stardiving | IC Inbox (Victory Road)

I do not expect these hurts to be healed immediately, no, merely enough to walk. I can walk with a limp.

[He has demonstrated this plenty by now! Though, he eyes the walking stick...maybe a nice cane would make this a bit easier on him. He had one as an aged old man...

Speaking of, Estinien's comment gets a wry laugh from him.]

A terrible lot, but you cannot choose family. Or, perhaps you can, if this is aught to go by.

[Just ignore the fact that's Steven's fault.]

They would heal faster if you cease aggravating them.

[Estinien is really one to talk, but when he was grievously injured at least he rested for a few days. Look, he's been mortal his whole life so far, he knows how this works!

He just grumbles under his breath, he already has an adopted family member he doesn't talk to, he really doesn't want to add you to the list. You're fucking awful. He'll just work on getting the two of you to the door, since he's doing the walking for both of them.]

I am ever fond of sleep, but if I am to make any progress I cannot spend my days lazing about, as much as I would like to.

[He parts dismissively.]

Your duty may be over, but mine is far from, as such I will—

[And with that next step, his knees give out from under him. Think fast, Grandkid!]

A few days 'lazing' now would save you many more in the near fu--

[Estinien stumbles as he suddenly finds himself carrying all of Solus's weight, but he's a strapping young grandson so he doesn't fall. Thankfully. That would be bad! He casts around and sees a bench nearby, luckily close enough that he doesn't have to drag Solus far.]

[Solus is uncharacteristically quiet as Estinien drags him over to the bench, and helps him sit down. Folding his hands together, he leans his arms on his thighs (tender though they are, but so is about everything right now), hanging his head. With a couple slow and wheezed breaths, he finally looks up at Estinien, a disarming smile on his face.]

...Ohhh, Very well. 'Twould seem I've no choice but to concede to your point.

[Unfolding his hands, he gently grabs at his knees, looking at them with a grimace as he tests their tenderness and swelling. He really has been pushing himself too far.]

[Make it sound like an impossibly hard thing for you to do, why don't you...?

Estinien sighs and throws himself down on the bench beside him. Iceheart puts her paws up on Solus's other side and watches him with concern.]

You're worse about chirugeons than I ever was.

...It is not easy accepting my lot, I confess.

[He looks to Iceheart, raising one of his hands, shaky though it is, to pet her.]

Perhaps I am being needlessly reckless. 'Tis quite uncharacteristic of me, yet I cannot help but feel compelled to push on. As I told you before, my work is not yet finished, and my duty ever calls to me...

[Though, admittedly...he cannot hear Zodiark, cannot feel him. Like the connection has been completely severed, and he's left feeling...strange. Lost in a way, and so he's been focusing and pushing himself towards figuring out how to restore that, how to get back, regardless of what pains it takes.]

[Estinien lets out a small huff of breath. He knows full well what it's like, to have something pushing you forward, something that you have to accomplish.

Granted, his didn't involve destroying multiple worlds, but...]

What duty do you speak of? From what little I know of you, tis naught simply to sow chaos for the sake of it.

[You're far too structured for that.]

[Solus stops for a moment, keeping his eyes on Iceheart while his hand rests on her head. He mulls it over...but figures what would it truly hurt? After all, Estinien has proven quite the ally thus far, and he'd rather people know the truth. It's tiresome always being seen as the villain of the tale, when by rights he isn't. Painted as such with the brush of ignorance.]

While it is true we do indeed sow seeds of chaos by the perception of you mortals, our goal is rather the opposite. We endeavor to bring back the established order of reality—to rejoin the thirteen shards with the Source, so that all of existence may be made whole again.

[He looks to Estinien, his expression contemplative.]

In order for the Rejoining to occur, we must needs produce calamities—each marks a rejoining of a single shard. As a man of the source, that means your soul is seven-times rejoined, a far denser soul than the weak and sickly souls of those from the shards.

My duty is righting the wrongs of our broken reality, so that the natural order may yet come to be once more.

[He.

Doesn't really know what to think of all that.

Sure, he knows what most common folk know, even a bit more than due to both his experiences and...well, his experiences, echoes of Nidhogg's memories rattling around in his brain. And he knows, intellectually, that there have been seven Calamities. Hells, he'd lived through the Seventh.

It...makes sense, that it's what he's doing. But why a Calamity has to happen to allow it...and that rejoining of a soul means that six others throughout time had to die for it. Probably in fear, and in pain.

Six other people, with families of their own, worlds of their own, hopes and dreams of their own. Perhaps that weren't supposed to be, at least if Solus was to be believed, but were anyway.

It's a long time before he responds, and when he does his voice is quiet. Level.]

And you believe that will do it? Just like that? That all the blood shed will be worth it?

