divine imperative (hector)

[Talon]

T A L O N

Searing 61, 122 Steel

Talon stood in front of a podium upon which rest an aged scroll bearing words of dogma pertaining to the Dragon Goddess of Wisdom. It rest beneath a stained glass depiction of what the Imperial believed the goddess looked like. His eyes scanned over the page taking in their interpretation of the goddess and her mythology. It was interesting to him to see the cultural differences that stood out to him. The emphasis on how the goddess of wisdom crowned the Imperium and its sovereignty with the insight necessary to guide the masses of the world was not unlike other countries of their world that justified their rule in such ways. He could see similarities to other stories he had read during his upbringing.

“Do you require assistance, Holy One?” He looked up to see a smartly dressed young man peering at him curiously. It took a moment before he realized that the young man was speaking to him. He did not yet fully understand his role as it pertained to the Imperial religion but he had been given some things that were his to ponder. Talon shook his head.

“Not at the moment. I am educating myself. Imperial customs are much different from where I was born.” He dropped his hand from the podium containing the page about the goddess of wisdom.

“Of course.” When the young man did not immediately take his leave, Talon got the sense that he was lingering for another reason. His suspicion proved correct when the young man opened his mouth. Talon quirked a brow, looking at the young man expectantly.

“Is…are you truly…?” It did not take a genius to put two and two together. Talon stood within the grand cathedral that was the monument to the Imperial religion. His presence in the empire was not withheld from members of the Inquisition as far as he knew, certainly not among the Kathar given how many of them were standing in the alcoves watching him.

“Yes.” Short. Succinct. There was no point in denying it.

“May…I pray this is not untoward. We do not often stand in the presence of a Divine. May we, that is, may we see a sliver of your glory if you are so inclined?” Talon considered the request. There were those who had yet seen him throw off the guise of his mortality, there in Wintergatan Circle but a few days ago. Word had certainly spread of his presence and the efforts he had gone to in order to assist in the aftermath of the blackout that he had inadvertently caused. Were it not for the efforts of those who had been attempting to rescue him, the blackout never would have happened. He shook his head.

“I would not wish to blind those who are unprepared.” Talon had fallen into the habit of masking his aura in order to avoid harming those with aetheric sight around him. Revealing his nimbus and discarding the veil of mortality tended to make masking his presence more difficult. The young man flushed and nodded.

“Of course! I did not meant--” Talon held up a hand.

“Your curiosity is not unwelcome. That you thought to ask is something I can respect.” He glanced at several others who were lingering nearby. They all appeared…young to him. Perhaps Acolytes of the Inquisition. With that, Talon turned to another of the podiums, looking to glance over the scroll pertaining to the Mistlord of Oaths and Tyranny. He was curious to see what the empire thought of the Mistlords.

[Hector]

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Oh, what a strange hand life had dealt him. All appeared as normal for pretty much the entirety of his life– twenty years– but that, in the grand scheme of things, was not a long time, now was it? So really, what is twenty years of normalcy, especially when everything can change so completely in an instant? The moment that star hit the ground…those twenty years may as well have been annulled. When one is ripped from one’s life, essentially, and slapped into something completely foreign, what do they become?

Who, or rather, what, was he now? Hector, in the present day, had no identity. He had one friend, but beyond that? No loyalty. No faith. No family. No compass to follow, no path to walk, nothing. Nationalism? None of that– the Zaichaer he knew was gone, and whatever would rise from the ashes would not be the same, so why hold on to old banners? The Menders? The Cult as a whole was not what made him feel at home; it was the people within it. Had he any contact with them now? No, and he would rather move on than chase the past. Same thing for the Kindred. If he were to find these people in the future, so be it, and the joy he would feel! …but for now? They are gone.

So again, one asks, what is left to drive this young man forward? His own desires, his own interests, his own whims– himself. While he had that one friend he cared deeply for, that one friend is…somebody that he can drag into whatever he wishes. Wherever he goes, the other will follow, even if he complains. A completely selfish, self-driven person like Hector does not belong in the Imperium’s Inquisition. He doesn’t care about the Inquisition as a whole. He doesn’t care about their faith, their gods, their goals, or their people. The thing is…nobody knows this. Playing pretend is a game that he’s been good at for a long time. After all, he had to hide his status as a Mender his entire life in Zaichaer. He had to hide his magic runes in general. His entire life was lived under a carefully crafted veil of lies, so how was this different? And so he remained…faithless, living for himself alone.

