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

An awful lot of him. Yes, Thancred's gathered from the murmurings about this Kylo Ren that he is an imposing presence, closer to the height of a Roegadyn or Hrothgar despite the fact that as far as he can tell, his features are more like a Hyur's. Quite interesting, though Thancred can only assume that races from other stars need not follow the same rules that he knows.

"I suppose it will," he says, chancing a glance toward the door he passed through not so long ago. He can't be certain whether or not Kylo will actually show himself here tonight, so it seems more worthwhile to focus on who is here.

So he pauses in his search of the area to focus his attention on Ronan once more, arms crossing over his chest as he considers where to start. Rumors are all he has to go on, but Ronan seems a direct enough sort that they may as well start there.

"Is it true that you have some sort of connection to the fae folk?"

Thancred has some experience with such things, enough to know that this Ronan could be far more dangerous than he looks if these rumors are true.

Ronan looks awfully pleased to be asked such a question. His eyes sharpen and a grin cuts across his face. It's an expression that could easily answer the question by itself, but Ronan's first comeback is, "That's homophobic as fuck."

A joke he expects will go sailing right over his audience's head. No, he knows about the rumor, and while it certainly has something to do with what he does in bed, it's not about who keeps him company there.

"What's it to you? Do you hate fairies?"

That looks does, in fact, answer the question all by itself. Thancred can't say he ever imagined that he could see a pixie's impish look mirrored onto the face of what appears to be a Hyur, but that's more or less what he's staring at now.

Yet what Ronan says throws him off somewhat. The word means nothing, even if the crass one that follows does. Either way, it appears to be a jest rather than an actual statement of offense, so all he can do is move on.

He shakes his head. Hate would be a strong word, even if he found the pixies to be perplexing at best and infuriating at worst. Urianger had seemed to understand them in a way Thancred never could.

"No, but I do have some experience with them." He lifts one hand to rub lightly at his forehead as memories of time spent in Il Mheg come rushing back. "Though I assume you are not from Norvrandt and therefore our frames of reference will differ greatly." If there's one thing he's learned thus far from speaking with his fellow Summoned, it's that he can't expect any direct similarities between his experiences and theirs.

"I'm from Virginia," Ronan drawls, laying on the Appalachian accent especially thick despite his certainty that this, too, will go flying over Thancred's head. "Whatever you've got experience with, it's probably nothing like me."

Not that Ronan is displeased by the comparison. He'd been raised on stories about the aos sí and it's awfully romantic to imagine a direct lineage to the likes of Oisín and Fionn mac Cumhaill, however unlikely.

"But since we're on the subject... Did you have a favor to ask? I can give you anything you want. Except a ticket home, of course."

Virginia. The land of virgins, mayhap? No, most likely not, and while Thancred might not usually hesitate to make some joking comment to that end, he knows better than to get too cheeky with anyone or anything related with the fae folk.

That accent is truly like nothing he's heard as well, though he's already come across a few others here in the castle. It's fascinating enough that they can all understand each other in the first place, but he assumes magick is to thank for that. It's odd, as usually only those with the Echo have such universal understanding of other languages.

And then comes an offer which has Thancred raising an eyebrow and straightening his back.

"While I mean no offense, I must admit it's difficult to see that as anything but a trap. Unless you are suggesting some manner of exchange?" And even then, anything he wants? No, that is too good to be true, and he refuses to believe there is not a price to be paid.

"You can't just say 'no offense' and then say something offensive," Ronan points out. "Especially when it's racist, too."

But he looks far more amused than offended, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's fighting back laughter. And he is. This is so funny to him. He wishes literally any one of his friends were here to witness it.

He clears his throat and continues only slightly more soberly, "It's not a trap. If I wanted something from you, I would have to be straightforward about that, wouldn't I? That's how a bargain works. But I don't want anything from you, so you're safe."

Thancred shrugs, as he can't exactly apologize when he knows for a fact what those pixies are capable of and how they have no qualms about tricking people into "playing" with them forever. While Ronan does not appear to be anything like them at first glance, he can't be blamed for being a bit wary given the circumstances.

"If that's the case, then what reason do you have to offer me such a boon?" he asks with a frown. He can't help but probe at this a bit further, wanting to at least understand this too good to be true offer before he blindly accepts it. "Is it with the understanding that I will help you at some point in the future, should you require it?"

Not that he can imagine what someone who can supposedly grant one's any wish might need from him. That doesn't mean there isn't a pound of flesh to be paid all the same.

"No," Ronan answers. Indeed, he has very little use for anyone other than the man he has trapped in a covenant. "But I'll be pretty pissed if you take your shit and run. That's just fucking rude."

He's still sore about the last time someone betrayed him.

To answer Thancred's larger question, however: "There's nothing I want except to do what I do. Everyone likes to be good at something, don't they? There's no point in living without a purpose. And mine is to give people everything they've ever dreamed."

"You needn't worry about that," Thancred says with a shake of his head.

It would be rude, and he has no intention of running anywhere, at least for now. He doesn't trust those in charge here one bit, not the high mage or the royal family, but he also would like to uncover more about this place before making an attempt to leave Thorne's territory. As it stands, he doesn't even know how feasible that is, though he'd also like to think that if anyone's capable of doing so, it's him.

That is quite the purpose, and if Ronan does see the granting of wishes to be his ultimate reason for living, then Thancred can hardly deny him that. He's not yet convinced that these aren't sweet words meant to lure him into some sort of trap, however, and he wonders how long Ronan will endure his questions before growing tired of him.

