EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE

[aionmods]

The Empty Throne

DESCENT

Nearly two weeks after being dragged from shrine caverns, you hear along the grapevine that the "the throne room is complete." It doesn't take long to figure out what that means; the ritual grounds that you have been hearing mention of are finally prepared, and it's only a short while before you are once again being gathered together for travel. As a small mercy, at least this time the journey is short.

Through a passage that has been blocked by a gathering of soldiers for the entire length of your stay, a stairway is revealed to you. It leads deep into the ruins, through unfamiliar structures and into the bowels of the earth. Though your feel your are mostly going downward, the walk is still long on account of how many stairs their are, and the soldiers escorting you are restless. They are now being led by the stray, mask wearing Achamites that have been accompanying the group till now, silently observing. Whatever place this is, it seems that they now hold court.

Funneled into the chambers below, you are greeted by a massive, domed enclosure of stone. Positioned around its circular radius are twelve thrones in various states of disrepair, sized as if meant to seat giants. The backs of these thrones all differ slightly in design, though most have great cleaves of stone broken loose from their architecture, as if subjected to some great cataclysm. Each is engraved with a sigil, though some have been obscured by the destruction wrought. The throne closest to the entrance has been almost entirely demolished, making it impossible to glean much about.

The dome's ceiling appears to be hundreds of feet tall at its apex, its smooth surface disrupted by stalactites that puncture through its form like teeth. As a result, many chunks of the original structure seem to have cracked and collapsed in to the floor below. When examined closely, these fragments of the domed ceiling seem to be made of a material strangely reflective in quality, though caked in many years of dirt and grime. If large enough sections are cleaned, patterns may emerge, revealing designs that look almost like star maps. The floor beneath your feet as a similar, but subtly different quality, covered in wreckage and ruin but can be cleaned to reveal complex patterns of intersecting lines.

A careful eye will indicate that these lines all lead towards the center of the room - the one space that has been cleared and scrubbed prior to your arrival. Here, the lines converge, with carefully preserved marking in the stone that bely increasing levels of runic complexity the closer you look. This is where the ritual will be held, you are told.

THE RITUAL

There is not much time to regain your bearings before you are being shuffled forth towards the ritual space; no, all the waiting has already been done. Under the command of the smaller group of Achamites, the Hylicians will make heavy use of the whips in leading everyone to their places along the rune-inscribed circle. Before that, however, small cuts will be made to each prisoner with an athame, either on their hand or arm. With a sharp, burning sensation in the afflicted skin, these cuts will spread into wounds reflecting the image of one of the eleven sigils displayed on the thrones encircling the group, and matching the shrine they were originally pulled from.

With this accomplished, they can finally be taken into the circle. With a design comprised of four triangles overlapping, the design of an open eye carved at its center, all prisoners will be led to separates points on its design where the lines cross. Seemingly arranged by their shrine sigil to be closest to whatever throne represents them, they will be brought to their designated positions one by one. Any attempts to flee or disrupt the process will be dealt with swiftly and harshly, exacerbated by the increasing levels of paranoia and fear in the soldiers themselves. Whatever is being done here, they don't seem happy to involved with it either.

When everyone is in place, the seeming master of ceremonies will finally emerge. A dark haired woman will appear from the shadows, motes of golden light fluttering about her otherwise darkness-clad visage. Moving towards the center of the circle, she will stand over the marking of the eye and begin working her magicks. As if on cue, the soldiers will withdraw any remaining whips and scurry to the outside of the circle, only for new bonds of ethereal energy to lash out of the ritual circle itself, binding each and every prisoner and dragging them down to their knees. Among the soldiers, you can hear mutterings identifying this woman as "the Aion."

"Come," she says to the coterie of robed Achamites, who will approach the circle with an assortment of vials collected into cases. There is enough for each prisoner to be given a drink, and so they will; a vial of abyssal liquid will be forced into each one of your throats, no matter how uncomfortably it must be done. While no less ruthless, the Achamites have a different way about them as they work, forcing themselves upon you with a strange familiarity that feels more akin to a mother forcing their child to take medicine than the suspicious hostility of the soldiers. As the foul liquid touches your tongue, it takes on a consistency almost like a living thing, crawling down your throat even if you refuse to swallow, all while the Achamites stroke your hair and make saccharine assurances.

