EVENT #20: ADVENT - IC EVENT LOG

[abraxasmods]

Event #20 - Advent

OOC Event Log ⦁ The Gods ⦁ NPCs

The Badlands has remained contested territory between Thorne and the Free Cities for many years. During a mediation two years ago, a resolution was attempted but fell apart. The Badlands is valued for being the direct route toward the Singularity...meaning it was only a matter of time before conflict broke out over it.

Early in AUGUST, Thorne and the Free Cities begin to march on the Badlands. The clash is bloody and violent, taking place exclusively on the ground. Although the Free Cities military has its share of firearms, such things are still rare and expensive. Most of the fighting, as expected, makes use of horses, swords, arrows, and - of course - magic.

The territories won't call upon Summoned like yourselves. You are meant for something more important. If you insist on joining the fight, they may approve depending on who you are and what you plan to do. Soon, however, a powerful force emerges, one far bigger than just another clash of swords.

This event draws on a previous event involving the Heralds of War. Knowledge of this past event is not necessary, but you may review the information for added context if you wish!

The consequences of Solvunn's choice in Event #18 occur at the end of the event. The result of this act will be further detailed in the Wrap-Up.

Overture

The return of the Heralds might stir familiarity within some of you. You may recall how they whispered in your ears, planted visions of death, or corrupted the Horizon. This time, although their coming spreads across the land, you as the Summoned are remarkably resistant to the Gods' influences. Newer arrivals might be more susceptible, but those of you who have been here for months or years won't find yourselves afflicted much, if at all...until you start to make your choices.

As the Summoned, certain actions may open you up to vulnerabilities. Everything you do carries a weight. If you experienced the emergent reality, you'll likely have learned that lesson. You're not fully one of the Gods yet, but your connection to the Singularity means the magic that flows through you contains both a great capacity to help others and a cost that comes with it which you must consider.

A Taste of Blood

It begins sometime in mid-August, around the 16th onward. Not everyone will experience it at the same time. You might even believe you're spared until days afterward when you're visited by an unusually vivid dream.

The dream starts the same for everyone: you are going somewhere, anywhere, walking to your bedroom, or enjoying a stroll on the beach. You might be driving down a familiar neighborhood. Wherever you're headed, you find that the world around you shifts. Thin red veins spiderweb across nearby surfaces. As you press on, they become engorged with blood until they form a fleshy tunnel. A light at the end beckons you. You can turn around if you want, but aren't you curious?

If you proceed, you eventually come upon a beating human heart with your Arcana painted in gold. A swarm of large mosquitos quickly encase the heart, sucking it dry. As their abdomens become fat with blood, more and more join the swarm until it becomes a whirlwind of insects that gradually take on a large humanoid shape: bright red with blood with horns bent upwards like a lopsided crescent moon.

This is Zorne of Last Blood, the eldest of the Heralds of War.

The veins are pulled in by the insects, connecting one to the next and holding them in place like latticework of sinew. No longer obscured, the world that surrounds you is bleak and gray. A large sword materializes in Zorne's hand. Holding it aloft, he measures your resolve.

◎ If you have spilled blood, the blade begins to drip with it. The steel beneath glows hot, then begins to harden.
◎ If you have not spilled blood, the blade turns brittle, eventually falling to dust.

Zorne accepts you regardless. He sits down on his simple stone throne, laying the sword against the armrest. His eyes are thinly veiled sockets in a skull made of insects, downcast towards where you stand below his form. A thin layer of red skin stretches across his mouth with every word he speaks.

"The path...has been chosen. The snake has found its tail. Each new age rises from the ashes of its grave. It is...as it always has been."

Zorne holds the sword up again. Behind his throne, you glimpse the rays of a rising sun.

"A sword hardens in the fire. In the darkened hearts of mortals. Destruction heralds purification from madness.

All things end before they begin. Mortals, Gods, the smallest insect. And when it ends...we will be there. I will be there. And you...little godling...must find your place in that end."

The sun reaches its apex. It is blazing and fierce, as though it might soon swallow you in its fury - and then it does.

Do you feel at peace from its cleansing fire? Strengthened by it? Or is it purely unimaginable pain and fear that consumes you?

Zorne's sword measures the blood on your character's hands as perceived by them. A character who took only one important life to save the world may see as much blood on that sword as another who killed many to do the same.

Making Your Choices

Whether you believe Zorne or not, you must still do something, even if that something is nothing. As things unfold before your very eyes, you can decide whether you will aid the Heralds for what you may believe is the greater good, help the individuals you can't deny, or decline any involvement at all.

General Effects

Each territory will have a set of circumstances brought forth by a combination of human actions and the Heralds. Those who experienced the afflictions in the past may recognize that the Heralds never implanted or controled your thoughts. Instead, they showed you visions, whispered in your ear, or coaxed you to indulge the darker impulses that live inside you.

The same effect will take hold of the regular citizens now, whose dispositions play a large role in what the Heralds can influence and how much. This is made most obvious by the fact that children are the least impacted. The younger and the fewer their worries, the less vulnerable they are. Of those who are afflicted, the effect might manifest in ways that are more fitting of a child: dreams of a beloved pet dying, bullying a sibling, or giving in to the desire to steal a toy. Adults who are naturally and genuinely carefree may also fail to be affected by Koth's despair or Adlewyrd's poisonous thoughts.

Vulnerabilities

Your status as the Summoned affords you some protection. The longer you've been in Abraxas, the less open you will be to influence. However, depending on what you do, this might change.

◎ If you choose to counter a Herald's influences, you may inadvertently absorb the affliction's effects or experience a "bleedover" from the person you're helping. The more you do this, the more severe the impact will become. You might also be concerned by the new ability you're exhibiting when countering an affliction. Though the ability is small, you feel its power coursing through you. When you try to call on it outside of aiding others, however, nothing comes. It seems this ability only manifests when interacting with an afflicted individual.

◎ If you choose to enhance a Herald's influences, you may inadvertently absorb their abilities as yours and thus, in turn, spread them toward individuals who are nearby. This could occur deliberately or accidentally, depending on how much you desire to act as an extension of the Herald in your chosen territory.

◎ If you choose to ignore a Herald's influences, you'll receive no effects either way...but you might find it difficult to disregard what's going on around you.

For an OOC explanation of the mechanics regarding being a countering, enhancing, or neutral force, please review the Deciding Your Actions section on the OOC Plotting Post.

Patchwork Horizon

Luckily, the Horizon isn't intent on trapping any of you this time. Its instabilities instead manifest in your own domains. It might revert back to a previous state or older elements might resurface that you thought you got rid of. Or, it may take on transformations from a future version - the domain that you had as a God in the emergent reality. The more you've made yourself vulnerable, the more unstable your experience in the Horizon will become.

Further, these instabilities aren't limited to your domains. Effects from other domains might overwrite yours, or perhaps pieces of your domain are showing up in another's.

◎ For some, it might just be a minor inconvenience. Perhaps your flowers have transplanted onto somebody else's yard across the Horizon or your pet keeps teleporting around to everyone's domains except yours.

◎ For others, the effect might be more troubling. You could find private letters surfacing in a stranger's desk or you might open your closet to find another's buried skeletons.

