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--- sessions:worldbuilding:2020-04-25 [2021/07/31 22:33] – shyriath
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 Zadireth, his extremities still covered in armor and his claws covered in blood, wandered stiffly over and assisted Demarath in getting the spear free from Ilirith's thigh, then casually removed a cloth hood from a nearby corpse and handed it to Demarath. "It might be of use as a bandage," he said, eyeing the blood streaming down Ilirith's leg. "Will you be all right here? I may need to go talk to our new friend over there."}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|"Yes," Demarath hissed, not meaning it as a rebuke of any sort, but too tense to react in a strictly friendly way. It was Ilirith's prerogative to answer the question, besides, but with Demarath guided in large part still by instinct, he didn't stop to think about a social pecking order.
+He took the proffered cloth, adopting the worried, fussing mode of a father in regards to Ilirith's wound, only just barely resisting the urge to make cooing, soothing sounds as he tried to dress the wound.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|Of course, Demarath had never dressed a wound before. With this in mind, Ilirith, with a certainty that suggested she'd done it many times, gave him directions, including one to bind another strip of cloth higher up her leg and tighter, to restrict the blood flow a bit. "It'll keep the wound from bleeding quite as much," was her explanation.
+Ilirith was... not exactly calm, but clearly the source of her agitation was clearly not from the pain or blood; she kept muttering things like "I must be losing my edge" and "Should've pushed that spear into the other one and taken them both out".
+When she seemed satisfied that the wrappings would hold, she dragged herself upright with Demarath's assistance. It only then began to occur to her, as her temper cooled off a little, that in most other contexts having a male put his hands all over her thigh would probably have been much more enjoyable. Strange were the workings of Seluurin. Carefully testing how much weight she could put on the leg, she murmured, "Thank you," in a subdued sort of voice.}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Demarath was quite beyond feeling confused or offended about any detail of Ilirith's reaction, nor particularly flattered by her gesture of appreciation. It wasn't that he didn't //hear// it or didn't //acknowledge// it - there was a friendly sound from him that was unmistakably that - but simply that he was struggling to articulate much more than raw protective emotion.
+It took him long moments after Ilirith had risen to calm down to the point of true coherence.
+Somehow, they had fended off a whole band of takmar together. It had cost them an awful wound in Ilirith's leg, but they had done it. They were still alive. A lot of their assailants, frankly, had been less lucky by far.
+"We did it," he said, a little numbly, even as he dared to take his eyes off Ilirith for a few moments to scan for Zadireth and the Chosen they'd come to the assistance of. He lasted a few seconds before his unhappy attention was back on Ilirith.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|"Yes, I suppose we did," Ilirith replied. It was dawning on her that Demarath seemed a little stunned. She supposed it was a bit of an achievement - she'd killed people before, quite a few of them, but she'd never been so unwise as to take on an entire troop of them at once, in the open.
+"Of course," she mumbled, "we had magic, and the element of surprise, but still..." She trailed off, frowned, and then turned to look in the direction of Zadireth and the new Chosen, because things there were getting rather noisy.
+"Please understand," Zadireth was saying, in an exaggeratedly soothing voice, "we are not here to harm you. We, too, are witches. We are friends-" He ducked flat as a narrow cone of flame roared over his head.
+The Chosen he was speaking to was, now that she wasn't moving around and on fire, much more visible. Though she was still mostly covered in dried mud, there were silver scales visible where it had fallen off. She was rather taller and more heavily built than any of the rest of them, but appeared to have suffered, and healed from, some terrible injuries; something seemed wrong with her muzzle, she moved one of her forelimbs very gingerly, and one of her wings was... well, //mangled// was about the only good word; it was as if a giant hand had taken it and crushed it into a ball and snapped most of the bones.
+She was also staring at Zadireth with wide golden eyes and a wild expression verging on panic. Her good forelimb, trembling with fear or panic or possibly both, was extended toward him. She snarled, and then shrieked - haltingly, as if trying to remember how to form the words - "Get... away!"}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|With Ilirith's attention firmly shifting toward the new commotion, Demarath's too wandered across.
