Light in the Darkness [Althea/Donovan]

[Donovan]

The merry mercenary found himself smirking as he realized that Althea seemed to have tuned them out. He couldn’t blame her. He remembered how much it used to take out of his mother and Remus when they’d heal people - and it seemed like the magi had been at it for hours. He couldn’t quite tell what was going on in the woman’s mind, but he felt oddly comforted by that. Althea wasn’t exactly someone he wanted to be able to analyze and understand in a heartbeat. Some people were as easy to read as books. Some were like a painting - the real telling stuff lay in the minute details. And others were more like a like a song - you trust that you’ll be able to match their rhythm, even if you don’t know exactly what’s going to happen next. Althea reminded him of the latter.

“Busy seems accurate. It seems like everyone I’ve run into since I’ve gotten back to Lycia been busy.” He found himself laughing quietly despite the terror that laid all around the trio. A gentle snoring sound was coming from the girl on the ground beside them. “I doubt that there are many traveling bands of troupers, either. Frankly I’m surprised there are any tinkers wandering the Marches selling goods - Everyone without a martial occupation would probably rather just stay safe behind a set of 4 high stone walls.”

The warrior sitting cloakless in his light leather armor didn’t realize the jealousy that his companion harbored. After all, who was he to assume that anyone would hold particularly fond memories of being rescued by a goon of low birth - especially since all he did was give her a ride to somewhere safe and lie to a mob to keep her safe. But that didn’t mean that day didn’t hold significance to him as well - albeit for very different reasons. He remembered that day as one of the last truly good things he had done before leaving. And he remembered Althea as a fascinating mind, not as a damsel in distress.

“It is a shame that such violence had to happen tonight. The stars were beautiful before the smoke.” His voice was wistful and relaxed. He closed his eyes and felt the blowing of a gentle breeze against his face, his curly hair rustling in the wind. All his time with Fragarach had left him with a remarkable love for a good breeze.

[Althea]

She... hoped Don was laughing with her, not at her, not that she was laughing either way. But it didn't sound mean spirited. She just couldn't really tell sometimes. Most of the time. ...At all. On some levels many people were easy enough to understand, creatures driven by instinct and desire rather than anything greater. But neither of those were anything she understood very well, and the rigid logic she tried to apply to everything rarely held her in good stead when it came to interacting with others.

He wasn't wrong either way, though, and she nodded quietly a single time as he spoke. Lycia was truly becoming dangerous. Those who had not the strength with which to defend themselves could only rely on those who did. That... was why she had started studying magic herself, wasn't it? It'd been so long she had almost forgotten. Before Donovan rescued her, she had been far more interested in magical history, hadn't she? And theory. Not the practical aspects. She wasn't even sure if she had thought herself above it all or just not found it especially enthralling. And now, here she was, writing papers about how everyone had been doing magic wrong all this time.

A small giggle came out before she caught it, and for a moment she hoped it would be followed up by the earth swallowing her whole, all mirth evaporating in the crushing depths of shame. She didn't... giggle. It was almost as bad as chortling, albeit better than guffawing at least. But the cosmic comedy of the situation had drawn her in and driven a dagger into her heart. Metaphorically speaking.

"I - apologize. The irony of the situation struck me. Not that long ago I understood that mindset all too well. Being powerless. Relying on hired guards and at times luck so I could continue my studies. Being - rescued by others, time and time again." And she knew now that was no exaggeration. It was not by blind chance or mere circumstance that she had survived that attack in Lycia, the place she eventually met Donovan. Ereshkigal had done something to save her life then. "But when you spoke of it... my first thought was of disbelief. The idea of simply 'giving up' on action too alien to consider. I do not feel as if I have changed; it is as if the world has changed instead. But I am the only constant in my own perspective. I must accept that."

What came after that? She didn't really know. Even if she had changed, she was still - her, right? Yes, she had a co-inhabitant of her body in Ereshkigal, but unlike the stories where the spirit or ghost took over and erased the original, they seemed to be coexisting just fine for the time being. Better than they originally had at least. She didn't feel like she was losing herself. She just... didn't know what the new her was supposed to do differently than the old her. Different than what she was already doing - as her.

