Scene #9167: Who's to blame for the pain of the wicked

Owner	Pose
Trudy Grimm	The Hamarrheim gate deposits people in the middle of a relatively large village seated in the deep North. Even now in the early spring, snow is on the ground; shoved aside on smooth stonework paths and cartways into fluffy piles. Given the slow Multiversal incorporation, there's some electrical lightning and lamps, but also the local architecture of rugged beauty and charm native to older Scandanavian cultures. The people are hale and huge and quite approachable-- the twisted, rune-covered ash trees that comprise the Warpgate are in a square immediately opposite the biggest local tavern, filled with warmth and song and laughter. There isn't much time to enjoy the cozy surroundings. Perched in the grass a few meters from the Gate is a Paladins VTOL secured for this expedition. There's perhaps enough time to secure a leg of mutton or a plate of herb-roasted pork while the pilot spins up the engines and gets them to operating temperature, and then it's off; deeper into the frozen North.
Trudy Grimm	This VTOL was intended to deliver a squadron of troops, so the seating is a bit tight; given there's twelve slots though, plenty of space for this smaller number of people and their gear to ride comfortably. Near the front is Trudy Grimm, almost disappearing into a huge fluffy fur coat that-- moves a bit on its own, sometimes, because it's made out of reanimated weasels. An ornate grimoire rests in her lap, clutched in both hands. Across from her is an old man, his own form obscured by a ginormous traveler's coat and a wide-brimmed, pointed hat that kind of flops over to one side or the other like a wizard might wear in a more fanciful setting. One hand holds his staff upright, the other strokes his voluminous beard. He only has one eye; the other concealed behind a cloth wrap. This is Trudy's recent companion, the wandering scholar who introduced himself as Grimnir. "To expand a little on what I said earlier; this book--" Trudy lifts the grimoire slightly, "Used to belong to my father, Salagaz the Undying." She exhales slowly, eyes closing, "In decoding it to further grow my own magic, I've discovered that he did not create it. He stole it." Eyes opening, she lifts her gaze to Grimnir, then casts it towards the back of the craft where the rest are seated, "I am returning it to its rightful owner. But... This person has an understandable hatred for my entire bloodline. I appreciate your support, I may just get out of this alive." "Heh..." Grimnir's shoulders jolt slightly with the laugh, "The Mistress of the Void is not one to let go of a grudge. That will take some convincing, you realize." The shift of his head keeps his solitary eye hidden by the brim of his hat, "Ahh, but we'll cross that bridge once we reach it. First, we must confront Grima-- The First Slain." "Why is a Valkyrie even in the underworld?" "When Deya chose to become the First Death, he died peacefully in his sleep rather than in battle," Grimnir gestures with his free hand, "He was not delivered to the Shining Halls. His death created the Underworld as a place for those not chosen; and the Lordess of Decay was chosen to oversee this place. She took Deya unto herself as a servant and guardian, and thus he became the first of all Draugr." "I know that much." "You would be a poor curator of the dead if you did not, my girl," Grimnir's head tilts forward a bit, but not enough to conceal the way his smile tugs at that fluffy white beard of his, "What is less known is that Grima was his wife. A Valkyrie is unable to ender the Underworld, barring special circumstances. And so to be with her love, she begged her sisters to end her life. A Valkyrie is not human, and so cannot become Einherjar, you see." Lifting a finger of his free hand, Grimnir concludes, "Thus Grima was brought to the Underworld in her death and She took her upon Herself as another guardian. The first to die-- The First Death, and the first to be murdered-- The First Slain." "So he is there of her own volition, not as some--" "She is not being punished, no," Grimnir cuts Trudy off, shaking his head slowly. Both hands now rest on his staff, "In truth, Grima may leave the underworld any time she wishes. She simply... chooses not to. She chooses her love; and in turn, Deya has stood by her side as guardians of the Underworld since the very start."
Trudy Grimm	His shoulders shake with another laugh, "Fortunately you have already proven yourself to Deya. Facing the two of them at once would be quite the tall order for any number of mortals, heroic or not." Trudy's eyes drop down to her lap, her hands fidgeting slightly with the Grimoire. Taking a deep breath, she lets it out slowly, "That's the background of it and the details of what we're up against. Proving our pure intentions to a fallen Valkyrie and, potentially, to the goddess of the dead Herself." Glancing up and back, Trudy adds some energy to her tone, forcing a smile. The nervous anxiety still undercuts her voice a bit, "Were there any questions? Something any of you wanted to know more about? We have a little bit before we arrive, as the crow flies."
Riku Asakura	Riku had come to lend his aid to Trudy, who seemed to require some muscle herself. He was wearing a jean coat, which was buttoned up today, and a pair of jeans with sneakers ready to face the north with probably less than necessary protection from the cold. He spends a little time hanging around the town before boarding the VTOL, sitting down near Trudy. Listening to the tale comes next, the grimoire and the tale of how it came into the possession of the Grim family. How it was the property of the lord of the dead. He's especially enraptured about the story of the first death and the first slain. It's a sad story, but one about true love so it has moved him quite a bit. Finally, when it comes to questions, Riku seems to consider what to ask Trudy and her friend. "What will happen to you once you return the book? It's a source of your power, right?"
Arthur Lowell	> Arthur: Return to the old quest Can Arthur Lowell just sort of arbitrarily space-jump to wherever he wants? I mean, yeah, in a technical sense, especially places he's visited before. But can he though? In the social sense? In the practical sense? In the sense of, like, that course of action working out enough to always do it? I mean, no. He shouldn't, which is why he doesn't, which is why he's on this VTOL, which, through a chain of events and motives, is why he's staring at Grimnir with a big squint. "You had GRIMOIRE problems so you went to a guy called GRIMNIR?" He asks, as if the idea itself contains some ludicrousness. "That ya LAST NAME, homie? You the GRIMOIR-SOLVING FAMILY? DAMN DAWG. I gotta start getting guys named SMITH to get me ARMED UP." Yes, Arthur, that's the etymology of surnames, calm down. > ==> He listens, though. He nods along. "I remember ya gettin' the KILL ON SIGHT treatment way-back." He says. "That was SHITTY. We'll POWER THROUGH, since I'm good at helping dudes PUNCH IT OUTTA THE SYSTEM." He scratches his face a bit. "But my GUTS say this is gonna be a BRAINIER FIGHT. Which I SUCK at, on account of being DUMB AS SHIT. DEYA died with a lot of FIGHT left in him I guess, but GRIMA sounds, like," He gestures vaguely, helplessly, open-palmed. "IDEOLOGICAL, for real." For real, I guess. "DEYA wanted to see some WORTH, but what about GRIMA? Like, what's gonna APPEAL? Or are we just PUSHING THROUGH, no chance on BATTLE-CONVINCING?" He asks, trying to plan out some screams in his head from the sound of it.
