vermilion scourge

It’s been a good, oh, several centuries since Richard’s last festival. The Grail War may be considered a bloody contest by many, but it’s yet to make it onto his list, anyway. This one, though - with its lights and colour and activities - is perhaps the most exciting one he’s experienced yet! With the level of energy and excitement coursing through the island ( and Richard’s body ) it’s only a matter of time before he ends up in some sort of predicament. 

See, for example, the raft he’s standing aboard: foam-sword clutched firmly in hand. It’s certainly different from his past duels, but that only makes it all the more wonderful. “Terms? Hm.” He ponders this for but a moment. “Naturally the first to be pushed into the water is thus declared the loser of this bout. No tricks, no underhand tactics, no slippery business. We let our swords speak for us.” Even if they’re of the bubble-spewing variety. “Doubtful we’ll do irreversible damage to one another using these things, though!”

Richard’s laughter rocks the raft gently, and it takes a good portion of his will not to go further. “That should be all. Unless milady also has a term or two to lay down? I see no reason to deny any request you may add. It may makes things interesting.” Of course he says this during a foam duel in the middle of the ocean.

Perhaps it's the festival's already abundant atmosphere or even the absurdity of the scenario already working it's magic, but she can't help but find the man's clear enthusiasm infectious. Her tail swayed placidly to and fro in response to his gentle rocking of the raft, a natural counterbalance while she considered his terms. Simple enough by far, an honourable duel between two who enjoyed their craft... well, as honourable as squeaking foam could be.

The thought teased an easy laugh out of her, setting one hand on her hip, “If you manage to take my arm off with one of these, I will be duly impressed– if not a little dismayed.” Placing one finger at the tip of her blade, it easily bends in an arc before she allows it to spring back into place.

“But aye, those are amenable to me– just a good, clean bout,” Her head tilts slightly in consideration of the counter offer, perhaps the faintest twinkle visible in her eye as she returns easily, “And not so much a term but something to sweeten the victor's pot. There's plenty of interesting vendors back on land, and I'm sure most are best enjoyed out of another's pocket.” Trying to get free lunch out of a fight was perhaps not the most sportsman-like, but Faris had just enough grace not to offer any sort of bargain she wasn't willing to uphold. Mostly.

starter for @vermilinyan​!

Six would’ve said that the new iteration of Cotes Ward was beautiful. It was lush and verdant and alive in a way that he’d never seen before in his life—not even the forests north of New Vegas could match the effortless bounty of this place. But unfortunately for Six, his experiences so far have been solidly negative.

His time here was so bad for the simple fact that Cotes’ pixies seemed to take offense to his mere existence. Ever since he’d left work that day (the Moondial had remained in a similar spot, and he and Crow had decided against moving) he hadn’t been able to walk five yards without stepping on some pixie’s flower bed or something.

The current bunch—a gaggle of diminutive humanoids with bright colors and insectoid wings—were currently harassing him because he had apparently nearly stepped on one of them. Six’s response had been brusque in the extreme, and they took offense to that.

The mosquito-baby-whatever-the-fucks kept on chitter-chattering in those agonizingly high-pitched voices of theirs as they pulled at his hair, swooped down to kick him in the face, and otherwise annoy him. 

“Hey, fuck off!”

Six’s temper flared, and in a burst of speed, whacked one of the pixies with an open palm. He barely brushed it, but the way it tumbled off was enough to spook the rest of them, who satisfied themselves with hurling insults and dive bombing his face.

Cotes had become one of Faris' regular haunts as the days continued to march ever forward– she couldn't say it reminded her much of home but it was certainly as close as it came here. It probably didn't hurt that she felt more than a little affinity to the fae folk that populated the Ward, sharing far more similarities with the pixies she knew than differences. The Pixie Playground was... much less literal than she had come to expect, but they seemed not to mind her presence there overmuch with a few trades and being mindful of not causing undue property damage.

Today, however, found her leaving the market town– idle curiosity ending in the purchase of more than a few shiny baubles and accessories. A weakness of hers' for sure, but one the miqo'te was sure could be forgiven... by herself, at least. Humming contentedly, the woman began considering the easiest route 'home' when her sensitive ears perked at the sound of a yell. She was unable to halt their swivel in the direction of agitated chattering, gaze swinging in the same direction to observe–

“Hey! Hey!!”

