as mortals do

multimuse roleplay blog! orion, he/him, 18+

[crimsontroupe]

"Whatever gave you the impression that I was?" The smirk that is painted on his lips is answer enough. Aliah takes some amusement from this situation, of course. Not the death, not the destruction. But to see Faust so eager to please, that clear glimpse of the adventuring heart his companion possesses... it is charming. Aliah wishes to devour it whole.

"Be careful when approaching others. Even a dead man can pose a problem. I would rather not see you blown to smithereens. Too difficult to piece you back together, see." It is still part of his wicked sense of humor, but the Spell Lord actually means it this time. The cost of the spell is not the matter here, but it would inconvenience him. Aliah rotates his wrists for a moment, making sure he still is in full control of himself.

"Unlikely. The journey from Nex to Absalom is long, and what exactly could they possibly offer for my head that they would not sell their mercenary allies in order to get something in return out of me instead? A fee for 'warning about a potential attack against a prominent political figure' would give them better leverage. Killing me only gets them bragging rights. And that can only carry them so far.

And I believe any spellcaster worth their coin is currently busy in Quantium. This is clearly the product of desperate men with enough coin to afford a decent caster, but not the best." Aliah does not mention his suspicion that if they were really from Nex, the approach towards another wizard would be different. They would be more cautious, and they would at least make sure Aliah cannot speak. "I would not call this job amateurish, there is certainly some polish here."

He takes Faust's theory into account, of course. "While not unheard of, to try and kill me still in Absalom is risky. And of course. Take care to not miss; I will not have nearly enough time to cover for you."

Not that he will need to. Aliah's gaze goes from the man falling to the ground to the one further away from him. As the man rises from his seat, Aliah is already moving his hands and preparing a spell. His leg is perforated by a massive spike, pinning him to the ground. Aliah makes sure to not kill, not yet.

It is easier to extract information from living beings than reanimating corpses momentarily to achieve results that would be cryptic and more trouble than they are worth. "Faust," he calls out. "I know you still have ammunition. Shoot his hand. I would rather take one of them alive and figure out what is going on here."

He levels his gaze to the panting mercenary, who could barely restrain himself from screaming in pain while making futile attempts to break free. His eyes narrow, and Aliah raises his voice enough that it can be heard through the rush of adrenaline the man certainly is feeling right now.

"I would advise against that. Move, and I will make sure I pick an even worse area to target. As you are, at least you are not bleeding everywhere on the floor." It is clear that he wizard has no issues in picking another spell, or simply repeating it in a more deadly fashion. "You owe both of us answers. But more importantly, you owe Absalom answers to the actions committed on this night."

[kesil]

Faust would wince in sympathy, if he had any. Instead, he holds the impaled man at gunpoint. "You know, I don't need to shoot your hand," he says. "If you cooperate, answer our questions, and don't make any sudden movements, you can potentially survive today's events with only a nasty scar on that leg. Whereas if I shoot you, the force of impact will surely shatter many of the small bones in your hand, leaving you quite maimed."

"Fuck. Fuck, I'll talk, just-- just get this thing out of my leg--"

"Really?" Faust asks, mildly. "My companion here has pierced several vital veins. The spike currently embedded in your leg is the only thing keeping you from bleeding out on the floor, as he’s already pointed out. I could ask him to remove it, but without prompt medical care, you'll almost certainly die. And I, mysteriously, don't find myself willing to provide that care at the moment."

The man has broken out into a cold sweat, his panting growing harsher. He nods jerkily, and starts to speak.

"Boss said we just needed to hold you in that room and you wouldn't be able to pull any magic tricks on us. Said… said no noble family in the city would risk losing their pet politician, so we'd have the ransom within a day, and be out of the city before anyone was the wiser. Idiot bastard. Should've known it was a setup. The mage didn't even want a cut of the gold, just to-- to--"

Faust's body moves faster than his mind. By the time the man's sudden halting, gagging cough has turned to outright vomiting, Faust has propped him up and turned him to one side, ensuring the man doesn't drown in his own bile while trying to avoid moving the impaled leg.

It won't be enough. Thick, vile-smelling liquid spills down the man's front and over Faust's coat, staining it an unnatural pitch black. 

"He's not ill," Faust says to Aliah, though he's certain the younger man is already aware that this is no medical affliction. "A curse, I think. Can you do anything?"

[crimsontroupe]

❝ we both know how this ends. ❞ demon lord faust to aliah - @kesil ╰┈➤ STARTER PROMPTS : Sherlock Holmes : A Game of Shadows (accepting!)

