citizenofhieron-blog

[citizenofhieron-blog]

tabardalon‌:

You are seeing red, red, red. Hadrian’s thumb presses into your left eye, meeting stone resistance but still making you hiss out a sharp breath in shock. The human veneer is thinner here than the rest of you, little more than illusion–you learned the hard way that under an implication of humanity your eyes are flecked agate in smoke-veined marble.

An eye was a little to lose then, and it is even less now (because now you know Samot is here, because you do not need sight to know him). Your hands close like a vice around his throat.

“You’re never going to speak to him again,” you snarl, and there is nothing in your voice but hatred. 

His fingers crunch painfully against unyielding stone, but Hadrian is not expecting the surprised noise Tabard makes. It catches him off guard, and he’s looking for another weak point when Tabard bears down and starts to choke him.

“No--!”

Hadrian panics, grabbing at Tabard’s arms, trying to wrench them off while kicking him away as hard as he can.

Tabard is right. He’s never going to speak to Samot again, because he’s going to stay with Samol, serving him quietly until Hieron passes into Nothing, he’s going to find a way out of here and forget about this cursed place--

#tabard 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

glimmeringbone‌:

“It is not Hieron. We have seen the maps. This place is like a Hieron made of three rocks tossed into the sky. The stars are engines made of fire. It is –” Adelaide stops herself.

She folds her hands, too.

“We are surrounded by Nothing. The trains here course through the void. The seas fall endlessly toward stars through emptiness. The form of this Nothing may be different, but we have no doubt.” 

The workings of this place frighten her. She has worked to understand, but this place has no Samol – how did anything come from Nothing, here?

She is, perhaps, making a face. She smooths it over.

He thinks back to the train ride over with a shudder. It’s a powerful magic that brought them to these islands floating in the void and returned a dead queen back to life.

Adelaide, for just an instant, loses her stately composure, and Hadrian sees a flash of something calculating and dangerous.

“I wonder…” He trails off, looking out past Adelaide at the beachside town. Not-Velas. “Maybe we’re all that’s left.”

He says, “I’d like to see the maps.”

#adelaide 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

glimmeringbone‌:

“It is not Hieron. We have seen the maps. This place is like a Hieron made of three rocks tossed into the sky. The stars are engines made of fire. It is –” Adelaide stops herself.

She folds her hands, too.

“We are surrounded by Nothing. The trains here course through the void. The seas fall endlessly toward stars through emptiness. The form of this Nothing may be different, but we have no doubt.” 

The workings of this place frighten her. She has worked to understand, but this place has no Samol – how did anything come from Nothing, here?

She is, perhaps, making a face. She smooths it over.

He thinks back to the train ride over with a shudder. It’s a powerful magic that brought them to these islands floating in the void and returned a dead queen back to life.

Adelaide, for just an instant, loses her stately composure, and Hadrian sees a flash of something calculating and dangerous.

“I wonder…” He trails off, looking out past Adelaide at the beachside town. Not-Velas. “Maybe we’re all that’s left.”

He says, “I’d like to see the maps.”

#adelaide 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

tabardalon‌:

“How unfortunate that it didn’t stick–!”

You are no better suited for fighting in the dark than Hadrian is, but at the very least you are more on your guard than the paladin. The light goes out all at once and your vision wants to take a moment to adjust, but instead you launch yourself forward at where you saw him a second ago–if you can tackle him, get him to the ground, the fight will be firmly in your favor.

(It was enough for you to win last time. And here, now, there is no Samot to save Hadrian’s life.)

Tabard grabs him around the middle and sends them both crashing to the ground. Hadrian is six feet tall and some, and he hits the ground hard, grunting in pain as he lands on his shoulder.

He tries in vain to shove Tabard off, but he’s too heavy, stone limbs pressing down with bruising force. He reaches up instead, grasping for Tabard’s face, aiming for his remaining eye.

First Adelaide, then Tabard-- all of their old foes are here. The Queen is probably plotting to find Hella even as he wrestles the paladine on the floor.

