[Shards of Immortality] Illyasviel, Nar'Tae - Judgment of Mana

[Tabby]

[Prologue Illya/Nar awakening continued via skit]


The serenity of the grave dissolved into the rampant disaster of - well, normal Nar'Tae, honestly. Illyasviel attempted to laugh at the absurdity of having become so used to having a lumbering battlecruiser of a woman ruining everything of beauty within eyeshot, peaceful silence included, but it came out as a ragged coughing that only intensified for a few seconds, leaving her in the throes of a hacking fit as each movement exacerbated the pain flooding in from everywhere in her body.


Interesting. A small part of her brain, very detached and clinical, noted that apparently it was possible to feel even more exhausted after all that. Illya attempted to smile wryly, even considered a dry chuckle, but thought better of it after how the last attempt had gone; her chest still burned, her limbs still like lead, and her headache... not being chased away by the Catalyst's actions. Catalyst of noise and destruction, more like it. biting back the urge to say something caustic, Illya mumbled something incoherent that trailed off when she realized that getting up was going to be a challenge.


Nar'Tae's proferred hand as met with a blank gaze for a few moments, almost long enough to reach outright awkwardness, before the fallen avatar could comprehend the gesture. Helping. Maybe. The rush of - shame, or annoyance, or something, she wasn't sure, but it felt demeaning to need a walking catastrophe's help to stand upright. Much less one so loud. An attempt at glaring at her companion dissolved quickly when she realized that the bloody prismatic glare from the light filtering through crystallized magic was likely to blind her if she actually looked up any longer, so with herculean effort and a grunted gasp, Illya forced one hand up through sheer willpower, certainly not her ravaged muscle, and held Nar's own in a crushing grip.


-It was as much a link to something familiar, a world long dead, as a simple gesture. At least they had something in common, going b Nar'Tae Lak's puzzled words, even if the volume was somewhat higher than Illya could tolerate without a throbbing tinge of pain in her forehead. The instant she felt she could stand upright on her own power, she attempted it, falling back against the nearest formation of ice within seconds as she realized that no, she was not going to be walking anywhere soon. At least the makeshift resting place provided enough support to help keep her from collapsing again, and her... limbs seemed to be merely extremely sluggish now, rather than completely unresponsive. "I'onno."


...That came out wrong.


Illya chalked it up to having just woken up, and tried again. "Thazz, I don' oh?"


Frustration crept into her voice, lowering her brow, as her disobedient tongue gummed up her speech. It felt as though it was made of - cotton, puffy and unresponsive, incapable of the sharp syllables and precise diction she preferred. It didn't seem to hurt more than the rest of her, though, and Illya was not about to stick it out as far as she could to personally inspect it and make ssure it was all there, not with Nar standing there, so she had to assume it was still present.


-Oh, yes, these were familiar symptoms. Even foggy as her mind was, the feeling of powerlessness, of frustration, was all too familiar. This happened every time she - unleashed. Fully. But... she hadn't. At least, not in - a very long time. Stirring herself into hateful singlemindedness, the priestess forced the words out through gritted teeth, speaking significantly more slowly than usual in an attempt at speech that could at least be considered mediocre by her standards. "Iss - It'ss been alon, a long, tie. Time. Th' corses, corpuh sis, corpses, decomposed. Comple'ly." Illya found her frustration seeping away as her competitive, stubborn nature latched on to a sort of normalcy in demanding perfection, in ignoring her limitations. It was - healthier than going berserk, anyways! "Mine's - broken."


Her magic. Why was her magic not right? Illyasviel held back the fear behind an iron gate, but behind it, horror bubbled up, fear unmitigated by reason and logic. After having had her power for so long - she couldn't use it, not right, this wasn't right, it couldn't be right - she couldn't even break the ice. Why? Why?

 

[akampi]

Nar'tae was not adept at interpreting the details of most social subtleties, but she could tell Illyasviel was, for some reason, uncomfortable taking her aid. She was thinking about it. Pumped with endorphins from breaking free of the ice through sheer force of iron will, it was easy for her to begin to tender an annoyance. She has learned to keep a lid on her frustrations for the sake of maintaining... relations with companions who do not forgive the cultural tendencies of orc kin to escalate confrontation so quickly and aggressively. Illya was more receptive to goading and playful argument than the other generals, but Nar'tae knew to keep it under control, lest lose the little respect of her Sponsor she had managed to reign in. But in the stress of the moment, muscles aching to the bone, she just didn't care.


