They can't see everything. Just have to keep being flashy and distracting with one hand so you can keep the rest palmed to yourself.
[ i mean, listen, it's a little bit viktor's fault even without nasty thoughts trying to cloud his brain about it, he just decided it was alright before. but that makes sense, doesn't it? the condescending smart types. they're happy to use you in a fight and to send you first to dig through the ruins but once you've served your purpose, you're just as easily discarded. foolish mummer's boy, puppet on a string, doing exactly what he's supposed to. it makes the back of his neck crawl, and bile rise in his throat. he's probably trying to pull away now, slowing down and letting go of the arm so he can walk behind lucien - an easy shot to the back.
he tightens his own hold and keeps walking, stubborn, train of thought turning as viktor says something's wrong.]
[that's right - that's right, isn't it? he's a blacksnake. and pirro warned him about this. pirro told him that someone was going to do this. that someone would slide a knife through his ribs and take the treasure back to father. he killed someone dear to you right in front of you. aren't you afraid he's going to do the same to you?
and that's the thing about wizards. they use you. they have a goal, and it's never you. he always said he wanted to make the world a better place, but was that really his goal? maybe he wants power, lucien. maybe, if viktor is allowed to do whatever he wants, you'll be thrown to the side. again, like always. he'll take it from you, the world you plan on making. will you let that happen?
don't you want to kill him (lucien) (viktor)? don't you want to be the only one left standing? you don't want to die, do you?]
[Briefly, he's strangely comforted by the stubborn persistence. He keeps a hold of Lucien's arm and stumbles along after him. But unlike Lucien, who deals with the voices often, he does not have the experience or the fortitude.
This isn't like the whispery voice of the Core; these don't say the same things at all.
He's filled with a fear that, at first, doesn't feel like his own. And then it is. He's afraid. He's afraid of Lucien because, like this, frail, pathetic, weak, Lucien could easily kill him. Lucien might not even have to use the dagger even. That's how easily it would be.
Suddenly, he tries to get his arm back, away from Lucien. His face is bunched, a tug-of-war against coherency and the lunacy his mind keeps feeding him.] I know what you're after! [Wait, no. That was a lie, wasn't it? The mirror. The--whatever that was before.] You're just taking me somewhere to get rid of me, aren't you?
You were always going to get rid of me, like Jayce! I'm just... baggage to you. [He starts twisting, fighting like an animal caught in a snare.] Something's... I can't get it out of my head!
[Clarity, warm and sweet. Then he's frozen again, full of madness.]
I'm not going to die again! I don't want to die again!
[He raises the staff with his other hand. Because he's going to fucking MUG Lucien with it. Sorry to Lucien that he is full of stupid so easily.]
[ the voices sound exactly like the calls and pleas and gentle assurances of the Somnovem. Equal parts begging and demanding and terrified, bursting with near-insane glee. the warnings and the whispers of what is to come. they'll want to take it from you, they'll want to excise the blessing from the soul and they'll use it as a chance to discard the waste. take back what is rightfully his and turn it into a stupid, stumbling puppet.
besides, he's never thought viktor sounded anything but sincere. that's always been his problem. he believes what he says. of course he wants power, power is only a means to an end, a lever on the rock that sits on the back of the downtrodden. but viktor does want to make this world a better place. it's simply that to him, it would be better without lucien in it.
the staff will connect, lucien has a harder time dodging since he's down one eye - glancing off a horn and sending him stumbling briefly sideways. but even injured like he is, he's still quick and deadly - grabbing the staff to try and yank it out of viktor's hands and throwing it off to the side, and lashing out like a snake to wrap a hand around the front of viktor's throat and pushing him back. not holding him hard enough to choke, but tight enough to make a point - the claw of his thumb pressing tightly up against the bottom of his jaw. ]
[The reaction is coordinate and brisk enough, and he is weak enough, the staff is snatched so cleanly out of his hand and tossed away. The breath he lets out is loud, haggered, and then it pitches suddenly when Lucien gets him by the throat.
