veseniya-tqd

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“The Stumble Inn,” Veseniya echoed, taking her time with the words as if examining them with the act of pronouncing them. They were familiar, vaguely so. But she could not shake the feeling that she had seen them regardless. And then–in a sudden flash of clarity–she recalled. ���I know the place,” she said with a soft nod. She had met the innkeeper, though her stay had been brief, less than a single night. The Stumble Inn could have been anywhere. Veseniya had required a space within to conduct a seance and when she set out to complete the task any anonymous inn would have been sufficient. But when she heard of the haunted property on the edge of Eterna, she had hoped to harness the paranormal energy that seemed to be a defining characteristic of the establishment.

Agnes seemed to accept her early explanation, and Veseniya was glad not to have to speak further on the topic. She did not often utter the details of what she had endured, and though she was not fully opposed to revealing her story in the right circumstances, she was more than a little hesitant to bear her soul to a stranger. 

When Agnes suggested that Veseniya had not been ready for the Arches there was a fleeting moment during which Veseniya nearly took offense to the statement. But then the emotion tempered. “No. I do not think I was,” Veseniya agreed after several moments of thought. “But It was desperate.” Her gaze averted from the genasi. It felt too risky to look at the woman, as if she was able to split Veseniya’s head from afar and observe the secrets and the history within. 

“Then we must plan to meet in the waking world,” Veseniya stated in agreement, watching the black waters bubble at her feet. “This dream demands an answer.”

"If you're ever traveling and in need of refuge, seek the Stumble Inn," her words still, somehow, relate to the more cryptic manner of druids, but the invitation is one offered sincerely. The Inn, permissible by Deja herself, had always been this place for Agnes to meet with others, learn their intentions, and decide whether they'd be friend or foe; a neutral place, one made of a wayward crew Deja had collected over the years. "What woes have you suffered under, druid?" Veseniya's retort felt ominous, this grief laden feeling that centered around something personal and indelible within her.

As Agnes poised her question, the answer came easily, Agnes nodding almost solemnly. Years felt like a simmered approach to the brunt of the truth and Agnes wondered how long and haunting the years had truly stretched for this one. "You weren't ready," a simple statement, spliced with maybe some sliver of sympathy. Within this life, Agnes was born with staggering dreams of avarice, that which went beyond simple monetary wealth. She dreamed of limitless power, wild beyond even her own imagination, and such dreams only tethered her to the Dark; a path which proved more occlusive than beneficial.

Agnes shook her head after a moment of great thought; she didn't like not knowing something and her pinched expression showed this openly to the other. "Not that I'm aware of, but I'll be looking into it once we're released from what binds us here."

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“I would not stop them. But they would stop some who act,” Veseniya stated. It wasn’t meant to be a sweeping generalization, but it had been the experience of her youth. Those who did not understand, or could not be bothered to ford the unknown, simply averted their gaze to their prayer books. Nothing ever came of it within the sect of Miimr’s worshippers she had been brought up in. She had no evidence to suggest it was different anywhere else. However, she would continue to let others determine their own paths so long as they did not dictate hers. 

Veseniya found the gods mindless, but she kept this opinion to herself. If she was provided an example of a god who was not, she would alter her opinion. But so far, no such evidence had presented itself to her. “Maybe it does not matter who they worship,” she thought aloud when Nurcan said she did not know. “But stopping their plans matters.” 

Veseniya stared at Nurcan when she elaborated on her thought process. There seemed to be levels of opinion when it came to how closely the directives of the Legion needed to be followed, or perhaps the difference of opinion centered more within how much leeway there was to step outside the bounds of commands alone. The spores druid imagined she might be more comfortable stepping outside that scope of duty during the quiet time between commitments. “I do not deal in faith,” Veseniya repeated again, but there was no venom in her tone. If an obvious opportunity to help those captured by the Kossith presented it to her, she knew which path she would take. They presently weren't in the south contributing to those efforts, after all.

“And that is your prerogative, but that does not mean that others won’t deal with it,” Nurcan comments lightly, but makes no move to push further. Faith is a difficult topic, and one she had seen plenty struggle with. The prospect of death made believers of many, but unbelievers of many others as well. Each person is their own cosmos, after all, and beliefs will not always align even with those who fight by your side. “Good thing I asked then.”

