Triviis (IC)

Honey’s ears lowered, “Well, it’s good to know that you guys won’t harm us, but it seems like there’s another group that will.” She wanted to ask questions, but pushing someone for too much information would turn a conversation into an interrogation instead. Honey really did not want to do that to Roach, but additionally, she did not want to give any indication that she doubted the falsehoods that had gone out of their way to act as guides for the summoned. It was a terrible thing to be tasked with looking after complete strangers, only to discover they strongly disliked you. Roach was still on positive terms, but Honey was increasingly sure that there would continue to be conflict with Goose.
 
It was then that she heard a familiar, clicking howl, and saw Rouhn emerge, unhurt, and stand as if he were waiting for a command. He was looking in Honey’s direction, but what she noted was, not only was he wearing armor, but he seemed unfazed by the blood and gore around him. Child or not, he had seen this mess before, and was not bothered by it. “Rouhn,” Honey said, “The fight is over.” Her tone suggested that she was telling him he did not have to be so rigid in his stance, and there was clear relief in seeing him there. She contemplated asking him where he had gone, but realized his vocabulary might not permit that. “We are safe.” She added.
 
A part of her still doubted that last statement, but at least for now, it seemed nothing else would attack them.

Roach set down his backpack and took out many simple tents to set up. There was no way that they could’ve been in the backpack if magic weren’t involved. There would be only room for food if that were the case.

**

It took Roach about an hour to set up all the tents. He made sure that the camp was as far away from the bodies as possible. When he finished that, he set up a campfire. He was sure that everyone was hungry, so he asked around and took some orders from people and gave them exactly what they wanted, no matter how outlandish the request.

Snail had asked for a steamed lobster, and Roach took one out of the bag. Snail snagged it from Roach and ate quickly, wrapping his tentacles around it. As he ate, he spoke, “Hmm… I’m going to assume the bag has magical properties, am I correct?”

Roach shrugged, “I dunno. A friend of mine gave it to me.”

As he said this, a little boy with gray skin and blue hair patted Roach on the back. “Yep. Good ol’ Spodot gave it to you! I wonder why Spodot is talking in third person?”

Snail clung to his lobster, “Gah! Is this another hostile primitive?” He readied pieces of his food as projectiles, “State your alignment, cretin!”

Spodot smiled, “I’m not here to kill anyone. I just have a message I need to deliver to Goose.\ but I thought I’d stop by to investigate the summoned.” He looked them over with his iris-less eyes. “Hm. It’s all pretty standard. We’ll have to get acquainted sometime.”

Without giving anyone time to react, he then took a single step and warped down the coast of the lake. He ended up where Goose sat, which was on a single boulder that overlooked the body of water, about a quarter mile away from the camp.

The two of them talked of the fight that had ensued, Spodot responding with, “That was quite the show. For pleasing the gjothyme with such a performance, you get…” He drummed on the rock, “More gifts! Enjoy your cloudy weather!” With that, he left.

Goose sighed. He figured he had taken enough time away from the summoned. How many more were coming though? Spodot had mentioned clouds, which meant at least three. Hopefully it was three.

Back at the camp, a white light flashed as three new beings were summoned in.

Zhesta’kai Ob’olok hurried down the dark passageway, huffing and blowing like a bellows. He was not cut out for all of this running. Behind him, shouts and the stomping of metal boots on stone echoed down the hall as his pursuers chased him down in the dark labyrinthine depths of what was once the most important temples of the Cher’pakha race.

83 years had led to this. Zhesta’kai had only been 13 when the Qulik had taken over, and had been a staunch resister of their tyrannical rule from day one. Now it seemed like it was going to end here, deep underground, far from light and friends. Never one to give up without trying first, Zhesta’kai still persisted on, despite his exhaustion and the ever-growing stitch in his side. Rounding a corner, he almost collided with the opposite wall of a cul-de-sac. It was a dead end. Zhesta’kai swore an oath. A few seconds later, the Qulik soldiers rounded the corner, plasma guns ready, shouting for him to drop his weapon and surrender.

Qulik was not about to go down without a fight, however. Turning to face his pursuers, he grinned crookedly.  Swinging the two immense brass knuckles on their chain like a double-headed flail, he charged the soldiers with roar. Two Qulik soldiers quickly met their end, heads and ribs smashed. Crying with alarm, the rest open fired in a flash of plasma that lit up the cavern with a blinding white light, even as Zhesta’kai tripped and fell on all fours.

