But it's My Life, I'm Takin' Back What's Mine

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: 6 Sun's Zenith, Annus Ferro 123
NOTES: -

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When Æros had first gotten his incorporeal clutches upon his cousin, the moonborn was not at all, physically, like what he had been used to piloting for what of his adult life he had managed to live. Adapting to this was one of the most unwelcome changes of having been relegated to a single shape once more– this was entirely because he could no longer accomplish much of what he used to, but even so, his distaste made him feel actively guilty. The ghost could not well hide his displeasure, either, though he tried, and Palæmon picked up on it. But to his credit, he was understanding; it was not hard to tell that Æros was…appreciative, overall, of a wide array of body types, despite the fact that he'd only be truly happy living in an array far more narrow.

And so as a bit of a concession, perhaps more of a compromise, Palæmon had allowed his baseborn cousin to pick up his older hobbies once more. Which was a decision that was both exhausting and painful at points, but at least he didn't have to participate directly. He'd also not denied Æros' enthusiasm about sparring with the very well trained princeps they'd recently come across, much as the idea terrified him, but at least his level of fitness had improved to some degree by this point. It was also an interesting case study on possession, in a sense, because the spirit's old talents came easier than one might expect from somebody starting anew in foreign flesh.

Æros, of course, had accepted Seværys' offer with great enthusiasm, despite fully expecting to lose. If nothing else, he knew full well that there was plenty to be learned from loss, but it was also that he simply found the other interesting in more ways than one. And further, it was certainly true that between their official duties, they had plenty of free time– so why not?

Still within the palace grounds, Seværys had guided him to a place where they had ample space to practice.

"Shall we go light on magic aside from Reaving, then? Would keep the focus primarily on bladework," Palæros spoke as they arrived, though he was curious about what magics his current companion might possess otherwise.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

Æros would enter the training room to find Seværys on the floor, stretching his slim limbs. He was in the middle of an inner thigh stretch, one leg extended to his side with the toe pointed up as the other was bent in a tight squat. His torso was doubled over the extended leg, but his face turned sidelong to smile at the other prægustator's words.

"Well, salve to you, too!" He chuckled, rising from his stretch. His torso was (mostly) covered by a red and gold leather jerkin, which revealed slender but toned arms of sunkissed bronze. Black leather trousers clung to his slim shanks, and cuffed, flat-soled boots adorned the feet that now strode across the padded floor to greet the newest pair of prægustators.

"I hope you don't mind I invited someone to join us..." He glanced over Palæmon's shoulder to see whether his other sparring partner was close at hand. Not yet, it seemed, so he returned his amber gaze to the face of the Sælyan firstborn.

"An acquaintance of my sister's who was keen to meet me and who expressed interest in the martial arts. I hope it isn't an imposition, but it seems his schedule aligned with yours and, well, it was all rather last minute, so..." He clapped his hands, and wrung them together nodding.

"Yes, if you want to try to get a few blows in before he gets here, we can always, hup!" His eyes darted to the door again, and he sported that same dashing smile as he trotted over to offer his hand to their Umbrian guest.

"Good morrow to you, sirrah! Vespera speaks very highly of your singing and I'm interested to see how your blade-dancing fares. We're in private, so you may call me Sev..." It was not out of haughtiness that Seværys declined to introduce himself. It simply wasn't necessary and it felt artificial to pretend otherwise. He turned, however, to gesture to his other sparring partner.

"This is Palæmon and Æros. They share a body. I'll let him explain if you're not acquainted, but they were prominent in your amatus' domain until recently, so perhaps you've crossed paths?"

[Finn]

Finn (now oft called Farstrider, though it had only been a prototype before it caught on) was still learning how the politics of Solunarium worked. That Vespera had sought him out was, of course, full of varied currents, but it had allowed him to sing under the failing eye of Aværys' scepter once more and now to spar with her brother. From what he gathered, before the arrival of Arkænyn, Vrædyn had been the heir apparent and Seværys heir presumptive until such time as Vrædyn's branch of the family tree flowered and bore fruit.

Status was complex here, and status shifted. Finn was rarely certain of his own. At least when veiled, he knew he spoke and acted with the authority of the Vigilia. As Arvælyn's fiancé, he certainly had another layer to his status as magnatus which was more honorific than anything, and it was now generally known he was one of two Empyreal Lords, which certainly bore religious and social gravitas, but also political if he knew how to wield it. He didn't, though.

