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[Dwarmin]

She waved and moved towards Iris, and did her usual introduction of herself, mentioning merely the names of her companions as to not step in their way of introductions either.

"It's great seeing two friendly faces; two faces we've seen over miles and days of work and wear. I'm Alain, previously a librarian but also very versed in the lore of many things. What's your name and how did you get here alone? Do you know anything of this place?"

Damon heaves quite the impressive sigh.

"_{I will finish this with you later, Alain.}"

He then gives a slight bow to Iris.

"Hello, miss. I am Captain Damon Sourdeval, here with General Ariston Pythias, both of-- formerly of Mir, and our charges, misses Alain, Sacha, Rosalia, and Yilda. As it seems, we require of your assistance."

How and why exactly this was, he declined to ask.

The woman seemed extremely sedate at Alains approach, showing little emotional reaction, until she was finished. Then she watched the byplay between the group with something like amusement, though it was hard to tell unless you were good at reading faces. It had been a very long time since Iris had anyone to talk to, and her face was to the unlearned eye an emotionless mask.

Finally, she absorbed the Captains words-and in spite of her lack she gave a small curtsy (very formal) towards him. Since she was wearing a tunic, a skirt, and a waist length cape, she was well dressed for it-her clothing bears obvious signs of battle damage and repair, not to mention a coating of recent bone dust, but somehow she has managed to maintain an immaculate figure.

"Yes, I suppose you do need my help...it's a pleasure to meet you, Captain. More than you can know. Been a long time since I've seen someone with warm blood...and bright eyes. Too many critics these days. Nothing, but the same old thing, drab, grey and dark...hmmph...your little group is quite colorful, anyway...

Well! Where to begin? ...We used to have so much to talk about, didn't we? ...My name, is Iris.

I am an Artist. The very best. I work in paints, living paint-making life on canvas, snipping a bit of soul, cutting and trimming, shaping and re-making...unfortunately, since I have no more living audience, I only work for myself these days. Not that I wouldn't mind painting you, Captain, you cut a good figure...in fact, I might already have? ...Well, I did a lot of work for a lot of people, once. Filled entire halls with beautiful colors. These days my work is a bit less formal, but no less efficacious. It mostly deals in violence, and physical action, the interplay of destruction and creation, the passion of pain and triumph, interplay of shadow and light...my powers are now quite potent. I've learned new ways to paint.

Simply put, I'll destroy whatever is in my way. And, since we are at the moment traveling together, is now our way, correct?"

"Charges? I seem to recall picking you up off the floor several times in the past two engagements. If anything, Captain, you are my charge."

Iris seemed to enjoy the byplay, if only because she imagined this brilliantly crimson-haired woman (you could do so much with a pigment like that!) was feeling territorial, because of her presence. Well, it might even be true. Even in these times, social constructs still had to be maintained.

She gave Sacha a nearly invisible smile.

"And, which one are you? I have several names, but no where to put them.

...Also, as an aside, is your hair color quite natural? It's been a long time since I've beheld such a shade of hearts-blood-red...like the cup of a rose...ah, yes, I could paint you too, if I found just the right light..." She said, drifting a bit.

Damon turns around to face Sacha and gives her a withering glare, then faced Iris again with a neutral expression.

Iris seemed to match his neutral expression idly, like two statues facing one another.

[SOLDIER First]

".......No. No, you haven't."

There is no humor in his words.

"The General is somewhere in the village. He should be returning shortly."

[Twinwolf]

Rosalia heads over as well, to introduce herself to the new face.

"Hello! Nice to see another friend in a place like this. There haven't been nearly enough. My name is Rosalia, and I look forward to working with you, Iris. I don't have nearly as impressive an introduction - I'm just an archer who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

[Dwarmin]

".......No. No, you haven't."

There is no humor in his words.

A man of few words, indeed.

"Oh, can you really be sure?" She said, toying with him a bit. "None of us really remember anything-it's all dust and false light. Maybe I did paint you. Maybe we became friends. Maybe we were more. Maybe we traveled the world together, and now the tragedy is that we can only see one another as total strangers...neither of willing to face the pain of the memories we made together?" Her tone is completely insincere, and seems to indicate this is a great source amusement to her.

Rosalia heads over as well, to introduce herself to the new face.

"Hello! Nice to see another friend in a place like this. There haven't been nearly enough. My name is Rosalia, and I look forward to working with you, Iris. I don't have nearly as impressive an introduction - I'm just an archer who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Iris turned to the woman with the pretty eyes and gave a slightly more sincere smile.

"A friend...yes, I suppose we will be. Rosalia...a pretty name. Suits you...roses can be blue or red...depending on the season...

I will have to teach you to shed that bothersome humility, however...you're standing here, in the ashes and bones, thinking, and being-that means you're quite exceptional. Maybe not as much as me, but who's keeping score?" She said sarcastically, yet warmly.

[Blade Master Model 42]

"I am Yilda." Yilda kept her eyes on the firekeeper. She still hadn't received an answer, and the dim hope that she would get one was already fading.

[Dwarmin]

"I am Yilda." Yilda kept her eyes on the firekeeper. She still hadn't received an answer, and the dim hope that she would get one was already fading.

Another one of few words! Still, gold, red and blue...

"♫Flowers for summer, winter and fall...♫" She commented, musically. Iris turned to see what she was looking at.

...

"...Oh, that one is quite terse. You'll extract very little exposition from her."

[SOLDIER First]

Damon stares Iris dead in the face, without blinking. When he speaks, and gods does he speak, it is without a trace of malice.

