[Log] King of the North
Who: Agrias Oaks, Arthas Menethil (NPC'd by Simon Parker)
Where: Vanguard Captain's Office - IPA Headquarters - The Hub
When: 25 August 2008
What: The Captain of the Vanguard receives something of a strange visitor, from a threat she thought had since passed.
Watch For: Certain cinematics totally being ripped off, and awesomely.
IPA Headquarters - Vanguard Captain's Office
This office is fairly plain, with no real accoutrements or adornments beyond the basics one might expect from an office.
Its walls are paneled wood, with a stock framed picture hanging here or there. The only picture on the wall that speaks of any individuality is a map of the Kingdom of Ivalice, richly inked, matted, and framed. Two healthy potted ferns break up the sterility of the room, and plenty of warm lighting offsets the very dark wood.
The centre of the room is dominated by a large, rich wooden desk. It has plenty of writing area, and a black mat backing on its writing surface. A desk lamp adorns one corner, and a small organisational tray the other. Its drawers are locked. One comfortable leather chair rests behind it, and two chairs are set before the desk.
A plaque on the desk reads, in block sans-serif print, 'AGRIAS OAKS.'
Obvious exits:
ut leads to IPA Headquarters - Administration Wing.
Contents:
Simon Parker
It's a calm day in the office of the Vanguard Detachment. Paperwork has been filed properly, as befitting the end of the case involving Baron Devon Sunderland. In fact, that leaves very little to be looking into, affording some much-needed downtime between assignments.
As for the Captain, she herself is seated in her chair, cane balanced neatly against her leg, a small trinket of some sort in her hands. It looks like a pendant or medallion of some kind, or perhaps a clasp for a cloak.
It looks quite old, tarnished and maybe a little charred in places. The shape seems to be that of a kite shield, with inlay in stone and silver forming an argent oak tree with roots erased, over a per bend sinister of white and azul.
The crest of House Oaks.
Her eyes are half-lidded, and she looks like she hasn't slept well in some time. Sleep's still catching up to her after all of the work she's tried to do on this incident, and it's likely to be some time still until she can fully catch up.
And so, for now, she sits in silence in her office, lost in whatever reverie lies behind those hooded golden eyes; lost in a dream-world as she regards the old cloak-clasp in her hands.
A burning itch spreads across the side of Agrias' face, originating at the still-bandaged wound left by Rimehowl. Even in her current state she'll notice it. Perhaps the wound is finally deciding to heal, after adamantly refusing to patch itself for several days. Unholy weapons tend to do that sort of thing.
As Agrias drifts in and out of consciousness, she'll sense several things through the mists of sleepiness-first, the air around her is growing cold, and arctic winds rustle her hair and clothing. Second, the pain in her face lessens at the touch of the chill breeze. It's almost like a caress.
Agrias...
Someone might be trying to get the Captain's attention-but a glance around her office will reveal no source for the soft, ice-cold little voice.
Agrias of Oaks...
The Holy Knight tilts her hand, letting the clasp slide a bit down her fingers, stopped by the tilt of her forefinger. Light shifts over the old alloy, shining dully by the light of the desk lamp.
How long had it been since she had been back to the ruins? She had found the remains of a house servant, last time, and given the poor wretch a proper burial, though she had fumbled through the last rites, finally unable to say them in good conscience. It would require a priest to know them so intimately; and she had no desire to recite something that left such a bitter taste on her tongue.
She had not yet found the remains of her immediate family. Agrias had little time left to tarry and search, but as before, she had vowed to herself she would return, uncover their remains, and give them a proper burial.
It was the least they could do. If she had obeyed...
No. The exhausted knight shakes her head. She had trodden down this road too many times. Toying with the what-ifs was a useless game to play. All roads invariably led to this moment, to the knowledge that very little would be changed; no catastrophes averted.
Her eyes slide a little further closed; her head droops forward a bit.
It's late. She should be headed home, to go home and sleep...
Agrias of Oaks...
The persistent burn and the cold, little voice snaps her out of her half-doze, and she glances up sharply. Her hand rises to the bandage on her face, but she doesn't quite touch it; drawing her hand away when that aura of cold seems to relieve the pain.
It takes her a moment to focus, searching the shadows in her office. Had someone entered while she wasn't paying attention? Slipped into the shadows?
"Hello?" Her voice is a hesitant; a little smaller, a little more tired, than she might like. "Is someone there?"
Captain Agrias of House Oaks...
The little voice is growing louder, more insistent, as it rings in the Captain's ears. It's clearly male, deep and menacing; it creaks and scrapes like glacial floes, and flows like ice-cold water through Agrias' mind. It's noble, in its own twisted way, underlaid by an eerie vibrato like wind howling through northern canyons.
I have granted you audience, my Knight. You would be wise to pay me heed. Fear not, and speak not of this to your companions. They would think you a madwoman, would they not?
The voice continues to gain in volume, and steadfastly refuses to be drowned out.
I am here to offer you what you desire most of all.
Golden eyes sweep the empty office one last time. That voice is clearly not her imagination, yet the office lies empty. Surely she would have heard if anyone had opened the door. The hinges are well-oiled, but the door is solid oak.
Agrias shakes her head, as though she might ignore the voice, but its tone only grows more insistent. Voices in one's head are never a good sign, generally.
Very carefully, Agrias closes her hand around the clasp, as though it might offer some kind of strength against whatever this fresh malady is.
"Who speaks?"
Her voice is still quiet, however well-soundproofed the room may be. Agrias' own tone of voice is almost imperious, though, as though it might mask her own unease.
"Only a coward would dare contact me thus, and offer me such temptations. Surely you know that a Holy Knight of the Lesalian St. Konoe order would never acquiesce thus," she hisses, still looking towards the shadowed corners again. "Show yourself."
The voice laughs. It's dark and chilling, and sounds like ice floes cracking, crumbling into pieces.
You underestimate me. The ice rises up around Agrias' mind, slowly freezing her thoughts into place-she may find it difficult to move or speak aloud, or think about much of anything beyond responding to the mysterious voice.
As though holiness could guard you forever, the voice chastises. Sit. Listen. Perhaps you will be less obstinate after you hear my tale, o exiled knight of a ruined kingdom. We have more in common than you suspect.
An image flashes before Agrias' eyes-a glacial spike rising hundreds of feet into the air. She can feel the freezing wind on her body, smell the rime and sea-foam in the air, hear the sounds of all this desolation.
And she is suddenly kneeling at the feet of a man encrusted in ice-his body encased in thick, heavy armor that may as well be hoarfrost made of metal. In his hand is an enormous blade, jagged-edged and cruel, engraved with strange, archaic runes. For a second, he looks down at Agrias, and blue light shines from the slit where his eyes should be.
And then the vision is over.
As for where I am now... I am in here.
Agrias will feel a distinct slithering sensation working her way through her jaw-completely painless, but it almost feels like something's burrowing in there.
Oddly enough, she might not feel afraid. Something about the voice is charming, in a literal sense.
"Ghh..." The Holy Knight stiffens as the ice slowly sapping away all sensation away from her. Her fingers tense into claws around the ends of the chair's arms. "Get..."
