MEETUP: Requiscat and Resolve, part 2
Log Info
- Title: MEETUP: Requiscat and Resolve, part 2
- Emitter: Strike
- Characters: Aryia, Cryosanthia, Jinks, Lysos, Seyardu, Strike, Karelin
- Place: A Feast Hall
- Time: Monday, October 25, 2021, 8:08 PM
- Summary: Strike invites her friends, new and old, to a dining hall to tell her story of being reborn as a half-sil when her life as a golem ended. She is marking this day as a new stage in her life, finally casting off her original head and returning it to the smelter. It is painful and poignant, and her friends are there to share the moment and support her.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Aryia 4'8" 110 Lb Shadow Elf Female A heavily scarred mul with a resolved look about her. Cryosanthia 6'9" 291 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman. Jinks 3'4" 39 Lb Gnome Male A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry. Lysos 5'6" 105 Lb Human/Tsuran Female Dark eyed tsuran girl. Seyardu 5'6" 150 Lb Sith-Makar Female A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint. Strike 5'11" 155 Lb Half-Elf Female A dusky grey half elf girl in grey and black clothes. Karelin 6'2" 256 Lb Human Male Tattooed Korite warrior. Tall, dark and scarred. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the Hostess -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Strike 5'11" 155 Lb Half-Elf Female A dusky grey half elf girl in grey and black clothes. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
Strike seems comfortable enough continuing the story with the assent of her friends, though, that does come to a brief pause as Lysos aspirates her drink.
She remains silent, though her eyes are locked on her student with some concern, before she sets about for another round of drinking.
Very well.
Game on.
"I awoke, by estimate a week later" She frowns, and the wine in her glass ripples some as she continues, "I was... in disarray. My first instinct on awakening again was to look for my master, to continue the fight, but when I went to sit up... I felt an odd tug at the back of my head..., and there was an ivory veil blocking my vision." Her hand lifts to gently flick at one of her bangs, "And I saw my fingers, as I tried to part it..."
A sigh, "I spent a great deal of time screaming. A body I didn't understand, awash in sensations unlike, or more intense than anything I'd ever known, before..."
There's a glance off toward the other table, "And when I managed to sit up... my head was staring at me from between my feet."
Karelin is, in fact, seemingly willing to facilitate Lysos' drinking. He doesn't forget himself, because, really, it's a death story. It needs whiskey. He nods to Strike, and offers her the bottle silently.
Cryo sits still, and grows a little colder. It's been a while since she's frosted up her environs and she doesn't do so at this moment. She is still causing a current of cold air.
She glances towards Karelin, looking him over, his scars, remembering the clash against himself. Her own battle was more... spiritual. Which is to say, physically laughable but emotionally fraught.
It's very easy for the whitescale to relate. She saw her own head and a complete copy of the rest of her, fight, then die. The shock of seeing one's own inert face is known to her.
"This must have been difficult, Strike. Reincarnation magic is difficult enough when one is a humanoid that already needs to eat or sleep." Seyardu notes, and sighs. "But to wake up feeling so many things, it must have been hard."
"And to see your own body there, as well. But at least, you recovered. This one is glad that you did."
Strike politely waves off the bottle, but remarks, "Once the next phase is over, I may take you up on that." with her lips pressed into an s-curve.
She sighs, then continues, "I found the battle site some time, later, salvaging what I could, but, for him, there was..." her voice hitches some, "Nothing I could do. I had to continue, though."
The considerate words of Seyardu bring the corners of her lips up some and she bows her head, "That's kind of you, thank you. I'm glad to have come to know you all."
Aryia pauses frowns some as Strike mentions being unable. She knew how it felt to be useless. But at least Strike was able to pick up the pieces. She sets her whisky down, shuddering as it burns on the way down before motioning, "Agreed. I'm glad to have met you. You've helped me quite a lot." She lightly smiles, adjusting her sleeves as she finishes her signs. <Handspeech>
"Sometimes... you can't do anything." Cryo says fatalistically, "you have to be content with what could. It sounds very difficult, I'm sorry. I'm glad to know you and hope I have helped, even if we didn't speak much about this before."
Strike nods and smiles a little more, "We've all had our moments, I gather."
With Aryia's sign, she bows her head, "I'm glad I could help, though I'm not the teacher Kanyk was."
The half-mul looks to Cryosanthia, then, her eyes a little thoughtful, "It took time to come to terms with it all. I was... sensitive to magical alterations, since, it's why I was so... out of sorts when we'd met the second time."
She takes up her wine glass and holds it up to her company, "To friendship, and the future."
