Chapter 7: Wherever You May Roam

Ember tilts her head and offers to sit just outside the infirmary with the man. He’s the sun god. Why worry?

Yelnar sees Wil approach, alongside a woman he does not. "Hello Wil" he says, and bows his head to the woman. "I’m Yelnar". Upon hearing her name is Vesina, Yelnar’s looks a little worried "We’ve had a few names that start with V, and I occasionally get the wrong one, I mean no offence if I do it to you as well."

"This is the list of people that have stepped up so far and seem like capable leaders. They have the skills, but I’m not so good at judging character. That’s where I’m hoping you can help me out, either by knowing some of them already or by talking to them for me and getting a read on them. Once we think some of these folks are OK, I can start giving them some responsibility so we can get everyone moving to somewhere safer."

After talking with Wil and Vesina, Yelnar heads off to get some hunting parties up and running. As he walks, he sees Verrian approaching Eanala, and seeing her practice her forms, makes a mental note to ask Verrian before she goes if they might also be suitable for the militia or if maybe they’re betting off leaving them as their own thing.

Swan wakes up late, shivering from a nightmare he'd as soon forget. The city on fire, Ember lost in the confusion, he can hear her scream. He runs, it's too late, she's on fire, cupped in the elemental hands...

The city. Of course. She was right. He smacks his head and races out of the dorm, stops to tell Chloe she's a pretty bird, and dashes outside. Then he turns, finding the old man sewing up a hole in his boots.

"Grat. A couple of us are going to try and recover artifacts from the city. I need you to tell me who to ask for where I can find the good stuff. Things that likely survived, but aren't under control of the guard. Rare collections, rich hoarders, antiquity ships."

Wil looks at the list with Vesina. With her help we will pick out a handful of likely candidates.

The camps are scattered, none more than about twenty people, and there just aren't very many of them. When one considers even the post-war population of Hara at several thousand, possibly even tens of thousands, the number of apparent survivors is enough to stagger the mind. Coreene sees a few faces that she recognizes from her time in Hara, no one of particular note, but most of all, she sees no sign of the Crows from her reconnaissance mission. Perhaps another hit and run like the rest of the party described in Viamard. They do seem to be able to disappear quickly.

There's no obvious machinery or physical arcana around the emergence crater that would indicate an item that should be further dealt with. The crater itself is surprisingly beautiful -- the intense heat of the elder elemental was enough to melt everything around, much of the sandy soil cooling into swirling, multicolored glass that shines and glints even under the dull light from the overcast sky. The crater itself descends into the earth. If someone was daring enough to find a safe way to go down the glassy side of the crater wall, which looks for all the world like a slide at least a hundred feet long into a subterranean tunnel, there might be more to see there.

As Coreene soars a bit closer to the crater site, she spots one thing that looks out of place: a low, unassuming building a few blocks away that seems completely unaffected by any of the catastrophic events. With her eagle-assisted vision working alongside her human mind, Coreene gets the distinct feeling the building itself is at least partly made of whitestone. If someone wanted to go into the city, there appears to be an unimpeded city avenue that runs from the gate closest to the farm village very near to the building and the crater beyond.

Coreene makes mental notes of her findings, feeling a dead weight in her heart when thinking of all of those whose lives were lost during the fire, and decides to head back. She had a rough idea of how long she could maintain this form, but she didn't want to push it.
She hopes that she doesn't have to present this news to too many. Especially not the refugees. It would break their hearts to know just how little of their home was left.

The man gives his head a quick shake to decline the offer of a seat. He slowly wrings his hands as he moves a little closer so he can speak more quietly.

"I don't know if you've heard, but some people are saying that it was Orien himself that came out of the ground that night," says the man in a pained voice. "That he had been imprisoned by Altam somehow," he continues, invoking the name of the god of the deep earth, "and he was taking his vengeance on the city."

He swallows visibly. "It... ah... seems unwise to go stating one's affiliation with... well. Him. Right now."

Ember laughs abruptly. How stupid! She composes herself quickly, hoping not to come across as too rude. It was a fire elemental. A BIG one, but just raw nature moving around. Do you know how long it takes to mentally shatter a righteous mortal? If something was going to make a god snap, it'd need way more time.

She blushes a little. Her voice falls. Which....I know because I come from a long line of homicidal maniacs. My name doesn't mean much to non-mages, but anyone who does recognize the Elliad name.....well, I'm glad I'm not my fore-mothers. And I understand the wish to keep identities on the down low.

She takes his hands and smiles warmly, a little worried that he'll reject her. Listen. The rules aren't the same anymore. And if you were willing to sneak around, just to help people, I don't care what the rumors say. So part 2. Why do you think you aren't a very good priest? There's a twinkle in her eye as she adds, And you still haven't told me your name.

Eanala breathes audibly for a long, silent time, staring at an unnamed point in space. "We tried so many times. We begged. We pleaded. I wanted to threaten, but Erannik -- rightly -- pointed out how stupid that would be," she says absently. "We needed so much help, and Meriava had always been there for us. I... thought they would continue to be there for us. And we heard nothing back."

Finally, Eanala snaps out of her trance and gives Verrian a hollow look. "Maybe they sent you and your friends. Which... don't get me wrong, you seem like truly decent people... isn't quite what I'd hoped for."

Then, there's just the briefest hint of Eanala's wiseass smile returning.