She says with a brief smile towards Veseniya as she focuses back on her work. 

“I don’t presume to know the mind of a god,” she begins slowly, trying to measure her words as she speaks. While she has her own faith, and she adheres to it, there is no denying that the gods can be cruel even to their greatest worshippers. Cubi’s are a good example of that cruelty, and they are just enough for Nurcan to believe that despite the fact that the gods will guide them, they also have their own agenda and that does not always mean preserving as much life as possible. “And I am not aware of who the Kossith worship, my apologies.”

It’s a startling gap in her knowledge, and Nurcan makes a note to go to the Tower to research the species. Perhaps it will have more materials. 

“I am not saying that,” she sighs, struggling to find the right words. “I know they are our enemy, but with our numbers, we cannot focus on two fronts. The Kossith are a present and clear thread, but so are the darkspawn near the border. And as legionnaires, it is better for us to deal with the darkspawn, lest others become infected. And, well. I do have faith in our captured friends. I trust that they will escape.”

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Ella Purnell as Lucy MacLean FALLOUT 1x08 — "The Beginning"

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Palms met and anxiously rubbed together as she considered the geographic location of the Queenslands. Perhaps it’s exact location was not important. What was, was the fact that the Darkness permeated their dreams from afar. This would not be the work of the Kossith, Veseniya thought, but the work of the Dark One, and she highly suspected the abductions and subjugation of those taken onto the dreadnought would only help to further His aim, even if it was not what the Kossith intended. Veseniya looked indifferent when Agnes spoke again; not with the genasi herself, but with the Circles. “Then they might have taken more care to create a pathway for me.” Joining the Legion had been a rushed decision as it seemed like the most obvious option to her at the time, but it had not been entirely thoughtless. And she much preferred to bring this life to a more swift end than to run out the full lifespan of druid-kind. 

“Most of my years were spent in the Arches, and the silence afforded me few lessons. Age and wisdom are not the same thing. But I do not need to tell you things you already know,” Veseniya responded without judgement. Agnes would have far more life experience than she, even at a fraction of her age. Whether in the cult or the Arches, Veseniya’s life had passed an extremely insular manner. 

Veseniya remained passive and unmoved in expression as she watched the water of the pool become agitated and darken. She had only observed the water, not touched it. Nor had it been her intention to disturb it in its glassy state moments ago. She did not suspect she was the cause of it, but perhaps the Blight that ran through her veins. “Do you know of any similar pools where the Kossith stake their false claims upon these lands?” Perhaps their presence tainted a once-pure stone.

"The Queenslands," muttered quietly, her personality was not twisted to this unsavory tone based off of Veseniya personally, but there felt a great urgency here which laid thick on her palate; acrid and foreboding. "I can't imagine they prefer any tether to the Dark - they'll reprimand you and state you should have devised another way," her lip curled in that sense of stale humor she always carried. She never vied for acceptance amongst the druids so she did not feel entirely aggrieved for being outcast, but Agnes had still performed and sacrificed so much for them and their precious Stones that she sometimes wished their sacred balance carried more nuance.

"But, I wasn't I had been in the presence of a legionnaire," she hummed thoughtfully then, and even in the dream world she could feel the weight of Veseniya's soul, "Though you are old and you call me the experienced one. It's rather humbling of you to say that," through each trial and error performed by Agnes she'd never once call herself experienced and the Sting would try not to let that go to her head.

As Veseniya approached, the pure water within bubbled viscously shifting to a dreadful shade of black. It steamed and shuddered, viscous bubbles popping at the surface; it smelled intimately like blood, that strange iron tinge which pervaded the air and their senses. Wild eyes darted across to Veseniya, Agnes more puzzled than ever as the genasi removed her hands from the lip of the basin, staring across at Veseniya, "This does not bode well for the Wildlands - the Kossith -- they - what else could it mean?"

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You walk through a ruined village shrouded in mist. There are no sounds but the hush of wind through empty buildings. Then you see them, rows of coffins, freshly sealed. None are marked. No names. No symbols. The sands remember you, but the sound of the wind brushing over it never comes.

