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Aya names her adopted world Pantheon, and nicknames herself Spring (in the sense of springs of water, like those her goddess is of). Isabella and Adarin stay long enough to make her a mirror set (the other half accompanies them, in space in Isabella's portal bag made by the used-up resurrection herbs), make a portal in a nook of the chosen mountaintop between Pantheon and Chamomile, and leave a marker for another so there will be an easy chain from Chamomile to Pantheon to the home of the elderly and apparently lonesome Adarin.

And when they have done all of this, they stay long enough for not-lonesome Adarin to recover enough mana, and -

they go visit his alt.
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The plane is exactly the same. The moonlight and starlight feels the same, the sky looks the same, there's even recognizable landmarks in the rocks and landscape. They're on the night side of the planet, near to Adarin's home. Some of the buildings are vaguely recognizable - but most of them are utterly foreign. Utterly foreign and like they've been there a while. Hundreds of years, a while.

But the house they're aiming for is mostly unchanged. It's recognizably Adarin's - with a few key differences. There are tweaks, here and there. The windows shimmer, it's impossible to see through them - and the lights brighten automatically at their approach. There is a button that looks like the magical equivalent of a doorbell.

Of course, when they ring it, there's no answer.

"... Well. he's probably around somewhere, if not in his house? I suppose I could scry?"
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"I suppose." Isabella tries knocking, just in case.

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No answer.

And then a tired looking older gentleman with white hair comes walking down the street. He looks like he is about to drop where he stands, like he wants to curl up somewhere quiet and sleep for the next century.

He stops, when he sees them. He raises an eyebrow.
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Isabella smiles and waves at him.

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Immediately after, there is a shield-bubble around the two of them.

"Okay," says the man, walking up to it. "If you manage to beat my day with whatever this is you get a prize."
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"Um," says Adarin, peering at the shield. "That was a bit uncalled for, hello to you, too."

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"Seconded on the uncalled-for. We're friendly."

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"That remains to be seen!"

He plops into a nearby bench and looks at them expectantly. "So, I'm sure there is an explanation for this. If there isn't I will be disappointed in you."
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"Um, he's an alternate-universe version of you and I'm his wife, there's one more of you guys and two more of me that we've found so far, and we have come to visit and - be friendly."
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Sloooooow blink.

"Well I commend your creativity, that's a new one."
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"Uh, that's - actually what's going on here. Hi, my name's Adarin? We are traveling to other planes to help them and add them to a - sort of... collective. Of Isabellas and Adarins."

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"Hi, Adarin," says the elderly version of him. "I'm Adarin. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He takes out a little shimmery bauble from a pocket in his jacket, and holds it up to look through it. Another eyebrow raise, at whatever the results of this are.

"Well that's interesting," he says, pocketing it. "You're a mage. And I have no idea who you are."
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"He's just told you," says Isabella. "He's a you. You two seem more similar - in respects other than age, anyway - than either of you is to the other one, Edarial, based on our current surroundings," she gestures. "Same magic system, same sort of planet."

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"Uh huh. Because that is the most reasonable explanation here. Obviously."

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"What else would be going on?"

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"Oh," says her husband. "He thinks I'm a bastard."
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"Except! That doesn't make sense without magic. Unethical, terrible, nonconsensual magic."

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"Oh, come on, that would be a preposterous quantity of family resemblance, and why would an unethically-sourced bastard child who looked exactly like you show up on your doorstep only in his early twenties anyway instead of earlier with a relevantly unethical somebody in tow or not at all, and how do you propose to explain me -?" She has her cloud-pine, and gestures at it. "Look, can your doohickey tell if this is mage magic or not? Because it isn't." She turns it sideways, lets it go. It floats placidly.

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Head-tilt.

"Huh," he says. "Now that's interesting."
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Isabella crosses her arms and leans them on the floating branch. "Look, when you were his age did you ever go plane-hopping looking for chamomile?"

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"Among other things, yes."

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"Well, when I went looking for chamomile, I found a planet with its own type of magic. And there I met Isabella -" He motions to her. "- fast forward two years and we were married and taking over the world with portal economics and an objective truth teller that helped her crack resurrection. And immortality, that too."

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"Well that's very interesting."
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"Yup. I came with resurrection supplies in case you want your Veron back if you have one - actually I brought three resurrections' worth but I used two on the way, we had to make a stop before we came here because it was too far for a single hop and while we were there we found a me dead of old age and retrieved her and a friend of hers."

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"Mhm." He leans forward, looking at them both critically. "Tell me, talked to any ghosts lately?"

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".... No?"

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"There's a couple of mages who showed up in my world and one of them had ghosts with her, but I can't see them and have been pretty much ignoring them."

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"Uh huh. Because that's very interesting, talking about resurrections but only enough for one. Immortality, too."