"To friendship, and the future." Cryo joins the toast, although her wine glass has juice in it. She nods, "It's understandable, it was not as magical an alteration for me as it seemed, simply time spent. This one has had to deal with unexpected transformations since."
"Mine were not extreme, I can only guess how such a radical departure would have impacted you. You have come through marvelously." She opines.
To that, Aryia counters, "You helped me realize more about myself than I thought I had in me," with some hand motions. Then she grins. "Should show you later."
The toast is met with her whiskey raised high. She mouths the words, but its unheard over the din of conversation and the center artifice making noise. She slams the whole thing down, then gets some more whisky. <Handspeech>
"If you did not continue, then that would have not accomplished anything, even if it is difficult. I know that that can be hard from personal experience, but nothing so severe, yes. And this one knows one who has had to struggle with transformations as well, two in fact, or including yourself, I would suppose it is three."
Seyardu looks to Aryia, and chuckles. "I would be careful, Aryia, it seems people I know have a habit of such changes."
Seyardu raises her own glass. "To friendship and what is to come, that it will be better for those we have met along the way."
There is a little bow of the repackaged head and Strike gives a bit of a grin, "I'd like to see what you've learned. I've had some epiphanies of my own that may interest you."
The dark eyes turn toward Seyardu and she nods, "I know of several, two were afflicted by artifice. One managed to cure himself, though the other... well, I haven't so much as heard a whisper of her for more than a year."
Cryosanthia's return does give the half-mul a contemplative moment, but she arches an eyebrow, "I hope they worked out reasonably well at leart. Though the... time aspect was not initially known to me."
Aryia raises a brow at Seyardu, her holding up a hand. "Won't be doing anything like that. I don't use magic at all, except for some lights, so I should be good."
She nods to Strike, glad to see the smirk mirrored. "Look forward to it."
The topic of transformations makes her shift a bit in her seat, remembering a time when she was smaller. And had a tail. That was fucking weird, she concludes. Cutting into her meal now, she's pensive over a chewy bite. "And after? she asks with a free hand, a knife in dangling between her fingers. "How did you start getting used to your new body?" <Handspeech>
"War golems are aware of time passing, are they not?" Seyardu asks with a raised brow. "You should see what Aryia can do. It is really quite impressive. And I feel comfortable enough now that a medic or cleric need not be on hand."
"The ones I know, two of them are my friends, and you could make that number three, as well." She offers with a sharp smile.
"I can manifest wings now, that's pretty neat." Cryo says with a grin, glancing around, "There isn't really enough space in here for them, but I promise I can."
Learning to Fly, that's next on the agenda. "They're usually quite aware. Mac Bee One Gee and Seven Three Three are very, very precise regarding time. Although." The whitescale looks at Strike, "did your perception of time passing change, from golem to how you are now? This one would imagine it became... fuzzier?"
The former golem nods, "As do I."
She eases back to a comfortable position, "Well, the first few weeks were particularly.... messy." she notes with a little wrinkle along the bridge of her nose, "I understood to a point how much flesh leaked, but... the full extent of it. Now how... unpleasant most of the leaking was." There's a little blush, "Even little things like blushes and goosebumps were profoundly disconcerting."
She gives a little shrugs, "In time I found myself in Alexandria, this is where I would meet Kanyk, but that would be weeks later. I would encounter many who'e since become adventurers of note. Munch Terrowmaw, Svarshan, though his name was different when we first met, Sandy." No titles, there, everyone's heard o Sandy, she's sure, "Though many have also faded, and I've heard nothing of them in the years, since."
She chuckles a little at the time question and shrugs, "Not to the extent.." She spares a quizzical glance to Cryosanthia, and she seems momentarily uncertain, "To a point, yes. When things become busy, or dangerous, my timekeeping seems less reliable. When calm, my heartbeat is a steady enough clock, but, as you know.." there is a languid wave and a shrug, "I can get by well enough, now, though I have had to grow used to doing without many of my old advantages."
She smiles wanly toward Seyardu, "My night vision, for example."
Aryia pouts a bit, somehow with a fork waggling from her mouth as she motions. "Oh, seesh. I wouldn't know how I feel if I couldn't see in the dark anymore!" the full blooded mul'neissa motions widely. Those blazing eyes sure would cut through the thickest of night. Though, she does pull the fork free and ponder the first bits of the answer. "... yes, we do, would have never thought about it like that. Hair raising, pulse quickening, gut dropping, all those sensations." <Handspeech>
She listens closely though as Kanyk was brought up. His training went through Strike, which was now instilled in her. There's no recognition from other names, aside from Sandy. Yes. Everyone has heard of her. And probably has been shoved through many different clothes with her.
