logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

characters: everyone.
location: the path from downtown beacon to the harbor; all over town.
date/time: february 16-21.
content: the forest spirits send off their friends to join the aurora. memory opals drop from the eerie green lights above.
warnings: n/a.

i had all and then most of you, some and now none of you.

For most of the day on February 16, all of the town's forest spirits can be found along the stretch of road between downtown and the harbor, clearly setting up for, uh, something. They're piling snow onto the pathway, creating a miles long sled trail that starts outside the Landmark Inn and ends at the very end of the harbor's dock. Not only that, but the forest spirits are also not super willing to explain what they're up to! They're busy, you lantern-havers.

By the time evening rolls around, the spirits have set up wooden railings alongside the snowy path, as well as a warming tent, hot chocolate booth, and announcer stand outside of the Landmark. Oh, and a starting banner for the race! It's dogsled time!

Throughout the event, Beacon's downtown and harbor areas will be completely overrun with forest spirits, all there to bear witness to this holiday celebration—this holiday is for them, though, not you weirdos with your naked faces. Point is, none of the spirits will be hostile at this time! They're more interested in interacting with each other than with Beacon's residents, though if pressed, a kind spirit might be willing to explain what's going on:

The aurora arrives in Beacon for about a week each year, and the forest spirits believe it to be "friends in the sky". The lights are old friends of theirs, it seems! And each night while the aurora shines above the town, the forest spirits send off a handful of friends to join the aurora! The spirits ready to join the aurora build sleds of their own and assemble mighty sled teams, sometimes comprised of dog spirits and sometimes... other stuff. Then, when the aurora is at its peak in the wee hours of the night, the sled teams will ride off one by one, racing down the snow-covered path all the way down to the harbor, where they'll finally rocket off the dock and out over the lake, picking up more and more speed as each team gallops wildly over the water before arcing up into the sky. Once the spirits are barely a speck, they'll hit the aurora and burst into a shower of light. Beautiful stuff!

See, since the aurora is made of light, forest spirits launched into it are killed on impact! Isn't that wonderful! The forest spirits seem to think so! What is death to a dead thing!

All of this information can be learned through handwaved/played-led interactions with the forest spirits during the event. They'll all be focused on saying goodbye to their friends and cheering them on as they stream through the sky, but they're happy to welcome lantern-havers to join in the celebrations. The hot chocolate is free and only tastes a little bit like mud, so. Enjoy!

•••
For the entire duration of the event, the aurora will dance in beautiful silence overhead, lighting up the whole town with its eerie green glow. Every so often, handfuls of opals will rain down like meteorites from the lights above, and these opals each contain the memory of someone currently in Beacon! They can be found all over town, landing on paths and atop buildings and maybe even rocketing straight through your ceiling to crash into your living room. Perhaps a forest spirit decided to hide some shiny rocks in your cereal box or under your pillow... Better hope the Postmaster General doesn't find your opals before you do, though. That spirits sure does love their rocks. Point is, who knows where the opals might turn up?

On that note, if you signed up for a random event, we'll be RNGing characters to receive these random events throughout the event! The event may happen in response to a toplevel on this event log, or we might turn up in your IC inbox... 👀 These events will be entirely random, meaning we could dole out any number of them at any time, so it'll be a fun surprise for all of us.

If you missed signups and would still like to toss your name in the ring, go right ahead! Signups will remain open throughout the event, though we can't promise everyone who signs up will get something.

And finally... Each day, we'll post a list of the forest spirits joining the aurora! What, did you want to know in advance? The forest spirits have never been a particularly organized bunch, so they're winging this—which means more surprises for you. :)

Enjoy the races and the lights and the opals, residents of Beacon, and remember: WHAT IS DEATH TO A DEAD THING!

