2019-03-26: Enkindling

• 2019-03-26: Enkindling
• Cast: Seraph Lanval, Seraph Boudicca, Ida Everstead-Rey
• Where: Lost Sanctuary - Love's Cradle
• Date: March 26th, 2019
• Summary: Takes place directly after Birth of a Wish. The Ley slowly regains its strength, but the strange metaphysical nature of the locale has separated the Drifters whom bravely moved forward to save Filgaia from the nihilistic wishes of K.K. and Seraph Ragnell. There, two among the Seraphim who made a pact with Filgaia's Guardians - awaken to some of the finer nuances of their newfound powers as Oracles. Here within the recovering Ley, the first vow made between Oracle and a chosen champion is made, as a new chapter stands to turn in Filgaia's story.

---

BGM: Tales of Zestiria: New Power Awakens

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Lanval has posed.

There is naught a trace of the Malevolence left in its wake. The blue warmth of the Ley pulses every so often. Its tempo imperceptibly slows between pulses. It is not that of a dying heartbeat struggling to continue its ceaseless task of pumping the lifeblood of the body it occupies - the planet of Filgaia - but that of a stress, a burden, being lifted until it finds its natural rhythm anew.

Only the soft, crystal clink in the faded light serves as the stimulus that all still yet continue to exist as living, breathing beings. The Anomalous Orb, freed of the immense Malevolence it has once collected, lies empty as it rests where that gateway once stood. The emptiness speaks of purity, rather than nihilism. It is no longer an Anomalous Orb. It is but an Orb, as the Ark Scepter rolls to a stop.

These are the only concessions to physical laws present for the gathered. This space still exists in a point that seems to have but only one foot in the corporeal, another in the beyond. While everyone continues to exist, the 'where' becomes a vague floating point.

Their will to simply be, a will that allowed them to pierce and traverse the stifling miasma that once pervaded this sacred ground, is enough to let them use said will to 'find' their way back with the rest - wherever they are now. Together, and yet sequestered by the Ley.

Its steady beat continues. Riesenlied will yet be gently relieved of her burdens of her Ascension before long, as the spirits of all grasp at the comprehension of their victory. In the last moments of the Ley Dragon's present task, the gently massaged Ley continue to share its reinvigorating energies in lower and lower doses yet, as though to wean one off of them rather than risk a crash from sudden disconnection and withdrawal.

Over... in some place, the mirthful laughter slows and quiets. The Water Seraph, Lanval, lies sprawled on his back, exhausted. He hasn't even the strength to lift his arm to slake his ceaseless thirst for drink. The clear, pure water that would pool from him for any extended periods of time in a place he exists has come to a stop.

That the light shines off the water tantalizes the sight of any that might be present. There is no Malevolence here to reach out and twist it now. His eyes, rather than be shut, remain half-lidded as though they were too exhausted to follow through with closing in full.

"...Mmmm..." He grunts weakly. Even the borrowed mortal tic of breathing is beyond his reach. It is a miracle he has words at his disposal at all.

"...We shure did it..." But not laughter, however meek and quiet. To have that taken from him would for there to no longer even be a Seraph Lanval present, as what sight he has tries to focus on...

...huh, where is everyone, he wonders to himself.

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Boudicca has posed.

Flame consumes.

It consumes what is wrong and it is fed by the oxygen of fresh air, yet, yes, it consumes; the light of the hearth warms cold places and chases out the dark, and in its wake is left Boudicca, collapsed in a heap amongst slag ruins of two hundred years. She drapes over the melted remains of chestplates, her own to the ground.

Across her shoulders is a cloak which glows in embers, flecks of orange midst the green. It's still warm.

Distantly she is aware that her vessel is beyond her reach, but there is a comforting aspect to the warmth, though it takes from her. It is as if she is not alone; it is as if she is not at risk. It is a gentle feeling which the Ley is happy to engender. Warm, and more secure than she ever thought she could be, and...

tired.

So very, very tired.

