ikarosx

[ikarosx]

“I have seen all endings. I walk backward through my own ruin.”

The last of the dream shatters like glass against the sea of stars, you awaken in the brig once more, the dream gone and the surface of the boat nothing but a distant memory. The hum of machinery, now quite familiar, hums around you. Your body feels foreign, as though borrowed and stitched back together after weeks of abuse. 

It’s faint, but clear enough as your eyes adjust in the dark. A butterfly beats its wings above you in a smooth, rhythmic pulse like the beating of a war drum muffled in velvet. One wing shines gold, bright as the Laurelin and you remember your brother’s voice once more: so long as one leaf remains, the Laurelin lives. The other wing is woven in both shadows and a faint, flickering flame. There are runes spiralling along its body, too small to make out, but they burn faintly gold and coal-black all at once. 

Another flutter, then the butterfly seems to bend in the air, twisting upon itself as it transforms into a rune that takes shape in the length of three beats of the butterfly’s wings. The rune appears as a cracked ouroboros, coiled in a jagged spiral, its tail severed rather than swallowed. The serpent devours a shadow of itself, an echo caught in perpetual collapse while at the center floats a cracked hourglass, its sands suspended mid-spill, falling both up and down: lesser runes twist around the serpents body in ever-changing alignments, never repeating, never resolving. 

It lingers, then sinks into your chest as you come back into yourself. 

The a’dam is still present, a chain felt only in memory. But you feel the break - like waking from a lie whispered too many times. You are yourself again, but not unchanged; the a’dam no longer controls you, does not pain you, cannot affect you.

OOC Info:

The butterfly and subsequent rune represent the shape and appearance of your character’s soul, by altering it - even slightly - the a’dam’s control was broken. 

Do not post this prompt until 11am EST on Friday May 2nd. However, you’re welcome to post starters as a reaction to it now - feel free to attack the Kossith, break out your fellow rahaat, and start a riot. The control room, the engine room, and the boiler rooms are presently off-limits until after 11am EST on May 2nd. 

[ikarosx]

Ikaros gave her a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes like he wanted it to. He would stay strong for the Elvhen, but others wouldn't know who he was. And when the Kossith activated the bracer, when the suldam pulled on his ability, he wasn't sure how long he'd last. His hand took Nyla's, giving it a gentle squeeze before he released her. "Endure, Nyla." They were more spiritual than other Elvhen, ones connected to the mystic of Avalon than the physical abilities of others. "And when this is done, we're supposed to have a date."

Ikaros was going to be there king one day, he needed to make it to the other side of this so he could lead. “No… not yet.” But it was all a matter of time really. None of them would come out of here unscathed. “You need to come out on the other side of this, your our future so please keep you head down for that.” Nyla would try and help him where she could, if it came down to it she would go back to the wheel so he could be the kind he’s meant to be.

[ikarosx]

Dior's familiar features were both a relief and a sorrow. Sorrow that he had been caught up in this such as the prince had, but there would be time for apologies later. He had a duty to get the other Elvhen out – he would not falter now. "Later," he promised, moving forward now as he watched Dior reach out for the blade.

The a'dam around the other's neck fell alongside Ikaros', Dior's magic and will restored. "Telanadas, Dior." Nothing is inevitable. Ikaros put his hand on the other's neck, touching their foreheads for a brief moment in a small act of comfort. Releasing the other, he held the bloodied dagger in his hand, "We free as many as we can, and spare no mercy." Ikaros' tone was final, the prince held little regret in his mind. He knew Dior would feel the same.

"Bring your magic forth. You'll arm them." With one slam of the dagger, the lock broke on another cage, the person within standing as they were freed from their a'dam. "Watch the staircase. Another Kossith is on its way."

Dior limped into the corridor’s low light, one hand braced against the wall like it might steady the quake in his ribs. He moved like something once carved from marble and now cracked, but unbowed—blood drying along his temple, a fresh split blooming red at his brow. His breath hitched with every step, pain etched deep into his bones by Shaekir’s precision. They hadn’t killed him yet, of course. He was a trophy. Lysara’s most famous gladiator. One of Avalon's prodigal sons. Too valuable to break, so they bent him instead.