Once all the prisoners have been fed their vial, the Achamamites too will retreat from the circle - all except for one. Joining 'the Aion' at the center, the two of them will begin enacting a planned ceremony of sorts, that culminates in the following scene:

The Achamite kneels before the Aion, lifting their masked face to meet their dark gaze. They speak, in practiced tones.

"To the Kenoma my body, to the Kenoma my soul."

In response, the Aion holds the Achamite's face between their hands in almost a loving gesture. She speaks softly:

"By the blood of the Martyr, I accept your sacrifice."

From the Aion's hands a darkness spreads across the Achamite's body, as if they are melting and dissolving on a cellular level. She kneels along with them, cradling them as their body breaks down, pooling in a void-black liquid around their knees. It drains into the lines of the ritual circle, surging out towards the prisoners.

Within moments, the ritual is complete.

KENOMA SICKNESS

As this dark power surges throughout the ritual circle, you will find yourself almost consumed by the tide. Whatever foul creation you were forced to swallow wakes within your chest, and you can feel it move within your veins, inside you lungs, behind your eyes. As quickly as it begins, the flood of darkness washes over you, but not without leaving you stained.

Something has changed in its wake. As you return to your senses, you will notice the magical bonds of the circle have fallen away, leaving you free to move; for once, the soldiers will not move to lead or restrain you. Instead, the Hylicians warily back away from the ritual space, retreating towards the only path upwards, where they form a defensive line. The Achamites that linger make a series of ritual gestures, praying in voices too soft to hear. The Aion woman stands in the center, her hands blackened with residue from the person you just watched fall to pieces in her arms.

"You will be given time to find your truth," she says. "Use it well."

As you recover from the experience enough to stand, she and her Achamite entourage are already retreating to join the Hylician guard. Gradually, your situation will become clear: they intend to keep your trapped down here. However, it will not be the same as when you waited before. Instead, the soldiers simply intend to block your only exit out, and otherwise leave you free to roam the full diameter of the throne room, seemingly free to do whatever you want as long as it isn't trying to break free of the cavern's confines. Each day, they will offer to their prisoners a limit supply of food, water, and firewood, but nothing more. Beyond that, you only have your increasingly dirty white robes and the same bedrolls as before.

❖ COMMUNION
The first change you will experience is an itching darkness in your mind, like a psychic wound that is becoming infected. The sort of thoughts you would normally try to force down become increasingly hard to resist; despair, hatred, and fear will plague you, and requiring great feats of will to silence even temporarily. Phantoms of the things you'd rather forget will become a constant companion, all while a presence seems to whisper: when you accept your fate, the pain will stop.

Worse than this, the darkness of your mind may not remain private. As if awakened by the ritual, your empathetic sense has become impossibly strong, to the point that you feel the broadcasted emotions and thoughts of others, and in turn, your darkest thoughts will be psychically projected to others with a volume proportional to the intensity with which you feel them. This effect is most potent between those sharing Legacy, with the capacity for their identities to become momentarily confused. In all cases, this connection may bleed into your dreams, or manifest as hallucinations.

❖ TRANSFORMATION
Yet, your mind is not the only thing that ails. In proportion to the strength of your emotions, your body may begin changing to match your state of mind. Physical transformations akin to those mentioned here will begin to manifest, themed to your inner suffering and the most negative aspects of your self conception. These alterations may shift from moment to moment, depending on the turbulence of your emotional state. They may or may not be painful.

❖ AFFLICTION
Along with the above effects, characters may also experience various more mundane ailments; essentially anything traditionally associated with illness could fit. Weakness, nausea, body aches, and chills are all common options. Along with this, void-black ooze may start to trickle from virtually any orifice. While it may stain clothing and skin, the material itself will dissipate after a few minutes in a manner reminiscent of ectoplasm. This effect may also appear around your Shard, as if the stone itself has begun to bleed.

