SION ASTAL. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sunderings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pawnstorm2016-10-02 07:46 pm
sunderings) wrote in pawnstorm2016-10-02 07:46 pm
[CLOPEN] through the light that illuminates everything
Who: Sion Astal & You!
When: 10/3 - 10/8.
Where: Gammon & Caissa!
What: Kingly failure on the job, singing, and domestic affairs (oh my).
Rating: PG?!
October 3rd - 4th ⇰ Cochrane, Gammon | Photo Tour (Job/Open!)
[ He flies on high, La Vista's wings of light ablaze at his back, a camera in his hands as he photographs Gammon's natural treasures from a bird's-eye view, sailing effortlessly over the Emerald Lakes until....! There is murmurous protest from La Vista itself, and though it is far from the first time he's received complaint from his Hero's weaponry (it seems the curse of Kings, to be subject to tantrums of the weapons which they wield), this surely marks the very first instance when he hasn't been able to quell them...!
And so: he plummets, wings of light dispersing into a thousand filament-fine strands of aetherous nothingness as he falls, silvered hair streaking behind him.
Apologies, Hero, if you were enjoying a lake-side picnic directly below, this scenario may end in one of three ways: broken bones (yours, if Sion should land atop you—thank goodness he can heal!!), an expert catch, or the King's own show of grace (a wind spell, with which to break his fall, and accidentally blow your picnic away?!). ]
October 5th - 8th ⇰ Coastal District, Caissa | M-m-manaplay?! (Open!)
[ Mana streams may catch the errant Hero's eye, should they find themselves wandering Caissa's coastal district in survey of the autumnal flush of color. The farmland nearest the coast is a patchwork of deep golds (barley, bending in the wind), brighter yellows (sunflowers, resilient of seasonal cold), and orange (marigold and an array of harvest gourds), all hues encompassed by mana-threads gathered not by the windmills, their sails catching mana from the ocean breeze, but by a King's song—an incantation which holds him still, amid the flowing, perpetual motion of farmland and field. Above the sussurating wind and distant sound of sea, his voice rises, and the world resonates with his melody—
(I see a spark of life shining; I hear a young minstrel sing. A beautiful roaring scream of joy and sorrow, so extreme. There is a love in me raging, a joyous magical feeling!)
—and the mana streams dance, coalescing into a magic which gathers the zest of fallen, dead vegetation and sees it flourishing within the bounds of the spell, and all those Heroes within its healing circle rejuvenated. For this is the power of King's rank magic: drawing upon mana from nature to revitalize allies...!
...even if acting as a channel, a living, breathing, conduit, should be more taxing than Sion had initially realized. His song cutting short, he falters—swaying—but catches himself (with grace), turning the motion instead into a pivot with which to face present company!
Why, of course he noticed you. ]
Shall I sing another song for you?
October ??? ⇰ Coastal District, Caissa | CLOSED TO ALICE
[ He draws.
Inked quill taken to parchment, the Hero King's thoughts are elsewhere, far from the seaside cottage he shares with his Lady (his Lady who has been curiously absent for the vast majority of the day—wherever it is that her adventures have carried her, he knows that there will be a story to tell when she returns home, safe and sound!), adrift in a landscape which has come to life beneath his fingertips, illustrated with a cartographer's accuracy and an artist's flowing script.
He draws, and he thinks of how, nearly eight months ago to the date, he'd stood upon the edge of the Southern Country of Ali with all his Empire's might at his back, poised and at the ready to take the territories of the Republic of Belis. His campaign to see the world of Menoris united by love, all countries come together beneath a great flood of renewal, his kingdom's banner of white and blue...
Would he return to it? The vision which he'd glimpsed, burned into his mind's eye (as his own men had been, by his own hand; his own order), had it truly come to pass realms away from here?
Golden eyes narrowed, sharpened to gleaming knives in a fit of what could only be described as King's fit (of brooding), he does not sense his Lady's presence until Alice is close, beside him at the table, and there is the softest, sweetest sound--...
A kitten's mewl???
(If his eyes go wide, round as saucers in childish surprise, at least no one but Alice will glimpse the sight...!) ]
When: 10/3 - 10/8.
Where: Gammon & Caissa!
What: Kingly failure on the job, singing, and domestic affairs (oh my).
Rating: PG?!
October 3rd - 4th ⇰ Cochrane, Gammon | Photo Tour (Job/Open!)
