The entire ride was spent by Ignace and Ana acting as lovers long separated were wont to do: recounting everything that had occurred in each other's absence. The constant retelling of the many cases Ignace now had under his belt clashed perfectly with the mundanity of Ana's day to day life. As little more than a quiet Moo-Moo milk merchant, her tales of the variety of customers she dealt with were usually relatively uninteresting - save one young Trainer who unexpectedly cleared out her stock and left her significantly wealthier - and far more confused. Evidently, as she recounted to Ignace, buying it all at once was "more efficient."
On Charles's end, the endless deluge of questions that Jean leveled against the bisharp had left him cursing the amount of time Ignace had let pass since he last met with Ana.
"So Charlie, tell me," the banette began, wrestling with his arm in an attempt to hold his hand, "How's the blimp and dog? And what's the idiot been up to?"
"The 'blimp' is fine. Often flies around Lumiose. Gives rides to children." Charles chuckled, and Jean took the momentary weakness to grab his hand firmly. "Bothers the parents. Think she'll steal their souls. Dog is also well." He wrenched his hand out of her grip, his face setting into a frown. "Daniel is fine. Will say again: excellent friend. Prefer you'd not insult him."
Jeannette turned and leaned her back against him with a huff, but a smirk formed on her zippered mouth. Casually, she brought her arms up to his neck and locked her fingers together behind it. The bisharp sighed. This banette was relentless - though eventually her incessant playfulness would pass. Jean would know the dangerous stakes they faced soon enough, and she was never playful when Ana's safety was at risk.
The banette threw one of her legs casually over the other and replied, "Fine. Tell me what you've been up to then, Charlie. Anything particularly interesting?"
Charles sighed and propped an elbow up on the armrest opposite of Jean in an attempt to free himself from her affectionate hold. He dug his chin into his hand and muttered, "Nothing. Other than this case. Ghost Kings. Human hearts. Dark sewers and dangerous feelings." He sat up straight and cleared his throat. "Need to take this seriously. Will understand soon enough."
Jeannette pouted and sat up to turn in her seat. She reached out to turn Charles's face towards her and then unzipped her mouth. A peculiar purple smoke billowed softly from it. "I know that this is dangerous," she began. Her tone was completely different now. Softer. Less a cacophony of discordant sounds and more an echoing whisper. Though less harsh, her current tone was curt. "Ana got that box out of her closet. Winters is here with sad eyes and a muted presence - like a growlithe caught peeing on the bed. I'd say you're even more grim than usual." She floated up to bring her face level with Charles's and squared it with her own. "So don't go telling me about how serious this is. No nonsense to the very end - can't even let a lonely ghost have her fun." Charles made to look away from her, rolling his eyes dismissively. He was met with surprising resistance from the Ghost type, and as Jean inched closer the plumes of purple smoke puffing out from her mouth rose more rapidly in strange spirals. "Do me a favor." Another hand came up to his cheek, and she leaned forward. Charles felt her breath against his lips.
He wrenched himself from from her grip and pulled himself away from the banette. Her pursed, zipper-clad lips found nothing but air and she nearly fell forward. She caught herself and looked up at Charles, her face set in a frown and daggers in her eyes. "Really? I might die."
Charles averted his gaze. "Won't. Will make sure of it."
She floated up into the air and made her way to Ana, calling back, "You better. I won't ever haunt you again if you mess this up."
The bisharp gazed out the window and gave a noncommittal grunt. He knew she was right about that.
It bothered him.
Ignace helped Ana finish unpacking and swept his eyes across his room. "Sorry for the mess. You were always the homemaking type, not me," he said somewhat sheepishly. The various notes, books, boxes, clothing and dishes scattered about the apartment had only only increased in quantity as he'd dug deeper into the mystery at hand. His eyes swept from item to item in his room. The ragged mess of a couch first - the fault of Charles's tossing and turning when he slept on it at night. Next, the enormous arcanine splayed across the floor, one leg twitching. Finally, the drifblim floating aimlessly about his home, cooing infrequently and occasionally annoying Charles for her amusement.
Jeannette waved at the drifblim, now floating near the fridge, and called out, "How do you tolerate this dump?"
The drifblim began to float up, through the ceiling, and all Jeannette heard from her afterwards was, "Freedom!" It was a curious voice: high, almost tinny. And steeped all the way through with joy.
