Session 4 - The Sky is Falling

It has been a day. In the last twenty-four hours, our party has disembarked from the train, arrived at Bernier Station, had a lovely dinner, met a lovely Astrologian, exchanged incredibly powerful communication methods with an Astrologian, learned about the stars in the night sky, and then had one of those stars try to kill them.
Fortunately, there’s little a good night’s sleep cannot cure.
The Valles Estate had plenty of space for Linnet and her friends, putting everyone up in one of the expansive guest suites — more of a side mansion, really, with two buildings bracketing a central open-air courtyard, purple and orange flowers planted around a magnificent stone fountain. The temperate weather allowed you all to sleep with the windows open, lazy Caerwynian breezes drifting across your beds. It’s clear to see why people would want to live here.
In a few days, the charity auction of the late Sindarius Valles’s riches will begin, leaving Linnet time to meet the family, Isa time to leave and acquire a sword and return, Yves to return a lantern and jump out of a window, Bast to do something, we’re sure, and Orrey to check the validity of some particular ancient manuscripts. Breakfast has been served and cleaned up, hangover cures administered, and the day stretches out before you, with so much to do, and so much time in which to do it.
We join our heroes as the rays of the sun stretch across the mansion’s gardens…
Isa was awake offensively early, and is already cleaned up and packed up and ready to go. “Heading to Kinneas to see a man about a sword. Back as soon as the trains will let me. Anyone interested in tagging along?”
Linnet, aware that she’s probably up too early by normal people standards, perches on a garden bench and reviews her notes. In one hand she fidgets with a delicately carved white candle about the length of her hand. “Um. Maybe? Do you need anyone zapped?”
Isa shrugs. “How often can you predict that? I don’t expect to zap anyone, but I didn’t expect to punch a star in the face, either.”
Yves looks up from where he was studying the mask, some sort of morning drink that might or might not be alcoholic in hand. It’s probably a sign of youth that he doesn’t look hungover at all. Yes, he’s wearing dark glasses, but they seem to have a complicated set of lenses he’s been flipping in front of one eye or another for the examination. “No one told me about /punching/,” he says. “I thought it was swords and magic. Now I need to add biological contact to the list.”
Ingrid, still here, flipping through a book about landscape paintings, is going to stay here where hopefully no more stars fall.
Bast, preoccupied with the shattered pieces of the shadow’s gem, does not volunteer to go anywhere.
Orrey is checking on everything in his satchel to be sure it’s all still there. “I won’t be able to tag along with anyone today. I’ve got some books to look over. Incredibly boring work, really. It’s probably going to take me most of the day, too, so I’d probably better just go it alone.”
“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind me hanging around, I’d like to take a closer look at the books as well,” Linnet says. “I’ve been sent after one, but I might end up buying several. Um. do you mind?”
“Zapping people with Isa sounds WAY more fun, though,” Orrey tries.
“Yes, but it also sounds way harder to explain my way out of. And, I am kinda counting on this expedition to get me my job back.” Linnet looks very embarrassed and pretends to be fascinated by a crack in a flagstone.
“Well. Possible zapping. Not even probable zapping. Maybe ten percent chance. But the books are certain,” Isa says.
Yves sidles over toward Bast. “So, did you try putting those pieces into this yet?”
Isa looks at Yves. “Well that sounds like a horrible plan.”
“It has crossed my mind. Don’t think that’s something we want to try in here, though.”
“It’s not /science/ if you can’t replicate results. If you do something once and call it an answer, that’s just a, a /hobby/,” Yves says.
Linnet snorts at that. “At least not in the middle of the ornamental gardens, okay? In case it explodes or something. Maybe in a cellar.”
That earns Linnet a look from Bast. “If you’re worried about explosions, a cellar is the last place you want to be.”
