westwhere | [OPEN] words engraved in the sand

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[OPEN] words engraved in the sand

WHO: Eleven and every OPEN
WHEN: Travel month
WHERE: On the road to Taravast~
WHAT: All the things
WARNINGS: blood rain, and mention of sickness (thanks Xie Lian)

1. Riding Tips?

Eleven doesn't consider himself an expert on many things, but having won a few notable horse races, he feels somewhat obligated to approach anyone looking out of their depth when it comes to their mounts.

"Hey." He does his best to temper the amusement in his eyes and tone. "I might be able to help you, if you'd like."

2. Sick

Whatever enjoyment he'd gleaned from that first day of travel was swiftly lost that evening over dinner, and through the course of the day immediately following. Face pale and his expression tight with discomfort, Eleven fought down bouts of queasiness with the singular focus of not getting sick all over his horse.

Later, as the sun began to set, he brought his horse up to the nearest person he recognized and pitched his voice to a low almost-whisper lacking all usual vigor.

"..Have you heard when we're stopping?"

3. Camp

Once he's more or less recovered from his bout of illness, Eleven sets about camp with a familiar smile and eagerness to help. Setting up tents, supply distribution, relaying messages and with the self-appointed task of helping look after their collection of elk, horses, and donkeys.

Then with his non-toxic dinner in hand, he seeks out a familiar face to settle next to.

"Mind if I join you?"

4. Watch

He'd been forced to opt out of shifts for the nights he spent recovering from his illness, but determined to make up for it, Eleven signed himself up for every night thereafter.

Between the mists and the harpies, accompanied by the occasional voice on the wind, there is plenty to be watchful of.

"The horses are getting nervous," he observes with a frown and a will to go to them. Their ears twitch, hooves pawing at the ground on occasion.

"Do you think we should check...?"

5. Tar Collection

It isn't pleasant work, shoveling tar into barrels. Stepping in it, getting it all over his gloves and boots; black, stuck ink that enjoys staining everything it touches. He takes to wearing his cloak to cover his travel wear while he works, at peace at least with the idea that every ounce of muck they pried out of the waters would help the nearby plants and wildlife.

And well, after turning all his leftover coin to Wei Wuxian for supplies again, Eleven is looking forward to possibly having coin enough to treat himself to a good meal once they finally reach the city.

Sometimes, he thinks he sees something in the murk; an odd latticework of shadow reflecting back at him. After a few occasions of this over the days, he finally dredges up the nerve to ask:

"Is there... something in there, you think?"

6. First blood rain

The rain came unexpected, late into the night. He'd been certain there weren't clouds enough for rain. The wetness was expected, but then after, the smell and odd warmth, the thickness of it-

Eleven lifted a hand and smeared it like ink between his fingers, then called up a brief flame to examine it by.

"This can't really be-"

Heart in his throat, he snuffed the flicker of fire and let a new chill soak through him as he glanced wildly about for a source while it soaked into his hair and slid down his scalp. He couldn't suppress a grimace, or the shudder that accompanied it as the nausea from his previous illness threatened to resurface. His voice, taking a turn for distress as nothing seems to stand out.

"What is happening?"

7. Wildcard!

[ooc: hmu with anything adjacent to these prompts, or anything else that suits this travel time! feel free to pm/plurk if you'd like to work out anything in particular]

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Eleven grinned and pretended to think about it for a moment.

"You said you wanted to return to the Force when you died," he recalled, his curiosity piqued then, but not enough to derail to ask. "It sounds like returning to Yggdrasil in Erdrea. I wonder.. if the Force is similar to that cycle. A grander scale, absent a tree... more widespread, developed magic."

He hummed shortly, alight with the idea despite their circumstances. "Is there a known source? Has anyone's spirit ever been reincarnated?"

Archeval gave a thoughtful hum, turning the lightsaber around slowly in his lap.

"I've read a bit about the notion, but -- no, I don't know if reincarnation truly exists, or has happened in practice or not. It's a big galaxy, though. There are so many strange things out there, I hesitate to call much of anything truly impossible, only unheard of. Still..."

He reached up to stroke his chin with one gloved hand. They'd been sitting here long enough that he'd almost managed to forget he was still dirty with dried blood, but... not quite.

"To be one with the Force... this means to rejoin the energy that suffuses all of life, all of creation, even the blank vacuum spaces between the stars. To be a little bit part of everything," he said softly, staring up into the dark sky once more.

"What I do know is that those who achieve this oneness, if they were strong of will in life, or particularly adept Force-users, can sometimes still manifest themselves as visible spirits to interact with the living. This is different from restless Force ghosts who have refused oneness, who fear moving on. So even when fusing with the energy of the universe one can, it seems, still retain their individual personality. But of course, not everyone who dies does this, and probably not all would even want to. We are born of the Force and return to the Force, so -- perhaps something of those who've passed, when they are ready to let go completely, is reformed into the souls of those born anew. Who knows. I have no proof it's true, but I know of nothing to refute such an idea either."

