usir | Event #1: The Big One

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The Awakening

🜙 Awakening the Heart Warnings: Injury, Blood, Death

	You are awakened from death by a cloaked figure. The sky is thickly choked by dark storm clouds, but it's growing darker. Sunset is approaching and you know you are far from any of the kingdom cities. It is only once you find your feet that you notice your new tunic adorned with the colors of one of the three kingdoms. It might not be something you remember wearing, but you're about to be thankful for the extra fabric as the first drops of rain begin to fall, hitting you hard and heavy. You won't survive a night out on the marsh flats during a storm. The weather out here is violently unpredictable and it's freezing cold to boot. Your breath escapes in a cloud in front of your face and a shiver runs through you as your feet sink further in the muck of the marsh. You need to find somewhere to go while you sort out what has happened to you. Atrómitos is the closest city to where you are now. You know these marshlands are part of their kingdom. Whatever side you might have been on for the war a simple analysis of the circumstances and surroundings you find yourself in make one thing clear. If you want to survive the night, Atrómitos is your only hope. The chill in the air makes it very clear this is winter and the other kingdoms are much too far to make in so little time. You will have to sludge your way across the muddy, icy marshlands and avoid getting trapped in the thick, deadly mud pits to get there but survival instincts instill a sense of urgency in your movements. You can pillage rusty weapons from the partly to mostly mud-buried skeletons of fallen soldiers on your way, but you had better keep a brisk pace if you want to survive the night. Take care not to grab a living body if you are grave-robbing.
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🜙 X Marks the Spot

	Night falls as you approach the outskirts of what used to be Atrómitos. In the poor light of dusk you can make out just enough to know that something is off about the silhouette of the great city, but you shrug it off to the exhaustion crashing down on you. Your limbs are heavy, your clothing drenched and thick with mud that is hardening in the biting cold. You are finding it hard to keep your eyes open and your limbs moving. Just across a bridge over the river is a large inn. The building is enticing, alive with the sounds of music and life. Light is twinkling from lanterns and candles in its windows, reminding you of warmth. You give the vanishing city silhouette in the distance one more look before it fades from view, swallowed by the approaching darkness. You will never make it to the city before the heavy black of a densely-clouded night cloaks your vision and strands you to stumble blindly across the uneven land and broken paths. It's too risky. You turn for the inn, knowing you have no coin to pay your way, and enter. The portly halfling woman at the bar catches sight of your muddy tunic and drenched form and heaves a heavy sigh, setting aside the flagons she had been cleaning to cross the inn and meet you at the door. "Another one, eh? I don't suppose you have even a handful of silver either?" She clucks disapprovingly, but there is warmth in her expression as she reaches a hand up, offering you a clean, dry towel. It is small, barely enough to dry your face, but it is a gesture of kindness. "Strange times, this. The lot of you are going to run us dry at this rate. Go on then, get yourself over to the fire. Alphie will bring you a flagon of mead and a bite to eat." She points a finger accusingly, stopping any efforts to speak. "And don't you be causing any trouble now. We have rooms enough to spare but you'll be sharing. Beggars can't be choosers. I don't want to hear a word of complaint or excuses. Shoo. Off with you." She doesn't wait for a reply, gesturing toward the large fireplace where a few strangers in similar dress and state to your own are talking over large flagons and bowls of something warm and savory-scented. A teen halfling brings you a bowl and flagon of your own once you find a seat, the smell of a hot and hearty mushroom stew greeting your senses. He also hands you a key fished from his pockets once you've taken your food and drink. "Mum says she expects you to help with chores in the mornin'. Don't be fightin' or she'll sick Boris on you." With that he leaves, heading back toward a massive beast of a saint bernard that sits by the bar. It maintains eye contact for a period before snorting and walking off after the boy. The heavy brass key in your hand goes to a room on the upper floors of the inn, a tag with the room number attached to the ring of it. Chances are you won't be alone when you turn in for the night, but there will be clean linens, a towel, and a fresh tunic and pair of pants in something near your size atop them. It isn't perfect, but it's something. The skies are clear in the morning and the ground is covered in a thin layer of fresh snow. True to the boy's word, Gilly, the woman from the night before, gives you a task in the morning. There are a number of chores, from tending to the sheep or pigs, shifting hay in the barn, cooking breakfast, dishes, doing laundry, or cleaning up the inn. Whatever the task, when you finish it she gives you a bowl of something warm to eat and she thanks you for your help around the inn. You are given the offer to stay so long as you keep doing chores to pay your way.
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🜙 Awakening the Soul

