Ereshkigal's bond channel!

...the one who so kindly stroked at his face.

"...uh!!" It's not as abrupt as the first time, but he does part from the cushion of her thigh, once the pleasant daze of her touch to his head has faded and given him the necessary clarity (sans the burn to his cheeks that had reached its zenith in those final moments) "Yes, I'm feeling a lot better now, I think! But I still have no idea how to properly thank you. Answering your questions is fine... but. Anyway."

Though he visibly falters at compiling the answers. Her perspective and posturing of relevant parties confuses him in the worst of ways. Returning to his feet at least doesn't have him stumbling. And he takes for himself a proper posture for the first time since being in her presence.

"I believe in heaven, yes. Somewhere we go after we pass on, so the teachings say. But you're talking as if it's workings are something normal mortals like us would have seen firsthand. That's... as far as I'm aware, not the case. Nobody with their heads on straight at least." An old part of his gut wants to loose the word 'heresy' at some of what Ereshkigal is suggesting. The same part that remains wary of Sarkaz.

An old part to grow past. But this is another machination entirely, isn't it? No longer does he have the excuse of a pounding head to misunderstand what she was saying with utmost confidences.

"I wouldn't have imagined the afterlife to be something handled such a way. Dealing with souls. Minions. Uh, sheep? For as much as you claim to deal with you don't present yourself quite as I would have... expected." Ezell wrinkles his brow in pensive consideration, reflecting on some of the officials back at Laterano. Well, perhaps her attitudes wouldn't be so out of the norm there.

Although it doesn’t feel as if she recovered much of it, and it swiftly evaporates once more. Nevermind context, Ereshkigal’s focus turns sharp as a burning lens, directed solely towards the sore spot Ezell hit without his knowing.

“Huh?—What do you mean by that? How else would I present myself? Am I not impressive enough as I am now?!”

Reddened cheeks puff, rendering her efforts to assume a more regal pose utterly futile. If angels in this world are just another type of mortal, then it figures they’d fall prey to the same kinds of stupidity as the rest of them, overbearing imaginations turning the gods into impressive yet often terrifying beings. Ereshkigal’s Pseudo-Servant form can’t possibly keep up with such expectations.

“What should I do? Should I turn into my ghost form? But that would only scare him…” After a moment of contemplation, she dismisses the idea with a huff.

“Well, whatever. It’s not like I need worshippers in this world, anyway.” It would be nice to have them, though. “I may be out of place, but if I hadn’t come here for landscape paintings, you’d be dead right now, so be grateful!” A pause. “Landscape photography.” A sorry excuse either way.

“Anyway, I may not know how things work in this world, but in mine — well, to me, the underworld isn’t some far-off realm shrouded in mystery. It is a place of duty. It is my responsibility to shepherd the souls, to tend to them as well as I’m able. To ease the suffering they have endured before their passing…” She gazes across the scalded land surrounding them, the strange rock formations in the distance, sharp and unnatural.

He noticeably holds his breath, tensing in her lap when it happens with a hand braced on the ground. For all the good that would surely do. Particularly in the wake of the effect, soothing him further down from the pain of the venom- in turn alleviating the anxieties he felt. Some of them. He remains rather aware of his current location.

"Thank you. I doubt I can say that enough. And right now just about anything will help our situation. I'm not exactly capable at the moment, after all. Hm. I owe you at least an attempt to... answer your... questions."

Voice lilts upward almost as if that were to be posed as a question in itself. Were he in different circumstances he'd pull out a pen and paper, anticipating a strange net of information about to be revealed. Points to remember and mull over later.

"What do you mean, er, as is? Like a robot? That's... no. We're Sankta. I had a mother and father just like anyone else. As did Cecelia. Though her mother passed away recently, and mine- well. They're fine." Normal executors actually, unlike... himself. How quickly that table had turned. "And Phidia ... I... er... Miss Ereshkigal? Are you... not from around here? I can almost understand not knowing some of these things. But even Cecelia, who's spent almost her entire life staying at home was able to..."

Hold on, lets not compare a self-proclaimed goddess to an 8 year old. Logic dictates they might not exactly appreciate that. All of this is counter productive to him resting while we're at it. Eyes are lidded, a sigh escapes him.

"Phidia are a race typically denoted by having a scaled and serpentine tail. Though some have other features. Arts are a term for abilities and powers granted by originium crystals. My firearm uses them, for example. But, seeing as I've yet to see you using any kind of focus... and assuming you're not infected..." His prior suspicion is lit once again. How was she doing this? Was she... actually some kind of goddess?

And here he was laying on her thighs??? At his own accidental request???

