Season of Bloom

[wrecking_yard]

The sun had set outside, invisible in the dim jail basement - once a bandit lord's dungeon, now a hasty field hospital, with half-broken torture implements cast aside in corners. The back room was quiet; the only sounds were occasional shuffling of papers spread across the table and, once in a while, a cough from one of the cells, usually followed by the guards nervously shifting.

None of the patients were close to "blooming". There was only one whose cough was starting to get the retching quality, and she hadn't started vomiting yet. The flower was still building strength after re-awakening from dormancy, so the seeds weren't quick to "sprout"; the poor girl had a few days yet.

Jhod was frowning, occasionally mumbling to himself as he went between papers - notes, chart-sheets on different patients, accounts of "blooms", a map where we'd been marking the incidents. I was only making a show of scanning through them for his comfort - I knew more without even looking at them, and reading them too much made me queasy.

The grim silence was suddenly interrupted by hurried, small footsteps coming down the stairs, and the guards stepping aside for whoever it was - gnome, the guards were treating them as an authority figure, too patterned and sure to be Linzi. Jubilost rushed past the cells to the back room, pushing a chair up to the table, only visible as a few black wisps of hair until he'd gotten on it, standing so he could see the whole table.

"I have a few findings to add, and thought you two could do with a fresh set of eyes besides."

"Any help is a blessing," Jhod answered tiredly, motioning at the notes strewn across the table.

He didn't have any books or papers with him, so he didn't have any references for whatever he found - not surprising; there shouldn't be anything documented surviving. "What did you find?" The only thing keeping my hopeful tone from being entirely fake is that he seems strangely confident for a scholar with no sources.

"Nothing!" He's far too confident about it. "There is zero precedent for any sort of disease like this. There is, of course, plenty of documentation of transformative diseases, such as lycanthropy or ghoul fever, but the remains left behind rule those out neatly - this is not altering the victims, but bursting out of them. I went over some of the remains with a fine tooth comb; it's conjuration magic that is definitely First World in origin."

Not too surprising - he's smart, observant, thorough, and none of the inherent masking survives the seed activating.

"It has to be either a curse or have some sort of vector serving as a focal point for the portals, not a microscopic pathogen or arcane disease; while the curses here could hypothetically have such an effect, they tend to have noticeable cause and effect rather than going off willy-nilly on random people like this does. Of course, I'm not certain on that one so I wouldn't rule it out completely, but we at least have narrowed down the potential causes enough to start tracking them down."

"Something concrete to look for." Jhod closes his eyes, exhausted, but there's definite relief. "Something small enough to get inside the body without drawing undue attention, but solid enough to carry a dormant spell."

I want to scream at them. SEEDS! It's seeds, hidden seeds, slipped where they can be swallowed! But no matter how much I want to say it, I can't even manage a visible twitch to betray a clue that I know.

"Well, being First World, we can assume there is some inherent trickery before it begins to activate - innate invisibility and changing size within limits are both fairly common traits of various First World things, organic and inorganic alike." I also wish I could, some day, express how grateful I am for the obnoxious gnome across the table getting involved in this. "The progression of symptoms suggests that whatever hides our vector from detection ceases to function once the vector is inside a living body; not only that, but the lack of reports of livestock and wildlife exploding into monsters suggests that it's either only entering sapient humanoids or, more likely, only activating once inside a sapient humanoid."

Jhod is nodding slowly; he likely would've come to the same conclusions, just slightly slower. As insensitive as he can be, Jubilost's involvement right now is a blessing from Sarenrae, Erastil, and a few other gods besides. The older priest is staring at the papers with an intense focus, and Jubilost waits quietly for him to say whatever he's thinking.

"So. We can't find it before it gets into someone." He inhales sharply, closing his eyes and setting his jaw with steeled resolve. "Do you think we could find it after the symptoms start, but before it fully activates?"

Jubilost frowns for a moment, then nods. "Yes, yes.... a surgical removal should be possible - so long as it's large enough at that stage to be visible, of course, although if it isn't there may still be signs of its presence in the infested tissue...."

The seeds are invisible and have a natural glamour against notice only before they start sprouting - I can't say that, I need to outsmart the bindings. Can't say the vectors could be a living thing either, even phrased as a theory. After some tapping the air while feeling the edges of my bindings, I pull a sheet of paper over, grabbing a quill. "There is a lower limit to the size of the anchor for that sort of portal -", I'm jotting down diagrams feverishly, trying not to look at the paper or think about anything else but planar structure and mechanics, "So for the portal to function stably and reliably, the vector has to be a size with enough mass to anchor the spell properly - something that would definitely be visible." I shove the mess of formulae toward the center of the table, dropping the quill and waiting for the dizzy spell that comes with pushing against the bindings to pass.

