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

[judgmentbolts]

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.

Comments

[judgmentbolts]

plot with me ⚡ themightysra ⚡ themightysra @ discord

⚡ Dion & Barnabas

[judgmentbolts]

[ 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. ]

⚡ Astarion

[judgmentbolts]

[ 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.

⚡ Ciri

[judgmentbolts]

[ 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?

⚡ Sylvain, Claude, and Hilda

[judgmentbolts]

[ 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. ]