middaeg | (Closed) Aereuer Catch All

Entry tags:

(Closed) Aereuer Catch All

Who: Asura + Plotted CR
When: Aereuer
Where: Aefenglom, the Treehouse Enclave, and beyond...!
What: SOL, Quests, Memory Sharing & Building a Cwyld-Spotting Roost. If you'd like to thread with Asura this month, feel free to hmu @ the April CR & plotting post, and we can hash out the details for a starter!
Warnings: In all event threads, cw for: slavery, abuse, and violence. Peppered among all other threads: light violence and some nudity.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oi, Asura! Y'should be in here, drinkin' with us, instead of standin' around like a big ol'fool out there!" [ —hollers one (1) strongman Merrow, the great boom! of their voice rising above the din of the other Liver Let Die patrons to reach Asura where he stands in full occupation of the tavern's patio.

That Asura had agreed to take on a bouncer's role on behalf of the establishment has little to do with personal gain (his earnings? to be swiftly ushered into the hands that need coin the most: the matrons of local orphanages; the Dorchacht refugees still desperately in need of aid) and everything to do with supporting the Habor District, its community, and of course...! Having some fucking fun, the kind that stems only from throwing yourself headlong into knock-down drag-out brawls with good company in tow. And that, t h a t is the reason why Asura tosses a glance back, over his shoulder, through the open double-doors of the tavern to bellow out his response with a sporting grin: ]

Yeah? Well don't you worry, you won't be without this fool's company for long.

[ Because that strongman Merrow? They're a narwhal which Asura knows particularly well, calls both comrade and friend. But what that camaraderie does not do is preclude them from Asura's prerogative as a bouncer on this fine evening, and as much is revealed when Asura makes a show of stretching, relaxing back with his taloned hands clasped behind his head when he continues on: ]

I'll be coming for you sooner rather than later, when you're shit-faced enough to think that it's a good idea to start throwing around punches while I'm still on guard-duty.

[ "That'll be in ten minutes, Asura, we'll let you know!" and "Get ready to get tossed out of here on your ass, Hank!" chorus several more voices from within the tavern itself, laughter and raucous merriment rounding out the intonations before the bar-patrons return to their drinks and Asura returns to bouncing, ensuring that no (already) intoxicated make their way in. But then, there's a face he doesn't recognize, belonging to a man who holds a bearing not unlike Asura's own: as much as Asura is playing the part of doorman, there's no way to hide his King's mien and proud stance. And this stranger...? Well, Asura's known many courtiers hailing from the four great seasonal Courts and beyond— this man, whoever he may be, has got the air of one. And that's why Asura can't help but ask: ]

You sure you're in the right place, friend?

Edited 2020-04-06 02:14 (UTC)

[ The King of Summer stands surrounded by Autumn on all sides, his nose wrinkling only ever so slightly from the Ashen Court's seasonal accompaniment: leaf mold. Yes, it is true that when Spring graces Aefenglom's Wilde after the onset and thaw of Winter's cold, the fallen and decomposed foliage will serve a far greater purpose than mildly aggravating Asura's nose— directly impacting the soil health (and therefore, the health of the forest in its entirety), it will help the vegetation of the enclave to flourish, grow strong, and proudly defy the Cwyld...! And yet...

Yet, it remains a marker of Autumn, and all things considered, perhaps it is only fitting that an embodiment of Summer would find himself with an aversion to that which devoured the splendor and bounty of the growing season.

In any case, Asura should be paying less attention to leaf mold and focus upon his guest instead: Alucard, who surveys the treehouse and the whole of the enclave with a keen, analytical eye and is no different from when he'd last crossed path with the King during the Wilder's expedition. ]

The task I have asked you to aid me with is a sizable one— [ Drawing plans to construct a Cwyld-spotting roost high, high in the boughs of the enclave's trees. A structure sturdy enough to withstand the oncoming Winter, yet one which so too refrains from being overly obtrusive in an ecosystem which is home to so much life. Nearby, Stellar Bears chatter amongst themselves, urging one another to make haste in their foraging before hibernation, and overhead, birds sings songs of migratory patterns and journeys to places which Asura wishes he might be able to map and identify. ] —and while you have my gratitude for making the venture here, Alucard...

[ Leaves crunching beneath bare and taloned feet, Asura bridges the distance between himself and Alucard to stand abreast of the other man, golden-scaled wings folding comfortably over his shoulders so as not to serve as an imposition. ] ...I also must ask you: why did you say yes?

