lostcarnival | ⇨ FAERIE TALES

"Yes," Ignatius says impatiently, still chained to the floor.

Syrlya's shout echoes and carries, filling up the Coliseum. Dead. Even knowing it was a possibility, even knowing they had a plan for that, Lambert feels a heavy weight settle in his stomach.

Much like Ignatius, though, it's easy for him to immediately convert sadness into anger.

"Are you happy?" Lambert snarls, rounding on the bound fae and pushing himself off the stone floor with a distinct wobble. He's in unpleasant shape and no doubt bound for the med tent after this. "Is this what you wanted?"

"No," Ignatius says, his tone falling level again, though he's obviously very uncomfortable with his position. "I had no intention of hurting him. I'm honestly surprised you allowed this so trivially."

He tugs against his bonds, without much effect. Strange could have been a perfectly good soldier, and he wouldn't have knowingly thrown his life away. This entire thing is feeling increasingly disgusting.

"If you had no intention of hurting him, you shouldn't have told him to help you kill us! What did you think was going to happen?!"

Rita runs a hand over her face at the news. Yeah, it was part of the plan, but she doesn't have to like it. Playing around with death never really sits well with her, no matter how certain Strange's return may be. Besides, it seems like Ignatius doesn't know they plan to bring him back. It's probably best not to say anything to the contrary.

She lets Lambert approach, though his injuries get a double-take from her. Ignatius' answer earns him a sharp glare, and an indignant, "You didn't intend to!? The hell you didn't!" She'll never believe that a fae wouldn't hurt one of their changelings. Especially not one from the Summer Court.

But more importantly, there's one person still unaccounted for. "What about Zangetsu?" she calls to Syrlya.

Syrlya ducks down unto the water to swim back to the group, scowling. "Zangetsu is fine."

He stops beside Lambert, regarding Ignatius critically. "You can spare your platitudes. He was your soldier, and you used him as such."

They could play the blame game, but does it matter? Ignatius is a military leader, putting your men in the line of fire is inevitable. Just as their need to fight for their own lives was.

"But now you have nothing we want, and I have little interest in allowing you to pursue our people further."

Ignatius struggles against the chains vainly, unable to exert enough strength to shatter them. It doesn't help that the sword is still in his chest, and any movement he makes just agitates the pain the feels from it. As much as the fire inside of him wants to burn the blade away, it hasn't been able to.

As quick as Ignatius is to try to smooth over his expression into something more impassive, there is a flash of fear, there. After everything else, he has absolutely no idea what could happen to him now.

But he doesn't argue.

Edited 2018-06-04 20:39 (UTC)

Rita tightens her grip on the sword with a grimace, fearing for a moment that he might actually break free.

But he doesn't, and the question of what to do remains open. "With the power we have now, we might be able to kill him," is her first suggestion, delivered coldly and almost casually, despite standing right in front of the person in question.

"Unless..." she glances at the others, "we could use him for something?"

With other people stepping into the conversation, it gives Lambert a moment to breathe, and assess the situation in front of him. Ignatius pretty decisively has a sword through his chest. Ignatius is also really obviously not dead.

But though the Athenaeum's magic is open to them ... they know it only persists as long as there's a storyteller to keep it going. One of them could threaten to stay here with Ignatius forever -- the span of a mortal life is longer than twenty-five years, and maybe the Athenaeum could kept them fed for that time? -- but he dismisses it. He doubts any of them are interested in being Ignatius's perpetual jailer, and capturing and keeping people isn't really the Carnival's style.

Though it sure as hell seems to happen to them often enough. Would be nice to have the shoe on the other foot for once. Fists balled by his sides, Lambert looks up at Rita, eyes narrowd.

"He does have something we want," he says, steadily, his voice low and deadly in contrast to his rage earlier. "Information." He turns to the fae, wiping Strange's blood off his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a red smudge.

"You did something to Strange. Your kind always do. Rifled through his memories like a card deck, where you can pick and choose." His grin grows savage, fangs bared. "I wonder ... have you ever had that happen to you?"

Ignatius still doesn't speak, looking up at his jailers warily. Still, the look on his face makes the answer clear.

He hasn't.

Rita raises her eyebrows, then gives a slight tilt of her head, seemingly giving the idea some thought... and finding it more or less favorable. It would be fitting, if nothing else, to extract information from a fae who'd probably never balk at doing the very same thing to a mortal.

She holds out her free hand and her book floats over until it's hovering just above it. "This Book of Knowledge can be used to record information directly from a person's mind. It doesn't normally work on the unwilling, but..."

But right now, they have a way of getting around their normal limitations.

This is the part Lambert’s less useful for — the nuts and bolts of the narrative they’ll use to weave the story together, he trusts Rita and Syrlya to come up with. He has own problems to deal with, like his own injuries dragging at him. The water feels chill and cool against his skin, but that only reminds him of the places it’s unpleasantly hot.

“I want the Summer Court’s secrets,” he tells Syrlya and Rita, grimly, as he gingerly unlocks the supercharged brace to let it dangle free rather than remaining pressed to his skin, which is likely to blister in a bracer-shaped band around his arm. “How they’re following us. What they’re afraid of. Any weakness we can use.”

If that sounds like it’s meant to make Ignatius think of a those things, that’s because it absolutely is. In the meantime, Lambert heads a little bit away from the other two, unhooking a healing draught from his belt and taking a swig. It kicks in enough to make staying vertical less of a challenge — meaning it’s easier to bend down and gently pick up the still-spinning gem and halt the music coming from it.

It’s quiet, now. If they weren’t about to try to extract information from a fae by coercion, it would almost be peaceful.

Edited 2018-06-04 23:00 (UTC)

"He'll be willing." There's something vile in his throat at saying it. Technically, it's not a form of mental manipulation any Mesmer would be trained in. Too many ethical issues, and it's not the most trustworthy profession even without that.

But it is possible, the theory is all there. Normally he wouldn't trust not fucking it up, but they have the certainty of the narrative behind them. As weird as that is to consider.

So he extends his hand, the one with the rose, towards Ignatius' head. Not close enough to touch physically, but Ignatius can probably feel the magic between his head and Syrlya's fingers. Who knows if chaos magic from Tyria is familiar for foreign, but magic is magic.

"Because with this magic I will make it so. You will answer our questions and openly offer everything that you know. You will find it easy to do so, because that is our will."

The spell comes out a little awkwardly, like it's the first time saying anything like that. But apparently saying it does wonders for strengthening their magic.

Edited 2018-06-05 01:35 (UTC)

Ignatius tries to pull back, but there's a limit to how far the chains will let him. What initially starts as disbelief turns into raw disgust and angst as they speak, implying what they're going to do. Normally he would completely dismiss it as a possibility. Right now, though... it's hard to say.

But this is something he can't stand.

"I won't," he spits, and uses all the strength he can muster to force the burning energy of his core to channel outward from his forehead, superheating the water and ideally burning Syrlya's hand in the process.

Mind control... It's one of the most disgusting uses of magic Rita can conceive of, and yet here she is, surrounded by people who use it. Under normal circumstances, it's a tactic she'd never want to use. But the fae aren't normal enemies. What they're about to attempt doesn't even come close to how deeply they distort the wills of the people they abduct.

When Ignatius resists, Rita jerks the sword, twisting it in his chest.

"You won't?" she repeats, glaring. "Funny. I've seen people every bit as willful as you have their minds twisted around by you and your kind." He thinks he's different, just because he's fae? He'd better think again.

Syrlya may have less experience with the Fae, but he's seen enough of them and those like them that he can piece their perspective together. Rita only confirms it.

"You will. Do you think you are above it?" He has a glove on, but even though that he can fill the heat from Ignatius. It's gradually painful, but he doesn't pull back. Whatever, he's had this arm immolated anyway, he can take it!

He leans forward, just a bit, in response to Ignatius' pulling back. "You may make a claim to honor, but you are really just abusing your strength to take advantage of those who have less power than you. Does it surprise you when they can fight back?"

He draws his hand back only then to draw a pattern in the air. He knows how the spell will go now. "I don't care if you call yourself Fae, or a god, or a dragon! I have overcome beings as powerful as you before, and you will be no different! My will is stronger than yours. Relent!"

The magic sparks It will be, at first, like pain and a haze. If the name of the game is making shit up as he goes, then it's a good thing Syrlya's spells are already warped on his desire. Syrlya tries to dizzy with his spell, less aware to combat the impression from the magic to talk to them, tell them what he knows. Like an urge, trying to become part of Igantius' own thoughts.

Edited 2018-06-05 02:50 (UTC)

When Rita twists that sword, Ignatius chokes, the pain it causes briefly taking him out of the scene entirely. By the time he's back again, Syrlya is up in his face, accusing him of things he refuses the dignity of even responding to. How could they possibly understand, from their positions?

As much as this situation has broken reality as he knows it, they were never meant to have this power.

"I WON'T," he yells again, and he means it with every fibre of his being. Yet, that doesn't stop Syrlya from starting to dizzy his thoughts, even as Ignatius's efforts to escape become even more wild and desperate.

Rita frowns. Of course it wouldn't be easy. Even she isn't sure it's possible to manipulate a fae like this... but this is a world where the impossible can be possible. They just have to find the right words for it.

So she tries it. "The fae denied it, of course. He'd never known a mortal to wield such power, to bend the will of a fae. But the multiverse is a big place, and for all his objections, it was very much possible that there were such powers beyond his knowledge."

In an all-too-deliberate manner, she adds, "After all, after everything he went through in Portland, he couldn't be sure he understood anything anymore."

If he means it, that's good. That's what Syrlya expected. Nobody weak-willed would be trusted with anything worthwhile. Rita can carry the carry the narrative, and he needs to maintain the spell. This is, ultimately, a game of willpower and Syrlya is very familiar with having his tested.

"You will. You know that, too. So--let's start with how you have been pursuing us this whole time. Is there something more than the Blue Rose? Scrying?"

Edited 2018-06-05 03:27 (UTC)

"No I don't," he growls, which is a more ineffectual response than previously and says something about his degrading mental state. The panic rising in him is getting harder to contend with, and as much as he's trained at pushing it down, this is an experience far outside of his ken.

"I'd rather die," he says, though it's clearly taking everything he has to fill the space with refusals instead of cooperation. By this point, the water has smothered most of his flames, instead leaving nothing but the subtle bubbling of heat around his skin and increasingly sad looking flickers of hair. "They would rather I died."

Rita takes a step back, leaving the sword lodged in place, then waves her book closer. It turns over and opens to what looks like a pair of blank pages, facing upward, as if ready to be written on.

"With the bloodstone enhancing her abilities, the Guardian of Knowledge will find her powers more effective than ever, the Book of Knowledge recording and sharing their captive's knowledge in vivid detail as he recalls it for them." It will, in fact, magically project a holographic image of any visual details that can be clearly associated with the information.

"...Which he will, because all of that fear he's feeling right now? Is for good reason." As Rita speaks, one might notice from the look on her face that she's not exactly happy with what she's doing. He deserves it. There's no question. But she doesn't like this feeling.

Edited 2018-06-05 03:50 (UTC)

"I know you would." And when Syrlya says it, there's a brief hint of sympathy. He absolutely understands loyalty unto death.

But sympathy doesn't mean he's letting up. Lambert gave them a directive, and he's not in a position to abort all this effort even if he wanted to. "But I am not giving you a choice. What other means does the Summer Court have of pursuing us?"

He grits his teeth, grunting with discomfort, his red eyes becoming increasingly glassy with confusion and pain. Part of him is losing track of where he is and what he's doing.

"It's complicated magic," he says, at first like he's just saying it as an excuse not to answer. "I don't understand it. But... the Winter Court was here first. We followed them in."

"Wait..." Rita's eyes widen. "The Winter Court found us first? Not the other way around?"

She definitely thought it was the other way around. The Rose Queen has her connection to the Blue Rose, after all... What the hell does Winter have?

Syrlya blinks, having not expected that answer. "Were you always simply following the Winter Court's trail of us?"

It isn't a surprise the Courts have eyes and ears on each other... simply that the Summer Court may not have been taking the amount of initiative against the carnival that they initially expected.

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