middaeg | (closed) January catch-all

Cú's warning on the network might have been cheery enough, but the truth is that the news shook him way more than he'd want to admit it. The first moment he heard the word, he froze over a tattoo long enough that the client ended asking him what's wrong. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong right now.

But things have been very wrong a year ago, and he suddenly was put into a place he did his best to forget for all this year.

If not careful those memories, that darkness, is something too easy to get lost in. To freeze under the waves overwhelming cold. Cú Chulainn feels no fear. That's how it should be. So what is this feeling that took nearly a minute of his time? What did he radiate to any of his Bondmates close enough to feel?

That means that after Cú extended the suggestions to Inkchanted staff (never return to Haven alone) he did his absolute best to aggressively not think too much about what's happening. Entering almost a meditative state and focus at work. After it as well, mixing the ingredients for the next batch of paint. This focus this... studied apathy caused him to not realize the flow of time, and only the voice reminding him it's time to leave has snapped him out of it.

Hell— what time is it even? Good job, he'd nearly break the promise. One look at the batch, trying to determine if he could maybe freeze it and return tomorrow. Options, options... in the end, unimportant. If that goes bad, so be it.

"I'll be there in a minute!" He shouts.

"I'm about finished closing up," calls Soren by the entrance. The door jingles open. He steps out and adds, "I will be ready to leave when you are."

Even if they weren't connected as they are, Soren would be able to comprehend the emotional turmoil that sets his Bonded at unease. Because they are linked, however, the intensity of it splashes up against his own heart and catches him undertow in the same moments they do Cú. Cú's fear submerged his heart in the same icy depths reminiscent of the same month last year, one they both understood intimately without needing or wanting words to express them. At those times, he coped in very much the same way. He pushed his feelings deeper beneath the surface and worked harder to accomplish the tasks set before him.

At this stage, Soren isn't too worried. Inkchanted received a pamphlet on this Evergreen Circle that the Coven seems worried about, which Soren was there to receive. It hadn't suggested anything overtly harmful, just some "enlightening" and "philosophical" approach to the Cwyld. The kidnappings don't follow the same patterns at the ones that specifically targeted the Mirrorbound, but reason still remains to be watchful of their suspicious activity. Shady groups and individuals are always operating somewhere in the underbelly of Aefenglom. The mental state of the victims and the Cwyld infections in particular garner the most concern from Soren... as well as the fact that the perpetrators are reported to be those with the most power in the city.

Their "scientific" approach, then, probably has something to do with experimenting on parts of the populace furthest removed from the aristocracy - expendables they can conveniently forget are fellow human beings when it suits their agendas, especially if they are sacrificed for some "philosophical" higher purpose. Soren isn't complacent enough to think the Mirrorbound won't be made targets, but so far, he hasn't heard of anything stirring among them beyond the Coven's begging to act as infiltrating, information-gathering agents to "avoid suspicion". Soren disagrees with the methods the Coven has chosen, but it's beyond his authority. Besides, he shouldn't be endangering himself snooping where he doesn't belong while he still has his powers locked away.

Ironically enough, it is the returning flow of musings like these that the Dragon gets lost in as he heads outside to collect the sandwich board sign so it does not get stolen or vandalized by carousers from any of the watering holes nearby. Go figure that this evening, Soren spies it folded up across the way, scribbled on haphazardly and tossed aside, likely by some drunkards bored out of their ale-soaked sponges. Sighing, Soren glances about for signs of any suspicious figures creeping about in the dusky byways and makes the short journey over to retrieve it.

When he reaches it, something about it immediately catches his attention. A rune? Before he can even register what it is or what it means, his world washes in blinding white. Then, arms reach around him and and a hand with a wad of cloth slaps over his mouth, and he's being dragged away.

"Mmmph!"

He can't scream, but oh does he fight her. The woman laughs, an insidious, throaty noise that drips like poison next to his ear. Try as he might, he can't break free; she's far stronger, knows how to react to each of his attempt. Her hold on him has successfully bound his wings tight to the press of their struggling bodies.