	You leave the inn, but before you can make much progress toward the city a strange sensation overtakes you. It feels like the pull of a magical compass, persistent and steady. The vial you picked up from the battlefield grows cold. It feels like ice against your skin. As the warmth fades from it, it also fades from you. Nothing warms you, not fire, furs, or even the false warmth of alcohol. With the cold comes pain as old injuries begin to appear on your skin, slowly growing worse over time. Succumbing to the pull you stumble back to the battlefield you came from, back across the frozen marshlands. The spot you rose from is untouched by the ice of frozen rain, the grass there still a vibrant green. Something strange is happening. With your animas now close to you and a device in your hand or pocket, you realize the sky has turned menacing once more. The dark clouds of the previous day have choked out the blue skies again and thunder rumbles, approaching at a fast pace. The storm crashes above you. Lightning cracks across the sky and thunder follows it. The weather has warmed enough that rain is falling once more and the hair on the back of your arm stands on end from the electricity in the air. You should get going.
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🜙 A City Under Siege. Warnings: Warfare, Death

	As you return to the city that used to be Atrómitos you quickly realize something has changed. Fires burn around the outskirts of the city. A skirmish has broken out and bulky knights in golden tunics are clashing with a band of fur and leather-clad red orcs, their faces painted with black and white colors of war. The sound of battle is familiar, and the orcs are pushing the city's defense back. There are a number of options before you. You could take advantage of the chaos and join the attack or loot the market. You could assist the defenders in fighting off the orc pillagers. You could slip by into the city and help the people trying to get away from or stop the fires. Or you could just find a local tavern, get a drink, and wait out the battle while you try to make sense of the city's vastly different appearance. Eventually, the defenders manage to beat back the attack and the fires are all extinguished. A crew of volunteers helps to move the bodies out of the city to waiting pyres. Anyone who manages to insert themselves into the crew could easily pilfer some weapons, items, or coin from the bodies. Post-attack the city returns to normal surprisingly quick, these attacks are common for the wall-less city. As night approaches, fires are lit on the outskirts and the city defenders start their nightly patrol. The temperature drops and the rain and thunder turns to snow. Winter is finally here.
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🜙 Divided We Fall.

	In the aftermath of the orc attack the smoke clears and rumors spread faster than fire through the city's streets and taverns. The general consensus is the orcs were after something or someone, but what? That depends on the rumors you hear, and which ones you choose to believe. The city is alive with whispers and theories while attempts to strengthen defenses and repair the damages are underway. Several things become clear in the aftermath: The Skywhale, the airship meant to travel between the City of the Free Peoples and Didymos has been badly damaged, sabotaged and grounded in the orc attack. People in the know about these sorts of things are saying it looks like it will take at least a week or two to be repaired. Winter's first harsh breath has stopped Krimnos' airships as well. The sudden and severe temperature drop in the mountains and the high risk of avalanches has grounded their ships temporarily. As a result, the City of the Free Peoples has effectively been cut off from the other cities. No one seems certain for how long, only that assistance will not be coming soon. And perhaps of more concern than any of this: the orcs are still out there, not far from the city, and they seem to be preparing for a second assault.
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🜙 A Mysterious Message.

	Some time during the chaos a message arrived to your courier. After finding someone who knows what the device is or some tinkering and exploration of your own you discover how to view the thought message it holds and what you find only adds to your confusion. Your message differs depending on your allegiance: Yearning: Do not forget why you are here. It is within your grasp now. You need only to claim what is yours. Hold strong and show no fear. -Epithymetikon Devotion: Burn bright in the dawn where your suns set. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten. Your efforts will not be in vain. Your soul will follow where your heart leads it. -Thymoeides Reason: There is an answer for every question. The truth will not find you. You must seek it for yourself. Do not lose sight of what you seek. -Logistykon
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🜙 It bites, it burns, it yearns and yearns. Warnings: Warfare, Death, Suicidal Orcs

	Snow continues to fall thick and heavy, coating the land in layer after layer of dense, wet, white until a foot of snow coats the plains and lowlands. It seems winter has arrived eagerly on time this year. Small raiding parties of orcs continue attacking the city periodically from different directions. The raiding parties never contain more than a dozen orcs and the attacks rarely last more than an hour. Fires are set, lives are lost, and the orcs vanish once more, their tactics and chosen locations unpredictable. A bounty is issued against the orc tribe, city-wide and open to all. Gold and silver are offered for any information gathered on the orcs and a much larger purse for any who bring back one of the orcs responsible, alive. No simple task as these orcs would sooner die by their own blades than be taken captive. The city is on lockdown, the airships are not coming or going, and city defenses are on high alert. The city's guards are recruiting anyone who is willing and able to help put out fires, fight the orcs, repair damage, offer their weaponry, their magical aid, or their healing talents to the effort. It is made known across the city that all who can help will be compensated in coin, and possibly other rewards, by Captain Lykos himself.