Verrian feels her jaw clenching in sympathy for Eanala's obvious sense of abandonment and betrayal by Meriava, and she's visited by a younger cousin of the rage that she routinely feels lately whenever she thinks about the city, the School of the Seven Stones, and Athisa. She manages to deflect it and shove it back into a dark closet almost immediately. Her facial markings barely have time to change from their normal freckle color to maroon and back.
Initially, Verrian's emotional response to this is complicated - mild outrage of the what am I, chopped liver? variety mixed with moderate guilt that her group isn't exactly the powerhouse one might expect from the Shining City. She puts on a smirk and says, "I think we might surprise you," just as the memory springs unbidden:

Kneeling next to Anders. Telling him to close his eyes and think of a happy memory. Waiting until he's smiling to draw the dagger through his throat.

She's still leaning against the hut, but less for effect now, more for actual support. She knows without looking that her markings are ashen. Clearing her throat, she strives to shrug off the flashback, saying, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be flippant. For what it's worth, Meriava betrayed us, too. They didn't give us all the intelligence they actually had. There are a lot of things we've found out the hard way that we now realize they already knew and kept it from us."

The old man continues sewing, giving no indication that he's in any hurry. He studies his seamwork, scowls, and looks up. "Hard to say, now. Maybe three days ago, I could've given you a few names, but I'm not sure if any of them survived."

He scratches at salt-and-pepper stubbled cheeks. "Fellow I spoke to a few days ago said that Nari Halper, used to run a crew down Dockside, said the governor over there had a cache of stuff, but she never could figure out wherebouts he kept it. You know how people stopped goin' over there, all that nonsense with the fires, everything getting hotter'n a forge closer you got to the governor's mansion."

"Only other thing I can think of is to check over the old University grounds. They had some crazy stuff at that place before the war, remember? Can't all have been looted, can it?"

The man blinks owlishly as Ember launches into her speech. At the words 'homicidal maniacs', he starts to shrink back, but Ember's smile seems to at least keep him from bolting outright. "I..." he stammers. "M... my name? It's... uh..."

His eyes go wide as he realizes that he suddenly can't remember his name. "Minsarionden!" he shouts, too loudly. "Er.
My name. But... most people can't remember it all, so they call me Mince."

A shudder rolls through his body and he takes a long, slow, shuddering breath to try and settle his nerves. "I wasn't very ambitious. I never wanted to be in charge of anything, not even a little village temple. I... just wanted to talk to people. Help them out a little," he says quietly. "My superiors didn't... think much of that idea. That it wasn't glorifying the god enough, I suppose."

Minsarionden! Ember croons. That is such a cool name! She is gonna make this guy feel better about himself if it takes all day. Well......maybe just all morning. Listen, Mince. If you can still do magic, o....your guy still likes you. Mortals are idiots. Focus on the good.

To Grat

"Thanks, those are good thoughts. The university was definitely on my list."

In a quieter voice, he says, "What's the feeling on this move to Viamard? Seemed like a good plan for those of us who stepped up to make decisions, but no vote was taken. There a feeling going around about that? It's not too late to change things."

Eanala watches Verrian's face and manner carefully as she works through her emotions and response, weighing and calculating. "If I have learned one thing over the last several years, it's that people in power do things for reasons that are hard to fathom, and they rarely explain. I watched my father maneuver his way in and around the Council for years, even helped him from time to time. And I still have very little understanding of how and why he did things. It doesn't excuse them -- we're still often left to pick up the pieces they leave behind -- but it does seem to be a universal truth."

She shakes her head. "Then again, maybe I'm just not very smart."

Mince shrugs, still not entirely sure what the flood of words or Ember's personal take on theology all mean. Maybe he's not very bright.

"Well. I... thought..." he begins, and falters soon after. To his credit, though, he rallies, and manages to squeeze out, "if you think maybe it wouldn't be... unwelcome... I was thinking I could... visit the infirmary?"

Verrian strives to take deep regular breaths and manages to reassert her emotional control as she listens to Eanala. By the time she's finished speaking, Verrian's composure is fully restored.

"I was going to ask if you recognized me from the old days somehow - you've given off signals that something about me was familiar. But I gather that's because you were exposed to diplomats through your father from time to time?"

The old man fixes Swan with a rheumy eye. "I've only been hearing rumors. I guess one place is as good as another. Ain't goin' back to Hara. Wasn't much there for any of us even before it all went up in flames. Couple people I've talked to seem to think that having any sort of sensible plan's an improvement."

He goes back to sewing at his boot. "But, y'know. Right now, most people'd follow a three-legged goat if they thought it was going somewhere that had a half-decent meal."

Eanala nods. "He tried to press me into the service for a while, until he realized I'd rather lick the hind end of a poxed cow. I... don't hold my tongue very well," she says wryly.

"Ghara was on the Council with him," she continues, mentioning the nominal 'mayor' of Hara. "After the War, at least. They wouldn't have let a mundane on the Council before. I knew that bastard was bad news from day one, but my father felt they needed him to connect with the people. I've never been able to prove it, but I know he had my father killed. That's what brought me to the resistance."

Eanala hasn't looked particularly cheerful since leaving Hara, certainly, but the bleak, cold look returns to her face. Her voice is tight with an undercurrent of barely concealed fury.

Verrian frowns slightly as a thought strikes. "What do you think happened to Ghara? Would his estate have been able to withstand the fires? Or would he have escaped and not gathered with the bulk of the refugees?"