Blind Sight [Æros]

[Khyan Nykara]

Blind Sight
20 Frost 122
The Noctis Æternæ District, Umbrium

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Perhaps Khyan couldn't behave like a customer, but at least his position as servus to Æros meant they could be seen out together with no need for subterfuge. He might have to play the role of dutiful servant, but it was a minor price to pay in his reckoning. If anything was particularly worthy of aversion, he could always cast off unwanted attention with his Semblance, or Æros could send some insinuation into their Symphonies to dissuade their interest. Fortunately, those who frequented the nightclubs of the Noctis Æternæ were looking to delve into arcane enhancements, so they were less likely to wear wards against incursion than most who had the means or the position to wear enchanted defences. There was, of course, always the risk of dipping into the Aura or Symphony of those capable of noting the incursion, who were very likely to take offence to unbidden invasions, but Khyan was cautious and sparing with his Semblance unless given cogent cause to be otherwise.

Still, it didn't take a Master Sembler to note that one of this evening's guests at this particular taberna was out-of-place. Though dressed in expensive, albeit tacky garb, the Vastian spoke in a dialect that betrayed his nomadic upbringing as he ordered a pricy bottle of Umbrian red. He seemed to be in a particularly chipper mood, as he coughed up the gold to pay for it.

Khyan glanced curiously at the fellow from his seat on the arm of Æros' chair. It was rare to see Vastians from the Atraxian tribes in the Umbrium, let alone the Noctis Æternæ. Rarer still in so posh an establishment. Unless he bore some sort of particularly potent and clandestine ward, it seemed he had no Runes etched onto his person. His Aura and Symphony were as plain as the nose on his sun-bronzed face.

It didn't take long for Æros to put him at ease and loosen his tongue enough to relate the reason for his high spirits. It seemed his tribe stumbled upon a ruin in the desert, a veritable treasure trove. Though he'd never have freely indicated the location, let alone drawn a map for them, somehow he ended up doing just that.

27 Frost 122
The base of the Zalkyrian Mountain Range
50 Miles Northeast of Solunarium Proper

Æros and Khyan stood before the mouth of an ominous looking cave at the base of a mountain. There were signs of an encampment within, though it didn't seem to have been active for several days. Khyan pursed his lips as his eyes clouded over, regarding the remnants from a safe distance.

"Whoever was here, they went deeper inside." He cocked an eyebrow, "Are you sure you're keen to follow them?"

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Though very busy with things both new and old over the past two or so months, Æros had always put careful effort into managing his schedule. He very much cherished what time he could carve out for both himself alone and to spend with his beloved Khyan. Tonight, he'd only intended to simply enjoy the other's company, but, well, nosy as the half-elf could be, he couldn't help but to overhear an exhanging of words between the barkeep and a man of the desert sands above. Jubilant notes rang through the voice of the Vastian; surely, he simply had to be excited about something of note!

As far as Æros could perceive, the man bore no runes and he couldn't quite detect the resistance of any wards– of course, that could also mean he had some of consummate quality, but…that was, overall, less likely than him possessing nothing in terms of arcane protection. As such, the starlit elf used both his inbuilt charm and Mesmer to get the man to share with him whatever it was that had him in such a jovial mood.

The answer? Ruins, ancient ones; tales of treasure and the like. The man didn't know much beyond hearsay and a precise location, but to one as curious as Æros, he didn't quite care. Perhaps that spoke a bit to some newfound hubris the Færie had acquired, but nevertheless, he was now intent on paying these supposed ruins a visit. Not alone, of course– Khyan would come with. The two of them were not the most experienced of warriors; they were, however, skilled mages. Khyan's Animism would be useful in particular if they ran into anything that could fall victim to the venom of an asp. And if they were to get in over their heads, a combination of Semblance, Masquerade and Mesmer would likely be enough to cover their escape. What could possibly go wrong?