She wasn't really used to not doing anything, but looking up into the murky sky, even partially hidden by smoke and cinder, it occurred to her that it wasn't as unpleasant as it had always seemed to her. It felt a little bit like she was being pulled into Donovan's orbit. Trying to see the world as he spoke of it. Beautiful stars, a gentle breeze, a pleasant evening. She felt as though she could sort of understand what he was saying... but try as she might, she couldn't quite see what he could. When she looked up, she could recognize that the stars were beautiful, but she could no more deny the thought that she should be checking in on the wounded or studying magic to better understand how to use it than she could deny who she was.

"...It is rare that I gaze upon the stars like this," she admitted after a few moments. Still wondering what the world Don saw was like. But knowing it wasn't the world she saw. "I spend so much time looking down at my studies or facing the world around me..."

[Donovan]

Don’s head turned to look up at Althea when he heard a giggle escaped from her serious tone she had been keeping. She has a fun laugh he thought, when she lets it out at least. He returned to looking up at the late night sky, “No need to apologize for a good laugh. The world could use a little more laughter these days. I remember you telling me about your work as an architect. How you always had hired guards to protect you, just in case. What I didn’t tell you back when we first met, is that I was just as powerless not too long ago, too. I lost my dad, because he gave his life to protect our family. I got a good man killed because I convinced him to help me save someone who tried to stand their ground against the dead.” The dark haired warrior’s thoughts turned to that fateful day fighting Michael, and the mercenary that had traded his life for Donovan’s, “My friend Carter pushed me out of the way of a point blank volcannon strike. He died so that I could live.”

Donovan breathed deep, beneath the smell of the smoke and the bodies burning across town, he could smell the sweet grass they lay on, “No one starts out strong. Sometimes it’s tragedy that gives you the push you need. Sometimes it’s just meeting the right person. But we’re both stronger for it. There’s something about surviving that just makes giving up… not an option anymore. The world has changed. And I think we’ve grown to match it.” It was easy to forget how much he’d survived. But those losses and those battles won bloody and dying made him the man that lay beside Althea now.

“...Don’t be afraid to look up, every once in a while.” His voice was soft and kind when he responded. “It’s important to see what you’re fighting for every once in a while. Sometimes it’s as simple as fighting for a peaceful night sky. “

[Althea]

Althea felt the ire of stubborn superciliousness rising within her. The urge to argue with what he said, bubbling like a rancid stew boiling over. More laughter would be nice, she supposed, but she thought the world needed a lot more than that - it needed people willing and able to fight, and they would see if they could laugh about it when they were standing in a sea of corpses, awash in an ocean of blood donated by the dead and the damned.

But she wasn't quite enough of a cad to interrupt his own vocalized memories, especially when he opened up about things he had never spoken of before. It certainly wiped the mulishness of her face as she stared at him with some uncertainty in the wake of his words, visibly uncertain how to react and even less certain how to think of it. The way he acted was like an island unto himself, a tree standing proud in a storm. Bloodied but unbowed. Her estimation of him was that success had followed him the fight like an old friend. Doubtless not perfect nor blessed by the gods, so to speak, but - he had suffered more than she had of late.

It was a realization she had not expected to have to face. For the most part, she had succeeded, or failed only with those she did not really know. Her failure in Tuscana had been half as harsh as her reprimands to herself, but she hadn't really known the people there, nor those here. He... well, he had certainly known his own father, she assumed, and this Carter as well.

"I... am sorry," she hesitantly responded, attempting to offer the most socially correct response she could think of. Nothing she said would magically bring those people back nor casually erase the reality of what had happened to him. She couldn't fix everything. Sometimes, it felt like she couldn't fix anything. But that didn't mean she was going to give up, either.

He spoke of strength, still a somewhat alien concept to her. Althea knew that objectively speaking her combat potential, with Ereshkigal in tow, was excellent. Far greater offensive power than most could muster, tempered by her lacking defenses. But being able to kill someone, and actually being strong - they were two very different things in her mind. She understood the first well. Perhaps too well. The latter she was still grasping to understand.