Faris inserted herself between the bickering parties before logical thought quite caught up, just about righting the wayward pixie as it's companions seemed to pause to consider the interloper, “How about we all calm down, aye? Look–” Here she withdrew the very brightest of her haul, a glittering earring catching the light enticingly along with the fae's attention, “All yours, as an apology. All square.”

There was more chittering, the miqo'te dearly wishing the fae language on the First rang true here– but finally the group were content to fly off with her trade in tow and a few extra insults. She let out a long breath... and then rounded on the man, projecting as much menace as one woman could with her hands on her hips.

She is a miqo’te. There are those here who have characteristics resembling the familiar cat-eared folk from his own world, but they are not the same. Specific characteristics distinguished them from each other - although some times were simpler than others.

In this case, as she has called him by name, it can be a reasonable conclusion she is from his world. Although who she was, for the life of him, he could not tell.

“Dost thou oft inquireth about mine nostaglia? Mayhap thou thinketh thine questioning would blaze a path in mine memory.” He closes his journal, regarding her with little chance in his expression.

“To put it simply: how dost thou know me?”

Well, that reaction gives her pause– even more than his attire. Her mouth opens mutely, closing once more as Faris squints at those placid features mostly obscured by goggles and hood. Urianger had ever been the difficult one to read but... right now, she truly detected nothing from him, no deception– not even a sense of humour. Yet that couldn't be the case, surely.

Surely.

“... come now, if that's your idea of a jest it's a poor time for it,” The chuckle is a bit drier than she would have liked, partially forced, but the miqo'te is sure anyone would forgive with the present circumstances.

The boy sits and listens attentively to Faris. The strangeness of it all, this entire situation he’s found himself in, makes him forget about his problems if only for a moment. His excitement only increases when Faris goes and shows off what was just about the wickedest scar he’s ever seen! A Holy Sea? Dragons, plural? And another dragon that was, like, Faris’ mysterious mentor that showed up at strange moments? These little tidbits of information were far better than an entire arc of Grognak comics! The boy is hooked, instantly and irrevocably. His mind was racing with the possibilities, trying and failing to imagine exactly what she’s talking about. The boy is giddy now, excited in a way that he hasn’t felt since he woke up in this strange city.

In a word the boy is speechless. In another, enraptured. He’s trying to imagine this stranger fighting a dragon bigger than a skyscraper, and only coming away with a burn scar. He simply can’t, but what his imagination tries to conjure up evokes the purest childlike wonder.

He has all but shed his stoic expression; Faris has pried out the child waiting behind the glum mask. He nods frantically at her proposition, as if he’s afraid she’ll take it back if he doesn’t take it right now.

“Yeah, of course!” He’s more than a little late when he realizes that he’s dropped the mask, and so he tries to retain a smidgen of propriety… but the boy is now comedic in his seriousness, so tinged by curiosity it now is. “I… yes. I can do that. This city… it’s… dangerous.”

It was hard not to smile, watching those fleeting glimmers beneath the grime finally blossom into the pure joy only children seemed to express. Hells, for that kind of wonder it was worth taking wyvern fire and talon thrice over– far larger patches of conjury mended skin hidden in places it was best not to be showing one of such tender age. The reality of her stories was far from as glamorous as she might have made it sound, herself and a rag-tag group of adventurers and Knights halting the hulking dragon by the skin of their teeth– much more stripped and scalded flesh aside.

But the world was often all too eager to confront the young and vulnerable with cruel reality, the miqo'te wasn't about to lift the veil where she didn't have to.

“You're right and I'm full glad to hear it,” Faris lets him hold on to the facade without comment, save another small upwards tug to her lips, “You can never have too many allies in times like these. So! Anyone gives you any trouble, you come calling and I'll see they won't be doing it again.” There's a light twinkle in her eye, rooting through her pockets to produce the tomest... no, what had the vendor called it? A 'phone'?

