WAR ♞ BATTLE OF GRAUPERA

[boardmaster]

BATTLE OF GRAUPERA
16 APRIL (LATHYRA) 2016

It is a dark and stormy night; the rain falls in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it is checked by a violent gust of wind —

Not exactly. The rain is still light, but the suns are well below the horizon when the Airy leaves Graupera, setting the stage for Blanc and Noir’s first battle in two hundred years. The weatherman says showers will turn into storms later in the evening, but he doesn’t warn for the milky fog that will soon blanket Capablancan seas. The light from your ships, the lighthouse and the fortress walls serve as our Heroes’ only guide...

The same sleeping bat with sugar powdered around the corners of its mouth hangs from one of the ship’s masts until Commander Lisbrand arrives.

Lisbrand As I’m sure you’re all aware, Noir intends to take us by sea: Capablanca is a key strategic location for launching an attack on the coast. Should Noir capture Graupera, there’s no telling how far they’ll advance with their next move. You will be fighting not just to defend Capablanca, but Caissa as well. I trust you will all perform as well during the battle as you did during preparations. Blanc’s fleet will be standing by to absorb the task force into its ranks; I expect you’ve all completed what naval training was available to you at this point. [ a swift but beady eye is cast over the recruits ] You will need every last bit of it. [ picks up a pen and chucks it with deadly precision at the bat on the ceiling. ]

Verdoni [ immediately casts a wing forward to deflect the dangerous pen on time. then, he drops to the floor and transforms, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief. it’s warm. ] I suppose I need not remind you all of the weather conditions. Noir will enter Blanc territory with the storm, so brace yourselves. I will not lie — Noir has a significant advantage over us in this weather. Expect them to turn the elements in their favor and use lightning, water, and wind magic against you, your crew, and your ship. As most of you here will recall, Noir does not fight fair. They will use every tactic in and out of the book in order to destroy anything that stands in their way. It might do you well to remain alert at all times and to prepare for any scenario. So long as each Hero’s crew focuses on protecting their respective ship, you should be able to hinder their advance. Should the worst come to pass, retreat to the nearest allied ship or make your way to the shoreline to reinforce the last line of defense.

Basic info on the war can be found here. All OOC questions about the event may be directed to the thread below.

ONE ♙ Preparation
Only fools rush into battle! In preparing for war, the first step should always be protecting yourself. As such, Heroes will need to mount barrier generators that convert distilled water into large spherical barriers of pure mana on all ships. They will also need to calibrate the ones installed at Fort Graupera. Be sure to stock water by the barrel. When the enemy’s artillery fire hits these mana barriers, the blows as well as any shrapnel will be dispersed and dissipate in the air. Use them wisely; while the barrier is active, the ship will be unable to move and nothing can enter or leave the barrier. The ships also need to be stocked with ammunition, healing supplies such as potions, spare parts and other materials for repairs on the water. No one wants a leaky ship, right?

Once that’s done, get to know your teammates! Meet up with them at your assigned ship and use this time to get acquainted with each other's strengths and weaknesses, discuss plans, and figure out the roles assigned to you. The knowledge might come in handy in the coming hours…

All Heroes assigned to a crew are required to fight on the deck. The soldiers won’t be pleased to discover someone hiding in the ship’s hold. You can be a cabin boy or girl and run supplies, but they'll expect them by the truckload! Nobody gets to slack off in war! If you are not assigned to a crew, discuss your battle plans with your allies to tighten the shoreline defense. Those participating in the naval battle will need your assistance to secure Graupera!


TWO ♙ Sailing Into the Storm

Heh, blind as a bat and wet as a rat — that’s them. Wait, what do you mean the Airy's gone already? I bet Lei ran off because he needed to wax his chest. Fine! I got time to spare, so I’m going to kill the rest of you. I can’t wait to see the looks on your faces when I plunge right in...

A ♙ As predicted by Secretary Verdoni, by the time Noir’s fleet is in range, the weather has changed. Heavy fog reduces visiblity to near-zero, and rushing without stumbling is a feat for the brave thanks the mixture of rain and seawater washing over every deck. Thunder rolls in the distance, a messenger of the double-pronged storm advancing on Blanc. Roaring gusts of wind rip and tear at clothes, Carriers, and you! Watch out! Lightweights and those not exercising caution are likely to be blown right overboard.