Anything that ends up in someone else's domain will be missing in yours. Rather than a duplication, the effect is more like a jigsaw or a patchwork quilt. You can put it right, of course, with some concentration - but it's best done with a partner, especially someone who knows your domain well enough to help you reform it.

Setting a domain right will also repair any vulnerabilities its owner might've exposed themselves to, so it's a good idea to try and assist each other. Of course, if your concentration's off, attempts to fix a domain might actually make things worse, so be careful!

Arrival

The sections below will contain more specific prompts to help players jumpstart threads, but you may use the broad descriptions of each Herald's impact here to inspire your own ideas and scenarios.

The First Shadow

The arrival of the Heralds of War is subtle. For many citizens, they might not realize that there is a force exerted throughout the world. Indeed, how much of what happens can be attributed to the Heralds, and how much is simply human nature? That's a question even the Heralds can't and won't answer. They are only here to carry out the same task they have done since the dawn of time, each time a war brews.

Koth, the Kingdome of Thorne

Koth of Festering Lands brings with her death and rot. This affects vegetation, wildlife, livestock, the already dead...and the soul itself. She does not bring literal death to living people - she only brings it to the things around them and within them.

◎ Missing Warship
In Borrel, a naval warship on its way home to resupply goes missing. Led by an experienced captain and with no fighting taking place at sea (surely, even the Free Cities can't sail that quickly toward the western coast), the mysterious disappearance has many concerned. Unfortunately, some mages who attempt a common tracking spell report visions of bloated corpses sunk to the bottom while others dream of drowning, an effect so real they must be shaken awake. Many mages refuse to try the spell again, leaving it in your hands instead.

Each tracking spell can only vaguely locate an individual or a part of the ship, so multiple attempts are necessary. If you're not skilled in magic, you can take a more active role and board a rescue ship off the coast of Borrel. This ship will venture out based on the coordinates according to the spell...but take care: the sailors with you are prone to similar visions of drowning when they look into the blackened depths below. Others claim they see the faces of the dead in the ocean's surface. All of this leads to high tensions amongst the men and women on board.

It'll be possible to rescue a few sailors, but others may be lost entirely. The ship itself appears to have broken into pieces. Survivors report a grotesque undead leviathan that cannot be harmed or killed, though it's difficult to tell if this is true or another hallucination.

◎ Dukewood Lumber Mills
Previously a site of a dangerous rift, the lumber mill in the woods by Nott has since returned to normal. Unfortunately, that ends quickly when the trees begin to rot. Workers report a horrible smell that comes from the trees themselves, and that the normally clear sap has turned into a putrid black-blood substance.

To make matters worse, the rotting stores of food and now the dying trees are putting the workers and locals around Nott under great stress. Thoughts of despair are amplified by both the situation and Koth, leading to higher rates of drinking, which in turn has increased the amount of accidents at the mill, including mismanaged safety protocols and mishandled equipment.

Lumber is of great value during wartime, especially for the construction of naval ships, outposts, and weapons, so Castle Thorne is determined to help restore the trees, as well as calm the workers. You can help with everything from checking equipment to ensure they're safe, searching for any missing mill workers, providing first aid where necessary, or confronting beasts that might've been disturbed by all the commotion.

If you happen to fall under Koth's sway, you might also see the dead when looking into the waters as you rescue the other sailors. The bodies might reflect something you fear or they may be a reminder of a death that's already passed. You could also sink into despair or experience haunting dreams as you try to help another recover from their hopelessness.

Adlewyrd, the Free Cities

Adlewyrd of Poisoned Tongues brings with them words that poison the heart and mind. This affects thoughts and emotions, a slow and subtle influence that spreads.

◎ Untold Secrets
In Libertas, where underground networks thrive, sudden slips of the tongue, rising tempers, and impulsive actions have caused the black market to collapse into disarray. Between power struggles, accusations of betrayals, and missing transactions, the violence has spilled into the open.

Preoccupied with the battle, the number of guards and soldiers keeping order is reduced. Venturing into Libertas can be dangerous and those who live there, including artists and orphans, are struggling to go about their day-to-day without disruption. You can help calm tempers or break up fights...or maybe, if you're a bit more vulnerable to the influences yourself, you might become drawn into the chaos yourself.

Because of the limited number of hands, the Summoned are allowed to make an arrest, but you must bring the culprit to a guard outpost for formal processing. Taking matters into your own hands too severely can lead to scrutiny. Given the circumstances, however, a bit of non-fatal violence will be overlooked, especially if it takes place in the darker corners of Libertas.

You don't have to enforce the law, though. In Libertas, this enforcement is rather loose, anyway. Instead, you can mediate as a neutral party, take advantage to make a deal of your own, or simply offer your services to fill in any gaps that might've occurred in these networks. This could involve more illicit activities like transporting underground goods or something more above-board like searching for a missing person. Just be sure you don't draw too much attention if you're acting outside the law.

◎ The Red Path
Previously a site of a dangerous rift, the scenic Red Path leading between Cadens and Libertas has since been restored. Unfortunately, that ends quickly when conflicting reports cause an accident involving merchant wagons carrying silk, spices, and wine. Some claim the merchants are spies while others insist they were bandits in disguise.

Regardless, the accident leads to several fatalities and disturbs a monster nest: that of the dangerous Copper Spine Wyvern. It also draws swarms of hungry Kaskadura, the latter of which are lured by the corpses. While not normally aggressive towards the healthy and living, the Kaskadura seem to be in a frenzy and will bite just about anyone they see - and there's a lot of them, gathering over the area like a black cloud.

To make matters worse, a clerical error has slowed down the cleanup and identification process. If you're not inclined to fight monsters or locate missing bodies, you can help at Portam Hall to manually match names to surviving family members, as well as locate said family members to deliver the somber news. As for Portam Hall, the main hub of government activity might not be under threat from beasts, but isn't calm, either. Gossip, secrets, and missing paperwork plague the various departments and offices.

If you happen to fall under Adlewyrd's sway, you might read too deeply into an innocent comment or mishear a remark that raises your ire, leading you to snap wrongly at a friend or attack an innocent. You might also give into lurking temptations that surface as you try to help others overcome their dark desires.

Sannleikr, the Solvunn Commune

Sannleikr of Many Faces brings with him deception of the soul. This affects faces and minds, causing appearances to become distorted, untrustworthy, or altogether unrecognizable.

◎ Lost Herders
In the Secondary Settlement, a woman named Eydis has lost her prized herding dogs and her flock of sheep. They left one morning as usual to herd the sheep out to graze and never returned. She worries that rumors of livestock sprouting teeth are true and will harm her dogs. She isn't the only one, either. Several other sheep and goat herders have claimed their dogs and flocks have gone missing, too.

The dogs themselves have scattered across Solvunn. There are roughly a dozen dogs and several flocks that failed to return home. Should you run into any livestock, it would appear the rumors are indeed true: the normally fluffy sheep have grown wicked claws or horns while the goats bear their sharp fangs. Despite their fearsome appearance, however, they are not aggressive except when frightened. Keep them calm when herding them lest you provoke them to bite or claw.

