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deercountry2022-10-07 02:32 pm
poorlittlesange) wrote in deercountry2022-10-07 02:32 pm
i once knew a man who learned such a thing | october catch-all
Who: Jin Guangyao + select closed prompts + OTA
What: Settling in; an encounter with a draugr; trying to locate some much needed chill; continuing a TDM thread.
When: /waves hands, throughout the month.
Where: Willful Machine, along a nondescript thoroughfare and by the canals; the Pale Sanctuary in Cassandra; the Boardwalk
Notes: If you're keen on threading something, hit me up on plurk @ ragweed and we can figure something out.
Content Warnings: Blood, gore. Allusions to memories of a murder victim. Frank discussion of a child's murder (his son).
I. Cleaning house. (OTA)
The siheyuan has good bones. Whoever built it understood the importance of craftsmanship, though whether there is any prosperous energy in Trench for a south-facing house to welcome is anyone's guess. But someone had lived here before, once; there are height marks scratched into the wood of a door frame, seven of them, one for each birthday celebrated by a child. When Jin Guangyao first notices the marks while affixing spirit-repelling talismans to the walls in auspicious locations, he very deliberately does not think of his son.
With the talismans in place within the courtyard and the rooms themselves, he steps outside and onto the thoroughfare sidewalk to affix a few of them to the gate. Trailing behind him is his omen, a lean steppe fox whose winter coat has already begun to come in.
II. Second Death at the Canals. (Closed to Sasuke)
OOC note: Timing of this event is sometime after JGY snags himself an address, and finishes up his conversation with Mike Enslin (see below).
It is late in the evening, well after what passes for dusk in Trench, when the screams rip through the air near the canals. What follows is an immediate mad scramble of bodies and limbs of all shapes to escape the scene unfolding by the water's edge, where a draugr has pinned a man in pale gold robes to the ground by his throat.
Right now, only two things separate Jin Guangyao from death: the first is the blade of his spiritual sword, Hensheng, which he has thrust through the draugr's throat and embedded in what passes for its spine, and which in combination with his faltering spiritual power serves only to keep the monster's still-gnashing jaws from descending upon him. The other is his omen, who has transformed herself into the menacing shape of a large huli jing, and is harrying the draugr with ear-splitting fox-bark screams and yodels that keep the thing distracted, but not deterred. Every so often it swipes ineffectually out at her with the hand not at its quarry's throat, before she lunges away.
The draugr has taken much from Jin Guangyao over the course of the last month to the point where his outrage and fury over the theft of his memories is only overwhelmed by the sheer terror he experiences when the monster at last manifests itself and forces him to look at its face (and forces him to remember a face he wishes he could forget, dead but still seeing him, still hating him, still suspecting his every decision, hesitation or sideways glance--)
Ichor from the gaping throat wound above him splatters down towards him. Jin Guangyao jerks his face away and grits his teeth, and twists beneath the monster's bulk to edge a foot against its stomach--not because he thinks that he has the power to actually kick the thing away, but because any barrier he can put between the draugr's teeth and himself is better than nothing. Still, this is a grim situation, and his eyes dart about himself in terror and outrage as he desperately tries to come up with an escape plan.
III. Exploring near the Pale Sanctuary. (OTA)
The pale, bloated tree at the heart of the Pale Sanctuary does not look like it should be a place of spiritual tranquility. Jin Guangyao stands slightly out of its shadow and considers it in silence, being sure always to keep his expression as inoffensive and absent of any outside judgment as possible. The thing alarms him, there's just no getting around it, and hearing the murmurs among the nearby Disciples regarding just who this entire district was named for strikes him as doubly inauspicious. No one in the cultivation world would think to name a place of spiritual sanctuary and healing after the Yiling Patriarch, surely.
He doesn't venture near the door that leads down into the sanctuary itself--that's a big 'nope, no thank you, not interested' at least for the moment--and instead takes his time walking the circumference of the tree, being sure to give it as wide a berth as possible as he looks it over in detail, committing what he sees to memory.
IV. Encounter on the Boardwalk. (Closed to Mike Enslin)
[continued from here!]
'Napkin guy.' That's a new one. It's much better than his last nickname. Jin Guangyao's expression softens by a hair's breadth of a margin, and though he doesn't smile--that particular mask wouldn't be appropriate, not now--he makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. Then, "Thank you," the stranger says, and Jin Guangyao bends his head in wordless acknowledgement of the courtesy.
As for the rest--
"Yes," he replies. He looks away from Mike to allow him the courtesy of tidying himself without a scrutinizing audience. There is so very much else happening on the boardwalk to draw the eye anyway; the masks, the lights, the myriad of different beings and bodies that are as alien to him as that tape recorder, if more frightening. When one being makes sustained eye contact with him for too long, Jin Guangyao is quick to avert his gaze in as non-threatening a manner as he can manage, and turns his attention back to Mike.
