Consulting Critias

Log Info

• Title: Consulting Critias

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Critias, Ravenstongue

• Place: Memorial Gardens

Memorial Gardens District, early evening.

It's a cool autumn evening that sees people milling about here and there in Alexandria, but it's also the sort of cold that sees some people headed inside to warm the toes and the hands with warm drinks and hot food. Out in the Memorial Gardens, however, it always feels warm enough to be outside, enjoying the comfort of the autumn evening without the chill beyond the wind through the tree branches.

Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon quietly sits on a bench in the Gardens. She wears a cloak today large enough to obscure most of her form, and she's staring down a rather large pastry that she doesn't seem necessarily intent on eating. The white raven next to her, however, is consuming a small pile of them.

"You're having fun, aren't you, Pothy?" Cor'lana mutters, before taking a bite of the pastry.

Pothy looks up at her with big blue eyes and croaks back, "Yes," in the voice of a man, before he resumes eating his small pile of large pastries.

Critias walks along one of the paths through the Gardens. He has a rolled up rug slung over one shoulder in addition to his normal cirt-traveling gear. He slows to a stop at Cor'lana's bench, taking in the meal and the eater. "Hello again!" he offers. "I haven't seen you for a while. Not since Charn unless I am mistaken. How have you been?"

Cor'lana blinks as she's greeted, and it takes her a moment before she realizes who is speaking to her. She smiles lightly. "Yes, not since Charn," she says gently. "I am happy to see you again but in much better circumstances. Charn is... no place for polite discussion nor revelry."

She reaches down and pets Pothy's neck-feathers gently as he eats, the bird croaking a little to acknowledge her touch. "I hope that the time since then has treated you well, and that you and yours have prospered. Telamon and I are well, and that is all I can really ask for in the end. What brings you to the Gardens today?" She motions briefly to the rolled-up rug that Critias carries.

Critias smiles politely and inclines slightly at the waist, one fist clasped in the open palm of his other hand. "I find the Gardens peaceful. A wonderful bit of nature in the middle of a bustling city. And so large. Why, there are places you can go that are like their own land. You can't see a building or tower beyond trees. Or catch a scent of smoke or sweat or refuse, because all you can smell is the earth and the plants." His wistful look fades, replaced by a more practical and wry look. "And best of all, it doesn't take a half day's travel to get there and back."

Cor'lana smiles gently at the description of the Gardens that Critias provides. She can't help but pet Pothy a little more. It's the peaceful feeling that the Gardens invokes, as Critias says. "I agree entirely," she says, "although I know that you must experience the gardens quite differently as a shifter, yes? Lycanthropes tend to have enhanced senses."

She looks at Critias a moment longer. "It's a peace that must be protected," she says. "And there's... actually a matter you might be interested in, regarding that. If you aren't busy in the very near future, that is."

Pothy looks up from his pastries and studies Critias himself, like he's trying to size up the situation for himself.

"Not a lycanthrope," Critias remarks, something that he must say quite often judging by how rote he sounds. "I shift, yes, but when I'm in human form, I am just that; a human, like any other. It's the blessings of Eluna that let me shift into another shape, and I do so voluntary, if and when she needs me to." He cocks his head slightly. "Or when others need me to and I know she would approve. You said there's something I might be interested in...?"

Cor'lana holds her hands up in a little bit of an embarrassed gesture, laughing a little to go with it. "Aha, I didn't mean to say you were a lycanthrope," she says. "That's--well, what I have the most familiar experience with as far as shifters go. I know that there are some lycanthropes who follow Ni'essa as well, as you do. My apologies."

She shakes her head at her own little social gaffe. "Nonetheless. Seldan, my husband, and I are readying for a vital and important mission. As you might have heard--Ni'essa's good name is being slandered in the Temples, and Her own temple is being decried for a vision that has been interpreted by those who seek to do malice against the faithful as proof that She killed the god Animus--which She did not. We have found out the location of the weapon used to do so--Her weapon, stolen from Her. The Star of Tears."

The sorceress's violet eyes are deathly serious now, and her words are low so that only she and Critias might hear them. "The Griever has it, in Charn. We know where. And we could use your aid, if you are willing."

