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"I am *the* Celeste," the mouse replies, though without any great hint of reproach.  "An' Alba's me cousin, an' sumun very dear ter me.  ...Put her name in me heart," she adds, as if... that were meant to explain... something.  Well.  The mouse shrugs her shoulders lightly, and tilts her gaze to face Eleven.  "Us'ly a doodlebug is a... well... bug," she replies, "But *the* Doodlebug is'a Airship, b'longin' ter a moogle named Cap'n Leetle.  Me'n Alba's part'a th'crew, an' Daivat, me other cousin."  She turns her gaze back to Silmeria, and sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping a little.  "Ain't never lost no fight b'fore," she replies, her voice losing a notch of her usual fire.  "Not nuthin' what mattered, anyhow.  An' now summun' else's payin'a price.  I ain' like it t'all."


Eleven leans in close to the ball and gives the chisel one more tap *tink* causing the ball to crack down the middle, breaking in half. "I did not expect that, this ball was not as durable as I thought. I will need more stone for the lantern." The tools and ball halves are put back in the toolbox and it stands, walking away without another 

Eleven has disconnected.


"I'm... truly sorry, Celeste," Silmeria murmurs, waving in farewell as Eleven turns to lumber away.  "It's a hard thing, to lose a battle... harder still, when it's not been learned that not every battle *can* be won, and that sometimes victory carries its own costs..."


With the witching hour passed, and of course someone is left sleepless in the wake of events.  Agrin's pace is painfully slow, irritably waving off one of his guards as he limps along, heavily supported by his cane.  His brows are drawn down in deep thought.


Celeste sighs, and shrugs her shoulders.  "Bound ter happen sooner'r later," she replies, clearly feeling... deflated.  She looks up, and watche as first Talen, and then Eleven make their exit.  "Jes' bugs me," she reiterates.  And then, there comes that tap of the cane; the warrior looks over her shoulder to observe the approaching Agrin, and moves to stand beside Silmeria, facing the man as he approaches.  "Up an'bout I see," she observes, maintaining a pleasant tone of voice as the man draws nearer.


"I don't doubt it," Silmeria says, clearly understanding the warrior's stance.  She seems about to say more, but Agrin's arrival galvanizes her attention.  "My lord!" she calls, pushing herself up from the steps of the Cathedral of Alexander, and hurrying toward the noble's guard.  "I just heard!  Oh I'm *so sorry,* my lord, is there anything I can help with?  Do you need a healer?"


Agrin shuffles to a stop, gaze still concentrating on taking step by step before he moves to unceremoniously sit on the steps of the Temple.  "I'll be fine, priestess.  Up against the healer's wishes anyways," he says, normally smooth voice sounding etched with pain.  "And against my guards' wishes," he adds.  "I came to see if you had fared well against the attack, Priestess."


Celeste hmmms, and her ears perk up.  For the second time in as many days, the mouse warrior has nothing flippant or accidentally abrasive to say.  In fact, right at this moment, she has nothing to say at all; she merely brushes her fingertips through her hair, and lets the conversation unfold without her input, for the moment.


"Well enough," the priestess says quietly, glancing at Celeste and patting the warrior's forearm.  "I'd only heard the explosions over the Promenade, the Temple was.... well.  Busy.  About as much so, as when the Ashe Road fell, I'd imagine... Celeste *just* told me what happened, my lord... Truly, I'm more concerned for you both than myself at the moment."


"Once a cripple, always a cripple.  Just varying degrees of such," Agrin says, a hint of sourness in his voice.  "I'm more worried for Masha.  My assumption is my brother has her as his 'guest'."  His gaze looks to Celeste, studying the woman briefly before looking to Silmeria.  "If the Temple needs money for supplies, please let me know."


Celeste finds herself feeling distinctly awkward, here in this conversation.  Why can't she just fight something?  That would be so much simpler.  in spite of the conversation she had with Agrin the previous night, the prospect of opening her mouth into this conversation, right now, feels like walking through a field littered with mines.  So, for the moment, Celeste continues to... not say anything, thus entering what is, quite likely, the longest period of time she has ever spent silent while other people are talking.


