I have a rather... Emotional scene in mind. I can see how things might have happened and I'd like to put it in writing, in the event we go with a full split. 

Needless to say, it will take a while, and I'm going to wait a bit before starting, but I hope it won't take too long  

To say for certain, but it does look that way.

We may need to see what the second part is first to be absolutely certain.

Now my linking to the song 'Answers' feels even more appropriate...

The sense of touch is very important to Aranwen. It's a way for her to take comfort in the presence of others she is fond of. 

Something she's been deprived of for quite a while, both here and in HC...

Have an appointment this morning but will be back to write a bit later  

I suppose it will come as no surprise that Morgana was in part inspired by Calcabrina. The one that controls the threads...

Video for Eol's benefit to see the creepy doll boss in ffxiv

Breebles, how do you feel about Calcabrina?  

Mosic gained the benefit of a long rest... And so did Morgana

Not sure exactly what that will mean in the near future, but she's certainly going to at least put in a token of aid for Adedre

She's feeling it's near a lost venture though

"Morgana," Spiderlily walked up behind the witch, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Morgana, wake up."

Morgana didn't stir, still curled up underneath a number of blankets.

"Morgana," the woman repeated, giving the sleeping witch a light shake. 

Finally, the witch stirred, giving a small yawn that she covered by her hand.

Spiderlily gave a bemused smile, "Wakeful dawn, my dear. Are you rested well?" 

"Yes, quite so," Morgana replied, sleepiness lingering in her voice, "Has something happened then?" 

"They're on the move."

Morgana immediately sat up, fully awake, "Where?" 

"If I read your looking glasses right, they are already within the walls of Adedre's manor," Spiderlily replied. 

"What a bother. How am I supposed to do a delivery when they're already at the destination?" Morgana rolled her eyes, getting onto her feet.

Holding a hand over her nightdress, Morgana rewove the threads into her usual attire, a modest, woven dress that trailed threads from her arms to the ground. She crossed her arms with irritation, tapping one foot idly. 

"What will you do, my dear?" 

"I suppose I am forced to make a move. It just wouldn't do to let the necromancer feel that I've abandoned our deal."

"Will you show your full hand?" 

Morgana shook her head, "No. I think not. Things may go sour very quickly. A dead woman cannot pay the debt owed. Perhaps I should let her know to expect visitors..."

Sticking together will be best for us to make it into the manor as a group. Otherwise Kithran may be cut off by skeles between her and the others. 

Besides which, what should happen if Morgana happens to glimpse a lone Kithran facing inward and distracted on the wall?

"Normally yes, I would be concerned about being flanked. In this situation, however if we find ourselves set on all sides by the skeletons, then that would make for a lot of targets in range of Mosic. Protect him between us as they approach, and even if they do have some semblance of rational thought, they may be none the wiser to the power he harnesses."

Aranwen watched as Kithran sailed through the air. Not that she had reason to doubt the Kazari's strength, having seen how well built he appeared, but it was one thing to know, and another to see it happen. 

"Don't miss..." she breathed in relief seeing Kithran grab hold of the top of the wall. 

With a nod she headed for the base of the wall herself, putting her back to the wall as she scanned their surroundings once more. 

"Several hours and you haven't made a move... What are you up to?" she muttered, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

Looking to Mosic, she gestured for him to ascend first, "Use the knots similar to steps, but for your hands as well as your feet," she offered, "I tried to space the knots with your armspan in mind."

"Why don't you go first to show me?" Mosic asked. 

Aranwen shook her head, "If she were to make a move, I'd expect it now. I will be ready if she comes."

With a reluctant nod, Mosic began climbing. Aranwen placed a foot on the loose end of the rope to give another anchor for Mosic as he ascended. 

Still nothing. She frowned. If anything were to happen surely it'd be now. She looked to Ch'dau, but he motioned for her to proceed first. With a nod, Aranwen scaled the knotted rope, leaping over the threshold and landing on foot. 

She couldn't help but give a soft giggle watching as Kithran protested with the ease by which Ch'dau arrived at the top of the wall. But her face turned to a frown as she looked at the undead patrols below her. 

"we should hurry either way, the patrol will be back shortly"

Aranwen looked towards Mosic, "With magic such as these undead, do they persist if the one that raised them is no more?" 

