Out Of Whole Cloth

Lupecyll-Atlon home, late morning

Snow is just starting to fall afresh over Alexandria, and the quiet air of an Eliday late morning is fresh, clean, and smelling of much more snowfall to come when Dolan raps on the door of Telamon and Lana's home. His attire has changed some from its usual wont, and his new-looking shirt has a higher, closed collar and is made of warmer fabrics than the simple peasant-style ones to which he is normally accustomed. Over it is a new-looking sleeveless duster in a dusty purplish-brown shade with sheepskin-trimmed edges and inside.

The trousers and boots are his usual style, but across his left shoulder is what looks like a polished, soft leather cuff of sorts, again padded with sheepskin. Bright brass buckles fasten it snugly across his bicep and over the shoulder, and beneath the duster, a strap across his chest in the same leather is visible, along with Daeus' symbol that he wears, and at his hip is strapped a slim, attractive-looking longsword in a leather scabbard, simple in style but with no leather grips attached to it.

While it might be easier on feet and footwear to float or fly, Verna is lacking in conveyance. As well, she has witnessed the risks of flight during snowfall. So it is that she nears the Lupecyll-Atlon residence on foot, bearing a package wrapped in paper. She notes Dolan as she nears, though it is not until she is all but behind him that she recognizes him. Even following the surprise appearance prior, she is still acclimating to his return to more public presence. "Good day to you, Dolan."

More snow? Not Telamon's idea of a good time. At least this is a gentle fall, not a raging snowstorm, and Cor'lana had risen early to go visit with Addy, taking along Pothy (who's always up for snacks). Tel, for his part, had brewed up a kettle of tea and was studying a heavy tome when the knock comes.

He jerks his head up suddenly, blinking, and stands up, rubbing the back of his neck, before padding out of the study. Dressed in a woolen tunic and trousers, with slippers, his hair is a little wild and he absently rakes his fingers through it as he opens the door.

"Dolan, Verna! It's good to see you -- better to see you out and about, instead of confined." He beckons to the other man, inviting him in. "Come on in -- it's a bit brisk out there still and I'm not fond of the snow. But there's tea and cider to be had in here."

Dolan starts at the unexpected voice behind him, although the footsteps behind him had given him just enough warning that he doesn't leap out of his skin when Verna speaks. "Ah. Brightest of days, Verna - and you too, Telamon. Didn't mean to wake you. Andie's still asleep, and I decided to go for a walk. Ended up with a few extra things. Cider'd be welcome, I'm about half-sick of tea."

With a cheerful grin back at Verna, he steps into the house, courteously stepping out of his boots and leaving them just inside the sheltered edge of the house where they will neither acquire snow, nor muddy the floors.

Verna returns Dolan's grin with a slim smile of her own. She greets Telamon and follows Dolan inside, pausing to clean her footwear with a gesture before stepping fully within. The parcel is subsequently offered. "I was informed it was customary that guests have items to take home following a celebration, yet the nature of ours precluded such. Thus I have brought pastries." Because of course she did. "There is a package for yourself and Andelena, as well," she informs Dolan, "though it is yet at home."

As Verna and Dolan step inside, boots and cloaks are doffed and set by the door, hung up to dry. Inside, the house is warm and cozy, the flowering plants softening the furniture and the hard edges and corners of the home. Telamon happily bustles around, bringing in the kettle and three cups. Indeed, it almost seems prosaic.

Well, almost. An ironwood staff stands propped up by the entry to the kitchen, with a bronze headpiece of three interlinking circles. And the faerie dragon Jyndei lies sprawled across the back of the couch, snoozing. One large, warm eye opens to regard the guests, before closing again with a sleepy yawn.

"Verna, you're looking well." Tel takes his package, and grins. "I'm sure Lana and I -- and Pothy -- will appreciate this. Thank you, and give Aura our thanks as well." Once the tea is poured and everyone is seated, Telamon smiles. "So, what brings you out there today?"

As they're doffing boots and cloaks, Dolan leaves the sheepskin-lined jacket on, removing only the twin cloaks over it and leaving them to dry. As he does so, he turns seriously to Verna. "That is wonderful, and thank you. I might be in danger of getting fat, though." His grin is ragged and lopsided, and fades entirely. "Look, can I ask you a favor? I heard you coming, but if I don't, I don't know what I'll do. Please don't sneak up on me, yeah?" The request is made entirely seriously.