"Dvarshan," Cryosanthia says, sighing softly, "this one misses his solid presence, and guidance. He was a Sunblade and a hunter when this one arrived, a good mentor and comforting to be around."
"He had younglings, you would call them grand-children, which he has devoted his time towards and returned to Am'shere, last this one heard. He is missed and this one did not know you knew him." Cryo says, tilting her glass and taking another sip of juice.
"We are all connected in strange ways."
"To be entirely honest, I do not know that much about softskins, but, much of it is the same. And while this one does not know what it is like having hair, they do not have to deal with damaged scales falling out and being replaced, or other things."
The silver makari nods though, and smiles again. "Perhaps there are things such as that you can not do now, but there are things which you can. Perhaps you should find some goggles which can help you see in the dark. This one sometimes wish there was something similar for color at times."
"This one has heard the name before, and they seem to be a good person."
Jinks barks a little laugh, face brightening as he remembers a thing he'd forgotten in between Then and Now. "Svarshan did have his little horde, didn't he? Jinks' kids met them, once. That was quite the affair." He says the last bit into a glass, gaze growing distant for a moment. He has a drink and thinks, then sets it down. "I originally thought his mount was his wife. For quite awhile, in fact. Suh..." He closes his, pinches the bridge of his nose. "Sarass'sha? That was an awkward conversation." He blinks and looks at nothing, gazing inwardly as he searches for other memories he'd not entertained since his return.
"That could be said." Strike notes in reply to strange connections, "I ran into him a year or so ago with a... daughter, I think, perhaps a granddaughter, it's a bit unclear. He was a very solid figure, I wish I'd had taken more time to know him."
But, the past being where it is in history, she turns back toward Aryia's signing, "I think, what bothers me most at this point is..." a vague shadow touches her eyes and she clucks her tongue, "Catching a mirror out of the corner of my eye when I'm distracted."
She smiles again, this a brittle and slightly bitter thing, "For a long time... I hated mirrors. Every time I sas this face.... I remember how I'd utterly failed the man who named me. Who gave my sisters and I everything."
There's a sip of her wine, "It was... talking with one of the artifice victims I spoke of... a woman named Kaelyn who finally, after years of platitudes and assurances, helped convince me to look at this as a reward. For giving my life trying to save his."
She nods to Seyardu on her suggestion, "It's not a bad idea, butI wouldn't know where to start."
Then Jinks mentions his Svarshan's wife and she thankfully manages to snort a laugh -before- she got her wine to her lips, "I remember her. She drooled everywhere, and children seems to love playing with her."
"Srassha, the jungle princess," Cryosanthia says, twisting in her seat to look at Jinks, tilting her head, "You thought she was his cihuaa? You're a gnome, you can see up under our tails and you thought...?"
The whitescale laughs, shaking her head, "Svarshan's wife is Vthria of the Atoyaatl tribe. She is a swiftclaw trader, not a swiftclaw. >snrk< Now this one imagines a love triangle. I wonder what the Crimson... no, that should not be explored."
Still, Cryo must admit the confusion is understandable. She's often unsure whether her borrowed swiftclaw is really Un'eth, and she is cihuaa to Durrankar. Is he confused? She's seen them both arrive as Swiftclaws, come to think of it.
Actually, best not to.
"You are beautiful Strike, as this one comprehends the standards of softskins. I think you should view this as a reward, and not a failure." She chuffs a little laugh, "blinders are also an option, but I would not recommend them."
Aryia knows that feeling, not liking mirrors. It was something she still struggles with to this day. She gives an empathetic nod towards Strike, and raises her glass once more to drink.
Which, promptly, makes whiskey shoot out of her nose at Jinks' words. She coughs, turning to the side to blow her nose out of the stinging liquid in a napkin. There's a slew of hissed words, all of them colorful and in Undercommon, in that clipped voiceless manner.
A weak hand raises during all of this, Aryia plucking out one observation to Jinks. "W-Wait, you have kids?!" <Handspeech>
Seyardu blinks, and squints at Jinks for a long moment, before she simply lets out a long puff of air and shakes her head.
"I do not know whether to be insulted or understanding, as this one knows many druids who would take the form of swiftclaws. This one will consider the latter for now, to avoid said insult."
She soo raised a brow. "You have children, Jinks?" She asks.
Then she turns her attention back to Strike, and nods. "I know many druids who I have met in my travels. Very few capable of such magics. But those I have, have stated it as a blessing, to be accepted by the natural world and it's cycle as such. One of such was an arvek nar who remained in their village still."