"Xiansheng, please forgive this one's lapse in manners. I am called Jin Guangyao." Just in case the stranger felt so inclined to actually refer to him as 'napkin guy,' henceforth.
What: Settling in; an encounter with a draugr; trying to locate some much needed chill; continuing a TDM thread.
When: /waves hands, throughout the month.
Where: Willful Machine, along a nondescript thoroughfare and by the canals; the Pale Sanctuary in Cassandra; the Boardwalk
Notes: If you're keen on threading something, hit me up on plurk @ ragweed and we can figure something out.
Content Warnings: Blood, gore. Allusions to memories of a murder victim. Frank discussion of a child's murder (his son).
I. Cleaning house. (OTA)
The siheyuan has good bones. Whoever built it understood the importance of craftsmanship, though whether there is any prosperous energy in Trench for a south-facing house to welcome is anyone's guess. But someone had lived here before, once; there are height marks scratched into the wood of a door frame, seven of them, one for each birthday celebrated by a child. When Jin Guangyao first notices the marks while affixing spirit-repelling talismans to the walls in auspicious locations, he very deliberately does not think of his son.
With the talismans in place within the courtyard and the rooms themselves, he steps outside and onto the thoroughfare sidewalk to affix a few of them to the gate. Trailing behind him is his omen, a lean steppe fox whose winter coat has already begun to come in.
II. Second Death at the Canals. (Closed to Sasuke)
OOC note: Timing of this event is sometime after JGY snags himself an address, and finishes up his conversation with Mike Enslin (see below).
It is late in the evening, well after what passes for dusk in Trench, when the screams rip through the air near the canals. What follows is an immediate mad scramble of bodies and limbs of all shapes to escape the scene unfolding by the water's edge, where a draugr has pinned a man in pale gold robes to the ground by his throat.
Right now, only two things separate Jin Guangyao from death: the first is the blade of his spiritual sword, Hensheng, which he has thrust through the draugr's throat and embedded in what passes for its spine, and which in combination with his faltering spiritual power serves only to keep the monster's still-gnashing jaws from descending upon him. The other is his omen, who has transformed herself into the menacing shape of a large huli jing, and is harrying the draugr with ear-splitting fox-bark screams and yodels that keep the thing distracted, but not deterred. Every so often it swipes ineffectually out at her with the hand not at its quarry's throat, before she lunges away.
The draugr has taken much from Jin Guangyao over the course of the last month to the point where his outrage and fury over the theft of his memories is only overwhelmed by the sheer terror he experiences when the monster at last manifests itself and forces him to look at its face (and forces him to remember a face he wishes he could forget, dead but still seeing him, still hating him, still suspecting his every decision, hesitation or sideways glance--)
Ichor from the gaping throat wound above him splatters down towards him. Jin Guangyao jerks his face away and grits his teeth, and twists beneath the monster's bulk to edge a foot against its stomach--not because he thinks that he has the power to actually kick the thing away, but because any barrier he can put between the draugr's teeth and himself is better than nothing. Still, this is a grim situation, and his eyes dart about himself in terror and outrage as he desperately tries to come up with an escape plan.
III. Exploring near the Pale Sanctuary. (OTA)
The pale, bloated tree at the heart of the Pale Sanctuary does not look like it should be a place of spiritual tranquility. Jin Guangyao stands slightly out of its shadow and considers it in silence, being sure always to keep his expression as inoffensive and absent of any outside judgment as possible. The thing alarms him, there's just no getting around it, and hearing the murmurs among the nearby Disciples regarding just who this entire district was named for strikes him as doubly inauspicious. No one in the cultivation world would think to name a place of spiritual sanctuary and healing after the Yiling Patriarch, surely.
He doesn't venture near the door that leads down into the sanctuary itself--that's a big 'nope, no thank you, not interested' at least for the moment--and instead takes his time walking the circumference of the tree, being sure to give it as wide a berth as possible as he looks it over in detail, committing what he sees to memory.
IV. Encounter on the Boardwalk. (Closed to Mike Enslin)
[continued from here!]
'Napkin guy.' That's a new one. It's much better than his last nickname. Jin Guangyao's expression softens by a hair's breadth of a margin, and though he doesn't smile--that particular mask wouldn't be appropriate, not now--he makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. Then, "Thank you," the stranger says, and Jin Guangyao bends his head in wordless acknowledgement of the courtesy.
As for the rest--
"Yes," he replies. He looks away from Mike to allow him the courtesy of tidying himself without a scrutinizing audience. There is so very much else happening on the boardwalk to draw the eye anyway; the masks, the lights, the myriad of different beings and bodies that are as alien to him as that tape recorder, if more frightening. When one being makes sustained eye contact with him for too long, Jin Guangyao is quick to avert his gaze in as non-threatening a manner as he can manage, and turns his attention back to Mike.
