❪ introlog: #6 ❫ city of secrets

[natha]

You've spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Now, the time to put all your survival training into practice has arrived: El Nysa needs you, and you're here to help the planet thrive. Are you ready? THE DESCENT     All refugees on the station are called to the hangar, where a large-scale teleporter awaits. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait; everyone will be sent down to the planet together. Before they depart, all refugees will be given a cold weather survival kit with warm clothing, rations, and bedding. The arrays build into a brilliant wash of light, creating a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa, teleporting the refugees to the planet on an aurora. Once on the planet's surface, refugees receive one last message from Darma. It has been a long, perilous year for you, refugees. And yet we must ask you to brave further peril. Within Nadril are the secrets to how poor Ysverai's revival was hidden from our sight and how this disaster has come to our star. Find the first refugee from beyond this planet, a man named Magda. He will not speak to us, for much has come between us, but to you… If you prove yourselves, he may be willing to answer your questions. We beseech you, for there is a veil over Nadril that hides all within from us. There may yet be more untold dangers waiting to befall this planet. For the good of all who make this world home, we ask you to lend us your aid. There is yet one more favor we would ask of you. In warding off the Storm's encroachment, the physical aspect of ourselves that you call Thesa Station was damaged. We must remain to continue repairs to El Nysa and to deal with Ysverai, but there should be suitable technology within Nadril that could be used for spare parts. If you have the chance to find it and can return it to us, it would hasten— Darma's message crackles with static, another image overlaying hers — her broadcast is cut off and replaced with another. A more sullen and alien voice takes Darma’s place, overlapping on itself in an ominous reveal. It has been a long, perilous year for you, refugees. And yet you’ve only just arrived here. To say I’m not disappointed in your… generation would be to lie, and I am nothing if not an honest creature. But I suppose these have been unusual circumstances. You must ask yourself this — are you only here as Darma's lapdogs? I can assure you, it's not worth being on the Natha's leash. With time, that will be something you'll have to learn for yourself. If you're so determined to come find Nadril, then follow the path north, and you'll find the border. What awaits you is revelation, if you're up to the challenge. A FROZEN LAND     The refugees land on a literally frozen world, both in temperature and time. Curls of icy wind hold swirls of snow aloft and an uncanny silence is broken only by the crunch of hoarfrost underfoot. Only Darma's protection allows the refugees to move through this frozen world — and movement is very necessary. Bitter cold sneaks through even the thickest clothing and without warning, a snowstorm rises: unnaturally quickly, a wall of white howls directly in the refugee's path. Bizarrely, the way back is perfectly calm; it's obvious that this storm is no product of nature. Magda's challenge becomes clear: the only way to Nadril lies through this storm. Visibility within the storm is near zero, the whiteout hiding any landmarks from view and making navigation near impossible. The only guidance refugees have is a sporadic path of faint, greenish lights, easily lost in the raging storm. Refugees need all the survival skills they practiced on Thesa Station to survive, for getting lost alone is a death sentence. Luckily, those separated from the group can happen upon guiding lights Magda has planted throughout the tundra. These blue-white sparks cause frostbite if handled recklessly, but they also serve as directional anchors, turning into ghostly flames that lead lost souls back to the path to Nadril. The trek through the storm will be no mean feat and will last for the better part of three days. By the time the refugees reach Nadril's gate, most will find themselves exhausted and running on fumes. As the snowstorm dies away and a gap in the glittering forcefield around the city opens to usher the refugees inside, it's clear that Nadril is a different beast. A WARM(?) WELCOME     I. Despite the unforgiving journey, entering Nadril is painless. Once inside, characters will be greeted by their predecessors: the original refugees who made this advanced city. They'll immediately be offered medical attention, as well as warm cider and blankets. But it's obvious that the Nadril citizens prefer higher tech to fend off the weather: they also offer wristlets and ear cuffs that that double as mittens and earmuffs by creating warm bubbles of air. The earrings also feature a few quality of life programs, such as timed alarms and thought-to-speech messaging. However, both programs are in beta stages so it's not unusual for a stray thought to accidentally slip through or an alarm to accidentally ring at an inopportune time. II. Refugees are offered free lodging in a large, crystalline building crafted from ice. Despite the coarse building material, the ice is unmelting and surprisingly well-insulated, and the beds are as warm and cozy. The rooms are, however, small. The sleeping quarters