Constance: Another decree, Pluto

[01:36] Pluto says, "I want to kill."
[01:37] Nox says, "Go on, then."
[01:37] Constance says, "Aha, that sounds dangerous."
[01:39] Pluto says, "No, Asma's arm is all messed up. No point in a solitary stroll."
[01:42] Constance asks, "Hmmm, are you going to that, uh, thingy?"
[01:42] Constance says, "That dangerous march tomorrow..."
[01:43] Pluto says, "Sure am, we're doing that whole thing because of me and me loud mouth anyway."
[01:43] Constance says, "Aha, I see I see."
[01:44] Constance sheepishly glances around, sweat beads partial in their motions.
(Constance)
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[01:44] Constance says, "Then, can sh- I borrow you about that for a sec, aha."
[01:44] Pluto asks, "Hmm?"
[01:44] Pluto asks, "That depends, what do you need?"
[01:44] Constance says, "Just a word really, I think there's... something to foresee. Aha."
[01:45] Pluto says, "Uh, alright."
[01:45] Pluto asks, "Oi, were your eyes always that grey?"
[01:45] Pluto says, "Never mind that."
[01:46] Constance says, "Aha, yes..."
[01:56] Across motions does a search for solace beseech a trance across the badlands upon the weary dirt paths of Esshar. Where eyes fail to meet with its makers does the remote reaches falter and meld into the synonymous outerlands that no mere commoner would find precarious in its place.

Leading the charge, the placement of Constance motions in an odd point of euphoria. Sheepish in her motives, there is a sense of whimsy in the eerie union of both knowing where to take the duo and unknowing of where she were going.

Could such a thing even be possible?

Regardless, perhaps it would be of no surprise if one grew wary of such actions. If it were not for the frail and defenseless nature of Constance would this had been a point of intrigue for potential danger.

The molten invasion of heat simmering across the secluded cavern they found themselves in would be where placement ends. For whatever her own reasons are, the mundane lass had brought this one over yonder to this point.

"Aha, here we are," she hums, tapping a finger across precipitating cheeks as the mixture of anxiety and heat brings her sweat nature to come forth. "Sorry for the long walk, it's important, I promise."

She steps back, eyes laden across her surroundings before the shivers and shakes get the better of her.

"I brought him already. Now what?"

"What do you mean? No, no, no. I did what you told me to."

"I can't do that!"

In an oddity of a being, silent exchanges with an absent being find itself. Yet only the side of Constance comes through. As if she had been speaking to the air before her.

An esoteric one, this was.
(Constance)
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[02:10] For a moment, Pluto would've sworn he was being led east with the intent of being confronted within the confines of the game shop, yet soon enough — or rather predictably late given his general lack of insight — he would find this notion subverted.

They're underground, a homely environment for him. Yet, it is warm, damp and annoyingly stuffy.

Here we are. "Pardon me, where the hel is here?" Eyes squint, straining to make out anything notable out of their surroundings, before laying back atop Constance in this pursuit of meaning. Soon thereafter, the faux delusional ramblings of the shorter woman begin to evoke themselves, as if in an argument.

Belatedly, the spelunker speaks. "Oi, you're not setting me up for an ambush, are you?

I will eat you alive if that's the case." Though it sounded deadpan sincere, the threat didn't feel immediate. It was, however, supported on the cockney croon of his baritone.

"Who's there?" He would ask aloud, the echo of the caverns answering back in a late reflection. Vacant, he awaits for some form of vocal recipient, perhaps one hidden in the shadows of the rubicund cavern.
(Pluto)
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[02:13] Despite her busted arm, she still trailed out behind the duo - curiosity having garnered the most of her. Even if her death was desired by Galamea's own High lady. Onwards Constance led Pluto, and by extension, Asma herself, until they were met within a damp and dreary cave. One with a warm environment and one in which even the heat of the dirt under her feet could be felt.

It caused her discomfort.

But she listened, not quite hearing Constance's own vague whispers and mutters before she groaned.

"It's just me." Assuming the miner had meant her own presence and not someone else's. Her arms crossed in front of her.
(Asma)
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[02:23] "NO!" Her response were erratic, swift in dousing any presumptions of ill-intent. "I, I don't think I can hurt anyone... let alone someone that can fight back." Still, amidst the stressed disputation, the black-haired individual still finds points to shrink her presences further.

"I promise, this'll all be clear soon," she assures, a hand raised, almost to gesture a promise. All of which done before she swiftly turns her back once more, whispering beneath her breath.

For whatever mysterious promises she drops, there rises more mist that shrouds her intentions further.

Or was her motives already laid bare in the first place?

Still, the back-and-forth of her presence with that of the soundless voice leaves much to be desired; at least whence the decree for information is involved.

Only does moments later that she finally faces forward, the words of Matilda ringing deep within her head.

Grant thy wish.

"Fine."

Only by Asma's arrival does Constance moves. Still, compared to the others, she were sluggish, gaudy, slow. And yet, the surprise in her motions allows for a moment's head start. For she did not run toward Pluto nor Asma.