As for the dogs, some might be wounded while others will growl at you. They don't recognize familiar toys or faces and will attempt to run away or behave apprehensively. You can use any abilities or techniques you have on hand to try and bring them home. After all, the Solvunn woods are dangerous, and there are many creatures within those dense trees that will strike.

◎ Living Statues
Previously a site of a dangerous rift, the Feintak Ritual Site, located just outside the Primary Settlement, has since returned to normal. Unfortunately, that ends quickly when confused citizens of the Commune begin to wander toward the area at night in search of their "missing" loved ones.

Unable to recognize familiar faces, some begin to see those faces imposed upon the statues at the site instead. You can find children playing with their "mother" or an elderly widow spending time with a "relative." While this would be disturbing enough on its own, the sacred area contains an ancient magic that, should any missteps occur, could be released into the world and spell disaster.

The Council has asked the Summoned to help bring home the lost folk of the Feintak site. They must be guided gently, as any negative energy could be absorbed by the dark power that lives in the earth and the statues. Victims of the affliction might become frightened of you or fail to recognize you even if you've been neighbors for months or years, making your task more difficult.

If you happen to fall under Sannleikr's sway, you might also begin to see faces in the statues at Feintak and forget the real figures around you. The faces might be friendly or they could be adversarial - an enemy or a source of shame. You may also see a twisted reflection of yourself in the mirror, representing something you've been trying to hide from.

The Final Coming

Zorne first spoke to you in your dreams, but his presence is noticeably absent for the first few days. Then, one week later, after one of the most fierce and bloody battles in the Badlands in recent history, a red sun rises over Abraxas. The morning's dawn is cast in a red glow across the territories.

If you met Zorne in your dream, you may recognize this very sun. You remember feeling its heat over your skin and the emotions it stirred in you, whichever they might've been.

By noon, the blood-red hue will fade...but Zorne's coming has only begun.

The Last Affliction

Unrestricted, Zorne's influence travels across the land and joins forces with his siblings.

◎ The Badlands

Forces from the Free Cities introduce a new prototype to the war: a semi-automonous suit of armor armed with a piece of technology derived from something that came through the rifts: a unique firearm that launches explosive discs imbued with New Magic.

The weapon's destructive capabilities wreck havoc on both people and the environment...inadvertently setting loose yet another creature of the rift - the swamp-like creature that researchers had been studying in the Badlands before the war broke out. Its giant mouth is lined with numerous teeth. Its breath can paralyze, blind, poison, and weaken anyone caught in it.

The morbol will move toward the borders of each territory throughout the event, so the Summoned in all locations can encounter it when arriving at the front lines to deliver medicine, supplies, or news. Zorne's influence appears to prevent it from dying. When killed, it respawns in another location - sometimes miles away.

◎ Forging the Soul

Zorne's influence can affect those who are already under the effect of one of the other three Heralds. A shopkeeper angry about a misspoken rumor might begin to have disturbing and violent dreams of confronting the offending gossiper. A soldier who sees his death at the hands of another may start to feel the urge to kill first before his turn comes.

Aggressive wildlife will begin to invade city borders. While most are stopped or killed before they enter a major city, one or two predators might slip through. Trade routes are disrupted. Nearly all caravans are halted except the most critical transports. Hunters and farmers begin to report disturbing sights of deer scavenging on corpses or butterflies biting as mosquitos do.

You, too, may experience similar dreams or desires if you've allowed yourself to become too vulnerable or exposed to the Heralds. The more you entertain such thoughts or let your guard down, the harder they become to ignore. As you move through your days, surrounded by turmoil and conflict, you may have to ask yourself if you're as above it all as you first thought.

And what about your friends? Your neighbors? After all, you might associate frequently with the other Summoned, but you've made connections with the native population, too. Perhaps the kindly innkeeper is now treating you with a suspicion she didn't used to exhibit. Maybe you hear that the baker across the street, who once offered you free sweet rolls, has been gravely injured by his own son.

As Zorne said, this is about forging peace through madness - or so the Heralds believe. Maybe, in the pandemonium and bloodshed around you, you begin to understand something important about yourself, your friends, or the world.

Beyond the Heralds

It's tough to deny that even without the Heralds, this conflict would be ongoing regardless. Neither Thorne nor the Free Cities has demonstrated any desire for peace. Solvunn seems to be considering their role, as well. Despite the war, life must continue for Abraxans: parents have mouths to feed, farmers have fields to sow, and professors continue to lecture and hold classes while they're able.

As the Summoned, you can engage in any of these elements. You can agree to take notes for a fellow student who's suffered an unfortunate attack after being mistaken for someone else. You could babysit for households who need an extra hand while their partner has been sent to fight. You can pack medicine, offer healing abilities, or bring supplies to units stationed by the Badlands.

You can also take on acts of diplomacy. This is not restricted to communicating with the leaders of your territory. Both Nocwich and the Nether have a relationship with the Summoned, which is something you can utilize. You might have to begin by sending a letter instead of meeting them directly, but if you're determined to find a peaceful solution, it's worth trying.

Individualized actions are entirely possible! We will discuss it on a case-by-case basis. You can SUBMIT YOUR REQUEST by replying to the comment with the form.

Please have a concrete goal in mind and try to keep your requests concise. We will do our best to accommodate everyone, but we may have to ask that you hold the request for after the event or ask you to revise it, depending on what you've submitted.

Departure

When the Heralds withdraw, it's quiet and as difficult to notice as their arrival. Did they vanish near the end of one of the battles? Did they leave days ago, the seeds they sowed flourishing without further intervention?

For the Summoned, it may be a bit easier to tell. Steadily, as the month comes to a close, the Horizon begins to stabilize once more. If you have been countering the Heralds, you find your ability no longer triggers, even if there remain those around you who behave as though they are still being influenced. You suppose it's fair to remember that the Heralds don't need to exert their powers for people to behave as they do.

The battle in the Badlands continues to wage...but on AUGUST 30, Thorne's troops receive abrupt orders to return home. It appears that, while the kingdom's forces were occupied on land, her naval warships were dealt a serious blow, handing a sudden victory to the Free Cities - but not by who you might predict.

The Hands of Solvunn

Solvunn has often refused to pledge for one side or another. The Council maintains that they are devoted to protecting their commune and their way of life, nothing more. They certainly have no army or weapons to speak of. Their disinterest in the Badlands conflict is expected, and neither Thorne nor the Free Cities consider it unusual that Solvunn has remained isolated.

What you might've wondered, however, is this: why have the Heralds visited Solvunn twice now when they spare genuinely neutral lands like Nocwich and the Nether?

A Guiding Light

After Thorne's retreat, news begins to travel. It moves through Solvunn and Thorne first, eventually reaching the Free Cities. Multiple stories surface about the sea in Borrel, not about the storm wall or Koth, but something else - a mysterious lighthouse and a thick fog that's obscured the waters for days.

Survivors of one destroyed warship, The Queen's Secret, return telling tale of a light that beckoned them during a heavy storm. But the lighthouse keepers in the western sea swear they saw no ships come their way. The ship itself seems to have crashed into a massive sea stack that should've been easily avoidable. What lighthouse could have drawn them near?

Over the next few days, this happens again and again. Sailors looking out from shore confirm that they can indeed see the flickering beam of a lighthouse. It stands proudly in a spot where no lighthouse was ever built.

