TIMESTAMP: 19 Sundered Rise, Searing 123 Annus Ferro
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One thing Palæmon had requested of Æros was that, when possible, he not mask his Symphony from him. Entwined as they were and in tune with such a thing as the ghost was, he could hear the moonborn with great clarity any time he so wished. And since the Craft of Mesmer was his, he could weave a mask over his own Symphony that would last hours even if Palæmon were in control of their now shared body. In theory, he could keep his hidden away indefinitely whilst maintaining the ability to peer into the other's any time he so wished– but that wouldn't be fair, would it? And so he would acquiesce to his cousin's request, though he would still…manicure some things. Of course, regardless of who was hosting, Æros wove that lasting obfuscation over them both to keep others out while within, he would weave them together, keeping them open only to one another.
If nothing else, keeping their Symphonies knit together in such a fashion allowed quick, intuitive, nigh instinctive communication between the two souls, enabling them to know what one felt at any moment, when one wanted to shift for any reason– to speak, cast, act in any form or fashion. Granted, only Æros could actually bar his host from acting; possession was a quirk of his existence, not Palæmon's, leaving the moonborn effectively at his mercy. He, however, would not opt to do this the vast majority of the time; the ghost did love his cousin, and he knew full well that it would vex the other man immensely were he to bar him out of flesh that had been his and his alone for over a century.
Still, there were some things Æros wanted to do that his ever so gracious host wasn't entirely too keen on. In life, they both shared curious, inquisitive natures and a love of the arcane, but even though this did oft unite them, they would still express such qualities in different ways. And beyond that, their hobbies would heavily diverge.
Faunus Val’Sælyan Palæmon was a quiet, introverted sort. Many of Gens Sælyan were prolific in one way or another, many possessing recognizable names– but not him, and this was by design. For it wasn't that he was lacking in extraordinary qualities, no, rather, his skills were sharp and he was very good at what he did. It was simply that he did not wish to be known. He didn't want to be recognized in a crowd or lauded in attention. For him, such things were more often than not overwhelming, painful, even. And even further, it was not uncommon to hear him say that he preferred the company of the elements and flora in his gardens both to the company of other people.
Endymion Len’Sælyan Æros, on the other hand, was quite a bit different. One could argue that he was a twisted sort of introverted, but certainly not in a fashion similar to his cousin. He adored the presence of others if only to use them for his own satisfaction one way or another, before discarding them for the comfort of his own company. Contrasting the two further, Æros had always adored being lavished in attention, people knowing his name. He'd even, though more recently, come to seek far more ambitious endeavors– before his death, at least. Lastly, Æros was simply a far more active man. He coveted his strength, his flexibility, and also more recently, his newfound martial prowess– all of which were wrenched from his grasp upon his death.
And as one could imagine, both of them quietly knew that it'd be a difficult road ahead to adapt to one another. It would be easy for them to grow to resent one another, too. Easiest, likely, for Palæmon– for it was he whose body was stolen; purloined from his grasp by somebody who, by all natural rites, should be dead. It would be easier to overlook this, too, if the moonborn did not learn of how his cousin died, but when he requested Æros share his Symphony, share himself, that was actually one of the first things Palæmon wished to learn. The ghost thought it was only fair, so he let the other see, and now he, too, knew; he knew that Æros, the fool, had been tricked, and that he'd died by his own hand. And knowing this, knowing that it wasn't some horrible accident he'd been powerless against, it would be easy for bitterness to form, for resentment to fester and rancor to bloom.
But Palæmon wasn't a spiteful man. He was shown, too, the dearth of information in his cousin's soul where the moments of his resurrection lay obfuscated; he knew the other wasn't lying that such knowledge had been suppressed, and given how close they were, he had faith that such masterful obfuscations could only have been done by the very gods Æros claimed ferried him home. It pained him; he was angry at the circumstances, cold and bitter to his father for leading them here, but he couldn't bring himself to feel bilious towards the ghost. Maybe it was the religious factors that softened the spirit's role; if the Founders brought him back, he was back for a reason. It wasn't Æros' fault, either, that they were stuck together like this, though he knew the younger soul blamed himself. And maybe it was that blame, the hatred that Æros held for himself, poorly masked, that pulled sympathy from Palæmon, too. A shame, that– before he’d gone and died, he'd only just gotten over much of his previous self-loathing.
Different and distraught as the two men were, they still wanted the best for one another, and Palæmon, for himself. In time, he assumed that Æros’ more selfish nature would eventually heal and he'd also want the same, but for now, the ghost’s ego was a shattered sort of mess he was doing his best to hide. For this reason, it was actually through the moonborn’s encouragement that the spirit began to train his body to reclaim some of his old skills.
At first, Æros was afraid to do so– he’d always been something of a perfectionist, and having to relearn everything felt like a daunting, monumental endeavor. He feared further failure, letting himself down even more than he already had. But his cousin was insistent; he claimed that no sense of normalcy would ever be possible in this state, for either of them, if Æros were to wholly forsake things that he’d come to love so much in life. And he did really miss such things, unable to really engage much with them as he had in life whilst he’d been jumping from host to host; that, along with Palæmon’s prodding, eventually pushed him to at least try.
—
There were a series of studios within one wing of the Umbrian estate of Gens Sælyan, all dedicated to one athletic pursuit or another. Æros had done much of his past practice in a larger room at the end of the corridor; it was half composed of well maintained, polished wood floors and walls mounted with mirrors, the other half being equipment most often used by gymnasts or the like. Palæros had shown up in the late evening, hoping that nobody else would be using the room, awkward as he would most likely look trying to command foreign flesh to obey his will.
Crossing the threshold into the room filled Æros with a melancholic sort of nostalgia, for he’d spent a lot of time here growing up, and then again to maintain his skills whilst serving in the Umbrian senate more recently. Still, he’d arrived determined to try, and so he’d force himself to swallow these feelings, dismissing them from his Symphony and weaving something more hopeful in their place. On the other hand, Palæmon wasn’t all too familiar with these rooms; he’d always spent most of his time in his gardens up in the Luxium and was never the most active of men. For him, it felt strange to be here, especially so whilst his actions were not his own.
----
Palæros dressed lightly, wearing comfortable, loose-fitting pants that were fitted ‘round the ankles and a tunic overtop– but he did take that part off upon entering the room. It would take time for him to get used to Palæmon’s more modest style of dress, he thought, given that in life, it was rare for him to wear much to cover his torso at all. And when Æros saw himself in the mirror, he’d stand and stare for a moment, running a hand over his chest, as if to confirm that the reflection he saw was real. He wondered how long it would take for him to truly recognize himself when he looked at Palæmon’s face.
The lone, former dancer would sigh and then close the distance between himself and the length of barre that was closest to him, intending to use it to stretch first.
If nothing else, keeping their Symphonies knit together in such a fashion allowed quick, intuitive, nigh instinctive communication between the two souls, enabling them to know what one felt at any moment, when one wanted to shift for any reason– to speak, cast, act in any form or fashion. Granted, only Æros could actually bar his host from acting; possession was a quirk of his existence, not Palæmon's, leaving the moonborn effectively at his mercy. He, however, would not opt to do this the vast majority of the time; the ghost did love his cousin, and he knew full well that it would vex the other man immensely were he to bar him out of flesh that had been his and his alone for over a century.
Still, there were some things Æros wanted to do that his ever so gracious host wasn't entirely too keen on. In life, they both shared curious, inquisitive natures and a love of the arcane, but even though this did oft unite them, they would still express such qualities in different ways. And beyond that, their hobbies would heavily diverge.
Faunus Val’Sælyan Palæmon was a quiet, introverted sort. Many of Gens Sælyan were prolific in one way or another, many possessing recognizable names– but not him, and this was by design. For it wasn't that he was lacking in extraordinary qualities, no, rather, his skills were sharp and he was very good at what he did. It was simply that he did not wish to be known. He didn't want to be recognized in a crowd or lauded in attention. For him, such things were more often than not overwhelming, painful, even. And even further, it was not uncommon to hear him say that he preferred the company of the elements and flora in his gardens both to the company of other people.
Endymion Len’Sælyan Æros, on the other hand, was quite a bit different. One could argue that he was a twisted sort of introverted, but certainly not in a fashion similar to his cousin. He adored the presence of others if only to use them for his own satisfaction one way or another, before discarding them for the comfort of his own company. Contrasting the two further, Æros had always adored being lavished in attention, people knowing his name. He'd even, though more recently, come to seek far more ambitious endeavors– before his death, at least. Lastly, Æros was simply a far more active man. He coveted his strength, his flexibility, and also more recently, his newfound martial prowess– all of which were wrenched from his grasp upon his death.
And as one could imagine, both of them quietly knew that it'd be a difficult road ahead to adapt to one another. It would be easy for them to grow to resent one another, too. Easiest, likely, for Palæmon– for it was he whose body was stolen; purloined from his grasp by somebody who, by all natural rites, should be dead. It would be easier to overlook this, too, if the moonborn did not learn of how his cousin died, but when he requested Æros share his Symphony, share himself, that was actually one of the first things Palæmon wished to learn. The ghost thought it was only fair, so he let the other see, and now he, too, knew; he knew that Æros, the fool, had been tricked, and that he'd died by his own hand. And knowing this, knowing that it wasn't some horrible accident he'd been powerless against, it would be easy for bitterness to form, for resentment to fester and rancor to bloom.
But Palæmon wasn't a spiteful man. He was shown, too, the dearth of information in his cousin's soul where the moments of his resurrection lay obfuscated; he knew the other wasn't lying that such knowledge had been suppressed, and given how close they were, he had faith that such masterful obfuscations could only have been done by the very gods Æros claimed ferried him home. It pained him; he was angry at the circumstances, cold and bitter to his father for leading them here, but he couldn't bring himself to feel bilious towards the ghost. Maybe it was the religious factors that softened the spirit's role; if the Founders brought him back, he was back for a reason. It wasn't Æros' fault, either, that they were stuck together like this, though he knew the younger soul blamed himself. And maybe it was that blame, the hatred that Æros held for himself, poorly masked, that pulled sympathy from Palæmon, too. A shame, that– before he’d gone and died, he'd only just gotten over much of his previous self-loathing.
Different and distraught as the two men were, they still wanted the best for one another, and Palæmon, for himself. In time, he assumed that Æros’ more selfish nature would eventually heal and he'd also want the same, but for now, the ghost’s ego was a shattered sort of mess he was doing his best to hide. For this reason, it was actually through the moonborn’s encouragement that the spirit began to train his body to reclaim some of his old skills.
At first, Æros was afraid to do so– he’d always been something of a perfectionist, and having to relearn everything felt like a daunting, monumental endeavor. He feared further failure, letting himself down even more than he already had. But his cousin was insistent; he claimed that no sense of normalcy would ever be possible in this state, for either of them, if Æros were to wholly forsake things that he’d come to love so much in life. And he did really miss such things, unable to really engage much with them as he had in life whilst he’d been jumping from host to host; that, along with Palæmon’s prodding, eventually pushed him to at least try.
—
There were a series of studios within one wing of the Umbrian estate of Gens Sælyan, all dedicated to one athletic pursuit or another. Æros had done much of his past practice in a larger room at the end of the corridor; it was half composed of well maintained, polished wood floors and walls mounted with mirrors, the other half being equipment most often used by gymnasts or the like. Palæros had shown up in the late evening, hoping that nobody else would be using the room, awkward as he would most likely look trying to command foreign flesh to obey his will.
Crossing the threshold into the room filled Æros with a melancholic sort of nostalgia, for he’d spent a lot of time here growing up, and then again to maintain his skills whilst serving in the Umbrian senate more recently. Still, he’d arrived determined to try, and so he’d force himself to swallow these feelings, dismissing them from his Symphony and weaving something more hopeful in their place. On the other hand, Palæmon wasn’t all too familiar with these rooms; he’d always spent most of his time in his gardens up in the Luxium and was never the most active of men. For him, it felt strange to be here, especially so whilst his actions were not his own.
----
Palæros dressed lightly, wearing comfortable, loose-fitting pants that were fitted ‘round the ankles and a tunic overtop– but he did take that part off upon entering the room. It would take time for him to get used to Palæmon’s more modest style of dress, he thought, given that in life, it was rare for him to wear much to cover his torso at all. And when Æros saw himself in the mirror, he’d stand and stare for a moment, running a hand over his chest, as if to confirm that the reflection he saw was real. He wondered how long it would take for him to truly recognize himself when he looked at Palæmon’s face.
The lone, former dancer would sigh and then close the distance between himself and the length of barre that was closest to him, intending to use it to stretch first.
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"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
"Vastien Tongue/Speech"
"Valasren Tongue/Speech"
"Common Tongue/Speech"
