Open and Closed Prompts

[notbert]

Who: [Post Orientation] Elidibus + ??? (Open)
[House Hunting] Elidibus + ??? (Open)
[Western Residential, Riverbank] Elidibus + Lahabrea (Closed)

When: 12/29 ~ 12/31
Where: Aefenglom, Various Locations
What: Newly arrived, calling himself 'Ardbert'. Faithfully followed by a large, grey feathered bird-lizard.
Warnings: Diplomacies. Half-Truths. Fish.





  _I. Post Orientation - Coven Courtyard - Open_

[Orientation. Approximate time spent from mirror arrival to building departure: ...Adequate to address the most superficial priorities, Elidibus supposes. Explanation, followed by measuring, followed by charitable offerings in the form of housing and basic necessities. And what was charitably called a 'communication device'. He had allotted a small portion of his attention to memorizing the information this 'Coven' offered. The rest he spent formulating his next real course of action.

Without hesitation he'd called himself Ardbert. Precious few people here would know any better and there really wasn't any reason to reveal his true name, now was there? If the Coven were to be believed, anyone that might care about 'Elidibus' would be as blind and deafened as the Ascian currently felt.

No reason to give anyone an advantage by blurting out the full truth, now was there?]

Gwee?

[This... sound was frustratingly familiar. The gray-feathered amaro that had somehow followed him through the blasted mirror squatted beside Elidibus and gazed inquisitively at him. So far it had shown no sign of ever moving more than the span of distance needed to properly follow the hyur body's pace. Not unless it had been given a bit of space and food to remain while the Emissary went through 'Orientation'. An old halter had been magically reshaped by a helpful stable attendant and Elidibus did hold the end of this. But it was hardly needed.]

We'll seek shelter soon enough.

[Abruptly he stops himself, momentarily letting his eyes close. Right, he's barely arrived and he's already speaking to animals. The amaro shakes her head, dislodging a faint wisp of snow settling in the feathers and Elidibus breathes out a trail of vapor, telling of the chill in the air. It's cold. Aether can no longer be flicked around to make him indifferent to such mortal concerns. While he's fortunate this body comes with clothes and gear made of fur and leather, gloves and warm layers, it's not perfect. The massive war axe strapped on his back was definitely not helping anyone keep warm. It's an instinct to make a gate, to teleport, to simply drift out of the body and leave its frailties behind and get a proper look at this world... again. Of course, none of this happens. Not even a fleeting shadow of it.

Blinded, deafened and sealed. This is suffocating.]

Why did I end up here?

[Words probably heard countless times over. And yet the man seems to expect some sort of comprehensive answer to manifest. Maybe, just maybe, he spoke aloud just to see if someone would answer.]



 _II. House Hunting - The Haven - Open_

[The Haven is the place Mirrorbound are sent to find free shelter. Free furnished shelter, even, all thanks to the magnanimity of the city's governance. It's a place to start anyway. Or at least to go through the motions expected of a refugee. Elidibus had no reason not to display complacency, along with just enough flustered response and confusion to keep the Coven from thinking he had any sort of dangerous plans.

Well, he doesn't. Not yet, as the jury's still out on what would be the best course of action. At the end of the day, the Emissary might well decide the best course is to follow the party line while pursuing his own agenda. How far that goes is anyone's guess. But when one is literally a prisoner in one's (borrowed) skin, you make doubly sure you have explored all your options. And Elidibus is nothing if not meticulous in pursuit of the best choice.

Right now, the mission is to look at a few listed addresses. Whether or not he would have settled for an apartment is made moot by the beast trailing dutifully behind him, hardly needing the halter lead held in the hyur male's hand. The grey feathered amaro was meant to be a mount and absolutely not suited for apartment life. Cottages in the district were occupied. One person and a mount might be a bit much for the next size up, but at least the possibility was offered.

The next address could be a few options:

An empty, ordinary home next door.

A place with an open room available and occupants willing to put themselves on a list for the government affairs to reach out to.

It could be the wrong address. He is, after all, new to the city. Just one lone man, clad in fur and leather gear, massive axe strapped to back and a gray feathered bird mount following behind.

....Honestly, probably not as alarming a sight as that sounds, here.]


_III. Western Residential District, Riverbank - Closed - Lahabrea_

[A brief amount of time has passed. Maybe a night, maybe a few days. This time has been spent well. First finding shelter, obtaining some necessities for the mortal body. Stabling the amaro. Useful though the beast may prove to be in getting around, there's still need for a proper saddle (most decidedly a luxury) and in some cases, it would stand out. When you want to explore with discretion and not have everyone you pass by stare at the exotic creature, you leave the giant gray-feathered flying bird at home.

Elidibus is not searching for something concrete. What he wants is knowledge. Right now, knowledge of the city's layout is the primary goal. What paper maps can't tell you, such as oddities or populace movements or acceptance. How the city flows. He's no less blind than the day he arrived. But in his travels, on foot no less, he seeks to accustom himself to this too.

It's best to know his limits in all matters. Not just the ones he wants to know, such as this new world's form of magic.

Travel, rest and watch and study. Travel some more. Anyone that could have bothered to watch the man for hours and was good with patterns would probably notice a very planned out way of travel. There's nothing haphazard about his journey, since the goal is to be most thorough. But on a smaller scale, Elidibus takes care not to seem too specific. Talking to people, laughing with them. Bartering a couple cune scraped together for a simple stall's meal. He's exploring, not spying.

All things have their limits. Perhaps not Elidibus the Ascian. But the mortal body he's been tied to does. Along the banks of the river, there's one long rest while finishing the bread and meat pie (mostly crust to be honest) and cup of tea in crudely fired pottery. It's not the greatest, but it'll give him the energy to get home.

One last idle look along the banks of the river draws him up short and his eyes narrow. He might not be able to see as he should, but it's sharp enough to catch a glimpse of something his subconscious says he must absolutely pay attention to.]


 _IV. Wildcard_

Looking for connections. Throw something my way! Or DM me and we can talk. This man enjoys studying all possibilities he can get his hands on before coming to a conclusion. (OOC: Will match post format!)

Comments

[fuelingfire]

Riona settles on her own selected cushion, setting out the mugs for the tea and distributing appropriately. But she pauses as Elidibus works on describing his world in a way that strikes her as strangely disjointed. She studies him for a long moment, silent, obviously weighing if it's appropriate to pry in the first half hour of meeting someone.