Then, on the final day, the lighthouse moves.

Blessings Granted

Citizens gather seaside despite sailors and guards ashore attempting to send them home. They watch as a naval officer and his men are sent to investigate. As the lighthouse grows brighter, its hypnotic pulse begins to pull others forward. Fishermen and noblemen set sail on their own civilian ships. Sailors of the Royal Navy break rank and order, as if under a powerful compulsion, and set forth in Thorne's prized warships. One by one, ships big and small pull out of the harbor in the dead of night.

Witnesses report strange limbs emerging from the base of the lighthouse. The limbs do not strike or attack. Rather, they open up like a waiting embrace. They gently accept each vessel that sails towards the light. Then they enfold the ship and pull it down into the depths. To onlookers, it's a silent but horrifying affair. Each ship disappears until only bits of wreckage are washed ashore the following morning.

A surprising number survive by abandoning ship, though some captains choose to go down with their vessel. Having made a crippling dent in Thorne's Royal Navy, the lighthouse vanishes. Back on shore in the Tertiary Settlement, the storm wall finally vanishes.

The incident above will lead a few changes in Solvunn and to the borders of the Badlands. We'll detail those changes in the Wrap-Up!

---

Comments

Horizon — Dion

[judgmentbolts]

[ It's been a long while since he dreamed of Stonhyrr. Cid sits on the edge of his bed, breathing through the already distant pain as the storm under his skin begins to settle itself, the tracery of violet fading away to leave the room pitch black once again. Ramuh doesn't seem to care much for uninvited guests, and Cid finds that he has to agree with his Eikon.

He thinks of lighting a candle to get some work done, but any project that might be interesting enough to distract him isn't one he'd keep in his room at the inn, and he doesn't much feel like traveling to Rio Enterprises at this hour. He climbs back into bed, leans against the back wall, and closes his eyes.

Cid feels the change in his horizon before it fully resolves itself. Much of it is as he left it, lit by the milky glow of moonlight, but the wildflowers he's accustomed to have been replaced by hundreds of pale purple blooms. Cid crouches beside one of them, pinches off the stem, and holds it between his thumb and forefinger. ]

I let one of you in, and now you think you can all do as you please, is that it?

[ He could try to force this right again, but something is definitely amiss. He doesn't like the look of any of this, not one bit.

He sends a message. ]

You awake? Something of yours seems to have found its way into my yard, and I imagine you might be wanting them back.

[princeofruin]

[There was a time he had settled the idea he may never hear from Ramuh again; not only for their shared pain that they, mutually, are moving past, as if to pretend it did not exist, but because they had shared such an extended moment of weakness... specifically in himself.

But Ramuh did not leave him to bleed out or further disrupt his reputation, and there is is some respect in that. He can believe, now, there is reason Clive saw so much in him.

Perhaps it aids his respect that they reached a certain bottom together.

However, the message he receives first after their drunken revelry is not one he expects. Nor is it one he fully understands.] I do not know what you speak of, but I shall come regardless. I could use the respite.

[The respite from existing. From war, and Thorne collapsing, and his own body twisted by the Singularity's power, and -- why are there Fallen ruins in his meadow?

He appears in his domain, and it mostly looks unchanged: wyvern tails as far as one can see, and the ghostly image of the Mothercrystal that vanishes as soon as he looks at it. It is only after he walks through the flowers that he sees the first scars: jagged, white architecture that juts out of the ground like broken, scattered bones, that grow larger and larger as he walks. The Fallen, desecrating his flowers. Crushing them under what's left of their death.

Shards of ruins he knows he has seen in Ramuh's domain.

He appears there in an instant, moved immediately from his domain to outside the door of Ramuh's. He does, at least, knock, waiting by the entrance. When he inhales, he can smell the unmistakable nectar of the wyvern tail.] It appears to be mutual. Your ruins have fallen onto my flowers.

[judgmentbolts]

[ The door rolls open just before his knuckles can rap against the stone. Cid is standing at his desk, his hands pressed against the surface, head bowed. He looks up, mildly surprised and a bit harried. He'd felt Dion enter his domain of course; the door had just seen fit to admit him of its own accord, without Cid's particularly conscious input.

The inside of the solar is strewn with flowers as well, Wyvern tails winding their way up the crevasses in the stonework walls almost elegantly. The only one that seems to have truly intruded on the space is the single blossom propped up in an old inkwell on his desk, moonlight slanting in to reach it from the skylights above. It wouldn't be much of an issue at all, if not for the open, gaping hole in his back wall where a room used to be.

Cid stands up straight and sighs, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. The tension in his shoulders seems to ease just a bit. ] Is that where my workshop's buggered off to? That's brilliant. Let's go have a look at yours and we can sort this.

[ He walks over to Dion and pats him on the shoulder as he passes, a gentle nudge indicating that he should come along. Cid starts to move his hand away, but pauses, brow furrowed. ] How's the shoulder? Healed alright?

[princeofruin]

[The eager entrance is somewhat startling, and Dion still enters the makeshift office like he is on the edge of no man's land. Not that he expects Ramuh to invite him here to spring a trap on him; it is only his wary way of being. It is only when he sees the singular wyvern tail on the desk -- ignoring the rest crowding around them -- that something in him is released, bringing some measure of softness about his shoulders and expression.

It's still there. Dion created it, and he knows well that is the blossom he left behind. Though he cannot explain why some patches of his field have transplanted themselves across Ramuh's domain, he thinks he can even less express why that particular flower still stands.]

Your... workshop. [That's what the chunk of ruins was meant to be? At least one of them benefit from added color in this unwitting exchange, though he is polite enough to keep such a thought to himself.

However, he huffs a breath at his fellow Dominant's touch. It's hardly the first time, but the ghost of the wound remains even in the Horizon.] It is only another scar to add to a myriad of others. [He remains wary of Thorne's healers now, and once he was stabilized he allowed it to heal on its own. Now there is only an ache on particularly cold days, or when he trains with his lance for too long... which is hardly different from his past wounds, or the arching crawl of the curse.

As they walk, he is quiet for a moment, and it is clear he is ruminating deeply over something. Unsurprising it is exactly what Ramuh has brought up.] I did not thank you for ensuring I kept control. But know that I am grateful.

[It may have healed him in the moment had he given in, but once he started... after Twinside, he is no longer sure he can ever fully trust himself again. He would not make more victims, even of cutpurses, but the loss of his friends -- his family, once again -- it was the fastest way to reopen old wounds.

He did not wish to have a once-enemy learn of how broken he has become, either... but perhaps such a thing was inevitable, when he allowed himself moments of weakness. (Moments. He is fooling himself into believing it is only mere moments, when what he twisted himself into as a god is always hovering at the back of his mind.)] It was not a point representative of myself. It was... a low point.

[That almost feels like a jest.]

[judgmentbolts]

Thought you might say that. [ He pats Dion's shoulder again and gives him a little nudge before he lets go, just a bit of friendly roughhousing. His tone is warmer than it might have been before. ] Tough little lordling, aren't you?

[ He doesn't mind the quiet as they walk. It'd be easy enough to bounce from one domain to the next, but Cid needs to stretch his legs (in a manner of speaking). He has no doubt that this strangeness is the prelude to some new pain in the arse, and the relative calm before the storm is all they're likely to get.

