westwhere | the sunken

the sunken | moonrise

THE SUNKEN | MOONRISE

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The final Arc VI event lasts three days ICly and until 23 July OOCly. Yancai goes back another two years in time to the Huntress’ visit, Miang-Si’s corruption and the memory-meddling rite of the ladies of the lake.

The party can choose to stay neutral, only heading to the House of Commerce to access its now-active beacon — or they can inevitably get mixed up in the affairs of Yancai and endanger the village’s time loop.

For a quick catch-up: the latest clues | everything about Arc VI.

BOAR’S HEART

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Rattled, on high alert, feeling watched and skin prickling from static electricity, characters wake to find Yancai has gone back another two years in time. It is now nearly dry, barring rare waterways. Mould is absent. The village bustles with activity: a heavy influx of new arrivals comes by sea, and frequent fishermen’s and merchants’ markets set up in the open road — enjoy fresh fish delicacies, discounted pearls, rare cloth textiles and dyes that include the unique Yancai green!

■ No more hauntings take place, and only one moon loiters above the village. Villagers still remember the party under their false identities.

■ Word has spread of the conflict between elder Quanze Tsaymien’s council and a beautiful woman who has taken up in the forests at the village’s outskirts. Gossipmongers say she wastes away in the woods weeping — while ground cracks beneath her feet, grass wilts, waters poison and animals drop dead nearby. Young men are drawn to her and are later forcibly recovered in a state of rambling, feverish exhaustion. Village healers gladly accept your nursing help.

■ Village elders have given the woman — correctly identified by the party as the Huntress — until the following sunrise to leave Yancai on pain of death. You have 24h to encounter her.

■ The forests are livelier than in previous iterations of Yancai, but you feel perpetually… watched, as if sharp eyes follow your progress. These heavy gazes may belong to the young men bewitched to protect the Huntress, or to razor-clawed venom-spitting creatures that hunt her.

■ You may find some of the aforementioned creatures bleeding on the forest path. They possess slightly above canine intelligence, cannot communicate in human tongues, and hesitate to let you approach — but nursing one might reward you.

■ The death-touched (necromancers, those who died or revived, or otherwise marked) may optionally feel compelled to join the Huntress. Physical distance dwindles her pull, as can your own magic or solutions.

■ Luck (?) leads you to a silent and bloodied forest clearing, come sunset. Here, two dozens of Yancai’s recent dead have risen alive and surround the Huntress, some battling the creatures that assail her, while she speaks to 16-year-old village beauty Miang-Si. There is a gaping, if regenerating hole in the Huntress’ chest; in one hand, she holds her yet-beating heart she cuts in several parts she wraps in parchment. She asks Miang-Si to bury these pouches near Yancai to ‘hold her power close,’ in exchange for permanent and ever-blossoming beauty.

■ Wait as the Huntress and her forces retreat — then catch up to Miang-Si, capture her, or find the pouches. The ground where they are buried is desaturated, brittle, nearly pulverised. Hawks and ravens circle above and plunge down to claw at intruders, or attempt to pick up children or feebler adults. To the magically or death-sensitive, the pouches emanate a revolting aura of withering death.

■ Beware if heart pouches were buried beneath aged, thick trees — their roots burst out like nooses and writhing spiders’ legs, looking to either slam you against the tree trunks or entrap you within.

■ Finding at least two heart pouches prevents the dead from rising in Yancai in the years to come! Keep the heart cuts fettered — touching these parts directly can overwhelm you with the need to consume this or other hearts, to compensate for the sudden and unfeeling… coldness in your chest.

WAKE, UNWAKEFULLY

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Sunrise finds the Huntress gone from Yancai — while waves of the dead rise from the sea to attack the village. Some come chained, or dragging pieces from the casket-ships in which they were set for water burial.

This is the first undead attack witnessed by Yancai villagers, who are largely clumsy, slow and petrified. Some sentimentally believe their revived relatives never died and plead not to kill them. Many are caught in undefended areas, such as open port harbours, fishing boats, markets — and need help to travel to their families. The Huntress’ spell starts dissolving by midday, with the dead largely pulling back into sea and lake waters

■ Beware the village waterways: touching the water replenishes the strength of the dead and saps yours. Look closely at the bottom of the waterways, and you find them lined with dozens of resting corpses. Some wake slowly, as they clutch shards of glistening black mirror — best to… use a very long oar… or plunge very quickly to recover shards.

