Scene #6688: FateParadox: Anor Londo-Noon Tea

Owner	Pose
Eryl Fairfax	Among and within the great structures of Anor Londo, the labyrinthine mazes of glorious palaces and effervescent cathedrals, a relatively modest tower has been set aside. So inconspicuous is it that no guards are posted outside, and none are directed away from the area. Indeed, the best security it could possibly have is to give no one cause that something is happening within it. But this is no clandestine operation, no grand politicking. Rather, it is a mere tea party, being held by the spirit of the former king of this land. Paradox Saber, also known as Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight, sits at the head of a grand, large table, tall and wide enough to accommodate his 'mere' 10 feet tall frame. Also in the room is Cenedril, gazing out a window at the white marble structures beyond. "Are you sure you don't want to go walking about, Lord Gwyn? I mean... you built all this." "It stands? It's rule continues? Then I am content," says the ancient god, idly scratching his chin under his massive beard. "I know every inch of Anor Londo. I hath walked its bridges many a time. Doing so again matters little. Knowledge that it thrives still under mine granddaughter's reign be all I desire." He gestures at the spread upon the table. It's all very classical English high tea, with silver towers bearing sweets and sandwiches, alongside lightly steaming porcelain teapots. "But please, sit and partake all. 'twould be a shame for this to go to waste. This War has been a trying one, but victory be in sight. Let us toast to it."
Priscilla	Priscilla had swiftly agreed to the idea of hosting the meeting in a small and casual way, away from prying eyes and potential politics. It's not all just due to her general aversion to loud and stressful social occasions either. It's sensible infosec regarding the grail war, and minimally disruptive to Gwyn's, now hers, city. There are a handful of especially trusted major figures --the kind trusted with some the deeper truths of the past few years of Lordran-- but none actually directly familiar with the Great Lord Gwyn on a personal basis. Their job is mostly to sit around and stay informed, so as to continue influencing the various clergies, academies, and orders at the higher level. "Indeed. I regret that not all who hath been responsible for such couldst maketh the time, but it is ever of importance to taketh some time or another to relax oneself enough to prepare for the last leg of the journey ahead. Something I hath heard is that when one is nine miles through a ten mile march, they art halfway home." Priscilla says, taking her seat. "Mine apologies for any umbrage Lady Cenedril may harbour for being kept away from the front lines."
Staren	Staren's a known figure in Anor Londo, so he actually wears a hooded cloak to get to the meeting. It was a gift from one of the original hashashin, so, hopefully it's pretty good at blending in, even if Staren mostly just uses it as an extra layer in winter. Once inside the castle he pulls down his hood before reaching the meeting. "First." He nods to Priscilla, "and Lord Gwyn. I've seldom had the opportunity to actually talk to you. Honestly, I'm not sure what to talk about. What are your interests, besides Anor Londo?" He approaches Gwyn and holds out his hand for a handshake before taking a seat at the table and pouring himself some tea.
Eryl Fairfax	"No umbrage here, Queen Priscilla," Cenedril says, settling in and attempting to project that same frosty, regal attitude that the crossbreed does. This is immediately ruined when she goes to sip her tea and yelps as it scalds her tongue. "Hot, hot..." she mutters, adding some cream with a shamed expression. Gwyn lets out a belly laugh as Staren starts out this kingly meeting with the most blase conversation opener possible. "Thou art not one to be intimidated by station, are thee lad?" He strokes his beard as he muses on the question, before giving an answer. "Hunting, especially dragons. They are but the finest of sport. I hath some fond memories of our great war against them. Though I believe that such ideas would be unpopular in today's Anor Londo." He smiles lightly at Priscilla.
