Soul Food

The mountain road is not so busy this time of day... or the clinging haze simply limits sight of (other) travellers such that the impression is given. On a more pleasant note, the mists carry heavy aromas of baked fruit and sweet dough.

The portico is currently occupied by several things. One is Verna, seated in her favorite of the exterior chairs, a tome hovering before her and several more stacked on a side table adjacent. The primary table is also quite occupied, though its contents not of the literary variety. Instead, a number of confections are arrayed, still steaming (and presumably cooling) in the haze: a number of fruit pies, some tarts, and an array of varied pastries. All full trays or tins, save for the single pastry on a small plate near Verna.

A top heavy figure lingers in the haze, making an unimpeded approach towards the stone cottage at a firm pace. The silhouette belies something of a monstrosity, though that is quickly dashed aside as Aryia is seen through the humid mists. Clad in summer attire of a tank top, shorts, and a wide brimmed straw hat that makes her long ears flare out the sides, she's almost bored looking despite a haul that makes up most of her mass over one shoulder.

Clutched in one arm is that of a large pile of chopped logs that towers nearly a whole Aryia high. The express deliver stops just before the portico, the straw hat bouncing as the pugilist samples the air. She says nothing, save for her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Mmm. Food.

A soft, attention getting whistle is exhaled, along with a little wave hello.

Why was everything covered in mist? Then again, a certain ruddy Dragoon did not mind - too much. It was still warm, humid and everything else. Perfect weather.

Though his visits up this mountain road, they tended to be not so lustrous. Usually, they were tinged with hope, but mostly regret. Not that Aelwyn would let it show up on his step. "Fingers," He calls out, "Does one need a hand?" He asks with a cheerful grin, a glaive's blade burning brightly above him.

Verna's head lifts at the whistle, her attention shifting from repository to pedestrian(s). She peers a moment, then lifts a hand in greetings. "Good day, Aryia, Aelwyn." The latter added after the dragoon's inquiry to Aryia. "She appears to yet possess two hands," she notes flatly, "which prove more than adequate. A third would be concerning." Especially to rocks and/or those receiving expletives from the mute. "I believe that the pastries are cooled enough for enjoyment, or shall be momentarily, if either or both of you are so inclined and your travel is not urgent."

Aryia can't help but snort at Verna's keen observation skills. She shrugs a shoulder at Aelwyn, pointing to a spot beside the portico to start unloading all the collected logs. As much as she just wanted to just dump it all, that'd get bark and dust everywhere. And more importantly, into the confections.

"I'm sure as shit not going to turn that offer down," Aryia grins to Verna, her shaded gaze lingering on the half-mul woman before her only speaking hand starts to quickly toss logs into a pile. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn tilts his head towards Verna. "... this one was not certain if that were made in jest, or poignant observation." But the glaive is put out and leant against something, before the draconian starts helping to unload the logs.

"Tch, Mourner seems to be spoiling everyone." The draconian notes with a tilt of his head and a worried click of his teeth. "Though this one shall eat the hard ones heartily." A flash of his teeth.

"I do not consider the offering excessive," Verna counters to notions of spoiling. "I take pleasure in the process and it is fulfilling. I owe a great deal to yourself and others, thus it is a means to repay the debt. If naught else, I rather enjoy the results myself, as well. As greatly as I seek and relish knowledge," a hand gestures to the tomes, "one cannot spend all waking hours reading." Her other hand gestures to the large table of baked goods. "Please, be welcome and help yourselves. The hearth shall not be starved of wood for quite some months."

The payload is quickly relocated to the ground between the two of them, Aryia rolling the shoulder and wiping off leftover bark debris from her arm. "I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, saying such a thing as not reading," she teases with a smirk. Hopping up to sit on the side of the portico, she kicks up one of the logs into her hands. In one motion, the bark is stripped and thrown into a new pile. Another motion, fingers splay over the flat before curling into a fist with a single knuckle extended. A brief thunk echoes from a brisk jab. And wood cracks as she lets it fall to the ground in front of her, the wood split.