Distortion Dets.	Detective Moses, ever-tired and often-grumpy investigator of the paranormal and unsolved, looks direly displeased that her happy-go-lucky assistant has nefariously tricked her into setting out on a 'quick little errand' through numerous warp gate hubs and queue lines only another day after their first foray into the Multiverse, and worse, out into the snowy cold. Ezra at the very least is prepared, thick coat, heavy boots, and work gloves insulating her from the worst of the chill- Moses hugs her own jacket around her torso from how she wears it over the shoulder, hunching slightly and trying to not let it flap around too much. "Look, Detective! All the buildings are so cute, with the little wooden ornamentation! And they've got fireplaces going, with all this crunchy snow on the ground!" "Inside." "Huh? We just got out here, I wanna look around-" "Inside, now." "Okayyyyy." Both women duck within the tavern, Moses finds a spot to sit at just for a moment, as Ezra ricochets between trying to find a window she can lean out of and see the VTOL that she can hear spinning up, or hovering near where food is cooking to see if she can grab some of the roasting meat. While her tone and glances to the Detective are apologetic, any moment she's looking around, a bright, eager smile paints over her face. . . . "So this is what you wanted to see, Ezra? This noisy monstrosity?" Near the ramping-up wake of the aircraft, Moses has to speak up- her voice scratchier the more effort she puts into it. "Not just see!! We're getting into it! And," flashing a peace sign, "It's free~!" "I'll dock your pay anyways." "Wah- why??" Shouldering up the heavy gear case Ezra lugs around, the duo load up into the seating area, polar opposites in expression. Strapping herself in, Moses puts her lit pipe up to her lips, and begins egregiously breaking FAA regulations. "Hey! You must be the girl from the radio line? I thought you'd be taller." That seems to be enough of an introduction from Ezra, as she sticks out a hand- slightly awkward, as she has to stoop in the interior of the vehicle -to shake. 'To expand a little on what I said earlier; this book--' "Oh, finally. My inconsiderate assistant didn't seem to pick up the details. Let's hear them." 'This person has an understandable hatred for my entire bloodline.' Moses' eye twitches. Of course it can't be anything simple. "My assistant carries bodybags." 'I know that much.' "Well, I don't!" A lackadaisical statement tempered only by the fact that Ezra is, actually, taking notes. Valkyries, underworlds, draugr?? Lots and lots of death. In between words, she's taken to doodling little skulls, kicking her legs slightly in her seat. 'And so to be with her love, she begged her sisters to end her life.' "Wahh, that's really romantic?!? Getting stabbed and killed to be with someone again..." "I don't see the appeal. That just sounds... tragic." "Well!" 'Were there any questions?' "Mm. Yes. Your aim is to... do this good deed? And yet you still may wind up killed for your troubles? What is your own motive, your own gain from going about this?" Moses takes her pipe out of her mouth, acrid tobacco smoke trailing, and gestures around the VTOL. "Time, money, blood, for 'pure intentions'? I'm curious."
Arthur Lowell	In Moses' unusual view, all of the commands Arthur receives are clearly visibly typed below him, all things he does come with a soft click of a button being pushed or a joystick being moved, and his head seems replaced by a small black hole that warps the view of everything around it in a strange negatively-divine un-halo, from which the whorl of a few dozen stars entering the event horizon seem to create a shaggy mess of shimmering white hair in long, burning strands. It is 100% incongruous with his weird gamer voice, though that sounds like it's compressed through a horrible digital connection somehow.
Trudy Grimm	> "What will happen to you once you return the book? It's a source of your power, right?" Trudy inhales, eyes closed, and lets it out again, "That's right, it is. Without it, I'd be unable to access most of the magic I know." Glancing down, she tightens her hands on it, "Once this is done, though, I'll make my own grimoire. It won't be as powerful. It won't hold so much esoteric and forbidden knowledge. But it'll be mine and no one else's. It will set me back, but I think it's the right thing to do." Grimnir chuckles, tilting his own head forward as he leans back in his seat, "Now, now, you've gleaned quite a bit from that trinket. You're stronger than you realize. This is good for you; writing your own tome will help you understand that." > "That ya LAST NAME, homie? You the GRIMOIR-SOLVING FAMILY?" Grimnir laughs at Arthur's antics, "Something of the sort; I am just an old traveling scholar seeking knowledge," Reaching up, he taps the side of his head through his hat, "If the contents of this old skull can help someone as committed a our dear Lady Grimm, I have nothing to hold back." > "DEYA wanted to see some WORTH, but what about GRIMA? Like, what's gonna APPEAL?" "Deya was-- and is-- a warrior. That he wanted to take your measure doesn't surprise me in the least." The old man pauses, stroking his beard in thought, "As for Grima... Valkyrie are warrior maidens. You may see a martial challenge with her as well. I know a thing or two about the Allfather's daughters, though. I might be able to convince her to take us directly to her Lady without clashing blades first." "If that works, I doubt the Mistress of the Dead Herself would pick a fight. She doesn't really have any reason to." "At that point it would be a matter of convincing Her to not tear my soul out as punishment for my father's transgressions," Trudy mutters grimly. > "Hey! You must be the girl from the radio line? I thought you'd be taller." Trudy's handshake is surprisingly firm for her height, which is just a bit above average. This doesn't help much when compared to a giant like Ezra, though. A woman like that fits right in here in Hamarrheim. All Trudy can do is laugh sheepishly, "Really? Most people tend to think I'm shorter than I actually am. I'll take that as a compliment, thank you Ezra." > "What is your own motive, your own gain from going about this?" "Ah," The witch pauses, glancing down at the Grimoire again, "That's kind of the crux of it, huh." She closes her eyes and exhales. When she opens them, she fixes her slightly-glowing green gaze on Moses directly, "It's the right thing to do, it stands a believable chance of helping me get a clean slate, it cuts the last physical ties I have with my horrendous family, and..." She thinks a moment, then grins that shark-toothed grin of hers, "Spite; it screws over my father even more than when I first stole it."