She was going to say 'get out of my head,' but the words won't come to her frozen face, won't process fully through her ice-numbed mind. There is certainly defiance, though, the beginnings of a righteous fury bubbling just below the surface.
And suddenly, she stands before the Lich King in all of his terrible glory; his sea-salt throne of ice and permafrost, of massive glacial shelfs that look so large they may as well be as old as the world itself.
Agrias is bending the knee, to this monstrosity. She tries to surge to her feet, even if it is only a vision; but movement won't come to her.
Abruptly, she's back in her office, which is warmer, nominally. Her limbs work as normal. Her face, then, twists into a snarl; a hand rising to touch the bandaged part of her face where Rimehowl had drawn its last blood.
"It will guard me as long as need be. Begone from me," she growls, low in her throat. "I will not fall to your temptations or your..."
Something seems to click into place, internally; some recognition sparking as she looks at nothing. Agrias' eyes narrow even further; slits of gold.
"You've the same look about you as Baron Sunderland did." Another Death Knight? She doesn't recall them having any powers quite like this, though. "Who are you? Why do you seek me out? I've nothing to offer. I would not serve your kind even in death," she growls.
The clasp in her hand presses until it leaves marks in her palm; as though it were some talisman to lend her strength against this corruption. This one's unholy aura is strong; she'll grant that, but Agrias isn't one to buckle so easily.
The Oak's roots run deep...
The glacial chill grows stronger. It may feel like that little metal clasp is freezing into Agrias' hand now. The voice gives another cracking-ice laugh.
I was once a holy warrior, like you. Like you, I watched as my kingdom fell to the works of demons. Like you, I sought desperately to end their rein of chaos, and free my people. That you've survived exile and maiming speaks of a strength beyond whatever 'holiness' a servitor of dear, lying St. Ajora might claim.
You are the only one left. And the beasts who did this still breathe.
Agrias clasps and unclasps her free hand again, as though to reassure herself that she can still move them. The other maintains its tight grip on the cloak-clasp, even though the metal burns with cold.
Her eyes remain narrowed slits. Willful as a dragon, this one.
"I'll not suffer such a comparison. And how do you know of Glabados, or St. Ajora?" The title is certainly spat with a certain derision. "Only those who were there know of such matters."
Idly, she reaches up to rub at her cheek with her free hand. That burning itch seems a little more insistent; a little more bothersome. "Aye, they still breathe. There is only so much one can do against an entire establishment. Mark my words, they will be laid low... but in time, and most likely not by my own hand."
"I am content to watch it happen. I am through fighting hopeless battles. And I would not fain accept aid from one of /your/ kind," she adds, scornfully. "What do you want from me, that you would take such care to seek me out? Out with it, knave. I'll not treat with your kind any longer than I must."
So trite. So selfless. Could it be, Dame Oaks, that you've grown weak and cowardly in your new station? That your sudden, abrupt flight from your home dulled your resolve to avenge yourself? Pathetic.
The chill rises in the back of Agrias' mind once more, and this time it's painful.
In my darkest hour, I was given everything I needed to avenge myself. I wish to do the same for you, if you swear fealty to me.
There's a pause, and another icy chuckle. You were there. But were you there when House Oaks burned? When the inquisitors butchered your family like cattle? I won't pry, you tell me.
"You know nothing of me." Agrias' voice remains low, but there's a note of intensity to it. The Lich King has struck a nerve, it seems. "You know nothing of my flight from Lionel, my life after the Gate, or the things I have done and seen and suffered through since then."
That anger simmers just past the surface, just out of reach, but drawing ever closer to the surface. This creature tries her patience. When that sudden chill seeps into her office, and throughout herself, Agrias sets her jaw until her teeth hurt.
"N-neither were you there f-for the sacking of House Oaks," Agrias snaps, trying desperately to keep her teeth from chattering. "You w-were not th-there for th-their m-murder, or when G-Glabados put the t-torch to the estate. B-but you ha-have no n-need for the d-details," she snarls, savagely.
"I'll n-not swear f-fealty to you, even in d-death."
Damnation. Is that frost spiderwebbing over the window of her office door?
Baron Sunderland said the same thing.
That is, indeed, frost. It's slowly creeping over the door hinges, freezing them in place-the doorknob, likewise, is frosted shut. There's no escape.
When you first grasped his Runeblade, you spoke to me. You told me that vengeance mattered more than holiness, or sanctity, or even honor. You're angry with the wrong person, Dame Oaks. Shouldn't your fury be let loose upon those butchers?
"Then B-Baron Sunderland was a f-fool for ever c-conceding," Agrias snaps angrily, though she watches the office door frost over with some apprehension. "C-clearly it was n-not a s-servitude that he w-wanted. The p-poor fool was s-smiling when I slew him."
Her eyes narrow. "I-is that it? Do you s-seek to r-replace your l-lost lieutenant? Y-you'll not find it in m-me," she adds, scornfully.
Her eyes turn towards the wood paneling immediately surrounding the doorway. Ice creeps across it, insidious, gleaming like spun glass in the office's lamp. With a tiny, delicate sound, the lock succumbs to ice, crackling as the tumblers freeze into place.
"I s-said nothing to y-you." But even past the surface of her retort, there's a shadow of doubt. "If I s-spoke anything, I only s-spoke of ending the th-thread that S-Sunderland p-presented. P-protecting the p-people; the p-people who could n-not defend themselves."
She clamps her jaw to still her chattering teeth, but the muscle spasms won't let up. "Aye. I'll n-not argue with th-that. They are b-butchers. But 'tis n-not my p-place to d-decide their j-judgment. B-but you w-w-wouldn't know of th-that, w-would you?"
For all her bravado, there's still a shadow of doubt, lurking past the surface; well-buried and guarded. Could she lay them low? Use this one for her own accomplishment? Anybody human would consider the option, however briefly.
...No. She is a Holy Knight; that is dishonourable, and never mind what this creature is...
The Lich King laughs again, that horrible sound rising to drown out everything else in the room-even Agrias' own thoughts.
I see your hesitation, Arthas mocks. What hero abandons her people in their hour of need? What sort of knight fails to protect her queen? Oh yes, Agrias, he knows. He knows.
All that's left is that terrible laughter, and that equally terrible cold. Agrias sets her jaw against the sound until her teeth creak; until it causes physical pain.
The shallow gash on her face is burning.
"I do not hesitate!" In a sudden and powerful motion, the Holy Knight slams her hands flat on her desk, surging to her feet with a snarl. "I do not abandon my people - I am no hero. I have never claimed to be as such."
Anger flares like fire to the Lich King's ice. Failed her queen? Never. "I have not." But her protest sounds hollow even to her own ears. "I have not failed her..."
A fist slams down on her desk, but the gesture is weak; even as she slumps back to her chair. "No. You will not use my past failures against me. They are just that; in the past. Begone, creature," she snarls. "I am not Baron Sunderland. I am not weak-willed."