RESISTANCE

Even as the Kenoma threatens to overwhelm you, you still have the power to fight. Though it may be a grueling war of attrition, you can force back its advances with sufficient will to survive and resist the darkness. Of course, your captors are not going to make this easy for you. Those that fight hard enough to expel the Kenoma from their bodies and spirits will take at least a week to do so, and for that duration they will be trapped within this chilly cavern, haunted by their worst thoughts and emotions.

The bedrolls barely strand up against the cold, your clothing doesn't at all, and to be comfortable you'll require fire. Yet, there is a limited amount provided to you, along with food and water, and the soldiers do not seem to be making any effort to distribute it evenly. Achieving basic warmth and sustenance may become a battle against your fellow inmates, all while you struggle against the enemy infecting your body. Cracks in the dome of the cavern lead into some smaller caverns and crevasses in the stone that can offer some privacy or protection, but the more splintered the group becomes the less the supplies will hold up. Fortunately for you, neither the cold nor starvation will kill you, but it will make you suffer.

Yet, you may still persevere. As you fight back the Kenoma, something else will be cultivated in its place. Bit by bit, a comforting and warm presence will grow within you, gradually disrupting the maladies afflicting your body and mind. Your faith and perseverance has been rewarded with an attunement to the Pleroma, the Kenoma's cosmological opposite; given enough time, the Kenoma will be forced from your being entirely, in the form of void-black sludge. Only then will your power begin to shine through, the abilities of your past life slowly returning.

You must keep your guard. With or without otherworldly power, escape will be a struggle.

ACCEPTANCE

Or, you may choose the easy option. Maybe the Kenoma resonates with your history and emotions in a way that makes it seem like it isn't the enemy. Maybe the depths of your despair are too deep to escape. Maybe your simply lack the strength to fight. Whatever the reason, sooner or later, the Kenoma claims you. The more you let it in, the less it feels like a poison and the more it feels like strength. The darkness settles comfortably into the cracks and holes of your spirit, and you awaken to its power. You feel the change viscerally.

This world is not good enough, a voice seems to speak through the Kenoma. This suffering you feel, the cruelty that has birthed this darkness in you... it is simply the rot that is consuming this existence. A better universe awaits, one forged by your own hand, and all you need do is first bring about this broken reality's end.

Whatever effects you were suffering from the Kenoma's presence will fade away, and in its place, you will feel your endurance bolstered. The clarity is stark in comparison to the mire you were trapped in before. As the other prisoners suffer around you, the Aion woman from before and an accompaniment of a couple Hylician soldiers will approach you among the ruins, as if summoned straight to your location. She looks you over, her dark eyes impassive, and then asks:

"Did you feel it?"

She doesn't actually wait for an answer, your expression alone enough to assure her. She'll tell the soldiers that you are free to go, and that you are to be given a share of their food and a change of clothes. She'll escort you out of cavern and towards the upper ruins, where the soldiers and Achamites have set up camp. This feels natural to you, somehow, like you and her are on the same wavelength in a way that is hard to comprehend. She is like you, you sense. That dark power is within her as well.

She doesn't linger with you for long, but she will see that you are on your way before heading back to the caverns. She'll say that the voice you heard, that promise, was the Regent, the ruler of this land. They spoke of a power that could birth a new, better universe, and they weren't misleading you. It's within their reach, closer than ever, and if you help them achieve it you will be rewarded lavishly. For now, you are free to regain your strength while the others make their choices. She only asks that you stay in the area and be ready to join the Regent in Achamoth when all is prepared.

If you're prone to boredom, though, she will mention that you'd really be doing the prisoners a favor by convincing them to accept the Kenoma like you did. You could convince them with words, or by making their situations so unbearable they won't have a choice but to break. However you'd like. It won't be worse than what's coming for them if they carry on this way.

When she parts ways with you, you are left to your own devices. Somehow, you feel inclined to cooperate. After all, the Regent did have a point.

QUESTIONS

Are the involuntary transformations during the Kenoma sickness period temporary afflictions or permanent ones?
By default they are temporary, but characters can also keep a couple keepsake changes if you'd like! An Aion's physical appearance is something that is generally in flux, and so even if you keep something from this event, you can always alter it later.