[It's interesting, having a reputation that has nothing to do with Dracula for the first time. Alucard has found himself ultimately anonymous in this world, save for the fact that some people have begun to understand him as more than a slightly comptetant architect. There is such a thrill in that information - something he'd never share with anyone, not even Trevor or Sypha - and it's what has driven him out into the brilliant autumn.

He's always liked the season. As a child, that meant long nights when his father was around more. As an adult, he learned to forage and knew that autumn was the most important season. To not gather amid the riot of colors was to risk oneself during the winter, a matter categorically unacceptable.

So Asura's invitation? It was an easy yes. A commission rather than a voluenteering of services, even if there was no payment. There was pride in being asked, even if Asura might as well be his exacting opposite.

Looking at the intended area, the considerations are many. A challenge like this is new and wonderful, and Alucard already has pages of notes filled in about the particulars.]

Quite simply, it's a challenge and a chance to refine my skills.

[He turns another page, still scribbling in the notebook.]

How many did you envision, by the way?

[Jin Guangyao most certainly does not look like he belongs here, with his golden robes, slim figure and that polite, if self-assured, bearing. Even without any particular expectations, Asura isn't quite what he had in mind when it came to talking politics... in fact first impressions were of a more jovial Nie Mingjue. But he gives no sign of being concerned about it.]

I had been told I might find Asura of the Mirrorbound Council somewhere around here, and I couldn't help overhearing the name. My apologies for interrupting. My name is Jin Guangyao. [He bows a little in introduction, though keeping his hands folded within his wide sleeves in front of him.] I've been hoping to find someone from the Council to speak with. When you're finished here, would you be willing to sit down and talk for a few moments?

[ "A stranger! A stranger! A stranger is here!" warbles a songbird from its perch atop the treehouse balcony, its chirruping trills fed through the auto-translate of Asura's divination spell. And as Asura rises from his state of repose (as one does when so summoned by a feathered friend, especially after they've elected n o t to migrate alongside of their brothers and sisters in favor of remaining where the curious, curious, curious Mirrorbound had collected in the forest!), a grin spreads across his lips because—

—while hearing the voices of the local fauna isn't precisely the same as being attuned to all the intonations of the natural world (the Ashen whispers of Autumn, the siren's call of Fate), it's a magic that's returned to him all the same. No longer is Talam so devastatingly quiet; so devoid of of the spirit which Asura has known all other realms to possess. And maybe, juuust maybe, that thought alone ignites in Asura a hope for this dying ~~prison~~ world to prevail against the Cwyld, the sentiment held cloistered in his furnace of a chest.

But all that aside, there's still the matter of receiving the stranger which Lelia (the songbird) has alerted him to. Let's get going, then, he murmur-rumbles, grabbing the nearest beverage available (yeah, that sure is whiskey, isn't it) to offer to a guest before exiting out, onto the balcony. And after that? It all happens in swift succession: a tap of taloned fingers against his shoulder (indicating that Leila should abandon her current perch in favor of a better one: him), the unfurling of his draconic's wings, and a swift and powerful glide to the ground below.

His landing places him between the treehouse and the river which flanks it, and also conveniently in close proximity to the woman (a Mirrorbound? has he glimpsed her face somewhere before?) he greets with an easy incline of head and a swaggering: ] Yo.

[ "Yo! Yo! Yo!" Lelia sing-trills, birdsong to the stranger's ears, and a riot to Asura's own. ]

Edited 2020-04-07 03:24 (UTC)

( it is a memorable face, to be sure: milk-pearl pale skin that gleams shimmering rainbows whenever she shifts under the light, high cheekbones and exaggeratedly sharp features, her eyes black and uncanny large with slit pupils that widen, huge, into starry prisms pushing all that black to the edges with her startle when he lands near her. she has presumably been in the river, still dripping water at its edge and naked except for a light-weight jeweled chain around her waist, the only break in the improbable shining paleness of her a black tattoo wound around her thigh; at asura's unexpected arrival, the leather-wearing beast of a dog that had been sedately making his way toward her breaks into a trot, carrying strapped to his armored harness a bag that is probably her clothing.

putin, weighing probably at least twice what she does and looking very suspiciously like the consequences of a bear and a wolf's wild night out, does not growl but bumps against her hip and thigh with his head ever so slightly ahead of her. between them, one might say.

he is still more immediately friendly than his mistress, who looks as if she's going to mouth that yo back to asura with skeptical incredulity. it hangs in implication rather than fact, river-water dripping from the bottom of her blue-black curls, as she considers this friendliness and how exactly one responds to being greeted with 'yo' by a horned man nearly a foot taller.

if she's ever been greeted that way before, it was probably ironic. )

Hello.

