Megathread - (Special Event) Nightcamp | Page 3

Gwyn found it hard to watch the struggle on @Sera Phim's face as she spoke. Whether it was this war or more that was weighing on her, none of it was healthy. She would be a hypocrite to say anything about it considering her own current form. It felt like her stubborn backbone was the only thing keeping her up and while she still felt betrayed, relieved, and disgusted all in one breath... she knew she could take it. Sera looked like she didn't think she could take it at all. A shame, knowing from experience and word of mouth just how strong she was. "Yeah, I heard. Congrats, by the way. I was a little distracted trying to out-mine the guild's resident pet cat at the time." She forced a little humor into her tone at the mention of Akino, but the warmth in her congratulations was real enough.

Her face was still set in confusion as Sera continued to talk and she could tell the mage was dancing around something. Just as she was about to speak up to prompt her to get to the point or to keep it to herself if it was causing so much turmoil, she finally spat it out. Along with a bunch more of heavy topics that had Gwyn's back stooping and her head lowering as if to hide in the cradle of her shoulders. "Congrats, again then?" The archer had never personally considered having kids. She was aware her taste in women didn't mean she or anyone she settled down with couldn't have them, she just never saw a personal appeal. Her thumbs worked absently against the handle of the longbow she still half clung to for comfort in the face of it all. "I don't think they're programs either. I don't think they or their world is really fake and it's why I don't like all this talk of taking over. I don't like the whispers of using the elves as allies and then what?" She laughed without a shred of humor this time, eyes lifting up as a few drops of water started falling from the heavens.

"If anything, Sera... in this world we're the fake ones. We're the ones who aren't real, who live here for moments and then vanish as if we never were there in the first place. But I think something like having a kid here, maybe, maybe it grounds you? Anchors a part of you here? At least to them," she said as she jerked her head toward a gathered group of NPCs- of elves nearby, "that makes you real maybe? Unlike us you're contributing something their kind of real to their world. You'll have a stake in it, a reason to care beyond... beyond a marker on a mini-map or quest in a log." She curbed a bitter tone threatening to creep into her voice as she thought closer on the topic of contribution. She wondered if even a single player knew she had been the first? Not that it mattered. She wondered if even a single elf knew she had been the first to fight with them, that she'd never fought against them? That mattered. That felt like it mattered a lot. Like they were the people she was trying to prove herself to instead of any of the human beings faking their roles in this world. Gwyn- Sabine could run into any of these people, could already know or even be related to them and there wasn't a shred of her that cared? "Sera... if this isn't a game then what is it? What the fuck is this?"

 

The night dragged on for a few weary moments, unexciting and unremarkable, as she stared out the window and kept a vigil for... anything. She had paused and gone for a walk and met a strange girl down by a stream. Awkward, to be sure... but she'd left the girl a quilt and a wine skin and told her to come back to camp before she got soaked to the bone, since the weather seemed to be growing worse and worse. It was shortly after she'd made it back herself that something similar to the Atlantic ocean dropping through a sieve started to hammer the landscape. It promised to make for a very wet and remorseful invasion in the morning. It also provided the perfect cover for the people in the castle to start sneaking out through a back gate, and going to get reinforcements... She really ought to put a patrol out there. But she had no real power, no real authority, to do so. Sighing, she heard footsteps near the doorway and turned to look for Triad, the girl she had met at the river. The girl had been a bitch but she wouldn't fault the kid for that... angst happened.

Ready to invite the girl to join her and get some rest, she was surprised to see... she wasn't sure what she was seeing. Blinking, she watched as Rook spoke and performed their card trick, totally unsure at first what to make of all of it. Did Roland or Merkaba send somebody to fuck with her out of spite? She wouldn't put it past them... Still, the person seemed genuinely... something. Replaying 'this one's' words again in her head, she shrugged and gestured to a stool nearby, which Rook could seat themselves on. There was also her bed of hay and burlap sacks, but she'd prefer if the stranger didn't steal the place she planned to bunk down... Something about ivories, so... the night was dangerous, if one was alone. The next part was all flowery prose for 'something on your mind keeping you up?' And... offering council or guidance, or at least a lended ear, if she needed it? And an offer to perform a tarot read, to she guessed... offer comfort or direction, or a glimpse at things. She smiled wryly at that thought, and turned her attention back to the window to keep an eye on things out in the rain.