Trudy Grimm	There's a little jostling to the VTOL's flight and the gentle sway as it swings around, coming in for a gentle landing. When the doors open, the first thing is how bitterly an bitingly cold it is out there. Trudy tightens her coat around herself and disembarks. Once the rest of the group has, Grimnir brings up the rear. The aircraft has landed itself in the middle of an enormous cemetery, graves stretching out as far as the eye can see in all directions, caked in layers of snow and windblown ice. At the center of it is a large stone structure, ornately carved from heavy blocks, almost Cathedral-like in shape though the architecture is noticeably different. Great iron-banded wooden doors stand firm, closed over the entryway between iron firebowls that burn with blue flame. Sitting against the doors is a colossus of a man, slouched and unmoving. A closer look reveals he is indeed very dead, his face sunken but still there, his hair ragged, his armor pierced and rusting, his helm broken and missing one of the two side-decor wing pieces. As people approach-- the body moves. Frozen joints crack and snap as they loosen. His right arm lifts his sword, driving the tip into the stone beside him and using it to haul himself to his feet. On the other arm, an iron-banded shield with countless weapons-- Spears, axes, arrows, swords-- all lodged into it. In his eyes burns a blue light that matches the flames that flank him when he rises to his full three meter height, braided beard blowing in the arctic wind. "I see you have returned, Gravewalker. And your courageous friend of Space as well," His voice is deep, a rich bone-shaking baritone with just a slight echo to it. He leaves his sword where he stuck it and drops his shield to the ground on the other side, "And new allies besides. Come. Out of the wind with you lot. Should you wish to face my love once more, you will find her at the Gate." "Thank you, Deya, First Death and Lord of Draugr. These new companions are Riku, Ezra, and the Detective," Trudy dips her head slightly, gesturing to the Ultraman and the Detective duo as the enormous warrior pushes the great oaken doors open. He'd already met Arthur, so no introduction is needed, "You know why we're here. This time I mean to follow through with it. I'll say Hi to your wife for you." "Your heart seems to have grown," Deya comments, "Show me."
Distortion Dets.	'That was SHITTY. We'll POWER THROUGH, since I'm good at helping dudes PUNCH IT OUTTA THE SYSTEM.' Arthur's ranting tone warrants numerous wary, slightly irate glances from Moses- the first glance she looks surprised, and the second, dreadfully concerned. Her eyes follow --miniscule stars being ripped to shreds, and stare into blacker-than-black void-- the center of his skull and not his face, and she gives a subtle nudge to Ezra, her assistant, as she settles by. Whispering, "Sit next to him. Keep an eye. He seems..." Ezra plunks herself down into the jumpseat beside the Gamer:tm:, without question. "Heya!! You ever been in one of these contraptions before?" She asks, blissfully ignorant of how common a motif the 'aircraft' is within American Suburbanite Culture. Mixed in with skulls and notes on Trudy and Grimnir, Ezra notes down observations on him as well.
Arthur Lowell	> Arthur: Chat with the giant lady "WHAT UP DAWG." Arthur rambles when the last of the flight is being done. "Yeah, GAZILLION times. Nearly EVERYTHING once or twice." He counts off on his fingers. "I been in PLANES, I been in SPACESHIPS, BOATS, JEEPS, TRUCKS, HELICOPTERS, a SUBMARINE once -- or uh, whatever you call the INTERIOR OF AN INFINITELY-CYCLICALLY-DYING GIRL'S DREAM OF A MAGIC JELLYFISH. Is that a kind of SUBMARINE?" > Arthur: That's a kind of submarine yeah He makes dismissing sounds. "YEAH PROBABLY. Anyway, it's FINE. They're NORMAL." The space halo and the stars don't seem to flicker. No variability. If he's a time-bomb, he's a... stable, slow one. Because this doesn't seem like the right state for him, but it doesn't seem like the needle moves one way or another quickly. > Arthur: Go say hi to Deya again, remember that guy? He gets out, and does a wink-and-fingergun at Deya. "WHAT'S GOOD, DAWG." He says, approaching the giant and doing what he always does: An incredibly complex cool-kid handshake that involves bumps, pounds, daps, dips, grips, grabs, slips, slides, and at least one funny little finger-wiggly thing, all with almost no acknowledgment of, or trouble from, the difficulties that one would have in engaging with it. He says, "Yeah, she been goin' through ALL KINDS OF SHIT lately. I made her go through MULTIPLE WEEKS OF ENRICHMENT-ENCLOSURE HELL for someone else, like, what, five years ago?" It was actually like five months. "So she been GRINDIN' THAT GROWTH FOR REAL. I bet she got MAD SICK IDEOLOGIES for YA GIRL to get SUPER NICE WITH. Like, probably. I haven't actually paid a lot of attention." The vagueness of his memories is very self-acknowledged here. > Arthur: Get in there though, don't waste too much time "Let's get up in that HOUSE OF THE DEAD for real though yo. We got WORK to be doin'." He says, jerking a thumb to the door and grinning.
