abraxaslogs | [ OPEN ] the fate of the game is moving my way.

Coming from a hierarchy of knights and nobles, with manners more aligned with the former than the latter, the seemingly respectful distance and lack of touch do not strike Hendrik as odd. There were a number of days where he would go without a friendly interaction at all, even with the attendants assisting him with his armor both day and night.

The introduction cannot go unanswered, though. "Hendrik." No surname. No title that would mean anything here.

It is the mention of a connection that has him slowly easing out of his initial wariness. There was brief mention of others having arrived through the same process, and the term "Summoned" had been used when introducing the rooming situation. With a grimace at his own clenched fist, he releases the door handle and passes the doorway into the corridor.

"The mages mentioned a dining hall. That is where we are to go now?" There did seem to be a bustle of others heading in that direction, at least. He looks to Ronan for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to ask something or make a remark before starting to walk. He doesn't recognize his own footsteps, wearing sandals that feel too flimsy for any of the work he is used to doing on a daily basis.

"I still find all of this rather hard to believe. Being summoned to another world to deal with some worldly peril."

"The dining hall is usually where people go to dine."

Ronan may be dressed like a noble, but he has very few manners of any kind. He's got the posture of a street brawler and the indolent drawl of a farmer, yet almost everyone they pass greets him with a smile or a bow of their head. Venerable, they murmur in his direction, but Ronan's focus is fixed on Hendrik and he doesn't bother to acknowledge the others.

"So it's your first time being summoned to save a world?" he asks wryly. "What would be easier to believe? That you hit your head and this is all a bad dream? You thinking you'll wake up in Kansas any minute now?"

The dry comments remind Hendrik of Jasper's brand of humor in those moments he deigned allow him hear them, so he takes no offense to Ronan's words. Instead, he finds his attention being stolen away in bits in pieces by the passersby, whose behaviors are quite unlike the mages' while still being polite.

It seems the young man who has decided to speak to him has something of a reputation already. More than the politeness offered by those who had participated in the summoning.

"I am unsure whether or not this would be what I consider a bad dream." A strange dream, but his world is more of a nightmare as it is, with Yggdrasil fallen from the sky. "Is this a regular occurrence? Are there many others? The mages seemed ... quite prepared to offer room and board."

"There's a summoning every month," Ronan answers. "The first successful one was eight months ago. That's when I showed up."

It feels like years. A whole lifetime. So little of him belongs to the world he came from, now.

"There used to be about fifty of us. Most of them left. Now, with the new batch... Maybe twenty? I haven't actually gone and gotten a headcount of the newest ones."

"Fifty." He can't keep an astonished note from his deep voice as he mutters the number, especially as he compares to the current number Ronan rattles off. Perhaps he is thinking of this the wrong way, presuming that the process would be as taxing on the summoning mages as it would be for those they summoned.

Regardless, that is no small amount of people to be pulling from elsewhere to deal with another world's perils. And to say that they "left"...

"What happened to the others? I did not think leaving was a choice, given they seem to expend so many resources to have us here."

"We're not prisoners here," Ronan patiently reiterates. "You'd know if you were a prisoner. They have dungeons downstairs and everything."

Which, yes, some of the Summoned formerly occupied. But Hendrik obviously isn't one of them, so there's no need to get all dramatic about it.

"A pair of foreign mages attacked the castle a few months back. They opened two portals and some of the more smooth-brained Summoned decided to jump into the mystery portals for, I don't know, funsies. Now they're serving Solvunn or the Free Cities, depending on whether they went through Door A or Door B."

Hendrik briefly grimaces as Ronan repeats himself; the last thing he wants to do is present himself as overly fretful and unsure in a new environment. He keeps silent and listens for now, frowning deeply as he hears that some who had formerly been brought to this world by Thorne were now serving other places that were likely in opposition to whatever morals or methods Thorne applied.

There is much he has to learn about this place. This world.

"I am grateful for your patience, having to explain these circumstances repeatedly. What ... are we 'expected' to do for Thorne, at this time? Work? Study?"

He presumes there will be fighting. How can there not be? It is unfortunately one of the few things he would have to offer these mages.

"What are you expected to do..." Ronan repeats, squinting his eyes like this is a difficult question and not one with an extremely obvious answer. He hums, pondering like this for a moment.

Then he smirks and answers, "Enjoy the hospitality? Be a good guest? Try not to murder any of the courtiers?"

Alright, alright. He knows what Hendrik's really asking.

"Figure out what you want your new life to be, because you're not going home anytime soon. You can help Thorne or not. If you'd rather just take advantage of living in a castle for free, go ahead. Be that kind of guy. They'll teach you magic if you want to learn it, but they won't make you use it. Don't expect an allowance if you're not doing any work, of course, but you don't really need money when you've got me, anyway."

Green eyes flit over to Ronan as Hendrik waits for an answer, his attention split between his voluntary guide and the halls through which they walk. The halls seem a little more familiar after another passing, so he trusts that he will be able to find his way back without too much issue.

