Difference between revisions of "Outworld/Homeworlds End"

Latest revision as of 15:22, 30 September 2019

The Best Tavern in Outworld

She travels openly and undisguised, the Carrion-Queen come riding; seems only courteous. It’s Vermilion who’s met Ronan, after all; even if its not Vermilion per se who needs to speak with them, or whose longing for a home long lost to them, inflamed by that blasted potion of the Desolator’s making (golden as sunlight on the fields of her childhood, the taste of it like snowflakes on her tongue and happy laughter, the aftertaste bitter and ashen as her pieced-together memories of what became of home) that drove her towards the nearest thing to it Outworld could give her.

The people of the territory keep a wary distance, but she feels their eyes on her; word will, she suspects, travel fast, about the stranger passing through their lands, clad in clothes as bright-red as her hair and the gems on her crown, riding side-saddle on the conjured spectre of a horse, pitching a tent each night by tossing down a gilded model beside the road and flicking a wand at it.

Sure enough, as she passes deeper, it seems they’ve already been warned. It is caution they regard her with, not fear, she is pleased to note; not that the clumps of armed peasants clustered behind makeshift barricades at the entrance to their farms would stand a chance if she meant them harm, of course. But she is pleased to note that they would have the hearts to try.

It is on the third day, that one of them finally speaks to her. A child, all of about eight years old, glaring down at her from the branches of a tree by the road. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” They frown, running their eyes over her. “You don’t look that scary. Even if your horse is dead.”

She smiles, a baring of the teeth that softens into something happier, seeing echoes in a child’s bravado of days a long time past. “I could do, if I wanted.” She shrugs absently. Even a few years past, she might have taken it as a challenge of a kind; by now, she feels that she has nothing left to prove. “But that isn’t why I’m here.”

The child scowls down at her; between the branches, she glimpses a slingshot in their hands, and smiles. “Why are you here, then? Ain’t no land for folks with crowns.”

“Ah,” she says, and lets her smile broaden. “But I hear this is where one finds the best tavern in all of Outworld…” and she rides on, pace leisurely, and lets those words be carried ahead of her too.

Later, spectral steed dismissed and staircase climbed, she pauses beneath the sign of Homeworld’s End. No Pawns. No Monarchs. Only Heroes. She hesitates, considers. Briefly argues with herself. And then, very deliberately, she reaches upwards and removes the crown from her head, hanging it pointedly from her belt; still with her, still visible, (still her), but not worn, not here. Courtesy, again.

The door opens at her touch, and she steps in…

...and pauses, swaying, on the threshold, as the familiar sights and sounds and smells of a Valtarian tavern wash over her, memory rolling over her like a rising tide. How long has it been, since the old days? How long since she set foot in a tavern at all - had she perhaps been avoiding it, aware on some level of the memories she’d lost? In her mind, the sign of a one-eyed griffin creaks in the wind. She shivers with the ache of grief at once both old and new, and tries to refocus her attention on the present.

It’s not just a tavern, she realises, eyes scanning over the interior even as her feet start moving on instinct towards the bar. It comes closer to being the Tavern; the quintessence, the archetype, of tavern-hood. There, a figure in a hooded cloak puffs on a long pipe in a shadowed corner; there, a bold young warrior tears a notice down from the questor’s board, and gathers her friends around a table; there, someone has thrown a small axe into the bullseye of the dartboard, to the raucous cheers of the watching crowd.

It’s a place made for adventurers to gather. One more stray sorceress making her way to the bar almost doesn’t look out of place at all.

Almost.

“Argh!” a flustered but familiar voice cut through the rambunctious noise of the tavern. “V-V-Vermillion! You should have told me you were coming!”

Ronan froze awkwardly as the rabble of bards, rogues and warriors seemed to part between them, moving instinctively into the various nooks and crannies of the bar. Now they stood awkwardly, hands filled with a dozen and a half wooden steins filled to the brim with the finest Valtarian ale a Shaper could dream of. With chin tucked over the top of the mountain of beverages, Ronan could only given an uncomfortable smile.

“S-s-sorry Vermillion! I’ll be with you shortly, I just have to-hey!” snapped Ronan as thirsty hands grabbed at the drinks, pulling them away one by one. “Be patient! You’ll get them soon, I just need to serve this table over her- I said stop! Stop! I mean, really, have you even paid for that?!?”

“Good heavens, it’s like feeding the wyvern-hatchlings,” she mutters, eyeing Ronan’s rapidly decreasing collection of steins with amusement. “Is it always so hectic?” The throng of grasping hands reaching to claim mugs from them doesn’t seem terribly respectful, for mortals interacting with their Shaper; but then again, the wyverns aren’t terribly respectful to her when they’re hungry, either, and she chooses not to take offence at that. Their land, their rules, she supposes.

“Maybe next time I’ll know where I’m going in enough time to write ahead,” she adds, cheerfully. “This was something of a spur-of-the-moment detour on the way home from my journeys; found myself nostalgic for the old days, figured I knew where to find a proper Valtarian tavern…” A slight tilt of the head, watching Ronan move amongst their people. “And maybe some interesting conversation into the bargain?”

As the drinks quickly diminished in number and the mass dispersed, Ronan smiled widely, finally free to express themselves fully. “Outworld can be strange like that, so don’t worry! I am just glad you managed to find us!” Still grinning, they moved quickly to behind the bar, twisting and spinning to avoid the patrons who continued their own conversations almost entirely oblivious to the Shapers who stood amongst them. Finally at home behind the beer stained oak counter, Ronan smiled raising their arms high into air. “Welcome to Homeworld’s End! Where the traditional flavour of Valtaria is our speciality and interesting conversation is…”

Ronan paused, the words caught in their throat, as they stared out across the room. They had never really taken it all in before - too busy travelling and teaching the people in the farmsteads of democracy and freedom or travelling to the far reaches of Outworld to appreciate the place that defined their Realm. Catching sight of the various faces around the room made their head spin. It was uncomfortable and Ronan winced at the chaos and noise of it all, closing their eyes momentarily. A throbbing pain filled the inside their head, quickly followed by white noise which seemed to meld with the melody of the tavern’s denizens to form a painful cacophony. It all just felt so famil-

The sound of a plate smashing pierced the din, as Ronan found themselves back once more. It had only been a moment but it had felt much much longer. Shaking their head quickly, Ronan returned their gaze to Vermillion, adopting a familiar grin as they continued: “...sorry where was I? Oh yes! And interesting conversation is only an adventure away! So what can I get you? If it existed back in Homeworld, I can assure you it will be here!”

