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Silver Stream's Whisper	It was a few hours after dawn's rise, the sun beginning to just clear the horizon and paint the land in golden rays, dispelling the morning due in faint clouds of rising steam, when our favorite fisherman staggered out of the river's waters like a drunken man(which he was), looking thoroughly exhausted(which he was). The hulking form of Pipsqueak rose up behind him, and although it was hard to tell body language and facial expression with leviathans, Pipsqueak seemed equally tired, with a few tentacles bearing bite marks, and some of his chitinous plating having been pried off. He looked as if he'd been in a war, him and Silver both. A slightly smaller kraken rose up next to him, looking trimmer somehow and a bit more sleek, with blue markings that ran down her sides. The other kraken patted Pipsqueak almost comfortingly with a tentacle before sinking back down. Soon the sunlit waters began to froth with activity as shoals of fish far below the river's surface were suddenly sent into a frenzy of panicked activity, a frenzy that few managed to escape, slipping through the mob of ravenous baby kraken to head as far downstream as they could. Soon that section of the river turned vaguely pink from the krakeni feasting, and Pipsqueak reluctantly, slowly, lowerered himself back into the deeps to make sure his children weren't trying to eat each other. "I remember it was much easier raising Pipsqueak, but then again, Pipsqueak was in an ocean of fish at the time, and there was only one of him. I thought the Yanaze was big enough, but I'm beginning to doubt anything is big enough to hold a family of the beasts." Silver admitted to himself underneath his breath, hobbling towards the woods as he pulled out his beloved wine gourd from his coat, shaking it to his ear. "Well, I'm in the area so I may as well pay a visit to the Rose and her quaint little village. Let's hope millenium-old seagold and mother-of-pearl can buy a brace of oxen for those little demons to gnaw on, after they're finished clearing out the local fish. I never thought there'd ever come a day when I, Silver Stream's Whisper, had to care about money. How far I have fallen." He remarked to himself sardonically, slipping into the woods. "Well, nobody's insane enough to be in the woods so early in the morning, so this is the perfect spot to have a quick nip of my wine and a little rest before continuing onto Rosevale!" "Damnit. Why is my luck always shit?" Silver asked a few seconds to himself later, having spotted Rose.
The Sepulchral Rose	==*== SOMETIME EARLIER ==*== "Have I lost my barmaid already?" came the voice of the barkeep over the noise of the tavern, interjecting with a slightly cheeky tone. As it did, the Rose's body twisted - back arching and shoulders hunching - as if she'd been stabbed somewhere painful, or heard a particularly nasty screech. Eyes around the table and beyond had suddenly widened in alarm at the visceral reaction, and Harlan in particular had leaned back in his seat. "Now, your Ladyship..." the older man had started to say. "It's fine. I was slacking in my duties. Perhaps I shall have to be punished," the Rose had said, her expression warming yet tightening at the same time. She hadn't been referring to her duties as a barmaid. Nor, despite her titillating tone at the time, had the foreboding of punishment been a joking matter... ==*== SOMEWHAT LATER ==*== A disheveled Rose had slipped out of bed after a night of revelry with a mysterious stranger and stepped to the curtains of the Black Sepulchre's guest chambers, drawing them back with the intent of observing the dawn and instead finding the sun well on its way across the veiled grey sky of Rosevale. She'd just picked up a brush and sat down when a horrible feeling had struck her in the depths of her being. She'd dropped the brush and fled the chamber with all haste. ==*== PRESENTLY ==*== It might be unexpected to see a woman in a white nightgown staggering amidst the nigh-monochromatic trees of Rosevale's surrounding woodland like the shambling dead. It might be more unexpected still to recognize the owner as the Comtesse, her face a picture of death proverbially warmed over. She's leaning against a tree with one hand, body heaving as if wickedly ill. She doesn't seem to notice the fisherman approaching as her figure seems to be wracked by an invisible force, bending her joints out of place now and again.
Silver Stream's Whisper	"You're quite far from the forest I had to clean out, my lady, but you are also the only one I know who does this. The Anathema suffer their own curse, whilst I suffer my own. You could be God, spirit, or anything in between, but whatever you are, it's certainly planned to be nasty." Silver muttered to himself with a frown, shaking his head as he stepped back, eyes glittering with silver as he pierced the veil between worlds in preparation of anything that might be attracted to a feast of necrotic essence. "At least she's not a Dragon, that's for damned sure." Silver muttered underneath his breath, which was admittedly rather slim consolation at the moment. Pain, unnatural sharp pain, wracked her frame, the air tightening around her, becoming turgid and mucoid, difficult and abhorrent to breathe. For she was not something that belonged to this world, and it seemed like the world was beginning to take offense. Out of the corner of her vision, which was beginning to waver, becoming stained with strange striations of purple and sickly green light...The barkeep seemed to walk out, tutting softly as he looked upon her, an expression of sorrow upon his kindly features. "Oh Rose, my beloved Rose....Why must you test me?" As he spoke, the barkeep...No, the thing taking upon the barkeep's appearance began to shift, facial features running like clay, skin peeling off, revealing something indescribable, something terrible, wrath and displeasure on a scale never before seen. "Is it worth it, Rose?" The thing asked in the barkeep's soft, sorrowful voice, even as its hand melted away, revealing a curved, sickle-shaped claw, singular and covered in unnatural jeweled scales. "You are meant for greatness, to bring ruin and vengeance to us, those who have passed. Have you forgotten that if it was not for us, you would not be redeemed, would be merely yet another lost soul amongst many? Oh Rose....And yet you forsake us for these petty, short-lived insects, these mortals. You take pleasure in ruling over such a small provincial village. You rule over them as a weak ruler, allowing them their freedoms, their wonders....Disgusting. Should I level your dollhouse, dear? Perhaps that might bring you back to your senses." For a heart-wrenching second, the thing glanced back over at her, insectile eyes watching her face levelly for any signs of weakness, before sighing. "I hope you'll understand in time, Rose, that this path has nothing but pain for you. Only by accepting your destiny can you achieve glorious heights. I mourn for you only as a father might...And I will punish you only as a father might." His claw pressed into her shoulder, softly. It felt like the heat of a thousand suns, melting through her flesh, through her bone, through what remained of soul and spirit and thought, burning and burning....And then it was gone, leaving a hissing, jadded wound that stretched from her shoulder to her collarbone, a jagged blackened wound that seeped out death and, what to Rose's words, sounded almost like the thing's recriminations in the wind. The thing was gone, but the day had darkened, ugly-looking storm clouds scudding over the horizon.
The Sepulchral Rose	The jerking, the unnatural dancing of her bones, seems to be something that plagues the Rose in response to what's actually happening rather than being its logical effect. She still doesn't seem to quite register the fisherman's presence, her eyes glossy and full of the vision of the barkeeper Bram - or the thing wearing his skin to chastise her. She can see the irony; she'd allowed the inn's owner to have sway over her in jest and to ingratiate herself with a visiting Guild merchant, but had in doing so allowed herself to become the subject of jest. "Are you... Him?" she barely manages to croak out. The vision might understand that she refers to her liege, but Silver might believe that she's addressing him - or that she's delirious. He wouldn't be entirely wrong. She cries out in agony when the wound opens across her shoulder and collarbone, doubling over fully so that her face is near the ground as she clasps a hand over it to try and hold back the blackened blood. She falls to her knees, looking up toward the distant clouds with her face half-pressed to the tainted earth as her eyes fill with tears. Quiet whimpers rock her body for a few moments before she seems to return to the present, noting the nearby Lunar and her own undignified position before reaching up and clawing at the bark of the tree in order to hasten her rising as she turns on him. "Oh. I didn't see you there, good fisher. Are you in need of something?" she asks, brushing dirt from her hair and her hair from her face with one hand while coddling the wound with the other.