house two people, and are some cross between an igloo and a capsule hotel. Though built for efficiency over comfort, all rooms are also outfitted with the latest Nadril AI, RoboAlfred, or Ralf for short. This helpful program is installed in practically all the furnishings: the closet tells guests to bundle up, the bathroom sink reminds them to brush their teeth, and the mirror offers helpful fashion tips. Ralf's personality matrix still needs polish, though: it may very well insult your clothes and passively-aggressively question your lifestyle choices for the entire stay. III. Though not as advanced as Thesa Station, the colony has technology far beyond the rest of the continent, such as rudimentary AIs and mechanical transportation. Nadril's skyline is a point of pride — refugees can take a (literal) lightrail that gives an aerial view of the colony, which is hewn almost entirely from ice and rock. Despite its tech, Nadril is much more sparsely populated than Olympia and Wyver, and its residents stay near a central hub: a Natha refugee drop ship, Central, which has crashed and long embedded itself into the earth. Central is similar to an older, smaller, grounded model of Thesa Station, in functional order with round-the-clock solar power. Within Central are lounges similar to ones on the Station, though many of the damaged areas have been converted. They include repair stations, different wings dedicated to science, botany, astrology, and mechanics, and a research and history facility, which has a smattering of technology from planets beyond El Nysa — including your own. The staff here don't mind if anything is sampled and studied, but objects cannot be taken from the labs. IV. On the outskirts of the central hub, many will find several curious looking bots with insect-like wings perched about high traffic walkways. Simply passing the bots will cause a dizzying flash before a series of photos print out. Upon closer inspection, people will find that these images reflect stills taken from their home worlds as they remember it. Unfortunately, these photos only last a couple of hours at best. At that time, they will revert back to regular pictures of the refugees. People will be encouraged to share these images of their worlds. The residents of Nadril comprehend the value of remembering one's origins, and will be pleased to see that people still hold memories of old homes close to them. RECREATION IN NADRIL     I. Small, mechanical creatures scampering through the city are a common sight. Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you that they come from a shop called Paws About Town. They’re very useful, as companions, gophers, and couriers (though the more mischievous will note that they’re just small enough to keep tabs on people without being noticed). Premade robotic pets are available on display inside the shop. They come in all shapes, but small sizes; one may be able to find robots that even look like miniature creatures from their homeworld. These are a part of a new, highly customizable line with programmable personalities. Customers have the chance to take pets for a one-day trial run. Those who don’t know how to program may want to enlist more knowledgeable aid, but the pets come with instructional pamphlets for basic personality traits such as obedience, helpfulness, playfulness, and bloodthirst. For returns, the switch to wipe the robot's personality to a blank slate is on the back of its neck, right between a switch to invert all traits, and a switch to have them learn by observing. Try not to press the wrong switch — you might wind up with a pet with a mind of its own! II. A. The Frosty Tap Cantina is a thriving hub of activity, but one of the major draws is the self-service bar: molecular mixology is wildly popular here. Playing with drink compositions can be a game in and of itself, and newcomers to the cantina will find that the bartender — a cheerful woman with lilac skin and three eyes — is always happy to give them a few tips on how to use the wide array of tools within reach of the barstools. All manner of drinks are possible — from glowing, layered cocktails, to clear drinks with colored, spherical bubbles and vividly-colored shots that give off their own smoke. There's a nightly contest in the cantina for the most creative drink created by a team — this may be as good a time as any to partner up with someone and see what can you come up with. Winner gets all their drinks for the night free! And, hey, even if you don't win, you get to drink whatever you make. The well-lubricated patrons of the bar are eager to challenge anyone nearby to a different sort of drinking game… Just how well can you hold your liquor? B. Holo-screens in the cantina are nearly always broadcasting some match or another of a game that looks very much like hockey, albeit played with sticks that light up and a puck that changes shape from time to time. Colonists here merely refer to the game as "the sport," and one of their favored pastimes is betting. However, they don't use currency — they wager dares. Nadril colonists are a tough, weathered lot, and they prefer to speak with actions over silver. Colonists will urge the refugees to take part as well. Common dares range from the ridiculous (lead a sing-a-long, attempt to make someone with a poker face smile) to the suggestive (kiss the person in the cantina you find most attractive, strip off a piece of