She tenses as Ronan’s voice breaks off mid-sentence, one hand dropping to the MedCorp armband incongruously hanging from the chain she wears as a belt, instinctively stepping forwards. She’s been amongst Axle’s people too long, perhaps; by the time she stops her instincts from screaming volunteer incident and remembers she’s on something closer to home turf, the moment’s passed. There is, perhaps, still a flicker of concern in the look she shoots them, as she covers the step forward by pulling herself up onto the nearest barstool; but the familiar grin and cheerful tone are enough to convince her to leave certain questions unasked - for the moment, at least.

“Tempted as I am to challenge the limits of your hospitality,” for a brief moment her smile sharpens to something knife-like, the Monarch-in-Shadow showing her teeth for an instant, “I actually find myself in the mood for a simple ale to start the evening. It’s… been a while.” And she doesn’t often actually drink away from home; never at the Nexus, never when she’s travelling. Her own territory, Axle’s, perhaps her dragon’s lands… places she feels safe. But one doesn’t come to a tavern and not drink, after all. And Ronan is, she feels, not a thre- no, that’s not quite right, a Shaper in their own lands is always a threat, it would be an insult to consider them otherwise. Not an enemy, might be more accurate.

Her eyes drift past them, to the painting behind the bar; a tavern painting, hanging in a tavern? Even allowing for the sensibilities of a Monarch-Pawn, she’d have expected scenes of adventure; and yet. They’d said something, back at Switch’s party, hadn’t they, about every adventure starting in a tavern? And here they were, with a tavern at the heart of their realm, and another tavern at the heart of that… “Journey’s End,” she reads, tilting her head to make out the painted sign. “A memory from Homeworld?”

Ronan smiled, finally in their element.Grabbing at a stein from a nearby shelf, they flipped it happily into the air as they span on one foot, catching it with ease before slamming a fist against the barrel from which the warm smell of herbal hops erupted. Instinctively Ronan turned and grinned happily, placing it gently down before Vermillion.

“One ale, famously brewed within the valleys surrounding the Karaskian Redoubt in the northern Valtarian Kingdoms. A light piney flavour with a lemony aftertaste, I find it quite refreshing after…,” Ronan paused. If there was one thing they had realised since they and D’eon had arrived in Outworld it was that time really was an unreliable concept. They shrugged, smiling again. “...a long time’s travel! I hope you enjoy it! I have plenty more from Valtaria, at least I think I do.”

They blinked, their eyes falling upon the familiar picture of the tavern which rested above the bar. Grabbing it gently, they held it in their hands observing the fine brush strokes which captured the subtle grey brick work, the pale glass windows and the simple inn sign which hung outside it. Ronan sighed before glancing at Vermillion with a weak smile. “I-I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember much of Homeworld at all.”

The stein pauses halfway to her lips, and she sets it back down on the bar, frowning at them in puzzlement. “You don’t? But, this place…” she gestures vaguely, trying to encompass not just the tavern but the territory. “It’s… it’s like walking into a memory of Homeworld. Almost like coming home.” She sighs, shadow passing over her face, and picks up the stein again. “You know, I’m beginning to worry at just how many of us have… issues, with memories, or identities, or our minds being fucked with…” She scowls into nothingness briefly, before visibly shaking herself out of the mood and finally taking a drink.

It’s been a long time since she tasted ale. She’s not entirely sure she likes it, in and of itself; she is entirely sure she doesn’t care. This is what home smelled and tasted like, before… before everything. Her eyes flicker closed, and her grip tightens on the stein, clinging to it like a lifeline; it’s a long moment before she manages to set it down and open her eyes again, smiling with bittersweet melancholy. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Your welcome...” they smile back, basking in the warm glow of another satisfied customer. This is the joy of their territory. For all the strangeness of Outworld, the petty conflicts and random bar brawls, this place always brought with it a sense of peace and normality. It seemed to be the case even for infamous Monarchs-in-Shadow, if Vermillion’s smile was anything to go by. Still, they thought, it’s rude to leave a customer’s question unanswered…

“...and no. I don’t remember much of Homeworld,” they shrug indifferently, before briefly flashing a cheeky smile “but don’t worry, I don’t think my head is being…” They pause, pondering on the monarch’s exact words carefully before whispering quietly “fucked… with.”

Ronan cringed, grabbing a stein of their own to distract themselves from the awkwardness of the word. It never felt right, they thought, as they moved a stool opposite Vermillion. Mere moments later they sat, elbows placed firmly against the bar, head resting gently in their hands as the picture rests beside them.

“But I can see how it hurts others - so many damaged Combine volunteers. Shapers from all backgrounds too. I-I just wish people could be who they want to be,” they sigh sadly, passing an eye over the picture. “I don’t know where this is or what it means to me but I-I know that before there was even a Valtaria, people came to places like this in order to find themselves. Some found adventure. Some found friendship. Some found the answers at the bottom of a glass.” Their hand gently runs across the canvas, coming to rest on the tavern sign of ‘Journey’s End’ before their eyes move slowly to meet their guests. “So...the question is, what can I help you find?”

“It doesn’t… bother you, then? Not remembering?” She tilts her head and regards Ronan curiously. “I don’t understand how it could not, but… I’m glad you’re not hurting that way.” She looks away, takes another swig of ale. For a moment, it seems she’s ignoring the question entirely, before she abruptly looks back up.

“I was born in a place like this.” Her eyes flick back to the painting. “My mother kept an inn, under the sign of the One-Eyed Griffin. There was a long time… when I couldn’t remember that. Not the inn. Not my mother. Not… a lot of things. And now I do...” She shrugs awkwardly. “Memories are funny things, sometimes.” She’s unhooked her crown from her belt, almost without realising it; fingers restlessly turning it over and over, thumb brushing absently over the gemstones. When she glances down, her brow furrows in confusion, as if surprised to find it in her hand.

The twisting, turning crown glimmers gently in the candle light of the tavern. They frown, concern etched on their face before a open hand slowly reaches out towards the Monarch. “The Crown. Can you pass it to me for a moment?,” They regard Vermillion warily as some deeply buried instinct kicked in. Do not underestimate the Monarch, a small voice speaks inside their head. Their prized possessions are rarely given away easily, especially not to peasants and even less so by Monarchs-in-Shadow. They smile weakly, batting away the thought. “Trust me, I’m not going to destroy it or damage it. I just want to hold it.”

“It’s not that, it...” Her voice trails off. She looks down at the crown and grimaces. “Can I, rather than would I. That was the right question. And do you know, I’m honestly not sure?” She chuckles absently, and shakes her head. “It never used to matter; didn’t when I gave my first crown to Nicasta. But I, the I-that-is-Vermilion, was the strongest voice inside my head, back then. Now…” She holds it out towards them; deliberately, reluctantly loosens her grip. “One way to find out, I suppose.”