"Does she usually do that?" asked Jean to Charles. The bisharp nodded with a smirk. With a strange, ethereal laugh that made Ignace's spine tingle, Jeannette floated over to the dining table and sat down on its surface. She watched Ana take her place at the edge of Ignace's bed and fiddle with the crate in her arms.
"I'm going to get Ricard and d'Artagnan, Ana," explained Ignace. "In the meantime, uh…" He studied his love for a moment, the corners of his mouth creased into a frown. For all his skill with getting people to tell him things he needed to know, finding the right words for Ana was always a struggle. And so, lamely he said: "Get ready, I guess."
Ana stared through Ignace and nodded absently, as if she was distracted by something far beyond him. Then Jeannette felt the mood in the room suddenly plunge so harshly it might have shot through the floorboards. The tiny smirk on Charles's face vanished in an instant, replaced with a frown that closely mimicked his Trainer's.
The detective walked out - and then immediately back in, an impeccably dressed Ricard and a morose looking xatu following closely behind. The white-suited accountant looked unusually grim and angry. His blonde hair was a mess, signs of angrily running his fingers through it between sentences as he signed furiously at Ignace, who replied only half-heartedly.
The entire conversation was lost on Jean, Ana and Charles - until a voice sprung to life in the room: d'Artagnan's. "The Merchant is less than pleased with your presence, Priestess."
Ana looked about the room and pointed to herself. "Priestess? I-I'm not a P-Priestess."
"By the threads of this fraying tapestry, cast in shadow and burning with embers of cold fire, you have been named Priestess." The eyes upon the xatu's chest flashed a brilliant purple and he turned to face Jeannette. "And so too by the threads have you been named Vessel."
Jeannette frowned. "Vessel? Weird name. Why?"
D'Artagnan clicked his beak. "The tapestry does not explain these titles. We are left with nothing but what we can divine."
"Best to not ask questions. Accept. Easier that way." Charles crossed his arms and added, "Blade a fitting title. Vessel, on the other hand." He paused. "Hm. Understandable."
"Souls don't pour out of me when you open up this zipper; you two know better than that. Don't know who started that rumor but-"
D'Artagnan cut across Jean. "The time to discuss these matters has yet to come. For now, it is imperative that you, Vessel, know of the King that seeks to rise." The xatu resumed his telepathic translation, "As I said prior, the Merchant believes you have been brought here despite the ill effects it could have upon you. The Mortician suggests opening the container you clutch, and Ricard would rather you do anything but. However…
Ricard's arms finally stop gesturing and he instead crossed them. He stared at Ignace fuming, as if to demand an explanation.
"People are dying Ricard. We have to get this shit done as fast as we can," Ignace signed and spoke simultaneously. "That researcher and his gardevoir should be put in danger for as little time as possible, and that also goes for Ana. Even if it means using her kit again. Let me explain everything to her first, and then, well... if she thinks that she can't help, or that her help would just get us killed, then I'll send her home and we do this your way. Is that fair? Throw me a bone here."
The corner of Ricard's mouth twitched and with a slight jerk of his head, Ignace immediately launched into a breakneck pace explanation of everything that had unfolded in Lumiose. It would have been unwise to have told Ana all of this on the train - not where others could hear and cause a panic. Or worse.
Jean was having difficulty keeping up - between her own tenuous grasp of human speech and the pace at which Ignace was delivering his words, she was thankful for d'Artagnan's translation. Or at least she felt she should be, but the explanation of what exactly was happening in the city made her essence regress. It was a peculiar sensation like falling down, but inwards, into an abyss unseen. She hated it, and for good reason - it was always a sign of grim times ahead. Her zippered mouth twisted into a worried frown as she looked over at Ana, who was busy fidgeting with the chain wrapped around the box.
Ignace finished his explanation and followed Ana's expression morosely. Somewhere in the midst of it her attention had snapped back to the room, and her eyes now searched Ignace's face. "So Ana, now that you know what's happening," he began, still signing for Ricard's sake, "Can you help? I won't pretend that this isn't something I need right now. But if you'd rather head right back home-"
Ana lifted the box to level it with her eyes and spoke to it - or rather, through it, at Ignace. "I-It sounds like R-Ricard here would r-rather I not h-help." She took a breath and leaned around the box to look the accountant in the eyes. "B-but Ignace is r-right. I h-have to h-help. It's the o-only w-w-way." She lowered the box again and set it in her lap, then looked at Ignace seriously, her face suddenly severe. "B-but you've g-gone and involved a T-trainer and his p-pokemon as w-well?"