And he would always be human. Even if Aværys no longer believed in the superiority of his birth race, the Re'hyæan elves weren't about to grant blanket equality to all other races. But that was an ongoing headache...

Finn enjoyed the walk from his villa in the Luxium to the Palatium Furiarum. The desert heat warmed his muscles, and he thought it would be impolite and impolitic to vault into that place. While he thought a balance between the two thrones would be best for Solunarium, the Hungers and Ambitions would fight for whatever scraps of advantage they could. He wouldn't be the one to give offense and give cause for retribution or restitution. If anything, his relationships with Luxian powers was intended to be a backdoor bridge between them.

His Sentinel shadow was allowed to follow him in, which was a good sign. He didn't know if it would last, but training with Vespera's golden guards was another one of those bridges. Finn was unveiled, but wearing black training leathers that left his arms bare for range of motion. Even unveiled, his aura and symphony were guarded by command of Zalkyriax, who would brook no snooping into those who were close to his throne. There was a - for now - mostly ornamental blade strapped to his back. Its hilt was black, and capped with gold. Its carved handle guard was draconic - presumptuous, perhaps, for its provenance. He sought a kinship with the spirit within though he was far from having the skill and power to bond with it properly. When he did, he wouldn't have to wear it to have it on hand.

Something passed between the Sentinel and the guards at the door, and Finn just made eye contact with his shadow and they shared a curt nod. He would be safe enough with the golden princeps.

Finn managed to bow and say, "Your Serene Highness," before Seværys closed the gap between them. Up close, he was struck that this prince, a distant cousin, had a face that most closely resembled that of his own amatus, more so than even his half-brothers. Bloodlines were strange. "Sev. Then you must call me Finn. Thank you for having me. Your sister's admiration has made the Luxium a happy place for me once more." He turned his gaze toward the spiritually conjoined Sælyans, wondering how to address them. He quirked a smile and offered, "My lords."

It would be strange to think that it was Aeros looking out from those less familiar eyes, but Solunarium was full of strange things. He didn't think too deeply about it, though. Despite necromancy being responsible for saving first his hand and then his entire arm, both necessary procedures for a continued career in music, the practice gave him some discomfort. Too many dead things walking in the Warrens, perhaps.

"My blade is at your disposal."

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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It was something of a habit, though unintentional, for Æros, at least, to neglect– or perhaps simply forget– greetings at all when meeting with people he considered himself friendly with on an informal level. So when Seværys' response was a soft way of pointing this out, he’d blink in realization, then smile, though it was almost a grimace, embarrassed a bit at himself, before breathing out an awkward laugh.

“Ah, right– salve, Sev,” and as he said this, almost sheepishly, he’d bring a hand to his chest and give the other a bow of his head. While this was only a little formal, formalities were something he knew the other was wont to eschew– that part was more of an apology for forgetting than anything else.

When his companion mentioned inviting another, he’d tilt his head and raise a brow in confusion, though any other emotion either soul within Palæros felt at the notion was masked well enough. He didn’t respond, allowing Seværys to continue with his explanation for a moment. His lips parted to speak, about to accept the offer to begin without waiting, impatient as one of the two souls was wont to be, but it would appear that the other meant to be joining them was, in fact, on time.

Palæros’ gaze would follow Seværys’ when the other entered, darting over to the figure joining them– his expression shifted to one of even greater surprise, if only for a split second, before rapidly neutralizing again. He had not expected to recognize whomever it was the golden princeps had invited, much less that the person in question would be Finn. He held his silence, for a moment, while the other two exchanged greetings.

“So stoic, Finn,” Palæros began, voice carrying a sort of playfulness to it.

“I didn’t know when next we’d see one another, but I can’t say I expected it to be like this,” he’d say with features expressive but not emphatic, following the statement with light laughter and a broad sort of smile. From the way the moonborn's face emoted to his gesticulation, he would, indeed, have an uncanny resemblance to how the lingering spectre behaved in life.

If their relationship was at all strained, Palæros gave no indication thereof. It was possible, perhaps, that this was a front because of other present company, but equally so that he was genuine– Æros had always been somewhat capricious with his emotions, mercurial with what he carried on to versus what he’d quickly shed. Some practitioners of Mesmer were prone to being like that, what with how easy it was to alter one’s own emotions. This principle was especially true for Æros since his death and the events which bookended either side of it.

