Part 2: The meeting of paths

“Well if there’s one thing I do have some familiarity with here its rituals,”  she laughs to herself. Years of sitting close by as Rata engaged in all of hers ensured that, of course. Of course it hasn’t exactly been a smooth journey. From cowering in fear just outside the room of all the smoke and fumes and ectoplasmic residue, to cautiously standing behind her aunt, afraid but determined to see for herself, to actively participating as much as she could, it had been a long journey indeed to get to say that. One I perhaps haven’t appreciated you for enough, Rata.  “Partook in all sorts growing up. Contacting spirits, mending the dying, soothing the living, parlaying the deceased. That sort of thing and more.”  She nods, smiling at the boy now.  “I’m pretty far from an expert, that’d be my aunt of course, but I managed to pick up a little hanging around her.”

A bit of aprehension hits the Dragonborn as Thezra agrees to go meet the General forcing his snout into a human smile  "The General can be a powerful ally. 'Specially going up against the group like the Watchers, we're going to need gold and access and she can give us both. Ande so far she likes me." Nodding towards Katrin and turning his gaze to Thezra  "I know some of you may not be found of the Heartlands, or people in general. But trust me having her backing us will make life and our mutual quest far easier." Shrugging he adds as he sees Thrand offer the pipe "Just a word to the wise take it how you want" Akiran eagerly takes the pipe, holding it gingerly in his gauntlet. Tapping his finger against the bowl, as the Dragonborn sits a moment and takes in the conversation & revelations. Looking to Ash, he contemplates if such an existence would be unbearable. He had never seen the man eat or a drink, but that doesn't mean he couldn't. But what's dominates his mind, is what his life would be without his reoccurring nightmare, even giving up sleep all together seems like a deal to good to be true. His snout opens and he pauses for a moment before asking in a tone far more sincere and earnest than his usual  "Is it all bad?" . Nodding towards Lilli, who was still enjoying her bar stool nap "I told the kid earlier that I thought you were some kind of super soldier. Walk through poison, like it's nothing. Don't need to eat, and hell there's so much you can get done without needing to hit the sack." scratching the silvery scales around his face he shrugs and lights the bowl taking a big puff and as the smoke billows out of his snout he adds in a somber tone  "I would give sleep up given the chance.... Nothing good comes from it."

"Anything about something like this," Ascian asks Thezra slowly. "It wasn't always like this. I used to sleep. Eat. Sort of. I was never good at it." His lamp-like eyes drift toward Akiran as the dragonborn speaks, a slight crease pulling at his forehead. For a moment he's distracted by the tavern firelight dancing off bright silver scales, but the concept of super soldier  pulls him back like being thrown in a cold lake, and that frown falls. "You say that because you can. Sleep is an escape. I can't get away from this. Any of it. Ever. My mind doesn't turn off. Not in over a month. It's loud all the time." He jerkily rolls another stiff shoulder as he looks back at the table, the heel of his palm pressed into his leg. "Yes, it's all bad. If I'm a soldier, I don't know what I'm supposed to be fighting for. But I don't want to anymore."

"It doesn't sound all that useful for a soldier, no. A good warrior is well-rested and clear headed, at least as far as distractions go. What you describe sounds more like..." she grimaces, trying to put herself in such a headspace. She tries to imagine never feeling any reprieve from the living world; from pain and pleasure alike, from self-doubt and regret and burdensome hope. It isn't possible to, not really though, and she sighs.  "...like a waking nightmare."  Thezra thinks hard over her experiences back home. Through seances and gravecallings and more, she'd felt the presence of spirits, heard tales of the dead, and knew at least more than the average person likely did on such matters, but in truth she'd never heard of a situation like Ascian's. "Well, I'll be honest, at the moment I do not think with what I know so far I could offer anything you haven't already figure out. Based entirely on what you've all said, it is highly unlikely you are undead. Undeath, from what I've always been taught at least, brings with it significant, uh, changes to ones mind. Your personality would have changed drastically, whether into mindlessness like a zombie or towards something more menacing like the delusions of grandeur of a vampire. But you don't seem to display such traits at all." She frowns, disappointed in herself for not paying more attention to her aunt's teachings. "If these mushrooms do not work out, however, perhaps there is a way we could visit my aunt one day. If anyone would know something, it's Rata. And she would be quite fascinated to meet you undoubtedly."