Especially once Noir starts firing. Wind and lightning whip through the fog and both Coxswains and Heroes on Graupera proper will need to aim and time their barriers just right. Call it too soon and you waste precious resources; miscalculate and the ship and/or the fortress may take damage! If the barrier generator runs out of power, Quartermasters will need to replenish its water supply! But if the machine takes direct damage, it has a chance of exploding in a shower of fire and dangerous ricocheting parts, drastically decreasing your ship’s defense and maybe even knocking holes in the hull! Protect your ship to protect the fortress; the Blanc army can only put out so many fires. Should your ship take a hit, it’s also the Quartermaster's duty to respond accordingly lest the craft turn into a flaming monstrosity. Gunner’s Mates, return enemy fire with cannons and other long-range weapons available in your ship’s arsenal! The mana cannons in particular deal heavy damage, but they drain equally large amounts of mana. There’s no time to wait for your mana to replenish in the middle of a storm, so grab the nearest Hero for some up close and personal refueling!

If you don’t, Noir mages will take this opportunity to gather mana and send spells of tidal waves. And if your barrier’s down by then? Say goodbye to your ship and pray that you remember those swimming lessons. Your allies on land should be able to assist you once you reach the shore. Go ahead and join the shoreline defense; your shipwreck has probably left them with a few more holes in their defense and a few more fires to put out, anyway.

B ♟ The two forces clash! The noise is deafening as shouts from both sides mix with howling of the wind and the crashing of waves. Now that the armies are going head to head, Noir soldiers make use of their landing bridges to board Blanc’s ships! Noir mages simply use water magic to surf or wind magic to jump and do the same. But boarding is when Noir soldiers are vulnerable; make use of your resources and home turf advantage to take them down! They’re not the only ones who can take advantage of nature’s blessings.

Enemy soldiers who successfully board will begin to destroy anything they see. Should the ship be successfully hijacked, Blanc’s soldiers and the Heroes may have no choice but to jump into dangerous waters. Chance of survival is slim: waters are rough and ships are constantly rocking. It’s more than likely you'll be crushed between them or beneath them, Noir soldiers and mages will be taking potshots at you, and the strong currents are sure drag everyone into the depths. Once you’re in the water, you’re as good as dead. You are going to need some help.

ENEMY ♟ Noir Soldier
Weak against None	Strong against Lightning	Immune to None
When these soldiers cry “PERUN!”, run. When they cry “PERUNIKA!”, run faster. These battle cries mean you're about to be zapped by A FEW THOUSAND VOLTS OF LIGHTNING BOLT! The clues and advice left by our surfer friend Antonio, the mayor’s cute butler Charles, and the notorious assassin Black Lightning might help you out here — draw LIGHTNING WARD SYMBOLS to protect you and your allies from lightning damage. WARDS DRAWN BY KINGS are most effective. During battle, you will hear these mages utter other spells you might want to keep in mind: “VELES” is a support spell that summons streams of water. Whoever drinks it will receive a vodka-flavored MAGICAL BOOST! Soldiers like to make a game out of it at parties. “VELESIA” is an offensive water spell that INEBRIATES ITS TARGETS UPON CONTACT. The water it summons possesses a faint alcoholic aroma. It also tastes like vodka. “STRIBOG” is a wind spell that summons a powerful wyvern-shaped whirlwind that can hurl people overboard, destroy ship structures, and even send ships off course!

Noir’s bridges were a good idea, but ideas are meant to be stolen. Use them to move to an ally’s ship if your fellow Heroes and soldiers are in need of support, especially if Heroes have been knocked out or hurled off. The injured can be transported to safety on the backup ship, but beware of Noir soldiers chasing you down! They're as persistent as a rash.


THREE ♙ Crashing Against the Shores
To those who remained on the island or returned from sea, the battle is nothing but alarming lights and frightening shouts in the distance. But that doesn’t mean you can relax. Enemy projectiles that fly past the ships will shake parts of the fortress, and any Noir magic that gets past the naval defense will set any kind of material on fire or blow out chunks of wall, armaments, and you. Use water to make short work of any fires, and remember to reinforce damaged areas, or the fortress will suffer.

Distressed cries fill the air; those watching the naval battle closely will notice crewmembers who have fallen into the ocean. Neither Hero nor Blanc soldier is safe. While they have managed to get away from the main battle, they are now weak, disoriented, and require assistance. Row out in rescue boats to collect and heal the soldiers and your fellow Heroes before they turn into casualties. You may need their help later!

