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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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 Posted: Mon Jul 23, 2018 10:54 pm
Arriving on Castor was always like coming home after a long time away. The sense of belonging filled him, a genuine calm washing over him as the cool air touched his skin and the twin suns warmed it at the same time. The smell of lush green, pure air, and salt water from the not too distant ocean made him relax, even as he felt his world lurch at the presence of someone corrupted. Which he supposed, he ought to address before he found himself bending to the will of his world's need. "If it's not too much to ask, please try to refrain from using any of your abilities here. The more... chaos that is present, the more I feel it and am compelled to expel it. You've been amicable so far, and I'd like to aid you in finding answers to these memories. Hard to do if you start teleporting and making my world feel that you should be removed." Ah, he also ought to explain that bit. "It's honestly nothing personal but chaos tends to generate that sort of deep rooted reaction to a world's natural defense. As it's senshi it can be a bit tempting to follow up on the world's call." He looked around and noticed their location. The edge of a grassy field, bare of any constructs save for a few ruined stone walls that had once acted as fences. The field itself at first glance appeared normal, with saplings growing here and there. Except, they were not saplings, but rotting pikes and spears. Bumps in the soil outlined bodies, and bit of rusted armor occasionally dotted the earth. "Well. My world certainly chose a lovely little spot to have us arrive at. Let's not stay here among the dead. It's frankly, filled with too many unpleasant memories for me. Your memory of the forum is in the other direction. Just a short walk thankfully." The field itself was west of a large mountain range, and just over the mountain, the top spires of a crystalline fortress could be seen. "There are two forums, the main one was... Lacedeamon, which was located in the capital, and another, which was just nearby. I spoke more at this one, as any pronouncements or other diplomatic ventures I handled at the castle." Castor shrugged. "Is it a bit much? Do you need a moment?"
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2018 11:57 am
He expected colder. A whole planet owing to hail — and yet it had grass, rolling hills of it, entirely bereft of snow. The temperature difference was marked, however, from Destiny City's sweltering heat. This place looked more like he knew Ireland to be. And if he hadn't glanced toward the sky, owing to the double shadow, he might've called Castor on a bluff. He might've insisted that the Prince of Hail kidnapped an agent off to another country simply to pawn a lie.
But a twin sun was not so easily faked. Neither was the sky, somehow so alien in comparison to earth's. And he could breathe, though he never put thought to suffocation until minutes passed on this foreign soil. Faustite squinted to the great breadth of sky for only a moment longer before Castor spoke and introduced all that was required of him here.
His gaze wandered through the words. Strange and spare they were, calling to mind all the sentience of a being encased inside a rock crust. Was Metallia the cohesive expression of earth's will, then, as much as Castor represented his namesake? The question lingered. The question lingered past bids to seal all magic and weaponry from use while on this strange planet, past Castor's admittance to an outward-driven bloodlust based on the planet's motives, past his own recognition that they stood among shallow graves long integrated with the earth. Faustite nodded another acknowledgement — for what choice did he have but to submit here — as he eyed a once-proud weapon at the head of another grave.
Not orderly. They bury where soldiers fall? The thought was fleeting as the prince bade attention onward.
Silently, he looked on at the nearby range. 'My world certainly chose' —You don't pick where you land. Curious. Two forums, he mentioned, a capital, a graveyard if not battlefield. Too long had passed if Castor's citizens ever used explosives or marred the field in any way. But how long was too long? A decade? Five? Longer?