"It looks like the Coven did most of the Dragon-wrangling work for me," she whispers in sordid glee, tapping the cuff binding Soren's wrist. She forces him up against the rugged brick wall.

Primal fear surges through Soren's being. Could this be a member of the Circle? He's in trouble! He tries to bite through his gag, but even his carnivorous teeth aren't sharp enough to saw it through. He may not be able to call for help, but there is one person very close by who can feel the cry for help he transmits to him.

Cú scribbles a note to Waver, letting him know he wasn't able to finish the paint before they had to leave, and quickly follows with setting up several runic stones around the table. Activating them into a freezing spell might It's not a complicated thing to set up, but just to ensure it will last the entire night he writes down a few strengthening enchantments on the table. Using stones for simple runes, and building more advanced spells with them has its pros and cons— simple stones can't hold the magic for long, or much of it and it's their biggest flaw. There's a possibility he miscalculated and it will all go to waste but, well, he got different priorities right now.

Once he finishes he quickly grabs his own coat, ready to leave and close the shop— that's where radiating distress across the Bond alerts him something is amiss. Without thinking he grabs the quickest weapon— after last year, there's plenty of them, hidden off customer's view. Daggers, short swords, there's even a concealed spear. Neither of them is a work of art, just standard quality. For emergency.

Like this one.

Cú storms outside, blade in his hand— the worst fear coming true, Soren is not waiting outside. Quickly he scans the surrounding, notices the tossed aside sign, and then the struggle against the wall— Soren! Soren is being held, attacked, assaulted, hurt.

Blinding by the simple instinct to protect, he moves instantly. Not taking a second to wait, or consider he activates the tattoos on his legs, gaining inhuman speed. Enough to close the distance, enough to push the dagger down into where the shoulder of the hooded figure should be, right into between bones of the shoulder girdle. If there's no protection, it should sink right in.

"Let him go"

For once, he manages to disguise everything else that he feels, leaving only the tone of cold threat.

She can't help it — a wild shriek flees from her lungs as the knife carves its mark before she can react, and Soren won't squander his opportunity to wrestle free from her weakened hold, tilting his head back to butt her with his crown of horns, slamming her legs with his tail and spreading his wings until he slips free and she crumples without her victim. When she clutches her fresh injury in reflex, a tattoo on her wrist comes into Caster's view.

Alder.

Now that she's called attention to their struggle, the laughter booming from carousers who have spilled out onto the streets dies down. The other assorted passersby slow their strolls. Lights still flash and swim in his vision, but Soren doesn't need sight to know that it's Cú who's come for him, and the attention of onlookers can change everything.

Soren's attacker knows how it's quickly stacking against her, too. She sucks air through her teeth, wincing violet eyes glaring, and hurls a severe icy spell with her free arm to freeze Cú in place with such fury that even Soren needs to brace against it. Whether she's succeeded or not, she makes haste bolting down the misty alley.

There is something immensely satisfying — empowering, really — working together against a common enemy. While the woman had her advantage of surprise, this was a moment she could taste what it really means to anger a dragon. Turning tides of battle in their favour, but it's a win, not yet—

The tattoo though, distracts Cú, and he doesn't get to put up a shield. The powerful ice spell could do way more damage if it was flung at someone not already attuned to the fire magic, like Caster is. It does hold him in place though, chilling painfully before he manages to call on the inner fire and slowly starts to thaw himself out. It still takes time to draw in a first breath though. And a violent shudder follows.

"Tch—" she got away, but that doesn't matter. What matters, that Soren is safe. It was a close call, too close. Once again nearly spirited away from the place that's supposed to be safe.

Never again.

The concern over his Bonded replaces the earlier bloodlust. The wretched witch successfully bought herself time to escape. His fingers, still covered in a thin layer of frost try to touch Soren's shoulder but few moments are needed before his sense of touch returns.