There's a few beats of silence. Jhod is staring at the paper in utter bewilderment, and one of Jubilost's eyebrows creeps up over the rim of his glasses. Finally Jubilost whistles through his teeth. "Tristian my boy, I have sorely underestimated you."

I pull back into my chair. "It's not that special - just conjuration and summoning theory..."

Jhod glances at Jubilost with the oddest expression, mouthing 'is that?', and pointing at the paper.

"Highly advanced conjuration and summoning theory, in Celestial."

I freeze and look down at the paper. Every bit of notation is in flowing Celestial script.

Crap.

"Ah. I've picked up a few things here and there in my travels..." I shrink further into my hood, trying to disappear. Jubilost shakes his head slowly, incredulous and a few hairs from laughing.

"Well, the immediately important part is not that even I can only read bits of it - it's that we have a lead to pursue, and I have anesthetics and disinfectants to prepare."

I know mortals pick up planar and other languages. I know it happens, but I'm now wishing I'd paid more attention to which ones and how often.

"Not....too strong on the anesthetics." The vertigo creeps back in, and they're both staring at me while I try to find a way to frame my concerns without barking the bindings too badly. "First World magic is unpredictable - we don't know if disturbing it might hasten the effect," it absolutely will, "So the patient needs to be able to get clear... and we'll need someone who can command attention and fight on hand." None of us at the table are weak, but we are very poorly suited to being in an enclosed space with a disoriented and agitated fae beast.

"We need to report this to Her Grace anyway. She'd probably insist on being present even if we didn't ask." Jhod sighs. "Now we just need to find someone willing to suffer this ordeal."

"I volunteer." It's the girl in the nearest occupied cell.

Jhod blinks, leaving his chair to walk to the cell door. "Are you sure? It's incredibly risky, and we can only numb you so much."

"If I don't, I'm dead for sure, right?" She laughs nervously. "And if it helps put an end to this..."

Jubilost nods, grabbing the sheet of diagrams, and hops down to go prep medications, saying something as he leaves about being back in an hour or so. He probably has some things already on hand - he's been passing things to the town doctors and healers whenever we're there, and working on improving formulas.

I walk over to where Jhod is. The poor girl is trembling, but fighting to put on a brave face. "Thank you. Your courage won't be forgotten." Even if this Barony falls, and I can't speak of it for centuries.

----
The camp is quiet. Most of the others have already drifted off to sleep. Ekun is perched in a tree watching the hills around us, with Dog sitting under the tree, also scanning the area. I'm by the fire with a book, having a hard time sleeping, and Jubilost is awake, working with his own tools.

I notice the sounds of shifting glassware have stopped a few seconds too late.

"So. Celestial. I am dying to know where you learned that one - there are few enough who speak it without an inborn instinct, and you're no Aasimar, so you had to learn it somewhere."

There is definitely a risk of him figuring out that I didn't learn it. "Well, what else would summoning texts around divine temples be in? Abyssal?" It's a weak joke of a deflection.

"Draconic, or any number of mortal languages - I've even seen a few in Thassilonian and Sylvan." He fixes me a sharp stare over his glasses. "Usually, when a Celestial being leaves something written for mortal eyes, they're polite enough to leave it in a language the intended audience will understand." He adjusts his glasses, folding his arms. "Of course, there are a few closed orders and mystery sects in some faiths that use it, but one does not exactly find their membership wandering the Stolen Lands getting mauled by bear treants." He wasn't there for that, and I shudder to think what he would've noticed if he had been. As it is, I should have known he would be more familiar with obscure divine texts than I am.

"I guess I just got lucky." Whatever Nyrissa did to me, I may as well have been born human, and there's nobody he can contact who'd have a clue of the truth; there's not much I can do besides let him terrier-shake this one for now and cross fingers that any solid evidence is out of his reach.

He's staring at me, dry and disbelieving. "I know you're hiding something, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it. No secret evades Jubilost Narthropple forever." It is clearly a mix of a threat and a nudge to come clean and save us both the trouble.

I shrug, going back to my book. "There's nothing to hide. I'm just a humble servant of Sarenrae."

"And I'm the King of the Eldest," he mutters, but he at least drops it for the time being.