He blinked several times, then smiled at a grave as if sharing a private joke. "No, keep going." Mother never spared him time. "You remember all of this? These graves look much older than you." It can't be in your living memory.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Sun Jul 29, 2018 7:52 pm
Castor paused again, eyes looking to the graves. "This was one of the last places my people fought the invasion." He let it wash over him, the cold memory of death. "I'm sorry you had to see it." Regret was not an uncommon emotion for the royal, so used to seeing the remains and ruins of his world and being able to recall the fact he was without a doubt, majorly responsible for his own world's demise. "It- It was from my most recent life. Well over a thousand years ago, during the last great reign of the white moon. I had wed a knight of Mercury, and drew the attention of her superiors and their allies- Beryl and her ilk. They came, and my people we not ready for the sudden invasion. I chose love over my duty, and blinded myself to the threat posed. I do remember, more than I wish too, though not all. My death- I remember that moment far too well if I'm to be honest." His wing shuffled, a phantom pain from another body, another life lingering like a shadow. How many times had he slept on his world, woken to his own memory of death's finality? How many times had he walked to the very spot where he'd drawn his final breath, his love dying in his arms as his people fell? His mistakes and his folly- this was the burden and price he was to pay. "Lingering here will only draw more unpleasantness and our goal is to see if perhaps you might regain that which is lost. Not to make me look at my brothers and sisters. That said, what will you do if you discover any insights? Will you see your wonder, report your knowledge to Metallia? Or will you simply content yourself to know not all things are determined by a single life?" He smirked as they walked further from the battlegrounds, eventually arriving at a pale ruin, tall pillars still standing upright, and a blue dome made of what at first glance appeared to be crystal. Though the walls of white marble were cracked and green moss and vine has crawled into the structure, it remained sound, and the crystalline dome allowed the light of the suns to filter in. "After you."
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Posted: Mon Jul 30, 2018 9:08 am
'I'. You claim all these memories. All these lifetimes. He spared a last look over the swath of graves, peppered like stubble on an unshaven cheek. He drew breath then turned from it altogether; the scent of loam and earth still clung to the air, fresh and untainted by industry. He felt the sun and the whispers of grass, terminal in their bladed tips, brush thickly against his pant legs. "How liminal," he muttered to himself.
He listened to Castor's story as he walked, that of a regret threaded deeply into his heart. One of romance bought at too steep a price, leaving that Castor a pauper and this one all the more wary — all from a memory unhad by this life. He spoke of Beryl, a name only loosely known to him, and a time so steep and indistinct that it failed to hold meaning for the young captain. Again he mentioned death, its discomfort plain. A hoarfrost beat in his chest sympathized. Yet these memories — the warehouse and Castor's past death — raised their own questions, problematized the sanctity of their own lives. Small wonder senshi seemed so distant, so unrelatable, and knights ever their partner in that.
What history remained in his youma half, he wondered. What life was obliterated in youmafication and sealed away to all?
He marched at instruction. Grass thickness impeded view of the ground, so he treaded carefully and searched for ground variation with the toe of his boot. The walk was straightforward with a view of their target destination in the distance. Their journey, he supposed, would plod on — whether in silence or not was more Castor's choice than his.
'The more… Chaos that is present, the more I feel it and am compelled to expel it.'
Faustite quickened his step. Once certain of terrain, he moved with astute certainty. Instinct bared itself in a momentary hesitation, with Faustite looking on at their destination with a lingering concentration. It broke, then, and he looked back —
to Castor, who looked guarded in the peculiar, benign manner to which most monarchs aspire. It was easy to see, then, why he was chosen to be ruler of this ruthless world. He saw so much in the sternness of Apollon's young face, in all the lines yet to be present, and he stilled his hand over his own heart to stifle a pang of empathy.
It didn't work. Eyes downcast, he wetted his lips before speaking. "I'm sorry." He turned and faced the rest of their long path. It would be walked with the backdrop of history, he supposed, with a gulf of emotional silence between them.
