When You Wish

With the heat of the season, there is no need for the hearth to be lit, yet The Residence is not as comfortable as it might be. First, the shutters are closed to favor security over ventilation. Secondly, one cannot properly cook nor bake without the heat of the oven(s) and/or stove. Lastly, while there is recent culinary crafting, the return on investment is lower than it might be otherwise, given that Verna is the artist of the eve.

Auranar is away for The Guild, and Verna has little else to occupy herself or her thoughts at present; pleasant thoughts, that is. So it is that an excessive amount of food was prepared, to include a disproportionate quantity of baked sweets. Verna, still in her yellow sundress and apron overtop is now indulging in the (hopefully) cooling eve as well as the fruits (tarts) of her labor. With invited assistance.

GAME: Verna rolls profession/cook: (2)+14: 16

Pothy is the invited 'assistance'... Which means he was sneaking bites of some of the ingredients in the process of Verna's labor and offering his own thoughts on the matter (mostly in the form of mimicked cries of "Yummy in my tummy!" or "Snacks!"). Which means that Pothy's staying close to Verna and those tarts.

Cor'lana, meanwhile, is sitting in the parlor, curled up on the couch with Telamon. There's no blanket draped around the two of them like there would be in the colder months, but Cor'lana finds herself snuggled into Telamon nonetheless. Her eyes inspect Telamon's face as he's in the process of reviewing her poetry. "What's the verdict on that one?" she asks from the comfort of Telamon's shoulder, where her chin's resting.

Indeed, no matter the weather or season, some things are just going to happen -- and one is Telamon cuddling with his wife. Who needs a blanket, after all? But in the meantime, Tel is industrious enough to examine his wife's poetic stylings. "That one was much better. I liked the point made -- that regardless of time, what matters is the happiness shared."

He smiles at Lana, and gives her a squeeze. "You really are good at this. I seem to have more luck with prose and lecture -- guess that's why I keep getting invited back to the University to teach."

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception: (9)+19: 28
GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (10)+25: 35
GAME: Verna rolls perception: (14)+29: 43
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d20+9: (3)+9: 12

There's a quiet little thump. Almost unnoticeable amidst the quiet conversation and baking.

"Thank you, Apotheosis," Verna offers the confection connoisseur. She now has plausible protection from eating the majority herself... or, at the least, plausible deniability. She does not want him to deny others all, of course, and takes an assorted tray to to the lounge. "More confections for your-"

Her words and steps pause as there is small movement in her peripheral. Her eyes are drawn to her satchel hanging upon the hook previously occupied by the worn apron. She stares at it a moment, then looks back to the kitchen for Apotheosis on the possibility that he rapidly relocated.

Verna instead sees Pothy frozen in a pose with his beak open over more of the leftover fruit from the tart-making process--a pose that he quickly abandons as he then tries to adopt a far more 'innocent bird' stance. There are no white ravens trying to pilfer snacks here.

Cor'lana raises a brow and stands up from the couch, abandoning the notion of reviewing poetry. "Did you hear that?" she asks. "Where did it come from?"

Telamon sets the papers to one side, standing up as well. Dressed casually in cotton tunic and trousers, with slippers, his eyes narrow. "Outside, I think. Hm." He looks to the kitchen. "Verna, I hear something -- or someone." He cracks his knuckles. "I really hope they're not looking for a fight. I'm not in the mood for bullshit this evening."

There's a wiggle. A jiggle. One that only Verna as of yet has noticed. After a moment the bag manages to tumble itself to the ground. A quiet thud. The top somehow flops open and something rolls out. It's a vase. A somewhat moderately sized black vase tightly closed. It shudders and shakes.

Then the lid - somehow - pops off.

Verna had noticed, but did not truly believe it. Now, however... It is in Pothy's favor that she pays him little heed and looks sharply back to her bag after confirming he was yet in the kitchen. "It is my satchel!" There is both surprise and warning in her tone.

Then the bag falls. The vase rolls out, and (worst) it opens. "By Her Holy Hindquart-Guard yourselves!" She enacts her own advice somewhat by moving to put herself between the urn and her family.

It could be nothing more than horrid coincidence? A bored Coyote?

Verna could tolerate that...

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Haste. Caster Level: 15 DC: 20

Cor'lana's eyes fall upon the vase that rolls out of the bag, and... There's less than a second where she realizes what it is. And what it means to her now that she knows what it is.

"No. No," she hisses, followed by an incantation that leaves her lips. She moves at a blinding speed, scraping up the vase from the floor and pulling it into her arms, followed by pulling the lid off the floor.

But when she goes to put the lid on... It's like something is preventing her from doing so. She struggles against it. "There's--there's something keeping me from putting it back on!" she cries out.

GAME: Telamon casts Telekinesis. Caster Level: 17 DC: 23

Telamon runs after Lana, and curses. "What the hells--" Then he focuses, and incants, "Dimma sa, irhandi namsita!" His hand curls into a claw, and he begins applying additional pressure with his telekinetic spell. "Dammit..." he snarls. "It's... not... closing..." Eyes flaring with starlight as he struggles against the unseen force holding it open.

GAME: Verna rolls reflex: (17)+13: 30
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Reflex: (16)+10: 26

There's a sudden press of power from the urn. It's really no surprise when that force shoves the ashes out of the vase that once contained them out. Lana drops the vase as the force rips it out of her hands, and she's saved from a face-full of the projected ashes. Much less the vortex that forms over the container.

Ash and bone.

The mixture compresses violently, shoving everyone in the room backwards half a step and it quickly takes on a human shape. Then, just as quickly one that is horribly familiar. In the matter of a few seconds the man is standing before them; formed of his own remains. He looks pale for a moment, his eyes closed his chest unbreathing. Then he takes that breath and color rushes into his body, silver eyes open.

Confusion reins in his features as he takes in the room around him, his hands touching his chest where once Telamon had pierced his heart. His last memory. He recognizes them of course, but rather than anger there's only that confusion deep in his eyes. "Why-" And then his eyes darken like the gathering of a storm, and the next word that leaves his mouth is a curse. "Marsward."

Verna reflexively lifts her hands to shield her face against the gusting, blasting force. Her uncertainty as to what might occur is brief; once she realizes that nothing is traveling elsewhere and instead compressing into a form, the most probable outcome is simple to determine. An outcome that all present sought to avoid.

Determining what course to take from this point is anything but simple to discern. Her scowl is deep, yet not directed at the now-reformed man. "Yes. We did not do this." They acted to prevent it, in fact. They failed. Not that she explains this last.

It is a dream. It has to be. It can't be anything else.

Cor'lana, still affected by her haste magic, has a mildly different relationship with the concept of time than everyone else in the room. In her mind's eye, it's so much slower. So much more dreamlike. "Why?" is the question that's on her lips, too, gentle and soft as the way she sobbed to Zalgiman that she had contemplated her own death for her guilt.

But then comes the word, the name, that dispels everything. The confusion. The grief. The pain. Marsward.

"Zalgiman." Cor'lana's hands shake. "I'm so sorry. We were trying to prevent this. I was trying to make sure..."

The tears already fall down her cheeks.

To say Telamon looks thunderstruck is putting it mildly. He's faced abominations, fiends, undead, mad fey, and psychotic necromancers, but right now he feels completely adrift. How? How?

He starts to put himself between Zalgiman and Cor'lana on impulse, but then he hears his wife's trembling voice, and he turns to embrace her. Drawing her into his chest, holding her close, as he fixes Zalgiman with his starry gaze.

"We knew Seraquoix has no small amount of power. But to draw you back from the Halls -- without even being here?" His eyes narrow. "A clever trick indeed."

Zalgiman looks at Verna a moment, but he only nods. He's distracted by the tears on Cor'lana's face. "Cor'lana..." He murmurs her name softly, his eyes sad as Telamon takes her into his arms. Comforts her in a way that Zalgiman could never do. Not then. Not now.

Then he's driven to his knees by some unseen force, clutching his head and hissing in obvious pain. "MARSWARD." The word is a growl, a hated thing. He waves a hand blindly. "Bastard!"

He shakes his head, clearly trying to resist... something. What? He looks up at Cor'lana and it's clear that he's losing some fight. Silver slides to Telamon's starry eyes. "Take her. GO!"

The word is echoed by a sharp crack. It sounds like a bone breaking.