■ Carrying a mirror shard puts the dead around you to blissful sleep. Those who possess a cut of the Huntress’ heart can take control of up to 20 of the risen dead. Necromancers can control up to 10, even without such a token.

MOTHER MOON

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Come midday of Day II, Yancai villagers start to move freely and reunite with loved ones. Waters begin to gently rise and flood the grounds, while the first spores of black mould appear on walls.

The first to help the injured are the washerwomen of Yancai, who favour the young and magically sensitive. You notice they work in perfect synchrony and have developed a hand sign language they can teach you. Keep an ear out, and one might entrust they are hedge witches, the so-called ‘ladies’ of the lake.

■ Join them, either invited or unseen, when they gather at one of Yancai’s three great lakes. Each lady picks up one of the silver coins tossed in the water for luck-bearing. Take one yourself, and you will be able to breathe and speak underwater, following as the ladies dive and swim through thin underwater passageways. Beware countless skeletal remains that line the lakes and sinister fish — both burst out to shackle your limbs, or sound the alarm about intruders.

■ You find the ladies have begun to shelter and ward the dead in lake caves, to avoid their rising up again. The ladies re-emerge in the forest, speaking of a protection rite they agreed with the elders’ council. They are not strong enough to break the Huntress’ lingering spell, but hope to later recruit nascent witch Miang-Si, who teases she has power from the Huntress. For now, the ladies have decided to create a five-year time loop, moving Yancai back and forth in time whenever the dead attack.

■ To achieve their rite, the ladies use large pieces of black mirror confiscated from the Huntress’ dead and the energy of the hunter’s moon that shines down a bloody red tonight. Those with a lunar connection feel the moon aches, disgusted by this violation. Even those unaffiliated with the moon feel irascible and prone to violence while under its gaze.

■ Interrupting the rite rescues the moon, earning you a reward, and breaks villagers from the five-year loop, allowing them to live their true lives. It also exposes Yancai to the dead, unless you remove the heart cuts. Co-ordinate and choose wisely.

■ The ladies conduct their chanting, rune-painting and summons throughout the night of Day III in the forest. You have a wealth of options to break their spell: interfere with the magic flows, disrupt the guarded ash circle of convened witches, summon irate villagers to raid, persuade Miang-Si to intervene, break or steal the rite’s black mirror pieces… You can also reach out to the coven’s strongest witches, who agreed to sacrifice themselves to become overseers in the time flux — the Lumberjack, Red Lady, White Woman, Man in Black and the Milk-Toothed Babes. You can still sign up for a RNG draw to chat.

BAIT & BEACON

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To take attention off the ladies of the lake, Yancai’s council organises a sumptuous masked banquet and charity auction for the victims of the undead attack at the lavish House of Commerce. The House has been thoroughly cleansed by the time of your arrival, with only faint, clumsy traces of blood, decay and debris lingering from the previous offensive.

On site, servants are still jittery from the undead assault, while openly armed guards walk the grounds and answer any small provocation. Be kind to the staff or offer sympathy for their likely recent losses, and they might let you in unnoticed, or offer a hand.

■ Anyone who brings an item for the auction or who ~~can pretend s/he~~ possesses massive wealth can join the banquet. Show up with anything you can brazenly talk up as elite, exquisite or one-of-a-kind — or perhaps auction your services?

■ The House of Commerce contains a locked room with the village’s now fully active beacon. The Master of Commerce has the only key-tokens to access this quarter, somewhere in his study room — pick a lock, sweettalk the staff, or work your magic to get inside the study and grab one of the rune-inscribed tokens. The study room brims with scrolls, globes, letters to and from the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company and maps of… Arc I’s Sa-Hareth in the west, where hand-written news reports say the dead are rising.

