abraxaslogs | [ closed ] your spirit is wild and your suffering is brief

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[ closed ] your spirit is wild and your suffering is brief

Who: Cid & Friends & Evil Exes
When: October/November catch-all
Where: Nocwich & Free Cities
What: Event stuff + an eikon battle in Nocwich & the aftermath
Warnings: Standard FF16 content warnings may apply - references to systemic violence and oppression, fantasy dehumanization, fantasy slavery (based exclusively on whether or not the character bears magical abilities), genocide, abuse (physical/emotional), neglect, trauma, and violence. Likely nothing explicit but we're covering the bases here.

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themightysra ⚡ themightysra @ discord

[ Cid finds himself skirting the edge of Nocwich's foreboding forest, walking toward the restless sound of the ocean crashing against the bluffs. It's the only place he can think of where he's unlikely to run into company while he broods over recent events. It's getting on into fall, he'd wager, and the cold air has sharp teeth.

Even despite shaking himself free of the nightmares that have come with the year end celebrations, Odin has remained. Cid can feel the weight of that particular aether, ever-present as his own shadow, and powerful even now. Try as he might to dismiss it as some further trickery, a part of him knows — has always known — that it could be nothing and no one else.

Barnabas has come to Abraxas.

To say that his feelings on the matter are complicated would be an understatement, but complicated feelings have never stopped him before. Despite the storm brewing under his skin, Ramuh's endless patience just barely prevails. He'll have to tread carefully, not just because of Barnabas' immense power, but the delicate lull in hostilities between the territories at the moment. In all likelihood, he'll only have the one shot at doing what needs to be done. He'll—

Cid pauses. The wind picks up a moment later, and even at this distance, he understands why.

The draw of aether is sharp and sudden, uncontrolled. It's followed swiftly by a flash of light, stark and perfect white against the inky blackness of the sky. Cid takes off at a run. He sends a few frantic messages to Dion, but he receives no response. Instead, he feels the secondary draw of aether, darker than the first.

Dion has lost control, and Barnabas has primed with him. ]

Fuck me. [ He manages, breathless. He sends a few more messages - Himeka, Thancred, Geralt, Claude. Are you in Nocwich? I need your help — now.

It's the best he can do. Whatever he's in for when he arrives, he knows that it won't be anything good. ]

[Dion's plans for his trip to Nocwich had been nothing unusual. He was painting even more as of late, so a purchase of some new pigments to experiment with was in order. He had all the intention of sending a message to Claude to see his interest in spending another few nights under Nocwich's sky -- a sky he once felt only unease under, in this neverending darkness, that he now looks upon companionably. It was there, after all, the first time he and Claude opened their hearts. It has been there for so many of their meetings, in fact, that it's somehow turned to something familiar, even hopeful.

Not a thing Dion ever thought to look for in darkness.

It is perhaps that very thing that has lowered his defenses. When once Dion looked for suspicion in all men, he now finds only issue with the monarchy, with their unending wiles and false appeals to men's hearts. Nocwich is an escape from that. He buries trepidation inside of him. This feeling, once familiar, that something has gone terribly wrong.

There is no further plan, when Dion follows the strange, dark tug of aether inside him, without fully realizing he is following it all. When his eyes alight upon Barnabas, there is no further thought. All of the seasons he has endured, the life he has only just carved out for himself, the very belief he may yet earn opportunity beyond the limits of his anger --

It is gone in an instance.]

You. [It is all Dion manages, growled out, snarled, between clenched teeth. It matters not that years have passed since he last lost to the Eikon of Darkness. Since he last took to the air and felt the brush of that blade. To Dion, in that moment, in his weakness, Barnabas and Ultima are the same. They are the blood on his father's vestments, the broken body of a child who never existed. They are the shattering of the Mothercrystal, the destruction of Twinside. They are the mother he has never known, torn from him in a world twisted by darkness.

