[OPEN] the stuff of montages

[sighsheavily]

🧙 WHO: Cecelia Ardenbury, OPEN
⚔️️ WHAT: A space for magical training/assessment and the viewing of the Calamity (ref: network announcement)
🕒 WHEN: Oct
🗺️ WHERE: The Ambassador office (Camelot), Red Spring, End of the World
⚠️ WARNINGS: In subject headers as needed

SIGN IN HERE is written just above the lines of names and dates of previous visits.

There is a small table setting by the window on the opposite side, where tea is still piping hot and waiting - just in case anyone is inclined to it. Miss Ardenbury prefers spiced, robust dark brews to anything light or floral, so novice tea tongues beware.

Where once was an empty wall is now a length of engineer's drafting paper, and upon it is the sketching of two views: One, the top-down topography of the calamitous end of the world; the other being a more man's-eye view of the location. There are a few representations of the fluctuating starburst in the sky as well, alongside some peculiar, indecipherable shorthand notes in small, neat lettering.

Miss Ardenbury herself sits at an oak desk further in amongst her stack of borrowed books and personal journals, likely still scratching away or having herself some of that tea. She doesn't even look up right away to greet - the bell was signal enough for her to call:

"Do be sure to sign in, thank you. What business do you have here today?"

Comments

[forgeabettertomorrow]

When Darin wanders in he looks like, for lack of a better description, utter hell. His clothes are threadbare, he's got about a week's worth of dark blue stubble, what remains of his tattered clothes are stained with soot, dirt, and (hopefully, someone else's) blood. He, himself, is just as dirty, though there's no sign of any wounds on him.

He drags himself in and makes for her desk.

Note, he doesn't sign in.

"You're training people now? Good. I need it."

[sighsheavily]

The heavy footfalls are something of note, but what really pulls Cecelia's attention away from her writing is the sound of Darin's voice. She misses a heartbeat, head lifting and eyes snapping over quickly and seeing something quite distressing. Her expression grows more severe almost in spite of the reddening of her face.

"Good gods, Darin Altway." Her book slams shut. "Did you walk out of a pit and mean to bring it here with you?"

[forgeabettertomorrow]

"If you're referring to the Ruins of Celliwig, I made sure to dump the ash out of my boots before walking in."

Which he did but there's still plenty of detritus on her once clean floors following the steps of those worn boots.

"I want to get better at magic. Blood magic."

[sighsheavily]

"How fascinating to make such a claim in the state you're in." She can lean more and more into agitation than dismay and find that fits more comfortably; Cecelia puts her quill aside and sits back, glaring up and down at him.

"Do tell: When was the last time you slept?"

[forgeabettertomorrow]

"I dunno. I've been using blood magic to keep my adrenaline up. When did the dragon attack?"

Whether that's an indicator of the last time he slept or just his general musing about not knowing what day it is....it's hard to tell.

"Can you train me?"

[sighsheavily]

"In your current condition? Absolutely not."

Gods damn him, why does he do this?

...Rhetorical question. She has a good inkling as to why. She just doesn't like it. It's behavior better suited for fiction than reality.

Her glare flickers to the chair in front of her desk for only a moment before fixing back on him.

"Sit down."

[forgeabettertomorrow]

Darin looks at the chair dubiously.

Not that he doesn't trust her. He absolutely does. It's the fact that if he sits he knows there's a very real chance he's not going to be standing up again any time soon. And he has so much to do...

But one look at the stern, adamant glare of the fiery-haired lady tells him that this isn't a fight he can win. Not in his current physical or mental state.

And so...he sinks into the chair, and almost immediately begins to feel the exhaustion wash over him.

On reflex, he uses his blood magic to keep his blood pumping fast. Sadly, there's no way he can hide the blatant surge of crimson magical energy and surges across his body.

"Fine."

[sighsheavily]

Almost as if it were choreographed, the moment Darin sits, Cecelia stands. She heads to the door to her back room, vanishing briefly before returning with a damp hand towel, stepping over to where he sits and holding it out for him to take. Should he not do so in a timely fashion, she's just going to have to take his face in-hand and wipe it off herself, so it's up to his attention span and pride to make that call.

Meanwhile: "Explain yourself."

[forgeabettertomorrow]

Sadly, Darin's bewilderment at the offering lasts too long and he's going to find himself getting his face washed like a petulant child. He tries to fight back, but he really doesn't have the heart, much less the stamina.

Wet bangs framing his face, he just stares off, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

"Explain what? I want to get stronger. If my blood magic were stronger, I probably could have stopped the dragon when we were on it."

[morganknight]

"Harassing an unwilling friend."

Of course, Morgan couldn't let that question get a proper answer at first. Or proper as far as she'd consider it, because he was being completely honest and open about his intentions! Especially after... everything, he did want to check in on her. He was dead damn certain that if she was doing poorly, he'd have to dig a metaphorical hole the size of Camelot to find a hint of it.

"And by way of an excuse to do so, asking for training and your opinion as someone who's been studying the calamity." Look! Actual legitimate reasons too! They weren't even excuses, he really wanted both!

Despite his perpetual smile and relaxed attitude, Morgan watched her as carefully as someone so naturally terrible at noticing things could. He didn't expect to glean anything from her expression, but better to try and fail than not try at all.

[sighsheavily]

Cecelia looks up quite quickly at the sound of his voice, arching an eyebrow.

"You're in the business of harassment now?" she responds airily, putting her quill aside and sitting up. She offers him the ghost of a smirk for a second or two before her expression shifts back into its neutral state. She's gotten enough rest to recover the means to keep her masks up, so any frayed edges will be quite difficult to discern at-a-glance.

"Assuming I'm as unwilling as you say, at least."

[morganknight]

"As if I'm not oil to your water?" Morgan winked at her, even if he was pretty serious about the comparison -- and then, just to make the point: "Miss Ardenbury, I'd say you were looking radiant today, but as you always do I fear it would just belabor the obvious."

As for him, any edges that might have frayed are doing better. Maybe a little tiredness in his eyes, and that says a lot considering hard difficult it was to tire him, but that came of long hours worked rather than endured.

[sighsheavily]

"I suppose the thought counts for something." That's as much of a bone as she'll throw his way where compliments are concerned.

She gestures to the seat on the other side of her desk.

"Sit down, then. Might as well see to the questions since we're already here, mm?"

[morganknight]

It's as much of one as he could ever expect, so no problem there.

Morgan snagged the free chair by the back, spun it on one leg, then dropped into it mid-spin in a move that was complicated, graceful, probably shouldn't have worked, and was definitely showing off. As soon as it, and he, came to a halt, he dropped both elbows on the desk, clasped his hands, and met her eyes.

Suddenly, things were very serious.

"The calamity. Are we us?"

[sighsheavily]

Cecelia's head tilts just slightly.

"Can you expand a little on what you mean? So I know more precisely what you're getting at."

[morganknight]

"The people who come here lose their powers. That's not just 'suddenly magic doesn't work'. Or 'the way you use magic doesn't work here.' The only way to stop my magick is to literally --" His hands unfolded, slapping down on the desk for emphasis. "Destroy a part of me. Like spiritual lobotomy. And believe you me, I'd know if that happened. And there are others who've lost something inherent to them, part of their very essence. Like shapeshifting, for example. And the things we come with?"

He reached over his back, hooked the hilt of his sword with one thumb, and drew it just far enough to show off the dull-gold blade.

"This material is Primium. Long story short, it literally can't exist without being antimagical, and yet here it is, existing without being antimagical." Morgan let it fall back into its sheath, lowering his hand again.

"So here we are, in the center of frozen time and space. Allegedly, we've been drawn in from our unmoving existence. We all have magic, and that magic is defined distinctly -- two types, with hard limits. Now, saying all that, what's more likely? That we're actually us, body and soul, just somehow those bodies and souls and accompanying items have been changed in fundamental and impossible ways... or that we're something else? Projections. Impressions. Copies. Parts of our souls in bodies that were created the same way this world once was. Something like that."

[sighsheavily]

She folds her hands, resting her chin atop them as she listens, watching his expression while he explains. Destroy a part of me, he says, and that part sticks out the most. It's...strangely the most relatable concern he raises, though that's something she can ruminate on later by herself.

Her eyes flick to the blade for the brief moment it's displayed, squinting. She's no forger - she can't discern properties of a blade at-a-glance...but even if it were, without her magic detection senses...

Back to Morgan, then. Her brow furrows at his wondering.

Following his line of thought: "Aspects moved into new vessels, perhaps?"

[luciing]

The bell signals another entering, and this time, it's someone who's only met her once before. A greeting follows, his tone carrying the same grimness as when they had encountered the hanging corpse months ago. Perhaps viewing the end of the world necessitates it, or more likely, his voice is perpetually dour.

"Hail, Bloodmage."

He approaches the desk, and after a moment, lifts the quill to sign his name upon the sheet as 'Somnus'. Afterward, he gestures to the depiction of end of the world.

"Is this the current state of the End?"

[sighsheavily]

Cecelia's ear twitches.

"Miss Ardenbury, if you please," she corrects, looking up from her pages to see...hm. Where was this face again? Tied to blood...

Ah.

Well. Perhaps he'll leave a better impression after that nasty business; him being here and showing any investment in the problem at all certainly helps.

"It is. As of two days ago, my last visit."

[luciing]

Somnus looks over the illustration, remaining silent as he studies it, his attention first focused on the sketched starbursts.

"Has it changed at all?"

[sighsheavily]

"In ways, yes."

Cecelia turns, rising out of her chair, and walks over to meet him at the drawing. Her eyes focus on the starbursts, too.

"The explosion point is under a slow-motion state of flux. It doesn't expand, but it does shift. Colors, proportions, refractions...It's hard to notice unless one were to sit and watch it for an hour or so."

[luciing]

"Off-worlders appear, then vanish from this realm. We are told to hone our magic, to help save this nexus of realms." His gaze drifts along the edges of the starburst. "If this is true, in what way would progress reflect upon the End of the World?"

Although he asks his question, his tone is more open. It's not as if he would know the answer, either. Perhaps progress is not something anyone may be able to discern; perhaps it's the mere fluctuation of which she speaks, insignificant and unchanging overall. Or perhaps the End will always be calamitous, no matter how many otherworlders this realm takes.

[sighsheavily]

She folds her arms, resting her weight on one leg as she turns her head so she can peer at him sidelong while her major focus is on the paper.

"At this point, it's my belief that all the magic cultivated so far has been to maintain the barrier keeping this isle safe from the massive spell that's frozen the calamity - and all the realms besides. I've not been privy to the plan moving beyond simple stasis."

And she's not happy about that; all her efforts to olive branch and offer genuine expertise have been graciously heard...and waved off or outright tabled as the next bit of ritualistic nonsense or outright disaster afoot.

[luciing]

From the way he studies the picture, it's fairly obvious that he is not one of those few folks who has ever been to this 'End of the World'. At length, he turns his head towards her. One brow raises slightly.

"You are one of the ambassadors, are you not? Does that not afford you some amount of privilege?"

[sighsheavily]

"This appears to be the extent of my privilege."

She unfolds her arms, lifting the wrist bedecked on the enchanted bangle.

"The right to go and see - to even share the phenomenon - has been all I have been given access to as of yet. This wasn't enough to convince the brutish guard at the door to the Celliwig meeting to let me pass."

She's also not happy about that.