"With my death or yours." One of the many answers Faust probably expected from him. He does not lift his eyes from the book he reads, not minding the bundle of deathers and eyes resting against him. This has become something of a routine for both of them, Aliah realizes. And while his anger spikes and twists, it coils around his neck like a snake. Strangles him and then lets go.

"With my part of the bargain or with me strangling it out of you. It was always that simple, and you always knew I would not simply sit and wait for the end. You gave me a new lease on life, that I will admit -- but you are also aware I shall not dance to your tune." When he does look at Faust, there is a slight hint of amusement in those dangerous red eyes.

"It is simply a matter of returning to where I belong, is it not? And once that is done, dragging your true form out of the Abyss. By then, my magic should be my own. It ends in blood, Faust. It always ends in blood.

I shall play the obedient little puppet until it stops being convenient to me. When you dragged me out of the Boneyard, I am sure you knew what would expect you. A good challenge, a partner. A kindred soul, however twisted it might be.

And I will admit that you do have your charms - and your conversations are intellectually stimulating. But there shall never be an 'equal' relationship between us while we you are still pretending to act as my patron. Will you turn blood into something else?

Will you let the prospect of eternity alone consume you? You have been tempted by me, or you would have not gone through such lengths to acquire my cooperation. Bargaining with Pharasma is not an easy feat, after all. Were I a little different - or perhaps you a little different - then maybe the end would have been unexpectedly pleasant. As it stands, it is my blood upon yours. And I do not intend to lose."

[kesil]

Faust stretches one of his wings out lazily, narrowly avoiding knocking over a nearby piece of decor, and nestles closer to Aliah. His eyes blink slowly at random intervals, seemingly uncoordinated, and many of them seem to be staring into such a great distance that they may be examining other planes. The great feathery bulk of him shifts in Aliah’s lap like a cat.

"I look forward to seeing you try to pull any demon lord from the Abyss," he murmurs, voice vibrating low in the back of his impossibly-constructed throat. "Few would be unwise enough to attempt such a thing. But you, I think, would find a way to accomplish that feat, even if it took you years of planning. I respect that mind of yours, Aliah.”

He falls silent for a while as Aliah reads. From time to time, his feathers twitch or fluff up, as if reacting to stimuli not present in this dimension.

"And should I cease to be your patron?" He asks, suddenly. Two dozen of Faust's hundred eyes swivel simultaneously to focus on Aliah. "If I were to release you from your contract, restore your power, and present myself as your equal… what then, my dear Spell Lord? Would you slay my avatar and leave me heartbroken and alone, bereft of the delight of your companionship?"

The demon lord’s tone is light and playful. There is no indication that his words are anything but mocking--other than the too-hungry and too-sincere stare of his eyes.

[crimsontroupe]

Ever since meeting Danya, it seems that Faust has been keeping himself entertained by a new project. It is certainly different when you have enough time and resources to simply apply and research things as you feel like it is suited to you. Aliah can understand that sentiment, a little bit.

More than his family name, it was his accomplishments that allowed him progress and prestige. But he is not a fool: Aliah knows many doors were open or were more easily available because he is who he is. Faust has his position going for him... although he doubts the 'good doctor' is entirely unaware of Aliah's plans and how much gossip he generates just by existing. It's interesting. It's challenging, it is stimulating.

Something that a man that Aliah Margolus enjoys extensively. There is something enticing in challenges, in people that catch his attention and prove again and again their worth and value. Faust is one of such people. Which is why his gaze shifts from the object he is perusing and goes directly to the door when he hears it open. The humming of magic that seems familiar to the person that crosses by, that does not trigger any kind of suspicious response from the myriad of spells Aliah has cast upon his lair to keep intruders and curious folk away.

But the difference between spells and the human mind is that spells follow a strict formula, rigid parameters to follow. The brain, while unreliable, can be relied to catch things that are familiar but different. Another person would see it and simply brush it aside. Not Aliah. Faust is methodical. He does the same thing every day: a man of habit and routines. This goes down to a level most mundane.

It includes item placement. Again, another person would have thought Faust to be exhausted and simply ignore it. Aliah does not let his gaze linger on the exact hook this man has used for too long; it is one that is used by Aliah himself most of the time, a cloak with the symbol of the Arcanamirium would usually rest there (said item is left unattended by the couch in the moment), and Faust places his bag directly on the middle hook, directly right from where this person did place it.

He blinks once, then again. Goes back to routine inspection on a most interesting trinket that landed on his lap. Always work related, of course. Allows the stranger to make himself comfortable, makes himself look busy and that was the whole reason for the lack of a more elaborated response.