They lean forward, a hand gently taking hold of the crown. A colder face stares back, watching the moment carefully before speaking. “You can let go. That is if you wish too,” The din of the bar seems distant now. “But I assure you, the crown won’t go anywhere further than here.” They smile, their spare hand gently patting the space beside the picture.

She takes a deep breath, and relinquishes her grasp on the crown. Her hand falls away; blinking slightly, she stretches out her arms, and green scaled bracers fade into existence on her wrists. She reaches up to run her fingers through her hair, and pushes back a green suede hood that she had not been wearing an instant earlier.

“Well,” she says, voice considerably lighter, “this came rather earlier in the evening than I was expecting.” She reaches for the stein, and drains the last of the ale. “Name’s Heloise, by the by. Good to meet you.”

“Ah-” the Pawn’s jaw hangs open slightly, aghast at the transformation before them. “I-I-I…” They take a deep breath, closing their eyes as they place the crown gently beside the picture. When their eyes open the cold stare of the wary peasant is gone, replaced by a more hesitant smile. Maybe the days of old can be reborn once more…

“H-H-Hello Heloise! Nice to meet you too.” they grin, reciting a speech which is altogether new and yet familiar to them as they stand. “Welcome to Homeworld’s End! The finest inn in all of Outworld!” They place one hand on their hip, the other pointing towards the door. “Outside that door there are new adventures, opportunities and people to meet! A brave, new world! So, Heloise, welcome to Outworld. I hope you will find here what you are looking for!”

“You asked my shadowed sister-self what you could help us find,” she says thoughtfully. “A brave new world… yes. A better future. That’s what brought us here. This place… it gives me hope.” She sighs, turning to look out over the crowd. “The Valtaria I was born in… it won’t survive the ending of the cycles. Too dependant on the Monarchs, on the Shapers. But this place…” She gestures vaguely, attempting to encompass the territory as well as the tavern itself. “This is Valtaria, or maybe the dream of Valtaria. And you’ve made it a Republic. A Valtaria that can survive, that can preserve the parts of the past worth the saving… without, well. Us.”

They smile, folding their arms and tilting their head. “Yes, it can survive, without Monarchs, but only once the cycles are complete. Once the Nexus is done. Until then…,” they glance behind them to the crown. “Valtaria doesn’t need Monarchs. The Crucible of Legends, this dream you call it, it needs guardians. It needs healers. It needs protectors...it needs...heroes. If we are to leave a better world behind, where the people overcome their own challenges and rule themselves, th-then we have to take up that role. We’re not their leaders, not their villains - we-we are the people’s hope. Both back in Homeworld and here.”

They sigh, turning their back for a moment, resting their arms against the back of the bar.

“I-I can’t remember who I was in Homeworld. It doesn’t bother me. I-I don’t think about it because I am concerned that maybe I won’t like what I find. B-b-but you can’t forget about the past either,” they turn, placing a hand gently on top of the crown. “Heloise, if-if you want to help make this dream a reality, then I would gladly welcome you to stand by our side in the Republic but...you can’t forget your shadowed sister-self either. To do so, would be as bad as forgetting the days of your past…but…”

They take a deep breath, the weight of Valtaria’s people seemingly weighing on their shoulders. The chaotic orchestra of voices of Homeworld’s End resonating in their head, a reminder of their duty.

“If you, Heloise, want to step out that door, I will walk with you every step of the way. Support you,” Quickly a blush erupts across their face, stammering awkwardly on their words “- a-a-as a friend of course! But I will also guard this crown too. I won’t let Vermillion be forgotten…” They pause. “I’m sorry. I-I-I am talking to much.”

“Don’t apologise.” She smiles. “And don’t worry. Vermilion and I… we’re still working on the finer details, but we have an understanding, of a kind. We’re two sides of a single coin, two edges of a blade; far more in tune with each other than she ever was with her attempt at playing Monarch-Victor… I’ve spent her whole life watching through her eyes; and now she watches behind mine, but this time both of us know about the other. She isn’t going to be forgotten. When I look into a mirror, she looks out. When I walk out of here, I have every intention of carrying that crown with me, so I can pass the reins to her when needed.”

She smiles again, touched with sadness. “Both of us want to build a better world, you see. She was trying to do it by looking backwards, to Valtaria before the Monarchs-in-Shadow were needed. Because she couldn’t see another way. And… maybe there’s some of that worth doing, but the way I see it… you have to build on the past, and move forward. And I can do that better than she can, because I’m not trapped in the roles of the game. We’re doing this together, she and I, but… I have to take the lead.”

“Because my shadowed sister… sees no place for herself in any better world she could create. Went to the extent of charging the Steadfast with her death, back at the first Nexus. And… you can’t build a future of hope, on a foundation of despair.”

“I-I’m glad. Honestly?” they pause “I would be sad to lose Vermillion but to know you will both leave this place together.” They sniff slightly, their hand shaking slightly as it lets go of the crown. Not long ago, when they had arrived at the Nexus, they had feared the Monarch-in-Shadow who ruled as Sovereign over the Crucible and now they were talking like - friends. Maybe things could change. “That makes me feel better. You are right, a future can’t be built on despair. We have to move forward. It’s why I don’t look back. The future is scary enough as it is.”

“It is.” Her voice is sober. “I think there’s a lot to hope for – friendships and alliances springing up in unexpected places all over – but at the same time… the fault lines are starting to show, aren’t they? And as time grows shorter, as the stakes rise…” She shivers slightly. “Feels like there’s a storm brewing, doesn’t it? The pace of events picking up. Crescendo, accelerando… And a sense of urgency leads to a sense of desperation, which often leads to… foolishness.”

She shrugs, musters a faint smile. “Still, though. People are talking to each other, at least; if we can keep the lines of communication open… there’s still hope for us yet.” She grins suddenly. “Nothing worthwhile’s ever easy, after all. If there’s one problem with the Shaper’s gift, perhaps it’s that – it leads people to expect things to be easy. Because it is – right up until other Shapers get involved...”

They nodded in agreement, a little “uhuh” escaping under their breath, still caught up in the moment. They knew it was never going to be easy, Celestine’s speech and the subsequent affront had taught them that but they were all approaching the end now. They flick their braid over their shoulder, arms folded as they lean back attempting to strike the pose of the proud Monarch-Errant, setting out on their first quest.