“More escape routes and pressure release options in an open area,” Yves says, but with only half-hearted pressure. “…I don’t know why people look at me like that, I’m not suggesting anything weird. It’s not like I said someone should /eat/ a piece of that crystal. That would be weird. It might have very interesting results! But, uh, it would be unethical? Unless it was self experimentation. Then it’s just unwise.”
Yves gets an approving nod from Bast for the more detailed explanation.
“Heavy walls and a thin roof.”
Orrey’s face drops and he looks like he’s having a time trying to think of a reason to say no politely to Linnet, but can’t think of anything. “I guess it’d be ok for you to come with?”
“Cellars contain the explosion and make it less immediately visually evident what the hell you were doing. At least, that was my logic. And thank you, Orrey! I promise to be very quiet and not to blow anything up. Unless we need that,” Linnet says.
“Right. Now think about what happens when you are in the middle of a “contained” explosion instead of one that’s free to go to the four winds."
A throat is cleared at about Bast height, by the fountain. A moogle in a knit cap and a burgundy shirt that screams for a nametag is standing with his hands behind his back, his face making it plain that this will be the talk of the break room later, oh yes. “It would be wise to pay your respects to the master of the estate,” he says with a small smile. “And then, if you need any particular assistance, do let a member of the staff know.”
“They’d probably object if I thinned their roofs here,” Yves says, as if he might in fact climb up on a roof and attempt to reduce its thickness, fastenings, and/or density as soon as he finishes this mimosa. He waves his drink politely at the moogle as if this proves his point about guest etiquette.
“Oops. Good morning! If you would be so kind as to clue us in on visiting etiquette, mostly hours and locations for paying respects, we shall endeavor to do so as soon as is polite and proper.” Linnet’s courtly bow is slightly spoiled by the fact that she’s absentmindedly hovering again.
A nod in return, green pompom dipping into his field of vision, to his annoyance. “Of course. The Master of the House is, at this time, Dearica Valles. She is in the main building and is ready to receive you anytime.”
“Thank you kindly. Is it still Master? Mistress? Mixter?” Linnet shoves the candle back into her pocket and closes her notebook with a definitive snap. “Shall we, my erstwhile companions?”
Orrey puts his hands in his pockets as well. “Might as well.”
Isa nods. “I’ll come along before I set out.”
“By all means,” Bast says, shouldering his bag.
Yves drains his drink, and stands up. The mask goes into a satchel that’s already awkwardly bulky with its current contents.
“Mistress, and well asked. Travel well, and we will see to your rooms in your absence.” Another nod, and off the group goes, Ingrid as well.
Your double-mansion was nice.
The main hall is Opulence.
And there are signs of a new Opulence starting to shove its way in, as half of the decorations are a bit restrained, and half of them are overwhelmingly ornate to the point of ostentatious.
The doors all stretch about thirty feet high, which is even more excessive for a house for tonberries. There is some sort of commotion behind the first of four staircases as you enter, who knows how many halls deep, but there is someone waiting for you that expects your full attention.
Bast, almost by habit, starts surreptitiously looking for exits and security measures.
Dearica Valles is a tonberry managing to look down her nose at a group of people that are all taller than her. Olive green skin, glimmering yellow eyes, and a beautiful purple cloak. She holds in her left hand a polished metal lantern, her eyes flicking down to its dancing fire every few seconds.
Isa is, perhaps surprisingly, unfazed by Opulence. In fact, as the group walks through the halls, her posture straightens and her expression becomes smooth and pleasant, though she still doesn’t smile.
Dearica waits for one of the visitors to make the first move/mistake.
Yves tries to stand up straight. He even tries to put his ears up straight, but given their natural inclination, it’s mostly a transition from lop-eared to a wobbly version of the more common straight-eared viera look.
Linnet makes sure her feet are planted firmly on the ground. “Mistress Valles. We thank you fervently for welcoming us to your estate and present our compliments to the host and our condolences on Master Sindarius’ passing.” She bows deeply and presents the candle from her pocket, carved hollow, almost in the shape of a tonberry lantern itself. “A small token of our esteem.”