"Waxing interest, forsooth be seated and witch the hour as sky confused for sea. Like the pitch and pot be, veiled in the whimsy-dance of darkness unmolested." she warned as she jerked a pointed towards the window and the castle beyond. Clearly, she was in the dark for a reason, and didn't want them to see she was up there watching. "The lark and the liar speak oft, but This One imbibes with grain of salt to temper tempest of thoughts unbidden. Play the part thou art, and riddle This One's coming storm."

@Rook Whisker

 

Rook's half-smile and curious expression immediately shifted into a wide grin as the woman facing them spoke. Her words showed she understood and to understand was to know more than the surface and Rook vastly enjoyed when people knew more. It was always exciting! The Admiral matched their patterns, though took a more classical tone that might have fit poets of medieval times and the like. Rook did no such thing. It wasn't a style choice after all, it was whichever words fit best into the space between breaths. The Many didn't have much to say on their peculiar manner of speech, but they knew more than a few had seemed pleased with the titles they had been bestowed. Not one had demanded another or hissed at a spoken untruth. None of their names were lies, after all.

The caster mentally refocused, eyes sharp on the human as they were offered a seat. It would have been horribly rude to ignore such an invitation! The short Velten moved forward smoothly to take the offered seat. Their gaze traveled out through the dark to watch the castle carefully for a moment before they lifted a hand to laugh lightly behind. "Denned deep, but the plane so above weeps. There will be no fire's breath to chase out foxes. They will be pried from out." They snickered to themselves for a moment more, imagining doing so fool as thing as boarding up inside the castle. Even if they thought they could last a century, nothing lasted forever.

Suddenly they turned back to @The Admiral and tilted their head curiously. She had accepted their offer of a reading. It didn't mean she'd believe it to be any sort of truth, but she would hear it. It wasn't as if she'd be doing anything else but chasing circles in her head in the dark of the gatehouse if not. They nodded firmly to themselves and carefully moved the cards to the palm of their left hand. Not a single one shuffled from its place, still as if a single piece of carved stone. "Storm in half-right. Not The Winged Temple here, no nor the plane of it. To be caught in the eye..." they shuddered at the thought of facing the Aeromancy patron in person. It would be a good, and interesting, way to die at least. Maybe that was the cost to see the body beneath the feeling of clouds and static and feathers. If there was one. No matter. The reading.

"In the not-eye of the not-storm. At heart for The Watcher in the Night," they drew the first card with a flick of their right hand. They didn't bother touching the card itself as it floated eerily off the top and drifted down to the table. The painted visage of a man hung by his ankle, but appeared to stand awaited both sets of eyes. A cantrip of Rook's Arcanamancy flicked to life so that a very dim, lavender glow emanated from the revealed cards that they might be read in the dark without giving away their presence here. "The Fool turned afoul. Do you call to move forward, but turn a statue's likeness at knowing one must lose to gain? Does The Watching Knight hesitate at sacrifice, fear it like those that dwell in shadows... or have you already lost. A regret? A fear there is nothing to be gained at all..."

Rook reached out with one finger to trace the edge of the card curiously. "What led you here, Watcher, to the New Man's Folly? What is carried on bent spine to color this day, this night in your eye?" The next card fluttered from the deck to settle at its left side. They nearly cooed in the dark, "Two cups for two serpents to pour of. How the immovable and the unstoppable meet, clash, blur together in heated passion, in deadly game. Things have come as of one in balance, in honor, in respect. A card of sands at the bottom of the timepiece." The next card came without bidding and landed sharply to the right of The Fool. "What comes to color the next dawn's eye's sight in you? What concern will dog The Watcher's heels?" They laughed suddenly as they spoke, nearly cutting off the words. The faint light revealed a perfect circle, arcane might carved into its flanks and ghastly and beautiful hands clutching at the sides. The reversed Wheel of Fortune was a dark awning, surely. "It has all fallen from the reins, gone wild and loose and The Origin of Question is helpless for the world and the wheel turn as they will it. It taints the eyes, the mind, this fear-awaiting of misfortune. A pity." They paused to look at her from the corner of their eyes, face still turned toward the faces of the revealed spread. "There are more who clamor to speak. Bade This One speak for their might?"

