#echosdeath

“Apparently there was a child disappeared couple years ago in here.”

teddy finally turned to look at @echosdeath and his brows lifted at the remark;  so she had heard something about the place.

“just one?”  the lough was unnamed for a reason — it was simply the lough, said in the same way one might point out the singular necessities of a house, but for a haunted city;  here is our football stadium, our university, our grandest mall — and here is our lough, where children disappear often enough that every citizen knew which fucking lough it is without having to think twice about it.  “see the little jars, around the trunk of the tree?  each one has a name inside.  it's the worst tradition we have here.”

' it is said that this very book holds the secret to immortality ' whispers in an old library that has seen many wars and holds the folklore of his people , ' morrigan , was said to have seen this book ; a great goddess of my people who only allows herself to be seen by heroes ' the wind howls against the windows , rain a constant in his land and while he does not mind such a deluge it will bring about the sort of floods that are dangerous.

here they sit whispers as he then goes to open said book , ' though i've never seen anything ... she has yet to reveal her secrets to me ' there is the sort of amusement that one would assign to a child; the wonder that still sits upon brow and gaze as the pages do indeed open and there is a blankness upon pages that HE himself has seen far too many times.

' i think it would only allow itself to be revealed to one worthy ' jamie not discouraged about such a fact. yes , he has proven himself to be a worth warrior , a solider who lives upon contracts with various clans within the realm.

' perhaps i have not yet reached such heights ' there is a smile shared before he rises and reaches for another book , ' though there is talk of another war in the south ... a stirring of sorts ' thumbing through a pages that shows his people's history , ' this sort of wildness lends itself to discourse , people wanting a land that they cannot understand ' looking at her as he then bites the inside of cheek ; copper mixes as the wind picks up. ' people always want more don't they ? '

“ no. ”

yes. the bells were loud enough to wake the dead. a shriek of terror. at least to their sleep-addled mind, and florence doesn’t complain when they’re drawn from a nightmare. 

“ why’s it rare ? ” he is less than focused, more interested in making it to the other side of the wall. one hoof in front of the other and arms stretched for balance, eyes on the prize. “ it’s easy to see, isn’t it ? no one can hide what they are all the time. ”

and there it is. a branch heavy with fruit. bramble starts plucking, rough and eager to fill his stomach. using his shirt as a makeshift apron, bramble fills it with fruit and when he spins to meet shams, the added weight threatens to pull him down.

                        princess of themyscira stands, not a figure of grace, but as the chosen champion of her people. the champion of the amazons. with the task of stretching far beyond the shores of paradise island ... to cross the threshold and walk among an ever-changing work, seeking to understand it, to learn its ways and perhaps, one day, bridge what feels so impossibility divided. it is a charge fare more complex than she had imagined.

the figure standing gives her pause, a reflection, almost. something familiar, but without reason, they are merely just strangers. a dull ache persists in the princess' shoulder, a remnant of battle still fresh. she lifts a hand to press her fingers between muscle and bone, easing the tension as best she can. ❝ you have shown me a great kindness.   ❞ she says, voice laced with sincerity. ❝ but i will not take what is not mine to accept. some water would be more than enough.   ❞ a soft smile touches upon her lips.

"it is not so much that i do not believe you," the wizard tells her, gaze firmly set on the stew he is currently working on, a mage hand adding ingredients while his own hands are occupied with stirring. it is a ritual of sort-- the makings of a potion, though the weave has little to do with the comfort to be found in a good meal, away from home. he so loves to be of aid in this adventure, even if his part sometimes resumes itself to the food he cooks rather than the miracles of magic he performs. there is direction to be found in all acts, if one is so keen to look for it.

a clockwise motion. the drop of finly cut carrots. "yet it is not the whole truth, is it? a bastardized version of it, at best." there, he looks at her from above the fuming chauldron: the contours of her, wickedly bright when enhanced by the fire at their feet. a being of magic and tradition and godly poursuits. and behind that, a being of flesh & bones, most likely stirred in the wrong direction. his brown eyes are wide & understanding, as if taking into account the sight of her and all that remains unsaid, and finding it... adequate. worth to be considered and studied and, perhaps, understood.

WHAT IS 'NEATH DARK WATERS AWAITS ; RUINS WITHIN THE TEMPEST ECHOING THE TRUTH OF WHAT ONCE WAS. the time within the First has ever been a taunting thing to the mind of the champion of the star ... like a tidal wave, gathering intensity from the echoes that responded to aether so familiar, her own, &. dreams that reached her, faces but a blur, voices distant &. muffled ... until they were not. until clarity became brighter &. brighter ; until truth shone too bright even for the sun herself.

all that she saw had been something of the making of her own memory.

&. still, there is part of her that wishes the answer was different. part of her that wishes that the fates were not so ; for if it was ... then her duty weighs all the more upon her shoulders, if such feat could even be possible.

the night sky belongs here once more, merely few more feats to allow it to fully settle over what remains of the First. but underneath its' cover, does the champion make her move ; golden gleam, spotted not by lantern light, but it is not only the stars &. moon that are her witness ;

@echosdeath : you do plan to come back out, don’t you?

STEPS COME TO A HALT ; LUSH LIPS PARTED SLIGHTLY AJAR AS SHE TURNS TO FIND SHAMS FIGURE, EMBRACED JUST ENOUGH BY THE SHADOWS TO HAVE HIDDEN HER. especially, when one's mind is too distracted. ( so, even you, hero, can get sloppy. ) but sarastus watched as she stepped forward, ... shadows being of no use when her presence was announced with the purpose.

&. she knows ; sarastus hears the knowing melody in it, she hears the worry it is laced with. she has heard it from her, from the scions ... from those that start to notice that the corrupted light has started to take its claim.

❝ i do, ❞ such a simple thing, those two words. but they hold a vow within. ❝ i should return, come dawn. ❞ she begins with that, because to deny where she is headed, or ask how shams knew would be merely stalling performed badly. nor, is her bonds forged that way. always in truth. ❝ he is the only one who can give me the full truth of it. ❞ the others would react to this choice of hers in various ways ; y'sthola &. urianger would call it unwise, thancred in less polite &. clean terms, saying the ascian was not to be trusted, &. alisaie would perhaps carry his sentiment in that. alphinaud, would see both sides of the coin, but wondered if this was worth the gamble, given the state of her. all of them would beckon her to stay, to not go alone.