Mosic offered a shrug of his shoulders, "Hard to say. In some cases I've heard so, in others I haven't. It's not the kind of thing that is well understood."

Aranwen nodded, "I see..." she looked to Kithran, "I have a thought; do you think you might be able to shoot someone in the leg? If the wall patrol were to fall off of the wall in the inner courtyard, that may provide us a distraction that will see fewer skeletons between us and the manor proper," she suggested, "We don't know how many be between us and Adedre on the inside, so it may be better to avoid what we can for the moment." 

... but she can still have a plan

Edited the post slightly for some more from Aranwen

The Cleric of Falloes’ suggestion of a rest prior to their storming of the Undolithe estate met a mixed reception. On one hand, there had been no disagreement that a respite would do them all some good. On the other hand, the little priest said he would need seven or eight hours and that didn’t seem to sit precisely well with Kithran.

“S-Seven to eight,” the thief gawked, almost blinking in disbelief, “I am uncomfortable again.”

Still crouched by the map drawn in the garden’s dirt, Ch’dau snorted out a short chuckle and gave a faint shake of his head. “Patience, Little Kitten,” he rumbled, erasing the map with the swipe of a paw before getting to his feet and turning his eyes skyward, “Khr’a’s Right Eye is still wide open. Seven or eight hours will certainly see it closed and, then, we will also have darkness to our advantage, yes?”

“What are you two going to do while we wait?” Kithran asked, bouncing on her toes and tugging her daggers free. She didn’t wait for an answer before barreling into her next question. “Samuel, you wanna lose a fight?..”

This evoked another chuckle from the Kazari and, again, that same slow shake of his head as he folded his arms across his chest.

“…Oh, actually,” the frenetic footpad continued before he could reply, “let’s fight when I get back. Unless . . .” her ebon eyes turned pointedly to Aranwen’s bag, “If you can manage not to cry, I will take you back up on your offer?”

“Morgana has seen both of us wearing my cloak,” the Bladesinger answered, “so if you grab one, make sure it’s not black.”

“Well then,” Kithran said with a clap of her hands and an impish grin blossoming on her lips, “I will be off then.” With that she turned and bounded off, pausing only long enough to call back over her shoulder; “I shouldn’t be too long, and I’ll stay nearby, but do not hesitate to rush valiantly in to rescue me if you hear me calling for Samuel.”

 “Samuel will be there, kibibi,” The Silver Cat chuffed, lifting a paw in acknowledgement.

As he watched Kithran skitter away into Davnor’s streets, once more, Ch’dau refolded his arms across his chest, gave another chuckle, and turned his gaze on Aranwen. “How that girl has the patience for thievery,” he rumbled softly, “only Keziri knows.”

Aranwen nodded in agreement, giving a soft giggle herself, "The boundless energy of youth... without the wisdom of age for patience," she mused, "It's almost like looking in an odd mirror, in a way. I was no thief, but I was very impatient when I was young. Impatient to grow, impatient to prove myself ready before the eyes of the blademaster."

She looked over at Ch'dau, "What of you?" She asked, curiously, "You are skilled in battle now, and by what you shared earlier no stranger to hunting, but what of when you were younger?"

Aranwen sat at one of the nearby benches. Though she looked to relax, her head and eyes continued to scan their surroundings, looking one way then the other, maintaining a constant vigil over her companions.

Ch’dau offered a shrug at the golden-eyed warrior’s question and, as she retreated, followed her to the bench. “Much the same, I suppose,” he mused, settling in on the bench beside the Sylvari woman, “Anxious. Eager.”

His own gaze skimmed over the garden and the thoroughfares beyond. Before it returned to Aranwen, though, it settled on the diminutive blonde Cidal who currently knelt beside a well pruned hedge, apparently offering up devotions to his god… So much time kneeling, the Kazari thought, and not enough just accepting that your gods are watching. And so many of them, too! I fear none of what these monkeys do will ever make sense… He might have sighed, then, and, at last, his turquoise eyes fell back upon the golden ones of the Sylvari at his side. “When I was young, khatun,” he said after a moment, “I had not the considerations that seem common, here, amongst your kind.

I learned to hunt. I learned to fight. I learned the history of my clan. These were the things that were important.

This magic,” he nodded toward the praying Cid and, then, glanced briefly at the walls of Adedre’s compound, “This is a thing for khr’dun… how do you say? Shamans?.... and gods… and the Others. It is not something that, as cubs, we encounter often.” He shrugged again. “Here, though, it seems almost to be expected.

Even in my youngest of years,” he confessed, then, the words almost a whisper, “I was never led to believe that such things would be as common as they seem to be in your world.”

The cat-man’s head tilted curiously, then, and he studied the Sylvari’s face for a long moment. “Tell me, Aranwen,” he purred, “has magic always been so on Antaron? Is it the same among your people?”

Aranwen paused a moment as she returned Ch'dau's gaze, her golden eyes fading in thought, "Of the Sylvari too, there are those who dedicate their lives to their chosen god, clerics of many different paths. But, aside the power granted to them, other magics are very sparse. We feel that our gods take part in every aspect of our lives," She looked up, "You called that..." a pause for a moment as she tried to wrap her voice about the foreign word, "Keer'a's right eye?" She asked, "For that to be but the eye..." She paused as she tried, and failed to grasp the enormity of such a being. Such things were easier for Saeriel to visualize, "The ones we know seem much more specialized in their roles. The dancer of fortune, the lord of the trees who oversees the changing seasons..." She looked to Mosic, "The hand that aids those lost or in need..."

Aranwen looked back to Ch'dau, looking to his blue eyes, "But it has not always been so, if the older stories are to be believed. Those very old stories that you cannot be sure of how true they are, with how unbelievable they sound. A time so very long ago, where magic was as easy to grasp as breathing, where the very essense of magic lingered in the air, ground, and people. This was before the conflicts between people escalated, and then magic, the magical beings and ambient energies both, left Antaron, perhaps even left this world."

"I have to admit, it is almost too fantastic to believe," Aranwen offered with the shrug of a shoulder, "But she... Saeriel... she was an avid reader, and she showed me a book. A book that could not have been made with any craft or magic we know. An impossible book. And there are some stories of those who go missing, perhaps stumbling into that other realm, that realm of magic, wild and dangerous... at least, that's what it seems of those that return to speak of it."

“Hm,” the Kazari chuffed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he tried to wrap his mind around all of what Aranwen had just said. “I suppose I can relate to at least some of that,” he said after a moment, “When I first awoke, here, I thought I might be in that magical realm you spoke of. Monkeys who wear finely crafted armor, wield forged steel, and build great cities of stone are not things I would ever have thought to see.

 “And when I first encountered your folk,” he chuckled softly, then, turning his gaze back to Aranwen, “I was almost certain that I had fallen into some strange dream or that Khr’a had taken me away to show me some other world She had fashioned. Had I not discovered that there were other Kazari who had found themselves here, I never would have believed that we shared a world.”

Aranwen could not help but giggle at the description Ch'dau gave of Antaron. If all of his kind were as he looked, it served to reason that the species of Antaron would look as monkeys to them, "It is interesting to hear what it all looks like from someone to whom such sights are unusual and new. Even in the forests of the three kingdoms of the Sylvari, we are born in our dwellings and acclimate rapidly to what has been made by hands before our own, so quickly that we may not ever think of it..."

Once more, Aranwen's gaze scanned their surroundings. This time however, she was looking less for any new and suspicious presences, and instead looked with fresh eyes at where they were. She might not have completely grasped what it was she felt then, but it was a strange sensation.

Turning back to Ch'dau, Aranwen gave a warm smile, "But if you have stumbled upon a dream, I only hope it will be a good one," she offered, her eyes warm and sincere, "Even if recent experiences might suggest otherwise."

“It is getting better,” the Kazari purred, his ears and tail twitching as he nodded at Aranwen.

She held a hand to her chest; the words she spoke were as much for herself as for Ch'dau, "I was wondering though, that word you used in reference to me, Khatun, what does it mean?" She asked.

“Khatun,” Ch’dau repeated, “is a title of respect and honor. There are a few words in this Apanonese that mean the same… leader… commander… chief…”

Aranwen blinked, taken aback at being given such a title, "And you mean me?" She asked, "Are you sure? Such a title doesn't sound one to be given lightly..." she trailed off, uncertainty plain on her face and in her eyes.

The Silver Cat shrugged. “I have been fighting for as long as I can remember,” he said, “and, as a fighter, I am good. It does not take much to fight, though; a strong arm, a willingness to kill…” A faint chuffing sound, not quite a chuckle, escaped him then, as if he had suddenly come to finaly realize the truth of what he said next; “…the determination to live through today in order to fight, again, tomorrow. Simple things.

