There's a light that he feels inexorably drawn towards, an urgent sense that he doesn't belong wherever he is but does belong wherever that light's taking him, just out of sight. The light leads him places he's been, places that were ever important to him. Places he's left a piece of himself, or places he carries a piece of in his own heart. Tisvetaia's volcano, for sure. The journey indeed has the quality of dreams, of it never being clear who he is and where he is, of it being made of feelings and images rather than time and space. It's never clear if he's seeing memories, or visions, or entirely made-up scenes his dying mind is supplying him with. The plot unfolds and slips away, not solid enough to be retained but not so ephemeral that he loses all of it.

But the light eventually starts bringing him new places, maybe made-up ones, maybe real ones, but regardless places he hasn't seen before. A place of fire, a place of ice, a place of earth, a place of air, a place of light, a place of darkness, a place of fear, a place of joy. People he's never known, creatures he's never seen, giants and fairies and stranger things still. And eventually...

...eventually...

...there's a tree. He knows it's a tree, even though it is so big he cannot fathom its roots or its canopy. The circumference of its trunk is so wide it looks flat, each of its leaves are so vast they can hold whole worlds and not bend with the weight. He sees that his world, the place he's from, was on one such leaf, that everything he's ever seen was but a sliver of that world, of that leaf. And the light leads him down, down the stem and down the branch, down the trunk and down the tree. There are other trees in and on this tree, entire forests growing like moss on its surface, and the light leads him through them, down down down. And eventually...

...eventually...

...dreams don't have time, and this journey is a dream, but eventually...

...fear. Despair. Hatred. Solitude. Misery. Other lights, so many other lights, all of them radiating horror and loss, and his light leads him past all of them and out of his dream, back to himself, awake. His vision starts refocusing, his sense of self reasserts itself, and the world starts making sense again.

And eventually, finally, he is whole.

The world isn't, though. Not quite. He's in a town, with recognisable buildings, houses, streets, but... it's wrong. He can see, but there's no sun, and no stars, and no moon, the sky in perpetual twilight. The ground is unstable, the air feels unstable, even though he is definitely in a place it doesn't really look like the place itself wants to be there.

That was... a hell of a thing. But he's always liked travel, and this was the most fantastical journey he's ever been on. It was a little tempting, to stray and see all of the sights, but there's a warm weight near his heart that's telling him that would be a terrible idea. He has a place he needs to get to, and he needs to get there intact, and if he ever wants to come back and see the sights, then maybe one day. When things feel less like a dream, and the sights are more real and tangible.

This is where he was going, though? This?? It's so... sad. There's a feeling of despair to the place, almost tangible. It's not a very nice place. Instinctively, without really thinking about it, he reaches towards the obsidian pendant around his neck, and touches it for comfort. Yep, there it is, warm and welcoming and hold on is this actually a piece of Tisvetaia that he brought to the literal afterlife, what the fuck. Did. Did he bring this all of the way with him??? ... Well, of course he would, it feels like home, but still.

".... Tisvet??" he asks.

She cannot, quite, manage to speak in reply. Usually, gods have no trouble keeping in touch with different parts of themselves, but... this is such a small piece of her. And it's so very, very far away.

But she heard a voice she recognizes and she will get to him, damn it.

The bit of obsidian begins to warm.

"... okay, ow," he says, picking the pendant out of his shirt and holding it away from his skin. It's not quite glowing hot yet, but it'll probably get there, soon. "I know you're mad, but...! Hm." He squints at the bit of obsidian. "... you'd be yelling if you could, but you can't, can you. Damn." Pause. "I didn't realize I'd have to die to shut you up, I might have done it earlier."

The pendant flares with molten light and spits ash. At him.

Someone who'd been sitting on a bench reading a book looks up at the sudden light and blinks in confusion. She looks... incomplete. Not in any obvious way, it's not like she's missing a limb or is transparent or anything. It just looks like there's a way a whole person would be, and she is less than that.

She calls something to him, sounding inquisitive, in a language he's never heard before, and her voice also sounds less, in some hard-to-define way that has nothing to do with how loud it is or how it carries or anything like that.

Ah, damn. Language barrier, and his translator (read: his goddess) is broken. And it doesn't look like this bit of Tisvet's going to get any less molten anytime soon. Welp, time to drop it on the ground so it can become lava in peace, without also frying him.

"I'm fine," he says, waving reassuringly. "My goddess is just mad at me, don't worry she's a sweetie."

Okay this person can tell that he's trying to be reassuring but the sudden molten rock is nevertheless pretty alarming??

Honestly, that's pretty fair. He'll give her an apologetic look.

"Tisvet, now would be a great time to be up for talking instead of just being extra spicy."

Nope, extra spicy is all he can get out of her. Flare flare, melt melt, ash spit.