"Soren— are you hurt?" And much quieter, as the onlookers start to make themselves sparse. "Let's get back inside"

Soren nods after a brief shudder, rolling his tongue around the coppery taste now leeching into his mouth and blinking hard, eyes unfocused and darting about the shifting outline of Cú in the clustered lights. "I can barely see," he sighs. "I walked right into a blinding magic trap placed on the sign."

He allows Cú to guide him along back to the shop, nerves still firing with the adrenaline of a struggle, anxiety hovering at the same height and refusing to come back down. He's eager to retreat somewhere more protected.

"Which is troubling," he adds, gripping onto the limiter cuff at his wrist. "She might have been aiming to ambush one of us. I have a bad feeling it was... me."

Cú gives one last look around before he closes and locks the door behind them. There's enough of wards put on the shop itself to feel safe, and yet— and yet Cú still overlays yet another Abjuration wall on top of it. Hastily made, fueled by stress more than magic, but it's there.

When Soren mentions trouble seeing, he turns off the lights, to not aggravate his vision further. It gets dark here for him, but he can move around the Inkchanted with eyes closed anyway.

"She won't get you. No one will get you, as long as I'm here." he places a hand on Soren's shoulder. Point of contact used to also help to guide him into the office room, but its original intent is reassurance. But the thought that it's Soren that might have been specifically targeted due to being a Dragon— due to being a Dragon with his power and strength restricted— that's not a comforting thought.

Soren's keen sense of navigation and familiarity with the parlor grant him the ability to move about sightlessly much like Cú can. Despite that, he submits to his guidance like he needs it, and it does help. They've been in many dire situations, a number of fights where his Bonded proved that his words now hold weight, and Soren can trust in them. That trust makes Cú's reassurance effective at helping to quell the leftover jitters. He came for him when he needed him. They're safe for now. He doubts anyone can get in. Even if they did, his partner is here.

It's just agitating that he can't protect himself. Can't do the same. His powers have been stripped from him... in the exact same way they had been a year ago today. It wedges him into that harrowing and helpless state of mind, like the ghosts from that past are tiptoeing behind them. He understands the flow of Cú's feelings, too, but he also tries to remain steadfast and tread with his head above those murky psychological depths.

"I'm glad I can rely on you," he whispers. "As soon as I am able, I am going to request that the Coven remove my restrictions on these grounds."

His time was supposed to be up not too long ago, but Soren had been in a difficult mood and his tongue had been careless, so he won another week or so in the cuff for his snark with that witch in particular. When will he ever learn?

There's a hint of restlessness setting in— a battle-readiness, like a coiled snake, ready to spring and strike at an instant. The adrenaline levels are still high, and Cú attunes himself to the wards and barriers surrounding the place as if he was ready to react for even the gentlest of the sea breeze.

This level of wariness is excessive, but old habits die hard. That's how he can be truly reliable, in his mind. And when Soren says it aloud... he settles just a little bit, content. Before that grim determination returns.

"I can go with you. It's ridiculous they're keeping you in these shackles still—" Especially with everything going on. Puts Soren in more danger. If they want Mirrorbounds to risk their necks investigating whatever's happening, putting a hamper on their safety is a stupid move. Cú rarely gets any feelings towards Coven (positive or negative), but here he feels rather passionately.

—or maybe it's just an easy spot to redirect the frustration at.

"Tomorrow morning." Even without the adrenaline taut along their Bond, Soren would be feeling a similar level of hyper vigilance, one he usually experiences when anticipating an ambush. Caster's frustration hits him, too, but Soren doesn't let the rash of his indignance overtake him. Instead, he appreciates it as a sign that someone is on his side. That, of anything, is a boon when faced with uncertainty.

"Let's stay inside for a while," decides Soren, trying to lend him some of his level-headedness across the Bond. "Perhaps the whole night, if need be. I'm not eager to set foot out there again just yet." He needn't explain why. "If you don't mind helping me settle in while my vision recovers..."

