigh-crawled to the Wards, and the foul woman manhandles her, and she remembers what they are like, paltry, fragile humans. How to play their part and give wet from her eyes and appeal to them. )

What do you want? I am — it is bad enough already. With all the... ( And another pillar shatters in the background, sending the floor to shiver and quake. ) When do we leave this wretched place?

( Is this not what their people say, now? To leave? She will beg, then, to leave. )

[clavesregni]

[Caitlyn has dedicated her every waking moment - well, nearly - to solving the murders that have been plaguing Alem. She's made the connection to the mysterious woman that she and Emilia supposedly resemble, she's made the connection to the stories about sirens tying white ribbons around their betrotheds' wrists, and she's definitely been keeping an eye on the glacial lake.

So she knows that this woman isn't what she seems.

She's not trying to hurt her. The woman looks to be in pain, and Caitlyn grabs her out of an instinct to steady her. To help. But she's not going to let her go until she gets some answers.]

Who are you?

[sansdoute]

( At least, it is a woman. A simple, fragile thing. The female of this species if biologically weaker. Their strength reduced, their fats blossomed on their body: their breasts, their belly.

Were she in the waters, she would make a fine feast. )

This one is Hirasheri. What are you doing? Let me go. This is a war. Do you not see? We must hide.

( Wherever it is humans find their shelters, like hungry rats. )

Deimar

[chosenbylight]

[Anduin understands that Deimar's time is precious, especially given their present situation. He is aware that it is difficult, nigh on impossible, to carry out a truly private conversation without at least one other present, be that a bodyguard or other member of Deimar's retinue.

But he feels it is imperative to at least attempt to speak with him. Even if he is uncertain of how their conversation might proceed. He's been... In something of Deimar's position himself before, really. Thrust onto the throne at far too young an age, with the world quite literally going to hell around him.

And how much more private can a conversation be than that between a healer and their patient?]

Your Majesty. [Anduin offers a small bow in greeting, lowering his head slightly to humble himself.] Forgive me for calling on you unannounced. I am a member of Prince Haiva's healing retinue, and as he has no immediate need of my services, I have come to offer you any assistance you might need yourself, sir.

[jatharin]

( He is tattered, fatigued. Entirely exhausted, both by the strain of war and the unnatural longevity of his time deployed. The men must see their golden prince smeared in blood and guts and nightmares, to follow him to hell.

Well, they have him. In the ruinous, crumbling disaster of the Keep, he belongs to every man who seeks him out — even his brother's healer. )

What luck! I have exactly hundreds of men and women in dire need of healing help. And none of them are on this floor. I suppose this is the part where I say you'll enjoy the exercise.

( Among rows and rows of ragged and collapsing pillars. ) But I doubt that.

→ kamala | audio

[pulvisetumbra]

( It is a gift the Merchant has, for all that he is never physically present with the party, to receive critical group reports in a timely manner. Within hours of Kamala's mountain-side encounter, he contacts her by pendant, voice firm but thickened in ways that suggest he is exercising every last dregs of his personal discipline to keep calm and carry on. )

Miss Khan. How do you do. ( But he doesn't wait for her to answer. ) Good, good. My associates suggest you've been keeping entirely exotic company. A stranger in white accompanied by the dead. Am I pertinent in my information?

[cosplayqueen]

[Why does she feel like she's being called to the principal's office? Kamala sounds noticeably uncomfortable.] Yeah so I don't know what pertinent means. I'm guessing you mean Matthias? We met not too long ago. He came to get his daughter's doll from me. Kind of creepy that you know this, but I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt here.

→ haiva, fast-forwarded to the end of the arc.

[valeas]

( As forewarned, Haiva finds Emilia amidst the chaos. The way he looks and moves is so remarkably different to when they last spoke. Unfortunate, truly, that the maiden's veil was found for him.

She subtly lifts her gaze toward the guard that escorted Haiva to the gardens, some of the tension easing in her when he gives an imperceptible nod from behind the prince. And steps back, as Emilia steps forward. )

I was told you would come find me.