Anger simmers, though. She closes her eyes, frustrated and exhausted. It's freezing in here, and the cold is physically painful. And, worst of all, he's right.
And she hates herself for agreeing with him.
Impotent, childish anger, the Lich King croons. I see your self-loathing, Dame Oaks. You cling so tightly to your past that you would choke on it. After all, if your precious Queen is alive, what does it matter that your family is little more than ashes? What does it matter that your good name is ruined, and your family line ended? You gave everything to serve the crown. What has the crown given you? Has your Ovelia stirred her people's hearts to glory? Has she honored you for your faithful, selfless service?
No.
"You know nothing of me." Agrias' response is cold, and this time, she forces her teeth to stop chattering long enough to spit out a suitable response. "Do not pretend to claim as such, creature."
But there is a kernel of truth to his words; a kernel that even the Holy Knight cannot ignore. What has the Crown done for her, for all of her sacrifice? The sacrificial murder of her family, and every single bannerman and household knight of House Oaks? What, recently, has the great and powerful House Atkascha done for them?
"If my 'precious Queen' is alive, knave, then there is yet hope. She will restore that kingdom, on that I stake all that I have lost," Agrias growls. "I did not give anything lightly, but I would not have given at all - that which was freely mine to give - if I did not think her worthy."
"My good name would have been ruined whether or not Her Majesty survived of was slain," she continues, in a truly savage tone. Definite anger - the fierce eagle baiting at its master's wrist, thrashing its wings futilely and screaming its defiance. "That was not the Crown's doing; that was the Church's doing. If you insist on airing grievances that are not your own, creature, than have your facts straight."
Agrias listens in silence, narrowing her eyes in her anger. How dare this creature rub her nose in her past failures; insult her with these temptations and audacious notions? "Her Majesty has most certainly honoured me for my service. Do I not still defend Her Majesty, despite all that has happened?"
"Begone," she adds sharply. "I'll have none of your temptations, monster. What estate do you rule, o ye foul corruptions of what were knights? What could have possibly possessed you to give up all that was right?" Agrias sits forward in her chair at this point, as though accusing the Lich King, though she can't see him. "Surely nothing of value. I'll not fall to the same temptation. Even death will not grant you my services," she growls.
If she survives. What happens when you fail her again? Surely, if she can't protect herself, she doesn't deserve to lead your people.
The Lich King laughs again, a sound like glaciers crumbling to the sea. What do I rule? What is my domain? Foolish girl, let me show you.
The world falls away as Agrias plummets headlong into another waking dream-another vision. This time she's in the tundra, ice-cold like before; hordes of enormous, slavering barbarians batter at the gates of a human stronghold. Agrias can smell the blood and iron in the air, and hear the battle-cries.
She's in the middle of frozen catacombs; spindly-legged insects the size of men chitter in the darkness. The stink of death and venom hangs in the air.
Agrias is standing in the center of what was once a vibrant, thriving city. Flames still linger in the storefronts of fire-gutted buildings. The living dead are everywhere.
Then she's standing in the middle of a vast, frozen plain, the bones of immense beasts-dragons-poking up through the snow. Once again, Agrias is surrounded by the undead, though none of them seem to notice her; she can still smell the stink of rotting flesh, and hear the clink of bare bones against armor.
They're standing at the bottom of a cliff. Waiting for something.
"Do you not understand?" Agrias clenches a fist, anger lurking below the surface again. It's the easiest way for her to combat this creeping temptation, this vague suggestion and seed of doubt. Anger is pure, fire; a good combatant to this insidious ice. "I will not fail her again."
Besides. The anger, however unfitting to a trained knight such as she, is genuine. It's pure.
"She is not expected to protect herself. Mayhap that is the way of things wherever you once hailed from, Death Knight, but that is not how Ivalice works. Such has not been the case for hundreds of years." Her voice holds an edge to it, a more dull sort of anger.
Agrias sucks in a breath at the sudden onslaught of visions. In each case, she's forced to try and pick up on what's going on and what surrounds her; too quickly, each vista is gone, only to be replaced by the next. When they seem to stop, she sucks in another breath, staggering slightly to steady herself.
At least, that's what it feels like she's doing. She can feel the fierce chill; the warcries of the dead still linger in her ears. She can still smell and taste the stench of decay and venom, gagging.
She moves to draw a sword that isn't there; an annointed blade that could surely chase away this frozen corruption and the lingering spirits in this dead wasteland.
But Defender isn't there.
"Show me what you've brought me here to see," Agrias hisses, perhaps in an attempt to sound as threatening as she feels threatened. "Be quick about it, creature. I'll not bow to your will, in any case." What harm could it be? Maybe if she entertains this wretch, she'll be free to go, soon, and stop hearing his damning voice in her head.
Maybe she'll stop feeling this shadow of a doubt; this silent, lingering hesitancy over whether she really is strong enough to protect her beloved queen.
And that, perhaps, is worst of all - the smallest piece of the puzzle, and the one she hates herself the most for.
"Hurry!" The command is imperative, breath frosting in the air, only for the white fog to be whipped away by the wind and torn asunder.
Up at the top of the cliff, something moves. Footsteps echo down through the canyon, echoing off the walls. The faceless, nameless hordes stop their shuffling and rattling and drooling, and... stand as close to attention as they can, with their decayed flesh.
Very well, hero, says the Lich King. This is the power I offer you. The footsteps stop. Standing at the top of the glacier is the very figure Agrias saw in her earlier vision-the Lich King, in all his morbid glory. He holds Frostmourne aloft, blade pointed out at the throng of undead. Runes glow blue along its length...
And the Lich King sinks the sword into the ice, clean to the hilt. Energy flows outwards, the coat of ice and hoarfrost melting almost instantly, revealing pure ice... and something frozen inside, trapped like an insect in amber. The ice begins to break apart, shattering with a thunderous noise. Chunks of it fly past Agrias as she stands there, one tracing the wound Rimehowl made on her face.
A massive bony claw tears free of the ice behind the Lich King, and digs into the ground. A titanic skeletal wing spreads, rime-blue energy crackling between bony spurs-ice-coated jaws open and close, and eye sockets glimmer with unholy light.
The Frost Wyrm lets out a roar like the howl of the damned, leaps up to perch on the cliff face, and then takes to the air, plummeting low as it soars down over the gathered undead legions. They truly are legion-there's far too many for Agrias to count, far too many for her to kill. Simultaneously, they raise their heads and let out a wail, blue light shining from their eyes and mouths-a mockery of a battle cry.
And then the vision ends.
Join me, and claim what you truly deserve. Leave your weakness behind.
The Holy Knight stares in terrible awe as the shelf of ice seems to tremble beneath the Lich King's steps. He draws up to the flat of the glacier's crown, drawing that terrible runeblade and plunging it into the ice.
Shuffling uncertainly on the slippery surface, Agrias immediately spreads her arms for balance, crouching as the ground shivers and then bursts. She flings up an arm to protect her face, but too quickly, she can feel the unholy chill as another shard of ice traces past the wound that Rimehowl had cut. It's only a vision, an illusion - it draws no blood, but the pain is certainly real.