"You say that because you can. Sleep is an escape. Akiran shrugs as eyes the bottle and pipe gaging the right amount to send him into a dreamless sleep without making then next morning terrible  "Guess it's all down to perspective then. But if ya want it gone, I've got your back" Taking another puff of the pipe before passing it back to Sable "Sounds like we are all as friendly as we're gonna be. Anything else we need to hash out tonight?"

"A human hasn't seen Ore'agah in a century and a half." Ascian stares at Thezra, realizing only after the words have been said that that qualifier might be exactly why he'd be able to. But if he wasn't human, and he wasn't undead, what was he? His fingers curl and uncurl, the silver edge of his ring pressing hard and cool into its neighbors. Listless, he looks back toward Akiran through the filmy pipe smoke and shakes his head. 

Taking another puff of the pipe before passing it back to Sable "Sounds like we are all as friendly as we're gonna be. Anything else we need to hash out tonight?" Sable takes the pipe and slumps into a slouch in his chair. "I don't know about you, but I'm about ready to hit the sack," he laughs.

With Sable's words as a send-off, the group picks itself up, pays its tab, and move for the door. Akiran scoops up the still-slumbering Lilliana with little effort and carries the fledgling adventurer back to the tavern that houses the secret entrance to the Wayfarer's Guild. After entering and answering a few questions about their "new" party-member, the Fireblades are allowed back to their quarters. As if by magic, a fire flickers warmly in the fireplace beneath the fireblade symbol. 

Returned at last to the suite, Thezra strongly contemplates for a moment simply trotting off to bed for some solitude and rest. But sleeping with a mind at turmoil rarely worked out well, and so she quickly found herself gathering her gear once more. "If for any reason you need to find me, I'll be at the forge," she states, looking to the others.

By using all of the restraint his tipsy brain possesses, Akiran is able to just stop himself from groaning as Thezra announces that she will be going to the Forge as well. He knew they needed to patch the relationship, he had even had said as much to Lilli earlier. But he truth be told he was hoping to explore the forge in a bid to put off sleep. Shifting Lilli's slumbering form in his arms, he decides to make friends and says "I guess it's true about great minds and all that. I'm planning on taking a look at the forge after I get Lilli back to her room. I'll meet you down there if you don't mind the company?" He then walks to Lilli's room and gently places the human into her bed. Filling a glass with water and leaving it by the bed and with a chuckle says "Sleep it off kid. Ya more than held your own and it was a fucking crazy day. And tomorrow's mushroom hunt seems to be about the same." he then turns and moves to the door but hesitates for a moment and his scales ruffle in a dragonborn smile. Just before he calls out "I lepkiric!" with a chuckle as he finally exits the room. Moving to his own room he methodically takes his gleaming armor off, cleaning and shinning each piece as he goes. Once the task is complete he gathers his smithing tools, changes into a greasy tunic with a leather apron,  fastens his sword belt, and makes his way to the forge.

Katrin joins Thezra and Akiran, and together, the three of them make their way down the hall to where they had seen the forge on their tour the previous night. The hearth of the  Malleaternum glows brightly atop a tall dais. Strangely, no bellows or other methods of flame-fanning sit close by. As they get closer, the trio can see the softly-glowing sigils and runs carved around the mouth of the hearth and adorning the base of the anvil. A raised shallow basin of crystal clear water sits on the far side of the anvil. Getting even closer and ascending the dais, the trio can see the that the basin, too, is lined with runes around the inside -- and that while heat rolls out of the hearth, a cool breeze floats across the surface of the water. The only sound in the workshop is the tight crackle of flames and the soft lapping of the water against the sides of the pool. The two sing a strange, chiming melody through the quiet. Even the sounds from the other workshops nearby seem to fade as the water and flames duet a lullaby that lacks the percussive rhythm that only comes from hammer on white-hot steel. Even as they imagine it, the three Fireblades can almost hear the hammer-strikes of Tollanian craftsmen forging the machines of their great empire.  All of a sudden, the lullaby is broken by a soft voice. "Magnificent, isn't it?" The trio turns to see a robed tabaxi with silver fur -- Fliek. "Good to see you again, Katrin." She looks to the dragonborn and the orc, then looks back to Katrin expectantly. "Who are your friends? I do not recognize them from your party at the retreat."

