☆ Event: A Tale of Two Cities

[faileas]

Event Log: September, A Tale of Two Cities

I. THE TRIP OUT On Septeril 5th, those who've agreed to go as dignitaries to Dorchacht will meet with Nerissa Bell in the Coven's foyer. Given the group is a little large, and the boat they've procured for the voyage would be a little crowded with all of them on it, she suggests there be two groups: the first one will go now and will return around the middle of the month, while the second will depart a few days after the first group returns, just to give them some breathing room. a. DIGNITARY: THE SHIP Those joining Nessie are led to the docks, where an old ship is being scrapped down, barnacles removed and hull shined to perfection. Sailors call to and fro from on board, buckets of water thrown off the side away from the docks and there's a tingle of nervous excitement from the gathering crowds come to wish the dignitaries and ambassadors a bon voyage. She's of a medium size, able to hold her crew and half of the assigned dignitaries with little trouble, and from top to bottom the moose-like Faun of a captain calls her a seaborn miracle; short of a sea wyrm, she's never faltered nor fled the waves, but he'll admit that she's been more a fishing boat than anything the past couple years. Judging from the way his tuffed tail lashes in excitement, he's thrilled to be out on a real voyage again -- even if it's to those notoriously unfriendly blokes 'round the corner of the map, haven't been in decades time and they've always been up their own arses about this and that. While dignitaries are supposed to relax the best they can on the four day trip, the captain doesn't seem to mind offering work to those interested in learning the way of the sea or with the know-how already, eagerly asking the Mirrorbound about their experiences beyond the glass... much more than he is about talking about himself outside of his ship, who he loves a great deal and sings the praises of up and down the hour, through sea shanty and spoken word. His large antlers don't seem to get in the way of his work nor bar him from getting in and out his quarters, but watch out! They are large and they do hurt. All's not well going to and from Dorchacht, though, as while the waters are safer than the land by far, there's plenty of dangers within the deep: Infected Merrow swim in the shallows, singing sweetly from rocks that jut out at the shore, and some more adventurous ones try their luck closer to the boat too. The captain's Navigator, a Witch with just as rowdy an attitude if more polite a tone, can manage a deafening spell on the ship to keep any from falling seaward, but asks that those who can to rid the ship of those terrible pests, whether by cannon, magic, or something else similarly ranged. Oh, it'd be perfectly alright if they killed them, plenty of them out here in the sea and growing ever more, but if they simply want to scare them off then by all means! There's also all manner of sea beasts as well, from krakens on the smaller side to the mentioned sea wyrms earlier, though the captain'll say that they're just babies compared to the mother he'd faced last year -- still troublesome little bastards, best put down before they're drowned themselves, but nothing to turn tail at. Outside of these... troubles... there's disorderly sailors of Monster and Witch alike, the former being compromised primarily of Turnskin and Faun for heavy lifting, with a Harpy in the crow's nest to help with speed, and the latter being those specializing in Divination and Astrology for directions, as well as some elemental manipulation from the Evocation course. Unlike the proper Coven trained, they seem like they're a little more unconventional with their magics, using "shortcuts" and combining spells to great effect. When they're not on the clock as it were they enjoy a great deal of ale, howling stories and song, pushing each other around whilst the journey's bright and startlingly serious when things turn south. Be careful you don't get in a fight, or perhaps you'd like to show your stuff in a little competition: They're willing to do anything to pass the time. b. ESPIONAGE: THE DEVICE Upon hearing that there are some who would be interested in investigating the device that Mhairi mentioned, a young Witch opens up the room it's being stored in now to allow them a chance to check it out. They warn that it isn't particularly cooperative, but maybe those with some knowledge of magitech - or their world's equivalent - might be able to help? While not exactly the largest device around, it's one that stands out. Something resembling a Tesla coil stands atop the piece of tech, tall enough to almost reach the ceiling of the rather tall room, and various dials and knobs and gauges adorn the outside of it. Those who are perceptive to magic - training in detection spells, or who have a good sense for it, or even a sixth sense for something poised to happen - will be able to note that there's a sort of... presence in the room. It continues to build up, the more people that come in to investigate. Anyone that tinkers with it, has active magitech on their person, or even uses magic in it, only help to build the sensation. And then, when enough Mirrorbound of both the Witch and Monster persuasion are in the room - A whirring noise fills the room, as the device comes to life. There isn't any time to vacate the room, because whether it was an intentional thing to activate the teleporter or not, it's activated. The intention of using it for travel to Dorchacht remains embedded in it, and from one moment to the next, the group in the room find themselves not in the Coven, but in the midst of trees. All around you is the forest just beneath the cliffs outside of Dorchacht. In the distance, if one looks hard enough, they might be able to spot the Black City itself. Besides the storage room of the Coven vanishing in a flash of light and electricity, the device is absent, too. Some of its smaller parts can be found scattered in the craggy grass at your feet, in the roots of trees, as if it completely fell apart the moment that the magic was activated. Whatever you had on your person, when you left? It's all that you have, now. And there's no way back from here. (Notes: Some small reminders - the boats take 2 days to reach Dorchacht, meaning they take 2 days to come back as well, and the teleportation device used by the espionage team is a one-time use only. The espionage team will be able to return to Aefenglom at the end of the month courtesy of some inside help, using a similar device that managed to bring them there in the first place. The Watches can be used on the ship, but are prone to static and dropping calls. Communication is possible from Dorchacht, though voice and video both feel a little muffled.)