Staren	There is just the slightest hint of... Staren not being sure how to behave around Gwyn but deciding to go for it. Any uncertainty he had vanishes when Gwyn replies, though, and he smiles. Although he also looks... about how you'd expect to hear someone say dragon hunting is their favorite pastime around their half-dragon granddaughter. "It's... true. But there are certainly all manner of great foes in the Multiverse to hunt. I... it's never really been my thing, though. I prefer fights that aren't to the death, unless something else is on the line... but then it isn't really sport, is it." He thinks for a moment about how to put this into words. "From a young age I believed in speaking out regardless of who it's against. When I got out into the multiverse, I had this sort of dichotomy going on, no, cognitive dissonance, of recognizing the authority of those I'd seen in action but giving everyone else the barest minimum of respect until I'd personally seen them earn mine. There are people who don't deserve their station, but there are at least as many who do." Staren takes a deep breath. "I'm not sure just when I started to think differently. Perhaps after the collapse of the Union, it came more into focus, as I was pushed into working with people who'd once been my fiercest enemies and a new power structure. After the Concord absorbed the League, it became clear to me that there are people who make big changes in the Multiverse -- or have to wield power and expertise precenting big changes they're against -- and there are people who don't. Kings, Generals, Presidents aren't some other species of being... you're just people who... hmm. Have to deal with more mature problems. And I was becoming one of those people. And then Priscilla made me a Hand," he nods to her, "and, well. How am I going to be a leader of the Concord, and an agent of change across the Multiverse, if I'm intimidated by big names?" "Why be intimidated? I'm not some kid called to the Principal's office, or, or going to a social event with my parents trying not to be seen as 'just a kid'. If I meet with a king, what is there to fear? That he'll call for my head for some slight over dinner? A king so easily moved to replace hospitality with violence is... well, I can handle myself. I could fear making a bad impression, but... eh, I've made so many bad impressions if I let that get to me I'd never get anything done! I know what I can do. And I know what I will continue to do. If the president of some nation refuses to work with me, it's his loss. There is the problem of making the Concord look bad, but..." He glances to Priscilla again. "I'm doing my best to avoid that, but I'll never get better at it unless I get into those situations." Staren shrugs.
Priscilla	Priscilla can't help but make an expression that is just a tiny bit wry. "Of course mine own hands art not so free of such action. If anything, there art those in the Multiverse perfectly well waiting for their own turn." she says. She does her own tea siiiip, but cheats with a tiny ice cube forming in it first. "Is that what it is thou plan to do once thou hast had thine wish? To incarnate in the flesh and slay dragons once more? I recall fond and romantic words from the Four Knights, but certainly, if thou art happy simply to knoweth that Anor Londo still stands the same as always, what is it that drives thee now?"
Eryl Fairfax	Staren goes off a bit. Gwyn blinks at phrases like 'cognitive dissonance' but he follows along well enough. "Thou art looking back as a man, back to your boyhood years." the old king says with a slight sniff of approval. "'tis a child's nature to push against the walls that their authorities place about them. As a boy, thou refused any respect to others 'till they proved worthy of it to thee personally. Now as a man, you understand that respect should be assumed 'till proven otherwise. Thou hath grown. I am glad that mine granddaughter chooses her generals well." Cenedril, until that point, hadn't been paying the catboy much mind. But she seems to regard him with a bit more respect herself. Priscilla asks if Gwyn plans to hunt full-time once he's whole again. He laughs. "Granddaughter, were I to spend my every waking moment hunting dragons, they would expire entirely." He nibbles on a forkful of cake in that deft way that people with beards do, ensuring no crumbs mar his facial hair. "Truthfully, I know not what I would do. From the moment I claimed mine Lord Soul, I hath been a king, a leader, a warrior. But now that Anor Londo is thine to rule, I am but that last thing, only in peacetime. Perhaps I will take up a more peaceable hobby. I would have nothing but time, after all. Perhaps an old dog can learn new tricks still."
Staren	Staren just nods slightly to Gwyn's assessment. His... rant? Speech? Had gotten a bit long, but he'd felt there was something he was getting at, and it seems it got across. He takes a moment to sip some of his tea and take a bite of sandwich while Gwyn is talking to Priscilla. Staren nods at the part about Gwyn having nothing but time, then looks to Cenedril. "So, um... We haven't really talked much. Who are you? I don't mean in the 'why is this lady here what's her name again' sense, I mean as a person, what did you do before the grail war, how'd you get involved, and what do you want out of it?"
Priscilla	"Such is the strange perspective one is afforded whence recorded in the Throne and incarnated as an ephemeral phantom, I supposeth." says Priscilla, mostly not seeming to think Staren's put his foot in his mouth to an appreciate degree worthy of comment. "It is still strange to me. That any Grail shouldst be capable of any of this. Of course, even copying a man of thine stature, but of greater import, knowing the weave of any other world's history. The Throne of Heroes shouldst not existeth anywhere else. It is not omnipotent nor omniscient." She sighs over her tea, wafting a breath of steam away which then falls as faint fog. "In truth, it hast not been easy. I doubt it were even at the height of thine own power, but thou most certainly had a greater . . . knack, for it. As one wouldst expecteth of the Lord of Sunlight, founder of the world. It is an odd sense, to look thee in the eye again, less as an unreachable god, but with greater knowledge of . . . at least some, of the things thou didst in thine lifetime. Things which I believeth perhaps no others knew, or at least only those who wouldst perish after thine departure, and taketh such knowledge with them. It is an elaborate- . . . I admit I hath perhaps cometh to admire such a rule from the perspective of a Lord, rather than admiring it as a legend. Its design."