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"Wait you have both?!"
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"I can do more if you have the herbs and ash and a sufficient population of birds, I just didn't bring enough herbs for more - how do you have both? I totally asked the alethiometer if mages could do resurrection or immortality when I was first writing the spells and it told me no - well, it said it would take many many more mages than were available for it to look at, actually, it's kind of terrible with numbers but still."

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"I don't have both," he corrects. "But there used to be a ghost running around fueled off of horrific and unethical genocide power who could manage it."

He glances at her husband. "How do you get along with your mother?"
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"My mother is dead," says Adarin slowly.
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His alt claps. "How very astute of you. Yes, I did just say ghost running around, didn't I? Implies that she's dead."

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"Edarial's mother is dead too. He's got a live biological dad, though, and no Veron. The biological dad is locked up in a dungeon on treason charges, does that sound about right?"

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"It's certainly deserved, I've met the man, he is fit for incarceration."

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"Iiiis yours alive too?"

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"Guess who my dear mother resurrected."

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"Well, that was a terrible choice. Anyway, I'll happily get your Veron if you will stop imprisoning us in this shield bubble."

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"Absolutely horrific choice, certainly, there are a thousand more deserving people. But - sorry, I do not believe you."

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"It's rather difficult for us to prove our sincerity in a bubble."

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"Yes. And I do apologize for the bubble. But, none of what you're saying makes sense, and if Aliya's not completely gone like she should be, I really need to know that. So, in the bubble you stay."

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"Okay, how do you propose we prove our - would it help if you scried Edarial? And Iobel? Spring would be less convincing, she doesn't look like me and you don't know me well enough to derive her identity with me from her behavior, but the Marlatian pair look just like us."

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"Certainly, I can scry those people." He glances at his younger self. "I assume you can give instructions on aiming?"

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"I can," agrees Adarin. And then he starts giving complicated instructions about how to aim for them properly.

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"Is this actually going to help or are you just going to continue being skeptical indefinitely?" sighs Isabella, leaning harder on her cloud-pine.

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"It's likely that it'll help but I'll continue being skeptical indefinitely," replies old-Adarin brightly. "I am troublesome that way, I've heard."

There is a pause as he scries, then: "It seems you might have a chance at beating the day I've had after all."
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"Those are Iobel and Edarial, assuming you've found them. They're the monarchs of a country called Marlatia, his mother left it in a precarious situation and they're mopping it up, in their world the magic is called spellbinding and requires having familiars - she has a cat and he has a snake, if you're seeing those," says Isabella, almost conversationally. "We crashed their date a while ago. They were alarmed but did not even start casting antagonistic spells on us. Oh, and his twin is a guy. You seem to match my Adarin more so I'm guessing yours is another Zeviana."

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"Yes, my sister is female. This is not a hostile spell, though, this is a containment spell. You are perfectly safe."

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"I didn't say it was harmful, I said it was antagonistic."

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"Fair enough. But I think I'm justified, I've had a very unique day."

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"Unique how?"

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"Well, I haven't slept in thirty-seven hours, and I just spent the last six hours organizing a very insistent group of people that want to move back to Kystle. Three hours before that I was trying to make sure the immortal killing machines had a place to stay where they wouldn't be a danger to those around them. Then, of course, before that was obsessive cataloging of a newly terraformed Kystle to make sure nothing there was deadly or potentially murderous. Before that, my mother was committing genocide, and then before that I was on an exciting quest to find the aforementioned mother's ghost. Oh, and right before that, reunion with my newly resurrected scumbag of a biological father."

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"Well, I'd suggest we could go away someplace else for a week and let you sleep and process and such, but we can't do that because we are in a bubble."

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"You are in a bubble because your timing is disturbingly convenient. I am concerned that you are going to start committing some more genocide. Because that is the kind of day I've had, lots of killing and arguing and dramatic reveals and lots and lots of magic thrown around willy-nilly. So I am keeping you where I can see you and where you can't do any harm until I have a good grasp of the situation."

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"I'm finding our timing disturbingly inconvenient, frankly. For obvious reasons. How exactly would you like to proceed to improve your grasp on the situation when I can't resurrect your dad, can't leave you alone to get some sleep, etcetera? Since Iobel and Edarial didn't help much, apparently."

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"I let you out to resurrect my father and monitor how that works, your husband stays in the bubble?"
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"And when your father's back, my husband gets out of the bubble?" Isabella says. "Because I like Veron fine but we already have one at home and if you're planning to keep my Adarin bubbled regardless I'm not terribly enthused."

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"If it has nothing to do with how Aliya's resurrection worked - yes. He will not be kept in a bubble for all eternity."

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"Because you can't manage it, or because you don't want to?"