As if on cue, a knock rang out at the door and Charles turned to answer it. A moment later, the forms of Johannes and Viola entered the apartment, further crowding the interior. Jean took note of the gardevoir - how she stepped in time with her Trainer, the odd sparkle of the ring on her finger, and the belt around her waist from which dangled pouches and a curious stone set into a looplet.
And that...sun hat. The banette frowned. A sun hat?
Johannes held his hand out to Ana. "Pleased to meet you Ana. Johannes. This is Viola, my wife." She returned the handshake and looked at Viola with a small smile.
Jeannette unzipped her mouth and let out a single, ringing laugh. "Wife? Did I hear that right? Charlie, tell me I heard that right."
The bisharp threw her a sharp look and put a finger to his lips. "Yes. Not the time. Be respectful."
Viola ignored the outburst and clasped Ana's hand with both of her own, intoning telepathically, "Indeed. You are even more beautiful than Ignace's memories - ah!" She bowed deeply, catching herself. "My apologies. That was uncalled for. Forget I mentioned anything."
The cold voice did not bother Ana - she could pierce it, feel the warmth that bubbled underneath. Instead, she looked to Ignace with a puzzled expression. "Memories?"
The detective leaned against his closet door. "It's honestly a long story, Ana. Nothing to be worried about. Not now. We've got…" His eyes fell upon the box and he sighed. "More pressing matters."
"What's in the box?" asked Johannes, eyeing it warily.
Ricard gestured bitterly at them, and d'Artagnan's voice rang out in the apartment, "Her undoing. Or so believes the Merchant. He and I both are rather acquainted with the Priestess and her prayers and rituals. Not first-hand, however. Not yet. It would seem that through the Mortician's own hand we now shall be."
"Why them?" asked Ana, pointing to Johannes and Viola.
"Johannes is a behavioral researcher. He'll be helpful in giving us insight into potential patterns we can exploit. Or maybe we'll find out something about the dusknoir he'll be able to help with. Viola is an emotional dowsing rod. She can find the desecrated corpses of the heartless victims. Or maybe zero in on dusknoir. Maybe both. Lots of trials to run still honestly," supplied Ignace.
Ana furrowed her brow. "I s-see. Th-this is quite nice of y-you t-two."
The small smile upon Viola's face vanished and she looked worried again. Her hand came to the gardevoirite set into the looplet upon her belt and rubbed it nervously. "We may be marked. Hunted, perhaps. It is in our best interests to help to ensure our own safety."
"Hunted? What h-happened?" asked Ana in alarm. She set the box aside and stood, striding over to him and grabbed Ignace by his shoulders. "J-just h-how deep does th-this all run? Th-they shouldn't b-be m-marked!"
Ignace shifted uncomfortably against the closet door. "I don't know Ana. They were attacked, hunted down by a dusknoir for quite some time across a large chunk of Lumiose. It was on the news: a chase through the sky and everything. They'd have to be marked if crazy shit like that's happening, right?"
She gave him an incredulous look and then turned back to her box. "It sh-shouldn't be th-this way. I-innocent people m-marked by this "g-ghost k-king". It's a-all wr-wrong."
Ricard began to sign again, but Ignace cut him off, signing and saying, "Ricard, you know I always fuckin' listen to you. But this time, I think you need to let me have this. You heard Ana. You said if she was willing to help, you wouldn't say anything. We're burning time we could be spending figuring out what to do next." He walked up to the accountant and put a hand on his shoulder. "Trust me."
Ricard's eyes scanned Igance's moving lips and after a moment, he sighed. His arms rose slowly and he said simply, "Fine."
Ignace inclined his head in thanks and then craned his neck around to look at Ana. "Alright. Open it."
Ana pulled a small key free from underneath the neckline of her dress. It was a simple brass design, tied to a mundane piece of leather string. She rotated the box until she found the padlock upon it and unlocked it. The chains fell away soundlessly, and landed with a curiously muffled clink on the floor. The tags upon the box began to glow, with the symbols in particular shining a brilliant shade of crimson.
Jeannette got up from the kitchen table and floated over to Ana to sit on her shoulder. Her trainer reached up and rubbed the top of her head absently before she busied herself with the tags.
One by one Ana tore off the tags from each side of the box. Each time one was removed the tag in question would flash red and then fade into a blank sheet of paper.
Rip. Rip. Rip.
And then only one remained. She grasped the tag between her thumb and forefinger and gently ripped it free. The box shuddered for a moment and then fell apart. She tossed the slack pieces of wood aside and revealed a curious, deep purple cloth. It was oddly bundled, as if something had been carefully wrapped inside. .