"Good to see you as well, Fliek," she greets the Tabaxi warmly. "We've made a few new friends since we last saw each other. Akiran and Thezra," she gestures to each respectively. "They helped us with our problems at the Fireblade tavern." Falling silent, she takes in the beauty before her. "This place...it truly is remarkable. A smith's dream."

The tabaxi nods to each in turn. "A pleasure, Akiran and Thezra. I am Fliek, part-time purveyor of goods, part-time adventurer. I met Katrin and the rest of the group a few weeks back. Helped us get back some of our goods from a bandit-lord." The tabaxi's fur ripples in agitation at the memory. "Kou Shin was a valiant warrior. It is a shame he is not with us now."

"He was, indeed." Katrin falls silent for a long moment, sending a silent prayer to Tempus in remembrance of the young warrior. 

" Throm-ka  and well met Fliek, Purveyor of Good Wares and Times,"  she gives a small nod as she first walks in,  "you speak of 'Gesrik', yes? I've heard a bit about that experience. Sounded... bad."   Her voice trails off as her eyes start to truly explore the Malleaternum  and a bit of awe sets in, her mouth dropping ever-so-slightly open.  " Wol nakesh ."   The orcish phrase repeats again and again in her head, the beauty and magnificence of the forge all she can think of. "This is... there are a handful of forges throughout Ore'agah, but none that really stand out. Hearth. Anvil. Bellows. They are constructed simply and sparsely. I learned everything I know tinkering with an old hammer and even older anvil at a small one near my home. To be given access now to something as grand as this?" A giddy smile creeps over her face, a look of genuine excitement she hasn't had in some time with all the hecticness and frustration of the situation with Duar'ken and the Watchers. Already, ideas are creeping in of everything she could make, upgrades and runes and modifications. "I don't even know where to start."

Katrin is only half-listening to Thezra as she rambles on, obvious excitement in her voice. But Katrin is finding her initial enthusiasm fading, images of the Malleaternum replaced by the grand forges of Hol, her father working tirelessly, a young dwarven girl at his side, eagerly watching everything he did.  She blinks away the memory, and the Malleaternum once again fills her vision. "My father always told me that the best weapons are forged with the purest metals. It's the most important part of the process. It doesn't matter if what you create is beautiful, it's the heart of the weapon that matters."   Another memory surfaces: great storerooms filled with mithril, that seem to stretch on for miles. The very heart of the Dwarven people. Now in the hands of Ragnerk.  

As he wanders through the forge he says to Fliek "Well met! We've come across more of Gresik's followers, have you learned anything about the man since your escape?" continuing to move through the forge as he waits for a response. Blueprints and designs of the intricate masterpieces he would forge flood through his mind as his eyes rove the forge. The Dragonborn was so caught up in his imagined triumphs that it took him a moment to even realize his companions were speaking. Turning to his companions "It is truly an impressive forge."  Holding up a silver scaled finger "But with all due respect I must disagree with your father Katrin." Holding up his hands in front of him with his imitation of a human smile filling his snout "Though only on the matter of beauty, his words hold true in everything else. A beautifully forged suit of armor or finely honed blade can be  as effective if not more than the weapon itself. The very sight of these wonders can inspire your friends and bring terror to your enemies. They have the power to end a fight before a blow has even landed."   Shrugging he adds "Beautiful and efficacy, little in life is better." With a friendly look to Thezra "Though that is just this primper's opinion" adding a friendly laugh to his own joke. 

Breaking her gaze away from the Malleaternum, she cocks a brow to Akiran, "Truth be told I don't care much either way. Whether it is a gilded lily or simply a pointy stick, as long as it's sharp enough to cut through the target, that should be enough. Of course..." She reaches back and pulls her own sword forth, holding it out sideways to examine it. The blackened metal rises from its dual-edged blade into the sinking curvature of the fuller inlaid down the middle. The golden crossguard, angled upwards like to match a darkened pair of curved horns protruding from just past the shoulder, banded around with thick bronze alloy. The craftsmanship was nowhere near as glimmering and elegant as Akiran's pieces, but it bore its own elements of fearsome beauty.  "...a gilded blade is still appreciable, admittedly."  Looking over to Fliek once more, she gives her a friendly smile, "Would you happen to have any materials for sale? I aim to improve my kit a bit."