■ Back at the banquet, the richest wine and… relaxing herbs and powders are offered freely or sometimes slipped into food to ease spirits. Aiming for levity, participants don comical animal masks or play a local game of ‘bait or hook,’ whereby they approach you with the aforementioned fishing bait or fish hook in closed fists, asking you to pick one. Depending on your choice, you must ‘bait’ the audience with a song or dance, or ‘hook’ them in with a joke or anecdote.

■ Around midnight, attendants are invited to an increasingly competitive auction, punctuated by elbowing, loud voices, crowding and the occasional threat. Beautiful concubines might stick to your arms, asking to be purchased this or that (exorbitant) small nothing as a gift. Participate to keep up your cover, but beware landing in hard debt!

■ Most banquet goers pretend they are indifferent to the undead attack, but some question whether the woman of the forest was to blame — while others mention that the mysterious, far too independent coven of the ladies of the lake is meeting even now, and might be cursing Yancai.

■ However you spend your night, the witch Karsa asks you to infiltrate the House of Commerce by dawns and attempt to leave through the beacon. This will only be possible if at least one person has picked up a key-token…!

QUESTIONS

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[ Lockwood was starting to feel frayed around the edges. It reminded him of how he'd felt after the fight in Kensal Green Cemetery, the last stand against the Golden Blade and then Bickerstaff. Now, as then, he wanted nothing more than to lay down and rest. Now, as then, that wasn't an option.

His lighter form, and a bit of quick footwork, had kept him out of the water initially but now he stepped down beside Lan Wangji, drawing the silver tipped rapier. The movement of the water, stirred by the grotesque and rotting corpses, drew his attention but otherwise didn't appear to bother the youth. Even when a half decomposed hand slipped passed, fingers caressing his pant leg as if to grab hold, Lockwood did little more than shift his ankle to nudge the appendage away.

He did not expect to be able to do that with every single body sunk beneath these horrid depths. ]

If it's all the same to you [ he began in a voice that was a gravel like with exhaustion ] I'd rather wait for them to start the fight. I doubt we'll have to wait long.

( There is a moment, obvious, dragging, plain, when the next breath stolen from Lan Wangji's lungs is a susurrating, incredulous exhalation. When he looks from the sunken, flaking, decimating piers to the young man who sidles close, willingly subjecting himself to the decaying misfortune of the bodies splayed like a garden of bones at his feet.

A hand, clammy, grip tenuous, climbs up his thigh. Were circumstances different, more explicit, he might take a moment to acquaint its owner and the Heavens above with the vocal reality of his marriage and its sanctity thereof.

As things stand — as he does — no such time for collective outrage. Only Lan Wangji's hand, settling on his sword, clean, silvered bite of her showing its teeth as he starts to unsheathe her. )

Have we a duration? ( A beat. ) For our wait.

( ...apparently, up to the point when the dead all at once begin to shiver and stir and their hands meet over his and Lockwood's knees, and they start to drag them down —

Which is to say: now. )

[ Lockwood spies the inappropriate hand out of the corner of his eye. Best as he can tell it's not actually attached to anything any further than the shoulder, but regardless it is being quite rude. He doesn't draw attention to his awareness, leaving Lan Wangji the dignity of a blind eye, in which to turn aside his dead suitor.

His feigned distraction becomes less feigned and more deliberate as it appears the approach of the harassing hand has stirred the intent of other bodies within the water. The next one that drifts past Lockwood's legs makes a grab at his knees.

In a deft display of point control, that belied the exhausted note in his voice, Lockwood spun the rapier down and out. The innocuous looking blade -no where near as fancy as what Lan Wangji carried- made quick work of severing the hand from the half exposed ulna and radius, before coming back up to a guard position. ]

I expect the better question is; do we have an objective goal to reach? Else we could amuse ourselves indefinitely.

Do we seek more shards within the water, or attempt to hold these unfortunates away from the shore line and protect the residences to our back?

[ There was a loud splash, and one of the bodies -torso only- lurched upwards, like a misshaped dolphin breaching the water for a quick breath. Lockwood could get an angle on it, but the older man already had the perfect line. ]

( The choice is obvious and plain: not their own. No matter their superiority in agility, speed, dexterity and resilience, the dead compensate in numbers. It suits Lan Wangji well to pretend they can hold out indefinitely, but the truth of their progress is — and he drifts naturally to land with his back strong against Lockwood's, their flanks protected — they do not decide their next steps. The cadavers that fling themselves each way of them have the privilege. )

The mirror shards. ( A pause, and half-gasping, half-choked, in between crouches then lifts to drive his sword through a plunging corpse that barrels above — ) They have appeared intermittently in travel.