Probably not.

"... If it's difficult to talk about, you don't have to. We don't want to bring up painful things just to soothe some curiosity. It sounds like you've been through quite a bit." The glance she shoots at her husband may be there to forestall any further prying questions; Ann's are less likely to be laser-focused unpleasant given her sudden recent fixation on beasts and axes and boots.

Meanwhile: plates.

Ann is happy to help herself to crickets AND interesting salad that is surely not taco, and thoroughly mix them together. "Like adventures. Maybe those aren't sad!" Adventures, unfortunately, are very often sad.

Samuel works on his own lunch as well, but more salad than cricket, they're a treat, not the main course. "You know, Ardbert," he says thoughtfully, fishing out a crunchy bit of maybe-tortilla and studying it for a moment. "Our neighbor, he doesn't socialize much and we respect his privacy, but we've had him over a time or two. He'd described his world as broken too, he did. Now I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I wonder if maybe it's the same sort of place. I'm not sure how you'd go about asking without risking a fight, I sure don't, but it makes a man wonder, it does."

[notbert]

It really is.... surprisingly difficult. Even Elidibus blinks when he realizes this. For a moment, his expression might even be honestly grateful when it comes to changing the subject. Adventures... yes, they can be sad. And there comes a moment where he falters again, trying to think of something, anything he might prevail upon.

Of course he utterly rejects borrowing from THAT Warrior of Light's exploits.

But there is food. And this is not an opportunity to pass by. Elidibus is cognizant of dietary needs for mortal flesh and how to provide. Basically. But new worlds taking away his gifts means he can no longer simply wave a hand and conjure food. It also means new foods. What can and cannot be eaten by his body needs to be tested and... well, two categories are presenting themselves along with tea. With the harpies obviously cognizant of non-harpy guests, he's willing to test both 'obviously hume food' and 'not generally consumed except as last resort or delicacy'. Who knows, maybe it is normal here, even for non-avians.

Crickets? They are very tiny, for one. Crunchy. Sweet from the glaze. Tiny bits seem to get stuck in teeth. There might have been a small liquid 'pop' from the main body. Elidibus isn't terribly sure how to categorize the rest of 'taste' and has no mental aversions to the insect. Another one is bitten to repeat the experience. Largely the same, other than size and glaze volume. The body doesn't appear to be rejecting it, though he knows he may have to wait a little. He does offer, "These are generally larger, where I'm from." Much, much larger. He might even glance at Ann and hold up his hands, palms facing one another. And then moving further, and further apart before fingers flick to indicate a sizeable portion of the room.

Yeah, that big. This.... is an O.K. tale to remark upon and should help sate the child.

The salad that absolutely isn't taco still has familiar bits. Ones that look and smell like cheese and lettuce and tomato and meat which should not cause any troubles and would probably not interfere with recognizing issues brought on by the crickets. Mid bite, he stills as Samuel brings up the dragon neighbor. His world is broken too. And he wears robes and a mask. Elidibus would not ever admit it until it's plainly set in front of him that one of the Paragons could sucuumb to a transformation, locked away powers or no. But not all of the Convocation was.... intact. And the lost could well appear. And if the mask itself had not been red, well. Many of the numbers were barely recognizable. So many pieces yet to make whole.

It is clear this subject interests their guest very much. Though he remains calm, taking a moment to drink from the cup of tea-- which is certainly pleasant and warm-- and mentally rolls over his mind a list of the Ascians he does remember by name. Not nearly as many as he should. Wait, name. Not number. "I wouldn't want to jump to conclusions either," he assures Samuel. "You mentioned he told you a name. Perhaps, if it's one I recognize... If you would oblige me?"

[fuelingfire]

As far as Ann is concerned, Elidibus just described a room sized cricket. This is in fact to a child an absolutely enormous bug, and she can't quite divorce the idea from dinner, not something potentially incredibly hazardous. "..What do you DO about them that big??" Kill them and make boots-- no, bugs don't make good boots do they.

"It's best I don't," Samuel says apologetically, visibly drooping. "I know how hard it is to not use a name when it's given, I know. I've been there, I have, and you seem like such a nice young fellow. I don't want anything to happen to you just because of a slip up. Just a slip up. It would be terrible." There had been lessons learned, not so long ago, about said slip-ups, and those were lessons best not repeated on someone else. Especially someone so friendly and nice as Elidibus surely was. "And then there'd be the city guards to deal with and ... oh, it's best to not know unless he tells you, it is. He'll be in a better mood once we have the no trespassing signs back up, surely!"

[notbert]

Bugs are big. Well, of course there's regular sized bugs as well. But those aren't nearly as interesting. Or as lucrative for job levelling with side-quests. He winks at Ann and crunches down on another glazed cricket as if that's the answer instead. Of course you can make meals out of them!

Elidibus suppresses a sense of impatience with Samuel. Of course the mortal is going to fuss at him like this. Mustering a sense of calm disappointment, the Emissary nods. "I'd be willing to take the risk for the sake of knowing, but... I won't push you. Perhaps there is something still to be recognized about his appearance."

It's only right that such a nice young man would be worried about whether this is a person he knows. Perhaps one of the companions he spoke so poignantly of. And.... if that companion were in despair, would it not be fitting that he'd want to help, in some way?

The crickets do not seem to be poison to the host body. So the portion of salad and insects which he doled out onto his plate are finished. He had not taken much and the meat pie he had earlier had been filling enough, so he won't starve. But Elidibus shows no sign of taking more than he needed to conduct his investigation. One might think of it as being polite to his new acquaintances, not to take larger portions. Refills on the tea will be acceptable. The body seems to enjoy the warmth pouring down his gullet after all that time outdoors.

Ah yes, about those signs. It seems like getting near enough to replace them is going to be the only 'diplomatic' way to get closer. "I suppose we'll need some tools to make sure the signs stay put." Setting down the empty tea cup, Elidibus will of course wait for his hosts to finish their meal, but it's clear he's finished on his end.

[fuelingfire]

The harpies are not overly quick about it either, meals are apparently to be savored! "I've a hammer downstairs," Riona volunteers, as matters of fixing signs arises. "There's likely some nails left as well, and I believe we have ... one of the signs."

Things get picked up but not put back! It's just so easy to get distracted.