Then, it is set aside, and he falls silent to let Verna answer Telamon's question.

Verna looks from Telamon's inquiry and reflexive smile at mention of Aura to Dolan's comment that returns her countenance to its typical neutrality. "The pastries," she offers to Telamon in answer, though her focus remains mostly upon Dolan. "Apologies. I shall keep that in mind and make every effort. I do not claim knowledge of the details, but I understand the cause behind your request. Perhaps too well."

There is a perhaps awkward silence following the somber shift and she looks between the two men. "Was my visit ill-timed? I do not wish to intrude."

"All wounds take time to heal," Telamon remarks. He pushes mugs of tea in front of the two. "Drink! It's Lana and mine's favorite lavender-mint, good for relaxing." Once people are sipping tea, he glances pointedly at Dolan's sword. "Is that the dream-crafted sword you mentioned?" He smiles wryly, tilting his head towards the staff. "Though I have to ask... is it something you came up with out of whole cloth, or was it something you'd seen before?" There's an intent, interested look in his eyes.

Dolan seems quite content to allow the topic to live as it is, and instead settles down on the sofa with a cup of tea, once he has removed the swordbelt and laid it on the sofa next to him. Once he has tea, he transfers it to his lap and pulls from another pouch a set of leather laces. "Dreamed up out of whole cloth," he answers easily. "Zeke and I ended up doing it together. We found out that when multiple faithful of the same deity use that deity's totem, it gets even easier to control, which was a good thing, because I wasn't holding it together so good that night." His lips flatten ruefully, pulling the scars down.

"Anyway, we found out that it doesn't hold a form if different people are picturing different things. It's best if everyone's picturing the exact same thing, down to the detail, and then working together, you can get it to form." As he talks, he sips tea, and then sets it aside to straighten out the laces. He moves carefully, but has full use of the left arm, and some range of motion, it looks like, a vast improvement. "It's like Verna said," he goes on. "These things were meant and created to work in concert, and multiple people can use the same one in concert. The more people we get to help, the better off we'll be. I still don't think we have all the totems, either, and neither do they."

Verna's brows lift at the sword and laces. "Most impressive. You certainly did not allow your temporary convalescence to limit. You both have had great success with the totems, as I understand..." Her lips now purse as she looks between the men. "I regret that my own attempts have borne little result. I am ... most reluctant to attempt any conjuration from the dreaming." A pause before she notes, "I shall continue to safeguard those in my possession, but it may be prudent that some find their way to their respective servants."

Telamon nods. "I'm... guilty of not following that thread, either. Trying to do it all myself... doesn't work. Even with Lana helping... I'm hitting my limits trying to work the problem all on my own." He exhales, taking a long sip of tea, before smiling. "So yes. We need to work together. What would work better, though -- more of the faithful, or more of the totems?"

He looks wry at the commentary about crafting things out of whole cloth. "Yeah, even if you're lucid-dreaming, your mind can... misbehave, Dolan. Don't feel like you're the only one who's made that mistake. When I realized what I'd conjured, I... well, tossed it across the room on reflex."

"More of the faithful, to start. We'll need as many of the totems as we can get, eventually, and the fewer _they_ have, the better." Dolan, between sips of tea, takes the lace, puts the flat side of the sheathed blade between his knees, and begins to knot the long, brown leather lace around the grip of the weapon, twisting it on each side in a careful pattern. It's a labor of love, but he is quite intent about it, making sure each wrap is snug and right up against the one before it, letting his right hand do most of the work of pulling taut.

He pauses a few wraps in, pinning the wrap with one finger to hold it. "I didn't recognize the staff, Telamon. What about it made you do that?"

"We shall require all, presumably," Verna agrees, "and certainly they should never be allowed to possess all. They do appear to hold some advantage in this context, regretably. They all serve The Red Maw, while the faithful here are divided. Moreso when the gods of darkness, and their totems, are included. It is my hope that faithful are a boon, yet not mandatory."

Telamon nods. "Time to start talking to friends at the temples. See who we can bring in, what we can bring to bear. Three hundred chanting a hymn to Ni'essa -- or Daeus -- in a dream might tilt the odds a bit." His eyes twinkle, and he grins.

