lostcarnival | ⇨ FAERIE TALES

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.

"No," he says. "This was my first time being assigned to this. I don't know what they did before."

He's gone slack at the shoulders, staring at the ground.

"Nightshade said the Winter Court must have had a spy watching the carnival for at least a couple years. I know the one. He'd latched onto the realm somehow and was riding it around the multiverse."

As he says that part, an image of Frost will form in the holographic display of the book, making a 'nayner' gesture with his hands as he seems to flee from the point of view.

Rita might not know Frost's face, but this story strikes a familiar chime with her memory. Grimacing, she says, "That's... consistent with something I've heard before. But I thought..." ...that after Strange accidentally summoned him and brought him to the Ringmaster's attention, that he wouldn't be able to continue spying on them. Was he really still trailing them all this time?

"...Forget it." They only have so much time for questions, and Ignatius' knowledge of the Winter Court's activities probably aren't as detailed as what he may know about Summer. "More importantly... It seems like the Summer Court had it in for the Ringmaster even before we got on the Rose Queen's bad side. Why?"

"She killed a Queen," Ignatius says dully. "The Queens, the Maidens... they're like sisters. Even if they fight... they're linked."

"The Summer Queen was afraid." From the book, an image starts to form. "That someone would come after her as well, that her daughter would never return. Both of these things she blamed on the Great Beast."

The image becomes clear. It shows a fae woman of radiant light, extending a hand to be held by that of the point of view, who is obviously Ignatius, from the fact that his hand is bright red. Her eyes seem kind, but strained with knowledge, like someone careworn from too many years of struggle. The Summer Queen, as Ignatius knows her.

That must be the Maiden... Syrlya's never met her, but he has at least heard and seen enough to know that she is on good terms with the Ringmaster. "Of course. And not, perhaps, that the reason the Maiden doesn't return has to do with something else in the Court? Such as the insatiable greed of the your people. Your stagnation."

He tilts his head, raising a brow. The word choice may come from the book that he found, but he says it with the same conviction of truth. Was it common knowledge why the Summer Maiden left, or is this the first time Ignatius has heard the truth of her wayward behavior? "That was what she had hoped to change with the Winter Maiden once. Didn't you know that?"

He's really not in any state of mind to defend himself, or to argue. So, instead, he just stares into space.

"I did. She told me herself," he says. The image in the book begins to shift again, becoming a second woman - similar to the first in appearance, but still distinct. A great black dragon lays behind her, decorated with markings of orange and teal, as she rests one hand on the beast's neck. The other hand beckons to the person before her as she looks on imploringly.

"I was told she was mistaken. I knew nothing but the life I'd been given."

Syrlya's expression twists up wryly. "And so you did not question it... but true conviction can only be found after it has been tested and defied."

Whether Iggy has yet to experience that, or he has and he still believes in his Court... well, ultimately that doesn't matter much in their current position.

"She must not be the only one. Her absence leaves a void of power in your system. What other breaks are there? Those whose faith in Arcadia is shaken, or where your power is weak."

"I don't know," he says hollowly. Either he's resisting, or this is the result of a too-complicated answer trying to come out in as few words as possible.

Rita shoots Syrlya a questioning look. The Maidens wanted what? How does he... no, she'll have to ask later.

"What about Nightshade?" she instead asks Ignatius, her arms crossed as she considers what they know. "Sounds like she has a few complaints. What do you make of her, really?"

"I don't know," he says again. There is little life to the response at this point - maybe it's becoming a problem.

This time, Lambert speaks up. His voice is low, and thick with contempt, though he’s been listening this whole time.

“It doesn’t seem like you know much of anything at all,” he says, his gaze searching Ignatius, then lifting to Syrlya and Rita. He’s had some experience with Rita’s book, if purely functional. The transfer of information goes both ways.

“But that’s why it’s so easy for you to be sure, isn’t it? You say you know nothing but the life you’ve been given — fine. We’ll show you.” He holds a hand out to Rita. “Give me a page.”

Edited (typos everywhere sorry) 2018-06-05 10:12 (UTC)

The request is met with an uncertain look, but Rita complies. She flicks her wrist, and a blank page tears itself out of the book and floats over to Lambert, hovering just in reach.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, wary. One who touches that page may imprint it with information to be communicated to others. What could he want to share with Ignatius?

“I’m going to give him a gift,” Lambert says, simply. There isn’t so much cruelty in his voice as there is flat calmness. For a moment, those stories about witcher heartlessness almost seem like they might really hold water...

“Two, actually. The first is mortal pain. A taste of what it’s like, being on the receiving end of what the fae have done.”

He glances at Rita, brows raised. She might have something to add here of her own, if she’s so inclined, but he won’t compel her to if she doesn’t want to share.