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"Well that's comforting."
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"I need a flat space to work and confirmation that it's okay to summon and kill two birds and to call on witch goddesses," says Isabella, squeezing her husband's hand. "That last thing was a problem at our previous stop, the local deities objected."

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"That's all fine. I suppose not for the birds, though."

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"Yes, a bit." She knocks on the shield bubble expectantly.

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Older Adarin waves a hand, and the shield twists around Isabella in lieu of breaking completely. She's let out, but her husband remains.

Idly, he makes a few changes to the shield to properly hold a mage - that takes a delicate touch. A delicate touch that he's currently handicapped in, due to sleep deprivation and exhaustion. He manages anyway, because it's what's necessary, he doesn't think that his - alt will cause any sort of trouble, but he did not get to be five-hundred years old by being trusting. The shield is changed, and then he looks at Isabella expectantly.

"Ready to go?" he asks.
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"Yes. Where's a good place?" Isabella sighs.

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"It'll have to be a ways, we are in a city." Then he turns and starts walking in a flat-and-quiet-place direction.

"Don't go anywhere," he calls back to her husband.
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"Wouldn't dream of it."

Adarin sits down, and waits.
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"Love you," Isabella calls over her shoulder as she follows his alt.

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"Love you, too," says Adarin affectionately.

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His older alt could point out that they are going behind a few buildings, not to another plane, but - no, no, he will refrain. No need to come off as bitter.

They go a ways, and there is a flat empty space that is quiet and out of the way.

"Here you are." He makes a sweeping showy motion with an arm.
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Isabella reaches into her portal bag, produces her supply of fine diagramming ash, and starts.

"One day we are going to have a procedure for meeting more of you," she mutters while she walks with careful pacing to let the ash fall in neat lines. "There will be checklists. We will have you figured out and will not have to spend time in shield bubbles."
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"Exciting," he replies, and then he finds a seat somewhere. He is so very tired. "I wish you the best of luck with it."

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"This shouldn't take more than about fifteen minutes all told and then you can let us just leave you alone to sleep," she sighs. Diagram diagram diagram.

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"Thank you. And then your husband can be out of the bubble."

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Isabella doesn't say anything else until she has finished the diagram, placed her last resurrection herbs, and summoned and secured the necessary birds. Then she confirms Veron's name matches.

She's inexplicably anxious. This old unpleasant Adarin has no intention of hurting her and he's not even hurting her own Adarin, just - maybe Path is dealing with a difficult administrative problem back at home and this is spillover - ow, apparently his difficult administrative problem involves landing on sharp things or something because now her foot hurts. She can call home when she's got the spell finished, anyway, find out if he needs her.

She ignores her foot and the building panic from her daemon. She recites the entire spell, complete with gestures and the slaughter of birds.
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Her companion watches the spell, and monitors it with scrying. He confirms that this is nothing like his mother's resurrection. Well. That's good news.

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And then there is a Veron.

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Which is even better news.

"All right then, I have absolutely no idea what that was, but it didn't involve genocide so - totally supportive." And then, hug for the confused Veron. "Hi, dad."
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Veron is incredibly confused. "... Adarin?"

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"Yes! Not the only one, apparently, there is one of me who is married. And not five hundred years old. Speaking of which!"

Shield-bubble, goodbye.

There is a 'fsst' sound, from far away.

And then, Adarin says, "Fuck."
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"Is something -"

Why would Path have been -

"Fuck! Fuck what did you do -"

Isabella's on her cloud-pine and flying towards her husband in half a breath.
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His alt doesn't have a cloud-pine, but he follows on foot, as fast as his feet can take him.

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Isabella gets there first.

There's her husband. Prone, unmoving, on the ground.
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Isabella practically falls off her cloud-pine to reach him. "Adarin. Adarin love please -" Pulse?

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No pulse.

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Isabella isn't actually trained in mouth-to-mouth but she knows the theory - maybe maybe maybe -

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No response, either.

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His alt arrives seconds later.

"Excuse me," he says, and then he throws himself into magic and starts trying to revive him with alternate means.
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"What did you do," breathes Isabella, but she stops trying to breathe life into her husband and just holds his limp hand in hers. "Oh goddesses all I should have known I should have paid attention -"

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He doesn't reply, he is really busy right now.



"Fuck," he hisses again, clenching his hands and closing his eyes. He has a headache, but he doesn't care.
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"What did you do."

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"I," he says, shaking a bit, "just accidentally killed a man."

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"I am out of herbs! I don't have more! I used them up appeasing your paranoia while my husband was dying!"

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"What herbs do you need, you can resurrect him, right?"
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"I can but if I do it here he won't have his daemon," sobs Isabella. "I - I need -" She rattles off a list of herbs and quantities.