Critias nods somberly when Lana describes the vision. "We had it on good authority," he begins, "That her weapon was used to kill the god Animus. Just as was seen in the vision." After a moment he adds, "And all the chaos in the Equilibrium, all of the transformation of the very gods and all change and sacrifice that followed. Yet it's only lately that it came to light that her Knife was lost to her at the time. Perhaps that part was left out. Perhaps she doesn't care what those who don't follow her believe. But if it's been found, it belongs with her and not with the Griever. And certainly not in Charn." He smiles. "Of course I'll help, you can count on me. But...do you have a plan? Last time, when you and I were there together, the stakes were high enough, but for something like this, it's even more important that we succeed."

"Mundane disguises, and the usage of an artifact that Seldan has in order to get in," Cor'lana replies. "That's the plan so far. Beyond that--it's uncertain. The location is unstable magic-wise, so Telamon and I are currently strategizing on what to bring that might be beneficial, as we are primarily magic casters ourselves."

She smiles. "Having you along may be very helpful in that regard. I've asked Aryia to come along, as well, if she's able. This is important to her, too."

Pothy, meanwhile, resumes his eating. Maybe he'd been studying Critias's rug to determine if there might be food hiding inside of it.

Critias's eyebrows go up. "'Unstable magic-wise'?" He repeats. "The entire location? That sounds -incredibly- inconvenient for magic casters," he watches Pothy absently. Not quite certain if he's reading the bird's interest correctly, Critias nevertheless unslings the rug and leans it against the bench in case the bird wants a better look. No food by design, but it's been unrolled and set atop the earth and grass for the better part of the day, and it's possible some insect or grub may even now be hitching a ride.

Critias considers. "Even some my own blessing are supernatural. Not my senses - or certain, ah, defensive abilities I am affored. But it would be an interesting challenge not to use most of the things that have become second nature to me. Hmm... the only tactic I can think of is to bring along a bow - or perhaps a sling. You've both been trained in such, I hope? And it would let you keep enemies at bay at least, until you can use your other powers once more." He looks at her inquisitively.

"My guess is that it has something to do with the instability of ley lines that has been uncovered lately," Cor'lana replies. "Some places, magic can be... more than what was intended. Or there are dead zones where there's no magic altogether. We are not certain. There could be both."

Pothy stares at the rug and peers at it for a moment... Before the bird looks away. No snacks. No shinies. Just rug. He returns to his pastries.

Cor'lana reaches over and pets Pothy again. "I only can use simple weapons," Cor'lana replies. "I know that Aryia advised me to invest in a nice dagger. Which I think that I will. If nothing else, it'll be useful for a number of things. I won't buy cold iron if I can help it, however." She shudders like it's something distasteful to her.

"A sling is the simplest of weapons," Critias assures her. "It can be fashioned from a bit of leather and a string." He pats his own belt, then pats a few other parts. "I used to keep one, but I've come across a bow - enchanted of course," he adds ruefully, before going on. "A dagger is useful because it can be throws, and like the best of weapons it can be used as a tool or in so many other ways. But cold iron...I don't blame you for avoiding it. Even to carry such metals risks offending some." He hesitates. Seems to consider. Debates internally. Then finally admits, in a small voice. "...I have much the same reaction to suggestions that I - or anyone I travel with - carry weapons made of silver. All reason and logic tell me I shouldn't, but there it is."

"But if it comes to close fighting, I'll be there. I can fight without magic, or any weapon at all. Even better if Aryia is there, I recognize her style, or at least that it's unorthodox in the way of one that's trained so much, and gained so much skill, that she is a master in her own right."

Cor'lana smiles sympathetically as Critias talks about his aversion to silver. "It's like my aversion to cold iron, then," she says. "One of my ancestors was--is--one of the fae. A former noble, in fact, Unseelie by nature. He and I are close despite the fact that he is many years removed from me in generational measures. Cold iron wouldn't hurt me like it would hurt him, but it still feels... uncomfortable to be around. You must feel something like that. A little resonance born of your ability to shift."

She reaches over and pats Pothy on the head as he's now finished with his pile of pastries. Which is to say that the bench now looks like a wasteland of crumbs and jam. Strangely enough, the bird looks completely unsullied despite his cream-white plumage. "Our odds improve for you and Aryia both being there, that is for certain," she says, before she furrows her brows at Pothy. "Pothy, you've made a mess."

"Merp," Pothy replies. He has no regrets.

Cor'lana sighs. "I ought to clean up after this bird and go home," she says to Critias. "I'll send for you when it's time?"

Critias inclines his head in a nod. Then he reaches down and snags his rug, putting it back across his own back and adjusting in preparation of walking again. "I'll be ready," he promises. "Until then, good day. To you and to Pothy," he adds with a pleased smile.