( One of the dead, diligently, rounds from a side, crawling on battered knees before negotiating their way up and half-rising, half wilting over Lan Wangji's legs. He swivels, leaving Lockwood the opportunity to turn and spear the creature's chest, should he choose to. )

They may prove unchained to the threat at hand. ( What a remarkable time to be furthering his conversational skills. Truly the best. ) Yet unlikely.

[ Lockwood liked to think positive. At least externally, internally he could be just as much a pessimist as the next man, but outwardly he would always project the air of indomitable will. Of course they could hold out indefinitely! Why couldn't they?? Never mind that they were mortal -at least Lockwood was mortal- and that eventually the overwhelming number of dead would overcome mortal muscle and bone.

But Lockwood had learned over the years, that dwelling on the idea of limits, was limiting and so he focused on the fights as they came to him. He felt Lan Wangji post up at his back and instinctively stepped to help close their flank so they were both well covered. He kept his own blade arm clear, as well as kept himself clear of Lan Wangji's blade so the older man had full freedom of movement.

It was a trained action, made smooth through experience. Further proof that the boy has train and fought for quite some time. ]

You mean they've been in other places? Not just here? [ Look. There is no reason not to have a civilized conversation, just because they were slashing and hacking apart decomposing corpses.

Speaking of which. When he feels Lan Wangji move, Lockwood spins with him. Instead of leading with the blade and risking it getting caught in the rib cage, the youth neatly flips the weapon around and uses the hilt to punch through the rotting sternum. An upper cut motion slides the edge of the blade from lower rib cage to shoulder, neatly slashing the torso in half on the diagonal. ]

You think they have an over reaching influence? Then we should gather as many as we can find.

Correct. ( ...on both counts. Remarkable, truly, the merits of compact conversation. It is almost as if Lan Wangji can only ever purpose himself towards one assignment: speech or slaughter.

His sword, a trail of silvered light, decides on massacre. He follows suit, rapidly, each cut clean, slowly learning — )

You do not cleave, but spear. ( A statement, intended as a question, when he next swivels around Lockwood and observes the sword turned and its hilt consigned to bludgeon the sternum of a freshly roused creature, instead of deploying the flat of the blade.

Then again, hardly enough width to that narrow needle that Lockwood continues to employ, perhaps bereft alternative. Is he a servant's son, possessed of skill but not the means to arm himself rightfully?

If nothing else, Lan Wangji may assist in this, later. )

We will equip you — ( A moment, as he leans in and cuts evenly through the arm's socket of the next and nearest cadaver, dead weight stilling after a short squelch and squirm in the trembled waters. ) With better blade af —

( Never mind. Glint and dark, and the freshly cut hand holds a trinket of something most especial. He cannot peel himself away from the next wave of the dead. )

Shard, on ground. Northeast. ( Get it, young fellow. Think of your senior's bad back. )

[ Before Lockwood responds to any of what his elder has said, he is focused on collecting the shard. As he did with the one grabbed when he helped the Doctor, Lockwood helps himself to a handful of water soaked, rotting cloth off the body. It might have one time be fine burial garments, but now it will do the duty of collecting the shard while allowing Lockwood to avoid skin to mirrored surface contact. ]

Got it! [ He confirms, standing and twisting awkwardly in the water as a pelvis with legs tries to kick at him. Hands still occupied with securing the mirror, Lockwood is forced to fall back a few steps.

He'll hope that Lan Wangji can turn and make quick work of the half body, if not the boy will do his best to land an effective kick. Either way, he'll move to finish tucking the shard into the interior breast pocket of his coat, thus freeing up his sword arm once more.