“The storm is coming. You are right. I have been feeling it for a while. I know D’Eon and I can weather it for the sake of our people and this Valtaria we dream of. The people support us. They say they are happy to help! They…” Their words trail off slowly, the pride falling away. Picking up the stein they take a sip, the confident pose of before quickly replaced by doubt as they stare into the murky depths of the vessel. For a moment, a hand quickly moves to fumble at the medal of red, blue and green that hangs on proudly on their chest. “They say they’ll help, it’s just I-I sometimes cannot be sure who my friends are, Heloise. I-I-I think I know but Pawns have been used before. We both know the stories. Just another challenge for Errants to overcome, another example to be made of to those who deny the Imperative. I keep wondering, are we just another challenge? When Outworld hangs on a knife-edge between fluidity and stability, will we just be another dragon to defeat? Am I just a monster to be destroyed once this is all done?”

They sigh, shoulders hunched back deep in thought. “I am sure we will find out soon enough. I just worry as to what the cost will be. I-I-I can’t bare the thought that this might die with me...” They rub their eyes quickly for a moment before striking a thumbs up. “But we-we can do it. I’m sure.”

“Even a true monster is not often just a monster. And you are very far from being that.” She sighs, and slumps slightly on the barstool. “I… know what you mean, though, sort of. I’m still getting used to the idea of having friends; Vermilion never thought it was something she was permitted, or that she deserved, so we’re a couple centuries out of practice, she and I. Trust… doesn’t come easy. Especially since there are people trying to manipulate from the shadows; if I get one more piece of anonymous correspondence, I’m going to scream...”

“But still… there are enough good people in this world that I believe that we can make a better one for those to follow. And to leave that kind of legacy… the word going round is that none of us were ever meant to survive, did you hear that? I can’t help thinking, if it turns out that’s still the price, well, if we can do this right… it would be worth it.”

“I heard we might not survive, but you are right, if we can build something that survives, that leaves our people happy, then-” they gesture around them to the tavern, the hustle and bustle of excited patrons drinking, smiling and revelling in one single moment in time. “Yes! It will be worth it!” they grin widely. “And if it helps, I - I trust you. I hope you will be there to the very end. I will happily face my end, knowing I have my true friends by my side!”

“Thank you.” Her eyes are serious. “That… means a lot to me.” She leans against the bar, visibly eases a degree of tension from her muscles. “Dash it all, I’ve gotten all maudlin and philosophical on you. Enough of uncertain doom; we’ve a brighter future to discuss, no? Tell me about this Republic of yours…”

They pause, thinking carefully on their words. “Valtaria is defined by challenge. We rise to it, we better ourselves by facing it whether it is a monster, a piece of art or a rival kingdom. The Imperative and the Shaper’s Gift however…” They frown, going through the speech in their head, drilled into them by late-night conversations with D’Eon in the warm fire of The Sanctuary of Embers “In Homeworld, a challenge was overcome by shaping and while that talent was a blessing, it was also a curse. Shaping caused dissonance, led to the unnecessary deaths of many and resulted in a cruel game played between Monarchs under the pretense of making the nation stronger. But…hmm, ah, I know!”

They blink, quickly darting away for a moment before returning with a pack of playing cards, placing them in a rough pile. Focussing intently, remembering the various cantrips they had read about in the oft-forgotten tomes left lying vacant around the bar, they began to mutter until with a click of their fingers a small spark ignited. The cards moved slowly and precariously with expert precision, sliding over one another until a few moments later a small pyramid remained. Running a hand through their hair, the Pawn let out a sigh of relief.

“I was worried it wouldn’t work. Right you may want to cover your ears...” they said as they vaulted the bar, moving quickly throughout the crowd of adventurers as they shouted. As they did so packs of cards went flying, each falling onto a different table. “Hi! Everybody! A free round of drinks to anyone who can build a pyramid like that one over there!” As cheers and murmurs of excitement spread throughout the bar, Ronan turned and smiled returning to place at the bar.“Now watch…”

Soon adventurers and farmers alike were busy at work, quietly chatting amongst themselves as they fumbled with cards in hand to build bigger, ever more impressive structures. Occasionally the sound of groaning and fluttering cards broke the silence but hard at work, the people of Valtaria set about building something as grand as that which rested beside the two Shapers.

She watches, frowning slightly. “I… see. I think.” Her fingers drum absently on the bar. “Not as fast, not as easy, but… the right tools, a little encouragement, and they get there in the end? Is that what you’re trying to do? To give them the means and the desire to build a better world themselves?”

“Absolutely.” They lean against the bar watching each group carefully, monitoring their progress. They wince slightly as sudden shouts and accusations fly across the room, the various terms turning their displeasure towards one another before returning angrily to the task at hand with renewed focus. “Of course, there will be conflict but that’s just another challenge to overcome. People adapt.” Warily they watch as the roles within the groups change, careful eyes remain fixated on the troublemakers as the rest proceed with the task at hand.

“In the end…” They smile as the crowd around a table disperse revealing another matching structure of cards. It’s a quiet, careful reveal but the team’s pride could not be clearer. “... they’ll make their own. They’ll match it. Using ingenuity and the resources to hand and not the Shaper’s gift.” Ronan claps stepping forward and placing an arm around a young petitioner, dressed in simple peasant’s ware. “Congratulations team! I will get your drinks shortly but good work! Three cheers everyone! Hip-Hip!”

They allow the eruption of sudden cheers and flying cards to fill the tavern as they return to Heloise’s side. As they begin to pour more drinks they continue “If the Shaper’s gift disappears, people will need to look after themselves and will need to know how to rule themselves. To live lives of peace and joy, no longer threatened by the Imperative and the game, where they challenge one another to build bigger, overcome greater odds and match the legends of the heroes of old.”

With steins in arm they turn once more and begin to return to the group as the cheers diminish. “And if the Shaper’s gift remains, we will be the heroes they need. We will guard their freedom with our lives even if it means sacrificing our own. The Valtaria of old was filled with heroes who put their lives on the line so the Kingdom could survive. They were not rulers or tyrants. We must become their guardians, not their leaders. If we fail to do so then they will never be happy. They will never find their own place in the world to come.”

“There’s a lot in what you say I can get behind, certainly.” She nods slowly, thoughtfully. “How does it work, though, this idea of them ruling themselves? I - we - Vermilion -” she grimaces and shakes her head, language not quite keeping up with her current situation, “she always expected her people, our people, to rebel against her, but we’ve only just had our first rebel start popping up now. The rest of them - looked to her for guidance, constantly. Are yours different, in that regard? They’re so… dependant on us, at this point. Their very lives bound to our own; their circumstances dictated by the decisions we make at the Nexus. And they know it, sense it, on some inherent level; even the systems of the Nexus reinforce it - petitioners is a very loaded term for the relationship, isn’t it? How do you make self-governance work given all of that?”