 

Sera sighed with relief at how well @Gwyn ap Herne took her news. As the rain started falling down, Sera cast a small geomancy spell to form an umbrella of rock and earth to keep the two dry. She frowned though, when Gwyn said talk had turned to taking over. "I... I hadn't heard anything like that, what?" She asked. "They're already planning to betray the elves?" She looked around, hoping she was misunderstanding what Gwyn meant by "taking over."

When the other girl talked about the realness of this world, Sera nodded. "Even if it exists inside of a computer, or the Internet, or whatever, this world is real. It gets into heavy topics, like souls and stuff like that. If souls aren't real, then there really is nothing to differentiate the two of us, except for where the world exists. If souls are real, how can we prove they don't have them? So it's better, easier, to treat them like they're real. Because they are. My baby... it's not soulless."

"If I had known how real this all would be before I joined, I might not have. But... I'm glad I did. And I hope you're right, that the people of this world will see me as real. I hope my child won't see me as some abomination from another world, only playing in hers, or his. It's terrible... knowing that in all likelyhood, that if this is being treated as a game, it won't last for my entire life. One day it would get shut down, and then I'll never see my baby again...."

 

There were a great many curious things coming from Rook's mouth as they gave a fortune which, for the most part, seemed steeped in misfortune and despair. She continued to stare out the window, listening absent mindedly, not wanting to really heed the omens which were so easily cast. Of course in this situation a negative read would seem genuine; it was the heart of despair that hung over this camp. Still, when Rook queried if they ought to continue, she turned and nodded at the strange figure, before returning to her vigil.

 

The medical tent was, in a word, chaos. Elves were running around left and right, attempting to not only deal with the sick and wounded, but also patching up the low-quality tent to keep as much rain out as possible. There was no true organization to the operation, and no time to even think about trying to organize everyone. As Beatle thought about it, a nearby Elf cried out in pain, gripping his leg. There was a large gash across his calf, partially covered up by some kind of leather gauze. The Elf's face was locked in a tight expression, obviously doing his best not to scream in pain too much.

"Let me help you with that." Beatle muttered softly as he approached the Elf. He was used to people not hearing him, but it still gave him a slight sense of relief just to move his mouth. The elf looked at him, puzzled. "What, ya gonna kiss it better? Go get an adult, kid. This aint no place for a runt like yo-HHHNNNNNGGGGG"

Beatle had suddenly grabbed the Elf's leg, casting Nature's Blessing. The spell began to heal and close the wound, and the Elf's face turned from one of surprise and pain to one of immense relief as the pain subsided. After about a minute, the leg looked as good as new. The Elf flexed it and bent it a bit, testing it out tenderly and observing Beatle's handiwork.

"Wow... gotta hand it to ya kid, that magic stuff aint half bad. We gonna need more people like ya tomorrow."

Beatle chuckled. "Well if you just didn't get hurt, we wouldn't need people like me," he joked, silently. As he turned to walk away, the Elf retorted. "You try not getting hurt in the middle of a war..."

Beatle stopped in his tracks. Did the Elf just... hear him? He turned slowly, looking at the elf for a fraction of a second before another call for help pulled his attention away.

~Some time later~

Beatle left the medical tent, thoroughly exhausted. He'd used up almost all of his Energy healing people, and while he could say that it was for a good cause, he knew that tomorrow would only be more of the same: senseless massacre on both sides. Not only that, but he and the other healers would have to deal with the aftermath again tomorrow.

He'd made an interesting discovery this night. Never before had he tried actually talking to the NPC's of the game, so it had never occurred to him that they may be able to hear him despite his faulty hardware. Perhaps the game was still able to pick up his voice, just not transmit it? So the game could hear him, but other players couldn't?

He stood in the rain, closing his eyes and letting it hit his face. It was all just data. 1's and 0's by the trillions, all dancing around eachother in the beautiful algorithm that was Terrasphere. And yet, the sensation of water splashing on his face felt so real. The NPC's he interacted with felt alive. HE felt alive.

