Personal Quest [Seasonal Event] afire love
Leatherworker

Age: 29 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#1
stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
In a world where it was completely normal with mutated animals, song-loving and light-giving reindeer, memory snow, and a long list of other undisclosed things, legends of a giant fire bird likely held some kernel of truth.

But no one had seen it in so long that Rory didn't know whether to believe in it anymore or not. As a child he was always bright-eyed, frequently running off into town to see if it'd alighted on the perch yet, but each time Deepfrost ended with another disappointment in that department. Rory had been alive some twenty-seven years, and not a single time had the Spark Bird come down.

Maybe it had died. They only made efforts to feed it once a year, after all.

Then again, the scorch marks occasionally left in the Glade spoke a different story, so while the bird enjoyed its myth status, the general consensus seemed to be that it was still alive. Just.. displeased, or disappointed, he guessed. What had their ancestors done differently? Was the perch too small? Too plain? Was the food they offered not filling enough? Fruit was difficult to grow and difficult to keep. Cold snaps could so easily ruin what apples still grew as the Leafchange days grew shorter.

It was midday on your run-of-the-mill Deepfrost day: blue sky, pale sun, some white clouds drifting by, driven by a lazy wind. Rory had walked into town earlier in the morning, surveying what work had already been done to lay the foundation for the perch. It wasn't exactly okay to level the entire forest just to build a perch, but they had a surprising amount of trees, when you actually took a look.

So far, the perch was..not much. Someone had begun to dig a hole for the center pole, and someone else had carted in some suitable logs, and deposited some heavy stones that could be used for supporting the center pole.

Rory had walked into town, but he'd walked two ponies with him. It was Esaia and Talys, the gray and the black, and they were hitched nearby, both in working harnesses and Talys with a small sled behind her. You never knew when you needed to haul something while building a perch, and from the looks of things, they'd be needing.. more things. Perhaps a few more stone blocks for fortification, a couple of decent trees to make supportive struts out of.

Besides, ponies were useful for hauling the heavier things around the building site. And more importantly, Rory felt calmer when he had a pony or two with him.

He went to stand by Talys, stroking her forehead, and waited for someone else to show up. He couldn't really do any of the heavier stuff on his own, and he guessed if no one showed up, he'd just whittle little ornaments to hang on it later or something.



What's this? Spark Bird perch building! Lots of spaces, curious Outlanders are welcome as well as stubborn Naturals! <3

1. Samuel
2. Amalia
3. Melita
4. Ronin
5. Remi
burn scars crawl up the left side of his neck and onto the lower left half of his face
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller / Naturals Advisor

Age: 28 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#2
sam
So please please please, let me get what I want this time
Sam wasn't sure how much of the LongNight lore to believe, but he had always had a slight affection for tales of the Sparkbird. As fanciful as they were, he liked to think they might have been true once; as a child he had drawn several scribbled pictures of the large firey bird emerging from the heavens to amaze a crowd of people.

He did not usually get involved in the towns preparations, but when he saw the supplies stocked up by a dug hole as he sat at his stall, he felt strangely compelled to help. Perhaps it was the adventure he'd been on, the friends he'd made; whatever it was Sam was feeling more confident than he ever had and willing to actually involve himself in the lives of the people around him.

Placing a sign saying he would be back soon on his stall and hiding the books beneath in a lock box, he headed over (with a large hat on his head and a coat wrapped around him to protect from the sun). When he got to the site he realised just how little progress there had been. He was not strong, would struggle to help with the actual erecting of the thing, but he tried not to let that deter him.

