Dorothy
As Cumhall overcame the elements and utilized his wit and his skill to successfully scale the side of the vast wall which split the Second Floor into two distinct districts, he would be blown to-and-fro by the terrible blizzard winds, yet his strength and dexterity would reinforce his grip and his footing, allowing him to further pursue his determined ascent. It was by no means viable weather for attempting to perform such an outrageous act; but this entire *Mission* Was outrageous, was it not? To attempt to scale the wall was no less an affront to common sense than was pillaging a realm that seemed almost divine, or to challenge the monstrous beings which remained in residence of the anomalistic superstructure that was the *Vektet.*

Cumhall had experienced the treacherousness of this vast domain on the First Floor, and witnessed the sheer potency of the challenges that it contained. He had also overcome these challenges, and proved himself worthy to continue pushing forward. This right, he earned. Overcoming this wall, even in this weather, was no obstacle he could not overcome. 

Not even the turbulent winter winds would push him off his rope, his impossible scaling of the unfavorably-smooth and unfavorably-cold surface of the wall made a possibility through sheer determination. Finally, his hand clutched something level, and finally, he could pull himself up to the very top of the wall, where lied—









```diff
- 𝔻𝔼𝔸𝕋ℍ -```









*Even despite his skill and determination, he forgot one thing:*
***There was a terrible, terrible being, atop that insurmountable wall.***
Annette
__***Emissary Cherei.***__



_ _
Charles
"Oh! I'm sorry." The Rook says, swiftly apologizing for any perceived rudeness with a quickened reaction that could only be described as pavlovian, as he bows his head, tilting forward his torso to do so and keeping his arms at his side; if this guardian were royalty, he would of course, have bent the knee at this juncture to add to his sincerity in apologizing.

Upon confirmation that the stick *Is* Really cool, The Rook comes back up from the polite bow and nods his head, attentively listening to what follows, having no response to the comment about being odd. If he did, he would be quick to silence himself from speaking. Admittedly, The Rook *Is* Out of place here, so "Odd" Is a fairly descriptive word in this context.

The chime rings out, dispelling the barrier that protected them from both the snow and the slicing winds that had previously surrounded them, allowing them inwards.

*What would you do?* The Rook seems very, very confused by this sudden turn of events, responding by making a few easy to understand motions with his hands, although they are of course blocked by the bits of snow that now pelt against his armor uninhibited. One to demonstrate the massive *Height* Difference, and one to demonstrate the *Weight* Difference, yet still refusing to take a fighting stance until there is truly no turning back. The motions are made ambiguous, as although The Rook has clearly sized the defender up, the motions are not made with ill intent.

 His stance remains unmoving. This is a fight that The Rook is thoroughly unwilling to take part in, but if there is truly no other way, even he must cut a loss every once in a while.

_ _
So, The Rook answers with honesty, as he had been the whole encounter. "I do not want to fight you."

The Rook has absolutely no will to fight this battle unless absolutely necessary. Up until just now, they had been having a somewhat friendly conversation after all. That doesn't mean that he would sit down and take it, however.

"But," The Rook swiftly follows up, allowing no room for the guardian to make a comment of his own, "If you try to kill me, I will defend myself. I do not want to hurt you, and I do not want to fight." The Rook concludes, hoping that was enough to de-escalate the encounter.
Robert
The wind whistles, and the guardian's single-eyed silver glare remains unbroken, even beyond the clusters of snow that hurried past one's sightlines of the blinding blizzard. Its nebulously-enchanted quarterstaff remained extended and at-the-ready to attack ahead of itself, the guardian allowing no hurry in its response, instead pausing for a long, lingering moment, in which time itself felt as though it were stopped.

In its glare, there was nothing determinate; no display of its intent extended beyond its own thoughts, and it seemed that the only reasonable explanation for its silence was that it was weighing the answer given to it. Yet, just as easily as that conclusion could be true, so too was it possible that it was simply dragging out the time between the Rook's words and its follow-up on a predetermined judgment, so to reinforce the impact of its ultimate response. Or, further yet, perhaps it was *Testing* Him with its silence — the combination of its silence, the uneasiness brought about by its hostile stance, and the uproarious atmosphere of the snowfield could ware on one's patience, which very well could provoke a rash response of either fear or anger. Still, and as a senseless yet simple final alternative, it could be waiting for *No reason whatsoever.*

The wind hushes in the wake of the guardian's eerie still. Even lacking the arcane domain of the chime's darkness, it felt as though the snow had ceased to whirl about the two, and that the agitated atmosphere had finally calmed.
_ _
Charles
The Rook stares dead ahead through the visor of his helmet, awaiting a response that would surely come soon.

In another life, or if this were someone else in his boots entirely, perhaps the wait imposed upon him would indeed break him should it be a test, yet after all that The Rook has done and seen, learning patience has indeed been a long and fruitful endeavour. One spurred on by that of his employer's wishes.

 After what feels like an eternity still, The Rook's response is rewarded with an answer. A thoroughly disappointing one, of course, but an answer nonetheless. The Rook is given that it was not a bad answer.

"A story. I like stories, too." The Rook replies, half mindedly. "If I go back away I will get shot. That is not a good ending as well." He explains.

"I want to do my task and then leave. I do not want to get shot." He continues. "I know what I would do to stop you from killing me without killing you."

The Rook prepares a demonstration to a knight who likely does not care anymore for such frivolous pursuits, yet he must do this to return home in one piece. He cannot go back into the field.

So, he straightens up suddenly, letting a rush of energy throughout his suit of armor from his feet and glinting with purple energy. Of course, this does not mean The Rook intends to act upon anything he is about to showcase, leaving the ability ambiguous as to what it would actually do in this situation. The Rook does a stretch before waiting to see if the knight even cares. Perhaps this is how he plans to escape the onslaught of the Emissary above should he be denied a second chance.

"I can show you that, but I can also tell you a story if you want that instead." He offers, really just not wanting to be turned back around, offering anything in his power to do so.

_ _
Although The Rook claims to like stories, this was a horrible suggestion for someone with his memory. When presented with a stage all of a sudden, one might get stage fright, a terrible thing to be on the receiving end of when you're trying to convince a guard to open the gate so that you don't have to get shot at in the cold winter snow.

 *Think, Rook, think... What story can you talk about?*