While a boy his age might bridle at the suggestion that his fighting style is inferior, and given Lockwood's ego one might expect him to get his back up, oddly enough he takes the critique in stride. Even if he doesn't recognize that his rapier would be considered a servant's weapon in Lan Wangji's culture. ]

I've been using a rapier since I was six years old. [ He explains, hopping over a dropped body to once again get himself positioned so that he covers the older man's back. ] That is the average age that most children pick up a sword to fight Visitors. Those of us who survive, lose our effectiveness in our late teens, early twenties.

[ Lockwood glances quickly over his shoulder and gives a small shrug. His voice, when he continues is completely matter of fact. There is no swell of emotion or suggested that anything he's saying is other than typical. ] Small hands, small bodies. Rapiers are light and effective. Anything heavier, a child would struggle to be quick, and maintain the stamina to wield it for extended periods of time.

We usually fight through the whole night.

( A... rapier. He suspects, gaze drifting and hard, warm on Lockwood's blade — the instrument. It appears of a strange disposition, hardly fit for purpose. More an overly grown dagger than a sword, but the young man acquits himself of his duties magnificently.

Since he was six years of age. And destined to sacrifice... efficiency once his twentieth summer blooms. A cruel fate for a swordsman, an exorcist, a man devoted to vocation and cause.

No matter. There is more work here to be toiled than the slow, pensive churning of Lan Wangji's thoughts as he turns, swiftly, to dive into the next wave of dead. They seem to have devolved, by this point, may deprived of their base qualities of advance, dropping on hands and knees and chasing despite the misuse of their legs. Like animals, he knows. Like dogs.

He dives, stepping on the back of one, then the second, a third — and nearly losing his balance, before he thrusts his sword down on his groaning, gagging... mount... pinning it in place. Hissing, towards Lockwood: )

We head too deep into waters. The shore.

( They cannot be overwhelmed here. )

[ooc: If this doesn't work for you, let me know and I am happy to edit! ]

[ Lockwood had forgotten -or at least put out of his mind- that simply being in the water was dangerous. That the liquid swirling about his ankles, now his thighs and close to his waist, was capable of sapping his strength; both physical and emotional.

Perhaps that was why their foes were gaining ground on them. Never mind the fact that as Lan Wangji had pointed out in the very beginning, they were facing overwhelming odds that would eventually turn the tide (hehehe) of the battle against them. Regretfully this was not the first time Lockwood had dove head first -so to speak- only to see it devolve around him.

This would be about the point that Lucy and George would each grab a metaphorical rein and pull for all they were worth. Lockwood as a chess player was a man who believed that the best retreat was a forward movement. To this end, when he turned his head at Lan Wangji's direction, and a flash of light off shiny surface caught his eye, Lockwood immediately moved to double down on his reckless nature. ]

I see another shard! [ He called out, turning and sheathing his rapier. ] I'll grab it! Should buy us time to get back to shore. [ He says us but for Lockwood, so often that word means you.

Annnnd there he goes, diving deeper into the damn water, chasing another shard of mirror. If he can get to it, it may slow down the progress of the decomposing swim team. Will he be able to get himself back to shore after being in the water that deep and this long?

Eeeehhhh. ]

( ...perhaps this is to be Lan Wangji's fate, forever orbiting in the gravity pull of the better man, the more virtuous, self-sacrificial hero. The misunderstood champion, the bloodied legend, the martyr.

Wei Ying wrote the start of that pattern. Lockwood satisfies the requirements to join the trend. Unbidden, Lan Wangji flings out his sword — only for the blade to linger stalwartly and hovered, like lightning paralyzed above water, slashing searching fingers of the riotous undead. He plunges, rising above and scaling the sword, and it dashes by, bearing his weight scrupulously with minimal tremulations.

After, it is a disastrous hunt, chasing negative spaces between a sea of torn, tattered limbs, and the dead in their cluttered, cloying waters. He locates Lockwood at a sharpened glance, flight of his sword easing, as he crouches down and leans, hand ready to grasp — )

Collect the shard, so I may extricate you.

( A carriage made man made flying sword, here to excavate you, young sir. )

[ Lockwood wouldn't term himself a 'better' anything. He would take the terms self sacrificial hero, and he had used the term noble sacrifice in the past, only to have bullshit called on him. His love of the spotlight would enjoy the thought of being a legend, but if you dug down into the roots of all of it, he was just a boy grieving the loss of his family.