[jatharin]

( She had fled from him. Barely reconciled, and he had only wished to test the truth of her feet, and she had gone —

But then, his men, those loyal, those who have come to understand that Haiva, returned to health, is the true future of Alem — sought him out. Murmured that she was once more found, that she waited.

She must have come, at long last, to her senses. Some women are fickle and strange and easily overwhelmed by their weak hearts, and can he blame her, for casting them aside? Not once, by denying him, not again by... pushing his hand by the river's side, but again in the castle corridors, and once more, when they only dipped her in the cave for seconds to behold the transformation of her feet —

She has done foolish things, but look at her now, how pretty she is when he walks in the devastated gardens, how demure. His heart remembers her, and he is gladdened to step forward, healthy as he is now, and to set his hand on her shoulder — to show her that he is strong now. Strong enough to look beyond these regrettable incidents. )

I am. You don't... we don't have to speak of it. I know. ( And hastily, cutting her off before she might answer: ) I forgive you.

Deimar

[vdovy]

[ Yelena's opinion on Deimar has shifted constantly since she has known the young king. At one time or another, she has thought him forthcoming, then deceptive; dedicated, then neglectful; humble, then arrogant. But she knows how it feels to lose a sibling. When she sees Emilia's announcement, her first thoughts are for the king and his loss.

Finding him is easy, even in hell: Yelena has seldom let him out of her sight, determined to see him through this if only because he seemed so resigned to his inevitable doom. Reception down here is spotty, so she isn't sure he'll have heard yet, but when she finds him, the look on his face is unmistakable. ]

I'm sorry. [ She offers feebly. Deimar is prickly at the best of times, so she doesn't expect her sympathy to be well received. But she wants him to know that she understands the feeling— the exact pain— of losing a sibling in this way. ] My sister sacrificed herself too.

[jatharin]

( A hard plight in the depths of hell, but he has returned — bruised, battered, lessened by the wide scar that chases the better part of his back, and a lesser pair on his right arm. Claws, by the rumour of it.

The boyish looks of a young king have been successfully ground down. He allows Yelena to enter his quarters, despite the... natural suspicions that arose in wake of Haiva's... incident. He does not speak the words. Struggles, inevitably, for the required ounces of energy.

He is barely refitting his bandages, when the woman comes, the broad span on his back. Dismissing his healer, he waves Yelena over to tighten the sling. )

He will be remembered a hero. ( All hailed and beloved. )

I'm sure someone would have wanted that. ( Not Haiva, perhaps. Maybe Thyvault. )

Deimar

[bravelyrunsaway]

( he is Around, but he doesn't make himself more or less a nuisance following hell. there's still the siege, still the rest who needs must evacuate. the duty of those who bled for alem is not yet done. guarding is as much done easily now because he can react faster, sooner, in the depths of darkened nights or bleary bright days. caravan the rest down to the holy place they'll all need to vacate swiftly enough. never overstay welcomes.

no one's going to thank him for it. no one's paying him either, but that's the reality of tools in royal circles, and he's not unaware. mistakes nothing there but the reality of what it is, and that perhaps the cost of information shared was both what Deimar guessed at, could postulate over, and what he didn't want at all. in a different world. if people were better. in that world, there'd never have been cause.

which is why, at some point, with the man healing and the world still falling apart while they keep to their feet, he dangles a painted feather hanging from a metal clasp on braided leather before his face when his attention is wandering towards exhaustion.

an owl feather.

oh this is a very impressive owl flight feather indeed. )

Haven't heard a response from you in minutes that wasn't mumbled nonsense.

Re: Deimar

[jatharin]

( He is also around, if perfunctorily. A shadow of himself, performing the part expected of a golden prince, all bright shining smile and a gilded manner.

He does not ask the young man who presents himself audaciously if his gift is meant to barter, bribe or pacify. He takes it, handy greed, with the same voracious appetite with which a child might claim a new toy. )

A hit to the head and a brother to grieve will do that.