Therefore, when he walked from the hall he was studying in to see the spectacle that unfolded before him, he wanted to laugh. Oh! So very badly, he wanted to…but he didn’t. Vergil was good with many things, and one of those things was decorum. The older man had taught him when he should hold his tongue, and now? He definitely should. Instead he stood and he listened. It was the same titan of an Avialae he’d seen at the Circle. The very same man who’d revealed himself to be a god right before his eyes. Even to a cynic, this was impressive. What was not impressive, however, was the way people idolized him.

Why worship the divine? What does that even do? One must exert monumental effort, move the very mountains themselves, to even eke out the smallest drop of attention from the gods. If one is to go through all of that effort and strain themselves for the attention of a god, why not put that effort into gaining power for themselves? The devastation of Zaichaer made him ever more jaded towards the divine. For although he knew not exactly what happened that day, there was one thing he did know: the gods had the power to close the rift…and they did not. It doesn’t matter why. It doesn’t matter what sort of deal was struck. The simple fact that remains is thus: dormant or not, it is open. Why even allow the threat of such suffering if you are worthy of even a single prayer?

For Hector, he wanted more from life. Oh so desperately, he wanted the power to make waves himself, not rely on the shimmering wings of the divine. So when he saw these young men openly fawning over this, presumably, young god— it made him feel sick. What use are the divine if they are birds stuck in a cage themselves? And if he wasn’t stuck, just why, oh why, was he still here?

His display in the circle was undeniably more than any mortal could ever dream of…but did he leave? No. He’s still in the Imperium despite those…friends of his? being sent away. The nail in the coffin of this theory is that the divinity sent away the man that had stood beside him prior to any bolts of magic being thrown. The other Avialae. He saw the way that they looked at one another, and not being daft, he could hazard a guess in the direction of their level of intimacy. God of hope? Of justice? Of course, he would send his dearly beloved away no matter how much it hurt him to do so. For his partner’s safety, it would be more than an obligation...likely, it would be seen as something akin to a duty. Hector may be irrational and at times, very foolish, but he is not stupid. This shining example of divinity was stuck. All of that power and yet, here he was! Hector wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry. All of these people...fawning over a divine that could not even free himself. So…whyever would that be? Now that’s a question that actually piqued the interest of the young mage.

And who is he now? That’s right…nothing. So why not be a meddler? Poke around in the affairs of those way beyond the scope of his comprehension? Ah, such a thing actually, shockingly, excited the vampyre.

With the most polite of smiles and amiable of expressions, Hector made his way over to this grand and gilded, yet caged, bird. Maybe he’ll even sing a song if he sticks around long enough?

“Mmm, interested in the story of the Imperium, hm? So am I. After all, that’s what led me down the path of becoming an Acolyte when I moved here. So inspiring, their tales are.” He sounded very sweet in tone, soft like suede. A bold faced lie. He made no such choice. It was either this or persecution. However, any normal onlooker would not be able to tell– he spoke as if he meant every single word. Maybe a divine could tell? But why would he tattle? They were both fettered, in a way, even if Hector was ignorant of precisely how literally the other man was fettered. Such a disgusting concept! But…not the point.

With a fairly charming smile, he spoke again, “...that is to say, how we see the reality, no? The world is vast and so are the beliefs of her people. Such a monumental task it is to learn each detail, it must be, that the divines themselves may be found stooped over a book penned from the perspective of mortals?” he chuckled, his expression not shifting at all, “My, how you must adore mankind that you would choose to immerse yourself in our world like this!” He spoke with great admiration, as did the others, as likely did most of those that approached this man out of the blue.