Rita gives him a stare, then her gaze drifts to the page. Would that really work? Can the fae even empathize with mortals?

Screw it. She's doing it.

"With her amplified power, the Guardian of Knowledge was able to inspire not only factual knowledge, but also the knowledge of emotions, felt by the receiver as vividly as they were by the one imprinting the information." This time, she feels not just a surge of power, but a surge of pain, as well. She bears it, grimacing slightly. Seems like invoking the bloodstone over and over is starting to catch up with her. As her adrenaline wears off, she might not last much longer before needing rest.

So with no time to waste, Rita steps forward, places a hand on the page, and records some of her own experiences. There's the attack on the Sanctuary in Portland, when she helped a panicking kid escape through a window, then found herself grabbed, dragged, and trapped in a room full of vines, surrounding herself with fire and pushing through the panic and terror as she struggled to find another exit.

Also added is the memory of her meeting another changeling who'd escaped from Ignatius, a man with burns all over his arms. Someone who showed her kindness once, then was taken away by the Rose Queen and brainwashed into fighting his fellow changelings... fighting Rita, though it was the last thing either of them wanted to do.

With just her touch and those thoughts, words appear on the page, written in incomprehensible runes. "Should be enough room for yours," she tells Lambert before stepping back and letting him do his thing.

Syrlya watches them, sideways, before drawing his hand back and allowing the spell to dissipate. It was only to get him to talk, after all--that lacking ability to fight them comes from a lot of other causes.

He also has little to add about the suffering from the Fae... he knows they've received much worse, so he goes quiet to allow them the room to work.

Lambert can’t read what’s on the paper, but he’ll know what it is soon enough. With a breath, he presses his palm to the page, ink starts to fill it where Rita leaves off, wincing as her own memories hit him — but it gives him room to build on.

The disjointed memories colored by Lambert’s emotions as an observer, but it’s what he knows. The witcher pours in the memory of seeing the scars on Strange’s arms after Portland, and the understanding of the kind of agony that must have put them there, the fear that it might happen again and he’ll be helpless to stop it — it has happened again, and now Strange is dead. He calls up the memory of Childermass telling him about being raised in the Winter Court — ”Who would even notice one less crow around?" the changeling asks, and it bleeds into the heart pounding terror of a dark night, fleeing from the Rose Queen’s gardens after an attempt to retrieve some stranger’s family and get some answers, only to have Childermass ripped right from his hands. In reality, Steven’s agony from the Rose had only hurt Lambert so much, but memory sharpens and magnifies it, and he remembers much more clearly the anger he felt at himself while Steven sobbed into his shirt after the Rose changed him, because of the blood binding him to a being he should never had to call mother. It isn't fair. He can't outrun what's in his veins, what he never asked for.

Look. Fae did this, and thought nothing of it. It’s a litany of accusation, colored by Lambert’s own feelings of helplessness and anger. Of course they’d defend themselves — of course they’d grasp for every advantage they could have. Because it’s all they have as mortals.

There’s still a bit on the page left —

“The second thing I’m giving you is the truth: your Queen is wrong, but she’s too busy moping to see it,” Lambert tells him. “The greatest enemy she has isn’t the Beast, it’s the bitch who cheated her way onto Winter’s throne. The one who hates the Carnival so much she sent demons to do her dirty work for her.”

Lambert’s been to Hell for the Carnival. Literally. This set of memories is less emotional: he imprints the page with that helter skelter rescue, the ravaged forms of the Supervisors and carnival workers they’d pulled from the Carnival, and ties it back to the memory of a protection spell that should have concealed them — but for a vampire reeling on the ground, forced to recite her secrets for Childermass and Lambert under the compulsion of silver and magic.

The most beautiful woman, the one with white hair ... she had it out for you disgusting fools too. The Ringmaster had called it no proof. It wouldn’t hold up in the eyes of any law. But with Ignatius has just told them about where Frost was this whole time, the pieces line up too neatly, don’t they? If either Rita or Syrlya touches the page now, they’ll get those memories too, Lambert’s suspicion and the Ringmaster’s weary resignation. Even if it was true, would it make a difference? And yet if it was true...

With the instantaneous way that knowledge pours onto the page, what should have taken hours to explain only takes moments. Lambert blinks, shaking his head.

“... As soon as the witcher and the guardian had filled the page with their memories, they granted it to the fae by touching it to his flesh.”

Lambert reaches out and slaps the page onto Ignatius’s forehead ... right about when the Ringmaster’s voice echoes tersely into the abyss of the sea.

”Lambert, where are you? Zangetsu returned with Strange and we have to leave immediately.”

Edited (wording) 2018-06-05 16:41 (UTC)

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this is the longest tag i’ve ever written in this game goodbye