He glances at Dion when he speaks again, his expression softening briefly before he waves off the thanks. ] You'd have done the same. It was my fool idea to get us both blind drunk in a place like that. If your low point is sparing the lives of a band of petty thieves after they've had a go at you, then you haven't got much to worry yourself about.

[ Cid turns back to the dark horizon and reaches into his jacket for a cigar. ] It's good to see you on your feet again, Dion. Clive would have been glad of it.

[princeofruin]

[Dion's response is mostly being stiffly unmovable, and a grunt. Lordling. Ramuh demeans him even now, for his own pleasure, though he finds he takes little offense now beyond mere annoyance. He has said himself he is no longer prince of anything. Further... there is no point to admitting he had no choice in the matter. If he was not strong, he would be dead.

Perhaps the same could be said of most of their world.]

You're so sure I would? [He meets Ramuh's gaze with some hint of surprise... and perhaps there is some good in the feeling that Ramuh follows through with his words: that he does not see him only as the product of his father. A lordling worthy of some merit.

No, he would not leave Ramuh to rampage, nor to bleed in the mud like a dog. They are of like mind in that, at least: that they would wake to only regret.

Dion looks ahead to their path -- one which crafts itself of grass and spotted wyvern tails as they walk -- as he holds out a hand, light gathering at the tips of his fingers: an offering for his cigar, if he wishes.] He had too much hope for others, exactly like Joshua. Following dutifully in your footsteps, it seems. [Perhaps the drink seems to linger even now, some time later; he feels his tongue loosened, and it is hard to know whether it is liquor or from the last 800 years. Which he is distinctly not thinking of in Ramuh's presence.] What is in this workshop of yours?

[He expects little answer, as he recognizes Ramuh has a penchant for secrecy... but now that it lay in his patch of dreams, he feels as if some part of it belongs to him. It made itself welcome in this bit of his heart, after all.]

[judgmentbolts]

[ Cid's reply is easy: ] You haven't given me a reason to doubt it.

[ He would argue that it was the other way around, that Clive was the one who'd stumbled into his life and rekindled the spark that blazes in him still... But he knows what Dion means. Clive had taken up his name like a mantle, and he wouldn't be the last to die carrying it into the future.

Cid still doesn't know how he feels about that. The meaning, the cost, and the depth of the devotion that it represents. He'd expected the worst when it came to himself, but not Clive, dying for his legacy after a life of serving everyone but himself.

He makes a soft sound at the back of his throat. ] You're starting to remind me of him.

[ His gaze flicks to Dion's face, brief surprise at the offer, but he leans in for Dion to light the cigar. Their pace slows in sync, and Cid pulls, exhaling smoke against Dion's retreating palm. ]

Work. That's why they call it that. [ Cid flashes him a grin. He thinks he's very funny. He makes a flippant gesture, Cigar still held precariously between two fingers. ] A few ideas that never got off the ground, so to speak. In some ways, this is a kinder world than the one we've left behind, but I can't say that it's all that different. It's not ready for peacetime marvels.

[ Ahead of them, the wildflowers are fully overtaken by wyvern tails. Drake's Spine rises in the distance, the castle shimmering like a mirage... and at the center, Cid's workshop lays on its side, unbreakable Fallen ruins sheered neatly open like a dissection. Cid frowns. ] Is this you? Have you lost aught else?

[ This can't be the entirety of Dion's domain, can it? ]

[princeofruin]

[Perhaps not. He does not argue the point.

The second point, though, he wishes to. In what way is he like Clive? In familial resemblance only -- which is a joke bye itself. Clive broke free of his bonds to fight for people. In the past, Dion would have said he had done the same, that his actions were done for the good of his people... but was that the truth? In the end, he only served the whims of the emperor, and the emperor ended up only moving to the strings held by a god and a woman. Surely some of that weakness flows in his veins now, as much as he would wish otherwise.

As much as he would have hoped for more for his father's legacy.

His fingers light with aether, igniting the cigar without even a spark. When he drops it, the smell lingers still, settling into his scales. Here, at this point... too much energy has been spent caring for the scales on his fingers already. He has never been ashamed of Bahamut, but Bahamut has always been in cohesion with him, not used against him.] He is a good man to be compared to.

[The fact he disagrees needn't be said.

Dion merely looks at Ramuh during what he estimates is an attempt to be funny, though it feels more as if he's avoiding the answer than actually being humourous. Peacetime marvels. And what would they be? Ships to cross the vast desert ocean? Or will he take to the skies in a vain attempt to echo the works of the Fallen?

It doesn't feel so very vain to him anymore.]

I have not. What else would there be? [He answers, their arrival at his domain made hasty enough -- though it seems the ruins have no intention of being anywhere else. And why, specifically, these pieces of themselves have sought each other remains unseen. The prince can only think they looked for something familiar. Shards of the same world.

He turns at the sound that is somewhat unfamiliar to him, but not completely unknown: the howl of a wolf. He stares across the horizon. Something from another's domain? A frown marks his brow, but he cannot say why.] I should like to see your marvels, if you even feel generous enough. Though I assume none of them will currently aid us in returning your workshop to where it belongs.

[judgmentbolts]

[ Perhaps it's because the Clive that Cid knows is five years younger than the one who lived here, only just set on his path, only just learning to live beyond his self-hatred and revenge — to him, Clive will always be that way in a sense: full of potential and promise.

He can hear the polite rebuttal in Dion's tone, but he decides not to push the subject. Not yet.

Cid takes a pull for his cigar, partly to stall. The question is rhetorical, but he's thinking of it anyway. It's funny. Even despite Harpocrates' love of the boy he once knew, Cid had expectations of Dion. A noble well-loved by his people and his knights, perhaps not an unkind or undeserving man, but one full of wrong-headed convictions. Someone sure of himself. The more he gets to know Dion, the more that vision of him seems to fall into the realm of fantasy.

Given all the freedom one could imagine to create a world as he sees fit, he's filled it with this: the singular the hope gifted to him, that he might become something other than what he was born to be.

Cid exhales smoke. ]

You could give the dog somewhere cozy to sleep, for a start. I imagine this is where he wanders off to when he's done with me. [ He looks up at the howl as well, canting his head to the side. It's most certainly a wolf, but it doesn't sound like Torgal. ] Maybe he'll want to have his friends 'round for a cup of tea. You'll embarrass the poor creature if you've got the place looking like this.

[ He doesn't expect that Dion will find this joke much more entertaining than the last, but Cid can't help it, really. ] Temper your expectations, aye. I haven't got anything more than a handful of models. I suppose we could rig something to drag it back, but let's see if there's aught else to this little exchange... [ Cid inclines his head. ] Did you have an odd dream before you woke tonight? Insects, bloody swords, a whole production..?

[princeofruin]

The dog? [The prince repeats the question, turning to Ramuh with one raised eyebrow. He does not have any dogs. He does not have any creatures, in fact; there are not even bees or insects among the flowers. Only his dragon, a near-constant companion, when he wills her to be.

But with the Horizon working not as it should, he does not attempt to conjure her.