Silver Stream's Whisper	"That wasn't quite a spirit, or a God, but it was not something which should exist in the living world." Silver commented, already moving over towards her, pulling out a slim mahogany case out from his fisherman's coat. Glancing over at her with some amusement and exasperation, Silver explained. "There's still necrotic essence seeping out of your wound, lady, and whatever you are, you seem to still be alive. Living flesh reacts badly to the essence of death, even if you're used to channeling it. Either way, you're probably in a significant amount of pain, and this is a forest with nobody else in it. There's no reason to refuse a bit of aid for the pain." Opening up his case, Silver applied some soft sodden blue moss to the wound, blissfully cold and leeching away the pain....Before abruptly tossing it over his shoulder, watching as it disintegrated into ashes before it even touched the ground. Three moure poultices later, the last bandage stayed on, although it still smoked slightly around the edges. Settling back and slipping his case back inside his coat, Silver examined her with a raised eyebrow. "Can you walk, my lady? We'll want to get you back to your village, I think, where we can rest and recuperate you....And then, I have quite a few questions about what in the Underworld just happened."
The Sepulchral Rose	Rose edges backward at Silver's approach as he brings something out of his coat, raising her own hand with fingers poised, though empty, as if in preparation to weave some form of defense. Even upon seeing that it's not a weapon that Silver's holding, she's hesitant. "I don't need... a Comtesse doesn't..." she starts to protest, but when Silver starts to reason out the case for treating her gushing black wound, even if it doesn't seem to be an imminent threat to her unlife. He's right, after all: it is painful. And her true self, the one that is as much a student of life and death as a rightful ruler, can see the practical need for relief over the maintenance of mystique. Once the final poultice is in place, she uses the tree trunk to steady herself as she rises unsteadily to her feet. She's tougher, physically and mentally, than her porcelain-like appearance might suggest. "I'd best not return while the affliction remains, nor in this garb," she says, frowning down at her black-stained white night dress and then looking to the clifftop manse that overlooks the city. "I would wait here till nightfall, but that would brings its own complications. But I can entertain your questions now, if you wish." She turns her frost-rimed irises upon Silver, seeming to become more lucid and somewhat closer to the dominant presence that she was at their last meeting. "And I suppose you will have returned to Rosevale on some errand aside from witnessing my present affliction."
Silver Stream's Whisper	"Yes, you might not want to. As bad as your wound is, there's some energy left unaccounted for." Silver said, glancing in the direction of the village. "Then again, if your people are currently suffering and dying, being mere mortals, should you not be helping them, Comtesse?" His gaze was sharp as he settled back against a tree, eyes cool and appraising. "A while back, I had to cleanse an entire forest of ash with a thunderstorm, and make sure no malevolent spirits were lingering after an explosion of necrotic energy. An explosion, much like the one I saw today. Even though it wasn't near a village, at least a dozen people died that I know of. More starved due to the waters and animals being poisoned. Nature's bounty of life became a bringer of death. What are you, my lady? I can't profess to be anything but a mere wanderer, a lowly fisherman, and so I only act on my whims. But will my whims bring me into conflict with someone who I may believe to be poisoning Gaia's abundance? I do not know yet." Uncorking his gourd, Silver sipped lightly from it. "I won't be acting against you right now, my lady, even if it turns out that you were behind the poisonings, for it is unbefitting to attack while you are wounded, and the environment is to my detriment. But I do want answers, and heads at the end of this path to collect, if need be. What dark pact have you made with what entities, such that you must sow death and misery to even the grass and trees, in exchange for...What? The position of a mere Comtesse? A town? Is that truly worth it?"
The Sepulchral Rose	The Rose follows Silver's glance toward the direction of Rosevale proper, her lips curving downward at the edges. "What? Suffering and dying? /My/ people?" Urgency returns to the Comtesse's bearing as her tone rises with indignation - either at whatever might be afflicting her people, or the people themselves for allowing themselves to suffer and die without her permission. She starts to lurch toward the town, her gait slightly unnatural and almost marionette-like, though slowly regaining vigor and the appropriate rigidity. "It won't be as bad as that," the Rose says with bravado, clearly expecting Silver to follow. "And it was by no intent that I might have overrun with poison. This place is already tainted by death; I am its savior, the one who draws the venom from the wound with her own lips. It seems that I've simply taken in more of the taint than I'd the stomach for this time." She continues to explain herself as she makes her way through the trees, her priority of assessing and stemming any foulness that might have befallen the town apparently having superceded her need to present herself in deathly dignity. "My pact was sworn in order that I might rebuild Rosevale as something greater than the mouldering carcass that it was when I left it," she tells him. "It will not remain such as it is under my care, just as I am not what I was before my ascension." She stops at the edges of the forest, the state of her own accursed unkemptness rising back to the fore of her thoughts. "Perhaps you could assess the situation while I... dignify myself," she suggests as she starts trying to tug and comb and smooth in an attempt to comport herself for presentation.
Silver Stream's Whisper	Following after the Rose, Silver quirked an ironic eyebrow upwards at her explanation, although it seemed to satisfy him for the moment. "That was unwise, although I don't need to tell you that, nor should I, really. I'm in no position to judge what is right or wrong, whether a town should have died naturally or have received an unnatural elongation of its lifespan." He couldn't help himself from chuckling, despite the severity of the situation, when she paused to try and make her appearance more orderly. "Even if your clothes are splattered in blood and dirt, even if your hair looks like a bird's nest, you should still be the most beautiful thing for at least a few leagues distant, my lady. Consider, of course, that there is more dignity in a ruler who thinks of her village's safety, and rushes to their aid, than one who arrives sedately, beautifully, to a village long since dead. Bathing in rivers and living underneath the sun for a few seasons wouldn't kill you, Comtesse, and who knows? Perhaps you might even like it." With that teasing comment, Silver strode on ahead towards the village, stopping briefly at the bar. The door was shut but not locked, and there was light behind the windows, but also deathly silence. Pricking his ears, Silver could make out a few inaudible groans. "Ho the bar." He muttered softly to himself, before opening the door.....And stopping right at the threshold, before backpedalling a step or two. "Nevermind the bar, we have more important things to worry about now." Silver said to himself. The bar had only a couple patrons, including the barkeep, but they were all sprawled out across tables and counters, eyes wide and unseeing, clearly filled with agony. Their skin was pockmarked with countless tiny black claw-marks, uncannily reminiscent of Rose's own wound in miniature.