You reach for a coffin, but your hand passes through it like smoke.

Then you feel a cold breath at your back.

“This is your legacy. These are the ones you could not save.” A dragon’s pale eyes burn through the fog like lanterns, watching without blinking. His voice is not loud, it doesn’t need to be. “But you did try, didn’t you? That makes it worse.” “Names fade. Graves rot. But failure…I preserve that. I remember.”

A child’s voice whispers your name from inside one of the caskets.

Please write a response to this and post it by June 16th on the dash and link it in the writing submissions channel.

Even the sands were still–unnatural and stale as a crypt. Veseniya gazed out upon the caskets lined up in neat rows, the organization a contrast to the fanatic chaos she had been accustomed to from her upbringing in the cult of Mimir. This was a place that had temporarily held the woman, the unmarked caskets undoubtedly meant to be interpreted as arms that had once held her as well. But she could not bring herself to mourn for them–she was a poor acolyte to Mimir, thus none of these arms would have ever embraced her. And wisdom was to remember. 

Whatever entity, whatever shrouded draconic presence observed her here did not understand her. She would not claim this society, this cult. She did not see this as her legacy or her failing. 

“I am but a woman, unmoored. Detached.” Her gaze shifted to the child’s casket, impossibly small. It stirred nothing within her but the resentment she had harbored for nearly a century among the arches with nothing but her slow-failing mind and the rotted corpse of an infant she had carried through years until every vestige of it had crumbled to dust. She did not carry it as a memento mori or for sentimental reasons; she carried it as a reminder of her disgust of the gods, old and new, alive and dead. She would not bend the knee to Mimir, and she would not bend the knee to these strange glowing lights of eyes out before her now. “Then you must remember the failure of your own and your type–who carry power and influence, who hold the knowledge of the world within them and allow it to crumble and waste, yet turn accountability and blame upon mortals rather than within.”

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“I do not like to deal in hope and faith,” Veseniya stated flatly. She had known the gods to be little other than cruel and indifferent. That, or their virtues were widely overstated. If Mimir was so wise, how could he let his followers inflict such suffering on one another. How could any god sit and watch the way the world maimed itself. “Those need more time.” It was good that Nrucan thought to ask. 

“What can the gods be so busy with if not those who dedicate their lives to them?” she asked aloud. She suspected Nurcan would either have an answer or some sort of speculation. She was silent as she thought about whether lashing out at the Kossith would inspire the wrath of some god. “Do you know who the Kossith worship?” she asked. Perhaps that god might have feelings on the matter, but the rest seemed idle to dormant. “We need numbers to fight the Blight. And the Kossith have taken some of our own. Should that not make the Kossith an enemy of the Legion regardless of their location?” She wondered if Nurcan always viewed things in such a binary degree of black and white. 

“It’s a matter of hope and faith, I suppose,” she admits lightly, hand stopping short of another colony of fungi as she eyes them critically. Unlike the others, this one doesn’t look quite ready for harvesting, so she brings it down to the ground and taps into it thoughtfully. “Should I take some of the specimens here? It looks like it hasn’t grown much since last time so I wanted to double check.”

As she waits for Veseniya’s answer, she continues with the topic at hand. 

“It is likely that the gods won’t intervene, but we can hope they do. The same way we can hope for our friend’s safe return,” she suggests. Nurcan also has faith, faith that Justitia would intervene and their friends would be delivered by justice. For the most part, Nurcan prays to Proserpina and Proserpina alone, but she believes in the entirety of the pantheon so she has spared more than one prayer for the taken’s sake. 

“I don’t think they would punish us either,” she admits quietly, with a sigh. “But at the same time, our oath is to fight against the Blight and with the attacks in the South, we must focus our efforts there. I have full confidence in the Haven pack to protect the North, so we should do our best to protect the South.”

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It appeared the additional information Veseniya had shared had piqued the innkeeper’s interest. Veseniya did not answer right away, clearly considering Deja’s offer and interest. It would be uncomfortable to answer questions about her past in the cult, but there was no guarantee the innkeeper would ask. And if she did, she might accept Veseniya’s refusal to answer. On the other hand, two minds seeking out Mimir’s wisdom might yield better results. And the woman did seem open minded once the spores druid had alleviated her concerns. She might also refuse Veseniya a room if she did not agree. 