Eleven let the concept as it was described wash over him with a small smile.

"It sounds beautiful," he sighed, imagining for a moment, what sort of peace a spirit like Archeval described must feel. A loss of humanity, but imbued with creation and void- balance, oneness.. guidance.

He closed his eyes and leaned back, humming softly as loose ideas tethered and branched off to possibilities both probable and not. A mild headache threatened to gather for his efforts, but it was worth it to imagine- a much preferred distraction from the rain and its likely source.

"I'm the reincarnation of the Luminary before me. Beyond this mark and this light, I don't have any connection to him, however. My companions Veronica and Serena are said to be reincarnations of the great sage Serenica.. but this is divine wisdom. Who's to say that we ever would have known, otherwise- if we share anything else in common. They lived centuries ago. By nature, it's difficult to prove.."

"That only stands to reason," Arche agreed, still thoughtfully scratching his chin.

".....to know the exact place your soul comes from is a strange thought. Sounds... stifling, to have that extra layer of expectation on you, atop everything else. I've met old Lord Kallig's ghost a few times, and while he certainly has some strong notions about how I should go be a good little Sith and return our family line to glory on his behalf, I've never felt literally incapable of just telling him to piss off."

He paused to glance up at the sky for a moment, voice briefly turning acerbic:

"And if you're listening, old man, I am as always grateful for the assist, and I mean it very seriously that you're never getting more grandchildren so you can just give up and move on with your unlife already."

Arche's gaze turned back Eleven's way once he'd apparently said his piece to his absent ancestor, slipping back into quiet thoughtfulness.

"I suppose if you're literally, in some ways, the same person as your predecessor, there's probably no way to... simply speak to him like that, hm?..."

Eleven shook his head. "No. I've only wished I could reach out to him for some sort of insight. There isn't a guide for banishing darkness in Erdrea."

He fell quiet a moment, mulling over Archeval's message and their implications. Finally, disconcerted thoughts settled into a more reasonable explanation than the one he'd immediately puzzled over.

"So that man.. he was your grandfather?" If so, then what Archeval had told him happened far more recently than he'd first imagined. Still, slightly less disconcerting than the idea of him having children.

"Well-- sort of?" Archeval frowned, sounding a little caught off-guard by the line of questioning.

"With several centuries in between. I don't exactly know how one would count that many generations back, they wouldn't be literally grandchildren, I just mean-- Nevermind, the point is I'm not having any," he repeated, raising his voice just a little to firmly inform the dark sky one more time.

"...that's a shame, though. If your world is going around thrusting all of that onto one being's shoulders, the least it could do is give you an example to look back on. But I suppose, if you have no idea who he used to be really--"

Arche leaned forward to rest his cheek against one hand, elbow against his knee, as he contemplated El thoughtfully in the dark some more.

"Well. At least once you're on the other end of all those trials, your chains are broken. Your life is your own, whatever you choose to do with it after. No one can try to force you into that mold."

Eleven laughed some relief, though there was a guilty assumption there that was perhaps far more impolite than anything. Maybe Archeval would make for a good parent with more years on him. But, well, if he was set on not, then just as well.

He mused a noncommittal note in response to the man's observations of himself. "I haven't thought that far. Well," he corrected himself with another half-laugh. "There's a part of me that dreams of retiring. A fisherman in Lonalulu in a place so remote I could pretend to be ordinary. Or a smith. But..."

Eleven stretched his legs out. "What's ahead seems so overwhelming that it's hard to imagine. Hendrik says there's a future where we've already succeeded, but I know I'm very far from becoming that person now."

Edited 2021-07-15 05:26 (UTC)

A shrug from Archeval again.

"I suppose I know what you mean. When survival is on the line it's easy to get swept up in that, but. Don't think it's ever a bad thing to at least consider the future. We have to have something to fight for, don't we? Something to look toward?"

Green eyes glinted just faintly in the dark as a shrewd gaze turned El's way once more.

"And yes, I know you're fighting for the future of your planet and the good of your people and all that, but don't try to tell a Sith that your own desires mean nothing. Even if it's only retiring to the middle of nowhere to go fish."

Edited 2021-07-15 05:39 (UTC)

Eleven smiled, nodding slowly. The future had always been vaguely intimidating, until there was no time for such thoughts. He'd had a difficult enough time living up to the present. And now, so focused on redeeming himself, of regaining his light in order to restore it to others..