QUICKNAV
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Just that? He's losing his touch. No matter. Zihuan raises an eyebrow at being addressed so - it's not wrong, but pretty generic as titles go. "I would prefer Lord Cao Pi," he says imperiously, unable to stop himself from being irritated at little things what with the whole recently-dead-and-my-killer-is-racing-a-dogsled thing going on.

He pauses, though, and fully regards who is addressing him. Aha, a being not entirely unlike Daylight, who has earned his respect. His attitude ratchets down a half a notch. "Yes, what can I do for you?"

"A few." There's a smile, small and a little tight, and their eyes slide away again, off into the darkness. "All of them new. There was." They pause, because it's hard to say, for more than one reason-- one single memory of a parent, good though it is, who is long dead by now and who they'll never get to know, but who will never know what his son turned into. And a reminder that oh, hey, this body used to belong to an actual person.

But it's still a good thing, no matter ho hard it is to say. "There was a father. He used to tell stories."

He angles his head to the side, putting the growing thought aside for the time being.

"By our time, the Scourge had taken over a million lives. In order to see the newfound kingdom prosper, necessity compelled that it be purged without discrimination." He straightens his neck to face Soldat. "A ruler must take the actions that secure the future for the people."

Or so he thought. Look where that thinking has landed him.

[ OoC: Please try to spread out memory responses, though Aurora is ffa. You can give back opals or keep it. Just let me know if you plan on taking one without notifying Aziraphale that you’ve found one of his mems. If you would like a custom memory, hmu at

assemble ]

The Aurora

[ The aurora shines brightly overhead, beautiful now as ever it was, one of the most brightly-colored displays he’d ever witnessed. Several of the spirits are looking for a lift into the lights, and though Aziraphale doesn’t approve of this tradition, he reaches out to bless them, nonetheless, anointing them each with a dab of oil. ]

If I can’t convince you to stay, then I hope you find your friends.

Before the Earth, >4004 BC (closed to Q)

Well, Aziraphale?

[ It’s a feminine voice, spoken in Enochian but understandable, somehow. Glowing almost as bright as the sun, Aziraphale dims his light until only his halo is illuminated, though the rest of him is soft and new. ]

Yes, Lord?

How is your assigned body, Aziraphale?

[ Aziraphale blinks as he miracles himself a long white robe, divinely embroidered gold at the sleeves. ]

It’s lovely, Lord. At least, I think. I’m not sure what humans are meant to look like.

[ He looks up skyward, as he pats down his chest as if trying to be gentle with his new form, a gift from his God. ]

They don’t see as well as angels, do they? But - that’s not a complaint, Lord, I can see perfectly well, still. Yes.

[ He fusses with his hair then, pulling on curls he didn’t have, previously. ]

Good. Now, you are to be guarding Eden.

The garden, yes Lord, but may I ask: from what shou--

--So you must have your sword, from the war.

[ He waits, this time, for a pause, and then clears his new throat and continues: ]

Yes, the sword, perfectly good, to protect the Garden from…?

You will know, Aziraphale, when it comes. I trust you.

Well, of course. And-- thank you, for allowing me to be the first angel to see it. Earth. It's a great honor.

Burning of Alexandria, 271 BC (closed to Bruce)

[ The angel runs his hands over several scrolls, selecting one that looks particularly promising and skimming its contents a bit before deciding that yes, this is the one he wants, and passes on the information to the secretary to jot down in the ledger before taking it to table to read a little more closely.

For a moment he just pores over the scroll, and yes, it's possible to read whatever it is over his shoulder, provided one should understand such ancient language. He stops only to appreciate a light breeze drifts in through the window. It blows in the scent of sea breeze, of roses, parchment and sand and--

--Fire?

He jumps to action and looks outside at the ships, then panics as he realizes how fast it’s coming here. ]

--Oh, the scrolls!

Fire! Fire, everyone, grab an armful of scrolls please--!