+The stranger's appearance came as a bit of a surprise to him, given how capable a fighter she had proven herself to be - but perhaps it was less surprising in the context of that a whole band had been hunting after her, presumably after physically abusing her in some fashion. It made her achievements all the more impressive.
+As he watched and his thoughts continued to thaw back into rational processes, a few thoughts occurred to him - but they were perhaps a bit rude to shout across. 'Have you tried taking a couple of accommodating steps back?' was one of them. 'Have you tried having a more deferential body language?' was another.
+Not that Demarath was doing a better job, stupidly staring across to the scene and doing exactly nothing.
+He blinked slowly, trying to will himself out of the molasses, rolling his shoulders to regain his own physical awareness. He was definitely here. This wasn't a dream. In theory, he had enough agency to //do// something other than gawk.
+And this //was// a fellow fire witch - to whatever degree concrete manifestations of magic reflected the underlying skills. Not that Demarath had made pictures with fire before, but the sense of kinship was still very pronounced.
+Finally, an urge took him, and he began to approach with some caution, his own air leaning toward apologetic. He was pretty sure he had burnt his energy reserves on the last sparks he'd set off and had thus lost any chance of trying his hand at communicating with fire from afar, much as it would have been a welcome challenge and no doubt a good gesture, both.
+"Hey," he said to Zadireth. "Give her some more space?" he suggested - not by way of accusation, but as a suggestion. There was, after all, already a good deal of space between them; Zadireth wasn't looming over her, or even at wing's reach, just at a comfortable talking distance.
+Maybe an uncomfortable talking distance would be better for first contact.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|"I'm not really all that close," Zadireth muttered, but slowly withdrew to a less intimidating distance.
+If Demarath had expected any gratitude at his intervention, however, he was quickly disabused of the notion. The stranger whirled to face //him// instead. "Why," she snarled, "why are you helping? What do you //want// from me?"
+Next to Demarath, Ilirith's eyes narrowed. She couldn't interpose herself between the angry Chosen and Demarath without visibly encroaching on the former, but she eyed the dagger at her feet. If she had to, she could hurl it without physically picking it up, though not with the same amount of force.}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Fortunately, Demarath hadn't expected much of anything, still affected by a dull trance from the battle, although its ill effects had by now dissipated far more than its beneficial ones.
+'Fellow fire-witch' continued to do a lot of work for his psyche - while he flinched a very slight bit at the sudden attention, it didn't set him into panic, as the same might have coming from nearly anyone else. Some part of him evidently felt like there ought to be connection here and was willing to risk some scorching.
+He tilted his head with some curiosity. "I... don't know how to frame it in those terms," he admitted readily. "'Want' isn't a word that comes to mind, certainly not with 'from you' attached. If you just want to be on your way, you absolutely can, though you should know we're going somewhere where there //are// no takmar but those with our inate abilities. That's probably safer than roaming on your own." //Especially given what happened to you last time.//}}
+{{wst>shyriath|The girl seemed to have difficulty following what Demarath was saying, particularly the word 'innate'. At last, she barked, "What are you //talking// about?"
+"He's saying," Ilirith spoke up, using the excuse of speech to ease herself between the girl and Demarath, "that we're all witches - like you - and that we're going somewhere where there are only witches. You could come with us and no one would hurt you for having magic." Ilirith used a different accent and vocabulary than she normally did - it was much more like Ferleth's, and, as he came to think about it, something like that of the guards in the Matriarch's palace, when they talked amongst themselves. He'd never heard //her// speak like that.
+The girl looked slightly less panicked, but far more baffled. "Like... me?" She glanced uneasily between them. "A place with-" She stopped, and then bared her teeth. "That's stupid. There's a... a witch-land and, and if I were dumb enough to come along, you'd let me for no reason? 'Cause you're just //that nice//?" The last words were spoken with intense contempt and bitterness. "I'm not an idiot, y'know, I'm not getting caught like that again-"
+Zadireth, a cunning look on his face, smoothly inserted himself into the conversation. "Ah, but what about a deal?"