He stumbles, trying to make his leg work in the back-pedaling, held up for a second by Lucien's arm. Both of his hands grip Lucien's wrist. The chihuahua shaking he's doing is mostly from the bitter cold and the drop off of adrenaline, but it's happening.]
No... [It's a strained whisper. His expression is grimaced; he doesn't try to throw a fit to get out of the hold like he had a few seconds ago.] I can hear it. You can hear it, right? The voice.
[It's a voice, right? Or is it... himself?]
...I'm sorry. I hate this place. [The forest.] I just want us to leave.
[ the fingers on his hand twitch and there's a strong pressure behind his eyes, and viktor is right. there is a voice and he can hear it. right now it's a fly in his ear buzzing a frantic little `you don't have to do this, he's right, you can just stop, lucien--` and he is so fucking tired of that voice. why does it believe it gets an opinion now of all times? he should have excised it when he had the chance. his face screws up and he digs his fingers into the wound around his cheek where it leads up to his eye, clarifying pain.
if it's not him, they'll discard him, move onto someone more malleable, easier to guide, and he does not intend to give up an ounce of control. (he doesn't want to be the one left standing. he's been the one left standing before and every time it breaks something that feels so unfixable that soon there will be no choice left but the only choice there ever was: nothing but a world that bears all the same scars he has)
but that's the mistake he's made before, isn't it? every time he's been on the cusp of breaking free of the concerns of petty mortality, that voice has made him waver, stand back from the brink, stay a blade. let someone in too close who should never have been there in the first place. viktor is right, there is a voice, and he's going to prove it wrong.
the hand around viktor's throat loosens, cupping the side of his neck gently for a moment - before he moves to grab him tightly by the wrist, bringing his other hand down to slam into his elbow and hopefully send viktor bodily to the ground. can't cast shit if you've got a broken arm? ]
[Relief blooms in his chest when the hand loosens. For a moment, he has the clarity to realize: he's him, he is Viktor, and Lucien is Lucien, and he had died, and they have met again after so many weeks, in the flesh it feels like. And things will be okay. They can beat the forest and walk out of here together.
There is a dream somewhere of an open land of rolling hills covered in nothing but patches of clover, split by a little stream, sitting beneath a sunny and blue sky. And they are there together, Viktor healthy, with no screws, no brace, no bad leg, no illness, nothing but spindly working hands; and Lucien, unmarred, no eyes, no tattoos, no jewelry, not even any scars, nothing but calloused mandolin-playing fingers. They're there together. That's the dream just outside the forest, them sitting with their feet in the too cold water lying under the sun with clover in their hair.
Pain splits his skull from the back to the front, making his vision go white. He's not even sure, at first, it sounds like Lucien has snapped a branch. His legs drop out from beneath him; the book inside his jacket tumbles out below him and falls open. His arm won't do anything his brain tells it to do, not from the elbow down. His groan is a cross between agony and nausea.
He can't cast shit with a broken arm? Think again, bitch.
He slaps his other hand on the open page of the book, and his lips slur, quickly, the incantations, all garbled in another, elevated language. The edges of the book light up, and ozone fills the air. The hair on Lucien's head begins to stand, his skin prickles. Lucien has maybe two seconds to start to flee. The sky, where it is above them, lights up like the sun. I'm not rolling because he can't control it anyway and we can't die!!! He can only muster two shots. Lightning streaks down, hitting the ground nearby--one--another screams in the strangest, highest pitch as it smashes into the ground between Lucien's feet. A web of electricity leaps out, a net capturing the bottom of Lucien's legs and riding his body all the way up and out his mouth.]
Edited (i had to fix that typo it was making me laugh too much) 2024-03-27 21:21 (UTC)
[ `Time for last your card. This is your future! Oh, well, um. Facing you is Death. But that's not necessarily a bad thing, Lucien, you know? Some people think that Death means a rebirth. Something must end for something new to begin.`
there is real, genuine terror on his face as the book starts to light up. the sickening, helpless feeling of being a child again, banging on the door of a hag - the hollower - and pleading for help, him standing in front of vess derogna, the lightning coursing through him feeling exactly like the magic that had peeling back all the layers of his soul and scattering it like so much chaff on the wind. he doesn't have any of his power here in this cursed place, the far reaches of the astral plane, because it doesn't matter how much blood he's drawn for it or how much of his soul he's traded away - magic is not something he's allowed to have. he's going to die here (again) because he'd fucking hesitated, because of that fucking voice--
he starts backing up as quickly as he's able, but it's not nearly far enough ]
No, no-- I won't be made hollow, I won't be made empty, not like this--
[ well okay the good (?) thing about lightning is that when it hits he can't do anything but drop to the ground and convulse - not even able to control his vocal chords enough to shriek in pain and panic. so you've got a few seconds to decide what to do. ]
[The overwhelming fatigue slams him again, his mana gone. He drops into the mud and the cold, heaving, feeling the pain of his arm shooting up tonhis shoulder.
The lucidity afterward brings panic and bile up in him. This isn't any different than before, huh? With Sky. Playing with power he doesn't understand. Wiping someone out of existence with it.
He turns his head in the mud more than lifts it. What the FCK is in above him?]
when viktor looks at whatever is next to him, he finds - a torch. what is that doing here? a pause.
and then both of them are not in the woods. no, abruptly, you're in a temple. the air is hot and thick, like you've suddenly walked into the tropics, and the stone is cold and hurts when the two of you drop from midair and hit the ground.
the torch clatters and bonks off of lucien's horn. but it's there. and you're no longer in the darkness, and you think... did... did I really want to do any of that? it wasn't real, right?
[ well he's definitely alive, because he groans and curses loudly when he hits the fucking floor and then the torch bonks off his head. sitting up - pushing himself off the ground with one hand - at the sound of his name and looking over. he's still oozing from the side of his face with the eye and definitely looks pretty well flash-fried, but you know. alive. alive enough to glower at him.
his mind is clear though - weirdly so, considering. he'd forgotten what it was like to have so few voices in his thoughts that slipping back into that space had been too easy, too simple, and now that he's (mostly) alone again, the experience is unsettling in its clarity. ]
You didn't have to fry me that blood hard, you bastard.
[ well if he can bitch about it, he's probably okay. ]
[the torch glows brightly. like it wants you to pick it up.
the temple itself is very quiet. unlike the forest, though: in the very far distance, you can hear noises. rustling wind, softly chirping nightbirds, the ocean. you get the feeling that it is safe, here, but you aren't quite home.]
[It's both relieving and annoying. He lets out a lungful of air, not exactly a whole laugh, and then he drops limp where he is on the ground.
It's cool, nice. This place makes me think of the one where they started, humming with a tingling, strange holy energy. He isn't sure if he can get up even though he puts the good (minus the icicle hole) hand down.]
[ noticing my typo from three tags ago is like an neverending nightmare but its fine.
he looks over at the torch, but first he's going to just haul himself bodily along the ground to where viktor is going limp and also flops onto his back there, staring up at the ceiling (?) or whatever is above them. and then over towards viktor.
yeah sure absolutely everything hurts and it's terrible but it feels safe for the moment. he's not in a rush to return anywhere. ]
[us forcing flurry to thirdwheel her own cyoa thread]
Stop saying that after I did those thingd to you. You're so annoying.
[He does not feel great at all, but this makes him feel briefly better. He lies there for a long moment, and then he pushes his upper half up so he can prop himself against Lucien's side, bad arm tucked up against him. At least his weight is toothpicks.
He looks down over Lucien to--well, to make sure Lucien is alright, but they're both fucking a mess, so nevermind. He sighs.]
That place was trash. We've... got to find the others again.
Oh, I don't know. I don't think I'd have been able to respect you if you hadn't tried to actually kill me.
[ don't just say that. he does oof a little bit when viktor comes over because yeah he is a single popsicle stick but also, he is very full of holes. it's alright though, curling an arm around him as he does that, tucking him in to press his forehead against viktor's. ]
Guess so. Or could stay here and bleed out. Kind of peaceful?