In truth, he didn't care if the god himself saw through his lies; the point was that in public, he must maintain the mask that he was trying to craft. So even in the effort to weasel his way into the life of this divine, he mustn't remove that very delicate mask so long as there were onlookers.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
Aidolon Speech

[Talon]

T A L O N

A sickeningly sweet voice interrupted his perusal of the information on display within the cathedral. It rang hollow in his ears, dripping with the veneer he had come to recognize as insincerity. He considered it a grave injustice to lie to him. He had learned to pick up on such things while being interrogated by the Archbishop. They were not common but he had learned to pick out the hollow undertone of some things that the man said. Franz Kircher had not often lied but when he did, it was often over something innocuous on its face. So he turned to look at this hollow speaker, opening his senses so that he might discern the aura of the one who spoke. His silver eyes came to rest upon a Hytori elf with aethereal lavender hair and eyes of a misty hue in much the same shade. There was a joke somewhere about a Siltori half-elf and a Hytori elf speaking on matters of gods and philosophy.

As the man’s aura came into focus, Talon was hit with a few things. There was the obvious, which was the insincerity that rang in his ears like a dull gong. But there was more than that. There was anger simmering beneath the surface. With a mere flick of his thoughts, he peeled back the layer of emotional calm that often rested over everyone’s aura. What he found there puzzled him more than anything else. Unbridled contempt burgeoning on a seething hatred laced with bubbling vitriol was being aimed toward him though he could not fathom why. He had never met this man before. He had no recollection of encountering him in any fashion. It prompted him to look deeper.

Semblance would not reveal to him the source of such acidic hate and anger but it would help guide him. To see what it was that so troubled the man before him, Talon would have to use a different kind of sight.

It seemed the Acolyte from before would get his show of divinity after all.

“Curious.” Talon straightened to his full height. He let one hand rest at the small of his back. The other he ran through his hair as he contemplated his words.

“Do you speak with such brazen insincerity in an attempt to make a fool of me?” Talon sighed. He shrugged his broad shoulders with a wry smile. “I assure you, none are more proficient at the task than myself.”

He brought a hand to his chin, stepping closer to the elf as he looked deeper.

“What is your goal, I wonder, that you would make a display with such fervent bravado?” He walked around the elf, letting his other hand come to rest at the small of his back. “Is it that I have earned your wrath? Your contempt?”

He leaned in closer and spoke softly.

“Your fear?” Talon came to stand in front of the elf. This close, he saw laced within the the fabric of the man’s aura a touch of the blood magic he had witnessed in Dante. It suffused his very being, flowing into every aetheric pathway alongside a touch of what resonated as a distant calling and tugging on his senses. As with Naila, he saw the mark of Summoning woven into the man’s very soul. He straightened.

“I seek knowledge because I enjoy learning. I immerse myself in the mortal world because I was born mortal. Such is the nature of demigods.” He quirked his head, staring steadily at the young man.

“Why are you here?”

[Hector]

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Oho. So his honeyed words and sweet expression were not to be believed. Lying was always a gamble. Part of him expected this. Part of him even wanted this…divine behemoth to see through him, if only not as quickly. Upon realizing this, Hector smiled, a bright grin that shifted his entire expression into one of genuine joy. There wasn’t a hint of a lie here; no, the elf had made a quick few internal choices and, he’d decided, he was happy his deception failed.

Was it magic? Semblance? Or something brighter, shining, untouchable by mortals that told his secrets? The young mage could not tell, and, truth be told, he couldn’t care less.

“Oh, dear divine, you haven’t committed a single sin against me. Whatever made you think I’d possess the audacity to attempt such a thing?” Hector spoke sweetly as before, only this time, his voice shifted to something with a bit more deliberate playfulness to it. Each word weighed with great care, he almost appeared hurt that the Avialae so blatantly called him out. He even laughed a little…none are more proficient at the task than myself. How cute.

He’d been examining the other man through narrowed eyes and the odd sort of mechanical tilts to his head as a bird would have. Those movements on a person would be a tad uncanny, but on his frame, he presented with a strange sort of elegance, something like a crane. The elf had been standing with his arms folded behind his back, making himself appear smaller despite an already thin frame for his height. Even though he did this, he came across as brash and confident.

