**HANS** **stormborn | they/them | post 32** 21/21 MP | 115/115 HP iw: Izzo, Jam There’s a pang of recognition as they watch Izzovir grab Cassandra from the rising gate. Hans had grabbed their own daughter like that many times before—she was a climber as a child, always getting on top of things she shouldn’t. “Good catch, dad.” Hans teases lightly as they pass by Izzo. As they step past the gate, Hans frowns. The city appears to lack its residents. Were they driven out? Evacuated? It could be generations since it was inhabited, as they saw with Groundswell. “Careful up there,” Hans calls out to Jamboree as she jingles and jangles up the nearest building. Their tome flies out of their pockets and opens up to a spell that Hans hadn’t considered before. Twig. Surely, a former resident can point them towards Aeras’s temple. Hans presses their paw to the ground, closes their eyes, and calls for Lazarus. > Summary: Hans teases Izzo for his dad-like reflexes. They tell Jam to be careful. > Action: Cast Twig to ask the ghost which way the temple is (-1 MP) ___ **HANS** **stormborn | they/them | post 33** 20/21 MP | 115/115 HP Hans thanks the ghost before continuing along the main roads, keeping themself under the shadows of the buildings. When the beast screeches, so do their hearing aids. Hans grumbles as they adjust them, glaring upwards at the darkening sky. “Well, shit.” Hans says. They feel their paws heat and their tome buzzing before it flies out and opens to a page that Hans hasn’t seen before–it looks stitched in, in a different hand than usual. *Blaze,* it reads. Some kind of invulnerability spell? *When the hell did you get this?* Hans questions their tome, as if it could answer… Hans casts it with a snap, and they are engulfed in a bright flame. They might be an obvious target now, but at least they’ll survive. > Summary: Hans brightens up a little. > Action: Cast Blaze (-3 MP) **HANS** **stormborn | they/them | post 34** 17/21 MP | 115/115 HP IW: Jones Hans looks to the temple’s doors, pondering Jones’s words. A few embers sputter off their fur as they think. “I mean, do we need to *unlock* the door?” Hans murmurs, then taps their stick against the stone wall, wondering how thick it is. “Could always make your own entrance. Anyone have an explosion spell? Or, I dunno. A big hammer?” **HANS** **stormborn | they/them | post 35** 17/21 MP | 115/115 HP IW: Cassandra “You saw the world drown?” Hans signs back at Cassandra, thoughts racing. They rifle through their pockets and pick out the **child’s painting of Thalassa** that they had previously found in Groundswell. “You must’ve seen Thalassa’s memory.” Hans says confidently, handing the painting over to Cassandra. Their expression softens as they realize just how young Cassandra is–she must be around their own daughter’s age. “…Are you okay, kid?” Hans asks, gentle and whisper-like. They hover one of their paws near hers, quietly offering to hold her paw. > action: Search the room **HANS** **stormborn | they/them | post 36 16/21 MP | 115/115 HP IW: Cassandra Hans lets themself be dragged around by the teen for a little bit, a little amused. They gaze at the Vrachos statuette for a moment, wondering about that “one wish” promise the god had made to all the eidolons ages ago. They’ve already gotten much of what they wished for, in their human life, anyways. A beautiful family, successful team, a comfortable life. What would they even wish for at this point? They feel their tome flutter in their pockets, and the pragmatic part of their mind mutters, *don’t you wish you were, you know, actually **happy** with it all?* Hans is brought back to reality when Cassandra squeezes their paw again. They see Izzovir casting some kind of spell on the Acolytes’ seal, making the gears grind in their mind. They have something similar to that… “Akari–” Hans says, then coughs. They sign a little clumsily with their left paw. “Um, *Cassandra*. Sorry. I need my paws for something.” After reclaiming their paw, they pull out their tome and flip to the page titled *Twig*. They press their paw to the ground again, grimly thinking they might raise up an Acolyte. > Action: Cast Twig (-1 MP) **HANS** stormborn | they/them | post 37 16/21 MP | 115/115 HP IW: Ghost Acolyte Though intrigued by their tome’s latest addition, Hans quickly herds their little red tome back into their pocket. *I’ll look later, bud, I’m talking to someone.