Dearica takes the candle with a huff, going to pocket it, then looking at it for a moment, and then pocketing it with perhaps a little more thought. “Yes, well received, well received. It would have been more proper for you to arrive in the regular working hours when all good-thinking people are still up to receiving guests, but Enrico tells me we cannot expect outsiders to understand Valles culture. You,” she points at Linnet, “are here for the auction. What about the rest of your… entourage?” she sniffs.
Yves’ left ear trembles in an effort to stay upright. “I’m here about Elijhaa Valles,” he says, digging the wrapped parcel of a certain size out of his satchel.
Linnet was going to explain, but this is news, so she shuts her mouth and pays attention.
Isa has positioned herself behind Linnet, in “retainer” mode rather than “independent petitioner” stance.
At the mention of Elijhaa’s name, the temperature in the room drops ten degrees. “…do go on, boy.”
Yves’ left ear flops back down. The right is staying up. For the moment. “On behalf of his employer,” he says, “I’m… the… person bringing this back. On his behalf. For his family. We worked at the same company. Not together. As such.” He gives up on trying to figure out what kind of weird stuff rich people who don’t seem to work for a living expect out of him, and just holds out the package in front of him.
Her eyes slide down to the package, then back up to Yves, and they hold there for a long, tense minute. A very, very loud thump comes from down that first hall, where the commotion was before. It sounded a lot like a body slamming into a wall, Bast’s history would tell him.
Yves looks around. “…do I… uh… put it on a table…”
Linnet cringes. “Mistress Valles, should we return at a later time? We would hate to interfere…” The “with whatever the hell that is” remains unsaid.
Bast glances over in the direction of the sound, eyebrows raised, then looks back to Dearica for any reaction to whatever’s going on.
“You are…” she turns the word over, the taste ashes in her mouth, “welcome to tour the grounds and—”
“TRY HARDER!” booms a deep, energetic voice from down the hall.
Her eyes go down to the lantern she holds, gripped tightly in her shaking hand.
Then she turns on her heel, a shudder accompanying one last glance at the package Yves is trying not to blatantly be rid of, and storms up the stairs at an elegantly angry pace.
Orrey breathes a sigh of relief at getting out of having to say anything.
Another thump, this one with a bounce at the end.
“The offer to come to Kinneas still stands,” Isa offers.
Yves’ ears fall back to their natural lop. “…no one /told/ me there’d be /manners/,” he mutters.
“Isa, hate to say it, but I think we could stand for you to stick around a tad in case something needs slamming.” Linnet glances around the anteroom Dearica just vacated, gauging the suspicion level of any other eyes around.
“And suddenly sounds more tempting. Anyone want to see whose head they’re using to rearrange this place?” Bast says.
“Uh…you want to go towards the loud and disturbing sounds?” an incredulous Orrey asks.
Yves lifts the package and peers at it. “Do you think whatever is making the sound will accept this package? Because if so, yes.”
Isa gives Linnet a long consideration. “The train leaves at eight tonight,” she allows. “I really can’t wait for tomorrow, but it’s early.”
“She did say we’re welcome to look around.” Bast grins over his shoulder on the way out of the room.
“Psh, we have hours to get into trouble, Isa. Bast, wait up.” Linnet puts about an inch between herself and the ground – for stealth purposes, not that stealth is much called for here – and follows the moogle.
“Is there… a vault? A labeled cupboard? Some sort of display stand?” Yves hurries after Bast, still holding the package in both hands. “Does anyone know how this /works/?”
“It never came up in my mother’s lessons,” Isa says, and heads after Linnet and Bast.
The hallway Bast enters is large, lined in paintings of beautiful landscapes, happy tonberry families out on a lake, posing for uncomfortable portraits, with the floors beautifully polished, chandeliers dangling from the ceiling even though there’s really no need for a hallway chandelier, let alone three. There is a set of closed double doors, though then they are open, and a tonberry sails end over end, skidding to a hard stop against the far wall.