“Of course they are dependant on us but that means we have a responsibility to teach, not to rule. The first time we arrived at the Nexus, we had the challenge of teaching those here and those from the Sanctuary of Embers what it meant to have freedom, what it meant to make their own decisions, what it meant to vote and have mortal rulers. They were scared, so anxious, so worried…” they continue, voice trembling “...and some days, you can still see that uncertainty. They can rule themselves here and I think they know that beyond these borders there are allies in the neighbouring territories they cannot reach. That means there are also enemies and that even without outside influence, they will have to live with the consequences of their actions and choices. Even as the Shapers who they are bound to walk freely amongst them.”

They take a deep long drink of the remaining ale within their stein, taking a moment to pause and clear their thoughts before speaking once more.

“But we are a Republic and rulership has to come from the people. The territories are coordinated to make sure that is the case. The Sanctuary is the Capital akin to The Grand High Imperatrix’s Court. There is a council there, I think...I think, d’Eon called it a Parliament. Mortals compete to join in tournaments of martial prowess and make decisions on behalf of both The Sanctuary and here. Occasionally, they have doubts and concerns like any Petitioner, following which they come to d’Eon who contacts me. We advise and give guidance but always present each argument as fairly as we can. They then decide with a vote with the majority decision being enforced. I then bring those orders here to Homeworld’s End, the hope being that when this is all over, this place will be somewhere which can support the Republic with food, resources and, I hope, be a place where old soldiers can retire and new heroes can begin their journey. With the Republic or the other Valtarian Kingdoms. Whatever is best for them.” They shrug and smile slightly “I am lucky. My petitioners are more interested in preparing for the adventures to come and the Republic soon to be formed then making their own decisions. They uphold the ideals but it’s d’Eons’ who put them into practice.”

“So, if one of your Petitioners did want to participate in shaping the course of politics, would they be able to - are there real-time communications for joining the debate, or - oh, wait, you have an embassy there, don’t you?” She frowns in concentration, trying to keep up with the alien concepts. “I’m still not sure I understand. What decisions have they made, so far? How much of what you do in the Nexus is still your own choice, your own responsibility - you can’t consult with them on everything, I presume…”

“Ah, my embassy does indeed help as do d’Eon’s regiment of soldiers who come to trade here. In terms of decisions,” they extend their palm, focussing intently as they count their fingers “Well, the first vote that came in from the Sanctuary relating to here was for the menu to be changed. Apparently they wanted something with a bit more flavour. As for the other decisions, most of them have been basic. No murder. No stealing. No slavery. Crimes to be dealt with by a vote based on the facts provided...all mortals may request an audience with their Shaper and it to be granted forthwith by us. Small things but it is a start.”

The shift their weight slightly as they clench their fist and return it to their side. “Time works differently here in Outworld though. I am informed by d’Eon that the petitioners are currently trying to prepare a document, a treaty or con-con-” Biting their tongue, the shaper focussed carefully. “Con-sti-tu-tion. Least that is what I think it is called. It’s a scroll which outlines the various ways they will govern themselves and their relationship with us as we refuse to act as their leaders. The vote has either happened, is happening or will happen soon. I imagine a copy should be ready by next Nexus Cycle, though we won’t be there. I can try and send it over however, if you are interested?”

“As for the Nexus...well, d’Eon told me that we are the vanguard. We are the first Pawns from The People’s Crusade to come through to Outworld. It was our job to found the Republic, to make it a reality and to give the part of Valtaria we carried with us a place to call home. While the people can’t tell us what to do when it comes to forming Outworld, it is our duty to give them all we can. That means building connections like embassies. It means taverns and farmsteads and traders. The monstrous and mythical are challenges but for a petitioner, they need the education, resources and opportunities to overcome those. They’re our legacy. Our chi-” They stop, the rest of the sentence caught in their throat as their eyes stang and vision blurred. Wiping at their eyes they caught a tear and stared at it blankly, uncertain how to react. “I-I-I’m sorry. But, yes, we have to give them everything. Given the power to shape reality we have to put aside our own desires for them. That’s the challenge we face. In the end, Shaper and mortal will grow as one so that hopefully it may all have been worth it…”

“Our children. Yes.” Heloise nods solemnly. “Although in my case that probably applies to the monsters as much as the people, truth be told… I’d be interested to see this constitution once you have it, yes. Something like the thing the Revolution hand round, with all their principles written down in one place, that sort of thing? I imagine that’ll answer a lot of questions, including some I haven’t thought of yet…” she frowns absently. “Be a shame if you have to miss the Nexus, I’m expecting things to get interesting this time around. Not that it’s ever not, but… storm’s coming, like we said earlier. Still, if it can’t be helped, I suppose there’s no use me fretting over it.”

She pauses, considers. “I suspect we’ll wind up moving in roughly similar directions even if I and my Wyrdwood never do sign up to your Republic, truth be told. Another Monarch-Pawn trying to make a better world is only ever going to be so far distant… but I certainly intend to give it thought, and hopefully the rats can get the word out to my people also about what you stand for, see what they make of it all… oh, that reminds me, actually.”

“There are a couple of questions I should definitely be asking. The first one being: has the question of citizenship rights for non-human sentients been raised yet? Between the rats and the dragons, the Wyrdwood’s already got quite a few calling it home, and there’s a fair chance some of the creatures from the hatchery of legends may prove to have a conscious mind and will as well… the Educational Rodents in particular are proving invaluable in spreading knowledge to my people, and I suspect they’ll probably prove more politically engaged than a lot of the humans.”

They blink the tears away for a moment, tilting their head. “I would be lying if I said it had been. I see no issue with raising it and passing it back to the Sanctuary though. Personally, all intelligent, sentient creatures should be given the opportunity to better themselves so long as they bring no harm to others within the Republic. I-I have yet to meet a dragon except 10 Count but I’m not sure he counts in quite the same way so have no issues with it one way or the other. Can’t let past prejudices get in the way of future possibilities”

“You haven’t? Oh, you should come visit the Wyrdwood at some point; Propellor’s not in the most sociable of moods at the moment, brooding over her eggs and all, but Wisdom will talk for hours if you let her, and so’ll Wings as long as you don’t mind him trying to convert you to the Combine - he might be rather interested to meet a republican Valtarian, actually.” She grins cheerfully, clearly fond of her draconic guests. “I’m glad you don’t see it as a barrier, though; didn’t really expect you would, but seemed a bad idea to take it for granted.”

Her expression sobers again. “The other question I need to ask is: would you still accept me soulforged? Because there is a very strong chance I will be taking that step at the next Nexus. Putting aside my desires is one thing - and I’m not sure I’ll be very good at that - but with everything I have going on up here,” she taps her temple with a wry smile. “I need to. Well. Knit myself back together a bit; weave a unifying strand, a point of commonality, through my several selves. And I think soulforging is how I can do that. There are lines I won’t cross; most of the options would change the nature of the Wyrdwood far too drastically; but I think this is a thing I need to do, and hopefully the changes can be channelled into something productive for the realm and its people as an additional benefit to that…” her voice trails off awkwardly.