A sigh, and a wan smile, "So I'm told, but hearing a thing, and knowing it aren't always the same." Strike returns to Cryosanthia.
There's a veiled glance toward the table, and the large artifice beyond.
She returns her eyes to the table before her and her companions, "It may be a blessing, but how it was done..." she shrugs, "An explanation would have been nice. Perhaps some guidance. It felt more like I was some... whimsical experiment, not even worth observing."
She eyes Aryia's dilemma for some moments, half extending her own napkin before the fullblood sorts the matter out into her own. "Svarshan was the first sith-makar I'd ever seen; he was a 'lizardman' to me when we met. I'd never seen a swiftclaw before." Jinks tells Cryosanthia and Seyardu, holding up hands to placate them and smiling when he conjures a bit of surprised laughter at his own expense. "And some species look very different depending on their sex."
The gnome is taken aback by the questions of his offspring, needing a moment to backtrack. "Oh, no. Well, yes but no. 'Jinks' kids' were gnomish orphans I sponsored and would take out on the town. Good clothes, good food. Let them meet notable People of the city. Expose them to what it meant to be Us. What they could someday grow into." He smiles fondly, remembering them. "I was more-established then. The city was safer, too."
There's a pause and he takes a slow breath. "As for my own children...?" A shrug, "We're getting off topic." And he cants his head back towards Strike.
Aryia spots the offer to aid, but she holds a hand up before flashing a, "Thanks" to Strike. Finally, she rights herself after wiping her scarred visage free, able to parse Jinks' answer. Wouldn't it have been nice to have something like that done for her... "That's nice of you," she motions to the smallman, but she tilts her chin up slightly in appraisal.
Hmm. Interesting...
She gives a little nod to him, then goes back to eating. The sting still there in her nose, but she still pressed on with Jinks' subtle prompting. "I hoped your mentor helped give you some guidance in that regard," she prods, getting the focus back on the half-mul. <Handspeech>
"This one is sorry for your loss, Jinks." Cryosanthia says softly, taking a guess. Even if there isn't a tragic story she senses there's a sad one, to say nothing of the fall from grace and the current dangers in the city. "It was a good and altruistic effort, and hopefully they learned decent lessons. This one certainly would have donated or helped out."
"We are drifting..." She nods, looking back to Strike, and the covered artifice. She can't help but smile at the gnome's mistake, that would be some striking dimorphism, and she had experienced the 'lizardman' error. Her thoughts wander, return. "Unless that is the goal, Strike, follow wherever the memories and stories go?"
"This sounds, apologies, there is no way for me to say this without it coming off as rude to some degree, but that is unexpected of you, Jinks." Seyardu replies, turning away slightly, and back to her focus on Strike. "Yes, we are here because you invited us, and there is a desire to take part in what you have planned. So yes, please continue, or let us know when we are getting too off track."
"To some degree, yes, and he was very patient, even when I was not." Strike replies to Aryia, before she looks toward Jinks, "I remember seeing that a couple of times. It was a very nice thing you were doing."
She looks back to the table, then, and, "Well... to an extent... to help everyone understand where I'd come from."
Jinks swallows a comment and smiles at Seyardu instead, offering a little enigmatic wink. He undoes a button, reaches into his coat, and scratches at his chest as he turns back to Strike. He'll be content to listen for now.
Over the course of many drinks, several trays of appetizers and/or entree's, the repackaged soul tells the tale of years. Her samplings of experience in her somewhat oddly specific way...
A search for the last of her War Forged sisters, the stalwart Haven, whose wreckage she did not find at the scene of the battle.
There had been battles, baffling encounters, and even a sewer trip that involved Otyhugs.
The memory still haunts Strike, clearly, by the look on her face as she mentions those.
Eventually, the artificer who had been sitting back, quietly enjoying his take of the libations, rises to check his device, intoning, "It's nearly time, Miss Strike."
THe Half-Mul breaks off her tale, of trying to explain breathing to one of her extended brethren, and nods, "Thank you Master Stringfellow."
She sighs, then gives a little wan smile, "It seems the next phase is about to begin."
Her expression become slightly sheepish as she stands, then, "Would you join me, friends?" she asks before stepping over to the central table, standing between it, and the artifice.
Karelin nods, and gets up, cradling the whiskey bottle in one hand. He pours a shot into his glass, and wields it with care. This really does seem like a drinking occasion. He looks around, offering refills to any who might wish it.
"Of course." Cryosanthia rises, moving to stand at Strike's side, a glance towards Master Stringfellow, the other guests. Lysos in particular, but also her more recent friends like Aryia, Seyardu and Karelin. She waves off a whiskey refill.