One hand continues the task, while another reaches over to swipe whatever food was closes, and promptly chomps into it. "Would you have guessed you would have ended up making such things?" she asks with her mouth-hands? full. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn helps to unload the logs, before he picks up his glaive once more and nears the offered pastries. After a moment of evaluation, he simply grabs the nearest one and throws it into his mouth in one go. The draconian looks at the very fist way of splitting up the logs.

"And what has the Mourner been studying?" He asks, swallowing another pastry.

Verna gives a light shake of her head in response to Aryia's inquiry. "There are numerous joys which I now hold that previously were of no particular interest. Most related to or inspired by the greatest of those joys: family and friends." She then eyes Aryia more firmly and corrects, "I did not claim to dislike reading, only that there are higher priorities and greater rewards. Again, such as family and friends."

The upward curl of a smile that accompanies those last few words flattens again to neutral before she answers Aelwyn's query. "Daemons and their cataclysmic predilections and abilities... insofar as what little literature I was able to locate on the subject. I had hoped to learn more of ... one particular individual, yet have met with no more success. I believe, however, that I dicovered some details and strong inferences on related matters."

Aryia's smirk softens into a silent chuckle. "I completely understand that, Verna. I'm about there myself." She holds the Mourner's gaze before deciding to look off the mountain side into the mist. Her log splitting doesn't cease, relegated to an after thought as the motions seem rote.

An ear flicks at the mention of Verna's literature, making the hat bounce briefly. She listens, a brow quirked, not asking but asking of what such details were. Listens, and partakes of another sweet treat, of course. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn was not immune to the fact that he was spoiling the mood. Still, one should devour sweet pastries at such moments, one of which he offers to Verna. "Important study." He starts, listening to the steady staccato of log splitting near by. "But this one is not surprised one has not found anything. Has she looked for stories and texts from across the sea, from the Golden Sands?"

Then the other statement makes him tilt his head. Swallow of a pastry. Then ask, "What has she discovered?"

Verna lifts a hand in polite decline of Aelwyn's offering. "Thank you, but I already have one reserved for myself." On that, she gestures to her plate nearby. Then both hands move to the table to help her slowly rise. "Please, take a moment of respite from the woodwork, and step inside to enjoy the food and further conversation." Not that they were not already.

One hand gestures now to the door before the other carefully reaches to retrieve her plate before she slowly steps her way to the door. Opening it for her to step inside (and leaving it open for guests) releases a fresh surge of aromas: either the majority remained confined within The Residence, or there are further foods currently in production.

Aryia makes a face at being told to pause her woodwork. She had a groove going, and thoroughly enjoys menial labor. A sigh escapes her, and the wood in her hands gets another brisk whap before it falls into pieces to join the growing piles of bark and split firewood.

Dusting herself off before slipping inside (not without taking a whole plate of goodies), she finds the same chair she threw herself into before. And, to no surprise, throws herself into it once more, doffing her straw hat. She samples the air, licks her lips again, and sates that with her plate of treats.

In almost an afterthought, she holds up a finger, closes her eyes, and focuses. A vein pulses on her forehead, and a rolling wave of pale white lines of light blossoms out from her torso to her limbs before fading away. Exhale Out. Thumbs up.

Aelwyn tilts his head, then gives his shoulders a brief roll. "As one urges." He tells Verna, takes another pastry and steps inside. He doesn't seek out a chair for himself, but instead continues to stand somewhere, the glaive leant againts his body.

... but then his attention turns towards Aryia and the light show. "What kind of magic was that?" He asks, almost as if he has never seen such a show before.

Aryia's attention drifts from the window, to Verna checking on the kitchen, to that of the flamboyant ruddyscale. Her glowing gaze winks out briefly as she blinks at him. Wiping her hands off on her shorts, she answers with, "It's not really magic, but it might as well be. Essentially, I am in tune with my body at such a level that my will is manifest. What you saw was me preventing magic from targeting me. So if someone were attempt to divine me, they'll have a bitch of a time trying."

