Marion sat on the sidelines and watched, Idun laid across his lap- he seemed perfectly contented to play spectate and referee, being able to fix up a few scratches here and there if needed.

Perhaps he could be called a coward, Marion wondered to himself- but then there are still things that he yet not understand and... honestly, it is more of a blessing than anything. He have studied and learnt to take care of the body- but somewhat lacks the knowledge and skill for... pretty much everything else. And Marion thought to himself, chiding- you do not have to be a specialist in everything. People and creatures and plants and everything have a place in this world, and there are things that only you could do- and things that only others can do too.

So, Marion does what he can instead, and turned attention back to the play-spar in front of him.
They are truly spectacular- so much force and energy in these tiny little bodies, with sharp enough reflexes to stop projectiles mid-flight. While himself was never trained in martial arts or any sort of combat, Marion still understood the mechanics of a body well enough to marvel at the display- it's nothing outlandish and glittery, it's all just... them, in the simplest arms and relying on training and experience.

As he spectated, Kweh had returned from it's flight, landing behind the elf and sticking it's large head over his shoulder for a rub- which Marion happily gave. And he thought, if they had the time- perhaps there is something he could propose as a fun little exercise.

The children continue their spar, Wind reloading and firing again and again, occasionally using the recoil of his hand held ballista to send himself flying out of the way of a blow from either Loci or Whistle, though his twin blocks and deflects most of their elder siblings’ strikes. And then Wind runs out of bolts, letting out a curse and quickly slinging his crossbow back onto his back before ducking under a swipe from one of Whistle’s shortswords and throwing a quick punch to try and knock the wind out of her, the golden eyed crow immediately darting backward and scrambling to retrieve his spent bolts, dodging and blocking blows from Loci and Wind with the aid of his twin…

…Nev trills happily, gently squeezing their arms around the elder skeleton and mantling their wings protectively about their bondmates and Beak as they let out a gentle chirp, “...I’m sure we’ll both be struck by that fear again in the future…but just as ka’s’to’bi will help me with that, we’re happy to help you however you need…” the raven’s eyes dim briefly, “...and…I rather suspect I’ll be doing something similar at some point…feels like the only thing keeping me together is my bondmates and our children…”

Rena trills softly, gently squeezing Beak's hand as she hums, "...it...it's not fine, but...it's getting better. every day, it gets a little easier t' bear, even if I cannae forget the taste of Bell..." she shakes her head to clear it, smiling wanly, "...I'd like t' think that I've since beaten the beast the Hag put in my head..."

The elder skeleton briefly glances around to see if the burrow has any windows that would let light in... between her oversleeping and baring her soul like this, she wants to make sure the party doesn't miss their appointed time to confront the merchant who had set all of this in motion. Seems... fine, so far. The hour grows later but it can still at least be considered day, even if it's mid to late afternoon. It's when the sun starts to set that they will need to move; Rekkel's other business opens at dusk.

Satisfied that they're not running late, she turns her full attention back to the corvids as she and they share their respective sorrows. "Likewise, I may not need others to be bound to this realm in the literal sense, but it's no exaggeration that you're keeping me together in just about every other figurative way. It is my great honor to return the kindness and aid you've given me."

A quizzical headtilt as she looks over the living crow. "I... never would have guessed that you had such a beast. I suppose you can take that as a testament to how well you've done in controlling it. Still... I am sorry for all you lost first."

"If you all are interested."

The sun elf piped up, and Kweh sat down beside him in a posture that resembled somewhat of a large cat, golden wings laid down soft as curtain cloth.

"My friend here- Kweh, he is able to spit out honeyed sap that, exposed to air, quickly hardens, and will trap you for a while in it before breaking away. We haven't had much use of it, though, and it would be good to get some practice on timing and aiming them, I think."

The big moth squeezed its eyes as Marion patted it, and got up again- its body language was more languid than tense and alert, but it is somewhat hard to read an insectile build, much of their expression being through pheromones. But none the less, Kweh waved it's antennae, and stood up on the latter four of it's legs, lifting up the head and chest part of it's body with the first pair of linbs tucked up and held near it's body.

