aymeric de borel, certified 0 flaws except f (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
civicbooty) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-05-18 09:48 pm
civicbooty) wrote in middaeg2019-05-18 09:48 pm
(open) & i may not see the future,
Who: Aymeric and Francel and Solas in closed prompts; whoever wants an elf goodboy who likes ethics discussions and long walks on the beach in the open prompt!
When: mid to late May.
Where: the Coven, the Haven.
What: magic, ruminating on politics, rich boys probably putting mattresses on the floor, etc.
Warnings: gore, actually, but it's fine, everything's fine,
♞ practical magic. (the coven, open.)
♞ walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut. (moving in, for francel.)
♞ a strategy discussion. (tea, for francel & solas.)
(note/the wildcard option: prose is always okay. for any other ideas/whatever, feel free to pm me or hmu on plurk at elegiae ♡
unrelated note that a reference to the parliamentary records building is now undermael college because I didn't see a question on the faq until right now,,,)
When: mid to late May.
Where: the Coven, the Haven.
What: magic, ruminating on politics, rich boys probably putting mattresses on the floor, etc.
Warnings: gore, actually, but it's fine, everything's fine,
♞ practical magic. (the coven, open.)
[ Every day, without fail, Aymeric can be found at the Coven, diligently working on his magic. He's progressing slowly, in part because he's chosen no straightforward discipline: often he has an object in front of him on which he'll cast a spell; then he'll wait a little and touch it lightly with his fingertips. Many times he'll only purse his lips or frown, but other times, he'll yank his hand back as if burned (and he might be).
He also practices shielding magic, as best he can — he may turn, sometimes, and ask the nearest obvious newcomer if they wouldn't mind throwing something at him, yes really, harmless or otherwise. He's wearing armor; it's fine. ]
♞ walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut. (moving in, for francel.)
[ The house, the witches assured them, is perfectly safe. Yes, it did once belong to a family who succumbed to the Cwyld, but that's no reason for alarm, of course, they said; get a tea table and some chairs; get a fire started in the hearth, and it'll feel just like home.
It feels nothing like home, though, even after he and Francel have dusted all the rooms and carried in a few pieces of inexpensive but solidly-built furniture. Aefenglom is much too warm, for one thing.
By the time night falls, and there's nothing else to bring in or to clean, Aymeric has shed his armor in the house somewhere, poured two glasses of water, and coaxed Francel out to the covered front steps with them as a remedy for the house's stale air.
No one, at this hour, will see Francel's emerging scales.
The twin moons are bright overhead. Aymeric settles on the top step, allowing Francel space, and stretches out his dusty legs, looking pensively up at the sky. He takes a long, cool sip before he speaks. ]
I've wondered, I must confess, how much they truly know of that lesser moon. Folly, I suppose.
♞ a strategy discussion. (tea, for francel & solas.)
[ It still hasn't occurred to Aymeric to use his watch more often — or almost ever — so he's delighted when he runs into Solas by pure chance a day after they've moved into the Haven. They can't offer much in the way of hospitality, but they do have tea, and a table, and chairs, just as the witches suggested, and Aymeric extends a prompt invitation.
The house is too large for two people, though not as luxurious as some of those nearer the center of the city. The yard is a tangled mess of weeds, and thick ivy has smothered all but the windows on one side of the house. Part of the quaint carved wood detail above the covered porch has a sizable splintered hole in it, as if it was struck by something heavy, and a massive scrape mars the faded paint on the front door. The towering pale wall that separates the inner city from the outer is starkly visible, here, through the other homes.
Aymeric slows as they approach the door. ]
Francel has been reclusive, of late. I've no doubt he'll be glad of your company, but if he appears reluctant, pray forgive him.
[ He pushes it open, stepping into a clean but empty narrow foyer split by a staircase, and raises his voice: ]
Francel?