+The girl's head snapped around to look at him. Her gaze was venomous; however mistrustful she was of them in general, it was clear that she had already formed some special dislike for Zadireth. "So you //do// want something."
+The bronze nodded agreeably. "The type of magic that you and Demarath here have-" He pointed to the copper. "-is very useful in fending off attackers... and since the way to the Citadel lies through the mountains, having someone else around who could provide warmth would be a welcome addition to the party as well." As the girl opened her mouth, he added quickly: "And aside from a promise of a home where you won't be hunted, surely Demarath might be able to teach you what he knows about the use of Spark magic-"
+Ilirith had acquired a flinty look in her eye. "Zadireth-" she began, but was waved into silence.
+"-as you no doubt have things he would like to learn," Zadireth finished. The girl eyed him suspiciously, then turned to stare hard at Demarath.}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Demarath had gotten stuck on the words 'teach you what he knows about the use of Spark magic', so by the time Zadireth finished his spiel, he was unsure where the conversation had gone.
+"I may not have a lot to teach?" he said, hesitantly, by way of an apology he wasn't sure was needed. "Not too long ago, all I was doing was, ah-- was cooling provisions, really. I'm still getting a hang of this." A pause. "Although I guess I did fry a few of the-- the takmar, that were troubling you." It was more of a mutter.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|It was just about possible to see a grimace spasm across Zadireth's features as Demarath replied; evidently he'd been hoping for something more helpful. Fortunately, the mud-caked witch hadn't been watching.
+For the first time, she approached them more closely. Though smaller than an ordinary takma, she was rather taller than him or either of the others, and loomed ominously over both him and Ilirith. This close, he could make out eyes of an unusual color, like pale gold, and it appeared that one side of her muzzle had been dished in by some heavy blow.
+She seemed a little bolder now. Was it because they were all witches? Maybe because she finally had the opportunity to be taller than someone else? Maybe she was simply less threatened by Demarath's uncertain attitude. Regardless, and pointedly ignoring Ilirith's increasingly unfriendly scowl, she glared at him. "You were the one who changed my fire earlier?"}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Despite the glare, he took it as encouragement. "I-- yes, actually!" he said with mild enthusiasm. "I couldn't make something like that myself, I don't think - shape fire like that. I mostly, ah, froze and zapped the takmar. No shapes with fires. No mud-fire armour -- oh, are you, ah, familiar with Idrizal at all?" He was doing a poor job of hiding that he was quite delighted by her abilities, likely because no one had told him he shouldn't, and he didn't have the good sense to be intimidated by her glower yet.}}
+{{wst>Shyriath|The girl was obviously baffled by his attitude toward the conversation, though it wasn't quite clear why. It was rather //more// clear, though, that she didn't like being baffled.
+She seemed to like even less the mention of Idrizal, though - insofar as it was possible to distinguish - not actually enraged. She thrust her muzzle into Demarath's face. "You keep Her out of this-"
+There was a faint noise as her nose, much to her surprise, smooshed against an invisible barrier before it got too close to Demarath. She blinked in confusion, then looked at the curled fingers of Ilirith, who had fixed her with a chilly glare. "Do not," the green said very quietly, "move in on one of us in that fashion, please."
+The silver girl bared her teeth and hissed; Ilirith's lips crinkled as she fought down an equal response, but she lowered her head slightly to make her status-markings more visible. It was difficult to see the silver's under the layer of mud, but after a tense, silent moment she shook her head furiously, whirled around awkwardly, and strode off in a random direction, muttering and snarling.}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Demarath's first instinct was to say //'Wait!'//, but he curbed it, replacing it instead with some mild confusion of his own. Was the implied comparison to Idrizal an insult, or had she not realised that it was leading up to a comparison? Or perhaps she was deeply religious in some way and eshewed such metaphors entirely?