“L-let’s get one thing straight,” she starts the moment Ezell’s voice fades into some kind of introspection that can only mean further contemplating Ereshkigal’s ignorance. It can’t stand! “It’s not my fault I don’t know these things. This is my first time visiting this world! And—uh—I’m a busy goddess, after all! I had too much on my plate tending to souls to read through that dossier my minion wrote. A-and it was badly written, anyway! It’s all that sheep’s fault, see?!”

There! Even as a sheep, Dumuzid can still make for a convincing enough scapegoat! And with Ereshkigal’s reputation now hopefully restored to its former glory, she clears her throat.

“Anyway, if angels—Sankta—are among the mortals in this world and procreate like other kinds…then who tends to the souls of the dead? Don’t you have a heaven? An underworld? Surely, someone has to watch over them?” She sighs with only a hint of annoyance.

“And here I thought I was helping a colleague of sorts by keeping their underling alive…Ah.—How are you feeling, anyway?” Not waiting for his response, she brushes his hair aside, and gently places a hand on his forehead. “Hm, doesn’t seem like you’re burning up…”

And yet, before anything could be done to course correct- Ereshkigal has already laid out her cape and taken proper position. Thighs are presented. It's too late. Were he to say something now it'd be akin to dismissing the effort she had already taken. Crud.

"No! Of course not, I won't tell anyone. Not sure they'd believe me anyway. But I won't! The last thing I want to do is take your aid for granted, Miss Ereshkigal!" Then again, this is becoming a recurring thing, isn't it? Whether it was fighting back to back with Executor Federico (yes! the Saint!) or standing up to the Astray...

Fortunately he was not asked to forget this had happened. So after a moment of adjustment, minding his halo, Ezell lays his head perhaps too comfortably on her thighs. Where now does he look? Up? ..er- Away? No, he's supposed to be resting. So that's what he'll do. Try to do. But much rested on his mind, not least of all Ereshkigal.

"Diseases. Blessings. Now, spirits...? I've never heard of someone having so many kinds of arts before. Amazing. And you're doing all this to help me..." It was another fairy tale made real, something above him now before him (under him? technically?). For now he isn't exactly capable of debating it. Worst case scenario nothing happens, now.

"I'm fairly sure I was taken from... that direction." A hand is gestured, eyes turning back to briefly meet Ereshkigal's before thinking better of it for his own manners. "I was with a girl, a Sankta like me. She's young, short with pale brown hair. There was also a blonde Phidia. She carries a staff and had some... strange ornaments in her hair. There should be some Sarkaz as well." Ezell pauses. "I need to know Cecelia is okay. And for her to know I'm okay too."

“Um…I’ll see what I can do. The Gallû are spirits, you know.” How does Ezell expect them to deliver a message to that Cecelia girl? Is that something the angels of this world can command spirits to do, in a way that won’t leave the recipients of such ghost-mail terrified to death? Sure, Ereshkigal may task the Gallû Spirits with various things, but their main mission remains something more grim, after all.

Still, she lifts a hand and summons one of her cages, shaking it slightly as if to lure some adorable pets out of hiding. What answers, however, are only the Gallû Spirits, for now assuming the shape of blue-ish orbs of light that drift around Ereshkigal, and the temperature drops. She sends them on their way with a mere hand wave. Well, that’s that. Now for the blessing.

The cage dissolves into dark blue smoke as she dismisses it, soon replaced with otherworldly crimson clouds as Ereshkigal lifts her hand again. The dark red fog pools around here, briefly covering Ezell as well before it dissipates. Now that he has seen it directly, will the magic of the underworld frighten him?

Frankly, he should fear it. But at least for now, the blessing will strengthen his body.

         As he pulled up to the hideout and turned off his motorcycle's engine, he was at once met with the sheer silence of the place, which was odd, looking beck at it now because there should've been baddies coming out to greet him with all the noise he had made pulling up to their entrance.

         Travis opened the door and at once his brain failed to compute the scene in front of him. This was something right out of an anime. Were those sheep everywhere ? Sheep covering the goons ? Where did they all even come from ? Before Travis could complete that thought, said sheep, were literally being shot at him.   ❛ What the fu- ❜ The extreme force knocked him off his ass and he hit he floor, hard. ❛ OOF. ❜ The air was knocked out of his lungs and just as he was about to regain his breath, the weight of even more plush creatures landed on top of his chest, and then had him completely covered.

         Was this how he was going to die ? What a pathetic end. He would rather have died to a low level enemy, than be buried alive like this. This was seriously not cool. What even was this though ? A booby trap ? Well, it certainly was effective, he'd give it that, but wait a minute.... weren't booby traps only supposed to be for intruders ? Then why did he hear various moans and groans coming from the entire floor ? Something wasn't right here.