Redirecting that energy into guiding Soren around, instead of checking at every barrier (every trap, and if every concealed weapon is well in its damn place) is much better choice. He approaches back to Soren, unhurriedly takes his hand in his. Grip light, but firm.

"The couch in the backroom work to get some sleep." he takes his first steps as a guide and mentions the stairs when they reach them "—watch out, the first step is here, total five of them—"

His grip grows firmer, just in case, he had to be a source of balance for his dragon. It's easier to be done in the physical world, easier to anchor with his body and strength that he can offer— because mentally it's him who is leaning on the level-headedness that Soren is radiating.

There's something grounding and meditative in focusing on guiding and being guided, of being mindful of every step and turn it takes to reach a destination. Together, they achieve a state of mind balanced between awareness and tranquility. Their nerves still twist beneath the placid surface, but they can tread it without a hitch, without stepping too far into the treacherous deep. They also reach the backroom couch, where Soren sinks into the cushion and leans into his palms to rub gently at his recovering eyes with a soft groan.

"She didn't hurt you too badly, did she?" It seems almost unnecessary to ask, for if he were really hurt, he'd likely be able to tell. Nonetheless... "I felt her hit you with a wicked ice spell."

Breathe in, breathe out— feels as even they breathe in the same rhythm. It's elevating, and simultaneously grounding— and only when it ends, with Soren now drowning into the cushion, Cú realizes he had never been in sync with anyone. Not like that. Bond helps, it's probably a big factor. Again, it shows how much they still don't know about this magic.

He paces to the cabinet with alchemical ingredients and other necessary items. Like a bottle of whiskey, but while it tempts him, he is looking for something else.

"My fire saved me, she didn't account for that" Among many concoctions and half-products, some are there specifically to alleviate pain during the procedure, or heal if things go awry. "—am still having chills, but I'll grab a blanket and survive"

Once the right bottle is found, he takes a pinch of the dried herb and adds it, mixing it with a shake of his hand. That's when he joins Soren on the couch, sliding the bottle into his hand.

"Dunno how much it will help, but it neutralizes simple hexes" If instead of being a temporary curse, the blinding spell truly hurt Soren's eyes, they'll need a proper healer.

"Thank you," replies Soren, fastening his grip over it and thumbing its shape to register where the opening is. He considers settling closer to the other man with the understanding of his chills in mind, though he's not as useful to that end as a fire dragon might be. He tilts the bottle up to his mouth and imbibes it with little hesitation, wincing slightly as he bears the flavor on its way down.

"Looks like you got stuck with the wrong dragon," he remarks. "I'm a useless reptile when it comes to cuddling up."

Cú cocks an eyebrow at Soren (which he can't really see, nevermind), suddenly moving closer— he grabs the blanket, unfolds it with a flick, and throws it over both of them. Should his aim be precise, it would land on their shoulders, perfectly ready to wrap themselves into it— but his aim leaves some to be desired (thanks, chills) and it partially falls over their heads too.

"I'm glad I'm stuck here with you—" And glad neither of them was here alone. The ambush could end much, much worse. His voice slides into a teasing tone "But keep saying things like that, and I'll wonder if you're jealous."

"I wonder if you're fond of flattering yourself with the fantasy of my jealousy," retorts Soren dryly as he's engulfed by the blanket, but he makes no move to carve any distance between them once it's been gained. The playful dip in mood sparked Soren's own playful side, a glimmer buried beneath his otherwise serious disposition. "I have nothing to envy right now. When you warm up a little more, I anticipate it will become quite pleasant for me under here."

Soren is becoming a little heat vampire. Even for someone who prefers keeping his distance to people, it's hard for a dragon in winter to resist the siren call of another's body warmth — even less so when the source emanates from someone he is Bonded to, a witch with a fiery signature at that. What's worse, he has discovered just how much he enjoys being wrapped up in someone he has grown used to enough to drop his guard with. Soren doesn't trust Cú in nearly the same way he trusts his other Bondmate, so his nerves still vibrate with anticipation of close and comfortable proximity... but the idea is one he's already warming up to.

