---

”Please, Katia, deliver this flame to its seat!" Without ceremony, Katia was thrust from the role of escort to that of torchbearer. For a split second, she hesitated, no clue as to what her friend expected of her, but in an instant, her goal became clear. The light must be borne to the altar on the other side. Ah, it was so simple, and hopefully would dispel the shades as well.

The shades... they swarmed ferociously, filling the darkness as waves filled the sea. Fighting them off seemed as pointless as fighting the paladin. Caught between a false guardian of holy power and the power of evil, everything seemed hopeless. Something deep and sinister inside told her that she could end this eternal suffering: quench the light she bore and surrender to the darkness. This world would surely suffer the same fate as theirs, but what did she have left to lose?

Her hand hovered over the sacred flame. A twitch would destroy it, and she could rejoin her family in the afterlife. But the determined challenge from Cesar resounded in her ears, the call from Wick urging Theodore onwards. They counted on her to see this through, to bury her doubts and accept her fate. Against odds insurmountable, they must remain steadfast, surging forward for the good of all. She may die in her attempt, but by all the old gods and the new, she would make this attempt.

The flame wicked away her life force, spurring her to action. With a primal shout she darted forward, leaping over Birbin to grasp the pillar with her claws. A quick release later, and she bounded between the dozens of shades, weaving in and out and ducking below their swipes. Her shout morphed into a gutteral roar as she pushed herself to the limit, carrying the torch with her and sending the rest of the room back to darkness. The mob of shadows fell behind her, and so did Cesar, undoubtedly soon to be victim to a dozen shadowy strikes, drinking his very life essence away.

I'm... so sorry, Cesar.


Haemar (Next!)
@The Harbinger of Ferocity - DM

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

The elven wizard, with no more potent magics in his arsenal than his most humble of cantrips, lanced out with the elegant blade he so bore and struck aloud with a crackle of lightning. The arcing, skittering, dancing electricity jumping to one of the small shadowy minions, the creature vanished back into the darkness once more, but there was no reveal to be seen. They had plunged into the same darkness they recalled themselves falling into that time ago, yet where nothingness overcame them, the absolute emptiness, here all they could see were the pinpricks of spiteful glowing eyes and the sounds of their foes surrounding them, barrages of attacks being unleashed.

Behind the panther-woman's spree of haste, two shadowy mages followed, their soundless bodies and utter lack of footfall behind her giving them an eerie, almost phantasmal quality. Yet, they were very much there, for as they came to a stop both readied icy spells of cold reaches, one of which veered off like a shooting comet, exploding into ice crystals against the wall just past the monk; the second made its landing upon her back. The burning, hungry entropic cold tried her with everything it could, but she was so close - the literal one light in the darkness, with all the forces of that enemy kingdom raining down upon her and her allies.

The strangest part?

Being a student of the Way of the Sun Soul, some inkling within her did not have fear. Not the fear that she should, especially not now. Something in the consuming, benevolent embrace spoke to her in a language only a warrior of the Kingdom of the Light could truly understand. But what was worthy of fear was the question... what was to come?


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

---

@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu

As the dozens of shadowy claws dug into his very being, Cesar could do nothing but grin as he saw the light being brought to his brazier. While he would shout to motivate Katia to complete her charge, he jusr felt too exhausted, too... lost for words. The flickering light was far from reach, for him, and only darkness remained in his presence. All he could do was sit back and wait as the light was brought back to its seat...

... and you know sitting down and waiting is just not my style.

The Bard took a deep breath, placing his hands over his mouth in an O-shape and letting out a bellowing roar, enhanced by his latent magic. The boisterous sound of thunder crackled through the room as a wave of tempestuous magic was produced from the Sailor, wiping out the agents of Darkness in front of him. Feeling that he has much more room to work around, Cesar looked to the allies at his side, with a smile only so bright, if it weren’t obscured by the shadows...

”Hold the line! Make sure Katia succeeds in bringing the light to its seat!” Cesar hollered, before making a mad dash forward, hoping to shield his companion while she continued her charge, only to feel a biting feeling at his back as the remaining shadows near him took the opportunity to strike at the unarmed Swordsman.

The blows brought Cesar down to his knees, whatever inner light within him choking and struggling for life as those blows brought him down. Holding onto his chest, Cesar could only feel his heart slow as his energy was slowly sapped away from him. Struggling to shout, to speak, to even breath, Cesar managed to only choke out but a single phrase as his body fought to keep himself alive, crumpling to the cold hard floor.