At Dolan's question, the smile fades a little. He starts to say something, then pauses, tilting his head. Then he sighs. "It's... an interesting story." He makes a hooking gesture, and the staff floats over to rest in his lap. "You see, this staff -did- exist, at one time. I've seen it in a book. But it was destroyed by its maker when he renounced his magic. So it's... a little disconcerting to have dreamed up -this staff-."

Dolan listens to Telamon's story with interest, but without interrupting. "Huh. It's a damn nice staff, though. Maybe it's meant to be yours." He doesn't look up from his work right away, but finally he does, pinning the next wrap with a finger, and takes the opportunity to grin cheekily at Verna. "Maybe not as much as you think." The brown eye twinkles wickedly, and he transfers the pinned wrap to his other hand so that he can take a sip of his tea.

"You see, they have one big disadvantage - the Nightmare doesn't have a totem. Our gods do, and there sure as sunrise is a stronger connection to a totem when you serve that deity. It's not like they're slavishly obedient to each other over there, either. They've got their own agendas. One's a demon. Ain't no way a demon don't have its own agenda." He hesitates, stops, sucks in a breath, and his hand tightens on the blade. "Kol ain't their lapdog, neither." That sentence was quite obviously hard to say, and he skips past it quickly, taking another sip of tea and turning his attention back to his handiwork. "How many of the totems do we have? Did you manage to get into the camp and get any?"

"We were able to retrieve one when we returned and explored the camp," Verna informs him. "I know of no further ventures there, but the situation in The Vast made it clear that we must taken action sooner rather than later. You are right in that they are not so organized. Caracoroth, itself, is a being of chaos. So, too, would be his servants." She is as content to make no further mention of Kol as Dolan is, instead turning to Telamon. "It may be a gift from your goddess, if Dolan's blade is any indication. You mentioned some of its history; knowing more of it would aid you, in any case."

The sounds of muffled hoofbeats crunching in the snow can be heard ambling up outside the house, coupled with a cheerful whistling. A moment later, heavy boots hitting the ground that lumber up to the door. There's a hearty rapping at the door. "Lana? Tel? It's Dirk!" booms a familiar voice outside. Bustling inside, Dirk pauses to stomp the snow off his boots, doffing his cloak and tricorne and hanging them up, before making his way inside. A broad smile creases his snowy bearded features when he sees Dolan and Verna. "Dolan! Verna! Och, this is lucky, innit? I was just thinkin' of ye both!" He lumbers over to offer Dwarf Hugs where appropriate--although Dolan notably gets a simple warm clasp of the hands. "How're ye feelin', laddie?" he inquires.

Telamon looks about to answer when the knock saves him from constructing a reply. Smoothly, the half-elf gets to his feet, walking to let Dirk in. "Dirk! Come in, come in... it's not as bad as it's been of late but I cannot -wait- for spring!" he remarks.

He leads the khazadi into the living room where Dolan and Verna sit, and collects an extra mug for tea before taking his seat again, and pouring a cup for Dirk.

"Now, where was I? The staff..." He pauses, looking at the length of ironwood. "The original was owned by one of my forebears, Feadril Atlon. He... narrowly avoided coming to a very bad end, and set aside his magic, burned his spellbooks, and entered an Althean monastery. So having called forth -this staff- was... disconcerting."

Dolan only manages to spare one hand for the armclasp, as the other hand is pinning a half-laced grip for the sheathed, slim longsword pinned between his knees. The armclasp is nonetheless strong, his grin warm and bright, although the lined leather cuff strapped snugly over his left shoulder is quite visible. "Dirk, brightest of days. I'm well, don't you worry. Just watch the shoulder." He nods to the cuff and the shoulder in it. "Your timing is damned good, actually."

"Huh," he says of Telamon's tale about the staff. "That don't mean you'll come to a bad end, just for having it, though, does it? Like I said, maybe you're supposed to have it," he offers speculatively. "As to the totems, Zeke told me his kin rescued one? He might know where it is now. I don't even know which one it is." He shrugs. "If Zeke knows, Andie might know. I was too busy last night to ask." This is said with a twinkle in the eye and a wicked grin.

The mention of the Vast chases that away, though. "Yeah. That sounded pretty damned bad. Like the vision." He returns his attention to lacing the grip on the blade between his knees, tying his lacing thus far off firmly in a half-knot and wrapping the next piece.