For a few moments, Zhesta’kai remained where he fallen, breathing heavily. Still the light didn’t fade. What, am I dead then? he thought to himself. Then the light faded, and Zhesta’kai found he was looking not at flagstones, but grass, and the area was suffused with daylight. In the background, he heard voices and the sound of a river, then a rustle in front of him. Looking up, he found himself looking straight into what looked like the face of a giant grasshopper, albeit one with stalked eyes like a crab. He gaped at it for a moment, and then the creature fell back. He could see now that it was some sort of humanoid insect, wearing some sort of backpack. It had curled itself into a ball and was making some sort of screaming noise, interspersed with what almost sounded like hiccups, albeit buzzy ones. Just nearby he saw sitting in the grass a strange, bipedal, furry, longish-tailed creature wearing a toga, and looking around with a confused look on its face. “What . . . What happened?” he heard it say. Nearby, Zhesta’kai saw a cluster of tents, and the most bizarre assemblage of creatures he had ever laid eyes upon. Zhesta’kai took all this in with astonishment, his mouth slightly open as he swiveled his head around.

“What the . . .”

Even to a nonorcanic lifeform whose very body was composed of metal, and for all purposes could barely sense heat, the flame of the campfire was warming - cleansing, even. The latter was especially welcoming to Idgó, who only minutes prior had completely cleaned his purple cloak in the cool waters of the lake, ridding it of the abhorrent crimson stains that reminded him of the earlier fight.

Of course, he didn't blame Snail, or even Kumori, for what had transpired. Idgó didn't even blame himself - the more logical machinations of his mind made sure of that. After all, he had tried to diffuse the conflict. And Kumori and Snail were only doing their best; they did what they saw as right, fighting as they did. Nonetheless, he stared rather forlornly into the gently dancing flames. His eyespot, glowing a bright, energetic blue which stood out against the darkening environment, was half-lidded, and inattentive.
È̢R͏̧͘͟R̛͢͠͏Ò̵̢R̸̛:̷̕͢T̴̥͍͇̫̖̞͙̭͉H̛̫͇̗͕͎̕͞Ę̛̗̞̮ ̘̘̹͙̲͓͉̳C̬͍͓̖̝̹̀͢O͙̜̝̥̼͍͓͍ͅD̤̩̮͇̥̦E̗̪̝͚S̷̷̲͖̥̫̪̤̣̙̬ ̵̧̠̬̀D̴͚̹͞E̸̡̝̠̣̜̼͎̼M̵̻̖̪͕̫͎̭͟͢À̸̱͓̞̬͖̼͟ͅN̴̩͎͈̦D̷͝͏̟̹͈̩ ̴͕̰̘̙́͟T̙̺̤̩͔H̢̰̗̰̘͡A̡̢̹̯̦̙̙̞̩̞͠T͚̟ͅ ̪̬̣͎͙̣̤̺̀W̶̶̺̳͠I̯̩̰͟T҉̸͓̹͕H̷̢̤̲͈͕͙̳ ̘̼̝̠̰̰͡R̫̳E̩͉͘͜S̶͍͓̳̬̪̼̙̜ͅP̡̬̰͖͟E̲̖̹̦̠̼͜C̰͈̝̞͕̤̳͓T͉̟͡͞ͅ ̨̤̩T̘̝̦̙̜O̵̴̸̙͙̗̬̝̘͈̬ ̴̭̠̮̼͘T͓H̡̱̤̖͈͕̬̫̜Ỳ͉̹̗̗̟̬͓ ̟͡F̷͍̗O̢҉͚̻̬E̲̭̮S̷̭͙͞ ̛̬̖́E̢̻͈̠̝̳̲̩͎Ń̶̛͍̺G͓̯A̵̛̩̙̖̳̠͝G̡̠̩̜̥̙̜͇̱E̜̠̟͡,̠̺͕ ̙͎͇̰̩̮̗̲͓͠B̴͏̦͎͈̼̰̟̙Ų̸̵̳͓̩͈̺̦T̩̤̠̪̤̺̺̀ ̢̩̭̱̟̻̩̖W̭̦͜I̩͉͖̤͔̰͟ͅͅT҉̱̣͔͈́H̻̲̯̯͍̘͘ ͏͍͕͔̥͞Ņ̫̠͟O̴͓̳̹̭͘͠ ̜̜͈̕M҉͎͇̬̫ͅE̥͙̟̥͖̤̙͉R͞͏̲͎̩̣̬͉̺̜C̳̱̩͜Y̡̳̯͇͎ ̴҉͚̭͉̟̜́T̸̛͙̱͚͇̻͜O̡͎̱̹̤͔̘̮̗̠ ͏̸͖͔̱̝̦̭̬T̳̼͘͝H̻̞Y͟҉̟̱̺̰̻̯̺̝ ͔F̵̘̲͓̹̱͟O̸̴̥̘̤E͎͔S͓̠̪ ̝̯̙̞͉̩̭B̷̮̘̞͎̬͇̣A͉̲̙̳̝̲̺̘͕T̤̬̗̘̺̲̩́̀Ţ̸͎̮L̡̛͕̲͙͖̪̥͖̗Ḛ̩̥̳̱.̴͇͎̮̗͟
Idgó winced slightly as something overcame him for the briefest moment. Though it was soon forgotten.
D̡҉̶̴E̡̡F҉̴̶̵͢Y̶͢ ̵̧̨͜T͘͏̧̕H̷̕͞E̴̸̢ ̸̷̢Ś͝͠U̢͏Ṕ̵͞È̴̸̡R͏̡́͢͠I͘͏̡O̴̢͜͞R̵͟͝ ̸͡Ç͠O̸͢͠D̸̸͡͏Ȩ́ ̧̕͟͏A͘͟ ̴̧͟͞T̶́͜͏R̶̵̡͟͞U̷̸̸̢E͘͠ ҉̸̴̀͡F̴̨̡͜R̕͞I̵̡̛É̵͜͡Ń̵̵̢̧D̡͞ ͝͏̴W̸҉̛͠O̸̧̕͟U̵̷͞L̵̷͜͞D̕҉҉ ̨̨̢N̶̷̸̕͜Ò̴T̨͢͢.̶̸͟͝
For the first time in a while, Idgó glanced up from the fire to Kumori, and then to Snail - and then to Marsh, and Honey, and the rock, Petri.