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⤛ Sources: 1 2 3 4 & 5 6 7

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Something about the way he says it, she trusts him. He'll make sure these kids aren't outed, aren't subject to that kind of hate if they can help it. Good. They're on their own now, by the look of it — they don't need any more trouble. Rey has a soft spot for people in positions she's been in herself. She knows that pain.

When she gets in, she separates from him, trying to get around the other way, but they're both headed for the same corridor — the back of the house. The poor girl must be hiding.

"My name is Rey," she calls in a soft voice. "Your brother sent us. You don't need to be afraid. We're going to get you out." But there's no answer. No meow. Certainly no voice. Rey looks over at Jon and says in no uncertain terms, "I'm going back there."

Damn the fire. She pulls her tunic up over her mouth to filter some of the smoke and starts to the end of the corridor, knocking her shoulder into a door to try and get it to budge open.

[It's a warning. It's a heads up to brace for nothing but strife ahead. The same as before. Maybe worse.

They are thoughts Alucard keeps to himself. There's zero point in expressing them around his conversation partner, she is strong willed and nuance is not something all enjoy. So he'll leave it be, and perhaps leave her be for the time as well.]

You are doubtlessly correct about that last part. [He has too much gravity in those words.]

Then I get a new one.

[ James says this with the air of someone who's just barely held himself back from saying any more; his unspoken obviously hangs loudly in the air nonetheless. He's guessed—or assumed would be more accurate—that Kylo is referring to his wand. Drawing away from the abandoned fire pit, James settles back on his heels and looks up at Kylo. Beside him, tiny white flowers that were certainly not there seconds before peek up at them from the snow. ]

It might not be as good as the old. I didn't have my own on me when I—when I woke up. [ James swallows, then rises back to full height. ] But I can still do wandless magic. It wouldn't have been much of a school if they hadn't taught us how, and like I said, it was the best. I just prefer a focus.

The vial must have some kind of enchantment on it. I can find some supplies later. [He shouldn't be encouraging this and Waffles gives a disgruntled whine at the conversation, but David seems to care more about satisfying their curiosity over the vials than he is about what the consequences will be.]

There were barely a few drops in the one that created Waffles so either this liquid is powerful magic or my blood is, and I've spilled enough of my blood just since stumbling out of that field to know it isn't me. [He's about 80% sure of that, but in the lead up to finding Waffles he had started bleeding from old wounds that had caused his death the first time, ruining the back of his tunic and coloring the snow red in a trail of tiny drops.

He takes the vial back, pulling his feet up onto the bed to sit cross-legged on the mattress. Should he warn Strange that sometimes his nightmares caused his bed to levitate after the talisman holding back his magic had been shattered? He decides to leave that for later.]

The other vial's liquid was the same color as whatever is in here. I'm just guessing but I think it might be the same stuff.

[David assumes she's speaking to the raven, a not at all unusual thing to him considering his own fast-growing habit with Waffles and his childhood of talking to creatures and people who were not there.

He keeps his eyes moving, watching their surroundings as she checks in with the bird. He keeps his voice and body low, trying to keep from being spotted by any of the orcs.]

Seems like a sad way to live life, rushing toward death, whether it's theirs or someone else's. I wouldn't want to live my life like that.

"I'd discounted it myself until now. A dream before awakening, as it were." Yet it must have been real in some way, for it to be duplicated. Like the tunics they wore.

Sighing, she lifted a hand to massage her brow. "I don't consider myself uneducated... but certainly only a rare few scholars could possibly possess half the knowledge we need to put these pieces together. The truth is that we're simply too ignorant."

"Brighid chooses to follow me, yes." Whether or not there was a sense of 'belonging' was another matter, but she'd made it clear that Mòrag would have her company for some time to come.

Still, this whole mess was taking longer than Mòrag particularly liked; the longer it went, the more likely the orc would wound someone no matter how sealed its fate was. She was poor at subtle magics, but a little darkness might serve its purpose well, so with an effort of will Mòrag drew magic into her fingers, then freed a hand from the man she carried to make a flicking gesture that cast a strip of shadow across the orc's eyes.