"So perhaps it could go like this- he will spit at you to stop you, but your goal is to close the distance to touch him."

Marion offered thus- while it could also have been him riding the Dragoonfly and giving it commands, but having Kweh able to do it on it's own effectively will prove to be much more valuable.

The chicks come to a halt - well, most of them; Wind is still retrieving his spent bolts - and turn their attention to Marion. It’s something of an amusing scene, actually, four little crows watching the golden haired elf, half of them literal skeletons, all of them seemingly frozen in the middle of a fight…and then Loci speaks up, just as Wind slides the last of his practice bolts back into their quiver, “...sounds like fun-” that’s Marion’s only warning before the children are moving once again, eyes and eye lights alight with mischief and glee as they dart directly for Kweh, only to scatter in seemingly random directions right as Kweh fires the first spitball…

Rena chuckles softly, “...I’m very good at hiding it. Most of the time, the only hints are when my eyes turn…that’s how it is with all of us, really…even the little ones weren’t spared entirely…but I’m the only one with such a Curse on my shoulders…”

…there were stories, actually…of people the Blackfeathers had been hired to take out being found…not neatly, precisely killed in their usual manner, but instead…torn apart as though by jagged talons and a vicious beak…there were always a few pieces missing whenever the body was discovered…

... That explains a lot about some of the more terrifying stories she'd heard about the Blackfeathers' victims, and how such tales seem to clash so strongly with these sweet, kind, compassionate souls that saved her life both literally and in the sense of giving her reason to live once more. Rena has a cursed hunger, but she's gotten good at pointing it in the right direction... letting the beast feed on the wicked, the targets she's been tasked to eliminate anyway--and that could have been her, a stray thought reminds her--in exchange for keeping it restrained around friends and loved ones.

"That... makes sense. And suddenly, I feel bad for R...." No she doesn't, he sent the most feared assassins in the land after her. He's totally going to get what he deserves for that. And it's her good fortune that the most feared assassins in the land turned out to be such absolute loves once she was able to prove that she wasn't their enemy. If anything, it makes her feel validated--loved, even--to be the center of such a retribution. To be the kind of person about whom says "You tried to harm Beak, and we won't forgive that." Her family, sure--cross any of them at one's peril--but her? Wow.

The dragoonfly leapt around trying to avoid the chicks, only doing short bursts of flight like a domesticated fowl may have, so that it wouldn't be entirely pointless- and pelted the murder with gooey glops of amber honey. Being a domesticated specimen, it was somewhat naturally docile and exactly in tune to instincts- one could tell how it had learnt more from domesticated animals in its movement and expressions, the long heavy tail wagging awkwardly behind it as if mimicking a dog's.

The first to be able to touch Kweh with their hands each round of playing would be able to go to Marion and ask for a little treat- it could be food, or some odd things he have at hand, maybe a flower crown or some seeds or a pressed tissue section of a fungi- or they could ask him to tell them something. Anything goes, really, and Marion sung up a little spray of wildflowers around him, humming to some little tune as Kweh fended off the crows.

It won't do to tire everyone out before the fateful encounter, though- after a while of this, they'd need to get abit of refreshments and tidying up, and they would finally be confronting... that merchant. Marion smiled to himself, thinking- he had only brought this upon himself, really, and now they would leave with a crook exposed, and a new friend- and hopefully, his daughter would be able to be treated properly too.