A minute pass. Then two. Then five. It is only then that Aliah stares at familiar golden eyes. A simple, easy question would suffice. It would be warning enough.

"Who are you?"

[kesil]

The furniture in Aliah’s lair is luxurious in design but practical in its use and comfort. Faust settles onto a sofa positioned near Aliah’s desk and makes himself at home. When he shifts position after a few minutes, something pointy digs into his thigh, and Faust feels around until he pulls a familiar golden-brown contour feather from the brocade fabric of the sofa.

“Shedding as much as ever, I see,” he murmurs, more to himself than as part of his act. If Faust had anything left to call a heart, it would be warmed by the immediate recognition of the feather as belonging to the dear little creation he’d granted to his Aliah. Surely its charm made an impact, if Aliah reproduced it independently in this world. Faust twirls the feather idly, allowing his expression to soften to something far too human (really, is this Faust not embarrassed walking around with this look on his face?) as he watches Aliah work. 

Then Aliah speaks.

Faust’s eyes widen, not from surprise, but unadulterated rage. In an instant, the room—fortified by years of tenth-rank spells cast into its walls—seems to warp inward, all of the space between Aliah and Faust contracting until they’re nearly nose to nose. Faust could kill this man. He could unmake him so thoroughly that nothing short of a greater god’s intervention would write this Aliah back into history. It would, perhaps, be worth the loss of useful information for that moment of satisfaction.

The instant stretches to infinity as Faust considers.

Reality snaps back into place. There is not a molecule misaligned in Aliah’s lair; there never was. The time that did not pass here is of no matter.

“I thought I’d have at least a moment of your attention before you worked it out, Aliah.” Faust says the name like he’d like to wrap his tongue around it. “You couldn’t even look up from your work long enough to welcome me home? I’m hurt, you know. I traveled such a long way to see you.”

[crimsontroupe]

by hozumiaka @ skeb

[kesil]

what's peculiar about your soul?

faust

Your soul is... Bleeding It is bleeding all the time. Sometimes it's a gentle, almost unnoticeable trickle. Other times, it drips from your display and floods onto the carpet. It frequently needs to be dealt with- wounds that never seem to heal must be resutured and rebandaged. No one is sure where exactly the blood is coming from... but it does not seem to be of short supply. You are screaming. You are in agony. Every twitch sends another rocket of white hot pain through you. You assumed life after death would be painless. You assumed incorrectly.

photios

Your soul is... Warm It draws those nearby closer to it, like a pleasantly crackling fireplace... It leaves some enamored, others delighted, but everyone leaves having been uplifted by its momentary presence in their lives. They speak of you for days to come- of the way you've changed them... You can not figure out what to make of that... Of the fact that, even in death, others are still placated- enlightened- by your very presence...

tagged by somaaa

[kesil]

❝ there are much greater things to fear than you and your little toy. ❞ adonia / strahd - @crimsontroupe

"This?" Strahd looks down the blade of his longsword at Adonia, chest pinned to the ground beneath the heel of his boot, beaten to within an inch of his life yet refusing to be beaten. The little fey is fortunate that Strahd yet finds him entertaining. "I would expect you of all people to appreciate its craftsmanship, at the very least," Strahd says, allowing the tip of the blade to fall the slightest distance to meet Adonia's throat.

There is little in its perfectly utilitarian form for a man as fanciful as Adonia to appreciate. It is not a sword intended to serve as a work of art. It is a sword intended to kill. The leather-wrapped hilt was once engraved with a single long-forgotten symbol of Barov von Zarovich's empire; now, centuries of vicious use have worn it to a smooth finish. There is no comparison between it and the delicate artistry of Adonia's elven blade, now harmlessly knocked to the ground meters away from the disarmed prince.

"Perhaps that is the point that divides us," he muses, indulgently. "You, the artist, capable of beautiful dreams and well-crafted fantasies. I, the ruler, capable. How could you understand all we have in common when you choose, as you have always chosen, a pretty fairy tale over a cold reality?"

[crimsontroupe]

Danya is an oddity, an eccentric at their finest. It may be one of the reasons Aliah gets along so well with her, and ignores his other half-siblings. Yael might just not exist and he would change nothing in the grand scale of things, and Izyevel is simply a child throwing a fit. She knows not of consequences, and Aliah does not see any point in lecturing and teaching a petulant child. She can wave all the threats she wants, knowing they are as effective as trying to stop a flood with your bare hands.