"Welcome, Dirk," Verna offers. "Your arrivial is fortuitous, indeed, and I shall presume that your thoughts of us were pleasant?" She follows with a nod to Telamon in agreement with Dolan on the staff. "You are not your forebears, Telamon. If he averted some calamity, its possibility was apparently of his actions, not yours, and certainly not the stave's."

Lastly, a far smaller nod with an exhaled breath to Dolan. "Never did I expect the vision revealed to be so ... literal. His forces arrive there, and continue to do so. It will require great effort to interrupt."

Dirk settles himself down, accepting the mug of tea with a warm smile. "Thanks. An' yer nae wrong. I dinnae mind the winter, but I'm yearnin' tae see the green again." He tips back a swallow of tea, his bushy white brows lifting at the taste. He lifts his mug towards Telamon with a warm smile and a nod, before turning his attention to Verna and Dolan. "Aye, o' course," he says to Verna with a chuckle. "I hope you an' Auranar enjoy the dishes I made fer ye." He lifts his mug towards Telamon. "I made a similar set fer Tel an' Lana when they struck the anvil."

He looks back over to Dolan, his brows furrowing at the mention of the totems. "The Vast. Aye. I'm guessin' Verna an' Tel here's filled ye in." He sets his mug aside and digs into his hip satchel for his pipe and tobacco pouch, his hands trembling a bit. "I thought we were done fer. When that great yuge beastie appeared. We -thought- it was a mountain. But... no. It was one o' Caracoroth's heralds. I've never -seen- the like." He draws a deep, shivery breath as he works in filling his pipe with rich cherry tobacco. "Aye, I thought that was it, fer certain. All I could think was beggin' Gilead an' Dana tae save us." His dour expression lightens then, filling with a note of awe and wonder. "An' then... they -did-. They saved us. It was the totem. I've been keepin' it on me ever since those lycans hit me cabin. An'... it stopped the beast. Stopped it cold. Long enough fer Verna tae magick us back tae Alex."

He tamps the bowl of his pipe with a fingertip and tucks the bit in the side of his mouth. "We went tae the Vast to close the portal. So long as that portal's open, then that monster has a tie straight back tae the Red Maw. But if we can get it shut... it'll be cut off. It'll be at -our- mercy, rather than the other way about. An' I'd bet my beard that the totems will help us do just that."

He fishes a match out of his pocket and goes to strike it, but pauses. He glances over at Telamon, and takes ahold of his pipe, lifting it towards the man. "Er... ye dinnae mind, do ye?"

Telamon keeps one hand on the staff, fingers running across the length of it. "I worry less about what it portends for me, and more what I might have called forth. Though my investigations have been..." He searches for a word. "...mixed. Neither Lana nor I can explain why it seems real and yet not-real, to our divinatory spells."

At Verna and Dirk's account, he chuckles. "I honestly thought it was allegory. I didn't expect to see... that." He shivers in spite of the wartmh of the house. "I... honest to gods thought it was the end for us. I remember screaming in my head for Lana to run, because I couldn't move, couldn't -do- anything." His eyes shift to rest on Dirk. "And you saved us, Dirk. You and that totem. Don't think I'll forget that." He grins slightly. "So go ahead and light it. Worst case scenario I'll put something on the stove to cover up the scent later."

The story is clearly a new one to Dolan, or at least parts of it are. "Shit," he swears softly when the others are done talking. "I thought it was literal, because it was so damned vivid when I got it," he admits. "I asked the Knight what he wanted me to do, and all he said was strengthen myself to fight. So, that's what I did. What I'm still doing." He stares at the longsword between his knees.

"Seems real enough to me, at least the sword does. Couldn't hurt for you to try a divination on this, though." He eyes the sword speculatively, then continues with his wrap job, now knotting every wrap or two to pin it firmly in place and pushing it up to bunch against the others in a tight, neat job.

"We are all grateful for your plea, Dirk, and Their response," Verna adds a third to that. "None of us would have returned, otherwise." She then promptly shifts to a more promising aspect their venture. "Instead, we are able return more prepared than before. The relic powering the portal must be dealt with first. That may be what the herald protected. It could very well be one of the totems, which would be further boon to us." Last, she looks between blade and stave curiously. "Both real and not? That is ... most contradictory."