He turned to the man stood nearby, who seemed to be the only one attached to the situation. "..A..Are you in charge of the Sparkbird perch? I could help. If you'd like."
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 6 - Strg: 26 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 26 - Luck: 23
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
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#3
 
M E L I T A


The unknown stretched out before her – and while she should’ve been overwhelmed, stupefied, and bewildered, the girl dove recklessly into its folds. It was her nature, courageous and daring, willing and dauntless, inspired by a hundred different things all combining at once. Even amidst the Deepfrost candor, the rumored LongNight, the dreaded shadows creeping amidst the fold, she was effervescent and certain, full of intrepid steps and adventurous longing, skipping across rime meadows and glacial fields, a spark, an essence, of audacity and valor. The ignorance didn’t bind her, didn’t delude her, didn’t cause her to weep or become withdrawn. The tales and legends, the possibilities, whispered against her skin, implored her to discover, to wonder, to seek out the myths surrounding the notice board, to ignite against her passions, to sizzle along her crusades and sojourns.

She’d stumbled upon the minute construction of the perch purely by accident. Fangorn, nestled along her shoulder as she raced across the horizon, grumbled and yawned, and the youth shrugged, turning towards a nearby stump, hands raised and aloft for the gourd to jump within, to settle down and rest for whatever came next. But his eerie, enigmatic eyes had twisted elsewhere, and her gaze followed: gilded glances catching hold of ponies, holes, Rory, and a stranger.

Melita cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered across their distance. “Hello!” Rory was enough to send her clambering, movement and motion, a poem written in zealous, ardent, fervent ink; as if she’d been dipped in enchantments encased for never-ending action. He’d been kind – and she thrived on the persistence of benevolence, born into its tenderness, growing from its clemency and consideration, then surviving because of its mettle, its endurance. Fangorn hopped behind her, and together they were swift and nimble, careening across forest floors and copses, a beckoning smile lingering over each individual. The pumpkin managed to stop when she did, colliding with her leg and nibbling at her boots while her attention was diverted from pony (because she wanted to reach out and stroke their thickened fur, lay her hand against velvety noses), to stranger, and the ongoing process outlined before them. “What are you up to?” The inquiry was extended to all of them, bright and candid. “I can help!”






Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 23 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 35 - Dext: 36 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 35
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#4

a m a l i a

Annual traditions, as foolish as they may seem, are something society relishes. They bring consistency, tell stories, establish order in a chaotic world. Or so Amalia tells herself as she approaches the clearing of the spark bird's perch, a warm jug of tea cupped between her hands. She is attracted to the spectacle like moth to flame, though it is a long time since she actually participated - ten years, in fact, ten long and lonely winters, since the girl was a child and her grandmother held her hand, smiling and laughing joyfully as she regaled the village youth with old wives tales of the spark bird's exploits. After the old woman's death the girl stopped participating, but would still turn up and watch. Amalia would watch with doleful eyes, curious and yearning but too shy to join in, always an observer, needing to be coaxed.

Now, though, the girl is an adult, a woman, and for her twenty-first Deepfrost she is determined to change her ways. She has loaded her pack with hearty breads and comes armed with these and the tea, a fur cloak pulled around her shoulders, her long tunic reaching to her boots. Her left arm is caught in a makeshift sling to protect the still healing muscle of her shoulder. The construction has begun, but it is a sorry affair; little of the festivity of a decade past remains, and presently the perch is little more than a great hole in the ground and some stone. Amalia eyes it skeptically, anxiety thrumming electric through her bones. Go home, get warm, it scolds her firmly. How could someone like you possibly help?

Amalia swallows this anxiety, burying it beneath stubborn determination, and makes her way toward a growing assembly dotted with comfortingly familiar faces. One in particular stands out, blonde and boyish and comfortingly close to an animal, which the girl is quick to draw beside and offer a hand to sniff. "Hi, Rory," Amalia greets, glancing from her refuge beside the horse and up to its owner before turning to face the others assembled. She knows one of them from that fateful night, an ascended, and her shoulder twinges with the memory of it all, the pain and wounds still fresh upon her skin. Quickly the girl turns from him, instead alighting on a vibrant young stranger with fiery hair.