Some call it flattering oneself, he calls it pride and confidence. But he's glad to hear that nonetheless, jealousy is such a tiring, pointless feeling. Good to joke about, but bringing problems and complications should it arise.

"That's right, you get to enjoy my warmth all for yourself." Cú prefers teasing and keeping things light, especially with threats looming behind the door. Threats he'd very much want to challenge but has gained enough wisdom to know when it is not the time to attempt such folly. "And your wish is my command, I shall make it as pleasant as possible."

It doesn't require much effort to channel the magic through the evocation spells, enchanted into the tattoos. Activating only of them to raise the body heat only a little. So that's what he does. Rising the coziness level.

Soren sighs as he relaxes into the heat and against Cú. He never loses sight of the need to remain alert in the eye of an unknown storm should it come battering their doors down. If that woman were smart, she should expect that her targets have assumed a defensive stance, no longer in a position to be ambushed. With each blink, traces of the dim light and color slips into the void that his vision had become. The potion is doing its job. When his sight has improved sufficiently, he makes a note to inform Ranulf why he hasn't come home and that he's doing just fine now, though he sends that sentiment across their connection. He's fine. Safe. In the clear.

"Not the worst way to spend the night," he remarks, adjusting the blanket around himself for fuller coverage while he surreptitiously snuggles up closer to his heat source, linking their arms loosely in the process while his head falls to his shoulder. His tail also scoots along the cushions to press against his calf, the spikes at the end folded close to his tapered tip to render them harmless. With his free hand, he starts working at his boots, eager to peel them off for Maximum Coze.

Oh, that's a smart move. Getting rid of the boots makes it possible to bring the legs up to the couch, lie on it even.

"Shame we don't have more pillows. You can always use my lap as one though" Because that's the perfect time to offer that, right? But Cú knows he's too tense, too high-strung even though creating this loop of calm and level-headedness across the Bond to tap for each other is helping— he won't be able to fall asleep anytime soon. It's a vigil hour, like one lifetime ago, somewhere else— at least it's warmer, more comfortable, and the company is better.

His hand finds its way into Soren's hair, testing. An answer to the tail around his calf. Something in his chest coils, almost stealing his breath, and then sinks.

Soren's breath halts as well, the same feeling threading with Cú's. This is excitement, a thrill that couples almost seamlessly with the pervading danger outside of their fortress, that spikes his pulse. It taps perfectly into his draconic hormones. They won't be sleeping anytime soon — there's no way they can submit to the level of relaxation necessary to slip into unconsciousness. This potent combination, this subdued anxiety mixing with the suspense of limbs encroaching and the electric sensation of his hair parting by another's fingers, all while trying to find calm and comfort in each other's presence. Someone new, but not so new that he's pushed on edge. They're Bonded. He's already accepted him, become an extension of him. Beneath the sheets in the dark, Soren seeks the bright eyes of his partner and finally finds them, locks his gaze, curls his tail about his ankle in silent reply to Cú's body language and shifts his weight further atop his lap, tilts his head into the touch.

"...Maybe not as a pillow," he murmurs with a sweep of his tongue over his lips, his eyes over the Child of Light who breaks through the retreating darkness of his healing blindness. He settles his hand on the shoulder opposite his. "My sight is swiftly returning, and I'm quite glad for it."

The contours of his collarbone, the stray wisps of blue hair falling over them, the wild comeliness of his features mingling suitably with the smoky and piquant woodsy scent of him. There can be no denying the appeal he has, how he must cause so many women (and men) to swoon... including a queen who obsessed over him to the point of his death. Sure, he could have observed his charms objectively. Soren had never been one to fall for the charms of anyone but Ike for the longest time, but wrapped up in this moment here with Cú, the swelter of heat that pulses low hits him rather personally. He cannot shake the notion that grips him now, to lay claim to the catch that is already "his", give his other dragon another one to detect a little more strongly on him.