+"...do we go after her?" he asked, not making any great effort to hide his voice from the retreating Energist, but intending the audience to be his initial companions and modulating the volume of his voice accordingly.}}
+{{wst>Shyriath|"I don't think so," Ilirith began, at a similar volume; but Zadireth spoke over her. //"Yes,"// he replied emphatically. "At least we need to make the attempt to convince her to come with us. There was a lot of noise here, and bits of the landscape are on fire, and there's smoke, so at some point someone's going to come and try to find out what was happening. She's in danger if she lingers here too long."
+"So are //we//," Ilirith reorted. "And she really doesn't seem interested-"
+She stopped, listening. There was a sound off in the distance, high-pitched and eerie, and for a moment it was hard to say what it was; but to his surprise Demarath was able to identify it before his two companions, for he had heard it often in his mother's house: the sound of hatchlings squalling. What were //children// doing out here?
+The silver girl, too, had noticed the sound, freezing abruptly in mid-fury; a look of utter horror crossed her face, soon replaced by a terrible rage. Baring her teeth, sparks appearing in the region of her head and scattering around her, she began hobbling as fast as she could in the direction of the noise.}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|It took all of Demarath's self-control not to laugh. They'd been in a strange situation a moment ago, encountering a reluctantly hostile Energist, yet somehow it had become even stranger. Indeed, what //were// children doing here?
+He took a few steps in the direction of the sound, then paused, beginning a gesture toward Zadireth and Ilirith that couldn't quite decide what it was, either, before in turn simply aborting.
+Inwardly, he wondered whether the little ones belonged to their new unhappy acquaintance - but from context it seemed unlikely.
+After a moment of stunned inaction, he resumed a curious, cautious stride to follow the sound.}}
+{{wst>Shyriath|Zadireth and Ilirith followed along with him, the former looking nonplussed and the latter looking confused and reluctant, and both - being injured - with a certain amount of pain. The silver female remained in sight, but only her own injury kept her from outpacing them; it was clear that, if she had been capable of running, she would have.
+As they moved onto slightly higher ground than that they'd fought in, a collection of dim, still shapes emerged from the mist; tents, supplies, some firepits. The camp had clearly been here for a while, but one section of it had been badly burned; an indication, perhaps, that it had been from here that she had made her escape from the band.
+It was also clear that the camp was mostly abandoned; a few males could be seen, here and there, hurriedly grabbing things and running, particularly when they saw the silver coming. But near the center of the camp was a bent, somewhat slower-moving figure fussing around an intact tent, and this tent appeared to be the source of the crying. The silver girl made directly for it, screeching incoherently as she approached.
+The bent figure jerked to attention, and then shuffled in front of the tent, placing himself in the path of the enraged witch, and waved his hands. An elderly male voice pleaded, "Ferleth! No!"}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Demarath was simply following along, not quite sure what to do about the situation. A strange form of exhaustion was starting to get to him - the bizarre medley of emotions, adrenaline and stress came together as something of a dull, disembodied ache, a heaviness to his joints. The overall effect was still light, his instincts not yet convinced he was out of harm's way, but his body was at least already expressing its desire to yield to rest, at least for a while.}}
+{{wst>Shyriath|The little group came to a halt behind Ferleth, who had extended a hand in the direction of the tent, and who gave the impression, with many tics and twitches, just barely able to prevent herself from incinerating the tent and the crying voices in it.
+The fact that the bent figure, a somewhat elderly and non-Chosen burgundy-colored male, had interposed himself between the girl and the tent might have had something to do with this, though he was clearly terrified. He babbled frantically at her. "Don't do this, you don't have to do this, girl, they didn't ask for any of this any more than you did-"
+"Shut up and get out of the way!" Ferleth howled, tears streaming from her eyes. "'S not your business!"
+"It's bad enough what //you// had to pay, do you have to make them pay too?" begged the old man. "Just... please, calm down-"
+Ferleth did not appear to be on the verge of calming down, but her tics and twitches were increasingly joined by trembling.