What kind of supplies are going to be distributed to those who accept Kenoma and leave the caverns?
They'll be given food, water, and clothing. They'll be given more/better rations than they were as prisoners, but it's still the sort of food that is limited by the fact that they are out here on a mission. The soldiers will have some fresh meat from prey they've been hunting in the forest, and will generally be having a lot of stew-based food going. There are actual spices in it, though, so that's cool. This is all set up where the Hylicians are camping.

As for clothes, they will get a fresh set (including boots or shoes) and some soap to clean themselves up in the nearby creeks and ponds. Hylici has an aesthetic that leans towards ancient Greek/Roman, so while they won't have anything fancy with them, you are free to assume they are able to acquire anything in that general ballpark. They do also have pants, though. While it is now spring and Horos has a generally temperate climate, it can be chilly at night.

Will Pleroma attuned be able to escape once they've regained their powers?
Yes, they will be allowed to escape at that point, and a second log will be going up to cover that part of the event. This log should generally cover up until shortly after Pleroma start ejecting the Kenoma's influence. Characters are permitted to escape by their own power if they somehow devise a plan to do so, but as we know the Pleromas are at a significant disadvantage in this situation, some characters who have fought against the Kenoma particularly valiantly will be given some magical assistance to help the survivors escape.

Will the Kenomas be able to try to stop them?
Yes! The second log will be set up to contain some PVP, though given the Pleromas do need to escape, we ask that you play nice. There will be a battle, but it will be structured in the context of the Pleromas having to hold off the Kenomas long enough to escape, so it will be relatively brief.

Can we speak to "the Aion"?
Yes, she will be around for the full length of the event. All characters will have the chance to find her watching over the group whether they are Kenomas or soon to be Pleromas. She will not be that talkative, though, so anyone tagging her will have to lead the conversation. She will not make small talk. Martyrs will recognize her as one of them.

Comments

[galdorleod]

Ah, finally, he's noticed him. And he's on his way, no doubt to say hi. Howl smiles calmly when their eyes briefly meet from across the room, and as the old man stalks over, he scoops a large spoonful of stew into his mouth.

"Hm?" he inquires, his mouth full, as he glances sidelong at the stranger. Stars above, now that Howl's getting a good look at him, this geezer is absurdly tall. Aside from that and the odd blemish on his forehead, though, there's nothing else particularly notable about him.

Howl gazes at him in silence for a moment as he slowly chews his food. Then, he smiles innocently, mustering every ounce of charm he has to make this as openly petty as he can.

"...Whatever do you mean? Have we met?"

[lachtara]

"Now you long for the pleasantries of a formal introduction?" It's a habit to use his lives-long skill in order to discern whether such a claim is fact or not. His Soul-Sight would allow him to peer into the soul of another - and each soul is unique - enough to be able to see through any potential falsehoods.

However, when he narrows his eyes it's not the soul he sees, but some aura of enchantment. Emet-Selch tilts his head at the oddity and its unexpected presence where one of his basic senses used to be, now replaced with some unfamiliar skill.

"Very interesting." He ventures to say. "Your heart is not your own, is it?"

[galdorleod]

Howl shrugs at the retort. Having successfully annoyed him, and regained a scrap of dignity in the process of securing that revenge, it's just as well he leaves now with no formal introduction. He could never see the stranger again for all he cares —

Until that second comment hints him. A flash of surprise passes through Howl's smile, interrupting his collected demeanor for a brief instant. In the time it takes him to recover, a beat has passed, and now whatever he says will be tainted with the implication that the man's words had rung true.

"Ah, well," he begins, settling back into his practiced smile. "...I must say, I'm flattered, but I think you're a bit too old for me, wouldn't you say?" Internally, a bubble of anxiety is rising in his gut, but he managed to think of a deflection. Or... an attempt at one. Nothing could be more dreadful than the man seeing past it and asking questions.