To lead, though,” his gaze dropped to where her hand rested on her chest for an instant and, then, lifted back to catch her eyes, again, “takes much more. I have not known you long, Aranwen, but, already, I have seen all of what it means to be a leader and more in you. I have served under many, fought alongside more, and in the few hours I have spent in your company, you have already surpassed the wisdom of them all.”

The Sylvari Bladesinger gave a soft sound, it seemed an embarrassed chuckle, her head bowed slightly, "I am honoured that you think so..." In her heart she wanted to object, to give voice to the concern that she was not truly qualified, but in this moment, she felt Ch'dau's sincerity in his words, and the warmth in them... it felt good. For the first time in a long while, she felt the flame within her kindled, and strong. She nodded, "Then, I will do my utmost to be worthy of the name," She promised, "For you, Mosic, and -"

“Were you not worthy, Aranwen Galandel,” Ch’dau rumbled pointedly, “I would not name you so. I owe you as much a debt as Kithran, it seems.” He lifted a hand and rested it lightly on the womans shoulder, his eyes fixed on hers; “I will fight beside you to the end, my Khatun, and, with honor, give my life at your command. My blood is yours, just as yours is mine.”

Aranwen blinked, as if the oath he’d just pledged was both unexpected and unworthy of being sworn to her. Her mouth hung open for a moment and several words began to form but never quite finished before, beneath the hood, Ch’dau winked. “All this means, khatun, is that is my pleasure to fight at your side for however long that may be.”

She smiled, perhaps a bit more at ease with the ‘responsibility’ with which he may have unwittingly burdened her than she had been at first. Then, deftly, turned the conversation to other topics.

Over the next short while, Ch’dau and Aranwen chatted idly, learning little bits of each other with each turn of phrase. While they chatted, Aranwen's hands were busy, putting knots into a length of rope she had retrieved from her pack. So it went until, during one of the Bladesinger’s perpetual scans of their surroundings, movement caught her eye, and she immediately turned, her head lifting towards the nearby rooftop. A skulking and mischievous figure already familiar to her was crouched up above, a young woman who clearly thought herself better hidden than she was, "Kithran!" She called up, "I see you up there. What are you doing?”

As Ch’dau’s gaze tracked the path Ara’s had taken, he spotted Kith’s form silhouetted against the sky as she rose from a crouch on a nearby rooftop.

“How, Aranwen?!” the rogue demanded, irritatedly tossing the bow back over her shoulder and the arrow back in its quiver. Her plot dismantled, she finds her way down and jogs back over to the others.

"I ran into your little girl, Aranwen, that Saina, and took this from her mother's shop." She steps back and turns, holding her arms out to show off the dark blue cloak, "Nice, huh?" She hops back over to them, "So, what did you talk about while I was away? Was it me?"

“Mostly, kibibi,” the Kazari chided, “no other subject could be quite as entertaining.”

Aranwen lifted a finger to her temples, "She's not my little girl, but at least we know she does have a parent... I did see her in the crowd before arriving here, asleep in the arms of a woman, but couldn't be sure," she gave a soft sigh, before looking over to examine Kithran's find, wandering over to test the fabric with her touch, "This is rather well made," She noted, before smiling at the half-syl, "Tightly woven, sturdy, and the fit... If I didn't know better, I'd guess that it was tailored to your size. A nice find indeed."

She had a strong feeling that in the moment that she had leaned in, Kithran's sticky fingers would have taken the silver pin placed at her belt, or possibly something from her bag, but she didn't react to it. It was simple, but well designed, shaped as a flame like would be seen on a candle, engraved so as to have depth to the flame.

"For the how," Aranwen chuckled, "You can thank Morgana for that; she ambushed me by a tripwire connected to a net placed up above in an alley, so I was being particularly watchful of the roof line."

Standing back upright, Aranwen looked once more to the walls of the estate, "If the pattern I saw continues through the eve, it seems as though there is a guard that passes across the battlements every ten minutes, moving from our left to the right. Given the leisurely pace they go, I can guess that it's one of the more relaxed, and probably coveted patrol routes in the estate. I can't say if their gaze crosses this wall again elsewhere on their patrol, but once we wait for them to pass there should be ample time to scale the wall."

