Difference between revisions of "Power of the Ancestors"

Latest revision as of 14:29, 25 June 2013

Zia has posed:
Atlantis. The myths don't really seem to do justice to the real thing. While many might have expected a water-logged set of ruins, there is a bustle of all sorts of life here. Strange dragon-like creatures creel from high perches. People in simple clothes move through stone streets. There are some signs of decay - fallen pillars or temples - but for the most part, the metropolis still seems to thrive here in the land below, lit by the lava that surrounds it.

Strangely, there are many similarities to the people who live here. All of them have white hair, the lines of blue tattoos on their skin, and the pale glowing crystals that look so much like the broken one they have come to fix. The people of the city are wary, but welcoming enough. Yet, for many of those that had come down here, there is a feeling of being watched. The only news they had been given by their guide is that: "The Gorlois will find you. They can help."

So, it became a bit of a waiting game. Restless, Zia had decided to head out into the city, hoping to maybe find some information about Percival's sword, which of course meant that the young gargoyle would get politely asked (read as: dragged) along. So far, attempts to find out about the sword have mostly come up empty, though. The people here seem as clueless about their own language as they are. As they walk through the streets, there's a vendor selling small lobster looking creatures, which try to snap at passing tails. "Ah wonder if tha's really edible." Zia comments, looking over her shoulder as they pass, tucking her tail in. The people here don't seem alarmed by them, which is certainly a bit odd.

What Percival's knight-senses might pick up on, though, is that not only are they being watched - they're being followed. A form in a cloak has been tailing them since not long after they'd come into the marketplace. It has a tendency to tuck into alleyways, or pretend to be shopping anytime either of them look back.

Percival has posed:
Atlantis.

The myths, tales, and depictions really didn't do it justice. Nothing was close to the reality of this place. The sights and sounds, the hustle and bustle... the strange culture which they'd been exposed to at a lightning pace over the past day or so of exploration and guidance throughout the city.

At first he'd tried to mimic their strange language to the best of his ability, to make an attempt at learning it, but eventually he gave up. He wasn't exactly a linguist here. But when Zia /politely/ asked, he submitted to being dragged around the city without any sort of complaint. He was interested on the /Gorlois/ that would find them. He did rather like it that the two weren't actually considered the /strangest/ things in the ecclectic city despite being from the same world of Manhatten. In fact they were accepted, which gave him further suspicions as to what the Gorlois were like. The waiting game continued to be accepted without complaint.

Knight sense /tingling/!

The Gargoyle would step forward towards the street vendor, making a show of trying to purchase one of the small crustaceans for Zia to sample.. only to be trying to figure out what sort of currency they used, if any at all and how to communicate that in their language. It had him scratching his head.

After a moment, he leaned over to Zia, and murmured. "We're being followed. Though I don't think whatever it is means us any harm. Let's just..walk into a secluded place and see what happens."

Zia has posed:
Unfortunately, mages don't have magical 'knight sense', so at first, Zia seems oblivious to the fact that they're being followed. "Ye notice how there isnae anyone lookin at strangely." She whispers in a quiet tone, following the other gargoyle as he draws closer to the lobstrocity vendor. It snaps towards her, and her tail tucks back again. "Ah usually try nae te eat anythin tha can eat me back."

She seems a little skeptical about purchasing one, but the older woman just offers them both a smile. This old lady is somehow able to wrangle an entire basket of the things without being nipped at. She doesn't have any problem explaining - in English - about how to subdue the creatures, which seems to involve a Vulcan neck-bite which causes it to go limp. The woman goes on to explain the name of the creature, and offers it to them for free as 'honored guests'.

Zia just takes it, holding it out by one claw, waggling it uncertainly. That is when Percival murmurs about someone following them. She blinks. "Aye?" And then does exactly what you'd expect. She looks, and coincidently doesn't see anyone of note, probably because people in dark cloaks don't stand out in her mind, not after traveling the World of Ruin for a while. "Sounds like a plan. Somethin interestin te do other than gawk at the architecture and get clawed at by the food." Just as she says it, a lobster-thing reaches out to snap at Percival's tail.