[lachtara]

That flicker of bewilderment is enough to confirm his suspicions. Instead of being insulted by such accusations, Emet-Selch continues, not entertaining the thought of being baited into some nonsense conversation meant to avert his attention.

"What kind of impropriety would one have to cause in order to lose their heart to an enchantment, I wonder?" Is it a question meant to be answered? He seems to try to consider an answer on his own. "Losing your heart and now your home; It's no wonder you showed such discontentment."

[galdorleod]

All Howl can do is tear his eyes away, removing the window into his soul that eye-contact provides, as that bubble of anxiety turns into a rock. He's not sure whether he's mortified by what the stranger is saying or if he's simply still shocked. His former apprenticeship mistress is the only person who's ever had enough power and insight to gleam the curse chained around Howl's heart. Her expertise allowed her to deduce where it had come from, too, which drove a wedge between them that never healed; Howl should be thankful that this loathsome old man apparently is sensing so fewer details. Nevertheless, the last thing he expected was to meet here, in this place with no wizards, that is decidedly not Ingary, another person who could perceive the curse on him in the first place.

It hadn't stopped this man from adding his unwanted commentary the other day, though. This leads Howl to assume that he really is just a cruel bastard. Maybe he should start up the song again after all.

"And what of you?" Howl finally murmurs, the tone of his voice distinctly humorless now. "What kind of miserable failure must you be to have given up even faster than I did?"

[lachtara]

Emet-Selch gives the faintest smile as his new acquaintance looks away. Oh, did that strike a nerve?

There is no move made to rub it in. Instead, his tone turns calming and reflective. "I did accept the power given to me, this much is true, but do not mistake that acceptance for surrender." No. He would use what has been given to him to get his world back, whatever the cost. Yet another world and all of its inhabitants is a paltry price to pay.

"So." He laces the fingers on his hands together in his lap and casually redirects the conversation elsewhere. "What was the song you were singing moments ago? I've not heard it before."

[galdorleod]

Howl keeps his eyes averted and finishes his bowl of stew at the old man talks. Between the calmer tone he assumed and the dropping of the previous uncomfortable topic, Howl chooses to believe that his comeback is what saved him from any further prying observations. Instead of immediately answering the new questions, Howl picks up his bowl to drink down the leftover stew broth and speaks up only after his bowl has been thoroughly emptied.

"...not sick of it after all, are you?"

As he answers, he turns in his seat to face the stranger. Just because they've moved away from personal matters doesn't mean Howl is particularly eager to talk to him, but being stuck on the same side together, he might as well make his acquaintance. Howl crosses both his legs and his arms as he looks the old man up and down, studying him again.

"Something akin to a nursery rhyme where I'm from. Nonsense lyrics, easy to sing when you're deep in cups... the sort of tune you find yourself wanting to get away from after a while." Which is why he picked it to annoy him.

[lachtara]

"Is that so." He states with middling interest.

Emet-Selch gestures with a hand. "Well, if you're going to regale me with it over and again, I might as well know what it is." The exasperation is pallattable. Hearing the thoughts of others is already testing the tethers of his patience.

"Although, I do politely ask that you refrain from doing so in the future."

[galdorleod]

Howl huffs a laugh, pleased by the little reminder that he had successfully got under the old man's skin. All things considered, he's being awfully polite about it. He takes a moment, thinking back to Calcifer again and what he'd have to say about this. The fire demon used to hum the song to himself all the time has he sat in the hearth, slowly turning one log after another into ash.

Well... alright. The disrespect has been repaid, so maybe that's enough of that.

"I'll consider it," Howl says with a half-shrug. He motions to the seat across from him, although it's really just a crate pulled close to the makeshift table he'd been eating at. "Take a proper seat, won't you? You're liable to strain your back like that. What's your name, anyway?"

[lachtara]

Ah, an invitation to sit and talk for a while. How unexpected. Perhaps taking a proper seat did warrant consideration. So he shifts with an aim to sit at the makeshift table.

"My name is Emet-Selch." He takes a seat beside the crate and there is a sigh of effort not far behind. He shifts uncomfortably; there is no place on such solid ground that he can sit without some discomfort. Ah, the wonders of an aging Garlean body.

