"Mostly I was hoping we could just ... talk. About nothing in particular. It feels like we haven't had a chance to do that since the tunnels."
"Maybe about ... Well. I think you mentioned at one point that you also spent time in a monastery?"
Míril nods. "Raised in one. I lost my parents at an early age, and the orphanage that took me in was attached to a Sarenrae convent. The sisters there are the closest thing I have to family."
"We have done all right so far. Still, I feel the same that you do, about the desire to let go and take you right here. I think we would frighten these good people, and they have had enough troubles already."
"I did have a question I wished to ask you..." she hesitates. "I've never had the occasion to do or ask about this sort of thing, so I would understand if you have no interest... but if we get the chance, maybe we could go do something? Together, and entirely separate from the war we've found ourselves in?"
"Aravashnial, I was wondering if I might ask you a question ... are there any demon lords who prefer the hand crossbow as their weapon?"
Someone with a good sense of another's motives might realize that the question is not a casual one.
"Was it a happy childhood?"
"My time in a monastery was ... well, definitely good compared to anything else I can remember. I quite liked it once they started letting me out of the cell."
Míril finds herself approached by Roshan, Chancre, and Drea.
"Hi," Drea says. "I'm about to take my first monk vows, and I needed some witnesses ... um, any interest in being one?"
Samirah looks at her, raising an eyebrow. "It was just the mention of the succubi... so my eyes went to the succubus in the room." She smiles.
Drea smiles back. "Makes sense."
"What is a lilthu demon?"
Drea's brows knit together as she thinks.
"I ... don't remember a lot. They're very, very powerful. They're pretty, but ... odd in some way? And they ... tempt? She, I met, her name was Jahi and she made someone ... no, she convinced someone to hurt ..."
Drea shakes her head. "I'm sorry, it's gone. I'm remembering more and more every day, though, so I might be able to tell you more later. Aravashnial would know, I'm sure."
"As you said, it will be difficult to make time for each other, but this city maybe isn't the best option. What with the demons. And maybe the Irrisani don't observe that kind of custom? I know the Efreet and Ifrit in the City don't." She's speaking quickly and sounds like she might be doing her best to backtrack, but then she goes on. "But yes. A date."
He ponders. "A sleigh ride would be nice, if you did not want to walk and there was one we could rent. Something to get us nice and cold so that by the time we returned to our quarters, all we want is to cuddle in furs by the fire."
Hyl finally proves she is capable of movement, just a shift in the set of her shoulders, "Most of my father's people will form a second barrier around this place." Her head inclines to Irabeth and the group, "Not all of you surface dwellers will treat us as if we are as bad as the enemy, but dissension in the ranks would be..." she smiles widely, the look not one bit friendly, showing just how far back the sharp teeth go, "less than useful."
The grin fades from her face, "The demon-touched are patrolling the perimeter of their," her voice more than touched with distaste, "part of the city." She looks at the group, reluctant respect in her eyes if not in the set of her body, "To remove the taint of their evil," she breathes out once the sound heavy, "We have a group who wish to create a distraction, so that you might be able to get past the patrols with no combat." She inclines her head, "At a time of your choosing."
A nod from Irabeth, "I've talked to the merchants who are here. They don't know exactly what you are doing, since I don't want to spread panic that something worse is coming," a pause, "especially since I do hope that your actions will prevent it. A number of them are willing to give you what wares they have if you think it is useful. I've promised them recompense when the army gets here," she nods at the group, "which I could do because I believe the plans and information you recovered from the Baphomet cult will allow us to stymie their efforts in other cities."
Samirah is ready to go at any moment, and it's clear she's about ready to leap out of her chair and head out herself without any further thought.
She looks first to Konstantin, then to the others. "Is there any reason not to do this as soon as possible?"
She's quiet for a few moments, listening to Konstantin's breath, as well as the small sounds of the inn around them. Then; "Will you give us a sky again?"
Konstantin nods in agreement with Samirah's comment.
He speaks a few words that reverberate with slight power, and sweeps his hand over them. Like a paintbrush, where his fingers touch some place in the air, the sky appears, the stars winking from behind the gauzy layer of cloud. Then, he brings his hand down, his fingers wiggling, before it comes to rest with Samirah's, weaving his fingers between hers. Now, it is snowing. A false, illusory snow that fades out before it touches them, and yes, every flake is identical, but it is snowing.