For her part, Zia just shoves the one she'd been given into her bag, although one claw dangles out oddly, hanging loosely like a strange keychain. Luckily, the two gargoyles don't have to go too far to find a secluded spot. The marketplace empties into what must have been a grand temple, but now looks like it has been overgrown with plantlife that weaves in and out between fallen columns. "So, wha do ye think they want?" She asks.

"What I want, is to get a look at these outsiders for myself." A male voice sounds behind them. There's cloak-guy, stepping forward and removing his hood. What lies beneath is a gargoyle with angular features and a short set of horns that line his forehead. White hair slicks back from slightly darker skin which seems almost an olive green. "So it is true that our kind survived the floods and still live on the surface."

Percival has posed:
Hey at least it's not /DETECTIVE VISION/. If that had rubbed off on him then he'd know for a fact that he'd spent too much time around Legion.

He's a tad suprised when the older woman offers them the little lobster like creature for free as honored guests. He tries to follow how exactly to subdue the creatures, but doesn't seem to understand the method. Also because he's afraid that if he pinched the thing, he'd probably spear it on his talons... which doesn't seem like a bad idea since it just tried to pinch his tail after he offered it to Zia. His tail snaps out of the way in a pendulum manner, ranging to the left, then comes back to the right at greater speed, offering the unruly creature a light swat, before the tail returns to prevent it from pinching him, yet again. "Never eaten lobster or in this case, pseudo-lobster before have you?"

He offers her a grin, "One day I'll have to remedy that. Here's the secret, slather it in enough butter and you don't even mind the screaming during preparation." His grin becomes a bit secretive at that, like he's in on some sort of a joke, as she puts it away in her bag.

They didn't have to go far to reach that secluded spot, as they reached the overgrown temple, and he crosses his arms and leans against one of the pillars, his voice sort of rumbling within his throat, "Likely because.. we're the first two Gargoyles they've encountered since this city sank..."

His ruminations on the topic were cut short by the appearance of the Gargoyle from behind them. He'd slowly move away from the pillar, before regarding the cloaked Gargoyle with an introspective look, as he removed his hood. After a short time, he'd just nod to him, "There are, though not so many as there likely once were during the.. floods, you say? Is that what brought Atlantis into this realm?"

He'd look sidelong to Zia, before regarding the Gargoyle with a friendlier look, "But where are my manners? My name is Percival, and this is Zia. We're... one of the few survivors of our kind which are left on the surface after the Heartless consumed our world."

Zia has posed:
The white gargoyle looks over at him as they walk, looking down at the crustacean in her bag and finally tucking that last pincer away before her eyes find Percival again. "Do ye really think people would go aboot throwin lobster away in the trash?" Though she's put on some weight and actually looks vaguely healthy these days, it wasn't that long ago that Zia lived mostly out of fishing food out of dumpsters and hanging around allyways waiting for the food that couldn't be sold to be left out for the vagrants.

"Yer just tryin te tease me." She waggles a talon at Percival, just in time to be interrupted by the stranger. It will remain a mystery until later. Clearly, they are not the first gargoyles the people of Atlantis have encountered, although these ones seem as if they are part of the atmosphere. The same white hair, the same pendants, the same general dress.

The male inclines his head slightly, webbed ears dipping as he accepts their introductions. "Few remember what caused the cataclysm, but from what the stories the elders tell, there was a bright light, and then the city sank beneath the waves. We've been here ever since. My rookery siblings and I were born here. Although..." He chuckles to himself, "That was a long time ago." He doesn't look much older than Percival, but hadn't Zia said something about longevity being one of the powers of the crystal.

"We have seen the Heartless on our patrols in the caves, but thus far they've stayed beyond our boarders. I am Rokalesh Telanishkin."

It's Zia who interrupts then. She has trouble enough with short names, much less letter-spaghetti ones, "Do ye happen to have a nickname?"

"Telan, if you'd prefer." He tilts his head, "Your way of speaking is strange, but I suppose much could have changed in the surface world." He looks at them both then, "But at least what I heard from the guards was true. A male who carries one of the old swords, and a female with one a crystal. Certainly a strange pair."