Eryl Fairfax	"Oh!" Cenedril says, before brushing her hair over her shoulder and affixing a cool expression on her face. "I am Cenedril of Astora. The woman fortunate enough to be Lord Gwyn's Mas-" she stops herself, and looks sideways at Priscilla before correcting herself. "I am the one who summoned Lord Gwyn." She holds up her palm, revealing three Command Seals in the shape of a triage of suns. "During his campaign against the dragons, my ancestors granted he and his warriors shelter. In exchange, he promised them a boon in a form of a ring. That ring was passed through my family, and with it, I was able to summon him." What she wants out of it though? Cenedril thinks, before giving an answer. "At first, I wanted my family back. I lost them to the plague of undeath that Queen Priscilla undid... but! I will instead use my wish to try and ensure that Lord Gwyn may endure! Now I wish to be an adventurer, and what a first one this has been!" Gwyn listens to Priscilla. "I am afraid that mine own insight into this existence is limited. The last I knew was safeguarding the Kiln until madness took me. Then nothing, 'till I was called forth by Cenedril. 'tis passing strange, but I am glad for it." When she mentions the things he did, things no one knows about however, he goes still for a long moment. "Such as?" he asks, stirring a cube of sugar into his tea. Does he not remember? Or is the list just so vast that he wants to make sure?
Staren	Staren gives another slight nod as she explains how she was able to summon Gwyn. When she says what she lost, and her original wish... It briefly shows on his face, that he doesn't think it's right that she should have to give up her family for Priscilla's... but this also isn't the place and time to speak of it. Of course, maybe there's another way to recover her family... but he's not sure that's a good conversation topic, either. And now they're discussing secrets. He looks to Priscilla. "Do you need us to step out of the room for a moment while you discuss these secrets?" His hand moves towards his sandwich, ready to take it with him for munching in the hallway.
Priscilla	"Thou shalt be gladdened to know." Priscilla says, clinking a cup. "The Grail, supposedly, offers both Mage and Servant a wish each. Thus is how their partnerships art fundamentally forged. One requires the other to see their wish granted, and it is both their best interests to cooperate." she says, also not using the word Master. She seems oddly, distantly pleased by something when Cenedril explains. "Truly I am ever amazed, and somewhat proud, of how well such legacies endure in Lordran, whence they wouldst fade into nothingness anywhere else." "No, Sir Staren." she says, switching over verbal tracks so cleanly there could be an audible click. "Thou were present for more than enough of them. The given roles of Kingseeker Frampt and Dark Sun Gwyndolin, given in varying levels of truthfulness to see through the Kindling of the First Flame. The demon war of Lost Izalith due to the failed attempt at creating a second Flame. The buried archives detailing the first contracts between gods and men, who no longer knoweth why it is that they depend upon one another, and likely never shalt. The knowledge of the coming of the Abyss in the days of Dark. The truth of Undeath being intrinsic to the creatures that art humans. Ancient pacts made with creatures uncanny; of Alvina and Seath the Scaleless and the Four Kings. The truth of Sir Artorias' legacy. The disappearance of the Firstborn Son of Gwyn. Such things none couldst ever knoweth, for the continuation of Fire."
Eryl Fairfax	Cenedril also listens with intent as Priscilla lays out the things she learned, the truth of Gwyn's reign. He winces at mention of Gwyndolin, saddened by mention of the Flame of Chaos, and fumes lightly at mention of his Firstborne. "One supposed that not even time can cleanse guilt, and dirty secrets." He rises, and strides to the window to look out at Anor Londo, in spite of his earlier words. "Mistake me not. Were it necessary, I would hath built this city atop many more corpses than it already is. But 'tis the duty of the Lord to recall the necessary losses, and ensure that they be not in vain." He looks over his shoulder at everyone. "Just as it is the duty of those who follow to ensure that the same losses need not happen again. As I sacrificed myself to stave off the Curse of Man, you did ensure no such sacrifice need happen again. Of that, I am proud beyond measure." He returns to the table and sits, putting his hands together. "Thusly, perhaps this old man's most secret sin can be undone. One that I ensured that no trace be found within Lordran." He takes a breath, and begins to speak. "At the edge of the world, there is a city. I know this, as I ensured it was made. 'twas a gift to the pygmy warriors who fought at mine side against the dragons. To ensure their deeds were never known, and to safeguard Fire from their Dark, I gifted them that Ringed City, alongside my lastborne daughter, Filianore." He places his hand against his forehead, and looks every second of those millennia he has lived. "I promised here I would return one day, and take her from that place. But I've no doubt she slumbers there still..."