clothing), to the outright reckless (venture out into the snow for a certain amount of time, and no one will judge if you find some company to keep warm). The colonists are unfazed by even the most insane or tawdry of dares — but you'll certainly be called a killjoy for refusing too often! Why not grab a friend and give it a whirl, or challenge a rival to a dare yourself? THE MISSION     I. On the outskirts of Nadril is the communications tower of the old refugees. This is where Magda resides, monitoring Nadril's technological protections, the extent of the Natha’s influence, and running his own personal projects for El Nysa’s technological advancement. It is isolated, filled with research labs and relics of the past refugees who have come to El Nysa — a living mausoleum of worlds swallowed up by the Storm whose peoples have refused to forget where they came from. Crew photos line the walls of the tower: pictures of alien families and friends, the refugees who came to Nadril before you. Each group of photos gradually becomes smaller in number, and the most recent of the pictures are from half a century ago. Magda's picture can be found among the first group of refugees, an unusually small cluster of photos dating back centuries in El Nysa's past. I have been on this planet for nearly two centuries. Life has come, evolved, and collided in an ever expanding culture. But Darma fears interference, and made this place a prison, with she our warden, stifling the growth of the creatures native to this world rather than encouraging them to flourish. She sent you here for answers in her stead because she knows I'll spurn her, and after seeing what that fool Raysc has wrought, I'll give you them — not for Darma's sake, but because I trust after all the Natha have done to you, you'll understand my decision. Mistakes were made, and I won't hide them. You've made it here so there's some mettle to you, and unlike the Orbiters, I'm not interested in hiding the secrets of the dangers we face. I gave Raysc what he needed to keep his actions hidden from Darma's eyes — what he needed to advance the primitive magics the Natha had doomed him to. It was old Natha tech, Darma's very own used against her. Hilarious, isn't it? Raysc learned of Nadril, and like you, braved the snow to find his way here. He proved his worth and his determination, and he spoke of a brighter future, El Nysa coming into its own, its people realizing their true potential, unhindered by the shackles that had been put upon them. I believed him. He had vision — or so I thought. In truth, he was a fool. A madman. He wasted the opportunity I gave him on his petty vengeance. But not everyone on this planet is such an idiot. Surely you lot aren't. The Natha are hiding things from us — about the Storm, about everything. And here in Nadril, we're going to find all those secrets. What's it going to be? Will you help us, or are you going to stay obedient dogs on Darma's leash? Magda isn't too talkative yet; after all, the new flock of refugees may just be here as eyes and ears for the Orbiters. But what he has said leaves you with plenty to talk about, and if you can earn his trust by helping out around Nadril, he doubtless has a great deal more to reveal. II. Central isn't the only Natha ship that made its way to El Nysa — another, crashed just outside Nadril's borders, is little more than a junk heap. It's here that you'll find the spare parts Darma asked you to retrieve for Thesa Station. What remains of the ship's hull serves as a windbreak, and snow has built up against it, turning the piles of old Natha tech inside into something of a snowy morass. Holes in the deck offer would-be scavengers passage to the ship's innards, barely illuminated with flickering lights — the tech is old, but hardy enough to withstand a crash landing, the severe weather, and the passage of centuries. Deep in the wreck are the remains of living quarters, research labs, VR arenas, mecha bays, cafeterias, and a host of other rooms, many of which may seem familiar from Thesa Station, albeit with a decidedly older feel to what remains of the smooth curves and sleek surfaces of the Natha architecture. Most of the ship's systems are damaged and the technology is nonfunctional, but that just means there's plenty of spare parts to be found. The wreck isn't in the best shape, its structural integrity damaged, and the drifting snow threatens to block off exit routes. Be careful while exploring and be sure to bring a partner. As it turns out, Darma isn't the only one interested in the wreck — Magda is also eager to get his hands on Natha technology. In his own way of taking some responsibility for Raysc, he's asking scavengers to bring him parts, muttering about seeing what he can do about Ysverai's curse. Bring him anything that looks useful, and he may have a chance to succeed, though whether he'll be more effective than the Natha Orbiters is up for debate... FINAL OOC NOTES     An AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 NADRIL REP POINTS may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD HERE BY AUGUST 5TH, 11:59 PM EST. As always, feel free to create your own prompts and explore the Nadril location page! There are a variety of activities made available, including fishing and cave exploration! Please direct questions to the questions thread below! Thank you! QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[illuminating]