Despite all his zeal, the templar met a humiliating defeat at the hand of the Green Man whose gauntlet struck the Monster Slayer square in the face. By the sheer quality of this odd world alone, Theodore's face would avoid the fate of being decorated by an imprint of the decorative lion on the metal, but he would not be protected from anything else the strike had to offer. The Light that shone within him had to bow to the feeling of nothingness that filled his senses. The two blades fell to the floor next to the man as he crashed down, seeing naught but his hated Darkness in his eyes.

For a while, nothing was what he knew. But it was then that another surge of Light came over him and he began climbing back up. He smashed against the floor with his fist and let out a very uncharacteristic guttural growl. He clambered to his feet as the outside source of power provided by Wick fed the Light with the means to awaken once more. He picked up one of his two fallen blades and took back his position between the room in darkness where the light had been transported and the snuffer that stood before him and Wick.

The breathing of the templar was unhindered despite all of the beating he had endured. All he felt for it was the emptiness. It would be the same for the opponent. If they harmed him. He bared his teeth as his face once again warped to the scowl of hatred against this man who would seek to impede the mission of the Light. Yet Katia and Cesar were well beyond this buffoon's reach now, so the templar could not help but feel the corners of his mouth twist to a short lived smile. Now all he had for himself was to look after Wick and that was what he did. Another weapon would do him no good against this wall of a man. If he needed to attack, the divines would grant him the haste to do so. He rushed to Wick's side, prepared to intercept any strikes he could. Though with his experience, that would amount only to those thrown at him, as much as he would wish otherwise.


@The Harbinger of Ferocity

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

With nothing more to him but blind arcane fury, the wielder of Hela rained blows down upon the darkness that surrounded and engulfed him. In the chaos of the the dark, the pure pitch black, he knew not where safety or aid was, just the light that they seemed to have brought with them. Whatever purpose the golden flame had the helmed man could not say, but like a raging beast prodded he struck out again and again. His attacks found purchase, not that he could tell, and all he could do was march forward toward the flame of hope.

Unable to see her foes in the darkness, the paladin did all that she could do... and that was advance and hurl whatever spells and magic she had left, but so tapped were these resources that all she could find was a bolt of arcane magic, the sort Wick might well have known from her near infinite recall of the arts. The blast, careening wildly into the dark, gave her no obvious purchase, no resounding boom or echo. Biting her lip, she dared wonder if she should brave the void or try to hold the line, knowing the surge would at some point break through.

Their gnome company, seeing the bard disappear into the dark, called out for him only to discover no reply came.

"Where have friends gone? It is too dark! Come back, come back!"

Birbin's feet shuffled and he panted like a dog thanks to the tremendous conflict he found himself in. He danced one way then the other, only to look up just behind him to witness the paladin as she too surveyed the dark; her own face not pleased with the findings. The golden light behind them and the one in the distance were all the illumination they had and even still they were not advancing as they should be. At such a point, the wizard did all he could by firing another ray into the dark, knowing his odds of striking anything were low, but they were better than outright surrender...

"Disappointing is it that you persist, furthering only the very thing you fight against in the process." The knightly figure said as he calmly, casually stepped, "Even more disappointing is it that your entire band hasn't any idea what it wants. Some want to 'kill' me, some want to desecrate the flame, some want to enflame it, and some want to return it to its second seat."

The apparent break in their assault restored the Green Man's character, giving him the breath he so needed in that moment, as well as to enkindle the ferocious wrath he fought with again. It was clear from the motion he drew up the sword that there was not going to be any time or opportunity to defend herself; all she could do was just weather the assault. The sword's blow came with a glinting green glow to the blade's leading edge and when it finished its sweep, the unearthly light vanished. Yet just as he had before against the templar, the moment the man thought he had an opportunity to exploit weakness, he did.

This time it came from the elbow of his sword-arm, crashing the plate of it into the armor of Wick as he came to reset his weapon's following swing. He had no apparent desire to kill them, he well could have in such a motion, but rather he seemed intent and content to punish them repeatedly; the reborn eladrin soul had made the mistake of reviving perhaps the most dangerous thing in the room after all.

Things turned far, far worse however, for the darkness fed into itself, more shadowy fiends raised from its black ether and their surging tide cascading down upon the vanguard with hungering fury. They swept through the ranks of their foes and like a tidal wave, prepared to rush further inland...