II. DORCHACHT It's déjà vu. While Aefenglom is known for its dusk-hued skies, made of lustrous pinks and purples and blues, this city is dreary to the core. The streets are covered in a perpetual fog, not unlike the city you hail from, but thicker, denser, tinged with the flavor of industrial smog from the factories whose spires you can see in the distance. Magitech lights - lanterns above doors, street posts, flickering in the windows you pass - illuminate everything throughout the entire day, as if the sunshine can't reach through the foreboding fog nor the onyx walls. Even the windows are barred, offering a paranoid protection against the outside world. Doors seem hardier, and each building is reinforced and protected in a way that may feel familiar to those that have encountered the protective magic wards. They're heavier, leaving an almost ominous presence that causes unease to hang just as heavy in the air as the smog. The people of this city are just as dreary as the streets, though they do mill about with the same frequency as any city. Those from Aefenglom may recognize familiar faces, and they might find themselves looking twice at you, as if some part of them remembers you as well. Something seems... off, however. There are fewer Monsters in the streets than there were in the dream, though it isn't too hard to catch a glimpse of one here and there. The streets even seem a little more cleaned up than they once were, as one makes their way down them. At the heart of the city, dignitaries will be brought to the Coven. There, they're greeted by a slender and elegant woman, eyes bright and clever, but just as sharp as the red-lined smile that she offers her visitors. "Nerissa Bell," she begins, tone polite if clipped. There's the sense of a woman who won't waste words from her person, and she turns her eyes towards the dignitaries. "You must be the charges she spoke of. Mirrorbound, they call you?" A shallow inclination of her head, barely called respectful, as she smiles wider, in a way that would be kind if knives were made to be dull. "A pleasure. I am Morgana Drummond, head of the Coven here, and I welcome you to my city of Dorchacht, the safest haven against the Cwyld across all of our poor Geardagas." a. THE COVEN Morgana Drummond gives them a quick tour of their facilities, speaking lightly of the curriculum they have here that differs from Aefenglom's own (more of a focus in manipulation spells, be it the sort of commands that have become such a familiar sight to things such as perception and "paths" that can be seen through scrying, the other areas of practice more of "extra" than essentials) as well as allowing them to peek in on some lessons taking place. They won't be able to interact, but it is admittedly of a higher feel than what Aefenglom asks, though it's simply the seriousness of the atmosphere giving that impression. After showing them to where they'll be staying within the Coven's hospitality as well as mentioning the areas of their infirmary, library, and welcoming the Witches to try a hand at their lessons, she and Nerissa part from the characters as a whole to discuss the business of the month. There is a notable increase in guards, both around Morgana's person even within the Coven's walls, as well as the building itself. They seem to be in the business of keeping people on a kind of "railroaded" layout of the Coven building, but can be distracted for a quick peek -- the real help comes from those with triple stars hidden in plain sight, beneath the brims of hats and worn as idly jewelry and easily missed charms. These sympathizers will actively seek those out to speak with them, to let them know that even here there are those that would like to see change brought to Dorchacht, and assist in entering places that Mirrorbound otherwise would not be able to enter. Such as the library here, which contain higher level spells including the enchantments specific to the city walls. The history is just as muddled as it is in the later mentioned public library, the "when"s being vague and the like, but depicts Drummond's rise as the head of the Coven: She came to Dorchacht on a ship hailing from Aefenglom along with a number of other Witches and rose above the rest to become the esteemed leader she is now. Without her, many of the text will agree, Dorchacht would not be as it is now. Those with any notable signs of infection may be asked to step aside and