✧✦ Truth be told, Y’shtola had little interest in the festivities themselves. Her adventures out onto the boardwalk that eve had been spurned by curiosity and nothing more. Attracting people from all over the city, these events offered her a chance to examine the aether or others and, if fortunate enough, encounter familiar faces. Of course a list of named was made in her digital device known as a ‘phone’, but particularly in the case of the Warriors of Light that had washed up in Spirale she did not know how many there were, much less their names.

She wasn’t at all surprised to feel her ears twitching in response to her name being called, largely because she’d realized at least one Warrior of Light was present on the pier upon arrival. Their light shone brighter than any others, Light Wardens or no. Although she hadn’t expected the Miqo’te in question to try and climb the boardwalk like she had. 

Still, it was enough to provoke an amused smirk. She offered a hand to the woman, whom seemed to be of similar age to Y’shtola herself, aiding her in getting onto the boardwalk proper. “It seems that regardless of realm the Warrior of Light is always a reckless sort, hm? Were you that moved by my appearance that you’d think it ideal to put yourself in harm’s way?” It almost sounded like she was scolding Faris, but she remained smiling. 

“Idiotic as it was, even my heart can be moved by such endearing dedication, I suppose.”

“That's a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?” Faris failed at holding back a warm chuckle at the remarks, gratefully taking the proffered hand to finish heaving herself up onto the boardwalk. Firmly situated on her own two feet once more, she took but a moment to dust herself off and breathe a sigh of relief. 'Twas a good thing as ever to find fellow Scions, as often as they all ended up far flung.

“I'll take that forgiveness to heart, much as I think anyone could be taken to a little folly on behalf of their friends... 'tis good to see you again,” After a scant beat, the woman brushed her hair back with another small chuckle, “Though I fear the 'again' part may not run both ways, aye?” While the full circumstances of... Warriors of Light was presently an enigma to her, she was at least somewhat aware that she was but one amongst many here. Were they cases like Ardbert, yet more shards of a greater whole? Or was there something more at play here?

Such musings were a bit beyond her ken, but much beside the point presently.

It felt a strange conversation to have, as familiar as she was with the other miqo'te, but important nonetheless– even more so amidst the frivolity and clamour of the festival goers. She struggled with quite where to start, honestly.

What a charming upheaval and remodelling of the ward. She’d always had a lot of fun with fairy tales, such whimsical sights recalling fond memories of antics both old and as young as her last cycle. The fae themselves though seemed to know better, at least when it came to her. 

They kept a wide berth and she wasn’t entirely surprised; many such creatures were capable of seeing things closer to how they truly were. Still, they might be able to see her but she knew how they thought, catching one in the woods shouldn’t prove too difficult. 

Yet her attention was taken elsewhere, someone was calling out with purpose, it seemed. Abandoning the form of a glass like spider she reverted to her default disguise and leaned out from behind a tree. 

“A sapling? Is that you dear, or am I barking up the wrong tree.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. It’s a curse really.”

The Echo was a peculiar ability, one that she failed to fathom even after recent events... the uncontrollable and often unwanted visions were as much a boon as a curse, and in some cases Faris would certainly attribute no few number of near misses to the warning bells it would offer. However, it was far from infallible and she was far from impossible to surprise– thus, when the other woman's voice chimed out, the miqo'te let out a rather undignified expletive as her ears and tail stood to alert and heart jumped clean to her throat.

Then came the telltale heat filling her face, which she was quick to avert.

“That's–” Embarrassing. Deeply embarrassing– she'd been so very sure she had been alone... well, alone bar the fae folk. This woman had all but appeared out of thin air, and even without the Echo she had always prided herself on her good hearing as much as any miqo'te. Nary a sound, not even a rustle amongst the foliage... tempering her clear fluster, the woman cast the new arrival a sidelong glance.

“... please tell me you're a pixie.”

It was a hopeful sounding notion, knowing how well the fae enjoyed employing shape shifting magicks to aid their mischief. If anything, her previous reaction was part and parcel of why it worked so well, but that point was far from her mind as she prayed to any of the Twelve that might hear to make her assumption correct.

❝ Master ? ❞ Part of her almost burst into laughter when she heard the girl mentioned such a word. Stoic facade remained still , unchanged as ever though. She never thought that far , the moment she spent enough time doing errands and guarding the city – the way she used to practice in Lungmen – Ch’en attained her blades back. Of course , her ability is still unknowingly limited , but alas it would be better than being stuck with wooden sword forever.