Riku Asakura	Riku frowns but doesn't say anything to Trudy about what happens after she returns the book. It seems she has things figured out, but the skull seems to have more faith in her than she has in herself. To that, he can relate; sometimes, having faith in your own abilities can seem hard. So for that, he speaks up, wanting to encourage Trudy. "I agree. You should have more faith in yourself. I am sure you can make an even better book than the one you're returning!" Riku says with a bright smile. To Moses, Riku seems to have something superimposed on his being. It's silver, with striking eyes that seem to cover its face as opposed to just being set normally. His body is more like a single one-piece body suit that has silver, red, and black spirals across it. He also seems somehow larger than he should be, as if he's filling the room more than he should be able to. Riku shivers in the cold outside of the VTOL, happy to get inside the cathedral when offered by Deya. He bowed to the Draugr, "I'm Riku, nice to meet you," he says, though he tries not to stare at his... well, death-like appearance. He'll have to get over that quickly here, at the foot of the underworld.
Distortion Dets.	'Really?' "Mmmmm, sorta! Though, I was pretty sleepy, so maybe my imagination did too much work. Oh well~! I got it wrong." Ezra handshake in return is actually a tad awkward, she doesn't have the crushing type one might expect, but loose and barely bothering. 'Spite;' "Mm. Could have saved breath and said so first. Do us the favor of being the first link to break should it come down to that, my assistant seems to want to be here, but I won't have her risking much for someone else's spite." An anxious little puff of smoke, then, in an almost petty, sour tone, "I'd feed you to that 'Valkyrie' first." Ezra isn't much listening to her boss, instead gobsmacked by Arthur- enough so that she doesn't notice her periodic glances and irritated ear-covering from the --crackling compression artifacts and peaks-- volume of his speech. "Gueh, you gotta slow down... That's so many types!" Her pencil falters as the vehicle shakes in takeoff, and she clutches the seatbelt. Turning to glue her eyes to a window, "Awh, it's kind of just like going up a big glass elevator. Thought it'd be more-" A bump of sharp turbulence has her whoop. "Yeah~! More like that!" Idle chatter gets directed at Arthur throughout the flight, introductions and small queries, scratched down, and as the landing starts, Ezra subtly passes her notepad back to the Detective. Ezra's perspective is without any extra insight, but as Moses puts the pad back in her pocket, she seems a bit more at ease looking near the godling than any time during the flight, appeased enough that whatever is going on with him isn't going to become her problem soon. . . . 'Come. Out of the wind with you lot.' "Finally someone sane," Mutters the Detective, about a corpse. She makes no effort to name herself than Trudy takes on her behalf, happy to keep a slight air of mystique, surrounded by the monuments of death. Wind whips the smoke from her pipe, nearly extinguishing the embers in its bowl, and she 'tsk's in annoyance. Moses' eyes stay on the path, and her companions here. Not once does she dare look at the looming, all-surrounding graves, though a faint pale-blue tinge creeps into her exhaled breath. To Trudy, as the necromancer stares down this first challenge, "Don't make a mess."
Trudy Grimm	> "WHAT'S GOOD, DAWG." Deya has clear trouble keeping up with Arthur's bumps, pounds, daps, dips, grips, grabs, slips, slides, and funny little finger-wiggly thing mostly because he has no idea what order they're going to come in. He does his best, though, and concludes it by grabbing Arthur's wrist in a way that would complement Arthur grabbing his own, "Hah hah hah!" > "Yeah, she been goin' through ALL KINDS OF SHIT lately. . ." "The shape of our soul is influenced by the trials we face. Truly, I scarcely believed it when you first insisted a Gravewalker selflessly helped others. But now I see the truth of it." "Don't praise me too much," Trudy quips, "But know I've discarded that name. It's Trudy, now. Trudy Grimm." She didn't try to correct either Guardian on this last time; Arthur might remember that. > "I agree. You should have more faith in yourself. . ." "Mmm... It's-- something I am working on. Thank you for your kind words, Riku." > "Mm. Could have saved breath and said so first. . ." The witch laughs in spite of herself at Moses' harsh judgement, "I understand. If anything goes the way I'd prefer, the only one risking anything will be me." > "Don't make a mess." "I wouldn't dream of it, mysterious stranger."
Trudy Grimm	It becomes clear the building is built over a great pit reaching deep into the earth, surrounded on all sides by dark gray stone. Protected as it is from the elements, the surfaces are dry and this place holds a good deal more warmth than the outside could ever hope to; especially once Deya closes the doors behind the group. There is a delay in this, however, when he stops Grimnir to share a quick chat in hushed tones; which ends with Grimnir giving the towering Draugr a pat on the bicep before he moves through. A wide stone stairway is cut into the side of the pit, winding its way down into the abyss. Every single inch of stone is scrawled with runes of the same sorts Trudy tends to draw from her Grimoire. "These are the names of those who reside here," Grimnir explains. As a demonstration, he runs his fingertip over one rune; lighting up the rest of it to form a name, "Those who are chosen for the Shining Halls are the greatest of warriors, selected to fight on behalf of the Gods at the end of the world. Those who pass unchosen come here; and so the underworld is far more vast." "'Mother of the Sick and Unchosen' is another name for the Lady who rules this place," the old man fumbles inside his coat for a moment, drawing out a long slender pipe. With his staff tucked under one arm, he packs something into it and then uses a match to light it. The smoke betrays that it isn't tobacco; it's something sweeter, more aromatic, but still definitely unhealthy. "Those who reach an old age, those who are taken by ill health. Bakers and smiths and farmers, retired warriors, the mad, the wise men, and the fools. All of them find this place at the end of their path." By the time he's done talking, the bottom of the crevasse is reached. A great circular chamber held up on enormous stone pillars, each sporting a statue of a woman in sleek metal armor with a face-concealing helm, wielding a spear and shield, and sporting great feathered wings. Between the North-facing pillars is an enormous metal door, covered in glittering ice that shines in the light cast by blue-burning brasiers. And before that door-- it could only be Grima.
