OTTERS.

[morthwyl]

[Let's backtrack a little. Maybe in the earlier timeline, a decade or two before Hadrian decided to just wander off with a smol child. See, Eiriol Maxwell was never a spirit. These days, it'd be hard to call her a demihuman or human or any kind of mortal, either. Maxwell is, in essence, a living anti-spirit weapon, impervious to most kinds of magic, able to grasp fire and lightning in her bare hands, with an even greater lung capacity than you'd expect from an average otter.

Of course, the Worldburner cell that experimented on her is very, very dead. And Eiriol, well...Eiriol vanished from where they were keeping her while they decided what to do with her.

She is currently halfway up a mountain several miles away, that seemed interesting to her. And given her body is covered with wards and she is honestly a giant beacon of magic, she's...probably standing out to anyone here, too.]

Comments

[morthwyl]

I can't argue with that. But you know, if I'm gonna be here a while...we should eventually find a solution to that?

[Her tone might imply a certain sort of solution to the bed problem, but she's heading off down the gestured hall to find what she hopes is the right room.]

[thefightisall]

[Well, Hadrian's kind of a centuries old spirit. His bed probably would take a group of grown men to move, being carved from ancient oak and with a massive mattress on it. Really the whole thing is a mixture of old-world charm and modern technology, it's probably secretly the most lavish and impressive thing in the house.]

I suppose we will have to.

[morthwyl]

[She's...kind of reflecting you could fit an entire family on this thing, but. She is incredibly tired so she doesn't really have it in her to gawk too much.]

Good night, Hadrian.

[Have some hours to reflect on your life decisions, Hadrian Gates.]

[thefightisall]

Good night, Miss Maxwell.

[Well, he will take them, to consider his next course of action.]

[morthwyl]

[So, remember what I said about the forge? Remember how Eiriol is finding she needs less food and, turns out, sleep than a normal demi?

Yeah, right around the crack of dawn there's an ungodly amount of noise and someone's definitely found the forge. Given the cackling, she...might be having criminal amounts of fun in there.

You invited this into your home, Hadrian. You did this.]

[thefightisall]

[Well, that's enough to get his attention, though it takes him a minute because wait, gotta not be full spirit around her.]

I see you found it.

[morthwyl]

Ah--ahahaha, there you are!

[Eiriol, how did you get this covered in soot are you just sticking your bare goddamn hands in the forg--

Yes. Yes apparently she is. She's not even a little singed. She's also holding a still red-hot sword and it's...well, it's an incredibly gorgeous piece of work, if rather old-fashioned. Although given what she's inscribed into the blade it's apparently made to...actively disrupt a certain line of old-world tech...?

Eiriol. Eiriol no.]

I never learned much about guns back at home, but I could probably make swords in my sleep.

[thefightisall]

[He looks it over and nods slowly, appreciatively.]

Swords seem to have made a comeback, these days. I suppose when you no longer need a gun to close range, you use whatever suits you.

[He chooses not to comment on the fact that she's hands deep in the forge again.]

You've made quite a mess, even by blacksmithing standards.

[morthwyl]

Hm? Ah--oh dear.

[She didn't seemed to have noticed. Her clothes are singed and ruined, since they weren't fireproof, but she's unharmed, and the wards are glimmering against her skin. Honestly, they're kinda pretty, like this.]

I guess I got excited.