( the voice is heard, occasionally, on the watches; not often. the face, never; perhaps glimpsed once or twice through a crowd from a distance. distinct enough that if he met her, he'd have been sure of it. )

Am I intruding on something, or?

Two, at minimum, each raised to a different height. [ In this endeavor, working with Alucard is no different than having commissioned a Wizened Artist to assist with the plans for a Summer outpost or Winter cottage. When Asura's gaze follows Alucard's line of sight, he imagines the other Mirrorbound readily conceptualizing a design which refrains from speaking too much where there are already so many voices in Aefenglom's Wilde. A tree roost which would remain silent, no different from the hunter which occupied it, keen as Asura himself is when sounding out Cwyldtid and Shades in the forest. ] One, below the canopy. The other, above it.

[ Unless, of course, there should be a better way; an alternative which stands stark in contrast to Asura's initial proposal of separate platforms. And perhaps that is where the challenge lies: the very thing which has Alucard more expressive and alive than Asura's ever before witnessed. True, the other man's countenance remains much the same (cool, aloof), and all hints of vibrancy are subtle, but Asura is someone who resonates with tests of skill and the relentless drive for improvement— it prompts him to look, really look at his companion before he continues on with a roguish grin: ] Could easily make that three, if you're jonesing for a bigger challenge. Creation's a harsh mistress, but the reward in it is one I'm well acquainted with.

When we're back in the city proper, how about you pay a visit to the magitech shop I moonlight at? [ Since aiding the Wilders in their construction of a magitech teleporter, Asura's taken a greater interest in his mechanic's skill, developing projects of his own rather than so simply working to further the orders at the shop. For Alucard, he's certain he could drum up something personalized— whether that's a weapon or otherwise. ] You turned down my offer of an enchantment before, but I'm not about to let you go uncompensated for your work here.

[ The dragon in him is much too proud, and the fae in him rankles at the notion of being so indebted. ]

Jin, then. [ A recently arrived Mirrorbound, judging by both mannerisms (a bow, overly formal, standing in testament to Asura's former suspicions) and dress (golden robes which no tailor in the city could hope to replicate). Intriguing, that someone so new to the world of Talam should already boast a vested interest in both the Council and its members. Though Asura's greeting is nowhere near so flourishing as Jin's own, when it is offered, it is an earnest sentiment: ] Well met.

There's no need to wait, if you join me instead. You can hardly call manning the other side of the door [ gesturing with a gold-taloned hand, Asura invites Jin to stand abreast of him and so too take up the mantle of a second doorman ] interrupting, after all.

Besides, the evening ahead will be long. [ Long, and for all that it will undoubtedly be filled with the good fun of intermittent rumbles between Asura and ~~friends~~ rowdy bar-patrons, what it'll lack in is this: ] And for all that I enjoy the company of the sailors here, I don't know of anyone who's much for conversation after they've had their fill of ale and tavern offerings.

But you... [ Keen and appraising and thoroughly unabashed, the way Asura's eyes rove over the other man's frame. Slowly, one of the reasons why Asura cares to call himself part of the Mirrorbound Council becomes clear: the air about him is one of command, and for all that his temperament is boisterous and jovial, he remains a man with complete control over and awareness of his environment. Turns out, there's a damn good reason why he makes for an excellent bouncer— the Court of Summer is militant and warfaring: there is not a single soul among its ranks who did not once train as a solider. ] You should be just fine. If you wanted to find Asura, you've got him.

[ A grin, a smooth incline of head— ] Now, what's this about needing the ear of a Council member? We've got at least ten minutes.

Edited 2020-04-09 23:21 (UTC)

Feels a lot like the other way around. [ Asura, intruding upon her skinny-dip in the river. The notion that others could (and would) happen upon the forest enclave had occurred to him— the shelter of its hollow and relative proximity to both farmlands and city makes it an ideal getaway for all those in need of a reprieve. Thing is, Asura hadn't counted on receiving someone like Gwen as his very first guest. Workers from the nearby lumber yard? Sure. A farmhand in search of a runaway sheep? More likely than you'd think. A Wilder, checking in to ensure that the Mirrorbound weren't laying the land so recently reclaimed from the Cwyld to ruin? That had already occurred, and Asura had expressly assured that the treehouse, the gardens, and the roost which would soon come to accompany them both would be no more obtrusive than any Wilder outpost.