— and refocused on features familiar — how do they look so similar — as he tried to catch his breath in the still air. "That," he swallowed back the word, the disconnect so wearying, so taxing with its perplexities, "Velvet was apologizing. For staring," he surmised haltingly. For empathizing with someone he found tragic.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Tue Jul 31, 2018 1:09 am
Castor had no high expectations. Memories were fickle things, even as a royal, he couldn't simply demand one appear or give him more than basic fleeting emotions or thoughts. The past reached out as it wished too. Some memories showed importance, others showed life as it was. He was even aware that on a few occasions, his world had shown him memories of nothing more than glimpses of his past and his life- the first storm of winter, the smell of fresh bread in the morning when he'd living in barracks, the climb over the mountains for the thrill of feeling the hailstorm on his skin. Memories showed not what you wished, it showed what was, and one could only accept what was given, demanding nothing more. To see another lose themselves, even but for a moment, reliving a memory was an odd thing. Not even when Pollux and he had traversed his world had his brother felt anything more than a passing familiarity. It unnerved him. And not because the man who experienced them was part youma- no, it was because it was a memory he didn't know, and it was another reminder he'd lost more than he'd ever hope to regain. "I-" Velvet, the name once more; Castor looked to the forum, lost in thought as he debated perhaps asking a question so personal. "I,...that is..." He sighed. Apollon was unlikely to have been favoring a man back then, and he was certain, had he been involved, his own subconscious would remind him of it. "I doubt we had more than a passing acquaintance or general alliance if it helps. As for staring well," He tried to smile, though the mirth and light did not reach his eyes and the grin was drawn taught. "I am a fine specimen. Always have been." He chose to leane back on a pillar, arms crossed. "You alright though? Any details that stood out? Questions?"
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Posted: Tue Jul 31, 2018 7:29 am
Faustite slowed to a halt. His fist curled against his hip as his tongue met the roof of his mouth as his boots kicked at the grass. He stared toward the ground where the grass looked longer than it once did, and he thought, however briefly, that this planet was an austere place to call home, that nothing so far lived on it but grasses under a foreign sky, that there were fewer differences between Castor and the Rift than himself and Castor's prince. He felt that old separation pushing them apart as it did with everyone — that fabled seventh degree that unmade networks.
And Castor sounded uncomfortable in his assumptions. You're right." He swallowed against a thin smirk. "Velvet didn't know him, not well. He never kept physically apart from his familiars. He was a bleeding heart; he must have seen something he empathized with, like…" Sighting, Faustite buried his mouth beneath the webbing of his thumb and forefinger. Another moment passed, displaced between this time and a time a thousand years in the past, where the stars shifted and whole worlds glittered to life. The depths of that too-short time was probed relentlessly, furtively — he poached all he could find out of memory's performance anxiety.
His hand fell away like a cowl and he spoke with authority gleaned. "They were talking about someone. I don't know who — I never heard a name — and Velvet lagged because he was staring at Apollon. He stared because he thought Apollon was 'dealt a difficult hand'. That he was too young to be so burdened with power and responsibility. What gave him that impression, I don't know." What is 'too young' for power and responsibility. Under forty? Apollon looked older than me; he looked Castor's age. Did Velvet think seats of power belonged to the old and sedentary? Typical.
"He wore a glove bracelet on his hand. He used that to search for people — to search their memories, so he used it recently. Maybe on Apollon. Maybe on someone he knew. Maybe on no one at all yet.
"The grass was shorter, the path looked different. Younger, like time hadn't touched it. I heard a static sound, like a distant crowd. Like the forum was in attendance. I think… This happened before the other memory." You were impressed by this man you barely knew. What standards you have, Velvet, he thought acerbically.