A small, defeated groan arises from the tonberry.
A VERY loud voice from inside those doors: “You are WASTING my TIME, little impotent one!”
Yves watches the tonberry try to pull himself up and fail. “See, I would think that would be /rude/, but I don’t know how they do it around here.”
“Whoa, there. Need a hand, friend?” Linnet crouches down to give the tonberry in the hall a once-over for serious wall injuries.
A shadow falls across the doorway.
The figure there is squad, with broad shoulders hidden inside a luxurious, if weathered, red cloak.
(Linnet pointedly ignores the shadow.)
The cloak covers his face, hiding it from view, though white pupil-less eyes peer out, taking everything in.
He appears to be covered in weapons, at least half a dozen sword handles poking out of the cloak, and a naginata strapped to his back.
“If you are to be some true Weapon Master worthy of my time to train, surely you can turn aside even the first of my blows! I swing like a feather! I dance in like the morning dew!”
Linnet raises her voice. “You shout like a falling boulder, sir! You echo like the avalanche!”
“Ah, you noticed!” He beams.
(Linnet is still not looking at the shadow.)
Isa is looking at the shadow, eyes narrow and assessing.
“But worry not, the great Liga has also noticed you, breeze of a black mage! Dost thou also wish to wield sword and pen, to strike down armies and curious knaves with but a breath and a pirouette?”
Orrey, hesitantly hovering at the back, grabs a sketchbook and starts jotting down what they’re saying along with a quick sketch of the redcloack.
Yves looks down at the package he’s holding. Up at the person of many weapons and one cloak. Sighs. No, this probably isn’t the right delivery mechanism either.
“At the moment, I wish to assess just how much you may have injured your student. Pray hold your gusts.” Linnet turns her attention back to the tonberry.
“Pah! Little Enrico Valles is unharmed! It is possible to pull one’s punches, after all, though I cannot say anything for our unforgiving friend, Wall. You!” A hand darts out of the cloak and points at Isa. “You carry a sword like someone who has at least figured out which side to hold! Do YOU wish to be a master of all weaponry?”
The groan at Linnet’s feet is more embarrassment than pain, though there’s certainly pain. The wood is cracked.
Isa’s guard remains high. “That seems excessive. There are a lot of weapons.”
“Ah, but the fun! The joy! The journey of self-improvement. The clash of steel echoing for an eternity! The adoring, applauding public!” The figure basks in the silent praise in his head.
Isa squints a bit more. “You mean…for fun?”
Liga strikes an overdramatic pose, one that catches the light perfectly for any portraits that may or may not be being drawn.
Linnet spares him just a glance. “You might have to start at the beginning with that part.”
Orrey continues sketching and shading, glancing back and forth between the page and the group.
Yves eyes the now identified Little Enrico Valles sidelong, trying to figure out if this is an appropriate target for sudden package delivery.
“The beginning is the perfect place to start!” With alarming speed, Liga arranges chairs in a circle and drops into one, spinning it around to lean against the back in what is surely an approachable fashion. "Our host, the horizontal Enrico Valles, is purported to be an incredible swordsman, a blademaster of peerless renown! Like the dull diamond sprouting through the soft earth, he would need but a master to guide him on his journey to greater stabnation. That is the letter I received from the Master of the Valles Estate, allowing for certain flourishes befitting a man of peerless culture.
“Imagine my dismay!”
A pause.
“…go on, imagine it…”
“I am sure it was profound,” Isa says flatly.
“It’s hard to imagine,” Yves says, straight-faced, “without more colorful detail.”
Liga provides. “I arrive and find that I have been misled! I have been led astray! I have been shown a clear path and found that the path was not a path, but instead an obfuscation painted onto the side of a mountain, with which to make a mockery of me!”
Linnet addresses Enrico. “Well, you don’t appear to have taken more damage than the wall. Can you still see okay? Can you get up? Do you need someone to rapidly spirit you away from this conversation?”