The chicks laugh and trill and chirp with glee, darting about and dodging in seemingly random directions, though the overarching pattern brings them ever closer to tagging the dragoonfly - and then Wind slings his crossbow back into his hands, skidding to a stop as he braces himself…the reason becomes apparent when his twin leaps onto the weapon, placing herself in the slot for the absent bolt just before Wind pulls the trigger, sending the rose gold eyed skeleton on a ballistic trajectory that leaves her tackling Kweh’s midsection with shrieking giggles as she hugs the massive dragoonfly around the middle as best she can…

Rena smiles innocently, “oh, I hope he’s clever enough to avoid that particular fate…for his daughter’s sake, if nothing else…” the silver eyed crow lets out a soft trill, gently squeezing Beak’s hand as she hums, “...perhaps I’ll show you sometime…perhaps not. Perhaps if someone pisses me off enough…”

Nev trills softly, cooing and gently nuzzling her once again, “...believe me, Rekkel isnae gettin’ out o’ this without at least bein’ ruined…an’ I rather suspect he’s only survivin’ if’n he stays polite ‘n well behaved…maybe not even then, given how much the wee ones’ve latched ont’ ye…”

Bell trills softly, his eyes still distant and considering as he mumbles under his breath…something about…gloves??

Beak nods, her skull fixed and rigid as always, but the telepathic equivalent of a blush plainly obvious to anyone in range. "Your clan takes it personally when anyone harms one of your own... if Rekkel had tried to do to, say, Loci what he tried to do to me, he wouldn't even have survived your initial encounter with him, much less the one tonight. And now I seem to be receiving much the same treatment... it is... a peculiar sensation, to have someone so willing to avenge me. I've never felt that before... not even in life."

That said, she can't just rush in on emotion and feelings; they need a plan. "I'd like to catch Rekkel when he's in the middle of some black market business, just to make sure we expose him," she says, switching topics back to strategy. "If we approach him at his fruit stand... or even if we beat him to his other location and catch him when he's simply walking up to it... it'll be his word against ours that he's done anything, that he's anything more than a simple fruit peddler on a walk." A headtilt as she considers the situation from multiple angles, both literally and figuratively. "He doesn't exactly keep to regular posted hours there, though. It's a black market. His business tends to be by appointment only, and he'll be gone the moment no one else is coming. Therefore... we'll need to catch him after he opens, but very shortly after he opens. The window is... not large. But it will be the best way, if we can pull it off. We'll have him in a way he absolutely can't deny."

She looks out the window once more, checking the position of the sun. "The instant the sun touches the horizon--possibly a bit earlier if he has no customers and feels like leaving early--is when he closes down his fruit stand. To catch him in the act, we'll want to time our arrive for... say... half an hour after that."

That also means that whatever Marion and the children are up to outside, it may be close to time to bring them back in. Not that the party is leaving right this moment, but they'll want to account for some rest and possibly one more meal before doing so; it wouldn't do to have them run around playing until they're exhausted and then have to move out right when they're ready to drop.

Oh no! The large draggonfly was no match for a skelecrow-shaped crossbow bolt- and it landed on it's back with Wind ontop of it, hugging her back with its own six fluffy legs as well.

Marion stood up, and went over to the pair- and bestowed the flower crown to her, a mix of daylilies and daises and lemon meringues- He could never really wear these yellow flowers due to them clashing horribly with his hair, but it will do well to bring out the vivid colour of chick's eyes.

"We'd do more of this later, but only after the next thing on our itinerary is dealt with, I'm afraid."

Smiling and giving Kweh a rub on the head, the dragoonfly got up back to it's feet, and Marion once again pulled some food out of his basket- Kweh's meal consisted of quite a few liters of insanely sugar infused beverages that would definitely knock anyone down if they took a sip, which he had to pull in the form of several canisters and not all at once- and something light and not too intruding for the others. Little sandwich squares, Marion decided, and they were- with ham and cream sauce and cucumber slices, tomato and lettuce and egg salad fillings- simple and mouth-watering, easy to eat in a bite, as well as fun to look at in their little cube forms.

Making sure everyone had what they needed, Marion held a plate of these, and headed back inside the burrow, knocking on the wall in place of a door to notify them.

"Does anyone want some food- or drinks? I understand that we are going to leave soon."