Then he saw it—the Kossith’s corpse sprawled in the corridor, and the figure above it. Elegant. Lethal. Familiar.

When the prince asked his question, Dior didn’t hesitate.

"Of course I do,” he said, voice hoarse but smug. “But I can whisper it in your ear if you want me to prove it.”

His eyes dropped to the dagger in Ikaros’s hand. Without asking, Dior reached for it, brushing two fingers along the blade. His breath caught—not from pain, but from absence.

It felt foreign.

Wrong.

Blades had never felt wrong in his hands.

“So,” he said, eyes meeting the heir prince, “what’s the plan, your royal highness?”

[ikarosx]

"Torsten." Ikaros repeated the name, a small mercy, perhaps. How long had it been since some of them had heard it said back to them? To hold respect was to say the name out loud, remembered, not forgotten. He let the a'dam fall off his neck, the fabric from his eyes resting on top of it. The dagger in his hand was Kossith-made, but it would work the same. All creatures bled, and he would ensure it was so.

"I am Ikaros, of Avalon." He held the dagger out towards Torsten, looking over the now freed Kingsguard. He seemed to be in decent shape, as well as they all could be. "This will have to do for now. The Kossith by the door has an axe. When we finish with him, you will have your sword." The shadows was where he thrived, and the Kingsguard could fight, "We should open the rest of the cells. The more who know their names, the more we have to stand with us. Come." He was used to being bossy, moving past Torsten with a nod. Another Kossith remained at the far end, on guard for the stairs that led up.

Torsten's hand moved to his throat as he felt Ikaros' blade move across the neck of his sul'dam - cutting to the bone. With a few, fleeting moments, he could taste the Kossith's ichor as it spilled across the tarmac of his tongue. Then the a'dam released its hold as the metal seemed to recede into the collar and Torsten could breathe without the oppressive weight of the Kossith's compulsion at his back.

Ikaros raised his Kossathi dagger at Torsten but the collar fell between them, clinking against the ground a few times before the circlet ringed the metal beneath them and fell flat.

"Torsten." He started, "Son of Ragnvald, Sivhild, and Gunnar. Kingsguard." His fists tightened reflexively because somewhere in this hold Afshin, Ormir, and Freydis were still being kept prisoner. In natural fashion, the blademaster's brow deepened impossibly further, something deeper than anger or rage bristling like a second skin. "I'll need a sword."

[ikarosx]

open starter location: dreadnought notes: uwu first 3 pls

It's like the first breath of spring, following from branch to branch within Avalon. Mythal's Glade and the first frost, or the garden in Arvandoril and the roses that would bloom. Or the apple tree where his grandmother's pegasus would sit, a stark shadow in the bright light.

Perhaps that was the best example for the Prince, as he stood against a wall. His eyes were covered, but his mind was finally awake. Had been for hours as he waited for his chance. The a'dam sits heavy on his chest, heavy only from the lack of awareness that he'd been forced away from for weeks. The visions sit with him, they will never leave. A mind is a powerful thing when returned, and Ikaros hears the name they'd associated with the oracle. Some broken word, seer-unmade, but he was more than just his visions. He was the heir of Avalon, and the a'dam would do nothing, now.

Weightless, he never needed his sight to see. Moving in the shadows was his specialty, and without his daggers, he would improvise. The large Kossith in front of him was not silent as he moved, and Ikaros moved in a swift movement, his eyes free and his hand upon the dagger in the creature's belt. In fluid grace, the dagger met the hollow of the Kossith's throat, between the gap in the armor as the horned creature went down.

Ikaros stood, bloodied dagger in hand, the a'dam sparking lifeless upon his chest. Another figure had come, but the light step of a rahaat told him all he needed to know. "Do you know your name?" Ikaros turned, the dagger in his hand as he considered the soul in front of him. Death would be a kindness, but he would give them a chance. They had a rebellion to begin.