* Hans sizes up the ghost, and sighs (in relief? in disappointment?) when they realize it’s not one of the Acolytes they know. They’re still a little conflicted about that bunch—Hans knows that all the eidolons are really just pawns to them, a means to an end. *Players on a team.* Hans frowns for a moment, thinking about their Blades again, about their role as a manager and a coach. *No, that’s different, the Blades are collectively owned. And the eidolons don’t have like, any kind of labor union. And I’m good at my job. And people actually like me.* The self reassurance sits strangely in their mind for a moment before they shake it out of their head. Hans sniffs and stretches their paws, resetting, before firing off questions to the Acolyte. “Who are you? Did you survive Thalassa’s flood? Will Aeras be on the other side of this, uh…” Hans motions at the altar and podiums, trying to recall what the freckled stranger (Crane? Canine? Hans wasn’t paying much attention) had called it when talking to Izzovir. They click their claws together before sighing and giving up. “Is Aeras gonna show up after the statues are put back?” > SUMMARY: Hans reflects briefly on their authority compared to an Acolyte’s. They ask the ghost three questions. **HANS** stormborn | they/them | post 38 16/21 MP | 115/115 HP IW: Cainan Hans notices how Jones holds back their aggression to the stranger, and they try not to let a laugh slip out. *Finally learning some manners, eh?* they want to say, but they have a feeling Jones might not appreciate the rude banter. Maybe Hans will graduate from her coworker zone after a bit more time. Their bobtail twitches in thought as they step next to their teammates, collectively interrogating the little freckled cat. Hans removes the stick from their back and leans forward on it, making sure that they loom over Cainan. Hans perks at one of Cassandra’s comments, though, and the Riven’s subsequent embarrassment and flailing. A stormbeast stepped on him? They laugh at the mental image. “Aw, you’re like a doormat,” Hans says, like an asshole. **HANS** stormborn | they/them | post 38 16/21 MP | 115/115 HP Hans smiles when Cassandra keeps the doormat quip in play, but their expression quickly falls when the temple erupts with rage and confusion. Like a press conference gone wrong. They can’t help but feel a little bad for Cainan, as someone who is frequently in that position of *everyone is angry at me and trying to explain everything isn’t gonna help*. Every eidolon is Thalassa, then? Hans frowns—that’s impossible, they’re *Hans*, they have a lifetime of memories as Hans. They empathize with the others’ anger at Cainan’s statement, though they’re more intrigued at the idea than angry. “I’m sure we’re still all ourselves, but this guy could still be right.” Hans says, turning to their fellow eidolons. “Maybe we all have some part of him, and we’re just… convenient containers.” They grimace at their own words. Any way they put it, it does seem that the Acolytes’ plan was to eventually sacrifice all of them, hoping Aeras would forgive catkind if they returned something that looked like Thalassa to her. Or maybe it’s the irrational demand of a grieving mother, to bring her fallen child back to her, through any means necessary. Hans looks to the podiums, at the figure of Vrachos. Maybe it was *their* one wish to bring Thalassa back, so that Aeras would come back to them? Well, whoever’s desperate plan it was, it’s still doomed to fail. Hans holds the end of the stick near Cainan’s face like a microphone, though it probably reads more like a threat. “You better start explaining, Freckles.” Hans signs to Cainan, deadpan. “And quickly. You made the clown sad.” > SUMMARY: Hans has theories. **HANS** stormborn | they/them | post 39 16/21 MP | 115/115 HP **“So it’s you,”** Hans says, flatly. They stare a little bit too hard at Cainan. How would it feel to kill someone you loved? Maybe it’s the part of Thalassa inside of them, but something inside Hans whispers *but you do know how it feels to be killed by someone that loved you.