Allies aren’t the only ones reaching the shoreline. Some Noir ships will break through Blanc’s naval formation. If the fortress’ weapons don't take them down, then it’s up to you to take care of the rest. Noir soldiers will disembark and fight Heroes on the shore. Defeat them, destroy their weapons and seize their ships before they lay siege to the fortress! Blanc will thank you for these finely captured contributions to the war effort.

Noir General...? Huh! I just let you rats win! If I didn’t, there’d be no way to find Lei and punch him in the chest later! Give him my kind regards! AND TELL HIM I HIT ON HIS HOT GIRLFRIEND. I think they’re still dating. My intel said they were — [ his voice fades out as the Noir fleet retreats ]

FOUR ♙ Triumph Over the Seas
The thunder of the storm and the blasts of cannons filled the air with deep, resounding booms throughout the battle, but what cuts through the noise is the eruption of roaring cheers from the army that seems to shake the world of Enprise — Blanc has won its first official victory over Noir. The world will know of their triumph. Capablanca celebrates once news reaches the shore; as our Heroes look toward the resort city, they see an entirely different sort of sea — the lights of the city pushing back the night. First in little specks, then in a brilliant flood of color that paints an aurora in the sky: warm, real and bright.

It’s time to go home, Heroes! Or at the very least, back to Capablanca. Dock your ships and then put those sea legs back on dry land. You will be greeted with much enthusiasm from the citizens of the city. Hugs, cheek kisses, more hugs, hand kisses; some even brought pen and paper and are earnestly asking for your autograph. A few forego the paper and make you sign something else entirely. Children swarm in, tugging on uniforms for attention.

The recognition doesn’t end there. As a reward, hotel and resort owners start inviting heroes to stay at their establishments for a few days. For free. Continental breakfast included. Don’t abuse their hospitality or your reputation might suffer. And the freebies don't stop there. Locals also seem to have taken their hero worship to the next level. Small gifts will be given to their favorites. They contain things like pasta, pastries, good luck charms, potions, and even jewelry for Heroes they really like. Someone might even get a “special coupon” for La Coniglietta, a cabaret renowned for its racy shows and voluptuous wererabbit performers and staff.

If you prefer to spend your nights in well-deserved peace and quiet, then you’re always welcome to your new room at the completed Fort Graupera. Time to rest on your laurels, Heroes.

Comments

[buildyourworld]

[ There's something about Sion that never fails to surprise time and again. To be honest, he expects some kind of retaliation when Sion didn't attempt to escape from his hold. Although he would really prefer it if Sion doesn't pull him down with him, he's thankful that the king is mindful of his injury.

Even so, while they have gotten acquainted much better over the months, Tieria really doesn't like being in such close contact with someone who isn't a part of his family. But Tieria tolerates it when it comes to Sion, because despite being his annoying self, he's also his mentor. He huffs, adjusting the hand underneath his good sides to rest on it. ]

Has it occurs to you that I don't plan to escape?

[ He intends to move away but once Sion starts bleeding he abandons that thought. The colour of the blood certainly surprises him and it shows on his face for a brief moment before worries replace it. ]

I came looking for you because I need your heal but also because I know you'll neglect yourself. [ Letting Sion holds his hand, he frowns looking at the extend of the wound on Sion's shoulder and abdomen. ] How did you end up like this?

[ Between the link of their mana share and the healing Sion is administering, he could pick up how tired Sion is and just how much the injury is hurting him. However, being used to the feel of Sion's mana, he notices that it feels somewhat different this time. It's much more protective than usual but there's also a slight tinge of something unstable about it, as if the darkness in him is threatening to jump out any moment.

But then the little statement from Sion distracted him. ]

You were behaving like one. [ But it's not enough to draw away his worries, which is why he attempts to calm him. Weird, he knows, especially when Sion doesn't seem to be agitated at all. ] Focus on the healing, Sion Astal, Hero King of Roland Empire.

[ But somewhere in his gut feeling, he feels as if Sion needed to hear it. ]

1/2

[sunderings]

[ Focus.

The word is resonant in his ears as he maintains the spell, wholly aware its draw upon his mana is disproportionate to that which is provided by the link of their hands, even as he strengthens the hold, palm pressed flush to palm and fingers laced together in a gesture which should not have been familiar, but is if only because Sion is Tieria's mentor in magic, and many a time their trainings had ended in a way none too dissimilar to this—albeit, without the back and forth of Tieria's great vexation against Sion's smile.