(note/the wildcard option: prose is always okay. for any other ideas/whatever, feel free to pm me or hmu on plurk at elegiae ♡
unrelated note that a reference to the parliamentary records building is now undermael college because I didn't see a question on the faq until right now,,,)
no subject
[ He took the feather, turned it in his fingers with a boyish, soft 'wow' while he leaned back against Aymeric's chest. His fascination with the simple thing was warm and bright, and he didn't spare a single thought to how strange it was, for the sudden, enfolding comfort of Aymeric to envelop him. ]
It's really beautiful, isn't it? Look how it's paler near the beginning of the feather and goes gold, and then red toward the tip? Variegated, like a wolf's guard hairs. We could probably tell how old it is, with this...
And no, I haven't practiced any divination. My luck, all I'd learn is what meal I'd be eating a month from now at dinner or something stupid like that.
no subject
[ His voice was pleasantly surprised. He hooked an arm around Cain's middle and squeezed, briefly and for no reason, before he let go, pulling away. ]
In my homeland, they're a nuisance along the road, for the most part — a danger to traveling merchants unwilling to pay a sellsword or two — but now and again some noble child endeavors to raise one as a pet, and even the hardest heart would needs admit they're lovely creatures. Not friendly, I would say, but loyal enough, and less fearsome when they've not been half-starved.
[ He picked up his armor as he spoke, shaking off each piece before he tucked it in the crook of his arm. ]
Shall we meet your contact by the edge of the wood?
no subject
[ Except what he'd learned from a 50-cune veterinary textbook, over the last two months. Before walking through the mirror, he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between a dog, a wolf, and a bear.
The squeeze was settling, somehow, as much as a stroke through his hair. His fingers drifted along Aymeric's arm as it slipped away. Cain listened while he quickly tore a page out of his little notebook. ]
It's interesting, you know? How much hard conditions change what you are. Animals and people. Is it really true, that they sing? I mean, um... howl?
[ He reached down to extricate the elf's sword, and used the side of his boot to quickly cleave off the worst of the drying gore, and with two folds made a firm edge with the paper to take care of all but streaks of the blood, which he just smeared off on the straight of his sleeve. ]
Are you sure this isn't just... I dunno, an anvil magicked to look like a sword? I'm not even carrying it and I'm already sweating.
Edge of the woods should be good. They'll be coming with horses and cart, so it might be... I dunno, twenty, thirty minutes?
no subject
I am accustomed to it. A famed dragonslayer was once its master; it was given to me for good fortune. [ He shot a dazzling smile over his shoulder: ] I don't suppose you could hold it a little longer, for me?
And they sing, aye. You can hear them, some nights, even from the city, if they're close enough.
[ You would like it, he didn't say, kneeling to pick up the last of his plate. You would want for nothing, and every snowfield and red plateau and misty ravine and fathomless cascade would be yours.
Cain knew, he trusted, and he had pushed enough. ]
no subject
And then smiled, and shook his head, reaching down to heft the heavy thing with a grunt, bracing the blade against his shoulder and keeping his free hand on the ornate faceplates where a fuller would normally be to keep it from sliding. Despite his exclamation, he did not seem unused to such heavy burdens. ]
Shit, keep looking at me like that and I'd move the moon. Does it have a name? I learned somewhere that most famous swords have names.
[ The smile became a grin, though, at the idea of hearing wolves from the city. He imagined a room like his own at the tower, with a vista not of the port but of mountains, and snow, and steep, dark forests like he'd imagined listening to his grandmother tell stories of Prince Ivan and the Wolf-lord.
He waited aside, for the other man to lead. ]
So... what does your city look like? Before this place, most I've ever seen were half-underground.
no subject
The city itself—
[ He tipped his head back, fondly reverent: ]
It sits atop a mountain, half above and half below the clouds; to reach it, you must go by bridge, or fly. Our stonemasons are the most brilliant of any nation — there are arches and bridges and pillars and great carved statues all around; wherever stone can be found, a stone-carver has left his love of the art, and the spires of the cathedrals were made to look as though they touch the heavens. The cold is too much for most things to grow, but the mountain flowers and evergreens that will are in every window-box, lining every street. If you look below over the edge of a path, the foundation of the city stretches down and down and down into mist, till you can see no more. The highlands outside the gates were green, once. Now it is winter, there, no matter the time of year — but beyond that, past the mountains, on a clear day, you can see the green hills to the south.