Percival has posed:
"It would make for an interesting day for whoever performs waste management for the city." Not that he'd seen many waste receptacles anyhow, the city was very /clean/ despite its ancient appearance. He wondered how they dealt with that inwardly. He'd give her a guileless look, pointing a talon at himself as if to say, /Who, me? Of course I'm not trying to tease you.../ even though he most certainly was.

When the male arrived, he listened to the story with interest, his own fin like ears perking up as he enjoyed the little hint of the history of the place. "How long ago was it, and how many of you are left if you don't mind me prying?"

He listens to the reciprocated introduction, before giving Zia a sidelong glance, as he arches one bony protrusion on his brow, he didn't have much of a problem with the word salad names, but he takes it in stride nevertheless, "It's a pleasure, Telan. And yes... much has changed on the surface. Not everything for the better..." He'd unsheathe the sword, holding it towards the other Gargoyle with it's hilt out. He trusted his own kind very much, to act trustworthy and honorable. "....This sword was given to me by Zia here, it has been passed on through her... family line, for some time."

Zia has posed:
Unfooled by Percival's feigned innocence, Zia focuses her attention instead on the strange gargoyle. As with any breed of gargoyles, there are subtle differences between him and some of those they are aware of on the surface. The fact that he doesn't have the well defined brow-ridge much like Zia does suggest some sort of connection, even if she's had generations of other blood mixed in to dilute it.

"I'm afraid we've lost track of time down here. There's no day, or night, but I think it's been a very long time." Telan explains, stepping closer to them. "My clan is made up of about twenty individuals, with a few young ones still growing. Not as many as we once had, but many died in the cataclysm, and others were separated by the waters. I was one those born not long after our city was lost here." Which would make him some... 8000+ years old, and he doesn't look a day over fourty.

As the sword is offered out, the male takes it, sliding it free and examining the blade with a practiced ease. "I see it's seen good care, at least. There weren't many of these made." His eyes look from Percival to Zia, "That would perhaps explain the crystal you wear, as well." He flips the blade, then offers it back out to Percival. Afterwards, he uses one hand to move the cloak, revealing a similar blade of his own. This one is in a lighter colored scabbard, but when he unsheaths it, it's clear that they were made by the same hands.

"I'm afraid I'm not very knowledgeable about the crystals, dear lady, but my rookery sister will seek you out soon enough. She may have a way of repairing it. As for you." He aims the blade at Percival. "Do you know the power within the blade you hold? It is no mere weapon. I wonder if you have it in you to wield it..."

At this point, Zia looks at her crystal, then at Percival, then at Telan, and back again. Uh oh, impending man-challenge.

Percival has posed:
Percival raises a talon as if to respond to that whole statement, and then lowers it slowly, as he glanced between Zia, and the man, then pointedly at each of their crystals, in wonder... EIGHT THOUSAND YEARS OLD? It took his mind a long time to wrap his head around that concept.

"I can imagine after living so long that... you don't keep track of the time, quite the same as we do anyhow."

He would watch the man take the blade, flip it around, and examine it. He didn't seem tense at all as he did so, trusting that he'd take good care of it, after all... he just showed that he had a similar blade of his own. He'd take the blade back, and was about to return it to his sheath, as Telan continued, pointing the blade to him in challenge..

As the Gargoyle asked him about whether he knew about the power the blade holds, he'd look.. suprised, as he hadn't sensed any sort of power within them at all. After all, he had the magical ability of a soggy cheese sandwich. He answers very honestly, "I know nothing about the blade, other than it is very precious to Zia, who is like a rookery sister to me, despite being born apart. She's entrusted it to me, so if such power dwells within, then it would be remiss of me not to learn of it.."

There's no male swagger in him as he levels the blade at a low guard, just waiting to see what the fellow Gargoyle would do. His wings remained furled, his tail moved in an easy cadence.. he had no idea what to expect, and that made him.. wary, more than eager to do battle with him.