She flicks her fingers, making a small amount of sparkles of a pale white light glimmer for a brief moment. "From the look on your face, I take it you're not used to those that fight without any magic, weapons, armor, gods, so on?" she inquires, quirking a brow at him.<Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn lets out a small 'ah', as if he understood. He did not. But he coudl appreciate. "To be in tune with one's body is essential in performing - the body becomes the extension of one's wills and desires." He says.

Then her question makes him tilt his head, narrowing for a few times. "This one is very familiar with fighting with all kinds - but no, this one has not seen any who willingly desires to fight with nothing but their hands and body."

"Precisely," Aryia agrees. "It is somewhat like that, but instead of outward expression, it is turned inward."

She bobs her head once, sitting upright in the chair and crossing her legs. "It's not common, with magic and weapons abound so readily. But, let's see if I can explain it. I know you don't get it, I truly hardly understand it myself. But see it as this."

She holds a hand up horizontal. "We all live here-" she indicates the area above her hand, "-our perception, experiences, connections, the world. And down here-" a points below, "-is the self. Your emotions, feelings, thoughts, beliefs. All that makes you, well, /you/. Naturally, they influence each other. But what is between them?"

She points to her horizontal hand. "This is your will. Your desire. You can train this. It is a muscle. Those that forgo the upper and lower focus deeply on the middle. If you can grow to understand it- not learn it, not study it, but /feel/ it- you can become one with yourself."

Her hands drop, and she grins. "All that bullshit to say- if you got big enough balls to fuck shit up with you bare hands, the world tends to cave in to your whims." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn was not one to wax philosophical. It was very obvious from the expression on his face - or the lack of it as he listens. To focus on the middle? To feel, to desire? How did that wind up into a light show?

Then the last statement is put out and his teeth appear in a wide, macabre grin. "Now that is certainly what this one can agree with. Even if... hands are not this one's preference." Speaking of which, he clicks his teeth. "How does her tailoring fare after this one's presentation?" Another grin and flick of his tail. "Far in demand, this one would assume."

Aryia rolls her eyes and shakes her head, smirking. "They always agree with that bit. But most don't bother with the mountain of work that it underpins it to follow through. Good thing I've had a long fucking time to do the work."

The question gets her to smirk to grow into a grin. "Demand, yes. Supply, very little. Your little show has had quite a fair number of people ask me for work. I ask if they are a little bitch. And when the noble snobs grow red in the face, I throw them out. Only a handful had the actual merit to not get prissy so I've had a couple of requests I've accepted, but telling most of them no brings me a great source of pleasure."

"And of you? Knight-Errant huh? Fancy shit. What's next for your cavaliering?" <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Ah, standing by scarcity. That must drive the nobles mad and hungry for more." The Dragoon says, with a nod of his head. "Though this one is starting to get a touch that most nobles seem to find pride in certain lack of common discretion." He adds with a flash of his teeth.

Aelwyn tilts weight from one foot to the other, grinning. "Tch, Dragoon first, Knight-errant second." As for the other question, he rolls his shoulders. "This one's goal remains the same." Then there's a click of his teeth and a frustrated growl. "Though this one supposes, this one does need to find a mount."

Aryia bobs her head. "That tends to be the matter for most things on both accounts for nobility. I know what its like, been there before. Don't care for it now. Petty grievances are beneath me, I have more important shit to do. Like deliver firewood for my family."

Her head tilts to the side, one long ear drooping. "... well, I suppose that is sort of what a Knight-Errant does anyways. Vague ass goals and questing and shit." She blinks. "... and what is stopping you?" <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn spreads his hands. "It is not as if this one was learning to ride from child in the Myrrish," He replies, then pauses. And flashes his teeth. "Or that this one can find a dragon readily."

He clicks his teeth. "Though at this point - there are far more pressing matters this one needs to tend to, than 'vague ass goals and questing'."

The sounds from the kitchen are minimal as Verna tends to things. That is until there is a surprised yelp and a clatter of tray upon the floor. After a brief pause, there wafts from the door an annoyed assurance of "All is well..." Shortly thereafter, Verna emerges, drying her hands with a small towel. "My apologies for the delay, the noise, and the lost tray's worth of cookies. Fortunately, far more survived than were lost." She shuffles to her chair and takes a seat.