Ronan glanced around carefully, checking the denizens of the tavern warily. “No, no one from the Sanctuary” they mutter under their breath before learning in, wide smile. “Want to know a secret?”

She leans closer, lips twitching into a smile. “Always.”

“d’Eon is considering the same,” they whispered quietly before leaning back, arms folded and face smug. “Soulforges can lead to change, sometimes better, sometimes worse but if we can’t do our jobs then this might all be for nought anyway. I think d’Eon is on the cusp of choosing but I know they are thinking the same. Soulforged or not, I would rather the people happy and if you being soulforged allows that to occur and makes you - well, you then, ignoring my own concerns, you should do it. After all, put aside the fact you are a Monarch. You are a citizen of Valtaria too. You also should have the freedom to choose and above all else be the person you want to be. Not the role you were forced to become.”

“...thank you.” The words come out in a whisper. “I… needed to hear that, I think. Freedom… it means a lot to me.” She smiles, suddenly. “Sometimes I think, once we’re done Shaping the world, when they don’t need us anymore… I’d like to just set out on the road, and not stop moving till I’ve seen everything there is to see. Foolish notion, of course; I daresay I’d get homesick well before I’d seen it all… but still. It’s something to dream of.”

She tilts her head, regarding Ronan curiously. “What future would you choose for yourself, once all of this is done?”

“Why is it foolish! I hope for the same really! I want to see the world, I want to quest and I want to ensure this world is protected for all its denizens. I don’t want dissonance or chaos again and I want to start the story of Valtaria again! Go out on the road, make friends, fight the good fight! Avoid the mistakes of the past and begin the adventure anew, whether in the Crucible of Legends or-” Instinctively they tap their feet against the wooden floor of the bar “in Opportunity Knoxx! I have a chance to walk in the footsteps of our nation’s ancestors, how can I not take that chance up? Oh and of course, to keep this place going. This will always be home and a place where stories begin.” Their voice is filled with happiness, their form spinning and twirling as they take the heavy round of drinks to the victorious team of card citadel architects. Handing a drink to the young man they continue “I think I am very lucky in that regard. I already much that I hope for.”

“Foolish, mostly because I love my Wyrdwood too much to be apart from it so long; Vermilion had the same thought, but she planned on turning it into some damn fool notion of a self-imposed exile, after the end, when she wasn’t planning on dying outright. I couldn’t bear that.” She shudders. “A part of me wants to call it foolish, too, because if we’ve done this right, the world will still be changing, still evolving; one could never have seen it all, because by the time one reached the end there would be more to see where one began.”

She pauses, laughs, shakes her head ruefully. “But that doesn’t make it foolish, does it now? Just impossible, which is not the same at all. A quest without end, an unceasing journey of discovery… no, perhaps it’s not so foolish a prospect. As long as I remember to come home from time to time.”

“Exactly,” they grin widely “Assuming everything turns out okay, home will still be around. I would offer to guard and protect it like anywhere else, only…well, it would be rude given I have never visited. Though the chance to meet Propellor, Wisdom and Wings certainly sounds enticing.” They pause and smile, thinking to themselves. “Anyway home is not just our territories. Home is where our friends are. There must be other places in Outworld you can call home occasionally as well? Places far from the Wyrdwood where it feels safe to rest before starting adventures anew?”

“Well, you’d be more than welcome!” She flashes them a quick grin, before remembering to actually think about the question. “Hmm… I suppose there’s RPC, these days? Axle’s place. It’s not home, as such, but… I’ve spent a fair while there, on and off, her people are starting to almost get used to me… I’ll never get used to the food there, but the musical theatre’s great.” Her lips flicker absently, and she shrugs. “And then there’s the Cross… not that I’d go there for rest or safety, as such, but damn if Harry’s place ain’t fun.”

“Ah! Ten Count’s? I am supposed to be visiting there at some point! I want to experience Opportunity culture and debt collecting sounds very similar to questing!” they take a moment to think but dismiss their concerns quickly “Except maybe a bit more violent. But that’s Opportunity for you! Should visit Ash in the Walkers too - oh and Vector. He’s such a hero! I’d love to share the story of his sacrifice for me with more petitioners” They sigh happily, holding their beverage in both hands, close to their chest. “Outworld is so beautiful…”

“Debt collecting?” Heloise’s brow furrows in confusion, both at the unfamiliar term and the way that Vermilion, somewhere deep inside her head, has just started laughing the unmistakable laugh of the Monarch-in-Shadow. “Well, happy questing; I’m sure it’ll be interesting. Educational,” she adds, at Vermilion’s oddly-gleeful prompting. “Really, sister-self,” she mutters, glaring absently into space. “What in Outworld is so- oh, never mind.” Returning her gaze to Ronan, she smiles and shrugs. “Have fun! Try the gelato while you’re there, it’s amazing…”

“Outworld is beautiful, isn’t it? Even the parts of it that are utterly awful - Nothing Valued, or the Spiteful Pits - there’s beauty to them somewhere, if you look hard enough. And some of the others… there’s so much here that I could never have imagined, back home.” Her eyes gleam bright in the firelight; her smile is wide and joyful.

“Eh?” Ronan stares back as Heloise mutters to herself before adopting an awkward smile as she continues. “Exactly!” they replied observing Heloise with a warm smile, their smile causing their chest to wall with happiness they had not felt since-since when? Homeworld? Not that it mattered. Better to embrace the now.

“And more will appear with time Heloise as new Shapers arrive from Homeworld. Outworld will only grow which is exciting but I know I constantly feel this call to protect it. I know we as Shapers often argue or see nothing but despair in this quest of ours but - I will do everything I can to protect our petitioners. I won’t let them be collateral damage to dissonance or death. I want them to see the world beyond this border one day, as much as you or I.”

They pause, closing their eyes and taking a moment to think carefully to themselves. When their eyes open slowly, the smile is gone. What remains is a steely confidence and a still face, a voice filled with confidence and determination.

“I don’t want to be the Guardian of Valtaria, Heloise. I want to be the Guardian of Outworld. That is a title I want to earn and I intend to do everything I can to achieve it.”

She straightens, smile fading as she meets their gaze with equal seriousness. “A worthy goal. And truth be told, I rather think this strange new world of ours is going to need you, Guardian. When the storm breaks… it may need all the help it can get.” She rises from the barstool, Vermilion’s presence in her mind fading into a vague sense of approval and agreement; when she speaks again, her tone is oddly formal. “Should you have need of allies on this quest, Guardian, then call on me and I shall answer; I am Heloise Dragon-Hearted, and to this I swear upon my name.”