Zia has posed:
The fact that the young gargoyle before them is probably millenia old is a bit of a daunting thought. She knew that the crystals allowed some measure of longevity, but /that/ much? It's hard to even imagine that, but clearly people were living just fine with those kind of lifespans. While Zia might not know the exact date that Atlantis sunk beneath the sea, she has at least a good idea. "Well, quite some time has passed on the surface since ye 'n yer people came down here."

"I can imagine." Telan replies, "Seeing some of your friends, I imagine that the world is a quite different place from what the elders remember." His own tail flips once, taloned fingers removing the cloak and letting it drop. Clearly, this old ruin served well enough as a battle arena, complete a high ceiling for those who fought with wings. It's the sort of thing you don't notice at first, but there are clawmarks here and there, from years of such matches.

For Zia, the only logical thought is to back off and watch, giving them the chance to test one another. If nothing else, it would also give her a chance to observe two fighters of some measure of skill close up.

"These blades were forged by one of the finest craftsmen to live in Atlantis. Alas, his gift was lost to the waves and ravages of time. But there are a few of us who still keep them. It is considered a mark of the high guard among our kind." The olive-skinned gargoyle shifts, the blue tattoos that grace his skin looking foreign and fierce in the low light of this abandoned place. "Let's see if you can defend yourself against it, first. Then we'll test your sword skills."

Telan is clearly an experienced fighter, with a strong upper body and an ease with his own blade that comes from many years of practice. He drops back into a stable stance, tail lashing, and then holds the sword back. His movement isn't one of a person about to rush in. It seems... strange. Instead, the tall male pushes off, spins in mid air, sweeps the blade in an arc, and lands again, bringing it down onto the ground. Just at the arc of the movement, a flash of blue energy lashes out from the sword, sweeping in a strait line towars Percival. Is this the power of the sword?

Percival has posed:
"Maybe we'll have the oppurtunity to show you, what remains... some day." After all, there wasn't much of their world left... just Manhatten. He wondered how the Atlantean Gargoyles would adjust to the humans that didn't know that their kind existed, much less accepted them when they did.

The Gargoyle weighs the stance of the older Gargoyle, and measures him. Eight thousand years.. it gave him a wide breadth of practical experience that he'd be a fool to underestimate him. "Thankfully, I have never lightly considered the gift that has been bestowed upon me...and have tried to wield it with honor." The russet skinned Gargoyle allowed himself to crouch into a lower stance, crooking his shield onto his left arm. He then, waits. And waits longer. /Defend himself against it/? He thinks. What exactly is he about to show me?

Telan doesn't disappoint, he was obviously the sort of experienced warrior that the far younger Gargoyle could respect, and despite his far more lithe build, he only takes half a step back as the Gargoyle comes towards him. But... he doesn't rush in. Instead he sweeps the blade in an arc, and into the ground, unleashing a straight shockwave of blue energy towards the Gargoyle.

Normally he'd dodge, but he wondered if this was part of the test, to /defend/ against it. And so, he allows his talons to grip the rocky earth, and he sets himself into an even lower stance, with his the point of his shield touching the ground as a sort of last line of defense before it'd strike him. And then he snaps the blade out, swinging it towards the line of energy experimentally, in an attempt to parry the incoming onslaught which he had no knowledge of.

Zia has posed:
Once in his stance, the guardian doesn't seem that interested in the upper world, he's far more interested in the fighting skills of this gargoyle across from him. "The sword is a gift, but the friendship of another is a greater one. It is why we protect the humans here. This is our place as much as theirs." This is explained before that subtle shift of movement and the strange attack of blue-energy. Talen seems not unlike many gargoyles on the surface - some things never chance.

He lifts his head just in time to see Percival deflect the energy away. It slams into a nearby stone, but only leaves a dark smudge of ash on the surface. "You're quick, and brave. Most who have never seen that sort of power don't know how to handle it."

Seeing the strange gargoyle able to use some sort of force through the weapon reminds Zia of what Skoll had told her about channeling magic. "We've seen tha sorta magic b'fore. 'N others ye cannae imagine."