A bittersweet nostalgia pierces Amalia: she might have been the girl's companion, in another world and a different time. She might have been bright and carefree, innocuous and curious. She glances back at the ascended, a careful smile tugging at her lips. Today, she can be friendly and open. Today, she can forget the trauma of yesterday and start anew. Today she can be like this pleasant child, the child she once was, and participate in tradition despite her injured arm and hollowed eyes and the anxiety that eats endlessly at her brain. "We're going to build the greatest perch in years," Amalia announces to everyone, "And perhaps this year the Spark Bird will grace us with his presence, Caido willing."

Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Preceptor / Monster Hunter

Age: 27 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 7 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 30
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#5
R O N I N


Sparkwhat?

Ronin had read the notices, he'd pet the luxere, he knew where to find food and fuel... but this was something else entirely. The guildmaster had been headed from his hall to the Rathskeller, in truth, hoping to haggle for some supplies for the coming LongNight, when he spotted the perch...ish. Sort of.

Actually it just looked like a jumble of nothing right but Rory, Amalia and Samuel were all gathered there - as natives to the place, he thought they might know what was going on.

In fact someone was already petitioning Rory - the only person Ronin didn't know, in fact - and he smiled as he sidled up next to Samuel, listening as Amalia's voice rang out to them.

"Well this certainly is exciting," he remarked, stamping some of the snow from his boots and burying his hands in his pockets. "Need a hand? It looks labour intensive to say the least."



Leatherworker

Age: 29 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 8
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#6
stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
He guessed that as long as the Spark Bird still appeared every ten-fifteen years, people stayed motivated to build its perch. You'd get to see it a couple of times in your lifetime, there was a reasonable certainty it'd come down—but now? With it not having been seen for over three decades? It was no wonder people had lost heart. Rory sighed and scratched Talys's forehead, mumbling nonsense to her about the fickle nature of mythical birds.

The first to approach him was a surprise. It was Sam, the shy bookmaker, a man Rory had absolutely zero reason to interact with ever, and whom he knew of only by reputation (and likely some common business associates, seeing as they both worked with leather). "Sam!" he greeted the other with pleasant surprise. "And it seems like I am, for lack of others. Your help would be most welcome. Perhaps—" But whatever he had meant to say was lost as a youthful voice cried out in greeting, and Rory fell silent, looking in the general direction of the call.

Ah—it was Melita, followed by one of those demon gourds. She seemed untroubled by it though, so Rory merely frowned at it, his attention instead moving to Amalia, who suddenly was on the other side of his horse. And what had she done to her arm? "Hello," he responded, allowing Melita to come closer; her eager questions answered by Amalia, and Rory smiled a little. The greatest perch? My, she was aiming high, but he had no problems with that.

Ronin was the last to complete their group, for now, and Rory laughed slightly at his comment. "Your help would be appreciated," he told the man. So: three Naturals, two Outlanders. Could they lay the foundations for a perch worthy of the bird?

Maybe. And in this particular endeavor, they couldn't exactly steal the reward as the assassin had done at the Festival of Light.

"But first, introductions. I'm Rory, and this is Amalia, Sam, Ronin, and, uh.. I don't think I caught your name?" he said, pointing to each in turn, Melita last. "And I figure we'd best start with getting the main pole up for the perch, but I think we need some slimmer logs to build supportive struts. Legend has it the bird is very large, and it'd be a bit of a bummer if it came down and then snapped, or felled, the perch... Amalia and Ronin, perhaps you could take Talys—" he pointed at the black pony, trusting Amalia more than Ronin, and also trusting the pony to just go home if they lost her "—and go find something for that? I think there's a logger's axe there somewhere. The rest of us can stay and try to work on getting the center pole up. Or?"

Rory normally wasn't one to take charge of things, but Sam was an unknown rumored to be terminally withdrawn, Amalia.. he didn't know how practical she was; Ronin and Melita were both outlanders, and though Ronin looked capable enough he had no real idea what they were trying to build.

So...