Um??? Yeah okay she'd like to not be near the thing that might explode, last time she died sucked. But at the same time there are other people sticking their heads out of windows or coming over to ogle because holy damn that's bright.

Any of them speak any languages he recognizes? He's had time to learn a few. He'll hang out near his bit of molten lava and see if there... is literally anyone he can talk to while Tisvet's busy, uh, being volcanic.

Yeah no no one knows his languages sorry. Discount afterlife didn't place him near anyone who lived somewhere he knew when he was alive. Or something.

Ugh. Great. Guess he's waiting on Tisvet becoming more able to speak, then. He's pretty sure her bit of molten lava (and it is properly lava, now) is getting larger. Slower than he'd normally expect, especially if she went full fire and brimstone, which apparently speeds up the process for her, but definitely still present.

"So I think I brought you to... an afterlife. Of some kind. Because I'm definitely dead. There are lots of other dead people around, they seem to be varying degrees of... missing parts... sort of like dyed wool that's been left in the sun. But not with color. I dunno, it's weird. Also I don't know any of their languages."

..... The sentence 'they seem to be varying degrees of missing parts' gets another flare out of her pile of lava. It bubbles, then spits out a small igneous rock.

"... Uh?" Well, part of that's obvious, at least. He goes and he picks up the misshapen pebble. Okay, acolyte is connected back to the goddess he's metaphysically attached to, now... she wants him to go poke someone? With the preservation acolyte power, probably? That would make sense.

Does anyone watching the bit of lava look like they'd be up to be poked.

No??? What the fuck why is he looking expectantly at people while some bizarre sorcerer shit is happening over there?????

He's holding out his hand while looking expectantly! That helps, right? Yeah, uh, no it doesn't, does it. He sighs and drops his hand.

"Tisvet, I think you're not giving me the greatest impression to work from to poke people. C'mon, you can do it, talking! Does making you mad help, it seems to help. I can go see if I can die again, if you like, kinda started this whole mess..."

There's another flare, and the lava spreads a bit faster this time, then, echoed quietly in every language the listeners can speak:

"Do you have any idea how hard this is!"

"Ah! Making you mad did help, look at that! Hey there. No, I don't, but don't worry! You can do it. I believe in you."

"And of course you dropped your amulet in the middle of... this is the middle of the street. Damn it." There's a sound of a clearing throat, which does not have the multilanguage echo and seems to be entirely for effect.

"Greetings, once-mortals. Sorry for the mess, most of me is very far away from here and I seem to be... dragging myself down a tree...??"

"...hey, is the pool of lava, uh, talking?"

    "Can you hear that shit, it's like, is it just me? It's talking in three languages?"

        "...no, only one."

"Two, Rune Common and Morrocan."

    "No, that's definitely Rune Common and Ayothan and Amatsu."

            "Isn't that all of the languages you guys speak?"

"Wait, what?"

        "I told you guys we should fetch the witch."

    "Pretty sure someone is fetching the witch already."

        "Well they should fetch her faster!!!"

"Yes, hello. Pool of lava is talking. I do not speak directly in mortal tongues without some degree of effort. I am Tisvetaia, goddess of preservation. Could one of you please poke the strange man that started this whole nonsense?"

"Is the pool of lava talking to us?"

    "I think it is."

        "She said 'goddess', it's not an 'it' it's a 'she'."

            "I don't think there are any goddesses that are pools of lava."

    "'Goddess of preservation', though? Is that a thing?"

"I don't think it's a thing."

        "Hey, uh, lava pool—"

"She said her name is 'Tisvetaia'."

        "...sorry, uh, Tisvetaia, what the fuck?"

    "Don't talk to her like that! If she's a goddess she's gonna smite you!"

        "Meh."

    "Not every goddess is like Hel. You've heard the stories."

        "Nevertheless: meh."

"It's fine, I don't mind. I'm a little bit what the fuck right now too, really. ... One moment..." There's another lava flare, and the puddle is a bit bigger.

"There. That's a bit better. Yes, preservation. Currently the strange dead man over there," and there's a little explanatory blurble of sparks towards Tainel, "is the best conduit I have to your... wherever this is. And if you poke him, through him I could keep you from... degrading further?? Because you're all degrading."

"I declare that anyone who takes her up on this before the witch comes here is a dumbass who deserves what's coming for them."

    "...that's kind of judgmental. And very dramatic."

"How many times in the rest of my wretched existence am I going to have a chance to be this dramatic again? Never!"

        "Wow, that's rude, I thought you liked game night."

"—that's not what I mean, my existence isn't that wretched, it was just for effect—"

        "I'm messing with you, dude."

            "You know, you guys are all being very rude to the lady over there that is nearly as confused as we all are."

