A Veiled Journey (Part 11)

From last time:

"A father is never weak to his child," replies Menesil to Malik's criticism.

But there is a distant look in his eyes. He is here, but not here. Responsive, but not really present.

"What will your hearts arm you with? The answer is one you must see to yourselves."

It takes some time to answer that question, but after some meditation, several conversations, and some thought, Seldan finally stands, the crystal held between his hands. Both hands are cut deeply in several places, leaving the gold-silver-blue that is his lifeblood in this mindscape to run unheeded over his hands and into the crystal.

Fed so, and in his hands, it glows with a clear golden-silver-blue light, and has transformed from a flower into a mighty weapon - a longsword still, but much more ornate even than the one on his hip, clearly a thing of magic that might recall the legends of Aiglos. Not exactly the same, but its lines recall that style.

Malik's weapon probably isn't terribly surprising. A bow, very similar in form and substance to the one he already carries. This one, though, burns with a half-seen fire, blue-white, runes and arcane formulae swirling across its surface like the red-orange embers on a burning log, dancing around just as quickly. Seeming to fuel it all, black streams of something oily-looking, giving off just enough of a reflection to show movement, if not necessarily in what direction. Everything about the weapon seems half-hidden and shrouded somehow, like the roguish wizard himself.

Zeke, bleeding pure white now, is knelt before a flower himself. He has not plucked it, but his pure white blood covers it from his gentle touch. So gentle with that dangerous little flower. Seldan asked good memories of him, and he gives them freely. The thought of the day he gained kin. The memory of holding tiny human babies who were comforted by his touch. Who touched him in return and taught him to no longer be afraid. The day that Daeus blessed him with limbs. Every. Single. Day. With Winter. Saying no. Saying no over and over. Never losing faith that Daeus was merely testing him. That he would be saved. That he would die before tasting the flesh of another sentient being.

The weapon that forms before him is not... a weapon. It is a star. A sun. A glowing weapon of sharp white light that is representative of Zeke. Nebulous, and yet firm. A mountain to be depended upon. He is here for his kin. He is here for the world. He grasps the weapon as if he knows it better than even the quarterstaff that he uses as a staff and rises to his feet.

Serene has spent some time pondering the nature of these flowers. Her brief discussions earlier with the others, her own memories coming to the fore. And, like the others, her flower starts to change. As it does so, she touches it with her other hand.. bare, her gauntlets strung from a loop on her weapon belt.. and like the first, her second hand starts to bleed silver. Then she snaps it. It's a small sound, yet distinctive. The two glowing pieces get brighter, larger.. and when they fade, she is left with a sword and a shield. Both end up being rather plain, but their silversheen is almost unnatural. If pure silver were some how made even more pure. The sword, of a length with Seldan's, though ever so slightly curved and single edged from the guard halfway up the blade. The shield, circular, almost a mirror.

Everyone is armed. Everyone but Menesil, anyway. As he said, though, perhaps his light is simply too dimmed to make such a thing. He inspects a crystal flower. The Veil remains silent for a time.

...perhaps you have to find your own way out? Or is there something else? At the moment, that answer isn't clear.

Menesil starts to hum a quiet tune, old even in his day, clearly, even as seems hauntingly familiar.

Seldan watches each of the weapons for - except for Menesil's, and he turns to the old sil, the sword in his hand lowering. "Any have the light within them to arm themselves against evil, Menesil," he says quietly. "They need only will it so." His visage is now merely human, to the would-be king, but it is quiet, even, steady, compassionate. "No matter what has passed, it is not too late. You need not be your father, to be of worth. You need only reach out, and give."

Malik doesn't seem to have any words for Menesil. At best, he looks at the old Sil with restrained disapproval, though he mostly manages to keep his face neutral. Mostly. Moving over to Seldan, he puts an arm around the man's waist, leaning in to press a kiss to the paladin's temple. Seldan is the one with the pretty words, and while Malik isn't a slouch thanks to the magic that he wields -- well. The knowledge of the right words, and the will to use them, are two very different things.

Zeke gathers himself carefully, and walks toward the others. His is the only weapon that doesn't look... weapony. It's hard to tell how one might weild a small captured star of white light. Zeke doesn't seem concerned about it though, instead he waits and sees how Menesil responds to Seldan's words.

The first thing Serene does, of course, is test the balance of these... weapons. Of course, with the current state of reality being somewhat in question, it's likely a fruitless exercise. A few swings later, ear cocked as if listening for the sound of the sword slicing through air, she nods. Then she looks over at Menesil, watching for a reaction to Seldan's words, adding her own. "The most important step one can take, Menesil, is the next one. In this moment, what came before does not matter. In this moment, the most important thing is what you choose to do now."