She were running straight for the molten magma ahead, almost as if she were aimed to allow it to embrace her.
(Constance)
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[04:25] Upon the impact by the heated brimstone of the bloodline of Eternia's core, there is a yelp of anguish that were synonymous to unparalleled and genuine pain. The burns and cuts hidden beneath the tormented's mask shunned and revealed as the very investiture of fire sought to consume the very aspect of Constance itself.

And for a moment, perhaps she might have just burnt up for the fragile rose that she were.

That is, until a single boot steps free from the magmatic binding.

From it, the billows of blacks and reds trickle free, the sealed essence manifested and freed. No longer had the meek and unimposing visage of the lass emerge from the forlorn heat, but the prideful smirk enveloping the countenance of Lady Astoria had taken her place.

Whether it be a trick of the light, an infusion of illusions, or an act of the gods remains unknown. All that mattered was the Lady's presence now overriding that of Constance's.

"Heed thee, my dears," she muses, the singular crimson hue peering between the center-point of Pluto and Asma. "I had merely come to imposed the pre-destined decree of the Phoenixlight Concordance."

And in so, a glance is made to the miner, a glint of an otherworldly and alien aura seemingly peeling from unblemished pores. "And it is in its decree that had forsaken me from my placement to assure it is enacted."

"The tidings of fate is brought unto thy hands. It is this premonition that will unveil the fates of both I and you."

From empty fingertips, fire brittles and cascades, manifesting into its concordant shape before hardening into the browns of the Lady's weapon of choice: Diavolo, the Devil's Finger.

From it, the focus moves to point upon Pluto, the tip lightly grazing his forehead; intentions mysterious, yet seemingly good-willed. "In thy slumber, let your march prove fruitful. For in the mirth and flowof life, there is a requisite fall that first needs to occur."

Like the visions imposed at the destruction of Novus, this too yields a familiar output. Yet from one Accursed Eye would bestow the transcripts of a future primed to be formed.

The razed desert, engulfed and flame as sand transmutes upon shards of glass. The once prideful formation of once enslaved beings finding no respite. And amidst it all, a new bloom of life configures into existence. For at the fall of one, the rise of another calls for balance.

Clamoring for defense, the rallied troops move the set ablaze the very people that sought to hunt them. And amidst it all, an overturned body, adorned in blacks, lie face-first upon the sand.

Or so decreed by the so called Phoenixlight Concordance.

Whether this aspect of fate is made real or not remains unknown.

Regardless, either by the influx of information or the very passing of thoughts as it may be, noform of physical might could easily transcend the mental strain caused by such a missive. As premonitions, as insightful as they may be, oft is not made for the consumption of mere mortals.

"This. This is our requiem, my dear."
(Lady Astoria)
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[04:42] Asma watched, in silence, as Constance seemed to run into the fire. Her body tensed and she nearly moved on her own - until a boot step broke free from the magma which had seemingly consumed an innocent friend.

Near immediately, did Asma's own gaze narrow and squint towards the billows of crimson and black. Lady Astoria - one whom she had seen in a haze against the shoulder of Pluto upon leaving - but not one whom she had ever interacted with.

As the tip of Lady Astoria's weapon pointed towards Pluto in his half-slumber, the Princess stared on. Curious as to what would happen more so than concern for Pluto's safety.

He'd be fine - surely.

The razed desert engulfed amidst flame and turmoil - so many things which were hailed and decreed by that thing which the hatted Lady had referenced. The Phoenix something? Concordance? Yeah, sure.

And so, Asma gazed on with a gaze akin to a cat. Lazy, watchful, but not willing to intervene. Her arms crossed in front of her, and while she had remained silent?

Now she stepped ever closer.
(Asma)
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[04:50] A knee bends before the slumbering champion and the whispers of magic utters from poised lips. The fingers that had once fathomed to grace nothing more than mundane fabrics and the work of the layman now invokes the duplicity of fire from its crackling fingertips.

Like smoke does the embers fall, enveloping the countenance of Pluto with ample provocation of visions of yore. And yet, the smoldering heat burns not skin, as if willed by the Lady's own whims to partake safely.

Only at the assurance of her spell were made that the soft rise of her chin to that of the Sarradian is made.

"This one shall march with the weight of knowledge upon their shoulders." From it, fingers pull underneath the Silverwall native's form, rising in a cradled hold with an unparalleled and newfound strength that the one known as Constance could only dream of.

In truth, her posture and the visual of carrying the dreamer like so almost invokes a pious and religious undertone. Like carrying a martyr free from plight, the Fourth Noble of the Nine Hells takes a step forward. "May the tides of what is to come fail to pull and drown him into the river of sorrows."

"That is the Phoeni- ahem."

"That is my decree."

Once more, another step continues, and another, and another. Not long does her foretelling sum find an end, only whence she flanked Asma that she pauses, the head partial in facing the princess, only glaring the singular eye of the woman's.

"This is no place to rest before a harrowing march. This one shall be expeditiously returned to his abode," she hums, nudging a glance upon the sleeping Pluto. "We shall depart."

Almost expectant to be followed, she moves, likely to return to Promethia. Whatever questions or quandaries that may had aroused would be answered then.
(Lady Astoria)