----—

After we're back in the capital, Nyrissa hijacks my dream. The vivid flora of the First World have become a depressing, inescapable routine. She's sitting on a rock next to her scrying pool, waiting for me to walk further into the clearing; I stop a few feet from her.

"You've grown careless, Skylark." She waves a hand over the pool, and it shows the Baroness's chamber; Anuriel's at her desk, going over papers and letters. "She still carries the pendant I gave her, even after our little confrontation; such a credulous little hound."

It could be a lack of awareness how dangerous it could be, or it could be wary curiosity seeking a resolution other than murder; I'm not up to debating ethics and people’s intentions with Nyrissa tonight.

The door in the image opens to Jubilost, a rolled sheet of paper in one hand, letting the door shut behind him. "I need a moment of your time, Your Grace - about Tristian."

She leans on the desk, looking confused as he jumps onto one of the chairs in front of it, unrolling the paper; sure enough, it's my hasty scribbles about portal anchors.

"He wrote this while we were working on identifying the workings of the Bloom, just before the surgery."

She tugs it closer, looking over it. "It's....summoning portals?" She's not that well versed in the arcane or planar theory, and probably only inferred that from being able to read the notes.

"Advanced calculations for stable anchors that can be left unsupervised with an environmental trigger." He pauses, gesturing at the page. "In Celestial." There's clear frustration in his voice. "There are experienced mages who wouldn't be able to spout this off the top of their heads in a hurry in a normal, sensible language. I wouldn't expect the formulae alone from any less than a skilled conjuration specialist doing active research, and he just.... popped off with exactly the set of calculations that would match the seeds, off the cuff, out of nowhere! In. Celestial. I know you're aware how rare a language it is, I've heard you grumbling in it to avoid being understood." She blanches a little and he waves it off, adding quietly, "Please, I don't think you can call me anything close to the worst I've been called in that language, and I respect your objectivity in maintaining me as an advisor in spite of your grumbles. I've gotten death warrants from rulers for less than what's gone on here."

I am not surprised by that at all.

She turns her attention to the paper, looking over it thoughtfully. "And this helped with identifying the seeds?"

"Oh yes, it did, but I still have concerns about whatever he's hiding and how conveniently he knew the exact math for those blasted seeds."

There's a moment as she's tapping the paper. "If he is some sort of celestial in disguise, there are a list of possible reasons to not want to act openly without any sinister motives."

"The. Exact. Equations." Jubilost is definitely more (rightfully) paranoid about it. "And I started watching him more closely after that - he volunteers nothing, only adds bits to conclusions we've already reached, always speaks in hypotheticals even then, his 'guesses' are always spot on, and he regularly gets the oddest expressions when he isn't speaking - he knows something, mark my words."

Nyrissa shoots me a sharp look. I roll my eyes. "Oh no, a mortal world renowned for a sharp mind and excellent observation skills noticed I'm suspicious."

The look gets sharper; she's not impressed with my sarcasm.

In the pool vision, the baroness rubs her temples. "I'll try to keep an eye on him, but if he isn't doing anything threatening or sabotaging anything, then we can't afford to waste too much energy on suspicion while people are dying."

Jubilost pauses, taking a measured breath. "I know you can sense some things better than other options I might consult. Can you read him?"

She nods, drumming her fingers on the table. "There's no malice in him, if that's what you're asking. Occasionally something feels tarnished or muddled, but he's not hostile and his desire to help is genuine, the worst he's carrying is a great deal of pain and self-loathing."

The gnome huffs. "I would still appreciate more transparency, and that doesn't exactly rule out him being a potential threat, either. People can commit atrocities with the purest motives at heart, you know."

She shrugs. "For now, the most likely option is that he’s part of something powerful intervening that doesn't want to attract attention from the culprits behind all of this, likely one that's been through some of this and failed before."

Nyrissa's giving me a Look; they're both right, just missing a few pieces in the middle.

"Well, I will continue to keep an eye on him, and I suggest you do the same."

As he jumps down and heads for the door, taking my diagrams with him, he's followed a bemused "Thank you and good night, Jubilost" that he ignores.

Nyrissa waves a hand, and the image vanishes.

"You're lucky you're so earnest, little bird, or you would've been caught already - an annoyance for me." They couldn't kill me, her magic would see to that, and I am literally incapable of answering interrogation; it's not like my slips actually jeopardize her plans any.

"You're the one who decided I should be your inside agent with a Paladin." She knows what kind of senses that would imply.