+Zadireth, eyes narrowed, edged as nonthreateningly as possible around Ferleth to try to bring himself into view of both of them. "Excu-"
+There was a sudden turn of Ferleth's arm, and a brief but unpleasant roar of flame, which sputtered out after a moment; but Zadireth, who had clearly been prepared for something like this, muttered from near ground level where he'd dropped, "I really wish you wouldn't //do// that."
+Ferleth gently sank to the ground, sobbing. The elderly male started forward as if to help Zadireth, then looked at him, then up at Demarath and Ilirith. He stared at each of them in turn, not obviously hostile, but still very nervous. "W-witches? Do you know Ferleth from somewhere?"
+Ferleth's - evidently entirely unplanned - attack had come too quickly for Ilirith to attempt to stop it, but at some point before its end had stretched out a hand toward her in the manner of one about to attempt some restraint. That Ferleth now appeared to be nonthreatening was not persuading her to abandon this stance.
+Ilirith muttered, without taking her eyes off her target, "Not in the least. We just met."}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Some part of Demarath considered approaching Ferleth to lay a reassuring hand on her, but it was obviously a poor idea given the state she was in. Instead, he made his way, curious, to the tent, wondering if something could be done for the little ones that would soothe Ferleth and keep them safe from her at the same time, cautious in his approach, keeping an eye on Ferleth as he moved.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|There were, alongside a basic sleeping mat, a pair of largish baskets. In one of them, placed amid bits of blankets and rags, were a trio of hatchlings. They looked frightened, though now that things were currently quiet seemed to be quieting down themselves somewhat; they peered at Demarath in bewilderment.
+The other basket contained a heap of decaying vegetation, mostly moss and leaves, but the purpose of it was explained by the small area of eggshell visible through a gap. It was nothing like the nesting material his mother had used for her own eggs; but then, his mother might well have been able to afford to swaddle them in cloth of gold if she'd really felt like it. Presumably this was the commoner way of doing it.
+Over his shoulder, the old man murmured, "This wasn't the kind of place for children, really. But I wasn't going to be able to sneak them out of camp without getting caught."}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Demarath crouched carefully beside the basket with the hatchlings, smiling gently. "Hello," he said to them, warmly. "Everything's all right, I think," he added, reaching gently toward them with the back of one forepaw, to let them investigate a part of this stranger that had come into their tent. He wasn't altogether //sure// that everything was all right now, but it didn't feel to him as though he were lying, either.
+To the old man, he asked, his tone gentle: "Do you have any plans what to do with them?"}}
+{{wst>shyriath|The hatchlings sniffed his paw cautiously, one of them licking it - whether as a gesture of bonding or simple investigation for taste was unclear - and, together with the sound of his voice, it seemed to soothe them. There was that, at least; he'd spent enough time around younger siblings to have an idea of how to talk to children.
+The old man glanced back. "I suppose I'm not the one to ask-" he began, but was cut off by Ferleth's voice; it was low enough that it did not disturb the children, but dripping with misery and bitterness.
+"Don't you involve me in this, Librith," she croaked. "It's nothing to do with me."
+"Ferleth," Librith replied in a wheedling tone, "That's not really the case-"
+"Yes it is. I didn't ask for them. I didn't want them. I didn't get a choice about them. They're not mine. You've been looking after them; they're yours." At no point from where she was curled up on the ground did Ferleth look up at him.
+Librith shook his head in defeat. "If I can find a settlement nearby, maybe... but if they grow up to be witches, they won't be safe."}}
+{{wst>pinkgothid|Demarath was gradually sticking his paws into the basket, gently touching fingers to the hatchlings as it seemed safe to do so. His attention still mostly on the little ones, he thought out loud: "Maybe we could take the little ones with us?"
+His uncertainty about it was clear in the tone of his voice - he imagined it was perhaps doable, but the journey was already //interesting// enough without three babies to deal with.