In fact, it does look like Ann and Samuel might be at this a while longer, so she rises to her feet, setting her cup aside. It's obvious Ardbert's finished, and making him wait forever surely wasn't a good idea. He likely had places to be, and has already volunteered his time! "If you'd like, I'll go and fetch them while these two slow-pokes finish up, and we can get you on your way again." Her smile is brief but no less genuine for it. "Not that we mind company of course, you may linger as long as you wish."

And then she all but disappears down a set of stairs that surely lead to the basement.

[notbert]

Ah yes, a hammer. Nails and even one of the signs. And one of the harpies willing to not press the matter of eating more. This.... can work in Elidibus' favor. Especially since it seems he won't be allowed to get as close as he'd like, if he continues to use the creatures as shields to prevent the dragon's wrath.

Once Riona's footsteps recede down the stairs, Elidibus looks at his plate, than at the meals of the remaining harpies. "I think I'll head out and look for some of the other signs. The more we get up, the safer the area will be." Clearly he does have limited time to be helpful, at least today. One might expect that he'll only traverse the region between the harpies' home and the place where they stopped him.

Surely he'll only do that, right?

Ann might have wanted to follow him. There was, after all, the promised piggyback ride. But Elidibus knows there is a strong chance Samuel will keep her back, to finish the meal. As a proper parent unit should. This too, would work in his favor; though he probably hasn't escaped his fate fully. One day, Ann will no doubt come for her due.

Getting up, the Ascian heads over to the door, pausing only long enough to fiddle at the rack by the exit. Yes, he's going to go search for signs.

With an axe.

Well, you wouldn't expect him to leave his weapon behind where an overly fascinated child might hurt themselves, right? Surely it has nothing to do with meeting the dragon, in any case.

[fuelingfire]

"Wait, I'll come too!" Of course Ann is reluctant to leave her new hero on his own, something exciting might happen! But as Elidibus expects, before she can get too far, she's settled back down by a faintly disapproving sire.

"You just finish up your lunch, Ann. We'll make wings once we're finished and catch up in plenty of time, we will." The nice part about being able to fly: they're not stuck on the ground and can indeed catch up VERY QUICKLY. And although he has the impression that maybe Elidibus isn't going to just go looking for signs, by the steady, measuring look the Ascian is given, he also ... doesn't actually try at all to prevent him from getting his axe or preparing to leave. "Just mind the path, and stay off the docks until we get there, until we're there. He's not a bad sort but there's safety in numbers, there is."

Downstairs is a small clatter, a bong of what sounds like a large pot hitting the floor, and a twittering tirade of fury against Someone who Put A Pot There. There's enough noise to suggest she's just fine.

The early afternoon sun, and promise of mysteries, await.

Lahabrea hasn't actually gone anywhere either, though he's managed to collect himself two more fish, a stick (which is now on the shoreline), and an attentive seagull.

[notbert]

Ah, Samuel is astute, Elidibus will give him that. But since the harpy seems to respect his decision, however discreetly, so too will the Ascian offer respect by deigning to respond to the implied cautions.

"I'll keep your words in mind, Samuel. And I intend no action that would endanger you or yours." Slinging the axe across his back again, the Ascian is only given brief pause at the sound of the large pot clanging and Riona's chirping complaints. He smiles a bit and leaves.

The moment seen as a further useful distraction? Relief that Riona's okay? Choose whatever makes more sense. He will not mind. The door closes behind the figure of the warrior.

Should he be surprised the dragon is still there? Honestly, Elidibus couldn't say. After stepping on the path and beginning his journey along the bank again, he looks around in a way some might interpret as searching for signs of... signs. The Ascian is really looking for signs of witnesses or more like anyone who might try to interrupt him again. He doesn't rush, but his stride is of one who has a determined course to see through.

He doesn't immediately do something so brazen as go all the way to the docks. But Elidibus will be coming closer than he was before. This time without the harpies to stop him in his tracks, the 'warrior' is clearly going to cross a line at some point well before the planks are reached.

One of those lines may well be the regard he turns upon Lahabrea. Pausing, still on the path, but arms crossed and standing. Watching. And possibly waiting to see if his presence alone warrants the dragon's action. Add Ascian-hosting Ardbert shell to Lahabrea's list of fish, stick and seagull.

If merely stepping on perceived property doesn't, however... then yes, Elidibus will move forward, to step on the dock. With, no doubt, a pointed creak of wood under boot and weight.

[fuelingfire]

They WILL be along, when things are sorted out at home. Surely Elidibus understands the danger of trespassing in this city, where witches and monsters abound! Anyone could take offense, and things could get dangerous!

Less dangerous than what it might be in another handful of months, in this case. Though certainly a dragon, Lahabrea's not gained the full size, strength or power that could one day make him an active threat to near anyone but another dragon or someone armed with a squirt bottle. He didn't even have his wings or horns in yet. But he is still inevitably alert for those that venture onto his property - he was going to have to build a REALLY BIG WALL to prevent further trouble in the future. Movement betrays Elidibus more than sound, though eventually there's the crunch of boot on pebble and he turns his head slightly to once more gauge who's trespassing, and whether or not it might be an accident.

Accidents could, occasionally be forgiven.

But it's the same marauder as before, the one the harpies had warned away. He's certain the stranger had been warned, and he has no idea at all who he's contending with - the Warriors of Darkness were someone else's project. As was the fall of the First. Heard about, yes. Seen? No. And Elidibus, of all people, actually taking a vessel? Of all the possibilities, it's not one he's even remotely considering.

What Lahabrea is considering is that someone who's been warned off has returned, and that is an insult that would not be tolerated. He sets his pole down and uncoils in a slow ripple of red and brass on black from his comfortable, warm spiral in his own tail like a snake unwrapping itself, mood rapidly darkening. There's no hesitation in turning to confront this unwanted guest, the bright pale gold feathers along the edges of his tail flaring to their widest in a slow, irritated wave hindered only slightly by the robes he wore. Not only does he have an unwanted guest, the idiot dared turn up armed. This required chastisement.

[notbert]

Yes, the same one as before, with a weapon and an utterly confident demeanor, considering he's toying with the temperament of an Ascian turned dragon. But he can't possibly know about the former bit, can he?

There is no denying that he must realize by now what a dragon is. Yet still, Elidibus approaches. Stops, within speaking distance perhaps, but certainly as the robed figure begins to slowly uncoil himself and stand up. And up.... and up. The Ascian has to cant his host's head to one side and crane his neck a bit.