Verna is not surprised by the tones used and glances between the two; she does not know all (nor need she), but she is aware of enough. While she empathizes with both, or all three, it is ire that rises mostly to the fore for her. "It is no trick, it is blasphemy. Yet it is done." The ire is not directed to Zalgiman, as the deceased is the utmost victim. Instead, she begins to ask, "How can we assist y-"

She is cut short by his hissing. "What is happening?!" Before that is answered, she concurs wholeheartedly with Zalgiman. "Go, Telamon, take her!"

Zalgiman is still technically entrusted to her care.

And she's not about to have... whatever is about to happen, happen in her lounge.

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perform/Oratory: (15)+23: 38
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Will: (3)+16: 19
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Will: (15)+16: 31

"No."

The word leaves Cor'lana like an iron weight. It actually crackles with a tiny bit of magic power. Cor'lana's violet eyes do glow subtly with their own magic power now compared to when Zalgiman last saw her, giving them the appearance of those violet moons that he called them in that dream in the snow. She has grown. She has changed. She will no longer accept his ideas.

Or anyone else's.

For the tempest is here and she will not falter on anyone's storm walls.

She pushes herself out of Telamon's arms and smoothly draws out the totem of Eluna from Telamon's bag. Her free hand swipes a finger across the sewing needle hidden in her sleeve as she stares down Zalgiman, this man who was a puppet in life--a man who will be a puppet again if she does as he asks.

"No more can I abide his cruelty,

No more can I abide your pain,

For I burn bright with Vaire's flame;

I dance in the light of Ni'essa's moon--

I call on them now and I bring out my Will

For now do I reject these notions of chains,

For now do I break them and liberate you

No more will men of evil lay their claim

And no more will you stumble in the dark.

My tears are now power, my song is eternal:

So hear me roar--"

She interrupts herself in the verse to plunge her bloodied hand onto the totem, feeding it with all of her intent in addition to her blood. Interfacing with it as openly as she can.

"I free you Zalgiman Joaki from your chains!

I free you from Marsward Seraquoix!

I free you from the Hound!

If you seek a master than make it me!

If you seek a path then may it be

One that we walk together in the light!"

GAME: Telamon rolls Will: (5)+16: 21
GAME: Telamon rolls Will: (9)+16: 25
GAME: Telamon rolls perform/oratory: (9)+21: 30

Telamon is tired of running. Tired of retreating. He's not being driven out of his sisters' home, not even if the Tyrant himself comes calling. He's had enough.

So when Lana pulls out his totem, and invokes it with everything she's got, well... there's really no argument. They truly are of one mind. Smoothly, he snatches up a small, sharp knife, laying the edge across his palm. Drawing blood as well, and then his hand is with Lana's on the totem.

"Without struggle, without sacrifice, there can be no victory. For the gods call to us, to stand in their stead, to be their hands on Ea." His fingers grip the totem, and Cor'lana's. "But take heed, for you were never alone. The eyes of Ni'essa Sky-Singer follow you wherever you might wander, and for all the dark and difficult roads, there is always hope. For the light shines even in darkness, and the darkness comprehends it not."

It seems that their efforts are put to good purpose, and the man begins to relax slowly and by measures. Relief replaces effort and he sits back on his heels, breathing more easily and more easily by each moment. Finally the effort seems to fade entirely and he shakes his head at them. "That was a dangerous gamble." He says the words softly, but without reproach. He looks at Telamon, then shakes his head. "Why would you help me? After everything I did... You should hate me."

Verna yet knows not what was occurring, or if the risk is truly passed, yet she is confident in some things all the same: the determination of her family; faith in the gods and the chains they created. A good portion of her attention remains cautiously upon Zalgiman as she moves to retrieve her satchel and secure it. The vase is righted and the cover retrieved even if it might not be replaced (or perhaps not so significant?) at this time.

"Hate is a feeble, fleeting thing that expires if not fed," she suggests quietly as she secures the urn. "There are many far better paths upon which to focus one's time and effort."

"I don't, and I can't," Cor'lana says softly in reply to Zalgiman's words, even if they are not for her but for Telamon. "I can't speak for my husband regarding his feelings. But I swore to myself after you were gone, and after we last spoke, to never again let someone like myself fallen into the dark resign themselves to their fate. If I have power--and I do have power, at least a little--to change that... Then I will."