The sudden seriousness of the situation silences the room as the tavern’s denizens turn to stare at the two Monarchs, eyes locked on one another - only the polished marble and oak of Homeworld’s End dividing them. Ronan replies with a nod, face still focussed intently - still for the first time in a long time but that joy and happiness is there, if controlled.

“Then be assured, at the next Nexus I will begin my quest. I will speak to the Sovereigns and I will seek their guidance and approval as to the next steps to be taken.Your assistance and tutorage on the way would be greatly appreciated. Together, Shapers from across many Origins will build an Outworld for future generations to live and love in. It’s for those people, within the Republic or otherwise, I will stand and protect it as required. I may not remember Homeworld, but this is their home now as much as it is mine and I will ensure it stands.”

They extended a hand across the bar, allowing their smile to return as they do so.

“Thank you, Heloise Dragon-Hearted,” the smile breaks, the large manic grin returning “I think this conversation has been good... for the both of us.”

She reaches to grasp their hand, grip light but sure, smiling in answer. “Truly it has. I think I indeed found what I came here seeking; hope. And, perhaps, a friend?”

The Monarch-Pawn gives the biggest grin in response as the tavern erupts in celebratory cheers at the handshake between gods. “Don’t be silly Heloise,” Ronan replies cheerily “You didn’t need to find a friend here. You were my friend all along! That I can assure you.”

She laughs and shakes her head ruefully. “Perhaps you’re right, at that; I’m certainly no expert on friendship, but I can’t deny that this feels right somehow. Like… sunlight breaking through clouds…” She ducks her head away, embarrassed. “Damn, now I’m getting poetic on you…”

“No, no don’t be embarrassed!” they quickly cut in, suddenly worried. “It’s nice...you should write some poetry! You would be good at it! Maybe write some for those you care about? To help them understand the new...you?”

She’s definitely blushing, but she manages a shy smile. “Maybe I will, at that. How about you - do you write yourself?” Her eyes flick back to the picture of Journey’s End. “Or paint, maybe? What do you do to relax between your quests?”

“Errgh,” they reply, seemingly stumped by the question. “I, erm, I can’t paint. I have never tried writing anything more than a letter or two but I read a lot.” They shift awkwardly for a moment, casting their eyes towards the ground. “I say read - I find reading quite difficult really. For me, it’s like shaping. I have to really focus to understand what is in front of me. Same with writing, i-it’s just easier to manifest something with my thoughts. I occasionally draw, though I’m not very good at it... Most of my time is spent relaxing by just serving others in this place. Makes me feel calm and at peace. It feels natural like...breathing.”

“You recuperate from helping people by… helping people in a different way?” She shakes her head in something like amusement, perhaps just the faint flicker of concern showing in her eyes. “Well, folks do say a change is as good as a rest, I suppose. As long as you’re happy?”

“I am happy, it’s just, I find most of my happiness through others. I’m still really discovering myself in this world. I’m not sure what makes me happy...it’s difficult.” they pause for a moment, shuffling their feet. “It’s not like there is a lack of time in this place anyway…”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help you find yourself, or your joy, let me know?” She lets the offer hang for a moment, then smiles and moves on, not wanting to push too hard; everyone has their sore spots, after all. “And if you’re planning on heading to the Cross, the staff do rather pride themselves on being able to help people find a way to relax and enjoy themselves; Opportunity being what it is, I suspect your tastes might be a little more… wholesome than they’re used to working with, but what’s life without challenge?”

Ronan stares back blankly. “Wholesome? How do you mean?” They continue to stare before shrugging slightly. “I’m actually looking forward to it. Opportunity, like all the other cultures, has some real beauty to it even if their music is...bizarre. Hopefully, I will find something there I enjoy. I do quite like the work the, what is it they call them? Heartisans? Yes, what they do for their people. They’re like Bards only their stage it seems is much, much bigger!”

Heloise blinks in confusion. Do I need to warn them? Surely not, they keep a tavern, they can’t be that innocent. And it’s not like the Cross hides its nature, especially not since Harry went Primal. Seizing on the safer topic with some relief, she grins. “It’s one of the roles that appears in some form in every culture, isn’t it? The RevCorp with their inspirational broadcasts, the skalds of the Walkers, bards, Archivists, Heartisans… Storytellers, legend-keepers, in every culture. Says something about human nature, doesn’t it?”

“Uhuh! So, question is, what story do you hope they will tell about you? Actually, what story do you think they telling of you on Homeworld right now? They can see us right? Sometimes I wonder what they must be saying about us! I know occasionally we get visitors like… Nicasta? But dissonance makes things confusing…” they sigh sadly shaking their head for a moment. “They say we can’t save the people of Homeworld. Apparently there is no way to build a stable bridge to bring them here. I keep hoping that might be a mistake but...” They trail off, deep in thought.

“A hopeful story, maybe? A tale of building bridges and righting wrongs, and moving forwards, learning from the lessons of the past…” She blushes slightly as she speaks. “I do wonder, sometimes, how much they do see of us, back in the old world. Not everything, I think… I remember Vermilion tried to send a speech back, back when she was Sovereign, all fierce challenge, daring Valtaria to find an answer to the question of how to be ourselves without the Shaper’s gift to mark out Monarchs…” She flicks Ronan a quick grin. “Honestly, it’s rather ironic that the Monarchs-Pawn are the only ones who came up with an answer to that. Makes my, our, change of path seem… somewhat inevitable, really.”

She sobers. “No. I… don’t think there is a way to save the mortals of Homeworld, much as I wish it were elsewise. The trip through the Breach… it was meant to kill us, after all, burn us up for fuel to build this new world of ours. If that’s the expected result for Shapers, even with the malfunction that let us survive it, what chance could mortals have?” She looks away sadly. “One of the Combine told me once, in the first wave, they tried to bring an airship through. A whole ship of people. Only the Shapers made it through.”

“A wise man told me recently, though… everyone dies twice. Once when their heart stops beating. And once more when the last memories of them fade from the world. So if all we can do for those left behind is keep alive their memories, their stories… then at least that is something.” She frowns and rubs a tear away from her eye. “Even gods have their limits, it would seem.”

“Seems so, but it also sounds like a challenge to me. Something to rise too.” they can’t help but smile at Heloise’s grin before sobering again upon seeing her tear. Slowly they take a step forward, patting Heloise awkwardly on the shoulder. “Y-y-yeah, we have our limits but I would never say it was the gift that defined us. Then again, I disagree with the Imperative, so I know I am… weird… in the eyes of most Valtarians. No matter how much I tell the various Monarchs that the Imperative is the major undoing of our society, they never seem to listen. I think it’s hard to let go when godhood automatically makes you ‘right’ in the eyes of the people and other Valtarian Shapers….”

