Planeside 3

[Recaiden]

[Brefaisil]

Whatever it is, the frog-thing isn't... exactly present. It's an avatar of some kind. A way of visually demonstrating what it is, for Marcie's benefit. The real spirit is in the ailing king's bones, his blood, his heart. Doing anything to frog on his chest would be pointless.

Breoite rests her hands on Arnbaith's shoulders, encouraging him to lie back and save his strength. "We already keep visitors to a minimum. It's mostly been just me and a few attendants. Is there any way you can help him, the way you helped us?" She asks hopefully.

"I will do my best." Maybe not actually her best, but a real effort.
"But, his condition is very delicate; we have not seen the like before."
Having the king suddenly die during an attempt to heal him would be unfortunate in more ways than one.

Nevertheless, she steps up to the king, with the same light from before at her fingertips, and goes to set a hand on his forehead.
"Let the hopes of your whole kingdom burn within you, and be healed."
The magic first tries bolster the king's vitality, and then to scour away the disease, the forces of life and death washing over in waves. This is a lesser grade of magic than she used to help the queen out on the balcony. If the disease is the sort of thing a person might avoid or recover from through good health, he'll probably do just that. If, as it seems, it's something more exceptional, it will probably do the king little good.


Prison Realm

The guard beasts and Kiun advance along the footpath. There's two more cells before the next inhabited one; they're both empty. The next cell to be closed and locked contains a black basalt pedestal. Resting on the pedestal is a humanoid skull, larger than a human's with a single large eyesocket and sharp teeth, including a pair of serrated tusks. One of the tusks has been replaced with a tooth of polished green jade, and a silver mirror has been carefully set into the eyesocket. The skull has been polished smooth. Several other bones rest in the cell, though they don't belong to the same entity- and not all are from the same source. There's a human femur, covered in etched words- Shakespearean quotes, all relating to death, carved into the bones. A rattle of phalanges, marked with runes, on a twist of leather. The black iron pelvis of a semi-humanoid creature with digitigrade legs and a tail (though if Kiun doesn't know a lot about bones, she likely can't tell all that; the rest of the skeleton is missing.

The skull doesn't react to Kiun, though the guards react to the skull; one tries to interpose itself between her and the cell, holding its hand up palm out and fingers together towards the skull. Kiun might get the impression her reflection in the mirror is watching her. The reflection is a true image; it's not reversed like most mirror images, most notable in the reflection of the guards' hands.

Oh, look at that skull! It could almost belong to a strider with that size and those sharp tusks, except there's only one eye socket.

But Kiun's attention is quickly captured by the wrong-mirror, and she flutters a wing at her own reflection(?) by way of greeting. She's certainly no bone expert.
"Hello?"

[bc56]

Scorching Depths
"Why don't you tell her yourself? The palace is up that way a few miles, at the base of the mountains." Sekhmet points off into the hazy air. She looks at the bottles again. "I'll, uh, take this one, if you don't mind." She takes the bottle labeled "courage."

[Earl of Purple]

Prison Realm

Within the mirror, the cell door is opened and the reflection of Kiun walks up until her face is all that can be seen in the mirror. The actual cell remains closed, and the prison guards drop into attack stances. One will try to push Kiun on, so she can't see what happens next.

The skull, nor the other bones, do not move, but the reflection is talking slowly, exaggerating every enunciation to make it easy to lipread what she's trying to say. For the small price of opening that door, I can grant you great power, magical power. Immortality, a legion of undead created from the bones of your enemies, rulership of a small kingdom- whatever you want, I'll do what I can to make it happen. But I can't do it from here, you'll have to let me out first.

[Ironsmith]

[Brefaisil]


"I will do my best." Maybe not actually her best, but a real effort.
"But, his condition is very delicate; we have not seen the like before."
Having the king suddenly die during an attempt to heal him would be unfortunate in more ways than one.

Nevertheless, she steps up to the king, with the same light from before at her fingertips, and goes to set a hand on his forehead.
"Let the hopes of your whole kingdom burn within you, and be healed."
The magic first tries bolster the king's vitality, and then to scour away the disease, the forces of life and death washing over in waves. This is a lesser grade of magic than she used to help the queen out on the balcony. If the disease is the sort of thing a person might avoid or recover from through good health, he'll probably do just that. If, as it seems, it's something more exceptional, it will probably do the king little good.