[ikarosx]

MATTHEW DADDARIO

[ikarosx]

A trembling beneath your skin awakens you in the dark of the night, though when you open your eyes you do not see the interior of the Kossith ship. You pause, for a moment, and try to consider how much time has passed? Days? Weeks? They say you lasted longer than most, but broke, you did. Instead of the brig, you see a sky without stars churning above you like a wounded beast; threads of molten gold tear across it, tangled and sickened. Your body feels heavier, rougher and when you move you hear the faintest crackle of stone upon stone. 

You’re reminded of an old story, of a man whose family’s destiny was doomed and written across the stars. So afraid of the future was he that he aimed to steal the night sky itself: different have different variation of the God in the tale: Nótt, Nyx, Nox, Varda - but the root was always the same - someone wished to change a fate written in the stars, so they enlisted the aid of a God.  

When you awoke, a butterfly perched itself on your chest, resting against the collar of your a’dam. Its wings, inscribed with tiny runes, each pulse faintly. Somehow, without really knowing, you can see how it’s anchored to you, how this frail and fractured creature represents the shape of your soul. Its wings beat once, twice, then begin to ascend as the boat of the vessel blooms simultaneously around you into a ruined landscape. Thrones made of thorns, rivers of ash, statues weeping molten tears. Ahead of you a path splits three ways, each swallowed in mist.

"What Was Lost."

You step through a forest of petrified trees, their bark cracked and bleeding golden sap. Beneath your feet, runes writhe - ancient, primordial symbols, older than Avalon, older than the stars. The butterfly remains on your chest, its wings bright, but quivering. At the heart of the forest stands a figure: Titania, Queen of Avalon. She extends her hand - and you see that it is pierced through with nails of blackened gold.

Behind her, the trees shape themselves into the sigil of your House, but twisted, the roots choking the crown. Titania’s mouth moves, but no words come - only a sound like the flutter of a thousand broken wings. 

In her hand, Titania offers you something clutched in her bleeding hand: a mirror, fractured into seven shards. 

What do you do?

The air feels dead. His heart is heavy, his mind is fractured. To know the weight of the future had always been a burden, one he'd learned from a young age. Pushed for the power to see what would come next. Odin gave an eye for it, and the story of the man who wished to steal the stars. These stories are not new, they are not groundbreaking – greed drives every story, eveery bit of the future. And each vision that Ikaros gave, it felt like giving a piece of himself back to the weave.

How far down had he gone? This path, twisted and looming – like the life had been drained from it long ago. Every vision had a color, each one that he had known. Ikaros remembered green; the feeling of being lighthearted, the color of nature – of relief. White was peace, all consuming – but this melancholy of blue that he choked on, time and time again, like an ocean drowning his sorrows.

The a'dam sits heavy on his chest, body struggling to fight in a way that his mind could not. Torn in so many directions, the prince of Avalon was taught to bow to no one.

"Ir sa tel'nal." I am empty, full of nothing. He breathes the words at the sight of Titania, voice broken and raspy from disuse. He hadn't seen anything but his visions in so long, it made him want to fall apart.

The vision of his mother fills him with a sense of dread, piece by piece he tries to understand – why is she here? The sul'dam would take her, too. The Arishok would have his kill and his home – Avalon, so old and twisted – Abelas had said as long as the tree stood, there would be hope.

Abelas.

'Time was once a blessing, but long journeys are made longer when alone within. Take spirit from long ago, but do not dwell in lands no longer yours.’

Endure.

Ikaros' feet feel heavy, the fog of the dream fighting him as he lifts his hand to meet Titania's. He feels the blood in his mouth, the taste of remembrance. What he could do when he had his moments of reality, when the sul'dam allowed him to remember – he held onto those fleeting feelings.

There are no words spoken; his soul aches. It aches until he remembers what it's like to burn. Red. Anger. Blue. Melancholy. Choking.

The pieces cut his fingers, but he takes the mirror. Jagged edges; which way do they go? He tries to piece them together, forge the mirror, make it whole once more. Bleeding, endless ichor – again and again. Jagged edges to make a mirror whole, seven pieces, to gaze within and see a man he hardly recognizes.

"The Crown and the Storm."