They ponder slightly before continuing “As you say though, we had an answer but I know for those Pawns who have arrived through the breach, the answer has been something we have always carried with us. I know prior to Outworld I was part of The People’s Crusade opposing The Accursed Crusade led by the High Imperatrix in Shadow and that it was always in the hearts of those Pawns who joined it. I can’t be sure whether I was the same, but I think it is the case and doesn’t change my stance now...we must prepare ourselves for new challenges and stories to be told. As mortal heroes who once walked as Gods.”

“Ah, poor Nicasta. She deserved so much better than getting trapped in that role. I wish we could have kept her with us.” Heloise sighs. “Still, sending her younger self through was a clever move; I hope we get to hear what came of that, if the second one became the hero needed to bring balance to the first…”

“Ah, the Imperative.” She sighs again, shakes her head, manages a faint sad smile. “Tragic, really; the whole system built upon a single fatal flaw. It’s so easy to see how the concept evolved, given the way our powers work; if we define a thing is so, then it is so, yes? The sky is green, or night is day, or fire fails to burn… And if we doubt our powers, then they may fail us, or rather obey the subconscious conviction that runs deeper than the conscious will; if we let ourselves believe that we cannot enter a building without it burning, or cannot cross a battlefield without the dead rising to follow, then lo, this is a thing that becomes true, the power answering to our belief as much as our desire.”

“And so we try to avoid that pitfall, to teach our Monarchs never to doubt themselves or their power, to believe that all will be according to their will. That if only they try to do good, good will be done.” She laughs, though it’s a sound with little joy. “And in our arrogance, we forget that there is no single objective standard of ‘good’, of morality, to which the Imperative could therefore make our actions trend, and our attempts to do good become as disparate and contradictory as our efforts to define what ‘good’ even is. Which of course, we should have done first. If it is even possible.” A brief pause, and when she smiles again it is a truer smile, one reaching to the eyes. “The Steadfast’s principles don’t seem too bad a starting point, for that, I think?”

They nod supportively “The Steadfast’s principles are good as a start but they are flawed. Good tenets for life but not necessarily for establishing some form of...well, government. If I find joy in say, killing dragons and another finds joy in hunting them and both are harmed by their inability to do what they enjoy...how do you resolve that?” They shake their head gently and shrug. “Still, at least The Steadfast’s heart is in the right place. I’ll happily follow her or at least...support her...while she continues to promote the protection of the innocent and the drive to help those in need. Think we can all see why those things matter given the situation back home!”

They pause for a moment and tilt their head. “Did you leave anybody behind on Homeworld? How did...Vermillion...come to the Breach?” They smile reassuringly. “I’m interested. I can’t remember it but everyone has such interesting stories of how they journeyed there and why. So, what’s yours?”

“There’s no-one in particular I left behind, no… Vermilion lasted long enough that I daresay anyone who remembered me as Heloise would be long dead, and Vermilion… didn’t have friends, as a rule. A few enemies she valued, respected, perhaps; that was the closest she allowed herself. No-one she trusted, at the heart of it. The closest connection she had was the Tyrant-Sorceror Carmine,” Heloise’s lips twist into a snarl, “our former liege, the one who made her what she was.The one who locked me away... And he encouraged her to come; too old to make the leap himself, he said, but someone should carry the Shadow forwards…”

She shakes loose of one memory, plunges into another. “The journey to the Breach was… like nothing else. I mean, Vermilion had spent a long time on the Shattered Front, on and off, that’s largely what prompted her, or us - I’m still not sure how much influence I had on her decisions at that point - to come; we thought we’d seen how bad it was getting.” She shakes her head again. “Truth be told, though, we had no idea.”

“When Vermilion set out, she had an army with her. She knew she couldn’t bring them with her all the way, but… there was a, a ritual to it, in a sense. Leaving things behind in stages. When the chaos grew too great for mortal minds to endure, she bade them turn back, and mounted herself on an undead wyvern, and flew on into the maelstrom. When the skies grew too wild to fly, she laid its bones to rest in a snowdrift, and walked on. There’s probably a trail of baggage along her route, as one thing was tossed away after another, until at the last she stepped through with nothing but the clothes on her back…” A sudden puckish smile. “Alas, it was too cold to face it skyclad. We were tempted…”

“The memories of the journey are all jumbled. Worse than the Shattered Front. Times when the sky was down instead of up, times when the snow was burning. One time the landscape twisted into a mobius strip, and I don’t know how long we’d been walking before we started seeing our own image elsewhere in the loop. Times where the chaos grew so great Vermilion lost track entirely of who she was and where she was going, and it was all I could do to keep her moving till she made it clear, one footstep at a time. Times when we shared a campfire with a fellow-traveller, and then woke in the morning to find no sign that they’d ever existed, and their name was already fading from our mind…”

They shiver slightly. “That sounds...terrifying. Worse than the Shattered Front? I have some glimmer of memories of there and that alone makes me...uncomfortable.” They pause, taking a sip of their drink deep in thought before pushing it away with a flick of their bright pink hair “And then you arrived at the Breach and stepped through into Outworld and your story started anew!”

“Still, I wonder sometimes, ever since the discovery that Homeworld was made much like Outworld, how many times has this cycle been repeated? Has this happened before? What were the other worlds before Homeworld like, if there were any? Are we on some inevitable path to another Breach and another Outworld…” their ponderous thoughts turn to a manic grin, bouncing on the spot with excitement “Out-Outworld! That works! Will there be a Out-Outworld? What people will quest there if it happens? We, and by we, of course, I mean most Shapers I have spoken to went to Outworld out of desperation but what if the next one was just another new frontier? What if we could create countless worlds of countless challenges and limitless opportunity, where all could be happy? Is that, perhaps, even possible? If so, it would fix so many issues! A world for every mortal, how amaz-”

They stop their endless babbling for a moment and blush as their excitement ebbs away. “Sorry, sometimes I latch onto these peculiar thoughts and feelings. Just keep wondering if there really is any limit to the Shaper’s gift…”

“Perhaps only the limits we ourselves create. For ourselves and for each other.” Heloise’s voice is soft, thoughtful, the words coming to her lips almost unbidden; the subject clearly one she’s considered often. “Where a Shaper believes themselves incapable of a thing, they will become so; the doubt becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. And where two Shapers collide, the irresistible force meets the immovable object, and a limit of another kind takes form. Imagine what we could achieve, though, if only all of us agreed upon a single purpose. If we could find,” she breaks off and grimaces slightly, before the expression fades into a wry smile, “as much as I hate using the Combine’s word, if we could find consensus…”