Dion's scream is anguished, the only alert to Nocwich that danger has come, his eyes, brown, sparking to a frenzied, molten gold. Bahamut roars, claws, spits his way to the surface, and there is nothing of Dion left. There is just the King of Dragons, talons carving the ground as he springs from it, wings snapping open with a roar. Light builds around Bahamut as he lifts to claw Barnabas in two, his entire being instilled with nothing but hate, a feral thirst for some balm to his pain.]

[ Cidolfus Telamon.

Another ghost come to haunt him. His powers had returned to him somehow, aether filling his veins as surely as his blood did, and with it came that telltale prickle of awareness that denoted the presence of another dominant. However, for the longest time he hadn't been sure, couldn't tell whether the buzzing in his head had been real or a long lost memory. Too full of debris. Too full of people who weren't there. Hearing their voices when he woke as surely as when he slept, and when he woke again he'd been nowhere near where he had originally laid his head.

And now that he can finally hold his own thoughts in his head again he has come to realise that this particular ghost of his is here to stay. He can't say he ever considered what he would do if confronted with Cidolfus again—

No, that is a falsehood. He's always known exactly what he would do with Cidolfus, what steps to take, what words to say, how best to apply pressure in order to get him to fold. Cidolfus had had something that his master had needed, and so it had been Barnabas' duty to see that he fell in line, one way or the other.

That both of them would be here in the aftermath... that Barnabas had not foreseen. There is, of course, one very simple way to find out, and that perhaps might even be the reason he is here right now. Except— ]

You.

[ It's guttural, barely human. Barnabas turns, knowing without knowing exactly who he will find there. Aether howls into being around Bahamut, something desperate and wild, and Barnabas feels the corners of his mouth kick up into a smile.

After Bahamut had done his part, Barnabas can't say he ever gave much thought to him again. The boy had broken spectacularly, had shattered so perfectly that maneuvering him had been something of a lark. Child's play. He had played his role beautifully in tempering his master's vessel but it does look as though Bahamut does not share the sentiment.

Unfortunately, Bahamut does not leave them time for words. He primes, and then he attacks. Barnabas steps away from his claws, through folded space until he lands just out of reach, and then sighs and lets go.

Priming again after so long feels like movement after the thaw, like waking sleeping muscles. He had half wondered if he would see Sleipnir again like this, but even without him he is more than enough. ]

Do you perhaps think you will land upon a different outcome this time? [ He charges aether along his blade, and with an almost careless movement, splits the air with it, sending it careening towards Bahamut. ] The definition of insanity. Though some will say that it fits.

[ Cid isn't there for the first clash, though he feels the impact even malms away, the shockwaves alone whipping up a wind that nearly knocks him on his arse. If they fight over land, it'll tear Nocwich apart, and that's just to start.

That's it, then. He's out of time.

Cid hasn't tried to prime since his arrival, and deliberately so, but when he reaches for his Eikon, Ramuh is waiting. It doesn't matter that Cid had given him over to Clive all those months ago; he belongs to the two of them now, it seems. Together, then.

Cid's arrival is preceded by the darkening of Nocwich's eternal night, the gathering of storm clouds blotting out the moon and stars. A bolt of levin arcs down between Odin and Bahamut, aiming to drive them back toward the sea — toward Ramuh, who waits hovering over the water. ]

Barnabas! [ Cid speaks directly into their minds, in the manner of all Eikons. Thunder rumbles, levin flashing as it wreathes his form. ] Hasn't Clive killed you already? Let's get you back before that god of yours gets lonely in the grave.

[ It's not bait so much as it is an invitation; one that he suspects Barnabas will be disinclined to refuse. If he can get Odin's attention, Bahamut will soon follow. Cid will need him, if they're to have any hope of finishing what he's started. ]

Edited 2024-11-10 18:57 (UTC)

[Insanity is enough if it gets him what he needs. With such a stark reminder of all he has lost -- and it is surely everything -- what has he to gain except blood through revenge? He was never in a position to kill Ultima, to give the animal exactly what it deserved. He could only bear Clive to do it in his stead. But now, without the temperance the Phoenix could provide, or the brutal force Ifrit could use to stop him, he is alone. The blood of Ultima's sycophant will satisfy all the same, until he wipes every world clean of the remainder of those who helped the god destroy their world. (His world. His family.)