“So is this an introduction, or are you here as a…” – Bast waves a hand airily – “tutor?”
“May all the gods forfend that you be mocked,” Isa says with homeopathic sarcasm.
“Me! Liga Kine — long LEE on the front, and it’s ‘keen’ like a sword’s edge, write that down — Weapon Master, Traveling Swordsman, and Kiran Extraordinaire!”
Yves whispers to Enrico, “Do you know the funerary customs of your family? Hypothetically speaking.”
“Kiran?” Orrey thinks. “That sounds so familiar.”
“And so I ask of you, friends! Do you wish to walk the Way of the Warrior? Do you wish to learn the Bushido Blade? Have you come for a Samurai Showdown?” Liga pauses. “Because my train doesn’t leave for a day, and I am bored.”
“Yves, maybe hold off a minute until we figure out if he’s thinking straight?” Linnet whispers back out of the side of her mouth.
“I’m running out of Valleses to deal with!” Yves whispers back to Linnet.
Enrico has pulled himself up to a sitting position, and scowls at the floor. He doesn’t appear to have heard Yves. Our tonberry with the bruised pride has mottled turquoise skin that doesn’t appear to have bruised, and his beard is woven into two long braids on either side of his chin that likely took a long time to prepare this morning.
Liga points both hands at Orrey. “Kiran! The name of the most incredible swordsman to ever live! His blade could sunder empires and crack the sky in twain! Everyone knew he was the best, and he proved it time and time again!” He scratches his chin. “Some say he had an eyepatch, but the records are hazy.”
Yves looks up from the whisperfest. “Wouldn’t that have affected his depth perception enormously?”
Isa answers with rote speed. “Move your head. Parallax will compensate.”
Liga’s head turns slowly, cloak crinkling in an expectant smile.
Yves looks enlightened. Still holding that damn package, but enlightened.
The naginata slowly comes into the center of the circle of chairs.
“While it is hardly a spear, the manner in which it is wielded can serve as a sort of bridge between the sword and the spear, with lessons learned here passing down to both. If, perchance, a particular sword wielder found her heart led her to a different weapon.” He thinks. “But what do I know? I am only THE GREATEST WARRIOR ALIVE.”
Orrey looks slightly confused and glances over to Linnet, whispering “Is he flirting with Isa? I can’t really tell.”
“Not more than usual, he’s just found a target for his schpiel. This is probably also how he flirts.”
Orrey returns to sketching. “Fascinating.”
Bast looks less impressed. “Do you by any chance know another great warrior who goes by Kurt Heibel?”
“Yes! He is an ineffectual dope who will be lucky to live to the age of twenty-seven!”
Yves keeps his voice low. “Do we need to rescue Isa from stabbing, or let the two of them do their thing, or… there’s a library here, right? Do you think it would have an introductory book on tonberry funerary customs? Maybe a pamphlet? Instruction manual? Textbook?”
“In a library for tonberries, I sort of doubt it. Enrico seems like the right person to talk to, but you might have to give him a minute to recover his dignity and escape the conversation.” She raises her voice. “Isa? Should we leave you and your new friend to get acquainted?”
Yves thinks very seriously, then turns to Enrico. “Excuse me,” he says to the bruised tonberry, “I need to speak with you about a serious matter of business, but I would hate to interrupt you in the middle of a training session. Should I come back later?”
Enrico scowls, retreating into himself. “I’m not training. As soon as he’s done, whatever.”
Sotto voce again: “There wouldn’t happen to be another Enrico Valles we could fob him off on, would there?”
Isa inhales, holding her expression politically neutral for a count of three, and then exhales. “We are both guests here,” she says to Liga, “so I will bid you good day and free you to seek your amusement elsewhere.”
“Very well!”
If Liga is put out by this, it does not come through. “Friends, I hope the day finds you well and that you uncover all that you seek. Should you ever wish to see if you have what it takes to be a Kiran, you need only seek out… LIGA KINE!”