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

Thunder thrice asunder rang and swept over the cleric, gurgling time as the morn beamed and the noon burned. The usual consequence of slumber prompted birds building in song early and bees bustling from rotten lily to pushing daisy, as she tilted, falling backwards. This enterprise was not of Evermeet whereupon the Tel-Quessir would mount a graceful planar stairwell into the Feywild, adjourning from the mortal cares of one’s existence, to be ruled by grace and justice in the next. No, but a destined thud accompanied by a sweet fragrance which filled her celestial body as her feet became limp. The commerce of constitution compromised as the id’s sanctions upon the ego briskly flew away, imparting tranquility of a soul serene, conducting the pleasing scene of a visual forest, as her armor slammed into the ground near the monster slayer’s boots.

Her lips were soon adorned with a lurid blue, as the rosy ocean of color washed from her cheeks, throned on the overthrown setting of the librarian’s consciousness. Her remnant exhalations were mild cemeteries, full of bones which jostled when the tomb of her face, resurrected a wind, every now and again, that howled in and out, between the teeth of her living corpse. The armored scarecrow laid still, cold and sticky, like malleable clay, still fresh with the moistness of frailty. The delicacy of life, barked with a snooze, intermittently suggesting her bed, adopted as the reliquary's threshold of the looming Green Man, married the dark river of purple which filled the surreal sight in the verdant foliage she spiritually pranced upon, within the other bizarre side of events. The penetrating dampness of violet leaves and somber colors of an embittered winter soon engulfed her fastened mindscape, pricking and taunting her with a needle of autumn death, sewn as a black blanket, which covered her mental sanctuary as she physically kept prone and audibly mournful, afore Theodore.

The boisterous nature had fantastically changed seasons, as whiteness avalanched around the now elder elf, no longer ornamented with a youthful, angelic body, but tempest tossed, as a cloaked admiral, long-forgotten, entered, bearing a long familiar sickle.

Her very own patron's scythe, stood, facing the amnesiac in the requiem of her coerced dreams.

It waited, calmly, as icy sighs emitted from the frenetic frame, beknighted no longer of hope and glory, but the barren snow of terror that plagued nightmares. Abruptly, tendrils of murky miasma blew past the shadowy figure, into several whirling dervishes that coalesced into a hurricane of exercised emotion and exorcised demons, lost to the darkness, garnished by the contrast of polar hues that surrounded the silent screams of the soporific trance fervently bewitching Wick with waxed flames that ever smothered faith in the Light, once ignited in the Aasimar, one birth ago.



@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@JBRam2002

---

She had made it, pressing through all of the shadows. The altar was just a short ways away. Nothing could stop her now!

Nngg... A blast of ice struck her in the back as she darted forward, slowing her steps ever so slightly. She felt almost like her soul was drifting away from her, darkness clawing at the edge of her vision. Light-headed, she persevered... her steps... slowing... as the radiance...

To those who were still able to see her, Katia's form faded from view, consumed by the radiant light and appearing as a floating orb of radiance. The feline, absorbed in the light, saw the darkness fade away from her vision. She lay on some unknown surface on her back, the flaring brilliance shining down on her. "Where... where am I?" she muttered to herself. "I'm dead, aren't I? I failed. Is this where I turn into a shadow?" Despite her situation, she seemed unusually calm, albeit thoroughly disappointed in herself.

As she stared upwards, she began to make out some sort of vaguely humanoid shape in the light. No, the shape was the light, standing tall and proud. Katia stared up at the sight, slowly beginning to realize what was happening. She was in the presence of something that her world had not seen in aeons: a true Celestial. For a moment, she froze with her eyes wide, then immediately cowed before the light, bowing before the Celestial.

"You are too hard on yourself, little one," a voice emanated from the Light, as shapeless as the radiance towering over her. "Your journey is not complete. Now go with my blessing, and bring the Light to wherever Shadow reigns."

The light slowly faded, and Katia looked up to see the unlit altar before her as she lay on the stone floor. Did she dream it? Did that matter? The orb was in her hand still, and Katia leapt to her feet, dashing forward to set the radiant flame atop the altar. "For the power of Light!" she called as she lowered the radiance to its pedestal.


@The Harbinger of Ferocity - DM

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

With a thunderous ring, like a tremendous golden bell struck, a great light poured from the restored alter and dimmed calmly to an hour of dawn. Its warm radiance, welcome from the dead of night just moments before, shattered the army of darkness; all their forms instantly vanished before it, destroyed perhaps, or more likely banished. As the soothing glow raced over the fallen, no more their fate hanging in the balance, it met the light just within the doorway, the mirror image to it. All things restored in balance and harmony, the penetrating sound, one that did not reverberate as it much should have in the confines, suddenly raised with it all the ghosts of the defeated.