I could live on cherry pie. [He did like sweet potato though. He smiles, distracted by the endearing primate his focus is on and offers her another fruit when she finishes the food already filling her cheeks. He wonders if Gilly even makes pie at her inn. Maybe she'd let him do it. He could make pies. In theory at least. He eats a bite of his food as he mulls it over.]

I've never seen an animal like your furred-friend before. [She looked like a tiny lion-human crossbreed. She was pretty. He offers the stranger his hand once it's free .] I'm David.

"Yeah. You're practically invincible for a guy who looks like he's made out of twigs." Rocket's tone is light and almost proud as he says it, nodding toward Christine. "He's got a powerful swing, too." It's a good setup, they're a good trio. She can help keep their captive alive, Groot can carry him, and Rocket can do what he does best: Stir pandemonium and reap rewards as things explode in the background.

"Don't use any fire spells. He doesn't like fire and doesn't want you to use it. You know. trees, fire, it's a bad combo." He doubts Christine will ever use that knowledge to hurt the big lug. She always seems to him more the help than the hurting kind. Lylla, racing ahead in her bounding slinky way comes to a stop before a strip of smooth, plantless snow and turns, chittering in their direction and smacking her tail once against the snow. There's a muffled crack from below, and Rocket stands back up, patting at Groot's head and gesturing down a short ways from where they're headed.

"Cross over at the bridge, buddy. Looks like Lylla found the river." They can't be too far from the city now with the river so close. His ears perk up and he goes on alert, tail flicking and twitching behind him as sharp eyes keep a lookout for orcs, pulling his crossbow back down and loading a bolt carefully, just a standard one for now, not wanting anything loud.

Don't make it weird.

[But his sharp teeth are showing in a pleased grin all the same. They can make a good team. This guy doesn't hold back and from what Rocket knows of him, which admittedly isn't much but he's strong and morally ambiguous. That's plenty.]

Alright then, but listen up because I don't like repeating myself. I've got an old recipe, it's strong enough to drop an elephant for a few hours and easy to undo with a splash of cold water but not much else. Tip a few bolts for my crossbow with it and all it will take is one sure shot. [He slips a bolt from the collection strapped to his chest and turns it around in his hands, glancing up at his potential new partner and giving the weapon a little wave.]

I almost never miss, so I'm not worried about that but those orcs dwarf me by at least double in size and triple in weight if you hadn't noticed. I can take them down fine but then I'd be stuck sitting on them waiting for someone to come along and pay me. Not very efficient and not great odds when these guys seem to travel in groups. I can make one, maybe two bolts worth of it and that's all I've got. The ingredients are [He gives a shrug, tucking the bolt back and holding his arms out in a 'what can you do' gesture.]

Well, they ain't easy to get ahold of. I got lucky, but usually, you can only find this stuff if you know the right folks and places. [He waits to see if Ren catches the grip, his arms crossed again. Black market dealings still weren't strictly legal and some of the stuff he had needed was teetering on that dangerous edge between black market and straight up forbidden magic. ]

[Ellie shrugs. The lady's right, but, well. Ellie's not exactly the poster child for sanity.]

Yeah. [Ellie hesitates, the word drawing out into an exhale.] ...Do I get a name with the advice?

[She offers a half smile, but doesn't push it further. She gets not wanting to give those out. She doesn't always.]

Rocket snorts at the mouse's antics. It's just like the stoic treeman himself. He bets that mouse has a fierce streak hidden under that quiet outward appearance. It could cause some damage even at that size he's sure.

"Yeah, it should. Just give it fruit and grains and whatever seeds you don't wanna keep. Pretty sure mice love that stuff. You ever have a hard time finding stuff let me know. I gotta keep Lylla stocked with fish and eggs. We'll make sure they don't starve." He's fond of the animals, and not just for the resemblances they share with Groot, the original Lylla, and himself.

"You might have to distract it if you catch it eating seeds and swap. Animals ain't like us. They don't understand things the same way. They just do what they need to to survive."

"40-60 it is." He holds out a small, furred hand with a sharp and toothy grin at the compromise, shifting his weapons on his shoulder and back before dumping back the rest of his flagon.

"Let's go find us some orcs then." He slides the flagon away, gestures to Lylla to follow and makes sure the otter is bounding along beside him before walking backwards toward the door with a call to Shura. "No time like the present."