"If you can stand then stand. If not, I suggest you take aid where you can find it." She snapped.


To be fair, Illyasviel seemed disoriented. Unsettled. She stared a moment longer, probably lost in some wayward inner reflection, and took her hand and Nar'tae tugged her to her feet roughly. At that moment she seemed to be stricken by something and almost collapsed again before Nar'tae took her by her waist to hold her steady and Illyasviel steered herself towards the nearest monument of ice to hold herself steady, though still trembling.


"I'onno."


Was she... slurring? Nar'tae felt her lips twitch.


"Thazz, I don' oh?"


Nar'tae looked over her companion incredulously. She did look.. well, pathetic, frankly. Wet, pale. Dead. To be fair, they were dead a few minutes ago. Nar'tae Lak herself was still shaken from awakening, every nerve in her body firing in protest like they were trying to warn her she was on fire. And again, the weight of the nothingness, fear of the unknown was making her uncomfortable and restless. She took an uncomfortable breath between her teeth. The haze was still there, and she couldn't stop reliving that moment of the purest fear she has ever felt, watching the reflection of crushed glass on the snow before she could move, before her heart was even beating.


But none of that was The Imperial Hammer's fault, or responsibility. She almost felt about being so volatile- a little bit anyway, but she was not in the mood to indulge her feelings, and doubted Illyasviel would appreciate being coddled. It was comfortable, having a relationship with someone who did not require the constant submission to gentleness in friendship. There was nothing more comforting than fighting.


"So no answers, only a sad little songbird so soiled in frost she cannot sing!" she laughed. "How promising!"


The general still seemed to have the state of mind to answer her first question.


"Iss - It'ss been alon, a long, tie. Time. Th' corses, corpuh sis, corpses, decomposed. Comple'ly."


Her response was delayed as she tried to decipher that statement. Okay, the slurring was only cute for the first couple phrases. She followed her line of sight to the bodies- or what was left of them. Hardly corpses.


"We may have been dead for years, then. Only one way to find out, and we're not going to find out here."


She turned to offer her hand again, but Illaysviel seemed beyond uncomfortable- her face stretched so taut over her skin that she looked like Death itself. She could almost see the panic rising in her eyes. And it made Nar'tae's stomach flip. What could possibly draw out such terror in someone all but carved from marble and culled in the fires of a soldier's duty?


"Mine's - broken."


No one had said "It could be worse", but Nar'tae would have never considered that statement being invalidated in this revival session. But it just got worse. She cursed loudly.


"What the hell does that mean? How do you know it is if you have not tried anything?"

 

[Tabby]

"You know nothing of what it is to be caged!"


The force with which she spat out her words was nearly tangible, each dripping with venom, crescendoing with such loathing as she ground out the final word that even Illya recoiled as her brain caught up with her mouth, her raging emotions.


-Where the hell had that come from?


Realizing the import of what she had just said, Illyasviel forced herself to begin breathing again, letting her head loll backwards uselessly, impacting the hard ice with an audible, painful thump that she neverhteless welcomed through half-lidded eyes. Sudden pain had a tendency to bring clarity to the mind, and as the unrestrained rush of emotion died down, that was - exactly what she needed. Illya already regretted saying what she had, regretted that she had ever shown such a weak and worthless side of herself, but she couldn't exactly - explain it. Even if it had been a side effect of rampant magic, much like the aftereffects of using Rose Liberation, there had been nothing untrue about her words, her feelings - amped up beyond control, distorted and tainted by rage, it was still an uncomfortably accurate look into her feelings on a portion of her life that she had refused to share with anyone.


Of course, she couldn't just blame the magic for her outburst. Nar'Tae might well have some idea of the effects of unleashing based on past experience - had she ever used Liberation in Nar's vicinity? Illya could find no real answer in her addled mind - it would be a disservice to the both of them to simply blame her own weakness on something that merely amplified and distorted her own truths. Of course, the alternative was apologizing, and - in a moment of disgusted clarity she knew that it was completely unreasonable and stubborn of her to even hedge at apologizing, but it felt so terribly wrong to belittle the truth in such a matter, to act as though it was anything but. Illya did her level best to live with honest and integrity as guiding forces, saying what needed to be said, never backing down from the correct choice of action; would it be more of a betrayal to herself to apologize, or to pig-headedly forge her way onwards, even knowing that she had been in the wrong in her presentation, if not her words?


She glanced out of the corner of her eyes at the corpses, the frozen cataclysm all around them, considered the overwhelmingly dire situation they were in - dead for decades, perhaps centuries, the Overlord possibly still gone, no one in the tower who felt it necessary to investigate, or perhaps no one alive at all, and here she was worrying over whether or not she should apologize for being a complete bitch. Magically influenced or otherwise.


One aspect of her overwhelming stubbornness warred against another as Illya nudged herself forwards a bit, allowing her head to fall to her chest, avoiding Nar's eyes while she deliberated. "I-" When the first word came out, her voice was lower, more hesitant, knowing that the right thing to do was not necessarily the easiest. A momentary pause as she struggled to pull together the willpower to overcome her weakness, and then - "Apologize." Ground out with tanglible force, it all came out at once, jumbled, but every bit as blunt and sincere as she strove to be.


Rather than focus on a subject she did not want to approach with a ten foot pole, Illya summoned what reserve she could manage, segueing back into relevant discussion of their situation as quickly as she could manage while keeping track of her emotional state. Staring at Nar'Tae Lak with all the composure she could manage, the icy avatar continued with a voice that almost sounded like the normal her, tinged only by the slightest hint of hesitance. "My magic will - recover." Hopefully, she thought, but did not add. "The lack of interruption indicates that the tower is either still empty, or drastically undermanned. Neither bodes well for our Lord's return, nor the survival of our comrades or the Tower's staff."


Yes. That was it. Focus on the real problems, the stuff that might end up getting us killed, not worthless emotional weakness. "Are you in fighting condition? Your weapons unscathed by time?" Surreptitiously, even as she spoke, Illya flexed her mind, her magic, trying to extend a single tiny Thorn from the icy wall she rested against. Her tired muscles screamed at the affront, but magic flowed through her, through crystallized magic, and the tiny extrusion formed regardless. Jagged. Crooked. Her magic had not yet recovered, but it was reassuring enough to know that she still had some control that Illya felt she could crush the remaining obstacles to her ascension back to her normal state.


Hopefully.

 

[akampi]

She started at the rise in Illya's voice. Nar'tae had never seen Illyasviel genuinely lose her temper. She was always so decidedly removed from every affliction, so controlled and tightly wound in the scope and prose of her spoken words. Nar'tae somewhat reveled in the fleeting moment of lost composure, that state being the entire consumption of what she is herself, but out of respect to her Recommender did not broach the topic further. If they were in a more acceptable strategic position she might have needled her about it jokingly-


Just as sudden as the outburst had come, the other general grounds out an apology, and barely pressed her forehead against Nar'tae Lak's chest in a physical gesture of emphasis. Swallowing a stunned sound, Nar'tae Lak instead briefly cupped her face and brushed her matted hair off her forehead before she could squirm away. Her bangs were sticky with blood and the brown wear of nature over the centuries. The sight struck something in her.


"Do not apologize, stupid," She said, looking pointedly past her head. With this she almost felt the childish need to apologize for her own irritability as well. Almost. Other races appreciate the words, expect it under the threat of a boiling bitterness for the rest of their lives (such... vanity), but even now with the girl she could consider her closest friend of rank, Nar'tae Lak was still not inclined to open discussions over regrets and feelings. Neither was Illya, typically, but now she was comforting her (a war general, an warrior, slayer of thousands of men!) with sad words and regret? She was Orc Kin! Apologizing was almost... insulting. Monsters ascended from the swamp hells of the Netherworlds have not yet crushed her, and she believed these words could harm her? Vocal escalations and insults did not offend her, they inspired her. Illyasviel knew this. Perhaps she lapses into the old ways of humans in times of great upset, the way Nar'tae Lak resorts to her fists when she grows faint. Go back to what is familiar. Survival. She can not fault her for this.


But with the disappointments so far, it was... disturbing. Apologizing. Patktlak. She bit back a rude remark. This cage of ice was their battlefield, she would not draw another.


Without comment, she stared fairly lifelessly as Illya retreated and spoke again.


"My magic will - recover."


She did not ask if she had doubt. If Illyasviel thought discussion would aid in her adjustment, she would have indicated as such. She nodded an acknowledgement. Actually, on the basis of recovery, she was feeling vaguely functional despite the sickened feeling in the pit of her stomach she could not out maneuver.


"The lack of interruption indicates that the tower is either still empty, or drastically undermanned. Neither bodes well for our Lord's return, nor the survival of our comrades or the Tower's staff."


"I concede to your wisdom," she laughed, "But that much is obvious even to me. Let us hold this room first, then."


She turned away and stalked across the hall to about a midway point to have a better look around. The ice was impacted so heavily from the exposure of the shattered panes of glass it was difficult to discern any of what she remembered leaving behind. Illyasviel spoke up behind her.


"Are you in fighting condition? Your weapons unscathed by time?"


Her weapons. Alarmed by such a severe overlook, Nar'tae began to look around in such confused desperation it disrupted the actual functionality of the search so much so that she fails to notice her short blade was at least still tied at her waist, the weight so inconsequential on her bulk it was equatable to a string of feathers. She cursed violently in Orckin tongue. She immediately assumes her arsenal was deemed ridiculously valuable (as they were in her mind) and were stolen, although the weapons themselves were worn and all but worthless exempting sentimental value.


"They are not here!" She snarled.

 

[Tabby]

"What are not-" Illyasviel's reply trailed off as she struggled to comprehend where Nar'Tae's limited attention span had fluttered off to in the scant few seconds since they had shared a common conversation topic. It didn't help that this whole bloody charade had been awkward and confusing, the icy princess thought to herself while viciously kicking what appeared to be a frozen tulip.


Okay. Okay. Calm down, Illya. Swearing fit to make a sailor blush within the frozen corridors of her own mind, Illyasviel glared at the offending... well, -everything- in the vicinity, trying to hold herself in check. No omnicidal rampages this time. You've dealt with a demon god killing everyone in your kingdom and ripping it out of space and time to dump it in some forgotten corner of the Nether Plane, you've survived your magic, you've killed a bunch of people for the overlord. You can deal with one hallucinating orc.


Granted, a panicking Nar'Tae was about as apocalyptic of a force as anyone could define...


-And then the sheer ludicrous nature of the entire situation, of Nar'tae being so much invested in her weaponry that even their missing Overlord and fellow generals and the state of the world about them ceased to matter in favor of figuring out where her sword was. Illya couldn't help it; she snorted, completely unladylike, her slender frame threatening to shake itself apart with borderline-hysterical laughter no matter how carefully she squared her shoulders and willed her rebellious mouth to seet itself in a straight line.


The goddamn light was in her eyes, of course, because why wouldn't it be - she slipped, fell against another spire of ice, and simply laughed all the harder, silent shakes breaking into quiet, muffled giggles that echoed through the room, bouncing off the silent, glassy ice. The Overlord himself could have questioned her under pain of death and Illyasviel would not have been able to explain just what was so funny about this whole stupid mess, but the humor inherent to it seemed so obvious and so fitting that she could not help herself.


Another snort, and Illya let her head loll back against the ice, staring through the ruined ceiling into the brilliant light shining down through its orifices. "Your waist. Pffftheh." She supposed that she owed Nar'Tae an explanation for her odd behavior, but - truthfully, Illya wasn't sure. The logical side of her mind supplied that extreme emotional swings were a known side effect of certain of her magics, but the whole stupid thing seemed legitimately funny. Or perhaps she was messed up enough to find it funny. She wasn't sure which was actually funnier.


