oddsandends | 38th ♫ | No time like the present! Let's set out on a quest!

Ah-!

[Grasping the wood panels, Arturia nearly falls forward. She wasn't expecting an answer. A pause and then, after she's managed her way through the decaying wood, Arturtia lowers the hood of her cape and looks toward the stairs.]

I was told a crow resides here.

That's a pretty much bizarre thing to tell someone.

[Whoever's speaking, he's staying out of sight. He might be above.]

'And over here, in this thing that maybe used to serve a logical function but now we just keep for atmosphere, there's some brainless feathery asshole.' The locals've got to get some better attractions in town if that's worth noting.

Edited 2017-09-24 20:28 (UTC)

[Talkative.

Something about that seems both very strange and... Correct and fitting. Arturia takes a cautious step up the first stair, aware her strange combination of magical armor and magician's cape will make her presence audible.]

The information wasn't so eagerly offered. You weren't easy to find... If you are who I'm searching for.

[Yes, above--there's a faint rustle, as of feathers.]

You're... looking for a crow.

[It's a question said like a careful statement.]

[She hesitates only a moment, listening. A few more paces.]

I'm looking for something long lost.

[Vague, but she doesn't sound like she's trying to be cryptic so much as she just sounds like a flowery person, and yet Arturia still sounds sure of herself.]

...and I do believe it comes in the form of a crow, yes.

[It's not a crow, but a boy who peers around the landing of the stairs, hair so fine and pale one could hardly imagine why he's called a crow.]

Who are you.

[Something softens in Arturia's eyes. She bows her head and crosses her arm across her stomach, all a part of a very knightly gesture that looks... Somewhat awkward, on the stairs.]

Arturia Pendragon.

[Straightening, she looks the boy in the eye again.]

I mean you no harm.

Edited (Damnit icons) 2017-09-25 04:58 (UTC)

[He comes out a little more, crouching in a little ball at the top of the stairs. It's a tall, steep flight. Plenty of room. At least his clothes are black, if he's supposed to be some kind of crow, but they make his near-white shock of hair and skin even more ghostly in appearance.]

What're you here for, then? ...If you find the thing you're looking for, what'll you do with it.

[Looking up from her bow but not moving, Arturia takes in the spectral sight.]

I hope to carry it with me. I am in search of a comrade, not an enemy.

[Like a bird, he tilts his head.]

You're here for the sword.

[His voice flattens out into understanding again. It's not really about him. It's never about him. He's just here to facilitate. The boy-crow stands and shuffles about on the landing, hands in his pockets. He has footsteps. He doesn't sound like a ghost.]

Not a lot of people know about that these days. Kinda thought maybe it wasn't going to be an issue anymore. Hopefuls traipsing up here all hours of the fuckin' day to fling themselves at a meatgrinder for a blade they've barely even heard of.

[He pauses and looks at her again over his shoulder. So much of the lore has been lost, so...]

You know about the trial?

[Arturia waits until he's done speaking. Whether it's because she's being respectful or it's because she isn't sure she can actually get a word in edge-wise, well.]

I'm here for my sword.

[She corrects him, and nods. It's spoken clear and strong and only slightly possessive, not with the foolhardy greed some have come looking for it with. In that way it's both a correction and an answer to his question.]

And no trial will keep me from it.

[He watches her levelly for a moment.]

Okay.

[And all he does is hold out a hand, not even dramatically, and the inside of the clocktower groans and begins to change. The stairs shake, and then both firm beneath her feet and stretch infinitely upward, entire stories of spiraling steps now separating her from the pale young man in his jet-black clothes. The joints between wallstones glow red, lighting the enormous distance.

The space within the tower is wider now as well, the floor turned to a marble disk broad enough to play host to any number of combatants. Slowly, it begins to rise, and a clock's ticking resounds loud and ponderous within the stone walls even though the true clocktower broke down ages ago.]

Time's Test. Let's go, Art.

[From the stairs above her, a few men jump onto the disk--the first ones she ever fought. They advance, armed, as the crow remains above, watching impassively.]

[The young knight does her best not to look as alarmed as she does when the world around her begins to change, eyes darting all around. A fleet of soldiers-- great. There's a part deep, deep down in Arturia that is afraid, but the rest of her echoes that feeling.

She will reclaim her sword, and no trial will stop her. Arturia's belief is resolute, and her brow furrows as she draws a sword from what appears to be a fairy-sized sheath. The sword itself as it exits the sheath isn't at all fairy sized; instead, Carnwennan is a short and narrow blade with a white hilt. Holding it, Arturia's cloak turns from blue to a dark material that almost consumes light, as if everywhere the cloak is, Arturia is gone.

At the head of the crowd of men is a familiar face; Arturia's older brother Kay, before adulthood aged him. She sucks in a breath and lets it out quickly before her combatants get too close, and darts forward to aggress them, starting with Kay.]

[She's good.

The boy watches as she engages her life's deeds headfirst. She's quick and strong, much stronger than her looks betray, but physical prowess isn't what Time's Test is meant to try.

She doesn't back down from the ghosts of her past.