Soon ethereal spirits, like those they fought before, took shape and stood in tremendous number crowding the Hall's sacred crypt. Countless men and women of heroic stature like Valmjr, glimmering with echoes of life after death observed them in utter silence, evidently restored too after their own defeat at the hands of the ones who sought to extinguish the light. Without protest, they looked from the woman atop the steps, the flame illuminating her figure, then on to the three men prone upon the floor who were rousing to their feet, then to the woman and gnome and beyond. They nodded once and dispersed, content with what they witnessed and seeing no need for another battle, winking out as they turned to leave one by one.

Katia, in the aftermath of her vision, found the Flame of Dawn to no longer sting, its drifting heat waking silently before her as a reminder of the impossible thing she bore witness to, pleased to be returned to its seat. It was not the fire that spoke to her, but something behind it and not in the literal sense at that, just something it was tethered to across an unfathomable distance. The sister Fire of Dusk, its companion, glimmered and shown in almost mirrored image from the room beyond as they seemed to dance in time together, two halves of the same whole.

As for the figure who the lone templar squared off against, the imposing leonine knight, he stood himself upright and lowered his weapon.

"It is done. Your companions have restored the order to a world where there is no good and no evil, only conflict." His voice restrained, calm and relieved, he shifted his eyes from Theodore on to Wick who was slowly lifting herself off the timeless stone.

It was true now that the cloaked figure mentioned it, the air filled with only one indecipherable energy, one of passion and aimless ambition, the same force that seemed to compel and ask conflict and mindless revelry at the same time. There was no overwhelming sense of good or evil in spite of what their hearts might well have demanded them to think, but it did well to explain the hostility and chaos of everything. This realm, this Ysgard, lived for the thrill of battle, thick as a fog almost.

Sheathing the sword across his back, the Green Man turned to move, to apparently depart without any other word.


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002

The Green Man moved to strike at Wick and despite Theodore's best intentions and attempts the snuffer's twin attacks landed and knocked her out cold much in the same vein as to what he had just suffered himself. He stepped over her body, prepared to guard her from any further harm and perhaps even rouse her in just a moment while their opponent taunted them again and again. To them, it was apparently a mystery how fighting on an unfamiliar field against unfamiliar opposition could lead to confusion. Well, that was their issue. "Every battle is chaos. Chaos is born of Darkness. And by the-" Theodore began, only to be interrupted by the ringing of the bell and the sudden burst of Light from the other room.

He had to admit that even he was taken by surprise, him who tried to always have everyone else keep their focus on the battle at hand. But what could you do when the light that was your soul reached out to the other, more radiant Light that would fight away the Darkness? His friends and allies had succeeded. His body received the Light, the emptiness being replaced by the incandescent might and he turned back to the Green Man.

To his surprise, this other combatant had decided that this would be it. They stood up straight and sheathed their blade, while Theodore noted the shifting of Wick below him and stepped off of her, giving her the space to rise up onto her feet. He still held his blade when the adversary spoke of this world and began to make his leave. The templar's grip only tightened as he swallowed his words that he much rather would have spat after them, but would not make a move to attack the mountain of strength the man had proven to be, nor physically or verbally. A land without good, nor evil? The absence of one another was the existence for the remaining one. There was no such thing as an absence of good and evil. To claim so was naught but madness. If so were the things of this realm, it was an incarnation of it. The Light fought to abolish Darkness, no more, no less. And that was what they had done today.

He sheathed his sword and walked over to pick up the other one, pressing it into its sheath too and then turned to Wick. She did not look like she would need any help, but the templar would hold out his hand for her nonetheless if she hadn't yet climbed to her feet. "The Light claims another victory, despite the best efforts of Darkness and its lackeys. As it should be", he stated with confidence, even with spite drenching the word 'lackey' in its uncivil resentment. With his other hand, he reached for his mask and began lifting it back onto his face. The time of combat was over.


@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Gordian Nought

---

For a moment after the battle's end, Katia stood before the altar, staring into the flame and trying to wrap her head around what she had just witnessed. Despite not turning to check on the others, she could hear the sounds of those behind her proclaiming wordlessly that they were alive and well just as she, although Katia doubted any had seen the visions she had seen. The sacred flame flickered before her, enkindling in her soul the same flames that had nearly been snuffed in despair.

Reaching into her mind, she could feel a strange yet comforting new power granted by the heavenly being she had witnessed. The power to give life and draw it away, to conjure fire and light, to mix both together in a holy evocation of destruction. Indeed, as she stood by the light of the fire she had borne, Katia touched the tip of her staff and the radiance shone from her weapon like a sacred torch. This was magic, no doubt about it, but unlike the books that Wick had studied or the prayers she had devoted to her deity, this magic was part of her very essence, crafted and drawn from her very essence. This was even beyond the minor miracles of her monk training: a power granted by the heavens themselves to be used to further good.

