deercountry | i once knew a man who learned such a thing

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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.

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Lapse in manners? Where?, he wonders. Anything approaching politeness has been met with varying levels of suspicion before this - it had veered into a painful territory that felt somehow worse than ...whatever had come before. He doesn't remember. Or maybe he's chosen to forget. Yeah, it could be that, too.

If anything, this guy's too mannered by half - there's the proffered napkin, the direction of his gaze elsewhere while Mike manages to collect himself into something more of a person, still not sure how he feels about being perceived at all. "Oh. Well, huh. I guess that settles that," into the recorder, before he nods to himself and stuffs the device in his shirt pocket.

As if it settles anything. It doesn't. But he has decided that stuck is the situation, whether it's in his own mind or not is still up for debate, but he doesn't want a debate right now. Out of fucks. Out of battery, as it were.

"Jin Guangyao," he turns it over as he says it - doesn't have the feel of something he'd make up, so it's another vote in favor of ...something. "Okay," this is the second time he'd heard that wording, the 'what are you called' instead of 'what's your name'. Might mean something about this place, might mean fuck all. He's tired of trying to find meaning in each little speck - each mask, the color of each glass eye. So he just goes with it, and it's ...easier. "People call me Mike."

"Napkin Guy" is tempting, and had it not been for the gifted food, it might've stuck. But he's feeling ----well, that's it: he's feeling. He shifts where he's sitting, casts a glance toward a nearby stall and adds, "I was thinking about getting a drink. I mean, why not, right?"

He hadn't thought purgatory (?) to be so hospitable.

Jin Guangyao commits both the name and the face, complete with all its myriad tortured micro-expressions, to memory, because his mind never gives him a choice in these matters. Perhaps it will be of use one day.

"I was thinking about getting a drink. I mean, why not, right?"

It's a perfectly friendly and courteous invitation, which makes it doubly frustrating when his mind presents him with the picture perfect memory of Nie Sect cultivators wiping off cups of wine he had just poured for them, to remove the stain of a 'prostitute's son' from the crockery before drinking from it. It twists his gut abruptly.

He does not want a drink.

"I would like a drink," he tells Mike, smiling.

He makes space for his new acquaintance to fall into step beside him while they walk towards the stall. "Perhaps they will have rice wine, or something close to it. Mike-xiansheng, have you had it before? Or," a slight pause, and a modest furrow appears between his eyebrows, "is there no rice where you come from?" That would be weird, but this place has trees that bleed and nests of glass eyeballs on the beach, so who is he to judge.

With personal matters having kept Palamedes at home playing nursemaid for a handful of weeks, he hasn't had cause or opportunity to notice anyone else moving into Willful Machine. Or any of the new Sleeper arrivals, as it happens— and some part of him feels almost guilty about that, somehow. Arriving in Trench is no easy task, he knows, he's crawled out of that sea twice now, and meaning no offense to the local Wakers, but... they aren't very reassuring, sometimes.

So while he's out amongst his errands in the neighborhood, it's the back-of-his-mind thought of new Sleepers, mostly, that draws his attention to someone unfamiliar out front of a house he recalls has been empty for a decent while. That, and— hm! He's only mildly familiar with the concept of cultivation, having met a fascinating spiritual weapon and her beleaguered master, but it's enough to make him curious about those talismans. He makes a beeline over to the yard in question, not coming right up to the gate because he's not rude, but he is also the type to come bother strangers at their homes.

"Good morning," he says, after lightly clearing his throat. Hi. "Do you need a hand?"

Reaching the top of the gate, that is... ahem. He nods at the talismans, and by way of explanation, "I've got a vested interest in the stability of wards of all shapes and sizes; it's a good idea, what you're doing."

The fox seated like a small, attentive sentinel fixes eyes the colour of pale saffron on Palamedes at his approach, her ears swivelling forward. She emits a soft not-quite-bark and backs up a pace or two, her puff of a tail flicking low near the dusted silver and black fur covering her paws. Jin Guangyao turns his head sharply towards Palamedes, alarm in his very wide eyes. Fear, the reactions of both omen and man transparently and unconsciously communicate.

But then: "Good morning. Do you need a hand?"

The tension goes out of his shoulders at the greeting, and the explanation that follows, and something that might even be called a smile settles at the corners of his mouth. The fox's ears also relax, though she stays put by his feet. Jin Guangyao dips his head once in acknowledgement of what he has heard and turns over one of the warding talismans in his grasp, examining the careful calligraphy he has placed upon it with cinnabar. "This one still has much to learn about the resentful energies of this place, and what will or will not work to deter them," he says--'this one,' evidently, referring to himself.