[ He flies on high, La Vista's wings of light ablaze at his back, a camera in his hands as he photographs Gammon's natural treasures from a bird's-eye view, sailing effortlessly over the Emerald Lakes until....! There is murmurous protest from La Vista itself, and though it is far from the first time he's received complaint from his Hero's weaponry (it seems the curse of Kings, to be subject to tantrums of the weapons which they wield), this surely marks the very first instance when he hasn't been able to quell them...!
And so: he plummets, wings of light dispersing into a thousand filament-fine strands of aetherous nothingness as he falls, silvered hair streaking behind him.
Apologies, Hero, if you were enjoying a lake-side picnic directly below, this scenario may end in one of three ways: broken bones (yours, if Sion should land atop you—thank goodness he can heal!!), an expert catch, or the King's own show of grace (a wind spell, with which to break his fall, and accidentally blow your picnic away?!). ]
October 5th - 8th ⇰ Coastal District, Caissa | M-m-manaplay?! (Open!)
[ Mana streams may catch the errant Hero's eye, should they find themselves wandering Caissa's coastal district in survey of the autumnal flush of color. The farmland nearest the coast is a patchwork of deep golds (barley, bending in the wind), brighter yellows (sunflowers, resilient of seasonal cold), and orange (marigold and an array of harvest gourds), all hues encompassed by mana-threads gathered not by the windmills, their sails catching mana from the ocean breeze, but by a King's song—an incantation which holds him still, amid the flowing, perpetual motion of farmland and field. Above the sussurating wind and distant sound of sea, his voice rises, and the world resonates with his melody—
(I see a spark of life shining; I hear a young minstrel sing. A beautiful roaring scream of joy and sorrow, so extreme. There is a love in me raging, a joyous magical feeling!)
—and the mana streams dance, coalescing into a magic which gathers the zest of fallen, dead vegetation and sees it flourishing within the bounds of the spell, and all those Heroes within its healing circle rejuvenated. For this is the power of King's rank magic: drawing upon mana from nature to revitalize allies...!
...even if acting as a channel, a living, breathing, conduit, should be more taxing than Sion had initially realized. His song cutting short, he falters—swaying—but catches himself (with grace), turning the motion instead into a pivot with which to face present company!
Why, of course he noticed you. ]
Shall I sing another song for you?
October ??? ⇰ Coastal District, Caissa | CLOSED TO ALICE
[ He draws.
Inked quill taken to parchment, the Hero King's thoughts are elsewhere, far from the seaside cottage he shares with his Lady (his Lady who has been curiously absent for the vast majority of the day—wherever it is that her adventures have carried her, he knows that there will be a story to tell when she returns home, safe and sound!), adrift in a landscape which has come to life beneath his fingertips, illustrated with a cartographer's accuracy and an artist's flowing script.
He draws, and he thinks of how, nearly eight months ago to the date, he'd stood upon the edge of the Southern Country of Ali with all his Empire's might at his back, poised and at the ready to take the territories of the Republic of Belis. His campaign to see the world of Menoris united by love, all countries come together beneath a great flood of renewal, his kingdom's banner of white and blue...
Would he return to it? The vision which he'd glimpsed, burned into his mind's eye (as his own men had been, by his own hand; his own order), had it truly come to pass realms away from here?
Golden eyes narrowed, sharpened to gleaming knives in a fit of what could only be described as King's fit (of brooding), he does not sense his Lady's presence until Alice is close, beside him at the table, and there is the softest, sweetest sound--...
A kitten's mewl???
(If his eyes go wide, round as saucers in childish surprise, at least no one but Alice will glimpse the sight...!) ]
Gammon
But this isn't something that bothers him. He considers it a privilege to hike along every single emerald grass-covered bump and ridge along the earth, crawling up and down along them like a beetle does on the ground. He's come fully equipped, backpack between his shoulders carrying water and snacks (some of which will be sacrificed to appease Strela so she'll stay still for a photo session) and a brimmed sunhat on his head with keeps the intensity of the afternoon light out of his eyes, to better gauge his photos.
What the brim also covers is his ability to see straight up.
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adorablefetching, or so Sion thinks, in a state of perfect calm despite the speed of his descent; how the brisk autumn air bites at his eyes, leaving them glassy, overbright when coupled with the aura-like light which limns from his person.Naturally, Sion would know Potemkin anywhere (even from above!). Of course, he would not care to alert the mountain of a man to his presence, even as he falls from on high. And by virtue and by nature, he is given to one thing alone: taking his roommate (though they've not seen one another for quite some time, they are roommates still, bound to share quarters once again as they travel on Blanc's assignment!) by surprise.
