lostcarnival | ⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

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⇨ THE SUMMERLANDS

Who: Everyone!
When: Day 119 - Day 126
Where: The Summerlands
What: Ignatius and Gild portal everyone to the Summerlands, with hopes of appealing to the Summer Maiden for help. Meanwhile, the carnival gets the chance to relax in luxury as only tentatively welcome guests. Here is the location write up from the last time the carnival visited. Since then, of course, some things have changed.
Warnings: Nothing in particular.

THE SUN RISES↴

After taking the time to rest, Ignatius and Gild will be able to pool together their energy to portal the carnival (and the airship) to the Summerlands. Those still in Polaris will be left to their own devices for the moment as Gild intends to ask for the Summerlands aid in relocating them, hopefully as soon as possible. With the effort the carnival put into sorting things out in there, however, they should be fine on their own for a little while, at least.

They will arrive in the flowery fields at the base of the mountains, and soon the Summer Fae will notice their presence. Since the last time they visited, however, the atmosphere has changed.

► YOUR ARRIVAL: As the Summer Fae discover the group's arrival, it will quickly become apparent that there is a tension present that wasn't there any of the other times the carnival has visited. The Summer Maiden comes to greet the group personally, with an entourage of armed Summer Fae. They are not at all aggressive unless provoked, but there is clearly a wariness that is new. They seem uncertain about Ignatius being here, and while Gild will be able to do a lot of the talking and smooth things over, the Summer Maiden will deflect having a serious conversation about affairs until the carnival has taken time to 'rest.' It's more likely that the Maiden needs a moment to think over this new information before dealing with it.

► SUMMER CITY: After the Summer Fae become aware of everyone's presence, and the initial uncertainties are accommodated, they will invite you into their city. There are stairs that lead up the sides of the mountains, but thankfully there are also magical means of getting up there as well. The Summer Fae will be willing to help workers with the injured as needed, offering herbal remedies and healing magic to those that want it. You'll also be invited to join them for dinner, but it feels like more of a formality, and no one is obligated to take them up on it.

► SUMMER PEOPLE: The fae here will do their best to entertain these new visitors - but it doesn't seem that much happens here besides day after day of peaceful meditation and relaxation. It is not uncommon to see Summer Fae spent days doing exactly the same thing, whether that be enjoying the weather, listening to music, or dancing - the day and night periods may be similar to earth, but when you don't need rest it can all blur together just the same. Some of the fae work on feats of agriculture or craftsmanship, and while there is no particularly need to work in this place, they take pride in the fact that they do.

► FAMILIAR FACES: One very different thing about the Summerlands this go around is that there appears to be a small settlement built at the base of the mountains, filled entirely with the former residents of the Manor. Alyss and Reyna will explain that they set up a place to live down there with the Summer Fae's help, and that the fae seems to be trying to remain hands off except when they are needed. The Manor folk overall seem to be doing well, though there is some tension regarding their place in the Summerlands - they are clearly seen as refugees, and while the Summer Fae do their best to help them, the arrival of the carnival and the request for even more help with refugee aid seems to be making things awkward.

► OF THINGS TO COME: The Summer Maiden will remain distant for the first few days, but according to Gild and based on personal observation, it will seem that the news that the Ringmaster has been taken and the idea that even more desperate mortals are requesting to come here are putting her at significant ill ease. She's not rude or dismissive, but she seems reluctant to address the situation head on, though she has said that she will hold a meeting with the carnival later in the week to discuss everything in more detail. None of them seem particularly angry or resentful, but they seem to regard the carnival as an ill portent of things to come.

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The buzz of the texting ring pulls Childermass out of his own head. He sighs and brushes the dust from the latest flower away and looks down to see what it is, who it is. While Lambert's been haring off to practice... something... with the Gilded Mark, Childermass has returned to his own practice. They'll soon find their new magic at polar opposite ends of each other, yet again, but until then—

A little. Where do you want to meet?

That's the answer Lambert will get, though it's a lie. Childermass hardly feels hungry at all. He's drawn in enough energy from the plants around him that, even on an empty stomach, he can't feel it. There's no edge of hunger, no grumble of emptiness. He does still know he should eat, however. He's more sensible than to think otherwise.

The usual spot, where we practice. Be there in half an hour.