But then there's Gwen, standing upon the riverbank as her iridescent pearl-shimmer skin glints rainbows and the stuff of Polychromatic Fairest— those fae who were living embodiments of color itself. And it is that thought which causes his gaze to linger upon her bare frame, though notably it is with a look of open wonder, one absent any true intent. Or rather, any intent save for the one indicated by the way Asura raises the bottle of whiskey clasped in his taloned hand. ]

Came down to offer you a drink— [ "Yes, a drink!", Lelia who-now-has-a-visual twitters, hopping upon Asura's shoulder with no fear of either the stranger or the bear-wolf-dog which accompanies her. And maybe, Lelia's absence of care has ~~a lot~~ everything to do with her current perch: Asura who, with all his golden and armored scales, is an imperturbable tank of a dragon. One who stands as complement to Gwen, if only because he matches her in implausible appearance. After all, whoever heard of a creature that displays the glow of their molten heart through a window of the very crystal which their body is comprised of? That's not evolution, that's aesthetics, and it has a hell of a lot to do with the being responsible for forging Asura in the first place. But that's another story. Right now, there's Gwen: ] —and some company, though now I see that you've got that last part covered.

[ With that guardian-dog-Hedgebeast creature of hers. ]

So, should I leave the bottle, close my eyes, and turn around while you get dressed? [ Presuming that her clothes are, in fact, in the satchel strapped to her four-legged companion. If not, there's always the easy alternative which Asura announces in a drawl of an invitation: ] Or are you more interested in going up to the treehouse and warming up after your swim?

Edited 2020-04-09 23:37 (UTC)

Hm. [It's a matter that Alucard simply adds to his ever turning notebook pages. Everything is terribly preliminary, just as the rest of the idea. There is one particular point of clarification that's worth prodding at from the outset though, because that? That does impact the design.] For this particular matter, did you imagine having your above and below platforms be on the same tree, in order to provide the same rough view at different heights, or did you imagine them at different spacing?

[Another page turns.] Being able to have them in the same spot means a more immediate response should something happen, but also the allocation of a small covered area for supplies and the like that can cover both the above and below sections. However, a centralized location means potentially missing matters. Depending on which you'd prefer, my recommendation would be to do three staggered platforms, which would demand each have their own supply area, or to do two sets of centralized platforms a certain distance away from each other to provide better coverage.

[Alucard's eyes finally move from the notebook to Asura himself, calm gold eyes waiting for a response. He has, admittedly, just flung out quite a bit of information. And-- ah yes. Compensation.]

I'd prefer coin. I'm completing a conversion of a home for myself and two others, and have had to vampire-proof certain sections. [AKA: Trevor's getting a full basement apartment that has no windows.]

( two instincts war within her, both of them arguably contrary, and while the first thought is an arguably sound one (it is useful for people to think she has weaknesses she doesn't, and she has spent years obligingly pretending to need a cardigan when she doesn't) it is the second one that comes out of her mouth when she opens it: )

Is there a dress-code for this treehouse? You can turn around if it makes you feel better, but I'm not getting dressed until I've dried off.

( what's a modesty. just as asura's gaze is more interested the whole of her rather than lascivious details, there isn't anything erotically charged about the way she is so bluntly disinterested in putting her clothes back on until she feels like it. wet fabric against her skin isn't pleasant. she was only just in the water, and she wasn't expecting company, and if underwear is a requirement for it then she doesn't need it that badly.

shame about the physical form is some human nonsense that she never really managed to internalize even when she thought she was human; something she tolerates rather than embraces. if there is going to be any upside to being trapped in this backwater, and there aren't many, being able to tell someone she doesn't want to put pants on right now because she's a merrow and fuck you, that's why, had best be one of them.

and she's not actually very good at pretending to understand what cold's meant to feel like. she's just got away with it for years among people who didn't have all of the information to consider she might just not, actually a viable option. )

Do you live out here?

It would have been Sect Leader Jin at one time, but everyone in the sect's lineage shares the same family name. [Or would if his father hadn't been such a randy old stallion that he lost count of how many illegitimate children he had -- but that sure isn't worth getting into.] So please, simply Jin Guangyao is fine. [He corrects a little apologetically.]

[Rather in contrast, Jin Guangyao leans harder towards the calm and peaceful, the kind of man you'd imagine at a table sipping tea rather than on a battlefield. Though not unfamiliar with war, his role in it was considerable less forward; swordsmanship is a good skill to have, but his best skills lie elsewhere.

Nevertheless, he takes up a spot near Asura to chat, as incongruous as the comparison between the two is. Perhaps that's the reason he's smiling... though the reality is to mask the mild irritation that the easiest to follow up Coucil member on had to be a fellow like this. Ten minutes? Standing outside a bar? Of all the things to deal with.]

I'd hoped to hear a little more of the Mirrorbound Council and its work thus far. It's encouraging to know that even from places as foreign to us as we are to them, the local government has been gracious enough to allow at least a few seats.