The Sepulchral Rose	"It was not nature that felled it in the first place," the Rose remarks, fussing further with her blood-soiled garments. She huffs at Silver's comment on her appearance, blowing a stray lock of hair such that it falls back into place fetchingly, the chaos and even the horror of her state as nothing against her unnatural beauty. "I know that," she says, taking the compliment as if it were patronizingly obvious. "But roving into the village square like a freshly tumbled harlot will hardly instill anyone with respect for my authority, will it? And the sun doesn't suit my complexion." Really, the sun seems to bow down in defeat to her complexion. "And while I have private baths for bathing, I've bathed in the Rock a thousand times. You've seen what lives in it now, though -" She stalls as Silver strides on into the village, keeping herself hidden behind a rose-filled hedge. When she sees that he's gone into the Pick & Plough, though, her memory twinges with the vision that she received and those who played a part in it. Why would They punish them? Couldn't they punish her instead? It had been her own slip, and the people of Rosevale were her foothold in Creation. But this must be a test of her loyalty. Do They not believe that she had fulfilled her vow to Them once she has fulfilled the destiny He promised her? Let me keep this seed, she prays silently to the Neverborn, and you will have your harvest. Then, composed but still bloody and tousled, she drifts through the square past uncaring knights and gawking townsfolk and enters the inn. "What affliction...?" she murmurs as she sweeps her gaze over the bar's curse-struck clientele, her eyes opening to the supernatural in case it might provide some clue as to whether the malady that has befallen her people has some necromantic root that she might identify.
Silver Stream's Whisper	Holding out an arm, Silver kept her away from the bar's stricken patrons, glancing coolly around. Both himself and Rose would clearly see that a purple pallor of death hung thickly in the air, with the food and drink exposed to open air having turned dessicated. "Unless you're impervious to diseases of the supernatural variant, I wouldn't recommend it, lady." He said softly, warning her to stay back. Silver didn't appear to spot the shadowy figure standing in the corner that Rose saw, however. The geist turned plague-green eyes upon the Rose, and tapped the side of a rotting nose. "The master is not pleased by your altercation, and yet he suspects that pain from yourself alone is not sufficient to....Remind you why this path you tread is futile and pointless rebellion. He hopes that you feel the suffering of your people more keenly." In another instant, the spirit was gone, nothing more than a pool of shadow in the corner which was no more unordinary than the floorboards. Meanwhile, Silver had walked over and touched one of the patrons with surprising gentleness, inspecting their condition. The black clawmarks began to appear briefly on the skin of his hand, before fading reluctantly when a brief silver glow intensified for a moment around his arm. Taking out his kit once more, he plucked out a set of silver needles, taking out the longest one, before jabbing it unceremoniously into the side of the poor man's head, who instantly went limp, eyes flickering shut. "Not dead, before you start screaming, Comtesse. Just unconscious. Best thing I can give these poor bastards. This disease produces only one symptom, besides the markings. Incredible pain. It's playing havoc on their nerves, but that seems to be the only symptom when you contract it. Then again, you would eventually starve to death if you were suffering too much to move like them." Moving around, Silver began jabbing needles in all the patrons he met, including the barkeep. Once everyone was unconscious, and the room resembled an assassin's work more than any disease, he settled back against the counter, raising an eyebrow at the Rose. "I can probably cure it given enough time, and make sure it doesn't spread to the others, my lady....But it'll cost you. Some food for my babies...And quite a few questions. Is that acceptable?"
The Sepulchral Rose	The Rose's reach retracts from the proximity of one of the claw-marked victims of the strange plague. She turned the situation over behind her blue eyes, lips pressed together in thought. She does start to part them in protest at the needle's first application, but when Silver explains himself, she returns to her furtive contemplations. Once the fisherman has finished, she considers his offer, eyes meeting his. "Is it more disease or curse, I wonder? If it is both, then I may be able to deal with it myself, and would do so." She edges closer, examining the sorcerous miasma that hangs in the air and clings to the food and drink. "If it is a curse, then I cannot abolish it, but I might be able to reshape and contain it. I would need a suitable vessel." Unfortunately, there are no known Lookshyans about, eliminating her first preference. She considers Silver for a moment, but decides that using him as the vessel of her plan would be rude. Instead, she finds a barrel under the bar and rolls it into the middle of the room, clearly ill able to properly lift it but at least clever enough to use physics to achieve her aim more easily. "If my plan doesn't work, I shall consider your offer," she says, before concentrating, focusing on the secrets she has gleaned from the Diary of Skulls, fingers slowly clawing at the air as she tries to distort and redirect the essence of the disease into the keg and its contents. Perhaps her efforts will prove futile. Perhaps audaciously attempting to cast her necromantic prowess against that of the titans of death will prove a poor choice. But simply bargaining for such benevolence, to her mind, risks stoking their dark wrath further. A barrel of plague, on the other hand, might stay their hand a little longer...
Silver Stream's Whisper	"Both, I'd expect. Your master isn't the kind of person who tosses silvers to beggars, or ill-fortuned fishermen. I'd wonder why you serve him even with the fact that doing so preserves this town. You're a pitiful lady in that regard, Comtesse. Forever you shall be bound to this enormous glaring weakness, unable to revel in the sights and sounds and dangers of Creation. There is so much Creation has to offer you, but you will never be able to leave, for to do so would be to abandon your people." Silver did sound genuinely sorry for her, which he was. For a wanderer like himself, to be tied down to a village of mortals would be the worst imprisonment he could find, a cage unbreakable, for it was forged of his own benevolence and self-sacrifice. When she turned her gaze upon him, he merely raised an eyebrow wryly, knowing full well what was likely passing through her mind, but he remained silent, leaning against the wall as she performed her ritual. A thick, heavy mist of turgid green sickness rose up out of the floorboards, the walls and counter, seeping out of the cellar in thick virulent coils before being slowly channeled into the barrel itself, passing through the wood like it wasn't even there. Slowly, the iron bindings holding the barrel together began to corrode and take upon the color of rust, but they held firm, and at the end, the pallor of death no longer lingered over her tavern, encased bitterly within a barrel of what had previously been rosehip wine of considerable vintage. "Such a waste of good wine." Silver mourned, regretting that he'd slept through curse-breaking lessons with Swims in Darkness back in Sunken Luthe. If he'd paid more attention, perhaps he could have taken the barrel as payment instead of having it be wasted like this. "Congratulations, Comtesse, on your fine dark sorcery." He remarked ironically, gesturing with one hand to the unconscious patrons of the inn. The claw-marks still remained on their skin, although they seemed to be breathing slightly easier for it. "Now, if you were the ruthless type, you could get out of my own services by simply culling the infected here, wiping out the plague for good. But are you?"
The Sepulchral Rose	The words from Silver might well have caused further consideration from Rose of her choice of vessel, but she does not allow her thoughts to stray from her task. She quietly mouths in Old Realm, twisting even those scarcely-scrutable words into new shapes to suit the nature of her dark work. Soon, with the miasma now trapped in the vintage cask, she nods once, apparently satisfied, before looking down at her own state once more, particularly vexed by the black bloody brand that seems to have resurged with her efforts. Sighing, she heaves the mystically-sealed keg up in her arms. Looking up to Silver again, she finally addresses him. "You presume much about my master, good fisher, else you would not speak of them so. As for Creation, I have seen the wonders of Lookshy, but I have seen wonders greater still on more distant shores, and it is those wonders which I shall raise up here in Rosevale before my work is through. Creation is full of cages; Rosevale is not one of them. No more than a spider's web is her cage so long as she continues to weave it." Straining, she lugs the keg up onto the bartop and sets it down with a thud. "I would sooner save the inn than save the wine," she says as she leans against the bar and looks around. "I'll send my knights to remove the tainted food and leave it for the monsters, and store the wine in safe keeping. As for the ill, you may cure them, if you wish to avoid such a culling. Knights!" She raises her voice as she calls out, summoning a couple of the mostly-silent armored sentinels that were standing outside the inn. "Take this vessel to the Sepulchre for storage," she tells them, "and under no circumstances allow its contents to escape. Send four more of your number to us; they will be required." She turns a meaningful look toward Silver as she awaits his response to her counter-offer.