Between diving under the water and fighting off the scrabbling hands trying to drag him under, Lockwood missed the rather spectacular display that was Lan Wangji's control over his sword. No rapier could do what that blade did, that was for certain! When he heard the man's voice from somewhere above his head, the youth was confused.

He'd told Lan Wangji to use his distraction as a way to get out of the water! What was the man still doing in ...

Lockwood looked up, shard in his hands and eyes going wide at the vision he beheld. ]

How in the ... [ He began to ask, unable to help himself. A sharp pain in his shoulder, boney fingers digging into living flesh, drew Lockwood back to his current circumstances. Questions would have to wait.

Twisting his way free of the skeletal grasp, Lockwood secured the shard in his one hand and then reached up with the other. This was certainly going to be a first, and though Lockwood was usually fairly quick witted, he couldn't quite envision how Lan Wangji meant to transport them both.

So, for once in his life, the boy was going to shut his mouth and simply hang on for dear life! ]

( Life grants moments of grace, and lo, 'tis not one of them. The young man clings, Lan Wangji bids Bichen's blade silently lifted, this series of events conspires to complete, within blinks, to satisfaction.

All is well in a rotten, cadaver-infested world. All hail the union of flying sword, grudging wielder and impossibly impulsive adolescent.

It seems almost as if Bichen might suffice to propel them briskly forward, and they'll cut through the skies to reach their destination — until one of the dead suddenly propels himself halfway over Bichen blade, head lulling, Lan Wangji

stuck

gazing down at the stowaway by his feet, parallel to Lockwood. He thinks, summarily, to kick him off, but decides the turbulence could upset Lockwood's balance. Therefore, politely, as he stomps on the dead man's rotting hands instead, where he grasps onto Bichen: )

May you skewer him with your rapier needle?

( Politely, as one might ask for another cup of freshly brewed tea. )

A rapier is a perfectly serviceable weapon. [ Lockwood feels moved to defend the honor of his rapier! Never mind the fact that he's laid out on a flying sword with hoards of corpses swarming just beneath him. Obviously this is the perfect time to get uppity in defense of his choice of swords.

Twisting awkwardly, almost losing his balance and somehow ending up looking like a deranged octopus as he tries to hang on to the flying sword -seriously W.T.B.H is this shit- one of Lan Wangji's shoes -he's genuinely trying not to grab you, sir- and draw his own weapon. By the grace of whatever force has kept Lockwood alive to this point, he manages to get the weapon free and begins to use it against the corpse.

Now? None of them have dignity. Because this has got to look like something out of a Benny Hill skit. Lan Wangji trying to control the blade, while stepping on rotting hands, and Lockwood poke poke poking at the half skeletal torso from between Lang Wangji's legs.

Eventually, Lockwood grunts as he throws his own torso forward and, with the silver tip of the rapier embedded between a couple of ribs, he shoves their passenger off. Sorry, corpse; no ticket no ride! At which point, Lockwood twists so he can look up at the older man, the youth wearing a side, manic smile that reaches all the way up and into the twinkle of his dark eyes. ]

Not bad for a needle, eh?

[ Is someone enjoying this insanity? Yeep. ]

( It is... as graceful and artistic of an offload as any man might envision, manifest, implement or scuttle away with.

Lan Wangji maintains their course straightforward, viciously but reliably direct. Lockwood hacks, slashes, pokes and prods at a wriggling, squirming and mewling dead thing caught unabashedly to their means of transport. The division of labour works spectacularly, until such a time that Lan Wangji, noting their — passenger has been relieved off Bichen, nevertheless fails to course correct the redistribution of weight and nearly sets them down to crash — before recovering to lift the sword at the very last moment.

...this is why you should not take a passenger on your flying sword. Or weaponise a flying sword for travel, to start. )

Well done.

( Between gritted teeth, like crunching gravel, because young people bloom beneath praise, and the sun of Lan Wangji's appreciation shines bright, lo, like a diamond.