Trudy Grimm	She is easily as tall as Deya, the pale wings adding to an already imposing silhouette. The armor she wears is identical to the statue maidens; overlaying plates of silver and bronze outlaid with intricate knotted designs. A round shield composed of multiple interlocking plates around a golden boss. Interlocking plates hanging from her hips over a long white and blue dress. A winged helmet that conceals the entire top of her head, leaving her jawline exposed and her stark white hair to hang free. A spear in her opposing hand, its head seemingly carved from ice into an ornate filigree design. When her wings shift, just slightly, loose feathers flutter to the stonework floor beneath her metal-clad feet. "You have returned. You left previously with your life. I cannot ensure you will this time." Her head turns slightly. With no visible eyes, it is the only indication that her gaze has shifted at all; acknowledging Arthur, lingering on Grimnir, acknowledging Ezra and Moses, and then staring the longest at Riku. After seeming to reach a conclusion, the Valkyrie raises her spear and strikes the butt of the haft against the stone floor. "If you wish to pass; make your case and I will render judgement. Or prove yourself by besting me. There is no other way through this gate."
Riku Asakura	"She didn't steal the book, it was her father. She's looking to return it at no benefit to herself. There is no need to fight to get through to you, or any need for conflict!" Riku implores. Wanting to avoid a fight if they can. After all, there was no need to fight through everyone if their goal was to return something that was stolen. Riku makes a motion with his hands, arms to each side, indicating they were not there to fight. "The sins of our parents don't fall to us, right? Especially when they are trying to make them right." It sounds like Riku might be asking for more than her, but it's hard to say.
Arthur Lowell	> Arthur: Brag plenty to the note-taker, she'll take good notes Yep, he did. > Arthur: Descend (timelapse it faster for comedic effect though) If there's any effect here, it's unclear. Just, imagine the descent through the vast pit in a comedically 10x-accelerated speed! Anyway: "Yeah, WARRIOR HEAVEN ain't super-attainable. Or even DESIRABLE. I'm HALF DEAD on my DAD'S SIDE but it put one foot into the HERO AFTERLIFE, and really? NOT A FAN." He grimaces. "You gotta be a CERTAIN TYPE. I still wanna go HEADBUTT that dude who KILLED ME again." > ==> When he swaggers down to the bottom of the circular chamber, he's approaching with arms crossed and face tense, working his jaw awkwardly. She's a big scary lady. > Arthur: Antagonize her on purpose His brow bunches up and he frowns. On-brand? Yeah. But it'd be maximally fucked up to do that to people here. What's gonna go on with the old man if some crossfire starts? > Arthur: Okay, well, be really rude while trying to make a decent point Arthur visibly starts thinking. That's never a good sign. Slowly, he cycles through dialogue options, until finally... "Damn lady, I'da figured you of all the cosmic beings would dig it." He says, waggling his finger. "Chew on it. Her dad dies, leaving business undone, she goes off to do some permanent self-sacrifice, gettin' in combat and gettin' in weird cosmic business, on account of her feelings about him. Fuckin'..." He gestures at Grima. "Hello? Lady? Are you pickin' up what I'm puttin' down?" He continues that index-finger waggling, bouncing it up and down. "Unfulfilled feelings about people who moved on and shit, making people go do kind self-sacrifice, is something dudes are supposed to be helpin'. Especially if they bleed a little for it! Come on! You got Missy Void so sour grapes she don't want her literature back, or what's the deal here?" His obnoxious little open-palm gesture is halfway to a sarcastic shrug.
Trudy Grimm	> "She didn't steal the book, it was her father." Grima's head inclines ever so slightly towards Riku as he speaks on Trudy's behalf. After a moment, she taps the end of her spear to the stone at her feet, "This is a Child of Darkness. Of the thirteen, you claim one is different." > "Her dad dies--" "Salagaz the Undying yet lives; if one can call that life. His vile spirit is yet a scourge upon the world of men." > "Hello? Lady? Are you pickin' up what I'm puttin' down?" "I understand," Grima's posture hasn't changed in the least, save the slight rustle of broad wings, "Self-sacrifice is something I know well." Her head turns slightly, "This one is truly different, then?" "It's all true," Trudy states firmly, "I meant to before and fear overtook me. For that I can only apologize. I return again to make amends and give back what was stolen from your Lady." "I vouch for this one's sincerity. Step aside, my dear," Grimnir adds on. Grima's gaze lingers on him once again, unseen eyes locked with single eye. The silence is-- longer than it should be, as if the pair were having an entire unheard conversation. Finally, Grima whirls in place and raises her spear. A line of flame manifests within the ice covering the Underworld's gate, searing the glacier in half and burning it away. Great stone doors silently swing open into a vast underground cavern which has the distinct 'feeling' of crossing a metaphysical threshold. Those particularly familiar with portals or the like can sense it easily. This is an entrance to an entire different world. A world of shadows and darkness and death, though not the sort that gives a feeling of hostility or menace. Death here is rest, not risk or loss.