"Perhaps you are right," she managed after a short time. "The world is changing. It is only right that we should as well. It's just..." she sighed, feeling uncharacteristically melodramatic, or at least out of her element. "Aren't there supposed to be heroes by now? Athos, Roland, Branimond - those with the strength, and the will, to lead? My place is in dusty old ruins and forgotten lore, not... organizing resistances and telling others what to do." She did what she could because she had to. But she didn't have to like it. Yes, it was nice to feel that she had made a difference, but... "The more responsibility I take on, the more abhorrent it becomes. I can't imagine how anyone could actually search for power over others."

[Donovan]

His heart was not cold and hard as stone. He still wished that all those friends and family hadn’t died for his sake, but he did not weep for them anymore. He cherished their memories and he would keep their story alive as long as he could keep himself alive. It was all he could do for the dead. Well. That and burn their bodies.

“Thank you, Althea... It’s funny. I hadn’t thought about all of that for a long time. But those men’s sacrifice pushed me and forced me to be stronger. Not just strong enough to kill, but stronger in mind. Resilient. I can’t die, because I have 4 stories I have to tell. I can’t hide from danger because I have 3 men’s sacrifice to honor.” Something about talking with Althea here, on the grass beneath the smoky sky - it brought out the man Fragarach had always longed for Donovan to be. Even if it would only last as long as they lay.

“Aren’t there supposed to be heroes by now?” He repeated quietly. That really was the question that all of Elibe had to be asking by now, wasn’t it? There’s no way that they would win this war, and survive the endless march of death pouring out of Ostia without proper heroes. “You know I think about stories a lot - but while stories have a much longer shelf life than the truth, they never reflect the reality of how things were quite as well as most people understand. I mean, you know that better than almost anyone, I’d wager, being an archeologist and all.” He propped up on his elbow and turned from the sky to face the white haired woman.

“I bet that Athos and Roland and Elimine and all those ancient ‘heroes’ probably laid down one night and looked up at that very sky and wondered the same damn thing. Just like most of Elibe - and certainly all of Lycia - wonders probably every night. The heroes of this story we're living… they’re already out there. We just haven’t realized who they are going to be, yet. Except Remus. Remus is definitely one of them.” He said, mostly to himself, as heflopped down onto his back again, resuming his sentinel’s gaze at the sky above. “And seeing how terrible things have gotten when those who search for power actually end up getting their grubby little hands on it. I’d be much more comfortable with people who don’t care for leadership taking the reins.”

[Althea]

Hm. The idea of 'having' to live because you had people's stories to tell. Not being able to hide because you had sacrifices to honor. Althea wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, if she was to be objective about it. As long as she could remember, she had always just... lived for her own sake. It wasn't a conscious decision, just she hadn't possessed anyone to live for, anyways, and never much reason to think about it.

Did she now...?

After silent thought, Althea didn't think so. That wasn't to say that she planned to leave Drei and Aura and friends behind by any means. And yes, part of her motivation in continuing to live was for them she supposed, though the thought itself was a bit alien to her. But she didn't see the value in tying her reason to exist to someone else. If she lived for Drei's sake, and he died, then what? No, it was better to live for one's self, and do good within that frame of existence, she believed. Not a question of morality, but of practicality - she didn't see any reason to judge Don for his beliefs nor try to dissuade him. She just didn't think she could tie her happiness, her existence, to the lives or deaths of others,

His other set of thoughts was much more difficult to deny. In fact, as little as she liked it - she couldn't. Assuming that the stories were true, of course, that there actually had been a man named Athos and one named Branimond, and that they had done even half the feats they were praised for, they were human too. They must have struggled with some of the same concerns as her and Don. It was just that they had decided to genocide an entire race, and so far aside from kind of getting annoyed by Shara, she had no real grudge against dragons.