But she doesn't turn her eyes away. She can't.
The knight gives a dismayed yelp as the frost wyrm thrusts its claw into the air, free of its frozen tomb, reaching up to tear the rest of its body free. It bellows, coiling up and then swooping down - a dessicated thing, once powerful, but now possessed of its own terrible glory.
The troops seem to rejoice at this sign, their jaws falling open, heads rolling back, and the howling sound has Agrias clapping her hands to her ears.
The vision ends. Agrias is half-curled in her chair, hands still over her ears, mumbling fast and furious some kind of prayer or hymn that sounds mostly Gaelic. Something older than Glabados, no doubt; and perhaps for that reason more soothing to her jangled nerves.
She opens one eye, uncertainly, then the other.
Of course, the Lich King's voice is still something that cuts above the din. She hisses, like the baited eagle looking for a chance to snap at the hand that grips its jesses.
"I'll not fight besides a dessicated, broken army made of the restless unliving," she spits, venomously. "And I'll not suffer to become one of them myself. Find yourself another pawn, Death Knight. Begone! A knight of the St. Konoe Order would never bend the knee to the likes of you!"
Such a proud little bird... The Lich King's presence is still there, still every bit as powerful as it was before the vision-trance. You will be mine, one way or the other. Your fate has already been sealed, hero. But for now...
The ice rises up around Agrias' mind once more, this time numbing the memory of the meeting. The Holy Knight may find herself losing the battle with consciousness as things grow cold and dark...
And if she gives in, she'll fall asleep right there in the chair, as the ice melts from the door.
Perhaps it was all just a horrible nightmare.
No amount of training can convince Agrias to give in and accept this, especially after seeing the horror of these decaying masses. If anything, there seems more loathing in her eyes, and more than a little fear. There are so many, and with beasts like the frost wyrm...
Agrias shivers, and not just from the numbing cold, creeping over her like the inevitable chill of winter.
"You'll not..." She can't quite form the words, too cold to do anything more than spasm, biting her own tongue, tasting blood. She settles for a defiant hiss. "Not have me..."
But for as violently as she may fight against that frozen tide, it wins, in the end, like trying to swim while wearing a suit of armour. The cold and the darkness wins out, eventually, inexorably.
Agrias Oaks slumps forward on her desk, into sleep more than a bit restless. If she has nightmares after this, they'll be from no direct influence of the Lich King... but instead, wherever her own frost-fevered mind takes her.
That's where the next visitors to her office will find her, slumped forward in her chair and lying over her desk, head and face in one sleeve, as though she had put her head down for a rest. The cloak-clasp will still be held firmly in one hand - cold to the touch.
Simon Parker knock knock. Sounds of a door opening, followed by: "...Aww, look at that, she does sleep."
Simon Parker door close.
Simon Parker says, "Oh, the Captain appears to be asleep on her desk."
Zack Fair says, "Aww. .. err. ...."
Simon Parker says, "In addition, the doorknob is cold, and she must've had the A/C cranked up in here."
Simon Parker says, "Oh, I was just checking to make sure the revolting overgrown letter opener wasn't messing with her from beyond, or something."
Zack Fair says, "Well, that isn't good. Why don't you bring her a blanket?"
Simon Parker says, "...I think I will. Come to think of it, how'd she figure out how to work the A/C?"
Zack Fair says, "She couldn't before? Maybe she got someone to teach her."
Simon Parker says, "Probably."
Zack Fair says, "Either way, if it's too cold, that will seriously lower her immune system!"
Genya Arikado says, "That is a myth."
Zack Fair says, "Oh, really?"
Genya Arikado says, "Just as being caught in the rain will not make you sick."
Zack Fair says, "That's what mom always said, though..."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Is it?"
Genya Arikado never gets sick anyway. Like he knows what he's talking about.
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Being drenched, surely, cannot be good for one's health..."
Simon Parker is draping a nice, warm blanket around Agrias. "There."
Genya Arikado says, "It is no better or worse than being dry. I do not argue that it is miserable, but it will not make you ill."
Simon Parker ...footsteps. Closet door opens, door closes. This is immediately followed by him slipping a pillow under her head.
Captain Agrias Oaks might have mumbled, vaguely, into her radio at having her head picked up and a pillow put down under it.
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "...At least all is well once more."
Genya Arikado says, "Indeed."
Genya Arikado pageflip. "The ouroboros. Such fascinating imagery."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "...serpent."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt ahems.
Genya Arikado says, "The serpent, or dragon, consuming its own tail. Eternity."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Yes, that imagery is... common to certain planar cultures."
Genya Arikado says, "I witnessed an interesting young man with a tattoo of such the other day."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "It is also the symbol of those who venerate, ah, Jazirian."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Certain worshippers of theirs tattoo themselves, as well..."
Genya Arikado says, "I see. This symbol, however, I found in the database."
Genya Arikado says, "With the name 'Elric' attached to it."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Oh?"
Kizuna Iyanagi says, "Soulbringer?"
Genya Arikado says, "Yes, but the name is unfamiliar to me."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "I am... not familiar with that name, no."
Kizuna Iyanagi says, "No, I got it wrong. The one the girl surfs on..."
Kizuna Iyanagi says, "Stormbringer."
Soma Cruz pipes up, "Elric? I met two brothers who had that last name." pause "...But I don't recognize Soulbring- Or Stormbringer for that matter."
Captain Agrias Oaks mumbles. "...nnh?" Pause, as though of one gathering their bearings, and/or remembering where they are and how long they've been conked out OVER THEIR DESK. "Who was in my office?"
Genya Arikado says, "If it helps, the young man stated his name as 'Greed'. I assume it is an alias. There is likely a cult involved."
Soma Cruz says, "I don't know anyone named Greed, Arikado. But I could try to find the brothers again and ask them about it."
Genya Arikado says, "I would appreciate this, Soma."
Simon Parker says, "...I was."
Soma Cruz says, "I'll stop by later and pick up the information you have? It might take me a bit to find them."
Simon Parker says, "What, did you not appreciate the pillow and blanket? You were passed out on your desk, and the room was freezing."
Captain Agrias Oaks sounds like she might be cracking her neck. "Ugh. ...No, thank you. Was it..." Then falls very abruptly silent.
Zack Fair says, "Captain Oaks?"
Simon Parker says, "Shh."
Genya Arikado says, "Of course."
Captain Agrias Oaks says, "Aye?"
Zack Fair says, "Um... ... nothing."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "I hope you rested well, Captain?"
Captain Agrias Oaks says, "O-oh. Aye. Yes."
Captain Agrias Oaks says, "Thank you for asking."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "I'm glad to hear that. You sounded quite tired last night."
Captain Agrias Oaks says, "Aye, I was. I half expected something to ambush us, all the way to Light's Hope." Her shiver's almost audible. "What a wretched place... I hope that the Argent Dawn may continue their work, there."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Indeed, it was most unsettling. I... do hope that, ah, corruption of the land isn't extending beyond there?"
Captain Agrias Oaks says, "I do not know."
Kizuna Iyanagi unhelpfully, "Stormbringer is unconnected with an Ouroboros symbol."