"Xiansheng, please forgive this one's lapse in manners. I am called Jin Guangyao." Just in case the stranger felt so inclined to actually refer to him as 'napkin guy,' henceforth.
no subject
He takes a half-step back, ostensibly to provide guidance of the 'a little to the left,' or 'further to the right,' variety, but also uses this opportunity to assess Palamedes while his focus is elsewhere. Is he armed? Does he carry himself like one who is accustomed to combat, or is he more of a scholar? Naturally, each time his new acquaintance looks at him, Jin Guangyao affects an appearance of harmless affability.
no subject
So he's clearly never thrown a punch in his life, let alone been in real combat. He is mostly blue-grey dusters by composition (at least two of them, it's cold out!) and only armed if a scalpel in one of his pockets counts. He remains unsuspecting of Jin Guangyao's observation insomuch as he assumes, as a baseline, that his fellow Sleepers will size him up as a threat or not sooner or later; it's fine.
What he lacks in physical ability he makes up for in chattiness, as he has been rambling somewhat about Wards And Such since first taking the talisman, and has yet to stop: "—and that's why the curvature is one of my favorite areas of study. I've fiddled with a few obscure designs evocative of the ulna and the radius, for the subtlety of the bend— just wait 'til I get going, it's something to behold. D'you know how many bones are in an average bird wing?"
This may continue. Please, do the spiritual power.
no subject
"Ten, I think," he replies absently, having been following the twisting turns of the monologue with the part of his mind not engaged with the correct placement of the talisman, or threat-risk assessment. Then: "There--that is the correct placement. Please hold it flat against the wood."
He makes a precise incantation gesture with both of his hands and sends a small flicker of golden energy flitting forward through the air towards the talisman. It doesn't quite sizzle when it connects with the paper, but soon it is clear that the talisman has cleaved itself to the wood.
no subject
Shame that he misses the gesture, but oh, that there is a spark of something he can see dipping into the paper is interesting enough. He holds it for a split second longer, just in case - maybe it needs to set? He wouldn't know - and then steps back to, well. Admire it. Look at that thing they've hung up, how neat.
"Some have eleven," he offers, idly. "Pigeons, I think they're called; absolutely round things, they're mad."
But enough about birds, thanks Palamedes— "You use spiritual power for the ward itself, and an adhesive? Or is it part of the-" a gesture, "-overall process?"
no subject
He folds his hands neatly before himself and tilts his chin up to consider the placement of the talisman as well, and if the slight upward tilt to his lips is any indication, he is indeed satisfied. The faint smile warms noticeably at Palamedes' question, and he looks to his new acquaintance with a friendly brightness in his eyes. "It is part of the overall process," he clarifies. "You speak as though you have first-hand experience with talismans yourself. Is this so, or has this one misunderstood?"
no subject
He's been around the block when it comes to warding, sure, but not quite so... portably. "Most of my experience in application is the direct kind, without a paper medium or otherwise in between. I wouldn't want to make a mess of your gate, though, so you'll have to take my word for it. They're blood wards, ethically sourced. It's my blood; I'm not much interested in the economy."
He clarifies this automatically but not uncomfortably; 9 times out of 10 people here have been unsettled at least somewhat by the concept of necromancy, but blood magic itself is at least default to Trench. Palamedes' wards are simply different blood magic, which for some reason bothers people. He's learned to be patient about it.
"I've got another kind of ward, but I have to hold it up manually. Want to see?"
no subject
"This one would be honoured to see how Palamedes does his work," he replies, then glances at the gate to his home. "Perhaps not near the talismans, however."
no subject
There isn't any clumsiness; Palamedes happens to be incredibly good at his necromancy no matter how often he's actually doing it, but it's the kind of thing one says in these circumstances, isn't it? He's always been lovingly chided against getting too cocky, after all. Once he's picked a spot far enough away from Jin Guangyao's gate he pivots on his heel, rolling up his many sleeves as he does. What happens next is fundamentally just Palamedes holding a hand up and clenching a fist in one short, sharp movement, with the slightest distortion in the space in front of him all that suggests there's anything there.
This space he gestures to with his other hand, inviting Jin Guangyao to touch... the air; it's a solid thing, more akin to a wall of repellent force than a traditional 'ward'.
"There," he says, and shakes a sleeve back down over his hand to wipe at one of his temples, where he is absolutely sweating blood. Visibly. "Honestly, I don't know why we call these ones wards— I've always suspected 'magic shield' was simply too juvenile."
no subject
He startles when he feels a wall, and then promptly smiles, a rare and delighted expression absent of any artifice. He's quick to shutter most of the enthusiasm behind something more appropriately mild-mannered, of course, before he notices the blood. At that he becomes much more practical, and fetches a simple handkerchief out of his sleeves to offer it out to Palamedes. (He's helpful that way.)