"Yeah. 'Don't forget why you're here. It's within your grasp. You only need to claim what is yours. Hold strong and show no fear.' Pretty useless advice when I don't have a clue what's supposed to be in my grasp." For as dismissive as Rocket has been of the message he received and as strongly as he insists he doesn't believe the dragons sent them, he has the words memorized, nearly word for word.

The large piece of bread gets set on the little table and Rocket finishes off his chunk, looking around the room a little closer for anything interesting or worthwhile before settling back on Jon.

"Allegedly from the biggest black and scaly boy himself." And while the powerhouse dragon had been the one Rocket found the most sensical of the dragons, he had never idolized them the way others had and certainly hadn't revered them. He couldn't think of a reason the big guy would ever try to contact him personally so it made sense he had noticed a few others got the message, too. "What d'you make of it?"

[In better circumstances, Ellie might crack a joke about strong women and what could be done with their hands. That's probably not what Mòrag would be interested in hearing, though, and Ellie doesn't feel up to it anyway.]

I was looking for survivors or bodies nearby. I've been helping some with--with everything. Not much of a soldier or mage, but I'm good at hunting. [Murdering. Stalking those who would kill her and hers and making sure they don't get back up.] You?

Though she's quite adept at fire spells, Christine can see the wisdom in not taking chances and is happy to oblige once she knows Groot's apprehension. It's in her nature to use caution anyway, so adjusting her plans is easily done.

"Ice, perhaps?" There are plenty of elemental spells at her disposal. She pays attention to the otter as she makes noise, knowing that there's some sort of wisdom there greater than in a normal animal. "Lylla? That's a pretty name." Her falcon has a name that has to do with alchemy, but she's found others bear the names of people. She's starting to think the one she chose shows her bookworm academic side a little too much.

"In this weather, we should be able to see smoke from a campfire, I should think. Keep a close eye."

Demanding! But Shura can't complain too much. She wasn't desperate, but she did need something to pay off her debt at the inn and keep her fed.

"Right, whatever." She'll follow after him without much nagging, stretching her arms up and behind her head and rolling her shoulders. Selling her sword wasn't the worst fate, though she'll wait until their out of the building before summoning Fang from the top seal on her chest. If she needs to stab something, she'll be ready. The lion following her looks slightly less excited about having to go out into the streets, but he'll get over it in time.

Ah, yes, it was time to rely on his physical strength.

Calling his magic to him again, this time tracing out two patterns of movement in his mind. The tight, quick, bright turns of light, and the weight of a building pressure, heaviness of the air, that he concentrated in the palm of his hand. What happened next would hardly have been as effective if the orc wasn't still struggling, and if the pain of the arrow through their arm hadn't been as distracting as the wolf suddenly charging at them from the shadows, latching on to the strap of their arrow's case. Victor released the illusion of light he'd been forming, that illusion becoming a bright-white burst of light appearing in the face of the orc and immediately dispersing after. It was enough to temporarily blind the orc, who jerked backward and rubbed at their eyes; Victor took his chance to race forward and release the second weave of dancing magic in his hand. He'd used this kind of heavy pressure of air in the past to sweep arrows from the air, when prepared for a battlefield and the waves of attack; now it was a simple addition of force to the strike he makes to the back of the orc's neck. The pressure of air releasing as he struck whipped the orc's hair into a frenzy, along with the fur of its clothing, Makka darting to the side with her tail held erect. Waarh, she huffed, stiff legged and stalking, the orc hitting the ground in a slump.

The orc didn't move. Victor focused his attention on the exposed expanse of the orc's throat, watching just long enough to see if they still breathed.

They did.

"He's all laid out for your pleasure," Victor said, calling out to Strange. Makka shook herself off and returned to his side, sniffing at the orc and then sneezing. In the meantime, Victor found the orc's bow and picked it up, moving it out of orc reach.

[ Collectors of all kinds of things. In a sense, he still sees that as the interest in history and the past, but a curator of knowledge and artifacts is not so far off from what it is academics in those fields might believe of themselves.

He laughs, tired but amused, and lifts his shoulders and his hands, palms turned skyward. In another context it might look like a supplication. In this, it's simple a way of showing a certain kind of openness to the possibilities. ]

Would we? I can't remember all of my life on the best days, and these have been anything but the best. I have a companion I can't explain anymore than I can explain my own existence. When have we ever known ourselves as being complete beyond any shadow of a doubt?