"If we come to the need," Silmeria says gently, "I'll not hesitate to ask.  For now, though... our greatest enemy is simply fear, which, I assume, is exactly as your brother wished.  And it's... not particularly a simply enemy, that..."  Looking up at Celeste, she pats the railing next to her.  "What do you think, my lord?  What would be the most effective defense to take up, from here on in?"


There's a long pause from Agrin, as though in thought.  "Daschel has always been the type to attempt brilliant and daring types of moves.  Given that he has Corana and Varyn in the field with him ...  Multiple pronged probing attacks to keep him on ihs toes.  Emberstrand was tested and hit hard because its rulers and people grew complacent in all these years of peace.  Coupled with the large amount of mercenaries that the city could employ, the Imperial Army would have had no issue selling this as a perfect time to attack."  He looks a bit distant, the strategist's mind moving.  "He'll likely send Corana in with her Forsaken mixed in with more of those armor suits we saw, and he'll have Varyn work on cutting off food and water supplies to the city.  The city will starve or die of thirst if it holds out for a long siege, or it will see higher casualties if Corana is allowed to attack the way I think she will.  She was always a blood thirsty girl."


"Well, I know what all I'mma doin'," Celeste says at last.  "An' ain't gonna be no waitin' fer 'em ter hit'a city."  She straightens, squaring her back.  She gazes off to the side, up towards the North, and where the Archadians will likely be coming from.  The wind blows her hair in her face and she leaves it for the moment.  "Where yer brother, Dashall, where he all gonna be?  I'mma guessin' he gonna keep yer girl close," she adds.


"And we'll want to lay in supplies and secure water," Silmeria murmurs.  "I'll see about spreading word among the Temples, and get an ear among the Mage Guild.  The Hunters, that'll be harder..."  Shaking her head, she draws in a breath.  "My lord... I know how you must feel about fighting your countrymen, but... If it can be done, would you help the Council lay in plans for a decent defense?"


Agrin reaches a hand up to scrub at his face, the man looking older than he possibly is with what has gone on.  He nods, slowly in thought.  "I'll do what I can in order to help them plan a defense.  Mind you, defending a fortified target is much harder than attacking it."


Agrin adds after a moment's worth of thought, looking to Celeste.  "As for Masha ... Daschel will keep her close to where he can keep an eye on her.  And humiliate her in order to humiliate me."


Celeste nods slowly.  "Well," she replies, "I'mma fight'em.  Me'n as many'll come 'long fer th'ride."  She shrugs her shoulders lightly, and adjusts the weight of the shield slung across her back.  "An' if'n Dashel be all showin' up, I'mma do what I can, like I'mma promised."  She pauses, and perks an eyebrow upwards.  "Yer want mercy fer yer bother, if'n it becomes a question?"


"Well," Silmeria says, shaking her head, "there're thousands of people here, who can only hope it can be pulled off.  Not to mention, if the... *Imperial Princess,*" she says, an uncharacteristic note of scorn creeping into her voice, "has anything to say about it, not even the Temples are safe from depredation."


Agrin looks to Celeste, hatred flaring in his eyes at the mention of his brother and mercy in the same sentence.  "No.  He wouldn't show mercy for any of us."  There's a moment where he attempts to get his emotions under control, and Silmeria's mention snaps his attention to her.  "Which Imperial Princess?" he asks, carefully, Archadian accent sharpening.


Celeste pauses, and nods.  "Hadda ask," she replies.  "Ain't meant ter bring up nuthin' painful."  She pauses, and perks an eyebrow, turning to face Silmeria.  "Aye, which 'perial princess?  I ain't know'n any'f 'em, b'yond jes names."  She gets around to straightening her hair, "Ain't right ter be lootin' temples, though," she observes.  "Ain' right t'all."


"I uh, w-well," the priestess keenly observes, right hand lifting to scratch the back of her head, "the, um... Grand Duchess of Tchita?  Yes, I think that's who she was, though I can't recall the name.  I was guiding some travelers on pilgrimage to the Necropolis, you see... um..."  And here her eyes fall, her head turning toward a particularly interesting bit of shrubbery.  "...And we were on the, um.... Pearled Amethyst."


Agrin barely stifles a laugh at the mention of the Imperial Princess in question.  He hangs his head, bringing a hand to his mouth to cover it, trying in vain to keep himself from laughing, but it fails.  It's the first time he's had a chance to laugh in a long time.  There's a brief look of fondness in his eyes before he continues.  "The Pearled Amethyst?  I have a few fond memories aboard the ship."


"What are you *laughing about?*" Silmeria huffs, though with no real rancor.  "She was *horrible!*  Speaking like the SPirits should fall in lock-step behind the Emperor, that's simply *ludicrous!*  There were a great deal of simply lovely people on board, but... Is she *really* the sort of thinking you *find* that close to the Emperor?"


Agrin shakes his head in mirth, attempting to contain his humor.  Tears form at the corners of his eyes as he tries to contain the mirth.  He tries to keep his amusement under control again before speaking.  "No, she's not the typical sort.  It's what you expect from hero worship."  He smirks deeply, shaking his head.


"Well," Silmeria says with some asperity, "her 'hero worship' killed several crewmembers, scuttled that beautiful ship, and stranded nearly a hundred Archadean nobles off the Phon Coast.  Perhaps next time, she could bury his throne in flowers, d'you think?"


Agrin sighs, shaking his head.  "I know I shouldn't laugh, Priestess, and I do apologize.  I recall when I used to dandle her on my knee.  And to hear of her now...  I'm not shocked."


"THat's a good deal more tragic a thing to hear than I'd expected," Silmeria says quietly, voice softening.  "I am sorry for snapping... It was just... well.  How *callous* she was about it all, was simply stunning.  Naming good people traitors... *traitors!*  Just because they dared to think that perhaps wasting lives on a war that doesn't even much need to happen, is the only right choice?  I have to say, it's a good thing we escaped... and better that the infighting didn't grow too horrendous."


The Archadian shakes his head, pursing his lips.  "There's one thing that doesn't fail to surprise me, and that's the massive sweep of nationalism.  For a long time, there has been a faction that has bemoaned how much land the Empire once covered until the Peace before the Folly, and how the Empire should reclaim it.  It was only a matter of time as the old guard died out or was replaced with New Men, Priestess.  This ... it's the latest in the sweep.  Especially with 'Chi-Chi'.  If she has gone this far, then it means the Emperor is pressed to reclaim the territories in order to secure the borders."  He grimaces, hand rubbing at his left knee this time.  "It's a movement that's been sweeping through Archades for the last twenty years.'"


"What often *does* surprise me, I think," Silmeria mutters, nose wrinkling, "is how the only time *anyone* longs for war, is during peace.  O, to be covered in glory, to sweep the hideous unnatural peoples of Thus-and-So from the face of the map... and then war comes, and glorious is the *last* thing any but the bards call it.  You'd think, if people stopped but for a moment to remember..."  The priestess trails off, shaking her head.  "It's a pity.  And it's a pity that only grows the greater, the farther history moves on."


There's a wistful look from Agrin.  "Even I was guilty of such crimes in my youth, Priestess.  The Eastern Reaches were reconquered with my brother's tenacity and my strategy.  I only agreed to assist in order to get glory."  He looks to her, dark eyes glittering.  "When you're a crippled boy with no prospects in life aside from studying or being disowned, you choose the path that would bring you to glory in anyone's eyes.  Including your own."


Silmeria inclines her head toward the Lord, conceding this point.  "I understand, my lord... I simply have the opinion that there are countless paths to fame and fortune, and all are equally valid.  Desirable?  Naturally not, but valid indeed.  Of course," she says with a duck of the head and a smile, "a good deal of that is likely simple knowledge that the Emperor, in all likelihood, will have to wait his turn to meet my Lord Hades until *after* he's seen to the latest beggar."


Agrin nods his head silently, chewing his bottom lip.  "Perhaps.  It's only a matter of time, Priestess."  He groans as he pushes himself up to his feet, swaying.  "I should return home before the healer finds out I've been walking on it.  Bone rubbing on bone and walking isn't what she wants me to do."


Silmeria hurriedly rises, glancing from one guard to the other.  "Would you like help, my lord?  Your healer isn't precisely wrong, after all.. I *do* appreciate your concern, however, and I do thank you for risking your healer's wrath to check on me."

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