“I’ll let your god know-- ha!” He chokes out a breath. “--you went down fighting.”

But he won’t call for Samot’s help. He’s not that desperate. Not yet. 

#tabard 01 #violence cw

[citizenofhieron-blog]

glimmeringbone‌:

Adelaide is a controlled woman. So she manages to ignore Hadrian talking with his mouth full. Obviously he’s… hungry.

“I’ve seen some of your adventures – the ranger is a sweet boy – and I do not think he would have had the power. Nor would Samot, nor Samothes. Not on their own.”

Nor Samol, Severea, Galenica… None of whom she has ever met.

“I have a passing interest in the Nothing. That is the only place such power could be found. But to divert it to create rather than destroy? I… do not know.” She dislikes admitting it. She dislikes admitting that her memory of Hella’s hand clasped on her wrist, pulling her from the welcome chill of Death into the startling heat of sunlight, might be a false one.

She dislikes all of this. Very much.

“So maybe they were working together,” Hadrian says. He finishes chewing, his eyes narrowed in thought. “I think he and Samot are friends. Or something. Isn’t it possible they could’ve sent us here?”

How does she know Throndir? There’s something she’s not telling Hadrian, and it’s making him more uncomfortable with each passing moment.

“Your Majesty,” he says. “I don’t think we’re not in Hieron at all.” He folds his hands in front of him. “I haven’t been able to sense Samothes’ presence once since I’ve arrived.”

“But,” he adds, looking around, “this doesn’t seem like Nothing, either.”

#adelaide 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

tabardalon‌:

The sound of Samot’s name makes you clench your jaw, teeth grinding as you struggle to calm yourself, to not lash out. The name of your god sounds so foul on the paladin’s lips–so irreverent–so careless, the tone of someone who pretends to know more than he should, pretends to familiarity–you take a breath, one beat, two.

“I do not blame a god for the actions of an insect,” you say, cold as ice. He is circling you and you track him; following his movements with your eye, feet fixed in place. It’s not the best strategy, but you are determined to maintain the appearance of the upper hand. “You came to that place with violent intent. Your friend landed the first hit. How could you not be guilty?”

It’s working. Tabard looks furious.  

“You killed me first,” says Hadrian. 

Samot’s words from that day come back to him: Unlike Tabard, you would not make a good paladine. And then he remembers why his powers are gone: the sword, the boat rocking back and forth, Benjamin’s hand--

Hadrian stumbles back. The light spell sputters out and plunges them both into near-total darkness. 

#tabard 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

glimmeringbone‌:

“That is as much as we recall.” It is irritating. Hella did this. Somehow. Or made it happen. But she should not have been able to. Adelaide knows her too well to think otherwise. “There are few capable of such magic as this.”

These worlds that runs on machinery and semiotics. That careen through Nothing, falling toward a star, of all things.

She sees Hadrian staring at the cookies like a very polite animal and restrains a sigh. “Eat something. There are cookies, hot drinks, pastries.”

Hadrian has a very short list of possible culprits. Hella is not on it, but Adelaide is, even though she looks a little annoyed with the whole ordeal at the moment.

“Do you think it could have been.” Hadrian looks around before leaning in. “Fan-- Arrell?”

He picks up a cookie and shoves the entire thing in his mouth before he can give voice to any more of his theories concerning bubble universes and asshole wizards.

“Wait,” he says, covering his mouth with the back of his hand so he doesn’t spray crumbs everywhere. “Do you even know him?”

#adelaide 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

tabardalon‌:

The poker catches you in the ribs and you feel your skin part, feel the marble crack and start to flake away under the impact, but you grit your teeth and let the pain slide away. It is what you have always done. To feel pain, to let it show, is so terribly unbecoming of a paladine, and you have always tried to be the perfect soldier.

“I was,” and your voice comes out rougher than you intend, stone grinding on stone. “I died on your sword and yet here I am. It looks like your actions have consequences this time, I’m afraid.”