Silver Stream's Whisper	"When a spider loses their web, they simply move on and make another. They do not guard the web over their own life, if need be, for that is a foolish spider indeed. Wonders made by the hands of mortal and those who are demigods, pale to the work that is crafted by the hands of gods. You have never seen mountain ranges that pierce the sky, or waters of glittering sapphire that hold shoals of fish larger than any warfleet in existence, comprised of every hue in the world and more. You may live here, my lady, but you have no freedom. After all, could you simply go ahead and dismantle the entire town, hauling it on your back to new horizons?" At her counter-offer, Silver glanced down at the stricken patrons for a long, slow moment. "I am many things, but am I stupid? Possibly. Still, I would not believe that a lady who has suffered so much to shield her village from the wrath of her master would let four of her subjects perish an unworthy death, simply due to wanting to keep her secrets. Still, secrets are valuable, a currency immemorial. Perhaps you do have some secrets you would not reveal, even if your people die. Still, I wish to call your bluff, Comtesse. Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps I am right. I can't say I'd enjoy watching four lives slip out of fingers which I could save, but I am a mere fisherman, and am not responsible for their lives. I am, after all, not their ruler." Silver folded his arms, grinning at Rose to see if she would carry out her duties or not.
The Sepulchral Rose	"We yearn for different things, good fisher," the Rose says morosely as she keeps her gaze fixed on the faces of the fallen. "I have very little desire to witness what I cannot claim. Freedom is to be what I am, openly and without dispute. To wear my own face and be fearsome rather than fearful." Her tone is measured as she speaks, and she levels her gaze at the fisherman once more as he reflects her counter-offer. As he finishes speaking, a single blackened tear streaks down her cheek. "You judge me well, good fisher. There is little I would not do to shield my people from harm." A quivering, sorrowful smile curves her lips at the corners as her face starts to break further, and she takes in a rattling breath before turning toward the nearest of the unmoving bodies. She begins to chant in that low, whispering Old Realm that she invoked before, but now with a harsher tongue, her fingers curling in as the body of the farmer starts to shudder and rise, his skeleton seeming to lift his frame like a sack of flesh supported by a scarecrow. A brand appears to glow from within the farmer's shirt as the dark magic works its way into his bones. "At least, they cannot feel," the Rose says as the incantation begins to take hold. "I will repay you for that much."
Silver Stream's Whisper	As she spoke, Silver's expression became slightly confused, before a hint of alarm passed through and he set his jaw. Once she finished her initial chant, however, he let out an exasperated sigh and flung out a hand, before making a curving cage with his fingers. "Let the rivers hear my name, for I am that which commands the tides and wind, I ride upon the infinite bounty of the sea, and manipulate the currents of time. By the mandate of the infinite tides, I order the current of sorcery dissolved." A plume of faint blue light rippled from his fingertips, diving into the farmer and dimming the inner light significantly. Silver's free hand was now on her shoulder, having moved forwards as he cast. "What in the name of sainted fish are you doing, woman? I thought you valued them more than a couple questions." Silver asked, his tone mildly disbelieving what he had just seen. His hard, questing expresion softened once he noticed the tear-track, however, brushing it lightly from her cheek to inspect the black liquid. "I'm assuming this isn't your make-up, since you wouldn't need it. Alright, in calling my bluff to your bluff, you've successfully outbluffed my bluff with your audacious actions. You're either a stone-cold killer, my dear, or I don't understand you at all. Granted, I'm not the best person at understanding others, but sane denizens of Creation don't start trying to execute their citizenry and reanimate them as necromantic puppets." Throwing up his hands slightly in the air, Silver pulled out his kit once more, measuring out powdered petals and crushed sea urchin shells. "I'll cure them for room and board, which I will steal from your cupboard if necessary. By the Big Blue Salmon in the sky, don't you understand the sanctity of life? Even if you serve....That thing, you're different. What possesses you to kill it off when not necessary?" Turning back to the farmer in question, Silver gestured over at him. "This man was born of a mother and father, and he too will in time sire spawn from a mate, continuing on a bloodline that has existed since the dawn of Creation, no matter how lowly it is. You don't need a better worker than him, and it's your fault he's in this state. Why wouldn't you save him when I practically offered it to you on a silver platter? Do you go around stomping on flowers as well when they're prettier than you? Life is scarce and a miracle inanofitself, more of a miracle than any magic anyone could conceive of." Sighing, Silver slumped against the table, pouring his concoction into a bowl of water and mixing, before pausing to wag a finger at her. "And if you try to continue that spell, I'm going to gag you with the Hundred Rings, so there. It's almost as if you......Couldn't save a life......" Trailing off, Silver frowned, looking thoughtful, before grimacing. "I am remarkably stupid, aren't I? Of course now it makes sense."
The Sepulchral Rose	There's still a flickering of that malevolent brand as Silver's sorcerous essence wars against the necrotic energies being worked by the Rose. However, as the hand falls on her shoulder and he starts to address her with mounting bewilderment, she allows her claw-curled hand to go limp and her lips to go still save for the slight tremor still running through them. The brand fades away as the farmer goes limp once more. She lets Silver finish speaking as she steadies her own breathing, the tears slowing but not stopping. "What I would have done would have liberated them from pain and disease, yet allowed him to continue to serve their kin. They would have understood," she says, her voice clear if slightly dry. "His name is Edric Thornholt. His mother and father were Marta and Arlen. She was a great cook." She turns and starts to slowly walk toward the door as four more Sepulchral Knights enter the tavern. "Avail him of your aid, and keep all others out of the inn for the day," she instructs them as she continues past. Placing her hand on the doorframe, she stops and turns her head over her shoulder, features cast in shadow. "And of course I don't go stomping on flowers that are prettier than I am. Such flowers don't exist," she says, tears still glinting in the darkness as her lips twist with bleak mirth in the grey sunlight. "You may ask one question, for easing their pain before," she adds softly. "Then, I must do something about my state of dress."
Silver Stream's Whisper	"Liberation, eh? Would he have been free to drink and laugh, and find a wife, I wonder?" Silver said softly over his shoulder, separating the medicine into four glasses, and trickling them into the lips of each patient. Glancing over his shoulder as she stopped to watch him, Silver curled his lips into a sad smile. "Oh, my lady. How you suffer so. Beauty cannot cover up tragedy, Comtesse, and if you believe it would be liberation, why do you cry?" As she left, Silver waved over at the knights. "Right, cover a section of the floor in blankets, find something soft to prop up their heads. It'll only be a couple hours. Then you can run back to your mistress, and inform her that they've been cured." Just as Silver had promised, an hour and a half later, the patients were beginning to stir, ugly black pockmarks dissolving into grey smudges against their skin. Scratching his head over it, Silver shrugged and prescribed an ointment to accelerate the growth of new skin. It would be two weeks before those would fade. After the patients had finished thanking him gratefully and filed out with slow, unsteady steps, Silver wiped his brow of cold sweat, settling into a chair. "Woo Silver, you absolute idiot. I know you have a propensity for sticking your head into the jaws of death, but this time it was a bit more literal than imagined. Who knew that our necromancer was something quite a bit worse? Well, she has good wine, so that pays for many sins. Speaking of wine, I'm sure the barkeep won't say no if I pillage his stocks a bit. Quite a few sealed bottles I see in the back." After pouring out a glass of the finest vintage he could get his hands on, he inspected the ruby-red liquid in the full light of noonlit sun. "...What a damn shame." He said softly to himself, before shaking his head and draining the glass in one gulp. "And there's your suicidal tendency again, Silver. If you feel sorry for the wounded Tyrant Lizard, you can do so from a safe distance, not when you're still bite-sized and within chewing distance." After toasting to his idiocies, Silver settled in, nursing one final glass as he waited for Rose to show herself, after having cleaned up to her liking.