Thinking on such a time, he cannot help but smile in the present, blinking back the edges of darkness from his vision. He is exhausted (but relentless), pained (but far more tenacious than the hurt), and his light of mending is awash fully now, its play of color settling over Tieria just as it does himself. The bleeding is first to stop, and as the moments and minutes pass, skin knits together (reforms, regrows), tissues regenerating without fail. ]

One of the ship's barrier generators sustained a direct hit, there were only seconds before it burst into an explosive flame. I was not able to shield myself, though Lapis... [ Focus, Sion. ] Lapis, Allelujah, and Lux were unharmed.

[ Tieria should be glad for the news, he thinks, if the man has not already crossed paths with their comrades—though Tieria does so covertly, Sion knows for himself his ward's propensity to bear the weight of worry for others. ]

How is your side? [ He shifts closer, then, as though he meant to find for himself Tieria's injury and inspect the progress of its healing, but he stalls, swaying as though the room itself were spinning when in reality it is vertigo of his mind's own creation, his vision blurring in a way which has precious little to do with simple fatigue. ] You would profess you have no intention of escaping, and yet you would still--

[sunderings]

[ Focus on the healing, Sion Astal.

Voice catching in his throat, he glances down at his hands, to the tips of his fingers which should be alight with healing magic only to find them armored with black instead; with dread iron which overtakes him plate by plate, forming over his arms and fusing to the skin as though it were an idenity, a consciousness unto itself, a thing which meant to see him subsumed.

(And it is, it is, how it would love to see him gone, this different version of himself.)

Unbidden, visions sprung to the corners of his eyes—times of happiness, things which he had no wish to recall, and new scenes which were born as though he were reading a story woven backwards, turning page after page...

But they are not new, are they? It is only that they do not belong to him, and they are ancient, memories of the ones who shaped the world he is most familiar with, and as he gazes upon them, he falls, dragged down into the depths of some unreachable place which he would have to claw himself free of.

(And next to Tieria, his body simply crumples, the light of his healing spell disappearing as his eyes go vacant, his grip on the man's hand going lax. There is a distinct lack of his presence, the protective shroud of his mana gone to something void, empty, and black which shrouds the room in its suffocating weight—it is as though it no longer belongs to Sion himself. ) ]

[buildyourworld]

[ With the light enveloping them, Tieria closes his eyes for a short moment, finding it blinding even if he appreciates it. He could feel the spell at work, his wounds closing, pain ebbing away from the smaller bruises. The sensation of muscles mending is uncomfortable but he doesn't complain, not even when his fractured bones begins to mend itself, albeit at a much slower rate.

Listening to Sion recounting what happened on his ship, his heart almost skips a beat at the name of two familiar person but even more so at that fact that Sion has put himself at risk for them. Although his worries is quickly alleviated by Sion's assurance, he's face with a new-found worry when Sion's consciousness begins to slips away. ]

Sion. Focus. Look at me.

[ But his words doesn't reach him as he continues to slip away, the light from the healing spell quickly fading away into growing darkness. Tieria grows frantic of the change, even if he doesn't allow that feeling to show, his voice continues to call out to Sion. ]

Sion Astal. Can you hear me? Sion?!

[ When he feels their bond slipping, he immediately tightens it, only to find himself holding a hand completely foreign to him, a hand so dark and unlike Sion. He could feel his mana changes, taking form of that darkness that Tieria has always been able to sense from the depth of Sion's bright and protective mana. The turbulence that he had felt earlier has been true after all. The fact that it has surfaces now and is somehow taking form on Sion is alarming. He doesn't know what to do but he doesn't leaves his side, watching in silent horror as darkness fills Sion's eyes and surrounds them.

Letting go of his hand, he reaches out with both hands (wincing slightly from the pain of moving his still injured side) and grips Sion's shoulder hard. Despite the fear in him, Tieria steels his resolves and confronts the being that has taken control of Sion. No matter what, he wouldn't allow harm to come to him, especially not on his watch. So with commanding tone (and eyes that turns golden due to the sheer amount of will and concentration he posses at the moment), he speaks his demand despite having absolutely no idea if it would work. All he knows is that he must try. ]

I don't know who you are, but you are not welcome here. Go back to where you came from. LEAVE!