If the dragon hears the taunts, he does not respond, so focused on his goal. The cut through the air slices right through the tip of his wing, and for a moment he is falling, pumping to keep himself aloft with one wing, until the second heals and he catches the air again with an earsplitting screech.

The clatter of lightning mere yalms away from him does not change his focus. Aether builds in his forearms, all three of his eyes focused on Odin, on the dark surging from his form. A darkness that can only be obliterated with true light, not lightning, not nature's ill parody.

That the burst of light that Bahamut releases does not only fire towards Odin, but Ramuh beyond him, splitting into multiple missiles of aether formed to explode upon impact, speaks exactly to where Dion's mind is now.

Lost. Again.]

[ The attack hits and the beast falters for a moment and the only thing that prevents Barnabas from finishing it is the levin that crashes down between them. Between one heartbeat and the next Ramuh is there, presence a familiar pressure like a storm threatening to break. He speaks, and Barnabas allows his attention to waver.

He had not thought he would see Ramuh again. He never did get to see Cidolfus again before the end, see him burn up— burn out, consumed by Mythos, for all he felt his aether snuff out. He had not thought Cidolfus would ever prime again. Well. Not while keeping such a firm hold of himself, but Cidolfus does exist to flaunt the rules.

In fact, this whole situation could almost be familiar. If not for the interloper. Aether boils up in front of him like a volcano preparing to blow, an insistent reminder of Bahamut's presence, and Barnabas' attention is pulled back to him. He has only a second to glimpse him: wings arched, searing, blinding light building until it blots out all else, and then it is streaking towards him, screaming through the air. Barnabas sends another look over his shoulder towards Ramuh. ]

It seems to me that you may have other problems, Cidolfus.

[ Shadows wreathe his form, swallowing him up only to spit him back out over the water, out of the line of fire. ]

[ In the dream, Cid is younger. He wears light armour over the uniform of Waloed's Lord Commander, though marks of rank have long since been torn from it. It's not as if it will do them any good. The whole military's shambling about, aimlessly ripping apart any who haven't already lost their minds.

The entire continent of Ash is flooded with aether, the bright blue haze of it hanging thick in the air, glowing flecks of it raining down like snow. Those who had no affinity for it, be they man or beast, were among the first to suffer the surfeit of aether and turn akashic, their will gone, their bodies cracked and calcified and bleeding aether. The Bearers, or people like Astarion, who knew at least some magic, would be far slower to turn.

At the moment, they've holed up in a little cottage in a small fishing village near the coast. They've been lucky enough to evade detection for the moment, but the hoards of akashic are sure to find them soon enough. For that reason, Cid hasn't lit a fire in the hearth, though the ceaseless damp chill of Walod has long since numbed his extremities.

He sits near one of the windows with his back to the wall, keeping an eye out for company. He doesn't turn from it when he speaks to Astarion. ]

How well do you know your way around a ship? If we can get to the docks, you may be able to make your way across to Kanvar... after the storm passes.

[ It hasn't started raining just yet, but the skies are dark and rumbling with thunder. There are a lot of ifs involved with that sort of plan. The sea around Ash can be neigh impassable, even for experienced sailors. It's just as likely that someone who hasn't crossed them before will find themselves dashed to death on the rocky shore... but he can't stay here, either. ]

Once you're safely aboard, I'll double back. If I can find the king, perhaps... [ He catches himself then, at least. Perhaps nothing. The deed is already done. But Barnabas can control the akashic, surely— ] I knew him. This isn't what we wanted.