* They scratch at the scar on their neck and think of their husband. Hans had woken up on several occasions, held tight in his arms, him muttering *I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please hang on,* with tears in his eyes. They don’t have nightmares of their injury anymore—it’s been nearly twenty years—but Jake clearly does. *It’s okay,* they would whisper back. *I’m fine.* Though, now that they think about it, those were the exact last words they had said to him as they were bleeding out. Shit, why does Cainan look blurry? *Oh, I’m crying. I’m crying?* Hans sighs, shuddering, wipes their eyes on the sleeve of their jacket. God, first he makes the clown cry, now *they’re* crying. Hans watches as Cainan is tackled to the ground by another eidolon, watches as Directrix tries to pull them apart. They watch Jones comfort Jamboree as she rants. “We should just finish this.” Hans says, sniffing, as they step past all the commotion and approach the Gate. *I want to go home.* **HANS** stormborn | they/them | post 40 16/21 MP | 115/115 HP … *Mom*. Jamboree’s voice bounces around in their head. The word is nearly foreign to Hans. Mom. Who is *mom*? They think of Biel, they think of Sid, they think of… they think of themself for a moment, and they briefly touch the scar on their abdomen. Akari doesn’t call them mom (or dad, for that matter), they’re still just Hans. *Coach*, at most. They think of their own mother. Not the one who gave birth to them, but the one that raised them, that gave them their hands back, gave them their life back. A part of them aches deeply as they look at who must be Aeras. It must be Thalassa aching, surely, not them. Hans wonders what the goddess is seeing. Does she see her child alive again? Or is she seeing all of them as grotesque living coffins, holding pieces of Thalassa’s corpse? If they had to wager a guess, it’s probably the latter. **“This is all pretty fucked up, huh, mom?”** Hans says towards Aeras, a little too casually, all their years of media training out the window. **HANS** stormborn | they/them | post 41 11/21 MP | 115/115 HP Their tome flutters to life as Hazelwood and Directrix clash in front of Aeras, as Jones and Cassandra express their rage. It’s open to the first page, the title page. *The Requiem.* Hans fumes, grabbing the tiny book with their claws. Is that the name of their magic? A song for the dead, huh? What a joke. What a fucking *joke*. He *killed* me, and he has the nerve to be *sad* about it? He killed *me*. I thought he *loved* me, *he killed me*. *And then he left. He left you alone. He killed you and never thought to visit your grave, never thought to call, never… God, you idiot, how can you ever believe that ~~Jake~~ Cainan ever loved you? He used you.* Hans takes a breath, shaking their head of Thalassa. They look back at Aeras, trying to bring themself back to reality. It doesn’t work—Hans remembers how they grieved like she did, shut everyone out and disappeared like she did. They squeeze their eyes shut. Their head is pounding. It’s because of the damn acolytes, who summoned them here, who sent them on this stupid quest. God, they wish they couldn’t understand it, Thalassa’s heartbreak, Aeras’s grief. Hans feels their eyes swell with tears, they feel their anger boil, they feel… they feel a familiar flood pouring out, a **deluge**. **“It’s your fault. Our pain, it’s all your fault.”** Hans cries as they lunge past Aeras and towards the caged acolytes. They feel themself grabbing onto one of the bars as saltwater waves crash against them, but they can’t quite see whose cage it is through their own tears. “Why?” they manage to sign with wet and shaky paws, before sinking to their knees. “*Why?