As the realization dawned on Katia, she turned and sprinted back to the others, darting around Cesar, Birbin, and the others as if they weren't even there, and stopping only once she had reached Wick. "Magic, milya! I can use magic!" she called out excitedly, holding her staff out as proof. "I saw a Light, and then I heard someone tell me to keep going, and then..." A shower of sparks exploded from Katia's fingertips, causing her to giggle in delight.

Out of the corner of her eye, Katia saw the Green Man attempt to slink off into obscurity. "Hold on, you! Was this all some sort of test? What's really going on here? We don't want to destroy or hurt anything good, so if you can help us know more, we can take better care." Katia felt a bit sheepish about smashing the paladin in the face with her staff, but then, if he had no plans to help them, perhaps it was warranted after all.


Mentioned: @Gordian Nought, @The Harbinger of Ferocity

---

@The Harbinger of Ferocity@JBRam2002

Cesar’s eyes fluttered open, finally back to his senses and finding himself standing once more. He wasn’t too certain what happened after his fall, save for the obvious; the Light had managed to triumph over the dark, after all. Cesar couldn’t help but laugh to himself at their victory, despite all odds. We did it.. the Bard thought as he walked down the hall, nodding to each of his allies as they came to. ... We’re heroes.

While Cesar walked down the Crypt, he had heard and seen Katia spring forward, hyper as always. As he did, before, when he still had his ship, Cesar closed his eyes and had his arms wide-opened, waiting for that familiar embrace he hadn’t felt in so long. Instead, however, his body felt an all-too-familiar cold breeze as she dashed past him, stopping and laughing with delight along with their resident scholar, Wick. Cesar could only make a solemn smile at their joy as he began thinking to himself, having only realized their communion now.

Is this... loss? No, I’ve felt loss before, and... you can’t lose what was never there to begin with, huh?

The Sailor shook his head at the thought, after a long pause. He won’t throw away any of the precious memories he’s had. Not with Katia, and not with the rest of his companions, his friends. They have made good memories, before, and they will continue to make more as they seek to save these Lost Lands. Nothing can break the bonds he has made with his allies, no matter what happens.

Cesar marched forward, content with his self-reflection, kneeling down to pick up Jarlbane from the ground before a glint of metal had sparkled on his eyes for a moment. Looking forward, Cesar noticed the gauntlet he had thrown to the ground at the start of their fateful battle. Realizing the warriors of the crypt returning briefly, Cesar quickly sprung forward, almost stumbling as he made a grab for the gauntlet. After successfully clutching it in his hands, Cesar stood straight up as his eyes wandered the Crypt, looking for the warrior, the Guardian, who had once owned this gauntlet. He wanted to ask for the Guardian’s permission to carry the gauntlet on his travels before he had left the crypt. It was only the the good and honest thing to do, after all...

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

"If you truly wish to know what happened here, in a greater battle than just your eyes can bear witness to," The man plainly spoke, having come to a rest after a few steps, "One where you will need dispel your illusions of what is 'good' and what is 'evil'. Neither has any place here; to claim victory for one is to not only shut out another, but the third too."

The intent traveler, stayed by the monk's address, turned carefully to spy upon her. It was clear as he did this that his motions were more lively than before, that his apparent battle with Ruron, the Kingdom of Darkness and then the Heroes of the Light had taxed him, but no more now. However, rather than inflict any sort of force using this restored energy, that born of the dim flames that silently waved in each of the two stone halls, he was content to speak.

"Ysgard is the eternal battleground, where life and death, good and evil are naught. It is only a place of heightened conflict, where the first answer to any problem is to arms. It is why warriors and heroes of all walks come here."

The Green Man's fingers interlaced one another as he methodically adjusted a gauntlet, seating the leather and steel back to the hand, his voice returning in the calm wake, "I take it you arrived here because a call to arms was sounded. Balanced, above all things, must be maintained. Should it fail, the Great Wheel will come undone and all things with it."

His piercing stare softened for a moment, realizing well his mysticism and recitation was not bound to get him anywhere with zealots. Unclasping his hands thereafter, letting them fall to just beside the plates that covered his figure, he rephrased himself and spoke far more plainly.