[ he is ... joking ... after a minute he'll heave them both to sitting upright - reaching for the torch. ]
[ god i love these toxic yuris. lucien does this and smears a little of his own bloody lip print onto his own forehead so he's forced to take this home to the living for them all to see later. "what about his hair logic" let me have this
but they can start to reach for the torch! when lucien gets it in his hand, he feels... better. warmer, in a way maybe he's not been very often in his life.
you both hear a voice echo around the temple. male, mellifluous. (lucien, you might find it a little annoying, if unfortunately very supportive.) "Toto'haha, again..."
"Better get you some new clothes, Detective. You might make a passable Beastling." says a female voice, somber, familiar, amused, loved by you both.
when you pick up the torch, it's... a torch. well. one of you has some fire magic. "what about his sp" shh. do you want to light it or not? ]
He closes his eyes and sags on Lucien for what little bit of time he can. It's not the worst idea Lucien has ever had, he thinks.] We're not doing that here. [Bossy.
He winces as Lucien sits them up, gritting his teeth until the pain dulls. He lies curled half in Lucien's lap, facing him, and he glances at the torch between them until the voices speak. He looks at Lucien again, the uncertainty not in what they have to do, but what will come when it happens.
Reaching up slowly, he curls his hand over Lucien's on the torch. Somewhere in him, it feels like his soul hums, the barest of vibrations. IMAGINE WE BOTH SAID NO. But no, all it takes is a bit of flicker. The tiniest of flame licks alive on the torch before the rest catches.]
there's a bit of relief in the torch, but yeah, echoing the whole trepidation with what comes next. Sure, it'll end, but you know. everyone will go back to where they came from. all this blood and for what? he stays still with the hand curled over his for a long moment, selfishly.
but they have to leave eventually. nothing stays still forever. he'll try and clamber to his feet then, helping viktor as best as he can - it's probably pretty painful but the faster he's up the less drawn out the pain is. ]
careful, careful. you take the torch, together, and you walk. you walk, until you find stairs. at the top is an octagonal dais, and nestled in that is a large metal torch structure. it's not so tall that you couldn't see over the top of it, but it is big, and you get the sense that it's important.
it feels like there should be more fanfare - but there's not, not really. the fire of the torch, the same that lit the lantern that you kept alive all this time, touches the kindling, and something sparks. it takes a few tries. once. twice, three times.
but on the third, the flame catches, and it begins to light - blazing a pure, bright blue and beautiful. viktor, for a moment your form flickers like it too, in lucien's eyes, but you don't really notice it; instead, the flame takes your attention entirely.
this, you realize with a start, is the sacred flame. it's one of four parts of it, sent off to the different corners of the continents to protect the people who live in solistia. it's the basis of the faith of the clerical robes that you carry, but it is the protection of the entire continent. it is its hearth, its home. it is the dawn.
("And the people of Solistia may live in its light, warmth, and protection, evermore." says the male voice.)
the sacred flame relights. and with it, the two of you are swept up in its warmth, protected like being lifted on the wings of an angel. you close your eyes into the blue, blue moment, and you let the sacred flame guide you...
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[ i mean, listen, it's a little bit viktor's fault even without nasty thoughts trying to cloud his brain about it, he just decided it was alright before. but that makes sense, doesn't it? the condescending smart types. they're happy to use you in a fight and to send you first to dig through the ruins but once you've served your purpose, you're just as easily discarded. foolish mummer's boy, puppet on a string, doing exactly what he's supposed to. it makes the back of his neck crawl, and bile rise in his throat. he's probably trying to pull away now, slowing down and letting go of the arm so he can walk behind lucien - an easy shot to the back.
he tightens his own hold and keeps walking, stubborn, train of thought turning as viktor says something's wrong.]
Should keep moving. Only way out is through.
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and that's the thing about wizards. they use you. they have a goal, and it's never you. he always said he wanted to make the world a better place, but was that really his goal? maybe he wants power, lucien. maybe, if viktor is allowed to do whatever he wants, you'll be thrown to the side. again, like always. he'll take it from you, the world you plan on making. will you let that happen?
don't you want to kill him (lucien) (viktor)? don't you want to be the only one left standing? you don't want to die, do you?]
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[Briefly, he's strangely comforted by the stubborn persistence. He keeps a hold of Lucien's arm and stumbles along after him. But unlike Lucien, who deals with the voices often, he does not have the experience or the fortitude.
This isn't like the whispery voice of the Core; these don't say the same things at all.
He's filled with a fear that, at first, doesn't feel like his own. And then it is. He's afraid. He's afraid of Lucien because, like this, frail, pathetic, weak, Lucien could easily kill him. Lucien might not even have to use the dagger even. That's how easily it would be.
Suddenly, he tries to get his arm back, away from Lucien. His face is bunched, a tug-of-war against coherency and the lunacy his mind keeps feeding him.] I know what you're after! [Wait, no. That was a lie, wasn't it? The mirror. The--whatever that was before.] You're just taking me somewhere to get rid of me, aren't you?
You were always going to get rid of me, like Jayce! I'm just... baggage to you. [He starts twisting, fighting like an animal caught in a snare.] Something's... I can't get it out of my head!
[Clarity, warm and sweet. Then he's frozen again, full of madness.]
I'm not going to die again! I don't want to die again!
[He raises the staff with his other hand. Because he's going to fucking MUG Lucien with it. Sorry to Lucien that he is full of stupid so easily.]
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besides, he's never thought viktor sounded anything but sincere. that's always been his problem. he believes what he says. of course he wants power, power is only a means to an end, a lever on the rock that sits on the back of the downtrodden. but viktor does want to make this world a better place. it's simply that to him, it would be better without lucien in it.
the staff will connect, lucien has a harder time dodging since he's down one eye - glancing off a horn and sending him stumbling briefly sideways. but even injured like he is, he's still quick and deadly - grabbing the staff to try and yank it out of viktor's hands and throwing it off to the side, and lashing out like a snake to wrap a hand around the front of viktor's throat and pushing him back. not holding him hard enough to choke, but tight enough to make a point - the claw of his thumb pressing tightly up against the bottom of his jaw. ]
Is this really how you want this to go?
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He stumbles, trying to make his leg work in the back-pedaling, held up for a second by Lucien's arm. Both of his hands grip Lucien's wrist. The chihuahua shaking he's doing is mostly from the bitter cold and the drop off of adrenaline, but it's happening.]
No... [It's a strained whisper. His expression is grimaced; he doesn't try to throw a fit to get out of the hold like he had a few seconds ago.] I can hear it. You can hear it, right? The voice.
[It's a voice, right? Or is it... himself?]
...I'm sorry. I hate this place. [The forest.] I just want us to leave.
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if it's not him, they'll discard him, move onto someone more malleable, easier to guide, and he does not intend to give up an ounce of control. (he doesn't want to be the one left standing. he's been the one left standing before and every time it breaks something that feels so unfixable that soon there will be no choice left but the only choice there ever was: nothing but a world that bears all the same scars he has)
but that's the mistake he's made before, isn't it? every time he's been on the cusp of breaking free of the concerns of petty mortality, that voice has made him waver, stand back from the brink, stay a blade. let someone in too close who should never have been there in the first place. viktor is right, there is a voice, and he's going to prove it wrong.
the hand around viktor's throat loosens, cupping the side of his neck gently for a moment - before he moves to grab him tightly by the wrist, bringing his other hand down to slam into his elbow and hopefully send viktor bodily to the ground. can't cast shit if you've got a broken arm? ]
Afraid it's just business, friend.
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There is a dream somewhere of an open land of rolling hills covered in nothing but patches of clover, split by a little stream, sitting beneath a sunny and blue sky. And they are there together, Viktor healthy, with no screws, no brace, no bad leg, no illness, nothing but spindly working hands; and Lucien, unmarred, no eyes, no tattoos, no jewelry, not even any scars, nothing but calloused mandolin-playing fingers. They're there together. That's the dream just outside the forest, them sitting with their feet in the too cold water lying under the sun with clover in their hair.
Pain splits his skull from the back to the front, making his vision go white. He's not even sure, at first, it sounds like Lucien has snapped a branch. His legs drop out from beneath him; the book inside his jacket tumbles out below him and falls open. His arm won't do anything his brain tells it to do, not from the elbow down. His groan is a cross between agony and nausea.
He can't cast shit with a broken arm? Think again, bitch.
He slaps his other hand on the open page of the book, and his lips slur, quickly, the incantations, all garbled in another, elevated language. The edges of the book light up, and ozone fills the air. The hair on Lucien's head begins to stand, his skin prickles. Lucien has maybe two seconds to start to flee. The sky, where it is above them, lights up like the sun. I'm not rolling because he can't control it anyway and we can't die!!! He can only muster two shots. Lightning streaks down, hitting the ground nearby--one--another screams in the strangest, highest pitch as it smashes into the ground between Lucien's feet. A web of electricity leaps out, a net capturing the bottom of Lucien's legs and riding his body all the way up and out his mouth.]
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there is real, genuine terror on his face as the book starts to light up. the sickening, helpless feeling of being a child again, banging on the door of a hag - the hollower - and pleading for help, him standing in front of vess derogna, the lightning coursing through him feeling exactly like the magic that had peeling back all the layers of his soul and scattering it like so much chaff on the wind. he doesn't have any of his power here in this cursed place, the far reaches of the astral plane, because it doesn't matter how much blood he's drawn for it or how much of his soul he's traded away - magic is not something he's allowed to have. he's going to die here (again) because he'd fucking hesitated, because of that fucking voice--
he starts backing up as quickly as he's able, but it's not nearly far enough ]
No, no-- I won't be made hollow, I won't be made empty, not like this--
[ well okay the good (?) thing about lightning is that when it hits he can't do anything but drop to the ground and convulse - not even able to control his vocal chords enough to shriek in pain and panic. so you've got a few seconds to decide what to do. ]
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you've got those few seconds, viktor, as lucien writhes.
there's a clatter of something near your head. will you look?]
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The lucidity afterward brings panic and bile up in him. This isn't any different than before, huh? With Sky. Playing with power he doesn't understand. Wiping someone out of existence with it.
He turns his head in the mud more than lifts it. What the FCK is in above him?]
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eventually he can breathe again, and just curls up in a ball on the ground in the mud and trying to figure out if he's alive or dead for the moment. ]
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when viktor looks at whatever is next to him, he finds - a torch. what is that doing here? a pause.
and then both of them are not in the woods. no, abruptly, you're in a temple. the air is hot and thick, like you've suddenly walked into the tropics, and the stone is cold and hurts when the two of you drop from midair and hit the ground.
the torch clatters and bonks off of lucien's horn. but it's there. and you're no longer in the darkness, and you think... did... did I really want to do any of that? it wasn't real, right?
except you're still injured, so.]
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The torch is strange. It ignites some kind of bizarre hope in him even though he doesn't know why, or what it is for at all. He reaches for it,
and then they are dropping toward stone. His arm crunches, and he sees stars. He lets out a high, wounded yelp of pain.
But he's coherent, aside from the dizziness, and he remembers who he is and what he did. He croaks,] Lucien! [desperately into the echo of the temple.
Frantically, he looks around, and then starts one-armed crawling his way across the floor toward Lucien.]
No, no, no, no... Answer me!
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his mind is clear though - weirdly so, considering. he'd forgotten what it was like to have so few voices in his thoughts that slipping back into that space had been too easy, too simple, and now that he's (mostly) alone again, the experience is unsettling in its clarity. ]
You didn't have to fry me that blood hard, you bastard.
[ well if he can bitch about it, he's probably okay. ]
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the temple itself is very quiet. unlike the forest, though: in the very far distance, you can hear noises. rustling wind, softly chirping nightbirds, the ocean. you get the feeling that it is safe, here, but you aren't quite home.]
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[It's both relieving and annoying. He lets out a lungful of air, not exactly a whole laugh, and then he drops limp where he is on the ground.
It's cool, nice. This place makes me think of the one where they started, humming with a tingling, strange holy energy. He isn't sure if he can get up even though he puts the good (minus the icicle hole) hand down.]
I'm sorry...
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[ noticing my typo from three tags ago is like an neverending nightmare but its fine.
he looks over at the torch, but first he's going to just haul himself bodily along the ground to where viktor is going limp and also flops onto his back there, staring up at the ceiling (?) or whatever is above them. and then over towards viktor.
yeah sure absolutely everything hurts and it's terrible but it feels safe for the moment. he's not in a rush to return anywhere. ]
Don't need to apologize.
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Stop saying that after I did those thingd to you. You're so annoying.
[He does not feel great at all, but this makes him feel briefly better. He lies there for a long moment, and then he pushes his upper half up so he can prop himself against Lucien's side, bad arm tucked up against him. At least his weight is toothpicks.
He looks down over Lucien to--well, to make sure Lucien is alright, but they're both fucking a mess, so nevermind. He sighs.]
That place was trash. We've... got to find the others again.
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[ don't just say that. he does oof a little bit when viktor comes over because yeah he is a single popsicle stick but also, he is very full of holes. it's alright though, curling an arm around him as he does that, tucking him in to press his forehead against viktor's. ]
Guess so. Or could stay here and bleed out. Kind of peaceful?
[ he is ... joking ... after a minute he'll heave them both to sitting upright - reaching for the torch. ]
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but they can start to reach for the torch! when lucien gets it in his hand, he feels... better. warmer, in a way maybe he's not been very often in his life.
you both hear a voice echo around the temple. male, mellifluous. (lucien, you might find it a little annoying, if unfortunately very supportive.) "Toto'haha, again..."
"Better get you some new clothes, Detective. You might make a passable Beastling." says a female voice, somber, familiar, amused, loved by you both.
when you pick up the torch, it's... a torch. well. one of you has some fire magic. "what about his sp" shh. do you want to light it or not? ]
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[IDIOD!!!!
He closes his eyes and sags on Lucien for what little bit of time he can. It's not the worst idea Lucien has ever had, he thinks.] We're not doing that here. [Bossy.
He winces as Lucien sits them up, gritting his teeth until the pain dulls. He lies curled half in Lucien's lap, facing him, and he glances at the torch between them until the voices speak. He looks at Lucien again, the uncertainty not in what they have to do, but what will come when it happens.
Reaching up slowly, he curls his hand over Lucien's on the torch. Somewhere in him, it feels like his soul hums, the barest of vibrations. IMAGINE WE BOTH SAID NO. But no, all it takes is a bit of flicker. The tiniest of flame licks alive on the torch before the rest catches.]
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[ bossy!!
there's a bit of relief in the torch, but yeah, echoing the whole trepidation with what comes next. Sure, it'll end, but you know. everyone will go back to where they came from. all this blood and for what? he stays still with the hand curled over his for a long moment, selfishly.
but they have to leave eventually. nothing stays still forever. he'll try and clamber to his feet then, helping viktor as best as he can - it's probably pretty painful but the faster he's up the less drawn out the pain is. ]
no subject
careful, careful. you take the torch, together, and you walk. you walk, until you find stairs. at the top is an octagonal dais, and nestled in that is a large metal torch structure. it's not so tall that you couldn't see over the top of it, but it is big, and you get the sense that it's important.
it feels like there should be more fanfare - but there's not, not really. the fire of the torch, the same that lit the lantern that you kept alive all this time, touches the kindling, and something sparks. it takes a few tries. once. twice, three times.
but on the third, the flame catches, and it begins to light - blazing a pure, bright blue and beautiful. viktor, for a moment your form flickers like it too, in lucien's eyes, but you don't really notice it; instead, the flame takes your attention entirely.
this, you realize with a start, is the sacred flame. it's one of four parts of it, sent off to the different corners of the continents to protect the people who live in solistia. it's the basis of the faith of the clerical robes that you carry, but it is the protection of the entire continent. it is its hearth, its home. it is the dawn.
("And the people of Solistia may live in its light, warmth, and protection, evermore." says the male voice.)
the sacred flame relights. and with it, the two of you are swept up in its warmth, protected like being lifted on the wings of an angel. you close your eyes into the blue, blue moment, and you let the sacred flame guide you...
... back to the cavern of the sun and moon. ]