[Nexus] Outside 15-There used to be a silly pun here, but it wouldn't fit

[Recaiden]

"You are okay, aren't you, Val?" Plum asks, looking at her in concern.

[The Bushranger]

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just..took a moment to readjust."
She gives Plum a reassuring smile, and reaches up to remove the hat.

[Recaiden]

4 of them head upstairs to start cleaning, and Plum and Seren focus on Marcie.

[The Bushranger]

Marcie, having found a MRE far enough past its expiration date that it's come back to being good, notices the attention, and smiles a bit. "Strange. Nice," she says, looking a little awkward and frustrated at her command of the language, or lack thereof, but showing a determination to learn.

[Recaiden]

"Good." they say, wondering why she's eating old food, and not what they'd brought. Plum smiles back.

[The Bushranger]

Because these MREs follow the philosphy that after a few thousand years, they become gourmet?
Totally not because her player forgot there was other food available. No way.

"You...magic?" the Lieutenant manages to say, having seemingly learned enough to converse brokenly through the earlier connection.

[Recaiden]

They decide to nod. It's close enough. "Some. Psychic."

[The Bushranger]

...clearly 'psychic' didn't get through, from her confused look. But she nods as well.
"Tales, here. There." She waves a hand around the base, indicating 'where this came from. "Not proof."

[Recaiden]

That's okay. A bit at a time. "Here, proof. Is sure."

[The Bushranger]

Indeed.
Marcie nods emphatically in agreement.
"Home, humans...hear, call mad," she says after a moment, sighing and taking a seat. [color=purple]"

Val is studying the hat a bit, having taken it off.

[Recaiden]

"Sad. Here, not call mad." They sit down to each side of her.

The hat is dark and shiny and covered in wires and circles.

[The Bushranger]

Val tries to deduce the purposes of the various wires and circles. Or, at least, to work out a circuit diagram in her mind.

Marcie smiles and blushes a little at the companionship, but looks to appreciate it. "True. Glad."
She thinks for a minute, as she peels a kiwifruit, then speaks again, her tone curious. "Dragons?"

Val chuckles softly, hearing that.
Seeing as she is, of course, part dragon.

[Recaiden]

She'll find that really difficult, but possible, at length.

"Yes. Dragons. Bad, scary, danger." They say, although they've recently killed at least their share of them.

[The Bushranger]

Well, she's not exactly doing anything else. And takes it as a challenge!
Finally, though, she sets down the hat, and goes to get something to eat as well.

"Some good though," Val points out. "Often colour coded."

Marcie's eyes widen a bit at the Two of the Six and their statements, but looks a bit confused at Val's.

[Recaiden]

"No. Evil. Every one." They say, disagreeing a bit. They feel this to be true, although it could perhaps have a rare exception.

[The Bushranger]

Val gives the Two a look.
"Am I evil?" she asks, looking...a little hurt?
"My...great-something grandmother was a brass dragon."
And her something-further grandsomething was a Drow!

Marcie concentrates on the kiwifruit, knowing an argument when she sees one brewing.

[Recaiden]

They shake their heads.
"It is so in our world. Not everywhere. Sorry."

[The Bushranger]

Val nods, looking mollified, and smiles.
"Don't worry about it. Wonder why that is?" she asks, sounding curious. "Perhaps in the old days there were good and bad dragons in your world, but something killed the good ones, or they went into hiding?"

[Recaiden]

They are silent for a long while, straining their memories and considerations, and then querying the Host and the Flame Moon.
"We hadn't known this, but we're told that that seems to have been the case in ancient times, before the continents broke apart and humans came. And perhaps, a very few good dragons are out there still."

[CMOTDibbler]

The armored figure holds a 10 foot ornate glowing staff in one hand and some sort of intricate firearm in the other. Definitely large sized. While the figure is still wearing its helmet, something compels the two of them that they should avoid looking the figure in the eyes.
I am Sindri Myr, Alpha Sorcerer of the Chaos Astartes and the Ruinous Powers. You have interrupted my unholy struggle against this disiple of the Star Gods. You are human yet you do not bear the markings or iconography of the loyalist fools. Speak your allegiance now or join your souls with the warp.

Sain backs up a bit, letting Oswin speak to the two. Oswin promptly looks the armored figure in the eyes.
Hmm. Chaos... Ruinous... You sound evil.
Oswin spits the word 'evil' out, he obviously despises it.
But, I have no clue of the customs here, so I may be wrong. What of you, Mage?
Oswin looks looks at Vallasito.

[The Librarian]

Vallasito turns to the large man in the oversized suit of armor.
Well in short: I am Vallasito Tyshougretu, one of the senior members of an organization known as HALO. I had recently found that one of our newer members was attacked by this individual, and upon his next visit to the facility he confronted me, telling me that he needed my soul for something that is still somewhat unknown to me. He had then notified me that I am apparently a Star God, whom appears to be his mortal enemy.

[The Bushranger]

They are silent for a long while, straining their memories and considerations, and then querying the Host and the Flame Moon.
"We hadn't known this, but we're told that that seems to have been the case in ancient times, before the continents broke apart and humans came. And perhaps, a very few good dragons are out there still."

[ICB, Level 3]

"Perhaps we could seek them out at some point, then," Val suggests, as Lieutenant Strandberg finishes her kiwifruit, and looks frustrated at not being able to follow most of the conversation.

[Emperor Ing]

Vallasito turns to the large man in the oversized suit of armor.
Well in short: I am Vallasito Tyshougretu, one of the senior members of an organization known as HALO. I had recently found that one of our newer members was attacked by this individual, and upon his next visit to the facility he confronted me, telling me that he needed my soul for something that is still somewhat unknown to me. He had then notified me that I am apparently a Star God, whom appears to be his mortal enemy.

Sain may feel an overwhelming sense of terror and despair overwhelm him as the armored figure's eyes seem to beam the overpowering emotions into his own awareness.

Sindri turns to Vallasito. The Star Gods are cowards who hide behind their immortal avatars and mindless pawns to do their bidding. You are not a Star God, you are simply their thrall.

[McBish]

[Old Farmhouse]

Once there was a farmhouse here, but sometime ago it burnt down and no one rebuilt it. The barns that used to be standing tall have slouched and are on the point of collapse. The animals that used to live here and were taken care of have gone feral. The fences that have once kept the animals in now are in disrepair and won't keep anything in, or out.

And of late a new inhabitant has taken up residence. A young looking boy, about 14 maybe 15 has moved in. He has taken over a small shelter that seems to have lasted the longest. He built a fire pit and been digging through some of the wreckage. He has come and gone bringing back some supplies from town.

Right now he is cooking a meal over a fire, the smoke probably easily visible.

[Recaiden]

[ICB, Level 3]

"Perhaps we could seek them out at some point, then," Val suggests, as Lieutenant Strandberg finishes her kiwifruit, and looks frustrated at not being able to follow most of the conversation.

[ICB Bunker 52 S. 3]

"Maybe. They must be in good hands, though." Seren glances sympathetically at Marcie.

[The Bushranger]

Marcie responds with a small smile. "Lean. More helps," she says.

Val just nods in agreement.

[Recaiden]

They nod as well, not sure what Marcie meant.

"Should we be going back to town?"
*Poke to previous HALO page*

[The Bushranger]

She meant the more she hears, the more she knows.
(And knowing is half the battle...)

"I suppose we could. If we're not going to be permamently setting up shop here right now." Val chuckles, then turns more serious. "We could possibly find somebody with a Tongues spell, also..."

[Reinholdt]

[Mountains]

"I'm not the kind who would grovel and pray
That they'd deign to recant and permit me to stay,
So I cursed them and left and I solemnly swore that they'd pay."

Singing, Reinholdt lands in front of small cave entrance, pausing to look around and make sure he wasn't followed before going inside.

"No I'm not a burglar and I'm no vandal nor.
The cyborg had to suffer, but I wanted something more:
I wanted him to feel it and know it was me,
And I knew that the past was the key."

Moving aside a rock, Reinholdt reached in a hole and pulled out a small lockbox, much like you'd keep cash in. Though this particular one seemed to be bulging and barely able to contain its contents.

"I sat in my workshop, my thoughts running wild,
Then it suddenly hit me, and I looked up and I smiled
For I knew that I'd have him and I knew that I'd do it in style."

Heading back outside, Reinholdt sat the box on the ground, pulled out a key from his hammer space and unlocked it. Turning it over, he dumped the contents on the ground. He leaned down to the ground to get an up close view. A few minutes go by until he sees the twitch, the growth. Smiling, he stands and heads back into the cave.

Leaving a single perfect glass cube sitting outside.

"And I didn't baulk once at the depth of my crime -
A most perfect invention that still kept immaculate shine."

[Kaelaroth]

N'T FOET SAE TH'ORNS FRO'IS WATH.

Two women stand by a great tree, a tree that stretches with its winding branches and twigs through the worlds themselves, perhaps (some say, at least). The three, when it falls, will show us how the world will end, but, for now, it's these women who're important. A third, a young horse-riding woman, eyes bright with things yet to come, is away, today, doing things with blood a normal man would not understand, but, now, as a great squirrel wanders the curious bark above them, these two women here are important.

For their eyes, you see. Not as much as their sister's eyes, to some, or as a trinity united, but removing four of six is a start, after all, even if more Norns, practically identical, will eventually rise to fill their places, plucked from the ranks of innumerable Valkyries as they themselves were, perhaps. As Urðr and Verðandi toil by one of the tree's almost golden roots, a nearby well cackling with poetic magic, a smaller tendril of Yggdrasil shivers - the walls of reality breaking like a glass window being punched with a nuclear weapon. So powerful is this realm, once, and maybe still, one of the multiverse's fulcrums, that one has great trouble entering it, you see.

But not enough trouble, it seems, for this one man - a man, who, flickering with burning cinders for eyes, and a human body so human others would be hard-pressed to find one which more iconises the idea of "Man", has punched his way through, supported by some Celestial (perhaps) power, or something else.

Astir! Verðandi shrieks, dropping her pail of water with some shock, letting Mimir's gift spill across the earth, sapped up eagerly by the great, glorious green grasses. He's here. It's happening now!
Urðr nods, gravely, her old skin wrinkled by experiences she's experienced along with everyone and everything else. Just as in the past. We did not learn from our mistakes.

But both watch, curious, as, stepping towards them, Astir flickers. Like a bad projection - and both Nornfaces fall, greater, deeper.

Ragnarok. Verðandi murmurs, scared.

Not yet. Astir says, rippling as he speaks, as if a stone's been tossed against his impermanent, watery visage, his coal-black (now) skin glowing with sandy, diamond flecks. But soon. The catson grows stronger in one of the many Hells - and even Hel herself bows to his dominion. The end will come.

Then why are you here, youngling? Urðr asks, her lined face grave. We can not stop the world from ending if it must.

But you'll see how it does. And my master does not like to be pre-empted. Astir says, his voice just as grave.

The screams of the two Norns can be heard in Midgard.