[ Tightening his grips, he shakes the hero king hard, hoping that somehow it will work. ]

Sion!! SION ASTAL! COME BACK! DO YOU HEAR ME? [ Shaking him a few more times, he pulls the man into his arms and yells. ] GET THE HELL BACK HERE NOW!

[sunderings]

[ He sinks.

He sinks, and he cannot breathe, and for a moment his only thought is that he should not have looked, that he should have averted his eyes, for if he gazed upon his (the Hero's) memories for a second too long, there looms the possibility that they might become synchronized. Already, the line between them has blurred as he walks this plane, one of many sealed away within his mind, experiencing the recollection as though he were the one walking as the moon made its ascent above fields of wilderness, like his had been the voice which called out—sword—rippling through the land, violent and vacuous as it echoed from the depths of the abyss.

His emptiness had instilled fear in even his creator's heart, in the very center of the world.

He is the equation of their design, their personal chasm, the thing which destroyed and devoured all before it, but this...

This is not his body.

(Somewhere, on the outside, there is a force which would move him—someone who has foolishly remained by his side.)

Sion looks up, the vessel of his soul adrone with dread, the hollow where he kept everything precious to him now infested with darkness. How dare this come to pass, how dare this happen when he had taken great pains to avoid it—who could think he would willfully remain here, roaming this place until his consciousness eroded away.

(A voice reaches his ears, familiar and sharp at is edges, not so simply calling, but demanding...)

"I will not walk on this path!"

(Demanding that he...)

"I will be no one's marionette, this time... the ugly story that created will end here!"

(...wake up.)

All at once, with long-shuddering sigh that courses through the whole of him, the darkness ebbs, lifting from Sion's eyes. As quickly as it had surfaced, the oppressive air has gone, leaving Tieria to breathe easy—

—and Sion not much at all. ]

You will have the whole of the fortress convinced that another attack is upon us if you continue to yell like that, Tieria.

[ His heart beating fast in his chest, Sion's voice sounds weak to his own ears, but it is his own voice, all the same—this is his body. His body which is very much gathered into Tieria's arms, held so very tightly that it is difficult for him to move, to manage lifting his good arm, but somehow yet his hand rises, his fingers resting atop the crown of the man's head in a comforting gesture, stroking through locks of hair. He does not wish to think about how fearful his ward must have been (what Tieria must have glimpsed) before he woke here, in such a position. ]

...and more than that, you would see me crushed beneath you, robbed utterly of breath?

[ And reeling, as though he had been shaken, such that he cannot be helped if he leans forward, resting his forehead against Tieria's own. ]

[buildyourworld]

[ He could feel it, both physically and mentally, the fight between darkness and Sion as the king fights to reclaim his body. Tieria keeps his hold tight, afraid that if he let go, Sion will fall into the abyss of the consuming darkness. The turbulent shift of mana within his mentor goes on for what seems like forever until his golden eyes are the only source of light in the room.

The room, now a black hole in all capacity, frightens Tieria. For once, he's worried about the life of someone who isn't a part of Celestial Being, someone from a foreign world, whose background he knows nothing about but he cares for all the same. Sion has been a steady source of constant presence in his Ensprise's life, the one responsible for making life of magic and strange tales tolerable in it's own irritating way. Tieria wishes nothing but safety for him. But that simple wish is beginning to erodes away, eaten by a darkness, a presence from within Sion himself. Why?

Don't die, Sion Astal. Don't die...Please don't die.

Neil, what should I do?

He's afraid, he really is. The darkness that is clawing out of Sion is also trying to claw into him. But he doesn't let go, he couldn't let go. He knows somehow, that if he does, he would lose Sion to it. So despite the unknown danger of going up against an enemy he knows next to nothing about, he stubbornly keeps his arms tight around Sion.

When he feels movements and then heard the all too familiar but uncharacteristically weak voice of his mentor, he blinks and tightens the hold, glad above all else, that he's back.

The complain of waking the tower or crushing him? He doesn't care. ]

You're safe...