"Well," says judgmental guy, looking directly at the pool. "I'm sorry Tisvetaia miss lady goddess but it is kind of very suspicious even if also very exciting when new and unexpected things happen and so we need someone who is very unlikely to die to confirm that we aren't going to die if we do whatever it is we'll do with you and your friend. Dying is bad business, see."

    "We don't need to wait for the witch, you know, Roger could come over..."

"Roger's a dick."

"And just who are you calling a dick?"

"Oh, hey, Roger. You're a dick. Wanna talk to the lava pool?"

"'Talk to the lava pool'?"

"Yeah, that pool over there."

    "It showed up after that guy there did. He doesn't speak any language any of us could recognise and then he dropped his rock on the ground and now there's a pool of lava and it talks. She talks. Her name is Tisvetaia and she says she's a goddess of preservation."

"...huh. Uh, greetings, Goddess," says Roger, walking closer to the pool of lava than everyone else is.

(And to Tisvetaia and Tainel, it is very clear that Roger is a lot less, uh, less than everyone else. Which is to say he's more. He's the least less of everyone, how about.)

"Greetings, Roger. Your, ah, associates are hesitant to trust me with the preservation of their eternity for obvious reasons. Which for the record is very reasonable and doesn't offend me at all, just please try to... keep hold of yourselves... while I prove myself trustworthy, yes? But if you would like to test my trustworthiness, you may give my acolyte," explanatory spark of lava in Tainel's direction (he helpfully waves), "a poke, and through him I could keep you from losing... yourself, it looks like."

"Are you just not going to do any translating for me, is that what's going on here?"

"Shut it, you, I'm trying to be at least a little bit imposing," grumbles his pebble, and he laughs. "Also, this is really hard and taking a lot of focus and I can't be translator while doing it. Not yet, anyway."

"What... does that entail. Exactly. This 'preservation' you're talking about."

"It keeps things in the ideal state of preservation. I use this terminology because it is based on intention. For mortals, and uh, once-mortals, that ideal is their own, not mine. So, the parts of you that you want to keep would be preserved. For ordinary mortals they age until they'd like to stop, and then do that, and stay at their ideal body plan once they reach it. I think some even stop having their hair grow, once it's a length they like it at. For you, it'd be different, but similar."

"'The parts of us that we want to keep'," he repeats, slowly. "Like—memories? And our, our whole... you know? Do you know? You seem to be new here, most people don't know until they get here."

"I am, but I am also not a normal denizen of this realm. Some things are obvious to me by looking, and this is one of those things. So, yes. Your memories and your whole... you. It's why I'm a little bit insistent, you're all liable to fall apart in front of me and I can tell. It's very upsetting, I would like you to stay as you prefer forever."

"Hey, we're not gonna fall apart in front of you here, that'd be rude. People who're worse off... well... Anyway we're all fine, everyone here, right?"

    "I don't know, last time I saw Cecilia she seemed a little bit... you know..."

"She's not here, is she?"

    "Guess not."

"Alright, suppose I want to take you up on this," interrupts Roger. "Do I just...?" And he takes a few tentative steps towards Tainel.

"Yep! Just a poke."

Tainel helpfully stands and holds out his hand, for poking. Consensual poking.

Alright. Here goes nothing. Worst case—he's not even sure what the worst case could be. Maybe she kills him? Seems like an awfully loud circus if all she wanted was to kill him, though, so if there's an angle here he doesn't know it.

And besides, he's been here two hundred fifty years and held on fine and been extremely and intensely bored and while he has no idea how the witch has managed a thousand he's definitely sure he won't be able to do that himself if nothing interesting ever happened. And here's an interesting thing that might be happening.

Poke?

It's subtle, but he can tell the change immediately. Like the howling wind that was biting at him has quieted, like the tide that was trying to tug away at his feet has abated, like... his wholeness is not at risk.

"Oh holy shit," he breathes, taking a staggering step back.

"...Roger? Dude, I saw that, what the fuck—"

    "It worked?"

        "You can see him, can't you? Of course it bloody worked, idiot—"

    "Do me next!"

"No, no, me first—"

And now all of the people who were standing a very cautious distance away from the pool of lava are starting to crowd it.

"The dead man over there, please, not the lava, I am not safe for touching at the moment. I'm working on it."

She does, in fact, seem to be cooling. A little. A bit of the top of her is hardening into black obsidian, instead of molten lava.

Tainel is super available for poking, though! He will poke everyone that wants a poke.

While he's in the middle of that someone arrives, and everyone stops what they're doing and steps aside as soon as they notice her, which has the interesting effect of the crowd parting to let her through. "What's this, then?" she says, sounding rather bored.

...also, she's falling apart in a very different way than everyone else. Her—soul or whatever it is that Tainel and Tisvetaia have been picking up on when looking at these people—is the most "complete" out of everyone here, Tainel might not even have noticed that there was something missing if she'd been the only example of the local dead he'd seen. But her body is clearly falling apart, alarmingly so. Her skin is a pale blue, her eyes are milky white, she's bald in places and the hair she does have looks thin and strawlike, she's missing an ear and the way her robes fit suggests that at least a chunk of her left shoulder is also missing. If Arabek has the concept of a "zombie", that would not seem like an inaccurate description of this woman.