This seems to amuse Telan, who chuckles to himself. "I would very much like to see other sorts of magic, but I'm afraid my place is here, so long as my people remain." He pushes himself up from the more elaborate display. "But perhaps I can teach you enough that you can carry our skills to the outside world. Your sword has this power, you just need to learn to call upon it. If you focus your strength, you can do amazing things."

This time, as Telan comes forward, he doesn't use any of the magical special effects. This is a flurry of blows, one after another, trying to test where there are gaps in the younger gargoyle's training. He's quite skilled, but he's also holding back. This isn't a fight to the death. Even if an opening does appear, he only swaps to the flat end of his sword to teach the lesson, rather than to injure.

"Do ye... know of any among yer kind tha do other sorts of magic?" Zia asks, which doesn't seem to distract the Atlantean fighter at all. "My rookery sister knows a bit. I'm sure she'll be interested in meeting you." He leaves it at that, the sentence heavy with unsaid meaning.

Percival has posed:
"I'm glad to see that the old ways are still present in more clans... many clans on the surface have abandoned such traditions, because... the humans are not as they once were, they hate and fear us more than ever... though with the fall of our world, that is changing.." Thoughts of his meeting with Demona still tainted his perceptions, just a little. She was a thousand years of hatred bundled up in such a small form. Yet here was one of eight thousand years of honor, nobility, and tradition. He was happy to see that.

He is actually very surprised when he deflects the blue energy away with very little effort, personally he blames it on the sword rather than any sort of personal skill, it was obviously a very special blade. He lifts it up, experimentally, as he tilts it sideways, perhaps expecting to see something /different/ about it as a result. He doesn't respond to the compliments, other than to offer a nod, perhaps just because he was afraid that offering a self-depreciating comment might color his perceptions

"Some of those who came with us, can show you other sorts of magic. There are many kinds of magic in the surface world now, more than we could have possibly imagined. Each different, each wondrous... in their own ways."

There is only a very short pause, before he veritably blurts out, with more enthusiasm than he intended, "I would.. like that. It's.. becoming more and more necessary, given the threats we are often forced to face on the surface, now."

He doesn't have much more time to explain, because Telan comes at him. He shifts his foot fractionally, and just accepts the flurry in stride, with a clash of steel upon steel, a grinding of metal upon metal, and an echoing clamor as each blow rings out against each other. He snaps the blade out, and at times offers a riposte, but for the most part, he's on the defensive. He knows that the other Gargoyle's skill is greater, and he respects that by not seeming too reckless, or eager.

At times, he'd allow it to clash upon his shield, experimentally, to see if the other Gargoyle's fighting style would do greater damage to the more mundane metal of the padded heater shield. Often he allows himself to be beaten back a step or more, just to test the more experienced warrior's strength. "I think I'd like to meet all of you.. and maybe, even though we'll have to return to the surface sometime, that we might partake of your hospitality again in the future. For my part, you can call upon me, any time that your clan requires aid against the threats of the deep or the Heartless alike."

Zia has posed:
"We are an ancient people, we're bound to be a bit stuck in our old ways." Telan rumbles, his white hair swaying behind him as he moves through the motions of combat. The two swords seem well matched to one another, but the metal is strong enough not to leave the slightest dent in either. Perhaps he had been right, and these were made of some mythical material now lost.

"The lad is right, though. There's humans on the surface-world who dinnae take kindly te anythin nae of their own." Zia explains as she leans back, propping herself on a bit of ruined column.

"Humans have always been afraid of what they don't understand." The olive male replies, deciding to step back and give Percival a chance to show his own skill. While he bears no shield, he seems capable of being able to defend himself with sword alone. "Even in our time, other peoples wanted what we had here. We had generations of great Kings, amazing power, and peace. Yet, obviously, not everything was ideal. Bad things still happen even in the best of places."

"Tha's one way of puttin it. Then again, if ye havenae seen the true ravages of the Heartless, yer lucky." He pauses then, glancing over at Zia. "We did have a strange time not long ago. No one really remembers much about it, but it was like... we all ahd the same nightmare." Oh yes, while it seems like he's distracted, Telan probably does one of those frustrating things where he parries while looking the completely opposite direction.

