username: deimar

[jatharin]

( On this occasion, King Deimar in silvered splendor: tussled, armour scratched and drenched in blood and soot, surrounded each way by his men or Rathakku's creatures. He screams, just as harpies swing in: )

Fall back — fall back, fall back — ( An infantryman politely keels over, arrow driving through his ribs. Deimar stops to stare — ) ...maybe with less enthusiasm than that.

( But then, he's led to take cover off the field, and he can mutter into his pendant: )

Greetings, greetings. Your king speaks. Deimar. ( As if, perhaps, some need the reminder. ) Let's cut through pretence: Alem is lost. The merchants are offering their... obscenely costly help with evacuation. If we had any alternative or dignity, we would decline. It won't surprise you that I've agreed, gratefully. Go to Hassir. Yes, it's a monastery old and true. No, you cannot bring your wine.

( And gentler, firmer: ) It will have you. All of you who go, Hassir will have you, and it will save you. Make a new life, away from this mountain. Away from our blood's burden, away from Hell.

( Then lighter, in this breezy tone: )

...which, I regret to inform you, is opening nice, creaky and wide beneath our floorboard. You've heard the old stories: the Motherless Children beget their devastation, bolstered by whatever souls they consume in their putrid wasteland. They're breaking through. Terrible creatures. Filthy. Ugly, too.

To all men and women of Alem who are strong, gifted and able: I won't tell you to take up your weapons and join me below in glory. If you die there, no one will mourn you, no one will weep over your bones. No one will even remember you. No, they'll live peacefully, happily and oblivious to your sacrifice. But they'll live.

So. You have your choices: Hassir or Hell below. What say you?

( ooc: brainstorming post if you want to ICly figure out where characters are headed. Hell officially starts to open on March 18, but feel free to forward-date responses & threadjack at will. Good luck saving humanity! )

Comments

voice | un: wooden sword

[vdovy]

I think it's time you tell us what Rathakku is truly after so we can help protect it.

[jatharin]

( He seems, for a moment, flabbergasted. Then, exasperated: )

Oh, for... truly? Now? You'll ask this now?

[vdovy]

[ Muffled fighting sounds: fists connecting, blades clashing, an electric hiss followed by bodies thumping to the ground. Yelena sounds breathless, her voice elevated, when she speaks again. ]

Like you said, Alem is lost. Now is the time.

[jatharin]

The sirens. It turns out they have something from the depths of the nethers even Rathakku once.

And it turns out, we took a considerable amount of it. By accident.

[vdovy]

— the scales? [ Pause for flashbacks of Wangji stressing about those scales and Yelena not taking it seriously because he was all the way out of it. ] Goddamnit. It was right in front of me.

[jatharin]

No. ( A pause, then: ) Well. To an extent. That which sheds the scales. The sirens consume... glass to reshape their bodies. To strengthen their human shape on this world.

[vdovy]

...dark glass with a gold sheen?

[jatharin]

You'll understand if, here and now, I can't be bothered to lie.

[vdovy]

Do the sirens know we have a common enemy?

[jatharin]

We're the sirens' enemy.

[vdovy]

Right now, yes. But would they welcome Rathakku to raid what's left of a precious resource?

[jatharin]

What scraps they have left? I'm sure they'd eat it whole before Rathakku got close.

[vdovy]

You said a considerable amount was taken. How much of that remains?

[jatharin]

Whatever dregs they've kept. Can't be much. Their leader had the most of it.

un : dappled peals of the parted seas (voice)

[beitangmoran]

She has a point, Your Majesty.

If we end up dying here, might we be at least afforded the courtesy of knowing why?

[jatharin]

You're gambling your life on my civility?

[beitangmoran]

You've already gambled our lives, Your Majesty. The deed is done. What do you have to lose by telling us now?

[jatharin]

As I've told your companion.

[beitangmoran]

So once again, this is about a mirror.

[jatharin]

...I'm sorry? Once again?

[beitangmoran]

By my count, this is at least the fourth time we have run into an undead lord pursuing shards of certain mirrors.

I am not sure what the people of your world tend to do with mirrors, but it is a lot more than what I am used to, I must say.

[jatharin]

Mostly, I ruffle my curls.

[beitangmoran]

I would have thought someone of your status would have someone else do the ruffling, Your Majesty.

In any case, if there are no more mirror shards, all the better for now.

[jatharin]

Times have been tough since seige and Hell's spillage.

There are currently no mirrors to be concerned with. That I know of.

[beitangmoran]

That you know of. Duly noted, Your Majesty.