Few days after that fateful network post, Cú makes true on his promise. Truth to be told, he isn't in the most festive of moods, but he keeps he words and—

In alcohol we trust! Sometimes, getting out on town, getting smashed, meeting new people... sometimes that's exactly what he needs. Perhaps it's one of those times. So he wastes no time. Sends Ardbert a message with the location of the pub, hour of meeting, and a short description of how to recognize him. He arrives early, to ensure a good spot, where he is visible from the entrance.

Cú had never taken care of the local sensibilities when it comes to fashion. Despite the wintertime, his shoulders and the upper half of his arms are on display. Long gloves and top are tight, but with minimal ornamentations. And so are the pants. Can't say the same about the jewelry— pendants, jeweled locket, leather bracelet, a complicated set of belts and pouches attached to it — different materials, different meanings. They're not of style, but of significance. Though one part that truly discerns him is not just the amount of shown skin for Aefenglom. It's that it is covered in enchanted tattoos. And when the designs are not drawn in ink, phantom light lines, lightning upon his skin, show were other designs once were.

There is nothing patient about him, so when Ardbert (or rather the man he knows under that name) shows up, he'll find him already nursing his first ale.

Edited 2021-01-23 01:06 (UTC)

Likewise, 'Ardbert' had given the means to recognize him. A due precaution beyond mere convenience, due to the amount of useful information a kidnapper might have used to keep an eye out for one or the other, mentioned on public lines. Description was not, on the other hand.

Elidibus does not expect much sensibility to be observed in mortal races. And he's had eons to get used to this notion, so when he enters the common room of the pub and spots the person he's here to meet, there isn't hesitation to offer a grin.

As he pointed out, Ardbert is a young man, with short brown hair, blue eyes, and a clean-shaven face. His attire is undoubtedly gear meant for a combatant, with fur trim, leather, and scale pieces. He had a cloak that didn't really match the gear, sides pushed back and hood drawn down now that he's out of the cold.

Weapons probably weren't allowed, but he'd brought one in the form of a massive axe and left where such things should be left in check. Who would travel without protection, given the kidnappings? And currently, he had little in the way of magic under his belt. Since Cú had taken a spot to watch the entrance, this is very likely to be noticed.

But let's get back to his first impressions of Cú. Which, while there's a brief once-over you'd expect during such moments, may be surprisingly lacking in concern for certain oddities that might trouble or lead one to assumptions. ...No wait, there is something. But more a pause, as if he saw a familiar thing he'd not expected.

His drinking companion to be isn't the first in recent memory he's seen with red eyes and cat-like pupils and it wasn't Berserker or a Monster. It's a puzzling coincidence. But Cú is certainly no miqo'te.

He's not late, but the ale in his drinking companion's hand does give him a prompt to begin with. "A pity I didn't arrive earlier. It seems I missed buying you the first drink." Ardbert loosens his cloak and drapes it over his chair. Settling in, a signal is given to a server, putting in an order for his own. "And this man's next, when he's ready." There.

Settling in without politely waiting to be invited to sit down.
Friendly opener established.
Ale purchased.

Elidibus nails it. Because he absolutely did use some of the intervening days to observe social interactions in pub situations. He's also confident that he can handle his drink. Practice moderation, no?

"I thank you for being willing to meet in person, Caster." His tone is quite good-natured. Cheerful, if you like.

Edited 2021-01-23 05:46 (UTC)

The size of the axe is a sight to behold, at least for the other tavern goers. Where Cu comes from, they haven't been that rare. Unlce Fergus and his legendary sword comes to mind, and that's only an example from when he was alive, long time ago. Despite causing a minor bafflement, a whisper, the sensation dies down, as Elidibus politely put the weapon away.

He nails it indeed, 100%. The second drink bought really brings a wide grin on Cú's face, as he rests his chin on his palm. "Second drink is just as good, friend, and I thank you for it."