“Huh. Did you say you’re here to kill these criminals?”

“Gang war,” the low-pitched voice of the big golden sheep helpfully supplied.

“Hmm!—Sounds like useless human quarrelling. What should I do? If I let everyone run free and fight each other, I could get a lot of new souls… But I don’t want my channel to get banned.”

It was a serious dilemma. Fortunately, with the chat by her side, there was no shortage of suggestions coming in, from giving everyone embarrassing haircuts to enforced dance-offs to a battle royale, whose lucky winner would even get to fight Ereshkigal herself. The goddess dropped to her haunches and held out her phone so sunglasses-man on the ground could see the chat messages for himself.

“How about this? You must be an extra foolish human to come here all alone, when there are so many gang members around. So, I’m sure you must have a suggestion, too. If it’s a good one, I’ll add it to the poll and everyone’ll get to vote on what to do. That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

Ezell mouths the words when Ereshkigal speaks them, but they don't reconcile with the logic and realities of a war-torn and unrested country like Kazdel. Photography here? Ezell furrows his brow, now isn't the time to fuss that. Whatever intentions she had, they at least weren't hunting down Sankta. But that wasn't the case for everyone. Cecelia...

"But she's a little girl, can I really just..." The weight of the matter is balanced against the weight of Ereshkigal's words. Enough sense is placed in them to tip the scales, and Ezell, away from another brazen charge back into that wasteland valley. It would be acting without thinking. Thinking logically about this was difficult pitted against the blend of panic and poison. "What do I do..."

First, the injured Sankta takes a breath. With some effort he slowly settles back against the stone to the ground. Shit. He's feeling the fatigue creep like water through the cracks in stone. Nothing felt broken, in his case, at least. Bruised? Oh...

Clearly in his state, he would expire- whether by thirst, hunger, or the poison were it not properly ridden- it didn't matter. And what good is he to Cecelia's safety if he's dead? Surely a price of minutes or an hour is worth surety that he could still find his way back, and meet back at their rendezvous in the market where they'd split ways with Mudrock. Faith in Aria? He had only just met her. But he trusted those from Rhodes Island.

Now he had to put faith in Ereshkigal too. This is all leaving out the question of... her claiming to be a goddess? Authority over disease? What manner of arts allowed such a feat? And was she really a photographer?

"Were it not for you, I expect I may be dead or very close to it already, Ereshkigal. I'm.. sorry for reacting as I did when I woke up. This country doesn't take well to my kind... so I've been on edge these past weeks. Maybe resting is what I need for more reasons than one. Would you... be willing to help with that again? As you did before." A flash of memory of the lap he had been using on waking streaks his cheeks with a faint blush. "I'll take the offer if so, it's my best option. I'm no god, but oh a whim... I'll trust you too."

“Wha—?” she asks once, still happily smiling until the true weight of Ezell’s words fully sets in. “WHAT?” Though all dignity as a goddess seems to vanish momentarily, Ereshkigal’s voice achieves a truly impressive change in pitch. She must’ve misheard that, right? RIGHT?

“A-are you seriously asking a goddess for…that? I-I only meant to give you a blessing—You—you weren’t even conscious before, it was different!!!”

It was! But. But if that’s what he thought her offer meant, then going back on her word now would be a huge deal-breaker too, wouldn’t it? Ereshkigal sways back and forth on her feet, a hand pressed to her forehead as if the gesture would bring order to her thoughts. It doesn’t. After a moment though, she stills, turning left to observe the empty landscape, turning right to find more of the same. Deep breath! She can do this! Her honour as a goddess is on the line after all. The same is true for Ereshkigal’s dignity, however.

“Fine!” she finally declares and drops to her haunches. Ereshkigal then removes her red cloak, spreading it over the dusty soil like some overpriced picnic blanket, taking a seat in the most graceful manner she can muster under the current circumstances, and vaguely motioning for Ezell to approach.

Visually, it's difficult for Ezell to make a lot of sense from what was transpiring. Clearer now it may be, he wonders how much of the situation can still be attributed to the lingering addling by the poison of the arrow. So many things to mediate here in his head alone-

He'd survived the encounter with the truck. Ended up far from where he'd started. Still had his gun. But. Cecelia wasn't here. And-- no, spinning his head to look back into the distance from which he must have come was not an ideal maneuver. The nausea and disorientation necessitates that he brace himself on his long gun after a near stumble, using it as a makeshift cane to keep himself on his feet.

"Wuh.."

Maybe he should have rested longer... Wait! That was far from the reasonable notion to have right now. Ezell's eyes were wandering enough reflecting on where he just was. Besides. This Ereshkigal looks displeased after helping him. But also. Expectant... for payment, perhaps? There was all the matter that she called herself an underworld goddess? Was she deluded? Was he?