"Pieces fall into place, Mortician. But are you so ready to brave the realm of the dead again?" asked d'Artagnan in a whisper. Ignace shushed him.
Ana's hands were trembling now, and with some difficulty they unwrapped the item held within the reaper's cloth. A curious chunk of stone sat within, no larger than the gardevoirite Viola wore at her hip. Ana took a deep breath and looked up at Ignace, her warm, black eyes wild and burning with a strange mixture of fear and determination. "D'Artagnan. Y-you're a xatu. You c-can see into the future, r-right?"
"My Sight is muddied. Dim. The fires that light the tapestries that have led us to this King have begun to die. The very fabric erodes, frays and tears. The King, his servants, the damned themselves - someone is hindering our progress," replied the xatu telepathically. "Yet I cannot help but notice. The Reaper's Cloth. We can breach the other side, for a time. We have done so once already."
Ana shook her head. "I need th-this cloth. I h-have a b-better idea in m-mind. D-do you t-trust me?"
D'Artagnan inclined his head. "We are all desperate to see this through. The pillars and hearts. The mounting pile of corpses. It would be the very apex of idiocy to presume that we are blessed with the Temporal One's gift."
Ana frowned. "B-but do you t-trust me?"
The xatu flapped his wings and clicked his beak. "I do."
She smiled and turned to Ignace. "This time, Daniel, I won't be pushed to the brink."
The detective stared back and nodded. "Of course. I'm gonna hold you to that promise, Ana."
Johannes and Viola alike performed a miniscule doubletake, their eyes flitting from Ana to Ignace and back. Daniel?
Ana took hold of the orb in her free hand and began to swirl the reaper's cloth around it, muttering under her breath. Strange flickers of purple shaped like embers and smoke trails blinked into existence around her. Johannes stared at Ana, his mouth agape, and then turned his attention to Jeannette. The banette unzipped her mouth and spat out what appeared to be a small ball of energy. It hovered in the air for a moment before she grabbed it and held it above the swirling cloth and now glowing orb.
Ana stopped swirling the cloth around the orb and called out, "Shisha no me..." The orb let out a brilliant grey light and everyone in the room winced - with the exception of Ana and Jeannette. Ignace rubbed his eyes and focused back on Ana, and saw that her eyes had transformed into beacons of deep purple light. She clutched the cloth and orb to her chest and tightly closed her eyelids. Even then the light still filtered through them.
"Ana? Are you alright?" asked Ignace, taking a step forward.
"Blessings of the Origin, gifts from the Altered," she murmured.
"I'm going to guess yes then," he replied, kneeling down to put a hand on her shoulder.
Her eyes opened, still wild and wide, though now mania lived behind them, with fear nowhere to be found. The warm black irises that hid her pupils had disappeared, replaced now with deep purple ones instead, marked with a curious black spiral that grew from the wide pupils of her eyes.
"Hmm," she droned, her eyes now closing slowly. "Mmmm. Jean! Unzip!" Her eyes were wide open again, her head whipping about to look at her banette so quickly it concerned Ignace.
Jean unzipped her mouth and reached into it. Down. Down. A bulge appeared in her throat as her arm snaked further down before it reversed and produced a glowing purple crystal alongside a great deal of spiraling, deep purple smoke. The banette dropped the orb into Ana's hands, who then pressed it against the curious grey crystal she still held with the cloth in her other hand. There was a soft crack and the two were now one.
"Yes. Perfect," mumbled Ana, her voice rising in pitch suddenly. "We are ready!" She reached up and zipped Jeannette's mouth shut again and rubbed one of the ear-like protrusions atop her head fondly.
"Ana?" asked Ignace tentatively.
The hex maniac turned to face her lover and grinned. "Of course. The whispers are back now, but soon! Soon they will explain. They will provide. The spirits will speak, and I will listen!" She strode over to him and leaned against him, her free hand tracing a circle above the orb she held in the other.
"How long exactly will this take, Ana?" asked Johannes.
"Mmm. A day. Perhaps. Two? Unsure. Murky still." She abruptly sat on the ground and snapped her fingers repeatedly. "Burn the tags, cast the ashes and read the augur!" She shouted the last word and pointed directly at d'Artagnan. "No movements here where the living still walk. Pierce the veil. Push beyond, beyond the now and what-was. Into the what-will. Tell me, bird: are you the bringer of ill omen?" As she said this, Jean responded by floating down to her trainer's level. Ana unzipped the banette's mouth again and then pointed at Ignace without looking directly at him. "Tags! I see them! Upon the walls. Poorly drawn with incantations in the tongue of common man! I require blank ones. Now."