Were there a dress-code, doubt I'd be allowed in myself. [ Because hey, he's got no shirt, no shoes, and in most modern establishments, that equates to no entry and no service. And that, t h a t is one of the great many reasons why Asura had found himself as co-proprietor of the treehouse overhead— mortal proprieties, they should never dictate who receives a warm welcome, least of all like-minded guests.

Like-minded, because Asura's sure that Gwen took her leave of the city proper for reasons similar to his own: no one ventures this far out into the Wilde unless they're on a hunt (for Cwyldtid), seeking coin (on a Quest), or just need to brace against the shit of a simple fucking day (by taking a dip in a secluded river). And that last tick on the list? It's freeing, if only momentarily so. The first thing Asura learned after escaping Arcadia and clawing his way out of the Hedge is that freedom is fleeting— it never lasts.

That's why: ] When my good friend and I conceived of this place, we did not imagine living beyond the Bright Wall so much as creating a commons for the Mirrorbound beyond its scope and influence.

[ For if something must be fleeting, the very least one can do is make it readily accessible. ]

Call this... a vacation home, if you will. [ One where there is much, much more whiskey than the bottle which Asura boasts in hand. Bridging the distance between himself and Gwen, he sets the bottle down near the riverbank (but does not avert his eyes), and when he rises, his voice strikes an easy, rhythmic drawl when he offers: ] Yours, if you want it to be. Your friend's, too.

[ The Hedgebeast of a dog, he means. The one Lelia's busy twittering at right now. ]

Vampire-proof, huh? [ —with a huff of a laugh, Asura grins, expression softening as his eyes crinkle at their corners with unabashed fondness for the person he speaks of: ] One of my Bonded is a vampire-- I know what you mean.

[ And the kicker is that, back in the realm which Asura calls home, he is a hunter of the undead and all other spooks which go bump in the night. Of course, the vampires he knows—Kindred, ruthless and governed only by their three traditions—make Aefenglom's native species look like lesser ghouls in comparison, but... All in all? It's not so bad a thing. Now the King of Summer's sole sport is hunting Cwyld-beasts and Shades, allowing for him to even befriend the night-walking patrons of Desmodus Mori: vampire bar and cafe.

(And that his Bonded should be one of the very Kindred Asura had hunted before? Well, that's just another unspoken twist of fate.) ]

In the end, in addition to all the black-out curtains and enchantments, the solution was a piece of daylight jewelry. [ An armband, purchased with thought and care, given as a gift (from the hands of two to a shared, important one) beneath clear skies and the fall of meteor showers. ]

So cunes it is. [ Asura, he has enough to pay handsomely and then some, given his magitech craft alongside his work in both Dorchacht and the Harbor District. Always, the King of Summer is on the move, never resting where there is work to be done, or new initiatives to pursue. ] And two sets of centralized platforms.

[ And that choice? He doesn't think twice about it because— ] A signal system can always be put into place if response time is a concern.

[ Which it will be, he imagines, not in the case of defending the forest enclave itself, but communicating the encroachment of Cwyldtid to the neighboring farmsteads. But that is something further down the road, once the foundations for the platforms have been built with his own two hands— and perhaps Alucard's own, if the design of the project alone shouldn't be enough to satisfy the man. ]

Edited 2020-04-14 04:04 (UTC)

[ Sect Leader, huh? A title built on family structure and the pride of birthright and lineage— no matter the world which they hailed from, humans never let go of their peerage. That Jin Guangyao says "at one time" invites both skepticism and curiosity from Asura, a dragon centuries old, who could count on one taloned hand the number of times he'd witnessed mortals willingly cast aside their power and distinction. But for all his interest, Asura does not pry, because there is something of by far more importance to convey to the other Mirrorbound who wears a peaceable, if not gentle, smile. ]

In order to understand the Council, what you first must know is this: the Mirrorbound seats amid Parliament were paid for with blood. [ And it is always blood which fuels change— were it not so, there would be no need for war (and no need for an embodiment of Summer such as himself). ] For committing crimes against our numbers, the whole of a native family line met with the guillotine.

[ Aristocrats, the whole stinking lot of them, keen to bolster their fortune by selling reagents harvested from the bodies of Monsters on the Black Market. That Asura is able to speak of them, the Rathmores, with an even cadence is a feat. Just excuse the sibilant intonations that color the rolling thunder of his voice. ]

Of the twenty that were executed, three were longstanding members of Parliament. [ Twenty, stricken from Talam as an example, and yet justice still hadn't been meted out in Asura's eyes. ] To fill the vacancy, the Mirrorbound were invited to step forward, and the wise will not confuse a pacifying measure for a gracious one.