Edited 2024-10-21 15:47 (UTC)

[ Astarion isn't one of the soldiers in this mad army. He isn't from this continent. But he is here nonetheless. Something about his appearance is off in ways that are equally inexplicable ways. Sometimes his pallor is pale, and sometimes it appears almost too pale. Sometimes, in the corner of his eye, Cid might swear his comrade has pointed ears, or sharpened fangs. As it stands, Astarion himself can't say which is true.

He is here, and he wants to not be here is the one truth he can stand by, anyway. ]

What? [ He looks confused, then like Cid has said something completely stupid like could you grow wings and fly yourself across the sea? He's never been on a ship before, he's certain of that much as well, and he glares back at Cid. ]

No, because only someone entirely mad would want any of this, which - [ a dubious look ] - you generally aren't... except when you're proposing dumping me on a boat - which, by the way, I don't even know how to swim and drowning is an terrible, painful way to die - [ he shakes his head, trying to return from his tangent by waving his hands erratically ] - while you go running off to... to do what? Exactly? Talk to him?

[ He gives a high pitched, possibly slightly hysterical little laugh to punctuate that. ]

Edited 2024-10-23 23:29 (UTC)

[ There's something uncanny about Astarion's presence as a whole, though Cid hasn't quite put his finger on what it is. He hasn't thought about it too much as yet, in truth, preoccupied as he is with their current circumstances. ]

That's what the boat's for. Keeps you nice and dry with a gentle rocking motion. It's like being a wee babe in your mum's arms. [ This is, in every way, a complete fabrication. The sarcasm in his tone says as much. ] Unless you fancy hanging around here to see how long it takes for you to turn as well — or perhaps we can invite the hoards around for a cup of tea, eh? Negotiate with them? Ask if they'll kindly not rip us all to pieces before Barnabas ships them all to Storm?

[ Cid scoffs and folds his arms, tension setting his back and shoulders straight.

It's not Astarion he's angry with, really. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel a shiver of the same fear echoed in his own heart. For a man who isn't even military, Astarion is keeping it together well enough.

The problem is — he's right. It's a foolish plan. Though Astarion might be the last survivor in all of Ash and, besides that, a friend — Cid will doom him to his death if they go through with it.

Cid looks away, from the window and Astarion both. ] Decades we worked side by side... If I can't get through this madness that's taken hold of him, who else is there? Is a madman responsible for all of this, or the fool who let him do it? I can't just leave.

Edited 2024-10-26 17:22 (UTC)

[ His expression screw up at the mention of turning, and his face seems to blanch to an even paler shade of white, his skin taking on more blue and purple undertones, his eyes flashing red again. There's no question, his fear of transformation is far greater than drowning in the ocean, but the odds of him manning a ship - even a small vessel - on his own and surviving?

He has always been one to freeze, not flee, to his own detriment.

Astarion doesn't scoff back at him when he says I can't just leave. He stares at him for a long moment, uncertain, whatever scraps of bravado he'd been clinging to on their mad dash to this village has been shredded in his desperate grasp. ]

You can, and you should. Because I am not mad yet, and I need you alive to get out of here! Not traipsing off on some guilt-fueled suicide attempt... [ he glares at Cid, eyes flashing with fear again ] - I want to live! And I won't - I can't be turned, I won't end up like them...

[ His speech peters off into more panicked rambling, only interrupted by noises just outside the cottage door. ]

He won't kill me, he still has a use for— [ Cid interrupts, but he stops himself as Astarion dissolves into rambling. It wasn't a good argument to begin with. If he was older and wiser, perhaps he'd even realize how it sounded, self-involved and self-important, so sure of his own foolishness. Useful, like a pawn in a game.

Astarion doesn't deserve to die for his ideals, but it has always been easy for Cidolfus to talk himself into making sacrifices for some greater good. How many friends had he led to their deaths, and for what? How many ordinary people have died already, just as terrified as Astarion, just was desperate to live?