[ But as soon as he suggests it, everyone gets up and starts to run out empty-handed. They nearly start a stampede, as Aziraphale grabs all the things he can, before someone mentions the zoo. With his arms occupied and a scroll in his mouth, he heaves a sigh and then runs off to go free the animals from their cages. ]

The Birth of Christ, 0 AD

[ Gabriel had come down to tell Mary the good news, but had left sometime thereafter to return to regular business. And so, it had come down to Aziraphale to have to organize things for the coming baby.

He’d gone to Bethlehem ahead of time, and only one inn had any vacancies, so he’d snapped them all up in anticipation. The problem was, he hadn’t actually remembered to mention to anyone that the rooms were meant for Mary and Joseph, and so someone had tapped him on the shoulder and pointed him towards the barn.

Quite embarrassed, he thought he’d walk up and take Mary to a room before it was too late, but right before he jumped onto the scene, he heard it: a baby coo. It halted him right in his tracks to hear Jesus Christ, the son of God, for the very first time. ]

The Plague, 1348 AD

[ Aziraphale is exhausted from feeling all the sick and weary around, and has been told that under no circumstances is she to help. If she does, the humans might decide to promote her from a nun to a saint, and that would be flagrantly going against the general expected anonymity of a Principality. They’d left her out of the bible by name, for one; she’d been promoted to Cherub but relegated to nameless Flame-Sword-Wielding Angel. ]

The doctors are all making their rounds, and they’ll be with us soon, don’t you worry, love.

[ She placates one of her charges, and has done this enough times to put on a calm face. When Aziraphale looks up, she sees who she had expected, Death enshrouded in black robes. She shoots him a dirty look, though it seems that no one else has noticed either him nor their interaction.

The boy in front of her appears not to believe her, and looks at her with such frightened eyes that she can’t help but to lay a palm on his forehead and extend his life just the slightest. ]

AZIRAPHALE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

[ Death, who speaks in all caps, inquires. ]

There, you’re looking better already, just needed a little healing touch, that’s what I’ve been sent here to do, isn’t it? Let me get you something so you can rest easy, dear.

YOU CAN’T KEEP DOING THIS.

[ The angel, smiling gently as she gets up to fetch some medicine, waves Death away for now, but hides it as a gesture of adjusting her habit. ]

Helping a Playwright, 1610 AD

[ Aziraphale, over a tankard of ale, seems to be arguing with someone who keeps calling him Professor. He trades advice, but it seems that the playwright doesn’t want to hear any of it. ]

William, I’m telling you, it’s very unclear from reading this what Caliban is supposed to be; is he supposed to be a fish or not?

--Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m here, I don’t think you’ve actually needed my advice on anything since Troilus and Cressida, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t heeded any of it anyway.

[ He is really, really starting to regret that he had asked Crowley to make Hamlet popular, and it had ended up being such a huge, runaway success. But perhaps he should have been more clear at the time. It wasn’t as if he was unhappy to help, but sometimes he just wished that Shakespeare would listen to him once or twice. He pours himself more drink, and attempts to bury his face into the glass. ]

The South China Sea, 1809

[ If someone had told Aziraphale that he’d wind up on the pirate boat of one Madame Cheng this morning, he would’ve told them it was impossible.

As it were, his fate was currently being decided amongst some of the crew. ]

If I may interject, I really am not a bounty hunter.

[ Two of the crew members stop to give him a strange look, pausing before turning back to complain about how archaic his Chinese sounds. ]

You can’t kill me anyway, and if you throw me overboard, it’ll just-- be extremely inconvenient, more than anything! Having to swim all the way back to shore, when we’re, what, two hundred miles out? Oh, that’ll take forever!

[ They seem to not care at all for this plight, and two of them take hold of either side of him as they start dragging him away to the plank. ]

--Unhand me this instant!

On Dorian Gray, 1890 AD

Oscar, they can’t be serious about these edits.

[ Aziraphale places the manuscript down on an expensive-looking coffee table and removes his glasses, hooking them into his shirt. ]

“From the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me”? That’s what your editor came up with?