You take up a stance that mirrors Hadrian’s; no weapon on your part, but your hand is up in a defensive position (knuckles marked with blood and marble dust), and you feel–ready. Confident. You doubt you would need a weapon to deal with Hadrian.

(Some little part of you says this is not right, and you ignore it.)

The poker connects with a sharp crack. Tabard snarls at him as they separate.

There’s blood in Hadrian’s mouth. His nose is probably broken, but he’s had worse injuries. Any lingering confusion or doubt he had is replaced by the practical need to survive this. His hand flexes on the poker, living muscle and bone beneath skin.

“Last time I checked,” he says, “it was Samot’s fault you landed on my sword. Why don’t you take it up with him?”

He starts to circle Tabard, looking for an opening. The blind spot on his right side, maybe.

#tabard 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

glimmeringbone‌:

Adelaide chuckles. “It was she who brought us here. And we would not mind seeing her once more. We have much to talk about.”

She takes a small bite of a cookie. She has no issue with taking her time, and if the paladin can’t appreciate good food, she will do it for him. “After all… I am just as alive as you, paladin.” Maybe more. She certainly has more fun.

Hadrian nods slowly. He cannot imagine what Hella needs to talk to the queen about, but if Hella’s the one who killed(?) her, then it probably isn’t anything good. The need to call on Samothes’ guidance is like an itch. What here is evil, he repeats in his head, over and over to no reply.

The cookies look good, though. He hasn’t eaten since leaving his apartment this morning. He stares at them like he’s waiting for permission. “I’m not really sure how either of us are alive. I think we went through the sword?”

#adelaide 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

tabardalon‌:

You are more than used to the snow. The journey to the Mark of the Erasure had him and his men slogging through snow up to their waists day after day after day–and it had been fine, because that is what paladine are built to do: persist. You cannot, however, say you enjoy it. Particularly not the sleet turning the Mare Crisium into a frigid marsh.

It was only fair that you’d delayed that day’s patrols–you were only patrolling for the sake of your own sanity, after all, not for anyone looming over you with great authority and expecting a report by sundown. You’d busied yourself exploring the Palilicium instead, taking stock of what resources you have at your disposal here (food, alcohol, medicine, not nearly enough weapons). To say you were disappointed with what you’d discovered would be–an understatement.

Maybe that’s a reasonable explanation for why, when you see the man that killed you (still so fresh in your mind, still aching), you rush him. You are already upset and you have been here for days icing over and letting anger curdle to bitterness and ignite again to fury over and over and over and now he is here, Hadrian, still alive, still so terribly human.

“You,” you snarl, and throw the first punch.

The paladine lunges for him, cold stone fist smashing into the side of Hadrian’s face. Hadrian staggers, swinging blindly with the poker as his vision goes white with pain.

The paladine spoke to him? Seems to recognize him? He’s made of stone, not the steel of Ordenna’s mindless soldiers--

And then Hadrian realizes why he looks so familiar. His name was… Tabard. Yeah. That was it. Tabard is one of the things about that trip that Hadrian has done his best to forget.

He goes into a defensive stance, blood pouring from his nose, his eyes watering. 

“You should definitely be dead,” Hadrian says. 

#tabard 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

Hadrian spends the better part of the day wandering the woods near Lampadias Suites. He hasn’t seen any wolves yet. He’s not really sure what to do if he finds one.

He’s about to give up and head back for the night when an elven man marches up to him and starts waving things around in his face.

“A post...moogle?” Hadrian repeats, frowning. His powers of language must be leaving him, like everything else. Why did people always have to be so rude?

Not certain of what this unusually tall elf is trying to communicate, Hadrian reaches out and tries to take the letter from his hand.

@citizenofhieron

Given that he’s apparently trapped here, Estinien supposes he’ll have to make do. And part of making do means settling some important things back home. Like writing a letter to send back home so certain Speakers of the House of Lords won’t send overworked Warriors of Light or knights off to turn Othard upside down looking for him. The letter’s all written now, it’s brief and to the point and tucked away in his tunic. Now all he has to do is mail it.