Aryia, for the most part, doesn't have much more to say with her hands, aside from nibbling on food and sampling more wine and whiskey; a combination that she would surely come to regret in the morning.
The stories were quite interesting to the mul'neissa, and it painted a picture that she wasn't sure she'd ever have the pleasure of having in her mind if she never crossed paths with this complex soul.
The call to a time makes her blink. Where had the hours gone? The sharp dressed mul'neissa stands, wavering a bit on the spot, but gets her feet underneath her as she picks up her suit jacket. She waits for Cryosanthia to get to her feet before slowly making her way over there, joining their host, taking a refill of whiskey as her buzzed mind curiously awaits whatever it was Strike had in store.
Jinks finishes his most recent drink (not whatever boot polish Karelin is peddling) and stands, bracing against the table for a moment. He laughs and gives his equilibrium a moment to sort itself out, then buttons his coat, smooths down the front, and follows towards the centerpiece. He'd shuddered at the talk of sewers and the awful, offal-smelling betentacled aberrations what dwell there... but he's also been a bit distracted.
The gnome stifles a quiet belch with his hand and then takes a place, standing back a little further than the others so it's easier to see atop the table.
Seyardu enjoyed the stories and food, it was all welcoming and pleasant, and she was happy to listen to what was shared. Much of it did not surprise her at this point in the city, but it was still strange to hear many of the tales, and perhaps a few names she recognized that she did not know these adventures about.
When Master Stringfellow speaks, and Strike calls for them to join her, she nods and leaves her seat, perhaps a hint unsteadily, and joins the growing group near the central table.
"Of course, though you need not offer so much food and drink for the end goal of us joining you at a table, Strike." The silver sith-makar chuckles.
Lysos lets her breath out.. she hadn't really been holding it, but had been drawn into the tales being told enough that it's almost a relief when the story-telling mood is dispelled in favour of the true purpose of the evening's event about to begin. She quickly drinks what remains of her drink before she rises, holding up a hand to decline Karelin's offer. She doesn't exactly look unsteady on her feet, but the flush in her cheeks shows it wouldn't take much more. And it wouldn't do to ruin Strike's ceremony.. at least not with something she can control. So she joins the others, watching their reactions, trying to gauge of they have any more of an idea of what this might entail than she does.
Karelin nods, and corks the bottle. Cradling his whiskey, he looks at Strike, eyes bright and curious.
The half-mul's expression by the time the others have joined her at the table is introspective in a way that of them all, only Lysos has seen before.
Her hand reaches for the handle atop the cover on the table, "For over a decade..." she starts, her tone subdued and thoughtful, "I've carried a memento... a reminder of other days. Days I served. I fought. I died."
There is a little shake of her head, and a brief struggle of some kind troubles the line of her lips before she deigns to lift the cover from the smaller mystery object.
This being what must have originally been staring at the half-mul in those harrowing first moments of her reawakening. Painstakingly maintained over the last ten years, it's a feminine silhouette of dark violet much like her hair with graceful, if muted features and chased in silver, crested along the crown with back swept spikes more closely resembling blades. The optics long since dormant are ruby, and the blow that dimmed them had fractured the fine face plate, and sheered the neck at a notable diagonal.
"Tonight... is the last."
Karelin straightens up, hand poised, holding his drink steady. A steel enters his gaze and he nods, approvingly. Under his breath, he mouths something to himself.
"Time to forge a head." Jinks comments at the revelation. He blinks, then looks out the corner of his eyes at the rest of the group. Did he say that aloud? He purses his lips and takes a drink. Maybe nobody noticed.
Seyardu squints when the cover comes off, and she seems surprised, but not overly so. She looks up to Strike, and nods.
"This is difficult to carry for so long, Strike, but I can understand it, still. And understand how such things can weigh heavily on one."
The silver makari crosses her arms, and looks back to the half-elf. "If today is the last, then what do you intend?"
Lysos straightens as well, gazing at the relic.. then smiling strongly for Strike, raising a hand in front of her to form a fist for a brief moment.. before she moves it over her mouth to quietly cough. Politely. Pointedly not looking at Jinks. Because that would be inappropriate.
Cryo watches Strike's face, as she explains, as she reveals. The whitescale fits it together with what she's heard so far in the evening, what she knew before, other things wargolems have told her about life, awakening, and what a second one into a fully biological body would be like.
Strike truly is a complex puzzle, a mighty oak grown from a small acorn, which rests before them on the table. Her original golem head.
"You were well crafted, the love and attention to detail shows." Her glass is drained, it is only grape juice. Cryosanthia will remember this evening with full clarity, complex as it has become. For the moment her eyes fix on the dormant ruby optics. She wonders how many hours Strike has stared into them, and also, how many hours staring out.