+Still, it seemed as though the fathers had abandoned the babies, the mother didn't want them, and the caretaker doubted his ability to keep them safe. Maybe they wouldn't do any worse than that.}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Demarath was gradually sticking his paws into the basket, gently touching fingers to the hatchlings as it seemed safe to do so. His attention still mostly on the little ones, he thought out loud: "Maybe we could take the little ones with us?"
+His uncertainty about it was clear in the tone of his voice - he imagined it was perhaps doable, but the journey was already //interesting// enough without three babies to deal with.
+Still, it seemed as though the fathers had abandoned the babies, the mother didn't want them, and the caretaker doubted his ability to keep them safe. Maybe they wouldn't do any worse than that.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|Zadireth, peering into the tent, gave the babies a speculative look, but replied to Demarath in a matter-of-fact tone. "No - there's a long way to go, and too many risks on the way. They're not likely to survive the trip into the mountains at that age - and, on top of everything else," he added, "they wouldn't be allowed in."
+"In?" asked Librith. Zadireth treated him to a grin that, friendly as it appeared on the surface, was rather unnerving. "Our destination really shouldn't be discussed with those who are not Chosen - witches, as you would say. ...No, I fear we must leave you to do the best you can with them. If any turn out to be Chosen, then with any luck one of us shall find them and take them to safety some day."}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|"Is there any way we could tell now?" Demarath wondered aloud, running fingers along the little ones' heads. Just because //he// didn't know of a way didn't mean there was none - and Zadireth, having had interactions with the Citadel before, might know about such things.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|"If the mothers and fathers of a child are all Chosen, the children will also be Chosen," Zadireth said, apparently losing interest in hatchlings in the tent, "but otherwise, no - not until they are older."
+"What does it matter?" Ilirith said, finally relaxing slightly. Ferleth seemed too occupied with her own problems to be hostile at the moment, though she was directing a tearful glare into the tent. "They're too young to be a threat in any case!"
+"The Unchosen are not allowed in," Zadireth replied absently; he was now looking at Ferleth once again. "Even family members. Even by accident. Were we to bring them and any turned out //not// to be Chosen... no, they cannot come along. That said," he added, addressing Ferleth, "it does mean that, were you to come with us, they would be far away from //you//..."
+Ferleth turned her glare on Zadireth, but this time, at last, there was a hint of thoughtful uncertainty in her expression, if not actual temptation.}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Demarath was still touching the hatchlings, which wasn't helping him form an emotional distance. The idea of just leaving them here felt //wrong//. His brain was crunching the proverbial numbers, trying to solve the problem for x. The notion that dragons would not be allowed in if they were not witches bothered him; he could understand not wanting someone who had grown up in 'normal' takmar culture in the settlement, but these little ones had barely formed opinions about anyone yet!
+If he at all thought the journey was safe, he would have risked a fight with Zadireth and insisted on bringing them. Fortunately, he didn't think so, and so he didn't raise a fuss, intellectually rejecting his second-hand parental urge.
+Reluctantly, he pulled back from the little ones, silent.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|Librith seemed to be absorbing the fact that no one was going to help him be a father to a brood that, very likely, would contain at least some witches. "Is there //nothing// I can do?" he asked, plaintively, as Zadireth held Ferleth's gaze.
+"That depends on what way you mean," Zadireth replied. Then a faintly annoyed expression crossed his face, and he sighed. "There is one possibility," he added. "I hear there's a city across the sea where they don't mind Chosen being around - Aadihash, or something like that. Assuming its neighbors don't get around to conquering it, it might be a safe place for the hatchlings to grow up... but we're going in the opposite direction, so you'll have to make it there on your own, I fear. If nothing else, they're too young for anyone to guess about witchcraft yet, so no one should stop you on that account."