[ Makka flicks an ear his way, sniffing along the cobblestones. He waggles his fingers at her, and she blinks, mouth opening a few degrees to show her relaxed lips and her canines. She shakes herself and settles into walking along with them now that they're on the ground. ]

It might be worth worrying about, but I'll have to see the identifiable evidence to understand what to do about it.

Victor blinks, but he doesn't hesitate when reaching for his courier and pulling one of the triangles free from the rest. "What are you hoping to do?" he asks, offering the triangle over. There didn't appear to be a benefit to having more than the pieces that fit a full courier, and while in his talking with the people of this time had informed him that everyone had a courier, most had incomplete ones.

What a gift they've been given. He still wondered what the cost was, and not just for them, but for everyone. Magic could be beautiful, was undoubtedly useful, and at times absolutely horrifying. The delineations between the three weren't always clear.

[ He doesn't flinch at the cries, but he does frown, keeping his distance and watching through the snowstorm. Makka falls in at his side, and the illusionary soliders continue to walk their perimeter. Easier to focus on them, because the effort meant he didn't focus on Davina and her pressing for information.

Privately, he still thought she was unlikely to learn anything of particular merit. Giving them over to the Captain of the City's Knights seemed far more preferable to him, because not only did it take them off their hands, it took the lack of any information that might come out of their capture off their hands too.

Certain responsibilities he did not want to sign on for.

The orcs do answer her question now, but not in a way she's asking. "Right here," one growls, the intermittent pain evident in the stress in their voice. "You've got soldiers right there," they say, "So why not let them finish the job?"

"You like the torture that much," the other orc accuses, spitting it out with such vehemence it turns the statement into a curse. ]

[ Victor studies her for a moment, unaware that in the process, he's bringing his gloved finger up toward his chin. The tip of it rests there, and he cants his head just a tidge to the left. ]

That implies a degree of fanaticism we don't seem to be seeing here. At some point, the cost of the dead or the wear on resources will send them away, even if they don't get what they came here for. They're harrying the city, not storming it.

[ They don't have the numbers to take what they want, in spite of their efforts, though they've caused more than enough damage and destruction. He doesn't like any of it, which is why he's stepped in to help defend. But he wasn't fond of death, either. ]

Most of them try to get back out again. They're taking high risks, hoping it pays off, but it's not as simple as being suicidal. Not from where I stand, at least. There's more damage that could be done if none of them intended to live past their raid.

[ Here's the cart, and Victor graciously (with perfect social grace, at least) allows the patrol themselves to load up the dead orc into their transportation. Makka is near his side, going from pressing against his leg to pawing experimentally at a wheel on the cart before the body's fully loaded. ]

Driving them back is exactly what needs to be done. Not eradicating them.

Victor doesn't understand what Groot says as being anything other than an introduction at first. He's now looming over Victor, which is quite imposing, yes, but Victor's more impressed by Groot's being here at all that it's almost incredible to have him looming at all.

"I'm Victor," he says, because it seems to make sense, "And I'm glad to see you're no worse for the wear, Groot."

He has no idea what Groot wants to see in that moment, though given prompting, it could make sense. Then again, he has no real knowledge of what would make sense to a giant tree-person, or what magic they may be familiar with. "Sorry about dropping all the water on you unannounced."

Haven't you seen them off themselves when they're cornered?

[Despite everything, Ellie is naive in some ways. She's been through terrible things, but she's never been suicidal in the traditional sense. She's never had to make the choice between being tortured and killing herself, and she's always been the type to march onward, even when there was every reason to stop. Not being a particularly philosophical person, she measures the world by her own experiences. To her the willingness to take their own lives is proof of their fanaticism. It isn't the lesser of two horrible choices.

Ellie doesn't have that understanding. Instead, she grits her teeth, annoyed more by the fact that Victor's disagreeing with her than what he's saying.

Theseus herself seems more nervous, ears flicking back as she shifts in place, eyeing Makka. It's not directly aggressive, but it's also not friendly behavior.]

What's the point of letting any live if they're actively attacking with a war camp? They lost the right to mercy the second they started going after civilians.

[ She frowns at the lack of reply, but there's a squawk above her head, something that Rav'ahm does to speak to her without words, so she does nothing. She thinks nothing of it and keeps pressing forward, dodging here and there to avoid the pressure of too many eyes and the orcs baring down on them.

Ducking down, she crawls forward, more like an animal than a person as her eyes glance up, a spark of light in the darkness. ]

Some do not have a choice. This is the only option. What else might they do?

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Page 33 of 39

Event #1: The Big One

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cw: misunderstanding of suicide, aggressive opinions on war

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