*” > SUMMARY: Hans’s grief catches up to them. They blame the acolytes. > ACTION: Cast DELUGE at the acolytes (-5 MP) > ACTIVE ABILITY: Puck Tactics - Hans summons a puck of sharp water. It does an additional 1d10 damage as it rebounds around the area. **HANS** stormborn | they/them | post 42 11/21 MP | 115/115 HP IW: Cassandra, Senia, Aeras The Requiem’s thoughts race as Aeras steps between them and Senia. So, it was Vrachos. They’d considered the possibility, the wish god wishing for things to be the way things were before. Why couldn’t you just be strong for your daughter, Vrachos? You can’t bring him back. You can try to, but you can’t. Even if you do get him back somehow, it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same. Why did you ever wish for things to be how they were before, Hans? You were playing, sure. He loved you more, sure. But weren’t you miserable? You’re *still* miserable, asshole, going back won’t fix that, Akari not existing won’t fix that. Hans feels sick. How selfish of them, how disgusting, to wish their own daughter away while Vrachos turned the universe upside down just to find specks of their daughter’s ashes. It’s not fair to compare, a life with and without and… *after* a child. But either way, the *before* will never come back—maybe in shards, but never fully. The present is all you have now. She’s all you have. *Hans, you know you didn’t have to keep me, right? I know it wasn’t just your neck. You could’ve kept playing if it wasn’t for me.* They remember their heart dropping in their chest as she said that. There were other factors—the Blades were probably gonna let them go that year, anyways—but Akari definitely complicated things. Hans remembers they didn’t say anything back to her, too shocked. She just sighed loudly, like a teenager typically does, and got out of the car to go to her baseball practice. *“Want a hand?”* Hans opens their eyes again to see Cassandra, offering her paw to them. Their fur is still soaked, their blood still staticky through their veins, but they manage to nod. Cass lifts them easily, helping them to their feet again. **“Thanks,”** Hans signs, then shakes the excess water off their fur with a grunt. They’re too exhausted to glare anymore, so their expression seems simply unimpressed as they glance at Senia. Their lip curls slightly as they respond to her pleas. **“Okay. Whatever. I was done, anyways.”** They want to go home and embrace their daughter again, to apologize, to love her while she’s there—but they know they must face Vrachos. To make peace with themself, if anything. The wish doesn’t matter to them anymore, all they want is their wound to close and heal. Hans sniffs, and realize they’re still gripping **Cassandra’s** paw. They let go, embarrassed, offering a small apologetic smile before turning back towards the goddess. “Sure. We’ll beat up Vrachos, but I don’t want your pity wish.” Hans says to Aeras, the decision firmly settled in their mind. **“Getting to go home after all of this is more than enough.”** > SUMMARY: Hans still doesn’t trust Senia, accepts Cass’s paw, then vows to beat Vrachos up for the love of the game ___ Hans nods curtly at Aeras, ignoring the tightness in their chest. They turn back to their fellow eidolons as an unfamiliar, steady voice catches their ear. It’s Jamboree, somehow. The clown. She seems to be scolding Izzovir, the archer, as he anguishes over his own situation, his own troubles. They almost don’t recognize her without her face paint, without her jovial jangling. They’re almost proud of her for snapping, for thoroughly feeling her anger and grabbing the angsty cat. Hans has nothing to add to the clown’s words, instead crouching down to pick a dandelion puff. Their tome flies out of their pockets and opens to Bloom, but Hans waves it off in dismissal—they can cast it from memory. They take their stick and swipe it through the meadow, releasing hundreds of floating seeds into the air. *I think we all could use a luck blessing right now*, Hans thinks as they watch the small white puffs swirl around each cat. Her tears, her mascara, it ruined your dress shirt, one of your favorites. But it was okay. Kari can cry. God, she deserves to. She’s just a child, she should be crying more than you anyways. You thought it was just because of the terrible rejection of her first crush, but— *You quit playing because of me, right? It wasn’t just the injury. If I didn’t exist, you could’ve gone back to playing.* And maybe they could have. Maybe Hans would have the career they dreamed of as a child, maybe they would still be playing instead of coaching, if they never had her. *You don’t know that for sure,* Hans had said to her. *The Blades were looking for any excuse to let me go. I was a nuisance, you know? I was even more annoying than you.* She laughed at that, at least, and the two of you were alive.