[Brefaisil]

It should rather quickly become apparent that the disease won't respond to this kind of treatment. At least not in any way Marcie would find helpful. It snatches away any extra vitality the king gains, and attempts at scouring it see it turn the destructive magic on the king instead, which Marcie will be able to heal... but at the cost of bolstering the disease with every loop.

If she doesn't give up after the first few iterations, she'll have another problem to worry about; once it's strong enough, the phantasmal frog jumps off the king and tackles Marcie herself... sort of. When it makes contact, it doesn't, exactly, but Marcie will be able to feel weight and congestion in her lungs as though it had physically impacted her. Thankfully, it's still so much smaller than whatever is ailing the king, so she might be able to get over it with a little rest. She'll also be able to tell the thing in the king has gone back to its original level of strength; it must have thrown the excess back at her.

Scorching Depths
"Why don't you tell her yourself? The palace is up that way a few miles, at the base of the mountains." Sekhmet points off into the hazy air. She looks at the bottles again. "I'll, uh, take this one, if you don't mind." She takes the bottle labeled "courage."

[Scorching Depths]

"...Is that wise?" Aggravate frowns. "We've no idea how she'll respond to foreign fiends."

"Well, your options are for you to tell her about yourselves or wait for her to find out." Braon chips in. "Which do you suppose will fly over better?"

"...Touché." Aggravate rumbles. "Very well. It's off to the palace for us. Thank you again for your help, Crimson and..."

"Misery."

"Crimson and Misery." Aggravate unfurls his wings, as do the other demons, and in a moment, they're off.

"Well, other than listening to them whine and moan about how much being a demon sucks, that seemed like a waste of our time." Braon drones. "Actually, scratch that, because that also wasted our time."

[bc56]

Scorching Depths
I thought it was very informative," Sekhmet responds. She doesn't know why they would have wanted to slip her a love potion, but they seem nice. "We need to get back to the palace and out of our disguises before they arrive." Just like that, they're back where they started this misadventure. "Finally, I can wear real clothes!" Sekhmet leaves Braon to go change back to her normal self.
Braon may have noticed that by the end of the mission, Sekhmet was actually seeming comfortable in the outfit Braon had chosen for her. However, it seems she still would prefer to dress modestly.

[Ironsmith]

[Scorching Depths]

For her part, Braon is becoming painfully aware that none of her clothing has been laundered in months. "Really? I mean, they told us a lot about how they function, but not much that actually helps us." She objects, wrinkling her nose as she slips her shirt back on. "And frankly, I don't see any good reason to trust them. They could have lied about the whole thing."

[bc56]

Scorching Depths
Braon could always ask for clothes, you know. Or ask to have the ones she does have washed.
Meanwhile Sekhmet returns looking like herself and wearing a lot more fabric.
(No one may know that she stored the succubus outfit in her wardrobe instead of getting rid of it. No one.)
She gathers up her power and returns to her queenly aspect before seating herself on the throne. "I had no idea they felt like that. That they could feel like that. I feel like I have to help them somehow." She's talking about the Lethean fiends right now, but she suspects some of her minions could feel the same way. She needs to do more research.

[Recaiden]

Prison Realm

Within the mirror, the cell door is opened and the reflection of Kiun walks up until her face is all that can be seen in the mirror. The actual cell remains closed, and the prison guards drop into attack stances. One will try to push Kiun on, so she can't see what happens next.

The skull, nor the other bones, do not move, but the reflection is talking slowly, exaggerating every enunciation to make it easy to lipread what she's trying to say. For the small price of opening that door, I can grant you great power, magical power. Immortality, a legion of undead created from the bones of your enemies, rulership of a small kingdom- whatever you want, I'll do what I can to make it happen. But I can't do it from here, you'll have to let me out first.

When the guard tries to push her along, Kiun's poison-stinger-tail jabs towards it as a reflex, before she really knows what's going on. Haru trying to teach her how to fight, and her old instincts, weren't completely useless (perhaps they add up to worse than useless though).

Then when she does realize, she's beating her wings to rise up above the walkway and the guard dogs
"Ah! What are you doing? Don't-" But why was she so upset by that, she wonders to herself.

