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"...While you were cooking Aril mentioned some disconcerting things about local magic. I described myself as 'tragically straight' and he wanted to know if I wanted that fixed... he seemed to believe me when I said 'no'. But then he warned me that I shouldn't watch him singing or dancing. Which apparently other people do on a routine basis and get some unclear amount of decisionmaking power between altered judgment and headaches."

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"Yes."

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"It was not comforting. About the safety of the world in general and him as a traveling companion. I don't even know yet if I can interact with local magic without colossal energy expenditure, let alone well enough to get home with an unmolested mind, let alone well enough to protect anyone else."

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"Well, he's certainly not going to do it to you. You wouldn't even like it. And if he tried, which he wouldn't, because it'd be weird for everyone involved, you could just push through it. You're perfectly safe around Aril, don't worry."

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"I'm not sure you quite understand my discomfort."
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"I'm sorry. We're working from very different cultures, and I- I'm not always up-to-date on how humans think under the best circumstances. Is it- Are you worried about compensation? I'm sure he mentioned that he blesses them afterwards, and he even protects the towns from Imperial meddling..."

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"No. That is not the problem. I object to alterations to people's minds which they have to bother to resist at all if they do not want them. ...It's also not helpful that resisting invites headaches, although I will tentatively believe that he is not deliberately causing a dilemma between agreeing to be influenced and physical pain for anyone who happens across him singing a song and therefore can't quite fold that into the entire coercive package."

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She frowns. "Well... I'm not completely sure what to do about that whole... issue. That's kind of how being a Solar works; when your soul can crush gods, bending the will of mortals becomes like breathing. Leaving in the option for mortals to resist at all is an effort that most wouldn't bother to make. And they really do like it."

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"He could not sing or dance except when people who've said in advance they'd like to try the entire business are the only witnesses. Perhaps that's in fact what he does and I just misunderstood?"

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She lets out a startled little laugh. "Oh, there's a concept. No, no, it's everyone."

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"So he goes around indiscriminately mind-controlling and/or headaching people who have offered no permission implicit or explicit, when the alternative is not even never singing again but rather holding private concerts advertised as 'intoxicated orgy to follow'. And you think the idea of him doing something other than that, possibly the idea of respecting the autonomy of mortals in general, is funny. And you have some reason which may or may not be entirely wishful thinking to believe that they 'like it', because why would anyone ever seem misleadingly happy while mind-controlled, or falsely claim goodwill after the fact to someone who could easily squash them like a grape, that would be nonsensical."

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She rolls her eyes. "I'm not an idiot. I don't ask them as the great Lawgiver, resplendent with light; I come back in disguise, or invisibly, to see how they're getting on, and to see if the Empire is on our tail. And they like it, long after every little strand of magic has faded. They talk about it like it was the loveliest thing that ever happened to them. Because it is; it's certainly the most exciting thing that's ever happened in their little dirt-farming lives, and it's fun."

Sighing, she leans back against a tree. "You seem like you're from such a... polite world. Everyone asks for things. No one just takes, and if they do then they're the villain. But here in Creation... These peasants, they have no reason to believe their lives will last another year. Any second, they could be flooded out by a river god, devoured by a Deathlord, crushed by a barbarian horde, destroyed by some other capricious force of nature. Everyone takes. And death doesn't ask permission, and I'd think that's a sight worse than a roll in the hay. So I can't help but laugh at the idea that being given a choice between Aril's tastes or a headache is such a hardship."

She snickers. "Hah. Hardship. I'll have to remember that one."
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"Let's get back to camp. Perhaps you'll feel better if you sleep on it; if not, we can always just drop you in a metropolis with a forged identity and a purse full of cash, or something like that. I'll keep watch in case the Wild Hunt or someone shows up."

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"Thank you. I do appreciate the escort and information. I can keep my mouth shut about the singing thing."

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"It doesn't matter that much if you do or don't. Aril has more legends about him than Mirien the Carp Princess, and they almost all mention the 'devil's dance'. Sometimes with erotic woodcuts." She considers. "Usually with erotic woodcuts, actually."

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"I just meant I don't need to belabor the point with the two of you."

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"Oh. Well, you can do as you like, really. You won't change our minds, but I wouldn't want you to feel stifled."

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...She's not going to dignify that with a response.

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Syl, to all appearances, does not mind. She doesn't look to be minding anything, at the moment; she moves with a disturbing efficiency, no bend of her joints wasted, and her face bears no expression beyond the movements it needs to use to speak. As she moves, she emits a very faint crystalline hum.

Her eye twitches very slightly.
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"So how long until the Calibration?"
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"Three hundred and forty-six days. Then we will have five days to work with. We will spend the time until then searching for occult texts which we believe may help us. We are currently searching for such a scroll located in the tomb of a Solar from centuries ago, who was buried in this area before it became Wyld."

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"Okay. What does Wyld mean exactly?"

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"You mentioned having noticed the mutagenic properties of the magic in this forest. That is Wyld. It is... anti-reality. The existence of coherent matter is anathema to it." (The corner of her mouth twitches, as if at a private joke.) "The tomb is heavily warded, so it should still be intact, as should the lore it contains. If not, we will return to the civilized world and plan our next move."

She pauses. The humming grows fainter. "Are you... all right?"
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"I'm unharmed. Things I don't like and can't do anything about happen all the time." She just doesn't usually have to socially associate with the perpetrators.

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