Trudy Grimm	Grima floats in the lead, leaving a trail of bright crimson on the stonework road. Since entering this place, the red discoloration on her breastplate has begun to bleed profusely; she ignores the rivulets of red running down her armor. This doesn't seem to be happening to the others here; spirits and ghosts occupying the facsimile of a city very similar to Hamarrheim. Men and women who look like they've been blurred or smudged out a bit, giving the First Slain a wide berth and watching her entourage warily with eyes set in faces too indistinct to read emotions. Every tree here is petrified; the woodcutters' tools throwing off sparks with each chop before they stop to stare. The smudged facsimiles of animals dart out of the way; rats and hens and dogs making the expected sounds; squeaking or clucking or barking excitedly. What could only be a cat lounges in a building's window beneath the rays of a coal-black sun. Orbs of muted red and blue cluster in the eaves, filling the air with birdsong and scattering into the air when people draw close. It is every bit a reflection of the living world, but... off. More washed out, more blurry and smudged around the edges. A bit more grim, and yet somehow cozy and comfortable. The dark sun's 'light' is warm and inviting, the slightly resonant song of birds float on the wind with the smell of fresh bread and roasting meat. "Feels familiar, hmm?" Grimnir taps his pipe on a stone fencepost, knocking the embers loose. As they drift down, he tucks the pipe away inside his coat, "The land of the dead isn't so different from the land of the living. The spirits of the dead, too; aren't so different from those who still draw breath. But every soul you find here is completely loyal to Her. Those who please Her are sent back, reincarnating within Midgard, gaining a second life. Those who spurn Her or betray Her are cast out, beyond the borders of the realm to dissolve within the sea of chaos from which the great Tree takes root. Only that is truly the end. The rest remain here--" He raises his staff, gesturing, "Content to wait their turn in the company of those who came before them." It's not a castle at the hub of this community but a longhouse, a distinctive and regal shape cut from the very same petrified wood, outlined by torches that burn with the same blue flame from outside. Within, behind the heavy Stonewood doors, is a great feasting hall lit in the gloomy light of blue-burning braziers. Multiple spirits, all of them clearly warriors in armor, surround a great long table filled with recognizable foods and drinks. Hearty meads and roast meats, fluffy breads still steaming from the oven. The sound of laughter and chatter ceases almost immediately once the doors open and Grima enters, then grows rowdy in a different way as living people follow her in. Indistinct, ghostly faces half-hidden by metal helms and clad in mail and iron and fluffy hides all seem to object in different ways. Grima proceeds past them to the head of the table, kneeling down to speak with the figure there. A young woman clad in fluffy hides and dark leather straps, leans aside to listen. From here, only the left side of her face is visible; a beautiful specimen with fine-cut cheekbones and a delicate chin, her visible piercing blue eye glancing towards Arthur, Riku, the Detectives, and Trudy every so often. Framed by bright, well-brushed blonde hair with just a slight curl to it so it falls in elegant waves. She rubs at her jawline in thought as she listens with that dainty hand and delicate black-painted nails. I see. The room falls silent. The heads of each warrior spirit swivels towards her as she stands, dipping her head slightly towards Grima-- who only then stands as well to tower over her. Leave us.
Trudy Grimm	These ghosts are perhaps the only overt hostility that has presented itself to the guests of Grima in this realm, but still they shuffle past the group and out into the land of the dead beyond, their grumbling as indistinct as the features of their blurry faces and smudgy outlines. At the head of the table, the woman raises both hands. Well. Come in. By the laws of Hospitality, I must welcome you with open arms. Since her posture changed, the right side of her face is visible now; as if cut in two, it is entirely composed of darkness. Black like the deepest shadow, a single glowing blue point where her right eye should be. As the shifting matter of this incorporeal form shifts and flows, there are glimpses of bleach-white bone beneath that betrays her skull. Her right hand is the same, with visible bones in the shadowy silhouette of her wrist and hand. "My friends," Grimnir bows, gesturing towards the woman with his free hand, "The Goddess of Death; Mistress of the Void; May I introduce you all to Hel." For some reason, the way he does that causes the human side of her face to show-- very briefly-- complete contempt. It only shifts to curiosity when Trudy bows in a similar manner.
Riku Asakura	Grima picks up what Arthur puts down, as hard to understand as his gamer words might be, they cut through to the heart of the matter more directly than what Riku could provide. Trudy adds in her own words, proving to Grima that it was also true, and Riku visibly sighs in relief. It's good, as she decides to let them into the realms of the dead. It's gloomy below, the sights and sounds are faded and ghostly, which makes sense in a place for the dead. They are guided directly to Hel herself, who speaks in a way that is perfectly understood, yet almost not spoken at all. As if her will is made manifest without the need to communicate directly with words. He bows respectfully in greeting to the queen of the dead as he speaks to her. "I'm Riku Asakura, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm with you on behalf of my ally and friend Trudy Grim to return something to you that was once stolen..."
Arthur Lowell	> Arthur: UNPAUSE Yep. > ==> "Different." Arthur agrees, nodding along. "True and real, girl." He looks like he hasn't kept track of the family -- but how'd she get that book, or know it'll be okay to return, with him still active-mode? He turns his assumption over in his head and dismisses the idea of exploring it further. > Arthur: Observe PORTAL "Damn-- this is going to a flipside zone, not just down." He mutters on his way through. He watches Grima too. "Shit," He mutters. "You can't..." He trails off. A vague understanding settles in him. As someone with a unique relationship to the afterlife, someone who has been in a part of the cosmos he's not supposed to and suffered for it, he understands that there's more grim burden here than she's showing. But he follows. Feels familiar? "Mmm." He makes a startlingly thoughtful noise. "Been somewhere like this. Mostly memories." That last sentence could mean literally anything. In Moses' eyes, dark arms reach out from the black hole for a moment, twisting and dragging through water to leave a trail of shimmering bubbles. He mutters, "Yeah, waiting their turn..." > Arthur: GREET YOUR COLLEAGUE He makes a "tssshhh" noise at nothing in particular before he approaches, as if trying to shush something. Then he beams a big grin. "Ayy! <Witch of Doom>! Mage of Space here, what's good. Sorry I didn't step up in here on my deadsona," He doesn't elaborate on what this means (his half-dead nature) but rather pushes past it. "But ya girl here needed some help I'd have to give physical-style and we're not close neighbors." No bows, no kneeling, nothing. But he's limiting his obnoxiousness. "There's some important stuff she's got that's gotta get back to the OG owner. Feeling all divine-benevolent enough to go easy on a lady tryin' to do what's right?"
