[it isn't intentional - Monte Cristo is not some narcissist who dabbled in magecraft to amuse himself or to add to the power he knows he can claw his way towards if he really strives for it. but he's wounded, bleeding onto ancient symbols in the floor where he's holed up, faded and nearly an illusion. and he laughs, bitterly - he can recover, of course, but it'll take time. a soul dwelling in the midst of fire cannot abide waiting, necessary as it is.]
If ever the spirits of hell clung to me, would they but rise up now, and heed my wishes to steady my path.
[the words are softly spoken, dripping with rage and ice, and he clutches his side, feeling the heat of his blood escape. damn. he might have to resort to cauterizing this if Haydee cannot do anything for him. he will not die. he cannot die. not yet - death will bow to him like everything else, it must.
it is his soul that cries out, tempest tossed that it is, a whisper yet heard under the roar of flame.
[Magecraft replicates miracles. Is it any wonder, then, that Monte Cristo's unspoken plea is heard? The Grail does not differentiate between human desires. It merely senses an intent - a wish - and reacts accordingly. Help me, his soul begs, and it responds.
The dark crimson blood evaporates into blinding light, pure and white. Golden motes fill the air, which crackles with energy. Something is coming in response to the Count's summons. The only question is:
Is it something he wants?
There's a sound akin to thunder, a clap of lightning that blazes upon the retinas and is gone in an instant. The motes are gone. Standing in the circle is a strange man, who sizes Monte Cristo up with sharp eyes behind his glasses.]
Hmph. Aren't you a sore sight for the eyes.
[He puts his hands on his hips.]
I am Caster. Hans Christian Andersen. I ask of you: are you my Master?
[the light stuns him, but he knows something of what is happening when it resonates with where the crest is buried in him, the circuits that burn in his flesh. the air has the scent of a storm, and Monte Cristo stands tall despite his injuries, gold eyes fixed on the figure before him as though he was trying to pierce him with his gaze.
a master? he was master of much, all aimed towards the proper direction. and that name to him rings some bells - clearly, this is some kind of spirit taking a human form, drawn out by his blood and the remnants of magecraft in this place. would he be its master? he's wrestled more vicious beings into shape so far.]
Am I? You would do better to ask if I would be, come forth to make me an offer.
[for if he refused, it would begone, would it not.]
But, I shall be, you who call yourself Caster. There are worse bargains to strike in this world.
[Monte Cristo will feel a burning sensation on the back of his hand as the command seals carve themselves in, interfacing with his crest's circuits. It's intense, but fades quickly. Caster steps out from the circle, a leather-bound book shimmering into existence beneath his outstretched hand.]
First things first, Master. What's with the state you're in? You didn't summon me in the middle of a fight, did you? I'm absolutely useless if you were looking for a trump card. You may as well shoot yourself now if you intend to use me to turn the tides.
[the pain bites, but he endures it with a twitch of his brow. it's only more atop what he already feels, and he scoffs at the question.]
No, the current battle is over. I don't need any trump cards beyond the ones I already hold - I simply miscalculated somewhat. This is far from enough to kill me, if you're concerned about that.
[The man's standing tall in spite of his wounds. Caster's sharp eyes dig up each minuscule detail, stitches them together into a conclusion. He rests his hand on the pages of his book.]
If you die, I'll die with you. [He says it in a matter-of-factly tone.] It's only natural for me to be concerned for the health of my new Master, moron. Though I don't place great value on my life, I'd be disappointed if this story were cut short. Quit that act and sit down.
[He emphasizes the command with a flick of his finger.]
I'm a useless fighter, but I can patch you up, at the very least. I can't stand a sloppy magus.
[the insult, combined with the command, removes any desire to comply, and his mouth presses into a thin line. no. no one commands him, not anymore - and nor do they insult him so freely. he will stand, or receive nothing.]
If I am your Master, then do display your concern in a more fitting manner than letting your mouth run away with ill advised comments on my state.
[Ah, there's that pride. Unfortunately, Caster's ego is large. A bitter smile curls his lips.]
Would you rather I spit my words while I kneel before you, Master? Or perhaps you'll wash my mouth out with soap to punish my attitude? I am no knight, bound by the constraints of chivalry, and I don't care enough to lie. I am a miserable parasite - an author! - and I will speak freely, for my honesty and loyalty are my two redeeming traits. Everything else about me is unadulterated garbage.