"Is that so? You have had suitors that were not of noble birth, if I recall correctly. Paid no attention to them after fifteen minutes, telling me you found it to be a waste of time. Our parents have since given up on finding people for you, knowing how stubborn you can get about it." He mentions not of his own situation. Aliah is even worse. Every suggestion is met with sharp refusal, his lack of interest apparent.

After all, their work will take precedence above everything else. Without waiting for approval (showing that they have gone through the same motions countless times), he leaves the basket behind and carries the tray to a discreet side room where Danya meets their more important clients. Surely his half-sister has an easy way to lock their shop while Aliah busies himself with this simple task. "I have never guessed you would be the romantic type", he says while keeping the door open for them. It possesses a mechanism that locks the door from inside automatically, allowing the shop owner and the client their desired privacy.

Certainly the subject of 'partners' is not something either of them is willing to talk much without going through steps some would consider too exaggerated for such a common topic. As they walk in and talk about topics of political marriages and move on to the meat of the conversation, Aliah's expression shifts a little bit. It gives way to almost imperceptible surprise. "I was not expecting a woman." But it is the extent of his commentary on the topic. "Good for you. As long as you share passions, I see no reason for our family to intervene in your relationships." That includes him as well. Even the Council would need the final approval of the Scion Lord to do anything against Danya.

Her relationship is also a way to gain leverage with his own, of course. By allowing it, Aliah gains ground in which to fight for his own. Before he can lift the teacup to his lips, Danya presents him with something interesting. "Oh? As I said, you must be interested in her. You would have given her enough instruction to reach something agreeable for my tastes, I assume."

Aliah falls silent right after, studying the scroll case. Red eyes that almost never blink, they seem to observe and break down every single part of the item offered to him. The craftsmanship is impressive, but he expected nothing less of the woman Danya is interested in to the point of considering marriage. The manipulation of warpglass is impressive in itself, they are correct. After a long while, he picks the cylinder up. Brings it close to his face, tilting it just enough that he can study the more intricate details.

"Nothing short of impressive. And I expected nothing less from the person you willingly picked, Danya. And about your comment: our family would have to try very hard nonetheless. Vasundhara seems a more reasonable woman than the company I keep around. Easier to tolerate an artist's fit of creativity than a man who would willingly deal with situations our Grand Council so willingly turn a blind eye to? She can buy them with jewels and her own creations. With my 'good doctor', I know they are gritting their teeth at the idea of my partner spending more time than necessary in The Puddles... much less setting up one of his many offices in there.

No matter how much of a fit they throw, they know my mind is set. For our parents, nothing short of excellence will do. If I picked another noble family here in Absalom, they would be satisfied." He puts the scroll case down, carefully wrapping it once more and leaving it at his side. His attention shifts to the beverage once more.

"If I may speak frankly, I would rather not hear another word from them about this. Gossip spreads around fast as it is in this city. Adding their unnecessary comments to the pile changes nothing in the grand scheme of things.

... Speaking of change. When am I expected to be able to see her?" There is a significant pause as he stares at his sibling, expecting a positive answer to his questions. "Certainly you have invited her over to see Absalom at least once before you decide to move ahead with your relationship. Attempting to charm her way into my good graces with higher-than-usual craftsmanship will only get her so far.

I will not interfere with your choices, but understand my own position in all of this. It would reflect on me terribly if I let my precious half-sibling marry a person that I have never actually met. Money is not a problem, and her transportation and transportation fees can be easily arranged."

He is teasing. While speaking the truth. But mostly teasing. This much is apparent.

[kesil]

“Why should either of us accept a marriage to someone we would not have pursued on our own terms?” Danya asks, rhetorically, as they close the door to the side room behind themself and prepare to pour two cups of tea. “You’ve found your doctor and I’ve found my artisan. Had either of them been the type to agree to be sent after us as suitors by the family, I suspect they would not be the same people we developed such affection for.” 

Will Aliah react to the mention of affection? She hopes so. The respect and fondness in his voice when speaking of his do-gooder partner is unmistakable to Danya, even if another person would not have noticed any difference from the usual Aliah. Her favorite relative deserves happiness. He also deserves to have his gentle teasing returned.

They wave a hand dismissively at Aliah’s offer to pay for Vasundhara’s visit, but Danya is clearly pleased that the offer was made. “She’s planning to visit next month. I was not keeping it from you so much as intending a pleasant surprise, but even now I can’t manage to catch you off guard. 

Shall we have a double date when she arrives in town? Then it will be the both of us at a disadvantage, and you won’t feel the need to keep redirecting the subject back to me.” Danya smiles. They know Aliah too well to bother pretending they aren’t aware he’s doing it. 

“Perhaps you and I can conspire on the subject of ‘not hearing another word,’ as well. I’d like for our family to understand our relationships are not up for debate.”

[crimsontroupe]

There is a long stretch of silence. Adonia does not reply, opens his eyes and stares at the window. The chirping of the morning birds, the quiet rustling of leaves. Something enters him and leaves, agony and relief in the same measure. He rests his hands on his lap, allowing his muscles to relax and simply look at the outside for a bit.

How many centuries ago was it, now? That he did the same thing, hiding in his brother's room so he would avoid his parents a little bit longer. Watching the beautiful scenery, the breathtaking view of Ruthia Castle had over the rest of the kingdom.

"I guess you are correct. Still, I would be lying if I said it does not keep me awake at night. There are many things I could have done to stop this, and I always have felt like all of them are incorrect." He smiles, a smile that is so unknown to him. Broad, not forced. Not that gentle half-smile that conceals something. It is half defeat and half grief, but it is also something else.

Adonia is proud, but should it be that surprising? He was always proud of his siblings. Where exactly did things start to go wrong? Where exactly did he fail them? All of them.

"And would you be able to brandish your sword? Against pure evil, one that corrupts and eats away at the Land and all that She gives? I know what you are capable of, of course. Your strength of mind was always something I praised, you who would willingly lead--" Another pause. The smile falters. 'You who I thought would willingly lead them to a brighter future'. That sentence dies inside Adonia's throat, and he simply shakes his head.

I am sure you have a lot of questions. I will answer them, if I am allowed to do so. Once we are done... Olysseus, would you be opposed to taking a walk with me? Through the garden. It has been many years since I have last seen such life in this place.

[kesil]

Adonia doesn’t truly change, no matter the years that pass or the strange circles he travels in. This version of him seems confident, secure in himself in a way that Lysse’s Adonia (as he’s coming to think of him) has never seemed to be. But Lysse suspects it to be less than true beyond appearances. The Adonia he knows would blame himself endlessly for anything that happened to his family, and would blame himself all the more for anything his family did to others--this one does, as well.

It’s reassuring, in some ways, to know that Adonia is Adonia. It’s worrying, in many other ways, to wonder if some part of the Lysse that this Adonia knew may exist within himself. So there's something he must ask first.

"You said you don't know why I did it," he presses. "But I know you, and you know me, even if I wish you did not sometimes, and I know you have an idea of it. Tell me. If I know, if I can watch myself, I can… keep an eye out for it, or something. For whatever weakness I have that led me to commit such a grave sin.”

He’s leaning in closer to Adonia, sharp-eyed, wearing the same expression he does when he’s studying an unfamiliar combat maneuver. 

“As for the rest… I’ll start with this: why did you leave, and was it for the best for you? I won’t stop you--Adonia--my Adonia--no, talking about it like this is ridiculous. I won’t stop my brother from leaving if there’s truly good reason for it. Though I’d rather he stay, of course. Particularly now that I know how poorly things could go."

He hesitates. "Is there something your ‘me’ could have done to lessen your burden? Even if it would not have made you stay... something that would have made that 'me' a better brother to you?"

[crimsontroupe]

“ you are not your father’s child. not by anything other than blood, and that’s not even on the spectrum of importance. ” - @kesil “𝙎𝙃𝘼𝘿𝙊𝙒 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝘽𝙊𝙉𝙀” - 𝙄𝙉𝙎𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙀𝘿 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙏𝙎.

"...I know." Diamont replies, still not lifting his eyes from his book. No matter how much progress he thinks he is making, there always seem to be some kind of barrier getting in his way. A step too large to take, a moment where all words blur together and his brain feels the pull of the Abyss. Dia blinks, shaking his head and moving the Lexicon closer to himself.

It feels almost comforting. That is his. It belongs to him. It cannot be taken away. It feels nice. Not even the trinket Vimara gave him feels like that. He showed it to his father once, and quickly had to make sure he would not take that too. Vimara tries to help, but it does not amount to much. He distracts himself with straightening one of the pages, the words almost seeming to dance under his fingertips.

"But I still want to know what happened, and what he did. You might not think that is important, but I do. It's important to me. Maybe more than this big thing we need to do."

For a moment, the thought of asking Weighs-the-Epochs crosses his mind. Then he blinks and shakes his head. The Aeon could only tell him what he already knows. There is a weird feeling, like long nails scraping against porcelain. Something he should remember, and he does not.