So Rory put forward his ideas and pretended he knew what he was talking about.



There's still one spot left, if anyone wants to join!

You're very welcome to take your own initiative with what to do, I don't know how to build a perch T_T Basically I think his plan is to build a T-shaped perch with the supports going from the ends of the top bar on the T to the bottom, so they'd be like a V, to help balance the top bar. Idk if we should maybe make an inverted V that balances it back/front as well? *beardstroke* (Yes this is Neo overthinking mythical bird perches since 2019)

Materials and tools on site: Shovels, heavy stones for supports, some thicker-ish logs (suitable for the perch), some rope, hammer, axe, nails - and probably other things I've forgotten about!
burn scars crawl up the left side of his neck and onto the lower left half of his face
Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Preceptor / Monster Hunter

Age: 27 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 7 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 30
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (ice breath)
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#7
R O N I N


Ronin smiled as Rory got all of their attention, drawn from his reverie in imagining what all of these supplies might eventually come together to look like. The guildmaster listened intently to the other man's instructions, nodding and approaching the supplies to find, as promised, a sturdy and sharp woodsman's axe.

Glancing to Amalia, he shot her a sunny grin and gave a half bow in greeting, recognising her from the Festival of Lights.

"Thank you for sharing your bread with me - I never got a chance to say it properly," he said. "Would you like to lead the pony? I can cut down any trees that look promising for this perch."



Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 6 - Strg: 26 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 26 - Luck: 23
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
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#8
 
M E L I T A


Her ignorance in the world was obvious and bewildering, but lords, was she ever willing to learn. Her head swam with nuances and notions as the other woman entered their party, told her of the greatest perch in years, of a Spark Bird sent to earth; and a youthful reverence, a delightful awe, crossed along her features. “Spark Bird,” she murmured, quiet, mostly to herself, trying to imagine a beast with great, grand wings, embers on its feathers, releasing a fervor of fire and warmth. Perhaps it was like a phoenix, born to die and resurrect again, blessing the grounds it flew over, a god of the skies and infernos, capable of casting down disaster or benedictions. She wanted to see it – and the fever spread through her soul, the need, the greedy, mercenary, yearning, yielded from those days spent in hell, spilling blood so she survived, so she could have what she craved (sanctuary, a haven, a place to breathe). The girl would assist; there was no question, no need to back away, to flee into the hills; all she’d need was guidance, and her strength, her perseverance, her steadfast valor would do the rest.

Of course, she’d rushed into things, her nature, her essence, and while she memorized the names and faces, fixtures and enigmas, she realized she hadn’t given her own. “I’m Melita!” The notes were singsong, strong, a persistent blend of upheaval and compassion. She reached over to her gourd companion, noting he’d always managed to garner attention (not even thinking about how they’d certainly all managed to bludgeon these creatures constantly for weeks at a time), and held him aloft for the gathered to see. “This is Fangorn!” To his credit, the eerie stare of the pumpkin didn’t linger on anyone for long, and sensing his discomfort, Melita pulled him back into the safety of her arms while Rory described their task.

Responding with her usual aplomb, the girl’s glance fixated on the logs, the larger of the few looking like it’d be capable of holding up other beams and bars, maneuvering towards it while Fangorn bounded and bounced behind her. “Maybe this one could be the center? And we could dig a hole to place it in?” The rocks could be supportive measures while they attempted to put other things together…but she didn’t want to take the lead, to already ruin a tradition she’d yet to see or understand.






Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 23 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 35 - Dext: 36 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 35
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#9

a m a l i a

Amalia nods at her introduction, glancing among those gathered as Rory names them all. Sam, of course, the Ascended already greeted (in a sense), and Ronin she recalls from the Festival of Lights. The young girl announces she is Melita, and lifts up another of those gourds, informing them that it is named Fangorn. Amalia regards the creature with interest - did she manage to tame one, somehow? - before it it put away, and the real work begins.