She holds her hand out to Zalgiman. "Here is what I can do for you," she says gently, those violet eyes aching with the compassion that overflows for him. "I can give you back to the Halls by giving you the gentle death I had wanted to give you before--but had been denied. Or..."

And here she smiles, a glint in her eyes that's almost dangerous. "You join us in taking down the man who lied to you and wishes to destroy the world that I live in, that I breathe in. And you stay by my side as a beloved friend. One who genuinely cares for your wellbeing. One who would never do what Marsward did. One who would never hurt you. I would move the mountains and heavens to give you the chance to live happily, Zalgiman, or to pass on again and live in peace."

Her expression goes dark as she adds, "But if I give you death now--then Marsward will surely try to bring you back again until I can end him. That is a pain I do not want. Not for you."

"I won't deny your... return discomfits me, Zalgiman Joaki," Telamon replies, his eyes glittering. "But as I said, we are called upon to be the hands of the gods in the world. Sometimes this is... uncomfortable." His lips curl in a faint smirk.

"But, as my wife says, there are other options before you. It is not given to everyone to return from the Halls, and now the question is: what will you do with this gift?"

Telamon's arm remains around his wife, but he gestures as he continues, "Seraquoix still seeks your service... willing or not. We had actually removed your remains because we had learned from unimpeachable sources that Seraquoix sought to raise you as an undead servant. That is not a fate I would wish on you, or anyone."

Zalgiman is silent as the others speak. Offering their words to him. However it is more than their words. It is their actions that speak to him. There's no harshness in them. No accusation for the things he's done. Over the months of observation he has seen their kindness many times, but never expected it to come to him. Not like this. He sees Cor'lana reach out for him and for a moment he bows his head.

"I am returned to life and yet... I feel an ache for a world that I can not remember. For something... left behind." He lifts his head and to the surprise of those present there are tears in his eyes. "I have never felt once that I deserved to live. If I had died this world might have been a better place. Yet.."

Here he hesitates and then rises, taking Cor'lana's hand. "Who am I to deny this chance to do something worth having had a life for? I never tried for friendship with you Cor'lana. Nor you Telamon. Never believed myself worthy of it. Death can wait for me."

He smiles half bitterly and lets go of Cor'lana's hand. "Marsward intends to bind Caracoroth. Or more accurately V does. Marsward gets most of his power through the fiend. He believes that if he devours the power of a god that he can become one himself. If you will have me as an ally... as a friend; I will aid you in bringing him down - once and for all."

As it is proven no longer relevant, indeed, Verna stows the urn within her satchel once more. "Not all shall be as trusting as Cor'lana," she notes neutrally, "yet her words carry great weight to many. I welcome you as an ally in intent, to be vetted by deed. The world can, and shall yet, be improved; for all and yourself. Whatever lack or loss, before, may be remedied in time."

Seeing the tears in Zalgiman's eyes, Cor'lana's own eyes mist over. Her hand squeezes his before he lets go. "The Halls and the peace you had there will be there when it is truly your time, Zalgiman," she says softly. "But for now--I am..."

She shakes her head and lifts her hands up to dry her eyes as the tears return to her face, laughing. "I am--I am overjoyed," she says. "Truly, truly so overjoyed. I hoped for hope..."

And Cor'lana moves out of Telamon's arms, going and closing the gap between herself and Zalgiman. She's quite a lot shorter than the Stormguardian man, but she doesn't mind. She hugs him. It's a gentle and warm embrace one has for a friend.

"You didn't decline. Not this time," she says so softly. "Take him down with us, Zalgiman. Help us end it. And then we can share our poems together in peace, my friend."

And Telamon does not draw her away, letting Cor'lana go to Zalgiman, hug him gently. Trust will indeed be a long time coming... but there must be hope for a brighter day, otherwise redemption is a lie. "As I said, this is a gift. What you do with it, well... that is your choice." His starry eyes glimmer. "But there are many who pass into the Halls laden with regret, for what they did, and what they did not do. Perhaps this time, you might avoid that fate."

Telamon nods at Zalgiman's tale. "Dace Zinskas approached us not long after you'd passed, and he said as much." Tel rubs his chin. "There will need to be discussions. And verifications. As Verna notes, there will be those who will hesitate. But..."

Tel pauses, looking thoughtful. And then he steps forward, to takes Zalgiman's hand in his own. "This is a good start."

-End