"...I am not sure if that heartens or worries me," she eventually returned, her voice mirthless but a light smile gracing the corners of her mouth. "I am, however, grateful not to be one of them. The sooner all of this is over, the sooner I can get back to enjoying my work." Was that selfish. Probably, yes. She didn't really know that she cared. She had never pretended to be a hero, nor did she want to be viewed as one, or recruited as one. Doing good for its own sake was its own reward; beyond that she required nothing and wanted nothing in return.

When he spoke of a familiar name it took only a moment to place it. Ereshkigal's little adventure hadn't been too long ago. "Ah... Remus. A blue-haired young priest, yes? Eresh-I met him not long ago. He aided me in better understanding healing magics, actually. I have been trying to learn them for some time with... limited success," she admitted, looking down at her fragile, slender hands in a moment of minor frustration. It was so... illogical to have an entire school of magic based solely around feeling!

[Donovan]

They lay in silence for a long while, the whistling wind lulled the mercenary into a quiet, peaceful calm - unaware of any danger that may be lurking nearby. As Althea responded, Don looked her way and saw the smallest of smiles gracing her face - the sight of which made him feel a bit better, a bit more peaceful. He felt like so many people in Lycia had lost their ability to smile. Fighting a losing war tends to do that. “You sure aren’t any sort of hero, Althea.” His voice rang a playful tune, “You’ve only helped defend a whole town from undead monsters and then immediately jumped into healing the people hurt in the attack. And you’re doing it for free, too, aren’t you?” He found himself laughing despite his bit being unfinished. “Yeah. Nothing heroic about that. Not at all.”

He remembered something Mila had said  back in Pherae. " '...That word is like a double edge sword. In a war.. you are a hero to the side that claims victory' ” The mage's words left his lips before he realized he was saying them aloud. “Mila said that… a month ago or so? Maybe more. Time’s so funny on the road.

“But I gotta admit, as true as that is when it comes to the history books. The lines have never been more black and white. At least on this front. The heroes are the living. The breathing. The villains are the ones that could do… this.” His voice trailed off as he thought of the destruction. “It kinda makes you wonder, doesn’t it… why is this all happening? Why now? Humans might be complex, but at least we’re able to understand their motivations after a bit of unraveling. This just seems so… impossibly random.” He thought for a moment and then realized, “- I heard about what happened in Tuscana. With you and Mila. I’m sorry you went through that…”

“Hey,” Donovan reached over and put his calloused hand on Althea’s fragile one, and squeezed it gently. “You did amazing work here. Remus would be proud. Really proud. I know I am.” He released the small, pale woman’s hand and moved his own back to his chest. The peace and calm settling over him. “Healers have the hardest lot. To know you have the power to save a life, but never knowing if you’ll have the strength to pull it off. That takes more of a toll on a good heart than anything else.”


The wayward mercenary’s mind kept returning to the elephant in the room, and he couldn’t keep himself from asking her any longer. “I’m sorry if this is… a hard subject. I just need to know. Did you ever find out what happened to that town? The one I found you in?”

[Althea]

Althea found it interesting that her initial response to Donovan's kind words was mulish disagreement. She actually couldn't tell why, and that bothered her quite a bit. Much of this conversation had had that effect on her. Donovan was incredibly adept at that. Whether by charisma or well chosen words, or both, or more besides. Thinking about it didn't really give much of an answer either, but after some time she thought she came to a partial understanding of why; because it was falsely inflating what she did, who she was.

"A hero would do that because it was right. I - do it because..." she trailed off, not really sure why she did, exactly. In part she knew why, though. But it really wasn't logical at all beyond that. "...I don't know," the dark mage admitted quietly after a pregnant pause. Not meeting Donovan's gaze in the least. "I just... don't like seeing it," she added lamely after another hesitant pause, warming up to the subject a little as she justified it to herself. "It is simply self serving, no better than someone who does it for power or prestige. It serves to lighten the dark outlook people have on practitioners of Elder magic. It allows me to practice healing magic. It-" she hesitated again, briefly, enough it was hardly even there. "It feels good," she admitted finally. None of that sounded very heroic to her. It was pragmatic, personal, perhaps pathetic. Not heroic. She just wanted it all to end so she could stop worrying about it.

