Two days after his tumultuous arrival in Babel, Rory descends a broad, winding stairway into the common dining hall of the Guild. As with his arrival on his first day, the talk in the hall hushes as he grows near, in a way that has nothing to do with magic, Shadow or otherwise. Whereas the murmurs on the previous day were of piracy and Caroban news, today the words the young unicorn catches as he walks to the buffet are angrier and more personal, about the Yodh, spirits-and Envoy. He catches more than one sympathetic gaze directed his way.

As he tries to focus on the various dishes arrayed on the breakfast table, and not the whispered conversations at his back, he hears something slither up behind him. "Apprentisssse Rorshach!" a pleased feminine voice hisses. "Ssssso the rumorssss are true!"

Rory almost jumps in place, and then his ears spring up, as he registers the voice, and spins around. "Advisor Esstana!" he squeals, beaming brightly.

The Naga shares his smile, offering an inclination of her head. "Your enthusssiasssm hasss not dimmed with time, I sssee," she hisses. Her scales rustles against the floor as she slithers closer. "But, I missspoke. You are Journeyman Rorschach now, I sssee."

"Yes yes yes!" Rory says, bouncing on his hooves. "It was a lot of work and lots of tests, and I even had to go all the way to Lamu to study, too, but I made it! Seeeeee?" He proudly shows off his guild ring. Mentally, he adds a trumpet fanfare and imagines a "shing!" sunbeam of light shining on the ring, just like in the stage-plays.

Thsera Esstana bends forward to examine the ring, her forked tongue sliding out as she inspects it. Rory notices a puckered white scar along the side of her face as she does so. He doesn't remember it – but then again, he only met Esstana once, several years ago. "I am very proud of you. You mussst tell me what Lamu was like – and what bringsss you back to Babel?"

"I wanted to see you all again!" Rory says, beaming. And then his smile fades a bit. "I was in Lamu a long time. I didn't know … about the bad things happening here. I … I heard about Skiree. Do you remember her? I still have Mister Porky – her Bromthen Forest-Hog doll. I was supposed to keep it for her, when she had to leave, when her parents called her back, on account of the war. And … well … " He shifts his hoof a bit. "I'm really glad to see you're still here."

The serpent sobers, too, at the turn of conversation. "I am not sssure I remember the girl," she admits. "I sssuppossse she wass here when … ?" Her voice trails off.

Rory bites his lower lip and nods slowly. By now, he's been through this several times, but he still has to make a conscious effort not to make a display. "I … I want to find out if her family is okay. I … I could give them Mister Porky … and they could keep him for her. Maybe … maybe she has a little sister who needs him." He hugs his arms around his middle. "And … and maybe if I told them how really nice Skiree was, and how I miss her, I don't know, maybe that'd be good. Or maybe it'd just make them sad again. I really don't know. But I have to give Mister Porky back, and this is as close as I can get."

The serpent raises one hand, and after a moment's hesitation, pats Rory's shoulder awkwardly. "I am sssure they will be pleassed." She glances to the buffet table. "But, I did not mean to ssstop you from getting your breakfassst," Esstana hisses in apology.

"Oh. Breakfast," Rory says, remembering himself, and turning halfway to look back toward his previous objective. "Yah. Uhm … before I do, while I've got you here and I'm not distracting you or anything, do you have any suggestions on how I'd look up her family? Who I'd ask about that? I mean, maybe as an advisor and all, maybe you have that sort of information or something."

"I am afraid that mossst of my recordsss from that time were lossst during the disssasster. I myssself wasss fortunate enough to be visssiting relatives in the Empire at the time," the advisor says, helping herself to a few bound but squirming insects from one end of the table. "And much that wasss done immediately after wasss never recorded. Ssstill, I can sssertainly check for you. Ssskiree, you sssay?"

Rory nods. "Skiree. She apprenticed under Master Zahirinee, and she's either Chaos or Light, I don't remember which," he says. "And I really really appreciate you checking for me. This means a lot to me."