Which number is greater, and is there any meaning to the ratio, or it is a mere curio.
Aryia stares curiously at the cover, her blazing gaze glancing between Strike and the handle. Just what was...-
Blink blink. That... was Strike? And this was the last night? The full blooded mul'neissa could only dumbly look on. Here she was, witnessing someone letting go of the past to embrace the present, where she herself struggled with a similar parallel.
The poorly timed joke(?) breaks her out of her reflection, and a broad grin cracks across her lips. A tiny bit from the pun, but mostly in the pride that she was a part of this.
The mute raises her glass.
Strike glances past the others toward Jinks at his quip, a certain momentary bemusement on her face.
She stifles the eyeroll and shakes her head a tiny bit before she gazes down at her former incarnation, "She fought hard.... and she served well."
She looks to Seyardu as she speaks, nodding with some of that weight in her eyes, "I... intend to let it go, at last."
A hand alights on the contoured skull, caressing the metal as she regards the reflection as Cryosanthia opines on her construction. A wan, almost bashful smile touches the halfbreed's face, "Thank you."
She closes her eyes, and her lips press into a line as her chin bows, the hand stilling against the armour.
It's a stillness that promises to linger.
Karelin nods, and reaches back to pour a second glass of whiskey. He then holds it in trust, even as he murmurs, "Witness."
"Ceinara, I hope you're watching." Cryosanthia murmurs a prayer, "a one time, one night performance and the critic's reviews will not do it justice. Pay attention to Strike."
Not as short and sweet as 'Witness', but the whitescale has to be dramatic about everything.
She rises to attention, as much as her reptilian stance allows, curtails her tail, holds her hands clasped in front and focuses to remember the moment. The whitescale watches the halfbreed's hand.
"You are still Strike, this has not changed." Seyardu nods, looking down to the head. "You still have your memories, and you do not need to carry this burden on top of them."
"Do what you will and need to let it go. We are all here to acknowledge that and support you."
Jinks offers a sheepish, half-sorry/half-sorry-he-got-caught smile and pantomimes covering his mouth with both hands. He holds the pose until Strike has her hand in place and eyes closed, lowering his arms to cross over his chest. He grins but stays silent, 'Coyote laughs' pales in comparison when the trickster god's already spoken in jest through you.
Aryia lowers her glass, a soft sigh leaving her as she spies the hesitation. Glass set upon the table, she folds her hands together. No prayers were offered, as the nonbeliever had none to give. But instead, there's the faint sound of even breathing. In. Out.
The mul'neissa watches on. Glowing eyes squinted as if she was giving her support to Strike through mere will alone. Hopefully she could feel that, at least.
"Everyone changes, Strike.. we aren't who we used to be. But that person played a role in who we are now." Lysos gestures towards the old head unit. "Granted.. most of us don't change quite like /that/," she adds with a grin. "But.. well, you know."
The artificer rises to his feet and starts to approach Strike from his place by his contraption. As he walks, he removes a ribbonlike arrangement of copper and brass filaments nesting assorted chips of quartz.
Seemingly without disrupting whatever repose currently holds thrall over the former construct, he fastens it like a pendant around her neck, where the quartz takes a subtle orange glow.
There, a rusty, "It's time, lass." which seems to do the business.
She straightens, the trouble in her expression soothed some for the supportive words, though she is still left barely able to do more than nod at first.
She swallows, then, with care that borders on reverent, the half-mul cradles her former countenance in her arms, sparing a little resolute smile to Lysos's observation, then turns, and takes three steps up the dais toward the artifice, while it's master moves back to the controls to draw a lever.
A hatch at the front opens, and a golden heat emanates from the device, much like that of a forge.
Or a smelting furnace.
At the apex, she looks down, locking eyes for the last time with herself.. several seconds adding to hundreds of hours of such meetings, she isn't even sure what the final tally on this side of the optics is. Surely nothing compared to the 368,172.7630017 hours when her perspective was more internal.
Her biceps flex, and slowly bring the ravaged face to another more pristine and her lips brush the uninhabited steel as she whispers, "Good bye... and rest well."
Then, protected from the heat by the contrivance draped about her shoulders, Strike girds her resolve and reaches into the hellish cauldron to deposit the last of her old existence before stepping back to watch.
Karelin salutes Strike, and holds the pose. He says nothing; he witnesses in silence.
Seyardu crouches down as the furnace is opened, and she watches the head go in, and Strike steps back. She was quiet for some time, keeping her gaze on the furnace.