Whetting his lips, he looked on toward the forum in the distance. His head throbbed, then, and a weariness crept up his bones like clutching ivy. It seized his muscles and wrenched them into a certain, stony slowness. He forced himself to move, to break away the deep exhaustion that threatened to root him. "They were much closer to the forum." Faustite jogged to the drumbeat of his temples.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Sat Aug 04, 2018 1:09 am
It was more than expected. Faustite had some collection of memories enough to state facts- that in itself was highly fortunate. More, he was certain. The fact drew Castor's forced smile to a real one. Progess, however minor, was progress. Yet it begged the question as to why the agent would seek these things. Perhaps he sought to corrupt his wonder, gain favor and power? Or- well. It was his choice. Such things always were and all castor could do was offer aid as requested. "You're gaining insight into who you were. I can't speak for everyone, but the more you gain, the easier it is to find the memories, and the more clear they become. But, what you're saying is.. odd." Apollon had never been particularly open in his feelings when it came to matters of state. The King tended to handle internal affairs, which meant whatever Velvet had approached Castor about had been notably off world. That, or, it was a matter that couldn't reach the king's ears. A thing that made Castor shudder. Such matters were often dark, and held nothing good. More odd, was apparently what Velvet thought of him. If he'd been willing to subject himself to a knight's magic, it would have been a grave situation indeed. Not to mention, the setting all felt like Faustite was describing... "Early summer likely. Winter the grass would be short but overgrown on the path covered in frost, and in spring the earth would have been muddy." Following the agent's lead Castor thought to what memories he had, and his own knowledge. "Castor is the one who dealt most often with foreign affairs and would have been reluctant to go under another's magic. If Velvet had used his magic on him, it would have had to been a very serious matter that put either Castor or his people at risk. As for being one too young for the burdens of my mantle?" He clicked his tongue. "I admit it.. irritated me to know I was considered such. I was born, raised, and bred to fight and kill. When I woke I was barely a youth, not even having reached puberty. Only in this life was my awakening delayed." Had he been on Castor, he'd have expired, untrained and unskilled as he was; yet perhaps he'd been lucky in that. On earth, Astraea had spared him the repetitive fate of trials to ascend his rank through death and victory. "By the time I was a man, I was expected to lead armies and conquer worlds. I did so, often. I was more than a prince Faustite, I was the War Bringer, and my arrival signaled that the empire had come." He sighed, heavy with long forgotten memories lingering in his mind. "Some things I do not miss. But, I digress, do not allow yourself to fall into the emotions of your memory. USe them to guide you, but do not let them blind you to your goal. Seek, follow, but do not fall into them and become lost." Memories could consume you with their emotional intensity if one was not careful. A thing Castor had learned the hard way far too many times.
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Posted: Mon Aug 06, 2018 7:16 am
The more familiarity gained, the easier sought. Interesting. So memory reclamation could be guided by some measure — controlled and worked to reclaim usefulness over bathroom breaks or demonstrably idle conversation. It explained, then, the specificity of this memory coined on this path as compared with the seemingly random pluck in the Rift. Some measure of perspective guided the memory, and that ghosting of control bequeathed some hope.
But why odd. Faustite paused, poached Castor's countenance for answers, found none. An early summer affair, whatever it was. Beyond my scope.
He needn't linger long; Castor divulged some of what troubled him. Faustite expected some of the story went unsaid, likely to prevent trade secrets or insights that the Negaverse could exploit, or was dismissed to hide under the simple yet impervious aegis of trust. That they stood opposite another was clarion in dialogue, distance, diplomacy. Castor likely gave as much as could be comfortable to give with station in mind. So little did a prince have to fear from a captain in immediacy, after all — but their connection to Metallia was absolute. And what better tread was there for lacing lips than the sum total of Negaverse power?
"I think Velvet disliked hierarchy. Maybe he thought it the root of all evil." Or how evil spreads its roots. But no one can deny the effectiveness of rote hierarchy over egalitarianism in military tactic. Everyone has to look to someone.
"His opinions aren't mine."
Faustite found no shock in hearing the staunchness of authority pressed upon youth. However young Castor was at the time, perhaps even younger than Faustite's conscripted fifteen, it matched with what he saw of senshi — occasionally their powers recruited children, and molded them with time, experience, and impersonal brutality into soldiers. Sometimes they resisted that reconditioning wholesale and were met with broken necks, broken families. But when better to recruit for idealism than at youth? Castor was obviously a better War-Bringer for it then than he was now, with a dead civilization and no conquered planets to his name. Faustite doubted, however, that age of awakening played more than a trivial part in that outcome. No, Metallia held much of the world to herself — perhaps she started long before Castor awakened.
Something happened to leave this place so full of bodies, after all. "Raised by the She-Wolf," he muttered under his breath. Yet it's so easy to fall into conversation — like we're discussing cerebral affairs. Old times had by other selves. Armchair speculations. Hannibal ad portas.
"You sound remiss, War-Bringer. Did you dislike conquering worlds?" How much of that advice is meant for yourself?