"You, like the others, are instruments of compensation; where there is too much darkness, there must be some light and in return too. Whoever or whatever governed that wisely brought you here, to a realm under siege by the dark, one of many at that. Foolishly you almost ensured the darkness' victory, because you refuse to accept the light casting shadows, just as the boy is lost to believe that by creating a great darkness, that the light is brighter than ever. However, with some provocation - and your near destruction - you were pressured into doing what was needed."

The man of mystery and oddity made his point more clear, perhaps a little too much so, as by any conventional sense what it was he was stating - a need for a balance of good and evil - was near heresy. Yet he did not flinch, not even so much as smirk or smile about it. It was said as plainly as if one had asked him what the weather were.

Yet for all this talk, the bard in the meanwhile could not discern any of the armored ghosts. The remnants of their equipment and gear in the tangible sense remained scattered wildly upon the ground, but the phantoms themselves, manifest as corporeal beings were nowhere to be found. This was in spite of the dwindling crowd, where each seemed to give their approval and vanished. Perhaps they had no need for he weapons and armor anymore, now free of the need to fight? Or perhaps their bones and remains needed be returned to an actual rest? Who could say, short of perhaps Valmjr?

Speaking of such a man, who used his trusted weapon to rise to one knee and soon stand, he glanced around from side to side and breathed a heavy sight of relief, uttering something about avoiding his calling again in the process - something that was unclear. He was not the only one, for Haemar carefully sprung to his feet from his back, resting standing and holding his head in his hands. The elf's reaction was not an unfair one, he had been beaten senseless and utterly pummeled, only to be returned to life by the magic of the two flames.

"But..." A familiar gnomish voice trailed in as the purple wizard intervened in word and step, "Why fight Birbin's friends, Green Man?"

The man responded, completely untroubled to the question posed, "If the Light succeeded, it would be overwhelmed by the Dark. You yourself bore witness to one of the deepest darknesses to ever touch the land."


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002

The shadow erected against the fierce pallor, frigid and frosty but softly crunching in its flaky wake, while the other outstretched hand, not bearing the familiar scythe with a skeletal vise, offered a gentle deed of familiarity. The helical squalls twirled and coiled round about the old scholar, who gazed curiously upon the kind gesture of her contractual patron, a suggestion to elevate her in status and to join ranks amongst the dead. The Archfey’s presence and books were undeniable, though the sickly countenance bore a crown of ambiguity, like a nigh decipherable sign fettered in the amalgamated symbols of Infernal and Elvish, couth but incomprehensible. Then, words soon jaunted into the glacial air, torrid with the celestial weight of buoyancy and resilience of her Beloved, breaking the enchanting trance that graced the semblance of her prior existence.

“I can use magic.”

Eyes blinked. The Aasimar gleaned that her feet were already beneath her shrugging knees, somehow standing amidst the incorporeal silhouettes of saints, which quickly disappeared as if beckoned by the bell which tolled for the resurgence of Ysgard. Her hands scraped past two new abraded tomes, shackled in secrecy and in dusk. They were paged gifts of her sickled master, prompting forgetful remembrance of the prodigy which plagued the battle before the neutral Guardian. Ruron, the pupil of Shujaat, vanished as promptly as his appearance, but the undermining rationale heralded a confusion as vexing as the peculiar volumes that tethered each thigh, separating its girded utility by their polar locales.

Katia showered the cleric’s concentration with a glittering phantasmagoria, interrupting her internal fathoms and phantoms that inundated her thoughts. It seemed that not only the reborn sage was bestowed with mystical endowments, but the Tabaxi and the others publicized an enriched armament in tier and character.

However, not for the Light. Or for Darkness. But to strike balance.

Her murky arms, tightened by the waspy tendrils of false life, hugged the monk, releasing only to glance across the breadth of her shoulder at the monster slayer and longing sailor.

“The weight of our convictions must now equilibrate with the gravity of weathered harmony, whether we be impious prey or righteous predator.”

@Cu Chulainn, @The Harbinger of Ferocity, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002

---

Bringing balance between the Light and Darkness... was that truly why they ended up in this world tainted by shadow? As a monk, Katia had been trained in the importance of balance: to center oneself was the ultimate goal. Only then could one achieve enlightenment. Balance was something Katia had always struggled with, however. There was always something pulling her forward to the next place, the next goal. It had only been recemtly, when Katia had stayed with Wick in her place, that Katia's insatiable wanderlust had temporarily been quelled.

The balance that this Green Man spoke of was a type that Katia had never truly considered before. Darkness, of course, was dispersed by light, but the deepest darknesses were made more stark by the presence of light; a bonfire at night would dim the stars, and made one night-blind to the threats beyond its reach. Likewise, darkness made the light more poignant; a candle shines brighter at night than in the light of the sun.