"Hello! I'm Tisvetaia, goddess of preservation. I am preserving the populace from the whole... degradation of the soul, mind, and body thing. Though, actually now that you're all reassured that it works, I should warn you that it is not indefinite without regular renewal. Usually I give mortals a tidy estimate of a decade for when to come back for touch ups," this pun doesn't work in all of the available languages projected to every individual, but it comes through when the languages understood provides an opening, "but this is... higher variance, I think. Come back for a poke in a month or two and I'll have a better idea of how quickly my protection will fray."

"Hmm." She squints at the dead, pausing between dead Tainel did and did not poke, then looks at her again. "Acceptable."

"Thank you," says the goddess, who sounds amused at being deemed 'acceptable.' "Would you also like a poke? And is there a better place to, uh, be more volcanic in, it really is very difficult to reach this far and I'm going to need to drag more of myself down Yggdrasil if I want to scale as much as this place clearly needs."

"Yggdrasil?" asks the man who can still only understand the goddess.

"The world tree you traveled down to get here. Most of me is near the top. You know, where you were. Before you died."

"Oh! That thing. I guess it was a long way. But hey, it's working out, right? Are you sad that you now have a brand new world to save?"

There's a puff of ash that blows directly into Tainel's face, and mysteriously doesn't bother anyone else.

"Sure, I can be poked, this magic sounds fascinating."

"Poke the irritating dead man that doesn't speak the language, please, I'm working a bit from twigs and hope right now, and unfortunately he's the best and safest conduit to my power available."

She can be poked by the dead man. She feels cold to the touch.

The preservation works for her as well as it does for everyone else, and is just as immediately noticeable, though it's obviously a bit less pronounced. Still, it's probably nice to not have to worry about one's body fraying further.

"...hm. I shall interrogate you further about this once you are less preoccupied."

And she turns around and leaves.

Everyone watches her leave with palpable relief, the air of wariness and apprehension quickly dissolving.

"...so, what now," asks Roger's ?friend?.

"I would appreciate being directed to a place that is less in the middle of a street to continue being volcanic in, it'll let me handle scaling much better than having everything be reliant on my acolyte's personal intervention. Also, anyone that hasn't poked the irritating dead man, please do so, and those that have, please find and tell your friends to come and poke him, too."

"How volcanic are we talking, here, exactly?"

"It will be very, very hot while I get myself sorted, but I will still be in perfect control of everything occurring. No lava flowing to disallowed locations, no spitting lots of ash into the air, that sort of thing. I will be able to be less volcanic in the future, but right now I'm... essentially being reduced to my basic nature, and have temporarily lost a lot of my usual finesse."

"And how big are we talking, here?"

"... I'm not quite sure, yet. This is a bit of an unusual situation. Let's be conservative and estimate 'as large as reasonably possible,' with the knowledge that I can make it whatever odd sort of shape is necessary, and I will be able to un-volcanic it later. Often I make tidy grids for farmland, but uh, that. Does not seems necessary here."

"...okay but are we talking house-sized, plaza-sized, city-sized, mountain-sized...?"

"City. Plaza might be enough to work from, but I don't want to chance it and turn out to need more room."

He nods. "Alright." Looks over his shoulder. "Someone fetch Cecilia and Yoo Taehee and Wei Lin and see if it's a good day for Xander and if it's not grab Letícia please."

"Who died and put you in charge of things," grumbles his friend.

"I'm sorry, do you want to be the one escorting these lovely people through the hordes of the lost dead? No? Didn't think so. Now shoo."

"Dick."

But he and some others go off to do as instructed.

"Tainel should likely stay here for regular poking, and also because he's not allowed to die again for at least another decade. ... Hordes of lost dead? You... are under siege, aren't you, the hordes of lost dead have degraded so much that they've lost their minds, haven't they. Of course that's what happens when you degrade too far. Hey, quick question, would you like a moat of lava around your lovely settlement?"

Roger's friend and most of the others stop walking and turn around with interest at that.

"I am—we are—interested in this proposition. Say more?"

"When I say I can be different shapes, I mean I'm not forced to be a vaguely circular puddle of lava, this is just the result of me optimizing for getting here as fast as possible to have the finesse to manage talking. I can just as easily make a moat as anything else, even if your settlement is a strange shape. Perfect lava perimeter, except for some designated non-lava bridges for crossing? Entirely possible. With more finesse I'll be able to make and unmake bridges myself, but I hesitate to make you more reliant on me than you already will be."

"That sounds—"

"We should convene a town council for it."

"Oh come on do you really think anyone would be against this—"

"People like going to their farms."

"Then moat around the farms."

"Still should go to council."

"Do we even have quorum? I thought Saanvi got gone and Kamlai was most of the way there—"

"It doesn't matter you're not this place's appointed leader if anyone is it's the witch or Hel and the witch doesn't care and Hel isn't around so we get a fucking vote."

Roger sighs longsufferingly. "You heard Allan, I guess."

"I am happy to defer to whatever moat-or-not situation you’d collectively prefer. I also don’t need to be contiguous, and when I can be more than just lava I can have internal variety. So, farmland, and then tropical rainforest, and then a lava moat: entirely possible. Eventually."

"So for now I still better find you an uninhabited-except-for-lost-dead place for you to be a volcano at?"

"Yes, please."

"You heard the lady. Ceci, Taehee, Lin, and Xander-slash-Letícia."

Sighhhhh.

"Thank you for your assistance, I’m sorry for the trouble."

And eventually the relevant people are fetched. They all look... mostly like normal people, except one of them is dressed in ridiculously heavy armour.

Also, two of them are missing noticeably more of themselves than the others. One of them, a woman, has a slightly vacant look on her eyes, which are pure white. Her skin is slightly paler than it looks like it should be, and her edges are mildly translucent and fraying a bit. "Oh, a new fiery friend," she says, softly, looking at the pool of lava. She's holding a plush rabbit that's missing an ear and rocking it in her arms like a baby.

The other looks more solid but is clearly missing even more of his self. He's kind of jittery and looks to be on the verge of a panic attack, and he's staring intently at the pool of lava as if expecting it to jump him.

"Hello!" says the fiery friend. "Has everything already been explained to you, and would you all like to be poked so you don't get worn away further, via bullshit divine magic?"

The jittery one stares at the lava even harder. "It spoke."

Allan sighs. "Yes, Xander, I told you it would."

"I thought you were lying."

"Why would I—"

"Just ignore him," Roger advises.

"What does it want?"

The woman with the plush toy walks—or floats, her toes aren't quite touching the ground—over to Tainel. "She is a friend, and her touch will help," she explains.

Tainel obligingly pokes her, giving a reassuring smile.

"I want the health, flourishing and happiness of all sapient life. To those ends I need to regain my full inventory of powers in this world, which I can't do without, ah. Making more lava. And I'd rather not do it in the middle of your lovely street."

"Why does he," and he points at Tainel, "need to touch me for this?"

(The other combatant that isn't wearing any armour goes to be poked too.)

(As does the armoured one.)

(He is perfectly happy to poke people.)

"Before he died," and there's just a hint of irritation at the word, "I metaphysically gave him a bit of my power. He then carried enough of me here so that I could grab hold and drag more of myself here so that I could speak. Usually I do all of the poking myself, but that isn't viable right now without making a gigantic mess of your street, so he's filling in."

"...that doesn't answer the question and it's very suspicious that you're not answering my question."

("I would really strongly recommend not trying to convince him," Roger whispers.)

Can a puddle of lava look a little bit pained? She's making the attempt.

"... God reasons," she sighs. "You don't need to poke him if you don't want to."

"I'll do without, thanks."

"Alright, we've got a party, shall we get going?"

"Yes, please." The pool of lava spits out another rock, this time in Roger's direction. "Fortunately, I am quite portable."

He catches it, then starts casting a long spell on himself that ends with him being covered by a faint purple forcefield.

Cecilia begins to cast various protective and enhancement spells on the whole party, with a whole lightshow accompanying it.

Wei Lin casts a spell that covers her in a yellow forcefield and unsheathes a broadword and a kite shield from her back.

Xander pulls his shirt open and off, leaving it hanging by the belt, and begins making various quick gestures with his hands that make his muscled and scarred body pulsate and glow with concentrated power.

And Yoo Taehee casts a spell on Wei Lin's sword and Alexander's fists then covers herself in the same purple forcefield Roger did.

"Alright. Let's go, then."

"Good luck!"

Tainel is absolutely fascinated by this clear display of magic, but he's still dealing with a language barrier, and his translator is still busted, so. Oh well. One day!! He has forever. Again.

Tisvetaia's rock is smooth obsidian, sharp edges all carefully smoothed out. It is faintly warm, and as promised: quite portable.

Wei Lin leads the way out of town, followed by Yoo Taehee, Roger, Cecilia, and Xander in that order.

People who see the procession watch in curiosity and a couple of them ask what's going on and are told to go to the lava pool and talk to Allan there (there's a lava pool??).

When the party reaches the edge of town, there's a perimeter of people guarding it, one every fortyish yards following the entire line of the town's border. And the line is very obvious; there are very few buildings past it, all of them in great disrepair, and then a vast expanse of foggy plains peppered with trees. The fog gets too thick to see through very quickly, but silhouettes of... creatures or people or things... can be seen moving here and there.