"Palamedes-xiansheng's work is impressive," he compliments him sincerely. "This 'ward' resembles barriers that can be created via spirit arrays, where I am from, though to be able to wield something like this while in martial combat would be..." One can almost see the gears and cogs at work behind his eyes, as though he is disassembling and reassembling all manner of ways that this technique could have changed the past--perhaps his own.
no subject
The handkerchief is a nice gesture, even if he will immediately be ruining this with bloodstains. He accepts it with a grateful nod to wipe at the rest of his face, knocking his glasses up and askew in the process. It's only when he's done with that that he pinches his fingers on his warding hand just so and the ward drops with another barely-there stutter of air.
He hums, adjusting his glasses back into place. "Not for me; I'm useless in a fight. My cavalier handles the swordsmanship on my behalf, but she hasn't been here in months, and I haven't tried to make up the difference." His voice goes a bit wooden when he talks about her- the cavalier- obviously because she isn't here; he's almost gotten used to the waiting. There's nothing for it now, he's long since figured that one out.
But. Wards. Spirit arrays, is it...
"A physical array? Like the talisman?"
no subject
"Ah," he starts at Palamedes' question, coming back to himself a bit. He smiles again and makes a universally understood 'sort of' gesture with one hand. "Like a talisman, but drawn on the ground to cover a broader surface area. It is useful for the casting of spiritual spells for all manner of purposes--protection, suppression of resentful energies, repelling ghosts and spirits. We often draw them with cinnabar." Or with blood, but he does not say this.
no subject
"That's fundamentally what we use our other wards for— the drawn kind. The purpose is conveyed in the shape, and the area plus the longevity usually depend on the size. And the quality of material. I've seen wards composed of bone, but I'm no bone adept - my constructs are clumsy child's play, at best. Wait 'til you see what I can do with a cupful of blood, though."
A beat. "Someday. Bloodletting is always a whole incident around here, you know."
no subject
A small, stifled laugh, a slight inclination of his head, and, "Someday, yes. Perhaps not near this thoroughfare." Just a glimpse of some dry humour behind the layers of courtesy that drape themselves across his every word and gesture. His curiosity is clearly piqued, however, evident in the way he seems to appraise Palamedes for just a moment, hesitating, before he asks, "These wards and your interest in them--is this part of some work that you perform for the protection of Trench?"
Because he rather transparently appears drawn to that. The possibility of a clear avenue for being of use again has gotten its hooks into him.
no subject
"But I've got a knack for wards— among other things— so it only makes sense to lend a hand where it's needed, you know? I've warded a few buildings as a favor, and that Outpost they've been working on..."
So actually the answer to this is yes, absolutely, he's doing this all the time. Just for free, and he doesn't have a shop or anything, so it's a purely word-of-mouth-based operation. He brightens a bit before going on, "If you're looking for a place to help out, I can dash up a list. There's that Outpost, again, and the Sanctuary for studying corruption— sometimes I practically live there— plus something about creating a new Archive, or so I've heard. The Sanctuary is the only one I'm really involved with, but I doubt anyone's going to turn down additional help."
no subject
He seems perfectly pleasant to speak to as well, of course, and who doesn't enjoy polite conversation?
"I had an idea, in the world where I am from," the words suddenly burst out of him, unchecked, "for a series of watch towers which could be constructed all across the cultivation world, to protect the common people from harm. I wonder..." He trails off abruptly, suddenly self-conscious letting such thoughts loose into the wild around someone he hardly knows, and amends what he'd intended to say. "I wonder if something similar might be under way, with the Outpost you speak of."
no subject
He waves a hand, then begins to rifle in his many overpieces for a little notebook and a pen. His personal matters are merely personal, neither unfortunate nor tragic, judging by the way his expression doesn't darken to mention them, but: still. In any case, Jin Guangyao wants a list, and he'll get a list. Palamedes begins to scribble and talk at the same time.
"You'd have to ask around at the Outpost to see if they've plans to build more, essentially. I can't be everywhere at once, but I'll swing by if they need ward upkeep done. Fundamentally, our problem is the world outside our city limits— when things happen here, and trust me, things will happen here, we have nowhere to go. How flexible is your vision of watch towers? Here."
Here, and he holds out his list, with his regrettably chicken-scratch handwriting, but he's made a list of references: Sanctuary at the top, followed by Allen Walker, Sansa Stark, his own name of course, and Viktor (primarily research). Outpost is followed by D and Vi <- she's quite good! and I'm sure they've got more by now. He's also written down Sleeper Archives, but that's one he's only passingly aware of, so his only note there is omni network?
"There's also a farm. Do you farm?"