As Akiran continues to walk around the forge, Katrin rubs her temples in slight irritation. She has to tell herself that Akiran knew little of her people's culture, the centuries of tradition which Dwarven steel is founded upon. 

Fliek shakes her head to both Akiran and Thezra.  "We found nothing on Gesrik or his allies. And apologies, but I do not carry raw materials. But there are plenty of merchants in the city that do. Though it is a bit late in the day to be starting on a new project..."

With a sigh of minor disappointment, Thezra shrugs. "Figured as much. In all honesty I didn't come down with any concrete plan to get working tonight. But the sight of this great hearth has inspired me, so I figured I'd ask. Tell me though, Fliek, would any of the merchants in this city have scripts of a runic nature? I have several already, but it never hurts to have more." She beams down to her own handiwork glimmering along the edges of her blade and gauntlets. "If we're talking about decorative smithing, this  is my preference by far."

tw: drug use It isn't long after the others have left and the wizard retires that Ascian finds himself back in the open air of the cavern, Ember keeping silent pace at his side. There's a shallow sinking feeling coiled around his ribs the further he strays from the guild room, balanced only by the burning weight in his pocket that seems to be ten times heavier than he knows it ought. He should have told Katrin when he'd told her about the cleric. He should have told the entire group in the tavern, as they smoked pipeweed and laughed about the mushrooms that need to be gathered. He should tell the wizard, now, before he takes anything given to him by a stranger. He should tell  someone.  Maybe then the snake squeezing his chest would wouldn't feel quite so constricting. Or maybe the shame he can already feel at the thought of Katrin's face would only make it worse. His feet take him up the stairs of a neighboring building before he's really decided where he's going, the pathway too narrow to let Ember walk at his side. For a long moment the sound of his own boots and four soft paws behind him is the only one he hears; unpunctured by his own labored breathing or an increased heart rate or the roar of adrenaline that should be coursing through his veins but isn't, and never will again. For the first time all day, he lets himself wonder where Kaed is; if he's any closer to finding what he's looking for. If he might still be close enough to catch.  He leaps over an alley. His shadow follows. Ember comes next. He can't follow Kaed. He knows that as surely as he knows that his journey for respite ends here, on this rooftop, with no more buildings within jumping distance for a wolf. He had told Katrin he would stay with her; Thezra that he would help find the Watcher and find answers for them both.  Undeath, from what I've always been taught at least, brings with it significant changes to one's mind. He wonders if she'd still think him sound if she'd known him a month ago, when he'd held a blade to an orc's throat and calmly described the pending torture. Of the way the hesitant, torn mess he's become pales in comparison to something that shouldn't have ever been able to get paler. He hadn't known as much then, but he'd been  sure , and it's a luxury he knows now he'd taken for granted as much as he had sleep and breath and appetite. He hadn't been normal, but at least he hadn't been this . Slowly, with the weight of weeks of weariness an albatross around his neck, Ascian sinks to the ground. The bottle Barnes had given him is in his hand as if summoned, small and dark and innocuous. It would be easy to throw it over the ledge now and let it shatter on the cavern floor; to put his hope in Anastasia. But the half-elf had said religion was for those looking for easy answers, and Ascian isn't sure if there's truth to that or he only fears there is; only that it feels foolish now to rely on it, as he had relied on Marianne, who had told him nothing of Daerheim except that it was better left forgotten. Like Callahan. Like Kaed. Like Thrandimir. Like all the people they'd walked away from, who were more past than present and growing more fixated in it by the day. Like the brother he'd come into this world with, who might be waiting on just the other side of this veil with all the world's answers. "Lay down,"  he tells Ember quietly, stroking the familiar fur and settling back against it as the wolf obeys.  "I'm sorry. Please stay." Ascian doesn't want to forget. Before he can question it further, he unscrews the bottle, tips his head back, and lets the liquid settle just beneath his tongue. There's a second, a choice, where he knows he could still spit it out if he wanted; that there's a moment that separates him from this one and everything that comes next. Stay your current course, and you'll have your answers. He closes his eyes and swallows.

Answers, like so many things, are fleeting. The tincture seems to have no effect as Ascian leans back, his head resting on the marble roof of the building. He waits, anticipation of something -- anything -- holding him in place like the bonds he tied around the orc prisoner those three weeks ago. Eventually, he finds his focus drifting, like it used to in that moment of strange clarity held in stasis between wakefulness and sleep. The realization  or his proximity to slumber sends him shooting up, the binds of anticipation broken for the moment. Eyes open to see the cavern...and find it brighter than it had been. The large hole that would normally show the understructures of The Crossroads shows only an open, grey sky. But the cavern itself is unchanged. No...not unchanged, pristine. The marble is bright, seemingly untouched by the ravages of age. No vines creep up pillars, no moss covers the bridges over the bright pool in the center of the cavern. It's almost hard to tell that this world has no color here, compared to the other place -- the real place. But this world, for the first time, feels just as real and tangible as the other. Ember rests beside him still, somehow aware of this place and yet not aware of it. As he focuses for that moment on the real world -- the wolf, himself, the drug coursing through his veins -- he feels the stasis start to break, and the recently unfamiliar embrace of sleep pulls at him. His focus shifts to a sound behind him, and the stasis returns. The shuffling of a soft footfall comes to his ears, and he hears a familiar voice speak -- one purely lacking any sort of grandeur. It is once again simple, punctuated, and to the point. "Hello again."

Two words is all it takes to make the serpent twisted around his ribs uncoil. It worked. Relief like nothing else he's felt floods through him to fill the void left by all that tension, a hollow he's grown so used to he doesn't quite know what to do with it once it's filled. Even if he'd breathed, he wouldn't be able to now; sitting in total stillness beneath a bright, clean cavern with his fingers clenched so tightly in Ember's fur it's a marvel it doesn't hurt the wolf. If he feels fear now it's only for the thought that if he moves too quickly it all might shatter and slip through his fingers again, now that he's finally, finally so close.  "Hello."  He almost turns, but remembers the warning from last time, and forces his spine to constrict. "I want to talk. Can I look."

Fliek scratches her head, then looks back to Thezra. "I believe there is a runic merchant in the city," she says. "Nothing large scale, I'm afraid. Everything hand-carved by one person, I think. They're just off the Amber Market." She gives a few street names and some rough directions.  The voice responds: "You may." As Ascian turns to look and this time, the shadow isn't a shadow. A tall being with sharp elvish features stands on the clean white stone. His dark hair bears a touch of grey at the temples, and his rakish, neatly trimmed goatee encompasses a warm, but powerful smile -- someone's kindly uncle and a serious statesman all at once. Blue robes of a unfamiliar, but not otherworldly style adorn his figure, and his green eyes sparkle against the colorless void.  "I'm sorry about last time," he says. "Your mind is less...earth-bound. I can only assume you've consumed some sort of intoxicant."  He kneels down near Ember's head and the wolf looks up at him, staring vaguely in his direction, then back at Ascian with a concerned look on his face.  "May I?" the man says, offering an open hand to Ember while looking at Ascian.

Ascian turns sharply, a lump in his throat - expecting to see anything but the man that's standing there. Blinking at him in shock, he struggles to parse out exactly what  he'd expected; someone that looked like his sister, maybe. His double, perhaps. Another boy as pale and weary as he - the farthest thing from the dark-haired elven man who stands before him. "I thought..."  Looking at Ember, he nods numbly, struggling with the crash of a tide of disappointment against the rocks of raw curiosity. "Who are you."

The man strokes Ember's fur, and the wolf initially hesitates, but then allows himself to be scratched. The man smiles sadly at Ascian's obvious disappointment. "I know, you were expecting someone else. I'm sorry. My name is Faerus Vance." There's a pause, then he says, "And you are?"

"Ascian." He watches Ember for a moment, the wolf's hesitation a mirror of his own. "Is he here? The...someone else." He realizes how it sounds, and focuses on trying to rearrange his limbs instead to slowly stand opposite the elf. "Are you alone here."

Faerus says,  "Yes, Casimir is here. We've spoken on occasion, but he's not that talkative. Bashful, even. I'm sure if you come back like this, he'll come around. But no, I'm not alone. Though the denizens of this realm are few and far between, these days."

Back at the Forge Katrin hangs back from Akiran and Thezra as she stares at the forge. In the same breath, she sees the Malleaternum and the forges of Hol. So different, yet so similar. An unfamiliar ache rests on her chest. Am I...homesick? She hadn't much thought about the escort job that the Fireblades had taken, choosing to ignore the fact that it was taking her back home. Her second home. There wasn't a way to return to Hol. Not without a war breaking out. She watches Thezra and Akiran converse with Fliek with a distracted indifference. Her mind keeps traveling back to her conversation with Ash and then with Sable-- Tim -- a short time later. And her heart aches even more. She meant what she had said. She had very few people she considered to be her  people. Her beloved Rose, Ascian, even Sable had become a part of her circle. And she would lay down her life if it meant saving them.  Katrin leans against one of the stone walls as she contemplates all of this. I'm going home. She didn't know if that thought was exhilarating or terrifying.

Ascian's vision shimmers, and he's not sure if it's the world or the drugs or tears, only that it's gone in a blink. "Is he okay? How do I find him?"  That relief starts to leak through again, and for the first time he wonders dimly if that's selfish, to be glad that someone might be stuck here instead of having moved on. Instead of dwelling on that he forces himself to focus on the surrounding stillness again, and ultimately slow down. "Why are you here. Why did you help me." He gestures toward Ember.  "Us."

"He's...well enough," Faerus says.  "Not quite dead, not quite alive. Much like you, just on the other side of things. Finding him is less simple, though he's never far from where you are." He moves around and, in stark contrast to his regal dress and demeanor, plants his rear on the ground and rests his elbows on his knees. "I didn't do anything for your wolf. That was your doing. I merely pushed you in the right direction, and you paid for it."

That causes his brow to crease. "How can I see him? Can we be...fixed?" It's a strange thing, to say we . He supposes he's always been one; wonders if perhaps that's why he's always struggled so hard to find a footing.  Everyone expected him to find purchase on the narrow pillars of society with one foot, but he'd always had two. It's a more comforting fact than he's comfortable with. Feeling out of place now that Faerus is seated while he stands, he ultimately sits too, pulling his knees slowly to his chest as he stares unblinkingly at the man. "I hope he understands. I didn't mean to." He thinks briefly on how much weaker he's felt since saving - or damning - Ember; how much easier to tire, when there's no easy fix. "Why did you push me, then. Why can I talk to you."

Faerus holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Easy, easy," he says. "One statement at a time." He holds up a finger. "First one: can you be fixed? Maybe. I don't know. Your condition falls just outside my area of expertise."  He raises another finger. "Second one: yes. He knows that you didn't mean to harm him. How could you have? You were both newborn." Another finger. "Third one: you needed help. I helped. Just like you helped those people in that village. Just like you've helped your friends here." A fourth finger. "Fourth...and this one, I'm not really sure of. I'm not usually able to speak with those outside this realm. You seem to be medicated enough to break through the barrier that separates your plane from mine." He lowers his hand. "I have a question for you: why are you so obsessed with being 'fixed?'"

Finishing his inspection of the wonderous forge Akiran finds Fliek his tone taking on the charming and verbose nature he uses for both the powerful and potential benefactors  "Unfortunate. Though I must warn you, the so called Bandit Lord had our group followed. Luckily fortune favored us and Ash.... the pale human. Was able to capture the spy pursuing us."  Pausing and looking the Tabaxi in the eye   " I wanted to make sure you knew, they may have followed you as well. It never hurts to be cautious, 'specially when you're dealing with a madman."