As a result, she completely misses her reflection's outlandish promises.

[Brefaisil]

It should rather quickly become apparent that the disease won't respond to this kind of treatment. At least not in any way Marcie would find helpful. It snatches away any extra vitality the king gains, and attempts at scouring it see it turn the destructive magic on the king instead, which Marcie will be able to heal... but at the cost of bolstering the disease with every loop.

If she doesn't give up after the first few iterations, she'll have another problem to worry about; once it's strong enough, the phantasmal frog jumps off the king and tackles Marcie herself... sort of. When it makes contact, it doesn't, exactly, but Marcie will be able to feel weight and congestion in her lungs as though it had physically impacted her. Thankfully, it's still so much smaller than whatever is ailing the king, so she might be able to get over it with a little rest. She'll also be able to tell the thing in the king has gone back to its original level of strength; it must have thrown the excess back at her.

One iteration is enough to show that this disease isn't responding to conventional healing. Being able to redirect magic like that shows it's very tightly wound through the patient.

And nowshe's been quite exposed to it as well. That was always a risk, but it's so unsettling to feel.

Marcie takes a few deep breaths, considering possible treatments. And then she turns her analysis magic on herself. The tiny-frog-plague within her own lungs should be easy to examine compared to looking at another patient. How does this ailment physically manifest? Maybe actual chemical medicine is the answer?

[Ironsmith]

Scorching Depths
Braon could always ask for clothes, you know. Or ask to have the ones she does have washed.
Meanwhile Sekhmet returns looking like herself and wearing a lot more fabric.
(No one may know that she stored the succubus outfit in her wardrobe instead of getting rid of it. No one.)
She gathers up her power and returns to her queenly aspect before seating herself on the throne. "I had no idea they felt like that. That they could feel like that. I feel like I have to help them somehow." She's talking about the Lethean fiends right now, but she suspects some of her minions could feel the same way. She needs to do more research.

[Scorching Depths]

Braon's rather attached to that cloak. She's not about to let it be washed unless she does it (how does that work, anyway? She doesn't think she's seen liquid water since she got here, other than her cloud. Do they do dry-cleaning here?)

Braon flips up her hood as one of Sekhmet's servants (who looks uncharacteristically flustered) announces the arrival of Aggravate and the Crone. "Not sure how that's news, but okay."

The incubus stops short of the throne, going into a deep, kneeling bow. "Your majesty." He greets, noticeably deepening his voice since they last met. He's already wearing his face, too; apparently, he's pulling out all the stops to make a good first impression. Which still didn't include a shirt, apparently.

The Crone barely acknowledges that she's now standing in the presence of a demon queen, giving little more than a curt nod. It must be hard to move with her spine all bent over like that.

[Brefaisil]

One iteration is enough to show that this disease isn't responding to conventional healing. Being able to redirect magic like that shows it's very tightly wound through the patient.

And nowshe's been quite exposed to it as well. That was always a risk, but it's so unsettling to feel.

Marcie takes a few deep breaths, considering possible treatments. And then she turns her analysis magic on herself. The tiny-frog-plague within her own lungs should be easy to examine compared to looking at another patient. How does this ailment physically manifest? Maybe actual chemical medicine is the answer?

[Brefaisil]

If Marcie's expecting to find an actual pathogen, she's probably going to be disappointed when all that turns up is the common cold. The disease is definitely magical in nature, and appears to cause some amount of immunodeficiency; the exact quantity is fluctuating, trending downward slowly. It doesn't seem to agree with her metabolism very much.

[Rebonack]

[Sylvanas]

It's snowing. Snowing in an endless forest, an impossible tangle of roots and trunks and branches and leaves that stretch in all directions in defiance of sense and gravity. Bright orange leaves drift through the air and settle in heaps, filling the forest with the scent of damp and decay. Veins of eldritch power pulse through the branches, thumping with a heartbeat that suffuses the forest. Here and there unearthly pink fruits and growths hang from trees, pink spores and petals dancing in the wind. And everywhere hungry things prowl.

The Hart of the Forest beats.

Beware, lest your heart beat along with it.


Magdalene died.

But that's okay.

It happens every now and again.