This.... strikes an oddly familiar cord. It's a shame he can't remember why. No matter. Because any bemused ponderance on the nature of a familiar 'look upward' gesture is immediately replaced with a wave of pure anger. Something that burns clearly on the mortal countenance. Elidibus doesn't even attempt to hide it. This is...

"So." The single word is severely punctuated. Elidibus drops his arms loosely to his sides. He's not reaching for his axe, but a hand does close into a fist. His voice is still Ardbert's, but oh the words speak more of something no mortal should be aware of. "A named Ascian decides they are worthy of the Speaker's seat, because this world deigns give them a modicum of power and a convenient shroud to hide behind. I'm disappointed in you." Machinations against mortals are one thing.

But a far different affront there is, to dare step into the shoes of one of the fully Unsundered. "Has this world corrupted your mind so much that you no longer know your true place?" Which seat of the Convocation would dare take that which is not their own?

Yes, on occasion, Elidibus can be wrong. Especially in his current state of hidden instability and uncertainty, as he struggles with side effects of his own abduction.

[fuelingfire]

Elidibus stops in his chosen spot, but Lahabrea does not. There were few indeed that should know the things that Elidibus speaks of, and that might have been a flag to anyone else to proceed with caution because things might not be what they seem.

Lahabrea does not often proceed with caution, especially not when otherwise irritated already. This isn't a voice he recognizes, and they all can manipulate a host's tone effortlessly ... so this is what? Some mortal playing at secrets he had no right knowing? There were more than one Warrior of Light, to understand others' complaints and statements, but he'd known only the one, that irritating little miqo'te vampire he intended to see put down sooner or later ... this didn't mean there weren't others.

Or this was one of his own brethren. Either way, there were only two he felt had any right to even begin to take that tone with him and neither of them wore a guise that looked like this one of late. So someone else dared. Not only does it rankle his own delicate pride and easily sparked rage, it grinds up against the dragon as well, igniting indignation into a blaze of singleminded mania. Maybe not only because of the words themselves, from a stranger's voice.

Maybe also because it echoed his own doubts and shame. There's nothing worse than having one's own humiliations broadcasted.

There is no verbal response immediately, just a twist of lips that bare sharp teeth and a slight quickening of that measured stride; he doesn't even slow until he's right up on Elidibus - there's time to reach for that greataxe for some measure of defense but Lahabrea's already moving, reaching to intercept and rip the thing right out of the other's hands with a strength that an ordinary hyur couldn't hope to match and at the same moment ... stretch out with the other hand for this irritating gnat's throat.

And close with a grip that's barely above crushing, to drag the impertinent being right off the ground and to his somewhat greater height. It's for the best Lahabrea keeps his claws filed blunt, else that might be the end of it in terrible, miserable tragedy right then and there. His senses aren't dulled by exhaustion or lack of meal or the numbing cold, and for the moment he has the advantage over the newly arrived witch.

His fury is a tangible thing. It's hot on his skin, etched in every line of shrouded malevolent rage. The sun glazes the red scales and minute feathers across his hands in an edge of fiery gold, a distant promise of where that heat would lead in time.

"And who are you," comes the low, rasping growl in response, though he's certain Elidibus isn't going to actually be able to respond, "To dare tell me what my place is?" It's the same voice he's kept for a long, long time now. It's not been pleasant to the ears for some centuries, but he never really cared, and now it's hissed between clenched teeth in little puffs of mist in the cold. "How arrogant. How foolish. Did you think me an easy target? Did you hope to see me stripped helpless and weak by this wretched, miserable little star? Do you think I would be so easily beaten? So easily broken? I am still unsundered and I will have your silence or I will have your life!" His grip tightens briefly in a trembling spasm, the crimson banner of his tail briefly lashing back and forth in a vivid angry arc.

The harpies had tried to warn him.

[notbert]

Elidibus does not often err. Even when he does, it is not generally more than a minor setback.

It is unusual when it is this grievous.

The provocation of a dragon and an Ascian. Let it not be said Elidibus didn't expect aggression. Measured steps backward are meant to prepare a defender's stance and smoothly reaching for the great axe on his back would let anyone watching know that the Emissary does not need Ardbert's memories to know how a warrior fights. And the host body is strong enough to carry that weapon as if it were a trifle, so he is certainly stronger than many hyur.

But this is a mortal body and Elidibus has been pushing it, unwittingly, to its limits with ignorance. Only a couple days have passed since his arrival through the Mirror. He's had no time to learn the new magic or adapt to his horrible, deadened senses. The body is deprived of sleep, for how much would the Ascian thought to have gotten, when matters must be attended to? He has fed the body, but intermittently, having not quite learned the knack of regular meals. And of course the cold of winter and long hours of exposure while walking.

In short, for a more experienced, rested, faster and stronger creature, Elidibus is currently easy prey. It is a lesson he will remember well.

The axe is wrested from his grip, causing his upper torso to tilt dangerously with it. He's not left off-balance for long. Those wonderfully fur trimmed 'beast boots' drag across the ground as he's hauled up by the throat and he begins to learn the meaning of mortal 'suffocation'. Elidibus finds his hands quickly scrabble at the iron grip of the dragon's hands, trying to lever even a finger away. A strangled, hacking sound emits from the body's mouth. The already horribly lacking vision begins to cloud even more.

Normal people might find the desync in thought and experience very alien. The Ascian is a bit panicked about why the second set of sensation is present at all.

Then, the creature speaks. Elidibus's eyes widen. The realization that he had defaulted to Ardbert's voice rather than mimic his own is a secondary thought quickly washed away with absolute shock. The mouth opens and closes, as if seeking to speak words. What will be to his utter embarrassment later is only squeaks and gargles spew forth. There is no mimicry happening. His body's chest is burning (with the need for air) and his leg and feet kick the air in need of purchase.

This cannot be. The dragon's voice is unmistakable.... no, voices could be mimicked. The attitude, the tone and the passion. Is it true?

[fuelingfire]

It was almost insult to injury, having this unknown even insinuating things he'd already thought, wondered and feared. It was one thing to think it on his own - to have another voice it is absolutely intolerable. He had borne the burdens of the indignities this place had visited upon him poorly, but he had borne them, as it stripped his power away as if it were nothing, then began twisting his vessel into some shape he no longer recognized, then dared encroaching upon his mind.