Like the other two, the slender moonborn donned sleek, fitted leather armor. While what he wore was similar in style to Seværys’, his was monochromatic, all of it in a more dusky sort of hue that complimented his moonlit pallor. The main differences between what they wore, stylistically, though, was that Palæros wore a small pauldron on his sword arm, and that his boots were not cuffed; rather, the leather curved upward and to a point just above the knee with the toe having a more tapered sort of shape to it.

And with his familiarity already having made it clear enough that he and Finn already knew one another, Palæros was quick to remedy the fact that he was otherwise unarmed. Sitting just below his sternum, his inscribed rune of Reaving would set aglow beneath his armor and from it, he’d draw a khopesh – the blade was bright, prismatic, raw aether for a moment before settling in his hand, revealing itself to be a masterwork of fine steel. From its gleam, one might imagine it to be as sharp as the day it’d been forged. But given the fact he had zero desire to harm either of his current companions, he’d immediately blunt the edge through Morphosis.

“But how shall we do this? Free for all? Duels?” He’d inquire at first, then give a bashful sort of giggle.

“I imagine I’m the weakest fighter of the three of us– especially so, now,” he continued, his hands performing a sweeping gesture down his torso.

“I’ve worked to adapt as much as I can but, ah…this body lacks the endurance I once had…among other things,” he smiled almost sweetly, in a way that it was as if he were almost reluctant to say anything that might be construed as disparaging to his current corpus.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

“Ah. So, you do know each other…” Seværys realised through a slight grimace. It didn’t take a Sembler to sense the tension that had entered the room with Finn. Just an empath would suffice, and Seværys was both. Fortunately, it was considered impolite to ward against rudimentary mundane senses in polite society, so he gleaned enough to wonder whether he’d regret this last-minute invitation.

With the pleasantries (?) aside, Sev would answer Palæros practical questions. It was a sound enough query, albeit one to which he hadn’t given much thought.

“Well,” He clapped his hands together, “You’ll forgive me if this is presumptuous, but I would venture to guess I am the strongest fighter amongst us. Palæros has already copped to being weakest, which is understandable given he’s learning to command one body with two souls. Finn, I know you have an entire career as a bard, which surely assumed a great deal of time and focus.

“I, however, am the firstborn son of the Princeps Legatus. My trajectory from birth has been martial in nature and that path has been… aggressively focused. Though I am on indefinite leave whilst His Starlit Highness wishes me to tarry here, I am a Tribune of the Luxium.”

“Yes, yes, Seværys, you’re a one-man-battalion. Let’s see some blood, shall we?” Heckled a Moonborn lordling that Palæros would instantly recognise as Marius Val'Levriel Victrian, another of the tasters employed by Arkænyn. He was leaning against the entry arch, waggling his fingers in a wave to Finn’s attendant sentinel.

Seværys cleared his throat.
“Yes, well. What I propose is that you two begin with a friendly duel, that I might gauge your abilities and decide from there what would be the most practical use of our time together.”

[Finn]

"One gets used to the veil," he said with an apologetic smile. Where once he had been expressive, now he lived in a city and in a stratum of society that required more self-control, and then behind the veil he practiced something that one might read as stoicism. The veil empowered in a way, the protection of anonymity.

When the moonborn elf asked after the practicum of the day, he turned his attention to Seværys. He smiled and nodded; though he had only wanted to be a lover, not a fighter, life had demanded otherwise. His skill was now nothing to scoff at, further refined with the Sentinels and, of late, with Vespera's golden legionnaires. 'Twas true, though: he had not been raised a one-man army as had Seværys and he might never be.

Just as he was about to respond in the affirmative, they were interrupted by another moonborn elf. He was familiar, but Finn daren't sample his melody to connect him to some memories. Instead he bowed as if to a relative equal. Were he vastly more powerful in the scheme of things, Finn would know him for certes. If he could get away with such cheek with Seværys, it were better safe than sorry.

When their tutor moved things right along, he nodded and smiled amiably and turned toward Palaemon. The blade on his back stayed where it was, and he reached as if for the hilt of a sword that wasn't there at his side. But his Rune drew upon the power he fed it, and as his elegant musician hand closed, it found purchase and pulled forth his pact weapon. It was a well-made longsword without great ornamentation. Finn felt as though it was like him: plain and serviceable.

There was a flicker within him, a hunger that was not the hunger awoken by Aværys. He quelled it, the flicker of rage against his emblem. They were sparring. The young Sentinel didn't know whether Palaemon was telling the truth about his abilities or prevaricating, but if he had learned anything from the Vigilia, it was to be vigilant. He moved deftly into a guard stance; if he was not graceful, there was perhaps some beauty in the economy of movement. Though he had grown brawny, he was still agile.