[ He looked back at Cain, a little abashed. ]
I am no poet, I fear. Still: I have been to every friendly city on the continent, and Ishgard, I would swear to anyone, is a jewel among them.
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[ The name of a dragon. Had it been as blue as the sword? Had it been a man, or woman? Had a family? Most of his closest friends among the monsters of this city were dragons. He could no longer imagine them as anything but people. He made a thoughtful noise.
And watched Aymeric with a growing smile, as they walked. Risked flitting one hand down from the sword to dig out the communicator again, because there was no way he was gonna pass up a picture (even one sepia-toned and blurry) of Aymeric looking like that, radiantly describing home, arms full of armor. ]
You love it. That makes it better than poetry, you ask me. It sounds... beautiful.
But what happened? To make it... always winter?
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That is...difficult for me to answer, being no scholar, but — there were once two moons. One of them fell, in short, some years past. We could see it coming down from the city, but we were mired in battle with the dragons at the time, and we had...the strictest orders not to seek outside aid, nor to lend our own. So we prayed, as foolish as it may sound, and we went on fighting.
The night it fell, unimaginable storms swept through our lands — the most fell blizzards we are ever like to see, I think. Rivers froze overnight. Whole villages were buried in snow. In the days after, outlying garrisons and settlements were overrun. Most remain the province of dragons and wild creatures; expeditions to retrieve supplies and administer funeral rites only ended in greater losses.
[ He shifted his armor, forced himself to focus. ]
The sun returned, after some time, but the cold remained. We have adjusted, of course — yet we still lack the means to grow much of what we could, and we must rely on trade for more of the necessaries than I would like. The trade routes are fraught with danger, and travel by airship is costly. Only the wealthiest can afford what merchants bring in, and the city is thus obligated to acquire the simplest supplies at great cost—
[ Aymeric caught himself, suddenly, with a visible start, and cast a quick smile at Cain. ]
I— apologies; you wanted to know about the winter.
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No, I want to hear about everything. We've got time, and I should know.
[ It sounded like a pole shift. And desperately, he wanted to reach for his notepad again. Had tides shifted patterns? How had compasses and other rudimentary magnets reacted?
He realized with a start that they might not be able to measure a pole shift of a few degrees. And that... something magical might also be at work, a complication or... strange interference...
But already he had the serious, focused-in expression that passed over him when he'd seized on a problem he wanted to chew on. ]
You said people can only come by air or bridge... Mountains, the terrain has to be rough, I bet... What's the nearest other center of trade? By ground, what's the distance? Do people go on foot, with horses, or... tell me what the mode of travel is, how many days a trip usually takes. Could you draw me dimensions of the bridges, later, kind've... roughly?
And um, airships, tell me what's the status of that kind of travel. Do captains need to account for storms, air currents, or have they reached altitudes above weather yet?
cw lore bullshitting i don't know. send help
They do travel above weather, I...believe. The knowledge of airship engineers is well beyond my understanding, I should warn you. Airships are run with ceruleum, which is volatile, and rare, and must be sent from far off in the desert.
The nearest center of trade, truly, would be the nearest city, Gridania, which by land is a journey of near a week, in fair weather and by chocobo. [ He looked uncertainly at Cain, gauging his familiarity, but continued. ]
The greatest trouble is that the road is often watched by bandits. The nation to the south has not the men to spare to patrol it in great numbers, and Ishgard lacks the support: watchtowers, walled settlements, that sort of thing — not to mention that much of the road is traditionally the territory of noble families, not the city, and they may take exception to my knights usurping their authority.
HAH oh god i feel you, just roll with what feels right
But trust me, whatever the hell kinda engine they're running, we can do better. Imagine an airship that runs on something twice as powerful that you can probably mine right outta your own mountains.