But then, finally, they descend. Slowly, gradually, Bichen stayed until Lockwood's feet nearly touch the rickety, half-sunken pier. He hesitates — )

You acquitted yourself admirably. ( A pause, then: ) Barring your last advance. ( A pretty name for Lockwood's burst of impassioned rescue. )

[ Point of order though. Had Lan Wangji weaponized a flying sword, or flown a weaponized sword?

Yeah, good point. That could be a conversation for later.

Lockwood tumbled from the sword with all the grace of a leggy newborn foal, long limbs going in all directions. But he held on to his rapier! And he bounced up with that megawatt, shit eating smile on his face. Lan Wangji certainly wasn’t the first adult to use a backhanded, sarcastic comment in his direction, and he wouldn’t be the last.

Lockwood knew he was a little shit. ]

Effective at least! [ He exclaimed happily, holding up the shard and then indicating to the fact that they were both still in one piece. Then he sought to just … change the subject. ]

That is an amazing functionality in your sword! [ He’s an ass, and Lockwood does know how to weaponized his charm to wriggle out of tense situations, but his admiration is genuine. ] I think I understand why my rapier comes off as quite inferior in comparison. How did you come to have possession of such a partner?

Clan blades host spirits. ( A tenuous, dubiously ethical arrangement, some might say — but for how man and sword are each deployed in ultimate service of the sect. Honoured and privileged by their assignment.

If it troubles him to weaponise the shrapnel of a man's soul, it appears Lan Wangji is unprepared to say so. To admit that possibility. But he dotes on the blade with silent, scrupulous diligence, spill of silken cloth wiping the flat of her in a slow slide. High above, white birds are calling.

The sky waits on more bloodshed. He does not turn his eye to where the dead in the water tip their heads back to scream their mute, unhurried horror. )

You may wish to cleanse. Corruption of the dead clings.

[ He doesn't mean to offer offense, but at the words 'blades host spirits', Lockwood draws back a step. His conscious mind repeats, over and over, that the blade and it's wielder had just saved him from a very difficult situation. His subconscious, at the lizard brain level, screams danger.

It also doesn't help that he hears censor, as well as dismissal in Lan Wangji's tone. Perhaps there is none on offer. Perhaps it is Lockwood's own uneasy conscience that is offering the censor; the little voice that sounds like Lucy, George or Flo. Regardless, the happy, go lucky young man façade that Lockwood usually projects is replaced by someone more cold, reserved and walled away. ]

You were meant to go back to the shore. [ He speaks softly, in a voice that is posh but otherwise flat and emotionless. While still a child, and perhaps erroneously in this instance, Lockwood's tone is one of a man who is used to responsibility AND the authority that comes with responsibility. ]

That is how it would go in my world. I protect those in my care. [ 'It's my name on the door' ] Usually because they are children, younger than myself surrounded by adults who throw us out, night after night to fight ... that. [ He motions towards the dead without looking at them. ]

Perhaps my choice was impulsive. A lot of my choices usually are, but that comes from not having a lot of other options.

[ His piece said, and he'll wrestle with himself at a later date about why he felt the need to explain himself to this man, Lockwood turns to accept his dismissal. Whether or not it is to actually 'hit the showers'? Eh ... probably he's just going to go find more trouble to get into. ]

( The recoil, the implicit if tacit revulsion. Slap to his face would at least purify through the sting. He bears it, chin jutting, the restive but attentive weight of his gaze settling on Lockwood's young face, chilled. You might have lost an eye, he supposed. That noise, battered. The mouth unstitched. Did you think?

Children have their way of painting foolishness as immortal bravery. They think death a sister to glory. )

You were meant to know summer's sun and laughter, unarmed. ( Live the life of all children, unhastened. Only, That comes from not having a lot of other options. The poisoned chalice of independence, of young men and women bereft their innocence.

He does not grieve what is not his own to mourn. Pity is an insult. He walks, and it is a settled, slow step. )

We are not all as we were meant to be. ( The Heavens ordain, and it is done. ) Retain the glass.

( This, sir, is dismissal. )

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the sunken | moonrise

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in before canon sword surfing, weep

canon sword ... you win the internet

.....does it tho

Surfing on a sword with an animated corpse? Has to, right?

a story to tell the grandchildren

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