[ That's all that matters. He reaches up to strokes the back of Sion's head gently as he rest, allowing silence to wraps around them as they both regains their senses. All the while, he keeps his eyes on Sion to be sure he wouldn't suddenly goes out again. In the absence of the darkness, their own mana slowly but surely, returns to form the all familiar mana link between them again. ]

[sunderings]

Of course I am. [ —he murmurs as though he had not been deathly cold and still only moments before, warmth just now returning to him despite the close proximity of their embrace, how Tieria clutches to him in a hold which only strengthens all the more now that he has returned from that dark, too-desolate landscape. In play against Tieria's mana, his own waxes and wanes, the void which had formed around him, threatening to engulf everything in its wake, swirling now beneath his skin, remaining a thing alive until it is put back in its place by Sion's own will, his manner of light, and by his ward's ferocity, something so keenly felt in their link, that indomitable resolve to protect which the King had always highly regarded, but never expected to inspire.

(He deserves no such thing.) ]

I heard your voice, felt your presence beside me... [ And it had shattered everything, each word a fissure in the shadow which encased him, a fracture in the memory he'd become ensnared by, renting the world apart piece by piece until Sion had been able to wrench himself free, surfacing into the circle of Tieria's arms—Tieria, who is too foolish and too stubborn, who had not let go of him once. ] ...how could I not return to your side, safe and well?

[ He would have fought, regardless, to reclaim his body, for this is not the first time that thing within him has sought to take from him his mind (and with a certain amount of dread, Sion knows this will be far from the last attempt; the last bid to see him dragged down into the deep), and in each and every battle waged, Sion has managed rid himself of its influence, though...

This is the very first time he hasn't had to fight alone, when he hadn't woken to abject horror, but rather to a hand which rests atop his head, devastatingly gentle as it strokes his hair. His heart swells, an emotion rising within him that he cannot quite identify, even as he finds himself set at ease, balanced by the mana bonds between himself and the other man.

Shifting back, if only barely, Sion finds himself overcome by a want to meet Tieria's eyes, to discern for himself that his ward is all right. Though instead of gold meeting with crimson, it meets instead with its mirror—Tieria's eyes have gone golden, flecked with an iridescence unique to him, in a way which Sion has only seen in training and in combat, when a threat is present, or worse. ]

Your eyes, Tieria— [ Sion pulls back in earnest, his worry for Tieria going unmasked. ] —I did not harm you, did I?

[ I, he says, as though that presence and himself were indistinguishable things; as though they were one in the same. ]

[buildyourworld]

[ He's glad but above all else, he's simply relieved that somehow Sion has heard him beneath the influence of the darkness that enveloped him. Tieria who has no idea what to do in that situation, he could only held on to him and hope that Sion was strong enough to break his way out. So to hear that his effort, small as it was, had helped is enough to put a faint smile on his otherwise worried face.

Finding no need to explain it, he simply continues stroking Sion's hair, content that he doesn't have a dead body in his arms. In all honesty, he wants to yell at Sion for not telling him about something this important but Tieria also realizes that it's really pot calling the kettle since he himself is unlike to tell anyone about himself either. But he will still ask for clarification, once Sion's heart stops beating a 100miles/perHour. Until then, he could wait.

Sion's question however, raises more questions to him. The way Sion equates the situation to something he did, as though he has any control of it, is puzzling. Especially when Tieria could tell from what he felt, that presence is not Sion. It may comes from within him but it's not the King's mana that he picked up and certainly nothing like the bright protective idiot Sion is. It's malicious, evil and destructive, even towards Sion. The way it attempts to claw out of Sion, in such reckless abandon that Tieria is convinced would destroy him, suggests that it's an invasive presence, much like a virus that would attempt to destroy it's host.

Sion must have his own reasoning equating something of that manner to himself but Tieria isn't foolish to believe him.

That thing is not Sion Astal. ]

No. You will not hurt me beyond being incredibly irritating on a daily basis. [ Which is easily solvable by yanking at his hair. ] I've just went through a situation that requires my utmost concentration, that's all.

[ The words he chose certainly place no blame on Sion whatsoever and that's exactly how he meant it. ]

[sunderings]

[ A situation, is it?

Eyes falling shut, Sion cannot help but fall into the quiet lull of Tieria stroking his hair (tired as he is, he can offer no contest to the touch, and despite himself, it calms him), his breath coming in slow, even draws; his heart no longer pounding in his chest. If anyone had ever offered him comfort in such a way, he cannot remember when—there is no other soul he had ever allowed so very close to him, for as keen as he is to reach out, to offer his hand regardless of whether it is cast aside or taken, Sion has never been one to accept the same when it is given to him. Always, he keeps himself distanced, and always, he puts on a veneer to keep others at bay so this very thing (this weakness that he feels) might be avoided.

Relying upon someone, even if it should be someone who he cares for is...

Unacceptable, even if Tieria is wearing a whisper of a smile, worries abated, his words devoid of blame when this is wholly Sion's failure, a marker of the King's inability to contain the curse which he had brought unto himself in order to see the world to a brighter future; to ensure that humanity would not be erased. ]

Promise me that you'll not put yourself at risk again. By choosing to remain here with me... [ Through the (moments? minutes? Sion's perception of time is muddled still) thick of it all, Tieria hadn't budged, obstinate despite the fact that he knew nothing of the monster which he faced (and how it was Sion himself). ] ...you've proven yourself to be far more foolish than I previously imagined.

[ Opening his eyes, he glimpses gold again, the color and intensity familiar beyond simple recognition to him. Reminded of circuity, of the structure in his own design, the play of light in Tieria's eyes is as resonant in him as their mana bonds, their link, the tether which Sion cannot find it in himself to sever here, in this moment, because perhaps they are in need of this (more so than either would care to admit). ]

Tell me what is truly indicative of, the color of your eyes. Tell me the true extent of your injury, and how you fared in battle. [ He gives pause, then, keenly aware of his own hypocrisy and the way fatigue has settled upon him, and how he has become muted by it, what once might have been commands ringing only as requests to the ears—as pleas for something, anything to focus upon. ] And tell me that you will not only protect others, but yourself with greater diligence from hereon.

[buildyourworld]

[ What was an actual effort made to comfort someone (because he's not someone who likes touching others or being touched in the first place) becomes some sort of an automated gesture as time slips past them quietly. Sion, whose breath is growing increasingly calm is an indication that he is feeling better and therefore, Tieria too relaxes.

The words Sion said, he understands. In his place, Tieria would probably says the same thing but he's also aware of how selfish it is to ask someone who cares to do nothing when you're in danger. That's why, instead of being angry at Sion's request, he answers it instead, looking straight into Sion's eyes.. ] If you think I will watch you suffer and do nothing or worse leave you for my own safety, you must be an idiot to spend most of your time in my company. [ The answer is a no, Sion.

He observes the King whose eyes seem completely set on his, and wonders what is going on in that muddled head of the Roland's ruler. There's so much he doesn't know about him but yet at the same time, he felt like Sion has shown him, whether by choice or not, that he's not the smiling idiot he likes to projects to others. Tieria knows that he's capable of much more than he lets on, but he also has an incredibly large skeleton in his closet. One that he's not ready to share or tell him. Regardless of it, there's one thing Tieria can be sure of. Sion cares for others much more than he would ever admit to.

There's also another thing... The mana bonds wrapping securely around them, the circuitry that promises recovery and safety feels increasingly similar. It's as if they're made of the same origins, although different in their own ways. Is it because of the extended duration of their mana bonding together? Or something else?

Those questions however, will have to wait. Right now, he has other questions to deal with. ] It's simply an indication that I'm using my abilities, not all of which are related to battle. My dormant abilities cannot be used here but in situation where I could normally access them, usually when I'm highly concentrated, they will still change color. [ He gives Sion a look, judging him silently even if he answers the request. ]

I broke a rib or two when the ship's pillar fell on me while capsizing. It's not an injury I chose to sustain. [ Really, Sion? This person who is the least qualified to lecture him about him about self-preservation is actually attempting to? He's not taking this crap from you, Sion. ]

Unlike you who purposely put yourself in the line of danger to protect people regardless of whether you're capable of handling them or not, I take calculated risk. I know what I can and cannot handle better than you will admit that you hid something this risky and dangerous from me. Take your own advice, Sion Astal.

[sunderings]

[ He listens.

Tieria professes that he, Sion Astal, Hero King of an empire is an idiot for what seems to be the hundredth (thousandth?) time since they've met; he seamlessly attests to the fact that the golden hue his eyes have taken on is significant only of concentration and the use of his abilities (all of which, Sion imagines, cannot possibly hail from their acclimatization to the world of Enprise), going on to recount how the pillar of a ship (had it been the mast of the vessel itself?) had merely broken a rib or two as it had sunk into the depths of the sea, and culminating with talk of risk, of Sion protecting himself when the King is...

Negligible, at the end of all things.