"In Am'shere, the bodies of the fallen are burnt in rituals. It is for practical reasons, as well as spiritual. But your spirit lives on here. You are here, and the burden can be relieved. What you were before, it will continue to watch over you now, I feel."
Cryosanthia watches, statuesque and stoic, a small twitch of her hands. Intense heat does bother her, she's not close enough but she notices. Her attention is focused on Strike's movements, she can't record precisely, perfectly the way a golem can. The Sith'Machine is only an act, but she understands.
Old life, new life, discarding and facing forward. Shed scales. Some things must be let go, she has things she should as well. Deep in her mind the icebergs growl.
There is a vibration, a thrumming noise in the white sith'makari's throat. A sounding, not a call for younglings or mate, more a noise of security. This one exists. This one is here with you. This one is ready. A communication amongst the people when they are packed close for purpose, to act as one. To tell Strike she is among friends, whether she recognizes the noise and meaning behind it.
Lysos flinches despite herself as the forge is opened and the warforged head is committed to it. She watches for several moments, then has to rub at her eyes and look away. "Well. I think I need another drink, after that," she says.
Smelt. Not forge. Jinks was close. And he looks pretty smug because of it. Not bad for a not-a-Khazad. The gnome grins when he feels the Hymn swell around the moment but doesn't sing; it's not his concert. It was nice to be here, in this place. With people looking to lift each other up to a bit of good news. It felt so far removed from the day's usual doom and gloom.
Karelin turns, and offers Lysos the whiskey. He doesn't judge, he just provides.
Aryia watches on silently, searing this moment into her mind. The weight was heavy in the air, the only movement was the rise and fall of her breath, and the imperceptible dip of her head in approval of the action, and the acknowledgement of the resolve it took to carry it out.
The call from Cryosanthia makes the mute firm up, a glitter of resolve lining her eyes. This is what progress felt like. And like the forge, it burns so hot.
The words touch her.
The gestures touch her...
The presnce of her friends touches her.... even if the heat of the crucible cannot.
Strike stands tall and resolute, staring into the helllish maw that assails her old construction.
Unmoving, adamantine, she stands, watching as, in the short span of a minute, the artful artifice starts to sag like soggy bread in the orange furnace.
It takes at least three more before it's collapsed to the point that she can bring herself to turn away.
Seeing this as some kind of cue, Stringfellow, without a word, throws the lever the other way, and the smelter closes it maw.
A weary look haunts her face as she looks to the others, and her hands extends to either side, toward those closes to her and she utters a grateful, "Thank you, friends...." on a choked voice.
Karelin nods once, curtly, and offers Strike the glass of whiskey wordlessly.
"We mourn for that which was you." Cryosanthia says, dipping her head reverently, stepping forward, unwilling to break from the group and vibrating at them to follow. "Released and returned to the primal flames that forged you. Embraced eternal, Child of Fire."
Another step, another hum, the whitescale's nature providing a slice of cool in the heat. She intones further, "We embrace what you have become, your struggle to survive and surmount, craft a self anew in the chaos of the unknown. What you have accomplished, and what this act means."
She bites her lip, uncertain. A Speaker says the words that need to be said, but would the be appropriate. There is a lingering glance at the opening of the smelter. The shape is close enough, the simile fits, just barely.
Cryo tilts her head, her voice light and full of cheer, "Happy Hatching Day."
Aryia held no words, hissed or signed otherwise during the silence Strike held, and after. Instead, actions would speak for her. The shadow elf glides forward, up beside Strike, and places a hand on her shoulder, coupled with a teary eyed smile. As if that would relay everything. The pride, the shared catharsis, the respect, and the returned gratitude.
Some joy flicks across her face at the notion of a Hatching Day. Yes. Very fitting indeed.
Jinks is already walking backwards once the deed's done, hands tossing back his coat below the buttons and diving into pockets. "Well done, tallman," he comments, succinctly. He finds the edge of the table with his back, winces, and spins. Best to walk straight ahead in this state. Usually first in line for a party the gnome beats a hasty retreat; perhaps he's a hot date waiting for him.
Seyardu catches the noise from Cryosanthia, and it is quickly parsed and echoed by the silver sith-makar, and the rumble echoes quietly from the two points, an affirmation of presence, not for her own sake, but of the golem turned Mul'niessa. She listened to the words shared, and the actions offered.
Seyardu nods to Strike. "I am a shaman myself, so this one can affirm Cryosanthia's words. It is a new beginning, yet it need not mean ignoring the past. Look proudly to the future, Strike."
Strike knew going in what would happen, but even though it was all her idea....
Knowing what she was is gone forever still... bothers her a little.