Your mother fades, then a few paces bring you to stand before a sea of black water, frozen in time. Above, a shattered moon bleeds rivers of crimson light into the water below. A ruined citadel floats at the center of the sea. It looks like the castle where you were raised, your home, or something that once was. From the citadel’s highest tower, a second butterfly flutters toward you - this one twisted, thorny, armored in black crystal.

It circles you, whispering promises of power, survival, dominion as the butterfly on your chest shudders at its presence.

In your hand, a crown of thorns appears, heavy and wet with blood. 

What do you do?

The mirror and his mother fade, his hands no longer covered in cuts and blood, they're just his. He'd been so many people, so many consciousnesses that had pervaded his own. Vision after vision. The death of those who would never see it come. The pain of loss, the glory of a victory. The vanquishment of a threat.

Ikaros burning, too close to the light. Melted wings and broken promises, like the mirror that melted with the vision. A sea of black water, the air stale. No longer dead, but in stasis.

He remembers his own downfall. A blighted hand, reaching forward. Suffocating.

Time would never cease, but it often felt elastic. His visions made it as such, and the broken creature that remained looks at the ruined citadel, Arvandoril. The home of the people of the stars. Once so brilliant and bright, floating amongst the vast sea. Deep and full of despair, how could he fix such a thing?

He couldn't. He had failed. The reminder burns bright, his eyes he wishes to tear from his skull. But still, he'd see. Blinded for so long, it had done nothing but make his oracular ability stronger.

Broken, Sahlkareth.

The butterfly that floats towards him reminds him of what he'd done, what he'd become. Nail after nail in an obsidian coffin, would he ever remember the lives he'd help take? Ikaros had always had a healthy dose of avoidance to humans within Taravell. Avalon was always his main consideration.

He reaches forward, the thorns digging into his palms. He is the heir. He is the crowned. The next king – he would have that power. Ikaros' hands shake, his fingers curl around the crown to dig it further into his palm.

He thinks to place it on his head, to pull it down, down – until he could bleed as much as he wants to.

But he doesn't.

Someone is screaming.

The butterfly on his chest had shuddered, the obsidian one gone from his sight.

He was screaming. His hands, bloodied once more, both wrapped around the crown that breaks as he finally tears it apart.

Mythal'enaste.

"The Last Thread."

You walk along a crumbling bridge suspended over a void of stars and below, shadows twist and rise - broken echoes of yourself, of the futures you could have lived. The bridge groans under your feet, each step fracturing it further. Ahead, at the bridge’s end, stands Yhane - cloaked and veiled - holding a leash woven from rune-threads and he holds out his hand to you.

Between you and him, a final butterfly - massive, ancient, wings black as obsidian - blocks the way. It perches on the bridge’s edge, its wings torn but still alight with runes you do not yet understand.

What do you do?

The vision fades, but the pain always remains.

Hate is loud. Fear is loud, but it is only the desperation of a few who shouted, wanting to be heard.

He wants to hear her voice again, Titania reminding him what it meant to be a king.

You might not ever be able to change those few minds, but so long as you remember you're not alone, you will overcome.

Ikaros stands now, his vision returned to him, and he knows who this person is who waits for him at the bridge's end. Yhane, holding the leash to his end.

Sahlkareth wishes to take a step forward, and he does – a few that lead him forward, to stare at the butterfly. These runes had appeared on each pathway, leading him forward and speaking to him in a language he had yet to understand.

His mind aches. To force the butterfly to move, to let it all end in a way that he had seen. He was not the man in the story; he did not wish to steal the stars, and bend it to his will. The prince had never used his ability in such a way. The Kossith had pulled forth something that had remained within him, protected and pushed away – but perhaps he was the man he wished to change the endings he'd seen. The pattern wrote itself in many ways, many versions.

While the colors he knew and felt, the way he'd drown on melancholy blue, or sit in the electric yellow of finally feeling something for himself – they were dulled, but present.

He feels as if he'd be sick. Was this another vision pulled by the same creature that stands at the bridge's end? The veiled demon that had shattered his soul, these echoes of himself playing around him.

"Ir tel'him." I am me.

The butterfly fills him with a sense of dread, and Ikaros turns his mismatched gaze down onto the one that had settled on his chest. So delicate, some fractured part of him that carried the light.

His voice had been silent for so long, only echoing all what he'd seen. Any opinion forced from him by the sul'dam. Who was me?

IkarosSahlkarethIkarosSahlkarethIkarosSahlkarethIkarosSahlkareth–

He takes a step backwards, and another, away from the sight before him.

The stars were gone, stolen from the endless void around him. What god would aid him now? Who would intervene? Tempt the Norns, the Moirai, the Gulses – all versions of fate and death and vision. Ikaros had been in his head for so long, it was hard to discern reality from his visions – was this just another of Yhane's tricks? What torment would await him?

He held on to the semblance of who he used to be, backwards, off the bridge, lest he throw himself into the void below.

Ir tel'him.

[ikarosx]

The dreams are no longer your own. Your waking visions have returned, but they are not your own. This was the end that you foresaw, your own destruction and the end of your agency. You see things - yes - but only what he lets you see. Where once the threads of fate wound themselves into truth, now they are tangled into madness. Visions of war, of fire, of your family broken and screaming, haunt your mind - but it’s with clarity that the path is laid ahead. You foresee a storm, so the sul’dam avoids it, you foresee resistance, so the sul’dam cut down the rebels, you foresee the Arishok cutting your mother’s throat - and the Kossith drive ahead. You are commanded to speak them aloud, and each time you do, another nail is slammed into your coffin. The sul’dam keeps your eyes covered, though you are not blind - your Sight is made stronger in darkness. Sometimes he lets you remember who you are  - Prince, Crowned, Chosen - but only just before you are made to kneel. And when you do, it is not for Avalon, but for Sahlkareth - his prize, his puppet prophet. Sahlkareth, the Kossith have renamed you. Seer-Unmade. You have been assigned to the Heart of Veil, run by the sul’dam Yhane. A heart forged to weaponize silence, sorrow, and shadows. He is one who dresses in veils, hiding his face and his missing horns and demands obedience through manipulation, memory, and shame. 

some content warning

The visions were always mixed with colors. Colors that the Prince had associated emotions with, feelings, experiences – all as they threaded into a vision of the future for whomever was asking. It was always an ask, someone always sought him for an answer to what they desired.

His mother taught him how to ground himself. To take a breath, remind himself that he wasn't these whom he saw in his visions. Those feelings, those colors – red for anger, purple for despair – all sorts of things that pulled at Ikaros' mind and sent him into a hollow darkness that he would pull himself from – they were manipulated into his gift. The Prince had five centuries to attempt to perfect his feelings, what he knew to be reality, and it seemed to unravel within moments.

He remembers the feeling of watching his people get chained, fighting until he couldn't anymore – until the threat of those around him became enough to lower his weapons. The dash of Saleba as she escaped, all these moments in time that felt like a fever dream.

Until he barely remembered them at all.

He was the crowned heir, one that did not bow to those who demanded it. But when his eyes were covered, when the madness began – that lesson on how to ground himself became mixed with the emotions themselves.

Ikaros witnesses the death of those he knows. The blood that pours from Titania's throat, the storms that shock a body from bone to soul – and the sul'dam demands more.

With every vision, another part chips away. One more falls into the abyss of feelings that these visions consume. He is a Kossith, driving a spear into a mother and her children. He is another rahaat who mounts a head on the dreadnought. He is the Crowned Prince, on his knees with nothing but darkness to remind him.

Never ending puzzle pieces that float by. A memory, like the roots of a tree, tangled beneath the black feeling of dread that haunts his every moment.

Who was he?

Sahlkareth.

There was always power in knowing what came ahead, empty promises and avenues of the future that could come to pass. How long had he fought? He can't remember. Did he fight? Perhaps, Ikaros had fought until his ability had fought back. Forced to see the future, speak them aloud as he ensures they come to pass.

No longer a master of the shadows, he's a subject of the darkness.

In those moments, brief ones, where he knows he is Ikaros–

You were named after my grandmother, Ikaria–

An owlbear, two small dragons wrestling for a treat–

A brother, nameless, with a laugh–

A flash of pink scales and a smile–

The purr of a Cat-Sith–

And when Sahlkareth kneels, he recognizes the metallic taste of blood fill his mouth. A taste of the future.