He breathes in smoke, the scent somewhat sweet, either on its own or tinged by the scent of the flowers. The only dog he has ever met is Torgal, who is far too large to be any regular dog, by his estimations. But he can't help but think...] You don't mean Clive's?

[If Dion can conjure a dragon, then why should Clive not have made his own constant companion? An egi, almost. A simulacrum, but... he can attest even a crafted creature is better than being entirely alone.

He would not mind Torgal's company.] There is nothing wrong with my domain. Outside of yours being in the middle of it.

[Dion crosses his arms across his chest. Which is the very reason they are here.] I could prime and carry it back, but it would not be without damage.

[Bahamut could lift the weight without issue, but he cannot promise his talons will do nothing to the structure... even a shard of a Fallen ruin. At Ramuh's question, his arms grow tighter, the prince stiffer.

He truly did not wish to speak of this, but between them... there may be something in such visions. Such shared visions.] Yes. The sword was covered in blood, and they said, all things end before they begin. It is a portent of the end of this world, and they think we shall be part of it. [He looks to Ramuh again, grim.] You heard it, too. Godlings. Even the gods think we are fated for such a future.

[judgmentbolts]

Who else? I thought he might be gone, but he's been sulking around the solar when he hasn't got somewhere else to be. I assumed he might be visiting you, or some other of Clive's friends.

[ Cid can't be entirely sure that this is Clive's dog. He'd been fairly drunk when he'd first encountered Torgal again in the Horizon, and he can't remember enough of it to know if he'd conjured the poor thing out of sheer grief. He definitely doesn't have the heart to dismiss him, so the dog stays. Or, well. Sometimes he goes. Even if he isn't real, Cid doesn't like the idea of restricting where he might wander. ]

I'm not saying it's wrong, just that it looks a bit unfinished. The workshop adds a bit of interest, you've got to admit. [ Cid waves a hand, dismissive. ] Keep your dragon in your pants — I want to have a look at it first.

[ Cid steps closer to the slice of his workshop and the torches flicker to life, bathing the whole thing in a warm glow. It's a humble space, neatly kept. Whatever it is that's moved it hasn't so much as shaken the books from his workbench. Along the walls, the shelves hold a series of prototypes; ships for sea, desert, and sky.

He finds his desk and crouches to unlock it. He has to be certain that the contents are as he's left them. ] Then it's lucky for us that gods can be wrong. I saw the same — bloody sword, self-important bastard sticking his nose where it doesn't belong... I suppose they see us as potential allies. A few hundred years for us to turn is hardly anything for a god... though I can't see what this new nonsense has to do with it.

[ Cid pulls himself up enough to sit on his desk with a huff. He ashes his cigar in the nearby tray. ] And speaking of turning... Those claws of yours are a gift from the Singularity, I'd wager?

[princeofruin]

[Sulking. From the loss of his master? Even if it is not the Torgal as either of them know him, Dion cannot stop the pang of empathy in his breast... to mourn what one has lost. Or, rather, who.

Unfinished why, he is about to insist, if it weren't for his second comment -- one that makes his gaze snap onto Ramuh with clenched teeth for the disrespect. For a moment, he failed to remember the criminal's tendencies for getting on one's nerves. Seemingly without effort.

Dion walks past him, spreading out his hands through the flowers to create a bare space. Within it he lays a large pillow and blankets, along with a long, unchewed antelope bone. Dion knows very little of wolves and dogs, but he does hope this should suffice.

With some small change now evoked without incident, he follows Cid into what he calls a workshop. It's more of a cave than a workshop. A dingy, unkept one, with trinkets filling the empty spaces. He folds his hands behind him as he moves through, curiosity only lending his eyes, not his hands.] If we are intended for such a destiny, it is just as likely they may fear us. [It is better to befriend that which could be a threat than to attempt to destroy it, he thinks with some manner of thoughtfulness, his gaze on Ramuh's back. Especially if they are connected all to the Singularity. The monolith itself may even protect them from each other; it is not only once that Dion perished as a god, then felt himself remade again.

He turns away to inspect the woodstove, holding his hands out to it. It seems no accident as he looks upon them that Ramuh sees fit to comment on them. Inevitable, considering their last... misadventure.] A gift. [He repeats the words with venom.] A grim reminder of the mockery of a god I myself became, more like. [He curls them, claws just as sharp as they seem to be every morning, no matter how often he cuts or breaks or files them.] Monstrous, aren't they?

[He had not spoken the thoughts that have plagued him since their turning until now. He receives looks, glances. He wakes with cuts over his arms and legs. And here, he wants Ramuh to agree -- sure that he cannot miss an opportunity to mock him -- that Dion might properly suffer for their transformation. He had never thought the same of anything draconic, neither Bahamut or his disciples; this, however, is a cruel mockery. A corrupted icon to soil the holiness within him. These are not Bahamut's claws, only his own.] You do not appear to have received your own gift.

[judgmentbolts]

[ Cid hums an agreement, mulling it over. They can only speculate on what the gods of this world might be thinking, but fear is as likely as opportunity. Even as rudimentary as their abilities are in comparison to a god's, they'd managed to shatter that dream and bring it to an end. Perhaps there's something to that.

He watches Dion move about his workshop, ever polite enough to keep his hands to himself unless invited. Like the rest of the solar, Cid has constructed it from memory so that it resembles the one he kept at the Hideaway... and much like that workshop, very few people are welcome inside. He feels strangely exposed, allowing Dion to wander through it. He has no fear of the dragoon taking anything or using it for ill, but rather — it feels intimate.

The question that Dion asks, like so many others, is bitter and sharp, another barb turned inward. Cid watches in for a moment more, silent as he takes a drag of his cigar. ] I was thinking that the color suited you, actually. Granted, I'll have to mind those claws of yours the next time we get into trouble.

[ He tilts his head to the side, baring a bit more of the skin between his neck and shoulder. The edges of a few pale scars are visible there. ] To claim that I was savaged by a monster would be a bit dramatic, don't you think?

[ Cid flashes him a teasing grin. There's plenty he could say about the nature of monstrosity, but he suspects that perhaps what Dion needs more than a lecture is to not take himself quite so seriously all of the time.

As for his own appearance, Cid shrugs, but his smile falls away. ] The Singularity hasn't taken to me, it seems — or it's done something that I haven't noticed as yet. A surprise that I'll uncover when it's most convenient, I'm sure.

[princeofruin]

[The colour? What does the colour even matter? He stares at the scales and considers that this is once again a comment meant to be insulting, but he's so perplexed by its meaning that the insult is lost upon him, too.

You are overthinking it, in fact.

Perhaps.

Dion lifts his gaze with a frown at the word.] Savaged? [His frown hardens as he steps closer, pulling Ramuh's collar down further without hesitation. He means to see -- the scars.

They are hardly anything among the others. It is only that he caused them, and he did not mean to.]

And yet you bear these marks, and not ones from when I attempted to bite you in half. [It may be Ramuh's grin that some how, in the moment, keeps his tone light, his desire for self-flagellation mollified. It could be another guilt to hang upon his many, many others... only that the other Dominant appears to be unbothered by their appearance. Dion is not sure whether he regrets the night or not. He has yet to fully decide. He has two new scars of his own, so... it is only interesting to note that such a night has been painted permanently on their bodies.] You have my apologies, regardless.