Diamont hates not knowing. "I guess you are trying to help. In your own way, even if I think it's unnecessary. I am clearly not the person most affected by his actions. You should worry about your other friend." A way to slither out of this situation. If only it were so simple.

[kesil]

"Oh, other friend," Vimara says, ruffling Dia's hair. "So you admit you're my friend, huh? Huuuuuuuhhh?" It's the familiar childishness he falls back on with Dia, like a boy pulling another child's hair while playing just to get their attention. There's not much else he's found that gets Dia's attention, short of offering him something magical to study. Whoever left Dia this book had correctly guessed that about him.

Vimara can't offer much at all to his friends, short of his physical abilities. He's loud and brash and irritating. He knows only as much about magic as he's picked up from clients and fellow circus performers over the years. He isn't the kind of person Dia would want as a friend--if Dia ever wanted anyone as a friend, which Vimara is kind of doubtful of. But sometimes people need things they don't want. He needed out of the Menagerie, and he didn't want it until the Professor and Myron suggested it. He needed to care about being a better person, and he didn't want to be a better person until... well, until he did want to.

"Not being the most affected by his actions doesn't make you immune to them. My old boss used to throw people down an empty well until they went crazy. She never did that to me. Still fucked me up big time, you know? Sure, your dad didn't do--whatever it was he did to Vanya--to you. At least I hope he didn't," he mutters.

There's a chance he did and Dia just didn't feel the need to bring it up. Dia's one of those people who never tells you a damn thing unless you ask about it specifically and cite a logical reason that he should tell you.

"But he sucked. He was horrible. He hurt people and I don't doubt he hurt you. And don't say he didn't do physical harm to you so it's fine, or some dumb shit like that. It hurts when someone who should care about you treats you like you're nothing." Vimara would know. He gave up a family that loved him for a woman who didn't. "And, well. If knowing that stuff--what he did, or what's in the book, or whatever-- is the most important thing to you, if it'll help you at all, sure. It'll be the most important thing to me too. Because we are friends, you know? I don't get your shit, but it matters to me."

[crimsontroupe]

“I am the spirit that negates. And rightly so, for all that comes to be Deserves to perish wretchedly; ‘Twere better nothing would begin. Thus everything that your terms, sin, Destruction, evil represent— That is my proper element.”

by shatukawa @ twitter

[anarchy-of-thought]

[crimsontroupe]

Adonia almost tenses when he is called by name. It is not something he expected, the reaction. It puts him on edge, and for a moment he feels his hands close into a fist. 

He supposes he might enlighten his younger brother. Adonia kind of does not want to, though. There are reasons why he is still against the idea, and this logical part of himself beats wildly against the reckless and impulsive self. It loses, as it almost always does. His voice lowers, struggling to leave his throat.

"In another life, you would have answered me differently. This other life, this other thread I have observed and participated in – you had no such feelings. 

You found it agreeable to end lives. They mattered little to you. The lives of your peers - the other guards, the townspeople. 

You brought with you their screams. Made me listen to it. Made the few of us that were left listen to it. You threw away your pride, you lost your colors. You washed them away on purpose, for what reason I know not." Adonia looks at the ceiling for a moment, then closes his eyes. It has been a while since he has seen the palace. Adonia watched it be rebuilt, alongside the rest of the kingdom. He assisted it, even. Bestowed works of art and worked with long lost architecture, adding a permanent but painful reminder of what transpired. 

Words devoid of emotion, filled with regret and guilt. 

"I could never ask you why you did the things you did: you would rather strike me down. Smart man that you were, you sought what would wound me the most. I chose to keep the scar. 

…

I always felt like I did this to you, somehow. That you– that this other you – that I failed you. 

Well, I know this much. I failed as a brother and as the person supposed to keep all of you safe. My people safe."

He ran, Adonia does not say. His eyes are still closed, a defeated smile on his face.

"In another life, you act out of cruelty. In another life, you feel nothing for your countrymen. 

In another life I judged you for your sins. 

I wanted to know if evil is something that takes root before one realizes it, or if it was always there. Olysseus, perhaps you shall never understand what I tell you. I pray you do not. 

…

Your eyes are still kind. When you - "you" - looked at me, it was clear what you felt. But it was also not. That baby grows up to be your beloved sibling, yes.

You robbed him of something important. You robbed all of them of something even more important, their freedom and their culture. Their leader. Their pride. The sun, you agreed to take it away. You washed it all off with blood, and the stench of death was all around you.