The answer is fired off quickly, and Lambert sets about gathering up what he needs from various stalls selling simple fare that all gets wrapped up in oversized leaves and packed into a light wicker basket. He arrives at the top of the cliff with a slightly jerky landing via light teleportation, ten minutes earlier than the appointed time, and sets about spreading a thin blanket over the grass and unpacking the bundles of food. If Childermass isn’t already there, he means to give him a surprise; if he already is, the witcher won’t offer him more than a mischievous grin as he gets things set up. The food is fragrantly spiced meat wedged between flatbread, small hand pies both sweet and savory, bread rolls, and a bottle of ale they’ll unfortunately be resigned to swigging from between the two of them.

Unusually, the witcher is carrying a sword on a hip, though he unbelts the sheath and puts it to one side before he sits on the blanket and grins at Childermass. “Well, help yourself.” The witcher certainly is doing so.

Edited 2018-12-31 05:17 (UTC)

Childermass is there early, beating Lambert there by only a few minutes but he doesn't appear immediately, either. He lingers back in the grove of trees that sits on the cliff, closer to where the incline up the mountain itself begins. Watching, mostly, and, perhaps, just to give the witcher the room to arrive and set up.

A picnic seems to be what lunch is today. He supposes that's no surprise, considering what the usual spot even is. Certainly not next to a cafe or attached to a kitchen, is it? He does wander in out of the shadows of the trees once he feels it's a little later than when he's meant to arrive. No magic needed, he can stroll on over and take a look, raising his eyebrows at the grinning witcher once he's there.

"You're in a good mood," he observes as he settles down on the blanket and picks out a flatbread to try and eat. He still doesn't feel hungry, even if he's planning on eating. It will take him a while to even get through as much as half a sandwich. "Did you finally work out whatever it was you were working on?"

“I did. I’ll show you after lunch,” Lambert affirms, smirking at Childermass with a real confidence and pride he hasn’t had since ... well, since before the Mother of Invention ripped his bones out. Where the magician is reserved about his food intake, the witcher practically inhales it, clearly having to make up for whatever energy he’s burned off.

“It’s still not where I want it to be,” he explains, as he helps himself. “But I think it’ll get there if I keep working at it. I got the idea from what you said, actually.”

"Which will be soon, I take it," Childermass laughs quietly over how fast Lambert tucks away the picnic lunch. The magician manages just one of the flatbreads and a part of one of the pie before he quits and chooses to hog the ale instead. "I'm sure wherever it's at, it'll be impressive. You wouldn't be showing off otherwise."

Lambert won’t question it, though he’ll nag Childermass to let him have the bottle every now and then to wash the food down, steal it out right if that doesn’t work. When he’s eaten as much as he can, the witcher haphazardly shoves the extra food back into the basket and pushes it to the side.

“All right,” he says, grinning at Childermass. “Let’s give this a shot.”

He grabs his sword from the side of the blankets and unsheathes it, laying the naked blade across his lap. Holding it steady with one hand on the grip, he lays the other’s fingers palm-down over the flat of the blade, by the hilt. And then, slowly but deliberately, he starts to slide his hand down along the sword, like he’s wiping down the silver.

Only it doesn’t stay silver. As his hand moves, bit by bit, it reveals glowing golden light, still in the shape of a sword, but harder to look at. Unlike Lambert’s illusions or merely applying an effect on top of metal, this seems a true transformation, the sword not only looking like light but actually made of it. It’s no ordinary light, either — it gives off a radiant warmth and an unmistakable sense of life and vitality. Creation’s power.

When the whole sword is transformed — holt and pommel touched for good measure, the whole process lasting only a few seconds — Lambert looks up quickly to gauge Childermass’s reaction.

Childermass leans forward at first, watching intently. He's been curious about what Lambert's been working on and, now, here it is. It's only when the transformation begins and the light starts leaking out into the world that he finds himself needing to lean away again. What he gets off of it, the light of Creation, unsettles, but it doesn't harm. That he can immediately identify what it is...

He won't dwell on it. This is Lambert's triumph, the man who kept claiming he's no magician! He looks up from the sword once he's done changing it, face alight with surprise.

"That's... Lambert. That's transmutation, isn't it? You turned it wholly to light?"