[You can't possibly know for sure. Even though you insist you're smarter than everyone. It's not like this has happened before.]

[He allows the silence to fill the air, letting Estinien process what he's told him. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if Estinien denied it all, dismissing it as nonsense. He doesn't expect a mortal to understand, or to be willing to, yet he cannot help but think Estinien might understand.

After all, he had merged with Nidhogg, he has felt and understood the immortal perspective, so maybe...

When he finally breaks the silence, the question is a heavy, but an astute one. He takes a moment to contemplate his answer, because he could be cold and blunt. Tell him he doesn't consider those fragmented souls to be truly alive. That even Estinien, by his standard, is not truly alive. But well does he know that will earn him a lost ally.

As he begins, his tone shifts from the usual light, nasally tone, shifting to something a little deeper, more serious. Almost like a story-teller's.]

...In the beginning, when the world was whole, there was naught but peace. There was no war, no violence, no suffering. No conflict due to disparity, due to want. It was a veritable paradise—a paradise that I and my kin originated from. But without warning, annihilation threatened our world, and in an attempt to save all of creation, we would bring forth Zodiark to rewrite the laws of reality. It would be by His magnificence that we would be saved.

Yet, there would be those who did not appreciate His gift, His divine mercy, and they would summon forth another to defy him: Hydaelyn. To bind him. To enervate him. To fracture him and aught else.

[His eyes shift away from Estinien, looking upward at the sky, his brow pinching in the middle as he continues.]

Back in that time before time, when anyone and everyone were as equals, the powers we Ascians hold were not special. Nay, they were pedestrian. All were immortal, all were powerful, and all could live full lives without fear, without suffering.

But that was taken from you—from everyone—when the Sundering happened. When reality was split into four and ten, so too was everyone else—save three. I am one such fortunate survivor. Yet, Zodiark was not spared like I had been—but it is He who can restore it all to how it should be, how it was always meant to be. By His grace, and His mercy shall everything be made right once more. But this cannot be unless we rejoin the shards to the Source.

[He lets out a slow, somewhat wheezed, breath as he lowers his gaze, peering over at Estinien. His expression somber and reflective.]

To one who has known perfection, I cannot turn my back on it, I cannot stray away from this course. Not when I would be faced with the flawed and dreadful reality we otherwise are made to suffer.

Would you not want the same?

[There's a deep silence as Estinien gathers his thoughts with all of this dumped on him, slots the new perspective into what he knows already.]

I would want to protect my home.

[Perhaps it would be different, if he were as Solus is. But he can't say, because he isn't. There's a malms-wide crevasse between them, and even Estinien can't jump that far.

But the phrasing is interesting. Taken from you. It's also wrong--it was taken from the theoretical person Estinien might have been, in Solus's world, but he does not recall it. Instead, what Solus is doing is taking from him as he is. Taking from all of them. For something that can never be truly reclaimed.]

...conflict was brought to you sooner than you think, why else would any of your number disagree with your course and summon Hydaelyn?

[He's just. Gonna put the summoning aspects to the side. He's no Scion, to be expert in the summoning of primals. It's part of their current conversation, but not the relevant point.]

Even if you do succeed, you will not bring back anything as it was. Even if your people did not know suffering or conflict, whatever happened to annihilate your world introduced them to it. And there would be no place in a society as peaceful as you say it was for a man such as you.

[Bluntly. Because it's true--Estinien knows full well how it feels, to be that outlier. You've started how many wars, killed how many people--and they are people, you can get into an existential argument about that some other time--and spent thousands upon thousands of years wanting.]

No amount of blood spilled can ever bring back what was lost. What is gone is gone, and we have to move forward with what is left.

Edited 2020-05-23 16:32 (UTC)

[Solus keeps his eyes on Estinien as he speaks. Surprised by how much he does, how honest he is with his words. Not that the man has proven dishonest, no, but quite closed off. Yet here he speaks his mind freely, even if he speaks words Solus does not particularly wish to hear.

His jaw tightens as Estinien lays down those hard truths--no, not truths, for they could be as wrong as Solus' own hopes. Nothing proves that things cannot be restored, that things cannot be as it was...

Yet that painful throb in his chest at such words makes him doubt his own resolve. Doubt, for the first time, that perhaps what he hopes to accomplish might not be obtainable. That he toils at a false hope.

This startles him, because never has he doubted Zodiark's ability, and while it's not Estinien who is quite making that happen, his blunt delivery hits like a mace to porcelain. There's panic and anger behind his eyes, but he's quick to look away. Quick to bury that doubt which has no place in his heart with Zodiark.

His fist clenched the fabric of his skirts, twisting them in a shaky clutch as he begins, his gaze finding Estinien once more--something desperate behind his eyes.]