When they reach that point Cecilia casts a spell on the entire party that generates a faint shimmering bubble of grey-green energy that quickly fades to invisibility around each of them, and then hums to her doll: "Hmm hmm we're going on a walk, a walk, a walk~ We're going to the park, park, park~"

Finally, she casts another spell on the whole party that... accelerates them, it seems. They all start moving a lot faster, and with enough precision and care that they're probably all experiencing time dilation.

That's very interesting! And it's understandable that it wouldn't work on her, at least at this level of casting, since she's complicated and mostly not here. The magic here is neat and she absolutely wants to see if a goddess can learn it. But first she needs more of her here, so.

Their holy rock is perfectly quiet. And still warm, though not uncomfortably so. It's clear that they need to pay attention while out here, she wouldn't want to distract them. If they want her to speak they'll have to talk to her.

It doesn't take very long for them to meet the first of the lost dead, though that one isn't violent. It takes the form of a teddy bear, black with dirt and soot, falling apart and held together by the will of the soul inhabiting it. That soul flickers, coming into view occasionally, and it seems to be a child, no older than eight years old. The spirit barely reacts to the moving party, just pauses and turns to look at them as they rush past, not giving it the time of day.

Oh. Oh of course this place would also catch children, and they'd... also get lost. Oh no. The poor babies.

Tisvetaia is now a sad holy rock. But she won't comment on the tragedy in front of her, it's not like her escort is unaware of how their world is horrible.

It turns out that most of the lost are just that: lost. Faint blue wisps wandering on their own, animated possessions that meant a lot to their owners in life, hollow people without a strong enough grip on reality and even themselves, more than halfway into fading out of this world but unable to actually fade. Those don't bother the party, and the party doesn't bother them.

The violent lost, though, those are an actual problem because they aggro. Seeing a spark of life—or, well, activity, if not life, the pieces of identity that they no longer have—enrages them, sends them into a frenzy. Floating skulls spitting fire, possessed armour swinging enormous rusty swords, ghastly apparitions that even the other lost avoid whose touch is enough to wither and at times break the party's defenses.

The party works together well enough, all seemingly used to it, but they're not perfectly coordinated, and although their powers are flashier and more obvious than anything Tisvetaia has known their foes seem to be a close enough match for them, in the aggregate if not in individual power. Their roles become obvious soon enough, too.

Wei Lin has magic that demands you pay attention to her—which can be resisted through an act of will but it does require one—as well as various defensive spells and skills that permit her to weather the concentrated onslaught.

Roger casts a myriad directly offensive spells. They're mostly invisible except in their effects, attacking their foes' very essence at the core, entirely bypassing their armour or other embodied characteristics.

Yoo Taehee's spells seem to be more crowd-control flavoured, altering features of the terrain and imbuing the party's attacks with magic while enfeebling their assailants' own attacks.

Cecilia provides support, maintaining protective enchantments and party enhancements and occasionally healing damage they take.

(Tisvetaia's eye will be able to see, though, that she can't fully heal the damage, and nearly every hit incurs a small permanent loss—or it would have, were it not for her own blessing.)

Which Xander refused, so he's the only one in the party still taking that kind of damage. This is not helped by the fact that his preferred combat style involves getting up close and personal with their enemies and literally punching them. Calling his hits "punches" is sort of like calling a machine gun a weapon: true, but missing rather a lot of very important detail, such as the fact that he can dish out literally dozens of hits per second with sufficient power and precision that a normal unaugmented human receiving his attention would plausibly literally become paste.

Xander still taking a small amount of permanent damage pains her, a bit, but she is accustomed to distrustful mortals that think she might be lying to them. She's also accustomed to them denying her help and dying stupidly anyway. It would be incorrect to say that she's used to it, because it does still hurt, to see a (once)mortal degrade when she could prevent it, but... consent is the mortar the building of trust is built out of. Or something. It's a bit hard to remember things in their specific mortal language phrasings instead of in the divine intention she naturally thinks in. Whatever the phrasing: he does not want her protection, and so she won't make any attempt to force it on him. She will be sad, but that's her problem, not his.

That being said, they should absolutely know what's going on with the way they're being damaged and how it's interacting with her preservation.

"The damage to your bodies is eroding my protection. Not very much, but a little each time. I believe it's taking the damage that would go on to your sense of self in your stead. It's not about to fall off anytime soon, but I recommend getting touched up once you return to the city."

"Acknowledged," is all Roger says, because at this point they're sufficiently surrounded by violent lost that they can't waste much thought to anything other than survival (or whatever passes for that when you're already dead).

But soon enough they get to a clearing that they clear of dead and which Tisvetaia can use as her new powerbase.