allow Dorchacht's Witches to give them a check up -- better safe than sorry -- and this goes for Witches and Monsters alike. They'll be brought to the double doors that were so heavily secure within the dream, whether they'd like to be or not, and escorted inside. b. THE CITY Unlike the dream, things seem to be more... well-behaved. Auctions have been moved from the pavilion and in its place are genuine vendors to purchase from: Food, clothing, toys, trinkets, protective spell scrolls, all manners of things. There's still Monsters around, a little more tidy than before, but they hold the same stares they had in the dream, pinched expression and disinterested in conversation. There are signs that lead way to auctions if one is truly curious to see the extent of that terror, to gain insight on the situation there, but tailing someone might be hard within the twisting turns of the new bazaar. Another notable part of the city that can be accessed by those dealing in espionage include the barracks if they pose as hopefuls to join their ranks as handlers for their Monsters, which are collared in a familiar way to the dream, and seem reactionary to quick movements -- they're explained to be the essential frontline of what constitutes as a military force, very important, Mirrorbound Monsters beware you not suffer the same fate. The next place one might seek out is the library: While this is all deemed public knowledge, it offers insight into the kind of history and mindset that's been bred the past decade at minimum. Books regarding the dangers of Monsters, how to care and train them, practical spellbooks for those untrained by the Coven proper... The history books themselves are vague in regards to the "when" of things, and seem to be more contemporary in comparison to how old the city feels itself. There's a variety of more cultural knowledge such a cookbooks (including those dealing with monster parts) and floriography (more dour meanings compared to Aefenglom's flurous), but the relevant ones have been noted thusly. c. THE RESISTANCE Whether you're espionage or dignitary, those seeking the Resistance know what to look for: a trio of stars (some worn more openly than others), protests against the city's treatment of Monsters, and dispelling runes on the walls. Once proven that you're friend over foe, they're more than happy to have the assistance of any Mirrorbound in their company: A fight against the current practices is a fight they're for, after all. Riot! Disrupt the peace! The auctions, while a little more downplayed than in the dream, are still going, and the Resistance has good word on where they're being held in the grand city. Their goal? To cause a disturbance big enough to distract, but not big enough to catch Drummond's eye... that said, with her having to play the nice host to Aefenglom's associates within the main building, there's more to get away with. Free the Monsters! Whilst distracted, other members of the Resistance plan to dispel the runes in certain areas and smuggle off what Monsters they can, valuing quantity over quality. While the more mind-broken may resist heavily, it won't be hard to find Monsters of all kinds (save Dragons and Fae, which are notably absent from the auctions and city in general) accepting help to escape, eager to think for themselves once more. Find a way for them to escape the city safely, but know that the docks are heavily guarded in case of stowaways. Free the city! Kind of. A third party of Resistance members are looking to weaken the enchantment on the wall of Dorchacht itself, meaning they'll be looking for those brave enough to tread outside the city and into the Wilde just beyond its protective gates to take a look at and inscribe runes to hopefully diminish the compulsion in place right now. It won't be immediate, but it'll help in the future... just be careful, there's plenty of danger beyond the wall to contend with. As an interesting note, while the Resistances' bonded pairs are definitely unlike Dorchacht's compulsion-based ones, they're not exactly like Aefenglom's either: They call themselves comrades and partners, brothers/sisters in arms, giving it more of an equality forged from the same brass than something to do with convenience. (Notes: Those being willing, or unwilling, participants in the check-ups may reply to the top level there with how visibly infected they are for a special treat! Only for this month.)