[ He takes a sip of his wine and looks sadly on at the stack of papers, while his partner looks on frustrated, biting his tongue. ]

You know I will always support whatever you write and whatever will sell, but I still don’t know why you won’t let me just do another run of the original. I’ll make copies out of the back of my shop, I’ll finally have a reason to have it open, I -- Oscar, I want people to read your words the way you meant for them to be read.

[ The man sitting across from Aziraphale reminds him that, with this deal, that at least his work will be read, and not completely censored and branded all sorts of things as vulgar and poisonous. It would let him write more, and maybe when the world was finally ready, that someone would release his unedited work. He looks pointedly at Aziraphale. ]

--Just because I don’t age very quickly doesn’t mean I’m functionally immortal. You’ve checked my back room, there aren’t any old portraits, after all.

[ Mr. Wilde counters that there are tons of items in Aziraphale’s backroom that don’t really have an excuse for being there, regardless of whether or not he’s an antiquarian. Ancient scrolls-- ]

--Neoclassical reproduction.

[ --Viking sword-- ]

--Old family heirloom.

[ --Heian vase-- ]

--Kamakura, but alright, fine, I concede. If somehow, I am still here when you are gone, and I think you would agree the world is ready, I will publish the original, unedited version of Dorian Gray.

Edited (formatting) 2020-02-18 03:52 (UTC)

It did make sense. It was awful though and it showed on his face. "I'm sorry."

"Close?" His expression flickers briefly, as he considers how to answer. Honesty, actually, is no worse than any lie would be. "Those men you saw are my father's cousins. We are kin. But at the time, they would have rather destroyed their beloved cousin's progeny rather than let him have even a scrap of a name for himself."

There is way, way more to it than that, but it'll take a few minutes to find a way to drag it out of him. Instead, he focuses to listening, paying very close attention, understanding just how akin he and the lovely lady might be when you get right down to it. Or, well, how alike to some of his favorite retainers she might be. He looks down at the stone as it's placed in his palm, and a moment later staggers with the immensity of it. That beast is easily as large as the eight-headed serpent which ended his own life, and speaks with the eerie certainty and defiance of Orochi himself. "I...I see," he stammers after a moment. "So you know full well how it is. Placing yourself at the fore, standing where others fall, doing what must be done."

His death and hers are a mirror, moreso than that fleeting glimpse of his effort to secure forces prior to betraying Orochi. Cao Pi is incredibly humbled that she should share this with him, and bows in a full kowtow, fist over heart, before enfolding the stone back into her hand to keep. No one should hold that memory except Lunafreya herself.

There's a lot going on right now, but Cao Pi is somewhat relieved to see Daylight. Young and enthusiastic, trusted, and brave. He shakes off whatever gloom is clinging to him and turns to the young mech. "Master Daylight. I...excuse me? My wife?"

His vaunted calm cracks for a moment, he looks eager, startled, thrilled. A hand thrusts out. "What do you have? Let me see her!"

( The first memory he observes of her — her and Robert, because the pair of them are nearly inseparable, and now he understands why — he drops the stone out of shock. He doesn't dare pick it back up, and so it lays there, forgotten, while Javert surges in the other direction, thinking of ways to broach the subject with her.

It would be dishonest for him not to. He cannot very well keep this to himself, even if the subject matter is something he would rather not discuss, with anyone. He's flushed, embarrassed and ashamed, but by the time he returns to their rooms, he's as calm as he ever is. He holds onto the secret for several days, until he stumbles across another one of her memories. This time, it's the one of her death.

Perhaps it is the emotional residue from the memory, or perhaps it is something else entirely. But Javert feels as if his heart is splitting in two, watching her die, and then, losing the man most important to her. He clutches the stone in his handkerchief, and disregards his first instinct to destroy it. He waits for her, sitting at the kitchen table with the opal laid out in the center. He would stand if he was able to, but when she enters, he only looks disappointed with himself. )

Forgive me.