"It's very sweet that you mean to protect me, but you don't actually need to clear them out. I'll sort it out," she says, when it's clear they mean to clear out an area for her. "You can just throw the rock and run."

...if she's sure, they can do that. Yeet!

The rock explodes into a brilliant molten shower the minute it hits the ground. It promptly begins erupting. None of them saw how fast she became a puddle of lava from a single rock the last time, but this time is nonetheless faster. She's got more of herself here to work from, instead of awkwardly trying to fling bits of herself down Yggdrasil with only barely an idea of where to aim.

"Thank you very much for your assistance," says the erupting pit of lava. "If you need or want a place to rest and recuperate before returning, I can make something suitably safe and surrounded by lava in about ten minutes. Or you can just head back now. Up to you."

"We're leaving."

"Hey, we should put it up to a vote."

"Little houses with little roofs and little babies in the houses..." singsongs Cecilia, looking at her baby doll.

"...she's really far gone, huh? I vote to stay, too, though, I'm dreadfully curious."

Everyone other than Xander votes to stay and so while he grumbles and twitches he'll abide by the will of the majority. For now.

She will actually need a bit to get everything settled, and they will presumably be a bit under attack while she does it. To help with this, she protectively sets up lava in a great big C that is not quite around them, but still preventing attacks from that direction. While she could surround them in lava entirely, that is likely to absolutely freak at least Xander out, and she’d really rather not. Instead she leaves the exit in the direction of the city, and gives them plenty of space. The lava spreads away from them for a few minutes, giving a nice moat effect, and then the inside of the lava moat starts growing itself a wall.

Inside the little bastion of safety, which is still very carefully not actually under their feet, the ground starts turning dark and earthy, and then… green. Grass and foliage start springing up, and a little section of the ground sinks to make a set of smooth stone stairs down into a pit. The pit then begins filling itself with water. More rock rises from the dirt, making what look to be chairs, and a table. A couple palm trees start springing up, growing much faster than trees really should, and when they’re done, there’s a gentle breeze and a hammock appears between them.

A couple of brightly colored drinks appear on the stone table. Also, a fruit basket.

“Houses are a bit trickier,” she says conversationally, “at least if you want them at all comfortable. But seating arrangements are easy enough.”

Xander is finding this incredibly suspicious and is keeping both a fighting stance and a magic aura of lightning around his body, which makes the edges of his clothes and hair sway in eldritch wind.

...the others are kind of trying not to cry, though.

"So pretty..." sighs Cecilia, walking over to a tree and gently touching its trunk.

Wei Lin is actively crying but she's doing so with her eyes open, standing guard at the entrance of the C, ready for the inevitable incoming lost that will be attracted by the sudden disturbance.

She kind of figured that Xander would be suspicious. That's all right.

The bark of the tree is solid and rough, and to all perceptions this is a real living tree that really did just spring up right here.

Also?? It's so sad that Wei Lin can't just enjoy the nice thing that's causing her to cry??? Tisvet wants to scoop her up and keep her safe in her domain until living things aren't such a wonder. She will not do that, because she knows what consent is and honestly respects and admires when mortals put aside taking care of themselves for the sake of a greater goal, but, but. Still. The poor dear!!!!!

"I can extend the moat and wall entirely around you and protect you if you'd like, but that is an awful lot of trust to have in me, so. Only if you'd like." Because Rune Common (at the very least) is a reasonable language, it's clear that she means the plural 'you,' not the singular.

Xander turns to stare at the moat with even more suspicion.

"L-let's not do anything that m-might make today a w-worse day for Xander," Yoo Taehee says, breath hitching only a little bit as she slowly walks the perimeter of the C and casts various warding spells on the outside of it, starting with the open part.

The moat: it is staying right where he sees it. Well, the part that's on the outside of the far side of the C is actually still extending further (shooing off lost with gusts of wind as it goes), but where he can see it! It is staying still.

"Of course," Tisvetaia agrees. "I will be able to set something up back at the city as well, soon enough."

Speaking of: that pool of lava in the middle of the street? It's mostly cooled, its lava darkening and crumbling to black loam, from which grows pretty green foliage of its own. This is not, perhaps, the best location for putting a garden, but she suspects that people are not going to complain.

(They are so intensely not going to complain. There might be some more crying.)

Unfortunately the lost dead do seem to want to come ruin their day, so it's good that they're ready.

Unfortunately they're not entirely ready: some of the lost dead can float, and do so over lava.

Ahuh. Fortunately, the lava is free to explode upwards, and comes complete with additional gusts of wind to make them shoo. She's not very practiced in the arts of smiting those who would defy her, but she does know the basics, and can make up the rest with a natural proclivity to being made out of molten rock.

...is she also keeping out the harmless floating dead, like the handful of possessed children's toys and wisps and the like?

... for now, yes. Though it pains her. Sorry little lost ones, there are once-mortals to protect.