In another life, I could never forgive you. In this life, I wanted to kill you.

But I cannot.

You are not him. There is that glint of love in your eyes, still. Love for the world, love for Ruthia. For yourself. For the newborn babe. For the world around you. 

A whirlwind of death, a sword that cuts down everything in its path. 

The last time I left you, I lied. I said it would be fine, and that I would take care of things. You trusted me. Perhaps that was why. Or there was another reason. I will never know, because you are not him. 

Not the man who I used to train with, the man I would spar with when you realized I needed to clear my head. 

The same man who realized I would prefer sitting in a room talking to, instead of listening to Father and Mother telling me what I would inherit and the multitude of responsibilities I would be tasked with.

You are not that man. That man has lost himself, and I could never fully reason with him. 

I could never forgive him. 

… Olysseus. I ask you again. What do you consider evil? Evil enough that you would strike it down, no matter the cost?

You gave your name away, too." He opens his eyes, staring at his brother once more. 

What is 'evil' in this world to you? Please tell me. I would like to know your answer. Now."

[kesil]

Lysse's skin crawls. He tenses a muscle in his leg, trying to hold back the full-body shiver that threatens to overtake him. Adonia's eyes look... wrong, somehow. Haunted. Hunted. This man speaks the truth as he knows it; Lysse is confident of that, now.

It takes him a long moment to sort out the interwoven threads of the story this Adonia has told him, and even then, Lysse doubts he understands it as Adonia meant it. Manipulating time is one of the most complex forms of magic, even on a scale of minutes or hours. Stepping between potential universes requires such immense mastery of time magic—or such colossal raw power—that Lysse can hardly comprehend it.

(What does that mean for the person this Adonia became?)

But if anyone could do such a thing—and if anyone would do such a thing, simply to have a question answered—it's Adonia. His brother is the only person Lysse has met more stubborn than himself.

And, stubbornly, Lysse sits in silence as he contemplates Adonia's question. He wants to burst out in defense of himself, to say he would never do any of those things.

He wants to, but he does not. Something heavy hangs in the air around them, something that tells Lysse that there are consequences greater than the risk of this Adonia deciding that he, too, is evil. This matters. His answer here matters.

"Evil is harming someone weaker than yourself for selfish reasons," he says, at last. "I've no idea if that's the answer you wanted, but it's the answer I have. My strength and my status come with responsibility. If I choose to abuse that strength or that status, I've chosen evil.

And it sounds like that Olysseus chose poorly," Lysse says, simply. "If you did all of those things—everything you said he did—you would expect me to strike you down, no matter what I felt for you. Because you trust me to do what is right. As I trust you. If you slew him, he was long past saving."

[crimsontroupe]

This is much more familiar. Almost like the man that lives in his memories, unlike the wicked one he was forced to strike down. Too far gone he was, Olysseus has still the moral compass that Rahadin does not possess.

It is the difference between a corpse that was shown no mercy and the young man sitting next to him. It is weird, makes Adonia realize the answers he seeks are forever lost to him. 

Bad luck, perhaps. He laughs, letting his hands rest on his lap. "It would be easier, wouldn't it? If I was the villain, the monster people needed to strike down. Perhaps that would have been preferred to reality. Perhaps it would really have been easier if what I did was wicked selfishness, and you had to make me bleed and pay."

Instead… he knows not what crossed his brother's mind back then. Another question. 

"The newborn. What do you think of him?" 

He remembers the few instances of Olysseus threatening young Photios, of doing things that were both born out of jealousy and infantile malice. Adonia rubs his thumb against his index finger, thinking about something.

"I have sinned, yes. I am complicit in the sea of blood, but I was not the one that started it." He levels his gaze again, a surprisingly stern look. He stares at Olysseus a bit more. 

And it is weird to not hear the many screams. Weird and comforting. Not tainted yet, not yet. Not yet. Maybe he can change, just this – this time, this life, this thread. 

"If 'Adonia' left, would you think he betrayed you?

You are capable of so much, Olysseus. But a sword that protects also kills."

[kesil]

"Are you unable to understand plainspoken words as well as speak them? I asked you to say what you mean." The words are snappish, but Lysse's tone is only his usual 'mildly irritated,' verging on 'annoyed yet inexplicably fond'. "I can't imagine what answer you think I'll give you when you continue to speak in riddles. You're complicit in an evil deed but did not start it. You ask what I think of the newborn. You say I'm a protector, but you remind me a protector's sword can kill. You speak of Adonia leaving, and of a sea of blood.