   ❝ It’s totally okay. I suppose everyone’s end is different. ❞ The quest to prove their worthiness , she meant. The thing that worked on her might not work on other people , hence she prefers the girl to figure it out by herself – as cruel as it sounded.

 ❝ Ch’en is the name and I suppose yes until one of us managed to get the hell out of here. ❞ Words full of spite whenever she needed to admit that she’s stuck here , powerless. ❝ Basically random events happened from time to time and the longer you spent your time in this land , your power will return eventually. However , sitting idly won’t do the trick. ❞

“Well, I'm sure they like to consider themselves as such,” She remarked at the other woman's questioning tone, unable to keep a wry smile from her lips. Really, she mused, the term was rather apt– as far as the miqo'te understood, as long as they were all playing by the terms set by these shadowy overseers, the majority of the island was well under thumb. Not that it was really possible for her to speak for the majority, but... Faris nodded duly at the continued explanation.

“So do your bit, play nice and reap the rewards, eh? Would almost seem fair without the kidnapping part,” Perhaps not the best time to joke, but Faris was firmly a believer in the adage 'if you don't laugh, you'll cry'. It was obvious enough from the barely concealed venom that Ch'en was about as displeased with her current lot as she found herself... the part about the longer the stay, the more power you had returned was of some particular concern given events back home. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, a long sigh burst forth.

“Well, if you get out of here before I do, be sure to send a missive back with the details,” Not that she expected it to be so easy, but she was ever of the hope a little levity went a long way, “And I'll bet a fair bit of gil these... events are usually unpleasant affairs for all but our captors, hm?” She had to chuckle lightly at her last remark, thumping the hilt of her sword, “Hah! I suppose it's good I'm not the idle sort.”

walk freeeee, walk freeeeeee

Unlike the majority of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, this particular Warrior of Light wasn't much of a scholar. Book learning and it's ilk had never came very naturally, much more versed and comfortable in practical learning methods– but when such a ready source of information presented itself in a situation scant on many details, what fool wouldn't attempt to take advantage?

Still, The Great Library was far from Faris' comfort zone... she barely had an idea of where to start, honestly. Thus, she'd set herself to simply grabbing as many books as she could carry and absorbing as much as possible. It was in this frame of mind she found herself atop a step ladder, a pile of books teetering ominously atop the last step as she reached for what she decided would be the last–

“Oh, shite– sorry!”

The miqo'te looked down from her perch, the book she'd just dropped landing before another woman with a decisive thud! Forgetting all else, the mage quickly skidded down the steps and landed before the other– ears flat and looking thoroughly chastised before any words could pass their lips as she bent and picked up the wayward tome.

The raft really wasn't the most stable of battlegrounds, she'd decided, testing the (lack of) weight of the foam sword in her hand as the two situated themselves on the arena.

It had been simple curiosity at first, the sudden festivities reminding her too much of the Moonfire Faire not to at least take a look. She'd only meant to examine the novel foam weapons lined on the sand before the other blonde had appeared, seeming just as intrigued. The vendor had been quicker than she'd had time to really pause to think in setting up a match, though Faris certainly wouldn't have begrudged the rather exuberant man a friendly bout.

When was the last time she'd had a simple spar, anyway? The miqo'te certainly didn't count Ala Mhigo, nor the man who insisted on calling her friend (actively fighting down a shudder at the thought)– no, a light contest of strength and technique with nought on the line but getting wet would probably do her some good. Blowing out a long breath, she tossed her opponent a grin.

She hadn't been familiar enough with the Ward prior to this– but the sudden appearance of the Pixie Playground had certainly caught the miqo'te's attention. Faris spent enough time in Il Mheg and Lyhe Mheg to be well acquainted with the fae of the First... and perhaps in some small part hoped that she might be able to find a familiar face here. Feo could traverse the rift, so perhaps...

But no, no pixie here had heard of the Mad Bloom, or the King... though they did seem to share many of their proclivities, much like mischief. Far be it from her to begrudge it, even if she had really (really) liked that hat– the fae seemed suitably pleased with themselves and content to leave her be for now. Which was good, because making a fool of yourself was always better without an audience.

