finalflight | OPEN POST; [ LOUIS GUIABERN / METAPHOR: REFANTAZIO ]

[That's a very good question. What is he doing here?

The man Kieran sees is dressed quite flamboyantly for someone found in the depths of a crypt (though maybe not by DA standards), though his normally-pristine white garb is tattered, dirtied, bloodied. It's as though he has just recovered from A Very Bad Time, pushing himself up from the crumple he was in with some great, great effort.

He doesn't seem to notice any company. His mind whirs and whorls, confusion, pain, and anger splayed across his features. Catching sight of his own gloved hand, he seems to pause, looking down at it as though it should be unusual to even be there-

No reply. Kieran may just have to try again.]

[ No, it's probably not the most flamboyant thing Kieran has ever seen. Some of the undead down here are quite finely dressed.

No, the part that catches their attention most of all is the bloodstains. ]

Hey.

[ A little more forcefully, though they're still trying not to startle the poor fellow. The impulse to run to his side to check on him personally is there, but Kieran can feel Lucanis' gaze somewhere over their shoulder radiating suspicion. ]

Are you okay?

[That, too, is a very good question. Is Louis okay? He last recalls taking the shape of a human, towering over those before him, his mind and body riddled with magla. His consciousness all a slushy haze of fury and ambition — and now?

He feels small. Tired. Overwrought.

Angry.

Someone’s speaking to him, and his gaze flicks up, finally, to meet Kieran’s. Beyond his attire, there are also maybe two more notable things about this man: he has a pair of horns on his head (again, not that weird in DA) and a sword by his side.

One which he’s quick to grab the hilt of. He doesn’t know why it’s here, why anyone of him is like this, but does it matter?]

You.

Explain yourself.

[like he’s the one in charge here or something]

[ What does it say about the state of their life lately that a lot of people have been jabbing fingers at them recently and demanding answers? It doesn't feel like that long ago that the First Warden was ready to throw them in a cell for starting a blight.

Geez.

The lift a hand, halting Lucanis after half a step forward, one hand on the hilt of his blade. Kieran appreciates the support, but this requires a bit of a delicate touch. ]

I was hoping you'd be able to explain. I was sent to investigate a disturbance and... found you.

A disturbance?

[He repeats, indignant if only because epitomizing all he's just experienced into a "disturbance" feels insulting, though through no fault of Kieran's own.

Louis stands to his full height, sword held by the hilt; his stance might be a little wobbly, but he manages all the same to straighten his shoulders and look at the others with some manner of pride. A part of him... simply wants to set upon them with an attack, and maybe if his mind was still magla-addled, his body bursting to the brim with it, he'd do so. Even now, more even-keeled, it is tempting.

But he doesn't. Not yet. Assessment first.]

What you and yours sensed, no doubt, was a surge of magla. For what reason I have been brought here because of it, however, I cannot say. Indeed, I cannot even say where here is — which part of Euchronia is this?

[This place seems rather. Well. Hypogean. The opposite of where he last was.]

[ Kieran is far from unarmed themself, with a shield slung across their back and a sword that looks like it was crudely carved from some sort of onyx crystal at their hip. They don't reach for either at the moment and simply watch the stranger with a keen, green-eyed gaze.

The tension in the air is palpable. Enough that some of the wisps floating around the vicinity shudder and depart. ]

I don't know what any that means. [ Magla? Euchronia? If only they'd brought Emmrich or Bellara along instead. "Magla" sure sounds... magey. ] I'm sorry.

You're in Nevarra. In the Grand Necropolis.

[ Their gaze flicks the blood staining robes that used to be white. ]

If you're hurt, we can get you to a healer.

[A healer? The irony of that statement. It's almost too much; like a hammer that pummels and cracks at the foundations of his barely put-together mien.]

A healer?

[Sure, it's a reasonable suggestion, given his state. Wounds that eke crimson into the white of his uniform. But... it's. Funny.]

[Yes, very funny.]

Ha...

[YES, VERY FUCKING FUNNY]

I don't need a HEALER.