This is the point where Zia looks over at Percival, obviously wondering if he's thinking what she's thinking.

In either case, Telan grips his sword, showing off the symbols on the flat of the blade. "These are forged with the same magic as those of the crystal. The spirits of our ancestors, perhaps yours as well. It has the strength of all that came before you." It sounds somewhat like the sort of nonsense you would hear in a tribal culture, but perhaps they aren't far from that, in truth. "Your will can call upon that power. Try. Focus your mind on those who came before. Those gone who you cared for. They become your blade. Find them in your heart, and STRIKE."

At the very least, he makes for an enthusiastic teacher.

Percival has posed:
"That isn't a criticism, my clan itself still adheres to the old ways..." He continues to go through the motions himself, as he speaks, a parry of ringing steel(?) upon steel(?), the clarion call of battle, even in a sparring match. "....I'm just very aware of what the world has become, once we were no longer visible to the public eye."

"...Sounds very much like what my clan had to go through. One sovereign after another, and on occasion they became spoiled, or cared little for the treaties and alliances of the past. There were falling outs, times where we had to go into hiding once again. Times when we fought.." Since the Gargoyle has stopped pressing him on his own. He decides that it was like that Telan wanted to see him go on the offensive. And so he obliged him. He stepped into his guard, turning sideways, shifting from a high guard, to a low guard, bringing the blade from one hand to the other. Improvising as he allowed the rhythm of battle to carry him wherever it felt it had to go. He snapped the blade out in various feints and movements to test /how/ the more experienced warrior would defend, but he didn't press his luck too far. He'd had too much experience with the elder warriors in his clan punishing him like he was an unruly hatchling and disarming him with a quick movement, or with something as mundane as a punch to the gut. Above all, he showed respect to Telan with how he fought him.

Percival catches that look, and perhaps... just maybe, he's thinking the same thing as Zia, they'd have to discuss it later.

As they disengaged, and Telan attempted to teach him how to /unleash/ whatever was in the blade, he listened with all due respect. Actually the Gargoyle didn't find it all that tribal at all. His own faith and spirtuality would be called /at best/ a bastardization of Christianity and various pagan beliefs and cultures. Respect to the spirits of the ancestors that had gone before him factored heavily into that. And so he jue listened, and listened longer, and focused.

It was very easy for him to pick exactly /whom/ that came before him to focus upon.

He focused on that one individual, whom he cared about.... pretended somewhere in his mind that she was in fact, a part of him, through the blade wielded, and the memories that came before... and then he struck out with the blade experimentally in a direction that he felt would do no harm to the structures or any else present. He had absolutely no idea what would happen...

Zia has posed:
"The leaders of the people of Atlantis were always kind to us. The same can't be said for others outside of the island." Telan goes on to explain, "The wars of humans have a tendency to become our wars." Since humans and Gargoyles share the same world, it's hard for one not to be dragged into the affairs of the other, especially with humans being far more previlent. "Our current king is old, but he rules justly, and has since before the time of the cataclysm. My clan still places his trust with him and with the ancestors."

Where Percival has a very trained style of using his weapon, the older gargoyle seems to flow from one movement to the next. There are small gaps in his defenses, but they are quickly closed before they can be used as weaknesses. Clearly, different cultures and backgrounds, but both are practiced fighters. "Watch the tail, it's getting ahead of you now and again. You don't want to choreograph your movements." He points out.

Zia watches the exchange of blows back and forth, trying to memorize the way that their stances move and how they react to one another, but she doesn't interrupt the lesson. Getting to watch is enough. It isn't often she gets to see two evenly matched fighters. "Do all of yer clan learn te fight like this?" She asks, her own tail twitching.

"To some extent." Telan quips back, his white hair flashing as he parrys one of the more clever of Percival's attacks, the blade barely missing his shoulder. "Only a few get the ancestral swords, but we all learn at some point. Others choose to keep our stories. With our writing forgotten, it's an important task."

"How could ye forget yer own writin'?"

The olive gargoyle holds up a hand to pause, allowing Percival time to gather his own thoughts and find his focus. "The scribes held most of that knowledge, and many of them perished with it. Those who survived, guarded it to their death beds, and such is a great loss to our people."

Both watch as Percival wields the blade, but only Zia has some idea of just who might be in his mind. The result is not quite as stunning as Telan's demonstration, but there is a flash of blue that sweeps out from the blade, passing a few feet of stone, before it vanishes. "Not a bad start. It'll take practice, though, and that's only the half of what that blade can do." A wry smile passes his features, reaching to clap Percival on the shoulder, "Some of that, you'll have to figure out on your own, though. That's the trial of any keeper of the blade."

Percival has posed:
"Much as it once was.. except, as far as I'm aware not many clans get involved in human affairs any longer." Except his own, but that was a different story. Percival listens to the advice of the elder fighter, and tries to tuck back his tail, not allowing it's subtle twitch to give anyone a premonition of how he's going to attack. At times he does something different, like switch sword hands, or guards. Stances. He doesn't flow as well from one to the next, perhaps due to a difference in battle experience.

He feints, and nearly strikes Telan on the shoulder as he speaks of their tales, stories, and scribes. "So you hold to mostly oral traditions now?" He locks his blade briefly at the guard, "I'd like to hear some of your tales while we're down here. Mayhaps we could pass some of them along once we're back on the surface..."

When he calls forth the blue energy shockwave, he seems just as surprised as anyone. Telan claps him on the shoulder, and he nods, "Well I'd be honored to learn whatever you are able to teach me while I'm down here.."

Zia has posed:
"Yes." Telan shifts his weight a little, taking his own sword and sheathing it back at his side. "It's one of the many things we've lost here over the years, and we're worse for it. If you can't remember the mistakes of the past, what is to keep you from revisiting them?" He then offers a small, wry smile towards the white gargoyle, noting the way that she watches them. Perhaps Percival isn't the only one in need of some training. Alas, there is only the one sword, and best he make the effort to at least begin Percival's journey towards understanding it.

"I believe that an introduction to the guards is in order for you, young Percival. I'm sure they can show you things about these swords that you could never imagine." Telan chuckles to himself, clapping the squire on the shoulder, then casts a glance in Zia's direction. "I also believe there's a wolf who's being harassed by a horde of children near the pond. Perhaps you should go check on that?" Clearly, Telan is encouraging her to get a move on so that she can be seen to by other members of the clan.

Yet, Zia hesitates for a moment, hopping down from her place and walking over. "Just dinnae get yerself recruited. We've got te go back home sooner or later." The threats to the worlds always linger, some closer than others. Mostly, it's just the white gargoyle making sure that he'll be okay on his own in this strange city. Not that she doubts any of that, but things for Percival hadn't been easy lately, and she'd been trying to fill the 'sister' role by being there. "Ye mind if Ah go see te the wolf?"

Percival has posed:
The Gargoyle sucks in a breath. Those particular memories had some very sharp edges to them.. his response was like a low rumble out of his throat, though his words were very soft, "....some would say they are doomed to repeat them."

He inclines his head thoughtfully as Telan makes the offer for him to meet the remainder of the guards. "I would be honored to make all of their acquaintances.." ...after all, there are so few of us left. Meeting others of his kind really was a distinct pleasure. His expression tugs with a little bit of whimsy as he looks towards Zia, "...Harassed is it? Well you'd best go rescue him from the wrath of the playful children."

He waggles a talon at Zia, "I won't forget my obligations on the surface..." .....though you can't fault him for hoping that this place would one day become a third, or is it fourth home for the Gargoyles present. "Go on now.. he needs rescuing from the wee children before they introduce him to the horror of piggyback rides."

Zia has posed:
So, with a nod, Zia heads off to go rescue Skoll and deal with her own encounter with the gargoyles of Atlantis. Percival is left to Telan. He'd soon find out that there are two more swords, but that those four are the only ones that remain. For now, they remain in capable hands, but as Telan would go on to explain - each of them has a different sort of power within. Though the 'basics' are the same, Percival would have to figure out just how to use it on his own. That, is another of those things lost to the years. That is the start of a journey all it's own.