The Sepulchral Rose	The knights carry out their assigned duties without question, then stand vigil quietly as the fisherman goes about his task. They do not appear to find discomfort in simply remaining at perpetual attention. They do not act to assist the citizens as they are sent on their way, nor do they intervene when Silver finishes and makes his way toward the still-safe stocks. However, once all that's needed has been done, they do exit the inn with a soft clanking of equipment, dispatching a pair to report to the Rose while the others resume guarding the town outside the bar. Even still, only a single soul dares to stick his head through the door - a middle-aged, balding and bearded man who gives a look about the place before curling his lip and withdrawing, curiousity apparently sated. It's a few minutes later that the door opens again, this time to reveal a Rose that smells much sweeter, wrapped in a much more elegant two-piece dress of sorts that dangles with tiny black and white beads. The poultice has been covered by strips of black cloth wrapped around her shoulder and across her collarbone. Her hair has been carefully brushed and braided. An actual rose of blood-red hue is tucked neatly into it. "A toast, is it? Good fortune for you that you didn't avail yourself of Bram's finest at night. Bad fortune for me that you didn't do so while I was here to witness what happened," she says as she enters, her skirt nearly sweeping the floor as her footwear clicks along it.
Silver Stream's Whisper	As she entered into the tavern, Silver raised his half-full glass towards her, raising an eyebrow at her. Even he wasn't immune to unearthly charm, and she had the satisfaction of watching his mouth open slightly, then close as conscious thought filtered out of his mind for half a second. But Silver rallied quickly, and smiled as he poured a glass out for her, pushing it across the table towards her. "You know, it is remarkable how you manage to make me feel underdressed when nobles and monarchs have failed. Then again, I'm usually sneaking around in those occasions. Here, I'll even take off my hat for you, Comtesse." And so Silver did, taking off his wide-brimmed straw hat only for a tangle of black hair to fall out, nearly shoulder-length due to a lack of detail, and certainly remarkably messy. After a few seconds of muttering and the help of a band in his coat, Silver tied his hair back into something that resembled a short ponytail, leaving his blue eyes to blink slightly at the sun's brightness before he adjusted. "I must admit, death has never looked more beautiful. But why must it be death, lady?" Silver inquired softly, watching as the sun's rays reflected his glass, sending red-hued beams skittering across the floor. "Why do you serve the entity you do? You know, there's not many things out in Creation that can be called perfectly evil. Hell, even the Raksha have their reasons and justifications. But death, my lady, unnatural, sudden, and large-scale death and suffering...What can we call that but evil? The term we use for enemies, for what is death but the enemy, and unnatural death the greatest shame of all? Enlighten a poor fisherman by all means, for the day is long and Bram's stocks remain untapped."
Fudou the Mountain	For a while now, some observation of this place has been taking place. An aerial survey, as the strange landmarks of this place caught the eye of a passing bird of prey. A study of the layout of the land as a curious badger made its way too and fro, here and there. An anxious squirrel atop the roof and rafters of The Pick and Plough. Rosevale has caught the attention of another traveler... One whose eventual true approach lacks any of the prior bits of subtelty. Indeed, the ground itself might see to tremble with the heavy impacts of his gladiatorial sandaled feet. Plumes of dust kicking up around them and stones bouncing and trembling as he makes his way up the road like some sort of shaved mammoth - or yeddim. Bristling with slabs of oversized masses of muscles plied atop a frame that at its bare minimum could be described as room filling and then some. He is, at least, unarmed and seemingly unarmored, wearing little more then a lengthy coat that might be sewn together tarps, bare chested and bare legged but for wrestler like trunks and a thick wide belt, of colorful ropes, sashes and belt straps. Though considering his arms are girthed like swamp trees with thick veins the size of shipping ropes...one might be forgiven if the lack of overt weaponry and armor is hardly comforting. In this manner, Fudou the Mountain, makes his way forward into the town, moving with a sort of side to side lumbering gait, tattered long coat sweeping about his immense body like some sort of theatrical curtain and a large widebrim hat pulled down over his face to shadow the specifics of his facial features. An immense hand, thick and gnarled, is lifted up to rest atop his hat, keeping it pushed down and tilted low as he wordlessly approaches...
The Sepulchral Rose	"I'm sure I could make nobles and monarchs feel underdressed, if I really made an effort," the Rose tells Silver with casual grace, apparently not lacking for confidence as she sits down atop the table a few short feet from the fisherman, hands wrapped in operatic gloves folded politely in her lap. She smiles at the display as he doffs his hat for her. Her eyes darken slightly as he speaks of death and evil, becoming distant and thoughtful. When he's said his piece, she takes her turn to speak, much more composed now than before. "That is your question, then? Why I serve death?" She tilts her head to one side, black hair spilling down her shoulder, hiding the blemish of the bandaged black wound. "Then I will answer thusly: I did not choose death. Death chose me. Sudden, violent, unnatural and painful death. But then the voice of something from beyond death offered me a choice between descending into death and ascending through it, to also become beyond death. You may think me heartless, or selfish, but when all of the roads of destiny converge into two, the choice seemed an easy one." She looks Silver in the eyes, smiling faintly. "Isn't it only natural when given the choice of death and change, one would choose cha-" There's a commotion from outside the inn as four of the Sepulchral Knights have moved to block the path of Fudou as he approaches the town. Rosevale's common folk are known to be reticent with strangers, but the gawking of the peasants at this second strange sight of the day after the blighted eruption in the inn earlier has them murmuring openly amongst themselves of some sort of apocalypse being visited upon them. "First the strickening, then a behemoth! Are we to be the next Thorns?" one of the farmers says to another, unwitting both of the incomparable scale of the atrocities upon that distant city and the proximity with which he's grazed a truth about his mistress unbeknownst to any of the townsfolk. "- what is going on out there?" the Rose wonders as she cranes her neck to regard the village square through the window. "You haven't sent for a friend to try and overthrow me, have you? That would be rather vexing," she says, one of her shoulders jerking with a twitch as she stiffens slightly in posture.
Silver Stream's Whisper	"I think that it'd be the sensible choice." Silver said without preamble, shrugging and taking another sip of his wine. His eyes were clear as he turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. "Give any living thing the choice between death and possible life, and they'll choose life, as they should. It's just unfortunate that you're far too kind and compassionate for such a role. You'd be able to bring about death, sure, but not to your village, my lady. That's your fatal flaw, your Achilles heel by which your master will likely keep ahold of you. No, you're too selfless, as funny as that statement might seem. Better you were a black-hearted femme fatale than one who hides her indecision underneath a beautiful mask." His expression softened, and for a moment, he seemed to look at her with regret. "If only Luna had taken you underneath her wing. Then I might have had a new sibling, rather than bearing witness to a living tragedy." At the sound of the commotion, Silver rose from his seat as well, peering out the window with a perplexed squint. At her queries, Silver choked on his wine in laughter. "Rosevale is a nice village, Comtesse, but you know my views on staying in one place forever. Plus, I don't have any friends that large. Pipsqueak's about that size, but Pipsqueak has tentacles. That's not Pipsqueak. I don't know what that is, but it looks human. Maybe it's a curious golem of some sort, hiding a human-sized passenger within?"