His eyes cut to Palaemon's, and he waited for the sparring match to begin.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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From the outset of this endeavor, even back just shy of three weeks ago when this idea had been suggested, Palæmon had been wary of the concept. He had swallowed his concerns, however, because Æros had already begun the process of resuming his training with Scipio– uncle by marriage to him, step-father to Æros– and Seværys reminded him of the man. The princeps, actually, was the warmer personality of the two, and that fact further served to grant the notably skittish Palæmon what assurances he needed that this body, his body, would not be maimed.

This, however, was not what he'd agreed to.

An additional combatant was far from the worst thing on its face, and while Finn was, to him, still ostensibly a stranger, the bard was far from being a wildcard. Æros had told Palæmon of the human in passing back when he still drew breath through lungs of his own and the moonborn knew that it was alongside him that he had received the Craft of Reaving in the first place. Were those the only circumstances he'd been keyed into, he might’ve been passing confused as to why it was that Finn held tension palpable enough that even he, socially fairly oblivious, would have to have been blind not to perceive.

Intertwined as they were, however, Palæmon was full well aware of the absolute fiasco that was his fool of a cousin's death and, while the exact circumstances of his resurrection were suppressed by machinations undoubtedly divine, he also knew several other key pieces of information: first, Æros’ pet-servus served as the token traded for his return; second, Finn had bound the boy to himself by way of an Emblem; third, Finn was a bit peeved at the pet’s passing. The moonborn knew not all the minutiae of such a circumstance, but he didn't need to– he respected a blood sacrifice orchestrated in service to their gods, especially so in a bid to stubbornly shirk one's own end.

So did he empathize with any ire held by Finn? No. Did he understand it? Partially. The human, a northerner, was probably not raised to revere sacrifice, but moreover, the real reason was likely a folly far more sentimental– such a pity. What a mess! Truly, an affair he wanted no part of.

And yet here did his body stand.

In truth, the moonborn wanted to back out, to escape this strange situation, but, well, that would look weird, wouldn't it? The bystanders knew not a whit about the petty interpersonal conflict between the ghost and the bard, and Palæmon of all people was none too keen on keying them into such a sordid state of affairs.

Victrian's commentary further served to discourage Palæmon's cowardice. So his silence he would keep, and Æros quickly quieted the anxious dither of his host's Symphony at his behest. Wouldn't want such emotions to bleed between them. Outwardly, such disquiet emotions would never make manifest; Palæros gave no indication of his host's trepidations, and with both their Symphonies obfuscated, those present likely wouldn't be able to tell.

When it was that Finn drew his weapon and stepped forth into the field wherein they'd begin this ‘friendly’ duel, Palæros would do the same, taking his place across from his former(?) friend. Finn's first move was to take a guard stance, pitching the ball to Palæros to take up the offensive…or stand there staring, but the former option was the more appealing of the two.

While it certainly had been a bit awkward to reacquaint himself with his former skills, Æros’ possession did allow him to impart much of, if not all of, his former abilities into his host, even when it made little sense. The trick for him had been getting a hang of such a preternatural act more so than anything else. He knew not by what metric this functioned nor did he know if this was a trait innate to all ghosts, only that it worked– the downside was that force-overriding Palæmon's physical skills too much caused…a bit of strain in the aftermath. Unfortunate that he would likely have to push here.

But lest he harm his cousin overmuch, Æros intended to, at the very least, scale his exertion over time. To start, he lifted his sword arm and lunged forward with what appeared to be the start of a downward strike, though this was a feint– he doubted he'd land a direct hit on a guarding target. So when he reached striking range, he'd intentionally miss. Tucking his arms in close, he pitched to the side of and past Finn in an elegant sort of spin meant to both preserve his momentum and re-orient himself. And at the end of his turn, he swung his sword in a sweeping, horizontal arc meant for the man's lower back.

Æros was no blademaster and would be relying on his skills as a dancer for the most part with Palæmon's lissome figure and long limbs serving him surprisingly well in this regard. The man may not have been incredibly fit when the spirit first encroached upon his corpus, but he did have good reach and an easy, balletic grace about him.

- - -

"Vallenor"

"Vastien"

"Valasren"

"Common"

[Pharaoh]

As the combatants took their battle stances, Victrian circled like a panther, granting a wide berth until he was standing at Seværys’ side. Taking the golden prince by the arm, Victrian leaned close to whisper into his ear. Seværys seemed disinclined to shift his focus away from what lay ahead of him, but deigned to lean close and nod before gesturing to the spar as it began with a salvo from their fellow prægustator.

!

Message from: Pharaoh

Note: For the purposes of this sparring session, we are going to engage in a little contest to decide the winner. From this point forward you will have two rounds of posting to engage with your opponent. I will assess each post in consultation with your character sheets and determine how you both exploit skills relevant to the fight. Based on your skill levels and what I read in your posts, I will assign bonuses and detriments and ask you to make a roll. Whoever has the highest score inclusive of bonuses at the end of this exchange will be deemed the winner of the match. The bonuses and detriments will be imposed at my discretion and will not be declared unless such is requested after the conclusion of the contest. This is a contest of quality (and a splash of chance) not quantity and for grading purposes, I would like to limit the word count as follows: Any post exceeding 600 words will incur a penalty of -1 for every 50 words beyond that cutoff. For example, a post of 650 words will receive -2 on the roll. A post of 700 words will roll at -3 and so on. For the sake of fairness, I will not answer questions about this contest in DMs unless both of you are included in the conversation. If I feel one of you is broaching information that might compromise the fairness of the contest, I will start a group message to address it or simply decline altogether to engage. Write well and may the odds be ever in your favour!

[Finn]

From the centered stillness of his guard pose, he was able to quell Khyan's hunger of vengeance. That was, it seemed, all he was anymore: vengeance; and they remained bound through Aværys' conferred power. There was apparently no such thing as 'til death do us part when the God of Ambition sanctified a vow. But Finn was his own man, and he returned to the calm necessary to fight effectively. He would seek some redemption or release for Khyan at another time.

The soul-bound blade felt like an extension of his body now, as it was an extension of his soul. He waited for their sunborn arbitrator to signal the beginning of the match, but he needn't have waited. The ghost-driven Palaemon suit lunged, twirling past him. The commandeered body seemed to have a dancer's grace, which begged the question whether muscle memory was truly so important or if it was the soul that remembered. He would have to ask his instructors on the morrow when he had his regular drills with a Sentinel blade master. Aeros had been a dancer; Finn was a musician. That part of his mind analyzed everything as if it were music: the drum of his heart; the susurration of his breath; the pounding of feet; the swoosh of tempered steel through the air.

All his drilling paid off, however, and his focus narrowed to the moonborn elf and himself, their blades, the ground, the air, the combat. He turned with Aeros, and his blade caught what was incoming. His goal wasn't to stop the blade still, but to turn it aside, and as he was turning already, he borrowed some of that kinetic energy, converting it into torque. Taking a step forward, to follow in Aeros' path, he kept his blade moving, attempting to catch it with his crossguard and disarm him.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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The technique which had Finn utilized to disarm him was certainly a solid one, and the moment their blades clashed, Æros realized that his weapon was going to be pulled from him– but then it dawned on him; how much did that matter? Could he use this to his advantage?

The intent of the day was to both improve swordsmanship and Reaving, that being the only rune that he'd intended to use in his originally planned bouts with Seværys. And while the deceased patrician was just a hair above a novice with the Craft, he had been having fun with one of the few skills he had enough the competency to wield– that being the ability to recall a dropped, or thrown, or what have you, weapon to his hand.

So instead of allowing himself to be pulled forward in an attempt to hang onto his khopesh, he simply let it go. And once it had been sent clattering to the ground behind his opponent, Palæros skirted out of the way of whatever strike might be impending with a gazelle's grace and then leapt back.

There was something that made him feel vulnerable about how light Palæmon was; in his recent attempts to train, he realized it might serve him better as an agile fighter, but at the same time, it made him feel quite a bit more fragile. Careful he'd be, then, with his steps– the last thing he'd want was to injure Palæmon by being particularly reckless or overzealous.

But, dodging farther back in this case actually served him well enough. In tandem to his evasive maneuvers, he wove a pulse of aether through his newly minted martial Craft, recalling the weapon in turn. The khopesh was lifted and then pulled through the air at about the same speed it had fallen, starting to spin as it repositioned itself to face the right direction by the time it ought to return to its master.

The blade had fallen just a bit behind Finn, meaning that the man was now in its path, and Æros could only hope his little gambit would pay off. It might be a bit uncanny to dodge due to both the blade's shape and size, but if one noticed it quick enough, and was deft enough, such a thing was certainly possible.

- - -

"Vallenor"

"Vastien"

"Valasren"

"Common"