Ascian is still for a long moment, his vision blurring and doubling as his eyes briefly unfocus on Faerus. It's been a long time since he's felt true changes in temperature, but the wash of warmth followed by pure cold that whistles through him at the answers catches him off guard. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again, trying to formulate words and failing. At last, after a struggle, they come.  "I don't know what I am. Just that it's getting worse." His limbs tighten around his knees as he tries to find words for an answer to a question he'd always been afraid to ask. "I don't feel human." He has to swallow past the thick acid that accompanies those words, ones he thinks he's always tasted at the back of his tongue but been afraid to ever give voice.  "I don't know how I could be. You said yourself I'm dead and alive. But they tell me I'm not undead. I don't understand how that can be. And I want to." His gaze drops to the rooftop, and the splash of the elf's robes across the stone. "There's been something wrong with me for as long as I can remember. I've come here for as long as I can remember. I don't know which one I'm supposed to be in."  He frowns dully at the ground. "I'm tired of not knowing. I'm tired of being tired. If I can find out what's wrong with me, I can go back to being human. A better human. A normal one. Maybe we both can. And we can sleep."

Fliek nods.  "Thank you,"  she says.  "I'll be sure to keep an eye out, though I highly doubt that even a bandit 'lord' will show their face in the city."  The tabaxi wiggles two fingers on each hand to emphasize the mocking  lord  title.  "Well, I am glad that you all made it here, new faces and all. Come by tomorrow in the main hall, we'll have our wares laid out." Faerus nods, listening intently to Ascian's explanation. "You see yourself as lesser. And I understand why. But when I look at you, Ascian, I see someone special.  You're not bound by the rules of humanity and their kind. You're greater than their mortal needs." His green eyes burn brightly as he speaks, his calm voice animated like Ascian's never heard before. But then, he sobers. "But I understand. There's a cost to this. And you never asked for it."

Ascian leans back slightly, caught off guard by the elf's fervor. There's a moment where the green of his eyes looks too bright, almost truly glowing – as another man's had just a few hours ago. His frown creases, trying to discern how that's possible in a realm otherwise bleached of color; if maybe it had just been a trick of the light. "Neither of us did," he says at last, falling forward again. "Why are we paying it? What does it matter, to not be bound by their rules." He looks at Faerus through long, lank blond hair made all the whiter by their surroundings, his focus as flat and tired as his voice. "Special isn't the same as good."

"You're right, it's not," he says. "But 'good' is what you make of it. You're looking at this from the human perspective. You say you are unable to sleep. I say that you don't have  to sleep. The tiredness will pass. You'll become accustomed."  He sighs. "Not being bound by the constraints of mortality is only the beginning of what you will be able to do. I can show you great things, Ascian. I can show you how to bend this world to your whim. And above all, I can give you answers ."

Ascian looks at Faerus for a long, stretched moment, feeling a shallower cousin to that tsunami of relief start to form. It isn’t his other half, not quite, but it’s everything he’d wanted from Marianne and Anastasia and even the Watcher, with eyes that had similarly burned like coals. It’s kindness and a promise; a beginning to an end and above all else, a guarantee. “What do I have to do.” 

Faerus's smile is kind, with an edge of promise and power and hints of triumph that leave some part of Asian unsettled for a few brief moments. His voice is gentle, though. "Continue on. Use whatever tincture you have imbibed to rest, if you desire. But take some moments to relish in the fact that you can stand stalwart guard over your companions all night, and keep them safe from the dangers of your plane. Aid them. Continue questioning the world around you. And when you wish to speak to me, just find this wakeful moment before sleep again." He pauses, glancing over Ascian's shoulder. "But now, I think someone wants to speak with you." A light footstep from behind, one that Ascian almost doesn't hear. He turns to see a reflection of himself, with emerald green eyes. The same long blonde hair, lithe form, wiry muscle. "Hi," Casimir says quietly.

At first Ascian wants to protest, to ask for an action, something he can accomplish that isn't simply more waiting – but the words die in his throat as he follows Faerus' gaze to find his own face staring back at him. Any chance those waves of relief had had of quelling dissipates, and the resulting hurricane that rips through him would have left him breathless if their nature hadn't. Their  nature. Is this what is, to not be alone? At once he scrambles to his feet, moving so swiftly Ember rises too; movement he's only vaguely aware of as just a foot or so away his too-large eyes find their match. Green. Green like Faerus', green like the Watcher's; green in a way that is surely significant but if it is he doesn't care, not here, not now, not with everything he's been looking for standing in front of him after twenty-one long years. "Hi."  The syllable is just as soft a reflection. Now that it's here, now that he's  here, Ascian finds he almost doesn't know what to say. There's a lifetime to explain, and a thousand questions to ask, but before any of it can be voiced he knows something else needs to pave the way.  "I'm sorry. It should have been you." He swallows. With anyone else, his eyes would have averted on reflex, but it's a different thing when it's your own self staring back at you. "Are you okay?"