Rory is quick to assign roles for the makeshift group, and Amalia appreciates his leadership. It is a long time since she helped to build the Spark Bird perch, and in truth she would not know where to begin: the thing had always seemed to just appear, built by those more industrious than a sunny child with a slow smile. That she has been assigned to lead the pony is no small surprise, and really nothing short of an honor- Amalia may not know Rory well, but she has a healthy appreciation for how much he cares for his animals. Quietly delighted, she unties the creature, gripping tightly at Talys' lead as she falls in beside Ronin.

"Come to the bakery for a fresh loaf sometime." Amalia smiles as she follows Ronin, Talys patiently walking alongside. "We need to find support beams for the perch - the Spark Bird is quite big, according to texts." She gestures to some of the gathered logs, then winces as the movement pulls her bad shoulder and pain shoots down her back. "Maybe those? Maybe we should paint them!" Her grandmother used to love to paint the perch. It seems only appropriate - a pretty perch for a (supposedly) pretty bird.

Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller / Naturals Advisor

Age: 28 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 7 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 18
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#10
sam
So please please please, let me get what I want this time
Everyone set about doing things pretty quickly. Sam stood for a moment smiling wanly at those who greeted him and wondering what to do with his hands, feeling suddenly very useless. His instruction had appeared to be cut off by other's arrival, and he was rarely any good at picking up the initiative.

Some went off to find a pole, but he didn't feel comfortable enough going with them. Glancing towards Melita as she spoke, he picked up a shovel and after standing for a moment looking rather lost with it, he pushed it into the ground.

Whether or not this was actually a good location he wasn't sure, but it was better to be doing something rather than nothing. The frozen earth was harder than he had expected but with a stomp of his foot on the shovel and some determination he began to make a dent. "This...ha. This is harder than it looks." He commented with a laugh.
Remi Taliesin
the Alchemist
Governor of Torchline / Alchemist
Portal Guardian
Age: 24 | Height: 5'11 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 2 - Strg: 40 - Dext: 40 - Endr: 43 - Luck: 38
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#11
Remi the Alchemist
"these mountains that you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb"
Remi knew everyone present (well, saying he knew Amalia was a stretch, but given where he'd encountered her before—the strange shrine incident  and the fire in the library—they were certainly more than just passing acquaintances at this point), but certainly he didn't expect to see them all here together.

With his hands mittened in his pockets, Remi flashed Ronin a bright smile, nodding both to Melita and Amalia, and smiling softly towards Sam. Catching the tail end of what Rory was saying, the alchemist walked towards his friend with his arresting blue eyes, and offered him a lopsided smile. "I can help move the earth if you like?" He said, glancing to where Sam was stomping his feet at the lack of progress his shovel was making.

As Rory indicated that yes, he should, Remi smiled and nodded. He wasn't entirely sure where this ability had come from, nor had he tested its limits completely. What he knew for certain though, was that moving the earth would be an easy, if not magically-fatiguing task. Walking towards Sam, he grinned at the ascended and his shovel. "Want a hand?" He asked with a wink. Using his hands—he'd probably never truly understand the fact that his magic did not actually require physical motions to work—Remi began to scoop out the earth, depositing it on the side of the street in one of the abandoned lots. With a glance towards Rory to confirm just how deep he should go, the alchemist worked at creating as even of a hole as he could.


Leatherworker

Age: 29 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 8
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#12
stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
Melita the girl declared, and Rory found himself thinking it was dumb Wessex had scorned her, for.. what reason? Perhaps she was too fiery for Wessex but damn, the other woman could've adopted her and no one would've thought she wasn't her mom. There was a strength to her character he'd only ever really found in Wessex before, a sort of fire untamed.

Turned out the gourd had a name. Rory raised an eyebrow but it was less judging, more.. curious. He tucked the information away for later, laying out his suggestions for what to do, and.. being infinitely surprised that no one was opposed them? Did he really sound that reasonable?