Fudou the Mountain	As the knights come forth to do their duty and the villagers begin to cry out in confusion and dismay - the behemoth of a man comes to a stop. His jacket sweeps forth about him, his rope belts and sashes swing and overlap and his muscles slide into a relaxed position like a shifting of continental plate under his ruddy flesh. He says nothing and just...basically stands there, allowing them to get into position and properly face him. Indeed, he remains quiet for long...almost building the tension deliberately. Allowing the anticipation to rise...and then.. "Greetings!" The goliath pulls his hat up from his head, lifting his gaze up now and allowing a big full toothed, bright grin, to spread across his expressive features. Though immense as a roided yup bull-yeddim, the immense man is far from ugly though 'beauty' is hardly the word one would ascribe. More like that magnetic 'whoa' someone has when looking up a mountain range or beast of unspeakable strength in action. No dread aura but instead a charismatic rumble of his bass voice that ripples through the air. "Fear not! I am Fudou, sometimes known as The Mountain. Yennin of Volivat. Champion of the Congregation of Victory. Avatar of strength and virility. Strongman of The Threshold!" He dips forward, sweeping into a low bow towards them all, immense figure moving with a strange sort of grace like a sequioa that is capable of dancing. "...Perhaps you've heard of me!" he concludes. After a pause..he asks hopefully, "...Yes?" There is another pause and he then adds, "...No?"
The Sepulchral Rose	The townsfolk grow quiet as the tension builds in the silence between the guards and Fudou. One of the knights just starts to speak: "This is the domain of the Ro-" However, he's cut off as the giant starts to speak at the same time, his bass voice easily overpowering the tinny monotone of the visored sentinel. All four of the knights remain stoic as the pale people of Rosevale gawk silently at the display. "...is he a god?" one of the farming women asks another. "This is the domain of the Rose," the sentinel finally repeats and completes his greeting once silence has returned. "She will be informed of your presence. The people of Rosevale are under her protection." That curious head that poked its way through the inn door earlier reappears. "There's a 'Fudou' out in the square, Your Ladyship. Seems he's a Mountain Yennin of Volivat." Harlan's face scrunches up slightly. "Is that in Vaneha?" "I believe not," the Rose says with a faint sigh of exasperation. She slides off of the table and steps toward the door. "Come, let's see if this golem is friendly or not." Emerging into the sunlight, the pale beauty gleams in stark contrasts, her alabaster skin striking against the matching raiton blackness of her skirt and top and tresses. Standing far enough from Fudou to still need to shield her piercing blue eyes from the sun, she raises a gloved hand to do so. "Greetings. I am the Comtesse of this village. Do you require aught of us? I'm afraid we've had a spot of spoilage, so it may tax us if you are hoping to be fed."
Silver Stream's Whisper	Emerging from the tavern with her, Silver glanced up at Fudou, squinting slightly. He still wasn't used to the way that the sun shone in his eyes when he didn't have his hat on. "He's a person." Silver confirmed unhelpfully to Rose, before elaborating. "Part of the Pact, that is. Bit like me. He's uh, well. I'm sure you heard what his specialties are. Most of those titles have at least a small degree of deeds behind them, so there's nothing to fear. He won't eat you unless he's terribly peckish, or you look at him the wrong way." Silver said with a straight face towards the villagers, before grinning up at Fudou and shaking his fishing rod up at the giant. "Ho, how goes things, you big lump? I'm Silver, Silver Stream's Whisper from Sunken Luthe, recently apprenticed to Swims-in-Darkness. If you're hungry, I suppose I could ask my children to give up a shark for you, since you're about their size at this stage of growth. But first, introductions. This is the lady Comtesse Sepulchral Rose of Rosevale, a village which produces the best rosehip wine I've had the pleasure of enjoying thus far. As one might expect, there's quite a few roses around, of which she is the most prominent."
Fudou the Mountain	At the sight of The Comtesse, Fudou purses his lips, squints his eyes, and quite noticably locks his gaze upon her with all the weight of a sentient Earthquake deciding to pay personal attention to one person. Both of his eyebrows lift upwards at the sight of her and then settle back down again with a clear look of curiousity though he does listen and listen well to her introduction. He seems at a loss for words for a second or two and ultimately tilts his head to the side while lifting a massive hand up to scratch at his lightly bearded jaw, producing a sound like dred out brushes scraping across a stone wall from the sound of fingernails scrapping against his jaw. "Oooh... Now this is interesting..." His next words are cut off as Silver arrives and so openly greets him while shedding additonal light on Fudou's nature and potential demeanor. Fudou cants his head to the opposite direction..and then once again smiles as Silver finishes speaking. "Oh hoh! Well...fear not. I will not eat the stores of this village's food or them for looking at me strangely. If I were in the habit of doing that sort of thing my reputation would be quite different considering how often I get strange looks!" His smile broadens once more, "But to the rest of that...I say greetings! Luthe you say? Swims-In-Darkness? Well now...isn't -this- an interesting crossing of paths, little brother. The name Ma-Ha-Suchi may known to you then...though it is long since I've seen him..." He now turns towards The Comtesse as he says, "If he is so open to speak such among you and your people then I suppose I should be as well... And indeed... I am no golem as you can see and last I checked have no person piloting me. At least up here. I can't speak for my nethers sometimes though. " His grin is more impish at that before he then adds, "..Children? Sharks?"
Silver Stream's Whisper	"They're not my children, my familiar's." Silver said, jerking a thumb behind him, in the direction of the river. "And probably not sharks, they ate them all. The ones stupid enough to try eating them first, anyways." Due to Fudou's immense height, he could probably get a glimpse of the river below, which currently seemed to be occupied by two enormous krakens shepherding a ball of wriggling tentacles that seemed to be trawling down the river, bubbling pink froth as it devoured everything in its path. Ma-Ha-Suchi...I remember him. Quite formidable, if I recall, but it's been ages since I visited. Not good manners to intrude on one's elders, after all, and he's not one of those who are lonely and need company. No, he's quite happy doing what he does best. Anyways, Rosevale is perfectly safe as long as we behave. The lovely Rose has thorns, but she won't prick unless touched first. I would ask that you're doing here in the Hundred Kingdoms, big brother, but I've seen so many of our siblings in this general area that I'm not even surprised anymore. Is this Pact-held land now? I certainly didn't receive any news about it."
Fudou the Mountain	Turning, Fudou is able to get a look over the lay of the land, to a certain degree at least. Though a giant he's no Tyrant Lizard after all. Perhaps twice the average height and of course there's the matter of his gargantuan mass. But it is enough for him to see the winding river and in the distance...the shapes so indicated. "..Krakens..." he confirms, stating the obvious though he seems...mildly confused. "Here in freshwater? These waters and rivers are quite different from those of the west, little brother....or so I've been told. All of the waters have their own personality and flavor. I've swam the Dreaming Sea's as a Siaka and fought in wars under its waves...and these rivers are nothing like that.. Scented and flavored by these eastern things as they are.." After a pause he then adds, "Yes...Ma Ha Suchi...my Shahan-Ya. You describe him well. He values the independance of his adherents though...perhaps there are other reasons for his seclusion..." his voice trails off for a second as he looks briefly thoughtful..and then once again snaps back to that gregarious, jovial behemoth as if one had flipped a switch. "These lands may as -well- be Pact lands but no... We are about. In fact...you could say that these lands have many of the... 'Anathema' ... about. The Realms grip loosens. Unique lands like this..Rosevale are not impossiblities and other locations such as Great Forks have culture and politics that do not let The Immaculate Faith take as strong ahold as it does in its homeland or in the past. It's not enough to say that...these lands are -free- but that you've encountered more of us since leaving your seas? I'm not surprised." Shaking his head, he clasps his enormous hands together, "There is still need for caution when warranted but...some might say that a more aggressive presence -is- what's been lacking and that now is the time."