Aryia shrugs, quirking a brow. "Good luck finding a dragon then. I've only seen like three in my entire time, and those were in no way rideable." A pause, and her attention drifts to the window once more. "I'd consider these matters currently underway as 'questing'." But, semantics.

Both of the pugilist's ears perk straight up at the clattering sounds, but is only kept in her chair from reassurances. "... I'm sure the Harpist will tend to the lost cookies well," she motions sagely. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn makes a bow of his head. "And this one was not presumed to be a Knight-Errant either." He replies, flashing his teeth - before the clatter pauses him. Taking a step, but then pausing, he shakes his head. "Tch, kitchens are pits of treachery and danger." He says, crossing his arms.

Waiting for a moment for Verna to settle, he then asks, "One did not answer this one's question."

Verna nods to Aryia. "Her domain may be souls, yet I dare to presume that The Harpist might also enjoy or look after baked goods as well." She then looks to Aelwyn. "Yes, of course. It is also a matter relating to souls, in fact, and of those who devour, distill, and/or collect the same. I was able to infer further details on that process, as well as whom or what likely actively does or did so. In the most concise terms, I believe that the olethrodaemon delegated; it has aid. This may be beneficial to us, however." A pause before she adds, "Particular to myself, at risk of appearing self-serving."

"I guess that's why they call it soul food," Aryia shrugs, smirking at her own joke before chuffing and shaking her head at it.

Her attention drifts to Verna as she elaborates further on her discoveries. "I see. So some one or some thing is doing the soul harvesting." She holds up a hand. "You have every right to be self-serving on this. But this information is good." More pointedly, she doesn't inquire on what the someone or something is. Perhaps out of habit, or caution. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn nods his head. "This one felt so, even if this one is not well versed in such." He lets out a low rumble and leans against the glaive. "It simply did not feel the way the fiend would have acted. And besides, Mourner has every right to be self-serving after the job she has performed."

But more pressingly, he straightens a touch. "Mourner has a clue to the whereabouts?"

Verna's lips purse. "Not of a location, nor an identified individual, but rather that I am confident the ... collector is NOT the previously-discussed daemon. Such beings would lead untold minions. Their machinations are grand, on a scale far above individuals, even those of some note or political power. I expect that those encountered or pursued is or are lieutenants or similar trusted servants. Yet we know that one or more possess draining abilities akin to that of the daemon."

Hersfter a pause to catch her breath, she continues. "The inference is that this ability was granted. These soul gems appear to be the ultimate fate of such souls, but perhaps they are a vessel rather than the sum of the contents. There are magics known to me which can similarly trap a soul within a gem, as example. It may be that an empty gem can be created by the daemon, bestowed to another, and the gem, itself, grants the power to enact its own filling. If this is so, then said objects could be retrieved, and the contents potentially remved and returned."

"That is both reassuring yet troubling," Aryia notes, tapping her chin. There is a brief moment before she reveals, "I had a soul gem once. Though, it was bestowed by the Harpist. Maybe all that needs be done is to find a filled gem, and return it to the body. All I had to do to return the soul was punch it in their chest." Pause. "But placing it should work. Even if they deserved to get hit."

She shrugs. "It's probably more complicated than that. Or, perhaps not, if minions are to use it, then that means it must be easy to use. Else, well, its sort of fucking useless." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn lowers his head. There's a moment of squeezing his bicep and grinding his teeth, and very quietly he mutters in his native draconic. "Fucking thought I could simply burn the bastard..." <Draconic> After a moment he straightens. "This one is not very well versed in souls, but that is a step forward."

He twists his lips once or twice, before shaking his head. "Does Mourner think there are even bigger forces at play, than that came across the sea?" In the skull of his brother, as it happened.