Wind giggles, trilling happily and nuzzling into Kweh’s fluffy fur, chirping softly and gently pressing against Marion’s hands as he sets the flower crown on her head. The skeleton with eye lights of rose gold ‘smiles’ up at the golden haired elf with a happy chirp, “okay!” the youngest skeleton detaches from Kweh after one last nuzzle and quickly rejoins her siblings, the little crows chirping and trilling to each other as they swarm around Marion while he pulls out the food, eyes and eye lights bright and warm as they make grabby hands at the sandwich squares as the elf puts them together…

…Rena nods softly, trilling quietly as she smiles, those silver eyes amused as she listens, “...we take care of our own. An’ with how the wee ones’ve gotten attached t’ ye, you most certainly qualify…” there’s something in those silver eyes, a sort of gentle curiosity as she examines the elder skeleton, observing without judgment or revulsion, simply…observing, picking apart and noting detail after detail…she speaks again once Beak has laid out the basic idea for engaging the crooked merchant, “...well, that certainly sounds like a plan…an’ if it comes down to it, we’ve got more’n a few advantages, so unless he’s got a serious trump card up his sleeve then we’ll be able t’ take him fairly easily…”

(OOC NOTE: This post contains more background "if your character is familiar with X then this information is known to them" style background checks. Due to a prior arrangement and agreement with all parties, we have agreed that information from the background checks in these posts should be treated as simultaneously revealed--that is, if any information is known to Rena, Marion wishes to take advantage of this ruling, and Rena provides OOC consent, then Marion is allowed to write a quick "The Blackfeathers pointed out to him that..." aside in his next post and proceed like the information is known to him, too, without having to wait for Rena's next post.)

Beak gives a small chuckle, her amusement doing a very poor job concealing the sincere and overwhelming flattered reaction underneath. "You are all far too kind, dearies. And what can I say? I'm getting rather attached to them, too."

---

Lilicors Village, just after sunset. A quiet opening near the outskirts of town, high on open empty space and low on traffic, guards, or witnesses. In fact, as the party approaches the... it may be more appropriate to call it a clearing than a square, given its distance from the town proper... but as the group approaches, the familiar red-scaled lizard seems to be the only person in sight.

Beak's information all seems to have been accurate: He was where she said he would be, when she said he would be, and the supposed fruit vendor seems busy and distracted by brewing up some potions at the little makeshift stall he's set up. Doubtless he's working on the next batch of quack medicines and supposed miracle tonics for the next unsuspecting customer foolish enough to put faith in his promises.

(Background check: Alchemy OR Criminal. The following information is known to your character if they know enough about alchemy through any means--formal or self-taught, from personal experience to simply having watched other alchemists at work--to know what a proper alchemical potion-crafting setup is supposed to look like. OR, the following information is ALSO known to your character if they have spent enough time around the seedy underbellies of society to have a general understanding of how most black market potion-peddlers generally operate.)

SPOILER: Click to show

Or... wait... no. That's not what he's doing. That's not what he's doing at all.

Rekkel's potion-brewing setup is far too advanced, too refined, too perfect to be the work of some cheap charlatan.

Beak said he was some shifty peddler of phony miracle tonics and whatnot, right? People like that are sloppy. The reason their brews are dangerous is because they reach for the quickest available substance to fill a bottle--passing off still water from a rain barrel as pure, passing off a handful of sand as ground-up magic crystals. The biggest thing their craft all has in common is that their ingredients are fast, cheap, and convenient.

This... this looks more like the work of a trained alchemist. A real alchemist. His equipment is pristine, his ingredients carefully measured, stored, and prepared. He's wearing all the recommended safety and protective gear--correctly--and he's taking his time, devoting careful attention to the brew he's working on as he uses expensive-looking tweezers to drop the tiniest amount of some herb into a pristine-looking vial.

No cheap con artist would ever put this much love and care into the preparation of anything.

Rekkel is a trained alchemist of at least master-level skill, if not greater. Furthermore, it seems apparent before even knowing what exactly he's working on that this potion is not the type to have any accidental or unintended side effects; when prepared like this, one can rest assured that every single effect it has is exactly what it's supposed to be doing.

Once the group draws close enough for the merchant to see them, he... well, he doesn't exactly panic or throw the potion he's working on behind his back as quickly as he can or anything. He's actually rather careful with it. But he does stop working on it as soon as he's reasonably able to, turning his attention to the approaching group once it's safe to do so.