A huge pink fruit growing on an inverted trunk swells. Bigger, fatter, straining until at last it burst with a wet pop, disgorging a monster that looks like a cross between a human, a wolf, and a reindeer into a snowdrift stained pink with eldritch magic. The monster heaves, vomiting out pink fluid into a puddle around her claws. For a moment she rests there, panting, her breath turning to clouds in the cold. Thoughts are getting fuzzy. Words are getting hard. Break. Break them. Snap and break bad.

She reaches up, grips her antlers, and with a roar and a crack of bone sunders them. In an all too familiar sensation her monstrous form begins rotting away until all that remains in a small, shivering, human child.

Defiant.

Not frightened.

She grabs the furry hide of her former body and wraps it around herself to stave off the cold and begins climbing. She's too deep, here. To escape she must ascend.

"(Flowering) sword guy (flowered) me up," Magdalene swears. She died. Less than a day since the last time she died. She probably would have been fine if that jerk hadn't... cut out her ghost? Or something? Probably the worst debuff that Magdalene has ever had to deal with. If she meets the guy again she's going to deck him square in the face.

With a groan she rises to her feet. She's got furs and her targe hanging off her shoulder. And that's it. She'll have to find her body and get all her stuff back. Hopefully Atreyu and Calm Reed hung onto her stuff for her because otherwise she's going to be pretty cross. With the antlers gone her thoughts are getting a bit less muddy and now that means it's time to start trudging upward. Thankfully this freezing, hungry forest is more home to her than the physical world which is a thing that should probably be concerning but Magdalene has never been able to make herself feel worried about it. She walks atop the heavy drifts of snow, leaving disturbingly large reindeer tracks in her wake in spite of her bare human feet.

A deep breath in.

A deep breath out.

Breath of fog. Sickly pink light bleeds out of her chest and wafts from her nose.

Up the branch she goes. Climb the tree. Work her way toward the gate. She never ends up in the same place within the forest. Honestly Magdalene isn't sure if the forest even stays the same from one visit to another. Maybe it's just so big that she never sees the same part? As she walks Magdalene finds her mind wandering to Anika. The tall purple lady seemed nice. Real adventurer, that one. Being able to turn into a giant bear whenever she wants without having to worry about going berserk? Badass.

She should see if she can find Anika again when she gets out. That's a good plan.

[bc56]

Scorching Depths
"Welcome, travelers." Having reverted to her royal splendor, Sekhmet is a sight to behold. "From the Lethean Abyss, I gather. What brings you to my court?" She knows, or at least knows the story they told "Crimson," but she doesn't want to let on just yet.

[Ironsmith]

[Scorching Depths]

"We come bearing gifts, in celebration of her majesty's coronation." Aggravate replies, giving a completely different version of events to Sekhmet than he had "Crimson". He ushers the Crone forward, who shakily offers Sekhmet the bottle of Afterglow she'd considered earlier.

"May your reign be long, and your name terrible." Aggravate smiles, apparently considering this a blessing.

[bc56]

Scorching Depths
"Thank you for your generosity. I'm sure I can put it to good use." Sekhmet pauses for dramatic effect. "But I'm sure that's not the only reason you came here. After all, the journey must have been long and dangerous." She wishes the two succubi were here. They had a habit of letting things slip.

[Ironsmith]

[Scorching Depths]

Which, she might infer, is probably why they're not here.

"Her majesty is perceptive." Aggravate says with a nod. "It was, indeed, a lengthy, arduous journey, and we should be unfortunate to have to undertake it again so soon. Would your highness grant permission for my companions and I to stay for a short time? Perhaps a number of weeks?"

[Recaiden]

[Brefaisil]

'Expecting' might be too strong of a word, but she was certainly hoping to find an actual pathogen. That would have made things easier.

Although, in a way, the disease stealing the vitalizing energy and using it to infect her was a boon.
Now she can try things without any risk to the one and only king they have around here.

Marcie takes a few moments to remove various items from her pockets and person: necklace, ring, mysterious pencil-box-sized rectangle, a little wooden hoop, a small mirror, some panels from the bottom of her shoes, a lone pencil, etc. What they all have in common is being enchanted one way or another.
And then all the magic in and on her starts to drain away, courtesy of the other hovering jewel she has with her. Including, she hopes, any magical illnesses.