The hustle and bustle of a crowded place has always been one of the places he just fell into with familiarity and ease. And no chairs are being broken, nor duels are spontaneously happening. That's a good thing in book, Red Branch Knights were a rowdy bunch and sometimes provided more than just a headache. Everyone here are civilised, mostly.

"Been a while since I met someone... new. To this city, I mean! Figured, that as a veteran I can at least offer answers, ya know?" He takes a Big Sip, enjoying the refreshing rush. Maybe, just maybe, he'll get to relax a bit. Finally. "So speak your mind, ask your questions. I'm feeling charitable today"

A druid's role is to guide. Even if he is but a sham of one.

The newly arrived warrior doesn't seem to mind the stares and the murmurs that ripple through the gathered crowd. It's not uncommon, given the usual size of the weapon and sometimes his usual attire. It probably firmly marked him as a Mirrorbound but he also wasn't trying to hide it.

Funny one should mention guides. It is Elidibus's role as well, though not in any way could it be construed as a sham. The problem lay with the perspective of just whom and why he was offering guidance. He offers a faint smile. The new round of ale is brought to the table and paid for. First for him, second ready and waiting for Cú. Elidibus takes a drink. It's a good gulp and like much still in this mortal experience he's trapped in, not something he really savors. Yet, it's not bad either and at least he has started to get a grasp on what the different tastes- sweet, bitter, tart- mean.

"I've not often found it wise to speak my mind. But yes. I cannot say I have ever encountered something quite like this world." And this is certainly saying something. "I can walk its streets, read its archives and talk to its people and Mirrorbound alike. But that doesn't mean I'll know the right questions to ask."

What the man wishes to ask is about the time one year ago. But that doesn't seem to be an appropriate place to start.

"How long have the Mirrorbound been appearing here? Truly?" Elidibus is at least interested in the topics he'll bring up, so there should be no sense of someone trying to couch the desired topic in niceties. He also takes another long pull off his ale.

"Give it a little more than three months, till Boaltinn. That festival will mark a second year." Cú finishes his own drink, so he can begin the one Elidibus just bought him. It's hardly having any effect on him yet— one could say, fast metabolism is a downside of a fire witch... but the truth is, it's still easier to get drunk than whilst being a Servant.

"I was part of that first batch. There was a whole goddamn crowd of us, we gave miss Nessie a big scare." he shakes his head first and then rubs the back of his neck. "We've been coming and going ever since. Almost makes you think this World calls for us for a reason. The Dreams used to hint at it, but they've been sparse ever since"

"I hadn't expected such a short time really would be the answer," Elidibus answers. And it is certainly with some surprise. Or at least stronger interest. His expression grows thoughtful. "Yet it makes sense, with the state of the Mirrorbound's presence in the city."

While he isn't matching Cú drink for drink, there is attention given to the matter of consumption. Thoughtful moments such as this call for another generous draw. It really does quench the thirst, doesn't it? And while one ale isn't going to do him in- the host body certainly had a high tolerance before and he'd made sure that it was at its best when he'd possessed it- what Elidibus hasn't experienced is what that actual limitation is or its impact on his mind. Or the notion that consuming food with alcohol is something done to ease the impact. He's sure he has the willpower to handle a mortal level of drunkenness. Surely!

"But two years and there is still enough change in the population of Mirrorbound to merit mention?" And for that matter, enough departure that the population of their kind hasn't grown beyond an unsustainable point. "It seems haphazard at best. More an experiment than a chosen calling."

Elidibus looks curious. Dreams were mentioned. Of course, he's new enough and thus unlikely to have had time to experience such dreams. "But these dreams you spoke of. Perhaps you could explain the matter further?"

"They showed the past, a potential future, and once—" Caster makes a gesture of pointing his finger up, as if counting the numbers. It's for emphasis, really "Once they showed the state of current affairs, only somewhere else."