—

Standing now before the approximate coordinates the stranger had given them, Æros peered into the dark maw of a cave, one tucked inconspicuously into the mountainside. Distracted, Khyan posed a perfectly reasonable question, drawing the Fæ's focus back to present reality. Shifting his gaze toward the empty encampment with his own Semblance, his partner was right; the previous occupants either went deeper or simply vanished.

"I am." Æros sounded more confident than he likely should be. "We're already out here; no turning back now! …but first, we should perhaps peruse what's left of their supplies, though, yes?" As he spoke, the half-blood had started pathing to the empty little camp.

Once there, he made a point to check for magical wards or tampering prior to laying even so much as a finger on anything. While it would appear that whomever had once lingered here took the majority of whatever valuables they may have possessed, to not take a moment to rummage through what was left would be folly. If those who left here did so in a rush, it would be easy enough for them to have forgotten at least something useful.

Assuming Khyan had followed him and remained in earshot, "...have you spotted anything of note? I've only found viands and supplies for basic upkeep of arms and armor." As he posed this question, Æros continued to look through the rest of what had been left behind nearest to him. "...however, this oil could be useful to mix with your venom as a weapon coating, no?"

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Khyan Nykara]

Khyan shrugged obligingly and followed Æros into the camp. Perhaps there had been a time (And not too long ago,) that he'd have been more hesitant to put his life at risk by snooping through the belongings of strangers or spelunking into mysterious caves, but then he'd been subject to Lex Agni. With the relative certainty of his death having been averred in favour of servitude, his fears were fewer. He was more willing to take risks. Or perhaps Æros was simply soothing his Symphony when he wasn't thinking about it, but whatever the case he split off from the other man to poke through different parts of the camp.

There was nothing apparent to his natural or Sembling sight that indicated anything other than a Vastian nomadic tribe's provisional resting place. This coincided with the tale to which they'd been treated at the taberna, and likely represented the clan from whence the teller had come.

"Vastian rovers." He noted aloud. "Perhaps we ought to have brought Hilana. I can't imitate their dialect as well as she doubtless could..." And there was no telling whether they would be naturally deferential to one of Æros' particular pedigree. Those who roamed the desert were not as well-conditioned to the natural hierarchy of Solunarium as the city folk. They were freer spirits and, being migratory, harder to pin down to make certain every child had the true and proper way of things infused into their minds with the necessary regularity. They weren't heathens, of course, and it was rumoured that many of the mystics and elders who brought their magical masteries into the expanse were furtively in the employ of the Silver Sentinels, but still... They likely wouldn't have known what to make of Æros' more exotic features.

When they reconvened, his lifted his brows and smiled.

"Oh, that is a clever notion. Well done, you!" His grin shifted as twin fangs snapped down. It wouldn't hurt to have them at the ready regardless of how the next few moments transpired but, unless the Vastians suddenly returned, he would deliver a few spurts of venom into the vessel of oil and handed it to Æros.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Æros had not made it a habit of his to go and manually seek out whatever it was that lay at the end of rumors, but frankly, with his growing skills in magic and the like, he found himself more confident in his abilities relative to self defense. That, and he had somebody he could proper trust with him. On that end, however, he didn’t want his lover to think that he was taking this relative risk without regard for the boy’s safety, and should Khyan worry for any particular reason, he was prepared to soothe such notions in the other’s Symphony should they arise. Always open, the starlit elf was, to the Symphonies of those around him– in particular, however, was he to his partner’s.

Though Æros had no idea to whom this encampment belonged with any specificity whatsoever, the accouterments and ornamentation that adorned the encampment spoke of Vastian nomads, a fact further cemented by the voice of his partner. The mention of Hilana did give him a bit of pause, because he hadn’t actually thought about the potential of her being necessary in terms of communication. Which, ultimately, was a bit foolish on his end since the largest group of people that roamed these sands were her own. “True. I have no idea how they’ll react to just you and I, and, ah…I’ve precious little experience when it comes to negotiations with those who wander the sands; I’ve always been far more comfortable in the city. Underground.” The half-blood’s sentiment was punctuated with a bit of an awkward laugh.

Further, once Æros had found the supplies for armaments he handed the vial of oil off to his lover; everything else in the camp would be left alone. He was well aware that the Atraxian Asp’s venom would bring many to a quick end if it were to enter the bloodstream, but he was not, however, completely sure how permeable the flesh was to this particular toxin. Taking the vial of thus tainted weapon oil back from Khyan, “what risk is there when it comes to touching asp venom? I’ve…never really had to think about that.” There was the slightest tinge of embarrassment in the Fæe’s voice, for he did not like sounding ill prepared. “...but thank you! I figure we ought to make use of all of our magics, no?” His first question, of course, was only relevant insofar as the fact that they would have to spread the oil across their blades. Granted, if it truly were a risk, Khyan could just do it for him because the boy was altogether unaffected by it. Still, it would benefit him to know. “...and being as new as I am with a blade, I’m quite fond of the idea; this way, even small cuts can be deadly.” The added layer of offense was reassuring should he find himself unable to rely on his other magics.

Depending on how much of a risk it was for him to apply the poisoned oil to his own weapon, a steel khopesh he'd acquired in some days prior to their leaving, either he would do it himself or he would pass that job on to Khyan. What remained of it was left for the other to use at his whimsy. Once that was done, "Onward, then, hm?" And with those words spoken, the pair would begin their journey into the depths of the cavernous maw laid out before them.

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Khyan Nykara]

"Oh, we've been on much the same page. I didn't haunt the Umbrium more than that Luxium, but I have little natural affinity for the sorts of mundane concerns that occupy the days of those who follow the ways of our... Shall we say, less civilised ancestors?" Khyan wrinkled his nose. Raised as a Vastian patrician, and one of quarter elven blood no less, he was of a caste that sought to distance itself as much as possible from anything that might smack of savagery. They aspired to be as elves, not as roving vagabonds living hand-to-mouth on whatever paltry scraps the desert might provide. Most of the meals in his life had been cooked for him, not rooted out of burrows nor carved out of cacti. That was the image he had of his old order, desert-rambling distant Vastian cousins.

He retracted his fangs, as not to lisp his way through the answer to Æros' pointed question.

"If any of my venom gets on your skin, just be careful to keep it away from your eyes and mouth. Beyond that, the worst you'll get is a bit of a rash or maybe a blister on the affected area. Do be cautious, luv. I wouldn't want to be the fault in your stars." He nodded.

"We should use all resources at our disposal." He agreed, "And, if we do find ourselves in a combat situation, do try to cut deeply. The poison will act more quickly if you open a vein." He grimaced slightly, very much hoping such an outcome might be avoided. Though he'd trained in martial studies at the Academia, he much preferred theoretical to practical combat.

Still, he nodded staunchly, and stood at the side of the newly intrepid Æros as they trudged toward the mouth of the cave. The first thing that struck him was the smell- pungent and putrid assaulting his nostrils as even before they'd crossed the threshold. From this first vantage, all they could see were normal elements of a natural cave. Beyond that, was nothing but darkness to the natural eye.

In the distance, a regular clicking sound could be heard for just a few seconds, then it stopped.

"Well, that's not foreboding at all..." He said, remaining in the half-lit area that still got a bit of sunlight, as he crouched to unpack and light his lantern. They could probably Semble their ways through the dark, but in these sorts of unpredictable circumstances Khyan preferred to have access to as many of his faculties as possible.

[Aeros]

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Æros exhaled a soft laugh at his lover's response. "Then we are both fish out of water should we run into the original inhabitants, but…I've enough Mesmer and people skills to keep such an encounter peaceful, at least I'd think." He said this casually, confident in himself in that regard. Provided they were of their proper minds and the like, he didn't anticipate issues. The half-blood found the idea of running into Vastians out here, in a location such as a dark, ominous cave, to be at least slightly of interest if only because such an encounter would be odd and he found oddities to be entertaining. That, and the desert nomads were, to him, interesting in an analytical, almost voyeuristic sort of way. He was curious to learn about them but such curiosities were almost entirely academic; Æros viewed them more as a topic to be studied than anything else. Now, should they be cursed, entranced, undead and mindless, or some other questionable fate…? Well, in that case, who could say how that would go, really?

And then to Khyan’s instructions regarding the handling of his venom, Æros responded with a nod. "Easy enough to remember," he replied along with a soft chuckle. "I assure you, if I fall it won't be due to you, darling." And, ever affectionate, the half-elf leaned down to kiss his partner's head; a move done with an exaggerated amount of delicacy and sweetness intended to keep the mood rather lighthearted; his own death wasn't really something he wanted to think too much on. "And anything living I'll try magic first, but if push comes to shove, I am, at the very least, hard to hit." He'd rather not have to fight manually, but his experience as a dancer left him with no shortage of dexterity, strength and general command of his form.

Once inside the cave, he was met with the stench of the place, and a most unpleasant one at that. Did such a thing indicate a moist environment further ahead? Particularly unpleasant flora within? Perhaps it was a scent indicating death; he couldn't quite tell, but maybe it'd become more obvious as they moved along. And then the clicking sound– after Khyan commented and as he withdrew his lantern, Æros' eyes glowed with silvery limbal rings; even if they had light, he did intend to utilize his Semblance.

"You think that was something mechanical, from a beast, or the result of ah, movement of some kind?" The elf floated these inquiries to his lover as he squinted into the dark, now trying to make sense of what he saw with his newest– and freshly mastered– Craft.

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Khyan Nykara]

Khyan nodded slightly and shrugged. As long as whatever tribe this was didn't have a particularly adept shaman, their magics ought to be enough to work their way toward a peaceable resolution to any potential conflict with vagabond Vastiani. To the further comments, his responses were affirming if non-verbal. He was focused, now, on their surroundings as they trod into the cave. Even to the direct question about the nature of the sound they'd heard, Khyan only shrugged. He truly didn't know and thus far he couldn't detect anything to give him any clues, so deeper he went.

Once the light of his lantern was cast further they could see the cave sprawled back beyond their natural sight. As far as what was in view, even further back there were only stony walls, stalactites, stalagmites and other naturally occurring features of a given cave. Their ætheric vision extended further, and they would sense half a dozen masses of biomatter, which further inspection would indicate were corpses... humans of Vastian descent with marks of slight inbreeding often endemic to more isolated cultures. There weren't many tribes who roamed North of Solunarium, given the dangers presented by the wild wyverns and basilisks that nested in the nearby mountains and often hunted for prey to feed their hatchlings. If Æros had a frame-of-reference for any of this, as Khyan did, it would all be discernible to him as well. Though the clicking noise had ceased, the servus felt disinclined to make too much in the way of noise. The insinuation was pretty clear, in any event... These were corpses of the tribe whose camp they'd just inspected. Or at least some of their number.

They stalked close enough that Khyan was able to cast light on the bodies, with their patterned, telltale textiles in piles and puddles on the ground. But the cave stretched farther, and something strange struck Khyan's ætheric senses not far ahead. His Semblance hit a wall. Not a simple wall of stone through which he might have extended his Craft, but rather a barrier to any semblance of his Semblance. He tried to push through, but doing so set his mind ablaze with abject terror and he cried out, ceasing the attempt to pervade the border instantly- the light of the lantern quaking as he staggered, fighting the impulse to flee straight away.

Whether due to the sound or the attempted incursion, there was a response from deeper in the gave... beyond the barrier. The clicking resumed, louder now, and this time it was accompanied by a chamber choir of guttural moans. Khyan looked on the verge of panic, as the barrier itself seemed to draw closer along with the increasing volume of clicking and moaning. The servus looked to his dominus for guidance. Would they choose fight or flight? It was clear in Khyan's eyes that he was inclined toward the latter.

[Aeros]

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For a lot of his initial uses of Semblance, Æros spent his time watching people. He wanted to quickly be able to get a read on a person at a glance; this was, as well, easier for him to pick up on because he could use his Mesmer in some ways to help him make sure he was reading the right thing in terms of mood and current thought process. Further, the half-blood wanted to be able to quickly identify Cardinal runes, racial markers and so on. As such, when his eyes panned over the corpses, he picked up right away what they were– the wayward desert striders laying broken, all in a heep.

Puzzled, Æros shifted his gaze and was met with…nothing? No, not nothing; to his Craft's sight, it almost felt like a wall, just translucent; he could see through it with his mundane eyes, though those only saw darkness; his Sembling gaze, however? Nothing. Yet before he could even try to pierce it, Khyan reacted– and not well.

Fear, abject terror, the primal response of flight surged through the boy's Symphony in a loud, crashing cacophony. The sudden shift in rhythm ripped Æros' focus away from whatever blocked his magic and fully onto Khyan. Being consummate with the Craft and quite in tune with this particular person, the Færie sought to get a read on exactly what it was that induced such a sudden and forceful fright.

Was an enchantment forcing these emotions upon him? Had something discordant wrought dissonance in the boy's æther that he sought to get away from? Or did he– even if only for a moment– pierce the veil and see what it was behind that terrible, translucent trammel?

The rhythms which composed Khyan's Symphony would alert Æros as to exactly why the boy was running without much effort; so while he listened for what that was, he began to backstep as a caution, moving at first in stride with his partner, but then he meant to catch the boy in his arms, to stabilize him, to soothe him with means both mundane and magical. However, in doing so, the pair did not stop– they continued to pace backwards, the starlit elf absorbing the boy's momentum smoothly and continuing to pace back at an even, yet slower, speed. Æros was strong and deft, keeping himself relatively calm despite the adrenaline through Mesmeric manipulations.

"Compose yourself, beloved; if we are outsped, panic will not aid us!" Though Æros spoke forcefully, as if giving a command, there was ample warmth in his voice; his words were woven with encouragement and strands of æther meant to compose calm, calculated confidence in Khyan. The two of them would face whatever it was ready and prepared to react and counter.

Further, Æros composed several simulacrums of both he and his partner; three each, all of which moved in tandem with the flesh and blood. When he spawned these phantasmal facsimiles, he brightened the stars dotting himself and his mirror images, thus creating a glistening weave of bright spots in the dark. At the same time, he manipulated the placement of their false selves, weaving them around one another, sometimes overlapping in a way meant to obfuscate which pair was proper before all sets eclipsed and then drifted apart. Hopefully, this would confuse whatever it was that was after them long enough for the two of them to react. Perhaps, even, it might take aim at a pair of fakes.

This use of æther felt like it pulled the breath from the Fæ, winding him, though he was, thankfully, yet still far from his limits; all three of his magics he could weave with ease– yet all three at once required great focus. All of this was done quite quickly, in as much of an instant as he could manage. His blade wasn't yet drawn; he'd only time to cast and grab the hilt thereof.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Khyan Nykara]

As Æros delved deeply into the abyss the barrier breach had created in Khyan's Symphony, he would be treated to a different form what the servus himself had just suffered. His mind would be instantly overwhelmed. It was as if he was dwelling in multiple dimensions simultaneously, each of them a savage prophecy of his own torment and that of his companion. The tearing of flesh and rending of bone, living disembowelment under the tearing of unseen claws. Wherever he looked would be marks of misery- his own and Khyan's. Whenever he tried to see the source of their abjection, it was always obscured by a dense, soupy mist. He would feel that if he remained in this part of Khyan's Symphony... inside this cave, he would meet one or all of the fates that assaulted him en masse. If he withdrew, he would feel as though he'd just narrowly escaped a splinter in his mind that would have surely afflicted him with insanity.

Despite the pull of his instincts, Khyan waited for assent from Æros before darting back up the way they came. His dark eyes, no longer clouded with the signs of his Craft, searched for some sign of whether Æros intended to stand his ground or run for the hills. With no clear-cut reaction, Khyan interpreted the sudden shift in Aeros' expression as permission to abscond, and so he dashed up the way they came.

Khyan would sense the calming influence, which didn't slow him down, but it at least allowed him to clear his thoughts and turn them away from the gruesome vision that had stricken him moments earlier. He started to see daylight ahead, but before he could he was hurled through the air and seconds later his mouth was full of sand. He'd tripped over something, it seemed. He wouldn't see what it was straight away, but Aeros had a better vantage point.

The corpses that had littered the ground were no longer content to lie there. The six cadavers were beginning to stir, and the one that tripped Khyan was beginning to crawl toward the unwitting former patrician as he pushed himself up to his knees. Behind them, the clicking and moaning persisted and continued progressing toward them.

[Aeros]

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In a bid to decipher exactly what it was that had spooked his Khyan so, Æros intermingled their æther, wanting to perceive it through the boy's Symphony. Doing so, however, was not without evident risk. A sensation not dissimilar to slipping through the desert sands and down, down into a swirling, serpentine abyss swiftly swallowed him. The drop and mental shift was a strange one, something eldritch and altogether surreal– though not a thing entirely foreign to him; vast and black and empty but only for a moment, this expansive void exploded into kaleidoscopic carnage in an instant; it bloomed in all directions, everywhere, all at once and yet…all hallucinatory in nature.

Though the visions spiked him through his Mesmer, he almost felt as if all of his runes were tapped, so tied to his senses as they all were. Æros heard the rip and tear of flesh; wet and ripe and red. He heard the popping cracks of breaking bone, the snapping of sinew, the splattering of sanguine life. It was all so violent, vibrant, visceral; he saw himself die a thousand ways, his lover a thousand more– all in one infinite instant…but it was not felt; none of it was truly felt.

All of the emotions, the sounds, the smells, the visuals– but none of the feeling in blood and bone. It reminded some small part of his brain of all those times he'd spent horribly high, riding the waves of an unfortunate hallucinogenic trip. With this one, thin, thread of a realization, everything rang hollow and the half-blood regained the wherewithal to snap the Mesmeric tether that joined them. Oddly enough, his hedonism served as a strange boon here, offering him insight– alongside his experiences with sensory manipulation in manners more magical– in a moment so very bleak.

What was it that triggered these haunting visions? The deliberate use of magic? Under what circumstances would they be overwhelmed? Æros did not, unfortunately, have the grace of time with which to ponder these questions; no, time flowed forth in the present; a present he ought to pay attention to. His snap decision, for the moment, would be to avoid the expense of æther– he did not want to be further blinded by those fetid visions. Though he had snapped his mind free, it felt so sharp, like ripping a blade from his brain, so bright, so…extrasensory. He loathed the feeling it left in his æther; it was like his mind had been bitten.

Magic, for that matter, also appeared to be lacking in potency; Khyan was still keen on running away and all Æros' casts had earned him were visions most nightmarish. Though everything in the starlit elf wanted to figure out just what exactly it was they'd stumbled upon, he was not going to split from his partner. He did not like his chances alone and leaving the boy to a fate should he perish felt cruel. As such, he bid to keep pace with the boy.

"Don't use magic, love, it-...it triggers the visions-" Æros spoke to make sure the other shared in this realization, but his breath caught short when Khyan, up ahead of him a bit, lost his footing.

The dead, it would appear, rose now as puppets to their unseen assailant and his beloved had tripped over one such creeping cadaver. Quick on his feet, Æros drew his blade and moved to close the distance between himself and Khyan. In the process, he moved to hack downward with his blade at the neck of the nearest undead assailant, actions guided by the dim light of the cave's mouth, his own stars, and the boost to darkvision his fey ancestry granted him. His intent was to come as close to decapitation of the desiccated body as he could, though he would continue forth after that one swift strike to aid his fallen lover. While he did so, "...running may not serve us best here," his words as swift as he moved.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"