"I underssstand. You might also inquire of Mage Sssyprian. He wasss in the sssity at the time of the … disssassster, and was involved with many of the effortsss to … contact the relationsss of the dessseasssed."

"All right," Rory says. "Uhm … who's he? Or, how do I find him? I don't think we've met. Oh! Wait, I think Envoy mentioned him as someone I should ask after."

"He isss the Mage of Mind for thisss Guild Hall. Hisss quartersss are in the Prosssesssion Sssuite – the ressseptionissst will know how to find him and what hisss ssschedule isss." Esstana glances through the selection of bugs still on the table, but apparently decides against take any more.

The unicorn nods, and absently scoops up a few grubs and bits of fruit. "I'll go bug him after breakfast, then," Rory says, smiling. "Thank you, Advisor Esstana!"

Advisor Esstana sat with Rory for a few minutes after he chose his food, but Nagai aren't much for social eating – she swallowed the large bugs that comprised her meal whole a few seconds after settling on them. As the young unicorn finishes his meal alone, A lanky brown-furred Eeee in the robes of a senior apprentice approaches. Apparently, even though most of the education is centralized on Caroban, apprentices still take stints at the various guild halls – both for practical experience, and because the master mages can use their labor. "You must be Rorschach Stormshadow," the Eeee says, as he flutters down beside him.

Rory looks up, picking some insect legs out of his teeth absently. "Oh! Hello! Yes, that's me!" he offers, looking to the Eeee, straining his mind to see if this is anyone he recognizes somehow. (He's caught on that everyone he knew as a kid is a lot older now.)

This Eeee looks, at best, vaguely familiar, but despite the unicorn's efforts to place a name to him, he can't be sure. Then again, thin brown Eeee aren't exactly in short supply in Babel. "I'm Apprentice Joff of Paddan," the Eeee introduces himself. Clearly he doesn't expect Rory to remember him. "Mage Cyprian sent me to find you. He said Mage Envoy'd written something about you wanting to see him when you arrived."

"Ohhhh!" Rory says, faintly disappointed that this isn't yet another convenient reunion. (But then, it saves him the embarrassment of not knowing the other's name after all these years.) "Sure! Uhm … just a moment." He hurriedly stuffs the two last remaining grubs in his mouth, the two with the brightest red colors (he likes to save the best colors for last, just because), and washes them down with what's left of the cup of water. He chews quickly and swallows, then hiccups loudly.

Joff waves his hands in a quick denying motion. "Oh, no rush," he squeaks. "Take your time. Mage Cyprian has a client right now. He sent me to find you because his afternoon appointment cancelled, so as soon as he's done with this morning's, you can see him. Umm, assuming Mage Envoy was right about you wanting to." Joff has the air of one who would not be in the least surprised if anything Mage Envoy said turned out to be the exact opposite of the truth.

Rory coughs into one hand, and wipes his mouth. "Oh, I see." He blows out his cheeks, trying to stifle another hiccup, but fails. "I'll … I'll get my teeth brushed so I don't have bug-breath, then." He gives Joff directions to where he's staying. "I'll sit tight there, if that's okay, or wherever you'd rather I be waiting."

"That'll be great," the apprentice says, looking relieved, though why he would, Rory's not sure.

Rory's imagination doesn't kick in at the moment to come up with any wild theories, except perhaps that really Joff is a member of a super secret cabal of mages charged with protecting the world against the evils of chaos, and that this is really going to be the opening of a grand adventure, because there's really a secret passage in the room where he's staying, and that was where he was going to be led to anyway, to get to their secret base. He doesn't share that, because he suspects that if it weren't true, Joff would look at him funny, and if it were true, he'd be blowing his cover. Besides, it's more fun to pretend that such things might be true, than to find out that they aren't. "Thanks! I'll see you later, then!" he says, as he takes his tray toward the kitchen.