[Yes. He would not call this a proper savaging.

He drops his arm, returning it behind his back.] You should count yourself lucky. [He turns back to the fire warming the workshop, claws clicking together at the small of his back.] Though I suppose your god form had its merits.

[He does not elaborate.] Have you found what it is you're looking for? [He gestures to the workshop. Surely they came in here to find something in particular.]

[judgmentbolts]

[ Cid is hardly the shy sort, but he feels a flush creep up the side of his neck just the same, if only because of the unexpected nature of the gesture. Though Dion is careful of his claws this time, Cid can feel the lingering warmth of the fire from his fingertips. He wishes he was so good at self-deception that he could believe that lingering warmth is all it is.

He hasn't forgotten their little encounter in the dream. Though the circumstances were different, and they were both different people then, he's reminded of it in these odd intimate moments. He makes himself take a breath. He really ought to go and find himself some company after this, before he does something far too foolish for a man of his years.

He taps Dion's chest with the back of his hand, his grin returning. ] I hardly need apologies for a few scratches and a love bite. You best do a proper job the next time or I'll start to think the great Bahamut has a soft spot for me.

[ He's glad that Dion's turned away when he carries on, because Cid raises his eyebrows at that. Surely he doesn't mean..? ]

Right. [ Cid clears his throat and turns to put out the remainder of his cigar. ] Nothing's amiss, other than the location. It looks as if the whole thing was transported instantly without so much as a bump. It might be that we can get it back to where it belongs if we focus — you on restoring your Horizon, and me on moving this out of it.

[princeofruin]

[In the moment, Dion is too focused on seeing the damage he has caused versus Ramuh's reaction to his touch -- for surely he expects none -- that he does not notice the flush. Yet there will be some particular time tonight that he wakes with the memory, laying with some amount of consternation that he missed something in the moment that he did not notice before. No small amount of consternation. Then he will place it aside as nothing.

Dion's eyes remain narrowed at Ramuh's jests, if one can call them that. One assumes a joke would be funny; Ramuh seems to talk for the sake of it, for either unraveling him or annoying him. In the moment, it feels a bit of both. ("Love bite." There was no love lost when he attempted to remove Ramuh's presence from the world.)

He does not respond, though he thinks, there shall not be a next time. Separate from the Empire, he chooses his own battles now. This is not one he wishes to pursue. So if that is the meaning of having a soft spot... then perhaps Bahamut does.

He has the apology. Let him ignore it, if he so wishes.

Let him ignore the foolish things Dion has said as a whole. He turns from the fire in time, looking once more around the workshop. Nothing amiss. Good, that shall make this easier.] Then let us begin.

[Outside of it. He leaves the workshop, with a single lingering look at a model of some sort of flying ship by the door, then steps back into the field of his flowers. With some amount of surprise does he see the blankets he laid down for Clive's pet have recently been shifted. Does he take it to mean it was acceptable, or has Torgal left because it offered no comfort? He will have to deal with that later.

Dion faces the workshop, arms crossed over his chest. The first thing he works on is healing the damage the workshop caused by, apparently, falling onto his property: unbending wyvern tail heads, smoothing out the gouges in the ground. The field falls into shadow as the great shape of an enormous dragon soars overhead, pumps of his wings shifting the direction of the wind.] Where would you like it placed? Its original position? I am prepared when you have decided.

[judgmentbolts]

[ Cid has yet to meet a stoic visage he hasn't wanted to crack, and Dion is no exception. From the look on his face, he hasn't yet decided if he's meant to find the jokes amusing or treat them with the same grave seriousness he applies to everything else.

Cid pushes properly to his feet, following Dion outside so that they can situate themselves and focus on the task at hand. It's only on the way out that he notices the rumpled bedding, though he has the good sense not to remark on it. He gets the feeling that Torgal will find his way here more often than not in the coming days.

There's something slightly unnerving about hearing Bahamut pass overhead, when Cid knows full well that they stand side by side.

Cid himself focuses on lifting the workshop from the bed of wyvern tails. He stretches out a hand and gestures for it to rise, allowing Dion to straighten out his domain where it's intruded. He'll never get accustomed to the malleability of the Horizon, a world that seems to bend to their every thought... most of the time. While it's simple enough to shift the workshop within Dion's domain, it doesn't seem to want to return to his own. ]

Aye, let's have it back where it belongs. [ He places a hand on Dion's shoulder. ] Together then?

[ It seems logical that it'd be easier with both their wills aligned on settling the workshop right back where it belongs... but that isn't what happens. The Horizon resists them, or perhaps they're not so in sync as they ought to be. Cid's workshop drops right back down with a mighty thump, fallen ruins sprouting up around it like weeds so that it takes on an appearance not unlike the solar, a little hilltop with a round door that looks as if it's built right into the countryside. Wyvern tails and grass race up to cover its back, or to hold it in place even more stubbornly than before. Thunder rumbles distantly.

Cid sighs, drawing his hand back, and starts to roll his wrist before he realizes he isn't in pain. Right. ] ...Don't think it wants to go.

[princeofruin]

[Dion is still fully unsure what to do with this ability -- this moulding of a dreamscape that it appears he has less control over than he first thought. His magic has always been tactile: the blinding light, the heat of its burn, scales and claws and wings. He does not levitate pieces of Fallen architecture back where it belongs. In fact, he still insists moving it with Bahamut makes more sense than else.

He nods, once.] Yes. Together. [He returns the gesture, unsure if the physical touch should help. But he returns a hand to Ramuh's shoulder, careful of the grip of his claws.

He breathes in, keeping his touch on his fellow Dominant, concentrating. Before, that was enough for the growth of the wyvern tails. The blankets. He thinks of where he first saw this piece of Ramuh's head, where it properly belongs, tucked behind that door. That door... like a barrier.

Yes, that is the point of doors.

Something about that sticks to him. He is without Clive, without Jill, who he thought understood him better than he deserved. And Joshua... who truly understood his heart in ways he was not given enough time to truly appreciate. It is an unconscious, unbidden thought: he wishes to be understood again.

Dion cannot say if it is a faltering in his will that makes it happen. That makes his domain reach out like the selfish, grasping hand of a child, to bundle the ruins against itself. There is a new door, but this one does not feel like a barrier. Mere decoration, more like.

Dion drops his hand, crossing his arms across his chest. The wyvern tails not atop the workshop's roof blow in the same breeze its brothers on the ground do.] No. It seems not.

[To say nothing of his... idle desires. He does not breathe word of them. Instead he inhales, taking in the land around them. The sight of the Mothercrystal has faded completely, and in its place there floats a rolling sky of blackened clouds, another rumble of thunder. He sighs.] Well... you did imply my domain was lacking. [He turns back to Ramuh, dropping his arms.] Now it is not.

[judgmentbolts]

[ Perhaps the workshop isn't all that Cid was focused on. He can't say that he's sorry to see that castle erased from the horizon. It isn't his call to make, he knows, but he can't help feeling that its shadow has ruled enough of Dion's life — it seems a pity for it to linger over what freedom he allows himself.

There's still a faint warmth where Dion's hand once rested on his shoulder.