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"Okay," he says, and he produces a book and hastily writes all of this down. "I will get you those, is there anything else you need or shall I run off to do that right this instant?"

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"Those and ash and - that's - all - but he won't have his daemon," she whimpers, "until we get home -"

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He has absolutely no idea what that means, but obviously it's bad. "I don't have the mana to manage planar transport right now - Zeviana could - augh, no, she's running on empty, too. Resurrection first, then we figure out how to get you both home so that he can have his - daemon? Daemon."

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Isabella nods, whimpering and squeezing her own Adarin's hand.

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"I'll be back," promises his killer, and then he's off to call in a ton of favors. He's going to get him resurrected.

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Veron is terribly confused by all of this and has no idea what's going on.

"Um?"
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"Goddesses all this is such a long story, I'm sorry. Um. I'm from another world. This is my husband who is also Adarin and who is also from still another world. We came to visit and your Adarin - was - paranoid and accidentally suffocated him, I think it must have been that - and - and I can get him back the same way I got you but I'm not sure if I should do it here because he's supposed to have a daemon now -"
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"... I died?"

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"Yes. Did you not kn- you didn't know that. Well, you died, hundreds of years ago, your Adarin's a lot older than mine." She touches her Adarin's hair.
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"Okay," says Veron dubiously. "And there are - multiple Adarins."
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"Three so far." Isabella wipes ineffectively at teary eyes. "If you count mine."

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Well, there's really only one thing that Veron can do in response to that.

He sits next to her, and offers a hug.
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She sobs and leans into it.

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Hug. "Adarin will get - him back," assures Veron, because Apparently This is How The World Works Now. "It will be all right."

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"The problem is my Adarin has been to my world, we live there, and he had a daemon because in my world people have those - daemons are, um, external animal-shaped souls, I should have been paying attention, Path was watching her die and tried to warn me and I thought it could wait, augh - and - and I don't know what will happen if I resurrect him here, I don't think she'd come back automatically and I don't know where he'd be if she didn't, so maybe I should wait until I can get home but I don't know how to tell your Adarin how to find the place where we left the portal from Pantheon to Chamomile, I don't know all the mage technicalities -"

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"You could get a mage to talk to his ghost, he's a mage, right? So he'd have a ghost."
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"Yes. He's a mage. That's - where do I find someone to talk to his ghost?"
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"I have absolutely no idea. But we can go look?"

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Isabella nods slowly, still crying, but more quietly. And she gets up.

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Veron looks at the - the corpse. That he registers to be his son.

"- It doesn't feel right, leaving him out here," he murmurs.
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"I don't think we can get into your Adarin's house with him. I could - I don't want to set him on fire. What else?"

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"Uh - bury him, I suppose?"

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"Where, how, I don't have a shovel, fuck I should've been paying attention," sobs Isabella.

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Veron pats her back. "It's okay, it'll all be okay. Think we could - find someone to help with him?"

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"I don't know. I've been to a different New Kystle but it's hundreds of years ago relative to this one."

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".... New.... Kystle?"
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"Oh. After you died Kystle was invaded and there was an emergency evacuation to another plane. So there are two Kystles and two New Kystles and this is your Adarin's New Kystle but I've only been to my Adarin's New Kystle and it's lagging behind yours in the - timeline."
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"Okay," says Veron, sounding somewhat lost. "Then we - wander around and see if we can find helpful people."
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Isabella nods, sniffling.

Wander cry wander wander.
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Someone spots them relatively quickly. He has a brief debate in his head. It doesn't take very long.

"Okay," he says, walking up to them. "It is not in my nature to leave a lady who is obviously in distress. Why are you crying and looking lost respectively?"
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"It's kind of a long story."

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"I have got from now until my wife gets annoyed with me and shows up breathing fire to drag me off somewhere."

He seems really cheerful about this fact.
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"It's a really really long story but the short version is my husband just died and I need to talk to his ghost."

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"Wow, lucky you. I mean - uh, not on the obvious part, that's - shit no now I feel terrible uh."

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"Do you know a mage?"
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"Yeah. Wouldn't guess it from seeing her, though, she's like the least magey person. Of all time. Want to come meet my wife?"

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"If she can let me talk to my husband yes."

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"She can! If she doesn't want to I hold her upside down for half an hour until she gets annoyed with me and agrees to get me to stop complaining about it."

There's absolutely no doubt that he could manage this - he's a big guy. Size-wise, anyway - he's tall and has lots of muscle and could probably break people like twigs if he wanted to.
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"That - seems - we can maybe find someone else if she doesn't want to."

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"Nah, let's go ask, she'll probably say yes if you say it's your husband, anyway," he shrugs. He pauses, then he bursts out laughing. "Oh I just realized that you think I can actually manage that without her permission, oh hell no."