(Background check: Herbology. If your character knows through any means, from formal training to being self-taught, enough about herbs and plants to look at gathered leaves/berries/etc. and know what plant that is and what sort of uses it would have in a potion, then this information is known to them.)

SPOILER: Click to show

In fact, he's a little too careful with setting that potion down... wait. That little clump of something he just dropped into the vial before he did that... its appearance, like a small, spindly, blackened tangle. The sheer amount of protective gear Rekkel is wearing, from gloves to an apron to eyewear and a mask, for handling such a tiny amount of ingredient. Even the fact that he's out in the middle of nowhere like this, where any possible noxious fumes can vent more safely.

That's spike moss.

That's spike moss.

That's one of the most toxic plants in all of Charon. Even such a miniscule amount can kill, which is why he needs so much protection to work with it.

But... even by the standards of spike moss and how long a way such a little amount goes, this seems like... not a lot. It's good to be careful with any amount, of course, but... the tiny quantities he's adding to such a large vial seem like he's purposefully diluting it. But... why? Even for those interested in the more nefarious properties of spike moss, it's... not exactly common to want it in such a small dose. Spike moss is lethal at such small quantities that it's significantly harder not to fatally poison someone with it. In less-than-fatal doses, it might cause symptoms such as a general feeling of unwellness, fatigue... perhaps very mild hallucinations, akin to those from a fever? But... why go to that much extra effort just to make it weaker? That can't be part of his "miracle cure," can it..?

"Ah, friends! You're earl..."

The theatrically feigned smile drops instantly from his face when he sees that Beak is among the group approaching him. His expression then quickly shifts to one of pure panic.

(Background check: Intuition. If your character is generally good at reading people and telling truth from lies, then this information is known to them.)

SPOILER: Click to show

But not quite quickly enough. That brief flash of pondering, considering... scheming... as if weighing his options before settling on the "panic" response. That was all too apparent.

"You fools!" he exclaims, barely below a shout. "You brought the witch here? I... I don't know what she told you, but you know she's looking for someone to lead her right to the heart of the village, yes? Strike her down, now! Quickly! Before she kills us all!!"

Marion was, frankly speaking, livid.

Oh no, this man is not some mumbling idiot- as he had said before, he knew exactly what he was doing. Marion himself have not started studying alchemy yet, but his father did, and he had helped around and was taught the basics of discerning ingredients as well as lab safety rules- and this whole setup was somehow more meticulous than his own father, a medic's.

But then again dada had always gotten away with not doing as much safety precautions using imminent potion testing as an excuse to see how well they cured him of the boils and mild burns and poisoning. Not a great habit to have, do not try this at home.

And what did he see？Lo and behold, spike moss.
Marion could not be more familiar with this bad boy, oh no. He had been fascinated by how this affects the biome around them, and studied them closely during his time in the marshes- which costed him a lot of poison cleansing spells, sure, but every bit of that time was well spent. In this sense the young elf is no better than his father in this recklessness just because they have the ability to heal themselves right up- and perhaps it is this same recklessness and the sheer anger that rose up in his little form, seeing what had been done right in front of his eyes-

No, he will not entertain the notion that it may be a pesticide- and he won't listen to what the man had to say either. He went up to the table, knocked over the vial, and slammed his hand into the concoction.

There was a note laced with power that Marion barked out- he was in a hurry, and the song was impossibly shortened- the poison the liquid was neutralized, and then, the ingredients started to extract themselves back out of the overflowing potion, reverting itself into their original forms- all the organic matter re-materialized themselves into what they had been like before they were thrown into the pot. Marion looked over the assortment quickly, and looked up into Rekkel's eyes.

"... I sincerely do hope you have a good explanation for this."
He said, quietly.