But he knew his true place. He knew what he SHOULD be doing, far from this miserable star and its parade of snow.

The weight of an entire armored hyur should certainly be enough to be tiring, but it isn't. Not yet. And as Elidibus scrabbles at his arm, finding little purchase on the hard scales there, his snarl turns slightly into something more like a smile. Something like it. But not quite.

"Ahh, isn't that better. No words, just the piteous little noises of your frail form's final struggles. You won't ever trouble me or mine with such poisonous things again, will you? You won't touch anything that belongs to me .. ever again." What's one death? One well deserved, well earned kill, that would surely summon the guards sooner or later, but this stranger had dared trespass, then dared insult him, he'd simply do the same for ANYONE who ventured so close to his precious things and sought to steal-

No.

That's not right. What does he have to guard besides privacy? This person knows nothing of the tiny cache of jewels, he was not here to take them.

As the seconds tick pass, Lahabrea falls silent, expression shifting again, towards what briefly looks like revulsion before his fingers loosen just enough to let the weight drop from his hand, though not so quickly where this will be comfortable or pleasant, blunt claws dragging along skin. It's still at a height, and the dock is not so overly wide, he knows the interloper is likely to land poorly, and may well fall.. but the water is not particularly deep, nor particularly swift. Cold, yes, bitterly so, but imminently survivable.

Maybe it was too close to the full moons still. Maybe he hadn't shaken off as much of the beast as he'd thought. It was one thing to kill for treacherous words, it was another to do it for such animal reasons.

"I will not be so merciful in the future."

[notbert]

Saved perhaps, by Lahabrea's own hubris against the matter of dragonish instinct. A mortal's face certainly turns interesting shades when it can't receive oxygen or proper blood flow. The kick of boot and clawing of gloved hands has some strength, but it too is slowly faltering. The dragon need only hold out against the assault of one tiny mortal and... for an Ascian of his standing, that should be no difficult feat, yes?

Other, interesting traits to know about the mortal form. After such a short time deprived of oxygen and proper blood flow, it does not do well maintaining balance and weight. It immediately tries to prioritize getting air back into its system. That would be the whistling, ragged sucking noise in Elidibus' ears. It is shortly followed by a very curious jelly feel in the limbs- his legs- breaking his fall back to ground level. And then a smash of cold to the head, nearly providing clarity.

That he realizes, is what the river feels like. How alarming, when its shock almost knocks him out. How very alarming that he finds himself caught in the panic. The flow of the river is indeed slow and he would be able to kick himself toward shore easily under normal circumstances. But the water is dragging at his gear and the limbs still haven't recovered from strangulation... no. He will not let this occur.

Sheer willpower is imparted, forcing muscles to work together and ignore the cold, icy water seeping through the layers. To break head above water again and find a shallow, slogging quite ungainly to the water's edge as a sodden lump of hyur misery.

Ice blue eyes are cast up to the robed figure who had placed him in this predicament. The anger that had burned the moment he caught sight of the distinctive red mask's design had been left behind in the icy river. In its place is a cold lump that has nothing to do with the creeping chill of a mortal body becoming dangerously cold.

Recognition... no, not despair. But perhaps a touch of fear. Lips that will soon be turning a bit more toward the blue side part.

"La...ha...brea"

It is all he can manage before coughing. This cursed, mortal body and its fallacies. Elidibus staggers onto the bank and falls heavily to one knee, having to slam his hand palm first to the ground to keep from tipping further. He will. Not. Fall.

This time it was not the word he said, but the voice in which the dragon's title which had any significance. The Emissary had put all the effort he could muster into getting just those few syllables out, in a voice Lahabrea will...SHOULD recognize, before the mortal body's distress was too much to ignore further. That second of clarity had taken everything in him to express.

A small amount of water is coughed up and spat to the ground. Don't worry, he's still breathing on his own. He'll be fine.

It is not the Emissary's finest moment.

[fuelingfire]

There is still a measure of satisfaction in watching 'Ardbert' get the dousing he so thoroughly deserves, the coughing, sputtering, wheezing struggle to the shoreline that he does absolutely nothing to aid. Why would he? Why should he? Allowing the unwanted animal that ground constantly against his thoughts to do as it pleased wasn't acceptable, but lending aid to someone justly punished wasn't about to happen either. So Lahabrea does nothing, a dark and unwelcoming shape on the edge of the dock, observing and doing little else, expression fixed into a frown.

Further away, the sound of wings - this altercation hasn't taken terribly long, nor would it take the harpy family long to get themselves organized with hammer and nails and the lone found sign, but their new friend in the river is not the desired outcome here. Not unexpected. Elidibus had been warned, and was still alive to regret that, but interference might prevent things from getting worse!

And there's always the chance it might get worse, when dealing with someone with an uncertain temperament before the changes began.

As Elidibus struggles out one single word, Lahabrea doesn't move. There isn't so much as a twitch though the breeze tugs on his robes and ruffles some of his feathers, damning silence the only response.

Of course. It shouldn't be a surprise. This world was determined to see him face humiliation after humiliation, wasn't it? To lay bare his shame and disgrace and twist it like a knife at every opportunity, to strangle him with the desire to flee, to hide, as if it would somehow erase the knowledge Lahabrea was even here. Never mind in his current state, as much animal as man, stripped of all but memory of what he should be. Who else could stand in a position to point out this visceral failure to maintain his form and very nature but Elidibus? And it was a failure. Emet-Selch hadn't suffered such a degrading embarrassment after all, hadn't been so obviously and visibly displayed as no longer worthy for his seat and his purpose.

Emet-Selch hadn't been so far fallen, so far twisted into something other that he would attack an emissary. Not just any Emissary, but one of their own.

No. There was weakness here, and it did no good to show it. He'd learned that lesson already. There must be no sign of distress, no crack in the façade of grim determination; Elidibus would be obligated to excise it and Lahabrea did not think he could withstand further ignominy. The mask could at least hide the burning shame, and willpower keeps most reaction to little more than an occasional brief lash of tail and the slow clench and unclenching of one fist. Let it look like pride and indignation and not the basest of humiliation.

Riona crashes to the ground in a flurry of wingbeats and a whirl of scattered leaves, feathers slick with alarm. "Ardbert! Are you alright?!"

That's not Elidibus' name.

