I removed most of my NSFW content quite a while ago, including sideblogs, and have a TINY fragment on my character blogs.
I’m mostly here to write and well, hire artists for commissions, and a large number of those have exited, but not all. I will stand on this ship and watch this site burn, like I’ve watched the deaths of my other sites. I AM backing my stuff up and looking at alternatives, but nothing is there just yet.
Luke Gravespast twiddled a spanner at Lebeaux as he
started to crouch down and resume slowly chipping on the tile as he continued,
right where he’d left off, laying in the lining and runners. "We’s jus’ ‘bout done with it…. y’
feelin’ up to testin’ this at all, so you know what it’ll be like?“ As he continued to lay the boundaries in, the
next portion was apparently mimicking the inlays and work to hide what might
have been an array of some kind. the largest
portion seemed to be a small pile of unaspected crystals.
Lebeaux Desrosiers smiled primly as the spanner was
waved at him. Not particularly concerned, the jab about Luke’s appearance was
essentially friendly, considering the sort of thing he could say to him.
“That would be for the best. I would hate to be caught off guard as well the
first time it’s switched on.” He stared down at the crystals. “Those are what
the system runs off of?”
Luke paused, spreading the crystals
out. "Hrm… nau’ exactly. They’re wha’ the block powers on, aye? So when the system is on, these end up holdin’
the aether out and make sure the place is… a deadzone for as long as they can
power. If someone tries t’ use their own
aether, they’ll drain tha’ off too,” he said as he tapped the crystals. “The relay? An’ tha boundaries, mean that it’s
contained.”
Lebeaux smiled as he climbed off of the
desk to pick one of them up, curious about the thing. “Amazing. What a clever
idea. They soak up the aether like a sponge. Will there be a need to release
the absorbed aether afterwards to ensure there isn’t any build up.” He’d heard
tales from the Manufactory of workers forgetting to release the steam valves
after their work.
Luke tapped the inlay that he was
starting to lay in. "Release fer
tha’ system… once tha’ hold is off, it’ll disperse it inta tha’ stream. Once y’ shut it off, it automatically goes
inta a slow release.“ The man had
built the system so that Lebeaux didn’t need to be anticipated to have two
braincells to rub together, because he didn’t give the man that much credit.
Lebeaux turned the crystal to admire it
before he set it back into place. “Automatic release. Very good.” Assuming it
had been built for ease of use rather than factoring the user’s negligence and
general lack of familiarity with magitek systems of any sort.
Luke would agree it was always better to
assume that the client wasn’t being made fun of. In this case though, he was. Luke hummed as he continued to work on the
install, shifting across the floor before the inlays and tracks met. "Jus’ don’t switch the crystals out fer
more holdin’, y’s gau’ ah time limit, depends on tha’ caster, aye?” Hick?
Hick.
Lebeaux smiled primly as he settled
himself back onto the desk’s edge. “Oh, how nice. You’re learning Hingan. I
haven’t been studying, so perhaps you should repeat that in the common tongue.”
Lucien waggled the spanner in the air
before repeating what he’d said in… Doman.
Horribly accented, but actually correct, Doman.
Lebeaux Desrosiers smiiiiiiiled at the hyur. Well
played. “How droll.” He noted flatly. “You’ve picked up new and exciting ways
to be tiresome.” He slid down off of the desk. “I’m going to fetch myself a cup
of tea. Will you be having one or will you simply sustain yourself on that joke
for the next bell.”
Lucien coughed to hide his laughter about
it as he headed back to his feet.
“I’d love a cuppa, if y’d b’ so kind?” That joke was going to keep him grinning
slyly at the man for at least the rest of the work, though.
Lebeaux nodded and skulked out of the
room. He went to the sideboard to prepare cups of tea, but the sound of his
boots moved away towards the clinic corner first. Sliding the door open and
speaking quietly. Leaving Luke a few moments of peace before he returned to the
table to retrieve the other two cups. He carried them in and held them both
out, giving Luke his choice to prove there wasn’t anything funny going on with
either of them. “Black tea, sugar and cream.
There’s brandy or whiskey if you would like as well. You may add that
yourself.”