“Master Kine, it has been most entertaining. We’ll see you around, I’m sure.” Linnet winks over her shoulder.
Liga vanishes in a puff of smoke.
Linnet blinks. “…okay, where do I learn to do that?”
Yves blinks several times. Then says, “I suppose he’s done. Enrico Valles, I am afraid I am the bearer of bad news. The news already arrived, I’m just…bearing.” He attempts to press the package into the tonberry’s hands.
Enrico clambers up to his feet, considers shuffling away, but then is getting reverse-pickpocketed with a wrapped package. “What are you—”
The moment Liga is gone, Isa’s measured expression twists into open disdain. “Heroes,” she says as an obscenity.
Bast raises a hand to interrupt Yves, then lets it fall back down as it becomes clear that he won’t be stopped by mere interruptions.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Yves says briskly to Enrico. “So very sorry. I’m sure you need some time alone. I understand entirely.” He begins walking briskly away.
“I’m dreadfully sorry for my colleague, Master Valles, but he’s been awkwarding so hard I feared he’d drop the package long before he handed it off properly. I suspect he’s fled to your library.”
“What is— hey— don’t—” A flash of dawning comprehension crosses Enrico’s face. He steps back from the package, pulling his hands back as if stung.
The package falls.
“…dammit, Yves,” Linnet whispers.
Bast tries to grab it in mid-air.
The lantern falls to the ground… Bast’s hands just barely underneath it to keep it from dashing itself against the hard floor. There is a sound from within, either a crinkle of the paper or a crack.
Enrico looks down in horror, and then at Yves in fury.
“What were you thinking? Were you just.. were you just coming in here to show me my dead cousin and then you were just going to leave?”
“…yes?” Yves says, sounding genuinely baffled. “Surely you wouldn’t want me to /stay/.”
Enrico opens and closes his mouth twice.
“…I apologize,” Yves says cautiously, “customs must differ here.”
“My apologies for our…companion’s behavior, Master Valles. His meeting with Mistress Dearica did not go well.” Bast holds the package in an open hand, not making a move to offer it to Enrico again.
“Get out.”
Yves does not need to be told twice, in this case.
Enrico glares after him, and then at Bast, and then at Orrey, and then at Ingrid, and then at Isa, and then at Linnet.
Orrey nearly raises a hand. “Did you mean all of us?”
Linnet raises an eyebrow at Bast’s gentility, keeping an eye on Yves as he flees, then turns back to Enrico. “Yves is fairly new to our acquaintance, but I understand he’s completely out of his element once beyond the walls of his lab; he approaches social interaction as though under a microscope. Please, your reaction is completely warranted, but let us see if we can talk our way to a slightly more peaceful resolution. Please? Just give us a chance?”
Enrico shuts his eyes, one hand up above his head in a fist, the other holding him up against the wall. He is physically shaking with anger. “…all of you, get out. I don’t ever want to see that goddamned viera again. I don’t WANT to see any of you again either, but you’re — probably you — aaaaaaagh!” He punches the wall. “Just get out! I don’t want to see anyone until the auction! Just GET OUT!”
Orrey stows his book and pencils and heads off after Yves.
Upon returning to your quarters, that same moogle with that same lightly-amused expression delivers you your things, says you are welcome to return for the auction itself, and escorts you all from the premises.
Within the hour, you are back at the Velvet Sundown, looking at a lunch menu, and Ingrid adamantly refusing to allow Yves to drink anything.
Isa sets the menu down, decision made. “So what is this auction, again?”
Bast, after some highly satisfying contemplation of feeding the package to Yves, turns to Linnet instead. “Would you like to hold on to this?”
“Son of a hurricane, Yves, the failing winds are strong with you today.” Linnet munches on some sangria that practically qualifies as fruit salad. “…Bast, why in all the hells did you bring that thing to lunch with us? Fine, I’ll take it.” She takes the package, wraps it neatly in a spare scarf, and stows it in her traveling satchel.