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"Is she bigger than you are?" says Veron uneasily.

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"Nope!" says the man. "She's tiny and she can still kick my ass every time."

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Isabella isn't really in a state to be amused about any of this. "Okay. Let's ask her."

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Yeah, pretty understandable, considering.

Off they go! To ask Strange Man's wife about ghosts.

"Wiiiiifeey!" he calls, to a tent in a very - makeshift sort of camp. "I neeeeed yoooou!"
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"Yes you do," agrees a voice from inside. "You'd be dead a thousand times over without me, why do you need me this time?"

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"Apparently it's a long story but I met a woman who needs a ghost talked to." Pause. "The ghost is her husband, he just died."

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A short woman with red eyes pokes her head out of the tent. "Tact, Savir. Learn it."

She clears her throat, steps outside, and addresses Isabella. "Just for having to put up with my husband, I'll help you."
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"Um, thank you," says Isabella. "What do you need to - find him?"

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"Do you know where he died? Better yet, do you - have where his body is?"

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"Yes, it's - it's still where he died."

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"Show me, please."

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Isabella nods and turns back the way she came.

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And off they go, to her husband's corpse.

The woman eyes the corpse, but doesn't comment on how he died. "I'll start looking for him. Do you know how this works?"
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"Not - really. I'm not a mage, I can't see ghosts."

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"What will happen is I will walk off in seemingly random directions following where my very limited finding magic tells me to go. Then I'll find him, but you won't see or hear him. I will. But he will be able to hear you. He's just a little lost right now, all ghosts are at first."

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"Okay."

Bella sits by the body and hugs her knees.
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The mage looks at the corpse for a few seconds, with a far-off look in her eyes. Then, randomly, she turns, and starts walking in a direction.

"Follow me, please, the two of you. Savir - take care of the body."
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"Mhm. Out of the streets and buried, got it."

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His wife gives him a look. "They will probably want a funeral."

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"I'm going to get him back soon," Isabella says, getting up to follow the mage. "It'd be - odd. To have a funeral. I'm only this weepy because of - things."

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"... A ghost isn't a good thing to hold onto in lieu of a person. They're disconnected, other - and they can't interact with the world, and more importantly you wouldn't be able to talk to him at all without assistance."

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"...No, I mean - I'm a kind of magic person from another world and I can get him back. I just don't have the supplies right now. And I'm not sure if he'll want me to do it here instead of at home."

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"Wait, you can resurrect the dead?"
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"Hi. I'm a dead person, walking."

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".... Huh. Well. That's a thing. If I were to say 'crazy psychotic centuries old ghost' what would be the first thing to come to -"

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"- It wasn't Aliya."

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"Really? But I thought that was her thing? That and the - murdery bits."

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"Because it's not something she would do, even if she weren't permanently gone. Which she is, that bitch is definitely properly dead now."

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"People keep saying these things and acting like I should know what's going on but I am so confused."
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"I'm - definitely missing a story here too. But I can resurrect the dead. I've done it lots of times. I'm just all out of herbs, I used the last ones I had packed on him." She indicates Veron. "While your local Adarin was busy accidentally murdering my husband."

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"Pretty boy killed someone? Huh. Didn't think he had it in him."
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"I do think it was an accident," Isabella says, rubbing her eyes.

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"That makes more sense. Anyway, ghost - Savir, corpse, dispose of it hunter style."

She glances at Isabella and Veron. "Do you need a history lesson?"
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"Sure. Why not."
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"I would love a history lesson."

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She snorts. "Okay, history lesson while we go ghost hunting. Follow me."

She starts walking, in her random direction. "I need to have a basis to work off of - do you have any idea of any of the history of either Kystle or New Kystle?"
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"Uhh - apparently I died when Adarin and Zeviana were seventeen. Aliya was alive, I was her handler?"

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"Assume I know the general strokes up to about the time Adarin was twenty."

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"Ah, okay, pretty boy will be our measuring point, then. Well. Demons invaded Kystle because of idiotic magic use, mages fled to New Kystle. Or - most of them."

The woman smiles a little. "Hello, my name is Lynnari Corvalias. I was unlucky. I did not get to go into the lovely convenient bubble so helpfully made by the twins. I was left on Kystle."
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"That sounds unpleasant."

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"Very much so. I don't suppose that you know what tainting is?"

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"No."

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"Right, well. The reason why the demons were winning so handily is that they were turning our own people and troops against us. This method was uncreatively named tainting - not my idea, but I do like consistency. By - complicated magic methods, they did something to people they caught, making them a bit more... unstable. As in, murderous and blood thirsty."

Lynnari waves. "Hi. I'm that, too."
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"You seem to have that pretty much under control."
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"I've had about five hundred years of practice at it, yes."