Luke accepted the cup of tea when it was
offered, and with little hesitation at all the blacksmith took a sip of the tea
while he held it in a hand. "-Jus’
this way, works f’r me! Don’t put shit
inta m’ tea, unless y’ make it bitter,“ he added after another sip to test
the liquid.
“Ishgardian style is generally
brewed as a milk tea. Light and sweet once the sugar is added.” He noted as he
took the cup he had been given back to the sideboard to add a splash of brandy
to his own. “Yet the local milk just doesn’t give the same flavor. So I have it
brewed with water and add the cream after. Slightly more bitter, yet still
decent.” He noted as he observed the other’s work. “So would you like to tell
me what you were saying about ‘depending on the mage’ without chewing up your words
this time.”
Luke continued to sip the tea though he
headed over to the cream because if this was the bitter Coerthan leaves… and
it hadn’t been done with milk… ”-get proper milk fer yer tea or grab
another style an’ embrace wha’ they have here.
There’s a milk froth tea y’ could try prolly-“ The man looked up,
clearing his throat pointedly before he started again as he stressed his
words. "Wha’ about… a’ight, so
tha’ mage isself is what determines how long tha’ will last.” Luke waited, seeing – with a lifted brow
– if Lebeaux was going to object.
Lebeaux bristled slightly as Lucien
decided to instruct him on the proper manner of preparing and drinking Coerthan
tealeaves. “My, you are in fine form today, aren’t you.” He mused flatly. A
generous helping of sass to make up for lost time, it seemed. “Feeling your
oats a bit as you near the conclusion of your projects?” Nonetheless he took a
sip of his tea and smiled. “Very well, I assume there is a limit as to how much
can be absorbed before the system shuts down.”
Luke lifted a brow at Lebeaux and saluted
him with the tea before he headed for the desk, putting the crystals – in a
rather nicely made box that could pass for a snuff or smoke box – on it. The sass was there for the heaping out but
with a wide smile he seemed to rein it in.
“Aye – a very strong si-mage,” he caught quickly, “-will
hit tha’ limits of the system. Don’t
change t’ crystals but if y’ need an upgrade I c’n work that in later, this
should handle a decent one for ah good measure.”
Lebeaux smiled primly at the small slip.
Another little oddity to be added to the pile of ‘a very strange little hyur’.
“That will be fine. I suspect the panic of being unable to use their aether
will be enough to fluster any mage who attempts to cast, even if it’s only
initially. It will buy me the time I require to retaliate.” He agreed as he
eyed up the box that was now resting on his desk. Considering it for a few
moments before he gave a small nod. It was ‘nice enough’ to pass as his own. “What would
happen if the crystals were changed.”
Luke continued to hold the tea like a
near-sailor but drink and seem to thoroughly enjoy it. "Usually wha’ I see when y’ deal with
casters suddenly ain’t able t’ cast,“ he said with an agreeing nod to the
man. And the box had been designed –
with understated flair – to try to fit in the way that the lofty man had
decorated. It was not ostentatcious, mercifully. "All right, tha’ way tha’ it would go
down, if y’ get the wrong kind or sort?
Backlash an eedback t’ you an’ anyone inside.”
Lebeaux smiled and tilted his head in
agreement. He himself was a healer, his sort of casting wasn’t meant to be used
on the offensive. Hence he had found other ways to defend himself. But those
who depended on magic to exert their will wouldn’t deal well when they were
suddenly left powerless. “I see. These have been chosen to work precisely with
the system. Adjustments will need to be made should I require a larger
capacity. I may, once the presence of this device becomes known. I’ll contact you at that time.”
Luke put his hand on the box, a tap on
the system before he gestured for the man to step his way back around the
desk. "If y’ need a larger capacity
I c’n adjust the system for it, an’ can provide you. I’ll have t’ file a permit but it’s easy
‘nough t’ get that in. Nau, y’ want t’
test this out so y’ know what it feels like?“
Lebeaux wrinkled his nose in distaste.
