The Best Thing About Not Being Home is Missing You

[preuxchevalier]

There are people back home that your character hates. Or maybe they love them, but they're terrible people/influences. Here's your chance to talk or play out that special someone turning up in the Meadous. Are they so far out of their element that they're now defanged tigers? Do they lead right in with their wicked ways? What is your character's CR even going to think when they meet this person?
 

Post with your own character or the person they most/least want to see again who's a bad thing for them. Feel free to play out encounters in the snow between this character and your regular character's CR, or talk it out with if you're not sure you've got the voice down.
 

Fun for all ages! And by fun, we mean misery!

Comments

Kain will answer the question "no" just so none of this actually happens

[ajealouswind]

Golbez isn't the only one helmed and armored this day, although Kain's armor is missing pieces and bears the signs of prolonged struggle. He still patrols, a habit he picked up in the tower and could find no reason to shake. Calm as an average day was, things might still happen. Things requiring his intervention.

And if that black-clad figure sticking out amongst the snowbanks is not a thing to be concerned about, Kain does not know what would be. He'd know that man anywhere, be able to identify him at the slightest glance. Golbez. Why was he here?! He, of all people!? Kain vaults the snowbank that's partially between them both, a short jump by his regular standards, setting himself down a short distance away from Golbez.

"I'll not have any trouble from you. Not in this place, not now."

Spoilsport

[moonlessknight]

Kain's appearance is something of a relief, to be honest. At least he is familiar, unlike literally everything else. At the same time...there may be no one Golbez would rather see less.

"I am not here to provide it." Wherever this is, he does not feel the compulsion to fight with which he has become familiar. Nevertheless, he will defend himself if Kain renders it necessary. "What is this place? Where is he?" No need to elaborate; there is only one 'he' between them.

[ajealouswind]

At Golbez's question, Kain's head gives a subtle dip. All the better to conceal his face, to help hide that he nearly grimaced. "He is not here." He is also dead, dead with the rest of the inhabitants of his version of the Blue Planet. Something that he does not want to have to explain, something that he is not sure that he can in a fashion that maintains his dignity. Kain's grip upon his lance tightens briefly.

"This place is a refuge for those already taken from their worlds. Am I to understand that the same has happened to you?"

[moonlessknight]

Though his helm conceals it, Kain's answer comes as a shock. Why - how - could they both be here, and Cecil absent? It strikes him as being against the natural order of things. He wonders if Kain is lying to him; it would hardly be irrational if he were.

"...It surprises me that you should need to ask." He last saw Kain not too long past, and did not hear since that he was fallen. Memories of this cycle, at least, ought to remain. "Have you truly forgotten?" And why has Golbez not?

[ajealouswind]

Kain makes no effort to conceal his confusion. "Have I truly forgotten what?" Was there something that he ought to remember? If he did, he didn't recall. Goodness knows he'd have welcomed forgetting some of his time in the tower, or all of his time upon his dead world. His jaw sets. Let's apply some logic to this matter.

"If the both of us were in whatever place you last occupied, I am not the Kain that you knew. The tower held many souls, but yours was not counted among them."

[moonlessknight]

"Yes, you were there," Golbez says heavily. "And so was he. And so were many." Most of whose names he assumes would mean nothing to Kain. "How can you not be he?" This is assuredly Kain's face, his voice, his very manner, as Golbez recalls him. If he is not the Kain he knows, then who is he?

[ajealouswind]

Kain cannot hold in the discomfort that he feels when asked how he cannot be himself. It's easy enough, to not be oneself when one is just a soul lashed to wires and metal, doctored to appear real. He briefly averts his gaze, and unwinds the woolen scarf from around his neck to reveal the collar upon it.

"There are many worlds. That much, you must know. But there are many versions of those many worlds. Mine is dead. I was all that was left." He leaves the scarf hanging loosely around his neck, hand dropping to his side. "Where were you, then, that he was there, along with so many others?" Some of the edge left his voice. To know that Cecil did live, even somewhere beyond his reach... it was a comfort.