Her smile is brittle on the kind benedictions, the bonding songs of the Sith Maraki, and bolstered some by the silent show of support by her newest student.
She swallows and gently clasps the hand on her shoulder for a moment before reaching for the offered drink from Karelin, promptly pounding it down with only a short cough.
She starts to move about the group, taking them in her arms who don't shrink from the contact, each accompanied by a soft, "Thank you."
She smiles, a little more akin to herself as Seyardu's words ring in her ears, and nods, "The future we make for ourselves."
A look to her fellows each in turn, then, "Let's make it good."
Karelin gives Strike a spine-creaking hug in return, holding back so he doesn't break the new person. Then, he grins tightly. "Well done. To real futures."
OOC
Jinks Kids
http://www.tenebraemush.net/index.php?title=Jink%27s_Kids
Svarshan and his 'Wife'
<OOC> Jinks says, "He always would pose third-person narrative from her perspective and she was so needy. I was confused OOCly but he corrected me. We ran with it for awhile ICly. It was a hoot."
<OOC> Aryia tries to assemble that in their head...
<OOC> Ashes says, "Here's a pic https://farm4.static.flickr.com/3536/4631388208_0100e47162.jpg"
<OOC> Aryia HAH
<OOC> Vaera says, "lol"
<OOC> Jinks says, "Yeah, it'd be stuff like "Srassha looks at the meat hanging in the stall. She hasn't eaten in DAYS! She is STARVING! She looks to Svarshan and begs pathetically with her eyes." It was a play on that old 'if dogs could talk' greentext from back in the day."
<OOC> Jinks says, "And, yes, a lot of poses about her being a 'jungle princess.'"
<OOC> Aryia says, "oh goodness, yeah, I can see that being confusing lol"
<OOC> Vaera says, "I can doubly understand it because of Un'eth"
Moly poly
<OOC> Lysos is more or less caught up now. Holy moly.
<OOC> Jinks says, "The temple district is closed. This is secular moly by writ of the ruling council."
<OOC> Aryia snerk
<OOC> Vaera says, "lol"
<OOC> Karelin says, "Fine arvek boot bleach. Don't be smollist. :)"
<OOC> Lysos thinks there's a gnome about to be rolly moly.
<OOC> Jinks says, "Surprised you didn't tell me to go walk a moly."
<OOC> Lysos says, "Oh, that one is so much better, yes."
<OOC> Lysos poses.
How to screech a scene to a halt
<OOC> Ashes says, "and I hope that works and is ok strike"
<OOC> Strike says, "p jinks=this should be it tonight"
<OOC> Strike facepalm
<OOC> Jinks says, "Shaaaaame."
<OOC> Vaera hug
<OOC> Ashes says, "Overture, curtain lights?"
<OOC> Jinks :P
<OOC> Aryia pat
<OOC> Ashes says, "hey, least it's not boobs at the dragon"
<OOC> Strike hugs, "We can have some kind of debaucherous party or something
<OOC> Karelin grins.
<OOC> Strike says, "dracoboobies"
<OOC> Karelin says, "There's always room for boobs at the dragon :("
<OOC> Vaera blink
<OOC> Strike says, "Now i'm hearing Bruce Dickenson singing about the Boobs of the Dragon"
<OOC> Aryia blinks with Vaera
<OOC> Aryia says, "i don't think we're in this inside joke vaera"
<OOC> Ashes says, "I was not involved, it was elsemu and a long time ago, a super serious dragon fight and someone in the group mav'd the private page of some intimate RP about ripping her shirt open and flashing, and everyone was '... and what do you think that's going to do to the dragon?""
<OOC> Jinks only knows about the iron maiden and not the beboobed dragon.
<OOC> Vaera says, "XD"
<OOC> Aryia LAUGHS
<OOC> Strike says, "It was even better"
<OOC> Ashes says, "Tell us Momma Strike!"
<OOC> Strike says, "Nipple rings, and back arching groans.... meanwhile the rest of us are in a firefight with a GD dragon about to strafe us"
<OOC> Strike says, "If i remember right, the entire scene just.... screeeeeeeeeched to a halt"
<OOC> Karelin grins.
<OOC> Aryia says, "I'm dead"
<OOC> Ashes says, "Where's Dax when you need her"
<OOC> Karelin says, "I mean, maybe the dragon was thirsty :("
<OOC> Karelin snerks
<OOC> Aryia HAHAHA
<OOC> Strike says, "I wish I still had the log, but my ex wiped my drives."
<OOC> Karelin says, ">.<"
<OOC> Strike says, "ROFL"
<OOC> Aryia hug strike