Perhaps you expect me to believe that I kill my little sibling and drive 'you' away. Or that I throw a fit and bathe the palace in blood. Or that the baby becomes a murderous tyrant and I commit siblicide in retribution, aided by 'you.' But no, I've no idea what you expect me to believe, because you won't say it. Just say it, Adonia." Lysse doesn't realize that it's the first time he's called the stranger by name in conversation. "If you don't, I'll be forced to come up with increasingly ludicrous options, and we both know I am not the creative one between us."

Lysse rubs his face and sighs. His brother is a headache embodied. "I suppose I can answer your question first. If you insist.

You know I don't like children. They don't seem to care for me, either. I don't understand why you and everyone else find them so charming. They're tubes of meat with further tubes of meat attached, and if you look at them wrong they scream and mess themselves. It's as if they exist solely to irritate every living thing around them.

But... that irritating baby will be my other beloved sibling one day," he says, grudgingly, as if the words are being extracted from him by force. "And you cannot expect me to say anything more positive than that. It yells."

[stavroginas]

José Saramago, Cain

[funeral]

Johann von Wolfgang Goethe, Faust, 1806

[crimsontroupe]

"And you would not be yourself if you simply accepted all that I said as the truth", Adonia concludes quite frankly. But Olysseus seems interested enough to listen, instead of alerting the guards and forcing Adonia to leave. With his left hand, he gestures to the seat next to his. Waits for Lysse to sit down, a repeat of a scene long lost. 

"There is one other person that I would talk to, actually. But it is not who you think it is." Adonia would ask for forgiveness, for such a person to not hold his many sins against him. To give a proper goodbye. His smile hardens again, thinking about his sister. Tragedy follows them too close for it to be any different. The tragedy of neglect, of miscommunication. Of despair and rage, such little things that entwine so firmly and so sickly. It rots, destroys all that it touches. 

Adonia is a survivor of a tragedy of his own creation. But maybe he can prevent it from repeating itself, now that he is so early.

"You are not incorrect. My 'self' and me are always incredibly bottled up. And I am the one who made a selfish decision. One that will haunt me until all crumbles into dust." He speaks calmly, leaving obvious hints to his brother. Adonia is aware of Olysseus' lack of interest in magic. So he makes it a little bit easier. 

"What do you consider unthinkable, Olysseus? Evil enough that you would strike down, no matter the cost? 

I will answer your questions, but as I said – I need to know. I need to judge you. Not your worth, but your soul.

And if you are really willing, I shall give you the truth." 

A slight pause. Adonia blinks. "You have always played the role of protector, and that is why I felt safe leaving some of the responsibility to you. Enough that it would not crush me. Do you think of this as not caring? Even now, he is doing that. Turning his head towards the future, to the responsibility that wears heavy on his shoulders. 

Tell me, Olysseus. Have you seen the cracks yet? Would you fill them with rich gold, or with wicked tar?"

[kesil]

Reluctantly, Lysse sits. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he informs ‘Adonia.’ With his elbows on his knees, slouching forward, he looks every bit the teenager he is. “Gold and tar. I thought your specialty was gemcrafting, not poetry.”

But, foolishly enough, it warms his heart to hear that Adonia trusts him. Even from… whoever this is. (Lysse does not want to consider seriously that this man is truly Adonia. It would make the world far more complicated than he prefers it to be.)

“If you’re asking whether or not I want to help him… of course I do. He’s the future king. I would owe him my loyalty as an inhabitant of Ruthia, even were he not my brother. And if I do join the Guard, I’ll owe him all the more. But he is my brother,” Lysse says simply, as if that’s answer enough.

And it is, in his eyes.

“As for the rest of it, why don’t you just come out and say what you mean?” It comes out more peeved than he’d intended, more like a frustrated child than a lecturing equal. Lysse purses his lips, annoyed with himself.

“I don’t know how a treatise on evil will help me better understand you, or whatever this,” he says, gesturing between the two of them, “is meant to be. Do you mean to say you do something wicked out of selfishness one day? My Adonia would know I could forgive him for near anything, save betraying the kingdom or committing some unspeakable atrocity against our people, and my Adonia would never give me cause to fear such a thing. Whatever ‘truth’ you intend to confront me with will not shake that certainty.”

[kesil]

hihihihIHIHIHIHI i will get back to people on plotting soon, i just started a new job and i'm still in the kind of whirlwind phase of getting used to changes and also fibro flaring so i've been like. doing absolutely nothing outside of work hours for the last two weeks except resting and replying to soma threads. and baking chocolate chip cookies which i share with you ^_^