Dirk smiles gratefully at Telamon and nods his head. Tucking his pipe back in his mouth, he strikes his match and lifts the flame to the bowl. His whiskers twitch as he draws the flame into the bowl with deep, steady pulls. Once he has a hearty glow kindled, he snaps the match out, puffing a billow of sweet cherry pipe smoke into the air. Verna and Telamon's thanks has the old snowbeard blushing. "Aww... hell, you two. I was just as petrified as you were. It was Gilead an' the Blessed Lady who did the heavy liftin'. I just asked 'em to."

He takes ahold of his pipe, lifting his mug to tip back a swallow of his tea. "Well," he says, settling himself back in his seat. "There's just one hitch I see in usin' the totems. There's one fer each o' the other gods, right? Which means there's -some- that belong tae one o' the Dark Gods." He glances between each of his friends in turn. "So... how do we make use o' -those-? I doubt any one of us is too keen on relyin' on one o' -those- sorts." He looks up and around at his friends. "Will the totems o' Light be enough? Do we -have- tae have the totems o' Dark as well?"

Telamon sits back. "It depends, Dirk, on what the dark gods want out of this situation." He stares at the ceiling. "Theology's not my strong suit, but negotiation is. And if the dark gods wanted the Hound confined as much as the gods of light did... that might be it. The gods of twilight act as arbitrators between the two sides."

Tel refills his mug, his expression wry. "I'm not saying we have to like it." At Verna's remark, he chuckles. "Well... there's some precedent, Verna. Shadow conjurations create things that are both real and not-real, crafted from shadow essence and illusion. When I studied the staff using a legend lore spell, it didn't seem to want to connect. As near as I can tell it's because the staff was drawn forth, using the totem."

Dolan abruptly nods affirmatively to Telamon's statement, although he continues to work on lacing the grip, his tea cooling beside him, and looks up, knotting his current wrap in place. "That makes good sense," he agrees. "I can't look at the totems in dreams, and I can't look for them, either. That's probably saving our asses, too, because I'll bet our enemies can't either. Using them's another matter, that sure as sunrise draws attention to us. I don't doubt they'd be up our asses in two wags of a dog's tail if they could find us in the real, the bastards. Stands to reason something made by the totems would be the same."

He returns to work, continuing to carefully craft his grip. "Same way you make use of the ones of the Light, I'll bet. I've got one attuned. Fairly sure it's Thul's. We ought to see if they work the same way, now I'm out. The healers weren't about to let me try anything involving blood while I was in there." A wry grin for that. "I came out of the Dream bloody once or twice anyway, I won't lie."

"Ah, of course," Verna nods to Telamon at the very valid precedent, though her cheeks color. "Illusions and related effects are far from my area of expertise. I always considered such things rather ... false, by their nature." She does not linger upon that, and Dolan's mention of tracking the totems promptly removes more color than she gained. Or, rather, the alternative line of thought were it possible. "If they were intended to remain uncollected and the prison secured, it is most logical that they were designed undetectable by one another. Which is just as well given the quantity that have spent time in my home as of late."

She looks to Dirk, "While those aligned with the totem's creator may hold ease of use, they remain of use to others. Else they would be no threat in Carocorothian claws. I am inclined to risk use of the totems by others rather than involve servitors of darkness. As well, the healers were right to limit you in that regard, Dolan. More bearers may be best not only for more minds, but more body. The totems may require a great deal of blood to fulfill their purpose, which would be best divided among many than few." Given that blood is also important to the one pumping it.

Dirk listens dourly, quietly pulling at his pipe. He gives a full-body shudder, fidgeting in his seat. "Errgh. Beards o' me fathers. I've -had- a demon in me recently. I cannae imagine what havin' a full on Dark God in me would be like. Gyah!" He picks up his mug, gulping the contents and setting it aside. "But... if that's what it takes tae keep Caracoroth's flea-bitten arse chained up... well then. Suppose it's better that it's us, innit? We get dirty, so the world can stay clean." He looks over to Telamon with a sympathetic nod. "But you have it exact, laddie. We dinnae have tae -like- it. An' I sure's shit don't."

He draws a steady pull from his pipe, sighing around a gust of smoke. "But what other choice do we have? Let the likes o' Zalgiman an' his mangy curs get the better of us, an' loose the Red Maw? Fuck -that-. No -thank- ye." He looks over to Dolan and Verna. "I've only got the one totem right now. I can probably handle takin' on another. We dwarves may not have as much blood as you tallfolk--but that just means it's distilled, eh? Ye get more clamor fer yer copper wi' less, I'll warrant!" He manages a wan smile, doing his very best to keep spirits high during such grim discussions.