Silver Stream's Whisper	"Indeed. Although Kraken don't range upriver normally, it seems like they can exist as easily in freshwater as in saltwater, although Pipsqueak would prefer the sea more. That's why his lair is close by the sea, further down the Yanaze. This place is different, but not too much so from our home of Luthe. You and I are some of the lucky few to have been taken in by venerable Shahan-yas. There are many others who appear unfamiliar with the Pact, or who seem independent of its workings. It may be a failing of our own desire for independence, that we are not more tightly-knit. If a brother or sister was to fall, we might not know. Still, the Realm knows the score now. If they would take from us, we shall take from them, in raw bloody flesh. Still, it is a war which has yet to tip one way or another." Pausing at the mention of Anathema, he shrugged. "Perhaps they are simply taking refuge under our aegis. In lands like these, where Lunars may outnumber roving bands of Dragons, it is not close to safe, but the closest perhaps, without going north to the bitter cold and endless wars, which is really no way to live for anyone, even the Anathema. It is said that they used to be our staunchest allies, and my mentor has confirmed such a thing. But they have no organization, no unity. We must deal with them as individuals, and for that reason, they are unpredictable. Being an Anathema is no guarantee that they are friendly towards us, after all. As for the Immaculate Faith, I'm happy enough to avoid priests in general, let alone monks who wish to punch out my liver in a most gruesome fashion. I've met a few outcaste Dragons, but otherwise, I've seen no dragons from Lookshy or the Realm." Settling back slightly, Silver shook his head. "It is the wise move to harbor our strength and wait for the Realm to break from within, but many cannot wait, do not wish to wait. Our hot-blooded younger siblings want war. One of them in particular was here to repel a fishman invasion, and she carries the burden of her displaced clan, disgraced at the hands of Realm legions. It is difficult to ask her to stop and wait decades while her homelands are razed, in order that we may carry a bloodless victory. But where are my manners? Come, due to some unfortunate circumstances, the bar is empty and deserted for the rest of the day. That means free wine! The stores and cellars are still full." Having said so, Silver would lead the way back to the tavern, where they could drink and reminisce further.
Fudou the Mountain	Listening, the giant grows more thoughtful and serious now. That joyful, immense, charisma seemingly growing more muted and restrained as he ponders Silver's words. Almost as if it were a performance unto itself and a more reserved, thoughtful, titan lies beneath. With Rose having gone on to tend to her own needs and the knights having returned to their posts...Fudou seems to slip into another mindset...another persona...and he rumbles under hsi breath in consideration of Silver's words. Then; "What you say has truth to it. Many are too eager. But also too many are not eager enough and content with a status quo of guarding their own lands and being unwilling to take the necessary risk to promote change. Things are different now then they were when those old mindsets guided The Pact. The Solars have returned. The Deathknights walk these lands. Chosen of -Hell- seem to exist now as well.... The Realm struggles, The Confederacy of Rivers teeters this way and that... Wars and rumors of wars. Small wonder the young seek to push change and use Luna's gifts rather then sit on their heels and listen to wisdom from an age long gone. They see schism in our leaders. Raksi and Ma-Ha-Suchi ...once the greatest of allies - now torn asunder. Others who stay in their lairs. Is it any wonder that the passionate push out and shirk the coverage of the larger Pact?" Fudou's 'fit' into the tavern seems a feat unto itself. It is possible and within he still must remain bent and hunched until he reaches aportion witha higher ceiling in the larger open room of the inn. "But still care must be taken if subterfuge is ones preference. The Hunt is not what it was but it will still ride. I worked with Solars out of Great Forks once to put The Hunt off of their trail. I would have been fine with just fighting them but..they did not wish to lose their sense of freedom or put Great Forks at risk. Fair."
Silver Stream's Whisper	"Speaking truthfully, I am of the faction who prefers to wait things out." Silver said, pouring out a glass for himself of the same vintage he'd been enjoying, before taking a large wooden bowl and simply emptying a bottle of wine into that for Fudou. He doubted that a glass would be anything more than a shot, or perhaps half a mouthful at best of wine. "We are Luna's chosen. We know the woods like no other, we can survive on nothing and thrive in the wilderness. Let our ancient foe, the Realm, deal with these new chosens. The Deathknights and their ilk, the Yozi's new pawns. How many have claimed to try ending Creation? None have gotten close so far. These new threats will be but the same. In my opinion, we've focused too much on our wars. Many new fledglings and whelps are lost roaming Creation, and will meet ignoble deaths unbefitting of their station if we do not act." Pausing, Silver reflected how ironic it was that they were discussing the servants of Deathknights when staying in a village governed by a servant of one such Deathknight. But that was something for another time, and certainly not to be casually discussed. For now, Rose's identity was safe with Silver. "Let the young run rampant, it is how they learn. When they are wounded, they will learn wariness, and caution, planning and thorough preparation. It is our responsibility that they are never wounded to the point that the spirit shatters and the Chosen dies. That is why I wander, in any case, looking for little brothers and sisters outside of the Pact's reach. Taking a draft from the glass, Silver swallowed, looking thoughtful. "That said, it's all well and good to speak brave words when we are so far from the Realm's influence. Even if they sent Hunts after us here, it would take them a fortnight's travel to arrive, more perhaps, and countless opportunities for ambush along the way. No, perhaps if we were sitting upon the soil of the Blessed Isle itself we would be more cautious. But only the bravest or most foolish Lunar dares tread in the private sanctum of the Red Empress."
Fudou the Mountain	"I'll admit that my own factional affiliations are more...aggressive but my time here in the East and away from the confines and lands of our people has opened my perspective abit more. Times -have- changd, little brother and expecting the old systems and patterns to hold true would be an error. The Solars are here where they were not here before, in large and active numbers. Hell's Chosen matters. The fall of Thorns matters. These things represent happenings that were not part of the status quo that crafted the pattern of our peoples responses. We must be able to do more then hide in our lands as needed. We must adapt and take advantage of it. Even know I know of a Solar sorceress who would impress Raksi herself who wishes to speak to our leaders and form alliances... But...." Fudou trails off in thought.. "You are also right in that...if we were on The Isle matters would be different. However, we're -not- on the Isle..." Fudou studies the wine for a moment, and for a second that old jovialness seems to flicker in his gaze but he pushes it back down to grow more serious as he adds, "Searching for newly chosen of our kind is noble and needed. Guidance of -some- sort is neessary. I commend you for that! So then...you will not stay in this little place?" Fudou's nostrils flare as if scenting the area and he adds, "..There is a gloom here. Who is this Comtesse?"