The other two harpies aren't far behind, but it makes an intimidating tableau, the silent and menacing half-dragon, and the sodden, disarmed warrior.

[notbert]

Still, there is no anger in the gaze looking up at Lahabrea. Not anymore. Anger was for when he thought someone had dare lay claim to the Speaker's seat. This... is revelation. Yes. Yes this world could do worse to an Unsundered than imprison them in mortal cage. Is this fragment of what Emet-Selch had meant?

The silence between the two Ascians is more than enough time for the harpies to catch up. The sound of their wings beating the air and the concern for 'Ardbert' breaks the stalemate. There would be no prevention of this interruption either. But perhaps that is for the best.

"I'm fine!" Elidibus rasps. Coughs. And rasps again. "Just got... a little too close to the edge. And slipped."

He.... slipped.

And clearly, 'Red' grabbed Elidibus by the throat to keep him from falling. The red marks of Lahabrea's hands are very prominent around the warrior's neck.

Well, he's probably just being courteous for Ann's sake, right? Finally after only a brief stumble to keep his balance, Elidibus finds his proper footing. He answered to that name that was not his. So it seems, rare though it is, Elidibus has chosen to adopt an alternate identity. Which needless to say, comes with Ardbert's natural voice, for all it's a little strained.

Though to be frank, The Emissary would rather avoid that very uncomfortable sensation related to speaking altogether, for a time. Much less in his own voice. And what's that odd clattering sound? ...Is his jaw vibrating?

To the native mortal, that would be the beginning of involuntary teeth chattering.

"W-w-wouldn't you c-c-conc-cure, R-r-r-red-d?" Yes. A foolish accident. The second the Emissary realizes his voice is not going to be steady, he snaps the damn thing shut.

[fuelingfire]

It's a testament to exactly how far an Ascian can fall. Being sundered was perhaps a kinder fate.

"Slipped?" She sounds HIGHLY skeptical of this, but she's also not really interested in questioning too deeply, Elidibus is clearly alive and Lahabrea hasn't actually eviscerated anyone, surely that's a good outcome.

Father and daughter also land, and Ann is oblivious to anything but Elidibus being soaking wet, considering this for a long moment before declaring "I'm getting a towel!" and taking back off in a whirr of feathers. She won't be gone long at all, she is a child on a mission.

This matter of slipping doesn't seem like it's going to fly with Samuel, who looks as skeptical as Riona sounds. "Did you throw the poor man in the bloody drink??"

"No." Lahabrea's words are utterly devoid of any kind of inflection, toneless and ... utterly truthful. He did not in fact throw Elidibus in the river. "If I threw him in he would still be in there. He ... did ... indeed fall in." Not helped by being dropped but technically..

Technically..

Lahabrea understands what being cold is like, that insufferable chattering - but he'd figured out keeping his bomb well fed and happy in the fireplace did in fact prevent that from being an issue and the proper thing would be to usher Elidibus inside, strip off all that soggy wet nonsense and see to getting him dry before his frail mortal shell decided to suddenly give up the ghost and die on them all.

"..We need to get you dried off, we do. You'll catch your death of cold, chattering away like that! Ann? Where'd that girl go-"

"To get a towel, Sam. Why don't you come with us, we'll get you dried off and in something a little warmer." Riona's definitely not interested in leaving Elidibus to Lahabrea's tender mercies, it seems. Not with such evidence all over of what passes for 'mercy' already. Ann's already winging her way back, slowed down somewhat by a fluffy blue banner she's bringing with her.

[notbert]

Slipped.

For two people that seemed to have had recently had a great deal of issue with one another, Elidibus and Lahabrea do appear to be on a united front. The Emissary is mildly impressed once more that Samuel is bold enough to speak about the truth all four adults seem to patently understand. He glances at Lahabrea. Perhaps the harpies were not wrong in thinking that they were regarded higher than most mortals by the Speaker. He was being so patient with them.

Though it is true. If Lahabrea had thrown him, he'd still be making his way to shore by the time the cavalry had arrived. Ardbert grins. Sort of. It's an effort at levity somewhat dampened by the uncontrollable parts of mortal condition. He manages to keep his voice steady however, because damned if he's going to sound like that again.

"D-dried off, yes." Mostly won't sound like that again. "B-but as it turns out, Red and I d-do know one another. I'm s-sure he can see to my n-needs." Riona's concern is understandable. But 'Ardbert' seems sure. Very sure, given the steady look he levels on Lahabrea "I wouldn't wish to t-trouble you further over my error."

The spikey brown hair feels like it's stiffening as the topmost locks begin to ice around the tips. Why can he even feel what his hair is doing? And the more he talks, the more discomfort presses around his neck.

That's the swelling, Elidibus dear.

Never fear, though. Ann's efforts will not be in vain. At the very least, Elidibus seems to be drawn toward looking at the banner flown proudly behind the young harpy and seems inclined to await its arrival.

Though perhaps he's just getting stiff the longer he stands still.

[fuelingfire]

The distraction at least of the harpies and their concern makes it easier for Lahabrea to maintain the guise of aloof unconcern. Revealing the reality of the matter in front of Elidibus was unspeakable enough, to bare such shame in front of mortals was altogether forbidden.

"It's no trouble at all, no trouble. Are you certain?" He's not going anywhere right away it seems, even as Ann manages a clumsy nearby landing, mostly unrolled towel clutched in her hands triumphantly. Only the one, she hasn't thought to bring more than that, and in spite of this her prize is offered to Elidibus without hesitation.

Riona continues to observe, quiet, Elidibus' words versus Lahabrea's bearing and what they know of the Mirrorbound dragon. That said red-feathered man didn't immediately refuse any kind of allowing refuge to Elidibus did suggest that perhaps they DID know each other, and some mistake did happen.. but would it actually be safe? Would the axe even help if it was so negligently tossed aside already?

Lahabrea maintains grim silence. Was he inclined to try to bring a visitor to what looks awfully like a ramshackle, decrepit home? Still.. no protest. That was enough of an agreement, surely, in spite of the slow agitation of tail-twitches. The harpies were tolerated, it helped the dragon's insistence he belonged around others, but liked.. liked was harder.

"It's not the right time of year for swimming, silly. And you're supposed to take all that off first." Ann's admonishment is thoroughly disapproving, as if Elidibus had done it on purpose.