It is a little different to the weariness of existing for too long in her vessel, the constant background magic of holding herself in upright movement. This is not her untrained abilities taxed to limit, though perhaps it is its neighbour. She has reached agreement with her weakness; she has gone further into that challenge than she ever has before.

In time, perhaps it will strengthen her.

Now, all strength has left her.

She floats in half-awareness until she hears a voice, quiet laughter. Grey-green eyes blink open, and she lifts her head, groggily. "... Lanval..?"

That's right. Like her, Lanval... he must be exhausted too, she thinks.

Boudicca puffs out a breath, and the air is warm, too. "We... we truly did..." The implications of what they have done, precisely, she is not sure; but it is enough that the humans are safe, now.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.

"...Lanval? Boudicca?" A human voice. Ida's voice. She approaches the two at a slow, deliberate pace, swaying back and forth a little with each step. It's like it's taking all her strength to remain upright, even with the life-giving Ley infusion. There's just so much any one person can take, and Ida hasn't been pushed this far since the Photosphere. She stops in her tracks as Boudicca awakens, a smile lighting up her face. It's tired, but full of warmth.

They're all right, Ida thinks, after a moment. Ragnell and the Trial Knight... are no longer here. They tried to murder Filgaia, and were unsuccessful.

"I was so afraid for you," she says. "For you, and for Solanine. You risked so much." Tears well up in Ida's eyes; it's as if the emotion of that moment hasn't quite left. "And I can never thank any of you enough. But..." Ida pauses. "Do you--do you know what just happened?"

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Lanval has posed.

A human voice. Lanval's eyes shift under eyelids too heavy to want to act on what it means for eyelids to feel heavy. She's okay. She's okay! A mortal being here is good, Lanval internalizes. That must mean everyone must have survived, one way or another, even if they might not be... right here.

But they're somewhere, he's sure. The happiness gives him a little more of his strength back. The most it lets him do is lean on his side towards the both of them. That, and smile.

His initial response to 'do you know what just happened' is to smile. Ida probably wants (and deserves) many more words than that. It's tough for him to get over being relieved - and seeing such relief. Ida's become such extraordinarily close friends with a number of his kind. It's nostalgic, to a time long gone, a time that was far too short.

"...Mmmm." The happy feelings help give him back some words. "There wash shomeone I alwaysh wanted ta talk with..." Vague words. "...came 'n talked ta me, right ash I walked into all that. Mmmm... that... that mighta been... what it'sh like ta be... that closhe... ta no longer bein' you."

Another beat passes as he just lets the happiness sink in a bit more. He needs that.

"...Well... Schturdark shpoke ta me through all that... mmm." He takes in the trailing orange wisps of flame - or at least the markings thereof - that seem to define the once-named Beast of Lohgrin's form. "Don't... think they were the only one who did..."

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Boudicca has posed.

"Ida," calls Boudicca, though she does not quite have the energy to put volume behind the word. Pouring her voice through the air ought be no effort to her; the creaky quiet tone might speak its own volumes.

Still, when she manages to tilt her head enough to spy that wavering woman, her own weariness evident, there's a smile on the Seraph's face, too. "Thank goodness, you are all right..." Certainly it is relieving Filgaia's humanity has not been obliterated, but there is a deeper connection, here, than affection for mortals. Ida is her friend.

"Ah," she begins, a mumbled uncertainty, as Ida asks what happened. Luckily, Lanval is here to explain, with words pulled from his own tired chassis. No longer being herself...

Well, there's a certain sense of familiarity to that.

Soon the ember-glow of her cloak will be flecks of colour again; perhaps they always were, and it is only a trick of the light. Certainly, the flame which boiled the metal of her body to nothing was no stage effect. "Ah --" she starts again, as Lanval looks over. "Yes, I was... approached, by Moor Gault. 'Tis somewhat a different effect, I imagine, to your influence and Schturdark..." She does not know the Guardians well, but she has enough friends under their reach that she has sought out the basic details. Schturdark, the Water Guardian, is a natural fit for a Water Seraph like Lanval.

Well, there are a lot of ways for something to fit naturally.