The angel sways, almost stumbling, and Ereshkigal instinctively takes a step forward, already reaching out to steady him—but she catches herself, just as he regains his footing. This is…awkward. He’s clearly still unwell. But would he want her help? Probably not, given how he leaped away from her as if compelled. Any more of such drastic actions would clearly be too much for him right now, so Ereshkigal slowly steps back again, giving him space and a chance to talk.

“Ezell then…alright.” Unfortunately, things are far from that, and trying to explain herself surely won’t make him less wary of her. He’s been through a battle, got hurt and separated from his friends—how can Ereshkigal possibly tell him she’s here to make a ServantTube video?! She can’t. Absolutely not!

“L-let’s just say I was in the area for some….landscape photography.” Really? In this wasteland? Maybe Ezell won’t notice how holey that claim is if she just keeps talking. “And I’ve helped you because….of a goddess’s whim. T-that’s right! Gods have whims all the time! It’s not unusual at all!” That’s actually…probably not very reassuring either. Gods often have whims to kill a bunch of mortals too, after all.

“A-anyway! Listen to me, Ezell. You’re clearly not well! You can barely even stand, so you’d probably drop into some ditch long before you’d find your friends. What you should do is rest some more and wait for whatever hit you before to wear off. I only have authority over diseases, so I can’t exactly cure you…But I could give you another blessing to make it easier for you to recover. If…you want it, that is.”

Were he to face Andoain again, as unlikely as that event would be, Ezell would like to have more to say. To be able to formulate a clear response to their questions without fear or concern of being swayed by their own ideals.. Maybe even impress that heretic instead of simple placation.

I'd like to .... have a clear answer for what it is I want.

He fell off the truck. Yes. That's.... good, perhaps. He thinks in that fleeting moment after his senses and muscles failed him as numbness claimed his faculties. Maybe he should have jumped even sooner. Where was Cecelia? Where was--

Thoughts ceased to congregate after he impacted the ground in quite the dramatic tumble. Perhaps the poison was welcome, that he didn't feel the sharp spikes of impact from the rocks and terra firma before finally coming to rest behind rubble. The cover spares him any parting gift from the escaping Sarkaz convoy truck.

The next senses once consciousness and clarity begin to return are ... softer. Cooler. A strange respite touching his spirit in spite of the harsh sun that scrutinized the land of Kazdel. Just another pocket of experience to add to the foreigner, so far away from the temperate climates of Laterano.

This was nice... this sensation... a benevolent gift from his dream to break the feverish fervor, perhaps? To be so fortunate.

"Ghhhh!" An unseemly rasp as air curls into his lungs. Eyes snapping open and blinking blearily in attempts to take in whatever had happened to him "Nngh, did I... no, well it seems I'm not dreaming or dead at least. Otherwise I'd..." Vision recovers as he rolls his head- the visage of a strange woman looking down on him comes into picture. Was it Aria? No. Then. Who the heck is this?! And where did that put him? "Ah!"

Pardon the hasty extrication, but as soon as Ezell realized he was laying in a stranger's lap he had to digest multiple emotions and rationalities. It's nevertheless awkward, and the hasty physical exertion brings reminders of all his injuries and the lingering itching sting of whatever poison had shrouded him.

"Gh-- You- Are you a Sarkaz witch?" The first thing to take in with this woman, after all, aside from the fact he'd woken up laying on her thighs was that she was strangely garbed. A macabre decoration accessorizes her form and yet- the first thing he notices missing brings assumptions into doubt. "Yet you have... no horns... ugh, my head is pounding. Did you... did you save me? Why?"

“Greetings,” Ereshkigal says in what she hopes is a fairly neutral, elegant tone to put the angel at ease. Though… it sounds kind of awkward, doesn’t it? She clears her throat and straightens her posture. “My name is Ereshkigal, and I am neither a witch, nor a Sarkaz—whatever that is.”

Well, certainly. Even the ancient Greek witches already called upon her name in some rituals, not to mention what later generations of foolish humans got up to. But that’s hardly Ereshkigal’s fault! These imposters didn’t even properly call upon her! They were just looking for an occult sounding name to empower their Magecraft. He can’t blame that on the poor goddess whose name got abused for such purposes! Let alone—

Yeah, nevermind. Whatever graceful bearing she’s projected, it melts like a scoop of ice cream dropped onto a sandy beach.

“More importantly, what do you mean, horns?! Who exactly do you take me for—the devil? Just because I’m an underworld goddess, I have to look like that guy, is that it? Not to mention, here I went out of my way to keep you alive, and this is the thanks I get? Tch, I thought angels were supposed to be better than humans!”