...No, he knew he could trust them. They were friends - his friends. How could he possibly think otherwise?

Idgó jumped as he noticed a bright flash of light in the distance, beyond their camp. "A friend, perhaps?" Idgó alerted those who sat around the bonfire - and hoped dearly that they didn't attack this one.

The bright flash occuring due to the new arrivals was most definitely not lost on Petri, who's all around vision, smell, and hearing picked up the two beings rapidly. Unfortunately, he was still in 'writing utensil' shape, and therefore was not in the best position to fight at the moment via impact. He had been zipping around his travelling companions heads as usual, keeping his speed somewhat low for safety, and listening to their conversations. He enjoyed having a fire, it being the closest thing to lava here.

He decided to remedy this situation by upping his temperature, linearly increasing it at the somewhat slow maximum rate that it could move at. While he warmed his granite body, he made his way over to the new arrivals, keeping around twenty feet in between himself and them, his dark body blending in nicely with the low light as he viewed them with his various spectrums of vision.

"Quesador, please pay attention."

Some muted chuckles went through the group as the young Qwi'Ren in question, a blondish-sandy-furred individual, started to attention. Sabidoren, the Varan teacher, cast a quick, reproving glance around the small group of five Qwi'ren and six Vara seated around him on the grass, silencing the giggles at the embarrassed Qwi'ren's expense, while one of the Vara, Balindir, gave his friend a reassuring hand squeeze. Supani'sav, as he was named by the Vara (though most of his friends called him by his Qwi'ren birthname, Nodd) couldn't really blame his fellow Qwi'ren for being distracted. It was a beautiful day out. The shone warmly, and a light breeze stirred the grass. In the distance from the hill they were seated on could be made out the city of Aedin on the mountain of Jarda; crowning the capital of Valnar was Arnum Vidal, the legendary Tree of Life. Even from here its fragrance could be detected. A lovely day, indeed!

“Supani,” called the teacher, raising an eyebrow. More giggling; given the irony of the situation, Nodd couldn’t help but join in. Sabidoren smiled a little. “Can anyone remember what we were just talking about?” he asked.

Balindir raised his hand. “I believe we were just discussing how we are to explain why certain things happen,” he said. “I’ve heard it is an ongoing discussion amongst many amongst the other peoples outside.”

“Some of us want an answer, that’s why,” said Quesador. “We’ve heard so many times about how the Almighty cares so much, yet he allows things to happen to us, and we want to know why.” Poor Quesador. Nodd had heard that he had lost family in a Moderan raid on the outer fringe of the Kingdom. Nodd often wondered why Quesador was training for missionary work; he didn’t seem well cut out for it in many ways.

A somewhat sad smile came into the teacher’s face. Perhaps he was thinking of these things, too. “That is a question many obsess over,” he replied with great solemnity. “In truth, it may be impossible for us to know why something may happen to us in this life. One thing that’s always important, however, is how we choose to respond. That, in many ways, has more bearing on the outcome of a situation than anything else. If we encounter adversity in life, do we become cave, do we become embittered, or do we learn and grow? . . .”

Nodd blinked. Was it just him, or was the sunlight getting stronger? Had anyone else noticed? No, they all seemed to be looking at him with confused expressions. The teacher, who had been looking off in the distance as he spoke, suddenly looked sharply in his direction, then with a cry of alarm, had leapt at him, as if to take hold of him, before he and everything else disappeared in blinding white.

Nodd blinked and rubbed his eyes repeatedly. What was going on? Suddenly, the light faded, and he found himself sitting on the grass once more. However, the familiar landscape of Valnar had vanished. He found himself looking down at a river, and what looked to be a campsite, with various creatures he didn’t recognize moving here and there, or sitting by a fire.

Then the screaming hit his ears. Looking over to his left, he saw a large, shelled, reptilian creature with a horned head crouched in the grass, looking around with a bemused expression on its face. He thought he heard it mutter something. In the grass in front of the creature, was a huddled form that Nodd couldn’t quite make out. It was from here that the screaming seemed to be coming.

“What . . . what happened?” said Nodd to himself.