The intervening time before Joff returns for him gives Rory plenty of opportunity to expand on his theory, and the journey through the tower to the "Procession Suite" does seem like an adventure in itself. The tower was designed for Eeee exclusively, and isn't as friendly to non-fliers as the old Guild Hall was. On a couple of occasions, Joff has to turn back because he accidentally led them to a shaft without a stairwell. However, eventually, they arrive, and the apprentice cracks open the door after knocking. Rory didn't hear any response to the knock, but then again, his ears are a lot smaller than the Eeee's.

On one of the pale couches that ring the chamber's central dais, a black-furred Eeee man sits sideways, a book in his lap. He looks to the door as the apprentice opens it. "Mage Cyprian, I've brought Journeyman Rorschach with me," Joff squeaks.

Green eyes blink once at them, then Cyprian sets his book to one side and rises slowly. He bows. "Journeyman Rorschach," he says, quietly. "It is good to see you again." The Eeee looks tired, Rory thinks. His black hair is just a bit longer than the rest of his fur, the length betraying it as hair and not fur. For all that it is short, it manages to look rumpled anyway.

Rory bows. "Greetings, Mage Cyprian," he says, doing his best to be formal and put on a good appearance. (Somehow, this seems more important while paying a personal visit than if he had run into Cyprian, say, while grabbing grub in the dining hall. Perhaps important seniors like Mage Cyprian don't go to the dining hall.) "I am glad to see you're … " He wants to say "doing well", out of habit, but Cyprian's tired appearance won't let him. " … I mean, to see you, too." His ears blush.

If Cyprian understands the reason for Rory's change mid-sentence, it doesn't seem to bother him. He offers a brief smile instead, and motions to the scattered chairs and sofas. "Please, come in, and make yourself comfortable," the mage says, settling back onto his couch.

Rory ducks his head again, out of bashfulness as much as respect, and takes Cyprian's offer seriously, quickly clip-clopping in, and bouncing on the softest-looking sofa, testing its cushiness. "It's nice here!" he says, looking up and around himself. "Do you get this all to yourself?"

The sofa doesn't have too much bounce, but it has a lot of fluff, squishing around Rory has he sits on it. "I do," the Eeee answers, "Thank you." He sets a ribbon attached to the book he was reviewing to mark his place, and sets it neatly on the table. His eyes look a little unfocused as he looks at Rory. "I hope – " he starts to say, then interrupts himself with a chuckle.

The unicorn abruptly stops, sitting still, and folding his hands in his lap. "Yes, Mage Cyprian?"

"I was going to say I hoped you had a pleasant trip, but then I recalled your manner of arrival." The mage glances to the windows, looking wry. "Instead, allow me to apologize for the sorry state of my city, and the shabby 'welcome' it gave you on your return."

"Oh," Rory says, frowning. "Well, that was really bad, yeah, but … uh … I guess there's not much you can do about that, not really. I think on the way out, I'll try to see if I can ride on a bigger ship, or something. Or maybe … uh … maybe I'll walk."

"A bigger ship would be more advisable. Walking is … somewhat more perilous, I fear. Though – you're a shadow mage, are you not?" Cyprian inquires.

Rory nods. "Well, I guess what I could do is spend some extra time and make a big ritual and obfuscate the ship. Or something like that. I'd just have to hope nobody is specifically looking for that specific ship, you know? But … I guess that can wait. Uhm … did you want to see me about Skiree's family? Or is this something different?"

Mage Cyprian runs a hand through his hair, and Rory notices that the motion leaves it more rumpled than before. "In fact, I was under the impression that you wanted to see me," he replies. "Mage Envoy had sent a letter before her arrival, with words to that effect, if I recall aright. That would be about … Skiree?" Something flickers in his green eyes.

"Yes!" Rory blurts out, then recovers. "Yes, I wanted to see you. I just wanted to not go making assumptions, in case you had called me here for something really important, I mean, that Skiree is important to me, but something important to you, that is, something else, and I didn't sidetrack you, because sometimes I do that when I get off topic. But I mean, I have Mister Porky – that's Skiree's doll – and he belongs to Skiree, and Skiree is my second best friend in the world, and we got split up when the war broke out, and I promised I'd keep Mister Porky for her, and well, I have to return it, but I learned what happened to Skiree, so I can't really, but I still promised, so I need to do the next best thing, and I guess that's to find her family." He stops, taking a deep breath.