That fisherman's offer in Lonalulu called to him. A simple life- that was what he wanted.

"I want a garden," he decided, "And I don't want to become Prince of Dundrasil." A beat to imagine saying so directly to his grandfather's face. Then guiltily, as though already having to concede and rationalize that particular argument. "Or at least.. not for a few years, after. It'll take time to restore, anyway."

Edited 2021-07-15 05:59 (UTC)

"Take it from me," drawled Arche wryly.

"If you don't want it, don't do it. Everyone might be convinced right now that you're the only name for the job, but a power vacuum never stays vacant for long. They'll find someone -- or you could just as well appoint someone yourself. Other beings can say whatever they want, they aren't the ones stuck actually living your life."

That made sense enough, though it would inevitably be a difficult and strained conversation. The way Rab looked at him, as though..

Life as a prince sounded miserable. He'd watched Faris struggle with it, and already struggling under the weight of his own title, the appeal was only to appease the sadness in Rab's eyes. To be entrusted with the whole of a kingdom after bearing the weight of the world.. No, he didn't want that at all.

"Surely there's someone far more qualified," he agreed. After all, what did he know about running a country? "I'd like to support the restoration of Erdrea's fallen kingdoms, but.. right now, disappearing for five or so years sounds nice. "

"You don't have the temperament for politics anyhow," Arche sighed, with a rueful shake of his head.

"It's nothing but backstabbing, petty squabbles and awful compromises. Best leave it to those of us with strong stomachs for dealing with the dregs of society. Those dregs being your fellow politicians, of course." He gave a derisive little snort for a moment, before having to reach up and stifle a yawn. Nothing quite like idly discussing the future over a nice backdrop of... blood rain. This certainly felt like the sort of thing that was going to feature in some nightmares later.

"Surely by the end of it all you're entitled to at least that much."

Eleven frowned. He considered himself a rather patient man. Though, admittedly, he found the idea of dealing with backstabbing politicians and brokering awful compromises distasteful at best. Given that the stress of simply managing daily affairs already lacked appeal, he supposed it was a fair assessment after all.

He huffed amusement, with half a mind to offer to let Archeval sleep, but his thoughts lingered, voice softer.

"What is it that you want- or look forward to, then?"

"Excuse me, I thought we were quite busy discussing how you should definitely go with the fishing pole over the scepter," Arche drawled out in response -- maybe a little too quickly. He did his best to banish his own discomfort as he stared into the storm again for a long moment, feeling it a little more than he had a moment ago: the near total dark surrounding them, the scent of blood spattering against the earth.

Strange how this place seemed fond of shoving reminders into his face so often. Perhaps there was something to the idea that this was a realm of the dead after all.

"...suppose I'm in the process of trying to pick out something new," he said softly at last.

"There was... someone I was planning to follow around until we both got thoroughly sick of each other. That would've been a fine enough future to me. But war is not kind. We were on a mission, he didn't make it out in time and... that was the end of that."

He paused, sighed, spread his hands in a little shrug again. He'd known Eleven long enough to imagine the sort of reaction he was about to get, and it itched a little. He'd never needed or wanted anyone's pity, not for anything in his life.

"That was-- a year, year and a half ago now, I think. After that was over we were promptly invaded by an outside army and I've hardly had five minutes to sit down since then." Once more he glanced El's way wryly in the dark.

"Suppose you and I have that much in common at least. ...after this, though, if I survive it. Maybe... go home, finally." He gave a long sigh, letting his head fall back against the rock wall again.

"It's been a lot of years. Failing that, perhaps get back to poking my nose into some ancient ruins again. The actually fun part of my job."

Edited 2021-07-15 21:53 (UTC)

Grief welled up in Eleven's chest, swift and unexpected. He's never been in love himself, but well-remembered the numbing emptiness he'd felt to go almost a year believing he'd lost everyone he'd ever cared for. To think there had been someone Archeval had loved, been happy with, then to lose him.. His heart ached.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. For his loss, for perhaps asking too candidly. Though it was futile, he wished Archeval hadn't lost the person he'd cared for. He deserved whatever comforts he could find in what sounded like an otherwise difficult life.

"I, ah, hope you find something you enjoy. Maybe even gardening. Or fish on that underwater planet. That sounds nicely peaceful. I'd go there for a time, if I could."

There was a soft chuckle from Archeval in the dark.

"Fishing on Manaan... I wonder if that's even legal for foreigners. They're not fond of offworld types there, particularly us landwalkers."

For a moment, he stared contemplatively out into the dark storm again, just picturing it in his mind. Being someplace out-of-the-way and quiet, the Council and his Sphere and their various demands all several systems and long-distance holocalls away. Finding something new to do, where the stakes if he failed would be only a poor harvest or withered flowers, not exploding planets and the deaths of trillions.