Yves pulls his ears down over his face, and buries all of that together in his arms on the table.
“Right. So. Who has something to kill the next many hours of daylight that doesn’t involve us getting a pre-auction look at the Valles library? Or setting foot on the premises at all?” Linnet spears another hunk of wine-soaked pineapple and nibbles distractedly.
Orrey gives the viera a sympathetic look. “I don’t think I’d have done much better with it, Yves. Don’t let them give you a hard time.”
Yves mumbles something woeful into his arms.
“Well, I have this book…” Bast says. He pulls out a book sporting “ATMA” on the cover and slides it towards Yves and Linnet.
Orrey leans in. “Whoa, what is ATMA?”
Linnet observes. “Hm. Have you read it?”
“Give it a try.” Bast pushes the book toward her.
Yves raises his head just high enough to squint at the cover of the book.
“Well, if nobody needs anything from me for the next half hour…” Linnet starts poring through the book.
The letters keep moving. They keep shifting and moving and changing.
Yves frowns. “…well that’s not right.”
Linnet squints harder.
Isa watches the book draw all attention, calls for a refill of her beer, and pulls out the newspaper she grabbed on the way in. The charity auction is in three days.
Orrey gets up and grabs his things. “I think I’m going to go wander around for a bit. I’ll find you all later tonight? Want to meet here for dinner?”
“Train’s at eight.” Isa doesn’t look up from her paper.
Linnet slams the book shut and buries her head in one hand. “Ow.”
“I should… probably not spend too much time too near the estate…” Yves leans in to do that annoying thing where he reads over Linnet’s shoulder, except without any functional reading in this case.
“Dinner at 6?” Orrey asks.
Linnet groans. “Okay, either this sangria is unusually strong or that book is very weird. You’re welcome to it back, Bast.”
“Ah. Well, it was worth a try.” Bast glances at Yves to see if any long-eared enlightenment might be in the works before putting the book away.
A thump from the bar, though of a hand slapping against the thick wood, not a body hitting a wall. “I didn’t get my payment!” Liga stands up.
“Ah, Master Kine. Did you get thrown out too?” Linnet raises her glass in greeting.
“THIS is why you always invoice in advance.” Liga looks over, and waves, naginata waving along with his full-body motion. “My thoroughly uninterested friends! Good day to you!”
“Some of us could barely lift your arsenal, friend, but we’re all in the same boat now. Come, join us, there’s room,” Linnet says, gesturing to the booth.
Liga wiggles his way into the table, bumping Ingrid with seventeen pounds of swords and apologizing profusely. “Sorry sorry sorry that’s quite the book you have there! What does it say? I’ve never been able to read upside down.”
Isa slips away from the table the moment Liga slips in. “Back shortly,” is the only explanation she offers.
The letters dance about, almost mocking Linnet when she gives up. The dance continues as Yves turns his weary attention to it, and then, suddenly, the dance stops.
A shift. A change.
Something comes to light, something becomes clear…
Not words…
…but a mask.
A mask of a broken soul, a life lived and forgotten, abandoned in the stars above. “…abandoned us…” A sky full of stars. “left us… wither and rot…” A sky bleached by the Light. “replaced…” One star. “…dead, to rise…” One Crystal. “…as not ourselves, but others…” One Lie. “We were never gods. We were never meant to be gods. We meant to save, but not to lead.” The words form, gone as quick as they arrive, but Yves can read them clearly now. “We have been forgotten. We have been abandoned. We have been replaced. We would be killed, if only they could find our bodies to finish the deed.” “Find us. Free us. Save us. Rescue us. Revive us. Restore us.” “Remember Us.” There is no name.
Yves slams the book cover shut. “NOPE.” Then, an instant later, “I need to take notes.”
Bast leans in. “You can read this thing?”
Yves opens the book again, and tries to dig into his satchel for paper at the same time, unbalancing his chair such that he’s about to topple over backward.