In truth, the man did terrify him. It wasn’t just his height, or the fact that he looked broad enough to rip a man in half bare handed, or even his beauty– perfect in a way both unnatural yet somehow plain? Rather, it was the power radiating from him. Power is scary when worn by another…but it is also warm, intoxicating, inviting. Why is that? It’s not as if he can reach in and snatch it for himself. So what was the allure? Realistically, the elf did not know. He only knew that it was there and that it intrigued him.

But then, the surface of his facade chipped when the divine stepped forth. Only slightly, but a being so perceptive would certainly notice. Such a large creature advancing towards him was, on its own, intimidating, yes. That wasn’t the only reason, no, but it did not help.

His wrath. His contempt. And perhaps, even, his fear. Indeed, these were all emotions the elf wore beneath the surface– even the last one, especially the last one. Though that he’d hoped would go unnoticed, so tightly packed beneath everything else as it was. He stood straighter, the hair on the back of his neck bristled. This truly was exciting.

“Do you, dear dove? I know a man who’s spent his entire life in the pursuit of knowledge and, to be frank, it’s one of the attributes I admire most about him. So of course…I have to respect that.” By the time Hector spoke again, he’d regained his composure. He was under the full impression his companion here saw right through him, but even if the mask slipped, one must neatly return it to one’s features so long as there are other eyes and ears ‘round.

A smile returned to his lips, only this time it was something of a bashful one. “I am here for a very similar reason, though I don’t lack obligation. My journey is quite fresh here…and as an Acolyte, there are things I must commit to memory. If that doesn’t answer your question…” he spoke with a trail that was quite deliberate, pausing briefly once his voice faded.

Might as well lay the chips bare, as they were, as they are. “...it’s because I was there– in the circle. I saw you and, in an instant, the world froze. What a sight to behold, you are!” Hector’s voice was much softer this time, sole exception being the last sentence. The mage remembered that day as images of the young god and his shimmering, golden armor flit over his mind's eye.

He leaned back and giggled a bit, almost like a child, before continuing. “Now of course, I couldn’t move, but in the span of time that one could blink…a few figures went missing. One that even stood beside you. Thus, my interest was piqued.”

Closing his eyes, his lips flattened and a sigh of a breath escaped him. “What you can read on me isn’t towards you as an individual, no. Those feelings are a bit more complex than ire towards a single stranger.” His thoughts were not read, only his emotions.

Interesting. Hector didn’t harbor bitterness towards one single divine– rather towards divinity itself. So when he spoke to one, those emotions stirred to the surface regardless of who it was.

“I approached you because you’re interesting and so are…ah, your circumstances, whatever they may be, gilded as they are. I am simply following my curiosity.”

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
Aidolon Speech

[Talon]

T A L O N

“Merely a guess.” It had not been a guess. At least, not a full one. The anger that simmered beneath this one’s aura was palpable to one such as himself. Talon had spent the entirety of his adolescence and adult life studying and observing auras, gleaning information from them that the naked eye could not see alone. He had, however, been misplaced in his assumption that those feelings were directed toward him specifically. It seemed this elf harbored complex feelings toward divinity in general. The part of him that wanted to remain apathetic toward the plight of Imperials wanted to dismiss the notion entirely as irrelevant. That was only a small part of him. The other part of him, the much greater one, was still the man that wanted to alleviate suffering where he could.

He saw the spike of genuine terror as he approached, the slip of the elf’s mask revealing his true emotions for no longer than a hair’s breadth of a second. What moved him to be so afraid? Most people did not live in such fear, Talon had found. Most people had things they worried about. They had concerns that they prioritized throughout the course of their day. Rare was the occasion when he met a person who held in them an emotion so raw and potent as genuine fear.

So the elf was an Acolyte of the Inquisition. That certainly explained his presence in the cathedral and it explained his status as a mage. Every inquisitor he had met and a majority of their underlings possessed magic in some degree or another. Few of them rose to a degree of power that concerned him as an individual but he had been witness to what they were capable of together firsthand. That alone made his estimation of the elf rise. Whether that was in the positive or negative, he did not yet know but it certainly meant that he was worthy of, at the very least, acknowledgement by way of his accomplishments. He sincerely doubted the Inquisition accepted just anyone that they did not see potential in.

“You were in Wintergatan Circle the other day?” He relived that day several times over every day since its happening. Among other things. Of everything that had happened that day, his act of sending them all away was one that he had come to regret. It was a small regret but it was there. Logically he knew it had been the correct course of action because of the very plainly evident outcome that had been swarming them all. He yearned for his bondmate but he was also assuaged in the knowledge that Aoren was out of reach of powers that meant them both harm. The elf’s comment about Aoren’s missing presence almost made him wince. He held back the urge but there was a narrowing of his eyes.

“That was an eventful day for many.” That was the only response he would give. He would not open the door for more commentary or questions on how he did what he did nor where he sent them. Those who knew him could have guessed but he was not interested in inviting such a conversation to closer scrutiny.

“An Acolyte of the Inquisition must have many curiosities. Indulge me, if you will, what curiosity has led you to me today? You speak of my circumstances, what do you know? I am curious as to what the masses have been told about me.” He could have opened his mind to hear the many souls that dwelled in Gel'Grandal. That would have given him an idea of what their thoughts were on the many injustices or small justices they felt throughout the day. He could extended himself to hear and perceive the ideals that were his to preside over, and witnesses their hopes and despairs. He could have shone a light in dark places to reveal what many sought to keep hidden from others and from themselves. That would have given him a very broad view of the city and perhaps, the Imperium, by extension. He was more interested in hearing a more focused point of view at the moment.

[Hector]

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It was hard not to let his thoughts on the divine poison his perception of every single one of them. In truth, his hatred was spread across the pantheon and weighted more towards those with the most power who'd made the deliberate choice, long ago, to mute their ability to interact with mortality. The gods that coveted mortality's worship also earned quite a bit more of his spite. A lesser god, like this, who yet still walked among man was a bit different…but it was still divine comedy to him that a god, even a lesser one, such as they are, could be caged in this way.

Yet that didn't mean he was not still terrifying.

This man was a taciturn fellow, to say the least. It was hard to tell, however, if this was his standard way of speaking or if he held his tongue now because he had to, or perhaps a combination thereof. Regardless of reason, it would appear that to get the information that interested him, many more a question would have to be asked…and time was not infinite.

The larger man said little about the event in the circle. It didn't matter. What mattered is that it had been communicated that he'd seen him that day. Much as Hector enjoyed the sharing of frivolous information, anything beyond that wasn't actually important. His most important response, anyhow, was a nonverbal one– the mentioning of the one who was a very obvious lover did cause him to emote, though it was a rather subtle expression one couldn't glean much from…it was a reaction nonetheless. Throw many barbs, see what sticks, and that one had, even if only a little.

It was then that a question was directed back towards Hector. The perception of the masses was actually not something that he in particular was privy to. In terms of his social circle, he mostly spoke with fellow members of the Inquisition and the one he'd arrived in the city with…the common man, not so much. His own perspective was likely mismatched with theirs.

"I'll happily answer that– but I will state the caveat that I can only speak for my own perspective as opposed to that of anyone else. What I was told was a vague idea of who you were and that you were here at your own volition, for we of the Imperium are inherently more worthy of divine grace than anyone else." He smiled sweetly at the conclusion of that sentiment. His actual opinion on the subject would be crystal clear to the divine before him despite the fact that he did not clarify– and it certainly didn't align with what he'd just said. One would also notice the Zaichaeri accent he'd been trying to mute was becoming ever so slightly more noticeable.

It was unfortunate, but nobody was told the truth about this particular demi-god except those who needed to know.

With a soft sigh, he continued, "...it was not what I was told that makes me ever so curious about you, however." The mage paused, then resumed, but this time much quieter. "It was one single choice you made. The choice to stay behind. Out of everything I've seen and been told, that has spoken, far and above, the very loudest. It's just…" he trailed off if only for a moment, "...it's very hard for me to believe that that was actually a choice at all."

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
Aidolon Speech

[Talon]

T A L O N

He huffed. A soft scoff at the notion that the Imperium was more deserving of divine grace than anywhere else in Ransera.

“I suppose every country believes itself to be the shining example of civilization. My homeland certainly believes itself to be just in its way of life. I imagine yours did too.” It was only as the conversation went on that he caught the hint of a Zaichaeri accent. It was similar to that of an Imperial one but the difference was there.

“You said you were recently embarked upon this journey with the Inquisition. You are a refugee then.” It was not a question. He knew about the destruction in Zaichaer. For a few brief minutes he had seen it. He had sent what power and support he could to those who fought against the horrible abominations that had taken to prowling the streets. What little he had seen had been devastating. He did not know the source of such destruction but he could hazard a guess. There was some part of him that felt pity for the denizens of Zaichaer. They did not deserve to be so horribly obliterated in such a manner. At the same time though, he also felt some measure of relief. With such a devastating blow to the oppressive city-state, it meant that his homeland and those allied with Kalzasi, might be able to breathe somewhat easier.

It was ironic that war had been sparked with Zaichaer because of his kidnapping, not to mention the murder of his father and he had not been there to fight it. Perhaps things would have gone differently if he had been there.

“How perceptive.” He gave the acolyte a wry smile at his observation of him choosing to stay behind. The touch of bitterness in his voice hinted at his true feelings enough. It had not been a choice. He could not leave. Not until he was bidden to do so by the Emperor and no such command had been given. He could, however, send away those he had cared for.

“For as many people who spit in the face of Fate, few realize that the destinies we weave are ones woven by our own hands. On the subject of choices, I might ask you the same.” He quirked a brow. “A mage from Zaichaer. A mage with a rather interesting magic at his disposal. You are far from the beasts you knew. Of all the places you could have gone, why here? Why the Inquisition of all things?”

There were some cultural similarities between the Imperium and Zaichaer but there were enough differences that he could see a truebred Zaichaeri being appalled at some Imperial practices. The fact that there was a State religion that venerated and told the populace who to venerate being one of them. He knew quite well that Zaichaer was a staunch new atheist state. Its officials had despised his mere existence so viscerally that his mere presence on a diplomatic visit to Zaichaer had nearly sparked an international incident. Then again, not everyone always held the same beliefs as the overarching culture of their homeland. He knew there were those in Kalzasi who hated the way of things. He supposed there were similar people living in Zaichaer. He had never met any of the Coven witches but he had heard rumors of them. This might be one of them for all he knew.

[Hector]

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The Imperium was consistently condescending to those they viewed as foreigners, so when he was not in the guise of an Acolyte and people heard the accent of his home– he would often be regarded with condescension, coldness, or some people would even be outright rude. Of course, this was not always the case, but it happened often enough that once he’d begun to learn the language of Kathalan itself, he’d made a bid to conceal his accent with one that would be more familiar to the general populace. The slip of his tongue in that regard had given him away; this man was well traveled enough to recognize it for what it was. That of a city-state that had, effectively, ceased to exist.

Sure, Zaichaer had some people still there, but their level of functioning was questionable at best. He'd heard through gossip and various news sources that the government and army might as well be considered leveled entirely and that the city might as well just be considered a ruins. Now, how true these things were was, perhaps, debatable but what else did he have to go off of? He was there. He saw the destruction. It was indiscriminate– the government officials being annihilated was not that wild of a thought.

Hector's gaze drifted off to the side at nothing in particular when he realized that the other had caught his slip and realized he was not actually a local. He'd actually hoped to get away with convincing him he'd been born here, but alas. This man in particular was not one that was easy to lie to anyways.

"Correct. I lived in Zaichaer until the very day of the incident. I'm alive, really, because I was out the morning of…was on the city outskirts when the blast hit and the walls of a strangely sturdy building prevented myself and a friend from death. It's truly surreal to, on a day that felt like any other, watch everything you've ever known get crushed to dust before your eyes." His voice was a mix of bitterness knit together with sorrow, but as he spoke it turned somewhat callous and at the end, he laughed. "I'm sure you've seen worse– but given how long I've been alive, can't say I have." The elf simply shrugged after this comment.

But of course, Hector did not miss the inflections of the other's tone when he'd responded to the comment made regarding whether or not he'd truly chosen to be here. Maybe it was confirmation bias, but that small slip of emotion and the look on the man's face was enough to tell him he was right. The Imperium’s own pet dove. For what purpose, though? Thoughts swirled through his mind at the possibilities…and many of them were not positive. If he could be kept, he could be commanded…or else what use would he be? And if he could be commanded, what horrible plans did they have for him?

Maybe that’s what that strange display at the Circle was for. The players involved were not weak, he assumed, given the power of that bolt of anti-magic that shattered all magic in the vicinity. It blew up on impact and despite all its power, immediately dissipated. How very strange. The rather unique Lysanrin that caught his eye had to be special, too. Maybe they had come to free him. So sad that they failed…it would benefit all, he thought, if they'd actually managed to free their bird.

A shame…but Hector had been making great progress with his magic on his own. Vergil, too, arguably. The older man claimed that the elf had a gift– but was that true or mere flattery? Sometimes it was hard to tell given the nature of their relationship. Regardless of what power he'd manage to acquire as time marched on, at this point, he had every intention to meddle in the affairs of this immortal and the Imperium itself. For the fun of it, if nothing else. Plus, to be friends with this sweet dove? Much as divinity made him ill, one must collect power where one can and sometimes, that's through connections. That, and Hector wanted to stay neutral or positive with people who scared him and, well, this man did. Pretty as he was, kind as he appeared to be, the wrath of any divine was not something he could handle at the moment.

But then, the elf ought to answer the question that had been reflected back onto him. "So I've been told," he replied in regards to being called perceptive, "...but I've also been called a fool more times than I can count." He just laughed.

"Anyways, I'm fascinated to know the truth, and…I'll find out. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, if you can't, I'll find a way. Trust me in regards to at least one thing– I'm persistent. Risk be damned." He spoke rather light hearted at first, but as he went on, threads of something a bit more serious wove into his words. "What I'll do with that information?" He merely shrugged.

Hector didn't have anything to lose and he didn't really value life without risk. Honestly, without Vergil, he'd very likely have kicked a hornet's nest and been killed. Even when he did have his home and everything intact, he took many an unnecessary risk in the pursuit of that which caught his eye. The aforementioned man would probably be very upset if he learnt of this conversation, too. Did he need to know, however? Debatable.

"...but as for why here? I didn't really have much of a choice. I escaped on an airship, so our landings were not up to me. We stopped first in Haqs– an unfortified city utterly teeming with other refugees. My companion did not want to get off there, and I had no preference. Then there was another city, a mountain city…" He thought for a moment, but was ultimately unable to recall the name. "We didn't opt for that one either…I can't recall the name or why, actually." The mage gave a bit of an awkward laugh.

"So our last stop was the Imperium. Ward of the captain of that ship had family here, I think? That, and we were told if we pursued life in the Inquisition our use of magic would be…less scrutinized than in other places. Since you are particularly perceptive as well, I'm sure you can understand why a mage of my specific talents would pick that option? The person I came with is also of the same…blood, so to speak. It was largely a decision made out of self preservation and chance as opposed to anything else…" This was all true and, once he'd been pegged as a refugee, he no longer had anything to hide. Why not tell the whole tale?

____

'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
Aidolon Speech

[Talon]

T A L O N

Talon did not know if he had seen worse. It was one thing to delve into the Deeps of the Warrens, facing monsters that were expected to be found within its many layers. He had seen horrors there but it was a place where monsters lived. He had trained his whole life to face them. Seeing his homeland razed to the ground, thousands slaughtered in mere moments and left with nothing but an ashen wasteland in the aftermath would have had even him wailing in despair. It was not a thought he welcomed. No, he had definitely not seen worse.

“The loss of your homeland is not something I ever wanted. My father and I worked hard to try to maintain the peace between our two cities.” A momentary flash of emotions. It was hard to say whether the murder of his father still brought him sadness or just anger. It was largely a mix of both. “I suppose those who fought to thwart us succeeded.”

As the Acolyte recounted his tale of how he arrived in the Imperium, rising to eventually join the Inquisition, Talon surmised his story was not dissimilar to many of the refugees that would likely arrive soon. If the glimpse of the devastation he had seen was anything to go by, he had no doubt that there would be many seeking to run as far away from Zaichaer as they physically could. It was sad to think that the City of Brass as he had known it had ceased to exist. He did not know what that meant for the future of his homeland. What he did know was that there was now a power vacuum in Karnor and when something of that nature took root, the sharks that scented blood would leap at their opportunity.

“Karnor is in for a great deal of change.” He had to wonder whether it would be good change. “Zaichaer has fallen. The throne of my country is still vacant. It will likely have a new occupant soon.”

He felt detached from that part of himself. He had been raised his entire life under the notion that he would one day succeed his father as the Shokaze of Kalzasi and the Leader of the Eastern Free Cities. His mother had forced the Council of Elders to forestall the choosing of a new sovereign but that would not last forever. With the mission to rescue him in any immediate sense doomed to failure, it was not lost on him that the Daizoku of Kalzasi would move to select another. Would it be his brother? He doubted it. Rien was many things and while a capable leader, he had no ambitions for the throne. The most immediate answer rest with his family’s rival, House Senue. The thought of Pavel Senue seated on the throne of Kalzasi nearly made him frown. Of all the people he did not want to be in power, it was that man. Without him there to contest such a claim however, that was one of the strongest contenders as far as he knew.

It hurt to lose that part of himself. He would not deny it. It was yet another blow to his pride and his perceptions of himself. But if there was one thing the Imperium had been assiduously good at, it had been scrubbing any sense of self he had from him. They had robbed him of many things over the past six months. This was just one more that he would lump into his losses at their hands.

“What now? You have made your choice for survival. Where do you go from here?”

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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His companion in conversation spoke of a homeland of his own. One that had tensions with Hector’s place of origin, at that. One that currently lacked a leader. The elf flit through the figurative files of his memories to connect this information together– Kalzasi? Kalzasi…that's really the only one that made sense.

From the way he spoke, it was clear that he came from a line of nobility within the city-state. But of what variety? Monetary importance? A name that carried time-honored weight? Perhaps, even, royalty? Oh, wouldn't that be funny. Divine and crown prince? Born of powerful blood, awakened ever further. Fascinating! Enticing? Disgusting. How strange it was to be so repulsed by a person yet attracted to them at the very same time.

Hector loved power yet loathed divinity. A bit counterintuitive, and yet…

"Oh? If only you and your kin succeeded. While I can't say, ultimately, what difference it would have made, it is a shame nobody ever bore witness to an amiable end of that conflict." The elf spoke curiously, though the bitterness towards Zaichaer’s fate rang through.

Hector did not blame Kalzasi. Despite the rumors, there really wasn't anything of substance to verify if one faction or creature was the source of the blasts. Kalzasi was just an easy answer. A convenient excuse. Even if it was them, it's not like Zaichaer could fight back now. It's not like any more bloodshed in that war would help a single soul that perished. Accountability was warranted…but not to be laid at the feet of an entire nation, one filled with just as many innocents as Zaichaer. What was the point?

At least, it wasn't a war he wanted any part of. The elf was, at this point, too exhausted to care about nations or banners…and the only spilling of blood that pawed at his attention was that which directly served to benefit him.

So then, what now?

A poignant question.

The first breath of a laugh escaped the vampyre, lavender eyes staring past the divinity before him. "Beyond walking the path of an Inquisitor, I…really don't know. In truth, I have no real goals or identity anymore. Bit of a headless chicken, acting on impulse, only curbed by the wisdom of a friend. Perhaps push my limits as a mage? Collect a few more runes, study the arcane…but beyond selfish forays into the unknown, I have nothing– am nothing." Aside from when he spoke of magic– during which, flashes of interest lit up his eyes, brightened his voice– otherwise, his tone was wistful, bitter, with a few threads of embarrassment woven into the words.

Hector's gaze returned to the other's face, staring up at him with an expression that was largely blank. "Maybe I'll follow your exploits? Whatever the emperor wants with a caged dove simply cannot be boring." Despite his largely empty features, his voice was notably playful.

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Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"