“For now. It’s only a temporary enchantment,” Lambert explains, but he’s grinning proudly, even if just this much effort has already made his face gain a slight sheen. He takes a moment to steady the spell, then takes the blade properly in hand and gives it a few experimental passes through the air, turning it to show more of its form.

“It looks different, but it’s only as strong a sword as it was before. What I really want to do is make a sword out of light, the same way Ignatius and Gild use their elements to form their weapons. I can’t do that right now, so this is just something Gild taught me for practice — to get me used to the feeling.” His gaze grows more determined. “We won’t always have the option to use iron when we’re fighting fae.”

He lets the enchantment bleed away, fading back into brilliant silver that seems dull compared to the light before. “I can do it with my claws, too. Maybe any weapon, though I haven’t tried.”

And then, he looks sheepish, flushing and looking away. “You were right. It comes easier when I’m working with something that’s ... I guess if I want something less flashy, I’ll still have to ask you.”

Edited 2019-01-01 06:54 (UTC)

"Nothing wrong with that," Childermass can't help but chuckle at the way he looks away once the light has faded. It's a mild relief that it's gone but, again, he won't say. The last thing he wants is to discourage Lambert. "I said it before. It's better to use magic that comes naturally to you, that you can make your own, be proud of."

And he is, as ever, loud, attention-hogging, like great, big flashes of light and whatever else that may entail. Though now that Lambert has gotten to share, he supposes he ought to do the same. It's strange now, how opposed the two spells have ended up being, but he'll turn and lean over to pick flower of some sort out of the grass.

"Though you haven't been the only one thinking about what the other has said... Do you remember when you told me to work with what they did to me? To find an advantage?"

“I thought it would be nice to have at least one spell we could share,” Lambert answers, wryly. It’s a bit of sentimental tripe he’s sure Childermass would find silly, but that doesn’t change the desire.

Though the magicians word’s do pique his curiosity, and he cocks his head, having to think on it. After everything, the conversation had seemed of little impact; he’s surprised Childermass cared to remember . “In Polaris? Yeah, I guess I was just repeating what I used to tell myself after I became a witcher. Why?”

Edited 2019-01-03 06:23 (UTC)

"Well, I could still teach you to call down a whirlwind," Childermass points out with a laugh, looking away briefly from the flower and back towards Lambert. He understands the sentiment, at least. "That may be flashy enough for you to find easy."

Although with the witcher spell that knocks people back already, he supposes it's something less useful for Lambert to know. Wind spells are nice but shadows are infinitely more useful in a pinch. Regardless, he'll still give Lambert a nod to the rest of what he says.

"And yes, that, back in Polaris. It's... not unlike what you learned, only..." He pauses there, looking away again, to the plant in hand. He isn't quite as proud of it as Lambert is his own new bit of magic. He'll reach out for the flower's fading energy — as it's been picked, after all — and leech the rest of it away. Its colors fade to blacks and greys, wilting and slowly falling apart as he does. "The Void's a lot less kind in its gifts."

‘Not unlike what he learned?’ Lambert opens his mouth, about to question that, but Childermass beats him to it, the flower fading to black, then crumbling to dust. He can’t help sucking in a breath of surprise, eyes widening slightly, and he half-reaches out to touch the flower before he curls his fingers in.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re on our side then, isn’t it?” He looks back up at Childermass, more curious than alarmed this time, and decides to complete the motion, stretching out across the distance across them to rest his fingers over the back of the magician’s, like they’re cradling the faded blossom together. It’s still Childermass. There’s no need to be afraid of this.

“Rita said she could tell they did something to you with the Void,” he says, hesitantly. “Do you remember what it was, now?”

"They injected more of the Void into my heart," Childermass says after a moment of just looking down at where Lambert's rested his hand. He doesn't shake it off, though. "And added... I don't know. Slits for wings made of the Void and not just my blood. From the notes I saw, it worked but I'm not inclined to try manifesting them."

He just doesn't want to. Ever. He may not be able to remove what they've done but he sure as hell doesn't have to use it as intended, on top of wings in this form is pointless. He doubts they could even support real flight. Still, he'll shake away the bitter thoughts and bring Lambert's hand up to place a light kiss against the back of his hand before looking up and over at the witcher.

"And don't ask me to. I don't need wings as a man... This is enough. The spell harnesses the Void to pull energy out of my surroundings. Syrlya mentioned I might be replacing the negative with what I take in since it does make me feel better. I can project it further around me, as well."

Lambert can’t help the way the lines of worry deepen briefly on his forehead and between his brows, something even the press of Childermass’s lips against his hand can’t quite banish. As the frequent user of such tactics to dote upon and soothe his lover, they’re less effective, even if the gesture brings a flush to his cheeks.

“But I like you with wings,” he jokes half-heartedly. “They could keep me warm in bed.” In a future where Childermass can actually bear that again, but ... one step at a time. The witcher squeezes Childermass’s hand.

“Does it make you lose your appetite too? Better not make a habit of it if it does. Not like you’ve got much weight left to lose.”

"I doubt these wings would keep you warm, Lambert," Childermass says, lowering his hand again and giving a small shake of his head. The opposite, no doubt. To the rest, he supposes it pointless to lie as his gaze flickers back towards what's left of the picnic.

"And it does... but I do know better. I should be able to repurpose the energy for magic if I ever overextend myself. I'll try not to do that often, though it may be needed if we do end up entering the Wyldlands."

“Yeah.” Lambert’s expression sobers briefly, considering something, then gently squeezes Childermass’s hand again, though the suggestion is infinitely less tender than that caress.

“Do you want to try pulling energy from me?”

Edited 2019-01-08 03:46 (UTC)

Yeah, that has Childermass pulling his hand away in surprise. He leans away, as if suddenly worried just sitting next to Lambert might cause such a thing to happen.

"What? Of course not! Why would I ever do that?"

And that has Lambert leaning in to grab it, refusing to let go again.

“Because it could come to that, couldn’t it? The difference between living and dying. Don’t you want to know how to do that now rather than when we don’t have a choice? When you don’t know how to control it enough not to kill me?”

"If it comes to that, I'll just use it on whatever damn faerie is attacking us," Childermass snaps back in reply, still trying to pull his hand from Lambert's grasp. He doesn't exactly have witcher strength, though, now does he?

Childermass doesn’t, and Lambert forgets himself for a moment, tightens his grip almost to the point of pain. He’s even stronger than a witcher now, something he hasn’t really explored except in cautious spars with Syrlya, trying to find a grasp on the changes wrought.

“John,” he says lowly and urgently, leaning in so he’s right in Childermass’s face, lips half-parted like he’d like to say something ... and then he realizes he’s holding on too hard, and he lets go, face red for reasons other than pleasure.

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking away, fangs worrying at his lower lip. “Fine. Forget it.”

Childermass yanks his hand back as soon as Lambert lets go and cradle it in his other hand. There's pain, sure, but he can already feel it fading. At worst, there may be a bruise, which on the scale of injuries is nothing to the magician at this point. Still, he looks wary now. When did Lambert become that strong...?

"Why is it so important?" He should ask about the strength, he knows, but this is what he demands instead. "Why would you want me to practice on you and not something else?"

Edited 2019-01-08 06:51 (UTC)

Lambert looks out over the sprawl of the Summerlands, and shrugs.

“You’ve never used it on something that can tell you what it feels like, have you?” he challenges. “And you’ve never used it on a fae. Do you know if it matters what you pull the energy from?”

"Seeing how it's the Void, I actually do know what it feels like," Childermass snaps, irritable now that he even has to think about it. He looks away, his grasp tightening around the hand he's still cradling against his chest. "The same as I've been feeling. Like nothing is ever going to get better."

"Yeah, you really don't need the Void to feel like that,” Lambert drawls.

He draws his legs up enough that he can rest his elbows on his knees, tail clumsily curling around himself with a rustle of ribbon and a quiet jangle of metal, fingers clenching and unclenching restlessly.

"Do you actually believe it?"

Edited 2019-01-08 14:15 (UTC)

"It's difficult to describe it any further than that..." Because it is different. It's one thing to come to that conclusion on your own and struggle with it, another when it feels like some alien force trying to drown you in hopelessness. Childermass sighs and looks back again.

"No, I don't. I know it's lying to me. That doesn't change how it feels but I'll just have to deal with it." Though on the topic of 'dealing with it', his attention flickers down to the wrapped tail. "The same as we'll have to deal with that... and your horns. How long are you going to hide those from me?"

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