“Would that truly push it over to weapons grade.” He wondered aloud. Perhaps he
would simply have to deal with it as it was. “Very well. That bridge can be
crossed should we come to it.” The medic circled around the desk, standing
behind it. “How do I turn it on, then more importantly, how do I turn it off
again.”
Luke leaned over the desk – hopefully he
didn’t have the thing covered in important papers as the man tapped where he’d
shaved off and recessed the secret switch.
“On an’ off there. Flick it
on an’ le’s make sure nothin’ explodes.”
At the remark of weapons grade, though, he chuckled. "Y’ forget, have t’ file permits for
crystals… nau’ weapons grade, jus’ paperwork fer tha’ Consortium.“
Lebeaux quirked a brow at that. “I was not
aware. That’s an interesting thing to know.” Perhaps with the quantity of
stained crystal he had in his office as well as the crystals he was now having
installed, he should perhaps keep a closer eye on that. Nonetheless he reached
down to find the recessed switch, his other hand shooing Luke away before he
could go rolling around on his desk to shuffle papers and spread his
long-hair-grease on it. With a slow inhale he pressed the switch.
Luke backed off the desk, sitting on the
chair and plopping down, tea still balanced expertly in hand as he watched the
system come to life. There was little he
could tell at all, in fact, but the feeling of a block and wall that seemed to
drain the aether out of the room got a lip-twitch from the kir. Lebeaux would probably be feeling the far
problematic version of being cut off from the connection that usually worked
the lifestream all across the star.
Lebeaux blinked in surprise at the strange
sensation, exhaling in a rush of air as he lifted his hands up and attempted to
cast. Reaching for that magic that was always waiting for his beck and call to
find it entirely unresponsive. Even his own internal aether refused to
cooperate, being drained away just as quickly as he could bring it forwards. He
gasped and then laughed, the sound sharp-edged and harsh. “Fury have mercy, it
truly works. What terrible sensation.”
He sighed as he reached for the switch to turn it back off again.
[23:52]Lucien Korbinius looked far, far less affected – if
there was ever a doubt the blacksmith was trained in aether use that might’ve
killed it, though he still looked uncomfortable before the device was switched
off. "Did you doubt?” The
man’s voice curled a moment, watching with an uncharacteristic gleam in his eye
as if studying how it affected even Lebeaux.
Dear children have taken up our cause, oh how it warms Mother’s heart. This world, this mortal, flawed world, it is stale, decaying, its youth spent and vibrancy drained away to shades of sullen gray. They know what is to come, the beloved whose souls bear the seeds of a new horizon. Some children have run. Some have hidden away. Some have sworn vengeance, or some variation of it, and oh, how it brings laughter to my lips.
I fear I have been gone for far too long, if but a meager few have thought it wise to run.
What Mother intends is that all who have received my gifts will be offered a choice. We need not betray your identities so soon to those who might otherwise try to stop us. Instead, you shall make these offers by way of dreams. Mother will show you how.
There they were, rambunctious kits and the rest of the children clamoring to climb into his arms, hug legs, hang from shoulders.
[Don’t you wish you were like your youth? Ah how age kills you…]
He didn’t even bother to reply to the voice – it was akin to a consciousness, mocking and riling and whispering sweet nothings to his ears. But only his ears.
It wasn’t quite like his mind was going so much as everything he usually kept a lid on, the sarcastic voice and the sharp tongue he wanted to lash against orders, against logic, against reason, was being uttered by himself. It even sounded as sibilant as a silver-tongued serpent, the way he sometimes used to draw out his sounds and there it was, echoing around his thoughts like an ever-present entity.
[Now now, it’s not another sound, simply yourself – and oh ho, you know it. You know I am nothing if not you, and you just hate how I’m there, harder and harder to drown out. But I’m what you are, who you are- isn’t it lovely to know? Deep down- this is what and who you are…]
Eyes closed, the man wanting to curl up and realizing, at the same breath, that would be painful. Instead he just shaded his eyes, an arm stretched up, wondering if this was the start of what he had to look forward to, red still streaked across the sky to vein it like a setting sun in the middle of mid-day.
It was a rare thing – Lucien knew he was harboring something for Lukel long before Lazne set them up on a surprise date in the house’s basement, long before he’d taunted the Butcher and the sake’d been knocked over. He didn’t press what it was though, what it felt like, because it’d be impossible.