Throughout this speech, Cyprian watches the unicorn, his head tilted to one side. After the pause, he takes a moment to digest it. "I understand. Skiree … " He lowers his gaze, turning his head to one side. "I remember her. A small batling, very active, playful. She spent almost all the holidays at the school." The mage brushes a hand past his forehead, contemplative and saddened. "You still have Mr. Porky?"

Rory nods. "Not on me. I'd look funny carrying him around. But he's back with my bunk. I've been really careful with him."

"That's good." Cyprian smiles; he looks like he really means that, as opposed to saying it just to have a reply. "Thank you for coming to see me, Rory. You said you wanted to find out where her parents are?"

Rory nods vigorously. "Or siblings or … well … uhm … as close as I can get, you know, if things … well … were really really bad." He bites his lip again. "I … I'm hoping, you know, that if she was at the Guild Hall, she didn't bring her whole family along."

"No, she did not," the mage assures him. "Her family lived in a different part of Babel. They were not affected by the boomer, though how they have fared since then, I do not know. Come, we'll go to the records hall – I'm sure I wrote down something about them."

Rory leaps up from the sofa. "Oh! Oh, thank you, Mage Cyprian! Yes, let's go right away! I have nothing better to do, honest!"

As they walk through the halls of the tower – which Cyprian appears to know better than Joff, or maybe he's just more used to escorting non-fliers around – whatever the case, the Eeee mage doesn't lead Rory to any blind shafts – the black-furred man asks the boy, "How is it that you only recently learned of the boomer attack?"

Rory only needs a little encouragement like this (and a moment to get his breath back) to unleash a long and intricate story – with countless miniature tangents along the way – about his adventures in Lamu, jumping back to explain about the field trip that got him there, jumping forward to mention briefly a few things in the present, jumping back to explain about Reece and Koshiro and Silhouette (a lot of explanation on Silhouette), the house, Daughter of Fire, the Nitons, and anything else he can think of, as he can think of it, not entirely in chronological order. "And I didn't get any mail while I was there," he says, finally getting back to answering Cyprian's question, "though I found out the bad news when I came to Caroban."

By the time Rory finishes his explanation, the two have arrived at their destination, and Cyprian steps inside, nodding to a clerk bent over a desk with a quill in hand. He leads Rory through a small maze of bookcases. "I understand, now, why you were so long coming," he says at last, apparently having managed to grasp the important details of the story. "Skiree was very fond of you. She spoke of you often. 'If my best friend Rory were here!'" the mage squeaks, in a passable imitation of a young girl.

Rory giggles at the imitation. "Skiree is a great shot with a pea-shooter!"

Cyprian smiles. "Was she, indeed? That might explain a few things." He takes down a volume from the shelves, balancing it against a row of books as he opens it. He turns a few pages, then says, quietly, "She was not close to her parents."

Rory frowns. "Uhm … what sort of not close? Do you mean, 'Don't bother us about Skiree' not close? Or … uhm … 'some other sort of not close' not close?"

"I once thought she was an orphan, as I was. Normally, young students with living parents did not stay at the Guild Hall through the holidays, otherwise," the mage starts to answer, concentrating. "It wasn't that they … disliked her. Only that they … could not be troubled to raise a daughter themselves." He pauses, then adds, "I think," though he'd sounded pretty confident of the statement when he made it.

Rory blinks, watching Cyprian's face curiously, and then looks away, as he only belatedly registers part of what Cyprian said. "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't know you were … I mean … about you. I'm sorry."

The older mage looks briefly as confused as Rory, then he chuckles, realizing the reason for the young unicorn's embarrassment. "It was a long time ago, Rory. I do not dwell on it any longer." He turns more pages in the book.

Rory nods. "Oh. Well … I just … I kind of … I dwell on that sort of thing, I guess. You know. About your parents. You know. Like, having any. But … Skiree." He shuffles his hooves. "Do you think I'd be doing anything really bad by taking Mister Porky to her parents? I mean, would they be mad if I troubled them?"