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"Charming."
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"Mind you, for the first - decade or two I was not fit for human company. So I don't recommend it, though it has benefits."

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"Noted."

Isabella supposes that if this person bloodthirsts at her and she loses the ensuing fight she'll just wake up a week later in Chamomile at the hands of her mother's magic, which wouldn't be so bad.
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"I'll admit, I'm not sure how things went history wise in New Kystle after that, I was rather - busy. So your history lesson will only be half of one, sadly. But if it's any consolation, I think I have an excellent grasp of how things went in Kystle itself."

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"Because you lived there?"

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"No, because I am mostly responsible for a large portion of the events that occurred."

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"This history lesson isn't slowing down ghost-finding, is it?" wonders Isabella.

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"No. I will let you know when I find him, not to worry. Regardless - I'll tell history from my perspective. I was - oh, thirty? Somewhere around there. I'd just lost my entire family, found a new change in pedigree, and my home was just invaded. I was very, very angry."

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"Somehow I don't think I like where this is going."
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"Yes, well. Since there weren't many mages left, there were few people that could see ghosts. But they were still around, after all - lots of people died. And I found one in particular. Can you guess who?"

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Isabella's not in the mood.

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Veron's willing to play ball, though. "Aliya, right?"

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"Yes. She came up with a clever plan that involved killing lots of demons to steal their magic. I was angry with them for ruining my life, I didn't ask what she wanted it for. I just wanted them dead. So I helped. Adventures and lots of killing ensued."

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"Mm-hm."

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"Then -" She stops. "Oh, look. There's your husband."

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"I can't see him," Isabella reminds her. "Can he - is he -"

Is he a zombie ghost without Vern?

But she doesn't quite produce the question.
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"- I think I might need a story from you, too, I'm quite confused about what he's saying, but - he loves you very much, and is worried and lonely and something about a bird?" She peers at the spot where Adarin assumingly is. "Uh, Path, the owl, he's asking if he's okay, too?"
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"I wasn't paying attention to Path," says Isabella, rubbing her eyes and shutting them tight so the ghost's invisibility doesn't throw her off, "I should have been paying attention, he was trying to warn me, I'm so sorry, sweetie. Do you want me to try getting you back here or do I need to make your terrible alt take me to Pantheon so I can go home first and you can have Vern again straightaway?"

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"He's - waffling a bit, can't decide which is the better option, give him a bit." Pause. "He's wondering how long it would take for his - alt? Alt, to take you to Pantheon, if it's more than a day he'll try the resurrection here because he is worried about you and - being a ghost is disconcerting. Apparently. He thinks he'll get Vern back when he's home."

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"Your terrible alt and your terrible alt's Zeviana are both running low on mana and so it'd probably be more than a day to get to Pantheon. I'll try it here," says Isabella, nodding, swallowing hard. "When he's brought me the herbs. I'm - I should be fine, it's only Path must have seen - so I'm weepy."

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Lynn's voice softens, and she says, "He is trying to hug you."
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Isabella cries harder.

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Veron offers Isabella a hug.

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Isabella hugs him.

"I sh-should have been paying attention Path must have bit his claw to make me notice something was wrong when Vern started having t-trouble breathing and oh goddesses all," she sobs.
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Veron pats her back, that's about all he can do right now.

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"He says it's not your fault - he's - actually he's saying he knows you'll get him back so he's taking it all right. As all right as he can, anyway, considering. He tried to contact you by your - rings, but the shield wouldn't let him because - I don't actually understand what that means, Adarin, I'm a mage but I'm not that much of a mage. Yes, that works, thank you. 'Because magic.'"

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"Fucking terrible alt. Oh, shit, his ring, his clothes, they're magic, is your husband going to bury him in them -"

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"The ring he will not, but the clothes, yes. Should we head back and stop that?"

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"Yes. Can ghosts follow people?"

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"Yes. Adarin - this is going to be confusing but I need you to follow my instructions, okay? Don't pay attention to the scenery or anything around you. Don't try and find your way by wandering through the world. It won't work. Focus on your wife, okay? Just her, follow her." Pause. "Okay, he agreed, he'll be following you now. We can head back to my husband, I'll notice if your husband gets lost."

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"Thank you."

Isabella takes a deep breath and heads back in the direction of the body.
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And off they go.

"My husband is that way," informs Lynn, pointing once they get there. "I checked."
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Isabella nods and follows her directions.

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And there is husband! He is still digging a grave, they were not gone that long. There is what is presumably Adarin's body, wrapped in cloth. Where he got the cloth, it's hard to say.

"Hey," he says.
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"My Adarin was wearing some magic things and probably shouldn't be buried with them," says Isabella.

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"What magical things? I grabbed the ring and contents of his pockets, please tell me I do not have to take off his clothes."