Sensing that he may be here for a while yet, he relents and finally finds a spot to take a seat in the form of a plush ottoman.

"When you say everything, I assume there are limits. Going home, as you said, but what else?"

On the contrary, Ronan delights in the curiosity of others. A lifetime of being hidden away in the shadows, his truths buried deep down, has made him all too eager to discuss them now that it's (relatively) safe to bring them into the light. People should know about him. They should appreciate him. Like all dreams, he stays vivid as long as attention lingers on him.

"I don't know what my limits are," he answers honestly. "They're always further than I think. But there are a lot of things I don't like to do. I don't make humans if I can help it, because it gets kind of fucked up, ethics-wise. No matter how much you miss someone, I don't think you'd like it if I gave them to you."

Not knowing one's own limits can be a dangerous thing, and that's reason enough for Thancred to temper his expectations of what he might request. He has no bold or risky ideas, has barely even let himself entertain the offer thus far, but he does have one thing in mind...

The idea of asking for a person is one that had not even entered his thoughts, and he doesn't mask a brief look of horror at the very concept of it. He'd seen the simulacrums that Emet-Selch had built in his recreation of Amaurot, lost ghosts that wandered the empty city, and has no need for such things.

"No, I could not see that ending well, nor would I want such a thing." Some doll-like copy of Ryne would only serve to unsettle him, and he banishes the thought before long. "I was thinking mayhap a weapon, assuming you don't have rules against arming the newcomers."

He realizes how that might seem like a dangerous path to take, though Ronan is remarkably cavalier about this whole enterprise.

Edited 2022-02-27 01:44 (UTC)

Thancred has already assured him he's not going to fuck off with all the stuff Ronan gives him, and Ronan believes him, so there's no reason to deny a request that simple. It's not as if peace is his desired outcome, not when peace in this world would mean surrendering the Singularity to the destructive intentions of the Free Cities.

No, he's more than happy to give a weapon to someone who would most likely use it against Thorne's enemies.

"Weapons are usually the first thing people ask for," Ronan says. "What do you have in mind?"

In truth, Thancred does not yet know how he'll be making use of the weapon, if it turns out that Ronan can actually provide him with such a thing. He isn't going to simply ally himself with Thorne because they're the ones who were successful in bringing him here, but he doesn't know enough about the other factions to want to jump ship either.

For now, it will like as not be a tool for earning himself some coin by taking on odd jobs. If there are monsters in the area surrounding the castle, for instance, or even bandits that need to be quelled and brought in for questioning, being properly armed would certainly help with such efforts.

"I suppose I'm in good company, then," he says with a wry smile. Though, here comes the potentially tricky part. "Do you know what a gunblade is?" For quite some time only Garleans had made use of them, having found ways to fashion the weapons in such a way that aether manipulation was not necessary to operate them. Thancred learned the proper way of a Gunbreaker from Rostik. Even then, it's not an art that's been widespread across Hydaelyn. How likely is it that someone from an entirely different star will have the slightest idea what he's speaking of?

"I assume it's a gun that's also a blade?"

Which is a pretty cool concept, even if Ronan can't figure out the advantage of combining the two. Maybe the badass factor is the whole point.

"I don't really have to know what it is. You can show it to me in the Horizon."

He doesn't care much for the Horizon, but it's at least useful for this stuff. The closest he can get to meeting people in a dream without the risk of bringing them into his dream.

"Have you gone in yet?"

That's a fair assumption, and all Thancred can do is nod. The name is quite self-explanatory, yet the specifics of how the weapon is put together are precise enough that he doesn't believe Ronan could simply make him one based on name alone.

But that's true, there is the Horizon. Thancred's head lifts from where he'd been staring at his clasped hands and he nods.

"Just the once, but I have gone in." He's now even more grateful that Stephen opted to tell him about the Horizon and then escort him in, as otherwise he'd be staring at Ronan like he had two heads. "I can't say I've practiced creating anything, but I'm willing to try."

In truth, the whole concept of creation within the Horizon unsettles him, as it reminds him far too much of what the Ascians and Ancients can do. Then again, is that not exactly what Ronan is offering him as well?

Yet he's not an Ascian; that makes all the difference.

"It's not hard," Ronan says, though that's easy for him to say. Creation is the only thing he's really meant to do. But his presence alone will make the process easier for Thancred, as his presence does for all dreamers. His confidence is infectious in the dreamspace, throwing everything into sharper focus. Dreaming is his native languages and he translates it for everyone around him.

He clarifies, "All you really have to do is show me what you remember about it and what you want it to do. Once I've seen your memory, I'll have everything I need to give you what you want."

If he could pull it straight from the Horizon, life would be so much simpler. Unfortunately, it's contaminated by all those human minds, and he runs up against the wall of their limitations every time he tries to take something with him. That makes the Horizon an infuriating place for Ronan in general. Great for concept, terrible for execution.

It does sound simple enough when Ronan puts it that way, and while Thancred's memories of the Horizon are rather fuzzy, he does recall how he'd felt almost compelled to create things while in the space. Either way, it's worth a shot if it means that he'll get himself a working gunblade at the end of it all.

"Fair enough," he responds with a nod. "In that case, shall we go ahead with it? I assume we're not likely to be disturbed at this point."

It's late into the night by now and he's apparently the only person bold enough to show up here at such a strange hour. If Kylo Ren were to happen by, Thancred assumes he'd know what was going on if he found them in meditative states.

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

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