III. AEFENGLOM Preparations for Meán Fómhair begin before Nerissa and the dignitaries head off on the 5th, but they seem a little quick even for the ever-festive people of Aefenglom: Apples begin the appear in great quantities to be used for later, some yellowed versus the red ripeness one thinks of when they're ready, there's hay bales tucked safely away for the days of, and there's little conversation to be made save for how things might be going in Dorchacht, though if any of the Mirrorbound try to join in they'll change the subject to Meán Fómhair in a split second, smiles thrown wider than the weeks before. Seems all is not quite as well as they'd like to appear. a. MARKET UP With the Parliament tense and looking westward, there starts to be gradual, but steady, increases in new appearances from some interesting individuals about the city. At face value they're no different than the vendors already found in great quantities, human and Monster alike, but one look at their wares proves different. The goblin market, as it's familiarly called, is somewhat accepted by the Parliament as something allowed to exist as part of their mercantile culture with Coven-approved medicines, alchemical practices, enchantments, so on and so forth, and only somewhat thanks to these known wares. Beneath these, with a dropped word or a curious eye, one can find things that are more than likely not sanctioned by either branch, things the vendors say can sate Monster and Witch alike without need of a Bond, though they decline to include the fact that such things are only temporary and that, like all hits, they'll need to come back for a greater quantity to get the satisfaction they need. Overpriced as they are (due to their private nature, it's high risk, surely they understand), they sell Monster parts of most kinds, Witch's Blood that may or may not be genuine, and what they call "extra strength" potions to mimic the feeling of a temporary bond without needing a second person to partake -- of course, you're welcome to share it, the more the merrier. However, this market hides a darker side, known more to those living among the aristocracy or who have the money and means to it, and characters are more likely to find themselves led there one way or another -- be it kidnapped or tricked, the black market isn't picky about how they drag their targets in. While Aefenglom prides itself in its fairness and equality, as in example with the goblin market not all is what it promises. Nowhere else is this more true than with the black market itself, using techniques familiar in Dorchacht to control their living wares, emboldened by the absence and turned heads of the government while remaining as discreet as they can be, they've ascended from the tunnels beneath Aefenglom to turn old houses into private auctions and the more deserted streets into bazaar-like adventures. Not all of these are unwilling wares, characters may find, and drawn by necessity for their own well-being or for their family's, but it's clear that a greater number are those from the Outer City. b. PROPAVANDALS Unbeknownst to Aefenglom's higher ups, Dorchacht has sympathizers of its own within this city's walls. While Bonds haven't been specifically dissuaded against, given that there's alternatives to the more permanent tethers, not all are in favor of changing completely. It's been ten years since Miss Bell gained her seating, such citizens'll say, and there's been decades prior where they hadn't needed that. That Monsterkind and Witches could be, and sometimes were better off, apart. Home remedies and extra practice, or finding a substitute, was all that was needed. More privately and growing in whispered popularity, that there ought to be more restrictions on the two in general. Once these words have started, both conversations planted as well as encouraged for thoughts already leaning a certain way, small attacks on those Bonded being to occur. They target the main populace and those with connections to the Coven itself, especially the Mirrorbound given Nerissa's alleged responsibility to them, and it seems they're well-practiced in hiding their activities because all investigations done towards the perpetrators, whether done by the Mirrorbound or officials themselves, will lead to only dead-ends outside the City. The culprits are hard to catch on foot, using the environment they'd grown up with to their advantage in escaping any manner of way -- it isn't just humans, but Monsters causing trouble as well -- but it isn't impossible... Just that they refuse anything but their right of silence on the accusations, claiming they'd had no part in anything, regardless of what proof might be found. The attacks and vandalism itself range from harmful messages appearing with magic on walls and doors, vaguely threatening letters written in ink that evaporates in sunlight, to fruit thrown and possessions left in tatters after breaking and entering. They don't stop at residential houses either, aiming for businesses held by those with any connection to the Coven, held by those with Bonds, and seek to cause any number of annoyance and distaste to those they attack. If it weren't for their Bonds, their Coven connections, they wouldn't be treated this way. That's the message they seek to send. c. UNEASY FESTIVITIES Come Septeril 21st, and lasting til the 23rd, Meán Fómhair is tentatively in full swing. The residents of Aefenglom are more on edge than during previous festivals save the red-hued Lithia, even once the first dignitary group has returned and the second left. There's barrels of apples decorating the street corners, but they don't seem as plentiful as they should. The games have a forced cheerfulness about them too, the unaffected being children who gleefully take part in each race, each competition, as well as the doctors with their cure-alls and promises of something to promote the harvest's delight, peddling medicine and medical advice to all who lend an ear with earnest grins and a profit to be made. The medicines are largely placebos with some possible side-effects for those that aren't, such as voice changes and intense cravings for various foods, but they seem to be very popular this year -- there's at least a couple merchants talking up the good fortune Dorchacht's stress has brought this year to one another, quieting down when they catch outsiders eavesdropping. With the continued attacks on those Bonded and Coven-affiliated, with one of their Speakers across the continent and the other sorely wrapped in Parlimentary business dealing with the attacks, the city holds its breath and tries to endure. Tries to be bright and cheerful while keeping obvious supplies behind their counters, to keep fright from their expressions and mind lest it invite the Cwyld to their midst, and ultimately drawing apart from one another in a time where unity is more than needed: Time will tell what actions might sew shut the new wound struck across Aefenglom.