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"Nope, nope, pass, I so pass, I am so sick of taking clothes off of dead people, nope. Retired, you do it."
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Isabella kneels by her husband's corpse and unwraps the cloth to get at his armored clothes. At least it doesn't include the underwear; Adarin's ghost would probably be embarrassed further if it did. "What did you retire from that used to have you doing that?"

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"Demon hunting. Killing things, looting corpses for basic supplies, saving little kids from horrific other-wordly monsters. That kind of thing."

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Lynn kneels down to help, because she's been doing this for a while and has stopped caring.

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"Um, ask his ghost if he minds you doing it," suggests Isabella.

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"Mm?" Lynn glances up, looks at his ghost, and then sighs. "... He doesn't want to make you do it because it is his corpse. Also he wants Veron to - 'shoo' because that would be weird."

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"Okay."

Isabella backs off and looks away.
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And Veron shoos over there.

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Lynn is quick and efficient at looting corpses. Clothes come off, and then the body's wrapped back up in cloth. "Done."

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"Thank you."

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"You're welcome."

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"Okay I know you've done that like a million times but now it's weird because you're my wife," complains Savir.
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Lynn pats his shoulder. It's quite a reach. "There, there. Big baby."

She looks at Isabella. "Well, would you like me to hang around and interpret your husband?"
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"Yes please. I don't know how long his terrible alt will take to bring me herbs."

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"Sure," agrees Lynn. "Also, he says he loves you. Again."

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She closes her eyes.

"I love you too, sweetie."
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"He'll be back soon," assures the only mage present. "He says that if his alt weren't going as fast as possible to retrieve the herbs then he's not - an alt of him?" Pause. "This is extremely confusing."

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Veron has been ushered back, since the - alt of his son is covered back up. "Welcome to my world. Enjoy your stay."

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"I can explain alts if you want," says Isabella tiredly.

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"It's all right, I can wait," says Lynn. "I am not going to interrogate you. Though -" She pauses. "At some time in the future if you are still present, there are people I would like to resurrect. Not now, obviously, but eventually."

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Isabella nods. "I can do small numbers of them as long as it doesn't run into any sort of problematic publicity. I can't scale up yet, there aren't enough witches to handle more than my own world."

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She nods. "Understandable. Like I said, I can wait - immortality. No pressure."

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"Mm-hm."

Isabella takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. She rolls up Adarin's clothes and tucks them into her portal bag, puts his wedding ring on her thumb where it'll fit.
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And that is when Prime returns to his house.

"Got them," he informs, dead on his feet.
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Isabella looks up at him with damp eyes and holds out her hands.

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He hands over the herbs, then glances at Lynn.

"Lynnari," he says, tiredly.
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"Yes, I'm here too, hi."

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"Of course you are," sighs Adarin. "Right - resurrection will work, now? Is that everything?"

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Isabella assesses the results of the shopping.

"This is everything," she confirms. She gets up to go to the open place where she resurrected Veron.
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Lynn and her husband don't follow - Lynn is of the opinion that Isabella will want space post resurrection. Savir is following her lead.

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But both Veron -

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- and the alt responsible for this mess are going to attend.

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Ash. Ash ash ash.

Herbs. Herbs herbs.

Birds. One, two.

Poem, screamed into the air.
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And then husband.

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Isabella throws her arms around him, sobbing.

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Reflexively, he hugs her back.

"Nnhhh," is the first thing he says.
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"I'm so sorry, sweetie."

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"N-Not your fault," he murmurs.

Then it becomes clear that he's shaking, right around the time that he turns away from Isabella so that when he throws up it's not on her.

"Augh this is horrible."
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"Wh-what's wrong?"

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Adarin leans on Isabella, trying not to fall over. "I don't - I don't feel right."

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"Did I - I think I did the spell right - sweetie," whimpers Isabella, hugging him tight.
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It's his alt that says, shakily, "... His ghost is - still there."
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"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck -" Keeping one arm firmly around her resurrected husband Isabella reaches into her portal bag with the other and finds her alethiometer and thingamajigs and doesn't pull them out, just turns them so she can see them and operate them one-handed. "Fuck, I should have checked, mages, I've never resurrected a mage before -" She fumbles with the thingamajigs. There are mages present in Chamomile and it should be able to answer a general question about them.

She gets the question inputted and waits as the hands of the alethiometer spin lazily.
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Her husband is just going to lean on her and shiver and try not to throw up again.

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"Alethiometer says the regular spell only works on humans? Fucking alethiometer can't talk sense -"
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"- Path, is Path okay...?"

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"Upset but calming down," she soothes, petting his hair. "He tried to warn me and I wasn't paying attention, do you want me to mirror home, sweetie?"