It was interesting he knew Mila as well. First Remus, now Mila? Ironically enough, it was likely she was the one to meet them long after he had. Though that brought back less than pleasant memories of her failure there. At least she had met Mila and Vincent there. And learned more about anima magic... and Baels. More than she had wanted to know.

"But... thank you." His hand was as warm as his words, and not for the first time Althea found herself wishing she was capable of being nearly as eloquent or emotionally rousing in expressing herself. She still didn't really understand Donovan, but he was - it was hard to describe. Like a hurricane passing through. Or a free spirit adrift on the wind. She didn't really know what brought that comparison to mind, but it seemed oddly fitting nonetheless. "A burden of the mind more than one of the body as I am used to. 'Tis far from the first time I've worked myself to exhaustion with magic, but..." she sighed, half bemused, half just tired. "I have never sought power for its own sake. My interest in Elder magic is primarily academic, with a fortunate side effect of self-defense. Each... failure at healing makes me wish to learn more of it, though. But it is an uphill struggle every step of the way." It was hard to keep the frustration out of her voice, she was very good at her primary interests and quite used to being able to figure out what she actually cared about. This was an unpleasant departure from the norm for her.

She stiffened visibly at Donovan's final question, not guilty exactly but - suffused by a complex mix of emotions. She understood some of it now. What Ereshkigal had done. Somewhat of why. She had witnessed Ereshkigal's power at that village with Aura and Drei, as well. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that a reckless, desperate version of Ereshkigal could absolutely have laid waste to the area Don had found her in to protect her. And after the months she had spent getting to know the erratic spirit, she... trusted her, in her own way; the two didn't always get along well but Ereshkigal had never betrayed her trust, had saved her life repeatedly, and so far had been a better damn person than her when borrowing her body.

But she also knew that the world probably wasn't ready for what might very well be the last member of an extinct race, with power that might be on par with the Scouring Heroes if the legends had been a bit overblown, to return - especially when another kind of darkness was bathing the land in sorrow. Folklore rarely upheld the darkness in any kind of heroic or even positive light, and, well, Althea knew better than most what happened to people who used 'dark' magic when scared and frustrated people needed a scapegoat.

But... if she had learned anything in her time wandering the world. People weren't as uniformly terrible as she had thought, fleeing Etruria as her parents' ashes scattered to the winds. They could learn. They could do terrible things, but they could do great things too, even when scared, even when the odds were stacked against them and there was nothing to gain from doing the right thing. And it was possible that... she had been wrong in assuming it was a waste of time in trying to educate them. Not everyone would rethink their core beliefs because someone they didn't even know asked them to. But nothing would improve without effort to make it happen.

"...Yes, I have learned... a great deal," she finally admitted honestly, hoping desperately that she was making the right decision here. "However, it is a complicated matter, and my current physical condition is extremely poor. If you will accept my doing so after I rest, I will explain what I have learned. Though you may not wish to know the details."

[Donovan]

“She didn’t like seeing it”. Try as she might to avoid it, Fragarach couldn’t help but feel a swelling sense of pride for a woman the blade had absolutely no claim to feel pride over. But Donovan heard the weight and uncertainty in her words. It sounded less to him like she was doing it without looking for praise, and more like she was mostly acting heroically out of reflex.

“It does feel good, doesn’t it? Something about the look of relief on people’s faces when you’ve saved them from the dead. All the negative feelings about yourself just washes away for a few moments there. And if you happen to change a few minds about hating your particular brand of nerd? Learn a few new tricks along the way? The better for it!” Donovan pulled his flask out of his coat’s pocket and unscrewed the top, taking a quick nip of whiskey to stave off the cold. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Althea. There are no heroes here, as far as I’m concerned.” The mercenary stifled a barkish laugh (trying not to wake up the girl) as he stretched out his arm, offering the flask to the woman in white.