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Mon Aug 06, 2018 1:51 pm
Memories, even benign ones could leave lasting impressions, and draw on more than just one's mind. It wasn't uncommon for Castor to feel something before and after a memory, his mind tricking his body to cope as it was thrust out of place and time for an instance. Before castor could speak further with Faustite he tasted it. Cold spring wind, floral tea that was often served during meetings. The taste ran across his tongue, a phantom of the past before Castor found himself looking a man that was not the one he'd just brought to his world. A fleeting moment, a second of clarity was all it too for the information to filter it's way back to him, reclaimed from a life that had ended so long ago. To the agent, the royal would have appeared distant, remote in his gaze as wings folded around him, nearly encasing him in a dark feathered cocoon. They, as sudden as his behavior had come, it left, the dark blue of his eyes returned, no long lost in visions past. "I- forgive me. That was most unexpected." He touched his own chest, mentally panicking. He'd let his guard down, granting him the prefect opportunity to strike. Weakness, he berated himself for not thinking of it. A longer vision would have granted the agent an open invitation to kill him- a thing that would gain him much acclaim no doubt. The prince raged at his own folly, lips pulling into a thin line, the only outward sign of his displeasure. "Velvet was not here for me." He stated. "He was after another- a renegade who'd come to Castor seeking to enlist in our ranks to hide. I-" He looked to Velvet, a small realization striking him just as the taste of a tea he'd not had in thousand years had. "He asked a very similar question to me. If I enjoyed my task and role as War Bringer." There was a small sense of irony there. A sense of strange elation that a fragment of a man he'd not known well remained in a corrupted agent who remained in the shadow of his former self. "I'll say what I said then. It is not a thing I like for the sake of war or death or conquest. It is the challenge that I relish and delight in. I want to fight and see how far I might rise above; I do not take joy in the killing and carnage, but, I will take my joy from the challenge they present to me. If there is no challenge, then there is no glory and pleasure. And often, I am given high hopes only to see my expectations fall short." He laughed then. Running his hand through his hair, Castor laughed. "I can't believe it. The bounty hunter with a moral streak. You were quite the character."
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Posted: Fri Aug 10, 2018 6:38 am
When no answer came back to him in short order, Faustite looked back at his companion. He was — and wasn't — there, standing tall and statuesque, like a vessel waiting to fill with tales of heroism attributed for it. A memorial for all that Rome was and aspired to be. He turned in full, stopped, waited.
Judged.
A second could pass between teleporting and ripping out a royal's starseed. There were two, then five, then a dozen justifications for it. Rote demand twitched in his hands. His black gaze settled on the point at which those two wings crossed so delicately. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
So wagon-bound am I. Wake up, Prince. These vile, incurable sores won't kiss you.
Wake. Speak. Lead.
But that moment passed so that only perfection could have secured it. Light returned to the prince's eyes by the time a sheen of sweat formed on the youma captain's brow. A flash bequeathed by the helpful planet and its watchful, clever protection. Moments later, wings unfurled and excuses were cut across the gravel of their formative relationship. Faustite waited, still observing.
How sour you look. He listened through the given information, his own expression turning to mirror Castor's at the jibe. So you like the challenge, not the carnage. What better way to excuse ourselves from the cost of lives and blood? They're forgivable expenses when the ledger considers their variable an unfortunate byproduct. Like so many rivers after industry.
Faustite was about to speak his mind when Castor laughed, and resumed with an unintentional barb of his own. Faustite stopped, his ire guttered, and his expression fell into an indignant scowl that spun him steadfastly toward their destination once more. "I'm not him," he cast glibly over shoulder. "We don't think alike." A bounty hunter with a moral streak sounded not only commonplace, but the subject of early 2000s TV. Reality shows and the like when script-writers and actors went on strike and television needed new stars to fill their rosters. Was that all Velvet was? A commonplace replacement for a station he never deserved?
And why would Faustite deserve it? Why would Eion want it? His lips pursed, his breath telling the guilty lie of a sigh by smoke puffing from his back.
"And if you're so disappointed by your hunts, then retire."