[it gives him pause for a moment, before he laughs - one sharp, cold thing, without humor at all. a gesture of concession, not real amusement.]
Fine. Speak as you would, Caster, I will not force any but a villain to kneel. Only keep in mind two things when you see fit to open your lips - that I abhor dishonesty greatly, which you have confessed you do not care to stoop to, and that only God commands me.
[the blood that leaves him does not diminish how he holds his head high, nor the intensity in his gaze, and he practically dares this man - Caster - to make some smart remark about it.]
[Caster begins to pace back and forth, taking a closer look at the room around him. If his idiot Master refused to put down his pride, he'll wait until he has the chance to properly administer aid. He'll sate his curiosity first.]
So you are one of those magi, are you? A devout believer in the All Mighty? Hilarious. What works have you created in His name? What have you done to fulfill His gospel? Come, come, tell me. I want to know the full depths of your devotion-- [he draws out the next word into a sarcastic drawl] --Master.
You assume much, Caster. But as for my works, they shall become clear soon enough.
[this is a long abandoned room, by the looks of it. dusty and cold, left alone save for the forced in door and the blood that marks Monte Cristo's path. but the Servant's arrival has left it all with the scent of a storm, things disturbed and a long faded arcane circle inscribed into the floor, a section poorly covered by a decrepit rug's corner.]
For mine is the hand that reveals truth in the shadows, that is not blinded by appearances but metes out justice upon the wicked that they have long deserved. I see the flaws in man, and do not turn away but take action upon them, worthy as they are of consequences. What in that requires I be a mage?
[--a deluded fool, then, who fancied himself a vigilante sent by God. He's the sort of character Shakespeare would pen and, much to his irritation, the sort Caster would want to keep an eye on. He doesn't interrupt the dramatic speech, simply lets it roll over him as a wave. When his Master's finished, he scoffs.]
You're more empty-headed than I first thought. Justice doesn't exist in the hands of man, and it certainly doesn't rest in your hands. Do you think you alone can cleanse the sins of the world, when humanity was enough to make even Atlas kneel? Don't make me laugh. You're bound for destruction if you attempt such a feat.
[the words are not shouted, but they ring out with an authority, and them spoken, Monte Cristo decided enough is enough. he shifts, pressing his cloak tightly against the worst of his wounds, and his jaw clenches as he turns on his heel, fully intent on walking out of here and away from this. enough. he'll find another place to potentially raid for medical supplies - he hasn't lost so much blood that he's in danger, as long as he keeps this pressure constant and manages to find a way to sew himself up. pain is only mental, he can endure this - and if he has to drag his body all the way to his house, he will.
he cannot argue with this creature for too long. the amount of time he'll be able to complete everything he needs on his own is dwindling, and there's still a risk now that he'll fall ill in the process. another detail to consider.]
[No, this man was the furthest thing from a mage. A mage would've taken Caster's support, would've threatened him with their command seals. This fool? He's choosing to walk away without even giving his name. Where did he think he was going?
Catching up to his Master isn't a difficult feat. Caster simply shifts into his spirit form and glides to the man's side, reforming out of glittering gold dust.]
Of course I know shit about you. You don't even have the courtesy to give me your name. Where are your manners?
[Even as he berates him, he's summoning his book with a flick of his finger. The pages glow with lines of ink, ethereal and blue. The words peel themselves free and, like a swarm of fireflies, encircle the man. Their light soothes his pain, mending broken skin and muscle.]
You were too busy ranting about your delusions of grandeur, you pompous ass! Even if I'm a third-rate spirit, it's only right that you introduce yourself to me!
There is no need for me to introduce myself to someone who only wishes to continually insult me. My name need not be tied to those words.
[he says it, and yet, the spell is soothing him, helping him out. the wounds are healing, and he doesn't need to have himself in an iron grip. no more blood trickling out, and that is something. taking a few deep breaths, he regains control, and pulls the cloak away from where it had been pressurizing him.]
Nothing I said is a delusion, Caster. If you are going to decry it all as impossible and ridicule my existence, then that is your choice, though I suspect it will end in your eternal frustration.
[he would see, in time. it was inevitable. his tone is still that careful authority that's accustomed to being heard without repeating itself.]
However, I am not an ungrateful man. And so I thank you for your magecraft, and what it has done.
[less pain meant perhaps he could gain a bare scrap of rest tonight.]
My name you so desire. I am the Count of Monte Cristo.