( it takes all of a half-second for eddie to realize where he is the moment he (like a dumbass) reaches down to pick up one of those opals. it's brown, common like the color of his eyes but there is cracks of color that draw him toward it. toward the memory that lingers within the gemstone. memories of a familiar theater back in derry and the arcade they had all spent time playing in at one point during the summer.

it takes a little longer for him to realize it isn't one of his memories though. he isn't nearly this tall, still padded with baby fat and the reflection in the arcade cabinet tells him everything he needs to know. it's richie and now he's rich or... he's seeing this memory from richie's point of view?

eddie doesn't even have time to be confused because the scene is playing out and he feels everything. every emotion, frustration and ounce of happiness that swims through his friend is swimming through him. the excitement of a new friend and possibly...? it's hard to make sense of what he feels because sure enough (like clockwork) bowers and his gang appears.

again, eddie feels everything and it is only amplified by his own emotions. he doesn't know how richie can stand in silence when he feels on the verge of panic, breathing rapidly and wanting an inhaler he knows isn't there. the yell is deafening and before he can react, he (richie) is running. running fast, faster than he's ever ran until he thinks these feet might take them right out of the town itself. the memory ends though swimming in emotions just like how it had started but these are gut-wrenching, sad and eddie doesn't realize he's crying until the memory fades. until he finds himself back in his own body.

everything he had felt, richie had felt and―

suddenly: he's running despite how much his lungs are burning. he runs, the opal clutched in his hand until he reaches the invincible and near slams through the doorway to the room he shares with his friend. he probably looks a mess; crying, hair wind swept and near wheezing. )

Richie!

It's a fair answer, and, though he raises an eyebrow at the audacity of the demand, Cao Pi privately appreciates it fully. He huffs a small laugh and looks away again. "I would if I could. I know there are things that may bother me, but to truly lose my temper, well. I'm not sure I could name the scenario off the top of my head. It isn't that there isn't one, it's merely a fact that I don't know it until it happens."

His brow furrows, though. He did pretty much lose his shit when Fuuma sent a phantom of himself to try to assassinate his wife. So, in concession to the demand, he adds in a quiet murmur, "...but if I had to guess, it would have to do with someone threatening my wife."

It's a beautiful memory, for certain, and as soon as Aziraphale lets go of the opal, he wipes away the real tears that have filled his eyes. He already knows who this -- his? -- not his --wife is, and then can assume he knows who the child is. There's still the scent of hospital room and baby powder lingering underneath his nose as he makes his way over to Hughes' door and knocks.

It's an interesting request. Maes is tempted to press, but he also isn't sure he'd get a response. Maes recognizes baggage, everyone came back from Ishval with it after all. And, really what good would the knowledge of its meaning have for him? He had requested it as a favor and that's probably pretty good currency around here.

"I can do that," Maes finally says, picking up his cup of coffee again and taking a drink.

The spirits' idea of fun is probably different than yours or mine.

[Definitely so, given Soldat's definition of fun is probably a little weird. Hell, maybe so is Ellever's. Neither of them are exactly normal. Soldat does smile a bit for her, though.]

Hello, Elle.

[They have something for her, but greetings first. It's probably good they found her, too, since by now she'll also have found something of theirs.]

At some point during the races, Naminé finds herself near a small spirit handing out hot chocolate. How nice! It's always nice to have something warm to huddle around when watching these sorts of things.

There's a whooshing noise near her ear. Behind her, a tall, shadowy shadowy spirit with an enormous grin full of jagged teeth stares down at her for a moment. They breathe heavily and expectantly. But when it becomes clear she isn't moving, they impatiently huff and move past her, reaching to get a mug. Sipping their hot chocolate, thy hoot just once at Naminé before disappearing, off to find somewhere better to watch the races.

[The Aurora] - OTA

[When he sees the aurora appear, Link wanders down to the harbor so that he can see the light more clearly.