“You may assist,” Veseniya decided aloud. She set her small bag of supplies she had brought with her on the ground and slid a few gold coins closer to Deja in the hopes the gold and agreement combined would be enough that the woman would prepare a room. “I will explain more in the room.”

Sitting up, Deja looks more clearly at the woman before her and she can't say that she's not looking for a little guidance herself at this point. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she looks to the woman with her big eyes and she sits back behind her desk and she exhales. "Mind some company?" Her brow quirks upwards, the fingers of her right hand gently tapping the oak desk's surface as she tried to think of the risk assessment. Every day since everyone had shipped out towards Haven again, Deja had been looking for answers. Answers or some kind of reprieve from the constant feeling that for as full as the inn was, her home was empty.

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The geographical layout of Lysara was still somewhat foggy to Veseniya. She paused to consider what Agnes had told her, quietly remembering the lay of the land. The Wildlands–she was familiar with them as she had passed through them in her work in Aventia, but they were far from well known to the druid. But something wicked and dark seemed to live there, trouble always erupted in that region and plagued those who inhabited it. “And where are you in the waking world?” Veseniya finally asked. “I am stationed at Caer Glas, though I am dispatched elsewhere as needed.” 

Agnes’ body language was not unnoticed by Veseniya, but she refrained from reacting. She was used to impatience. This world was strange to her. The secular world confused her, each day carrying with it a fading sort of culture shock. And she knew her time in the Arches had made her off putting; she didn’t really blame anyone who did not acquire a taste for her. She had met no Keeper, spent no time under the tutelage of another druid. She was learning as she went, and she did not expect patience as a given as she did so. “I wonder what the circles make of The Joining,” she pondered quietly. They both carried the Dark One’s essence within them in the differing ways they had come by it. 

“You are experienced. Where must our work begin?” Veseniya asked, approaching the glassy surface of the water to inspect it more closely.

"They're in the Wildlands, near Haven," stated as though this was rather obvious, the druid's insistence and questioning only further perturbed Agnes. It wasn't often the genasi was left with confusion as opposed to answers, but even she could not understand the agitation within. If the Stones were calling out now, it was under the duress of the looming Kossith, the fear that even they would fall as the humanoid beasts lumbered through the Wildlands and took Haven for their cruel tirade.

This one chatted easily, as though time was of little factor to this dreamlike trap which held them, fibers of dreams spun like silken manacles. If they weren't careful enough, a dream could spin them within it forever. "If the circles reject genasi then clearly the stones aren't weeping out to me," Agnes tried not to roll her eyes, even she could have a childish spirit rear forth from time to time; she'd grown rather tired of people pointing out her genasi tether as of recent.

Sourly, Agnes pointed out her aid, "Last the Stones wept, I answered the call. Where the druids may lack the hindsight that the world is not as black and white as they desire, the stones indeed understand the true ambiguity of our world. They would not shun my assistance if they bleed and shudder for help."

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LUCY 'expressive queen' MACLEAN

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The gloom garden was a delicate ecosystem. It thrived in the areas where the sun never reached and the morning dew never quite evaporated. It was a delicate ecosystem, and without a delicate hand it could be significantly disrupted. Nurcan listened well each time Veseniya invited her into it–she seemed to be prudent not to step on the colony and to only harvest what and as much as Veseniya advised. Some others might move ahead in good faith that they were doing the spores druid a favor, when really they were damaging her work. It was pleasant not to have to worry. 

Veseniya considered herself breakable. A century in the Arches had changed her, and she did not think it was for the better. But she kept this to herself. There was time and opportunity to see how her constitution of character would turn out yet ”I have not know the gods to be especially active listeners,” Veseniya said. “We should not presume to take up their mantle, but we should not idle in wait for them either. Not with any expectations.” The situation felt all the more helpless as she said it. “But I do not think they would punish us, if we brought harm to the Kossith…” Yet here they were, in Caer Glas. Gardening. Perhaps Veseniya’s true character was that of a coward.