"Oh, we do make quite the pair of fools. Awoken by forces unknown, given life once more to serve our master, and yet we cannot muster our own weapons." Just a couple of idiots fighting over the silliest of things. She wondered to herself how much less Nar'Tae already thought of her for her little outburst earlier, but shrugged the thought off as a bad deal, unable to see any way to roll time backwards so she could act the scene out differently. Maybe she was just crazy. Impulsively, not sure whether to blame herself or her magic, the icy avatar continued, studiously avoiding Nar'Tae's eyes in favor of an incredibly fascinating ruined wall. "...Though I can think of few others with whom I would have preferred to awaken beside." Or impaled to.


The thought that Rygal was stubborn enough to awaken out of sheer orneryness sent Illya into another short fit of giggles.

 

[akampi]

Illyasviel snorted, bit back a laugh and then seemingly submitted to the impusle and slipped to the floor in fits of laughter. Nar'tae nostrils flared and she reared back into a distinctly held posture, clearly offended. She felt something snap behind her eye.


"Screw you, human. Take comfort in my lack of weapon, for if Makorij'kex'alla was in my hand I would slay you where you.. lay!"


She swept past her fallen comrade in the heat of agitation, every cell in her body alight with fire and indignation and it fell in her wake like a cloak and would make any mortal shudder at her departure. She hissed under her breath, still too boiled over to have any chance of locating the missing items herself but too stubborn to consider otherwise. As she began to petulantly kick debris aside, she heard a single soft voice chime through the stagnant air.


"Your waist. Pffftheh."


She twisted around, slowed by her rising suspicions and the ticking calculations in her mind that led her to the same conclusion as her eyes. There they were, primly clipped to her waist.


She blinked for a moment. And then, spurred as quickly as her rage she caught the same raucous laughter that had plagued her friend. She laughed so hard she felt the ghosts of old wounds throb at her sides, but she couldn't stop. This entire situation was outrageous. Ridiculous.


Alive.


Perhaps this was the will of fates that they live. Maybe they were never intended to die in this grave of ice on hallowed ground. Something about finding her weapons was so relieving, beyond the initial terror of totally misplacing a part of herself. The general unease faded, her inner eye of reproach dissipated as she laughed. Since when has she become such the existentialist? All that mattered was she still had enemies to crush and blood to spare.


They would find the Overlord. He was out there. She could feel it.


As her own laughter died down in a broken pant, Illaysviel chuckled:


"Oh, we do make quite the pair of fools. Awoken by forces unknown, given life once more to serve our master, and yet we cannot muster our own weapons."


Nar'tae laughed her agreement, the sound deep and graveled from overuse in the last few moments. She balanced her weight through her palms to her thighs. Her body was heavy from her desperate respiration, and she slid down to join her friend on the floor.


"...Though I can think of few others with whom I would have preferred to awaken beside."


Nar'tae grinned. "You're so kind to me, my poor little bird."


She was sprawled out lazily like a cat on the ground next to her, close enough to reach out and take Illyasviel's hand. Finding no resistance, she pulled apart Illyasviel's fingers with her own, examining them thoughtfully.


The casualness of the behaviour was unusual towards her Recommender, whom she had distinctly held herself apart and away from every time they had worked together. As much as Nar'tae Lak could hold back, anyway. She was a beacon of endless energy and impulse, full speed ahead, always 100 percent. Nar'tae being polite mostly extended to not eating her fellow soldiers, so the kind of effort she put into avoiding offending or overstepping Illyasviel was indicative of a lot.


They were, at this point, of the same rank, but Nar'tae was determined to maintain a divide of honor between herself and the woman responsible for her personal ascension to the Overlord's favor. He rarely indulged Orckin military representatives, for reasons she probably knew but never dared to mull over- so even getting to meet Him was a privelege that made her weaker at the knees than awakening from whatever dark magic had brought them back today.


She sat up suddenly, her bones creaking in an unusual protest, and stood slowly, offering again a hand to the avatar.


"Come. We must find other of us. Or, should we be so lucky, the monster that ended our lives so painfully. I've been waiting upwards of 100 years for that hunt. And I'm hardly patient."


She inclined her head as Illyasviel rose, indicating she was conceding control of their departure to her, ignoring the overwhelming impulse to do otherwise.