[ If there is but a single thing which Jin Guangyao comes to know about Asura, it is that he cares not for the mask of pleasantries. Regardless of circumstance, he speaks frankly— candidly, as if to dispel all illusions. Doing any less would be too great a disservice. ]

Edited 2020-04-14 04:19 (UTC)

[It's not more than a few words into Asura's talk that the pleasant smile fades to a more serious and thoughtful consideration. Well, of course this world wouldn't have been so nice as his brother claimed, would it. Politics and bloodshed always seem to go hand in hand.

Jin Guangyao nods slightly at that final statement, an understanding now.]

Although I regret having to raise the spectre of those events again, may I ask what crimes?

[He could hear that anger lying there, and so takes an especially calm and quiet voice, hoping to not get Asura too worked up in the process of his information gathering.]

Putin, ( a slightly distracted introduction, and it is not unusual that she thinks to introduce her dog before she offers her own name, ) Putin Onaritz.

( his friends call him putinka, but she's still making her mind up about asura, the way she regards him measuring. an appraisal.

is it rude to put the bottle in her satchel.

more importantly, does she care about that more than she would like to add to her liquor stash? no. no, and it's going in the satchel, putin obediently remaining on all four feet so that she can more easily access it and tuck the...gift? (she has to tamp down the part of her that thinks offering, pleased, because it sounds like koschei) underneath her clothing. refasten it. both dog and woman tolerate the twittering bird, though putin seems the more patient of the pair; enormous, an obvious guard dog, but well-trained enough to be placid rather than overtly threatening.

it probably helps that more or less everything about him suggests that he could, if he so chose, turn threatening immediately if pressed. except the leather and her lack of it, which suggests she worries more for his safety than her own.

straightening, she says, )

I prefer a club with higher standards than that as a rule, but ye olde sniffer of arseholes over here is less discerning. Can we see in it?

I've ended up converting the entire basement into an apartment. There were one or two small windows, so those had to be addressed first, and everything else has been a matter of layout and furnishing.

[Hardly a herculean task, just one that took careful planning and consulting Trevor about how he'd prefer the place to look. Making sure Trevor was involved was important, because given his druthers Alucard was very much inclined to follow after his father's extra nature.

It never failed to chafe at Alucard the gross irony of Trevor's particular designation, just as it never failed to fill him with relief that the transformation phase was over. The perpetual anxiety was gone, and while an undead Trevor was a generally more even keeled one. That counted for a lot given the past six months.]

Two sets of centralized platforms. [He nods, confirming that much.] How far apart then? I assume that you'd want them to have a little bit of an overlap with their view, but that will be determined by the visibility on the lower levels.

[It's making a ven diagram, one that has the potential for trees and whatnot to get in the way at the lower levels.]

[ Well known beyond the Bright Wall, the King of Summer who routinely embarks upon Cwyld-culling expeditions for simple love of the Wilde (and the love of the hunt). And with construction of the treehouse so recently completed, what better way to celebrate than with a foray into the forest deep, sounding out the Cwyldtid and Shades which stood to infringe upon the peace of the very sanctuary which he had built? Overhead, clear skies promise fair-weather conditions. Underfoot, the terrain remains yielding but not sodden from the earlier rains, ideal for the tracking of beasts. And the sound of rankling contention between the Wilders who monitor the forest's treeline and a Mirrorbound who is familiar to Asura's eyes...?

W e l l, that just promises good company for the hunt ahead, because let this be known: the Crimson King is ever the opportunist, and where he can interfere with a Mirrorbound barred entry to the Wilde on account of being without a bond, he most certainly will. ]

This guy? [ —tall, pale of hair, looking like he's seen better days? Asura's footfalls slow to a stop right alongside him, Avenger who burgeons with wrath that remains ever at the forefront of the King's senses. ] He's with me.

[ And to illustrate proof of the fact, from the pack on his back, Asura draws a temporary bonding potion (kept on his person in the event of an emergency), and...! Clasps Avenger's shoulder with one taloned hand— a hand which is by far more draconic than the other man is likely to recall, but that's a discussion for the road ahead.

Right now, it's up to Avenger to sell this. Make this happenstance meeting read as believable.

Play along the curl and squeeze of Asura's fingers seems to say, though his countenance remains nothing short of gregarious, a grin sweeping across his features as he assures: ] I'll take responsibility for it, if he's not returned back to the city in one piece.