"I hope I can keep it that way..."

 

Waiting for Rook's next drawing of the cards, the Admiral spotted the familiar visage of Beatle out in the rain. At least, it looked like him... Felt like it was him. And if it wasn't him, she was about to feel really bad for what she did next. Considering how late it was, if he was off sleeping in Stokbon or on another adventure, it would annoy him to be interrupted.

The Admiral

Beats-

I'm up in the gatehouse, above the shattered gateway. Come join me and get out of the rain.

@Rook Whisker @Beatle the Bard

 

Sneaking back into the encampment was child's play, considering how disorganized everything appeared to be. He could not see his guild mates anywhere, which satisfied him that at least something had gone right: with any luck, several might be dead! Still, his desire not to put up with being yelled at outweighed the desire to remain logged off and away from the event. So he had returned in silence, pretending as though he had never left in the first place, and propped his boots up upon a table while he napped within one of the many tents sprawled around the rough campsite.

 

Rook's eyes narrowed with an almost dangerous glint as @The Admiral prompted them further. A flex of their mana saw a few of the patrons cracking open an eye to pay close attention. They acted through the cards, but so did fate and fortune. The caster nearly preened with a secret pride at being in the position this world allowed them. It was a rush of power and knowledge that tasted oh so sweet on the tongue. They flexed their hand over the three cards, the cardstock rising for a moment before settling once more though this time straighter. Much better.

"We see the walks of gone, here, and to be. The mind's eye next perhaps?" With a flick of their right hand two more cards flung themselves from the deck and positioned themselves above and below the card denoting the central struggle in the form of The Hanged Man. The one on top was decorated with the image of a frail figure, small and meek. Their dressings near tatters and the card once again reversed. "How fitting, The Night's Knight finds their Page. They stand within your mind perhaps, caught breath under depths. The Others laze, they misstep, they dream of days never to come or gone or false in the eyes of this world's star-set path. Nothing is enough, no action practical, you seethe for it." Their tone of voice took on an irritable cant as if the frustration the card spoke of slipped into them as well. Immediately their tone shifted as their eyes turned to the card below. A great golden vehicle wreathed in flames and lines of light, hitched to heavenly steeds awaited them. "Beneath the skin, the surface, the mind it knows. The Watcher dares step away, quelled, yet the echoes of What is Right go unheard. The heaven's steed's birthright is control. Power and direction must be their reins. Why do you pretend not to hear their whispered war horn?" Toward the end Rook's voice was almost melancholy. A grievance for something not yet lost. Still, there were more. There were always more.

Rook leaned back from the cards and their face fell into a set expression. Almost grim in nature. "Something is faulted, the crack in the glass, the shift in the set of the bones and brick and mortar. The challenge, the that which stands before the all and refuses them." They turned their right hand palm up above the cards and the top of the deck was quick to answer, settling in their offered perch. A man, upside-down, upon a throne. He would have looked kindly, but strong had he been facing the right way, but the shift in point of view left a sinister underlying look to his expression on the card. "What is a King if not kind? An Emperor. Authority damns as tyranny. A diadem of briar and blood sits within golden crown. Someone must give way to something. The dam will fall or drown those under hand. It must be laid low." They lowered the hand and blew gently on the card, letting it flutter down to lay sideways across The Hanged Man.

"Four more voices." Rook used their left hand this time and the right settled upon the table. Two fingers pressed into the backs of the cards and lifted, four rising to follow a perfect inch between them. The Velten guided them over to the side and they lined up on the table with their soft glow across the grain. A single fingertip tapped the back of the bottom one to ask it to flip for them. "The Knight's path so far, the path toward the future and the weather of it taken. So much work as if moving mountains to not gain an inch. The Knight of Pentacles, standing rest with his mount on his helm, says you give. In turn receive no quarter. It will skew the trail ahead. See more than you are, remove oneself and settle a lashing tongue. Rein the mount, but gentle the hand?" They hummed curiously at the card, but moved on. It wasn't their job to decide what exactly they meant. They were for The Admiral alone. The next flipped. "The bones upon which we stand are the sorrow of the cupbearer." A women with her back turned away from eight chalices, her hair blanketing her face, stood hunched. "The Gatekeeper has strayed. Many, not The Many, have strayed. For any victory a loss is broken beneath the tread of sabaton. This cannot be moved. Only accepted."