“You’re very welcome,” he replied. His wry smile small but sincere. “I think I’ve only met a single magi who actually sought out magic for the sake of power, actually. She was absolutely mad. Poured some liquor on some poor sod’s head and set him on fire, with absolutely no warning. Couldn’t have been over… 15 years old? To put it frankly, I prefer your type of mage. Good old fashioned academics.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little amused by the frustration in Althea’s voice as she talked about healing. Not every mage could even begin to understand how to mend the body. Let alone how to use two completely different schools of magic. He didn’t know much about how it all worked, but he’d learned enough from Mila and his mother to understand the basic fundamentals. “Trust me, Althea. If you’ve got the drive to learn how to heal. You’ll find the way that works best for you. Sometimes you have to twist the rules to master the game.”

Her reaction to his final question, however, was far from what he’d anticipated. He could not tell exactly what the prompt had evoked for her, emotionally, but he knew she was at the very least caught off guard. “Well… Who am I to refuse you your lie down?” He desperately wished to keep talking, but he couldn’t deny the call of sleep whispered in his mind as well. He sat up and removed his jacket, offering it to the small, seemingly luminous woman beside him - his cloak already being in use. “Let’s talk more later, then.” He lay back and the little fox padded over to him, curling up next to his chest for warmth, passing into a tepid sleep.

[Althea]

"Hmm." Noncommital but not argumentative either. She wasn't really sure whether or not he was right, but it felt... hollow to do good for any purpose but its own sake. Anything else was simply quid pro quo at best, taking an action in expectation of a reaction - fame, money, even good will were all valid enough targets to take away the inherent value of the thing. "I suppose, but there is ever the solemn reminder of those I was unable to help. It's certainly not very good business sense. If I was smarter, I'd keep an eye out to protect princelings with a propensity for problems and a large treasury. ...Which sounds a lot like banditry with extra steps, now that I think about it."

She waved away the flask politely - he DEFINITELY didn't need to know that half a swig would be enough to leave her liable to make very... poor... decisions... or - no, she wasn't going to think about the thing that had happened in Laus with the pole and the dan- Althea blinked, inclining her head in part from the frustration and remembered embarrassment as at Donovan's odd comment. No heroes? It... had been long enough since her last talk with him that she didn't remember their last discussion very well, and not only because she had been half conscious for most of it. But that didn't sound right. She was quite happy not being a hero herself, but it didn't seem right for him to efface himself like that.

"Whether you choose to call yourself that or not, you certainly qualify in my eyes," she said, long before her brain had caught on and her eyes widened as she realized her exhaustion was REALLY catching up to her, actually, was it too late to drill a hole in her own skull or - well, it would probably be rude to Marta to wake up with half of a woman's corpse flopping onto her. "I-I mean, that is to say... yes, sleep sounds... excellent..." her almost frozen white cheeks tinged with a bit more color than usual as she refused to meet his eyes, taking the offered jacket out of sheer necessity rather than any form of wanting to dig her own grave further, and laid down facing away from him as quickly as possible - and then passed out even faster than that, unconsciousness taking her whole by the time her head hit the fabric.

[Donovan]

The dim light of the sun tried to push its way through the dense clouds as the birds sang a simple but happy tune. A stark contrast to the horrors this town had faced the night before. The grass was dewy where the three humans and one fox lay, and Donovan woke with the side he’d slept on a little wet. The birds and the sun continued as if nothing had happened, but the smell of smoke still clung to the air. Bodies had still been burnt. Building had still been ruined.

Donovan got up quietly so as to not disturb the two other people that lay near him. He’d be shocked if Marta wasn’t able to sleep for the next 2 days straight - but her breath was steady and stable, so the wayward warrior wasn’t exactly concerned for her health. Kitchi grumpily moved away from where his human had so rudely left him lying, shuffling over to where Althea lay and cuddling up against her for warmth.

There was something remarkable about how good stretching in the morning could make a person feel. It made Donovan wonder why he didn’t just do it every morning, instead of rolling out of bed at the last minute and rushing off onto the road. But he supposed that there was no time more relevant to stretch out an aching back than when you’ve be sleeping on the dirt. He put his hands to his boots and bent one knee so deep that he was nearly sitting, stretching out the thigh of his straight leg.

