[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=a0522d]Gilbert Summers[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]
https://i.pinimg.com/236x/16/91/a3/1691a360c6ee2650086a5af9e7a10d74.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=sienna]Location:[/color][/b] Ville au Camp (Carnival) 
[b][color=a0522d]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	Speaking in riddles. Figures. If this was indeed that same woman who had been pushing or pulling him in some direction or another, off and on, since before he knew what he was, then she probably already has the answers to the questions that she asked. It was meetings like this that built and fed into the ancient story concept of the young hero, questing for immortality, the Grail, the Philosopher's Stone, whatever spiritual ideal or mythical artifact lay within human imagination - and the unknown guide baiting the path or testing their resolve. It might have even started with Gilbert himself, all those thousands of years ago. Or even earlier, for all he knew. Gilbert had considered himself a product of the civilization of humanity as much as anything else. Who knew what lay in the broad expanse of time before concepts of community and trade were established? When wars were small affairs over resources for survival and not structured belief? Before written language, agriculture, or mathematics beyond finger-counting? 

	Still, it was a momentous event that Siduri would be there. The times that her voice issued through the visages of many a young lady throughout the millennia, it signified change. Or direction. For a moment, Gilbert wondered if some version of Siduri was laying in a pond somewhere in what would become England, distributing swords as a basis of government. It seemed like something that she might do, what with her highly cryptic and indirectly meddlesome nature, not unlike what the Emendators had been training the Paradoxes under their care to accomplish. It would stand to reason that she would appear here, rare as it was, with the absence of the other Emendators. 

	But speaking of the other Emendators, did she appear to the others in her own way over the span of their lifetimes? Or was it just him, as he might have been the only one who undertook what would become archetyped as a "Hero's Quest"? Ignoring, of course, that he was probably the guy the archetype was based upon, and the fact that as a "hero", he engaged in the slaughter of men by the thousands upon thousands got pushed to the wayside by the colorful retelling of history. 

	The explanation that she was actually the [i]origin[/i] of he and those like him should have struck Gilbert with greater impact than it did. A holdover of doubt, perhaps? It was hard to say. Maybe it was that Gil had made peace with who or whatever he was a long time ago, and the telling of his true origins made little difference to him. Gilbert was who he was. His identity was linked to his thoughts, his feelings, and his actions. Should he give respect to his originator? With certainty. Should he take a knee and worship at her feet? Call her Mother? Gilbert would no sooner have others do that before him as he would prostrate himself before someone else in that manner. Maybe he was prideful. Or he was shamed by his actions of his original lifetime, where he [i]was[/i] considered something like a god. 

	Gilbert waited until she had made her rounds with those who had made comment, and voiced his own observations. [color=a0522d]"Two of our number are lost to us, as well you know. One is fallen. The other, [i]Elissa[/i] - she has asked that we do not try to follow. I do not know that this is a wise course of action. Why I am what I am... my curiosity is secondary. I wish to know more, truly. I wish my brothers and sisters to be whole again moreso."[/color] Speaking metaphorically, of course. He stopped to smile, a expression disarmingly at odds with his words just previous, [color=a0522d]"Although I must admit, that is perhaps the most accurate and colorful description for the formation of the English language to which I have been exposed. Bravo."[/color] 



[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=cd5c5c]James Grady[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/110f59a7-f09e-40d4-b96a-9754fb285add.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=indianred]Location:[/color][/b] Ville au Camp (Carnival)
[b][color=cd5c5c]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	Okay, so maybe making a smartassed comment with a mouthful of sandwich in front of the beings of immense power wasn't the smartest thing that James had ever done. Not by a long shot. But hey, it was his first time meeting a deity, he could use a little slack cut his way. Except that it really wasn't the first time he met a deity. Technically, a couple of the Emendators were already worshiped, or at least they were, once upon a time. It wasn't everyday that you woke up and had a light snack with a god. Okay, unless you were [i]him[/i]. Depending upon the needs of the day, he could very well have crumpets & tea with Gilgamesh and Loki. Pondering it objectively, [i]that[/i] would make for one hell of a soap opera. 

        The choice of words used to address James was highly unusual. That much was obvious by anyone listening. It even too him a second or two to understand what she was trying to say. He was mostly a straight shooter so far as discussion went, preferring that others likewise shoot straight with him. However, he supposed that just a hint of speaking in code might be necessary considering that it referenced some very personal stuff, including him, well, [i]murdering a guy[/i]. The "ivory brother" by water and sand also struck a chord with him, and brought a smile to his face. [color=cd5c5c]"O Cap'n, my Cap'n? That's some goodness to hear. Thank you."[/color] Remembering something similar in intent to manners but not quite execution, James unapologetically pulled his secondary spare ham and cheese sandwich out of the front pocket of his overalls and offered it to Siduri with a naively hopeful expression. [color=cd5c5c]"You want you a sammich, Miss Lady?"[/color] he inquired, nodding all the while.