Silver Stream's Whisper	Although Silver didn't look shifty, he was also not staring at Fudou anymore when he inquired about the Rose. "Perhaps they are a sign that we need to adapt to the times, or perhaps our faith in old ways will hold strong. It is up to the future, and the future is always fickle in the way that fate can be. The Anathema are powerful, yes, but is that power reliable? If you tell a street urchin that he has the power to lay low a town of mortal men, do you think he is equipped to handle such strength? Then again, we are much the same in that regard. As for the Rose...........She is who she is. A highly proficient necromancer, and a beautiful noblewoman." Taking another sip, Silver glanced wryly up at Fudou. "If she was a threat to us or the Pact, I'd say so. For now, though, in a way she is young, and undoubtedly someone with a kind heart for her people. This region needs more good rulers, and she is a good ruler, I'd say. Nothing more, nothing less. But I won't stay here. Necromancy isn't something I am particularly afraid of, but death is ill-befitting of life, and we are the essence of life. I'll come back to resupply on this excellent wine, however. What about you, big brother? Do you have plans to settle down anywhere? Even I have made my nest in an underwater cave, far below the surface of the Yanaze."
Fudou the Mountain	That earthquake like gaze rests on Silver as he looks away. Fudou studies him with some scrutiny...listening...attempting to read between the lines for additional meaning. Then he simply smiles, "..Your...words betray you somewhat...I think. It would have simply been enough tos ay she was the noblewoman who rules this land and a necromancer... I would not have ever even considered if she was a threat to the likes of -us-....or The Pact. I was simply curous. This place has a....well... atmosphere... But very well I won't pry further. Keep your secrets..." Fudou taps his chin again and then rumbles, "As to the rest of your statement? A street urchin with the power to lay low a city or an army? Equipped to handle such strength? Yes. That is why we are all chosen, no? It's not a matter of randomness. He could handle the power but what he chooses to -do- with that power? Well...that's another matter no? I suppose in the end I say that the circumstances of this new day are unlike anything before. This is not a simple matter of the rise and fall of nations. The Solar Exalted are returned and with them come others like them who were not here before. The Silver Pact must adapt or be caught surrpised by the untamed ancient powers that the world has not seen for uncounted years." Leaning forward slightly, he lowers his voice and rumbles, "I have -seen- it.. We stick to our old patterns at our peril..." His mood darkens slightly as he mutters this and then he seems to lighten some and rumbles, "I was just pasing through. I noticed tihs land from above and thoughtt he layout quite unique. I was curious. So I landed, observed, and then decided to make a showy appearence to see what they would do. I've business in a place called Iron Simhata. I return to Great Forks when I wish to 'settle down' usually."
Silver Stream's Whisper	Looking faintly surprised for a second, Silver snorted lightly. "Anyone with eyes and half a brain would see that she is indeed beautiful, but that's like trying to tame a Tyrant Lizard. Dangerous, foolhardy, possibly worth the effort, but you'll likely get eaten. I only got Pipsqueak because I rescued the bugger from other kraken at a very young age, causing him to imprint onto me after he hatched. Still, it's not my first time seeing unearthly beauty, and it doesn't alter my opinion of her. She's of no harm at the moment, unless circumstances change drastically." Rubbing his chin, Silver frowned. "It's not like we don't have our own elders who understand what Solars are capable of, but even then, they knew of the days of what was once called the Deliberative, where the Anathema were even more unified than we were. Now, the situation has changed. No matter how individually spectacular they may be, Creation makes ants of us all, and numbers tell in more places than one. I've heard about as many stories of Anathema baring fangs at Lunars for one reason or another, as many as the archetypical romance where Lunars find long-lost Mates and live about as happily as it's possible to." Still, he seemed to weigh Fudou's warning seriously, frowning in thought. "Well, I'll keep an eye out for Anathema as much as Lunars. This village is quite normal, really. Apart from the lady and her direct servants, most of the villagers are simply normal mortals. All of them trust her as their leader, and it's not ruling by fear, so I have no qualms with her rule. Iron Simhata....You know, a passing Guildsman asked me to ferry them as close as I could get there. They had unusual talents and rapport with the gods. Is anything particularly interesting happening there?"
Fudou the Mountain	Something said seems to ...darken Fudou's spirit. He leans back and looks thoughtful, if not pensive. A strange trouble dances in his eyes which he does not bother to hide and then he says, "Those stories...they are true...mostly. It's never ..ever...quite as cut and dry as the storybooks might say.." After another moment of silence, he seems to find cause to find his humor once again. "As to the ruler of htis land? Yes. Her beauty was never in question. She is...indeed a 'rose'.." confirms Fudou with a grin. "I have seen great beauty.. Mystisfying women of gorgeous mortal defying grace and perfection. It is...difficult...when speaking to them just one on one let alone if several are together." Again his grin is impish. Boyish despite his monstrous size and brutal physique and features. "...I will introduce you to them... and this Comtesse to them as well. All have their qualities worthy of praise... As to Iron Simhata? It lies under a pall of trouble. I will say that it might be worth visiting or it might not be some sort of martial threat marches upon it. Like so may of these lands in The Hundred Kingdoms..bordres change and rise and fall.." he snaps his fingers, producing a loud echonig sound. "Like that..."
Silver Stream's Whisper	"I'd rather not be around for that," Silver chuckled at Fudou's suggestion. "The only thing worse than offending a pretty lady is bringing her into an area with multiple other ladies who might be able to contest her for the title of prettiest. Iron Simhata is under war, eh? Well, so be it. The Hundred Kingdoms are named so for a reason. Nobody knows what once was a small independent nation may be absorbed into a larger one. It's a surprise nobody's managed to unify these squabbling states into one coherent whole yet. Still, the rumors I heard, about what marches against Iron Simhata, is quite unusual. I presume your business there consists of intervening in the war?" Silver queried, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't myself, unless there's something personal keeping me. It's a bit gruesome slaughtering so many mortals on the battlefield, after all, although you may not be facing mortals. In which case, have fun! But in war, death is near for even the Chosen of Luna. Safety is the priority, I'll trust."
Fudou the Mountain	"It is....personal..." confirms Fudou, "But the way I intervene, if I do indeed intervne...will be appropriate to who and what I am. I am a Full Moon after all." Granted, perhaps that is obvious but at the same time..Luna's chosen are mercurial shape shifters after all. From Casteless to one of Luna's sorcerer kings... Anything was possible but sometimes the most obvious answer is the correct one and his prior words may have implied this as well. "Strength is my foundation and greatest asset. I will lend that and be indestructible, if I so choose that to be prudent. Fun, unfortunantely, will not be on my mind due to my reasons for going there. " Again he grows quiet and thoughtful and then he finally adds with a growing grin, "But yes, stay clear of it for now little brother, if your interests lie elsewhere. As to uniting these lands? Hm....who can say? It is possible. The proximity of Greyfalls and Great Forks makes such a task...no doubt a unique challenge for how it may impact the landscape." There is naother pause and he grins, "Why....aspirations of an empire to rule?"
Silver Stream's Whisper	"Let alone monarch, if I was even mayor of a town like this, in a day I would have strangled all of my advisors to death and escaped with a letter of resignation tendered to all of Creation." Silver replied with a theatrical shudder, shaking his head. "No, I have no such aspirations to rule. But ah well, it is as it is. Many Chosen have such aspirations, for after all, do they not possess the grace of deities or near-deities? There's bound to be multiple Chosen creeping about with ambitions to rule. Such an area will be awash in blood before long if you don't keep tabs on it. When royal families are suddenly replaced with young, new leadership, you know it's time to lay low until the warring stops. But today, I have the considerably more mundane task of feeding Pipsqueak's children, a never-ending task." Draining the rest of the wine, Silver took up his hat, returning it to his head and tipping it lightly over in Fudou's direction, grinning. "Enjoy the wine, big brother, but I, like all new parents, have a lot of bawling children to console." With that, Silver would take his leave of the tavern, heading back towards the river.