[of course they'd have ways to measure if someone had a Bond or not. of course, it wouldn't be that easy, and he could make a break for it, but that would lead to more problems than it solved. he just wanted to go in and hunt, to take down something and productively release the agitation in his chest, but it was "too dangerous." too dangerous, for the Count - he could have laughed if he wasn't so annoyed at the whole situation.

he hears Asura before he sees him, but the hand on his shoulder still sends a ripple of invisible tension through him, something he breathes through to latch onto the chance given. one way of outright slipping past the Wilders' grasp and maybe getting what he set out to do.]

Took you long enough. They didn't believe me when I said it'd all be under control out there.

[the potion and Asura's presence pacify the scouts, who in all are just doing their duty and nod so they can depart and get back to keeping an eye out for danger, instead of wayward Mirrorbound. it's when they're definitely not turning back that Dantes speaks under his breath.]

There's nothing you'll need take responsibility for.

[ Perhaps it is fitting, that behind a mirror framed by a crown of iron spear-tips and gold dragonscale, there should be an inferno. A great tide of flame which erupts from the maw of a dragon in chains, each link of metal affixed to the beast's limbs the size of a team of horses harnessed together; their weight fissuring the blackened earth where coils of slack lay— the limited range of motion an almost too-resplendent gift given by the looming figure of the dragon's Keeper.

"Reduce them to ash," the dragon's Keeper commands, its many heads all adrone in synchronicity. Impossible as its appearance, the sound of the Keeper's voice, its layers coiling together in dread consonance which steals all breath from the lungs; hums down to the very marrow of the bones. The intonation alone could have immobilized an army and does, the soldiers populating the plateau below frozen in their tactical formations as dragonfire hails down from the precipice above.

To the enormity and grandeur of a dragon, the soldiers are but matchsticks in tin plate. To the eyes of the woman who plays the role of spectator here, in this memory of a loathsome battle staged by the dragon's Keeper, the soldiers appear differently: survivors of massive charnel pits, they are Ogres fed and grown upon a diet of carrion and bones, their hulking frames a product of their ample rations. Were their Ogres' battalions pitted against any other force, surely their opposers would have been decimated. But not one can scale the cliff to reach the golden dragon; not one can hurl a javelin with enough strength to strike at the beast's molten heart, visible through the chinks and vents of its armored chest.

Passage through the mirror has placed the woman at the hind legs of the dragon, next to its coil of chains. Positioned so aloft, she may choose to continue on in survey of the battle below (a battle which isn't one, regardless of how it is has been set— what transpires now is slaughter), turn to boldly witness the titan of a ten-headed creature which lords over its imprisoned dragon, or...

Set her sights upon the Asura of present, who appears at her side, the tips of his taloned fingers pressed to his chest— there, where bronze skin gives way to gold dragonscale, and dragonscale cedes to the smooth surface of fire-crystal: the chalice which houses the glow of his molten heart.

That the dragon of memory is Asura himself needn't be said.

Instead, grim of expression and eyes never once straying from Daenerys's face, Asura speaks the words (reminds himself): ] It did not end like this.

[ No, he did not remain here, in this world where the atmosphere itself is pulsing and alive with the magic of Faerie and the near-crushing force of Fate. And yet, yet— his Keeper's voice resonates at the back of his mind ("this is your home, my great golden dragon, and you will always return to it."), intensified by the sight of their phantom. ]

Edited 2020-04-15 22:38 (UTC)

[ Nothing at all to take responsibility for, huh? ]

Sure there is— [ Languid and easy as always, the rhythmic cadence of Asura's voice, and where the other man had taken care to speak in sotto voce, the King of Summer seems not to know how to do the same. But then, what he has to say (with a sporting grin and a dangerous narrowing of his slit-pupil eyes) hardly blows their cover. In fact, it only attests to their former charade, for all that Asura is quick to pocket the temporary bonding potion, stowing it away. ] —and it's besting your kill count.

[ Because whether it were for the promise of coin, or for the simple purpose of letting loose and working through all of that tension which had tightened the shoulder muscle beneath the warm palm of Asura's hand, Avenger intends to hunt (for what other reason might anyone be so keen to venture into the Wilde's depths?), and such a thing is done best in pairs. ]

So what's your weapon of choice today, friend? [ Uh oh. Looks like you're stuck with your rescuer, Avenger, because Asura's totally psyched about this. ] I can conjure up a complement to it— go distance, if you're short range. Go brawler, if you're still all about the shadows.