“Banditry with extra steps,” he laughed as quietly as he could, “That’s really good, actually. I’m gonna use that.” He had moved away from the girls some, trying not to disturb them. Looking back at Althea, he found himself wondering if he’d really ever deserved to be a hero. In her’s or anyone’s eyes. She was a strange girl. And though he’d only spent a few hours over a day or two with her, he found he quite liked her company. She was fascinating - like a beam of moonlight suspended under a moonless sky.

Was it just me or did she blush when she took your coat? Fragarach’s deep voice was heavy with humor. Oh come off it, you old git. She was just tired. But the mercenary remembered Althea’s snow white cheeks flushing red, and a hidden grin began to overtake his face - before a deft but solid banging noise caught his attention from the abandoned and burnt out home across the street.

[Althea]

The chorus of groans, creaks, and grumbling from the rising wraith just SOUNDED angry, which was fitting because waking up damp and cold and sore did in fact lead to her waking up in a pretty terrible mood. Althea could barely even remember what had happened, but she must have passed out pretty hard if she hadn't even made it to the nearest bed, much less made the time to lay out her usual bedding. She was no princess, but the ground here was a lot harder and bumpier than a damn pea. Gods and garters but everything was bloody sore. She felt like a malfunctioning automaton with sand grinding in every gear, a fleshy horror born of countless corpses sewn together with gossamer and fairy dust. Or an old lady. She wasn't sure which was worse. And why did her pillow smell like-

Ah.

The mage froze, looking down at the jacket she was holding as her brain finally grudgingly began to function in a manner befitting a human rather than an animal. She still didn't remember last night very well, but this was - Donovan's - not as sweaty and gross as she had imagined that would be. Silently hoping that she was about to be eaten by a monster, Althea staggered upright, no longer one foot in the grave but still sore and lethargic as her body protested against the strain she had subjected it to for so long last night. Was that girl - well, she was either dead or asleep, going by how she was lying there, and Althea found that she was having trouble focusing enough to find out which, and having even more trouble trying to decide if she cared. Okay, yes, she did care, but panicking about it now wasn't going to change which it was. So she was just going to assume sleeping.

"Mrgrgr?" Hmm. That hadn't come out right. Althea was beginning to think she would have been better off cutting open an undead or monster and sleeping inside their still warm corpse rather than this, but at least she was... less out of it than before. Sleep was truly the great equalizer, and the one god she would confess to worshiping. That didn't mean she had to LIKE it, wasting eight-plus hours a day on nothing was frustrating, but until she invented a way to never have to sleep again, she would make do.

Oh. And there was Don. Alive and awake and... looking at her.

"Ah... hello," she lamely offered as her sleep-addled brain tried to catch up to how she should react.

[Donovan]

Cautiously, the mercenary approached the husk of a home, remembering the warnings from Fragarach the evening before and feeling foolish for not having dealt with whatever had been meer meters from them the entire night that they had slept. The floorboards creaked and groaned beneath his feet and Donovan made an executive decision to explore from a… safer vantage point.

Slowly. Carefully. The brown leather boots of the Silver Tongued mercenary crept backwards . Toe to heal. Finally he heard a deep and satisfying *Thunk* that made the wayward warrior confident in his footing. His bright green eyes scanned the floor around him and he saw a charred and partially melted figurine that looked like a trophy or a medal. Picking it up, it seemed to be from a tourney long ago. He could just make out the remnants of an Ostian crest.

Donovan tossed the lumpy and heavy metal underhand and it clambered and thunked across the floor to the farthest most wall from him. Instantly he heard the mad scratching and livid banging of the undead in the basement beneath his feet, drawn to the loud noises of the figurine. What surprised him was that he didn’t see any way for the dead creature to have gotten down there. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t any holes in the floor - though he wouldn’t have been surprised to see one.

A sudden chorus angry of groans, creaks and grumblings behind him had him turn around with a sudden and reactionary spin that was particularly unwise in his current location. In the 6 seconds that followed, the mercenary’s mind went through 3 very distinct realizations.