He doesn't answer for a few minutes, instead focusing on the book. "Ah. No … I do not think they would be angry. I am only … not sure that they would care." Cyprian stares at the page he stopped on. "I remember telling them now. They didn't seem surprised, or hurt. Resigned, perhaps. Two weeks after they received the news, they wrote the college a simple letter asking for a refund of Skiree's remaining tuition."

Rory bites his lip at this, and chokes back something. He at last manages, "I … I think … I think I'm about to have an emotional outburst. I'm going to try not to."

Cyprian closes the book, marking the page with one finger, and shuts his eyes. "It is, perhaps, unfair to judge people by the way they take such news," he says, his voice hollow, almost a whisper. "I only met them once."

Despite Rory's threat, he doesn't deliver any especially dramatic outburst. All he does is to lean against a wall, head hanging, breathing out loudly. "I … I want them to care. I want someone to care. I care. Skiree's my friend. She matters. They've got to care. They're her parents." He stops, then says, "Or … maybe they already knew, I guess. Like … they heard what happened … and they knew."

The Eeee nods. He looks even more tired now than he had earlier. "They would have to assume that was the case," he murmurs. "You – " he starts to say something else, but breaks off.

"Mmm?" Rory responds, as he looks up, pausing to see if Mage Cyprian was going to say anything further.

The mage pauses, as if struggling to decide whether to continue or not. "My people are a cynical lot, Rory. I suppose you must know that – you lived among us. I – I did not know Skiree well, understand, or think of her often. Even with the clue of your presence it took me a few minutes to place the name," he admits. "But when I went to tell her parents of her fate, I missed her. I cared. I wondered if anyone else did. What was her best friend, Rory, thinking now?" He stops, trying to organize his thoughts to continue. "That is why I was – am – glad that you came. That you have taken care of Mr. Porky for all these long years. You are right. It does matter that someone else cares."

"What should I do?" Rory blurts out. "I don't know what Skiree would want. I mean, I said I should take Mister Porky back to her parents, but that's all I could think of. I mean … is there something else I should do? Do you have any ideas? I don't want to fail Skiree. I'm … I'm kind of a weird kid. And Skiree didn't care. She was just all happy, bouncy, 'Whee!' and 'Candy candy candy want some? here!' and … she was my friend. Is my friend. I'm not bumping her out of second place just because … well … you know."

Cyprian taps his fingers against the cover of the book. "I don't know," he admits. He reopens the book and takes a scrap of parchment from a pocket of his tunic, scribbling down an address with a charcoal pencil. "Let's go fetch him, then go up the eyrie, shall we? Do you remember – why Skiree gave Mr. Porky to you originally?"

"Uhm … " Rory stops and blinks at this. He furrows his brow, long in contemplation. "It … it was a scrying thing," he says.

"A scrying thing?" Cyprian blinks, leading the boy out of the records hall. "The toy is a spell focus? But she couldn't see you through it, could she?"

"I don't know," Rory says. "I only know a little bit of scrying myself, and I didn't really understand it at all then. She said it was so she could find me. I forgot about all that."

The other mage runs his hand through his tousled hair again. "Of course. A familiar object like that would be easy for her to locate," he muses. "So … most likely, she would want Mr. Porky in the hands of someone she would want to find, or be close to."

Rory frowns. "I … I never gave her anything. If I did … then maybe I could find her."

Cyprian smiles. "I may be an Eeee, but even I am not so cynical as to think you gave her nothing. For you to be her very best friend Rory – " the imitation is funny not so much because it's apt, but because the falsely high-pitched, squeaky voice is so at odds with the man's otherwise serious demeanor " – you must have given her something valuable indeed. Maybe not tangible – but important, nonetheless."

Rory's ears blush. "Well … I mean … you know … " He just finishes with a shrug. "Maybe I should just keep it, then? But … but if her parents would want it, I'll feel like a hoof. Or maybe … I mean … if she had a grave or something, at least I could visit that. I could bring candy. I know her favorite kinds … unless she got sick on them."