He rounds his arms and performs a precise bow; not so low as to be obsequious or mocking, but enough to acknowledge the generosity of such an offer from a stranger. It would be pitch perfect in Lanling City when coupled with self-deprecating courtesy language--but he has already miscalculated once in his initial meeting with another newcomer. He adjusts. "Your offer is very kind, xiansheng. I would not wish to impose." But the top of that gate is very high, and he's super short, so he's not going to say no outright.

Palamedes glances at the omen, and politely pretends not to notice anything abrupt or fearful in the way the man with the talismans moves, giving the pair of them an innocuous half-smile and pushing his glasses up his nose, idly. It's equally not much of a shock that some new Sleepers are uneasy— god, they all really should be. It's not even how long he's been here that fixes the easy expression on Palamedes' face, like Trench is an ordinary town where nothing strange happens; this is just what he's like. The self-defense kind of distrust of locals and other Sleepers alike he's put into a little box, and put that box in the back of a cupboard, and it's fine back there.

So; this one, the new Sleeper says, and Palamedes recalls the, ah, magic sword called herself something similar, so he does not miss a beat and nods politely in response, tilting in a bit closer so he might peer at the talisman. Frankly, the calligraphy means nothing to him, beyond the general sense he can get from his own type of wards that the strokes have a specific meaning and purpose. It seems pretty elegant from here...

"Xia— no; don't let me butcher it. I don't know what that means, I'm sorry." He shrugs, offering another brief half-smile as he looks up. Now there's a bow, and oh, that's not necessary, but alright-? "My name is Palamedes, and it's not imposing at all. I came up to you, after all. May I?"

He holds his hand out for the talisman, gaze darting up further to the gate. "In the center, or...?"

"You may call me Jin Guangyao," he answers politely, and then, at Palamedes' inquiry, "A bit further up." He extends the wax paper talisman out to him, then turns and points to a corner near where the pagoda-style roof atop the gate. A paper lantern with a stylized illustration of peony blossoms on the side sways nearby; it isn't lit yet. "Please, if you would simply hold the talisman against the wood, I will affix it in place with spiritual power."

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.

Sasuke has heard about the draugrs in passing, heard of the difficulties in destroying them, but had yet to get to see one face to face. He'd made sure to keep his weapons on him, not just in case one should start to feed on him (he hoped that he'd had enough memory problems last month for this place to take pity on him in some way), but in case he should see it trying to feed off of another. After his actions last month, the need to protect others from this monster was high, his need for repentance in a bit of overdrive.

So when he hears the screams, he's quick to move in the direction of them, pushing by the people running away from the scene so he can get a better look at what's going on. The monster is awful to look at, but it's even worse to see the man beneath him struggling. He doesn't pull out his sword right away, despite knowing that he needs to start to dismember the draugr, wanting to get an idea of just how quick and strong they are before he tries. It wouldn't be helpful to swing his sword, have the thing move, and instead slice into the very victim he's trying to help.

Sasuke makes sure to encase his arm with the blue electric charge of his chidori, the sound of something like a thousand chirping birds filling the space. He goes to charge at it, aiming to get the monster off of the other, even if he doesn't make contact.

Three different heads sporting three very different expressions all snap towards Sasuke at the sound of those chirruping birds: Jin Guangyao looking roughed up but relieved; the fox omen all bared white teeth and blazing eyes; and the draugr with its yawning maw wide open, black pits where its eyes ought to be that nevertheless still seem to bore straight into Sasuke, right into the core of him. That it manages to twist its neck with the sword still stuck through the meat and gristle of it is just--unsettling. The crunch and grind of bone is audible.

Jin Guangyao uses its momentary distraction to his advantage. With a grunt of effort, he uses the foot pressed against its midsection to leverage it up, then frees one hand from Hensheng's hilt to deliver a startlingly powerful blow directly to where, in a normal human or cultivator, the dantian would reside. It's a strong enough hit imbued with enough power to push the draugr up, and--hopefully--directly into Sasuke's path of attack.

"I do come from a place where rice exists." he offers, and this is one of the most reasonable things he's found himself speaking about, as long as he resists the urge to dissect the implication that this is a crossroads between places, between worlds. Which, thanks to that little jar, he resists.

"It's been a long time, but I've had sake, does that count? Rice beer, too." A brief recall of a different man, a man who was him but not this incarnation, a friendlier, less worn, thoroughly less broken version that enjoyed a night out with his wife - the clink of glasses, the murmur of long past conversations, muffled, dampened by whatever comfort's at play here, the memory just brushes past and then retreats.

The woman tending the stall greets them with a nod and an incline of her head, and does not look puzzled when she's asked for rice wine, but she does pause to ask if they mean to have it hot or ...cold. A bit of a brow lift on that last option, as though it's an odd one to choose. And perhaps it is, because there's a chill in the air.

Chill seems to be a mood, here. Alcohol might help that along. Hopefully.