Nodding as she speaks he adds "Perfect! The crew's coming into some gold tomorrow. Better it  help us pickup some new gear and the gold makes it's  way into the hands of a friend, and than in the coffers of oh so many taverns." Laughing  for a moment his snout grows serious "Word to the wise though. Be alert. Gresik seems like a spiteful bastard with deep pockets. Trust me Crossroad guards are more than willing to turn a blind eye when their pockets are full."

"Don't apologize," Casimir says. "It wasn't your fault." There's a long pause as Casimir considers something, but then he says, "It was mine."  He looks up at Ascian's inquiring eyes, then continues. "It wasn't a conscious choice, just instinct. I felt myself in that moment between wakefulness and sleep. I felt that you were in trouble. So I helped. Just like you helped this wolf." The corners of his mouth turn up slightly in a sad half-smile. "Don't tell me that I shouldn't have done that." Fliek nods. "Not our first carnival," she says. "We'll be careful." With that, she turns and makes her way out of the forge.

As Katrin stares at the forge, her mind keeps going back to home. Finding a low stone step, she eases herself down, pressing her fingers together, a bit harder than she intended. Her sister would be overjoyed to see her return. As would her mother. But her father...she closes her eyes, pressing her forehead to her hands. They'd had a huge argument the day she left. Over what, she can't remember. It probably doesn't matter anymore. She looks over at Akiran, conversing with Fliek, then to Thezra nearby still gazing at the Forge in awe. She wondered if they would ever get along. Maybe that was her flaw. Too proud of her heritage, of the person she had been. Too proud to truly forget.  Her shoulder aches, and she can feel a dull, dark anger building in her mind. If Ragnerk ever showed his face....he would be sorry. She had to make him pay. She starts to her feet as Fliek walks away from the forge, catching her in the hall outside. She looks surreptitiously around, before speaking.  "I wanted to ask, have you ever traded with Dragonvale?" 

Ascian's shoulders fall alongside his expression, his entire body closing in on itself. He almost looks back at Faerus, the elf's words ringing truer than they had even a few moments ago.  There's a cost to this. And you never asked for it.  But after all this time it's impossible to look away from Casimir. He's spent so long wondering if Ember might hate him for what he's done to him, he's never stopped to think about how he might feel if it were reversed. If it wasn't hate but something thicker and sadder and more viscuous that might reign so overwhelmingly that for a moment it blocks his throat. "You shouldn't have," he says at last, after several long moments trying to swallow past it. "If you could do that, and I could help Ember. How do I help you? How do I give it back."

"I don't think it's that simple," Casimir says, a look of sorrow and regret marring his features. "And even if it was, I wouldn't want you to." He looks at the white-stone roof. "I shouldn't have told you. I don't want to burden you with this...you already carry so much."

“No. I want to know.” He’s been so unsure of everything for so long, it feels almost alien to be as certain as he is now of this. How badly he needs this, Casimir, of anything, to be true.  Looking down at Ember, he brushes his hand over the wolf’s head before gesturing him toward his twin.   “Don’t lie to me. Not you.”

Ember sniffs at the place where Ascian sees Casimir. The wolf whines, and turns his head back to Ascian, confusion playing across his canine features. Casimir gently buries a hand in the shaggy fur on the wolf's neck and gives a few patient scratches. Ember looks back to him and leans into the gesture. The wolf sits down, equidistant between the two brothers, looking back and forth from one to the other. Casimir nods. "I won't. I promise." Fliek frowns, pondering the question. "Dragonvale," she says slowly. "Dwarven settlement on the lake? Yeah, I've been there once. They're pretty reclusive."

"How long ago? Were Heartland soldiers there?" Katrin's voice is earnest, urgency in her tone.