The onslaught eventually abates—the foes they kill will take a while to reform, and any dead that were too far to see the lightshow through the eternal fog of Niflheim will not by default want to come—and the party can mostly relax, relying on Yoo Taehee's warding spells to give them time to jump to battle again in case any more lost do show up.

Tisvet doesn't disturb them. The little oasis, nestled within walls and a (still growing, still not near the entrance) moat of flaming lava, is safe(ish) and comfortable. It even comes with drink refills if they actually try the brightly colored drinks.

The first one who will try that is Cecilia—the first thing she lost was her instincts to mistrust and fear, which she had never been big on—and she makes a delighted noise at the taste.

Roger's been sitting on the hammock, trying to get his own breathing under control, but when he hears that he goes to investigate and... it's the taste that makes him break down crying and he has to turn away because it quickly turns into ugly sobbing. While having a fruity drink.

The fruity drink is admittedly pretty good. There are several mortals in her main domain that specialize in brewing these en masse; it's sort of an ongoing spirited competition. If the drinks are then given to her as offerings, she can shuffle the liquids around as she likes. While giving refills is usually considered beneath a god's notice (at least in her part of the world), she finds that it pays well in attention from the mortals. Which is the sort of thing a god like her lives on, so. Who cares if she earns her proverbial bread by occasionally stooping to serve mortals?

By half an hour later Xander is the only one who hasn't broken down crying even once, and the others are mostly quietly chatting to each other while occasionally having to stop to touch the grass and make sure they're not dreaming. Some of them have been around for over a hundred years—Xander himself stopped counting at four—and to the extent they haven't dwindled their capacity for joy away they're experiencing things they haven't had for just that long.

Tisvet is perfectly happy to let them stay as long as they like. She's glad she could offer them comfort and peace, and is really not going to be judgemental about the crying.

Back at the city, the garden in the middle of the street cleans itself up. She spreads out more into the street, mostly just to have her tiny oasis domain properly centered, and lovingly crafts a very pretty garden, with fruit trees and berry bushes and brightly colored flowers. With some benches, so people can sit down.

Tainel has gotten himself his very own chair (and convinced her to make him a more comfortable one) to poke people from, and watches the reactions of the dead with a faint smile on his face.

"Sooooo... about that translation..." he weedles.

"You're incorrigible," sighs his pebble. "Yes, fine."

And that is why Tainel goes and finds another pebble, of the suitable size, to shove into his ear.

"Hello!" he says brightly, to Allan. The voice from his mouth is coming out in the same foreign language he'd been speaking, but he's got another rock hanging around his neck, and that one is echoing his voice, but in Rune Common. "Tisvet's got translation up."

"—oh! Oh, hello, that would be super useful, can she give this to other people? Whenever we get someone here from the back end of beyond who never learned Rune Common we always gotta go looking for someone who speaks their language. ...well, anyone who's been here over a hundred years speaks most of the more widely-known languages so it's not too much of an issue, but still."

Allan bravely did not break down crying when he saw the grass, but he did take dibs to sit on it and has not moved since.

“It’s less like a gift she can give out and more like she, personally, is directly relaying both sides of the conversation. Which doesn’t mean she won’t, especially if it’s important, just. It’s a lot. Also very tedious.”

"Oh. Yeah. A lot less useful." Shrug. "Not that big a problem I guess. Does this mean she got, uh, wherever it was she wanted to get and did what she wanted to do there?"

"Yep! It's also why she can do," and he motions to the foliage. "She'll soon be able to expand places without setting them on fire first, if people want to start figuring out which parts of this place should be managed by her. Parks, farms, maybe hot springs if you guys want, she's very practiced at those. That sort of thing."

He wraps his fingers around some grass and squeezes. "...I don't understand what's happening and why it's happening. And why now," he says, looking away a bit.

"... Well, uh. Concrete mechanical reason is that I died and brought a bit of her with me. In retrospect that was both psychologically strange and unlikely on a metaphysical level, plus what she's the goddess of probably made it possible. If you're upset at the fickle whims of circumstance and fate then, uh. Yeah. Sorry?"

"And how come no one'd heard of her? Or... your language?"

"No idea. Tisvet?"

"Our world is located very high up on the tree of Yggdrasil, and as gods go, I'm rather young. I'm... not sure the souls of many mortals of my world have successfully made the journey here," says the necklace, without her usual language echoing effect.

"Ah. So their souls are likely, uh. Wandering around through the many worlds, hopelessly lost and forgetting themselves. ... Aren't I glad I didn't get distracted by the sights."

"Yes. Good job. Never do it again."

He snorts.

"—huh! And it's not, like, Jotunheim or Muspelheim or Vanaheim? It's some other world that also has humans in it?"

"Correct."

"Was interworld travel just kind of... normal? Or is it just everyone ending up down here and comparing notes?"