[bc56]

Scorching Depths
"Your companions? How many of you are there? We could make space for a small group. And if you have other companions, I would like to see them before I grant them refuge." Sekhmet already knows there are 6 of them, and who they are, but she wants to hear Aggravate say it. Plus he doesn't know she knows and she'd prefer it that way.

[Earl of Purple]

Prison Realm

The guards can't do much as Kiun flaps up and away, and the leader recoils from the jab. They don't seem willing to fight back, at least not yet; the one Kiun jabbed waves to try and attract her attention, then points at the skull and gives a thumbs-down.

The reflection continues trying to offer Kiun many things, moving around so it can keep its eyes on the actual tiefling-person.

Sylvanas

As occasionally occurs, someone else is trapped within this forest. They're hard to spot, however; a young woman, maybe seventeen or eighteen, clad in an old blue jumpsuit with a device strapped to her left arm. They're huddled up, and snow is beginning to settle upon her, clutching desperately a plastic mop handle with a flint blade glued to the end. Her pale skin is turning blue, her short hair has frozen to the trunk of the tree behind her, and her eyes are closed.

[Rebonack]

[Sylvanas]

Magdalene smells her before she sees her.

How could she NOT?

The smell of a life slowly ending.

The smell of carrion to be.

"You have got to be (flowering) kidding me," she swears as she hoists herself up onto a branch and finds the woman in the blue jumpsuit, her lips nearly the color of her clothing.

Twice.

Twice in a row she runs into someone trapped in the forest.

This has never happened before. There has got to be someone messing with her. She's pretty cross at this point. That stupid swordsman. Stupid Fido. Stupid dead gods. Grumbling under her breath she moves to stoop along side the woman and cut her hair away from the trunk of the tree.

"You had better not wake up and try to stab me," Magdalene warns her as she moves to grab the older girl and hoist her onto her back. Magdalene is, as it happens, quite a bit stronger than her small frame would suggest. Assuming nothing surprising happens (like stabbing) Magdalene will carry the nearly frozen woman to the nearest hollow tree. Because there are always hollow trees. Hollow trees are great. Shelter AND they're usually small enough that the bigger beasts can't get in. They've also got useful stuff in them, usually.

Case in point?

When the woman comes to she'll find herself inside a hollowed out trunk wide enough to serve as a small room. She's wrapped in furs that smell only vaguely of death and she's surprisingly warm. Mostly because of the fire that's been kindled atop the frozen earth, crackling away merrily as it consumes deadwood and bones. There's also a girl tending to the fire. Mid teens, if that, clad in only a few bare strips of fur to keep modesty in check. Apparently the cold doesn't bother her much. Every now and again she tosses another stick into the flames.

[Ironsmith]

[Brefaisil]

'Expecting' might be too strong of a word, but she was certainly hoping to find an actual pathogen. That would have made things easier.

Although, in a way, the disease stealing the vitalizing energy and using it to infect her was a boon.
Now she can try things without any risk to the one and only king they have around here.

Marcie takes a few moments to remove various items from her pockets and person: necklace, ring, mysterious pencil-box-sized rectangle, a little wooden hoop, a small mirror, some panels from the bottom of her shoes, a lone pencil, etc. What they all have in common is being enchanted one way or another.
And then all the magic in and on her starts to drain away, courtesy of the other hovering jewel she has with her. Including, she hopes, any magical illnesses.

[Brefaisil]

To an extent, this works. Within minutes, the frog-thing in her is dead, unable to maintain a cohesive spiritual form and crumbling into little spits of malice, which the crystal absorbs.

On the other hand, since it basically turned off her immune system for a while, Marcie still has a nasty cold. Nothing she wouldn't be able to fix normally, but slightly annoying.

She might also note that this method probably won't work on the king; as a Lord, his very existence is dependant on ancient magics. Any anti-magic shenanigans might strip him of that status and effectively kill him, if only in the sense that it would bring his lifespan to a finite number (and likely a small one, given his condition).

Scorching Depths
"Your companions? How many of you are there? We could make space for a small group. And if you have other companions, I would like to see them before I grant them refuge." Sekhmet already knows there are 6 of them, and who they are, but she wants to hear Aggravate say it. Plus he doesn't know she knows and she'd prefer it that way.