"That's why it had to be you, dearest - anyone else I could send would be sensed before they even had a chance to get close." She's acting languid, but I know how fast that can change; she wouldn't have drug me into this dream without some point to make. "I am curious as to why you've suddenly decided to be so helpful this time - you've been much more distant in the past. Are you so eager to sabotage your own handiwork?"

The barbed reminder stings. She never said I couldn't help fight it, just that I had to set it in motion and couldn't tell them how to stop or destroy it - but if I clap back carelessly, she might close that loophole. "I've never been right in the path like this before." It's true; it's easier to be more distant and uninvolved when I'm not in the mortal realm for it.

She slides off the rock, sauntering over to put a hand on my shoulder; that's not enough of an answer, and she’s waiting for me to elaborate.

"How much more suspicious would they be if a servant of Sarenrae weren't working to help save the people suffering from this?"

She fixes me with a considering look that makes my skin crawl; she knows I'm dodging, and she's weighing enforcing obedience against the truth in my sidestep. Finally, she squeezes my shoulder. "You do make a point, pet... but." She lets go of my shoulder and slides a hand along my jawline, making me look her in the eyes; there's only feigned affection in the gesture. "Do remember who holds your jesses, Skylark, and our agreement - you help me gain my redemption, and I return you to your Goddess." The bait has been growing less compelling the more I wonder if Saranrae will even take me back after what I've done for Nyrissa.

She studies me with a considering noise, not moving her hand from my face. "Why so distressed, darling Skylark?"

Oh, that is a very dangerous mood. If I lie, she'll know; if I answer honestly, it will set her off, so I don't answer - she should know damn well why I'm distressed after centuries of this.

She doesn't seem surprised, but the way she's looking at me and leaning closer, she's not willing to let me off the hook yet. "You usually just want things over with, but you're dragging your feet with this one..."

This is going badly, I'm not sure where the traps are, and I can't think of anything to say that won't make it worse.

"I have been watching, you know, and that one has not been subtle about taking interest in you."

I do not like this direction at all. If I try to distract her away, she'll dig in on it harder, and if I try to run with it, she'll start getting ideas; I half-shrug.

"Could it be that you have feelings yourself?" Her tone is almost innocent, the thorns on her figure receding, more vibrant green across her leaves, and that's worse - she only swings this much through what she deems her 'old self' for a ruse or when she's about to blow up, and she has no reason for that ruse with me.

I'm trying to keep my voice as carefully bland and neutral as possible, but it's hard to avoid a shake creeping in when she's like this. "No, Mistress, I do not have feelings for the latest mortal you've decided to toy with. There's nothing for you to be jealous of." I know she gets possessive, and that it's volatile and unpredictable.

She steps away from me, offended, the green tinging venomous purple and the thorns re-emerging. "I am not jealous." She starts circling around me, and the plants around us are responding to her mood, thorns growing longer while greenery withers. "You know, if this is distressing you so much, you could always be a little more active in aiding me. Just indulge her and use that leverage to get this over with quicker - a few nudges the right way, and you can go back to moping in the garden again, darling bird."

The thought is viscerally awful, and before I can rethink the reaction, I've jerked away from her, blurting out, "NO."

Her eyes narrow and the plants around us writhe; there's some kind of old personal nerve there, and I know too little to guess how to avoid it in the future.

"No? Such defiance! Are you sure you don't have any feelings for the little paladin, Skylark?"

"No, Nyrissa, I do not." I'm bristling at her; there's no defusing this, so I may as well skip agonizing over how to de-escalate her, and maybe she'll vent enough of this on me to take out less on her sisters or the mortals. "But there are limits to the cruelties I'll be a party to."

She snaps her fingers, and the scrying pool turns into a jumbled cacophany of the chaos and misery spreading from the Bloom, screams and roars and people desperately hiding illness, fleeing homes in panic and despair. "Oh, so you'll orchestrate this but one broken heart is too much for you?"

"I didn't want any part of this either, and I made that clear from the start!" I motion widely at the pool and the screams coming from it. "It's a pointless idea anyway - the second I seemed uncomfortable she'd drop the bait, and notice the direct threat besides!" Also probably try to burn down the tree Nyrissa claimed was hers in the old courtyard, retribution be damned, but that wouldn't hinder Nyrissa in the slightest.

"Wouldn't it be awful for them to know what you really are - that you've been a knife at their backs this whole time?" She's venomous, no trace of the Lady of the Blooms remaining, hissing through her teeth. "Maybe it'd be worth it - to let them turn on you in a heartbeat, to scrape up your bloody pieces after they're through, so you can see how treacherous these mortals really are!"

