[MODERATED] [CRITERIA: Defeat the NPCs] [METAPLOT]
"Peter, it's truly an honor to have you join us," says the man in the tweed jacket with warm bend to his words. That smile is comforting, but the kindness it shows was achieved with repetitious practice, perhaps in front of a mirror. He even gives a little bow of his head, speaking to the tall, dark trees that surround him, to the warm night air, to the stones that spring up from the ground, and the fairy ring of toadstools he stands before.
The man in tweed isn't sure where Peter is. He thinks Peter could be all of this, and in a way he isn't wrong. Humans are often like this, particularly the ones who can't use magic. All weird reverence, sweeping bows and formal language while they show no love for one another, let alone the living thing they call home. Peter — Pouch — finds it fascinating in a sad sort of way. This one, this man, though perhaps a little overconfident, does seem to have good intentions. He wants to help.
It’s with this thought that the view of the memory contracts, not an all-around experience of a dark clearing within the forest north of Peckenpaugh, but a singular point of reference, coalesced from the moisture in the air and solidifying into cold. Rather than watching the fourteen cloaked figures standing guard around the clearing from above, the view stares at just half of them now.
Pouch, here Peter, puts on his laziest grin and finally speaks, "So you really think it'll help?"
"My boy, let me tell you," starts the man, Burton Bland, with a giddy buzz in his tone. "Once I thought that we were simply dissolving that wall between magic and mundane to make a better world, but I have seen what we're tapping into. This goes far, far beyond mere spellwork. We'll achieve true harmony. No more war. No more needless consumption. No more destruction."
He certainly seems to believe it, himself. And of all the things that walk upon him, humans have always been most captivating to Pouch; the easiest to believe in, to rally behind, the most enjoyable to support. But, humans are as fallible as they are fantastic—that is part of why Pouch likes them so much, but here he knows it’s reason to be careful. He is charmed, but doubt hangs in his mind. "What about the other ritual steps?"
The people in robes — none of them magic folks, Pouch can tell — start to shift. Discomfort fills the air, but Burton Bland the Tweed Man rushes in to reassure, "Heart of the land, blood of man. We've got it all taken care of...once we have what you can give us. Don't worry."
An end to pointless destruction. An end to fighting and killing and burning. It's worth it. It has to be worth it. "Alrighty," Pouch says, chipper. He touches his chest and then extends his hand, palm open. In the center of his palm is a winged seed, one half of the paired fruit of a maple tree.
Burton Bland reaches out, and his hand freezes in mid-air.
MEMORY: Have A Heart
[CRITERIA: Defeat the NPCs]
[METAPLOT]
"Peter, it's truly an honor to have you join us," says the man in the tweed jacket with warm bend to his words. That smile is comforting, but the kindness it shows was achieved with repetitious practice, perhaps in front of a mirror. He even gives a little bow of his head, speaking to the tall, dark trees that surround him, to the warm night air, to the stones that spring up from the ground, and the fairy ring of toadstools he stands before.
The man in tweed isn't sure where Peter is. He thinks Peter could be all of this, and in a way he isn't wrong. Humans are often like this, particularly the ones who can't use magic. All weird reverence, sweeping bows and formal language while they show no love for one another, let alone the living thing they call home. Peter — Pouch — finds it fascinating in a sad sort of way. This one, this man, though perhaps a little overconfident, does seem to have good intentions. He wants to help.
It’s with this thought that the view of the memory contracts, not an all-around experience of a dark clearing within the forest north of Peckenpaugh, but a singular point of reference, coalesced from the moisture in the air and solidifying into cold. Rather than watching the fourteen cloaked figures standing guard around the clearing from above, the view stares at just half of them now.
Pouch, here Peter, puts on his laziest grin and finally speaks, "So you really think it'll help?"
"My boy, let me tell you," starts the man, Burton Bland, with a giddy buzz in his tone. "Once I thought that we were simply dissolving that wall between magic and mundane to make a better world, but I have seen what we're tapping into. This goes far, far beyond mere spellwork. We'll achieve true harmony. No more war. No more needless consumption. No more destruction."
He certainly seems to believe it, himself. And of all the things that walk upon him, humans have always been most captivating to Pouch; the easiest to believe in, to rally behind, the most enjoyable to support. But, humans are as fallible as they are fantastic—that is part of why Pouch likes them so much, but here he knows it’s reason to be careful. He is charmed, but doubt hangs in his mind. "What about the other ritual steps?"
The people in robes — none of them magic folks, Pouch can tell — start to shift. Discomfort fills the air, but Burton Bland the Tweed Man rushes in to reassure, "Heart of the land, blood of man. We've got it all taken care of...once we have what you can give us. Don't worry."
An end to pointless destruction. An end to fighting and killing and burning. It's worth it. It has to be worth it. "Alrighty," Pouch says, chipper. He touches his chest and then extends his hand, palm open. In the center of his palm is a winged seed, one half of the paired fruit of a maple tree.
Burton Bland reaches out, and his hand freezes in mid-air.