"There is a monument to the victims of the boomer," Cyprian offers. "Just to the East of the Wound. You could visit it. As for Mr. Porky – Skiree gave him to you, not to her parents, and I am sure that is because she thought you would want him more. Circumstances may have changed since then … but if you still want him, I expect she would be happy for you to keep him."

Rory sighs. "I guess … I don't know … I guess holding onto him makes me feel like … like I've got … homework I haven't finished yet, and it's due in the morning. I think I'd like to meet Skiree's parents sometime … but maybe … maybe when I'm a little older, and I'm less likely to say something stupid. But … I think I'd like to see that monument. I'll take some candy there. If that isn't considered littering. And thank you, Mage Cyprian. I really am thankful for all your help."

"Thank you, Ro – " the other mage stops mid-syllable, blinking, then says, "Journeyman Rorschach, please tell me I haven't been calling you Rory for the last two hours?"

The unicorn grins. "Just about everybody does!" He sobers a little, but he's still smiling faintly. "Thank you a bunch, really. I'm glad to know you care. It means everything to me. And if you ever need a Shadow spell, you be sure and let me know, okay?"

"I must be more tired than I realized," the Eeee mumbles, looking embarrassed. He continues in a more normal voice, "And, no, bringing candy would not be considered littering. Please, be careful when you go, however." Cyprian cautions. "You are a shadow mage, so I trust you'll be all right on your own, but Babel is a dangerous place. I advise that you make yourself inconspicuous before you leave the Guild Hall. I doubt anyone will be looking for you in particular, but if more people like those pirates happened to notice you … " The mind mage looks concerned, despites his outward assurance that a journeyman shadow mage should be fine.

Rory nods solemnly. "People died. I'll be careful. And I'll try real hard not to say anything stupid … or make anyone angry. Honest."

The structure in tribute to the boomer's victims is carefully maintained by the Yodhsunala, and on the way to it, Rory notices priestesses and armed guard alike, from various different temples, all united for this purpose, at least. On the side of the glass bowl nearest the wound, an assortment of all different items have been left – flowers, both cut and planted, bloom, along with toys, fresh insects, articles of clothing, even furnishings. Rory notices that quite a few of the offerings are, like the monument itself, miniature versions – as if the dead still walked in the tiny corridors of the model, and could use the gifts brought them, if only they are small enough.

Rory frowns to himself, as he clings to the back of the rakhtor he's riding (with the benefit of a beginner's harness, so that he doesn't go plummeting to his death if he loses his balance). He's pretty sure that the store didn't sell miniature candy, though, and he doubts any mages have a spell for shrinking it. He then brightens. This means I'm giving Skiree giant candy! She'd be so happy! "Uhm … Land over there … please?" he begs the rakhtor, then returns to murmuring some chants to keep his "Nothing to see here, move along" spell in action.

The rakhtor, a tame and languid hen more interested in her next meal than her rider, flaps serenely through the air. She glides to land in front of a water trough a dozen yards or so from the pile of offerings. It's not the spot Rory had asked for, but it's not too far off. She clacks her beak and starts noisily lapping up water. The one rakhtor now sharing the trough with her doesn't seem to notice.

Rory sighs in relief. As far as he's concerned, this is better than he could seriously expect anyway. He chants again, even before it's strictly necessary, just to be certain to "charge things up" before he dismounts … just in case he encounters some mishap while dismounting and misses his next "appointment" to keep the spell going. Then, he carefully deals with the buckles and snaps of the harness, and removes his small sweet-smelling packet from the saddle-pouch.

No one seems to be paying any attention to him. On the north and south sides, standing on platforms, armored guards stand watch over the hemispherical bowl. A few more Eeee are scattered around and there on the platforms, staring into the monument quietly. One woman walks to Rory's intended destination, carrying a tiny knit scarf and shoes. She leaves behind her a dirty little Eeee child, who waits seated on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest and looking at the offerings.