Where: Vanguard Captain's Office - IPA Headquarters - The Hub
When: 25 August 2008
What: The Captain of the Vanguard receives something of a strange visitor, from a threat she thought had since passed.
Watch For: Certain cinematics totally being ripped off, and awesomely.
IPA Headquarters - Vanguard Captain's Office
This office is fairly plain, with no real accoutrements or adornments beyond the basics one might expect from an office.
Its walls are paneled wood, with a stock framed picture hanging here or there. The only picture on the wall that speaks of any individuality is a map of the Kingdom of Ivalice, richly inked, matted, and framed. Two healthy potted ferns break up the sterility of the room, and plenty of warm lighting offsets the very dark wood.
The centre of the room is dominated by a large, rich wooden desk. It has plenty of writing area, and a black mat backing on its writing surface. A desk lamp adorns one corner, and a small organisational tray the other. Its drawers are locked. One comfortable leather chair rests behind it, and two chairs are set before the desk.
A plaque on the desk reads, in block sans-serif print, 'AGRIAS OAKS.'
Obvious exits:
ut leads to IPA Headquarters - Administration Wing.
Contents:
Simon Parker
It's a calm day in the office of the Vanguard Detachment. Paperwork has been filed properly, as befitting the end of the case involving Baron Devon Sunderland. In fact, that leaves very little to be looking into, affording some much-needed downtime between assignments.
As for the Captain, she herself is seated in her chair, cane balanced neatly against her leg, a small trinket of some sort in her hands. It looks like a pendant or medallion of some kind, or perhaps a clasp for a cloak.
It looks quite old, tarnished and maybe a little charred in places. The shape seems to be that of a kite shield, with inlay in stone and silver forming an argent oak tree with roots erased, over a per bend sinister of white and azul.
The crest of House Oaks.
Her eyes are half-lidded, and she looks like she hasn't slept well in some time. Sleep's still catching up to her after all of the work she's tried to do on this incident, and it's likely to be some time still until she can fully catch up.
And so, for now, she sits in silence in her office, lost in whatever reverie lies behind those hooded golden eyes; lost in a dream-world as she regards the old cloak-clasp in her hands.
A burning itch spreads across the side of Agrias' face, originating at the still-bandaged wound left by Rimehowl. Even in her current state she'll notice it. Perhaps the wound is finally deciding to heal, after adamantly refusing to patch itself for several days. Unholy weapons tend to do that sort of thing.
As Agrias drifts in and out of consciousness, she'll sense several things through the mists of sleepiness-first, the air around her is growing cold, and arctic winds rustle her hair and clothing. Second, the pain in her face lessens at the touch of the chill breeze. It's almost like a caress.
Agrias...
Someone might be trying to get the Captain's attention-but a glance around her office will reveal no source for the soft, ice-cold little voice.
Agrias of Oaks...
The Holy Knight tilts her hand, letting the clasp slide a bit down her fingers, stopped by the tilt of her forefinger. Light shifts over the old alloy, shining dully by the light of the desk lamp.
How long had it been since she had been back to the ruins? She had found the remains of a house servant, last time, and given the poor wretch a proper burial, though she had fumbled through the last rites, finally unable to say them in good conscience. It would require a priest to know them so intimately; and she had no desire to recite something that left such a bitter taste on her tongue.
She had not yet found the remains of her immediate family. Agrias had little time left to tarry and search, but as before, she had vowed to herself she would return, uncover their remains, and give them a proper burial.
It was the least they could do. If she had obeyed...
No. The exhausted knight shakes her head. She had trodden down this road too many times. Toying with the what-ifs was a useless game to play. All roads invariably led to this moment, to the knowledge that very little would be changed; no catastrophes averted.
Her eyes slide a little further closed; her head droops forward a bit.
It's late. She should be headed home, to go home and sleep...
Agrias of Oaks...
The persistent burn and the cold, little voice snaps her out of her half-doze, and she glances up sharply. Her hand rises to the bandage on her face, but she doesn't quite touch it; drawing her hand away when that aura of cold seems to relieve the pain.
It takes her a moment to focus, searching the shadows in her office. Had someone entered while she wasn't paying attention? Slipped into the shadows?
"Hello?" Her voice is a hesitant; a little smaller, a little more tired, than she might like. "Is someone there?"
Captain Agrias of House Oaks...
The little voice is growing louder, more insistent, as it rings in the Captain's ears. It's clearly male, deep and menacing; it creaks and scrapes like glacial floes, and flows like ice-cold water through Agrias' mind. It's noble, in its own twisted way, underlaid by an eerie vibrato like wind howling through northern canyons.
I have granted you audience, my Knight. You would be wise to pay me heed. Fear not, and speak not of this to your companions. They would think you a madwoman, would they not?
The voice continues to gain in volume, and steadfastly refuses to be drowned out.
I am here to offer you what you desire most of all.
Golden eyes sweep the empty office one last time. That voice is clearly not her imagination, yet the office lies empty. Surely she would have heard if anyone had opened the door. The hinges are well-oiled, but the door is solid oak.
Agrias shakes her head, as though she might ignore the voice, but its tone only grows more insistent. Voices in one's head are never a good sign, generally.
Very carefully, Agrias closes her hand around the clasp, as though it might offer some kind of strength against whatever this fresh malady is.
"Who speaks?"
Her voice is still quiet, however well-soundproofed the room may be. Agrias' own tone of voice is almost imperious, though, as though it might mask her own unease.
"Only a coward would dare contact me thus, and offer me such temptations. Surely you know that a Holy Knight of the Lesalian St. Konoe order would never acquiesce thus," she hisses, still looking towards the shadowed corners again. "Show yourself."
The voice laughs. It's dark and chilling, and sounds like ice floes cracking, crumbling into pieces.
You underestimate me. The ice rises up around Agrias' mind, slowly freezing her thoughts into place-she may find it difficult to move or speak aloud, or think about much of anything beyond responding to the mysterious voice.
As though holiness could guard you forever, the voice chastises. Sit. Listen. Perhaps you will be less obstinate after you hear my tale, o exiled knight of a ruined kingdom. We have more in common than you suspect.
An image flashes before Agrias' eyes-a glacial spike rising hundreds of feet into the air. She can feel the freezing wind on her body, smell the rime and sea-foam in the air, hear the sounds of all this desolation.
And she is suddenly kneeling at the feet of a man encrusted in ice-his body encased in thick, heavy armor that may as well be hoarfrost made of metal. In his hand is an enormous blade, jagged-edged and cruel, engraved with strange, archaic runes. For a second, he looks down at Agrias, and blue light shines from the slit where his eyes should be.
And then the vision is over.
As for where I am now... I am in here.
Agrias will feel a distinct slithering sensation working her way through her jaw-completely painless, but it almost feels like something's burrowing in there.
Oddly enough, she might not feel afraid. Something about the voice is charming, in a literal sense.
"Ghh..." The Holy Knight stiffens as the ice slowly sapping away all sensation away from her. Her fingers tense into claws around the ends of the chair's arms. "Get..."