"I am adulated at your consideration of my wellbeing." He waves a hand at the guards nearby. "It seems to be in short supply since arriving."

[galdorleod]

"Comfortable?" Howl asks in the wake of Emet's brief but clearly uncomfortable fidgeting. He feels the older man's pain; his thin and lanky body is not exactly well-suited for hard surfaces. If he were sitting in a proper chair himself, he'd probably be willing to offer it to Emet at this point, but unfortunately he is not. The most he can offer him is a sympathetic smile.

"Yes, well," Howl begins as he considers Emet's complaints, casting a glance in the direction of the soldiers. "For those of us emerging from below, they seem to have discovered some extra stores of respect. Maybe even fear, dare I say it. I'll not soon forget the courtesy they've shown me over the last two weeks."

Now that Emet-Selch is sitting closer, he'll likely notice the multiple bruises and scrapes peppering Howl's body — and that's just on the areas that are open to the air right now. Either way, Howl pulls the cowl wrapped around his shoulders down to show Emet a swollen, reddish bruise covering most of his upper chest. Where the edge meet his collarbone, where the hard bone resisted this particular blow, the bruise is almost black.

"To be fair, I'm sure they won't forget me soon either. I wouldn't have it any other way."

[lachtara]

"Good. I would hope that they are repaid the same treatment in kind." He had made the ritual very difficult for his captors by words and actions, and it had resulted in the same breadth of injuries. Bruises. Scrapes. The like. They have since been healed the best that his magic would allow.

Now he found himself in a place where he would need to find potential allies to ensure his chances at accomplishing his goal. Perhaps a small gesture of goodwill would suffice to win this one over? Their conversation had turned rather amicable with a few choice words.

Emet-Selch sighs faintly and holds his hand out a few ilms from his acquaintance's bruises. "Now be still while I see to this." A bright green light begins to swirl around his palm, the cooling feeling of healing magic following close behind. "Perhaps in the meantime, you would afford the courtesy of a name in return?"

[galdorleod]

Howl nearly jumps out of his seat when he feels the strange sensation emanate from Emet's hand and spread across his chest. He simply wasn't expecting anything like this, and it's only Emet's words that help him stay put, wide-eyed, as he stares down at his arm.

"What are you doing?" he asks, more flabbergasted than confrontational. For now, his hands stays frozen, keeping his cowl pulled down from around his shoulders and neck. "You're... is this magic?"

He's healing him? Somehow, Howl knows this to be the case as soon as he thinks it. He can already feel the swelling under the bruise beginning to dissipate. This is... well, just unexpected, although later he will wonder why he was so surprised.

"I — yes, of course. My name is Howl."

[lachtara]

"For someone who has been enchanted, Howl, you seem woefully surprised by the presence of magic." Once the bruise has returned to its normal color, Emet-Selch lowers his hand back to his lap. "This is healing magic. I would hope the results would make that obvious enough."

For a moment, he looks tired more tired than usual. Healing magic did not require too much effort but he had a few trying days and his magic was not at its best. Strain comes as a result.

"Now that you are hale and whole again, you are free to inconvenience others as you see fit."

[galdorleod]

To be fair to Howl, healing magic is extremely rare in his world — and there was no way for him to know what Emet was about to do when he stretched out his arm without warning, magic or not. The Wizard frowns at the old man, unamused, and instead of lowering his cowl he peels it off so he can look down at his chest. It looks completely normal now, unmarred by not just the huge bruise but an assortment of scrapes and scratches that had surrounded it too. Normal except of course for the egg-sized teardrop-cut stone embedded in his sternum. The skin at its edges is still faintly stained black from his ordeal below.

Howl glances back up at Emet-Selch. His expression is cautious, and a bit unnerved, but he nods his head.

"...Thank you. That was the last thing I was expecting, I'll be honest." Finally putting his cowl back in place, he peers at the other man. "Are you... a mage of some sort, then?"

[lachtara]

Emet-Selch's expression brightens into a small lopsided smile. Seeing someone have such a sense of curiosity for magic is one of the small pleasures of being able to wield such power; To get to look on as they marveled at the miraculous results it could bring. People often forgot what a beautiful force it could be.

Though that unusually shaped crystal is not beyond his notice. Curious.

"I am a sorcerer of Eld, and I have been so for countless lifetimes. Though 'Mage' does serve as an equally apt description." He shifts again; My this ground is uncomfortable. "What of you? I don't suppose you make a livelihood by singing?"

[galdorleod]

As simple an answer as Howl could have hoped for, and yet, it births a hundred new questions in Howl's head. Of Eld, he says? Countless lifetimes? What exactly is he supposed to take away from such mysterious words? He can't possibly mean that literally, of course. Can he? Is Howl really in the presence of some immensely powerful magician?

"Are you uncomfortable?" Howl asks, ignoring Emet's question for now. "Let's walk, then. It's not my goal to make your bones ache." Placing his palms flat on the makeshift table, he pushes himself to his feet, dusts himself off, and reaches out with one palm to offer to help him up.

[lachtara]

"How thoughtful." A walk sounded pleasant - As pleasant as could be in the current situation. He's walked around a few times just to escape the cold discomfort of the stone floor and icy walls. It helped if only for a little while.

"Perhaps we can go for a scenic tour of our confinement." The tone is enough to relay the dry humor. There would be no touring of beautiful places while locked in this cave and surrounded by guards.

Emet-Selch reaches for the boy's wrist and uses it to stand up with a grunt of effort. Once standing, he dusts himself off all the same. "By all means, lead the way."

[galdorleod]

Howl has to plant his heels in the dirt when he helps heft Emet-Selch up. Now that they're both standing, he can see just how tall this man really is — he's got at least four, five inches on him, maybe more. Age has been good to him, apparently, but Howl wonders all over again if this is some symptom of magecraft where he's from.

"To answer your question," Howl says as they fall into step together, "no, I am not a singer. I'm a Wizard, by trade and in practice."

[lachtara]

"Is that so." He says conversationally, tone colored with interest. What wizard would show such surprise at healing magic? It must not exist or be exceedingly rare in his world.

Emet-Selch walks along with his hands folded over his chest. "And what kind of magic do you trade and practice?"

[galdorleod]

"Well, at the moment, hardly any," Howl answers. "Both my shopfronts are as gone as everything else in my world... along with all my tomes, my foci, my potion-making supplies... everything. So I've no trade to speak of, not anymore."

Despite the depressing turn in conversation topic, Howl continues with a light, easy tone.

"But, business matters aside, I was well-versed in most schools of magic and then some. Key being 'was,' I fear."

There's a pause as Howl decides how much he ought to say on this particular point, but he quickly decides there's no harm in being honest. They are supposed to be allies now. "...I hate to admit it, but much of my power has yet to return to me. Even now."

[lachtara]

"Meaning you are still 'versed in most schools of magic', but not attuned to accessing your power here." Emet-Selch corrects. It's a subtle correction but it bolsters what magical competency the boy may possess. That knowledge does not simply disappear if he could not use it here exactly the way he did.

Emet-Selch looks to his hand, "This place is not created like the one we know; Even I feel my magic fraying at its edges." What he could still use. Even the healing spell he had performed had caused much more strain than it normally would.

[galdorleod]

Howl nods in agreement; Emet's comment feels less like a correction and more a confirmation that he understood his hesitant and somewhat euphemistic explanation. No, he can't access his power here. This fact is actually deeply upsetting, but his emotional reactions to everything happening to them have been public enough lately.

"Not created?" Howl echoes, considering the unusual idea for the first time. "Do you mean there's something... fundamentally different about this place? Something strange about the laws of magic?" That kind of explanation would make Howl feel less responsible for losing so much power.

[lachtara]

"There is something fundamentally different about the laws of nature itself." Never had he encountered a place where he could see so little, a place that dampened his abilities or exchanged them for another. The tone of his voice turns somewhat glum; the thought of not having magic at his side - as it has been for as long as he remembers - is deflating at best.

"We must learn how it works if we are to have any hope of regaining our former power."