[The offer of a name is a middle ground. Caster can satisfy himself with it, for he's gotten one thing he wanted. His book snaps shut, fades into nothingness with Caster's signal.]
It's been a long time since I've written for nobility. Monte Cristo... where exactly is that? I can't say I've heard of such a place before.
An island in the Mediterranean. Small comparative to the immensity of the world, yet I am its lord all the same, since the title was for sale in the Italian market.
[checking his clothing and his body, he pulls the cloak close - it's dark, so the blood that stains it will be hidden. he'll be able to get home easy now.]
I must to home - to be away for too long will arouse suspicion.
[A man who bought his own title - what is he to make of that? Caster scrutinizes the Count even closer, as if that'd reveal the answers he desires.]
I suppose you'll want me hidden? Though, I'd be surprised if someone like you lived with others. You give off the aura of someone who'd rather remain alone.
There's no need to hide you away. It will be a simple manner to incorporate you into my life - you could easily take the position of my new valet, for example. My staff is accustomed to my behavior and whims, and they know to stay silent when needed, not asking too many questions.
[he talks as if it's the most natural thing in the world, posture having lost all traces of pain and instead befitting a man who called himself nobility.]
[the emotion that their link entails should be a faint thing, soft as a barely there breeze, only noticeable with effort. but what comes in is sharp, whipping against a metaphorical cheek in intensity. rejection of the idea, a rage flaring up at his core, the gates of an estate slamming shut with force enough to shake the gate.
there's anger, thick and choking, barely restrained.]
So, Caster, you can read minds as well? I know not of your previous masters, but I find such a tactic distasteful.
[his words are freezing cold, speaking without forming the sentences that Caster should show himself again at once.
(one errant chord in the roar that comes in response. a twist in it that can only be matched with the idea of fear and reflexes born from hair trigger responses. get out of his head, that's somewhere that shouldn't be touched, get out-)]
[A raging inferno wasn't to Caster's expectations, nor is he interested in sticking it out. In an instant, he reforms at his Master's side, hands folded behind his back as though he's a lecturer handling a furious student.
(was that a trickle of fear he felt, in the midst of all that fire?)]
Reading people is what I do. [Despite the storm trembling before him, Caster retains his dry tone. He's been threatened with violence and death plenty of times before. He can bear any ill will slung his way.] Reading minds isn't. If I possessed such a power, I wouldn't have bothered to answer your summons in the first place. I can tell you're already going to be a handful, Master.
...I would have appreciated a clearer warning, before that.
[he says no more, and turns away to keep walking, his steps at a quick clip for a man that was just recently bleeding out. he wants to leave this conversation - leave this moment. what this spirit does is not his concern, since right now he needs to slip back into his residence without the neighbors seeing.]
I am not someone who likes to be surprised. I prefer to do the surprising.
[he's walking fast so that no one will see him and notice the blood on his clothes.
and because I have no clue how far they are, at a point they will stop at a gate outside of a house, one where Monte Cristo unlocks it and comes through, waiting for Caster to follow.]
...It will probably be best if I enter alone, though - introductions can be made on the morn. How many people need to know your real nature is something I have to consider.
[he'll relock the gate and lead them to a side door instead. so yes, now he has permission to become invisible, to speak in his mind.]
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inkwreaths2019-08-07 11:11 pm
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If ever the spirits of hell clung to me, would they but rise up now, and heed my wishes to steady my path.
[the words are softly spoken, dripping with rage and ice, and he clutches his side, feeling the heat of his blood escape. damn. he might have to resort to cauterizing this if Haydee cannot do anything for him. he will not die. he cannot die. not yet - death will bow to him like everything else, it must.
it is his soul that cries out, tempest tossed that it is, a whisper yet heard under the roar of flame.
help me.]
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The dark crimson blood evaporates into blinding light, pure and white. Golden motes fill the air, which crackles with energy. Something is coming in response to the Count's summons. The only question is:
Is it something he wants?
There's a sound akin to thunder, a clap of lightning that blazes upon the retinas and is gone in an instant. The motes are gone. Standing in the circle is a strange man, who sizes Monte Cristo up with sharp eyes behind his glasses.]
Hmph. Aren't you a sore sight for the eyes.
[He puts his hands on his hips.]
I am Caster. Hans Christian Andersen. I ask of you: are you my Master?