"I fed the fire," she says, "and I am left... with a strange feeling of capability. I know not if this has ever happened before... a concordance between Seraph and Guardian. Have either of you ever heard of such a thing..?"

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.

Ida remembers the brief glimpse she got of Boudicca's true form in the depths of the Mirror. The woman she sees before her is clearly the same person, but that Boudicca was a carefree young woman. This Boudicca looks the part of warrior. The two of them have that much in common, now. Lanval, on the other hand, seems much the same as he did before. Ida lets both Seraphim explain themselves. She lets out a breath. She needs to focus, even if she wants to do nothing more than collapse.

"I've heard of the concordance between Seraph and Shepherd, of course, but not between Seraph and Guardian." Ida frowns. "But if the Guardians hadn't lent us their power, I--" She trails off. She saw what would happen. "I shudder to think of it." Ida glances between the two Seraphim, her thoughtful frown deepening. "It changed you," she says, to Boudicca. What do you mean when you say 'capability'?"

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Lanval has posed.

Lanval is contented that there's another here to help with explaining what happened. It's difficult to talk too much. As Boudicca explains she was approached by Moor Gault - and talks about how she 'fed the fire.' She's a Wind Seraph, going by the feel of her energies and the projected manifestation that Resonant mortals can comprehend them as. It is fire that puts their power in check, as the wind feeds flames.

Such must be the power of her resolve and dedication, Lanval muses in silence - but the both of them have questions, and the momentary silence that follows is a reminder that it is his turn to speak.

"...Never heard of it happenin' before," Lanval says, "but... sheein' Filgaia goin' the way it wash... alwaysh did want to reach out." He is a former Lord of the Land. Helping regulate the spiritual ecosystem of the world inside Althena's Boundary was his charge. In a world so much more vast in size, with so little strength...

"Mmmm." Lanval catches himself. "Anywaaaaay... 'capability.' I -- we. We! Shorry. We formed a pact." He sits up, with more outward ease than there really is to do so. His arms still hang limp. "For it... Schturdark let me give a blesshin'." His smile grows. "Shomethin' ta help give ya all the power ta jusht get rid of the Malevolence." There is a specific term for this. "Purification."

He lets that hang for a moment. He might accidentally talk over Boudicca as he follows that up a second later. "Yep... kinda intoxicatin'... n-not in termsh of having the power, but... watchin' you all find that hope, that resholve, ta put a shtop to all of that... ha ha ha!"

There's the laughter. It grows ever more mirthful, as though relieving that moment of splendor.

"...Ahhhhh, though... pro'lly washn't meant ta be... that wideshpread at once. Almosht dried up..."

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Boudicca has posed.

"I have long feared the oblivion of Malevolence," Boudicca says, to Ida, and perhaps she is too tired to be ashamed. "This you know. Yet I found, as I stood in the fire... I was not afraid." Yes, if the Guardians had not lent their power to them, there would be no hope at all. The end was crushing in its totality, and if there were ever a time for her to be afraid, it would have been facing down the Anomalous Orb.

And yet, without vessel to shield her, she stood against the darkness.

And yet, she was not afraid.

Lanval goes on to explain in words more direct than hers: they formed a pact. They gained the power of Purification through their joining. It seems impossible, for as Ida says, it is a power gained through Seraph and Shepherd. To think there was another way, this whole time --

"It is -" here she silences herself as Lanval speaks again. It is a thing which reminds her further, though he raises an excellent point as to their exhaustion. "Yes," she agrees, "I suspect we may have pushed too hard in this instance... but I do not regret such a thing." Her gaze drops down, to melted metal. "... though I suspect... 'tis a permanent turning point, for me."

She's changed, yes.

"But there is a thing which troubles me. When Moor Gault and I came together, he... called us children of a traitor. Althena... why would he say such a thing of her?" Perhaps the excommunicated Lanval and the Filgaian Ida are poor targets for this question; perhaps they are the best people she could ask.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.