[ Cain was nodding, the mental gears already spinning. Maybe the ten years of learning about Martian geology in basic classes would actually come to some kind of use?
He drummed his fingers on the sword he carried. ]
But that'll always be the second-best option, Meric. Because... think of it as math, right. To fly, and travel that distance, you need the power to battle multiple forces. You need to go up, then in the right direction fighting air currents, and the more goods you transport the heavier you are, so the more power you need.
And, um. You're already at the top of a mountain. Gravity's your friend, you've got like... one of the most powerful forces in the universe just sitting there, unused. The same way aqueducts work, right? The tiniest slope, maintained over miles, keeps the water moving down-elevation into cities. What you want is... a railway of some kind. Turn that week into two days.
Besides, the noble problem should be easy to work around. The answer's sitting right there in front of you?
[ He cast a thoughtful look up at Aymeric. ]
What's your relationship with the church like? Do you have connections you could call on? What's the faith's relationship with the, um, the nobility?
What I'm getting at, is... if you want someone to do a thing, make it something they want to do. Don't brow-beat the nobles into it, find a charismatic young priest who wants his own chapel or something.
A new place of worship, dead-center of the road, a place for the faithful to rest on the journey and pray in peace, and to greet... y'know, pilgrims. Build a sense of exclusivity, it's a project only the best stonemasons and artists will have access to, and of course it'll need protection, maybe a local watchtower and garrison, good fucking heavens, you can't have men of the faith and such a holy place out there all alone with the bandits...
You could probably get merchants outside of the nobility to help donate money too, if you explain the practical benefits of them throwing their support behind the idea.
[ He flit his freer hand down to snatch up one of the flowers and pop it into his mouth, chewing with a pleased noise. ]
But yeah, definitely needs a railway. If you can't increase productivity, you decrease wasted time.
no subject
So you've a mind for this, as well. Gods have mercy on any who would oppose us when we are wed.
[ It was a jest, like the rest of it, but a calculating part of his mind whispered: if it were done outside the city, without fanfare, in a proper chapel, and they could have witnesses attest to Halonic rites, and he came back to the city quietly with a ring on his finger — they already knew he was hardly a man of faith, and he tired of the unwed daughters of wealthy men concocting tales of his affairs, tired of using himself as bait. The interest would never end; teasing the lure of quiet trysts was a national pastime — but it might slow.
But the idea supposed conditions that could not be guaranteed, and many of them. It was a pleasant daydream. He pushed it away, focusing. ]
My...relationship with the Church is as poor as it possibly can be, to be frank. Much of what I've done in enacting peace, denouncing old teachings, and encouraging reforms was all once considered heretical — and remains so, you can be certain, by much of the clergy. The punishment for heresy was most often death, by direct means or otherwise, but the commonfolk were the most disadvantaged by the Church's teachings — and so their support swung to me, and that support has been something of a shield.
Still, there is a necessary balance: I must also maintain some favor among the most influential noble houses, whose supremacy was once a part of the faith. They have the most power to block my proposals, if they so choose. I am a representative among them, you must understand, not a king; I have limited my own authority. Ishgard has ever been ruled by a single man, and I have, effectively, deposed my father: accusations of ambition and patricide are not to be taken lightly, though I've weathered them thus far.
However— [ he shifted his arms, wanting to reach out for Cain's, reassure him that his ideas were right, even with these obstacles and qualifications— ] —with such advancements as you propose, I could win enough support that all but the staunchest, most conservative men of the Church would be forced to allow new ideas. Who could rightly oppose swifter trade, less danger along the roads? The chance to reclaim what has been lost with minimal risk?
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Oppose us? Who would dare? I need to teach you some romaniya, I think you'd really... really understand.
[ But he listened, avidly, nodding and flicking his eyes often between the path ahead and Aymeric as he spoke. Blew a breath to get his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. ]
So you've... been walking a tightrope. How long? I... How long has that been going on, I mean?
So... you've got the people, who want reform. The church, who's got like... an investment in the opposite, mostly. Nobles probably somewhere in between but who want all the trappings of power and authority and whatever.
We need a miracle to unite them behind, Meric. We can't just... propose, theorize, tell all these people what we plan like lecturers. Even if you believe in my ability and I can prove whatever we need with models, that's not enough to overcome... all the negatives I bring to the table, and the weaknesses you're already pretty much maneuvering with, you know?
You don't have enough, um... political capital, with all those parties... to waste on one mad fucking gamble with me. And the same people that have a target on your back will paint one on mine, and dig in their heels, because voting against some crazy foreigner with bizarre science experiments would be an easy victory to net against you. And until they see proof that I can make shit work, the victory is all that matters. Digging a petty fucking thumb into your eye.
[ He drummed his fingertips on the sword again, mind racing. ]
I need something that brings in the clergy wholesale. Need to be in a position that complements your strengths.
So... we need a miracle... and if the Fury is like Mars... something big, symbolic, iconic. Three weapons, or a shield...
no subject
He'd have to remember to get Francel one of his favorite tarts for evidently explaining something of the Fury.
What to answer first— ]
No, I quite agree: the people will trust in deeds, results they can see. We must enter from a position of strength without asking first for resources. A miracle is a fine idea, though it may be difficult to manage. The Church has been without a leader for nigh on half a year; I was its acting head, for a time, and there was open dissent, but I stepped down not long after. I suspect the Church means to elect a new archbishop, in time — an arbiter of the Fury's will — and I dearly hope they've not chosen to do so in my absence. I have wondered for moons how to draw in the clergy without inadvertently returning any measure of their power, in truth. Much of the faith was built on lies made to perpetuate the war indefinitely, and I cannot even tacitly endorse them.
With that said: one of the faith's tenets I've no intention of refuting is our divine right to our historical lands.
[ He paused, bit his lower lip. ]
What is the land of Mars like? It is your star, is it not? And also a god, if I take your meaning?
no subject
He realized with a start that he was.. happy. This, this, whatever it was, made him happy. ]
Assume and plan for the worst, I'd say: that they've elected some fucking vile, stubborn ass who wants to say 'no' just because.
But. But. Even that, I think we could massage in our favor. We can find a way, I'm sure, to... to prune, I guess, how the faith interacts with politics. Pull up the weeds.
[ He... blinked up at Aymeric at the following question, and went inward for a few steps, clearly trying to figure out what to say, and how. ]
Mars was... a god of war. Back in the old times. My... the star I come from, I guess,
[ It seemed pedantic to discuss planets, stars, solar systems... ]
Was named after him, thousands and thousands of years before anyone ever set foot there. The god is a million times better than the place. A god of war, but... not of violence, really, of...hm, gaining peace through war. A god of the military, of civilization and order, a... guardian.
The land is a red desert. Violent windstorms and cold, so cold that even on summer nights if you didn't wear protective gear, if your skin touched the air it would freeze solid. But... there's no water. It all has to be imported. So there's no snow, or anything like that. Just the red sand, and dust, and stone, in all directions. Bad days, the dunes in the crater basin would swell... two hundred metres? About a hundred times your height, and they'd roll, like the waves on the ocean.
Beautiful. Terrible, and beautiful.
But... most time I spent in the city, underground. Where it was dark, and dank, and the air awful and acrid from the metal refineries.
no subject
In theory, at least.
Still, this was useful — and the lightness across the Bond, reflected back at him, was startling in a better way. He badly wanted to put down his armor again; shifted it instead, rolling his shoulders. ]
The surface sounds, in some ways, quite like the surface of the most sorely-affected regions of the highlands — they're neither barren nor so cold, but neither are they hospitable. How did your people grow crops, then?
no subject
Aymeric, Mars grows nothing.
No crops, no plants, not even lichens or moss. I'd never seen a real plant, before coming here. I was... was totally serious. It uses too much water, and water's too rare already. Sometimes when I was a kid, and the water-rations were bad because of pirates or asteroid-wrecked shipments, you'd go months without drinking; just need to have it injected subdermally. Um, use a hollow needle to put it under your skin. So it's just what you need to survive, and a little more, and nothing else, and not even a drop is wasted. Mars, Mars wastes nothing.
And being able to eat a plant... a real plant, probably dried and dehydrated... that's a luxury you'd save weeks for. And nobody eats animals, eats flesh.
Most of our food is... it's complicated to explain. But basically, we... create single-cellular organisms, bacteria, so small that millions could fit on a nailhead, right, give them the chemicals to... produce the raw compounds. Protein, in tasteless sheets, vitamins, all the um... the compounds that your body takes from food, we just make, and eat that. Usually you'll eat it in slurries or soups or something, with esters to simulate flavor. Potato or beet, usually. Onion.
Food, any real food, like flour, or honey, or salt... it has to be imported. Some things, like fruits, you'll never afford. And in poor families like mine, in the underclass, most people would save for weeks to afford nice, special imported things like those on holidays.
And it's... so fucking weird, you know. To eat something that was alive, once, and had dreams, felt things. I had nightmares for days.
no subject
If he hadn't elected to take off his shirt, he would've pulled Cain in completely — but he had, and he wasn't that selfish. He lifted a darker hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against Cain's scarred knuckles, and that was his answer to hollow needles, water-rations, chemicals and compounds, and nightmares. ]
no subject
Easy as breathing, as if the gesture were already familiar somehow. Comfortingly, comfortably familiar, like a scent or sensation that recalled only good memories and the golden warmth of being loved, and safe, and home.
His other hand slipped up, too, curved carefully around the base and back of Aymeric's neck. Tacky with sweat, firmly muscled under his delicately light touch. As Aymeric brought his scarred laborer's hand up to his lips, Cain's hand moved, fingertips drawing up through the fall of Aymeric's dark hair... and slipped aside, backs of his fngers smoothly caressing up the underside of a pointed ear. ]
We're going to break that winter, Aymeric. And live long enough to watch good things grow.
no subject
I— thank you.
[ He lowered Cain's hand as his other came up to cup the back of Cain's own neck, but the motion was different — rougher, more urgent, taut with restraint. He flexed his fingers deliberately; his hand slid down to rest on Cain's shoulder.
They could think of a miracle. There was something he didn't want to forget: ]
Tell me what romaniya is, before it slips my mind.
no subject
I want this.
[ Cain's body was pliant, liquid to the slightest touch. He pressed close, close enough that neither needed to do more than whisper. Repeated the same caress, just along the back of Aymeric's neck and through his hair, slow and soothing.
Wanting, in some way, to make him feel that he was less alone, that his burdens weren't only his own. That he could, for once, for once, just... breathe easier. ]
It's... a word for all the culture of my people, but also... a way to be, a philosophy. Balancing the virtues in yourself, one person, to do the most good for your people. But also how to recognize and exploit the weaknesses of others, for the good of your people.
no subject
"Exploit."
[ There was sardonic humor in his voice, even as low as it was — but exploit was the word, it was true. Of course he had. Never with malice, and only when it was needed, but the principle was the same. ]
But I am...gratified that you understand, I truly am. When you spoke of hard decisions, I thought perhaps you might not, for a moment — as if I were already beyond hope.
no subject
You're not. I promise you.
But even if you were, Meric, I'd be the last person to throw stones.
no subject
[ He drew back just enough to grin at Cain, careful not to pull away from his arms. ]
Your heart is generous enough to make me feel like a damned butcher, now and then.
no subject
When we get into a really tough spot and I advocate for some kinda response that's more severe than you'll allow, Meric, you'll wonder,
[ He leaned away just a little and put on his mimicry of Aymeric's voice, soft, and wondering. ]
'What? Who's this butcher I married? Who endorses being efficient at THIS high cost? I'll need to distract him ere he compromises our souls... Food, likely, something with food, I've never seen a grown man cry so much over so simple a thing. His mind will be in another place for days.'
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