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:56 am
He ran his tongue over his teeth, grounding himself my feeling more than air and cold. How did he try to curtail his own thoughts and words to not draw more distress from the man fused with monster? It was tightrope drawn taut across two pillars, each ready to topple at a moments notice. Whatever lessons on being an orator had long left him in another life, and this Castor knew only what he'd grown with, which was in such matters severely lacking. Pollux was more suited to such tasks than he. "True." He tentatively replied. "You are not Velvet, but you are-" The name like water flowed from him. Once at the tip of his tongue it now spilled, and it hung like a chain over his mind. This was a man he'd known once, if only breifly, in passing. "-Kholat Syakh. I called you Kho." That was why the name had not registered, why it had not come to him so readily. Apollon, ever playful, ever seeking to illicit a rise and a fight, had coined a name that was not a name for a knight. Yet now, when he needed to speak the name of the past, the name of a dead man yet living, it had arrived with no fanfare, no warning. Just a slip of the tongue. "I certainly cannot say what he once thought, but, he is you... after a fashion. We are all unique just as each life is, and so we change with each rebirth. But some things linger with us. Like, I can attest that I have a fondness for strong individuals who are independent of their mantles. I always have. I can also say that I never like getting up early in the morning. Small things, or large once, linger. Who's to say that there are parts of you Kholat, that are as timeless as your soul?" He motioned to the forum. "You remembered him as Velvet- Perhaps that in itself, that you remember your life not as a knight but as a man, points to where your heart lies." He grinned, not mockingly but rather pleasantly. "And you forget the greatest hunt that tempts me still. Metallia hides in her chambers, and I've yet to have an audience. Not for lack of trying though." His grin widened considerably. "Your general kings and queens do not hold much lure for me if I'm honest. After fighting Tanz and Charonite, I'm afraid I have higher standards of who I'd die against in battle."
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Posted: Mon Aug 13, 2018 12:29 pm
The name sounded like nothing, meant nothing, held no meaning. It was a conglomeration of senseless syllables coalesced into a foreign gracelessness — one that stumbled drunkenly off the tongue. That was his name. That was his knight name — a word, or two words, or a phrase so ceaselessly convoluted that he couldn't guess how to begin spelling it. And with it came a nickname passed so easily, so lacking explanation. "How familiar," he muttered under his breath.
What came of Castor and Kholat Syakhl is a matter better left to the past. What exists now is Castor and Faustite. We live now, we breathe now, we seek now.
What remained of Kholat Syakhl was a question Faustite could not answer, nor would he acquire enough familiarity with his old life to make an educated guess. He witnessed Velvet in only a handful of instances, most broken and reassembled piecemeal out of a fever-dream, like so many lurid colors blended out of an impressionist painting. Castor, comparatively, stood firm in his inheritance. He spoke of it with a timelessness that represented the station pulling the starseed along a familiar path. Even the lineage of the gods could be traced. The Dioskouroi, Peter and Paul. So much was carried forth and recycled and repurposed.
He spoke with a distance that cooled his voice. "Those remnants aren't mine to know, are they. Not like this — not while youma." Pipes broke his silhouette now, making where pounds of flesh were left behind. He carried only what he needed. "I would have to purify to see without vials." He stopped then, his gaze hanging on the forum.
'Metallia hides in her chambers, and I've yet to have an audience. Not for lack of trying, though.'