What is he to make of the casual way that his question is answered? Perhaps Ronan is this way with everyone, regardless of familiarity or status. It wouldn't be the first time he met someone who surprised him with their attitude, though it does leave him pondering if there is a line of decorum to which he should be adhering.

He nods along with the ideas freely given, noting them for later consideration. There is still so much to learn, but the perspective of someone who has been (is?) in the same situation is grounding.

That last comment though... He tilts his head in confusion, another question already on his lips.

"Got you? Ah, I am sure you have connections, but I would not want to impose..."

"I don't have connections," Ronan says. "I am the connection."

That's not a boastful claim. He's not bragging. It just is what it is, and probably not much of an exaggeration, considering how the others around the castle seem to be reacting to his presence when he passes by.

"And it's not an imposition. I don't make offers I don't mean to keep. If there's something you need, you can ask me for it anytime. I can usually get it to you by the next day."

The matter-of-fact way with which Ronan speaks stills Hendrik's tongue for a moment, and once more he ponders the younger man's role in all of this. A Summoned who has been here longer, having established himself and earned no small amount of respect from the people around the castle. With respect came power -- something that he was now being offered, to a degree.

"I see."

Did he? Did he truly? A more accurate response would be that he trusts Ronan's words despite knowing nothing of his motivations. He would have to learn more about his surroundings for better answers to any other whys rattling around in his head.

"If our hosts will not furnish us with weapons, I would appreciate help in finding some. It is strange to be without them."

His is a world filled with monsters beyond the protections of cities and villages. He does not presume this world to be any different in that regard.

Ronan looks awfully pleased that Hendrik seems to be accepting the offer without further objections. On his particular face, it's an expression that looks about as reassuring as a bear trap.

But he doesn't follow up with a price or a caveat. All he asks is, "What kind would you like?"

As he catches that uplift in Ronan's expression, Hendrik wonders if he should in fact be more wary of what he is getting himself into in this new world. He already experienced a huge break in trust that had catastrophic consequences, so going down that road again...

For now, he silences that concern. This is a completely different situation with completely different people, without the Lord of Shadows hovering over all. He will accept the proffered necessities and go from there.

"A greatsword. A tower shield." Does he need to go into detail from there? "Something more functional than training or ceremonial arms."

Ronan looks Hendrik over, assessing his size the same way a tailor would. Everything he makes is perfectly suited to the person it's meant for, but it all starts with observation.

"No problem," he concludes, finding nothing particularly challenging about Hendrik's build. "Do you want them enchanted?"

"Enchanted?" The question leaves Hendrik momentarily dumbstruck until he reminds himself he was just brought into this world, ripped from his own world, by mages. Why should enchantments for weapons be so surprising?

Still, he glances at Ronan with no small amount of thoughtfulness as he replies. "I cannot say the thought would have occurred to me to ask. That takes special skill."

And yet, the fact that Ronan asked meant it was probably something regularly offered. It makes him believe he will see enchanted weapons with some regularity.

When it comes to Ronan, Hendrik will end up seeing rather a lot of enchanted things. Starting with Ronan himself. He looks amused by the surprise, satisfied by it, as if it's a charming reaction but also the correct one in his opinion. Magic is meant to be experienced with awe.

"I'm a very skilled person," he agrees.

You know what? Up until now, Hendrik had presumed that the weapons were somehow coming from their hosts (despite Ronan's remark), but this most recent comment has him focusing in on what he must have been missing this entire time.

"You will do the enchantments yourself?" Such skill is definitely not commonplace in his own world; in fact, it was more common to find old treasures that were enchanted (or cursed) than it was find someone capable of long-term enchantment. "My knowledge of such enchantments is quite bare. Besides magicked doors and seals, stories mostly speak of glowing blades and magic-deflecting shields."

"I'm doing all of it myself," Ronan clarifies. A statement delivered more like a shrug than a boast. He's perfectly aware his ability is a rare one, but it's in his nature. He was born with it. He doesn't need to brag about it any more than someone who was born with the ability to pick up a pencil and learned how to write with it.

"I don't have a lot of limits. What do you think would be cool and make you feel like a badass?"

"Badass...?" He hadn't questioned the mention of 'smooth-brained' earlier, but this was another term that made it clear that Ronan did not hail from any place that Hendrik knew. With a shake of his head, he forces himself past that to instead focus on the heart of the question.

"I suppose a shield that would either deflect or absorb incoming magic would be best? That is what I recall being impressive in stories." Still, it is a wonder to think he is even describing this, as if ordering tools or horseshoes from a blacksmith. "This is a generous offer to make to someone you have just met. I do appreciate it."

Ronan considers this for a moment. He doesn't like the idea of absorbing magic, having had quite a lot of terrible experiences with things that eat or nullify magic. That sounds like something that could easily slip into nightmare territory. But deflecting magic doesn't seem like it'll be an issue. He's pretty sure he could dream something like that without getting accidentally devoured.

"No problem," he says. "It's what I'm here for."

[ OPEN ] the fate of the game is moving my way.

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