Even if he didn't stay forever, it would be nice, to get to take a moment to breathe. Maybe he really could, if he was brave enough, find such a place on his homeworld; it would be nice to experience its seasons again after all these years. And it was far enough away from the politics of the Core -- maybe he could even talk Theron into visiting.

"...hm. You know, I don't suppose I'd mind that...properly having a garden of my own," he murmured at last. "We were--" There was a second's pause at that 'we' before he made himself go on.

"Ah... going to move into a place on Nar Shaddaa -- it's a city world, probably no one's seen the ground there in a millennium, but. Suppose I actually could suck it up and go home after all, settle down someplace there. My staff would probably have kittens -- hah, a Dark Councilor hanging around on some Outer Rim backwater colony growing vegetables. But." His quiet voice went wry again. "All the more reason to consider it, really."

For a second he paused again, took a deep breath, and... when he finally glanced El's way in the dark once more, there was something in his voice that was a little bit playful, a little bit fond.

"How about this, though. I do think you'd like Manaan. Even just the bits foreigners are allowed to see are quite breathtaking. So here's our future on the other end of this -- we go home, take care of business in whatever fashion necessary. We figure out whether it's possible to visit one another. And I'll abuse as much head-of-state privilege as necessary to take us on a nice fishing trip," he declared, with a faint glint of grinning teeth in the dark. "I know a great deal of their commercial fishing is done in underwater vessels, perhaps I can arrange for something like that too..."

Eleven's heart eased as Archeval spoke, gradually lighter with a will to encourage his friend to do whatever it was would bring him some contentment at least, if not happiness.

He wasn't expecting an idea so wildly beyond his imagination that he forgot the foul rain, their dreaded circumstances, and even the seeming impossibility of the tasks before him in favor of something that sounded like a dream. He laughed brightly, delight discordant in the gloom and dark, but heedless of it, Eleven flashed his companion an equally radiant smile.

The idea felt so very far in the future and may well be entirely impossible. Not to mention he'd never once thought about leaving Erdrea entirely until just moments ago. The thought of voluntarily leaving his world was terrifying in the same way it was thrilling, but Goddess, if it could be done..

"I would love that," he sighed finally, fully sincere as the longing in his heart won over. And to think Archeval would go so far, extending an offer of a trip that would take considerable time, effort, and (abuse of) resources to manage. "Yes. If you find Erdrea among the stars, I'd be honored to go with you."

"Well then, consider it done. If it's physically possible then I'll make it happen somehow, and may the Force witness my promise."

Archeval nodded along to his own words, something in him feeling...a little buoyed, perhaps, to elicit that vibrant laugh out of this oppressive dark. 'Honored', though, honestly. Eleven was far too nice for his own good, and one of these days it was absolutely certain to come back to bite him.

It was a mystery, really, how Arche managed to keep collecting these types. In all likelihood it was going to be the death of him eventually.

But at least when his old enemy finally caught up with him, he'd be going out in good company.

"You know, one of the first times I ever visited Manaan, I had to venture into some underwater facilities. Labs and the like," he murmured out, idly thinking back on a memory for a moment as he stared out toward the dark rain some more.

"Most of what the Selkath build down there -- that's the native species, they're amphibious -- mostly they install these huge pressurized windows for walls everywhere they can get away with. I was there for work, but it was horrendously distracting, the beauty of it. Just looking out and seeing ocean floor for kilometers in every direction, and most of the smaller animals had no fear of the buildings, they'd come right up to the windows while swimming around. I remember there was this one big predator I watched chasing around a pack of..."

He launched into a slightly rambling tale after that, describing some of the sights of the planet just as Eleven had asked earlier, for once in his life feeling well prepared to talk about nothing in particular until the sun came up. Even now, even in a place like this, at least... at least there really was something to look toward, on the other end of all this.

Eleven gradually eased as Archeval spoke until he was slouched over, head pillowed over his arms on propped up knees. He could imagine the scene vividly, having spent some time admiring the crystal waters of Nautica's sea floor the first time he'd visited.

"Hm.." he acknowledged, growing tired but not nearly settled enough to sleep. He could almost forget about the dried blood on his sleeves if not for the smell. Absent that near-constant reminder, this sort of comfortable companionship would have been perfectly nice. And well, there was something to be said for the tentative promise for the future loosely tying their fates.

Eleven smiled on a quiet breath. It truly felt like Archeval had become one of his companions- albeit one cloaked in darkness and the pall of undead spirits. But beyond that, he was a man capable of love, and someone that could appreciate the beauty of things as much as anyone else.

"..Do you think they'd like me more if I told them I've been a fish before?"

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[OPEN] words engraved in the sand

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