There is definitely an entire conversation I know nothing about going on here, and she has thrown her hinges to the wind. "I. Won't. Do it." I'm snarling at her, even as I'm bracing for the inevitable. She raises a hand, and the layers of enchantment snap tight, dropping me to my knees; I can't breathe - my lungs aren't even moving as I'm held motionless, stagnant air burning.

"If they survive your flower, Skylark, you are going to stay right next to them on every foray they make, and the next demand I make of you, you will obey."

The garden chokes out, blurring into nightmares.

--------------------—

I shamble out of my rooms late in the morning, wobbling into the common area by the kitchens; there's people there and I'm not paying attention, not after a night of tortures that was bad even by Nyrissa-in-a-foul-mood standards. Whatever nerve that was, it was the worst I've ever seen, and I have a feeling it's going to bite me again before this is over.

I go through getting a mug of hot herbal tea on sheer routine, then stare into the cup; it's not even going to touch this. I dump it into a tankard, rifling through cabinets - Kaessi have more than enough good Qhadiran coffee stashed to take some without guilt, dumping it into a cloth and hanging it in the tankard, adding some extra water and boiling the tea around it with a bit of conjured fire until the liquid is a thick, sludgy brown. The compost bin is across the room, leaving me staring between it and the used bag of cracked coffee beans; I finally just incinerate it, waving through the smoke until it clears.

Still not enough. I turn back to the cabinet, and manage to find a bottle of strong brandy, dumping some of that into the tankard.

I don't bother going to the table; I just start draining the tankard, my back resting on the counter, not even caring how foul the end concoction ended up being.

"Um, Tristian.... are you okay?" Linzi's being very gentle about it, but there's an incredible amount of alarm and concern in her voice, and there's a low, impressed whistle that definitely sounds like Regongar as I finish draining the sludge. When I finally set the empty tankard down, most of the cohort and a few of the other Court folk are around the room and table, all staring at me in varying degrees of mute shock and concern, including Nok-Nok; the Baroness is not awake yet.

Probably also getting dream-batted at, with the mood Nyrissa was in.

"Nightmares."

There's a few more seconds of silence; Nok-Nok slides out of his chair, scrambling off somewhere out the hallway.

"Damn, Pretty Boy - the fuck have you been through that you're not telling us?" I find some kind of dry, tired satisfaction in managing to horrify Regongar. He blinks a couple times, then continues. "Listen, just hold together a bit, and I'll help you drink yourself stupid during the victory celebration." It actually sounds like an honest offer of help, or his definition of help, anyway.

More silence; apparently I really rattled them, and there's definitely gears turning in Jubilost's head behind the flabbergasted stare.

"Tristian?" Jhod's doing the best at scraping composure back. "Was there anything we should be concerned about in the nightmares? You know how these things work..."

He's worried I was having visions. I grimace, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "People dying, rampaging beasts, thorn-vines destroying things... nothing we don't already know about." It's the fastest cover I can come up with off the cuff.

"Thorn vines?", he prompts, gently.

I open one eye. "The kind that are all over every place touched by the First World in these lands - not really news, at this point." Everyone already knows it's First World magic, after all, but he still looks deeply worried as he nods and leaves me to it.

There's a gravelly throat-clear next to me; I hadn't even noticed Nok-Nok returning. He's holding out some kind of heavy ceramic jug to me with as much pomp and gravity as a goblin can manage, and I take it from him, staring at it dumbly.

"Drink this. No more nightmares. Won't even remember the old ones!"

I pull the cork out and draw back as the smell hits me. There's enough alcohol in it to wither enamel, I can't tell what's been put into it, but if I remember right, some of the things goblins throw in their brew is poisonous to everyone else. He's proud of himself, in his usual way of hazily grasping that we don't work the way goblins do. "...Thank you, Nok-Nok." It's ridiculous enough that I'm stifling laughter; it'd probably come out unhinged enough to worry everyone more, anyway. "I - think I'll save this for tonight, in case they come back."

He just nods approvingly. "Good plan. Not good to fight after drinking."

It's weirdly comforting, that he's that intent on trying to help; something to be encouraged - and aiming him at the Everblooming Flower with more alchemist's fire than any goblin should be allowed near seems like a good, constructive reward. There's a bag of holding with excess we've been hoarding among the camp gear, it'd be easy to hand over. Jubilost makes his own, anyway, and is very fussy about the specific formula he uses.

The door back to the living quarters opens, and Anuriel pauses in the doorway, clearly picking up that she's walked into something and debating what to even ask.