Ignace pushed himself past the crowd in his apartment, into another room, then quickly came back again. He dropped a stack of tags next to Ana and then sat down beside her. "Here. What are you doing?" he asked, eyeing the tags and the banette's smoking, unzipped mouth uneasily.
"In. Vo. King." A pause. Ana laughed madly and spread a dozen tags out on the floor in front of her. "Charles. To my side. Now." The bisharp briefly frowned at Ignace and then strode over to Ana after the detective gave him an affirming nod. Her arms moved so quickly they became a blur of purple sleeves and Ana ran the very tip of her finger across the sharp point formed by one of the blades that protruded from Charles's midsection. With the steady trickle of blood which now flowed from her fingertip, she began to write a series of strange symbols upon the tags. Each one featured different characters, shapes and glyphs, were paired with different mumbled phrases and were finalized with unique flourishing gesture each.
"Shadow of the Alpha, the Renegade's ichor: light my path and fell those who would lead me astray!" She waved her hand in a sweeping gesture across all of the tags and exhaled. In one fluid motion she scooped them up, stuffed them into Jean's mouth and zipped it shut. "More than a cloth. Better than a cloth!" She then unzipped Jeannette's mouth and removed a single, smoking tag. The paper had changed color to a curious purple and the blood writing had turned to a shimmering, silver. "A griseous augur." She beckoned the xatu towards her and gestured for him to move to a patch of floor before her. She laid the tag neatly upon the ground and waited for d'Artagnan to stand before her.
"Jeannette will burn the tag in a way that only the spirits can." She tilted her head and grinned. "And overachievers, I suppose. Jean! Burn the augur." She focused her gaze on d'Artagnan again. "And you, prove yourself worthy of your title."
"Conduit?" asked the xatu, confused.
Johannes's brain felt as if it was spinning in his head, but he understood what she meant. Pokedex trivia mostly, these titles, but they were often fitting. "No. Mystic."
D'Artagnan chortled. "Ah yes. Of course. The augur burns and the Mystic gazes into the flame. Beyond the flame, and sees at last the tapestry, illuminated anew."
"Yesss," hissed Ana. "Fear not the dead, Mystic. The left stares into the what-was. The right…"
"Into the what-will." d'Artagnan drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his feathers with pride. "Burn the augur, Vessel."
Jean mumbled a vague protest at the title before blowing a wisp of purple flame at the tag. Slowly, lazily, it drifted to the tag and on contact it exploded into a brilliant violet gout of flame.
"You're gonna burn the apartment down!" shouted Johannes.
"Shut up," Ignace snapped. "Let them work."
The eyes upon the xatu's chest flashed a brilliant crimson and he let out a low, throbbing cry.
d'Artagnan was flying through the darkness. He caught glimpses of the outlines of buildings that resembled Lumiose and found himself being sucked with increasing speed towards the center of the city. The shapes blurred past him and then, all at once, he stopped. There, in the center of Lumoise, was a building that rose out where Prism Tower stood in the world of the living. Much of the copycat had disappeared, however, replaced instead with a swirling black void. Somewhere deep in the center he caught a glimpse of purple.
Something jerked him forward, towards the void. He flapped his wings vainly against the force - to no avail. He began to plummet into the swirling vortex of blackness and his vision went dark.
"The Mystic, in my throne room. In my realm. You have poor judgment." The voice shook d'Artagnan awake.
He struggled to his feet and found himself in a dark stone room that resembled a crypt. In the center of the room swirled a small void of black which partially obscured a stone throne. High above the throne sat a single disc of light. Every so often a plume of smoke would slip through the disc and disappear - or billow out of it. He stood defiantly before the swirling black masses that sat upon the throne, shifting in shape and bubbling and exploding into plumes of smoke.
"Perhaps it is you that has poor judgment instead. The heart of Lumiose? How fitting, given your obsession with those of the living," replied d'Artagnan coolly.
"You know not who you speak to, insolent bird. And now you never shall, for you will be struck down where you stand!" replied the voice from throne. "Worthless cur!"
A sword exploded out of the darkness and slashed at d'Artagnan, who only just managed to throw himself upon the ground to avoid it. A moment later a shield came flying out of the darkness and struck him in the stomach. He got to his feet in time to dodge a sword that screamed out of the swirling black again. It struck the ground before him before then sped back into the safety of the smoke.