The first, was as he looked back and was horrified to see that he’d been so distracted by the noises in the basement that a wraith had managed to sneak up on them. Marta still lay unconscious, unaware of the danger that she was in, as the creature staggered upright. And he didn’t see Althea anywhere.

The second was that Althea was “nowhere to be seen”, because she WAS the wraith. Perhaps his mind had been a fair bit too caught up in the dangers that lurked in the abandoned basement. And sleeping on the ground was rarely a recipe for anything close to a fully rested mind.

The third realization came after he heard the pale magi offer an awkward, “Ah… hello,” at the same time that he heard a deeply unsettling crack beneath his feet that dropped his stomach so far and so fast that it was almost comical to some detached part of Donovan mind. As it was then that he realized that he was falling through the floor.

[Althea]

It took a pregnant pause for Althea to even begin to realize what had happened, her first train of thought to be genuinely impressed that Donovan had mastered the art of sinking into the ground on demand - a trick she would have loved to know during many past experiences. Next the logical(ish) part of her brain turned on, helpfully supplying that perhaps 'Donovan' was not the person she had always thought him to be; he could be a wraith, an Arum like Ereshkigal, some other sort of spirit... perhaps he was in fact not even real, merely a figment of her imagination; worse, he could be all too real, a vengeful specter haunting her after dying in that town she had met Ereshkigal. Toying with her fragile mental-

Then the hamster in the wheel finally started running.

"....Don. DON!" Still only about half there mentally, it had finally sunk in that she was a complete and utter buffoon and he had just fallen through a floor or something, which was better than the 'vengeful ghost' theory but still potentially very dangerous to a flesh and blood person, like he definitely was. Humans had survived far worse falls, but even a seemingly light tap to the wrong place in one's head could kill a healthy man instantly! Finally catching on that she should be worried, Althea quickly(ish) made her way over to where her acquaintance had disappeared from sight, confirming that it was indeed some manner of wooden floor in a building he had been in for some reason. Partially lit by the light of day, in part hidden by the shadows of the remainder of the building, she couldn't easily make out if he was alright. "Don, are you there?"

...Well, it was probably a safe guess that he hadn't teleported behind her or anything, so after a moment she amended her words. "Ah... are you safe, that is." Good save. She was not yet quite certain what to do if he was, though, she didn't think she could pull him up. But it would be good to know if he was alive first.

[Donovan]

As the dust settled around him, Donovan assessed the damage done to his person. His wiggled his toes and rotated his ankle, everything there seemed to be in order. Then he bent his knees without any pain or difficulty. But when he went to push himself up, he had an intense pain in his left shoulder. Tentatively looking over, he saw that his shoulder had dislocated. A part of him wanted to puke just seeing it.

Then he remembered why he had been investigating the crumbling house in the first place and his adrenaline kicked in. Donovan sprung to his feet and looked around the pitch black basement with Fragarach close to his body in defensive stance. The light from the Donovan sized hole in the ceiling clung to the ash and dust that floated through the air, as solid as a pillar of stone. But it was nowhere near bright enough to illuminate the dark as his eyes scanned each corner.

"Don, are you there?" A pause filled the air before Althea corrected herself “Ah... are you safe, that is.” That of course was the most important question. “I'm okay,” he said, standing in the center of the light, unwilling to leave its relative safety “But I definitely dislocated my shoulder. And... I think I’m not alone down here.” The sound of running feet to his left caught his focus, but still he couldn’t see anything in the oppressive darkness of the basement. “There isn’t a chance you have any light magic that could help illuminate my situation down here is there?”

A clattering sent Donovan spinning around and unleashing a burst of air across the room. A broad slash without much might behind it, to try and knock away anything that might have been trying to sneak up on him. But with a sickening groan from the ceiling above him he realized that he must have knocked loose a support beam. Another blow like that could bring the whole ceiling down around his head. “Ooookay then, Frag. Looks like we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way.” He closed his stance further, long ranged attacks would only put him in danger down here. This would have to be down close and personal.