Welcome to September's event log! The questions thread is split into two this time: one for Dorchacht, which can be found HERE, and one for Aefenglom, which can be found HERE. Please keep questions to their respective cities! This'll help both us and your fellow players in sorting information. Additionally, this event is a little special - we've prepare an OOC post to go along with it. Check it out over HERE - don't forget about it, as it'll help us see how things'll progress in the cities!

Comments

[silentsavant]

[ Soren feels those eyes on him, and it prickles somewhere beneath his skin. He's prying. As he should, really. But he's electing to have him bear witness to the calamity of his body. ]

I would consider myself a logical person.

[ It may seem like an easy answer, but it isn't. Soren speaks the truth: as a strategist, he works through his usual problems through logical means, unhindered by matters of sentiment, even to the point that his morals often get questioned in the process. However, lurking behind that clean rationale lies a tempest of powerful capacity for emotion, like a sea serpent coiling beneath calm waves, waiting to stir up the next storm. As he sheds his shirt, a dark patch of scales surrounds the perimeter of his back. The rest of his flesh is an archipelago of these same scale patches, some bigger than others, and mostly cropping around his shoulder blades, arms, and collarbone. For being a dragon, he's a slender little thing. Fins the same shade as his wings have begin to erupt on his forearms. And on his biceps, faint runelike markings the color of golden-red sand have been scrawled in a slithering sort of pattern. They don't mean anything, really — they're just marks that flared up across his skin like the scales had. ]

it's bee

[futhark]

So it will go onto your back. [ As if it wasn't set in stone enough. Logic, and reason. The closer to the head he can find the place, the better (in theory) it would work.

Caster recognizes the scales, the markings of a dragon in making. He moves closer, fingers tracing skin without warning. Finding places where skin is yet unchanged, where it would be easy put the runes onto. But also it's out of curiosity— is the part where skin turns into scales more or less sensitive? ]

That's a beautiful sheen. [ His outlook on dragons and changes miiiight be a bit different than the most. ] Watch out, this might tickle—

[ Is all the warning he gives when he finds a good spot, close to the neck, on the left shoulder and immediately starts sketching the runes on the skin. ]

get stung

[silentsavant]

[ Soren flinches beneath the tingle of contact beneath fingertips but bears it for the sake of their purposes here. Whether his sensitivity is due to the changes or how unaccustomed he is to the gentler varieties of physical contact, he wouldn't be able to say. Then, he compliments his scale growth, something he cannot bring himself to appreciate, and it feels like he's trying in vain to stifle the swelter of steam from evacuating a teapot.

And then, even with the brief warning, Soren jolts as though shocked by static electricity, grits his teeth and shuts his eyes as Caster marks his flesh up. It's the tingle more than any pain that truly bothers him, for pain is the kind of physicality he has known for much longer. His voice is rendered a breathy shudder as he replies.]

B-Beautiful... That's an interesting take.

wow, it cut my "it's been 84 years..." joke, thanks dw

[futhark]

[ Caster chuckles, because right now, right here it is the best time to flirt. ]

I can't believe it's the first time you hear that— you're quite a looker. [ Sure, it's not. But it's a distraction, and given the procedure isn't a pleasant one... he noticed that it's good to talk, to joke, drag the attention of tattooed elsewhere. Away from the needles, ink and muscles twitching involuntarily due to pain— because once the initial sketch is done, the guiding lines set, then it is going to hurt. ]

Or should I apologize for my impertinence? [ Highly unlikely ]

i had a feeling something went wrong... dw really is a good-for-nothing

[silentsavant]

[ Yes, Caster! The perfect time to start hitting on somebody is when they're in the middle of a tattoo job! This isn't exactly Soren's idea of a pleasant distraction, and he isn't easy to pick up with a few compliments, either. Actually, he's tough to pick up in any way that isn't literal. He frowns, stuck dealing with someone who wants to let him know he finds him attractive, all while up close and tracing his skin. Just fantastic. ]

Well, impertinent is certainly what you're being. You must be a dirty dragonfucker into reptiles if that's how my scales make you feel.

that striked assessment is harsh Soren, it is not wrong though

[futhark]

[ Caster just laughs that off easily, as if he got just the best reaction out of a joke. Well, he knows when there is a "no" and where not to follow through. ]

My bad, my bad, all is over now— though I was talking about the whole package, not just scales. [ "You're quite a looker" that's not a lie, and not related just to the scales themselves. But it's all in Soren's behaviour that speaks of something else, something he had seen already.