A bout of minor magic (a bid for wind with which to break his fall!) sees the King's plummet to the earth below managed and slowed, such that he is able to land (with flourishing, intrinsic grace) before Potemkin as though he'd intended to drop out of the sky solely for the man alone. And one might call it an accident, if the summoned gust of wind parted Potemkin's sunhat from his head, the accessory now in Sion's hands (the camera formerly in his grasp now tucked into the satchel holstered at his thigh!), his fingers running along its brim. ]
Good afternoon— [ He laughs, then, a bit breathless; a touch dazed as he extends the hat back to its rightful owner. ] —I do believe this is yours.
[ It's been awhile, hasn't it, Potemkin. ]
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Maybe he doesn't, never did, never had.
What falls from the sky is too big, fast, and targeted to be an exotic bird, but that doesn't stop Potemkin from having a hard time identifying what just came down. A little bit of wind could never pick up Potemkin, but one could have swore he was lifted as well, with how quickly he moves back in surprise.]
What!
Wh - Sion!
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This marks the second time one (1) Hero King, Sion Astal, has both witnessed, and been responsible for, Potemkin startling into surprise. Though where the very first time had been marked by a simple widening of the man's solid white eyes, now... now, there is motion, a swift drawing back, coupled with the low rumbles of an exclamation (his name!) echoing throughout the seclusion of the lakeside.
And so: Sion finds he cannot help but laugh, resonant and bright (and just a touch breathless, still, from his fall!), as he turns the sunhat once over in his hands before decisively placing it atop his own head, lambent golden eyes surveying his roommate from beneath its woven brim— ]
Truly, is it so great a surprise to see me? [ How flattering, charming, even. ] Come, walk with me and tell me how you've been.
[ About new homes, new ventures, and whether or not Potemkin has been keeping practice with healing—that flare of scarlet, mending light...
Sion has not forgotten it. In fact, it is the very same hand which Sion had once cut open (dagger, taken to palm in order to prompt Potemkin into action) that is extended to the man now, in place of the sunhat.
Let us be off, the King says without needing to utter a single word, the phrase voiced implicitly with a single, artful cant of head. ]
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Potemkin pats the top of his head a few times, registering the sudden absence of of what was there, before taking up the hike again to follow by Sion's side, taking his outstretched hand into his mighty one.
What, it's only practical to stay physically together on this uneven, lofty terrain. Potemkin is a comfortingly trusty anchor, from appearance alone.]
Ah, yes, it is nice to see you again. I've been thankful in general for how Gammon shows thanks for its protection.
[Convenient favors for the tourism board or not, Potemkin does remember the intended gratitude behind these gestures, and he has felt that, together with all heroes, he made much more of a difference compared to battles past. It has done a lot for his mood, to the point where today he could enjoy this natural tableu simply.]
This is my first break since being deployed to that bizarre library.
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[ In private, the King marvels over how easily Potemkin takes his hand, the man's fingers seamlessly enveloping his own. It speaks volumes of Potemkin's mood, this gesture, and now that Sion thinks on the matter, he cannot recall a time when he'd glimpsed the man so contented; so close to being at peace (that is, after all surprise has faded from him!). Surely, his roommate is more stoic than most, but simple quiet does not equate to serenity, and it feels as though some burden has been lifted from the man's shoulders—in the link and latch of mana exchange borne from the union of their hands, he is aware of a particular lightness of being in the exchange of energy. ]
Though... nearly two weeks have passed since then, and I can only wonder at what has prevented you from taking reprieve until now.
[ What could it have been? The undertaking of some personal endeavor? An investigation into the appearance of the dungeon itself? Tending to the fresh array of job postings upon the Hero's boards? Gently, Sion curls his fingers in Potemkin's hold, squeezing with a hint of play.
Ah, one does wonder. ]
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[Potemkin is worried if Wander can continue to stay himself, with all of his idiosyncrasies, in this life that continuously demands for heavy burdens to be carried by the body and soul. He hopes that Wander's willpower is stronger than his was.
The feeling of mana flowing through their hands only empowers him on the hike, and with his breath caught up, Potemkin actually seems to be striding over the heavily carpeted ground better than before. He is happy to have Sion's company, despite how unexpectedly he came across it.]
I haven't needed to round the bulletin boards often, since I've found new employment. Have you heard of the Carnival Phantasm dining service? [Yes, that his his wording of a maid cafe.] Ms. von Einzbern has been kind enough to hire me as security.
[It's hard to ignore any advertisement with Gilgamesh's...special quality of loudness in it.]