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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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.

Her tactic works. While one of his arms goes slack, the other isn't prepared for her focus doubled upon it. With a snap, it bends at the elbow, rigid and involuntary, with his fingers bending awkwardly at their joins. His forearm quivers as he fights to straighten it back, but he only manages it partway. A new crease appears upon his brow, perhaps from some sort of defensive strain.

Somnus' eyes narrow sharply at his bent arm before refocusing on her. Then, keeping his attention on her, he begins to walk. His path is a semicircle about her, testing if some movement disrupts some of the tension of her magic.

Movement's good - realistically, if under such an attack, he wouldn't just stand there and take it, right? Though it does mean Cecelia has to work a bit more to keep focus herself. Well and good, she supposes; they both need the practice.

She follows him with her eyes until she can't, and only then does she waste the energy to move. In that moment her hold relaxes...before a lifted hand brings with it something akin to a puppeteer's tug upon a string, an effort to demand him to swivel out of step outright, led by the force of the pull at the wrist.

At last she uses movement of her own t to augment her ability, and it's all the more powerful for it. This comes as no surprise, for kinetic magic is works similarly. This does not make Somnus more prepared to counter the new force behind her power.

She catches him mid-step, and his balance wavers dangerously as his heel catches the ground at an skewed angle. To catch himself from properly falling, his stance widens, and he pivots, a practiced two-step for an experienced combatant. Nevertheless, Somnus' brow furrows with the effort it takes both to balance and to fight the seize she has upon his leg and arm. He lets out a leaden, short breath through his nose, frowning with the effort.

Despite the scowl he wears: good. This is good. It would not be training without exertion.

What a twisted magic this is! Cecelia has very good reasons she's kept her nose out of necromancy and blood-related magics throughout her centuries - just reading up on it was enough for her. Even the blood ritual-laden druids weren't this perverse in their power...and Avalon's deigned she and others to just simply have this capacity?

Disgusting.

Cecelia's displeasure is painted onto her stony features even as she continues the work, now imposing the will to make him stop, straighten up, and turn. About face.

With one arm down and another leg compromised, he doesn't have much leeway to fight against her magic's next commands, even if he does appear to slow the actions themselves each step of the way. As a result, his retaliation makes the way his body straightens and turns a grueling and lengthy process. That stalling of her command is progress in of itself, even if it's not lovely to behold the rigidity of his resisting movements.

But with each strained second that passes, more of his blood remains caught within the limb and vessels she guides and less is delivered back to the heart. Ischemia discolors the distal tips of his fingers, and pallor sets within the sharp features of his face, a thin sheen of cold sweat appearing upon his brow.

It seems he's nearing his limit, but he's stubbornly refraining from giving in completely. He's stopped in his path, yes, but Somnus turns his head sharply to the side, in defiance of standing at attention for her.

That stubborn gesture receives a grim smirk in return. Is this still not enough? She's certainly not trying to keep him from saying so. As her expression shifts back to flint, her eyes sharpen as she makes a more intentional gesture to pull his form - to cross one forearm over his front, the other at his back, and bow.

It seems he's one of those men who would sooner kick themselves than kneel to another, because as soon as her power attempts to force him to bow, his efforts to resist redouble. She does manage to force one arm to his back, but the other strains and jerks hideously in an attempt to prevent it from crossing over his chest.

A thin sheen of sweat dots his forehead, and his breathing comes heavier than before. Despite this his body's effort to compensate, he remains pale; when he speaks, it's through a clenched jaw, with a low, raspy voice-- all signs that he's lost. Rather than succumbing to the indignity she forces, he calls the spar.

"Enough."

Cecelia doesn't miss a beat, dropping that control the very second the word hits her ears. She was eager to, honestly, because his struggling only made her all the more uncomfortable and nauseous; this definitely doesn't suit her way at all.

With a soft huff, she steps away, turning around so she can recompose herself with out risking scrutiny of the shifting of her expression. She just needs a moment to smooth that strain out and keep from swearing aloud, clenching and unclenching her fingers while her arms are pressed stiffly at her sides.

I hate this.

...Yes, how insightful and useful. Move along--

She turns back around, frowning over at him.

"Did I injure you in any way that needs tending to?"

When she releases her hold and turns her back to him, she'll only hear the sudden shuffling of his boots as if he's just barely managed from collapsing, then a slow, rattling inhale. Silence follows. Then, in a too-tightly controlled tone, he replies.

"Nay."

When she turns back to look at him, his hand raises to his breast to press solidly over his heart. Somnus' palm lingers there for far too many moments, as if the beating there beneath his tunic is foreign to him. His eyes are shut; he is clammy, grey. ...But recovering enough to speak up again.

"You have my gratitude, Ambassador."

Cecelia folds her arms to stifle an incoming shiver of disgust that rolls across her, defiantly lifting her chin to keep steady and ever onward.

"It took a fair amount of focus to push you that far," she remarks. "And I'd imagine such tactics being used in a vacuum like this is rare, so you'd likely have the advantage of other stressful elements in play were you to be faced with a true opponent."

"Practicing as such will build a foundation," he replies, smoothing out the drape of his cloak, then straightening his posture.

For him, if there is no other way to defend against such attacks by a bloodmage, this sort of training will have to do. For her, it's doubtful that there are many others who would so readily volunteer to have their blood manipulated even in practice.

With one final run of his hand through his hair, he appears back to normal. "There is not much in ways to defend other than to break the caster's concentration. Or do you know if it is a matter of distance as well?"

"I don't," she admits reluctantly. "That's just one more thing to test. But before then, I'd be more comfortable if you were looked over by a healer, should you be in connection to one. Just to be certain before pursuing things any further.

"Is that agreeable?"

With the faintest amount of reluctance, he replies, "You do not wish to continue?"

This man has no self-preservation.

"Respectfully, this isn't something to recklessly push through. We're dealing with matters that could do you irreparable harm in unseen places if we're not careful, yes?" And she's not having that on her conscience.

"If you can confirm with more certainty I've done you no lingering damage, then I'll agree to continue these...exercises." She shakes her head a little, starting to mutter to herself: "It needs documentation anyway, for better or worse."

[OPEN] the stuff of montages

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