Soren is hiding. The changes, they're bothering him. Comfort is a tricky card to play when Caster had learned his hand from other warriors. Even worse when he starts to apply the ink, and knows all too well how damn painful it is, the ingredients and magic making it worse than but a normal tattoo. ] There's nothing in having pride in who you are.

that's the usual response

[silentsavant]

[ Pride in who he is... That particular vein runs much deeper than the skin of the matter. Soren had already been forced to confront the hard reality of what he is - or rather, what he was - and who that made him. It had been a long and arduous process, and he'd needed the support of one person to help affirm him, but in the end, he had finally arrived at a comfortable level of acceptance. The needle carves agony into his flesh and he bites back a clipped, gurgling scream against it, furls his scaled hands up tight and endures, his words tumbling out with that restrained but frantic energy thanks to the heat of pain. ]

Nngh-! But... A dragon is not what I'm su-supposed to be...! Just when I was finally content with who I was, and this accused world sees fit to slowly and painfully warp me into... into this...! How can I feel any bit content?

[ It's much less about being a dragon and more who he left behind that strands him in a permanent state of malcontent. He had been his reason for living. What's left of him now? ]

[futhark]

[ This change, however, seems as inescapable. Was there anyone to successfully fight their fate, they would have learned it by now, wouldn't they? Besides, there is that thing— when did fighting a fate actually worked?

It's a resigned thought, but Caster was also someone who had always followed the path rather than straying from it. ]

Dragon is a symbol of power, wisdom, and fortitude— [ Of course it depends where, and when, but not going into such details ] I might be old-fashioned, but there are things, there are changes that happen for a reason.

[ Easier said than done, doesn't help his own questioning the new existence, the new life within this world. Small steps, for now, he's here to grant this painful warding onto fellow Mirrorbounds. He finds no joy in causing pain, but if he can protect those who would suffer under the Walls of the dreadful city, there is no reason to hold back. So he takes his time to be as precise as needed, as opposed to end it as quickly as possible ]

We never do like changes, that's for sure.

[silentsavant]

[ It hurts. The needle hurts, the transformation hurts, his loneliness hurts, his whole existence nothing but hurt, hurt, hurt! And the one thing, the one person who could make it bearable for him lost. Talam saw fit to taunt him with the suggestion that he could be here, maybe had been here only to be spirited away again to who knows where. Soren is too compromised bracing himself against the concentrated torment etching its way across his flesh to respond with more than bitten-back grunts for a few pauses.

He clenches his hands; the claws draw blood there. His sharp teeth abrade against his tongue. ]

Power and wisdom... I don't... I don't care about any of that! I don't care about symbolism or hidden meanings or the whims of a higher power! I won't let...!

[ He chokes. He can tell he's slipping into an irrational, even childish frame of mind as the physical pain draws out some of his psychological wounds like a siphon. Power, wisdom, fortitude, money, possessions, renown... None of it could mean anything without Ike by his side. There is only one thing he truly wants in all the worlds that could possibly exist beyond the sea and the stars. He resists the compulsion to squirm, to thrash like the mighty beast he is becoming. It is a good thing his long tail hasn't grown in yet like the dreams portend it will. His grasp on resistance is a tenuous one, though, and Soren cannot resist a jerk of his head, a twitch of his wings, a growl from his throat. Pink saliva dribbles down the side of his mouth. Tears bead at the corners of his eyes squeezed shut.

He, his mind, wrestling with the dragon, his more intense emotions. If there's any symbolism to be derived at all from this... ]

I won't let even gods interfere! Only one person can tell me which battles I will fight!