She was going to say 'get out of my head,' but the words won't come to her frozen face, won't process fully through her ice-numbed mind. There is certainly defiance, though, the beginnings of a righteous fury bubbling just below the surface.
And suddenly, she stands before the Lich King in all of his terrible glory; his sea-salt throne of ice and permafrost, of massive glacial shelfs that look so large they may as well be as old as the world itself.
Agrias is bending the knee, to this monstrosity. She tries to surge to her feet, even if it is only a vision; but movement won't come to her.
Abruptly, she's back in her office, which is warmer, nominally. Her limbs work as normal. Her face, then, twists into a snarl; a hand rising to touch the bandaged part of her face where Rimehowl had drawn its last blood.
"It will guard me as long as need be. Begone from me," she growls, low in her throat. "I will not fall to your temptations or your..."
Something seems to click into place, internally; some recognition sparking as she looks at nothing. Agrias' eyes narrow even further; slits of gold.
"You've the same look about you as Baron Sunderland did." Another Death Knight? She doesn't recall them having any powers quite like this, though. "Who are you? Why do you seek me out? I've nothing to offer. I would not serve your kind even in death," she growls.
The clasp in her hand presses until it leaves marks in her palm; as though it were some talisman to lend her strength against this corruption. This one's unholy aura is strong; she'll grant that, but Agrias isn't one to buckle so easily.
The Oak's roots run deep...
The glacial chill grows stronger. It may feel like that little metal clasp is freezing into Agrias' hand now. The voice gives another cracking-ice laugh.
I was once a holy warrior, like you. Like you, I watched as my kingdom fell to the works of demons. Like you, I sought desperately to end their rein of chaos, and free my people. That you've survived exile and maiming speaks of a strength beyond whatever 'holiness' a servitor of dear, lying St. Ajora might claim.
You are the only one left. And the beasts who did this still breathe.
Agrias clasps and unclasps her free hand again, as though to reassure herself that she can still move them. The other maintains its tight grip on the cloak-clasp, even though the metal burns with cold.
Her eyes remain narrowed slits. Willful as a dragon, this one.
"I'll not suffer such a comparison. And how do you know of Glabados, or St. Ajora?" The title is certainly spat with a certain derision. "Only those who were there know of such matters."
Idly, she reaches up to rub at her cheek with her free hand. That burning itch seems a little more insistent; a little more bothersome. "Aye, they still breathe. There is only so much one can do against an entire establishment. Mark my words, they will be laid low... but in time, and most likely not by my own hand."
"I am content to watch it happen. I am through fighting hopeless battles. And I would not fain accept aid from one of /your/ kind," she adds, scornfully. "What do you want from me, that you would take such care to seek me out? Out with it, knave. I'll not treat with your kind any longer than I must."
So trite. So selfless. Could it be, Dame Oaks, that you've grown weak and cowardly in your new station? That your sudden, abrupt flight from your home dulled your resolve to avenge yourself? Pathetic.
The chill rises in the back of Agrias' mind once more, and this time it's painful.
In my darkest hour, I was given everything I needed to avenge myself. I wish to do the same for you, if you swear fealty to me.
There's a pause, and another icy chuckle. You were there. But were you there when House Oaks burned? When the inquisitors butchered your family like cattle? I won't pry, you tell me.
"You know nothing of me." Agrias' voice remains low, but there's a note of intensity to it. The Lich King has struck a nerve, it seems. "You know nothing of my flight from Lionel, my life after the Gate, or the things I have done and seen and suffered through since then."
That anger simmers just past the surface, just out of reach, but drawing ever closer to the surface. This creature tries her patience. When that sudden chill seeps into her office, and throughout herself, Agrias sets her jaw until her teeth hurt.
"N-neither were you there f-for the sacking of House Oaks," Agrias snaps, trying desperately to keep her teeth from chattering. "You w-were not th-there for th-their m-murder, or when G-Glabados put the t-torch to the estate. B-but you ha-have no n-need for the d-details," she snarls, savagely.
"I'll n-not swear f-fealty to you, even in d-death."
Damnation. Is that frost spiderwebbing over the window of her office door?
Baron Sunderland said the same thing.
That is, indeed, frost. It's slowly creeping over the door hinges, freezing them in place-the doorknob, likewise, is frosted shut. There's no escape.
When you first grasped his Runeblade, you spoke to me. You told me that vengeance mattered more than holiness, or sanctity, or even honor. You're angry with the wrong person, Dame Oaks. Shouldn't your fury be let loose upon those butchers?
"Then B-Baron Sunderland was a f-fool for ever c-conceding," Agrias snaps angrily, though she watches the office door frost over with some apprehension. "C-clearly it was n-not a s-servitude that he w-wanted. The p-poor fool was s-smiling when I slew him."
Her eyes narrow. "I-is that it? Do you s-seek to r-replace your l-lost lieutenant? Y-you'll not find it in m-me," she adds, scornfully.
Her eyes turn towards the wood paneling immediately surrounding the doorway. Ice creeps across it, insidious, gleaming like spun glass in the office's lamp. With a tiny, delicate sound, the lock succumbs to ice, crackling as the tumblers freeze into place.
"I s-said nothing to y-you." But even past the surface of her retort, there's a shadow of doubt. "If I s-spoke anything, I only s-spoke of ending the th-thread that S-Sunderland p-presented. P-protecting the p-people; the p-people who could n-not defend themselves."
She clamps her jaw to still her chattering teeth, but the muscle spasms won't let up. "Aye. I'll n-not argue with th-that. They are b-butchers. But 'tis n-not my p-place to d-decide their j-judgment. B-but you w-w-wouldn't know of th-that, w-would you?"
For all her bravado, there's still a shadow of doubt, lurking past the surface; well-buried and guarded. Could she lay them low? Use this one for her own accomplishment? Anybody human would consider the option, however briefly.
...No. She is a Holy Knight; that is dishonourable, and never mind what this creature is...
The Lich King laughs again, that horrible sound rising to drown out everything else in the room-even Agrias' own thoughts.
I see your hesitation, Arthas mocks. What hero abandons her people in their hour of need? What sort of knight fails to protect her queen? Oh yes, Agrias, he knows. He knows.
All that's left is that terrible laughter, and that equally terrible cold. Agrias sets her jaw against the sound until her teeth creak; until it causes physical pain.
The shallow gash on her face is burning.
"I do not hesitate!" In a sudden and powerful motion, the Holy Knight slams her hands flat on her desk, surging to her feet with a snarl. "I do not abandon my people - I am no hero. I have never claimed to be as such."
Anger flares like fire to the Lich King's ice. Failed her queen? Never. "I have not." But her protest sounds hollow even to her own ears. "I have not failed her..."
A fist slams down on her desk, but the gesture is weak; even as she slumps back to her chair. "No. You will not use my past failures against me. They are just that; in the past. Begone, creature," she snarls. "I am not Baron Sunderland. I am not weak-willed."
Anger simmers, though. She closes her eyes, frustrated and exhausted. It's freezing in here, and the cold is physically painful. And, worst of all, he's right.