This draws a grinding noise, however faint, from Lahabrea, who, truth be told did not want to invite Elidibus in, and the words that would surely follow. Not undeserved, for he had violated more than a few rules of propriety, the whole issue of devolving into an animal aside-- "Come with me." It's not a suggestion, and it seems he's not going to linger, stalking towards the steel-barred door as if some great imposition has been levied upon him.

The sooner it began the sooner it would end, surely.

"You don't have to," Riona says softly, for Elidibus only. "If you're being threatened, we'll do our best to get you away. He'll probably let it go in a few days."

[notbert]

Not liked. Regarded higher. Or tolerated, as it were. The point being, Lahabrea deigned to include them in conversation, after some fashion.

"Very sure." Elidibus manages to successfully lower his body to take the proffered towel. Where to start? Despite any dirt or debris that would have come to stick to the unfurled towel after Ann's landing, the Emissary chooses to try and rub at his head, seeking to end that strange stiffening sensation. Of course, science being what it is only makes it a bit worse the moment the fabric is moved away. He actually winces when the towel is used to absorb water collecting around the soaked lining of the gear's collar.

"Thank you, Ann. And, I will keep your advice in mind." Surprisingly patient with the delivery of assurances. But let there be little doubt that it is because the Emissary still sees use for the family. Riona's soft voice, in the wake of the demanding retreat of the Speaker's figure, is answered with quiet, steadfast assurance.

"There is no threat, Riona. And... we are..." Contemporaries. Allies? "...There is too much history between us to do it the dishonor of leaving it be." Basic truths, all of those words, leaving much of the details unsaid. But the last thing he offers is a full truth, "And I must aid him." For better or worse, whether it be to chastise, guide or support. Elidibus must.

He begins to follow Lahabrea. Two staggering steps before pausing. It seems a momentous effort on his part, but the Emissary manages to lean over and drag the axe from the ground. It scrapes the bank, the sound of stone, grit and metal. "I'll bring back the towel later," he says over his shoulder. Which means he is confident there will be a later for him.

While at first the weapon seems to be more something to support his weight as he moves along after Lahabrea, it is gradually brought off the ground fully, this time to straddle his shoulder. For it would be in poor keeping really, to keep such an unsightly gait.

Rest assured, it will probably not last for long once the next stage of the host body's onset hypothermia manifests. But he'll make it to the dragon's lair and out of sight. That much, he'll be able to take pride in.

[fuelingfire]

They were ... good people, for all that they were monsters. Or maybe because they were monsters, forever divorced from man's foibles and natures. Lahabrea was not fond of mortals of any stripe but there was something in a kindness given undeserved that he felt no need to squash simply because it existed. If all of mortality were as generous as that single bird family, maybe he'd loathe them all significantly less. Still not worthy inheritors but .. better. A hint of what once was instead of merely a mockery of it.

Unfortunate that these weren't native to the Source or shards. The door is flung open and the ascian turned dragon disappears inside, leaving the door slowly swinging closed in his wake. It won't be hard to catch.

Riona and Samuel exchange looks, as if considering that maybe further intervention WOULD be needed, but if this really was some sort of friend of the surly, reclusive dragon, it would surely be helpful in the long run. "...Alright," she says reluctantly. "But if anything happens, you know right where to find us. Don't hesitate, night or day."

The hammer and nails and lone sign remain. It'll be tended to, in the absence of other ones.

There is promise of something other than outside's bitter chill as soon as the door is approached. Lahabrea keeps it warm, though not intolerably so, and an open door allows heat to escape easily. It's a sturdy door, paint chipped and scored and rusted, sturdy and little else. The exterior has certainly seen better days, seeming decades of neglect marring its stone and wood.

Inside is a small foyer and another door, this likewise left swinging open, further warmth coming from within, and the glow of lights. None of the dereliction outside lingers here, tile and wood long since scrubbed clean with vindictive deliberation, the inside door's hinges utterly silent unlike the heavy squeaky monstrosity of a front door. And on the other side, what passes for a great room, the floor wood and scattered with obvious second hand rugs that had seen better days but at least were clean. Likewise the bits of furniture here and there, all meticulously scrubbed - some rennovations were obviously still ongoing by a torn out wall leading to some other room. But there's a fireplace, and a steady fire going, and what looks suspiciously like a small golfball sized bomb rolling around happily in it.

But Elidibus isn't going to get too far on the inside before being seized once again. "What is afflicting me is not contagious, do not fear catching it," is the only low growled warning before he sets to simply and without permission, working on stripping off all that now soaking wet leather nonsense Elidibus is wearing. Depending on how fast the cold set in, fingers might be too numb to see to it himself. "But this must come off, your scolding can wait. Mortal skins bear the cold unwell, and I am no healer."

[notbert]

Elidibus holds up a hand to signal he heard the harpies' words. It's all he can do to keep the body in motion, after all. Stopping would be out of the question at this point. Even the promise heat makes him waver a minute upon reaching the outer door. Don't expect him to clo-- Oh wait. He does close them in his wake. Heat washes over the exposed features, threatening to rob him of his already tattered senses.

The Emissary carefully sets the axe down. And by 'careful', one must have their attention drawn again to the notion that what Elidibus perceives right now is a little... skewed. So it's more like a solid thunk. Hope there was nothing important there by the door.

His river immersion was not very long. So it's safe to say that there are probably some spots that are almost, sort of 'dry' in the sense that the places which aren't have started to gradually wick into those areas. It'll be a very good idea to get that gear off quickly.

Elidibus narrows his eyes, looking a little vexed. "I know you're not contagious. Such matters were explained by that Coven." Absently, he wonders why Lahabrea sees the need to step forward and start stripping the flesh of the outfit, since he's quite capable of doing it on his own. Disclaimer: No. No he's not. Still, the advice seems sound and honest and consistent with the evidence, so there doesn't appear to be a reason to protest the theory. And he's certainly not bothered by being stripped naked. He'll also be helping, though it's true enough that while his aim seems okay, the execution leaves much to be desired.

"It's proving useful even here, for all it is a cage." His voice vacillates between 'Elidibus' and 'Ardbert', though neither set of words come easy from the abused throat. Observation will note that the 'default' seems to be the host's tone. To speak as Elidibus, he must make effort. And so he will likely not talk much right now, whether or not this aligns with agreement to save lectures for later. He does concede one more application.

"Given your experience with a variety of mortal hosts, I would value your insight on the condition of this one."