[Louis sucks in breath, pulls himself together, glues what remains of his dignity into place just long enough to take a few strides forward.]

I must return to my battle. [Grand Necropolis whomst.] If you intend to stand in my way, then I will kill you.

[ OH OKAY THIS IS A VERY NORMAL AND SANE PERSON THEY FOUND DOWN HERE.

Kieran casts a quick glance at Lucanis, one that clearly tells the assassin to be ready for anything. ]

What battle? Didn't you hear me? You're in the Grand Necropolis. You woke up in a sealed tomb.

[HE'S TOTALLY FINE

He does hear them, but they are words that fall upon the ears of a man who might've just had everything stripped from him — his dream shattered to pieces, overcome by another's. Louis is far more logical, far more controlled on a normal day, even willing to listen to those who might oppose him with a calm and considering air.

Needless to say, today is not a normal day. His heart is a storm, and Louis is not particularly known for peaceable measures.]

And so I will claw my way out of it, if I must! My dream does not die here in this wretched place — so move.

Absolutely not.

[ Kieran is a very gentle person at their core. They'd rather talk their way out of a situation, come to an understanding instead of escalate, but there are some things they take quite seriously.

The safety of the Necropolis and those that dwell there, living and dead, is one such thing.

It's not like Kieran is a small person, either. This guy has a couple inches on them, sure, but they're a bundle of muscle, tense and ready to spring. One hand moves to the hilt of their blade. ]

We can either talk this out, figure out how you got here and how to get you back to where you came from, or you can join the housekeeping staff as a corpse. I'm not letting anyone hurt a soul in this place.

I am done speaking with you. Let both magic and steel itself decide the outcome!

[Isn't this a great first meeting.

Louis "I strike to kill" Guiabern has no qualms about fighting, this is nothing new. The strongest convictions must be bolstered by strength, or they are just notions fated die on the vine; so, of course he raises his sword against both of his new opponents, and its blade begins to glow with some manner of energy. The magic imbues the steel with angry, vibrant flames, which lash out, white-hot, as he lunges forward to swing in a wide horizontal arc directed at both Kieran and Lucanis.

Is this necessarily a good idea, given his current state? Well. That's a problem for future Louis.]

[ They tried diplomacy. That probably counts for something.

Anyway, Kieran has seen a lot, even before joining Varric on his grand quest to stop a god, so flames and magic hardly phase them. They go low, ducking under that brilliant flash, while Lucanis goes high, born on wings of spectral bone and shadowy feathers. ]

Try to keep him alive, Lucanis!

[ With only that bit of instruction out of the way, Kieran comes up fast, sword swinging in an arc that follows the motion of their body, sickly green light flashing along the edge of that blackened blade.

Sure, Kieran might not want him dead, but a man might find himself surprised at what he can live through. A little necrosis never hurt anyone, right. ]

[A little necrosis? He's had worse.

If it's the sort of magic that lashes forth from the blade, he twists his body to avoid that green energy, his muscles crying out for the effort; yet either way, he manages to hike his sword up to meet Kieran's. Metal sings against metal, and Louis roots his heels into the ground to keep sturdy, pressing his strength into the clash.

His other hand? Well, he's still aware of a second opponent having taken overhead, so he aims a palm at wherever Lucanis happens to be right now and summons a huge bolt of lightning to crash down, targeted right at him.]

[ Kieran has faith that Lucanis will be fine. He didn't come by the reputation as the Demon of Vyrantium, fearsome mage killer, by letting a little lightning get the better of him. He's quick to get out of the way, a flurry of darkness and otherworldly motes of light.

For their part, Kieran keeps their blade locked with Louis', giving Lucanis time to try and get around to the man's flank. ]

It really doesn't have to be this way, you know! We're trying to help you!

[Unfortunately, reason is not reaching him in these moments. Fortunately, Louis is unlikely to keep this up for much longer, given his current state.]

I don't need your help!

[The lightning is a no-go, but what about a huge gust of fearsome wind that rushes out in a blast radius around him as he clenches his hand into a fist? The magical equivalent of trying to fling a buzzing gnat away.]

[ The wind works quite well, pushing both Lucanis and Kieran away. The assassin gets buffeted back against a wall while Kiran jams their sword into the ground to keep themself from flying too far. ]

The hard way it is, then.

[ With a grunt of effort, they pull themself to their feet, the blade in their hands twisting with green energy until it takes the shape of a different weapon altogether - a scythe, glowing sickly green and coursing with shadow. They swing the weapon in a low arc, the blade kicking up a wave of green crystals as it skims the ground. About four or five shards of crystal go flying at Louis, streaking for his limbs, his torso. Nowhere fatal, but hopefully enough to put him out of commission. ]

[He wonders what manner of magic it is, dimly, as the sword changes to a scythe. Perhaps it's this notion, fleeting as it is in the moment, that hammers home the fact that he is far, far from the Euchronia that he knows and recalls — but the thought is tossed aside as the crystals suddenly come flying at him.

Again, Louis twists his body to avoid one embedding in his sword arm, but it's about the best he can do in his state. He hasn't even the time to summon up another round of magic before he earns two more in his torso. The pain carves through him and makes him crumple to his knees, face twisted up in pain.]

Urgh- You-

[ The scythe twists back into a blade as quickly as it had changed in the first place, though Kieran still keeps their weapon at the ready. ]

Let's try this again.

[ Said as they close in from one side, and Lucanis from the other, both of them tense and ready for more magic or worse. ]

Who are you? And what are you doing here?

[Damn it, what a wretched blow to his pride, already shattered to pieces. What a state to be in, weakened and defeated yet again, and in more than half of the time on this occasion. Louis burns with anger and something far more foreign to him — a bleak, all-encompassing shame.

Still, he glares daggers at both of them as they approach, but makes no further move other than to tense his fingers around his sword hilt again.]

My name is Louis Charadrius- [he says it with aplomb and pride, as though it would salvage whatever he has left at this point] -and I do not know why I am here! Did you not listen? I am meant to be in the Euchronian skies!

[ Oh, don't worry (or do), Lucanis has his eyes on Louis' sword arm. One twitch, and it's likely not to end well. ]

You don't get to chide me for not listening, when I tried to explain to you where you were and you attacked us.

[ A beat. ]

Do the names Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain mean anything to you?

What?

[Hint number one that, no, he has never heard of such strange names.]

No. Should they?

[ The sheer bafflement in his voice is enough for Kieran to believe him. Some people, present company included, might call that too trusting, but Kieran figures even a skilled liar would show some sign of recognition. ]

Well, that rules out direct involvement from the gods, at least.

[ Or, at least, involvement Louis was aware of.

Green eyes flick to the sword still clenched in one of Louis' hands. ]

Are you going to put that away or am I going to need to take it from you?

[Gods? What sort of gods have gibberish names like that? Despite himself and his position, Louis scoffs. He tries to straighten if allowed for it; hand not moving from his sword, but making no move to use it, either.]

You'll have to take it.

[Such as his pride dictates. Using it or not, he will not be unarmed willingly. (Thankfully, that won't be hard to do.)]

[ Elven ones, of course.

But that’s beside the point, for now. Louis is allowed to stand, but Lucanis is quick to step up behind him, dagger at the ready. ]

Alright then.

[ Take his sword they shall. Kieran reaches for the blade with a gauntleted hand, tugging it from the man’s grip to tuck into their own belt alongside their usual weapon. They won’t bother asking if he can walk – he seems the prideful sort, so Kieran won’t push – and instead turns to head into one of the Necropolis’ cavernous halls. If ever there were a sign that Louis isn’t where he’s supposed to be, all the Navarran architecture is probably it. ]

This way.

OPEN POST; [ LOUIS GUIABERN / METAPHOR: REFANTAZIO ]

there will be so many metaphor spoilers in here, AVERT THINE EYES YE WHO ENTER HERE

rolls in the spoilers bc i don't know what's going on

don’t worry about it

there is clearly nothing to worry about

no subject

no subject

1/4

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject