[The man also sounds much like a necromancer, who tend to dominate the academic world, but he does not dare to assume. Indeed, assumptions have been thoroughly shocked out of him altogether, at least for the time being. He nods once at the explanation given, still eyeing the beverage.]
It is...potent. [He picks it up once more, staring into it as if it may provide further insight that way.] I have had worse.
[Though nothing ever so...energetic in his mouth, the buzzing of bubbles on his tongue faintly disconcerting. Still, it is not so foul as his still-sharp memory of leek wine, a thin and reeking brew that he half-suspected was at times sweetened with astringent paint cleanser.
But it is beer. He sips it again, and finds it no more palatable.]
[frankly being mistaken for a necromancer would amuse him and not particularly surprise him either, now that he's met palamedes. he'd also be much less surprised about the skull paint, as he's come to understand vaguely that bones seem to be a bit of a thing in that universe.
for now though he just nods along to that assessment, offers,] Where I am from they have liquors that taste more like if turpentine could rot. Truthfully this is very much a treat in comparison.
[he lifts his glass in a mock toast to those disgusting drinks in the undercity, another sip himself and a shake of the head as it goes down.]
Viktor- no family name, another oddity of my home. It is good to meet you- I hope it isn't rude to say you seem like you are having eh... a bit of a time at the moment. I hope the beer is at least a distraction.
[No House name would seem to eliminate the possibility of Viktor hailing from the Empire. This raises a field of questions that shamble aimlessly about, ones Ortus seeks to submerge with another measured sip of the brew.]
I do not find it rude. It is a perceptive observation.
[He sets the glass down still barely touched. He cannot risk intoxication, and he has no way of knowing how much the drink will affect him. It would not do to be in disarray before his Lady Harrowhark, or - the other significant authority.]
I did not expect death to present so many trials. I had always imagined that, while my bones would undoubtedly labor on in service, my soul would be subsumed in the River.
[He is matter of fact about his death. What grieving there was to be done for it, he has already done. He reserves his mournfulness for his next statement, a doleful pronouncement.]
I did not even know what a squid was.
[On the other hand: perhaps Viktor is right, and the beer will provide a distraction. In the hopes of dispelling thoughts of tentacles, Ortus steels himself for another attempt at beer.]
[oof, that already sounds like a lot to deal with. death here was such a different beast, pun not intended but allowed, and horrific in ways viktor is still grappling with himself. there's a lot to unpack about 'my bones would labor in service,' but packs that one away to maybe question later.]
You mean to say you died in your world and were brought here? [that's his guess, which he hadn't even considered being an option here if that was the case. did that happen to him? did his lungs give out without him realizing in singed's lab?
not something he wants to think long about, in truth. in fact he takes a sip of beer in retaliation of the thought.]
It is... hm, it takes time to adjust to how little reality really conforms to what we thought, doesn't it? A squid, of all things. [his lips thin and he takes another sip.] I try to take comfort in the thought that something about who we are as people is powerful enough to survive into... being a squid.
[Ortus nods to his own death mildly, then to the concept of reality's nonconformity with more vigor. Victor's final comment about the power of their selfhood receives a faintly startled and less faintly dubious look, one Ortus drops back into his drink nearly as soon as he levels it at the other man.]
I died nearly a year ago. The transition here was not immediate. I have journeyed more in death than I ever dreamed in life.
[First the River proper, then his Lady's memorial construct, then once more into the tumultuous current of death, to...here, where he has evidently yet retained his selfhood and his sanity.]
This is preferable to where I last was. [To say the least.] Despite the indignity of bonelessness.
[This was clearly the most upsetting aspect of being a squid.]
May I ask where you last were, before your arrival in this place?
[ok, talk about a lot to unpack. he never expected to hear of someone here who could speak of after death, as fascinating as it is chilling. viktor glances over and bites back asking all the typical questions, things he isn't sure he's ready or wants to know with his own death crawling so close to him in this world and the last, planted in his lungs.
and for all that load to process he can't help a startled laugh, a quiet thing he smothers with a hand before offering,] I've been lamenting that we can be squids and still have backpain myself. [the indignity of bonelessness, though he's guessing there's more to it than that.] I never imagined we could be plucked from death to be reborn here, at least not so deeply into it.
[a pause as he looks at his drink and says,] I suppose then welcome to the Trench and the living, Ortus.
Hm, I was visiting an old mentor in hopes of getting help with a... project. [he glances over again, tapping his fingers idly on the bad beer. he'd give bars this, there was something about them that made speaking easier, just the back and forth between people like it was natural.] I don't suppose you've heard of Piltover? There are very few from the world I'm from here.
[Laughter is a sound Ortus is unaccustomed to. He can only hope the start it gives him is not too noticeable. Best to move past it, first with the courtesy of acknowledging the welcome.]
Thank you. It is not an unhappy alteration in circumstances. Although you are correct about the backpain.
[The pirate cell was thoroughly uncomfortable. Ortus grimaces in remembrance and straightens up further, twisting one way and then the other slightly to little avail.]
I fear I have not heard of your home. It seems few have heard of mine as well. [A troubled look (even moreso than his baseline) creeps across his face, an effect heightened by the mournful lines of his skull.] I have been fortunate enough to be restored to the side of my Lady, the heir of my House, and my sworn liege. She was...
[Distressed. Unsettled. Gripped by the needling terrors of her own mind.]
Uncertain of my arrival. [Another sip seems appropriate.] I hope your project has not been wholly disrupted by your transportation here?
I suppose the blood magic is supposed to be a 'perk' to make up for it. Have you learned your type yet? [he rather hopes not through actually bleeding or any sort of violence, this poor guy has clearly been through enough in a short amount of time. death, the ocean, beer- he deserves a break.
the 'house' bit catches viktor's attention, a tilt of his head as he considers. if it weren't for the skull paint he'd probably assume a house like his world, highborn families and crests, power in money and heredity. he has heard another use of house with all the necromancer business, so he takes a stab,] You... wouldn't happen to mean- ah, I do not know what to call the universe. It's one of necromancy and an empire of planets?
[regardless, he offers a sigh.] I imagine seeing one she thought dead would be shocking, barring anything else. I have found one of the biggest struggles here is balancing the influence of our old lives with moving forward in this new reality.
[a pause, then a soft breath] In some ways yes. In truth this place may offer a better path forward for that particular project. [he glances over with a quirk of the lips and a dry,] But it would do terrible things for my image if I started to appear unerringly optimistic.
The Empire of the Nine Houses? [Ortus supplies, his eyes widening in interest and further surprise.] Yes. I hail from the Ninth House. Have you met others from our Empire? Or universe, I suppose. I do not know what it would be called either.
[An inconvenience. Perhaps they ought to come up with a name, if one has not already been thought of.]
As for past influences...that is precisely what concerns me. I do not remind her of anything that ought to be recalled. [He shakes his head, tilting his glass.] There is little to be done for it. Still.
[A faint tremble of courage comes to him then, bolstered by Viktor's dry humour.]
Perhaps we may both ruin our images with unfounded optimism. [He glances sidelong at the other man, more shyly than one his age ought to.] I will have faith in her endurance.
As for blood...I seem to have misplaced mine?
[A source of no small anxiety, heightened by the fact this lack is evidently even more dire than he thought. Ortus has yet to be introduced to the concept of 'Darkblood', or its qualities.]
[viktor snaps his fingers- yup, that is it. ok the skull paint makes a little more sense, must be a necromancer thing. like how pal refuses to wear anything but grey as far as he can tell.] I have, in fact I am roommates with a man from the Sixth- Palamedes is his name. He's told me a little of your world.
Ah, so is your Lady Harrow or Gideon? He's mentioned them in passing... if I recall he said the first was very clever and the other had a kind heart. [something like that. his understanding of the great space necromancer drama is kind of comical, including thinking the emperor must just be a really good necromancer.
still he sobers a bit at that about past influences and what shouldn't be recalled.] Not to play into this terribly embarrassing optimism of ours but now you both have time to work through the tangles of whatever tragedy must have struck. I obviously cannot say with any certainty but I can't imagine she is not grateful to have someone that matters back with her.
[a broad statement but ortus seems devoted and exactly the type someone would be happy to see again, odd necromancer skull paint and all. the sidelong glance gets what he hopes is an encouraging quirk of his lips, approving of this optimistic approach despite it all.
what else did they have? but as for blood-] Hm, you might be a darkblood then. Palamedes is as well, if you prick your finger it will bleed an inky color. There's eh... well, apparently the blood does not exist until a wound is made? It's all very odd.
[It is not so much that Ortus brightens at the mentions of Palamedes, Harrow, and Gideon as it is that he becomes less dim. He nods twice in quick succession, his hood falling back slightly with the motion.]
My lady is the Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Gideon Nav is her cavalier, her sworn guardian. [There is an undeniable, if understated, dedication in how he speaks both of their names.] Warden Sextus is correct on both counts.
[And all three of them are embodied and whole. It is a miracle whose scope Ortus has yet to fully take in. That, combined with the diagnosis of his blood, and perhaps even a slight warning effect of the alcohol, put Ortus in a better mood than he has been in for - long enough it is not worth remembering. When Viktor's encouraging smile is added to the heady mixture, Ortus discovers his own mouth curving slightly in answer.]
I did observe such a phenomenon. [With his blood, that is.] That is a relief. As is the thought of perhaps...untangling the tragedy, as you put it. I had not imagined such a chance being possible.
[ah, that title is a mouthful and more what he expects from traditional house politics. the only one he's really heard of at any length is the sixth now and their labs and archive, it makes him wonder how different the ninth must be. pal told him the poem once and he only vaguely remembers something about a tomb, which is curious.
he resists the ever present urge to ask a million or so questions, instead feeling a touch relieved ortus seems to be doing just a bit better. or at least somewhat distracted from more unpleasant matters, which is always a plus. he does indulge in asking,] Palamedes explained the... what did he call it? Necro-cav bond I think might have been his short hand. What are you then, if I may ask?
[is there more of hierarchy? just a loyal member of the house? a necromancer too? well regardless, he picks up his beer, pleased with the returned smile and being able to help on the blood front. his first month was filled with questions and hallucinations of mushrooms, really he thinks they need to make an class or something specifically for all this.]
Darkblood then, certainly. Palamedes has excellent notes on the subject, if you are curious. [and a nod] I think it's often difficult for sleepers, our minds are not wired for a reality such as this. To mourn and attempt to move only to find you no longer need to? It is eh... complicated. Needing time with that is more than likely.
[There are even more formal versions that involve various recitations of Harrowhark's lineage and the whole host of her ceremonial titles. Ortus is a dutiful servant, but even he finds them tedious.]
I was her cavalier, in life. In truth, it was a title I was never suited for, nor one I sought to hold. [There's no trace of regret or disappointment in his voice about that; it rather more sounds like relief.] I am not certain what she will ask of me now. I have little aptitude for ought but poetry.
[Despite the way he phrases it, there is a minute tinge of pride when he speaks of his talents. He had proven their worth, to his own dazzled amazement - and when he thinks of it again, the pinnacle of that achievement, the dark and flashing eyes of the very heart of his work -
His face feels oddly warm beneath his paint. He nurses his beer to cool it. They are speaking of serious matters.]
Perhaps that is what I may seek to give her. Time, and a listening ear when she is ready to speak. Not unlike you have done for me. [He acknowledges Viktor's generosity with a nod.] I would be grateful to see the Warden's notes, if he is willing to share them with one such as I. His reputation precedes him. I understand he has an exceptional intellect.
Oh. [this news surprises him a little. his only understanding of necromancers and cavaliers comes from what palamedes has told him, and his bond with camilla always sounds like a very deep one. it puts a different perspective on what otrus' death might have been to this harrow, making him tap his fingers against his glass in idle contemplation of it.
poetry though, that's interesting.] You may find that aptitude enough here, even beyond the typical value of the arts. Corruption spreads in unwell minds, anything that can offer a reprieve can be useful in keeping it in check. [a pause.] Ah, I've never been creative myself either, outside of machinery. How people manage it is beyond me.
[at the very least maybe keeping it up will be helpful to ortus' state of mind, which is half the battle as far as he can tell. frankly he's curious to read what he'd write, the man seems to encompass the phrase about still waters running deep. he would not have expected poetry to be the skill he seems to have some pride in.
the nod gets a small smile.] That is what bad beer and a bar are for, I find. Besides, it was much more engaging than trying to choke this down alone. [honestly the whole trip feels less aimless and little more worthwhile, which is not a quality he was expecting.
but pal, that has viktor waving a hand.] Oh I am sure he will, I haven't known him to be stingy in his knowledge. And he is, despite not being an engineer himself a single conversation with him inspired an entirely new branch of research we are both looking into. I can tell you from experience it's rare to find someone both clever and enjoyable to collaborate with. Usually it's a nightmare.
[In truth, few necromancer and cavalier bonds are like that of Palamedes Sextus and Camilla Hect, although that is another thing Ortus only knows by reputation. Prior to his death, Ortus would have said that Harrowhark's feelings towards him were purely those of contempt, and his for her were a cold admixture of disdain and pity.
But that would have always been a lie, and not one he would tell now.
He purses his lips at the mention of corruption in unwell minds, the meaning of what Viktor says coinciding with what Ortus assumes he means closely enough that it does not occur to him to question it.]
Is there not creativity in the work of the artificer? I have never understood how one may see an assortment of materials, and fashion things of use from them. [He rotates his glass on the bar top.] And but one conversation with a practitioner of magic inspired you to innovation.
[Self-deprecation in order to build up others is Ortus' job, and he is loathe to delegate it to Viktor, whose kind indulgence of his morose state in combination with his cleverness is earning him a place high in Ortus' esteem.]
Brilliance and arrogance are often hand in glove. It is a relief to know he is not so afflicted. [Unlike certain other necromancers he can think of.] He fares well, then? In your estimation.
[viktor can't help a chuckle at all that, unable to find an argument. ortus' intent to make sure he doesn't get away with even that passing comment says a lot about him, viktor thinks. he's starting to just firmly put his understanding of the ninth as 'a good bunch.'] Oh, you're very good at that, I'm impressed. I can't think of a single way to defend my previous assertion, the battle is yours.
[he raises his glass in a faux toast to him, tone softening somewhat.] But you are right, of course, creativity takes many forms. I suppose it's natural to admire those that can craft in medium you cannot- words, in this case. Will you continue your poetry here?
He does, I believe. [there's the faintest pause that maybe tells he's not entirely sure. well might be a strong word for it, for anyone here, but he at least thinks pal is very much equipped to handle his particular burdens. maybe that's well enough. he turns to ortus, a touch conspiratorial when he says,] I also suspect he's the sort to keep his troubles close to his chest. It's something I plan to keep an eye on.
[Viktor's concession of the 'battle' elicits a further gentling of Ortus' demeanour. He does not quite look comfortable, but he looks much more at ease than he did, and when he raises his glass in reciprocation he might even look like a person who could belong in a place like this - if not for the skull.]
I will continue, yes. [The affirmation doubled, as close to emphatic as he gets.] I have found new inspiration for my work, and a greater appreciation of the value of overcoming procrastination while one has the time to do so.
[New inspiration is said reverentially, with a faint bloom of awe in his earth-dark eyes, but he collects himself to turn to the next subject at hand. It reminds him, to his surprise, of the first time he 'talked shop' with another cavalier, although Viktor is anything but.]
Reticence is a trait typical to necromancers, you will find. I believe it, in part, stems from their mastery of magic. It is difficult to accept that one has limits when one is accustomed to being able to push past them through will and application of skill. It is even more true of the particularly talented.
[to be fair to the skull the average trench fishermen who frequent here probably look gaunt and unsettling enough to pass for skulls. still, viktor feels some level of contentment that ortus looks a little less lost than when they started talking.]
May I ask after the inspiration? [he's never really read poetry, mostly because it wasn't something readily available for most of his life. unless you count dirty undercity limericks, which he does not and ortus has already had to deal with the sixth's horny poetry anyway.] Oh yes, especially here where you never know what odd occurrence may keep you from your work. It's always something with this place.
[viktor nods- that is a very valuable insight, actually, one he'll remember.] It must be alarming, to have their entire system of magic and the rules that govern it turned on its head. I had always assumed mages and the like would have an easier time adapting to blood magic, though perhaps there's something to be said for having to unlearn what you know first. [a pause.] I suppose in terms of reticence it is true that the vulnerability of asking for help isn't easy to learn when you are used to being powerful.
[Having ruled out Viktor being a necromancer already, Ortus now may rule out him being an adept of the 'blood magic' that seems inherent to this place. He evaluates him in a new light, this frail seeming man with a clearly brilliant mind at work behind his sharp features.]
That is precisely the challenge. Those accustomed to power in one sphere are rarely called to learn to accept powerlessness in another, or even to understand it. [He is nearly at the bottom of his glass - how strange.] Whereas as those accustomed to powerlessness are even more rarely called to learn how to wield power, if they ever come across it, or to recognize the power they already possess.
[Weighty thoughts, and he has cause to suspect ones which are less profound than they feel in his current state. Everything seems to have a heightened emotionality - such as the warmth that blooms in his thankfully concealed cheeks as he turns his thoughts back to his inspiration.]
Returning to your question...I was blessed to bear witness to the subject of my greatest work, in embodied spirit. [The circumstances are a touch more complex than that, but it suffices.] Matthias Nonius, a cavalier without peer, and one of the greatest heroes of our House. To see him in battle, in the fullness of his skill, was...
[Ortus closes his eyes, transported back to the flashing grace of a deftly wielded rapier, the efficient elegance of a warrior for whom battle was as much craft as art.]
[that strikes viktor, that assessment, even in terms outside of magic and necromancy. maybe he's been thinking too much about power and those who wield it, what it does to people, the typical, tired line of thinking.
he finishes his drink with a little 'bah' at downing the last of the now warmed beer. yuck, but the task is done.] Interesting you should put it that way. I've met a couple of people who came from a world without magic and the magic they have been developing draws on natural talents they did not regard highly. One man good at reading people able to occasionally read thoughts, for example.
[poetry seems to slip into ortus' words now and again, giving viktor an idea of the kind of poem this man might right. something epic rather than the flowery love poems he usually imagined when thinking of poetry. maybe more like the operas heimendinger was fond of, the rare times viktor saw one himself.
the way he speaks of this matthias though, it really does make the man seem like a the stuff of myths rather than stories.] Perhaps you can explain it better- when I spoke to Palamedes of cavaliers the understanding I got was it would be belittling to call them mere bodyguards. Would you say they are more like... hm, knights? Soldiers?
[Ortus has yet to hear the half of what the weight of power can do, but that lies well ahead of him. For now, he was only thinking of Harrowhark, whose power has always been contingent on a performance of strength that turned her into so much brittle, cracked plex.
He looks away at the mention of powerless people developing magic, a peculiar feeling of reluctance falling across him as he recalls the (deeply unpleasant) action on the ship. When he spoke, it had almost seemed as if -]
An interesting development indeed. Have you found yourself developing such...talents, in your time here? If the question is not overly familiar.
[Perhaps one cannot go around asking people about their magical abilities. Ortus has never met a necromancer who didn't make you aware of their status, one way or another, but it may be different for people who come into such things later in life.]
As for cavaliers, the Warden is correct. A cavalier's duty extends beyond the mere safeguarding of their necromancer's physical person. They are their necromancer's sword arm, their helpmeet, their companion in all of life and death's travails. They have more in common with a knight than a soldier, but in truth, the calling exceeds both.
A true cavalier ennobles their necromancer. They are an indivisible dyad, united in purpose and spirit to achieve heights neither could ascend to singly. It is the highest honor a warrior may aspire to.
[Ortus does not long to be a true cavalier. He merely speaks of them with a wistful, idealistic passion that brings life and lightness to his mournful features even under his mussed paint.]
Oh not at all. [viktor's the curious sort anyway, he'd be a hypocrite to judge people for questions. also he thinks that's a rather fair question to ask in the trench. maybe it's typically a magic faux pas.] I've only noticed one ability myself and have done minimal testing of it.
I accidentally bled over a machine I was working on and found I innately knew the issue was a clog in the tubing. It was... hm, not unlike reading the machine, I suppose. Another example of a skillset I already have emerging in the blood magic.
[his reaction to this was a bit of irritation when if first happened, which he now looks back at with some amusement at finding it a slight, as though he needed blood magic for such a thing. ah, pride. still, a useful enough trick that isn't terribly invasive.
well, and viktor thought pal was top notch at hyping up cavaliers. ortus just blew him out of the water and poetically, which is impressive because pal wasn't a slouch in that department.
(he also glances to his empty glass and feels the oddest spike of envy, at such a bond and from birth. not the knighthood really, not all the drama and protection and ennobling, but just the simplicity of a person there. hm, morose and only one beer in. definitely not having another.)
he pushes the glass to the bartender and shakes his head about another, turning to ortus to ask,] How are they chosen? I was under the impression it all starts quite young.
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deercountry2022-04-13 04:55 pm
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It is...potent. [He picks it up once more, staring into it as if it may provide further insight that way.] I have had worse.
[Though nothing ever so...energetic in his mouth, the buzzing of bubbles on his tongue faintly disconcerting. Still, it is not so foul as his still-sharp memory of leek wine, a thin and reeking brew that he half-suspected was at times sweetened with astringent paint cleanser.
But it is beer. He sips it again, and finds it no more palatable.]
My name is Ortus Nigenad. May I ask yours?
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for now though he just nods along to that assessment, offers,] Where I am from they have liquors that taste more like if turpentine could rot. Truthfully this is very much a treat in comparison.
[he lifts his glass in a mock toast to those disgusting drinks in the undercity, another sip himself and a shake of the head as it goes down.]
Viktor- no family name, another oddity of my home. It is good to meet you- I hope it isn't rude to say you seem like you are having eh... a bit of a time at the moment. I hope the beer is at least a distraction.
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I do not find it rude. It is a perceptive observation.
[He sets the glass down still barely touched. He cannot risk intoxication, and he has no way of knowing how much the drink will affect him. It would not do to be in disarray before his Lady Harrowhark, or - the other significant authority.]
I did not expect death to present so many trials. I had always imagined that, while my bones would undoubtedly labor on in service, my soul would be subsumed in the River.
[He is matter of fact about his death. What grieving there was to be done for it, he has already done. He reserves his mournfulness for his next statement, a doleful pronouncement.]
I did not even know what a squid was.
[On the other hand: perhaps Viktor is right, and the beer will provide a distraction. In the hopes of dispelling thoughts of tentacles, Ortus steels himself for another attempt at beer.]
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You mean to say you died in your world and were brought here? [that's his guess, which he hadn't even considered being an option here if that was the case. did that happen to him? did his lungs give out without him realizing in singed's lab?
not something he wants to think long about, in truth. in fact he takes a sip of beer in retaliation of the thought.]
It is... hm, it takes time to adjust to how little reality really conforms to what we thought, doesn't it? A squid, of all things. [his lips thin and he takes another sip.] I try to take comfort in the thought that something about who we are as people is powerful enough to survive into... being a squid.
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I died nearly a year ago. The transition here was not immediate. I have journeyed more in death than I ever dreamed in life.
[First the River proper, then his Lady's memorial construct, then once more into the tumultuous current of death, to...here, where he has evidently yet retained his selfhood and his sanity.]
This is preferable to where I last was. [To say the least.] Despite the indignity of bonelessness.
[This was clearly the most upsetting aspect of being a squid.]
May I ask where you last were, before your arrival in this place?
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and for all that load to process he can't help a startled laugh, a quiet thing he smothers with a hand before offering,] I've been lamenting that we can be squids and still have backpain myself. [the indignity of bonelessness, though he's guessing there's more to it than that.] I never imagined we could be plucked from death to be reborn here, at least not so deeply into it.
[a pause as he looks at his drink and says,] I suppose then welcome to the Trench and the living, Ortus.
Hm, I was visiting an old mentor in hopes of getting help with a... project. [he glances over again, tapping his fingers idly on the bad beer. he'd give bars this, there was something about them that made speaking easier, just the back and forth between people like it was natural.] I don't suppose you've heard of Piltover? There are very few from the world I'm from here.
no subject
Thank you. It is not an unhappy alteration in circumstances. Although you are correct about the backpain.
[The pirate cell was thoroughly uncomfortable. Ortus grimaces in remembrance and straightens up further, twisting one way and then the other slightly to little avail.]
I fear I have not heard of your home. It seems few have heard of mine as well. [A troubled look (even moreso than his baseline) creeps across his face, an effect heightened by the mournful lines of his skull.] I have been fortunate enough to be restored to the side of my Lady, the heir of my House, and my sworn liege. She was...
[Distressed. Unsettled. Gripped by the needling terrors of her own mind.]
Uncertain of my arrival. [Another sip seems appropriate.] I hope your project has not been wholly disrupted by your transportation here?
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the 'house' bit catches viktor's attention, a tilt of his head as he considers. if it weren't for the skull paint he'd probably assume a house like his world, highborn families and crests, power in money and heredity. he has heard another use of house with all the necromancer business, so he takes a stab,] You... wouldn't happen to mean- ah, I do not know what to call the universe. It's one of necromancy and an empire of planets?
[regardless, he offers a sigh.] I imagine seeing one she thought dead would be shocking, barring anything else. I have found one of the biggest struggles here is balancing the influence of our old lives with moving forward in this new reality.
[a pause, then a soft breath] In some ways yes. In truth this place may offer a better path forward for that particular project. [he glances over with a quirk of the lips and a dry,] But it would do terrible things for my image if I started to appear unerringly optimistic.
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[An inconvenience. Perhaps they ought to come up with a name, if one has not already been thought of.]
As for past influences...that is precisely what concerns me. I do not remind her of anything that ought to be recalled. [He shakes his head, tilting his glass.] There is little to be done for it. Still.
[A faint tremble of courage comes to him then, bolstered by Viktor's dry humour.]
Perhaps we may both ruin our images with unfounded optimism. [He glances sidelong at the other man, more shyly than one his age ought to.] I will have faith in her endurance.
As for blood...I seem to have misplaced mine?
[A source of no small anxiety, heightened by the fact this lack is evidently even more dire than he thought. Ortus has yet to be introduced to the concept of 'Darkblood', or its qualities.]
no subject
Ah, so is your Lady Harrow or Gideon? He's mentioned them in passing... if I recall he said the first was very clever and the other had a kind heart. [something like that. his understanding of the great space necromancer drama is kind of comical, including thinking the emperor must just be a really good necromancer.
still he sobers a bit at that about past influences and what shouldn't be recalled.] Not to play into this terribly embarrassing optimism of ours but now you both have time to work through the tangles of whatever tragedy must have struck. I obviously cannot say with any certainty but I can't imagine she is not grateful to have someone that matters back with her.
[a broad statement but ortus seems devoted and exactly the type someone would be happy to see again, odd necromancer skull paint and all. the sidelong glance gets what he hopes is an encouraging quirk of his lips, approving of this optimistic approach despite it all.
what else did they have? but as for blood-] Hm, you might be a darkblood then. Palamedes is as well, if you prick your finger it will bleed an inky color. There's eh... well, apparently the blood does not exist until a wound is made? It's all very odd.
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My lady is the Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Gideon Nav is her cavalier, her sworn guardian. [There is an undeniable, if understated, dedication in how he speaks both of their names.] Warden Sextus is correct on both counts.
[And all three of them are embodied and whole. It is a miracle whose scope Ortus has yet to fully take in. That, combined with the diagnosis of his blood, and perhaps even a slight warning effect of the alcohol, put Ortus in a better mood than he has been in for - long enough it is not worth remembering. When Viktor's encouraging smile is added to the heady mixture, Ortus discovers his own mouth curving slightly in answer.]
I did observe such a phenomenon. [With his blood, that is.] That is a relief. As is the thought of perhaps...untangling the tragedy, as you put it. I had not imagined such a chance being possible.
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he resists the ever present urge to ask a million or so questions, instead feeling a touch relieved ortus seems to be doing just a bit better. or at least somewhat distracted from more unpleasant matters, which is always a plus. he does indulge in asking,] Palamedes explained the... what did he call it? Necro-cav bond I think might have been his short hand. What are you then, if I may ask?
[is there more of hierarchy? just a loyal member of the house? a necromancer too? well regardless, he picks up his beer, pleased with the returned smile and being able to help on the blood front. his first month was filled with questions and hallucinations of mushrooms, really he thinks they need to make an class or something specifically for all this.]
Darkblood then, certainly. Palamedes has excellent notes on the subject, if you are curious. [and a nod] I think it's often difficult for sleepers, our minds are not wired for a reality such as this. To mourn and attempt to move only to find you no longer need to? It is eh... complicated. Needing time with that is more than likely.
[for all parties, ortus included, he thinks.]
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I was her cavalier, in life. In truth, it was a title I was never suited for, nor one I sought to hold. [There's no trace of regret or disappointment in his voice about that; it rather more sounds like relief.] I am not certain what she will ask of me now. I have little aptitude for ought but poetry.
[Despite the way he phrases it, there is a minute tinge of pride when he speaks of his talents. He had proven their worth, to his own dazzled amazement - and when he thinks of it again, the pinnacle of that achievement, the dark and flashing eyes of the very heart of his work -
His face feels oddly warm beneath his paint. He nurses his beer to cool it. They are speaking of serious matters.]
Perhaps that is what I may seek to give her. Time, and a listening ear when she is ready to speak. Not unlike you have done for me. [He acknowledges Viktor's generosity with a nod.] I would be grateful to see the Warden's notes, if he is willing to share them with one such as I. His reputation precedes him. I understand he has an exceptional intellect.
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poetry though, that's interesting.] You may find that aptitude enough here, even beyond the typical value of the arts. Corruption spreads in unwell minds, anything that can offer a reprieve can be useful in keeping it in check. [a pause.] Ah, I've never been creative myself either, outside of machinery. How people manage it is beyond me.
[at the very least maybe keeping it up will be helpful to ortus' state of mind, which is half the battle as far as he can tell. frankly he's curious to read what he'd write, the man seems to encompass the phrase about still waters running deep. he would not have expected poetry to be the skill he seems to have some pride in.
the nod gets a small smile.] That is what bad beer and a bar are for, I find. Besides, it was much more engaging than trying to choke this down alone. [honestly the whole trip feels less aimless and little more worthwhile, which is not a quality he was expecting.
but pal, that has viktor waving a hand.] Oh I am sure he will, I haven't known him to be stingy in his knowledge. And he is, despite not being an engineer himself a single conversation with him inspired an entirely new branch of research we are both looking into. I can tell you from experience it's rare to find someone both clever and enjoyable to collaborate with. Usually it's a nightmare.
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But that would have always been a lie, and not one he would tell now.
He purses his lips at the mention of corruption in unwell minds, the meaning of what Viktor says coinciding with what Ortus assumes he means closely enough that it does not occur to him to question it.]
Is there not creativity in the work of the artificer? I have never understood how one may see an assortment of materials, and fashion things of use from them. [He rotates his glass on the bar top.] And but one conversation with a practitioner of magic inspired you to innovation.
[Self-deprecation in order to build up others is Ortus' job, and he is loathe to delegate it to Viktor, whose kind indulgence of his morose state in combination with his cleverness is earning him a place high in Ortus' esteem.]
Brilliance and arrogance are often hand in glove. It is a relief to know he is not so afflicted. [Unlike certain other necromancers he can think of.] He fares well, then? In your estimation.
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[he raises his glass in a faux toast to him, tone softening somewhat.] But you are right, of course, creativity takes many forms. I suppose it's natural to admire those that can craft in medium you cannot- words, in this case. Will you continue your poetry here?
He does, I believe. [there's the faintest pause that maybe tells he's not entirely sure. well might be a strong word for it, for anyone here, but he at least thinks pal is very much equipped to handle his particular burdens. maybe that's well enough. he turns to ortus, a touch conspiratorial when he says,] I also suspect he's the sort to keep his troubles close to his chest. It's something I plan to keep an eye on.
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I will continue, yes. [The affirmation doubled, as close to emphatic as he gets.] I have found new inspiration for my work, and a greater appreciation of the value of overcoming procrastination while one has the time to do so.
[New inspiration is said reverentially, with a faint bloom of awe in his earth-dark eyes, but he collects himself to turn to the next subject at hand. It reminds him, to his surprise, of the first time he 'talked shop' with another cavalier, although Viktor is anything but.]
Reticence is a trait typical to necromancers, you will find. I believe it, in part, stems from their mastery of magic. It is difficult to accept that one has limits when one is accustomed to being able to push past them through will and application of skill. It is even more true of the particularly talented.
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May I ask after the inspiration? [he's never really read poetry, mostly because it wasn't something readily available for most of his life. unless you count dirty undercity limericks, which he does not and ortus has already had to deal with the sixth's horny poetry anyway.] Oh yes, especially here where you never know what odd occurrence may keep you from your work. It's always something with this place.
[viktor nods- that is a very valuable insight, actually, one he'll remember.] It must be alarming, to have their entire system of magic and the rules that govern it turned on its head. I had always assumed mages and the like would have an easier time adapting to blood magic, though perhaps there's something to be said for having to unlearn what you know first. [a pause.] I suppose in terms of reticence it is true that the vulnerability of asking for help isn't easy to learn when you are used to being powerful.
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That is precisely the challenge. Those accustomed to power in one sphere are rarely called to learn to accept powerlessness in another, or even to understand it. [He is nearly at the bottom of his glass - how strange.] Whereas as those accustomed to powerlessness are even more rarely called to learn how to wield power, if they ever come across it, or to recognize the power they already possess.
[Weighty thoughts, and he has cause to suspect ones which are less profound than they feel in his current state. Everything seems to have a heightened emotionality - such as the warmth that blooms in his thankfully concealed cheeks as he turns his thoughts back to his inspiration.]
Returning to your question...I was blessed to bear witness to the subject of my greatest work, in embodied spirit. [The circumstances are a touch more complex than that, but it suffices.] Matthias Nonius, a cavalier without peer, and one of the greatest heroes of our House. To see him in battle, in the fullness of his skill, was...
[Ortus closes his eyes, transported back to the flashing grace of a deftly wielded rapier, the efficient elegance of a warrior for whom battle was as much craft as art.]
Sublime.
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he finishes his drink with a little 'bah' at downing the last of the now warmed beer. yuck, but the task is done.] Interesting you should put it that way. I've met a couple of people who came from a world without magic and the magic they have been developing draws on natural talents they did not regard highly. One man good at reading people able to occasionally read thoughts, for example.
[poetry seems to slip into ortus' words now and again, giving viktor an idea of the kind of poem this man might right. something epic rather than the flowery love poems he usually imagined when thinking of poetry. maybe more like the operas heimendinger was fond of, the rare times viktor saw one himself.
the way he speaks of this matthias though, it really does make the man seem like a the stuff of myths rather than stories.] Perhaps you can explain it better- when I spoke to Palamedes of cavaliers the understanding I got was it would be belittling to call them mere bodyguards. Would you say they are more like... hm, knights? Soldiers?
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He looks away at the mention of powerless people developing magic, a peculiar feeling of reluctance falling across him as he recalls the (deeply unpleasant) action on the ship. When he spoke, it had almost seemed as if -]
An interesting development indeed. Have you found yourself developing such...talents, in your time here? If the question is not overly familiar.
[Perhaps one cannot go around asking people about their magical abilities. Ortus has never met a necromancer who didn't make you aware of their status, one way or another, but it may be different for people who come into such things later in life.]
As for cavaliers, the Warden is correct. A cavalier's duty extends beyond the mere safeguarding of their necromancer's physical person. They are their necromancer's sword arm, their helpmeet, their companion in all of life and death's travails. They have more in common with a knight than a soldier, but in truth, the calling exceeds both.
A true cavalier ennobles their necromancer. They are an indivisible dyad, united in purpose and spirit to achieve heights neither could ascend to singly. It is the highest honor a warrior may aspire to.
[Ortus does not long to be a true cavalier. He merely speaks of them with a wistful, idealistic passion that brings life and lightness to his mournful features even under his mussed paint.]
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I accidentally bled over a machine I was working on and found I innately knew the issue was a clog in the tubing. It was... hm, not unlike reading the machine, I suppose. Another example of a skillset I already have emerging in the blood magic.
[his reaction to this was a bit of irritation when if first happened, which he now looks back at with some amusement at finding it a slight, as though he needed blood magic for such a thing. ah, pride. still, a useful enough trick that isn't terribly invasive.
well, and viktor thought pal was top notch at hyping up cavaliers. ortus just blew him out of the water and poetically, which is impressive because pal wasn't a slouch in that department.
(he also glances to his empty glass and feels the oddest spike of envy, at such a bond and from birth. not the knighthood really, not all the drama and protection and ennobling, but just the simplicity of a person there. hm, morose and only one beer in. definitely not having another.)
he pushes the glass to the bartender and shakes his head about another, turning to ortus to ask,] How are they chosen? I was under the impression it all starts quite young.