He felt a little confused as he watched Amalia untie Talys and lead her away, taking Ronin with her; Sam went for the shovels (and momentarily looking at it like he had no idea what to do with it, which was kind of cute) while Melita, little Fangorn in tow, inspected what they had to work with.

"That sounds like a good idea," he told Melita, drifting a little closer, thinking about going for the shovels to help Sam out. Once they had a hole he could hitch the center log Melita had picked out to Esaia, the gray pony, and tug it into an appropriate position...

But first things first, and that meant Remi, apparently. Again, his heart did something strange and complicated he'd rather it didn't, but he seemed to have little say in it, responding with a bright smile and a cheerful "Remi!". "I can help move the earth if you like?" the alchemist said, and Rory thought that was a very archaic way to say do you want my help in shoveling frozen dirt?. "Please," he said, still not understanding what Remi was going to do.

Rory even had his hands on a shovel, finding it very strange that Remi had gone to Sam's fledgling efforts without one, when.. the alchemist began to.. scoop with his hands—in the air—and the frozen soil sort of .. came apart .. and floated away... And Rory felt something akin to weren't you supposed to be Attuned, what is this magic frippery you're doing?. Earth manipulation was not unheard of at all, and come to think about it, a much easier way to dig a hole in Deepfrost. He just hadn't expected Remi to be able to do it.

"Well then, let's get that log over there," he said as Remi worked, getting Esaia and parking her by the log so they could wrap the ropes around it and be able to haul it to the hole.



There are several suitable trees on the outskirts of town for Amalia and Ronin to choose from

Remi has made a good hole! Time to get that center log in place~ You're welcome to assume things like "ok we get it secured behind the pony and Rory leads the pony to the hole so we can get the log by it" and things like that. :)
burn scars crawl up the left side of his neck and onto the lower left half of his face
Ronin Taliesin
the Dark Star
Preceptor / Monster Hunter

Age: 27 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 7 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 28 - Endr: 29 - Luck: 30
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (ice breath)
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#13
R O N I N


"Thank you - maybe I just might." Ronin grinned across at Amalia, only sad that he couldn't offer something similar in return. But if ever there was a monster that needed hunting or was causing trouble for her, he would of course do everything that he could. His gaze drifted to the logs as they passed them, his smile warming further at the suggestion that they paint them.

"That's a good idea," he remarked, slowing his steps only as they arrived at what looked like a good spot to chop down some trees for support beams for the perch. "Do you have any paints, though? I haven't seen much in the way of things like that, other than charcoal." But then some of the lanterns at the festival had been very colourful, so perhaps Ronin hadn't been looking in the right places.

He motioned for her to slow with the pony, approaching a cluster of the slender trees and hoisting the axe over his shoulder. He began to strike at the first one, a small frown of concentration on his face, though he still caught her wince as she moved. "Is everything alright?" he asked.



Remi Taliesin
the Alchemist
Governor of Torchline / Alchemist
Portal Guardian
Age: 24 | Height: 5'11 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 2 - Strg: 40 - Dext: 40 - Endr: 43 - Luck: 38
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#14
Remi the Alchemist
"these mountains that you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb"
Too many hands would likely make the centre portion of the perch unstable, so Remi stood back while the others helped direct it. Every now and then though, he'd reach out with his telekinesis to help stabilize if it was warranted, but otherwise he tried not to interfere too terribly much. The alchemist was used to working with small and finicky sorts of devices, not large and lumbering ones. Still, he wanted to help Rory with...whatever this was meant to do.

"Bakshi stayed home today?" Remi said with a sunny smile and spark of mischief in his eyes as he glanced towards Rory. It wasn't hard to see why - the mare appeared significantly younger and much more capable than her bay counterpart. Even so, it was strange to see Rory without the nosey-pony at his side.

As the team began to lower the wood into the hole he'd made, Remi would use his magic to scoop the earth back around the base to give it a solid circumference of support to hopefully keep it upright.




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