"Does that please you, искра?" he murmurs.
She shifts away from him slightly, resting on her free arm so she can look down at him, magical snow framing her hair before disappearing. "искра," she repeats softly, as if tasting the word. "I am well pleased."
She leans over him to kiss his forehead, his temple, his cheek, and the corner of his mouth, then pulls back to look at him once more.
"And whether or not a demon knew me before, or I recognize them, it won't change what will happen when we meet now."
"Even so, remembering is proving useful in at least one way ... trying to do all this as a ten-year-old girl was, um, causing some problems for me."
"As happy a childhood an orphan could hope for, I guess," Míril responds after a brief pause to reflect. "I mean, I was wild with anger that my parents were killed, and I took it out on everyone around me. But the sister's were my anchor, even if I didn't realize it or appreciate it at the time. I think without them my childhood would have been a true nightmare."
Míril finds herself approached by Roshan, Chancre, and Drea.
"Hi," Drea says. "I'm about to take my first monk vows, and I needed some witnesses ... um, any interest in being one?"
"I'd be honored," says Míril.
Samirah is ready to go at any moment, and it's clear she's about ready to leap out of her chair and head out herself without any further thought.
She looks first to Konstantin, then to the others. "Is there any reason not to do this as soon as possible?"
Míril smiles at her friend's exuberance.
"Well, I'd like at least the illusion that we did some planning before going out."
"It sounds like we have even more in common than I'd thought."
"Thank you, all three. So, um." She looks around. "I guess we just need to find a place with room to kneel. I mean, for me, you guys don't have to kneel."
Samirah opens her mouth to retort, but takes a long sip of coffee instead. "You are right, of course. I am not much for planning, and now it's not just my own life on the line." She smiles, and makes a 'go ahead' gesture while she sits back in her chair.
To Drea's second comment, she laughs. "Idealistic behavior is well and good in stories, but... the consequences can be disastrous. And those consequences don't care if the action-taker is 10 or 10,000." Her smile fades a little. "But learning from that sort of thing... that is what's important."
She sighs. "There is a happy medium somewhere between blood-lust and pacifism. It's hard to find that medium in war."
Samirah nods in understanding. "This is how I feel about the Efreet. A couple of them were decent sorts, but..." she looks distracted for a moment, "I think I mentioned before that I suspected some of them may try to seek me out directly. I will handle them much in the same way as you'll handle your demons."
"With a large group of friends at your back?" Drea says, smiling. "Seems like a good plan for both of us."
To Drea's second comment, she laughs. "Idealistic behavior is well and good in stories, but... the consequences can be disastrous. And those consequences don't care if the action-taker is 10 or 10,000." Her smile fades a little. "But learning from that sort of thing... that is what's important."
She sighs. "There is a happy medium somewhere between blood-lust and pacifism. It's hard to find that medium in war."
"Yes," Drea says. "And I think I've been lucky, so far. I'm trying hard to learn from my mistakes, learn where that place is, before my luck runs out."
"Before all this happened, I thought I'd have more time. But I don't. So learning quickly on the job will need to do. And, well, growing up. Fast."
She is lost in her own thoughts for a second, then glances back up at Samirah. "By the way, if it's not impolite to ask, where are you, between 10 and 10,000? I ... don't know how that works for Ifrits. And was being 13 terrible for you? I nearly had a breakdown after going through it for just a few hours the other day."
"With a large group of friends at your back?" Drea says, smiling. "Seems like a good plan for both of us."
Samirah chuckles. "Yes, I suppose it won't be alone anymore."
"Yes," Drea says. "And I think I've been lucky, so far. I'm trying hard to learn from my mistakes, learn where that place is, before my luck runs out."
"Before all this happened, I thought I'd have more time. But I don't. So learning quickly on the job will need to do. And, well, growing up. Fast."
She is lost in her own thoughts for a second, then glances back up at Samirah. "By the way, if it's not impolite to ask, where are you, between 10 and 10,000? I ... don't know how that works for Ifrits. And was being 13 terrible for you? I nearly had a breakdown after going through it for just a few hours the other day."
"I'm 26." She responds, tossing her hair back over her shoulder.
"And... I'll become an adult in another..." she thinks, "34 years or so. I mean, according to Ifrit culture, anyway. I feel like I've followed a fairly human path of aging, culturally speaking. I just have a lot to learn and a lot more time, than a human, in which to learn it."
"When I was 13, I started a lot of fires in the City. Literally. But that's no different than the other efreet and ifrit my age, and no one really cares about mischief there. In fact, it's encouraged." She looks fondly nostalgic.
Míril laughs softly. "I suppose we do at that."
"Well. Great!" Drea breaks into a smile.
"Thank you, all three. So, um." She looks around. "I guess we just need to find a place with room to kneel. I mean, for me, you guys don't have to kneel."
Míril stifles a laugh, and gets a twinkle in her eye as a probably inappropriate thought crosses her mind.
A short, comfortable pause.
"So, um," Drea says at the end of it. "It looked like you liked the ... ?"
She shifts into sexy-succubus stance.
Shifts back.
"That's really just how I stand when I'm not deliberately ... holding it back."
"When I was 13, I started a lot of fires in the City. Literally. But that's no different than the other efreet and ifrit my age, and no one really cares about mischief there. In fact, it's encouraged." She looks fondly nostalgic.
"Sounds fun," Drea says, sounding a little wistful.
"What else can I make for you?"
Oh, uh," stammers Míril, with a slightly glassy look in her eyes. "Wow."
"Can you make me a memory of yours?"
"I suppose it's just something to get used to. That, and this unacceptable weather."
Míril stifles a laugh, and gets a twinkle in her eye as a probably inappropriate thought crosses her mind.
Which earns her an amused eyebrow. Roshan's gaze returns to Drea, as if to say, "as soon as you're ready, young one." (regardless of how old Drea might actually be)
Drea gives Míril a small, shy smile.
"I'd like to tell you something," she says, moving a little closer to the half-elven girl.
"When people meet me, ninety-nine percent of the time, maybe more, they ... flinch. As soon as they see what I am. It's not something I blame them for, all things considered. But still. There's that flinch."
"When you met me, not only did you not flinch, but you looked me in the eyes and said, 'I think we'll make quite the team.' You ... whatever the opposite of a flinch was, that was it. And that had never, ever happened to me before. And I, I just ..."
"Well. I started trying to find out if you were already seeing anyone."
"Well, I doubt I'm quite as fireproof as you are, so I might need some additional protection, but if the weather here ever drives you to figure out a way to go -- Fire-swimming? Flame-dipping? -- you can count me in as being willing to give it a try."
And whatever Drea's actual age, she gives Roshan the head bow of respect due to an elder.
When an appropriate place is found, Drea kneels.
"Of the eight most common vows, I've decided that the Vows of Cleanliness, Poverty, Silence, and Chains are not ones that address my particular areas of greatest need. I'd thought about taking the Vow of Peace, and still might some day, but not in the middle of a war. And the Vow of Celibacy I decided against very recently when I, um, met someone who made me realize I would like to leave certain options open after all."
The look she does not turn to Míril might as well be a look at Míril.
"So, um," she continues on, "Today I'll be taking the Vow of Fasting and the Vow of Truth."
"If any of you have any questions you want to ask me, or think you should ask me, about any of this before I take them, please do."
"The Vow of Chains is quite literal," Drea tells Chancre. "You swear to wear heavy shackles on your wrists and legs. Most people who make that vow are either doing it as a form of penitence for something they've done, or to call attention to suffering of slaves."
"Of the two I'm going to take, the Vow of Truth is pretty straightforward - it forbids me from telling lies, even exaggerations or half-truths meant to deceive. If I think telling the truth will hurt someone, I'd just remain silent."
"The Vow of Fasting will mean I can only eat rice or something similarly bland, and only drink water. With occasional exceptions for nutrition, which are very specific and also bland. It also forbids drugs, potions, alchemical items that are consumed, and so on."
"Breaking them knowingly and willingly would mean losing the mental discipline I'd gain from making them, which would be very disruptive to my training." She thinks for a moment, then adds, "And in my case, I think it would also mean exposing myself to potentially dangerous temptations."
"My town," says Konstantin, pointing at it. Though it looks somewhat idyllic, it would be hard to miss the fact that it is surrounded by a picket of sharpened tree trunks, and watchtowers are at regular intervals. It looks like a small town set inside a fort.
With a few arcane words, the view sweeps in, past the town, up a mountain path, climbing toward the peak. "In the fall, I used to climb here to watch the gyrfalcons. Sometimes I would go with the others... others like me, sometimes I would go alone."
The view opens up, and now there are tiny birds made of paper wheeling around in the sky in an elaborate aerial ballet. They scan the ground for prey, then tuck their wings and rocket toward the earth like meteors. The birds are predominantly white, speckled in black, with keen, intelligent eyes. "There were seldom this many at one time," Konstantin admits. "But I thought you would want a show."
She tilts her head upwards to look at him. "Does this take much effort for you, to create something like this?"
"Because I am thinking he will not be as eager to play in a fire with me." Her smile turns more fond.
The building that Irabeth finally points out, as the group stays in the last semi-intact structure about two hundred feet away, is a squat, plain builing hiding behind a gray stone facade. Between your position and its once stood a number of buildings - all of which were damaged first by the explosion at the nearby Kite and then taken down to the foundation by the destruction of the demons.
Across the stretch of buckled ground and rubble the building squats. To the left, across what was once Clydwell Plaza, nothing remains to mark the site of the cathedral and the kite other than some blood and a deep, jagged rift.
The double doors of the garrison are closed and from your position, you can see the only other opening into the building - the two-foot wide shuttered opening into the building's aerie. The area between you and it is blessedly empty of people or demons - with the exception of two creatures - human men at a more careful examination - both naked as bluejays - seemingly standing guard outside the building.
One looks familiar, although his nuidity makes it harder to place him as the prelate of the city - the man who had been about to bless the start of Armasse before the city fell. The other has more of a paunch than the wiry and old prelate.
Samirah squints at the two naked men.
"That's... Kandro Nyserian. Though why he's naked, and in this weather, I have no idea."
She turns to Irabeth. "Why are they naked?" She whispers, as though she expects Irabeth to actually have an explanation.
"I don't know. Victims of a very thorough robbery?"
Samirah snorts. "If I thought this was anything other than a trap, I might suggest we bring them some blankets."
Shortly before the raid on the Gray Garrison begins, Drea will put a thunderstone in the Piston Maul, and ask Míril to use the wand of Mage Armor on her.
Samirah snorts. "If I thought this was anything other than a trap, I might suggest we bring them some blankets."
"Our options are sneak, fight, or talk. Anyone have a preference?"
"Before we decide, does anyone know if there is a way to tell if they have been ... mind-controlled, or possessed?" Drea asks. "Because this does seem very strange."
"Our options are sneak, fight, or talk. Anyone have a preference?"
"My choice is to approach them with weapons drawn." She says without hesitation. "But it's likely that they have been." She responds to Drea's question.
"Perhaps this is how we will be able to go on dates in the midst of a war. Though I will have to think of something to bring to the table, I can't let you do all of the work." She nuzzles his neck.
"Before we decide, does anyone know if there is a way to tell if they have been ... mind-controlled, or possessed?" Drea asks. "Because this does seem very strange."
"Perhaps I can. But not from this distance, and not without breaking cover."
Her body relaxes slightly, but there are smaller cues that let Konstantin know he's affected her as desired; her breath, her pulse, the feeling that's almost like electricity where their skin comes into contact.
"I am feeling conflicted. I want to lay here with you all night, content with just your arm around me and your breath in my ear. I want to share myself with you, intimately, and even then, there's conflict in that, too; the tenderness, the passion, the slow exploration, the frantic embrace." She pauses.
"I am both glad, and extremely irritated, that there are other people around us. And mostly I'm telling you this because I want you to know what I am thinking. Unless you have a mind reading spell I'm not yet aware of." She smiles.
"Let me show you something."
Chancre pulls up his kilt.
On his thigh, which is otherwise fishbelly-white, there is a tattoo. It's a bad tattoo. If you're feeling charitable, you could call it stylized. It's three chain links with the middle link broken.
"Not a fan of chains, so I was curious."
"I'd rather talk, but I don't know that I should be the person to do it. Easier to go from talk to fight than the other direction."
"I'm not really a sneaker. Unless I have help."
"I say talk. But like Samirah says, make sure they know we're can defend ourselves if need be."
She looks over to Drea. "It's not foolproof, but I may be able to tell if they're mind-controlled or charmed by how they respond. It's worth a try. I'm happy to be the one talking; I know Mr. Nyserian. Not well, but I know him. He may be willing to talk to me without immediately escalating to a fight."