The garden extends before them, and it feels like a breath of fresh air to get back into action. Even if the action is kneeling somewhere amidst the fungi and plant beds with a basket at her side. The ground is soft underneath her armor, and Nurcan gets to work with a quiet delight and steady practice. Fingers digging into the earth, tips brushing against leaves. Harvesting is a steady work, one that has always brought her comfort. It reminds her of simpler times, when her greatest worry were her siblings and she could still get home at the end of the day to bask in the warmth of familial love. But that time is long gone, and she cannot recover it even if she tried. Her parents had made it clear they didn’t want her in her life a long time ago, when they left her in the Tower without turning back. And she is not brave enough to face them once more. 

“They are. Both physically, and in character. Few things can break people like them. Like us.” To be a legionnaire is not to fear death, for you already know it will come for you sooner than later. They are prepared to die for the work, but the issue is that those who had been taken cannot do said work. The rumors of what the Kossith are doing to the captured are far and varied, each worse than the last. Whether they are true or not, does not matter. What matters is that the taken had been forced into a ship towards an unknown destination, and there is nothing to ensure their safety. “They are neither divine nor the Weave, so I pray that the gods take notice and prove all the cautionary tales about reaching for the divine to be true. I trust the legionnaires can escape without divine intervention, but it never hurts.”

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His response was met with a nod, and her eyes sifted closed again as she dug her hands into the detritus below and committed the structure of the colony to memory so that she could depict it on parchment later. When she was certain she had memorized it to an acceptable level of accuracy, she turned her attention back to Hakon. “I am used to praying to gods who do not answer. But flesh and bone rulers who are so surrounded by suffering they cannot look away,” she thought aloud. “I don’t understand.” She sat back on her heels. She was new to this time, but she was not a fool. She understood resources and rulers had their limits, and that each nation faced their own unique threats. “It comes from all sides, pushing us to a center point eventually. Smaller and smaller.”

He glanced at Veseniya, but his gaze turned back to the Kossith within Aventia. He could see the Arishok, see how he sat on his self-made throne. He could see people collared, magic used by those who stood by them. Hakon hadn't heard of anything like it before, but he knew that there were many people who needed to stay away – many that would need to run far to escape clutches such as this. "That might be best. Their path to Haven will not be bothered or interrupted, I doubt the Queen in Eterna will attack while so many are gone." It was an interesting thought, though Avalon was silent as well. The Old God within would pose a bigger threat than the Kossith on the outside.

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“My god is not revered within these lands,” Veseniya stated. At least not enough to have any sort of temple or church that she knew of. Mimir had been a popular entity in Iskaldrik, but she had heard few whisperings of the god of wisdom outside of the orthodox sect she had grown up in. The innkeeper’s question was direct and specific, there was little room to talk about it, and Veseniya was bound by the confines of honesty. “I wish to pray to an ancient god of wisdom, to beseech him for guidance or advice.” There! That was the truth of it, no flashy occult shows, no sacrifices, nothing but a plea and prayer. She laid a few additional gold coins down on the desk. Perhaps that would be enough to convince the woman.  

"There's plenty of churches around these parts." She's still squinting, unsure what to make of the woman before her. There's something stiff about her, not in a bad way, more....Awkward, formal, like she's not used to talking to people. That's fine by her, and yet she often finds these types to be up to something. "What are you praying to?" Deja sighs and it's in exasperated defeat, because this woman and her big eyes were something she couldn't just turn away. Times were tough, she was missing members of her staff, she could use a little prayer herself at this point.

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The corridor echoed the footfall of those who passed through it. Veseniya liked that. She always had some strange fondness left over from childhood when echoes and noise-making were the only play things she had in the desert. Opening the door out to the garden blinded her for a moment, the sun high overhead. That was a component of her childhood she didn’t miss, but as her eyes adjusted she found a working spot at one of the plant beds and trusted Nurcan would find a spot to put herself to work closeby. 