That’s… what he’s working on right now. Halone, he hates those things, but he has to find one to send this damn letter for him. And as much as he hates the idea of having to talk to some stranger and ask for help too, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

He catches sight of a man in armor, and he steels himself. Right, he’ll ask this one for help. “You,” he says to make himself known, walking over and pulling the letter from his tunic to wave it idly. “I’m looking for a postmoogle. Do you know where I can find one?”

#estinien 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

glimmeringbone‌:

Adelaide smiles at the armored man in surprise. She would recognize Hella’s intractable millstone anywhere. “Hello, Hadrian. Sit.” A gesture to the chair opposite her.

“We do not believe we have met in person, no. Although we had the pleasure of meeting a few friends of yours. We are Adelaide Tristé, Queen of Death, Empress of Pearls, the Reluctant Savior of the Longest Light, Blessed by the Far Sea.”

“As for the rest of your questions… would you like to order something?” She offers him a plate of little fancy cookies.

Hadrian obeys, picking up a cookie and taking a seat across from her. It’s very small in his hand. He sets it on the plate in front of him.

Yes, he recognizes Adelaide’s name. But Hella doesn’t like to talk about what happened in Nacre.

“Hella told us she killed you. You must be-- undead?” He peers at her. She doesn’t look like it. “You’re lucky she isn’t here.”

#adelaide 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

@tabardalon

This is much worse than not-Velas. This is almost as bad as the Mark of the Erasure. Hadrian shudders and sloshes through the mixture of snow, water, and dirt covering the streets of Crises. He really wishes he still had his cloak. Tries not to think too much about what happened to it.

He arrives at the tower before nightfall, not that it makes a difference in daylight, but he can only imagine what kind of foul creatures prowl the streets after the moons rise. He casts a light spell on a poker he finds by the fireplace and begins combing the first floor, shuddering as he passes the creepy smiling portraits lining the walls.

It’s strange, but so far, this is the closest he’s felt to his old life. Slaying evil, looking for powerful objects at the tops of towers… At this point, it feels more normal than whatever was happening in Hieron when he left.

A man emerges from the library just as he’s passing, and Hadrian holds up the poker to get a better look.

Yellow light gleams off the hard edge of stone. Oh. Oh, no.

#tabard 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

@glimmeringbone

“I’m looking for the city of Velas. Near the ocean,” he’d told the bear shopkeep, miming waves. The bear looked a little insulted, but answered him nonetheless, telling him to try boarding the train to Mare Nectaris. How was he supposed to know bears understood him? Most of his other powers aren’t working.

Samothes is gone. No matter how hard Hadrian concentrates, he cannot feel anything. For someone who is used to having three different deities’ guidance at any given time, it’s… lonely, like coming unmoored and drifting without a rudder or a sail.

Velas might be gone by now, too, crushed beneath Ordennan steel. At least Rosana and Ben are safe.

Hadrian emerges from the train station to a fresh wave of despair. Of course it’s not Velas. The ride took only a short time, and wherever he woke up is far from anywhere he knows. Last thing he remembers is falling, the swords piercing him and water overflowing. Maybe he landed in a different strata?

He sees the woman in a blue dress sitting at a cafe, and he recognizes her from… somewhere. He makes his way over to her. 

“I am Hadrian, Defender of the Undying Fire, Officer of the Order of Eternal Princes, and citizen of Hieron. Have we met? Where is this place?”

#adelaide 01

[citizenofhieron-blog]

starter call

capping at 3! feel free to check out hadrian’s info. 

#ark promo

[citizenofhieron-blog]

hi, i’m seoung! they/he pronouns. i also play daud. feel free to message me to plot stuff!! i’m @artificerdivine on twitter and tumblr, and i am also in the official discord. hmu!!

#ark ooc

[citizenofhieron-blog]

Ring, with the engraving, “I am loyal,” 1400s.