"You're very bold, Prince." Has anyone seen the queen that ties us together? "Twice you mention Tanzanite, and with such familiarity. Who was that agent?" The name still haunted the Negaspace halls like a tired ghost, however, whispered on occasion by the older ilk that still bade their time in darker, crystal-dappled halls. Who it meant and why it was meant so emphatically still escaped him. A prince of storied years, Castor should know more.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2018 7:16 pm
Castor's smile did not dim in the face of Faustite's refusal. He rather found it expected. He was not human, not entirely. And Kholat hadn't been either. But the youma was a barrier, one not easily broken. A barrier twice over with Metallia's grasp upon him. Yet, Castor was a touch nostalgic. He lived with a foot in the past in many way, and while he knew it was not healthy for him to focus so much upon it? It gave him a drive to move forward. "You came here to find something though." He grinned, challenging. "You're risking your life to find answers. The vials are a catalyst, yet here you are. I would guess, if give the chance, you would wish to see more of the past, to know who you were and who your are. Those remnants are yours. No one can deny that. Chaos and Order- purification would save you from being consumed, your starseed fading and ceasing to exist true enough, but it is a choice each of us make. I can't claim to understand why many adhere to chaos, but I know the pull of loyalty. I also know the pain of servitude. In the end, the choices we make are our own. If you wish for those memories, they will wait for you. How you obtain them- now that's something that entirely depends on you as well." He shrugged. "If you were to chose to purify, and were resolute, I would aid you. If you did not, then that too, is your choice. I'm a catalyst for change. That's all." He kicked a lose stone, listening to it clatter against fallen marble. His wings shifted and his expression darkened at the inquiry of Tanzanite. "Tanz was- Tanzanite was a friend once. I knew her when the war began to seep into the city. When we were children playing heros. When children dug mass graves and a General King married the Negaverse queen." It was so long ago, yet he still could remember her laugh, her smile. "She was brilliant. Beautiful. In combat she was fearless and ruthless. When we met we found ourselves unlikely friends. Yet- one night I traveled with Kunzite, the captain of Endymion's knights. One of the first that defected in the war with the white moon. She was reborn, and I had become her friend and ally. In our wandering that evening, we came to combat with Naelite, host of their queen, Beryl. It was our chance to change the tide of the war, to rid the world of a woman who usurped her own prince from jealousy. Yet as Kunzite drew her sword, Tanzanite took the blow that would have killed the queen, and her arm was severed. We fled, Charonite and Beryl both present then; we could not face them as we were already injured." Castor found a fallen pillar, sitting on it and letting his mind go over the events. "We thought her dead and... I mourned her. Yet she survived. A youma forced upon her to supplement her arm. After that, she never forgave me, yet I never wished her to suffer as she did. The youma slowly corrupted her mind. It drove her to madness and hate. Her rage consumed her. When I rose in rank, so did she. And then after I became royal?" He remembered her smile, the loss of light in her eyes, the death of her humanity. "A General Queen. Inhuman, but not yet entirely youma. Her viciousness, ruthlessness- she gave her life for chaos, for Metallia, for Beryl and all for what? To be driven to madness? To be forced to become a monster who lost all she had ever loved?" The bitterness broke through, the rage, the hate. "I-." He blinked, tears at the edge of his eyes. Twice more, he bid them away. No more tears for the fallen. "I loved her in my way. Just as I have loved Alkaid. Linarite. I knew them before chaos took them. I have seen what it has done to them. I do not expect you to believe or understand but- Chaos will consume those it takes. If I cannot purify you, then I cannot. But if I can grant you a measure of your past, a way for you to remember who you are? I will give that. If it is from vials, from my world to give your visions context- I've seen enough people lose themselves." 'I have seen too many die inside their own skins' was the unspoken truth.
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Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2018 8:54 am
His piece said, Castor left the stakes at their pinnacle. Tall the two towers rose — one, a monument to Metallia, necessitated serving blindly, forthrightly, and with no pause for judgment calls; the other, a monument to the tens of hundreds of lives he may have lived, neatly encapsulated into a starseed, and built on a tradition expected of him and yet unprovided. How high could he climb the vaunted stairs while adhering to his own sensibilities? Or was it a better decision to leap from their tops in statement? Faustite steeled his jaw against an answer; better not to provoke a prince on his own source of power.
He held one arm against his body, leaned contrapposto, and listened further to one of Metallia's still whispered-about casualties. Castor spoke her name like a sin, with regret and reverence twined on the tongue.
Did children stop digging mass graves? The question clung in a light smirk. Short determination yielded that Castor spoke of a very different political climate to the Negaverse — one more determined and demanding of its soldiers. One that disallowed slouching of any sort to come into their performances. An arm lost would be accounted for in their own raw, terrible, beautiful power. Youma was the new prosthetic.
The smirk fell to a solemnty. I wonder if that will be me someday — ridden with hateful grudges, plagued like a leper by my own youma. I wonder if it's already begun.