I have lived among your people, I have fought beside you, made friends, family...I have observed, I have judged, for eons have I tried to see your ilk as worthy of inheriting our star, our legacy. Yet mortals have ever proven too selfish, too fickle, too frail to be worthy of being stewarts of what my people left behind!

[His voice is drowning in emotion, his tone fluctuating from higher tones as he speaks a little too quickly. Punctuated by a wheeze or a squeak of his voice. But then he thinks on the Warrior of Light...how his hopes are high for him and the Scions. That should he prove successful yet with his vanquishing of Vauthry...

There may yet be another way.

He takes a moment, closing his eyes as he sucks in a breath, then shakily releases it. Once his eyes open again, he gives Estinien as placid and peaceful of a somber smile as he can. His tone becoming even once more as he starts again.]

...I need not a place among them, I need only save them. The dissenters were ungrateful fools, the lot of them. They knew not what they wrought, what they stole away, what future they destroyed... What suffering they would prolong.

You mortals are not the only existence worth preserving... I will pay any price to restore my brethren--my home. Should that cast me as a villain in your eyes, then so be it, but I will not abandon those I have lost. Theirs is a worth without equal, their loss is a far greater toll than aught it would be to restore them...

I must save them.

[There's an oddity with how he speaks. Determined and genuine are his words, but there's a quiver to them, something not so confident in his delivery. Less he doubts his conviction, and more that fear bred of doubting Zodiark's ability to restore what was lost. His mind is at odds, between the belief he's grasped onto for eons, the very thing that has kept him going for so long, and now this new found doubt that seems to be poisoning his heart.

A doubt that his connection to Zodiark seemed fit to destroy at every pass, but now seems fit to take root, to grow unabated by such absolute destruction.]

Edited 2020-05-23 17:34 (UTC)

Perhaps it is not about being worthy.

[Estinien can't think that worth has anything at all to do with most of what he's experienced. If it was, he wouldn't be here--it was hardly his worth that changed his fate on the Steps of Faith, it was only sentiment.

Estinien sighs. He can certainly understand--it's not even particularly hard. It's as simple as fighting for your home, for your people, and that's something he's been doing most of his life. But...the toll that Solus says is not too high, is excruciating to Estinien.]

You have sworn to recover your home, as I have sworn to protect mine. Tis not that I misunderstand your goals, or even that I disagree with them. Tis simply that for your aims to be achieved, tis my people that must pay in blood. Were it not for that, I would call it admirable.

[At first, Solus's eyes narrow at Estinien's comment. How could it not be about being worthy? There has to be a worthiness, otherwise that would imply the cost to save everything from oblivion was meaningless. That all the sacrifice and pain that he and his suffered—all their destroyed hopes, dreams, and futures—was for nothing. Their attempts to bring back their paradise, to secure themselves a future that could hold up to the perfection of the past...was all in vain.

He can't accept that, he can't feel right handing over everything they worked so hard to protect to those who could not and would not do the same in the face of true annihilation. They can barely face life in unity, but should they face true annihilation? True death? He knows they would not do the same as him and his. They would buckle, they would choke, they would die and so would the star.

But as Estinien continues, he feels...slightly better, even if he doesn't agree with the worthiness comment. He can't. What Estinien presents is...a logical yet sentimental take. They are, in a sense, soldiers upon a battlefield, trying to protect their home, but the caveat is that one cannot survive while the other still lives.

His expression grows contemplative and sullen as his gaze drifts from Estinien, focusing on nothing in particular.]

Our existences are at an impasse. For my people to be saved, it costs the lives of yours, but for yours to stay living, it costs mine their permanent oblivion.

[He sighs, shaking his head. Bringing a shaky hand up to thread his fingers through his hair, brushing back the white streak, mixing it messily with the dark brown, only for it to fall back down the moment his hand rests in his lap once more.]

...But even if you will not see reason, [translated: the worthiness issue] at least now you know the truth of our motivations. We do not relish in the misery we cause you mortals, we act out of necessity, and ill can I sit idly by in this broken world while the Great Rejoining lists ever further from its rightful course.

[Life is often meaningless. Not...overall, of course, everyone's existence has meaning, even if it's as simple as that of a sheep farmer. But individual events? Certainly. Why else would something like the destruction of Ferndale happen--a village of naught but simple farmers and shepherds, eking out a life from what the land could give?]

It would seem that we are.

[Look, you're asking him to condone you sacrificing all--or a great portion of, if it doesn't take all--of the Spoken Races. You're obviously not willing to sacrifice your people for his, why should it be the other way around?]

So long as your current course is the only way. If there was another, there are those among us who would walk it with you.

[He can't see the Scions, nevermind the Warrior, simply...giving up, if there was a way to accomplish Solus's goals without all the bloodshed. After all, even if the Warrior and Alphinaud were seeking solace in Ishgard, they could have contented themselves to wait until the storm had passed, then been on their way. There was no reason for them to get involved in the Dragonsong War, not truly, and yet they had, and they'd been dogged in their goal to end it.]

...This is why I have enlisted myself among the Scions on the First. If there is yet a path of lesser tragedy, then I would take it.

[And it would seem that's fair possible, if the Warrior of Light proves capable.]

Should they prove themselves capable, we may yet find such a way...

[Ultimately and contradictory of how he boasts and how he belittles mortals, he would avoid such death if possible. It's tiresome to have to keep his emotions in constant check, to constantly remind himself of the emotional detachment he needs in order to handle what it is he does. What suffering he yet has to cause and has caused countless times before.

He pauses a moment, bringing a hand to his throat which has a pretty dark blossoming bruise. Clearing it, he continues but there's still a notable strain to his voice.]

I approached the scions to seek their cooperation, to judge whether or not our goals are truly incompatible--and I have yet to see the proof that they are not.

[And yet the Warrior is back on the Source. Estinien doesn't know what happened on the First--he'd arrived back after the man had given his report, and he hadn't stuck around long enough to learn what happened. It didn't matter, he had thought, and both he and the Warrior had better things to do than to make the man repeat himself.

He has to wonder what happened, now.

Estinien glances over at Solus--the talking has to be enough to hurt his throat, with that bruise. And all the rest of them, at that.]

Then let us hope that they are.

[Because while he might not be able to forgive all the heinous shit you've already done, it'd be best to not have more of it happen.]

Can you walk the rest of the way?

[It's probably for the better he doesn't know that there's some weird gap in their personal timelines. That the Warrior has returned to the Source, leaving his fate shrouded in mystery.

Pain has little been a deterrent to anything Solus does, and he'd be damned if a little pain were to stop him from talking. Still, he should probably give it a rest. With a nod to the first statement and a sidelong glance at the second, Solus gestures for Estinien to get up.]

Well, let us see if these weary knees of mine will cooperate. If not, then you may very well have to carry me, dragoon. But I'm certain that'll prove no issue for you.

[His tone has shifted, back to that playful and nasally sound it usually holds. The more serious, lower octave it held before utterly gone.]

[Especially since Estinien wouldn't be able to tell you anything, oops.

He. Really hopes he doesn't have to.

But at any rate, he goes ahead and gets up--without seeming like his knees are those of a 90 year old--and goes to try to help Solus up.]

[As Estinien aids him, Solus wobbly gets to his feet, and all seems well.

For about half a second, before with a warning grunt of pain, his legs give out again and he grasps at Estinien's shoulders to keep himself from hitting the ground so absolutely. He smiles wryly, tinged with annoyance and pain.]

...'Twould seem these knees of mine have had quite enough of that. Time to put those impressive muscles of yours to use, eh?

[For as much as he'd like to keep his dignity intact, he's gotta find some enjoyment out of this horrid situation...]

[Estinien sighs. It's not like Solus is the first injured person he's had to carry off--it's depressingly commonplace for him, really--but he's certainly the most obnoxious.

He repositions his pack so it's hanging off his arm, and turns his back to Solus.]

Arms over my shoulders.

[If he's going to drag you, he's definitely not inclined to do it with you over his shoulders like a sack of popotoes.]

Yes, sir.

[Of course that's said in that flirty-mock tone of his as he languidly places his arms over Estinien's shoulders as instructed, pushing his front flush to Estinien's back. It's not the most...elegant of carries, but he can't truly complain, and maybe he'd appreciate the proximity a whole lot more if his groin hadn't been kicked so much.

Oh well...

It does give him a pretty close up look of Estinien's hair though, and as he lifts and carries him, he can't help but...scrutinize it. Tucking his head a little close to the other's ear, he speaks softly as to not alarm him, but it's also...kind of intimate seeming.]

Dragoon, you really ought to take better care of your hair. Do you not realize how many split ends you have? If you desire it, once we're done with the nonsense at the center, I could properly groom you.

[It's that or you get slung over his shoulders. This is less horrible for both of you. Though if he knew that thought about appreciation, he would probably drop you on your ass.

There's a bit of breath before he starts talking, and that's enough that Estinien doesn't flinch, but he does tense a little, and his eyes narrow. Not that Solus can see that.]

What does that matter? Tis not necessary.

[That's why he's not mentioning that stray thought, he knows better!]

Oh, you foolish man, it is entirely necessary. [He basically purrs it out, shifting a little to try to get more comfortable. The weight and pressure on his ribs is getting a little...hm, unbearable perhaps to a mortal, and idly he wonders if something got broken.]

You would feel utterly rejuvenated, I could make you feel like a new man.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject