finalflight | THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

[He had used past tense very purposefully, to see if she would pick up on it (unsurprising) and perhaps to test the waters that would lead to the bigger picture.]

Think about it, Lucinda. No one explores the Pit any longer -- but do you think that if sorcerers and their ilk still existed in the city, they would allow for that?

[No, of course not. A Dredger was expendable. Death did not deter those who would gain from their fossicking in the deep, and the fact that there are none now is, therefore, more telling than anything Weir has said so far.]

They're gone, too. [Minus one who is Very Angry about what happened to her, but Weir doesn't know that!] No one cares about magic, anymore. Not like they used to, at least. Everyone is as rubbish at it as I am.

[Spoken with the strange certainty of someone who has never left this village.]

[Lucinda sits there silent for a second and then she nods understanding.]

Alright. But why? Or rather how did that happen?

[She's not sure if that's where he wanted to lead her but the question had always been lingering on the "why" and "how" of this world, to begin with.]

So there's a "before" but we are currently in the "after."

[It was where he was leading her, conversationally. But this is also the part that incites the biggest pause of all; not out of fear and trepidation, but the simple turning of the gears in his head. What he has to gain by telling the truth and what might be of detriment to him.

In the end, he decides that she's at a disadvantage, living in a strange world. What will she do with that information? What can she do? Run off and tell someone? That someone will think she's mad. There's on one here who remembers anything but this world -- no one but Weir, anyway.

And so, carefully-]

This is likely the part where I lower your opinion of me into said grave. Are you sure you want to know?

[Also, maybe. MAYBE THIS WILL SCARE HER OFF.]

Weir, please.

[He's led the conversation to the point where there's no way she can leave the thread hanging. Morbid curiosity has been whetted and she would be a fool to go, "No thank you, I don't need to know."]

My opinion of you would be at its lowest if you were able to throw my dead body into the pit today. There's no way I could think any better of you, so why pause now?

So tell me. What did you do?

[So she says. Time to test that.

But first, context.]

Let’s backtrack just enough so you have a bit of context. This was years ago, back when I still delved into the Ceaseless Pit with a group. A small group, aye, but one that had survived longer than most do. We were far from greenhorns, instead always prepared to face what that place threw at us. Or so we thought.

[So very mistaken.]

That monster I showed you? [“Showed”.] Imagine something at least ten times more fierce, and a hundred times more cruel. Imagine what it was like for a small group of men to face something like it for the first time, utterly unawares and off-guard.

... 𝓣𝓸𝓻𝓷 𝓽𝓸 𝓹𝓲𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓼.

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓷𝓸 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮.

[Lucinda is quiet but she's listening closely. If there was ever an explanation for why this man would ever turn out to be so selfish, then this would be it. He had no family, was resigned to a job where he could have died at any time, and almost did base on the account he was telling her now.]

You survived though. Is this when you encountered the Polymath?

I barely survived.

[This is important, too. That day, he had not met as cruel a fate as the others, but it was close. He still has the scar to show for it, an ugly thing that runs up and down his middle.]

And I would have died, were it not-

FOR US. That "awful" creature of yours was hardly any trouble at all. 𐌙ꝊU'𐌓𐌄 ᕓ𐌄𐌓𐌙 Ꮤ𐌄𐌋𐌂Ꝋ𐌌𐌄.

-for the Polymath saving me. He made short work of the thing.

[Which is a somewhat worrisome thought on its own.]

He healed me. In a way.

In a way.

[She repeats his words and leans back in her seat.]

... But I can take a guess. He wanted something in return for saving your life, didn't he?

[The supernatural operated like that a majority of the time; if something inhuman does you a favor, you're more than obligated to return it back. It is rarely a one-way transaction.]

[In an unpleasant way, but he blacked out partway through, which was likely for the best. An eldritch blood transfusion is not an experience he wants to ever recall with any clarity.]

For saving my life, he put me in a debt.

Lying River-child. It was an offer and you agreed to it.

He would ask of me one favor in the future, and I could not refuse it. And he granted me these strange abilities, too, in preparation for it.

And? Has it already made use of that favor?

[Each thread is being revealed and Lucinda keeps track of all of them in her head. Weir, Turner's Vale, the Pit, the Polymath, a world before, and the world after that they now sit in.

She really did just stumble her way into this, didn't she?]

And if it has, I'm surprised it's yet to leave you alone.

[She sure did.

He laughs again, so dry. If only it were so easy to get rid of this terrible god in his head.]

This is something of a permanent partnership, I’m afraid. Yet he asks nothing more of me. His favor has been tended to.

[Even if he knows the Polymath is hoping for something that Weir can provide it, but there’s no need to go into that now.

But what was that favor? Weir steps a little closer, his arms still crossed.]

Tell me, in your world, do you have powerful artifacts? Or entities, even, that might change the world on a whim?

[As Weir steps closer, Lucinda doesn't move but her eyes are following him. She answers him unwaveringly with a nod.]

We do. There are artifacts or other objects that are known as the stuff of fairytales or legends by those unaware of the reality of magic. If found, it is relinquished to magickind for safekeeping.

[Not to say that the Esper Collective doesn't keep an artifact of interest or two for their own uses but, by and large, it is much safer for a witch to handle such items.]

As for the entities... Well, the ones who want to change the world on the whim are the ones both witches and espers try to keep out. For the former, that is their function and reason for existence.

[Witch King says hi]

[hi witch king]

And no such thing has ever happened? The world has never been changed, or these artifacts never used?

[He'll get around to answering her question, too, but it's interesting to glean context from another world first. Plus it sets up where he's going -- if she can't see it already.]

[She can see where this is going since he's been alluding to it. Lucy answers his question first about her side.]

Part of my job within the Collective is to ensure such changes do not occur on the scale of which the world becomes unrecognizable. I've rarely encountered such large-scale threats or anyone with the ambition to do so.

[The medium pauses making a consideration and then shrugs.]

I guess if it has happened, it may very well be I would not be aware of it. Ignorance is bliss and all that. Still, I would find it unlikely due to the specific entity that the witches answer to.

And as for the usage of artifacts... Well, that's on a case-by-case basis. That's not a topic I specialize in. But it circles back to magickind and how much they're able to get away with before they face the consequences of their actions.

[So, what he's hearing is that the main difference between their worlds, at least where such beings and artifacts are concerned, is that she has organizations to police them. It puts a humorous thought into his head, the idea of anyone trying to press their authority upon the Polymath. Or that other god that tried to oversee their deaths, the one with the Heart pulsing at its core.]

We have nothing of the sort here. The artifacts are unearthed from the depths and brought to the capital. There, they are in the hands of magic-users who want to utilize them, not keep them contained and safe.

[Dry, unimpressed.]

The favor I spoke to you about... years later, and the Polymath volunteered me for a ritual overseen by yet one more thing called a "god". A huge, mechanical, spherical thing with sentience all on its own.

Well, based on what you're speaking of the previous world, it's not as if there was a mystery to maintain. Rather the mystery was part of everyday life whether one has abilities or not.

[It would be interesting, she thinks, to grow up in a world where having powers isn't unheard of, but it didn't mean you couldn't be dealt a bad hand in life.

The mention of the ritual is definitely important.]

We have a joking term for that: "Volun-told."

[See, this is why she prefers to just do more down-to-earth work, the more supernatural it gets, the more annoying the objects of interest become. Human problems, human solutions (usually).]

If it's a ritual, I suppose there were more than a few working parts that were supposed to make it work?

[Volun-told. Yeah, it was definitely that.]

It was a ritual not for our sakes. From what I understand, it was little more than entertainment for that god, stealing away mortals and making them fight to the death until one remained.

[A DEATH GAME, FUN]

I was transported into another place that was far removed from this... world, I think. There were four others there, too, who had willingly volunteered as participants. Fools thought that they might have a chance at that god's heart, which was indeed one of the relics I spoke of. A potent, reality-warping object that might change the world if one desires it strongly enough.

Edited 2023-07-14 19:38 (UTC)

[Now Lucy frowns. A death game, huh?]

... And? Did you manage to kill the other participants?

[I mean, that seems to be the logical conclusion considering he's still here.]

𝓣𝓸𝓸 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓯𝓸𝓻𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭.

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮'𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂.

𝓘𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓪 𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴? 𝓝𝓸, 𝓦𝓮𝓲𝓻'𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮, 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓾𝓷𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰.

... Flora and Feather are listening with rapt attention.

Oh, I hope the tale amuses them.

[Sarcasm again. His smile tilts, which might not bode well, but in actuality, no. He didn't kill them.]

That would make the most sense, as I still stand here today. But no, I suppose morality got in the way. That or they realized that they had a better chance to rip the Heart out of that machine-god by working together rather than fighting for survival and doing it alone.