“Feo Ul?! Can you hear me?!” In the far too quiet following the shout, she cast a few glances around to ensure there were still no prying eyes in the tiny village. Still, nothing, perhaps a few inquisitive pixies... in for a gil, in for a mil as the saying went. Once more, with gusto!

“Y'shtola? Oh! Y'shtola?! Is that– hang on! Wait right there, don't move an ilm!”

It was a snap moment of...well, perhaps judgement wasn't the right word when it came to the Warrior of Light. But seeing a familiar face, who wouldn't be moved to be a little reckless? Even if it might end up in a scolding.

Still, the matter presented itself– Faris found herself down on the beach while the figure she was very, very certain was a fellow Scion was up on the Boardwalk. The stairs were too far away in her book so... well, it wasn't the highest climb she'd attempted unaided. Thus, the miqo'te had very quickly made the decision that a climb it would be, the wood only a little damp and slimy, a few errant splinters unable to deter her single-minded determination to get from point A to B.

And so she finally hefted herself halfway over the barricade, only a little out of breath but grinning all the same.

“Gee-tar..?”

Ducking into a music shop hadn't been on the agenda, but it was difficult to allow herself to pass by. Even if she wasn't a bard in the traditional sense anymore, it wasn't as though the knowledge of how to play or sing suddenly left her with the job stone. Quite the contrary, magically enhanced or otherwise, Faris was rather proud of those skills... but that was far from her mind as she surveyed these 'instruments'.

The miqo'te had yet to notice the presence of the lalafell, too engrossed in her examination of this so called 'guitar'– full of buttons and dials, corded to... something else. Her head canted one way, then the other, one finger strumming over the strings experimentally and unable to help herself from musing aloud.

For his part, the boy fiddles with his greasy fingers, wondering what the stranger will ask. He nods at her opening remark.

“I’m not from… here. I’m from my grandma’s caravan. We travel a lot… Around the NCR.” As the boy says this, he remembers something he’s heard his grandmother say: ‘almost everybody’s heard of the New California Republic, and if they haven’t they’re either a tribal from the middle of nowhere, or a Vault Dweller what just came outta their Vault.’ He still didn’t fully understand what she meant by this, but he felt it was important to mention that bit. Faris’ next question, however, made him slump over, just a little bit. His grandma, the merchants and caravan guards who raised him… he hadn’t seen any of them since arriving here. “Yeah.”

It was fortunate that Faris changed the subject like she did; the thought of them was enough to cast a dark mood over the boy’s mind. And what a change of subject! His grandma told him that dragons didn’t exist, but here sitting before him was an impossible lady! A lady with cat ears and a tail! And before the boy could’ve cited some issue of Grognak… the way Faris was saying this… she definitely didn’t just mean a comic book dragon! This lady was definitely way too super-cool to read dumb comics, anyways!!!

“No, no I haven’t.” In spite of himself, the boy is trying to remain composed, cool, self-assured, just like grandma was when she was staring down some angry townie who didn’t like her prices.

It’s not working very well. He’s very excited.

As far as things had gone so far, she wasn't surprised when the boy's origins were... a lot of words she didn't wholly understand. The concept of other shards, other worlds... well, even before this place it wasn't new to her. But that was far from the most important part– the small dip in his mood at the mention of being brought here alone is enough to confirm the worst for her.

Still, her last minute distraction seems to have done the trick if the twinkle in his eye was anything to go by and so she planned her words carefully.

“Well! I reckon there's still a fair few out there who'd call you fortunate for that– me? Not one of them. Ahh, I have a dragon friend who... well, I won't say used to follow me around but he liked to come and go as he pleased. He's been asleep for a while now but I think you'd have liked him... well, if he could appear here at all.” Well, he'd traversed the rift so perhaps... but that was for another time.

“But since you can't meet him, I guess I'll have to show you something else, eh?” The woman began to unclasp her glove, setting it aside before hiking up her sleeve to reveal the remnants of a rather ugly burn spanning from mid-forearm to well past her elbow, “Got this as a present from Vishap– a big ol' dragon bent on destroying the Holy See. Y'see that building over there?” She paused to point out a skyscraper on the horizon, lowering her voice to a conspiratory level.