[futhark]

[ That struck a nerve— a good indication to take a break when the current part of the line is finished. Caster knows he can't waver, lest the spell won't bind itself the way it should. But Soren's emotional reaction, combined with the spell of the ink and his own magic— he feels it being tugged and pulled more than was his intention. So he makes sure that the line is perfect, and all the skin is marked as it should be, in right amount, on the right depth, with just enough energy to keep it—

And then he stops. In case a stray wing jerk slaps his tools away from his hands. ]

And what this person would tell you here— Shouldn't you make sure to survive, so you can meet them again? [ Won't let gods interfere is a powerful and bold claim. Few would shout it out to the heavens, which makes it even more poignant. Which shows what kind of person Soren is

Of course, then there are dragon instincts firing off, and Caster knows how they look if let go unchecked. Hell, he still bears the mark of last times it happened. Could he subdue Soren if it went to full fight? He sure would try— to be honest, he'd probably enjoy trying that. Seeking a thrill of good fight is not something that changed with him becoming mortal. ]

[silentsavant]

[ The tension in his body unwinds like a taut string dropped. His wings stop flailing, his muscles stop jerking. Now that the pain relented, Soren could scale back his mental tumble down the precipice of madness. That sort of fall has been alarmingly frequent since he became a Monster. It must be the magic imbued in the ink that helps to stabilize him even more amid the surge of aggression flaring up within him. He takes labored shallow breaths, his mind hovering over Caster's question with more clarity than before. He wipes the spittle off his chin with the back of his sleeve and a touch of embarrassment, keeping his eyes down to the ground. ]

Naturally.

[ He's being lectured, isn't he? Probably something about his defiance even in the face of gods or his heated dismissal of symbols and meanings, which do have currency here in better understanding what kind of situation they are in. He must seem awfully hot-headed right now, spouting such ill-advised determination. Ill-advised or not, it doesn't erase his conviction to return to Ike's side again: whatever the cost, he will pay. And that feeling had taken the helm of him: an emotional outburst for someone who claims to be a logical person. The first embers of combativeness still burn in his blood. Once provoked, it's become difficult to recover from. His jaw feels tight around his embittered words. ]

But if the very heavens are against us meeting, then that pits them against me. What are they going to do, strike me down where I stand? [ A derisive puff of air leaves his nostrils. ] Back where I come from, the goddesses weren't even aware of my existence.

[futhark]

[ Caster saw this kind of conviction and defiance, saw him in the Master that he left when coming here. Humans who are able to fight against all odds— some would say they defy fate itself. Someone else might say that it is their fate to make the impossible. Caster trails his fingers down Soren's spine, maybe the touch will help him to anchor in here.

Maybe the trickle of magical energy that he pours into the dragon with his touch will. Soothing and warm. Not that just touch would do much to calm a possibly feral mind, but it can be a start ]

Truly, if this world wants to be saved, it has made a mistake by taking in here only you, without your other half. [ Metaphorically, or literally whatever. ] Make this fight a purpose, and this struggle its fuel. Until you meet again..!

[ This would be such a great story. He's fascinated because that's what druids are: storytellers, keepers of the lore. ]

Next time I will make a tattoo over your heart. [ A logical and calm person, ha. It's been a long time since he saw so much passion in someone ]

[silentsavant]

[ He bristles at the touch that drifts down his spine, which tickles unpleasantly at first before the tickle grows curiously pleasant. He recognizes this sensation and silently appreciates his sensible call to mollify him with magic.

What pleases and placates his mind is hearing someone voice a sentiment he agrees with. And to hear the phrase his other half...! Nothing could ring truer. Of course, it's followed by a spike of embarrassment. Reading between the lines there, he knows he's being ribbed about his display of volatility, which reveals quite a bit of emotional rawness that normally stays scabbed over and bandaged up tight. He hunches just a hair more in his position. ]

...The abnormal pain brought out a lot of my inner turmoil to the surface. Even the most logical person can have a storm brewing within. When one half is missing from the whole, what does that make the piece?

[futhark]

True... [ Well, he could say he stands corrected, but in his mind, if the logic and calm is a shield to keep emotions within— he doesn't know Soren enough to say for sure which it is ]

That piece on its own is then a whole, waiting to be reunited in something bigger than themselves. Like a knight without a king, king without the country— or simpler lovers torn apart. [ He continues the soothing touch, but his voice drops down into a thoughtful tone. It is something that he mulls himself, after all. Not the king part, but the knight without one to serve. A Servant without a Master. It's all about purpose, it's all about bonds. ] Reunion though, that is always possible. World is smaller than it looks.

[ Time to start finishing touches on the ward— Cú finds himself genuinely wishing for this quiet and passionate dragon, to meet again with the one he misses so much. ]