There was a moment of silence that filled the air after that one and for a long time Rook's eyes remained on the faceless woman depicted on the card. When they did move to reveal the next card it was as slow as moving in the depths of the sea. "The war's fear. Or The One Who Welcomed's." Rook glanced up at her for a moment before looking back at the crowned man on an upside down throne, so similar to The Emperor, but not. In either hand he held his sword and right. "Power has harmed or will. A guillotine of doubt, of cruelty, of selfishness needy hunger hangs. Whether truth or illusion, voices could call The Knight responsible. Criticism and responsibility are the knife in heart and holy deathbed over shoulder." Rook smiled at the last one.

Another card bore a sorrowful visage, though this a young man. His head was bowed in grief or resignation. Nine swords hovered above him in finality, arching toward his bowed back to strike. "Of swords this ends. For ill for right, this is the page that closes. The spine of fate's tome holds no more lest it rip at its seams for The Knight. There is no den deep enough, no plain wide enough, no heaven or hell whole enough to hide from the gnawing worry. Ribs were made for cutting teeth and helplessness reigns. Nightmares settle behind eyes and never will any know. What is right, Watcher? Do you know?" The caster moved their hands from the table to curl them in their lap. They left the cards in their places should The Admiral wish to see their ink closer or ask more of them. The voices that hummed through their mana had a warm weight that Rook was happy to entertain the company of.

 

As Rook continued to perform their reading of the Admiral's future, she smiled grimly and turned from the table to focus on the cards hovering in the air between them. A grim portrait was painted in the events told there, Rook's The Many apparently no friend of the Admiral's fortunes. Still... it was all precisely what she expected as well in events to come. Standing, she crossed the room and and investigated the images more closely, gesturing at the macabre display as her lips pursed.
"What I know? I know that there is one simple truth to things..." Seating herself across from, Rook, she began to recite a poem of her own devising.

"Long after midnight when angels sleep,
As across the land does darkness crawl.
A man appears, decked in white,
His face concealed by grisly caul.

Come from him vapors, and rotting breath;
A sickening perfume, that scent of death.
His skin so pale, his form so tall;
The silken clothes appear a pall.

Moves forward he, with somber stride.
A terrifying motion that quells the night.
Both the light and darkness flee his path,
As all is equal before his sight.

His mission dire; his purpose Grim.
This ghastly thing, the End of Men!
Come to collect extinguished life,
Releasing one from all their strife.

The moon! The moon! Blood red on high,
Whose ethereal glow rivals dawn.
Illuminating the path on which he treads,
As he ventures towards a raven's song.

Above it soars, called to death,
That bird of omen bearing blight.
Sporting colors and shades of woe,
While it journeys to sing a final rite.

Black feathered beast, oh darkly priest!
Prophet of drear and greater things.
Its wings do beat; its flight complete,
As it lands upon an old gnarl tree.

Upon the trunk a gentle tap.
Upon the branch a gentle rap.
Caw once, caw twice, a maddening dirge;
Drowned in fear, and all hope purged.

Distraught, a spirit looks to see
Beholding there his own demise.
His body's dressed in fine attire
And suspended by the hangman's tie.

With vacant eyes it looks ahead.
No life lingers within the dead,
Who above in branches sways to and fro;
A reaped reward for his wrongs sown.

Faced now with this grand pariah,
The spirit suffers a fearful throb.
His eyes lock on white eldritch figure
As thus begins the Danse Macabre.

“This is the end,” Death softly spoke,
“Of all you were, and all you’ve known.
A simple finish to a complex time
Of which I hope you made the most.

“You have lived well, yet not so long.
Done good deeds; committed wrongs.
But now it’s time to sever ties
Without amends, or fond goodbyes.

“Arbitrary I know it may seem,
But I am ambiguous in these regards.
I know neither love nor hate
When life’s so easily and oft' discard.