[She hadn't recognized it was him right away either. There's a confusion of scents filling her nose, all she had seen was a shape of reds and browns. Someone's gotten away from the others, whoever it may be, and she's coming to fetch them.

Unfortunately, though it'll strike her later, she forgets that they've yet to catch up, that she's been asleep for seven months or so, that she hasn't given him proper greeting. This weather isn't the place, it doesn't occur to her.

She is in, what one might call: Hard Mom mode.

She does not respond immediately, she waits until she can stand firmly before him, her fur flurried by the wind, and her gold eyes piercing.

Peter, she resonates through him, fixed and firmed, authoritative. The first time she's ever presented herself in this way to him. It's drawn out of her from concern. Continuing: Very few living things can survive out here. Don't stray. Follow me back to the others. Do you need to hold onto me?

He can grip her fur, she means. She'll walk steadily.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Yeah, holy shit, that’s definitely Amaterasu, or else he’s hallucinating with the cold.

... Is that a thing that can happen? He knows that people in deserts tended to see oases, only to be horribly disappointed when they lurch forward and find more sand, but do people in the middle of snowstorms tend to see familiar god-dogs and hear their voices in their heads?

In either case, he gathers his jacket a little more firmly around him, moving to close the distance between them. This place better be worth all the trouble it’s taking to get there. ]

... Uh.

[ Sorry, Ammy, he’s a little dumbstruck with that commanding tone and presence, and more than a little chagrined. Her tone reminds him a lot of his third grade teacher on a field trip. “Stay with the group, Peter. Why aren’t you with your buddy? If you wander off one more time, I’m taking away your recess for the rest of the week.”

At her question, he hesitates before closing the distance, nodding and reaching out. ]

Probably. You kind of blend in with everything.

[illuminating]

[With any luck, he'll realize in time she isn't intending cruelty. If nothing else, she's afraid. That's where this tone comes from. Motherly, as ever. She's heard much about what's happened during her time in Stasis, and she's on edge about people falling behind. About the potential of them freezing without her knowing, alone, or of some unseen thing snatching them away.

She steps to meet him the rest of the way, moving to put herself right below his palm and fingers.

It's thick, her coat she's referring to, so you can cling tightly. Tell me if you need to stop. She glances with a slight angle of her head back at him, Are you ready?]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Even through the thick gloves he wears, the chill is still biting into his fingers, leaving them stiff and aching. (It's going to be an awful look, he thinks, if one of those bad boys end up getting frost bitten. The others would never let him hear the end of it.) Still, he gets a decent grip on her fur, and her reassurance makes him tighten his grip a little – or at least, as much as he can with the cold sinking into his bones. ]

Yeah. I'm good.

[ He jerks his chin forward, gesturing for her to lead the way. ]

You're sure you know the way back to everyone else?

[illuminating]

[I can scent them, she answers, her usual soft, and felt, thrumming-cadence returning. As she steps, she tries to find, and adjusts as she needs to, a pace both dependable and not too slow.

There's blue lights marking the way back, as well, informing him. Should you fall behind again, if I'm unable to come for you, you can look for them. Don't touch them, she cautions as a last note on this.

One of her ears cants toward him, as if making up for her being unable to look and look back at him. As if his hand isn't enough, as if she's keeping attentively, doubly certain she hasn't lost him. I know it's painful, but please weather it. Moving will keep you alive, even if it's unbearable.

This wind isn't nature's, she informs as an add on to what she's sharing. It probably sounds cryptic; she means, it's good that they're following it. There's likely some form of civilization if everyone endures for long enough.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He grunts in response, gritting his teeth. Peter hates being cold, and if it weren't for the promise of finding a new, mysterious city, he might have just stayed up on the station.

(Curiosity killed the cat, he thinks.)

But, right. Keep moving. Not moving is bad. Not moving means the blood stops flowing, means you get cold that much faster, and even if exhaustion is starting to claw up his limbs, he ignores it.

At her— observation? Reassurance? Whichever it is, Peter grimaces behind the face plate of his mask. ]

Figures. I'm really starting to hate magic.

[ An awkward beat as he remembers who he's talking to, then, sheepishly, ]

... No offense.

[illuminating]

[Ought I be offended by that?]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Another beat.

A little lamely, ]

I mean, aren't you, like, all... magicky?

[ eloquence, thy name is Peter Quill. ]

[illuminating]

[Her tail can't help waving slightly, letting out the laughter she feels but has trouble expressing.