Add to this, Katia's task was not to create more light in the darkness, but to split the flame between the pillars. Perhaps with the right incantations, a second flame may have been possible, but the question then would be why? Where would the shadows have retreated to when faced by the brilliance of day from all sides?

And so, despite the words being said might be thought of as a form of treachery to some of the more devout among them, the words made sense to Katia. "Why could we not have talked this over without a fight and save us all the time and hassle?" Katia asked, still unsure whether this paladin were on their side or just a neutral arbiter of their fates. She at least would have listened. Perhaps in this world of constant conflict, diplomacy was a lost art.

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

"Were it only so simple, outsider." The watchful eyes moved from one to another, almost as if anticipating an attack from his prior enemies, "This is a world of action, not words. Do you think it would have responded the same? Can you not feel the air and breath of excitement and clamoring for battle from the moment you came? To come from a world where talk matters tell me your ears might still be largely dead to this truth, but it matters not."

The figure sworn to the world continued with a few steps yet came to an abrupt halt, looking back again to the inquisitive monk, adding perhaps what was an unexpected bonus for her efforts.

"When you return to the world outside you will see what I mean. The people here drink, eat, love, revel and war without need or purpose. Talk with them will get you none too far. Become alike them and live their ways as you are here and you might understand why this place must not surrender to the Wars of Day and Night."


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002

Theodore helped Wick up as she reached for his hand, before turning his attention to the bolt of feline enthusiasm appearing by their side with haste he had only seen from her kind. She knew magic now. The templar nodded at the proof of it, but couldn't help but feel a sting within himself as Katia explained having seen the light, having been told to keep going. Cesar had carried the Light. Katia had carried the Light. Wick had got him back on his feet. And what had he done? Absolutely nothing useful, that's what. He, who strove to be the champion to the Light, had been left to play the role of the fool! The only light that graced him was the cruel imitation of the magnificent force that shone within his body. But perhaps it was yet too early to find oneself wanting. He still had time, didn't he? There would be coming chances...

Even with all this rationale, he could not shake the uneasy feeling. Luckily it would be smothered by the anger that bubbled at the Green Man's words. They claimed that a war was to be fought without a meaning in this realm. That if the warriors of Light won, it would ultimately make no difference or maybe even make things worse. His words went against all that the templar taught and Theodore balled his hands into fists. Katia had spoken to the man first, but now it was time for the hatred to boil over and erupt from the mouth of the Monster Slayer. Theodore took two steps forward and pointed a finger at the Green Man, showing beyond doubt the animosity he felt between them.

"We will never become pawns to a mindless conflict. Nor will we fight to preserve any shoddy notion of 'balance' between the Light and the Darkness", he began before briefly switching into the language of Celestials, "The Light provides, preserves and perseveres!" He took a few deep breaths, his pointing finger trembling slightly as he prepared to continue his tirade. And when he opened his mouth again, it was again in the common language of the lands: "We have come to strike back the shadow that consumed our home, we have come to return the radiance of Light where unnatural dusk has settled. We have come to save what we can from the cruel fate that befell our home! And yet, yet, you would see our quest as folly?" He retracted the pointing finger and slammed the resulting fist onto his heart. "I swear that as long as I live and breathe, I will not cease driving back the Darkness. Whether that is what this world wants me to do it or not."

@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Gordian Nought@JBRam2002@Cu Chulainn

---

It seemed that they were doomed to keep fighting. Katia frowned at the proclamation that words meant little in this realm, that all they knew was claw and steel. This sort of blind hatred for reason was one of the aspects of humanity that drove her ever forward to find a place of calm. This world would never be that place as long as they held combat over discussion in all things. In her mind, this was the height of stupidity, possibly what caused the influx of shadows in the first place.

She was about to retort when Theodore took her spot, claiming never to be a pawn to mindless conflict, yet showing his own zealous hypocrisy when pledging himself to the same. The tabaxi lay a calming hand on the ranger's shoulder. "I believe that is what this world wishes us to do: be Champions of Light to balance the overwhelming forces of Darkness. In showing our zeal for the Light, we will drive back the Shadows to where they should have been all along. Do our paths not align? His end goal may be different than ours, but the way of achieving it is all the same."

Blinded by one's own religion, purified by Light to the point where all else seemed impure. This was why Katia never cared to partake in the worship of any one deity. Even now with the words of her patron weighing on her, she wondered that she was the one chosen. Never had she shown dedication or passion for any one thing for long, asides perhaps her sporadic monastic training. But now that she was forced on this path regardless if her own will, would that be forced to change? Katia lightly patted the Ranger's shoulder before removing her hand and hoping Theodore would not test the paladin's description of the combative nature of this place.