Telamon tenses at something unseen. He tilts his head, then his expression tightens. It's like he's having some kind of silent argument, before he exhales finally. "Lana... has also expressed willingness to take on a totem. Even though she venerates Vaire, her rationale is that we would be stronger together even if the totem is not completely 'in tune' with her."

He reaches up to rub his forehead for a moment, before continuing, "But, yes. We need to do these works -together-. No more going it alone. There's too much that can go wrong." He looks to Dolan and Verna. "Where do we start? Do we try to lay an ambush in the dreamlands for Seraquoix or Zinskas? Do we go in force to the Vast and try to hold off that gigantic wolf while we close the portal?"

Laughter at Dirk's bravado lightens the mobile half of Dolan's features, and he chuckles, even as he pulls the next knot taut and pushes it upwards against its fellow. He doesn't speak immediately, instead pausing to look up at Verna and stare intently at her in the way of someone trying to make sense of what she said. "Even if the totem isn't your deity, you can still use it, Verna. Or is that what you're trying to say? I agree that I'd rather have it be a bit out of tune than trying to hand one of these to a servant of evil. Fuck that." He nods in agreement to Dirk.

"Same on letting those mangy fleabags have 'em. Fuck that, too. Telamon's right. We'll get more out of these things if we work _together_. One thing, though." Here, he hesitates. "Look. I'm rough to dream with. Not gonna hide that. If I dream with you lot - you're going to have to keep me on track. My dreams triggered other people's nightmares, when I was doing this. It was - pretty bad." He turns his head fully, looking from face to face. "You might - you might see some of what Kol did, or maybe how I got this." He gestures to the artificial eye. "I'll try to focus someplace else, because that's the best way to keep that from happening."

Verna's frown, too, melts at Dirk's commentary. "Yes, Dolan, that is precisely what I meant to convey. I agree that we should all focus upon one aspect, one target, at a time. All are difficult enough they require it. The question, as posed, is to determine which to focus upon first." There is a pause of thought before she admits, "While I yet believe he is a valid target, my personal ties to the vampire influenced my judgement and focus. As I undertand, there are no less than four aspects to address: the portal in The Vast, the camp, the vampire, and the financiers."

Dirk nods his head. "I'd probably be most help in the camp," he says. "I was there tae help build it. An' it's in me natural element. Besides... we all know that Kol can make me his puppet any time he wants, an' there's fuck-all I can do about it. I'm nae much help in magicking portals, an' I cannae do much tae help wi' high finance." He scowls dourly, remembering the times the vampire dominated him so easily. "So aye, I'll plant meself at the Felwood camp. Hopefully the mud dinnae get any more ideas 'bout chowin' down on dwarf hide."

Telamon taps his fingertips. "There might be some solutions on that score, Dirk. A protective ward can block that sort of thing, and I wear a bracelet called a seducer's bane that helps buttress against that sort of attack. You've just been unlucky to get the brunt of Kol's attentions... repeatedly." He takes a deep breath. "Seraquoix and Zinskas funded Zalgiman initially -- he's been repaying them since. I wasn't able to turn over any really good stones on that score, sadly -- he's got a really good accountant. Pity."

Tel looks thoughtful. "With what we've determined about the dream-conjured items, I wonder if they'd be more effective against Kol than even silver weapons? I remember a passage from one Tsuran sage's book: only a dream can kill a dream. Maybe that's the direction we need to go regarding the vampire."

"Which leads us to the camp. -That- will be a major undertaking. We need the heaviest hitters we can find in Alexandria -- Sir Seldan, Archmage Mikilos, and just hit them like an oruch 'rolling storm' raid." He pauses, then laughs a little. "Which reminds me, Dolan, as rough as it's been... I, ah, did have to field some -inquiries- at my wedding from a friend of mine. She noticed you and was politely asking if you were, ah, available."

"You aren't going to kill him with weapons," Dolan says suddenly, and knots off the current wrap with a wrench, his entire face suddenly creasing with - worry? Pain? Struggle? Something not good. "He likes it," he chokes out. "It's his idea of love. Beauty. Weapons just give him more of it." With exaggerated care, he lays the half-finished sword on the floor at his feat, and the inquiry about his availability is lost as he drops his head into his hands. "To beat him, you've got to-" He can't say it.