And she hates herself for agreeing with him.
Impotent, childish anger, the Lich King croons. I see your self-loathing, Dame Oaks. You cling so tightly to your past that you would choke on it. After all, if your precious Queen is alive, what does it matter that your family is little more than ashes? What does it matter that your good name is ruined, and your family line ended? You gave everything to serve the crown. What has the crown given you? Has your Ovelia stirred her people's hearts to glory? Has she honored you for your faithful, selfless service?
No.
"You know nothing of me." Agrias' response is cold, and this time, she forces her teeth to stop chattering long enough to spit out a suitable response. "Do not pretend to claim as such, creature."
But there is a kernel of truth to his words; a kernel that even the Holy Knight cannot ignore. What has the Crown done for her, for all of her sacrifice? The sacrificial murder of her family, and every single bannerman and household knight of House Oaks? What, recently, has the great and powerful House Atkascha done for them?
"If my 'precious Queen' is alive, knave, then there is yet hope. She will restore that kingdom, on that I stake all that I have lost," Agrias growls. "I did not give anything lightly, but I would not have given at all - that which was freely mine to give - if I did not think her worthy."
"My good name would have been ruined whether or not Her Majesty survived of was slain," she continues, in a truly savage tone. Definite anger - the fierce eagle baiting at its master's wrist, thrashing its wings futilely and screaming its defiance. "That was not the Crown's doing; that was the Church's doing. If you insist on airing grievances that are not your own, creature, than have your facts straight."
Agrias listens in silence, narrowing her eyes in her anger. How dare this creature rub her nose in her past failures; insult her with these temptations and audacious notions? "Her Majesty has most certainly honoured me for my service. Do I not still defend Her Majesty, despite all that has happened?"
"Begone," she adds sharply. "I'll have none of your temptations, monster. What estate do you rule, o ye foul corruptions of what were knights? What could have possibly possessed you to give up all that was right?" Agrias sits forward in her chair at this point, as though accusing the Lich King, though she can't see him. "Surely nothing of value. I'll not fall to the same temptation. Even death will not grant you my services," she growls.
If she survives. What happens when you fail her again? Surely, if she can't protect herself, she doesn't deserve to lead your people.
The Lich King laughs again, a sound like glaciers crumbling to the sea. What do I rule? What is my domain? Foolish girl, let me show you.
The world falls away as Agrias plummets headlong into another waking dream-another vision. This time she's in the tundra, ice-cold like before; hordes of enormous, slavering barbarians batter at the gates of a human stronghold. Agrias can smell the blood and iron in the air, and hear the battle-cries.
She's in the middle of frozen catacombs; spindly-legged insects the size of men chitter in the darkness. The stink of death and venom hangs in the air.
Agrias is standing in the center of what was once a vibrant, thriving city. Flames still linger in the storefronts of fire-gutted buildings. The living dead are everywhere.
Then she's standing in the middle of a vast, frozen plain, the bones of immense beasts-dragons-poking up through the snow. Once again, Agrias is surrounded by the undead, though none of them seem to notice her; she can still smell the stink of rotting flesh, and hear the clink of bare bones against armor.
They're standing at the bottom of a cliff. Waiting for something.
"Do you not understand?" Agrias clenches a fist, anger lurking below the surface again. It's the easiest way for her to combat this creeping temptation, this vague suggestion and seed of doubt. Anger is pure, fire; a good combatant to this insidious ice. "I will not fail her again."
Besides. The anger, however unfitting to a trained knight such as she, is genuine. It's pure.
"She is not expected to protect herself. Mayhap that is the way of things wherever you once hailed from, Death Knight, but that is not how Ivalice works. Such has not been the case for hundreds of years." Her voice holds an edge to it, a more dull sort of anger.
Agrias sucks in a breath at the sudden onslaught of visions. In each case, she's forced to try and pick up on what's going on and what surrounds her; too quickly, each vista is gone, only to be replaced by the next. When they seem to stop, she sucks in another breath, staggering slightly to steady herself.
At least, that's what it feels like she's doing. She can feel the fierce chill; the warcries of the dead still linger in her ears. She can still smell and taste the stench of decay and venom, gagging.
She moves to draw a sword that isn't there; an annointed blade that could surely chase away this frozen corruption and the lingering spirits in this dead wasteland.
But Defender isn't there.
"Show me what you've brought me here to see," Agrias hisses, perhaps in an attempt to sound as threatening as she feels threatened. "Be quick about it, creature. I'll not bow to your will, in any case." What harm could it be? Maybe if she entertains this wretch, she'll be free to go, soon, and stop hearing his damning voice in her head.
Maybe she'll stop feeling this shadow of a doubt; this silent, lingering hesitancy over whether she really is strong enough to protect her beloved queen.
And that, perhaps, is worst of all - the smallest piece of the puzzle, and the one she hates herself the most for.
"Hurry!" The command is imperative, breath frosting in the air, only for the white fog to be whipped away by the wind and torn asunder.
Up at the top of the cliff, something moves. Footsteps echo down through the canyon, echoing off the walls. The faceless, nameless hordes stop their shuffling and rattling and drooling, and... stand as close to attention as they can, with their decayed flesh.
Very well, hero, says the Lich King. This is the power I offer you. The footsteps stop. Standing at the top of the glacier is the very figure Agrias saw in her earlier vision-the Lich King, in all his morbid glory. He holds Frostmourne aloft, blade pointed out at the throng of undead. Runes glow blue along its length...
And the Lich King sinks the sword into the ice, clean to the hilt. Energy flows outwards, the coat of ice and hoarfrost melting almost instantly, revealing pure ice... and something frozen inside, trapped like an insect in amber. The ice begins to break apart, shattering with a thunderous noise. Chunks of it fly past Agrias as she stands there, one tracing the wound Rimehowl made on her face.
A massive bony claw tears free of the ice behind the Lich King, and digs into the ground. A titanic skeletal wing spreads, rime-blue energy crackling between bony spurs-ice-coated jaws open and close, and eye sockets glimmer with unholy light.
The Frost Wyrm lets out a roar like the howl of the damned, leaps up to perch on the cliff face, and then takes to the air, plummeting low as it soars down over the gathered undead legions. They truly are legion-there's far too many for Agrias to count, far too many for her to kill. Simultaneously, they raise their heads and let out a wail, blue light shining from their eyes and mouths-a mockery of a battle cry.
And then the vision ends.
Join me, and claim what you truly deserve. Leave your weakness behind.
The Holy Knight stares in terrible awe as the shelf of ice seems to tremble beneath the Lich King's steps. He draws up to the flat of the glacier's crown, drawing that terrible runeblade and plunging it into the ice.
Shuffling uncertainly on the slippery surface, Agrias immediately spreads her arms for balance, crouching as the ground shivers and then bursts. She flings up an arm to protect her face, but too quickly, she can feel the unholy chill as another shard of ice traces past the wound that Rimehowl had cut. It's only a vision, an illusion - it draws no blood, but the pain is certainly real.
But she doesn't turn her eyes away. She can't.