His head snaps up in time to see that there's something off about the shade of Astarion's skin, an odd flash of colour in his eyes. He can't be turning already, can he? He's so pale, it's almost as if he's already... ]

Astarion, look — [ Cid gets up, intending to make an attempt to calm him, but the scraping outside the door seems to startle them both into silence.

He draws his sword slowly and risks a glance out the window. It seems their respite is over. Cid moves in front of the door, sword at the ready as the scraping becomes banging, violent and uncontrolled. ] There's not many. Stay close to me, just like before, yeah?

Edited 2024-11-01 14:42 (UTC)

[ A part of him has always known it would go this way. Well-liked as they were for so long, the Summoned are still seen as a different class — unique, blessed instead of cursed, and while a curse might be easy justification for brutality, a blessing is something that people are just as eager to control. It was never going to be fringe cults forever. It was only a matter of time before the government turned on them.

Many of the Summoned had fled with him to Fomalhaut when the raids first started, sneaking in and out of the quarantine zone where few would be eager to search for them. Ciri had been among that first few, and her skill with a sword alone had been indispensable when it came to freeing those who were captured or appropriating supplies.

She was the only one Cid had asked along for this particular mission. He hadn't intended to encounter anyone but their informant on the rendezvous, a young girl named Lisana, who was only just starting to trust him enough to consider fleeing Cadens. Unfortunately for them, an ambush had followed, and with the girl's life held at the end of a sword and a dozen arrows beside, they had been forced to surrender to the military. Restrained and tossed in the back of a wagon with two heavily armed soldiers, there was little to be done. Lisana sat beside Ciri, similarly bound, staring at the floor.

The soldiers had, of course, had the foresight to put him and Ciri both in enchanted cuffs to suppress their magic. They hadn't bothered with much else, assuming the escort and the hostage would be enough to keep them complacent on their way to whatever facility they're meant to be tossed into. Cid leans forward with his arms against his thighs. Cuffs or no, it seems they can still communicate over the network, for a mercy. ]

You've still got your lock pick, haven't you?

[ She could have put up more of a fight. If she were alone, she might have-- but there is too much at stake, and she doesn't want to be responsible for more deaths. Not again.

This buys them time, if nothing else. The caravan has a ways to go before it reaches any significant military outpost, and Ciri is quite sure they don't know exactly who they've captured. Summoned Resistance, of some sort, but these soldiers don't understand what she can do. What Cid can do.

At least, that's the hope they must bet on for the time being. They have to get out of here before anyone with a real understanding of their powers can make attempts at using them. ]

I have. But I'll need a distraction to use it without being noticed.

[ All told, Cid had expected worse.

After an uncomfortable night in a holding cell, the three of them were returned to their respective territories without ceremony. The authorities seemed disinclined to involve themselves any further, even once he found himself in Cadens once again. Suspicious as he found it, that left Cid free to return to his usual business unimpeded.

Well, maybe slightly impeded.

He spends the first day abed, missing work and social engagements without a word to anyone. The second day, Sylvain catches him shambling down to the Sarstina's bar for something to eat and invites him over to his house instead. Cid goes, knowing it will be stranger if he doesn't, but exhaustion still weighs heavily on his shoulders. What's more, the curse has spread significantly, and while Cid has excused his stiff movement as a consequence of old age and poor sleep, he doesn't expect that it will hold up to much scrutiny.

On the bright side, he does have another distraction. At his side, unbothered by anything at all, trots a massive grey wolfhound. Cid has no idea how she came about, or why she's persisted without drawing on his already dire reserves of aether, but he can't find the heart to dismiss her... so along she comes. When they get to the door, he cards his fingers through his hair with a weary sigh and turns to Sylvain. ]

I can have the dog wait outside if you like.

[ The 'dog' immediately whines in protest, looking up with the biggest, saddest eyes she can muster. ]

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[ closed ] your spirit is wild and your suffering is brief

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⚡ Dion & Barnabas

sorry for the wait! ;;

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covers the age of this tag

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⚡ Astarion

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⚡ Ciri

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⚡ Sylvain, Claude, and Hilda