[ikarosx]

Ikaros was used to gory images, was used to the idea that he was thrust into something that he couldn't control. The different between this and Ikaros' visions, however, was that Ikaros felt them. That was what turned his stomach, what pushed him to limits he couldn't handle. So when he took Elris' hand, the vessels and the old gods appearing, it was not unlike what he'd seen on the fallen branch. What he'd seen from the demon and Lusacan. When the connection was severed, he let out a breath. "Getting this ring off of Abelas is our only shot, but Elris, there is little we have found of how to counter them. It's dark magic. The oldest. I've tried everything, but my visions are...lacking as of late."

The odds that he might argue with both brothers looked high with Ikaros reaction to the mention of the ring. Elris knew that their might be ears all around them so instead of explaining it out loud it would be easier to show Ikaros. Elris extended his hand knowing that the prince would know the meaning of this gesture, that Elris would project it into his mind. “Be warned Abelas lost what was in his stomach when we learned this.” It was as much of a warning as he could give to Ikaros.

First the image of the two old gods Zazikel and Razikale, trapped, imprisoned but their words implanted into the history of the rings themself. “There will be nine. Each a hand to guide our will. Each a vessel to transcend death. Each a curse that will outlast the ages” This was only the first part of what there was to reveal to Ikaros. How the rings were made would be the part that was truly gut wrenching and what had caused Elris the most concern. The images of the hidden sanctum came next that it was beneath the worlds bones, a palace where no light had ever touched, where no one not even a god went freely, where the veil between realms was thinnest, where the abyss was closest. How the forging of the rings took place, the raw darkness and loyalty to the old gods they were made out of. Elris gave the prince time to process because this wasn’t like reading about it on a page, they had seen glimpses of the creation, the violence, the sacrifice.

[ikarosx]

He'd seen the Kossith land, had watched as they held a flag over Aventia – all in a vision. And he'd gone, told Titania where he would be going, in order to see if it would fix the sight that no longer seemed to come to him. Still, he was the Prince of the Elvhen, his duty was to care for those around him, and ensure that they would make it through this. He looked at Nyla, the silence in the cell stretching for a few more moment, "Yes," he murmured finally, thoughts drifting to those on the outside. Abelas needed him; what would happen when the other didn't know he wasn't there to comfort him? Titania would be beside herself; Ikaros hated this situation, but for now, he'd ensure everyone made it through. "Are you hurt?"

Who: @ikarosx Where: Kossith Vessel

Sadly Nylatheria knew more then a handful of other who hand been captured by the Kossith. She would rather none of them be here but there was no space to wallow in that sentiment. There was one she had a understanding with, another who could see the world in a different light to everyone else. Yes he saw the future and her souls but they both had a similar out look that something were better to remain a secret. She quietly sat beside the prince. slowly words spilled from her mouth "Have you been taken to be tested yet?" it was only a matter of time she would be and it terrified her to think about what they could do with her gift, what she had always been to scared to approach.

[ikarosx]

"I saw the Kossith landing in Aventia." He'd already told his mother, the vision itself had darkened everything past that. And already, the date was steadily approaching. He had less to worry about when it came to Lysara. Avalon was crumbling from the Blight within, but Titania wouldn't let their allies fall so easily. This was just another lesson, despite Ikaros' insistence that they needed to prepare. No one would ever come to help them – they were locked in place with an Old God.

Abelas' perspective was always fresh, even as the ring sat upon his finger, reminding Ikaros that he had to help the other as much as he could. Nothing would separate them. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "We'll figure it out."

Abelas poked Ikaros in the cheek.

"So, you didn't see that coming?" The joke was always right there, over five centuries later and Abelas was still making it - though now there was the fresh layer of Ikaros genuinely not being able to see the future. "Hm, but that doesn't sound good. Well, the lack of migraines maybe-" the elvhen had to stop himself from asking Ikaros if he'd talked to Yavanna about it. He couldn't, none of them could. Thinking about what they'd seen on the other side of the eluvian still churned something in his stomach. The warzone, the corruption, the slain dragons - but the very handsome drow had been pulled back. Lusacan was freed from his prison... but now they knew the face of their enemy, they knew where the corruption was coming from.

"Sometimes I feel like things are so hopeless," Abelas admitted, "but the Laurelin has stood for thousands of years, fed us, helped us, kept us strong. I think we're the generation that's meant to repay that debt, we're the elves that will save it." He couldn't know how to help Ikaros or why his brother had lost his vision to begin with, but with no shortage of affection, Abelas placed a hand on his shoulder, "What was the last thing you saw?"

[ikarosx]

"A reward? You got one, if I remember correctly." Ikaros had little time to process most of what had happened, singling it down to a few things that he could control. Had Abelas not bodied him through the Eluvian, he was certain that Titania would be mourning two family members and not just one. Yavanna might not even be dead – the Prince would hold onto that.

Still, he was the heir to Avalon, he wouldn't be slighted in any way – but this was an easy one. There was little that brought him joy as of late, but he stepped into Lucanis' personal space anyway. "What kind of reward is a mercenary looking for? Gold?"

Making a blood oath was probably dramatic, but Lucanis had never not been calm about anything in his life. Most of the time, he was blowing things out of proportion in a way that it didn't need to be. Or, on the other hand, he was probably only thinking about himself. There was a selfish part of him that absolutely only made that blood oath because he wanted to make sure he saw Ikaros again. Anything could have happened once they stepped into that Eluvian, but he was determined to make sure that his worst thought didn't come true. Luckily, it hadn't.

Still, Ikaros was sure to give him some shit for it. And, of course, Lucanis would take whatever the prince dished out to him with a smile on his face. "The blood oath was that I would bring you back alive. I think I fulfilled it." He leaned forward slightly, almost in a bowing position, but not quite. "What, no reward?"

[ikarosx]

MATTHEW DADDARIO

[ikarosx]

Ikaros had come to show face, as one always did. Every year, a very short year it seemed, the Lysarans liked to speak of the wonders they had achieved. While it was different within Avalon, where they learned these things that moved with nature and did not disrupt it, Titania had made him start going to show just a little bit of coordination. Still, there were some who looked for him, asked for him, and the voice of someone familiar was one of the only things that made him turn, "Elris." He greeted the other with a small tip of his head. Ikaros was always patient, frowning when the topic of the ring on Abelas' finger was brought up. "What about it?" He'd read the history about it with his brother, but he was curious what the other knew.

Who: @ikarosx

Where: after progress day

He wasn’t sure if Abelas would still call him a friend anymore after all he said, how they parted ways. Those rings weren’t something to be ignored, to be felt to chance. Maybe Abelas was willing to gamble, wait till an answer fell into their laps of how to be rid of them. But Elris wasn’t going to wait, he wasn’t going to leave it to the wheel to decide if his friends soul would stay damned. He’d leave no stone unturned, it was his family role to find such information so he would search every library in existence if he had to.

He had found a lead, a slim one at best but it was far better than nothing. Three rings from the Age of Enlightenment had survived, one with Iskaran royalty, one of the hand of the divine and the other with Queen Yavanna. Part of him wondered if she had left it behind before rescuing those in the hollow but there was a sneaking suspicion that it was still resting on her finger. It was why he was hunting down Prince Ikaros. Why when he saw him he picked up his own pace to reach him “your highness, your highness a word please.” The relationship he had with Abelas wasn’t the same with Ikaros it was far more formal. “It’s about that ring on your brothers finger.”

[ikarosx]

"Well...yes, it's supposed to be thinner where there are...immense spiritual presence. Tragedy, emotions." The Elvhen felt all things very deeply, as did dragons, the creatures of the world. It weighed on them more than they could ever really understand. Their intristic connection to the Veil, to the world of the Spirits as well, it was lost on them. Still, there would be moments that would come to remind them what was lost. Nyla's connection to Souls was a start, and Nuvi could understand the Veil if she continued to study. "Different how?"

“Thank you for your answers,” she tells him, gratefulness evident in her tone despite the answer being what she had expected. Best to double check her own observations lest her own biases color her discoveries. Usually she would try to find people to bounce her theories from her fellow researchers, but with the vow of silence in the topic, she could not. So if the Prince was offering… Well, she wasn’t one to deny Ikaros after warning him about her own propensity for word vomits. He knew what he was getting into, after all. Moving to sit in front of him, she settles in the library chair and taps her nails against the table as she considers where to start.

“My research began by trying to identify why the Veil is thinner in  certain areas while denser in others. For the most part, Lysara follows a certain logic. Places where the veil is dense tend to be peaceful in a way. In places where bloodshed has taken place, the veil is thinner, if not all outright torn. The agony and pain of the events that took place in the area left a sort of imprint, and rarely does that imprint disappear.” She pauses, still tapping her fingers against the table, hesitating, before continuing. “The logic also appears in Ankhuria, and the few places in Astoria I have managed to visit but somehow… Somehow that wasn’t the case for Iskaldrik. The veil acted differently there.”

[ikarosx]

"Great. Less I need to explain, then." Ikaros was busying himself with anything these days. And leading Ryujin in was filling his time. He was so benevolent, it was crazy. Still, there was a selfish part to this – the Faiman wouldn't live very long if he didn't attempt Avalon at least once, or maybe he'd take the route Elokian had and return every twenty years. A small price to pay and a very small amount of time. He moved forward now, expecting the other to simply keep up. People usually did. Passing through the Moongate was easy, and for Ryu, it would be as well. They stood now, in the courtyard that always greeted them. But Ikaros continued to walk, towards an Eluvian that stood, and a path that continued along behind it. "We can take the direct route...or," he tilted his head towards the path that led into the Hearth, "We can walk." His clairvoyance had never failed him, and Ryu's dancing around words was more than enough to interest him. The other always had his mouth full when they were together, anyway.

"She was with us for a long time," in Ryu's typical means of evasion, that meant he knew quite a bit about his mother. "The weave, the sundering, the blight," he's listening it all off like a grocery list, turning to Ikaros, "I know enough; the sea called to me more, and whatever stories my mother told me of Avalon to help me sleep only made me all the more prepared for now." He's avoiding the emotional bit of it all, wants to wash his hands clean of feeling too deeply about it all when the darker pieces of him were simply using this to avoid greeting the Abyss a little earlier than he wished to. "She should be in Elgar'nan's Hearth."

[ikarosx]

Gwaern was pouting. He even put his wing up to block view of Abelas, but not long enough to not snatch the meaty treat, however. He then sat with his back to the brothers, only after making sure he looked over his obsidian shoulder to give them both a huff and puff before plopping onto the ground in his sorrow. Ikaros put his hands on his hips as well, standing side by side with Abelas, it was obvious they were brothers. "Gwaern –" The dragon was easily won over, the scratch behind his scales doing enough to make the big overgrown baby purr.

Ikaros put his hand on the dragon's head, holding it for a few more moments before he looked at Abelas, "I can't see anything," he said finally, though he tried to keep his tone lighter than it should be. "Haven't had a migraine in days. It's doing wonders for my mental health walks." If anything, people were giving him an even wider berth than usual. His mother had told him he was...simply carrying the classic royal bitch face. But to an even worse degree. "We've kept the Eluvian under endless watch. No one wants to even step inside again, and something tells me the walkway we used is most likely destroyed."

"Ikaros he's right there." Abelas said, putting his hands on his hips, "Honestly brother, you're not nearly as perceptive as you used to be." With a big sigh and a stretch, he fished out a meaty treat from his pocket - brushed off some lint - and then tossed it in the air for Gwaern to catch. "It's okay, you'd have got him no problem," Abelas praised, "but you'll have to do much better to pull one over on me." Another pose was struck, punctuated by the hard snores of Vallas taking a nap under a tree - his growing belly sagging against the grass. He looked hungry. "Don't worry," he reached for Gwaern and scratched behind at some of those hard-to-reach-scales. "he'll be in good hands here." Ikaros didn't need to explain, Abelas understood perfectly fine. "Any news from the other side?"