"Little solace comes
to those who grieve
when thoughts keep drifting
as walls keep shifting
and this great blue world of ours
seems a house of leaves
moments before the wind."
He looked to Castor, his pause purposeful, the statement clear in his youthful face's resoluteness — what was said was all the answer he could give, in all the definitiveness he could give it, ever ensconced as it was in quote. Little else defined so eloquently the vast precipice on which he stood, marched there both by his own feet and Castor's words, by loyalty, by Metallia's insatiable needs, by the sharp descent of his life, by puerile and indistinct acquaintanceships.
Just as simply, it held with care the struggles Castor fought with so many falling to chaos, and in it laid the vitriol that clogged his throat, mired his eyes. Faustite wondered how long this prince spent fighting and making connections against the grain — and how much longer, still, it took him to achieve this power to purify. Did he blame himself for not attaining it sooner? For not burning away the hate and rage that clouded Tanzanite's starseed, or any of the others mentioned? Further, did he nurse a bitterness for any agent purified, for every agent purified, by knowing that their saving was incongruous to the people he lost?
"I don't need evidence to believe you." He approached, knuckles bound to one hip, as grass parted underfoot. "Most of our generals are hollowed-out caricatures of real people — petty and lacking perspective. Like storybook villains cast from paper with a fire chasing their feet." He halted within conversational distance of Castor, though his attention trained to the forum's vast emptiness. "They each lick their hurts like dogs. Like all the humanity's gone out of them. I know what's coming. I saw Alkaid's dead eyes in the Database. I heard you speak of Tanzanite.
"But if I make this choice, I'll need time." He looked to Castor, then, his attention undivided. "you'll have to be patient with me, Prince."
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2018 10:13 am
His laugh was a short bark of a thing. Cold and detached just like his power against the sky. Uncaring, a mockery of something kind and gentler. "I admit, poetry recited was not what I'd have expected. But I must say I find it a poor choice when flanked to my situation. Earth is not my planet." His smile was not a smile- snarl, a flash of white teeth in a cold rage under his face, in his skin. "It's nothing but a transient rock for me. This is mine- my grief gives me one thing and that is hate. Hate is power Faustite. It is the power that drew Metallia to Beryl, that fuels the cry for death and the genocide of senshi. Hate is why even I might fall and become an agent of Chaos." Across the valley, at the peaks of the monutains, dark clouds loomed, roaming over the snow capped tops, slowly making their way on the winds. "But that is my way, my fate. Your own is still as you say- changing. Shifting as the world is want to do. But will you survive the change? Can you, would you accept a change in who your world is shared with?" The snarl was directed away. To the distant storm, to the ruins and fields where corpses lay, without a grave, untouched. Forgotten by time and by none living to remember their names. "I envy you and yours. You have choices. To be free of duty, to never take your mantles. But us? We're born to awaken. Cats aid us, but they were not always needed. You-" He sucked in a breath. "My rage is not for you, but what you have become. You have become a host to a creature that would see you dead. And I cannot understand it. Even in service to my world, I cannot grasp the loyalty to that which would actively seek my death." "You deserve the knowledge of what exists, of the options to make a choice. That your past had not left you, that it is yours to claim if you wish to take it. Yet if you walk the path others have taken before you, you will die- hollowed out, cast aside when your use has reached it's end. And when that time comes Faustite will not exist. What eats you, fuels you will be you. Your soul consumed. All of your generals, your kings and queens- They are dying. You, are dying. Perhaps if you were of chaos itself, free of Metallia and her youma it might be different, but as it is, you feed a creature who seeks all power for itself. Your cause to free earth of senshi I will not lecture you on, but know this. You are running out of time. Not just you, but all of yours. I can give you what time I have, I can give you this- a fragment of answers and perhaps a measure of sanctuary, but I am limited. You say you understand-" Ice cracked, an echo ringing out. "But like others who claim they did before they too fell to the same fate, I am left wondering if you even can. Who have you lost Faustite?" The ice crack became a chime. The ringing of bells. Hail falling upon frozen earth. "What have you lost that allows you to question a path you have already walked so far down?"
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