[He has to skip over a lot of logistics here, painting them in broad strokes.]

It required magic. A portal. The details are messy.

You're leaving out OUR grand entrance? Trying to squeeze our tremendous form through that tiny, tiny portal? Tell her!

[He does not tell her, much to the brain-god's chagrin.]

We killed it. We traversed inside its corpse, and the Heart was ours for the taking, but... [Here, he looks at her hard and steady.] The Polymath did not want to share. I did not want to share.

[Ah. So this is part of the story where her opinion of him will lower to the grave, no lower than that. And truthfully, Lucinda is rather disquieted at the fact that these participants including Weir, worked together at first. It was the most altruistic solution without the need to shed each other's blood.]

𝓐𝓱. 𝓞𝓯 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮. 𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂𝓪𝓵.

𝓑𝓪𝓭! 𝓑𝓐𝓓!! 𝓥𝓔𝓡𝓨 𝓑𝓐𝓓!!

𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓱, 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻. 𝓝𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓾𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓭.

How did you take the Heart from everyone Weir? [Her voice is quiet.]

[Quiet again, but then another laugh -- cold, this one.]

Is that all you have to say?

[Oh, he feels as though her judgement is already there, lingering in her eyes. He can sense her spirits stirring beneath her skin; surely they have their own opinions.]

It's easy to steal anything away when you might control both mind and body. One woman was a sorceress. Another was a bloody Needle -- an assassin. It was simple. And I left them behind in that god's corpse.

I didn't kill them, for what that's worth.

[is that worth anything, really]

[So there it is. He didn't kill them but left them for dead.]

𝓤𝓰𝓱.

𝓘𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓭.

𝓘𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓮 𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓹 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓫𝓵𝓮?

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓮. 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓮 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓰𝓾𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭.

[Lucinda neither looks disgusted nor angry. Judgmental, yes. But it all makes sense now, perhaps at least 70% of it. Everything Weir has explained to her tracks with what kind of person he is. He's willing to do anything to make sure he alone benefits.

Now how to explain the changes?]

And is that how the world changed? You activated this Heart?

[Does it count as "leaving them for dead" when they were going to be erased from existence, anyway?

He doesn't so much as flinch at her look, though admittedly it isn't as cutting as he thought it would be. Though he wonders how she might handle this truth after the fact; will she stay here? Or does the fact that he practically wiped clean an old world to make room for a new one still register as too distant to be relevant to a woman who hails from another dimension?]

Aye. The Polymath covets knowledge in all forms. [He can't help but wonder if that's why it possesses a brain-like shape.] And what better knowledge is there to hoard but that belonging to an entire world? So, yes, I activated the Heart, and I wished for a new world, with all the knowledge, experiences, and memories of the people from the old one to be ushered into the Polymath's consciousness. In that way, they live on. And I fulfilled his favor.

Beyond that? I requested only a remade world with no interest in proper, powerful magic. No interest in the Pit. And that life in this town would be nothing short of easy, if I were to live out the rest of my days here.

[. . .]

... 𝓐𝓱. 𝓞𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓵𝓭, 𝓲𝓷 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝔀.

𝓝𝓸 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓵𝓭.

𝓗𝓮 𝓯𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝓰𝓸𝓭.

𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼. 𝓐 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓯𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭.

[The weight of Weir's actions is unfamiliar, but it's something akin to the sound of rolling thunder in the distance. And for a moment, Lucinda is not sure how to feel. The world before is not something she knew anything about or could mourn but no doubt what Weir Dredger did was awful, driven by pure selfishness. This was the type of devastating change that the Collective would absolutely stand against. And she can imagine being told to take drastic action for the greater good.

But this is not her world.

There's no Esper Collective to impose their will and whose judgment she could follow.

She's just one medium with three spirit familiars, all alone in this idyllic Vale with an uncertain beyond.

Lucinda's been quiet, perhaps for too long. But slowly and steadily she stands up and smooths out the sleeves of her tunic. And her question may not be what Weir would expect.]

Do you have any candles I can use?

[She has gone quiet, and Weir thinks she's likely turning her options over in her head. Or maybe speaking with her friends; is that dragon one of hers suggesting that they bite his head off, or something along those lines? Wouldn't that be something.

And when she does speak, it's indeed not a question he expected. His own response is curt.]

For what? [Tartly:] Going to light a vigil for those lost?

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