Orrey pulls out a spare notebook and pencil. “Here! Or feel free to dictate!”
Liga snaps a hand out to steady Yves’s chair, holding and stirring his drink as he does so. “An avid researcher! I never had the mind for it myself. Youth at work! Inspiring!”
Yves grabs the notebook and pencil, and starts writing things down. “Thank you! And you! It’s about the. Where did Isa go? She told me about the stars which might or might not be undead. Same thing. With the masks. On the cryptic side, never was good with prophecies, but… I should get this down now. I never paid enough attention in lit crit classes.”
“…well, that’s a bit too eerily convenient for my taste.” Bast looks unsettled.
“Where’d you get that book, Bast?” Orrey asks.
“A pawnshop in Sofia. The owner practically paid me to take it; not much business in books that no one can read, it seems. Until now?” He glances over at the furiously scribbling Yves.
Liga adjusts Yves closer to the table with grace. “Well! For the rest of you who are not planning for a final, I am owed the Valles Family Dagger due to a previously agreed-upon price for training someone who did not want to be trained after all, and a little bird told me that Enrico would not be entertaining guests further. Since the Master of the Estate is sharper than anything I carry on my back, I do believe that I will be acquiring my payment through hijinks and misadventure. If you wish to join, we move at midnight! Do give my regards and apologies to our absent warrior — despite appearances, I assure you I did not intend to cause offense. Good day to you all, and a fine batch of non-alcoholic drinks shall be upon you in a flash!”
Linnet glances at the hours printed on the menu. “Meet you back here, then?”
Yves is not only transcribing, but making copies. He has decent penbunship and writes quite quickly.
Liga exits the scene, leaving in such a manner that Isa can tell Liga is gone and not approaching her.
Isa does not return to the table immediately on Liga’s departure, but after a short period of plausible deniability she’s back, eyeing Yves’s scribery. “Learn something?”
Yves is also trying to draw relevant bits from the book, though he is not an artist. “You were right about the stars,” he tells Isa, trying to convey HORRIFYING MASK THING elegantly on separate pieces of paper. “Or something near it. Does anyone here analyze poetry for a living? Or as a regular hobby?”
“Well, sort of,” Orrey says. “I’ve dealt with some poetry, but mostly deal with prose.”
“Poetry, no, history of magic, yes. Is it time for my Librarian Skills?” Linnet readies herself.
“I can’t interpret these very usefully, but stars are certainly involved, and someone is—some /ones/ are unhappy with what’s going on.” Yves slides one of the papers to Linnet.
“That fits.” Isa looks at Linnet. “What was the astronomer saying about them?”
“They’re…disappearing? That certainly doesn’t sound very happy.”
The stars are falling.
And now you know why.
If the book ATMA is to be believed.
The stars are the Great Crystal.
Eons ago, a Great Crystal guided all of Ducorde through their lives.
Everything was chosen for them.
Everything was fated for them.
Everything was laid out, everything was planned, everything was pre-determined.
Continents rose. Empires fell. Wars were waged. Lives were lived and lost due to the Crystal’s will.
And then the Crystal was shattered, the chains broken, fate fought, destiny destroyed.
And then the world would die.
A husk floating through the endless void, empty of all life, all promise, all potential.
The “We” of ATMA, the ones who wrote this book, or allowed their stories to be told…
We gave ourselves to the world.
We became Ducorde.
We abandoned our lives, so that others would live.
We became the life that flows through your veins, the air that you breathe, the land upon which you walk.
We became your dreams and your memories.
We became the light that shines inside of your souls.
We became the truth for which you seek.
We became the promise and the potential.
We became the wisdom and the power.
We became the present, so that you would have a future.
We became the Great Crystal.
We became Alterna.
And then we broke.
And then you broke us.
And then you shattered us.
And we became the stars in the sky.
And now we are returning.
We are Coming Home.
We will not be forgotten.