“If regret and remorse upon you weigh
Shrug off and loose that mortal toil;
For I am the piper, and must be paid.
To this dark task I am always loyal.

“And so it's time for your final rest;
A situation I must soon address.
Your lot is up, and life is gone,
So let us depart now and anon. ”

Alas and alack this hour turned black,
Conspired and conjured by whim of fate!
In limited time Death sets upon us
As soon as we’re bound to our frail mortal state.

None may claim ignorance of this truth,
Which is seared upon our very core.
Yet still the spirit begs Death for mercy,
In vain to have a few moments more.

“Do not cry! Make no plea!
I'm no Mephistopheles.
There is no devil's deal to make;
All that remains is your soul to take.

“Your life was fleeting and never would last!
Give up, let it go, that thing of the past.
Take my hand in yours and into the night roam;
You'll never be lost, but it's still not quite home.

“The days, they've been numbered;
The nights, come and gone.
That sickening silence?
It's death's calming song.

“There's no going back now,
It's all over, too late!
Come along, don't fight it,
Let's both meet your fate."

Smiling, she pulled out a wine skin and took a long pull from it, before passing it to Rook across the table.

@Rook Whisker

 

The caster kicked their feet idly from the chair as they watched @The Admiral like a hawk, golden eyes keen to glean what might be seen. She seemed to understand what the cards had to say with ease and acceptance. Unfortunate, since they did enjoy inflicting confusion, worry, and the like. This woman on death's door look was rather dull in the grand scheme of things, even if it was a surprise. Most didn't like to hear there was a heavy chance all would fail and come crumbling down... since that's of course what they heard in the tone and song of the tarot. "It isn't stone-set. It is heralded. The all and none of Our walks are subject to the leviathan's sand-sided tides."

The woman moved to seat herself across the way and Rook waved a hand with a flair to call the cards home. They settled easily upon the deck and the Velten was content to leave it neat and orderly where it lay. Normally they'd have tucked it away, but with fighting possible at any moment it was more cautious to keep them out. When she began to speak they went still and silent. The poem almost immediately had them tensing, posture turning ramrod straight as they stared unblinking, eager to hear. Their lips twitched from a smile to neutral again and again as different parts of the little tale were told.

Surprisingly The Ink-Spined Snake had no interest and the faint attention of the entity in the Illumancy domain was present. As she drew the story to a close they pulled their hands from their lap to tap the pads of their fingers together in a silent, but excited little clap. "The Lost-Reined Leader drew The Twice-Shy Shatter! As scarce a happened as hawk teeth found," they laughed with a grin. "This One accepts a death's dirge said as Charon's coin." Rook leaned forward over the table for a moment to stage whisper, "This One cares to charge. Not sick with gold like wyrms, but We know what is needed, no? As for devil's blood, This One does not partake. He Who Speak to See gets... closer." With that they leaned back and pulled their feet up to the seat of the chair, wrapping their arms around thin legs.

 

The medication she took to ease her pain in the waking world was potent enough that it had left her in a severely groggy state for the last two days. She could remember bits and pieces of waking up to head to the restroom, but the rest of her days had been spent sleeping. Note quite the trade-off she preferred, but one she was willing to make to avoid the worse side-effects of her more potent medication.

Once she logged back in, she was mildly surprised at the developments. The chatlogs on world chat were easy to scroll through and so she rushed to where the action was, knowing that she wasn't about to allow the elves to be left with only hard choices if she could do anything about it.

By the time she arrived however, things were already well into completion for the first day. The group she had been advised to join was resting and recovering for the remainder of the night. The camp wasn't all that impressive, but that never mattered to her. What did bother her was that she couldn't see anyone she knew here.

But there was a face that she recognized at least. "Yo." she raised a hand as she sauntered over the fire mage, beaming. "Last time I saw you was in that fight with the big spider lady. How are things going on here? If you need me for anything, I'm game."

@Astor Balthas

 

Earlier that night, Astor had been wondering the camp making sure both the players and the NPC know what they were expected to do at dawn. It was tough work to keep a check on everything, but it was his job as a raid commander to delegate jobs and keeping his group under control. Since he didn’t want to be in a party, especially a raid party all night long, he designated another player as the new ‘anchor’ while he left the squad for the time being to regain some peace of mind.