Fire in the sky...

He closes his eyes and imagines the flames leaping down from the firmament to engulf his body. He imagines the colored blaze burning him to the core, cleansing him of his sins...

For a moment, he swears he can feel the heat...

Then his eyes slide open again and he feels the weight of his past on his shoulders once more. Why, he wonders, has he found himself thinking more about his past tonight? It's probably nothing.

Slowly, he turns around and wanders back to his patrol route.]

((ooc: Link can be found mostly wandering between the Bonfire Square and the harbor. Want to run into his memories or have him run into yours? Want to marvel at the ritual or the aurora? Hit me up!))

"Unless the cure could be distributed on a large scale... untenable," Soldat agrees. "Sometimes people need to be put down, too." Speaking as, you know, an assassin. Who would gladly shoot every single one of their former handlers and technicians in the fucking face, after all the death they dealt at their hands.

A slight droop of the shoulders shows Soldat is relieved. Whatever Maes asks in return is worth it not to have a fucking freak-out over hearing a name. "Thank you. I appreciate it." The number of people who know that name has increased far more than they'd have ever wanted. Especially considering the preferred number for that is "zero".

If Maes wants an explanation, though, he'll have to ask for one. Soldat is open and honest... but usually only if people ask.

"If I find any of your memories, I'll let you know immediately," they add, honest. He'd been very kind returning their own memory.

People keep apologizing for that. It's kind of weird. Soldat shakes their head, expression shading more understanding. "It's okay. It's over now. I'm not going back. I've already changed a lot, since I died and came here. It's better."

[Boy does Maes understand. On the one hand, he is glad for these pieces of memories, of days not quite forgotten but faded by time. On the other...living in the past is never going to get them where they need to be. This really will become a kind of afterlife for them if all they do is gaze at these stones, gaze at their photos, and don't move on. He uses these as his support -- but that's all they can be.

As soon as he gives the memory over, he looks up at the sky. The aurora really is beautiful to behold and more light than they had seen in a long time. He's still watching it when Rosinante comes out of the memory, Maes giving him as much privacy as he can while standing next to him.

It's easy to play the goofball, it's harder to hold back the emotions these memories bring. Maes doesn't reply or disrupt until Rosinante feels ready to speak again.]

You're welcome. Seemed like it would do you some good.

[There's a beat, he figures he'll make this easier.]

I knew a couple of boys back home like that. The Elrics. You saw their childhood friend in that memory of mine, Winry. The Elrics would bury their noses in books for hours, completely ignore what was going on around them...caused their friend nothing but worry. I'd sometimes forget how young they were until they were at our house for dinner. Kids grow up too fast, you know?

[Does she want to know which memory he'd seen? But it doesn't matter, really, does it? There's almost no part of her life that hadn't included Robert in one way or another, and surely that's why he's so ashamed to have seen. Because he knows now, he understands now, and her worst fear has come true: he finds it a repugnant thing.]

You saw Robert.

[It's only a little breathless. Rosalind stands stiffly a few feet away, bracing herself for the blow (because there will be a blow, whether its reasoning is religious or moralistic or some other third option, it doesn't matter).]

( He's at work, hammering nails and setting framework that will soon be a fully operation jailhouse. It's a familiar structure to him, not only because of the memory Minimus has clutched in his hand, but because of what it represents. Order. Structure. Everything that Beacon lacks, and that which Javert has been searching for. He may not have as much faith in the law as before, but he still believes in punishment.

He sets the hammer down when Minimus calls for him, and bristles, his posture suddenly on edge as he asks, )

What did you see?

[Hux knew that no one would mourn his death but he didn't need to say that to Kylo.

He said nothing until Kylo spoke again, glancing at him sharply when Kylo mentioned finding the memory of Brendol Hux's death. He knew that Kylo would have never done anything to him if he had known for certain that he and Phasma were behind Brendol's death.