And then Seldan and Serene speak. It's their combined words that free him again from his distracted delirium.

"A king can always choose," he murmurs, thoughtfully. And then he starts to repeat it over and over again, thoughful. This lasts a moment. His eyes close. He's turned inwards. Not ignoring you.

He's searching for something. The sky darkens all around you.

"That is so," Seldan agrees, his glance first to Malik at the kiss on his temple, a warm but brief smile for the wizard, then going only momentarily to the darkening sky around them. He lets the light that is the sword in his hands stand counter to that which comes, his true focus only on willing Menesil to stand. "A true king will always choose his people, above himself. Your people need you now. They need you to stand against what comes, for you, for us, for them. You possess the power, Menesil. Defend your people."

Malik looks to the darkening sky as well, though he takes it in with no more consideration than one would give rain. They've all been through worse than this, after all. The darkening sky at the approach of darkness seems as natural to him as the light fading at sunset. "Perhaps," Malik muses, "he's been on his knees so long that he has forgotten how to stand even for himself."

Zeke looks himself toward the darkening sky. The drawing of Menesil's power? An effect of the man's memory? Some kind of enemy coming for them? There's no way of knowing. All Zeke can do is prepare himself for anything.

"It seems our time may be coming to a close," Serene says, stating the obvious as she positions herself near the others, turning her back to her comrades to face.. nothing, yet. But with the darkness closing in, she clearly suspects something.

The sky cracks.

The memory is changing. The ground shifts. There's a vertigo inducing sense of displacement, a whirling diorama of flickered, faded images and memories. Menesil leans forward, clutching his head in pain.

The scene changes again without you having gone anywhere physically, so to speak.

The sky is dark above you, Eluna's light seeming improbably far away, a distant and faded memory.

The shadows are long here, longer than they should be. The reach out to grasp you, their cool fingers carrying with them the touch of despair and self-loathing. Manifestations of doubt, self-hatred, and loathing, these reaching shadows.

"You will not have him," comes a quiet voice from elsewhere. A woman, full of light. Beauty. She strides amongst the shadows and they fall back.

"You will not have him," she says.

"She comes," says Menesil, "Sister, why must you torment me so?"

"I torment no one. Your choices were your own and they lead you here. You alone. Every lie. Every failure. Every misstep. Yours and yours alone."

She does not seem to see you, another memory. Another representation of his self-loathing.

Her great halberd made of crystal and glass, yet perfect, full of light and indestructible, rests over her shoulders.

"You are no king. Incapable. Inept. You knew I was better. I am always better."

Menesil can not see it, but you can... the darkness in her eyes.

"But it's not too late. You can turn away and come with me for all time, and rest. You can rest again."

False hope. That's what she offers. Nothing more than a lie and false hope. No doubt this has played out many times before. You have that sense.

Malik watches the illusion or whatever it is, glancing back between his companions. He doesn't say anything. He simply wraps his fingers around an arrow and string that wasn't there on the weapon a moment ago, or at least not visible. He doesn't draw. Yet. But he's clearly prepared for a fight.

"Your words are idle, and filled with lies, and are of no consequence," Seldan says at once, stepping forward. "For the choices of the past cannot be changed, regret or not. What truly matters is what he chooses to do now," a brief nod to Serene. "For none of us are perfect, and only when we fail to act against that which is evil do we truly lose." The sword is raised at the ready as he comes up to stand at Menesil's shoulder.

Doubts are... a familiar thing to Zeke. Self-loathing? An old familiar friend. It was something he had lived with for more years than most beings got to see. He however doesn't shirk away from the dark. Instead the sun in his hand glows. Responding to his faith. Faith in himself, in his allies, and his god. "We can be better tomorrow." He says simply. "But only if we live tomorrow."

Serene's eyes narrow nearly to slits. That such an attempt to appear glorious is made, yet cannot hide the darkness underneath. She moves as well, presenting her shield side to the Temptation. "The time is now, Menesil," Serene says. "We stand with you. She has no power over you."

"...no," is what Menesil finally says. Not to you. Not to her. To himself.

"No," he says again, to himself. "No, I won't. I won't sleep again."

Her eyes narrow at him, of course. "What did you say?" Dismissing you. You don't exist, at least not directly.

"I said no. I am tired of being your shadow."

A howl begins. Not here. Not present, but all around you. Like the world itself is screaming. It shakes. It shatters, falling into darkness all around you.

His sister's form twists. Begins to distort, grow, change. Blacken.

"YOU ARE EVER MINE. SEE NOW THE TRUE FACE OF YOUR DESPAIR."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ATTENTION -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

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