"For the last, what, five centuries? Six, perhaps? For however long, I have been trapped inside of a dilapidated castle with nobody and nothing at all for company except my sole remaining friend in this gods-forsaken wasteland and the corpses of the men who died for my incredible failure on a battlefield, the same failure that ended with us being sealed there in the first place. We did not see the light of day for one single minute since then, until now. I died generations before your parents' parents were ever born. There is not one, single, conceivable way I met you, or fell in love with you, or were made conscious of the fact that you even existed. Do not insult the General and I, or our fallen soldiers, by implying otherwise. I won't ask a second time."

[SeriousConcentrate]

After searching the buildings, Ariston returned to the party to note that they were having a lively chat with the woman Lady Sarinna had mentioned they would need. In fact the woman was singing as he approached. That was... good, probably. It at least indicated she had high spirits and wasn't likely to hollow out on them any time soon.

"...Oh, that one is quite terse. You'll extract very little exposition from her."

"I've noticed. She doesn't seem to like answering questions. Still, I'll not judge her too harshly; she's been living in a land of hollows for who knows how long. It would drive anyone mad."

He and Damon would know better than the rest what isolation could do to a person, and they at least had had each other. If Lady Sarinna was a little... off, that was only natural.

"Ariston Pythias, miss...?"

"For the last, what, five centuries? Six, perhaps? For however long, I have been trapped inside of a dilapidated castle with nobody and nothing at all for company except my sole remaining friend in this gods-forsaken wasteland and the corpses of the men who died for my incredible failure on a battlefield, the same failure that ended with us being sealed there in the first place. We did not see the light of day for one single minute since then, until now. I died generations before your parents' parents were ever born. There is not one, single, conceivable way I met you, or fell in love with you, or were made conscious of the fact that you even existed. Do not insult the General and I, or our fallen soldiers, by implying otherwise. I won't ask a second time."

"It was my fault we were outmaneuvered and routed. You only did as I asked."

[SOLDIER First]

"I refuse to entertain the notion. Save your breath, Ariston."

[SeriousConcentrate]

"You told me once, before I even knew how to swing an axe, 'victory starts from the bottom of the chain of command and failure starts from the top.' Are you going to tell me you've been lying to me for centuries Damon?"

[Blade Master Model 42]

"I suppose I should have learned better by now than to expect anyone to have answers for me." Yilda watched the two men of the group have their back and forth. Both of them were so humble. Before, might have thought that that might just be what becoming undead meant for everyone. Yet, there were Alain, Sacha and Rosalia, all of them so chipper. The new woman, Iris, seemed very much so as well.

[SOLDIER First]

"Only in your wildest fantasies would I admit anything of the sort."

"...But perhaps I was wrong."

[Dwarmin]

Damon stares Iris dead in the face, without blinking. When he speaks, and gods does he speak, it is without a trace of malice.

"For the last, what, five centuries? Six, perhaps? For however long, I have been trapped inside of a dilapidated castle with nobody and nothing at all for company except my sole remaining friend in this gods-forsaken wasteland and the corpses of the men who died for my incredible failure on a battlefield, the same failure that ended with us being sealed there in the first place. We did not see the light of day for one single minute since then, until now. I died generations before your parents' parents were ever born. There is not one, single, conceivable way I met you, or fell in love with you, or were made conscious of the fact that you even existed. Do not insult the General and I, or our fallen soldiers, by implying otherwise. I won't ask a second time."

"So you do have something to say, after all? Good to know you have more than dust in your throat, Captain...also, that was a joke. Has it has been awhile since someone made light of things around here? Oh dear...I will attempt to keep in my mind, your great fondness for the memory of the fallen-as we liberally plow through the hordes of undead carcasses with hammers, blades, spears, arrows and explosive magical spells...

Ah, yes. You'll find me quite insincere, I'm sorry to say...and, if you wanted a soldier who would follow orders, you're shi...eh, totally out of luck..." She said, her tones fairly even and a bit pitiless.

"Ariston Pythias, miss...?"

She gives another curtsy to the general, if not as low.

"Miss Baker. Just Iris Baker. My family was literally Bakers...the smell of fresh bread. Well, some things just keep you alive, don't they?" She asked, questioning in her tone, but the question went nowhere...or everywhere.

[SeriousConcentrate]

"I disagree. I'll gladly attribute our victories to the hard work and dedication of the men under my command. That includes you - as you said, 'a leader's strategy is useless if the soldiers can't do their part'."

Ariston turned to Iris.

"He'll never admit it - we of Mir don't like to speak ill of our leaders - but Captain Sourdeval was always the smarter of the two of us, miss Baker."

"But I'm the stronger one. It must be because I'm so much younger."

That was a few jokes in one. For one thing, Damon was probably only ten years -at most - older than Ariston. For the other, Ariston was probably around four hundred years older than the next oldest member of the team, which he had pegged as Yilda though he couldn't be certain. She at least seemed to not be as exuberant as the others, which might mean time spent undead. If nothing else, Damon was probably happy to see Ariston acting somewhat like his old self. For that matter, Ariston was surprised by it as well. Maybe the sea air was good for you.

[Tiruin]

Walking up to Yilda (and also becoming quite aware of how dusty everyone's accoutrements were), Alain noticed her trying to talk to the lorekeeper.

"She will speak soon, it's best not to demand or interrupt those who speak in lore. They're like prophets and oracles; they speak when their time is needed and never before. Don't worry about being ignored, I do believe she heard you. What'd you like to do in the meantime by the way? I was planning to do something with Rose or Sacha, but they're busy right now."