"We refer to the lycanthrope camp, Dirk," Verna clarifies. "I do not expect you wish to spend any time there on your own. Concerning Kol, it is as Telamon stated: there are protections against his abilities." When Dolan speaks up on that sore topic, she listens intently. None of what he states is unexpected to her, save for the final unfinished statement. "What is it, Dolan? If Kol is anything like the original, you are correct: one cannot defeat him by beating. He endured his father's flail as a young child, perhaps for his entire childhood. We could not cause him discomfort to that degree."

Dirk hrms. "Ah. I see. Well. I've tangled wi' the lycans many a time. An' now that I've got the Green Word's magic on me thunderbelcher, why... I can tangle with 'em some more." He looks to Dolan, his expression becoming one of worry. He leans forward, resting his elbow atop his knee as he regards his friend. "It's love, innit?" he asks softly. "Ye have tae kill 'im wi' kindness. Ye have tae -forgive- 'im the things he's done." He sighs softly. "But can we? Can any of us? Bad enough the things he's done tae me. What he's done tae -you-..." He looks at Dolan with quiet sorrow. "I would've taken it all on meself if I could have, laddie. But... aye. I see the difficulty. I dinnae think I have it in me tae forgive the likes o' Kol. Suppose that means I'm nae as pure o' heart as I'd like tae be but... well, there 'tis."

"That's not our place though, Dolan." Telamon looks like he's about to shout, but what comes out is quiet, kind. "First, this creature, whatever it is, -isn't Kol Demontry-. He's a dream drawn from bad memories and like a bad smell at a feast, he won't go away." He casually twitches a finger, his eyes moving past Dolan for a moment. "We don't do this out of sadism, or hate. We're doing this because he's basically a menace to -everyone-. Whatever removes him... that's fine."

The orange, butterfly-winged faerie dragon Jyndei was watching this exchange, and at Tel's gesture the little dragon slithers down off the couch and pads over to stand next to Dolan's chair. A small forepaw is placed on the man's knee, as the dragon looks up at him with his large eyes.

Tel exhales. "But. We have plenty on our plate to deal with. And we're not going to solve all this in a day. So let's table that discussion for now."

Dolan looks up at the small paw on his knee, the light touch enough to get his attention. His lips quirk in a semblance of a ghost of a smile, and he sits up enough to offer a hand to Jyndei. "Ain't you beautiful?" he tells the creature quietly. "Just a minute, Tel. This is important." He draws a shuddering breath, but it looks like he is forcing himself to talk. "It ain't about hurting him. Like I said. He likes it. It ain't about forgiveness either." He stares, long and hard, at Jyndei."It's about mercy. The Knight told me - that vengeance is not the duty of the Knight. The light's about mercy. Show him mercy and he won't know what the fuck to do. Quit hurting him and he doesn't know whether he's alive or not. Show him mercy. Use the dream to stop him from feeling any pain."

Verna blinks. Twice. First at Dirk, then at Dolan. She was aware he was a sadist, and also a masochist, and yet... "Intriguing..." Obviously that is not an option that had come to her mind. She cannot, nor would she, argue against the veracity of words forom any god to their faithful. "That is an unorthodox plan, yet so was your prior, and it succeeded."

Dirk considers that, puffing thoughtfully for a long space. "Well... mercy an' forgiveness are close enough tae be cousins, I'll warrant," he says at length. "Either way... I've too much anger in me. Guess that's Reos' forge fire he lit in the heart of his creations." He glances upward with a grunt. "-Thanks- Reos," he grumbles. "Small wonder I follow the Green Word, innit?" He sighs heavily, shaking his head. "But... aye. Even so. I'd probably be of best use trackin' the lycans an' keepin' overwatch on their camp. When I'm in the woods, I cannae be tracked. They cannae get to me. I can keep an eye on their movements, an' hobble 'em if needs must."

Telamon looks at Dolan with his star-shot eyes, as Jyndei slithers up into the man's lap to cuddle him and offer support. There's something hard to read on Tel's face. Wonder, perhaps. "Gods," he says quietly. "All that bastard put you through, and you speak of forgiveness. You are a better man than me, Dolan -- I am genuinely humbled."

He heaves a sigh. "We'll have to come up with something, though. But.... you've given us a lot to think on." He smiles wryly at Dirk. "Don't fret, Dirk. I'm sure there'll be plenty of others you can vent your spleen -- and your thunderbelcher -- on."