Magic is learned, like spell casting. What I can do has always been a part of me. After a beat, she adds: Is that understandable, I wonder?]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter is quiet for a moment, the howling winds filling in the silence.

Then, he deadpans, ]

You’re saying the magic was inside you all along.

[ This is a joke that only Peter will understand, admittedly, but— listen. He’s having a rough day (everyone is having a rough day), which means he’s going to make stupid comments if it kills him.

... Assuming, of course, the cold doesn’t beat his awful humor to it. ]

How long have you been back?

[illuminating]

[Yes. Only him. Though even from the back of her head, he can probably see the way she's turned it almost to a full angle, trying to puzzle out if he's still confused or what he could mean by what he's said, in the way all canines and wolves over-tilt their heads at a mystery.

His question has it lifting though so she can look up at him, still adrift in a moment of confusion, and—oh! Oh!

She practically wheezes out a whine, half leaping up, at least fore legs coming briefly off the ground, to smack her shoulders and top of head against his side in an unrelenting show of apologetic, demanding affection. Now, traveling with her is even more annoying, because she's both trying to walk, and jump up to paw at him, and... lick... his mask, her tail wagging ceaselessly. He may as well have said, "Did you forget something, dummy?" And bodily, she fusses and fusses, rounds him to press weight on either side, squeezes between his legs because... well, animals are just senseless and weird sometimes, particularly in a show of missing someone they care for, it's as if they don't know how to behave.

Throughout all this she does answer: I'm terribly sorry! It was earlier this month. I kept finding your scent, but those forsaken doors! And, finding you out here like this—I got a little mad, I think. Rocket told me about some of the things that happened. You didn't think I wasn't glad to see you, were you? I felt angry you'd wander off far enough that what if I couldn't keep you safe. It felt like we fell back into our usual visits, like there was no gap, and I forgot, I forgot to greet you, didn't I? Can you forgive me for it?

Her teeth playfully chew and gnaw at his gloved fingers, and she's prancing beside him, and it's just about the equivalent of swinging hands with him. Now, that I'm awake, she finishes up, I want to make sure things that tend to happen when I'm not awake won't happen again. I don't want you to freeze. Are you holding up all right, right now? I could put a fire in the air we can rest by for a minute, but we should still stay determined to return with the group.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ When she reels back, Peter tenses, flinching back with a murmured, ] Oh, shit—

[ But then she’s butting up against him, and she nearly bowls him over a few times, sends him stumbling through the snow and struggling to support her weight. Despite the shitty situation, he actually laughs — breathless and a little helplessly, sure, but mostly in that fond way that says, “What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

She seems to calm down of her own accord, though – and thank god, because he was really getting worried that she would lick his mask and totally get stuck there, like that kid in A Christmas Story who licks the school flagpole. And then where would they be? ]

It’s fine. Seriously. I’m just glad you’re back.

[ Which, admittedly, is a funny thing to say, considering he spent a fair bit of time being totally suspicious of her.

As tempting as her offers are, though, he shakes his head. ]

I can rest when we get back. I’ll keep until then.

[illuminating]

[For the duration of her making a big thing about reuniting with him, whenever he stumbles or loses balance, she's nudging her head and neck under his arm, somehow both trying to support him while... also knocking him over. See, if the weather were kinder, she'd have no hesitations about knocking him down entirely to clamber properly and bite his hair, and all the other lupine aggressive displays of over joyous reunions.

As it is, she seems caught between doing just that and remembering he hasn't the feet or legs suitable to terrain like this, and although she doesn't indicate it, she may as well be saying whoops! each time he goes unsteady.

He'll have to decide on his own if he's glad he reminded her of her being gone, shook her out of her relatively tense and stern mood to bring her back to... well, herself, because now she trudges through the snow with him keeping her side clamped to his leg. Wolves sometimes walk together like this, cats too, with an undeniable need to stay close to one of the ones they're fond of.

Watch it, she sends through him, and pushes fully against him, almost hard, guiding him away from something, her body curved to put space between him and it, to keep herself there like a shield between them. They're facing, or at least she is, the opposite way they've been walking, and she still stands unyielding before and against him, lowering her head with alert ears and a hard stare. The ghostly blue fire morphs itself into better view and flickers, but simply hangs in the air as if placed there by some invisible torch.

She relaxes a bit. It's one of the lights I told you about; we're finding our way. They're hard to see in this storm, so be sure to keep your eyes peeled, Peter.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He doesn't mind in the slightest, the way she basically attaches herself to his side. It's kinda nice, actually, though he already has layers and layers on to keep out the worst of the cold, it's still nice to have that extra buffer against the winds, even if he doesn't necessary feel the warmth.

(Which is too bad. He imagines she's probably basically a furnace.)

He stumbles a little when she pushes him – not because she pushes him all that forcefully, but because he's not expecting it. He lets out a small, surprised sound as he grips the fur on the scruff of her neck, keeping himself upright.

He swallows down the urge to ask, What is it, Lassie? Did Timmy fall down the well?

But he spots it quickly enough, that weird, flickering light, and he remembers what she told him earlier. Kind of pretty, but also kind of eerie, and he peers at it closely. ]

These things point the way to Nadril, or whatever?

[illuminating]

[Back to the path, she replies. There are green ones on the path leading us to Nadril. Don't let yourself touch them.

A low growl rumbles through her as she moves to turn back, still wanting to keep her steps close but no longer pushing entirely against him. This is unnecessary, she complains, winds and flames. I wonder for what benefit do people think of doing things like this? It's an ordeal to travel this land without this kind of weather. Conservation of energy is important.

It is, without a doubt, her complaining, but growl aside, somehow she doesn't sound harsh, just in confused wonder. And it may be the most she's ever conveyed to him that proves she doesn't understand mankind, fond of it as she is. She doesn't understand the idea of people making their own lives harder than they need to be, or harder for each other. This kind of unnecessity borders on cruel to her. She might be asking him, indirectly, why people can't be more supportive of each other.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Once she's calmed enough and they're back on their way, he's— actually a little surprised that she starts complaining. Has he ever heard her complain before? Almost definitely not, which tells him that this whole situation must be really getting to her.

He runs his hand along her neck, in a way he hopes is at least a little soothing. ]

They're just tryin' to keep people out. I mean, yeah, this is kind of a dickish way to do it, but if what the Natha says is true, this isn't the kinda place folks oughta just be wandering into whenever they want.

[illuminating]

[Freezing as it is, all this haggard walking means she's panting all the same. It is a comfort, him stroking her, if for no other reason than she can tell his intention is to reassure, and her ears tuck down docile to his touch.

His words aren't quite as reassuring, however. She crushes through the snow with him for an unanswered measure, before glancing at him. Call me an optimist, but my gut tells me that whatever lies ahead will yet be better than the lot of you finding your end out here. Whoever is sending this wind has made sure to leave guiding lights, doesn't that seem peculiar to you? Or if it wasn't one in the same, someone else did, so Nadril can't be all bad.

Don't worry, though, because I'll drag every last one of you to the nearest town if I have to, she pauses, wobbling a little, to shake the falling snow off her coat. Her adamant tone is almost testy. She's refusing to let any of them lie down and perish, and perhaps Nadril will be hostile, but she'll take everyone there if it boils down to it just to face that hostility, rather than go belly up.]

[nostalgiabomb]

Maybe a test, then?

[ This, a little breathlessly. It helps, now that Amaterasu is forging a path, and he only really has to follow along in her wake. ]

Like. "Only the worthy may enter," kinda thing?

[ God, he hates snow, and much like she has to shake fur from her dense fur, Peter has to pause to shake his head. Snow collects in his hair, gathers on the rims of the lenses of his mask and in the crevices and gaps between vents and tubes.

A fine layer of frost stretches over the worn metal of his mask, too, and even if Peter can't see it for himself, he knows he's going to have to retract his helmet soon to keep its bare edges from freezing against his skin. ]

How are you not— freezing?

[ And the chatter of his teeth stops up the rhythm of his words. ]

[illuminating]

[For many reasons, she replies. Even if I wasn't already a little different from wolves, and capable of enduring more than average, wolves naturally have the capacity to adjust their own body temperature. My body is the same as theirs, with some minor differences. Summers give them the most trouble, and it's no coincidence they wound up in northern hemispheres.

She slows if he needs it, still continuing: Unlike dogs, with thin hair, the cold doesn't reach my skin. We have two coats, wolves. The top wicks away cold and moisture, below is something like wool. Have you ever felt wool? It grows tightly and coarse but plush. And I suppose like wolves, I'm inclined to movement, I don't feel like lying or sitting, which keeps blood circulating. I'm cold, if you're wondering, but I don't feel it the same way you do. Or at least I imagine not; I've never had a human body.

Forgive her for the brief national geographic lesson, she's simply honest to a fault, and he asked. She tilts her face at him, See? Many reasons. I'll still bring forth a fire, if you need a break. It's not about how fast you arrive, but that you arrive well and in one piece. Have you the items to set up a camp?]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ That's. A lot of information.

... And honestly, Peter will likely forget a lot of it by the time they hit Nadril. (If they hit Nadril, says a small, cynical part of him, and he quickly stomps it down.)

It's just as well that she makes that offer, because— well. Peter could keep going. He could totally keep going. But he's flagging a little, and settling down for, you know, just a minute or two wouldn't be the most awful idea. He adjusts the pack slung over his shoulders, nodding a little at her question. ]

Yeah. I've got gear.

[ And, like, a modest working knowledge of what to do out here. He's hardly an expert, but he picked up a couple of things from those survival simulations. Maybe.

Apparently this whole situation will be putting whatever knowledge he gleaned to the test. Sink or swim. ]

[illuminating]

[A lot of unnecessary information, but in the simplest way: he asked, and she answered, and it wouldn't bother her if he committed it to memory or not. He wanted to know in the moment, or she assumes he wouldn't have asked otherwise. Sarcasm isn't completely lost on her, but as human tendencies can be in general sometimes she's not... up to speed. Constant conversation isn't her forte, whatsoever.

And this proves itself again, because rather than answer, although content with his, she merely sets to work to provide him with a spot to catch a breather. Bodily, she digs vigorously and relentlessly into the snow. He'll want to be certain to stay in front of her, because she's throwing it out beyond her in deep piles. This isn't the only thing, however. Concerned the blow of the wind will fill the temporary den she's carving out with snow once more, she counters it with her own divine one. Nothing seen, obviously, but with deliberate swipes of her tail, accessing that astral plane, she paints and paints her own breezes.

Since it's wind, and not stale air, he's bound to feel it coming from behind. Calmer, but forceful. Not quite as strong as the storm pushing the other way, but still persistent in driving it back, working most of it off him. It only works here, in this small space on the land with them, if he were to step away, the original wind might batter him violently. Her head doesn't lift to mind either, she keeps digging, and gradually, yet swiftly and steadily, begins to vanish from sight, having created a hole to pull more snow free from. It won't be long, but it may take her a minute to accomplish this task. She has to make it large enough that they can sit, and that she can produce a fire for him.

Just a little more. Please wait a— is how she finally sends her ancient voice to him again, finally, though it does cut off, like a lost connection. Putting herself to work like this is all well and good, but between all the digging and her ceaseless painting, she loses her godhood. She's managed to form a hole in the sturdy snow big enough to fit herself thus far, and perhaps another half of her, but the break is necessary. She can't do anything extraordinary when she's mortal, when her essence is lost to her. This is why the voice she has that can move in his blood stream or reverberate in his bones is gone, too.

The wind that's been rushing toward them and the others suddenly picks up, as unforgiving as it's been since the beginning, and she's laying on her belly in the partially dug out den, ears pinned, head tilted back to pant in excess, her sides going and going. But there's no red marks, there's no mirror swirling in holy fire, no faint glow to her, or little feathers. She's just a white wolf. That's it: plain and simple. It'll take a minute or two for her stamina to restore, and in the meanwhile, she watches snow start to sprinkle and build up in the opening.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ She sets to work, and Peter, a little taken aback with how quickly she sets to it, and he figures out pretty quickly that he needs to stay to one side, or else Amaterasu might accidentally bury him. He lets his survival back slip from his shoulders to fall to the snow-coated ground. He pauses as he's pulling out supplies, feeling that strange wind, but he lets her work without comment.

He's not really in a "commenty" kind of mood, honestly. Which is a testament in and of itself.

The wind gives way to the constant howling of the storm, and he braces himself against it, startled all over again by its ferocity. He looks up when he feels a weird— shift? He's not sure what it is that alerts him, but when he sees Amaterasu settling, he stares at her.

... uh. That's a lot of stuff that's gone missing, and he jerks to attention, rigid with worry. ]

What the hell happened? Are you okay?

[illuminating]

(moved!)