The knight gives a dismayed yelp as the frost wyrm thrusts its claw into the air, free of its frozen tomb, reaching up to tear the rest of its body free. It bellows, coiling up and then swooping down - a dessicated thing, once powerful, but now possessed of its own terrible glory.
The troops seem to rejoice at this sign, their jaws falling open, heads rolling back, and the howling sound has Agrias clapping her hands to her ears.
The vision ends. Agrias is half-curled in her chair, hands still over her ears, mumbling fast and furious some kind of prayer or hymn that sounds mostly Gaelic. Something older than Glabados, no doubt; and perhaps for that reason more soothing to her jangled nerves.
She opens one eye, uncertainly, then the other.
Of course, the Lich King's voice is still something that cuts above the din. She hisses, like the baited eagle looking for a chance to snap at the hand that grips its jesses.
"I'll not fight besides a dessicated, broken army made of the restless unliving," she spits, venomously. "And I'll not suffer to become one of them myself. Find yourself another pawn, Death Knight. Begone! A knight of the St. Konoe Order would never bend the knee to the likes of you!"
Such a proud little bird... The Lich King's presence is still there, still every bit as powerful as it was before the vision-trance. You will be mine, one way or the other. Your fate has already been sealed, hero. But for now...
The ice rises up around Agrias' mind once more, this time numbing the memory of the meeting. The Holy Knight may find herself losing the battle with consciousness as things grow cold and dark...
And if she gives in, she'll fall asleep right there in the chair, as the ice melts from the door.
Perhaps it was all just a horrible nightmare.
No amount of training can convince Agrias to give in and accept this, especially after seeing the horror of these decaying masses. If anything, there seems more loathing in her eyes, and more than a little fear. There are so many, and with beasts like the frost wyrm...
Agrias shivers, and not just from the numbing cold, creeping over her like the inevitable chill of winter.
"You'll not..." She can't quite form the words, too cold to do anything more than spasm, biting her own tongue, tasting blood. She settles for a defiant hiss. "Not have me..."
But for as violently as she may fight against that frozen tide, it wins, in the end, like trying to swim while wearing a suit of armour. The cold and the darkness wins out, eventually, inexorably.
Agrias Oaks slumps forward on her desk, into sleep more than a bit restless. If she has nightmares after this, they'll be from no direct influence of the Lich King... but instead, wherever her own frost-fevered mind takes her.
That's where the next visitors to her office will find her, slumped forward in her chair and lying over her desk, head and face in one sleeve, as though she had put her head down for a rest. The cloak-clasp will still be held firmly in one hand - cold to the touch.
Simon Parker knock knock. Sounds of a door opening, followed by: "...Aww, look at that, she does sleep."
Simon Parker door close.
Simon Parker says, "Oh, the Captain appears to be asleep on her desk."
Zack Fair says, "Aww. .. err. ...."
Simon Parker says, "In addition, the doorknob is cold, and she must've had the A/C cranked up in here."
Simon Parker says, "Oh, I was just checking to make sure the revolting overgrown letter opener wasn't messing with her from beyond, or something."
Zack Fair says, "Well, that isn't good. Why don't you bring her a blanket?"
Simon Parker says, "...I think I will. Come to think of it, how'd she figure out how to work the A/C?"
Zack Fair says, "She couldn't before? Maybe she got someone to teach her."
Simon Parker says, "Probably."
Zack Fair says, "Either way, if it's too cold, that will seriously lower her immune system!"
Genya Arikado says, "That is a myth."
Zack Fair says, "Oh, really?"
Genya Arikado says, "Just as being caught in the rain will not make you sick."
Zack Fair says, "That's what mom always said, though..."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Is it?"
Genya Arikado never gets sick anyway. Like he knows what he's talking about.
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Being drenched, surely, cannot be good for one's health..."
Simon Parker is draping a nice, warm blanket around Agrias. "There."
Genya Arikado says, "It is no better or worse than being dry. I do not argue that it is miserable, but it will not make you ill."
Simon Parker ...footsteps. Closet door opens, door closes. This is immediately followed by him slipping a pillow under her head.
Captain Agrias Oaks might have mumbled, vaguely, into her radio at having her head picked up and a pillow put down under it.
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "...At least all is well once more."
Genya Arikado says, "Indeed."
Genya Arikado pageflip. "The ouroboros. Such fascinating imagery."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "...serpent."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt ahems.
Genya Arikado says, "The serpent, or dragon, consuming its own tail. Eternity."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Yes, that imagery is... common to certain planar cultures."
Genya Arikado says, "I witnessed an interesting young man with a tattoo of such the other day."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "It is also the symbol of those who venerate, ah, Jazirian."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Certain worshippers of theirs tattoo themselves, as well..."
Genya Arikado says, "I see. This symbol, however, I found in the database."
Genya Arikado says, "With the name 'Elric' attached to it."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Oh?"
Kizuna Iyanagi says, "Soulbringer?"
Genya Arikado says, "Yes, but the name is unfamiliar to me."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "I am... not familiar with that name, no."
Kizuna Iyanagi says, "No, I got it wrong. The one the girl surfs on..."
Kizuna Iyanagi says, "Stormbringer."
Soma Cruz pipes up, "Elric? I met two brothers who had that last name." pause "...But I don't recognize Soulbring- Or Stormbringer for that matter."
Captain Agrias Oaks mumbles. "...nnh?" Pause, as though of one gathering their bearings, and/or remembering where they are and how long they've been conked out OVER THEIR DESK. "Who was in my office?"
Genya Arikado says, "If it helps, the young man stated his name as 'Greed'. I assume it is an alias. There is likely a cult involved."
Soma Cruz says, "I don't know anyone named Greed, Arikado. But I could try to find the brothers again and ask them about it."
Genya Arikado says, "I would appreciate this, Soma."
Simon Parker says, "...I was."
Soma Cruz says, "I'll stop by later and pick up the information you have? It might take me a bit to find them."
Simon Parker says, "What, did you not appreciate the pillow and blanket? You were passed out on your desk, and the room was freezing."
Captain Agrias Oaks sounds like she might be cracking her neck. "Ugh. ...No, thank you. Was it..." Then falls very abruptly silent.
Zack Fair says, "Captain Oaks?"
Simon Parker says, "Shh."
Genya Arikado says, "Of course."
Captain Agrias Oaks says, "Aye?"
Zack Fair says, "Um... ... nothing."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "I hope you rested well, Captain?"
Captain Agrias Oaks says, "O-oh. Aye. Yes."
Captain Agrias Oaks says, "Thank you for asking."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "I'm glad to hear that. You sounded quite tired last night."
Captain Agrias Oaks says, "Aye, I was. I half expected something to ambush us, all the way to Light's Hope." Her shiver's almost audible. "What a wretched place... I hope that the Argent Dawn may continue their work, there."
Factotum Gwen Meynolt says, "Indeed, it was most unsettling. I... do hope that, ah, corruption of the land isn't extending beyond there?"
Captain Agrias Oaks says, "I do not know."
Kizuna Iyanagi unhelpfully, "Stormbringer is unconnected with an Ouroboros symbol."