Distortion Dets.	Stepping through a portal to hell isn't ever a pleasant thing to think long on- so Ezra, intrepid sidekick, simply doesn't, and hops right in immediately after it's clear that's what is expected. Moses exhales, staring at its border long, and tired, as if she can't actually be sure some part of stepping through won't kill her- whatever revelation she has that convinces her to trudge on slowly through goes unsaid. . . . . . The stone-hardened trees seem to, at least passively, interest Ezra- the Fixer can't seem to avoid running her fingers along the trunks of those that line the paths, like one would tap the bars of a sidewalk-lining metal fence. A few times, she stops to stare at them, head tilted to the side, and casually snaps smaller stone branches off as if they were real wood. Stone bits clatter around her. A tilt of Moses' head, and a raised eyebrow, bring her back to heel without a word. Neither of the Fixers seem at all at ease here, with the normalcy of it all. Moses least so- birds flutter, animals crowd, and she just stairs in disdain. As the two follow, the Detective avoids treading even one step in Grima's trailing blood. She chews the tip of her pipe, jaw tight, exhaling acrid tobacco smoke from her nose like nicotine is her oxygen. Mumbling to Ezra, but loud enough to be overheard, "It's like a mockery, this 'difference'. Memories and imprints, fading and unclear. Subtractive. Is it some steady decay into oblivion, as everything before fades away..? I wonder." "Detective..." "Mm? What harm is there in wondering, Ezra." 'But every soul you find here is completely--' Moses glares. "That tends to happen when the alternative is death. 'Loyalty'? On what possible grounds is that earned? A prize and a knife to the throat? Hollow and empty, that." Ezra, standing behind and to the side of the Detective, gently rests a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "You haven't met her yet, Detective... You'll probably just make old one-eye sad, saying that. He sounds like a fan." "And? I can't imagine him weeping." Of course, this reaction to the way Hel is introduced sours Moses' reaction to actually seeing the goddess. Arm held in front to support her other's elbow, Moses points her pipe off into the distance, ever-smoldering, and stares flat at the elegant woman. She doesn't follow suite in pleasantries, but Ezra, after receiving a few not well-communicated glares from her boss, awkwardly sticks her hand out to shake- and another glare makes her pull it back before Hel could. The tall woman flashes a slightly goofy, mostly apologetic smile. "An obligation, this is? Why, there's no need to be so generous and eager as that. Should we have brought gifts?" Moses does not dial back her contempt at all- the smoke clinging around her ripples in ways it shouldn't, in this land's calmness. >the right side of her face is visible now; as if cut in two, Ezra gasps at the reveal, a gloved hand covering up her mouth a moment later. Moses, however, seems to not even notice- the two showing a similar contrast in reaction to the indistinct ghosts, with Ezra worried, and the Detective's eyes far too inundated by different oddities. 'Deadsona' Ezra says, full volume, albeit still keeping her hand in front of her mouth as if it'll buy any discretion, "Hey, what's a deadsona supposed to be? I don't know the word~!"
Trudy Grimm	Grimnir seats himself where one of the ghostly warriors had been. Hesitantly, Trudy takes the place opposite him at the table. Only once the others have taken seats does the goddess herself retake her own. > "An obligation, this is? Why, there's no need to be so generous and eager as that." Hel extends her blackened hand, bone briefly visible when she curls her fingers around Ezra's extended hand. Despite Moses' glower, the goddess delivers a perfectly ordinary handshake. The grip is cold like ice and easily slipped out of when Ezra reacts to her superior's glower. Contrary to what many might believe, Death has no hatred for mortals. I have no interest in ending your lives. Not when you will be here eventually anyway once your path has reached its end. "Laws of hospitality are a boon, dear girl," Grimnir explains for Moses' sake, "Without them, why, it's quite an unbalanced power dynamic when one speaks to a god, hmm? Such beings can be quite petty when slighted. Like a child with too much power." He holds out a leg of roasted goose, still on the bone, towards his fellow smoker, "You haven't crossed any thresholds yet, but I would advise careful steps. A poor guest loses those protections, you see." > "I'm with you on behalf of my ally and friend Trudy Grimm..." > "Feeling all divine-benevolent enough to go easy on a lady tryin' to do what's right?" Hel mouths 'deadsona?' to herself, her eye flicking briefly towards Grima-- who returns it with a shrug. Neither one has any idea what nonsense Arthur is spewing at the start, though he starts making sense by the end. The Grimoire of Despair, Malice. Yes. I recall quite clearly its theft, and the abuse of the secrets it contains. You have come here to return it. Brought allies to support you. To show you are 'different'. You are aware of the curse upon your very blood wrought from the pages of that tome. Trudy glances down, resting the book upon the table in front of her. Gently, she unfastens the mass of beads and charms affixed to its binding-- that part is hers. She does, however, leave a little skull charm attached, carved from white granite, "That's something I still have to deal with. I know." "A curse put upon the bloodline created by yourself, Hel," Is this the first time Grimnir hasn't put a title of some sort in front of someone's name? And it's with a goddess? "The punishment for stealing from you; and why Salagaz the Undying abandoned his humanity. Surely you can unmake the things you make." Surely I can. Do I want to, that is another question. "I am not asking for your mercy," Trudy states firmly. Picking up the Grimoire, she rises to her feet and approaches the goddess, holding it out in both hands, "I only want to return what was stolen, and apologize that I hadn't done so much sooner." Hel reaches out, taking the book and lifting it in her flesh hand as one would if they were examining something. After a moment, she closes her eyes, Of course he scribbled all over it. And you as well. "I'm sorry," Trudy dips her head, "That was-- that was from before I could decipher its true owner. I stopped right away." Cleansing the curse is beyond any of your mortal hands, as well as yours-- Mage of Space. The only way you could achieve that would be to die. That is also the point; it is meant to kill you.
Trudy Grimm	"Ahaha," Grimnir chuckles, "A fan, though. You could say that." With his free hand, he strokes his beard, shifting his gaze from Moses to Riku, "How about you, dear boy. What do you think about this business with curses?" The old man inclines his head just enough that the brim of his hat hides his singular eye, "You strike me as the sort who would fight against anything, no matter how impossible it seemed, but do tell me in your own words." Shifting a bit, the cant of his head shows his single eye to Arthur, "As for you, young man; I have it on good authority you take on impossible odds on the regular, hmm?" Back to Moses and Ezra, seated conveniently near one another, "How about you, ladies? I admit I don't have so confident a guess about the two of you." He shifts his single eye towards Hel; who merely glowers at him from her seat.
Riku Asakura	Riku watches the exchange, but the knowledge that the curse is permanent is devastating to hear. Riku doesn't quite know what to say or think. Especially after being told it was beyond their power to cure. Firmly, he wondered if that was true or not, not that she was lying to them... 'You strike me as the sort who would fight against anything, no matter how impossible it seemed, but do tell me in your own words.' "I would fight against this, no matter how impossible it seems..." he says firmly both to Trudy AND to Hel. "We aren't the circumstances of our birth or our parents, but rather we are who we make ourselves to be. Even if we're born with cursed blood in our veins."