The unicorn looks about uncertainly, watching the others here, trying to determine from their actions what the proper protocol might be – whether one must pay the attendants for passage, whether one must ask permission … any little rule he might inadvertently break if he's not careful. I don't want to cause a scene, he thinks quietly to himself, his black and white marks on his brow crinkling in worry. I don't want to bring more trouble on the Guild. He looks at the child, he looks at the woman … trying to puzzle out the story here. A child there to mourn a lost sibling? Or a beggar hoping for a hand-out? Or both, or neither? As he puzzles this, he slowly makes his way toward the monument, fearing that simply standing about and looking lost is as sure a way to look out of place as any, and he never can count entirely on an Obfuscation spell – not in any place that is specifically guarded.

While he's standing and watching, the unicorn notices that the woman with the miniature clothing articles doesn't pay any attention to the guards. Instead, she advances to the edge of the pile, and kneels down before it, laying out the little scarf, smoothing down its ends, then putting the two tiny shoes in front of it. Tears run silently down her face. The young girl farther away sniffles, too, but no one says anything to her, or to each other. Everyone seems absorbed in their own private grief. Even the guards, though they eye the woman, don't seem to care about what she's doing, so much as making sure that she isn't taking anything away.

Rory walks with a little more determination toward the spot where people are laying down gifts. He fumbles with the packet in his hands, untying the strings, resisting the urge to lick his fingers. His pouches and pockets rustle with bundles of other candies. He really went for overkill when he went shopping for candy. After all, there isn't much candy in Lamu. He just saw all those confections, smelled all that sweetness, and quite lost it. In addition to Skiree's favorites, he got plenty of extras. There are bugs-on-a-stick, crackly crickets, xocholatl ants, sugarfir syrup leaves, jelly squirmers, gummy fruit, peppermint poppers, jawstoppers, squeaky-bites, and quite a number he doesn't even know the names to, but just thought they smelled or looked good and figured they were worth getting. After all, there's no telling whether Skiree's tastes may have changed in the afterlife.

(That, and just in case he felt the need to sample any on the way – just to make sure they were good enough to offer to Skiree, of course – he felt he should have plenty of spares. And maybe a few extra for bribes, just in case the priestesses demand a portion of any offerings.)

The Eeee woman wipes at her eyes, but remains kneeling, her other arm straight out before her, fingers splayed on the ground to support her torso. A cool wind ruffles through the area, wafting the scent of Rory's candies to his nose. It mixes with the smells of the offerings on the ground and a curious burning smell. There's no scent of spoilage, however – the Yodh must clear the ground of the objects before rot or mold sets in.

The unicorn frowns, walking on up and finding himself some place to kneel down, somewhere near where the others seem to be, but doing his best to judge how not to intrude on their personal space, either. He turns the packet over in his hands nervously, and looks toward the monument, trying to tell where the Guild Hall grounds might be represented, quietly in awe that someone would go to such trouble to replicate this much detail.

From the ground, where Rory stands, the curved side of the monument rises above him, and he can only see into the basin through gaps in the earth that lines much of its glass formation. The effect is as if someone had taken a huge glass sphere, scooped out a large section of Babel, then shrunk it and set it beside the original location. From where he stands, he can't really tell where the old College grounds are – somewhere on the northeastern slope of the bowl, maybe, based on his memories. Though most of the offerings seem piled on the west side, facing the Wound itself, Rory notices that there are little items scattered around on the ground below the basin on the other sides. Apparently putting offerings on the west side is a guideline and not a rule.

Rory decides not to make things overly difficult. He carefully sets down the packet, and an assortment of candies from various pockets and pouches on his person. "This is for you, Skiree," he says softly. "Thank you for being my friend. I wish … I wish a lot of things, but it's too late. I'm sorry. I'll keep Mister Porky for you, unless I can find a better home for him. And I won't ever, ever forget you. I wish I could have given you this in person – I'll bet you could really hog out on this – but … this is the best I can do. Good bye, Skiree. I miss you."