There was a pause in the spores druid’s work as she looked at Nurcan as she spoke. Some did not mind when Veseniya seemed only passively engaged with them, but she had learned Nurcan enjoyed more direct signs of engagement. “They are strong,” Veseniya responded, her way of indicating she hoped and had some level of faith they would come back alive. “This should not have happened. It is not for us or the Kossith to put ourselves in the place of gods or absolute power.” At least, this is what Veseniya assumed the Kossith were doing given the information that had spread at the time.

Another task presents itself before Nurcan, and she willingly raises to meet it. Even years removed from her time picking grapes to help meet her father’s quota, she remembers the well earned strain that came with harvesting. Sweat pooling on her back, as her muscles ached from efforts well spent. Now, most of her efforts were focused on hunching over laboratory equipment and comparing samples, or bending over time, reading and rereading passages in order to uncover the secrets of an arcane past. Different efforts, rewarded differently. 

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t long for the simplicity of physical labor every once in a while. 

On the contrary. 

Smile widening, she steps outside from her room and closes the door behind her without a moment of hesitation. Bending down to pick the basket, she gestures for Veseniya to lead and she would follow. 

Nurcan doesn’t make the effort to start the conversation, knowing after their past encounters that it is best to wait for Veseniya to begin the conversation and engage with what she has in mind, lest things get a tad awkward. It’s a bit of a learning curve for her, specially as she has always used chattering to fill the oppressing silence, but Nurcan is patient and she is willing to learn, if it means it makes those around more comfortable. 

Even if the topics they discuss are far from that. 

“I hope they will return to us alive,” she begins, slowly and tentatively. “I hope that whatever hurt they suffer can be healed. I hope for a lot of things, but I also have a duty. To myself, to them, and to Lady Proserpina. If they return to us in caskets, I will be prepared to honor them properly.”

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The innkeeper was right, and her pointing it out was precisely what Veseniya had hoped to avoid. It was unsurprisingly that she was unsuccessful, and as a druid attempting to lie her way out of it was not an option. “I am told many of the things I say and do are ominous,” Veseniya replied, aptly skirting around the question by her own standards. She stared back at the woman waiting to see if her efforts had yielded the results she wished for. Her head canted to the side, her eyes narrowing. She certainly wasn’t a witch. “I believe my intention is closer to a prayer,” Veseniya responded, able to do so because, to her, it was the truth. “I have gold,” she said, emptying her fist on the table and sending a handful of gold coins clattering about until they felt at rest on their sides. “And I will not make damage, or leave a mess.” 

"You realize how ominous that sounds?" There's a playful lilt to her tone as she looks up from the vast expanse of paperwork before her. The best thing about her job was meeting the patrons, making herself part of whatever grand journey they were on in some small way. The worse part was the paperwork that came with stocking a kitchen and bar and keeping the laundry done and the rooms clean and- "If you're some witch looking to use this site for some ritual, absolutely not." Deja couldn't do that again, the last time she'd let a witch who'd decided to use a room as a workshop for spells, she'd had to redo the front room. She's down several staff members, she can't keep up with something like that.

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Veseniya gave little away as she stared at this other presence across the glassy surface of the pool. Her time with the Legion and the rotted blood that had innoculated within her since the Joining told her that Agnes, as she introduced herself as, was no mere druid. There was a shadow within her, the presence of the Dark One around her like a shroud. But present as it was, it did not feel unstable or threatening. It was merely there. 

“What did it say to you?” Veseniya asked, remaining still as the standing stone itself. It was not Agnes’ fault that Veseniya was so distrusting, but a century in the Arches had instilled in her a healthy sense of caution and skepticism. She was not keen to wander that stretch of the veil for so long any time soon with Agnes’ company or without. “Where are they in the waking world?” Veseniya asked, looking at the stones. She too felt a sense from them that they were struggling against something. 

Where Agnes moved, Veseniya remained still. It was silent as the gave, save the genasi’s footsteps. “I thought the Circles rejected genasi,” Veseniya stated neutrally. Certainly not all that bent to the Dark One’s deals did so for the same reasoning, but Veseniya did not know the intention with which Agnes had entered into her contract and how she had applied the alleged gifts that came with it. Veseniya’s expression made it clear she would not help Agnes explore much of anything–the pool or otherwise–until she had her satisfaction of an answer. She, and the parties she had endeavored into the world with, had known the taste of failure too intimately in recent days for her not to exercise an abundance of caution.