He smirked, giving a short laugh at Kylo's comment. Brendol hadn't made any secret of what he thought about Kylo after their encounter though Hux was certain that despite his bluster, Brendol was terrified of Kylo.]

Wasn't it disgusting? He deserved every moment of sheer terror of knowing what was happening to him as he lay dying.

[There is no hint of remorse or pity in Hux's expression or tone. He was delighted in how his father had spent his final moments.]

"Someone's been this way before."

A large, black wolf with blue eyes and green streaks in his fur walks down an ancient stone corridor. An imp-like creature with a fractured mask sits between his shoulder blades.

"Yes," she agrees, "and he had the same Triforce Mark that you do. The 'Brave One.'"

The wolf lowers his head and glances back at the imp.

"He must be very old. Is this what the Princess meant about just showing them the Mark?"

The wolf continues forward, looking around himself with wonderment and existential uncertainty, seemingly taking in the fact that he is now walking the same steps that the Brave One had taken before him.

The wolf and the imp emerge from the ruins into a clearing where a gleaming sword sits embedded in a stone. The light shining down through the canopy of trees seems to subtly twist and focus on the blade, bathing it in a heavenly glow.

Cautiously, the wolf approaches the sword and the imp leaps from his back as the blade starts to radiate a blinding light. He snarls as the light whips through his fur and lances across his body, then throws his head back and howls as it fully engulfs him. There is an audible pop and a twisted black object is sent tumbling to the imp's feet.

She gently picks it up with her magic, letting it levitate above her fingers, and turns back to where the wolf had been.

Instead of a wolf there is a young man in green.

Link's features twist into a grimace of determination. Without words, he wraps his hands around the hilt of the sword in the stone and he pulls. The sword comes loose with ease, allowing itself to be drawn, and Link holds it aloft. Light swirls and dances along its edge as if it is finally waking from a deep sleep to enthusiastically greet an old friend.

"Whoa, now, calm down sword."

He holds the blade slightly away from him and the brilliant light subsides.

"You saved Hyrule from many calamities in the past and the time has come when you're needed again."

The blade hums in acknowledgement and he gently brings it in close again, talking to it in a hushed tone as if it were a lover.

"I can feel the spirits of many previous warriors and the blood they spilled. Spirits, join our cause, bolster my arm!"

The sword again leaps into life and glows as Link points it towards the sky. Light radiates from the blade, and seems to sink into his arm, shoulder, and chest and he moves with it like a dancer.

He swings and thrusts at the air, feeling the weight of the weapon in his hand, feeling the power rush through him and his pupils dilate as if he were riding high and a wonderful new drug.

"Hey, Link!"

The imp's voice snaps him out of his trance and he looks back at her.

"Oh, Midna... So, where should we go now?"

"You still have it," he says, as a small smile manages to show itself. "It really is nice. So that's... like your equivalent of marriage, right?"

Sort of? He knows there's more to it from what he's heard. Stone's society is pretty different from what's common in most human kingdoms, but of course it would be since he's not human. There's really no comparing it to anything he knows, actually, but that's the beauty of differences between cultures and species.

"All of them new?" he repeats, turning it into a question.

Now, he knows Soldat went through some pretty extensive training that might more accurately be called brainwashing. And some actual physical reconstruction, torture, and more. That much was clear through those strange memories he had obtained. So perhaps it makes sense, ultimately, that they don't actually remember some of the past. But all of them? How much is missing?

He shakes his head before Soldat can answer that, though, lets it become rhetorical. "I have two for you," he says as he squats down to pull out the box he's been collecting them in and sets it on the ground. "I'm still not sure I fully understand them, and I don't think you'll like them. But they're yours. If you want them."

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Page 15 of 125

EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

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AZIRAPHALE, OTA

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/cracks knuckles

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Re: -- Aziraphale

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Naminé encounters the Baubledook!

Link | OTA

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SORA. Green Opal

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