Just as he passed a tent wherein people were having a drink, he was offered some fancy wine that the player had won from a contest, he declined after hearing that the guy was charging gold per shot. Who the hell charges for drinks in a game? Of course some dirt bag would. Per his principle, Astor would never give in to capitalistic greed.

When he was walking in the open, he bumped into @Amalia Leblanc Certainly that was a familiar face who had healed him during the last world boss. Looking down at the petite girl, he tilted his head to the side. “Do you want to join the siege with us? It’s a big mess here, but the short news is that we are going to help the Elves take this castle where I’ll become a king, if it works. I’ll pay you even, with love, certainly that’s enough for someone like you.” Astor laughed, teasing her a bit.

 

The ranger looked down with a small frown, brushing droplets from her armor and clothes while a hood of earth shifted from Sera's spell to cover them. A little water didn't amount to much considering Lemming's initial greeting had already gotten some on her and at least it didn't stain like the stew would have. Hunting was difficult enough without beasts being able to smell what seemed to be dinner stalking them from a mile away. "No one has said they'll betray the elves, but I see a lot of talk about players somehow being better suited to rule and that sounds a lot like humanity's history back home of 'we're the more civilized folk, we should guide them.' That just turns into taking over territory and, if not slavery, then at least silencing voices that might get loud." She shrugged helplessly. "I don't think anyone's gone and come up with some evil plan, but I don't think they realize how easily this could change. Where does the line between guiding and controlling sit?"

@Sera Phim professed her concerns about the game and the future of her child and even Gwyn's low mood sunk further. It wasn't even her child and she was chilled to imagine the serves being closed and a living, breathing part of her vanishing. She paled and reached out a tentative hand to press against Sera's back. "Sera... you'll make a great mom. You already care so much," she sighed, "I can't imagine. Whatever comes, I'm here if you need me, for whatever it's worth." The woman gathered up their bowls and empty drinks. "As hard as it is, you need to rest though. This conversation's too dark and you need to take care of more than yourself now. I'll get you water to take with you to your tent and you're going to go to sleep, okay?" With that she nodded, as if she already had Sera's agreement, and stood to return the bowls where she'd gotten them. They were handed off easily and she only kept one mug with her for Sera as she turned to head back.

As she passed @Trinity she paused. With a small smile she approached the mascot. "Can I uh- can I get one of the plushies? S'for a friend of a friend." Gwyn offered over the cost and took one of them in hand and turned it over a few times. It was a simple little thing and incredibly impulsive, but perhaps Sera would find it as funny a gift as she did. With a sincere thank you to the odd mascot girl she returned to the earthen shelter where Sera and her had sat. Before she could doubt the dumb impulse, she held out the Trinity doll. "Consider this an early baby shower gift. Baby's first toy, yeah?" She lifted a hand to the back of her head and tugged her ponytail tighter to try and settle her nerves. This was so dumb.

[ OOC: Sent Pandora a message about the doll since it was mentioned it wasn't a real item or anything that would go into inventories and thus cost anything since the actual shop isn't open. Just rp flavor in this. If there's an issue, I'll edit! ]

 

Sera nodded slowly at @Gwyn ap Herne's words about the players potentially doing what basically every white group of people who "discovered" a land did. "I hope it doesn't come to that, but yeah. I can see that happening..." she sighed.

At the woman's supportive words and encourage, and offer of help, Sera smiled weakly. "Thank you. Hearing it... hearing it helps." As the other woman left, Sera stood up, trying to stretch and get ready for sleep.

When Gwyn returned with both a mug of water, and a Trinity plushie, Sera couldn't help but laugh a bit. "Thank you," she said, smiling genuinely for the first time that night. She held the plushie tight to her chest, and took the water gratefully as well. "Thank you," she said again. "For everything, Gwyn. Being by myself like I had originally wanted to wouldn't have been a good idea. Have a good night?" She asked. It wasn't normally a question, but stating it felt wrong, so it became a question. With that parting, she made her way to her tent. She passed out quickly, clutching the plushie tightly the entire night.