@Hekazu

The monster slayer’s words, like angelic librettos reincarnating in reverberaton, cornered the paladin with their Celestial troparion.

“The Light provides, preserves and perseveres!"

Those gathered here were forerunners of another coming, a glorious Elisha which received grace from a chariot of fire, galloping into the heavens. If not to dispel the leprous darkness, the chorus of healing from which the luminosities poured forth upon them, like a Pentecost, would all be manifested in vain. They were chosen by tongues of flame to proclaim the beckoned kontakion of radiance, to which each praised and witnessed.

Her Beloved inferred this same absolved purpose, unwavering and unadultered.

“To balance the overwhelming forces of Darkness."

As wardens of illumination in this realm, all were summoned to imprison the dusk that engulfed the dawn of this world. Yet, what part did the prodigy play in this unstable theater of equilibrium? Perhaps, the Green Man could be persuaded to participate as their convoy to flush the fleshy student out. Quickly, the diviner publicly sought words of guidance, to entice the verdant knight, the apparent tragic lead of this absurd comedy of symmetry.

“If the knots of order are loosened, a mountain of chaos will tumble. Life’s ship is best manned with a crew, worthy of sailing against the winds of entropy but ready to halt to cast progress’ anchor. We need you and your namesake’s influence, as this domain does ours. To find a pupil of our lost teacher.”

She paused, as she realized her request was likely falling on deaf ears. Her hands then separated Shujaat’s gem from her staff.

“Ruron. Accompany us on our quest. For he is the missing puzzle, to the piece we already possess.”

@JBRam2002@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Cu Chulainn

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

The knightly figure draped in leonine guise paid the templar not even an ounce of attention during his rant, a motion that was perhaps as indignant as it came, to allow someone so passionate to fall on deaf ears. It was no question if he had heard him, but the display made no effect, rather it roused the opposite one.

"What your beloved 'Light' wishes of you I cannot say, but balance must be restored to the places that have lost it. Be it the High Heavens or the Deepest Abyss. Without it, the Great Wheel can turn no more." The Green Man spoke, bearing a watchful eye upon Wick as she too came to invest herself in the understandings of what would need be done.

Here and to this he paid mind, for his attention ever so subtly shifted, but to no obvious willingness to comply. Instead, the preserver maintained his place as a neutral arbiter, someone not invested in their matters, but he did offer them something in return, perhaps only out of his own role and need to do so. It were as practical as it were essential; words would have done nothing to preserve the flames - one could not talk to them, after all, let alone the darkness, but now? Their sparing use, still woefully weak in the realm of battle and conflict, might be of much needed insight.

"Your friend has made as much an error as you have." The lion-man in green answered to the reasonable pleas of the mindful mage, his words addressing them all rather than one among them, "However, he has either knowingly or unknowingly shown you the very tool you need to put this much needed balance in place."

A silver gauntlet motioned to the gem that Shujaat, Seeker of Knowledge had imparted upon the woman for her upcoming journey just prior to his utter disappearance.

"But you need find a pool to the next realm, of where that will lead you only you will know when you are there. Your stone allows you to return to a place such as this, assuming of course it is bound to it. To attune it, you must find a font of power." His words trailed off, implying the obvious, but the moment a pause in conversation arose, the royally armored man began his departure.

"Perhaps another time, when you and your fellows better understand, might we meet again."


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002

---

@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Gordian Nought@JBRam2002@Hekazu

While everyone else spoke with the Green Man, Cesar just couldn’t help but see the whole crypt in disarray. Surely, if they had to leave this realm and head to the next, they had to clean up their mess first before they do just that. He always made sure his crewmates cleaned their mess after a good romp on deck, and this wasn’t any different. It’s only the honest thing to do, after all.

”Hey, Valmjr, my friend... I can call you a friend, yes? Do you know how this crypt was set? Mind if you help me clean up this mess?” Cesar asked Valmjr, hoping that he would know, seeing as if this... Ysgard was his own land. Nevertheless, Cesar began to pick up discarded swords, pieces of armor, and intact arrows, organizing them into neat, individual piles while he figures out where they actually belong without disturbing the dead.

”Hm... if I put this here, and... wait. Amigos, amigas! Come, come, help me fix this mess, if you aren’t doing anything else. Time may be of the essence, of course, but we cannot just leave a mess like this in a place for the honored dead!” Cesar hollered, removing the gauntler he had earlier hoped to keep and placing it in the pile with the rest of the armor.