westwhere | We'll light up the sky [open]

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We'll light up the sky [open]

WHO: Eleven & OPEN
WHEN: After dragon shenanigans to mid-month-ish?
WHERE: Taravast's gardens, artisanal district, canals
WHAT: A catch-all?
WARNINGS: None so far, will update if needed

1. garden magic (late morning)

His spirit was no longer a fragile, shattered wisp so weak he barely felt it even when he sought it. Now, soothed and nurtured over the course of two months, it sat warmly in his chest, resonant with the light of the sun and the breath of life in the grass and leaves around him. The next step was as simple as it was taxing: regaining strength much like a weakened limb. Meditation was no longer enough.

Eleven shifted up to his knees and folded his hands together in an echo of prayer. Slowly, a band of runic light circled into being- at first close to his body, then gradually expanding outward. His brows furrowed, hands clasping tighter in concentration as sweat beaded his brow and the flicker of holy energy wavered, then blinked out.

He breathed a hard exhale, settling back down in a daze. Eyes slotting open, unfocused until movement snapped his awareness to his more immediate surroundings, onto someone he hoped hadn't been there before (or for too long)- but then, his eyes had been closed since he'd begun to meditate some hour or so ago.

He blinked, a sheepish smile spreading over his face. "Ah, good morning.."

2. forging (late afternoon)

[With a handful of tasks to get through and a decent amount of coin to manage it with, Eleven manages to broker a deal to rent the forge for a span of hours a day. Most of it in extra work, but it's wonderful, simple, honest work and in another time, another dimension, it could have been the beginning and end of his worldly concerns.

In the present moment, dressed down in a blacksmith's practical wear, thoughts of politics and the undead take a backseat to the heat of the forge and the shape of molten metal beneath his hands.

Given that this isn't his forge however, he blinks to attention whenever he catches the shape of someone hovering nearby. With his hair tied back and soot stuck to his face, Eleven spares a thought to wonder if he'd even be readily recognizable if anyone from court were to spot him. Concerns and a thread of backstory to think about weaving later. For now-]

Can I help you?

3. ferrying (early-mid evening)

As the sun set and the sky darkened, Eleven donned his half-mask and the familiar comfort of his coat for a quiet evening on the water.

He drifted down the canals, a practiced hand now with near-silent strokes of the oar and ripples of a gentle wind left in the gondola's wake. Something that felt near-to an artform, and a point of quiet, insignificant pride as he slowed up to a spot at the bank where he'd made out the silhouette of someone waiting.

Eleven called out with a friendly voice and a smile lit by the edge of light from the single lantern hung from the prow.

"Where would you like to go?"

4. wildcard

[ooc: anything we've spoken about before, or otherwise adjacent to these prompts that you think might work better is fine! hit me up if you'd like to thread something else! also happy to match formatting]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He smiles with a nod.

"Rather enormous creatures that attack ships out at sea. Giant squid that can capsize or even throw entire vessels if they feel strongly about it."

The latter he might not have believed if he hadn't seen it for himself.

Wrath tilts his head to the side as he attempts to imagine the creature, capsizing entire boats. He would like to meet one himself if he is being honest. A sentiment no one else would likely feel, but no one else is an immortal prince of Hell with hellhounds for pets.

"...and your spell is able to ward off creatures of such magnitude?"

Or is that not one of the beasts included in what the spell can do?

He laughs, shrugging.

"Maybe not. We've still been attacked by them out at sea. If there's ones we've avoided because of it, we didn't see them to count it."

Eleven's smile turns a bit wry. "The spell comes close, but I'm not a Goddess statue."

"It seems as though you were lucky enough to escape it at least. Perhaps that was more luck than a spell given their size."

Wrath takes a step forward, wondering at his next reference. It might explain the holy magic he feels from him if his power was bestowed on him by a goddess. This happens within his own world. "...Goddess statue?"

Eleven forces himself to stay relaxed, reminding himself that the man hasn't given him any reason to think he'll attack him just for their opposed natures. They are allies of a sort.

"Yes. I haven't seen any here, but where I'm from, the holy power of Goddess statues spread across the world kept some spaces safe enough to camp at without worry of monsters attacking in the night. Blessed by Yggdrasil Herself, I imagine."

Wrath senses the wariness still. Good, he thinks. Too many in this group are too trusting. It's dangerous.

"Yggdrasil?"

It is not a name that Wrath is familiar with. Within his world, they have many different goddesses, and he has had experience with all of them. The Crone, the Maiden, the First Witch.

Naturally, he hadn't expected the man to know Her, even if a part of him hoped someday that someone might. He nods.

"The Goddess of Life and Light in Erdrea. Each life is a leaf on Her branches."

Wrath's expression grows unreadable at the mention of it. Each life being a leaf of Her branch. His feelings about goddesses, about holy powers are mixed to say the least given his experiences. It's a complicated, tangled mix inside of him.

...once upon a time, long, long ago, Wrath was holy too.

"...did she give you your magic?"

Of everything, he doesn't expect to flush in answer, oddly self-conscious about it. Archeval had felt it right away, after all. Their senses of one another seem to go both ways in these things.

"Some aspects of it," he confesses with a sheepish smile. "That obvious, is it?"

The self-conscious part is of interest to Wrath. He must be relatively new to the powers themselves.

"I could sense the holy magic when you casted the spell, and the way you spoke about her made it clear to me that she was likely related."

He nods, because he more or less had made that connection. But he turns a curious look on the stranger, wondering about the source of his power.

"My name is Eleven. I hope you don't mind overly much."

"...don't mind what?"

Wrath asks as he stops just near him, nodding, wondering how he has met someone named Five and then someone named Eleven. His expression is curious, meaning to ask, but first- "You can call me Wrath."

Wrath sounds more like an alias than an actual name, but they really weren't all that familiar.

More pressingly, the man is discomfittingly close and it's a stressful fight between caution and not wanting to showcase a great deal of fear by standing, moving away, or reaching for a weapon. Eleven settles for loosening his limbs in preparation to spring away if he needs to and watches him, nervous.

"That I'm, ah.. well, we seem rather opposites. Do you know Ar- er, someone that goes by the name of Imperius? ..Darth, I think it was."

It's something of a long shot, but with a title like Wrath and energy vaguely reminiscent of Archeval's, he can't help but wonder.

..Not that it's actually likely to do either of them any good if he is familiar, Eleven realizes with some belated dread and a flash of self-recrimination.

"No. I'm unfamiliar."

Wrath is as casual as ever as he stands in front of Eleven. His hands have slipped into his pockets, and he has no weapon that is currently visible. His dagger is always holstered but it is near his chest beneath the suit jacket he currently wears.

He can sense the young mortal's fear, and Wrath is neither offended by it nor does he wish to quell it entirely. However, they are in the same group, and Wrath means to take care of said group, make sure they are successful in their endeavors. It is important if any of them are to return where they're from. And unfortunately, he must return to Hell at some point.

He hates to think of what it becomes in his absence.

"I mean you no harm."

It helps some, though his heart continues to race. The recovering spirit in his chest dampens in what feels like an attempt to hide itself. It takes all his willpower not to physically draw attention to where it rests.

At least he doesn'trecognize Archeval's title. Goddess, the man would never have forgiven him for putting himself in that situation. He breathes.

"It suits us all best to work together."

Wrath can hear the way his heart races. He wonders what exactly it is Eleven is able to tell about him that frightens him so much. In general, he attracts attention from most mortals whenever he walks among them though it is not always fear but often wariness unless he wants them to be frightened.

Funny he can draw such fear even when no one appears to even be aware of the Wicked here, the Princes of Hell as they are in his own world where stories are spread far and wide (often incorrect). He rolls his shoulders back.

"Even without that, I would have no reason to."

Eleven gives in and shifts to stand. The movement gives him the luxury of casually putting a few steps of space between them as he does so. The man is quite tall, but he's grown rather used to people being taller than himself.

"..You don't?" he offers warily, eyeing him with some suspicion, though with a tiny note of hope in his voice. "You aren't in conflict with light or life energies where you're from?"

Wrath's gaze narrows then at the archaic notions of good versus evil, light versus darkness as if anything could ever be so simple. He wielded the power of light once when he was first made, and when he did, he also wielded death- not life. He fell so he would be able to choose instead of be forced into a role where he had no choice at all but to follow.

"My world is far more complicated than that."

He eyes the man, the tension in his body slow to loosen. Still cautious, but looking less like he expects an attack at any given moment.

"Mine isn't." It's a simple battle, but one that's encompassed the world. "But I'm friends with someone I shouldn't be, here. His energy is dark, a bit like yours."

Wrath smirks very slightly at the word shouldn't... in remembrance. He hasn't sensed anyone with demonic energy (he can hone in on that even from a distance) so he imagines it must be only slightly like he is own. Dark. As if it was that straightforward. It never is.

"How is it you became friends with someone you shouldn't be friends with?"

A smile touches his lips, the trickle of memory fond.

"We were warded when we first arrived, captured by an undead warlord. It was difficult, but we worked together to get out." Eleven shrugs. "It took a few days for our powers to come back. By then, we'd spoken a fair bit. ..It helped. We've managed to remain allies since."

And it's a good reason why he's standing here now, willing to try again.

Wrath does not like thinking of powers being taken by wards here. He cannot even say it would be impossible for his own powers to be taken given what has already happened. Still he tenses inwardly to think it possible.

"A valuable lesson in a world like this one. Darkness does not equate to evil. There are individuals from many worlds here. I find ideas of good and evil to be quite antiquated concepts in my own."

Ideas mortals create to give blame to the bad things that happen within the world.

Eleven eyes Wrath with some skepticism. It's difficult to think of them as antiquated concepts when his own world was covered in a corrupt darkness.

"It's given me a great deal to think about," he admits. "The balance between day and night, and life and death. What do you think of them?"

"Both are required for balance to be achieved. One cannot exist without the other." He is certain of that especially given all he has seen, especially given his own role within Hell itself. He keeps the balance. His brothers certainly have no concern with any responsibility. "But I have never met anyone who was solely one or the other."

For some reason, he hasn't thought of that- that it might be strange for a person to be entirely aligned with one or the other. Certainly, even Archeval talks of a separation of Light and Dark sides of his known Force. Although it isn't wholly true.

He frowns, considering. "Well, I'm not a saint, and I'm only mortal. This power will return to Yggdrasil when I d-"

Eleven blinks through a sudden torrent of emotion that shows only through a slight widening of his eyes. Surprise, a well of apprehension, uncertainty and finally, worry. Hendrik hadn't told him how they restored Yggdrasil, in the end. Did he know..?

He shakes his head in an effort to settle and refocus. "Sorry, I- hm, I don't sense Light about you."

We'll light up the sky [open]

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