Verna's lips purse. "I do not know enough to speculate, Aelwyn. There is much that we do not yet know, and the lack of information is most frustrating. This small hypothesis is, as Aya noted, both reassuring and troubling. It grants cause for hope that those already affected can be restored, yet implies there are many at work rather than one. I fear, should any be consumed directly by the daemon, in whole or in part, whatever is taken will be permanently lost. Such would become part of the fiend. I can assure you that having one's soul touched by such is a most unpleasant experience and is best considered a loss even if it is somehow accessible."

Verna exhales a breath of frsutration and/or thought and goes quiet. Then her brows twist and she looks to Aryia. "On that note, there is another well of information available; one that might hold some further information on those involved. Perhaps not their current machinations, but past activities. We may be fortunate enough, now, to not require rope."

Aryia quirks a brow at Aelwyn muttering to himself. Either she heard him, or only caught the gist of it, but opts to not comment. Instead, she turns to Verna, meeting her look. Stares at her. Scowls. "We are not delving back into /that/ shit again. While I didn't like beating you during it, I sure as shit don't want to have to wrangle your dusty old ass from another delve. I thought you expunged all that."

But, a lofty sigh escapes her. "But if you are confident you can glean information of such past history without the needs of all that, then it may give some insight. Mind, I'll knock you senseless, even if you're an old woman." It means she cares. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn claws at his arms, but eventually forces himself to relax. What shall come tomorrow, shall come with the sunrise. "This one assumes this exploration is a past and known one then, judging from Fingers' reaction?" He asks.

Then his eyes turn towards Verna. "Whatever it is, this one feels there is no luxury in spent in picking where our fights lay."

Verna meets Aryia's gaze, lips pursed though not wholly scowling, herself. "It was expunged, yet I recently discovered there are still some small specks remaining. The impact is far less intense than before and the information far less likely to be found. It is merely a possible option to be considered, but I welcome your offer of assistance." Verna knows that she cares. "I expect that neither you nor I are the ones to ultimately make the decision on its use." Because Aryia is not the most stubborn one that would need to be convinced.

She then nods to Aelwyn. "It is a known option with known risks. Far less risk than what is taken on by searching bythely, or what could befall any and all innocents along the course of events if not halted."

There's a half look towards Aelwyn as he starts to fold in on himself, but it seems that intervention wasn't necessary. "A dangerous yet necessary thing to combat a being that shan't not deserve the mention of its being."

"If it is less dangerous, then I trust your judgement on it if you are allowed to use it." She's aware she's not the stubborn one to speak of. "It is an option that may be able to aid without being involved, like you mentioned before, since you are to be taking a step back from all of this." Her scowl eases.

She nods along with Verna, opting to get to her feet and pace around the kitchen door. "Sounds like you've been doing quite a bit of good work up here. Are the cookies done? This magic warding shit makes me have a killer appetite." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Aelwyn nods his head. "Ah, but if there is one thing that Crimson Troupe taught this one -" The Dragoon flashes his teeth. "There is no life within the boundary of riskless life, and only the risk is a step worth taking."

The ruddy sith-makar then bows his head. "This shall continue on; for this one still have plenty of faces to meet. Gratitude for this information, Mourner, and may the sky bless her." With that, he turns around and heads out the door into the mist. The glaive lights on fire few moments later, remaining the bit of light of him before he disappears.

Verna bids Aelwyn farewell and briefly returns to her musings. Only briefly, as Aryia inquires of cookies; a far more pleasant topic of discussion than the previous. "Ah, yes. My apologies. They should be cooled enough to be plated and eaten." She rises anew, once more aiding herself with hands on furniture to become vertical (or mostly so) again.

She turns for the kitchen, glancing back to Aryia. "Would you care to assist me? I do not wish to sacrifice any more to gravity; if any are lost, they should be so to a worthy cause. Your feedback on the results, for example..."

"Depends on the risk, but I get it." Aryia gives Aelwyn a wave farewell. "Later."

A grin plasters her face. "Sure fucking thing. You got the floor ones? I'll eat those too."

She follows the elderly half-sil in the place of soul. The kitchen. <Handspeech/Tongues>