Not that the Emissary hadn't properly restored it to top condition when he 'borrowed' it. But the past few days, on top of the water dunking, will have left some things to remark upon.

The marks of old injuries, whatever they happen to be, that might have been part of Ardbert's life can be clearly set aside. The gear is removed and there are clothes underneath, naturally. And it's probably not horrible that it's two day's or so worth of being clueless about mortal upkeep. Adventurers likely go through worse. Strain and fatigue would be the most insightful factors, because the dunking in the river probably didn't make the shadows under the warrior's eyes or explain the knot of muscles or creases where Elidibus likely sat down or 'rested' in full gear. Lahabrea's own hand has made the marks around the mortal body's swollen neck. And then remains the chill.

Once it's established by the Emissary that he really isn't capable of getting the fingers to work; effectively being yanked around by Lahabrea's rapid disrobement, he sets about using the towel to work at drying what's exposed. At least the warmth is keeping his hair from icing over now.

But now his hearing is getting worse. And why does the room seem to stretch a little? Pro tip: It's called tunnel vision.

[fuelingfire]

"You'd be surprised what the Coven leaves out." Vital things, apparently, though he's currently not elaborating. Wet leather he can deal with, and it's simply tossed aside, albeit in the broad and general direction of the fireplace. While Ardbert's gear might have been carefully and expertly crafted, Lahabrea simply doesn't care. His bomb however does, and no sooner does a chunk of soggy leather come crashing to the floor nearby than the little creature floats out of the fireplace and towards it, to poke and frown and then flail tiny arms in indignation that something cold and wet is anywhere near its living space. "The condition you needs be worrying about is maintaining a proper body temperature. The rest will see to itself."

This is surely part of his penance for ongoing failure.

Elidibus may be allowed to keep his smallclothes, Lahabrea's not too interested in checking that for dampness as well, but the rest simply has to go, and it's almost like tending to an uncoordinated and sleepy child who has no idea what they're doing but is in some manner trying to help.

There was one benefit to raising an Ascian up from their mortal lives, they still remembered what bodies required in order to keep functioning. When was the last time Elidibus had even bothered to wear flesh and blood, and how long had he done so? Not long enough to leave an impression, apparently, and would probably need some weeks more on his own to work out a routine of keeping it alive. At least in this case more than mild inconvenience shouldn't be an issue, and Ardbert's corpse is directed to sit in front of the fireplace, not so close where scorching is going to be a problem.

"Stay here. Towel anywhere still wet, then put this on."

Put what on?

The tangle of black cloth that drops onto the floor nearby is still warm from Lahabrea's own body, and certainly not sized for Elidibus' current frame, but it would do to help trap what warmth there is and encourage more. If nothing else, the quality is good enough for that, and it is more importantly, dry.

"When you can feel your fingertips without numbness or tingling, call." And where is he going, now without any form of proper robes? ... Elsewhere in the house, it seems, and without so much as a by-your-leave. He wasn't going to run about with nothing more than a shirt and pants on, that was thoroughly inappropriate and he's done enough shameful things for today by dint of mere existing.

[notbert]

"Yes, the Coven's information is lacking." Though it had seemed reasonable to trust that for now, one fated to be a Monster and one a Witch would not change to the other. That the harpies themselves had not seemed unduly concerned for him regarding Mirrorbound 'contagion' seems to support that theory. Elidibus is himself. And that means he probably would not be at all surprised at what the Coven doesn't know. Or is leaving purposefully out. Helpful or not, the Mirrorbound are invaders to this world.

Armor pieces are discarded. Thankfully not in the fire. That would have caused problems. Elidibus does make note of it, idly aware it should be properly laid out to dry. How curious it doesn't seem important right now, to see to the maintenance of such useful tools. Out of an inner lining after the crash of one particular piece, a few objects do scatter or partially emerge. Some local cune, the eponymous communication device. A red mask. Perhaps it goes unnoticed, for a time. There's plenty of red in the layers of leather to camouflage it.

Proper body temperature. Elidibus favors Lahabrea's advice with a serious nod. "Understood." It too strikes a familiar chord. He had noticed an interesting tendency to drift closer to heat sources of late. And all the mortals he's run into lately, talking about the chill and bringing him and the amaro out of it. It stands to reason a sudden dramatic drop would be doubly inimical.

Indeed. Put what on? Elidibus looks up from the instructed toweling to focus on what just fell to the floor. Then to Lahabrea, then to the floor again. A twitch of the Emissary's mouth suggests there was almost a smile.

And few moments pass, with the two Ascians parted to perform separate tasks. Lahabrea isn't stopped. The Emissary continues to dutifully dry his body and yes, for the record the smallclothes come off, left with the armor. One must be thorough. The robe is drawn around his body in the end. Big or not, it's dry and warm. It may not be white, but it's familiar enough.

"Are you certain the voice will right itself on its own?" he can be heard rasping from his warm, dark robe cave. "There is considerable discomfort."

[fuelingfire]

It's merely things to occupy himself, not things that vitally need doing. To keep his hands busy and to try to keep his mind off things that don't bear thinking about. Like the Emissary slowly thawing out in front of the fireplace. Like the conversation what was surely to come, which he'd much rather just avoid completely if possible. .. Which might in fact be possible, depending on how much damage has been done.

What a terrible way to try to avoid his reckoning.

But there really isn't anything to do that works effectively. Everything draws inevitably back. He's certain by this point that Elidibus had thought he was dealing with one of the sundered, and not Lahabrea himself, which ameliorated only ... some of what was said. Because the rest was true, wasn't it? Even if perhaps Elidibus hadn't known it.

So while Elidibus warms back up, the dragon paces erratically through the half-rebuilt home, carefully working on simple every day things like absolute control over the beast that undercurrented his thoughts. Certainly the Coven warned the more he fought it the harder it would be to fight, but he was not going to give in that easily, and he was not going to put on another shameful display before one of his own kind. Before anyone at all, if he could help it.

So unused to other sounds in this building is he, that it's effortless to notice when Elidibus does speak, the restless pacing drawing to a stop for a time. "Yes. In time. It will likely be uncomfortable for quite some time, unless you find a conjurer." Wait that's not what conjurers are here. "Healer." That grinding sound again, then: "Whichever. There's likely to be some in Haven."

Where all the FREE HOUSES ARE, why are you here and not there, Elidibus?