Arthur Lowell	> Arthur: Answer Ezra's question with the truth "I'm half dead on my dad's side." Arthur explains, similarly stage-whispered. "I used to be double-alive, but an auteur game developer stabbed me to death with a big sword, so I'm single-alive half-dead now. But my dead-part isn't near this." He gestures vaguely around. "So I had to show up fleshmode." Then he resumes the conversation proper. > Arthur: Appeal to divinity "What isn't beyond my hands," He waggles his index finger. "Is questing." Impossible odds, right? "The role of a god is real important. It's to put a face, and a voice, and a heart, on the rules of reality. And that means curses, sure, but it means rules and structure and tasks to get out of however deep a hole you can dig. Especially if your dumbass dad did the digging." He crosses his arms and his face gets... surprisingly serious. "I know how it is. I know why you put a curse on bloodlines and all that." A brief glance to Riku, and an uncomfortable wince. "I know most people don't, but stuff is how it is. Not my spot to bring down some judging about it, multiple reasons there." He thinks about the number of people technically afflicted with an ancestral circumstance because of him... "But gods got a duty to the reality-as-it-should-be not just reality-as-it-is. So it's not shitty manipulation talk for me to say, lay it out on the table, the rules for untangling the knot. It's a god's job to lay down those tasks."
Distortion Dets.	'Laws of hospitality are a boon, dear girl,' "That's Detective Moses to you, actually- yes, the full phrase, I'm sure it's not too complicated to manage." It's hard to tell if Moses is being more careless or not with making sure her exhaled smoke doesn't sting at the face of the scholar. "Tell me if I were to cross them, hm? I don't plan on dying today, but I'd rather leave the caution up to you." 'I'm half dead on my dad's side.' "Oh! I'd never have guessed, looking at you~!" She hums, staring over him, seemingly looking for... something? Which she gives up on. "I have to show up flesh-mode everywhere..." 'I am not asking for your mercy,' Ezra, tactless, blurts out a surprised "Ehhh? But don't you want that, if you've got something bad like that going on? I don't think I've ever been cursed-cursed, but you bet Ezra'd be out here asking to get free of it!! What's it do? Wait, it's not something you like having, right..?" Bright red eyes glitter with a passive sort of enthusiasm that is perhaps a mistargeted tone for the current conversation. 'The only way you could achieve that would be to die. That is also the point; it is meant to kill you.' "'Petty children with too much power', hm? Curious. A slow death to those that wrong you, a slow death to those that don't?" A slow draw from her pipe, eyes narrowed. "It sounds as if she'd have had nothing to lose by keeping what's yours from you, no? Hm." 'How about you, ladies? I admit I don't have so confident a guess about the two of you.' "Mm. I'd be surprised if you did. 'Quests' and 'impossible odds', I can't say either interest me greatly. Solving a puzzle, though..." Moses stares straight through Trudy, where she lurks, her gaze surgical and cold, taking in the abstraction of her troubles, goals, and plights she's clawing away from- Moses stares with half-lidded eyes at the necromancer girl, trying to formulate any sort of opinion on her, and if she's lucky, something about her curse. Ezra, sitting nearby, repeats the same shoulder-touch from earlier on the Detective- it seems to calm her, somehow, despite the permanent scowl on her face. "I think it'd be kind of mean to not do anything, right?" Ezra looks between Trudy, Moses, and Hel- but there's no clear indication in her voice that she'd care to do anything. Ominously- "Mm. How close to death does she have to fall?"
Trudy Grimm	> "I would fight against this, no matter how impossible it seems. . ." "Ahh, I suspected as much," Grimnir's lips aren't visible, but the way his smile tugs at his beard makes it pretty clear he appreciates Riku's reply, "You're a good lad. I'm sure Miss Grimm appreciates your support." "I do!" the witch calls out from her seat. > "That's Detective Moses to you, actually- yes, the full phrase..." "Very well then!" Grimnir doesn't object to the sharp correction in the least. It's the first time the mysterious woman has given a name to begin with. He just laughs a bit in that charming Old Man way of his, "I'll watch out for you, Detective." Ah, he immediately shortened it to just her title. "Death and Questing..." Grimnir's single eye closes, one hand rubbing his beard in thought, "I do believe-- Yes, yes." I know what you are scheming, old man. "Ahaha, that spares me the explanation, then!" "Would you care to bring the rest of us in on it?" Trudy shoots over her shoulder. > "How close to death does she have to fall?" "--Hey, come on now," the witch objects at Moses. "There's no need, it'll work out just fine," Grimnir shifts in his seat, then gestures towards Hel, "Go ahead, then." > "I'm not asking for your mercy..." > "Ehhh? But don't you want that?" > "It sounds as if she'd have nothing to lose by keeping what's yours..." The goddess scowls (at Grimnir,) then straightens her posture, You do not ask for mercy but I will grant it. No God would do otherwise in such a situation. She raises her dark hand over her shoulder, fingers spread out. From behind her, a sword is placed in her grip-- A simple hand-and-half arming sword, the very straightforward type with nothing terribly special about it. Lifting it, she tosses the weapon such that it embeds its point in the wooden table in front of Trudy. You will fight Grima. "Very well, My Lady." "Ah, good," The colossal draugr, Deya, settles in opposite his winged wife, "I wouldn't miss this for Ragnarök." It turns out he is the one who had handed Hel the sword a moment ago. "We will--?!" Trudy starts in surprise. You will. Your comrades may support you in ways that do not involve combat. You must earn this through your own efforts as a warrior. These are my terms.
Trudy Grimm	DISTORTION VISION: Trudy Grimm is surrounded by darkness. It's tough to discern just what it is or where it's emanating from, and might just be All of her. It shifts and flickers like flames burning away at her, with the trails of fire briefly forming the shapes of skulls just before they disappear. Whatever it's doing is eating away at her on some metaphysical level, either replacing or corrupting parts of herself. It's no Distortion or Anomaly; it's a Fate trying to overwrite whatever path she tries to create for herself, perpetually steering her towards a future of madness and death. Every time she corrects her course, she only manages to delay it-- never avoid it.