[Scorching Depths]

"There are four of us in total." Aggravate replies without flinching. "Myself, my elderly friend here, and two succubi." He pauses before adding, "They've, ah, shown pangs of jealousy before, and it has led to some rather uncourtly behavior, so please forgive my not bringing them forward initially. They are waiting outside, if your highness wishes to meet them."

[bc56]

Scorching Depths
Sekhmet raises an eyebrow. Four, he says? She's sure the other two aren't far away. "By all means, bring them in." She's curious to see where this is going. Clearly they have some plan in mind. She's also fairly sure she should not drink the Afterglow. In fact, she should probably have someone with alchemical skill test it, and the Liquid Love, to make sure they actually do what they're said to

[Ironsmith]

[Scorching Depths]

"Of course." Aggravate gives another bow and walks back out of the room; he's only gone for a few minutes, but that's still a fair bit longer than fetching the succubi should take.

When he returns, Perfidy and Mendacity are in tow, both considerably better-dressed than when Sekhmet first saw them... which is to say, dressed. Perfidy's wearing a black evening gown with a deep, v-shaped neckline, while Mendacity is dressed in topside casual wear; white t-shirt, faded jeans, and loafers. They both give little nods to Sekhmet, which prompts elbowing in the ribs from Aggravate, and subsequent curtsies from them (well, from Perfidy, at least, Mendacity can only manage an awkward crouch).

"My companions, Perfidy and Mendacity." Aggravate introduces them.

"It's an honor, your highness." The succubi say in sync, in what is clearly a rehearsed line.

[Recaiden]

Prison Realm

The guards can't do much as Kiun flaps up and away, and the leader recoils from the jab. They don't seem willing to fight back, at least not yet; the one Kiun jabbed waves to try and attract her attention, then points at the skull and gives a thumbs-down.

The reflection continues trying to offer Kiun many things, moving around so it can keep its eyes on the actual tiefling-person.

After a moment to get her bearings, Kiun glides back down to the walkway.
"Sorry, I was startled."
So, this must be the skull of Am-het.

She addresses her reflection, next, stretching up to be sure she can see it.
"How can I trust you to keep your end of the deal once you're out?"

[Brefaisil]

To an extent, this works. Within minutes, the frog-thing in her is dead, unable to maintain a cohesive spiritual form and crumbling into little spits of malice, which the crystal absorbs.

On the other hand, since it basically turned off her immune system for a while, Marcie still has a nasty cold. Nothing she wouldn't be able to fix normally, but slightly annoying.

She might also note that this method probably won't work on the king; as a Lord, his very existence is dependant on ancient magics. Any anti-magic shenanigans might strip him of that status and effectively kill him, if only in the sense that it would bring his lifespan to a finite number (and likely a small one, given his condition).

When it is done, Marcie is overcome by coughing for a few moments, before she can turn to the queen.
"I am sorry. I could cure the sickness, but in the king's condition, surviving only on his Lordship, the treatment may kill him as well. I would not take that risk."
"We will need something more."

Which doesn't mean she's giving up. They have three more plans. It's just that escalating treatment will be expensive, one way or another.
"King Arnbaith, do you hear me? Only nod if you understand."
"Would you give up your past, to be healed?"

[Ironsmith]

[Brefaisil]

Breonite nods slowly, showing her understanding. "Perhaps that would be b-"

"Little better... than killing me." Arnbaith wheezes. "I rule Maesda... with the wisdom... of advanced years. Take that... from... me... and you take..." He breaks out into a violent coughing fit, squeezing Breonite's hand while she watches him worriedly. "I am king... before I am anything else. I... can not accept... that price."

[Recaiden]

Marcie gives one somber nod to the king.
"As is wished."
It can be terrifying to see how much someone can change without their past to anchor them. Though they feel differently, they can't fault someone who prefers dying as yourself to living as someone else.

Anyway, that's one plan down.
"Then, is there someone else who would pay a different price? Someone who would risk their health or freedom, without coercion, in order to help you?"

[Ironsmith]

[Brefaisil]

Arnbaith looks to the side, his gaze falling on Breonite, who shuffles away nervously.

"...It would appear not." The old king croaks, a lilt of disappointment in his voice.

Breonite stands, an icy glare in her eye. "That's hardly fair. What do you think I've been doing for the past ten years?!"

"Bre... that is n-"

"I am not finished!" She snaps. "This past decade, I've had to endure assassins, coups, rebellions, Lordly schemes, indictment by the church, civil unrest, foreign opposition, the political firestorm that is the extended House of Arnbaith, and did I mention I've had to put on an Absumnal facade for all of it or risk my enemies doubling down?" Breonite scowls. "You gave me the same choice twelve years ago. Put aside my health and happiness for the good of our peoples. I agreed then and there hasn't been a day gone by when I haven't regretted it. You haven't got the right to ask it of me again!"

Arnbaith falls silent, or at least, he would, if it weren't so clearly laborious for him to speak. He puts a weathered hand on hers, which causes her to flinch, and shakes his head sadly. "...Are there any other choices, Miss Atorre?"

[Recaiden]

Well, there's another plan sunk.

Marcie glances away, letting the royals share their resentments. She has no part in it. Neither of them have had it easy. Of course one hopes to find such unbelievable loyalty, but who can really expect it?

"...yes." She was hoping not to resort to them.
"I could engage certain preparations from our world, that would not be worth considering if Maesda were not in such straits, and you so important to it. I would be useless for anything else for some time, and you would owe us a great deal." That is to say, a great deal more than you would owe someone who merely saved your life. "But nothing so...personal."

"If you can agree to that, simply ask aloud to be healed."

[bc56]

Scorching Depths
Sekhmet nods. "Welcome." That was a well rehearsed line. She wonders how long they'll be able to keep up the polite facade. "I can have someone show you to some rooms, if you would like?" She's making a plan to have them observed, and intending to put her guards on watch for Slicer and Spicer too.

[Earl of Purple]

Sylvanas

The woman is surprisingly light, and not very well equipped for this weather on first viewing. There's a small battery pack at her waist, however, powering an internal heating system for the jumpsuit; the battery is flat, which is one reason why she was in such dire straights. On the back of her jumpsuit are yellow numbers, 120.

When she wakes up, she looks around rather confused, before her eyes settle on Magdalena. She doesn't try to stab with her mop-spear, but holds her hands out to the fire, not noticing- or else not caring- that dry bones are crackling along with the kindling. "Thank you for the fire. Wait, uh... Merci pour le tir?" Her French accent is absolutely terrible, and she doesn't seem to realise she's thanking Magdalena for shooting, rather than fire.

Prison Realm

The guards are trying to keep Kiun from the skull. They think it's dangerous for Kiun to even communicate with it. They continue to tug and pull at her once she sets down, but ultimately can't stop her if she wants to stay and chat.

The reflection nods at that. I get it, you think I'm desperate to get out of here, willing to offer things I can't provide. But if I can't provide them, how come the Hands of Justice don't want you to talk to me? I'm an entity of my word, and if I say I will do something, that thing is done.

[Recaiden]

Hand of Justice, huh?
That's a silly name. ... or is it? Perhaps Justice is more than a word and an idea, but something with Form of its own, somewhere?

Kiun asks one of the guard dogs.
"Is it lying? Will it do what it says? Hypothetically."

Addressing the skull (but finding that she's looking at the reflection instead, as it seems so much more alive), she says "You do seem very eager to get out. I already have immortality and magic, undead are disgusting, and running a small kingdom would mean neglecting my family, but to most people that would sound very tempting, right?"
The skull is used to bribing individuals, and even if she's alone here, she doesn't expect that to last.

[Earl of Purple]

Prison Realm

The lead guard dog- or possibly Hand of Justice, depending on Kiun's own opinion on names- holds its fist up with the thumb out of the side, like a thumb's up or thumbs' down, except horizontal. It doesn't know, not for sure. They're incapable of leaving the prison realm, even by the methods guests and prisoners can use.

The reflection's face falls slightly as Kiun explains all she already has, but she continues. You would be as desperate to escape as I, in a cell that experiences no true time so long as this jail remains open. It seems to think for a moment, before turning back to Kiun and shrugging. What would you like? Destroy Slaanesh, youngest of the Four, or ascend to godhood in their place? The reflection rushes in at this point, aiming to brute force past any wards or defences Kiun has in mind probably won't work, both have seen and avoid. They sail a long way past the savage coast to the South. It's looking for anything that might seem like a temptation to Kiun. How about a partner? Or a closer relationship than my friends, it would have been lovely.