————————————————————
-remove poison
-Cycle of Rebirth

Rena tilts her head slightly, silver eyes glancing quickly over the reagents that tumble from the pot, analyzing, examining, and simply noting each careful measure of poison…none of them enough to kill, even together, but easily enough - as well as the right mix - to create the illusion of a wasting disease. Those silver eyes slowly burn to that bright, cold, caustic white - and then she’s there, upon him in an instant of untrackable motion, a hand tightening around Rekkel’s throat just enough to keep him from speaking as she smiles sweetly…when she speaks, it is soft, but it is not kind and gentle as she has been with Marion and Beak and her own family. When she speaks, her voice is soft and cold, akin to frostbite or hypothermia, the kind of cold snap that leaves frozen bodies shattered across the frost riddled ground, “...no, you don’t get to speak,” for the first time since even meeting with Marion, her voice is clear of any accent, any inflection or dialect upon the common tongue. It’s…unnatural. And still, she speaks, “you don’t get to spin your lies anymore,” her head tilts. It’s an almost innocent motion, like a crow curiously examining a fresh carcass, “I’ll admit, I was going to spare you, for your daughter’s sake…but now I see that she’ll be better off with you consumed by n’hil,” the foreign word is jarring, but something about the way it resonates speaks to exactly what it means: nothing. Void. Absence. Erased. To Be Not.

The other Blackfeathers don't flinch, though it's a close thing for Nev, who was...unnervingly close to that particular fate for far longer than they care to think about...

(OOC NOTE: Rena's actions included with Rena's permission, discussed OOC beforehand.)

"... Rena.  Let him speak."

Beak preached being ready for anything before leading the group into this encounter, but she herself has been nothing but surprised by one revelation after another. That this is the source of the "curse," that Rekkel was behind everything this whole time, that Rena has this kind of downright chilling persona when the situation calls for it... even that Marion, sweet baby that he normally is, is capable of being this upset... but she thinks she's putting most of the picture together now. Mostly. There's just one piece missing.

"As for you, Rekkel... I just want to know one thing. And no lies, now. I believe you know the reputation of the one who's holding your neck right now.  I believe you know how much patience she has for you playing games."

At Beak's request Rena loosens her grip... barely. The lizard only gives a strained "hhhh" in response; the crow is making it abundantly clear that this is a "you speak when spoken to, no more, and no less" sort of arrangement.

"... Why?" Beak asks. "You set all of this up from the very beginning... you poisoned your own daughter just so you had a crime you could blame me for... but why? What did I ever do to you?"

Rekkel's breathing is strained, ragged. "I-I didn't... I never-"

Wrong answer.

Rena's hand tightens considerably, as if threatening to crush the lizard's throat before he even has a chance to suffocate. Panicked squirms on Rekkel's part indicate a newfound willingness to try that question again, and the grip once again loosens.

"I... b-because...." Rekkel's voice is strained, gravelly, clearly feeling the effects of that squeeze. "Because you're a monster."

Beak freezes. Her skull shows no emotion, and whatever she's feeling internally, the telepathic connection is... experiencing issues, in light of a sudden emotional state.

"You're... look at you," Rekkel continues. "Th.. think I didn't notice? You really think that robe is fooling anyone?? We've got all these fae runnin' around... don't tell me you haven't heard the news, all the increased attacks... we're being invaded, and y-you...."

"... And I'm a skeleton," Beak finishes. She knows where this is going.

"Figured I'd get some adventurers to... to clean up. Rid the land of your filth. Or maybe I could get the guards to come for you... once I told 'em you were putting curses on innocents...."

Much like Rena, there is something different about Beak's "voice." Something darker. Colder. "You poisoned your own daughter, hired the assassins with the blackest reputation in the land and then lied to them, and tried to frame and kill someone who never wronged you in any way, all so you could say that I'm the monster." One last chance... and it's a very small chance, but... one final chance to try to salvage a somewhat calm mood, lest the quiet fury of the moment overtake her. "... I think we have enough here that the guards will see things a little differently, don't you?"

"Hah." Rekkel's retort is far too cocky for someone in the position he's in. "You think so, huh? Sure, go on. Call a guard. Tell 'em I did all this. Tell 'em I brewed up a poison and lied to some criminals. I'll tell 'em I had to get my hands dirty, do whatever it took in order to expose and cleanse the land of the undead. See whose side they take. See who's the hero. Go on. I'll wait."