"As to the scaling itself... we just need one person to get on top, secure and lower this," she offered the knotted rope she held, "and then it should not be too difficult for the rest of us to follow."

Can't hope for everyone to survive if Ch'dau is left to bleed out after all

Now we just can only wait and see

Cedric really could use a break after all this... poor guy's been brought so far over his head

Sara may have a bone cutting knife rather than a metal one, for cutting herbs and such. I can't help but wonder if she might never pick up a metal blade again...

Too hard to say... that will entirely depend on things still unwritten... Though I can see the outcome, I can't be sure of the exact way it plays out, and the way it happens is what will shape Sara's psyche...

If we need to split off of the ending of HC, the first post should detail exactly where and how we branch off of that timeline

Kithran, Samuel and Sara

Add an 'I' in there and you get 'kiss' for an abbreviation

As for that scene...

Sara: *while she's distracted tidying things up, she waters Kithran more*

Kithran: Ack! What was that for? 

Sara: Just keeping you watered *gives a giggle and smiles, before giving Kithran a hug* my dear wildflower

Kithran: *mumbling* I'm not a plant...! 

I don't see why Kithran would need to unless she wanted. Aranwen's is a matter of survival so she has little choice there...

For Aranwen to pick up apothecarial skills - Kithran may not be under any spell, but that doesn't mean she can't help her be more comfortable, especially with something like tea.

Aaand so she can help look after both Ch'dau and Kithran's health. She may not be able to read anything on Kazari, but she might certainly end up writing about them, their health and how to care for them.

Aranwen being shortened to 'Ara' just ocurred because it felt right as a short form said between Saeriel and Aranwen

I did find it rather interesting you picked the name Tara for Kithran's mentor, and then noticed the similarity there

I picked the name Mithwen for its similarity to Kithran for Aranwen to have a double take on first meeting Kithran

As for the name Sara...

Well, let's just say that I am fairly certain that Aranwen is going to be reconnecting a lot with her memory of Saeriel, after a fashion - S[aeriel] + ara[nwen], she'll look to live her life as Saeriel would have liked to, outside of being a bladesinger. Picking up books, reading, looking after a garden/crops, and perhaps starting to become something of an apothecarian.

It's a vague idea of where I see her going, anyhow

Anyhow I had a thought about threads - KCandK is a thread about their past, and Aranwen wouldn't accept being called Khatun post-HC.

Perhaps we might be best suited to making a fresh thread for their recovery and future? Just a thought

PS Collab-whee!

PPS Playing with the name 'Sara' as the name of Aranwen post-HC

Aranwen was playing to a long con, believing that by being seen as broken, she might gain an advantage in the complacency of her captors. To ask about Kithran directly would suggest she still had an objective, still had the will to be curious and perhaps fight.

She anticipated being made a servant, or perhaps worse. Though untrained in stealth or true subterfuge, she had the plan in her mind that she would use the unfamiliarity of the keep to her advantage. Explain her errant wandering with being lost. And, in that way, make herself a map, finding where Kithran was, perhaps getting a message to her, and waiting for an opportunity. 

Though, that was what she hoped to be able to do. She was aware that the situation as it was, there was an incredibly high likelihood that she'd be made to serve Davena personally, and perhaps be too entangled in that to do much more. She could only trust the others to be able to take advantage of the same idea, that they may yet snatch victory from absolute defeat

I have a possible song for healing themes. I'll share it later after HC is concluded 

I'm still shocked at how... Almost foretelling Light and Shadow has been for Aranwen

The beginning being of her past loss

It isn't how it is meant to be 

Then after the interlude, we are at the current scenes in HC

As light and shadow, the sun and the moon, torn between love and hate, I cannot get it somehow

Torn between love and hate. Aranwen's psyche is shattered by emotions right now.

Gaining by losing always haunt us to our dying days. Stuck in the haze, how did it ever come to this?

Currently stunned... With ever mounting guilt

And then... The last line

I wonder how you'll feel about this madness

I don't know for sure yet. The ending has not yet been written. One way or another, I can see that happening...

Jesting aside, yes, I am assuming in this timeline at least that we're at the epilogue state.

I didn't even think of heirloom weapons, so to speak. It certainly makes sense, though I am also fond of the idea that there is a forge master at Megilindor Nost who crafts their original blades too. 

Anyone ready for a gut punch?