Staren	Staren listens to all this. He has an impulse to point out that technically a lord might also need to know when to cut his peoples' losses, but again, not the place and time for it. He wonders if he /would've/ started that argument several years ago. And then... Gwyn drops the bombshell: Priscilla has a long-lost aunt who was 'given' to some warriors, who is probably still there. He just turns to see Priscilla's reaction and sort of follow her lead on how to handle this.
Priscilla	Priscilla, actually, of all things to do, fidgets ever so slightly in her chair, rocking her weight from side to side just a little bit, as colour creeps into her cheeks as Gwyn praises her. Even as a Servant, he retains every bit of the Great Lord's personality and memories, and given that, it's equivalent to praise from the flesh and blood god of gods himself. No. Priscilla doesn't lower her eyes or grow short of breath even slightly. She isn't excited or humbled. It's like . . . Well, it's validation from cool grandpa. Then all the colour drains out of her face like steam on a cold window. Her fidgeting abruptly ceases. Her spine stiffens. Her tail ceases twitching. The faint sound of soprano clattering comes from the cup clutched in her fingers. "Thou . . . what?" "I . . ." "Didst thou never . . . ?" "Hast thou- no . . . thou hath not lied to me once. I was but a child, and then thou were long gone . . . but . . . but . . ." The teacup cracks in her hand, fracturing like an eggshell. "Lastborn . . . daughter. How thoroughly wouldst . . . even thine first son, whose name was scoured from all history, was still known to exist. How wouldst thou- why wouldst though-" Her eyes widen fractionally, her pupils contracting to slits at some sudden realization. "Why wouldst Gwynevere, mine own . . . why wouldst she never speak of this? Why was I not told." Snap. The teacup splinters to pieces in her grip, and spills its last dregs of hot fragrant liquid onto the table, dripping onto her lap.
Eryl Fairfax	How quickly the tide turns. From being flushed from praise to pale with shock. Gwyn smiles ruefully in response to Priscilla demanding to know how this was kept so under wraps. "'twas right after the war, just as the Age of Fire had dawned. So drunk with victory were our people that this arrangement passed beneath notice. I know not why Gwynevere hath kept her tongue, but I am certain she has reasons." The teacup breaks, and Gwyn sighs. It's not an upset sigh, not even a 'can't you see why I had to do it' sigh. "The pygmies, as inheritors of the Dark Soul, were the biggest threat to the Age of Fire. My people could ill-afford another lengthy war, not against those who were out allies in battles prior. My best option at the time 'twas sending them away, far from sight." He rises, causing Cenedril to flinch. She had been shrinking in her chair as the mood soured. "Perhaps now it is best to part ways. But know this, granddaughter. Whatever act thou undertakes knowing this, thou shalt have my full support. When I am whole again, I would assist you however I can, should you have me." Unless stopped, he departs, and Cenedril follows him after offering a quick bow to Priscilla and Staren (and nabbing some cakes and sandwiches for the road.)
Staren	All things considered, Priscilla seems pretty composed. Staren remains somewhat detached -- it helps that it's not HIS long-lost secret aunt. He takes his hand off his sandwich though. "The Dark Soul? What is that, and why wait until now to tell us of this? Even if it's already been so long... you've seen what we're like from the get-go. We could have mounted an expedition then..."
Priscilla	Priscilla, so tense as to be an alabaster statue in her chair, and so deep in thought as to be all but oblivious to the world outside her head, remains in intense, wildly questioning and conflicted reverie for an uncomfortably long period of time. It seems she's already forgotten her feelings of indignation of simply 'not knowing', and fixated entirely on why she hadn't learned anything since. Whether it's a matter of Gwynevere's loyalties to her father outstripping her love for her daughter, whether she thinks she isn't ready to know, or something else; regardless of what it is, it isn't the kind of question that lets go any time soon. "May the Flames Guide Thee." she says as the two exit, as an automatic, default cultural goodbye. She's too hard hit by all of it to process at once. Family, of the scant remainders she has, somewhere she'd never heard of. A place that is hers by right that she didn't even know existed. The existence of the laughable legends of 'pygmies'. The Dark Soul. he Dark Soul . . . "I . . . I knoweth not." she finally admits to Staren, after a long, long pause, her chair scraping and the table rattling plaintively as she stands up without pushing either. "It is . . . a merely figurative expression. Not even so much as a myth." She clutches her head delicately between her fingertips, shutting her eyes and holding her temples. "Is this the purpose of this preposterous Grail? Are these men and women resurrected as phantoms to . . . correct . . ." "I shalt beat that 'Ruler' within an inch of his life for answers."