"Sure; let me know when." Because he's not sure he'll be able to tell when the spiritual power bit... happens? Still, he shuffles into place to hold up the talisman as directed, and it is - kind of a trial, honestly. Not in the sense that he can't handle directions, but Palamedes is not a robust kind of man but rather the kind of man who once infamously got winded going down some stairs. Despite his height, he is a bit wobbly the longer Jin Guangyao gives him these smaller directions.

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.

A scalpel in the right hands--or the wrong ones--can do a great deal of damage indeed. But Jin Guangyao has decided, at least for the moment, that Palamedes is probably not going to turn that scalpel against him.

"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.

Luckily, he has no plans to scalpel anybody anytime soon. He actually lets go of the talisman just briefly, to tap the side of his nose and give Jin Guangyao a sideways little grin - ten! good! - but he's dutifully holding the talisman flat quickly, so as not to ruin how finnicky this placement has already been.

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?"

The furrow between his eyebrows smooths, and he nods to himself, as if knowing that rice also exists in Mike's world has brought closure to some conflict raging across his rich internal landscape. (Sometimes a man just fixates on the need to have something remain consistent across a multitude of contradictory universes, ok.)

"I will take it hot, thank you." He isn't so presumptuous as to order for Mike, and so turns his attention elsewhere until he has made his decision. Then, once he has, he picks up the threads of their conversation with interest.

"Sake is from a country called Dongying, which is near where I am from. Perhaps," he says, hesitant only because something about drawing parallels between his world and Mike's world feels rather like searching for hope where there is none, "your world isn't so different from mine, in that case."

Edited (just making it clear jgy is NOT from dongying oops) 2022-10-11 18:43 (UTC)

In truth, Jin Guangyao holds no strong opinions either way about pigeons. This might be the longest he has devoted any thought to them at all, but dutifully he tucks this latest morsel of knowledge away in his mental index of likely--but not decidedly--useless trivia. (I mean you just never know in this place.)

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?"

Pigeon bones may one day be useful, who can say. Palamedes hums, glancing up at the talisman again and gesturing a hand back and forth, as if to say— "Not talismans."

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?"

It sounds very much like the demonic cultivation of Jin Guangyao's world, and any knee-jerk reaction he might have had to those methods were ground out of him years ago courtesy of his 'work' with Xue Yang. (The things a filial son must do for his father.) And so it is quite easy for him to smile obligingly at Palamedes' offer.

"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."

Wei Wuxian lives in Cassandra. The house that has traveled worlds with him is located in this area of Trench and is where he currently lives and works. He sells incense and teas out of the building and is constantly researching different ways to combat the various symptoms that people have to endure. Its the best way he knows how to help people in this place.

So it isn't surprising that he is wandering past the Pale Sanctuary. He has long gotten used to the appearance of the tree but he doesn't usually go inside of it. He has learned that it is often unwise to travel into certain places because the world likes to play games. And the last thing he wants is to get stuck inside some sort of blood tree. No matter if they call it a sanctuary.

But this time as he wanders past the tree there is a familiar figure studying it. He stops in his movements and observes for a time. It has been a few years since he has seen the face of Jin Guangyao. Not since that fateful night in the temple. A night that he had hoped would be the last time he would put his eyes on the man that basically turned the cultivator world upside down with the tricks that he pulled. Of course, the same could be said about himself.

"You're going to see far more interesting things then this tree while you are here."

Neither of them are men who are the best versions of themselves when backed into a corner.

Jin Guangyao turns quickly at the sound of Wei Wuxian's voice, his eyes gone very wide. In truth, his reaction could have been worse, and likely would have been were he still navigating the deadly pitfalls of Jin Guangshan's court. But this is Trench, and though the last he'd heard of the Yiling Patriarch was his death in the Burial Mounds, he at least knows enough of this place to know that anyone from his past could turn up here.

"Yes, Yiling-laozu," he agrees, polite even while is stare is sharp enough to cut glass. "That he stands before this one now is proof enough of that."

(He is afraid. In an outright fight, he knows he stands no chance at all, and even understanding that this place will vomit him right back up onto the beaches does not reduce his instinctual fear of pain and death. He takes a few small steps away from Wei Wuxian, trying to extrapolate the best avenue of escape from this confrontation, just in case Wei Wuxian goes for Chenqing.)

Edited 2022-10-13 16:22 (UTC)

Sasuke feels his fist hit the creature's chest as it's pushed up, the lightning fist sinking into flesh easily, before bursting out on the other side. There's only the barest spurt of blood, the hole cauterizing from the electricity that ripped it open in the first place. He yanks his arm back, watching as the draugr staggers back, but doesn't drop. It would've been enough to kill any normal human, but the undead apparently don't care about their hearts.

It's still off the other man and stunned momentarily. Enough time for Sasuke to position himself between the two so that he can protect Jin Guangyao while he either takes in how badly he's injured or the other man manages to gather himself enough to get to his feet. He lets his head turn slightly back in his direction, though doesn't take his eyes off the monster.

