isleofavalon | [OPEN] the stuff of montages

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original: cecelia ardenbury

[OPEN] the stuff of montages

🧙 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?"

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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."

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

"Has it changed at all?"

"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."

"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.

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.

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?"

"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.

Her frustration is palpable. Do the titles and ranks afforded to those here truly mean merit? Not in any meaningful way, it seems.

"They wish us only to be patient."

With the worlds somehow frozen in time, maybe they are afforded the time.

"Patient and active," she amends, a touch flat. At that, she steps back on her heel, turning back to her desk, her open journal of notes. "Because while we are left in the dark as to what future plans will unfurl, we are expected to grow in our magic and, through that, grow the strength of the magic native to this isle."

He waits until he hears her footsteps stop at the edge of her desk, and then he turns his head, looking at the journal through which she pages, then her face once she's done speaking.

"Indeed, we are to grow our magics..." His voice is low, the cadence hinting at thoughtful. Then, more firmly, as if calling her attention, he continues. "Miss Ardenbury. You are supporting more advanced magical training and assessment. Are you training with others yourself?"

She had mentioned something of that upon the network.

The journal itself appears to be written in a curious shorthand code - a mix of symbols and scripts she's picked up in her long years of study, reformed for her own needs, designed to be inscrutable to all but herself. Perhaps even a few letters or markings seem familiar to his own land, and it could be entirely coincidental...or not.

"As of yet, no," she replies, picking up her journal and the quill she's left idle atop it. "I've been studying up on what I could gather from the Archivist as to how mages can train and expand their mastery of this or that...but much of that tends to be reliant on the individual's capacity.

"...Not all of it, however," she admits. But that's a challenge for her. Asking for help for herself is...a bit too much to ask. No - better to offer the aid to others first.

The journal in symbols he mostly doesn't recognize. It seems that for as much as Avalon magically translates languages, encryption remains intact. Another might wonder what could she possibly be writing that must be kept secret.

"Developing our magic is of the utmost priority, if we wish to save this Star...."

Somnus follows the motion of her picking up the quill, his focus then turning to watch her expression.

"There is something I would like to learn from you."

Cecelia turns her head just enough to peer sidelong his way. This stranger...whose name she still doesn't know. Hm.

"What would that be?"

"Bloodmages may physically manipulate another's body through their blood." His tone remains even throughout. "How to defend against such power... This, I wish to learn."

He speaks of it as if it's a proposition to train with the talents granted to them. She can exercise her bloodmagic, he can learn to defend against it.

That gets a thoughtful sound out of her, and after a beat, the journal closes, still in-hand. She turns to face him, twiddling the quill between finger and thumb.

"That's a very situational ask," she replies. "It depends on a lot of different things: Your physical stamina, the caster's magical prowess, the duration, technicality of movement or nonmovement..."

She trails off, looking askance in a brief moment of thought.

"But like any muscle, it can be trained." She nods, looking back at him. "And it's a wise endeavor, all the same. Now, pray..." Even as she says so, she walks past him, over to the ledger to see if he left a name for her to see. "Just who is it asking this of me, mm?"

A moment of silence passes after she pointedly asks for his name, and it's possible that he simply hadn't thought to give it for whatever reason. When that moment does pass his tone is slightly more subdued, not unlike how an automaton would suddenly remember what manners are.

"Somnus." Then, belatedly, he gives his surname. "Lucis Caelum."

She very likely already read his name from the sheet just as he says it.

"I am willing to spar as necessary to improve this defense."

As far as she can tell it checks out, so Cecelia nods, refocusing her eyes on him.

"Very good. Did you arrive here with full intention of that already? If so, I imagine there's nothing you must attend to for the remainder of the day..." She trails off, arching a brow, giving him the opening to excuse himself to prepare for later if he needs.

This time, his reply comes without delay.

“I am prepared. Lead us to where we may practice with these magics.”

Well and good; Cecelia appreciates the preparedness...and she didn't even have to ask him in advance!

Without any further ado, she moves to pack up her journal and quill in a satchel, retrieving a totem and locking up her office, putting her 'CLOSED' sign in the window.

"This way, if you please."

Into the concrete back room - the one laden in peculiar symbols in chalk and very poorly furnished - a pretty stark difference to the cozy, academic setup the Ambassador has up front. She lights the totem and leads the way over to Red Spring, not even bothering to stop walking as she starts in the direction of the training grounds.

"Tell me - have you experienced the effects of blood magic on yourself before?"

"Once."

He follows her to the training grounds.

"The ability to control another's blood is different from other magics, for one's own body not have conscious control over what flows through their veins. This puts such mages at a grand advantage."

"So long as their focus persists."

Her pace slows as they enter the training grounds, until she stops, turning to face him.

"All magic use is as much about the economy of stamina as the potency of the magic being cast; the same is no different for effects upon blood. It's the stakes that drastically shift. From my viewpoint, more than most other types of magic craft, overwhelming a blood mage with unexpected surges of power seems the most vital. But before we get to that, let's do a few preliminary tests."

She takes her satchel off, setting it aside on the ground, flexing and stretching her fingers.

"Mostly to see how much natural aversion to that kind of control you already have - how much I have to exert to leave an impression. And at any point you find these exercises too taxing or troubling, simply ask that we stop. We will stop. Is that acceptable?"

His expression doesn't change, but assuming that what he's said of his preparedness before is true, he is ready to begin. Thus:

"That is acceptable. Do as you will."

--And he'll attempt to defend.

She nods, closing her eyes. This type of magic...she honestly hasn't worked very hard on it herself, if only because the opportunities to do so are so limited, to say nothing of how distasteful she finds it. But a willing participant is as good a time as any, for who knows when she'll need to protect herself in such a fashion?

While her arms rest at her sides, she shifts her focus onto what the magic lets her understand best: his heart rate, the steady flow of blood through him, the notions she can pull and manipulate that flow...perhaps, melded with her elemental powers, heat or cool it, too? But that's a bit advanced and dangerous for him. So for now...

For now, her fingers tense and curl, meaning to impose a sudden, leaden feeling in his arms in particular as she presses the notion that his hands ought to lift slowly out of their neutral state.

With no need for incantations or physical movement to cast it, bloodmagic is possibly the most lethal and silent weapon out of all. Any of a mage's victims, if unprepared, would be none the wiser to whomever casts their bloodpower over them.

When she begins, his arms twitch, jerking up slightly only to quickly recoil back to his sides. Fingers extend then flex inward again, as if he could unwind the suddenly sluggish viscosity within his arteries. Somnus exhales silently through his nose, his dark eyes watching her patiently.

It seems that this amount, he can endure. "More."

More, he says, and Cecelia almost scoffs. She glances over to him, glaring sharply, looking for signs of distress he may be wanting to hide from her; she's known too-stubborn men who like to pretend all's well until they're practically geysers of blood, so...so one can't be too amenable to their requests at-a-glance, you know!

For now, though, there's nothing overtly troubling about his stance or state, and so she complies, exerting further will to lift not both, but just one of his arms, as if shifting focus to just one limb will double the effectiveness of the ask.

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