He and Lukel were – at best – partners in a not-quite-business-arrangement, and neither of them were the sort for flings or dalliances.
Which was why the kiss had to be an outlier. The Butcher’s reaction to taunting, the way they both kept it up, neither willing to lose, it had been an outlier.
Until maybe it wasn’t an outlier, Lucien finally facing the very stark realization that he wanted to spend time with Lukel more than he wanted or did his work. More than he wanted or even cared to craft, or to slip for precious ticks of uninterrupted freedom, he wanted to see Lukel’s face light up. So Lucien was steeling himself for the sharp but very common pain of shattering joy when Lukel met someone, finally, and would drift away from the closeness they were sharing and then that night happened.
The dancing, the little quirks they’d shared, the arguments that were less than explosions and more than heated debates, it all came to a head; they sat, alone, and both accepted they’d been set up.
The knife’s edge was where they stayed for some of the conversation before Lukel took the first plunge.
And suddenly it wasn’t a one-off or three off or fling, it was something that they both, tentatively, were planning.
The first time staring at the snow.
The first time cooking.
The first- so many firsts, feeling each other out over the course of says, sennights, looking for common grounds and finding they had a fabric of shared loves and experiences and desires that were stronger than the thing threads they first had seemed to be.
He still wanted to see Lukel’s face light up with joy but he no longer was saving each memory as a balm against the future – he was framing them mentally like a gallery, expecting them to string up until his last breaths were drawn, their possible… hopeful… shared times together.
The sky was red and purple and in the night sky there were void pitch splotches where stars should be and Lucien couldn’t find it in himself to care.
The sky wasn’t blue.
The night was void.
Sometimes all he heard were voices, like oppressive recollections, that gave him a chorus inside his head, rebounding like echoes and refrains in his ears.
Even his time where he found comfort, where he could find solace, even that was dwindled down and he could tell why, could recall the snarled (almost) reaction to the eir. And the eir was handling the matter in the only way he knew how to – putting the leash back on, tightening it.
[Take it-] [Take it again. And again. You shouldn’t have resisted in the first place.] [You shouldn’t have rebelled.] [Rebellion always costs.] [Never worth it.] [Give up.] [Give in.]
[SURRENDER]
The shattered glass in his hand left a myriad of cuts, the kir’s breath shallow and light.
It was all just echoes of the same voices that had taunted him before, all just shadows of them, like reflections in the murky waters.
He couldn’t, wouldn’t listen. Couldn’t, not this time.
He’d learned his lesson. Resistance, dying to it, was better than capitulation and the death of self. He just-
-needed options?
No. No, he couldn’t start down that path again, refuse to court the possibilities. He was fine enough. Sane enough.
Sometimes he recalled why he was here – staring at the monoliths, staring at the chambers where experiments dotted the ripped and shredded land; they weren’t supposed to have been like this.
Over his shoulder an egi hovered, visage akin to the trapped Goddess in the chambers just past the viewing stand – where they could observe and make sure she slept, her acolytes slept, trapped in slumber and dreaming.
What did gods dream of?
What did their chosen dream of, so close and yet so far from their goal of freeing their patron?
With a god defeated, what did the loyal pray to, knowing that Allag had stolen away their Goddess, their patron, their beauty and justice?
None of it was intended at least not from his work, watching them with a hand on the panels and reading the displays. He wanted to offer them solace and comfort but there was nothing he could lift to the slumbering beings, nothing he could lift except his own eyes as he stared at the waiting bindings.
Whispers had come that the tests were complete.
Their goal was picked.
The target – Tiamat, and her lover-lord Bahamut, the Dread Wyrm, the King of Wyrms himself. He would be the power they needed, the fuel that would bring them to the next Age. An age, the scholars bragged, that would be heaven and pure.
As he stared at the glowing prison, the pillars that would spear and trap the summoned god in agony, he had to wonder; what kind of world were they birthing, in their experiments, in their fueled rage against the way of the star, with everything they did?
A Magitek Engineer's Blog 