"Are you hurt or can you fight?" He doesn't think he can't take the draugr himself, he just would find it a lot easier with another person.

Wei Wuxian is observant even on his worst of days, and he can tell that this is not the Jin Guangyao he last encountered. If it weren't for the fact that the man seemed at least marginally younger then their previous encounter, it would be because he seems surprised to see Wei wuxian alive.

The flute that the other man is so nervous about it very obviously tucked into his belt. If he desired to use it then he certainly could, but he has no intention of attacking. It wouldn't do them any good. Wei wuxian isn't as impulsive as he was in his youth and his time in Trench and Deerington has tempered him. He might not like the man that stands before him, but he knows that they are stuck together in this place and there is little they can do about that.

But he also knows that he might have to defend himself. The Jin Guangyao he knows wouldn't hesitate to strike if he felt he was threatened. The burn of a sharp string across his neck is easy to remember. The last thing he is going to do is let this man get the drop on him.

"Seeing me alive will be the least surprising thing you will encounter once this world really starts to make itself known. A full year has been spent in this place and still new things appear all the time."

Jin Guangyao keeps a tight hold on Hensheng's hilt so that Sasuke's direct hit to the draugr's centre of mass does all the work for him, and his sword comes cleanly out of the wound. He rolls to his feet with ease afterwards, which either means he's uninjured, or just exceptionally good at masking the extent of his injuries when in combat.

This much he hasn't forgotten--how to fight, how to survive--even if he cannot remember how he knows these things, even if that yawning gap in his knowledge is wreaking havoc on his mind--

The alarming-looking omen bounds to his side, and whatever exchange passes between them is something felt in their hearts rather than shared aloud. "I can fight," Jin Guangyao tells Sasuke quickly, and moves to flank the draugr before it can regain its senses. He sheathes the sword quickly and reaches instead for a loop of what looks like wire, loosing a substantial length of it into his hands. Then he looks to the draugr and seems to be assessing the best angle of approach for getting this wire about its head like a garrote. "If you can hold its focus, gongzi, I can get this around its neck while it's distracted."

And then, he hopes goes understood, they can rip its fucking head off.

He has no means of getting the drop on anyone, at present. In every way that matters, Wei Wuxian has the advantage, and Jin Guangyao knows it.

He smiles, though no part of the expression reaches his eyes, which is to be expected under the circumstances. He continues taking small, careful steps backward from Wei Wuxian, marshalling his courage to keep his fear well contained. "I have had enough surprises to satisfy me for a lifetime, Wei-gongzi. I have no further quarrel with you that was not ended with your death in the Burial Mounds. Even if I did, I have no means of achieving it here, do I?"

It is almost amusing to see the man trying to inch his way away from him. He has forgotten what it was like to strike fear in people. It's not something he particularly enjoys but when it comes to Jin Guangyao, he doesn't feel necessarily bad about it. This one might not have yet made the sins of his older self, but those sins are likely to still happen whenever he leaves this place. And because of that Wei Wuxian can't easily forgive it.

He folds his arms in front of his chest an gives a slight tilt of his head as if he was studying something particularly interesting. "You can thank one of your relatives for the fact I live." Of course the number of relatives that exist because of this man's father is fairly large. He can let that little bit of information be the next surprising thing that he encounters.

"Any ill intentions have long been satisfied. It does me no good to draw them out into this world." Isn't he kind to give Jin Guangyao just a little bit of peace of mind?

Sasuke gives a single nod at the instruction, leaving his own sword sheathed for now until it proves more necessary to use it. Distractions he's good at, even with the undead. His dōjutsu was more or less made for such things, wasn't it?

He plants his feet more firmly against the earth, keeping himself in defensive pose just in case the draugr charges at him before he can actually trap it in a genjutsu. He closes his eyes only for a second, reopening them with the Mangyekō Sharingan now activated, his right eye glowing red with the power of it. He can't say for sure that the thing will fall for his abilities, but they likely don't need long. Jin Guangyao seems quick enough on his feet and not as useless as some of the people he's fought with.

Sasuke initiates the genjutsu and the draugr, momentarily, goes slack, arms dangling slightly, hunched the way a marionette may be when the puppeteer puts it to the side. He can feel the hold isn't very strong, though, which means it could break free any moment.

"You've got maybe ten seconds before it might try to fight back."

"No, you're right; let's relocate." Which is shuffling away from the house and towards the street, really, because he's not going to devastate any city blocks with his little wards, or anything. And- "These days I'm mostly working with the medical side of things, so I might be a little rusty with the wards, if you'll excuse any clumsiness."

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."

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i once knew a man who learned such a thing | october catch-all

iv

no subject

i!!

no subject

no subject

no subject

ii.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

III

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject