— BEARING FRUIT.

[ — at the end of all things, there was a song. ( Don't forget me, he sighed into Guenhwyvar's dark fur, her low groan of mourning fading into the bite, the cold, as the world had faded away. ) In the last dregs of life, he thought he felt her hands upon him. The rough, broad-palmed sweep of her warm hands and it had been so long, he thought he had forgotten what she felt like, smelled like. The exact color of her hair and the drawl of her voice, gathered from so many years spent with her family. And then, there was the end.

A. ( NEW CHARACTERS ) It isn't the first time he's felt this way. Breaking out, to the surface, feels like being reborn — again and again, each time, to find the sky again. He drags himself out from below a sizable root, struggling to push aside dirt and widen the gap below the titanic curve of the greatest tree he's ever seen in his entire life. The effort is exhausting, his muscles weak from exertion and his mind still stuttering on the vision of rampant destruction, of the end and the End. A certain soul-deep exhaustion leaves him flopping boneless ( thankfully dressed, in a dark tunic and soft, worn-leather pants ) across the ground.

Heedless of anyone who might have already emerged, he gasps for breath and screws his eyes shut against the world above. Vast and starry and unknown. ]

— I thought, [ he gulps, a little pained, ] you were going to let me rest — ?

[ B. ( ESTABLISHED CHARACTERS ) Someone must come by, eventually. A helpful hand, a curious soul, someone fixated on the health and well-being of the Tree of Life — someone. Anyone. Perhaps it is a little alarming, to find a new face seated at the edge of the island. The very edge, where the Tree's roots tip off the earth and spread out into the astral seas, at the very edge of the great, broken island that houses it. With his legs swinging over the dangerous, unstable edge and his expression smoothed out, he might seem someone prepared to take the leap, the plunge.

A dark figure, pushing white hair behind long, tapered ears as he leans himself forward a little more... just a little more, to catch a glimpse of what the End looks like. ]

— TWO CITIES.

[ It is such a small world, and in its strangeness, its newness, he finds himself filled against his better judgement with tired wonder. His hands easily finding food, his greetings met with easy acceptance and a strange, abruptly-given respect. It takes him little time to realize that the reason for all of that is not because he comes Known, but because of the pretty, pale stone that sits under the messy fringe of his wild hair, nestled like a four-pointed star that drips down between his eyes.

( It's very Last Unicorn inspired. Blame the Unicorn -> Lady Amalthea -> Mielikki pipeline for this one. )

He brushes his hair down a little more, to hide it. Unwarranted and unearned attention disquiets him, after all.

A. SPRINGSTAR. The sunlit streets of Springstar are a different kind of brilliance, that even his adapted vision aches under. He spends most of his time with one hand perched across his brow, sheltering his squinting, violet eyes from the rays of those twin stars. It's a beautiful city, rife with passionate people and a youthful atmosphere; he finds himself a little in love with it, as easy as breathing. The cobblestone streets are musical, playing the sound of hundreds upon hundreds of footsteps that weave in and out of the city, and at times

he has to,

just stop, and breathe. Finding himself slipping into a narrow space to press his hands to the cool, shadowed walls ( the only shadows in Springstar are in places like that, cast by those that live and the structures that exist — ) and gasp for air. The rising feeling he cannot place seizing at his lungs and battering him into momentary submission, because there is so much. A trail of gentle carnage leads to him, discarded food and one or two disgruntled and/or concerned individuals who try to check on him as he sags in the little alley and tucks his head between his knees. ]

I'm okay. [ He murmurs, voice thin and smile barely-there. It's a flash-in-the-pain thing, on a severe face. ] Don't be scared.

[ B. HIGHSTORM. And in contrast, the city of night is quiet. Eerie and still, with prim-proper figures that raise the hackles on the back of his neck and drive his hands to his hips — where nothing is. Nothing will be. ( The dead do not have mortal possessions; Guen and Icingdeath and Taulmaril cannot follow him, where he has gone. ) Even amidst the quiet affair of the informational meeting, his eyes weave and dart sharply, observing faces and hands with experience and attentiveness born of training, trauma and necessity. Though he slips food past his teeth, it is with delicate precision, his focus upon someone in particular — pale and arched and laughing richly at someone's expense.

Stiffly, his hand slips down to the table alongside him, dark fingers closing around silver cutlery ( a knife, sharp and gleaming ) to draw it back to his side. A fluid gesture, but not one that would be impossible to spot. The dark elf slides his food plate onto the table in place of the blade, abandoning it for the moment as he slips across the Manor's grounds towards the creature whom touches the shoulder of the wide-eyed, guileless company it is attempting to keep for the evening.

( If nobody stops him, and soon, he'll be slipping right up alongside the vampire to drive that knife right up through its wagging chin. ) ]

— WILDCARD.

[ Drizzt isn't being apped this round, but might be in the future. Sometimes you want to play with a time-treasured blorbo in a new space, though. One can assume that he slipped away like the feral creature he is, following TDM end, since that's kind of his Style! Wildcard away, bc I'll roll with anything ( it's pax, btw!! ). ]