"Purification," Ida says. Her voice is low, barely a whisper--and while she saw it with her own eyes, it's still a thing of awe to her. "I mean, it's certainly not unprecedented. The Guardians bestowed this power upon their Shamans, but this is..." She looks between Boudicca and Lanval a moment, her eyes lingering on the red motes clinging to Boudicca's cloak. "They granted this to you, to Seraphim. To beings not born of this world."

The former Beast of Lohgrin looks down at her vessel, and Ida's gaze follows hers. The statue she once inhabited is now bits of cooling scrap. Ida takes her lip between her teeth. "I knew you could do it," she says, to Boudicca. "I know--giving up something that sheltered you for so long must have been..." Her voice almost cracks. "Heartrending. If you wish, I can... see what I can make of it. It would be a shame for it to go to waste."

The matter of Althena comes up. Ida looks down at the floor, inlaid with the solidified substance of the Ley itself. Its presence is still everywhere. "I have my theories," Ida says. "But beyond that, what you know as the Ancient Tongue is unquestionably related to the language used by Filgaia's Zeboim civilization--an ancient culture that died out in a great apocalypse. Not long after we met, Talise told me of the legend of Lunar's colonization. Even without the language connection, it wasn't much of a stretch. But I'd wager Althena lived during that apocalypse, decided Filgaia was doomed, and used great sorcerous workings to turn Lunar into what it is today."

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Lanval has posed.

"They shure did," Lanval nods along once. His habitual chin scratching returns, stroking away at his voluminous silver beard. The tangled bits of blue at the tips - often resembling that of small streams of water when they lay atop his bulbous gut - seem healthier. Like it flows better, for what is just beard hairs. "...They did Lunar a good turn with Mount Manfred... that'sh when I knew it wash worth helpin' ya all out with that thing 'bout a Shtatue." It was a harrowing time for him - his willingness to stand against the Red Priestess Mauri. Not just disagree, but stand against... and move to quench her flames. Even for being of the element that overcomes those of her mastery, it took his everything to combat the fires.

He could not have done that with any iota of doubt about his convictions, and the ultimate price he paid...

He quiets down again to let the others have their turn. He remembers hearing that 'traitor Althena' bit, but he wasn't in the state then to question what that meant. He gives a sympathetic look to Boudicca, remembering a loss of a few years ago.

"Mmmm... the firsht time I losth my own, it wash after... over five hundred long yearsh. I know that feelin' of attachment... shafety." He doesn't need to say it aloud. His kind tend to enjoy stability over a very, very long term. One of the many ways in which his own kind and mortals have their challenges in co-existing.

Still, it's not his turn to speak again yet. As Ida talks of Althena, he lifts up his drinking gourd. It feels heavier than usual, maybe owing to depleted strength... or maybe he is, in a way, carrying far more in there now than he used to. He listens to Ida's theories, cross-referencing with Talise's knowledge of the legends.

"Decidin' Filgaia wash doomed, huh," Lanval thinks, solemnly. It is just a theory for now, holding the gourd at his lap with both hands. "Mmmm..."

Lanval stares down at what is being considered the 'ground' only as a polite courtesy for those who are at least partially bound to physical laws. It is simply Ley.

"I don't hate Althena. 'm... more worried 'bout what Her decreesh might mean fer ush, but... there'll be more up there, able ta keep the firesh burnin', the water flowin', the wind blowin', the earth bountiful..."

Lanval starts to raise the gourd up. It does feel so very, very heavy. It's not any larger.

"I don't want to shee thish world die. I mean," he thinks about what he said to Schturdark, in what could have been his final moments of lucidity before the Malevolence turned him into a Fell Dragon. Perhaps those words are best kept between the two of them. "Back then, protectin' that patch of Lunar meant everything ta me. 'Caushe... I wash afraid all the bad shtuff in Glenwood wash gonna c'mon up one day."

He has a laugh. It's such a petty, childish, fearful reason, giving up much of his mobility just to stave off an irrational fear even as a youngster.

"...it'd mean that much ta me that 'm able to give a hand where... Schturdark might not have."

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Boudicca has posed.

The Guardians are of Filgaia; the Seraphim, of Lunar. To come together is a form of unity which Boudicca has never seen before. But then, it is a union which makes perfect sense to her: there is no difference, in her eyes, between the ranchers of Lunar and Filgaia. Certainly, each son of Man is different, and yet it is impossible to draw a line of distinction between them, to say one group is worthier than the other. "I believe it is a union born of our desire to see them safe," she concludes. "This is a thing which transgresses the edge of our worlds." Perhaps it is a different shape to Lanval's conclusion, that they have both helped each other, but it is not entirely its stranger.

Not only to help, but to help at personal cost...

But fire consumes, and Ida sees beyond the victory of humanity's existence to the toll it took. "Oh..." Her voice dies in her throat, sadness knitting her brow and curling down her lips. "... yes, I... it is... quite a dramatic..." Here she shakes her head, braids rustling against what passes for ground. Strong feelings are just as unpleasant in herself as in others, though Lanval understands them just as well as she feels them. (He, too, is older, she realises.) Instead she looks to the offer Ida has made, with gratitude instead of grief. "... I would like that, Ida. And I would wish it be you who made such a thing." If there is any smith she could trust with the metal which housed her soul, it is her.

And then they come to Althena, and Boudicca frowns as Ida shares her theories. "It is... difficult to believe Althena would do such a thing," she admits. "Yet, I cannot deny I have heard the old tongue in... surprising places." The girl who consumes herself, she thinks, and worries for her in that moment. "Were there some common ancestor - it would be sensible..." Could an all-compassionate Goddess condemn a world to slow death?

... well...

... it is true the girl she marks as Calamity has her staunch defenders...

Lanval is, perhaps, not a stranger to these feelings, or the gentling of them; certainly he speaks to moderate her concerns. "I... yes, I share these feelings," she says, after a moment. "I have ever had an affection for those forgotten by the world's machinations, though often they feared me in turn. For so long I did not know what I could do, when they seemed so intent on their own destruction, and yet... I was given a task, and it drove me to the world, and I found there were differences I could make, too. It has not always been easy, and I have made many missteps, yet..." Here she looks to Ida; she knows.

"I know the world of Man is worth defending," she says, "and this has not changed, though now there are more worlds than I knew. If I may assist Moor Gault in this task, our desires are akin to each other. If it be complicated, let it complicate me. I am finding there is little simplicity to be found in any world." It is a brave thing to say, even in the kind light of the Ley.

"Ida," she goes on to say, turning her pale green eyes to her, "I would be honoured if you would join me in this task. I believe it would gladden him to know I have joined with one of his people to see humanity safe from Malevolence. I..." Here she pauses, for a moment. "... I would personally wish to stand with you on this, as well."

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.

"...I suppose I may be a touch cynical about the matter," Ida admits. "But regardless, Filgaia survived, and the people Althena took with her flourished. We've gone beyond simply encountering one another, now--we need each other."

The matter of the vessel comes up. Ida reaches up, and gently rests a hand on Boudicca's shoulder. "We'll find you a worthy successor," she says. "Or create one. It would be an honor."

And then, Boudicca makes an offer. Ida meets her eyes, and listens, and as she does, her expression turns to one of surprise. "I," she says. "Of--of course. I'd be honored, but--" Her breath hitches in her throat. She glances at Lanval, as if expecting him to clarify matters. "What would--you're not talking of--Purification?" Ida's expression has gone from "surprised" to "floored". This was completely unexpected.

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Lanval has posed.

As Boudicca finds her resolve in her changing circumstances to dedicate herself to the great task that lay ahead of her, Lanval finds something just as important as he once more hefts the gourd that weighs heavier than it ever has before.

Which is to say, he finds a drink. How it tastes once it comes to his lips... well, first it comes to his face, as though the contents were under some pressure. This seemingly humorous circumstance coincides with Ida looking to him for clarification. Its contents - pure, clean, sparkling - drip off his face like a fresh rain.

His smile is as stupid as ever, as if finding not just humor but fulfillment in this little event. Once more, he raises it to his face and has a drink. The change of the atmosphere in the air is palpable. Heavy... with an air of mirth.

"...We art now 'Oracles,' Boudicca and mineself." The Water Seraph's eyes open in full anew, shining that same color.

"'Tis a great boon we hath been given, Ida." Lanval explains, seated as he lowers his gourd to his lap. "But we are mere conduits for the powers of Schturdark and Moor Gault. Ultimately... 'tis thy own will and strength that shalt bring this boon to fruition!"

Soon, though, he rises. He walks calmly and steadily across the Ley, his very existence more in tune, in sync with this sort of space of existence rather than the awful satire of the very idea of locomotion he often is. There are no other mortals here to demonstrate, so he walks over to the smoldering wreckage of Boudicca's former vessel.

"'tis not a blessing in absentia of a will to receive!" As if to demonstrate, he holds his gourd aloft - in one hand! - and so much water splashes out to the wreckage. Watery energies build around the part it reaches. It glows a healthy blue color for a time, water washing about it... and then simply washes off. "As that hath no will of its own... that just be wet. Ha ha ha!"

As he has another round of laughter, he sits back down nearer to the two of them, a gentle, patient smile more befitting of his appearance as some sort of sagely man who has decided the smartest thing he could ever do is not wear shoes, ever.

"As we hath both come to discover, the power we bestow in which to purify the corruption... though we may bestow such 'pon any with the will and strength as the need may be," and there was one hell of a need, for sure... he looks over to Boudicca, "'tis at its most potent, most enduring, should we choose to bond with those we trust with all that we are."

He has himself another drink... but then tips the gourd down as he turns his eyes towards Ida.

"'twould it be that an Oracle of Moor Gault be willing, to find thou worthy... then should thou accept, 'tis between both Oracle and champion as to how to best show thy mutual vow."

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Boudicca has posed.

Boudicca smiles, to Ida, when she feels that hand. It is still so strange to imagine she can be touched, but in this moment it is not unwelcome. And honour once comes soft, and twice startled. Perhaps it is not unreasonable for her to be surprised, Boudicca thinks; she knew the darkness. But --

-- they are thoughts interrupted as water splashes, and now Boudicca is surprised, too. Caught off-guard, a light sound escapes her; she giggles.

The mood shift is coupled with a shift in tone, and it reminds her of someone long past. She knows it is so, as he speaks; they are strangers to the world of Men, after all. It is not right to lay here, in the wake of such a thing, and she summons the strength to push herself upright, though it is a slow-moving process.

Water has no will but to be wet; air has no will but to flow.

She nods in surety as Lanval looks to her, and he has seen it, already. It is not to just anyone a vessel of centuries is trusted to, even in ruin.

Grasping the slag of the statue, Boudicca stands; she is a tall woman, broad even without the fire-forged plate which surrounds her, though now she does not dwarf Ida so dramatically. "I can think of nought worthier," she says, "than one who hath survived as thou has, Ida. If thou wouldst take the torch and bear Moor Gault's fire, I shalt fan the flames, mine fuel unending."

And simply, so simply, she reaches out her hand.

It is not simple at all.

For two hundred years, they were claws, and could hold nothing at all.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.

Ida looks at Lanval as he makes his declaration, her mouth falling open. She suddenly feels very small. To be chosen for something as important as this--not by virtue of her family's name, but by virtue of her own actions--it's something she's unused to, to say the absolute least. Ida can think of a dozen reasons why she's unworthy of it, but they all die on her tongue as Lanval keeps speaking.

"I will give you nothing less than my best," Ida says, when she can speak again. Heat flushes in her face as Boudicca praises her, but the little part of her that might insist it's hollow flattery does not speak up. Boudicca reaches out a hand, and Ida wonders how long it's been since she's had this kind of contact with someone. She reaches out with her own hand--the right one, the one fused with Hyadean flesh, easily discerned as inhuman by the silver-lined wound on her forearm.

Ida clasps Boudicca's hand in hers, and shakes. "I will," she says. "You've been a dear friend, and now, we are partners in this."

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Boudicca has posed.

A hand which could not grasp and a hand which grasped too much.

"Then come," says Boudicca, in that old intonation, "and by mine hand, know Moor Gault!" Her other tanned hand comes to rest above Ida's, and Seraphic breeze envelops her; but midst the pale green which was the only hint of her from so long are flecks of Moor Gault's flame, a union expressed in contradictions. The föhn wind swirls, bright and pure.

And in a moment it has faded, the promise made. Boudicca breathes out, and her serious expression is replaced with a smile both tired and relieved. "Together," she says. "We will cleanse with compassion and absolution." Malevolence, after all, is an intensely personal malady; it feeds on fear and pain. But the both of them know it is not insurmountable.

<Pose Tracker> Seraph Lanval has posed.

The Oracle of Moor Gault takes her first champion in hand, and the Oracle of Schturdark smiles that usually stupid smile he has. He watched Ida's journey from Hellion life - first meeting her when she was misbehaving in Meribia and finding himself confused as to why no local Lord of the Land moved to shoo off such a powerful Hellion causing such trouble - and through where she nearly dealt a mortal blow to Lunar through corrupting an Earthpulse. She might know the depths of Malevolence better than almost any other... and in doing so, be one of the most capable in which to combat it with the blessing of Moor Gault.

By Boudicca's hand, Moor Gault will be known to Ida. Flaming bonds will be tested, but he has no doubt they will overcome them.

For Lanval... he can already think of who he would name his champion. Yet, the weight of his drinking gourd in his hands - now partially embodying the vast amounts of water of Filgaia in all its forms both splendorous and foul, both life-sustaining and destructive - demands a due respect be given impartially no matter his feelings. The melody of water be the guide in spiritual mist, in the end.

Having quietly watched other than occasionally emitting a low chuckle as is his nature as the Mirthful Wellspring, he extracts himself with a respectful grace. There is something else that requires attention, Schturdark has told him with no small amount of insistence - he will take up the responsibility of informing the Guardian Lord Raftina about something truly grave.

The very task the Drifters were charged with once they escaped back to Filgaia - one that may already have been delivered by any of the others presently seprated by the strange, metaphysical nature of this place as they came to in the aftermath of the pitched battle to stop K.K. and Seraph Ragnell from destroying Filgaia. It does not hurt to be certain. The message could already be given ten times over, but its repetition does not dilute the weight of the truth that must be given.

The Claysmin of Obsession, Sin, lives.

He remembers the sheer volume of terror and despair. So close now to a Guardian himself, Lanval quietly drinks with his back turned to the rest as he faces further towards the Ley as he starts to shoulder the burden of experiencing this more initimately than he ever could have. ('Further' and 'towards' are relative terms here. Depending on their mindset and any myriad other factors, Ida or Boudicca themselves could be 'further towards' the Ley at any given immeasurable unit of time.)

He will not let the friendship-defining moment of a bond forged in fire across at least three worlds - Lunar, Filgaia, and the fallen Hyades - be capped off with a primordial, world-quaking sensation of anguish.

He's believes he's had enough to drink to prepare for that emotional blowback, where the Guardian Lord of Love will find herself staring down the next existential threat.

It will be a burden shared by all who seek to defend Filgaia, in the end, lest they too come to comprehend the depths of what was felt by those who learned of the Claysmin of Obsession's continued existence.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.

Ida sucks in a breath, as if anticipating pain despite all evidence to the contrary. It does not come. The breeze washes over her, hot and bright and pure--the light of the fire flickers in her eyes, and warmth flows up her arm. It does not burn. It settles in her bones, and in the space behind her eyes. She breathes out, and the air from her lungs shimmers with faint heat-haze.

"With compassion and absolution," Ida says. "We will help them bear their pain, and their burdens. After all, as someone once told me..."

"There are some who are born flying, and know what a gift it is. There are others who see that gift, and grow envious of it, and don't realize it's their birthright, too. And there are some who must fall before they realize how high they can soar."

Ida thinks back to the last she saw of K.K.--an entity that tested her, tormented her, and ultimately helped her discover hard truths about herself. She remembers them smiling. "Together."