Beak freezes again. Is she afraid? Furious? Heartbroken? Rekkel's words may not even be true--are the guards of Lilicors really that prejudiced against the undead?--but it's one of Beak's greatest fears, rational or not. And seeing her shut down in response is... unsettling, when any number of things could make her feel strongly enough that her telepathy just stops.

"I told you," Rekkel says with a sick smile, as if he were the one winning in this exchange. As if he had the upper hand, somehow, despite being at the crow's mercy. "I told all of you, from day one... I'd do anything for my daughter."

"... Rena."

Ah. There she is, and... oh, there's a tone that Beak hasn't had to bring out yet. So much for controlling that quiet fury.  If her "voice" sounds like how she's perceived, and Rekkel wants her to be some sort of demon, well... that can be arranged.

"Rena, bring our friend closer, please."

And then, far too quickly for him to have been set down carefully--or anything short of a violent slam, really--the lizard is forced onto his knees in front of Beak, the crow still holding him from behind tightly enough to make every breath an effort.

Beak, meanwhile, is extraordinarily slow in her descent, in sinking ever so gradually to the ground so her gaze can meet the lizard's. Not because of the "old woman" act, mind--Rekkel has made it very clear that he sees through that. No, she's giving herself time to think of her words, and giving him time to let this moment sink in, to let him sit with the thought of how much trouble he's in for as long as he can.

"Fifty years," Beak finally begins. The fury of her voice has lessened, but it is every bit as cold. "Fifty years I've been alive in this undead state. And I hid. I stayed out of society. I'd done everything for my tribe, given everything, I fought and died, I woke up like this... I never asked to wake up like this, you know. And I bore it all, I stayed quiet, stayed hidden for as long as I could... because of people like you. I hid for decades because people like you think that no matter what you do--even poisoning your daughter--you'll still be better than me just for what I am."

She glances toward Nev, making sure that Rekkel does as well. "See this raven? This raven was erased from the minds or memories even of those who love them the most. Unseen. Unheard. No one they loved so much as remembered that they ever existed, that they were ever a part of their lives. They were forced to be just invisible as I tried to make myself. All while you sat front and center and declared from your comfortable seat that people like us should exist even less."

"Maybe we should show you how it feels, hmm? Maybe you should see what it's like down here. Maybe by the time we're done with you, even other criminals won't ever mention your name again, lest it be considered bad luck. Your daughter... oh, she'll be fine. She'll recover, we'll see to that. And she'll be the first to forget she ever even had a father."

Rekkel tries to look away, to break eye contact, to hide his face. Wrong answer. Beak grabs the lizard's snout like a handle, forcefully pulling it back up to look directly into her empty eye sockets whether he wants to or not.

"I don't think you understand, Rekkel. I tried so hard for so long to be good, to be harmless, to be invisible. But you want a monster. You want curses."

The way she "lets go" of the lizard's snout is more like a rough throw than a gentle release.

"... Fine.  Here's a curse for you."

She stands back up, and the way she nudges underneath the lizard's chin with her walking stick suggests she wants him up as well. Once his captor obliges, she... well, she really can't look him in the eye; she's a good three feet taller than he is. That's fine. She's done looking at him. In fact, she'll never look at him again. She turns back, taking a few small steps as if to walk away from him entirely. She leaves only these words:

"Kas rittek dastei res kuk sektit."¹

She keeps her back turned as she hears some manner of unsettling noise, like what might have been the start of a scream before it was cut off. She doesn't look. She doesn't want to know. Not because she's squeamish, but because he doesn't deserve for anyone to know. His fate will not be recorded. He never existed.

"Goodbye... you."

---

[1]"I tear your page from the book." Given the Ibekki belief in the book and everyone's place remembered and recorded in it, this is the most vile thing any one person could ever say to another on a casual or informal level. Formally, if said by a Gri'kka or other official, it signifies banishment and exile.