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"Mhmmm, don't want him to worry," murmurs Adarin.

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"Okay." She kisses his forehead and pulls out the correct mirror.

Path appears on the other end at once. "Isabella - Adarin - what's going on," he whimpers.

"Adarin's alt accidentally murdered him but I got him back but there's no Vern and he seems sick and I don't know why and the alethiometer's being cryptic," says Isabella, "and he has a ghost who's still there and the alethiometer -"

"Why didn't you pay attention," Path exclaims. "I tried - she couldn't breathe -"

"I'm sorry I'm so sorry -"
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"It's okay," her husband soothes desperately, snuggling his wife while still leaning on her to prevent himself from falling over, "I'll be all right, I - I'm alive, it's okay."

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Meanwhile, his alt is having a conversation in undertones with Adarin's ghost.



"I think I know what's happening," he volunteers, miserably.
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"Enlighten me," snaps Isabella.

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"I think that it just - brought him back as a human. Without the - fae portion, which stays as a ghost. Because that's what ghosts are."

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"Explains what the alethiometer says," says Isabella slowly, and she reaches into her portal bag again to fiddle with thingamajigs.
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Adarin tries to do something easy - a light spell, or a scry.



"... Don't have magic," he murmurs.
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"I'm so sorry," says Isabella, starting to cry again and hugging him tighter.

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"Shhhh, it's okay," he assures, hugging her back.

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"Your terrible alt is terrible," she growls against his shoulder.

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The terrible alt does not challenge this assertion.

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"It'll be all right, love. Okay? I'm - not dead, so..."

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"You have a ghost."

She checks on her thingamajigs and lets out a whoosh of breath.

"Alethiometer says I can make a spell that will correctly resurrect a mage, magic and ghost-continuity and all."
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"That's - good, I suppose. Is it possible to shove my ghost - back into me?" Pause. "I don't think I like being 75% of myself..."

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"Asking."

Twiddle twiddle. Hug.
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Hug. Hug hug hug.

"I love you," he murmurs, because he realizes he hasn't said that yet and he should.
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"I love you too, oh goddesses I'm so sorry for ignoring Path and for not checking before I tried the regular spell."

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Snuggle, snuggle. "Love, it's all right, you have nothing to be sorry for."

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Hug.

Isabella peers at the thingamajig.

"...Cannot combine ghost live body," she reads. "Oh, fuck."
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"... Fuck."
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Isabella takes a deep breath in an attempt to stop from crying again.

Nope, failure.
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Adarin holds his wife and pets her hair. "Shhh, it's okay, love..."

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"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry."

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"You have nothing to be sorry for, dear, you resurrected me and the magic did something unexpected."

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His alt will just - be over there. Being miserable and sleep-deprived.

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Isabella fixes the Terrible Adarin with a very sharp look.

"You," she says, "how long will it take you to have the mana to get us to Pantheon so we can go home and I can have access to all the herbs I need and my original spell development notes and so my Adarin can have his daemon back?"
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"Three, four days?" Pause. "Shorter if I spend a very large portion of it sleeping?"

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"Go. To. Sleep."

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"Right," he sighs. Then he gets up, heads to his house, and - flop.
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Isabella hugs 75% of her husband and pets his hair.

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He hugs her back, murmuring soothing things and snuggling her.

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Snuggle. Snuggle. There are probably logistics to work out about staying on this plane for the next several days but right now she just needs to hold him and work on not crying anymore, which is slow going.

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That's entirely fine, Adarin is still having trouble keeping himself from falling over. Also, his wife is crying. This is Important and this needs to be Fixed and he will hold her for as long as she likes until it is. And then probably some more after.

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Snuggles. Isabella is ignoring the local Veron and the helpful mage and her husband and can't very much bring herself to care at the moment.

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That's okay, the local Veron goes to quietly inform the helpful mage and her husband what's happened and then they all collectively decide to give Adarin and Isabella some space.

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Eventually Isabella manages to not cry for an entire twenty snuggly minutes in a row.

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Adarin kisses her forehead. "I love you," he murmurs.

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"I love you too. But not your alt. I am not very fond of him right now."

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"I never would have guessed," snorts Adarin.

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"You may expect a pattern of this in the future. If people kill you, I will not like them."

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He nods. "I'll endeavor not to be killed, then. I'm sorry, love."

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"That's even sillier than me being sorry," she points out.

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"Yes, but I am it, all the same."

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"Silly."

Squeeze.
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"A bit."

Snuggle.
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"I love you so much - if it had turned out the spell wouldn't work on mages at all or something I - I don't know."

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Adarin pets her hair soothingly.

"You won't ever have to know, love. Don't worry about it."
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"Mine," she mumbles into his shoulder, hugging him tight.

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"Always."