"About time, 'Your Grace' - we've got a flower to burn." Reg slams his hands on the table and stands up.

Jhod shakes his head with a chuckle, putting a hand on Kasil's shoulder and tugging him toward the door. "We'll keep an eye on everything while you deal with the threat, Your Grace."

------------------------------—

"Nok-Nok...you mentioned this being an insult to Lamashtu, right?"

*nodnod* "Not how she works at all! If Mama Lamashtu did it, people would turn into the monsters and be great and powerful, not sad and splattered!"

"Well, when you see the Flower, I want you to use this." /hands small bag

/brief disappointed noise, then looking in bag and enthusiastic nodding/

"...Tristian? Was that - the spare alchemical fire?"

*nodding*

"....How much did you give him?"

"YES."

------------------------------—

The liminal space in the cave's been re-arranged; it's not enough that I can't find the way through when everyone else is stumped, just a subtle jab that Nyrissa's still unhappy with me. Killing it is going to be grueling when I can't tell them the conditions for it reviving, but they're sharp enough to figure it out between them, and I just want to be rid of it. Facing Pharasma without ever feeling Saranrae's grace again is still terrifying, but it's... slowly being outweighed by everything I've done for Nyrissa.

Even the Dawnflower's forgiveness has limits, after all, and at this point I shouldn't be welcome home anyway.

Then...

We're on the other side, under a thick fog; it's definitely where the Flower is in the First World, but something isn't right - like things are out of sync and time has decided to throw up drunkenly on it. The worst part is that it doesn't quite feel like Nyrissa making our lives harder, and that could be better or much worse.

Then, not far inside the area, there's birdsong where there shouldn't be - familiar birdsong. A look of confusion crosses Ekun's face, then he's moving towards it, everyone else staying close.

There's a small birdcage just above eye level, hanging from one of the thorns, with a bird in it. Ekun takes it down, making some soothing noises, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

After a couple moments, he squints at it, and "Hmms".

"What is it?," Anuriel asks.

"It's a simulacrum. Skylark. Keeps mixing distress calls in with normal song, but it doesn't actually seem aware."

I've seen these before - many of them. Nyrissa likes to fill the garden with them sometimes.... and sometimes, as mutilated corpses when she's unhappy with me, or even slaughtering them in front of me to make a point.

"A simulacrum? ...Should we take it with us?" She's baffled; it's not like there's actually any emotions or instinctive imperatives to sense from it.

"May as well - it was clearly meant for us, and it'd be a hassle to trek back for it once we figure out why." There's disappointment in Jubilost's voice - I know he's studied the First World extensively, and now he's in it, with too much at stake to appreciate it, nevermind that he's never taking his eyes off me for more than a moment or two, including visibly taking note of my reaction to the caged bird.

Every time we pass through the thicker fog banks, everything shifts around. It's disorienting at first, but it seems like there is a pattern to it - one that's not unfamiliar, either; between the lush flowers and foliage Nyrissa keeps for appearances or when she's in a good mood, and the withering, thorns, and venomous plants that flourish when she's not.

We've barely figured that out when the first vision appears - phantoms, of Nyrissa when she was younger, passing through rows of jeering fae. Anuriel just confirms that it's the same Dryad she's been talking to, guarded; Nyrissa hasn't shown herself around any of the others, as usual.

There's not enough in the jeers and jabs to guess at what happened, yet, and I doubt it's anything she wants me - or any of us - seeing.

The group's oddly quiet as we keep floundering through the realm; everyone's too on edge for much conversation, and even Linzi gives up after one or two weak attempts at lightening the mood.

Then we blunder into the next vision, the "trial", and all I can do is laser-focus on the massive seething conglomerate of wisps.

There. That's the problem. That's the fucker responsible for everything, the reason we're all suffering, the one who put her up to all of this bullshit, why she's been such a bloody -

"let your unrequited love guide you-"

"Oh you {corrupting/corrosive} pile of {rot/misery} that's her problem?!" I don't even realize I was muttering out loud under my breath until I catch Jubilost desperately trying to decipher it out of the corner of my eye, mouthing words here and there - the expletives are tripping him up, but he seems to have a clear grasp on the last few words, enough to look them up later if he doesn't already understand. Anuriel's further ahead of us and doesn't seem to have noticed my quiet outburst in Celestial, thankfully.

All of this misery, all of this suffering, everything she's drug me into, all because some overblown barfed up ball of swamp gas decided to take offense to something.