"A sword and shield? You certainly take a traditional approach to the monarch," noted d'Artagnan.
Clang. The shield fell short.
Clink. Pain. The sword hadn't.
d'Artagnan had launched himself away from the sword too late and a gash now ran along his side. He needed a way out of the crypt, but the swirling forces upon the throne pulled on his very soul and kept him grounded. He felt a tug at his back. They were trying to pull him back. Had a wound opened upon his actual body? His eyes searched the room and fell upon the shield. The patterns upon it were strangely familiar. He thought to examine it further - but then the shield was gone again, retrieved inexplicably by the sword. The tugging on his back became more insistent - as a matter of fact, thought the xatu, it was beginning to hurt more than the gash.
He stumbled back several feet, the tugging now joined by a terrible burning across his torso. Tags. He looked to the throne and laughed.
"Insolent, worthless maggot, what mockery is this?" boomed the harsh voice from the throne.
"You had your chance. You were bested by strips of paper and a talking bird," said d'Artagnan simply.
There was a howl of rage and the sword and shield, affixed to one another came soaring out of the dark directly at d'Artagnan. He blinked and felt himself flying backwards with mounting speed, away from the crypt, away from the rage-filled howls of the chamber, and away from the swirling black.
D'Artagnan slammed back first onto the ground and groaned.
Ricard was kneeling next to him, his chest heaving and his hands signing frantically, "D'Artagnan! Are you alright? Are you alright?"
The xatu chuckled weakly. "Of course, Merchant. Of course." He got to his feet gingerly and glanced down where the gash should have been. Nothing, though he was covered in tags. "Most curious. I was struck by a blade during my journey." He glanced past Ricard at Ana and added, "A most perilous journey. Had I known this trip might have spelled my end I would have given Ricard my best."
Ana stared back at the xatu, her face unreadable and said flatly, "No journey is without risk. The lost and the damned are vengeful, hateful, and fearful. The risks, you already knew them."
Ricard looked mortified, but d'Artagnan instead laughed in earnest. "Why would a Mystic need to be forewarned of danger? Much less the danger of walking into the house that damnation built."
The accountant pulled the xatu into an embrace, rubbing his head gently.
"O-ho. It would seem I am owed my winnings, Merchant." He brought a wing up awkwardly and tapped his Trainer's back in consolation. An imitation of a human gesture, but effective all the same.
Ricard pulled away from d'Artagnan, wiping his eyes and signed, "Of course. I should have known better than to bet against a xatu."
"It was you that believed it wise, not I. Really, did you expect common cinema to move me to tears?" asked d'Artagnan.
"At the risk of looking like an asshole for interrupting, that was a hell of a thing to watch d'Artagnan," interjected Ignace. "Thought things had gone to shit when you started, uh…leaking.'"
The xatu clicked his beak in confusion. "Explain."
"Wounds among the dead tear the spirit. Harms our will. Damaged, it must escape. From the eyes, the mouth, the ears and nose. Smoke black with death," explained Ana. "But you are well. What did you see, Mystic? What did the fires reveal to you?"
"Not the tapestry. I was pulled from it, I believe. Pulled from everything. Sucked into the center of that mockery of Lumiose that the Merchant, Mortician and Blade saw alongside me. Into a room. A throne room. There I met our monarch- the Ghost King. No more than a collection of black smoke and bubbling shapelessness. Ethereal. He was there and yet...not."
D'Artagnan glanced around the room at the worried expressions on everyone's faces and continued, "But his blade was. So too was his shield. Thrust out at me, one by one. Both at once. He is formidable."
Ana cut in. "The smoke. The shapelessness. Was there light? Any at all? Was the smoke billowing out or in? Both?"
"There was a disc. It blew out smoke and sucked it in. And...it emitted light."
"A portal?" asked Ana.
"I am not sure. That begs some investigation." d'Artagnan paused and thought back to the shield on the ground and how it flew at him, attached to the sword. "I remember the shield...the patterns." He fell silent. "Three swirls of brass that ring around black holes. Filled with the purple light we have come to associate with the departed. So...familiar."
"It should be, I think. If you've ever seen one before, anyway. Even in pokedexes or books," interjected Johannes. The entire room turned to look at him. He shrunk somewhat. "I mean, that pattern d'Artagnan mentioned. The sword. The shield.
"That's an aegislash."