Still, Sion listens, his eyes never once breaking from Tieria's own—the thrum of his ward's voice settles him further still, a constant as much as Tieria's fingers carding through his hair, the security to be found in their mana exchange overwhelming, at least in his present state. Like this, even their dissimilar components seem to come together in conductive tracks, a gentle warmth blooming between them as the King drifts, though he is in no danger now.

No great shadow looms over him, only the call of sleep, the weariness which he blinks from his eyes when he speaks: ]

...I am sorry, Tieria. [ That I can only continue to hide from you, as you do from me. ] You were pained, dragged into suffering which I would wish upon no one but myself, and are pained still because of my inability.

[ Had Tieria not sought him out for healing?

Ribs. Sion seeks them out, both hands pressing flush to Tieria's chest as he draws upon mana newly gained from their link to cast a single, potent healing spell, magic suffusing from his palms to the body beneath. It is a steady calm, a peaceful light, which emanates from him as the fractured bones which he envisions in his mind's eye mend, wholly restored as they would have been if they had not been interrupted before. Calculated or otherwise, risk is still risk, and his ward, a man who has so clearly refused rest even when battle has taken a too-heavy toll upon him...

Is a fool in need of sleep, and truth be told, as much of an idiot as Sion is. ]

But I, too, know what I am capable of. I will not stumble again, though... [ His eyelids are heavy, drooping, hooded by a fan of silvered lashes—Sion has never felt so safe, at ease enough to sleep and sleep deeply. ] ...thank you, for finding me, for lifting me up. For not allowing me to fall into that darkness.

[buildyourworld]

You don't need to apologize for something you have no control over. [ He might have aggravated his injury while holding onto Sion during the King's fight with the darkness but it's worth it. Between injury that would heal and a life lost, there's no doubt which he will choose.

Allowing Sion to search for his injury, he remains holding the King in his arms, never once breaking the mana link between them. The relieve of having him back, safe and sound, helps make what used to be uncomfortable physical contact becomes something tolerable. He could feel his bones mending, fixing themselves into their rightful place and restructuring back to good health. It still feels strange to be healed, that he would be able to pick out how muscles loosen to allow healing and snaps back into place once it's completed. In some way, it feels oddly inhumane and yet it keeps them alive. ] Thanks.

[ Watching Sion falls asleep, he too becomes acutely aware of how tired he is. From the naval war to now, so much has happen, so many fights took place and too many battles fought, Tieria has resisted rest until he found Sion. He knows the King would never care for himself as much as he thought he does, and no matter how many times Tieria reminded him, Sion would still remains stubbornly so. And he's right.

But now, exhaustion creeps upon them both, lures by the comfort of their mana link. ] It's fine even if you do, I'll have your back. [ Pulling Sion closer, not that he understands why, it simply feels like the right thing to do, he continues to smooth over his hair and back in gentle motion. He wonders, for the first time, if the darkness is the reason why Sion keeps everyone at arm's length, never allowing anyone close to him. ] Sleep, Sion.

[ I won't let you fall into that darkness. I will rip it out of you. Absolutely. ]

[sunderings]

You as well, Tieria.

[ Sleep, Sion doesn't need to say, one hand grasping for his cloak, readjusting it so that it might serve as a blanket for he and Tieria both, the other still very much curled into the tattered fabric of the other man's uniform, all the more reluctant to let go now that he's been pulled close. Tieria, his ward, who is so disinclined toward touch, holds him fast, anchors him here, and hasn't abandoned the hold once—the sentiment is staggering, still, as are the words you don't need to apologize and I'll have your back, and however near to slumber the King might be, his mana is resonant with gratitude, answering Tieria's will to protect with grace: ]

Always, I will mend you, guarding your back as you do mine. Do not fear me leaving so soon.

[ His head bows in what little space remains between them, the fall of his hair masking his expression: a smile which seems not to match his features, eyes which might be glassy with saline, if only they had not been closed.

(If only he were not a moment away from sleep, if only it were permissible to stumble, if only... ) ]

We will wake together... and see what it is that tomorrow brings...

[ Unable to stave off exhaustion for any longer, he succumbs to rest, stilling not on account of being encompassed by the dark, but because of the balance he's been granted in the here and now, found within the arms of someone cared for and trusted; someone who's voice will reach him, even in dreams.

(And they are dreams of a peaceful place, a gentle world somewhere amid the stars.) ]