I force myself to take a few slow breaths and unclench my fists before anyone else starts looking around the area after the vision. Jubilost, at least, seems to be using the riddle of my muffled swearing as a distraction from the oppressive mood, occasionally mouthing words in confusion and sketching letters in the air trying to figure out spelling when there's lulls.

Nobody else seems to notice the old "gnome" staring straight at me occasionally when we trip over him; he's probably either responsible for whatever's going weird with the area or is connected to it somehow, and I'm not even listening half the time - he seems to know things, and he can fill them in on the things I can't. They get the information they need about the blasted flower, I get absolved of Nyrissa's blame for it.

I hadn't even realized how much I was sleepwalking through following them through the pocket realm until there's a phantom too close to home - Nyrissa, fake-fawning over a too-familiar hooded figure, thankfully too visually indistinct to be identifiable.

Unfortunately, there's still voices; the distortion of the visions seems to help, but not enough to stop Jubilost from stiffening next to me, behind everyone.

It's just after the flower was "finished", Nyrissa cooing over her "Skylark" for completing it. It's uncomfortable, and nauseating, and Gods did I really sound that broken and passive? Do I still sound like that, talking to her?

The only one who shows any sign of connecting the figure in the vision to me is Jubilost, and he covers it before anyone else turns around. Ekun has a legendary poker face; he might've figured it out, Anuriel's reaction is hard to read, Octavia and Reg would be recoiling from me more if they figured out, and Linzi's outright mumbling to herself and writing as she walks, sure the "Skylark" is somehow a key to things and clearly oblivious that he's standing right behind her.

Jubilost is walking just a bit further away from me, just enough to be out of easy reach, and I'm trying not to think too hard about the implications of the gnome's riddle - the Skylark's bones, turned into venom to weaken the flower.

There's a breath held across most of the group when Anuriel finally pours the poison over it and it withers; Jubilost even falls into it for a moment, before he glances at me and settles his crossbow at the ready again, mumbling some disappointed curse in Aklo when it starts to revive, and I want to start laying out everything - to kill it on both sides, to split the teams, the timing needed to get everyone in position, but nothing moves, and all I can do is stare at my monstrosity in exhaustion as it revives.

I flinch when the portal opens, half expecting Nyrissa to step through; instead, the "old gnome" has swept in again, saving us all from my sins - I don't need to think, just let him help, and if I don't pay attention enough, I can truthfully tell her that I wasn't listening when I had an opportunity to interfere.

"Tristian, you stay with this group - they'll need you."

I start and stiffen, staring at the old gnome - I think I'm the only one he's referred to by name, and it takes a couple seconds to process that nobody else is surprised, so he's apparently just...been doing this, and Anuriel's deferring to his apparent expertise.

I almost want to ask him who the Hell he is, but no, better for everyone if I let that go. I'd almost wonder if he was one of Saranrae's heralds if not for his clear connection to the First World.

Burning the damn thing while it summons things to defend itself goes by in a blur; the one clear memory - besides Nok-Nok's ecstatic cackling chain-lobbing alchemic fire at the Golarion flower - is staring at it in the chaos and reaching to cast.

"Saranrae please, help me cleanse my mistake before it can do any more harm..."

For a brief, small instant, there's a warmth in response - a glimmer of light, a distant acknowledgment -

The flame strike turns into a massive pillar, filling that part of the cavern with shining gold flame and a roar loud enough to bring a pause to the chaos; for a moment, the only sound besides the flames is the inhale leading up to Nok-Nok's awed cackle, yelling at it in Aklo to burn.

The summons start howling and hissing in alarm, scrambling to get away as my head's going light with the sudden exertion of the channel; I manage a couple steps towards it and then black out.

--------------—

I wake up in the capital, muzzy from dim nightmares of being tangled, ripped at, and choked by thorned vines. There's no real clues how long I've been out until after I've pulled a robe on and shambled out. The front doors leading into the throne room are propped open, sunlight streaming in, and it seems like the throne room is the refuge for members of our court and cohort seeking peace and quiet; there's some guards, the storyteller, and Ekun, leaning against a pillar contentedly with a plate of food and a mug of ale, Dog dozing next to him. He lifts the tankard aknowledging me with a smile as I pass; either he didn't figure it out or he's decided not to care for the time being.

Things aren't rebuilt - there's still damaged buildings and people moving debris out of the streets, but the square's turned into a festival anyway, with some of the scorched leaves and fronds of the Everblooming Flower hanging on the cords along side the banners. Jubilost is still watching me from his perch on the steps as I come out, but even he's in a better mood, and most of our cohort is mixed in with the crowd, the cleanup and repairs mixed with the celebration, raucous with music from different directions.