In Dorchacht namely, but he's not throwing names yet, to not make it overly confusing. There's a lot of ground to cover, and a lot of stories. Yet, if there is an actual reason, he can't tell. Elidibus makes a good point that it also might be an experiment, but these are also done for a reason.

He's simply used to chosen calling, even haphazard ones.

"That one time though was also when a talented Dreamer intervened. It's one of the Divination school subjects— more of that later, though. While the Dream we all shared was hijacked by a certain Witch later, for every else Coven was unable to give us an explanation. Aside from the fact that we all must share a form of connection"

He takes another sip before continuing.

"Sometimes in these Dreams unknown or familiar faces appear, these make their way later through the Mirrors to the city proper"

If there wasn't conversation to be had, it might be noticed that 'Ardbert' may be timing his own drinking habit to Caster's. This probably isn't going to bode well for him in the future. But the important part here is that he's basing his drinking pattern around his table companion for the sake of the conversation, not his personal enjoyment.

After all, it's an act to better put the man at ease.

Elidibus nods with acceptance as Cú explains the nature of these 'dreams'. Shared visions? It interests him to learn others not already part of the world had been touched... and sometimes appeared. It sparks a memory which causes the man's eyes to briefly narrow.

"I had dismissed it. But I believe I had such a dream before my arrival." Though the words are expressed with a moment's somber displeasure, 'Ardbert' raises his gaze and offers a smile. "I had chalked it to some Fae trick." Elidibus had done no such thing. Though it is an easy excuse, as the creatures are commonly known for such ability where he hails from. This is simply to see what the thoughts on such creatures here are by Caster's reckoning.

But talk of connections through dreams or some sort of connecting force between Mirrorbound in general? That doesn't seem to come as a shock at all. Viewing the past, the present, the future, and more are only a small piece of abilities that are-- were as natural as breathing to Elidibus. And it would surprise him little to discover that people here call them 'dreams' or 'visions' in comparison.

He suppresses a brief flash of irritation at another indication that this Star might subject him to even more mortal parody.

"I would like to hear more of the dream you mentioned was... 'hijacked'. But am I correct in assuming the natives do not experience these dreams? It is only the Mirrorbound and perhaps potential... candidates?"

"Dreamwalking isn't unheard of here, and there was one incident involving the whole city. But in general, if you're meeting familiar faces in a dream, it's only limited to us, otherworlders"

Who would have thought that he would be someone to keep a record of all these dreams? Keeping lore like a proper druid— that he never lived long enough to become.

"Have you heard of the mess that was Dorchacht? It came to light because of a Mirrorbound dream too. That's what I meant by current affairs"

"I see," the man calling himself Ardbert expresses with some interest and thoughtful reflection. There is much that can be inferred from the notion. Even a familiar equivalent concept if he were to dwell on the matter of comparison for overlong. But this is filed away for later. Now is the time to gather information, not completely disseminate it.

Once again the man focuses on Caster. "Yes, even though I have not been here long, I have made a point to collect as much information upon the history of Mirrorbound in the city as possible. These dreams then, are not unlike an ability I am familiar with." He offers a wry smile, "Though perhaps as with many 'similarities' of this star, there are differences."

There is the slightest hint of emotion surrounding the phrase 'this star'. It is not a favorable one but he hides the true depth of his ire well; at least in tone and body language.

Is it now the time? There's a brief sobering of expression as this 'Ardbert' regards Cú from across the table. A pause long enough to take another pull off the ale- to his mind it is about the act and the social meaning it gives to do so than its taste or enjoyment- before setting it down again.

"Were there any dreams which warned of the event one year ago?" The kidnappings, then. Elidibus is careful to use a tone that respects the difficulty to speak about the incident.

(closed) January catch-all

⤐ Soren

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cw: violence

whoops maybe i should have cw'd earlier :o)

the boys don't hold back

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ceiling cats here

Re: ceiling cats here

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⤐ Elidibus (aka Ardbert)

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