+Ferleth gave the interior of the tent, and the children, a brief glance, and there was, very briefly and very faintly, something like regret there, but it hardened quickly, and she rasped, "//If// I'm going to go with you, then let's get going." Zadireth nodded, turned, and motioned for the others to follow.}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Demarath dithered for a moment, realising there was another option: He could accompany Librith to this 'Aadihash' place. It wasn't a //good// option - it would separate him from Ilirith, for one, which he'd rather not, and from Zadireth's choice of wording, their current destination was a safer sanctuary than the strange city.
+The only reasons for changing direction would be indulging the second-hand parental urge he'd already told himself he'd dismissed... and curiosity about the alternative.
+He followed after Zadireth.
+After a few steps, still technically in hearing range of Librith and with no particular interest in hiding the conversation from the takma, Demarath asked: "So, why //are// we going into the opposite direction?" He didn't pause quite long enough to let anyone answer immediately, instead amending: "I guess what I'm trying to say is that it seems... odd, maybe, that the two witch-friendly places would be so far apart."
+He was having trouble putting an articulable finger on what he meant - but from Zadireth's short description, Aadihash sounded to him like a potential ally, and it might be in the Citadel's interest to have at least some cautiously covert communications with it.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|Zadireth mused that it was always tricky, mentioning the distant city.
+In fact, Dlyss had rather specifically told him not to do so in front of other Chosen, and as in most things, he preferred to humor her wishes. But Dlyss had given him any number of instructions, and it was only possible to obey them all when they weren't mutually exclusive. Given the choice of preserving possible Chosen lives, he believed he'd picked the more important directive.
+Of course, the price was having to explain the situation to the curious, while trying to limit them to what they needed to know.
+He rather deliberately waited to respond until they were somewhat further from earshot, before saying in a low voice, "The two places have nothing to do with each other besides a concentration of Chosen; they are... independent developments, and share no history.
+"I am told that Aadihash is a relatively recent city; the Citadel, by contrast, has existed in some form since at least the days of the Empire." Zadireth shrugged. "You can ask Oghwess about it when we stop at the refuge, if you're interested; she's a bit more acquainted with the history of the Citadel than I am."}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Demarath was, by quite many a measure, somewhat naive in his dealings with other takmar, having spent much of his life as a refrigerator, but something about Zadireth's answer made him identify it as a dodge. //Something// was being kept from the narrative.
+His scepticism was likely visible in his body language - he had made no effort to hide his emotions - but he did not press the matter, instead simply quietly filing away that his friendly guide might not be as friendly as assumed. It was only a small mark, the kind you might place on someone if you caught them on an almost inconsequential but obvious lie, but after the recent fight had done much to emotionally bind them together, it was the first thing to set them apart.
+Silent, accepting that it was all he was likely going to learn, he focussed instead on the journey ahead of them, letting his attention be consumed by the newest addition to their strange crew - Ferleth.
+She didn't give an impression of being interested in conversation for the time being. There was clearly a long history that needed to be digested, consequences that needed to be properly accepted, neither of which would accelerate if they spoke to her, but he started to form questions in mind - some easier to ask, others harder - that he might ask of her a little later, when she looked less lonely.
+That was what she looked like. Lonely. She was travelling with them, but it seemed rather like a physical thing, an automation.
+Given what she'd been through, it was perhaps not surprising that she didn't want emotional contact with much of anyone.
+The whole gamut of adrenaline, excitement and stress finally started to deconstruct in Demarath's body as he moved, dissipating out through his moving limbs. The motion helped. Slowly, the pent up tension gave way to a confused tiredness.
+What had just happened?
+It felt eerie, as though it were a story of someone else's adventure. He ran the battle and the negotiation with Ferleth and Librith through his mind's eye, but he didn't recognise himself in the scenes.
+A trace of Ferleth's stubborn loneliness infected him. He was far away from home. Although it had surely saved his life, he was running from some kind of definition of justice that he'd grown up with. Something expected. Something that was, to some degree, predictable. The battle had not been predictable. Ferleth had not been predictable. The change was exhilerating, but there had been so much, all at once, and for a few minutes, he felt afloat in some alternate universe.}}