Agnes assessed her quietly for a moment, the way she was dressed, the knowledge that if this was a dream shared together that it could soon become volatile if each were not careful. She took a step forward, felt little comfort to the fact that this was certainly a druid, and her brows furrowed at their question - did he hearken you, too?

"No," Agnes shook her head as though such retort would be obvious to the other, "He did not - but the message must come to be the same, no?" Her eyes shifted to the pool, she felt no threat emanating off the other, and she wondered if they'd been dreamwalking as opposed to being tethered by some tangible dreamscape. "I've been here before, but it hardly looked like this, felt so corroded and fraught with energy."

She came closer to the reflective pool, glanced upon the swirling water with hopes that whatever brought them here would be translated soon. Within the blanket of night, often she could hear the chittering of bugs, the rustling of woodland creatures, but it was mostly silent here; save for the thrum of uncertain energy which seemed to swell within the swirling pool. "I'm Agnes, of the Wild circle," if her inclination was correct, this one was a druid, too, though it hardly answered why each was called here today.

Her eyes shifted back to the other, Agnes' face alight with the colors which swam within the agitated pool considering her proximity.

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who: @dejatheeinnkeeper where: Ye Olde Stumble Inn when: Perhaps a week or so into our friends' captivity on Kossith Kruiselines? notes: Let me know if you need anything changed my lil clown

A promise had been made to herself that she would never turn her intention and time back over to the god Mimir. This self-directed vow was made in her earliest days in the Arches, decades before her wandering would end and she would cross back over into the world a century later than she had initially entered the Arches. Of course, Veseniya could never have known what dire times she would rejoin the world under. Now, it felt that breaking that promise to herself was worth its while. 

Veseniya did not know if the other inhabitants of Caer Glas would understand her intentions. Then again, they might not have even cared. Regardless, she sought a location where she would not be disturbed, and a quiet inn at the edge of town presented itself to play the part. She stood nearly as silent as the grave she hoped to disturb at the front desk of the Stumble Inn, ignoring the clattering of hard, wax candles against one another in her pack. She hoped none of the candles had broken. “I am in need of a room,” she stated simply. Then, after another thought. “And a book of matches.”

[veseniya-tqd]

Veseniya crouched beside her fellow Legionnaire in near silence closer to the Kossith and they chaos they wrought on Aventia than many would choose to venture. Hakon, she guessed, was there as a keeper of what knowledge the Legion had on these strange beasts. The spores druid was present because they had taken her friend–or at least she assumed as much given Celaya’s absence–and her duty up to the point of death in the Legion did not sway her. If this was where her service was to end, then let her time at least be useful, she thought. She did not look to Hakon as he spoke, but as always, she was listening. 

Thin, pale hands sifted into the underbrush beneath them. Her eyes closed as she curled her hands around the moss and tall grass below. Mycelial networks were far more advanced than most people thought possible–in depth communication systems existed where the fungal growths were visible, and underground sending out messages of resource availability, defense strategies against what impeded growth and threatened life, complex enough to guide fungal reproduction and warn of threats. “Disturbance amongst the mycelium, new growth in other directions,” she muttered after a few moments. “Most likely because of the path and interference of Kossith–I could illustrate, overlay it on a map…” Her hands withdrew from the vegetation below and she looked at Hakon.

open to first 3 Location: Just outside of Aventia Notes: Open to other nightingales or legionnaires

The black robe and darkness spell settled around them. The woods were silent in the darkness of the morning, the birds nearly waking, but even they didn't have a song to sing. The Kossith had overtaken the city itself, constant patrols as they decided they would do this their way and control the region as they saw fit. Ships had sailed out of the port, and with the Kossith being just a stone's throw from the border, from the Aetherian's prismatic barrier, Hakon had simply been watching. "The legion only has so much history on the region of Itzcoatal. Most is buried in Amon-Sûl." He was a man of few words, but he had a point to make. "I would assume they have a natural immunity, or resistance, to the Blight. What it did to Iztcoatal remains to be seen. Have you noticed any patterns?"