The flower's dead. Everyone survived, the Barony's still standing, the rulers are out drinking with the people, and the blasted thing is dead.

I sit down heavily on the steps at the bottom, leaning back and just soaking it in; one part of this long nightmare is finally over. My first warning that I'm spotted by someone else is hearing an "Ah, there he is!" followed by bits of a raucous retelling of "the killing blow" and "filling the chamber with holy fire" - apparently I've raised Regongar's opinion of me substantially, at least until he remembers how annoying he thinks I am again.

I don't have much longer after that before I'm being tugged into it - but the praise for finishing it off rings hollow coming from people who don't know how much of a hand I had in creating it to begin with; it wasn't a heroic act swooping in during the eleventh hour, it was finally taking an opportunity to put an end to a horrible mistake.

Still, for a few hours, I can forget Nyrissa and the bindings and her vendetta and the revelation of her curse, helped along by Regongar being good on his word of making sure I get more alcohol than I should ever try to drink in this body.

I'm still in that happy disconnected place when I manage to wobble back towards my room at night, oblivious to overly sharp gnomes waiting in the shadows to follow me into my chambers.

"I hope you don't think you're off the hook, Skylark."

The bitter intonation of Nyrissa's pet name hits me in the stomach like a horse kick, and it takes a few seconds to catch my breath to answer. "Don't. Call me that."

He's barely three feet tall and still managing to loom menacingly just inside my door.

"I have to say, I am impressed - there aren't many creatures capable of slipping something like that past a paladin, although I can't rule out her being fooled by subjective interpretation."

I am not sober enough to sidestep the bindings, and all I can do is mouth empty fragments and reach out a hand to the bedframe to steady myself.

"Harrim's vouched for your magic being genuine, but from Kaessi's stories, the Dawnflower is apparently a soft touch with loaning power; still, you not being cut off means there may be hope for you yet."

That's a gut punch of a different kind than the bindings catching, and I barely manage to not just crumble back toward the bed - or the floor - looking away from him.

"Oh, guilt. Maybe you should've thought of that before you helped a mad dryad plant something that threatened to destroy this place!"

I open my mouth to say something - the bindings, the leash, the leverage, I never wanted any of this - but nothing comes out, all I can do is gesture blankly around the vague nausea.

"So why are you doing this? You don't seem to have a stake in her curse - if anything, you should be the first working against her here, with everyone she's destroying in her wake."

Another attempt at answering, more silence, and the world starts dipping and tilting around me; the bindings and the alcohol are not playing nicely together.

"I'm going to give you one chance. What else is she planning? What else do you know about? Tartuccio? The Bald Hilltop?"

More empty gestures, another sick lurch when he brings up the Hilltop - it's a good guess but it's not a guess, he knows how much I know about creating and stabilizing portals and triggers for them -

And then I'm half on the floor with a thin, pained whine. He almost starts another barb, then pauses, something else crossing his face, then while I'm focusing on the ground trying to get things to stop tilting, he's rushed over and is ...

Checking my pulse?

He's mumbling something and I'm not catching all of it, then he steps back.

"....You're under fae geases." There'd dawning recognition and ... pity, as he puts it together. "Anuriel was never fooled at all, you just have no choice in the matter."

I can't answer, but I can slump in defeat in front of him.

He's quiet, but the entire air around him has changed with that realization.

Then, the most gently and carefully I've ever heard him speak -

"If I say anything about this to Her Grace, will it make things worse?"

"Yes." I put every ounce of desperate vehemence I can into rasping out that one word I can manage; Nyrissa will take it out on everyone if that happens, and after her last outburst, I'm afraid of what she'd do if she were provoked like that.

He's quiet again, then there's a glass of water being pushed into my hand; I curl around it, trying to sip at it, to anchor the vertigo and everything drunkenly clattering around in my head on it.

"I'll see if I can figure anything out - but if it comes down to it, I might have to warn her that you aren't always in control of your actions, if things are dire enough, and I doubt I can do more than look for loophole openings for you."

I nod; I don't think he's going to come to the nuclear option easily, and I have a suspicion that "dire enough" is "it won't matter if he provokes Nyrissa's wrath".

He slips out, and I end up in and out of sleep still wrapped around the glass of water; I only jar out of it briefly, at the door closing and latching, a pot of tea left on the sitting table.