[ Which still seems to be the case. The shadow thing, that is. Doubtless, that Avenger wished to fuck right off into the Wilde and go unnoticed by a single soul. Too bad that his wrath is a big smoldering beacon for Asura (too bad, that Asura gives enough of a damn about his fellow Mirrorbound to interfere— to not let the guy go it alone.) ]

Edited 2020-04-16 03:22 (UTC)

Regret? [ Where the other Mirrorbound makes the attempt to assuage Asura's anger with softened intonations and the balm of their voice, the King of Summer remains untempered, unable to be swayed. Why? Because Asura could hardly wear the crown of the most wrathful season, were he not able to use his anger. Fools allowed for their rage to burn through them, but old warriors knew how to leash it; knew how to make the beast serve them instead. And Asura's countenance, made compelling with enmity and conviction, is perfectly arresting when he speaks next: ] Let none weigh upon your shoulders, for this is a story which must be told and told again.

[ Lest the past repeat itself. Lest the people of Talam forget. ]

The hammer of justice will always find the wicked who infringe upon the freedom of others, and the Rathmores were guilty of that and fouler things. [ Acts, which had been whispered of and discussed in grave undertones within the walls of the very establishment which Asura and Jin stand before now. ] They attacked both the Mirrorbound and Refugee communities of Aefenglom indiscriminately, imprisoning and torturing all those who fell captive to them in the name of self-interest and furthering their prejudiced ideals.

[ Giving pause, Asura looks to Jin, the slit-pupils of his green eyes ever discerning as he remembers that which the other man had asked of him— ] In direct answer to this atrocity, many of the Council's first motions involved designs to better establish both the Mirrorbound and the Refugees of Dorchacht in this city.

[ And it is a work which continues still, even beyond the means of the Council at large. ] Recent proceedings, however, have shifted to the much needed support of the Outer City and surrounding farmlands.

[ With one ~~ear~~ horn turned to the ongoing clamor of rowdy-bar patrons, and the other given to his companion, Asura finds they are not yet out of time. Asks a question of his own: ] Does this satisfy your curiosity, Jin Guangyao?

Edited 2020-04-16 23:50 (UTC)

[ Higher standards, is it? With a huff of a laugh, Asura grins smoother than anything, claws a hand back through the riotous curls of his hair when he answers in the indirect: ]

Haven't rescinded my invitation yet, have I? [ Just in case she thought the ye olde english (turn of phrase, not the malt) might do the trick. And altogether, Asura remains markedly casual beneath her assessment of his person— wise of her, to get a good gauge of any stranger who plummets down, out of presumably nowhere, to extend a courtesy invite to some unheard of forest dwelling. That is, after all, how one too many unsuspecting mortals have become as Lost as can be.

With his offering of goodwill (yes, Gwen, you were right) accepted and parceled away, Asura turns from both his guest(s) and the riverbank, gesturing to the stairwell which winds about the base of what seems to be the oldest tree of the forest enclave, given its size and majesty. And where Asura's golden-scaled wings were once outstretched, the full breadth of their span reached, they are quick to collapse, folding comfortably about his shoulders—

—not for the sake of modesty, but for proximity. He is able, now, to place himself closer to Gwen without crowding her space. And so too is he able to greet Putin, the telltale twine and pulse of Witch's magic permeating the air as Asura casts a spell, the very same which serves as the medium for communication between himself and Lelia (Lelia, who now perches atop one of his draconic's horns, fluffing her feathers).

Question is: will the spellcraft work on formidable bear-dog-Hedgebeasts? ]

Is it true then, Putin Onaritz, are you less discerning? [ An important question, one asked with the all the respect of a full and true name. And while Asura's waiting for a response on that, he beckons for both Gwen and guard-dog to follow him up, up, up those handsomely crafted stairs to the treehouse proper. ]

Edited (htmmmlll) 2020-04-17 02:05 (UTC)

( the extremely droll look she gives him suggests that he is supporting her point rather than making a new one, but maybe he'll catch in that yeah, exactly sort of a look is the total absence of it having even entered her head that her phrasing could have done it. which it probably could have, were he a more delicate type, but he doesn't look like one and while gwen is capable of tempering herself (a little) in company she thinks it's necessary for—

he isn't that company, and it is fucking rare she bothers when she's in that company. as much as she prefers to be rude on purpose, it's not as if it's unusual for her to discover after the fact that what felt friendly to her landed with sharper claws on the other end. and she bristles, immediately, stepping between asura and putin when she feels not warned for magic in the air, and near her boy,

it works. that putin declines to respond is a choice, not the absence of an ability, but asura might take that affable, patient placidity for a no. he is not less discerning than his mistress; he is probably moreso. what he is, however, is substantially less reactionary, bumping his head against her hip to guide her backwards, a little, before she can get so much in asura's face that it Becomes Something. )

We'll stay down here, actually. You cast another spell on my dog without asking my fucking permission, I will—

( putin's heavy head pushes at her, so she doesn't say smash that fucking bottle over that flappy fucking bird, but modulates it down to, )

—become unfriendly.

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