Cid hums, inclines his head as he thinks it over. There are few people who he would be willing to trust with something like his workshop. It isn't that he expects to see his creations here, in the Horizon, turned to weapons of war — it would be an unneeded extra step in a place like this — but there is still a tender wound to be nursed when he thinks of the Valhalla and how it became Barnabas' Einherjar.

He has not always trusted well before, is all. ]

It's the middle of the night. We can get some sleep and try again when we've got our wits about us. [ Maybe that will be tomorrow, and maybe it will be never. He waves a hand, finally turning to Dion. ] Not so fast. It's still an empty field, except now it's got my junk in it. Where's your junk? Doesn't Prince Charming have any hobbies?

[princeofruin]

[Dion does not respond on matters of rest or wits, because he knows he has not faltered in either. His sleep is restless, but it has always been. His wits are not dulled by the loss of it.

But he, too, wishes not to delve much deeper into why this is happening. All his research in Istredd's library on the history of this place, and the Horizon in particular, is that it seems to respond directly to matters of the heart and mind. Whatever storms dwell there are often ones that infect the domains as well.

Though he cannot account for Torgal, he does not mind that particular invasion.

He sighs again.] Your nicknames, given time, are somehow becoming more unbearable. [And he sees nothing wrong with this. It is merely a reflection of... of the future Master Harpocrates insinuated he may have, though at the time Dion knew it was not one he intended to meet. If only he could have him here as well... but, no. He will not allow himself to try. The simulacrum of people he has seen in the Horizon unnerves him.]

I paint. [He says, deadpan, already steeling himself for some needless comment about it.] Yet I see little point in having an area to replicate the activity here when I can do so in my room in the castle.

[judgmentbolts]

[ Cid chuckles. ] You'll have to bear them anyway. What else are those broad shoulders good for?

[ He nudges Dion's arm with his own, as if they're sharing his terrible joke.

A part of him isn't expecting much of an answer from the ever-stoic former prince, but it seems the man is set on surprising him. Cid turns back toward the horizon, hand resting against his hip. He might not be a man of high tastes when it comes to art, but he's deadly curious as to what Dion finds beautiful, and how he might portray it.

There's a moment's pause before Cid speaks again. ]

I didn't know what I was meant to do with this all, at first... Didn't want to make much use of it, seeing as how none of it's real. But it's a good place to craft a vision of the future, isn't it? One we can fight for, instead of against.

[ And maybe this is a part of it, the blending of their two disparate natures.

Cid exhales slowly, then reaches out to pat Dion's shoulder a couple of times. He probably ought to get back, if there's naught else to be done here, but— ] I'd like to see those paintings sometime.

[princeofruin]

[They are not sharing the joke, as is evident by the way Dion flatly stares back at him.

It may say enough that that is the extent of his complaints about it. He supposes he shall bear them if he intends to accept more of Ramuh's company. And, apparently... that is what he intends.

It is only the last fragment of home he has. That is what he tells himself, to ease the words at the back of his mind that prickle as sharp as thorns. Memories, words. He quashes them without remorse in the moment; they will have plenty of time to eke their way to the surface again.

Ramuh's hand on his shoulder releases the breath he had held. Again, his words are pretty ones, but they are not without their merits. The idea of no longer needing to fight the creature he was to become is a freeing one.]

When I have more practice, perhaps. [They are only splashes of paint. He can admit he has gained some skill since he started in that first month of his being here, that he has gained enough coin to experiment with colours, with hair blends of the brushes. Yet they are details he fails to believe Ramuh would have any interest in hearing about.

After a moment, he speaks again.]

The way you utilize this space makes sense. You are a natural inventor, I have been told. A genius. [He does not mean it in any middling sense.] And I have seen evidence of it. I have ridden upon the ship made from your designs. Your ideas here can be used elsewhere... for the good of others. [Dion finally drops his arms, releasing the tension that had scoured across his chest.] I do not have such natural inclinations. My years were spent on studies of how to take lives, not how to improve them.

[He looks to the workshop again. It is no conscious thing, he is sure of, that keeps it here. But there is... opportunity. When Dion felt he truly understood the world, when he was inspired by it, it was under the tutelage of a man who had lived in it, among its peoples. A genius. He still held lessons dear, imprinted upon his heart, even after the years changed him from an idealistic boy to a fool of a man.

Ramuh is nothing close to Master Harpocrates (for one, his consistent disregard of personal space...) but he is aware they were close, once upon a time. The Master would have approved of him, or else he never would have stayed so long. He would not have offered himself and his knowledge to those people.

Perhaps, then... there is further inspiration he can glean from places he had not looked before.]

If you consider it a worthy trade, I would see some of your designs, then. In exchange.

[If the workshop is going to stay, as it seems to have intended.]

[judgmentbolts]

[ Cid is well accustomed to this sort of response to his charming sense of humour. His hand lingers perhaps a moment too long before it's gone. Would that he could ease more of that tension from Dion's shoulders, but he supposes that this is a start. ]

I'll look forward to your debut, then. [ It ought to be teasing, but it leans too soft for that.

Cid expects that to be the end of it, but Dion speaks into the beat of silence. Natural inventor? Genius? Who the hell's been feeding him this? Cid is already shaking his head. He waves his hand irritably, as if he can physically brush the words away, though that gods damned flush of colour has somehow returned to his face. ] That's a bit much, isn't it? [ Cid turns back to him, gesturing as he speaks, full of exasperation. ] It's all I can do to keep up with what they've got here. And the Enterprise is Midadol's ship... it was our ship.

[ He trips over his words on the last bit, just barely.

Cid cards his fingers through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. This is all beside the point. ] Look... Clive felt the same as you do; a whole life dedicated to nothing but death. And just like him, here you are, trying your damnedest to live and do something useful with that life. Don't sell yourself short on account of an old fool.

[ He holds out a hand. ] You have a deal, anyway. Show me yours and I'll show you mine.

wrap here or next tag? ♥ they can fight over who had the better last word

[princeofruin]

[It is true that it is far easier to speak good of a man once he has passed, but the opposite holds just as true. He need not have lived in the Hideaway to see the ripples that were left by the man, and Clive in his wake.

Is that...? Dion looks to him, curious, and then abruptly amused. Unfortunate that he should confirm what Ramuh may already feel creeping up his cheeks. To hardly keep up here is not an excuse when this world is nothing like their own. Even the way magic works is entirely different.]

Then it is good her genius has surpassed yours.

[He gives Ramuh at least that much. He is not immune to what reference to the girl must do to him. He did not spend much time with her, was hardly a person who should have been in the Hideaway at at all, yet... her arms were the last contact he had with another before his death, and he remembers the strength in them.

He smiles to himself, brief as it is. He never misses a chance for his speeches, rousing as they are. He understands now why the feelings surrounding Ramuh seem to be of two opposite sides of a spectrum: either appreciative awe, or heartfelt annoyance.] The difference is that Clive did not have a choice.

[The scar on his face was evidence of that. But with a breath, Dion reaches out, and he rests a hand on Ramuh's shoulder.] Do not sell yourself short either, old fool.

[The hand moves from his shoulder to his hand, and he shakes it with a squeeze.] I know you are making another jest to my detriment, but I am holding you to this deal.