Soon enough, allies join her, defending her, supporting her. There are more enemies, but then there are others, too, lingering on the stairs as the disk rises, who do not leap onto the platform but stay where they are, smiling or weeping as Arturia passes, each according to their wont.

The ones that hate her attack her. The ones that love her, love her still. And the ones she's lost--they're lost to her again as her ascension continues, neither speeding nor slowing, inexorable, exhausting.]

[Upon defeating Kay he ages and joins her side, just as Bevedere and Gawaine join her-- though they seem to be comrades in arms as opposed to followers. They are her brothers as knights (and Bevedere a witch), and it shows in how they match her. But Kay does not remain with her as the others do, and the weight seems to increase when Arturia notices he is gone.

(Oddly, she notices there are faces she doesn't recognise; ones she doesn't have time to dwell on, but are perhaps out of place on the timeline. Some aid her, some fight against her, but they are there.)

All the same, Arturia carries on. Strengthened by the presences of her brothers, Arturia keeps fighting through the exhaustion, though it shows on her face and in the way she breathes. It doesn't matter; she has to keep going. She uses more than just Carnwennan, though; alongside Bevedere, Arturia also uses magic both defensively and offensively. Mostly offensively, and dramatically less skilled in her magic use than Bevedere, and yet... she doesn't seem unsure of it.

Just as it feels she might be out of her element, might be overwhelmed, might... maybe not be ready for this, Arturia becomes aware of just how much is past her now. Granted just a moment's reprieve she looks around to take things in, chest heaving with each pant and shoulders still hunched defensively.]

[Yes. She's passed all that's past. She's faced the whole of her life once more and still stands--and what's more, Time has witnessed. Time understands what and who Arturia Pendragon is.

Only one figure remains on the stairs winding above her, and when he drops lightly to the platform, his black cloak billows around him, revealing winking stars within the lining. He alights and they vanish once more within the cloak's folds, shrouding him in lightless night.

But they're nothing compared to the naked sword in his hand, bright and perfectly made, almost shining or singing to recognize her. The boy looks down on it, face unreadable, and raises it.

But it's only to hold it out, hilt in one hand and flat balanced in the other, to her. The rising disk slides to a stop. The tower is silent.]

Guess this is yours.

[He watches the reflection of her face in the steel instead of meeting her eyes.]

[Arturia is taken with the image for a moment, though with her fatigue it only shows in her eyes. She sheaths Carnwennan and in an instant her cloak drops its dramatic flair, now just blue and velveteen like a King's cape. Arturia takes a few steps toward Dave, but she does not immediately reach for the sword.

When she is before him she drops to a knee and bows her head humbly, knuckles bracing the ground. Though her chest still heaves a bit as she calms her breathing, she attempts to direct it into something less graceless.]

My dearest thanks for protecting her. I am in your debt.

[The bow takes him entirely off-guard, sword jumping minutely in his hands as, startled, color rises to his face.]

Uh.

[He's never been thanked before. He stares at Arturia, lost for words, before lifting the sword a little more. Come on, take it.]

It's. Literally what I'm here for. Whole... purpose in life, form and function, the destined shebang. Um. You can fill out a customer satisfaction survey at the end of your visit, we're always looking for ways to improve our service.

[?//?/??]

Y...you can take your sword now.

[Arturia looks up for just a few seconds, eyes a bit more childish than before as she observes Dave's reaction-- and then, as though recognizing it as a bit embarrassing, clears her throat and lowers her head again. Quickly, eyes off, don't make him uncomfortable.

...Except what he says next throws her off. What a strange bird. She looks up again with those same curious, almost wonder-filled eyes on Dave and reaches out her hand to take the sword by the hilt.]

[Yup. It's a sword.

It's her sword, and they both know it--all three of them know it, the sword somehow signaling its gladness to be united with its lord at least, though no sound comes from it, no light, just a strange, sourceless happiness.

As Arturia takes her sword, the boy's hands fall away empty, and the ticking clock that lives on in the true clocktower strikes the hour.

BONG.

BONG.

All around them, the winding stairs begin to turn to rust and sand, the dregs of time. Even the marble disk beneath their feet starts to erode, starting at the edges and working its way in. Arturia's sword shows her a way out: a window, above, just below the face of the clock. A way back out into the world.

The boy doesn't move, just stands there sadly as his world wears away. The sword has come to its rightful hand. The destined shebang is over.

Bong.

Bong.]

[For all of a moment, as Arturia absorbs the path ahead of her, it would seem as though Dave is forgotten. Her sword feels right in her hands and eager to guide her away, but Arturia hesitates. Something doesn't feel wholly finished.

Arturia turns her head to the boy to address him once more.]

Come.

[She orders.]

[He looks up, surprised.]

Uh. What?

It's your choice.

[She clarifies, and then makes it all the more confusing--]

If you wish to follow, we take our leave now.

[He shifts his weight nervously.

Bong.]

I. Can leave?

[This appears to be news.]

[Arturia extends her free hand to him from under her cloak, palm turned upward.]

You are the one who decides that.

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this tag is a mess but whatever au building and answering all in one

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