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a master? he was master of much, all aimed towards the proper direction. and that name to him rings some bells - clearly, this is some kind of spirit taking a human form, drawn out by his blood and the remnants of magecraft in this place. would he be its master? he's wrestled more vicious beings into shape so far.]
Am I? You would do better to ask if I would be, come forth to make me an offer.
[for if he refused, it would begone, would it not.]
But, I shall be, you who call yourself Caster. There are worse bargains to strike in this world.
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[Monte Cristo will feel a burning sensation on the back of his hand as the command seals carve themselves in, interfacing with his crest's circuits. It's intense, but fades quickly. Caster steps out from the circle, a leather-bound book shimmering into existence beneath his outstretched hand.]
First things first, Master. What's with the state you're in? You didn't summon me in the middle of a fight, did you? I'm absolutely useless if you were looking for a trump card. You may as well shoot yourself now if you intend to use me to turn the tides.
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No, the current battle is over. I don't need any trump cards beyond the ones I already hold - I simply miscalculated somewhat. This is far from enough to kill me, if you're concerned about that.
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If you die, I'll die with you. [He says it in a matter-of-factly tone.] It's only natural for me to be concerned for the health of my new Master, moron. Though I don't place great value on my life, I'd be disappointed if this story were cut short. Quit that act and sit down.
[He emphasizes the command with a flick of his finger.]
I'm a useless fighter, but I can patch you up, at the very least. I can't stand a sloppy magus.
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If I am your Master, then do display your concern in a more fitting manner than letting your mouth run away with ill advised comments on my state.
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Would you rather I spit my words while I kneel before you, Master? Or perhaps you'll wash my mouth out with soap to punish my attitude? I am no knight, bound by the constraints of chivalry, and I don't care enough to lie. I am a miserable parasite - an author! - and I will speak freely, for my honesty and loyalty are my two redeeming traits. Everything else about me is unadulterated garbage.
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Fine. Speak as you would, Caster, I will not force any but a villain to kneel. Only keep in mind two things when you see fit to open your lips - that I abhor dishonesty greatly, which you have confessed you do not care to stoop to, and that only God commands me.
[the blood that leaves him does not diminish how he holds his head high, nor the intensity in his gaze, and he practically dares this man - Caster - to make some smart remark about it.]
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[Caster begins to pace back and forth, taking a closer look at the room around him. If his idiot Master refused to put down his pride, he'll wait until he has the chance to properly administer aid. He'll sate his curiosity first.]
So you are one of those magi, are you? A devout believer in the All Mighty? Hilarious. What works have you created in His name? What have you done to fulfill His gospel? Come, come, tell me. I want to know the full depths of your devotion-- [he draws out the next word into a sarcastic drawl] --Master.
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[this is a long abandoned room, by the looks of it. dusty and cold, left alone save for the forced in door and the blood that marks Monte Cristo's path. but the Servant's arrival has left it all with the scent of a storm, things disturbed and a long faded arcane circle inscribed into the floor, a section poorly covered by a decrepit rug's corner.]
For mine is the hand that reveals truth in the shadows, that is not blinded by appearances but metes out justice upon the wicked that they have long deserved. I see the flaws in man, and do not turn away but take action upon them, worthy as they are of consequences. What in that requires I be a mage?
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You're more empty-headed than I first thought. Justice doesn't exist in the hands of man, and it certainly doesn't rest in your hands. Do you think you alone can cleanse the sins of the world, when humanity was enough to make even Atlas kneel? Don't make me laugh. You're bound for destruction if you attempt such a feat.
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[the words are not shouted, but they ring out with an authority, and them spoken, Monte Cristo decided enough is enough. he shifts, pressing his cloak tightly against the worst of his wounds, and his jaw clenches as he turns on his heel, fully intent on walking out of here and away from this. enough. he'll find another place to potentially raid for medical supplies - he hasn't lost so much blood that he's in danger, as long as he keeps this pressure constant and manages to find a way to sew himself up. pain is only mental, he can endure this - and if he has to drag his body all the way to his house, he will.
he cannot argue with this creature for too long. the amount of time he'll be able to complete everything he needs on his own is dwindling, and there's still a risk now that he'll fall ill in the process. another detail to consider.]
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[No, this man was the furthest thing from a mage. A mage would've taken Caster's support, would've threatened him with their command seals. This fool? He's choosing to walk away without even giving his name. Where did he think he was going?
Catching up to his Master isn't a difficult feat. Caster simply shifts into his spirit form and glides to the man's side, reforming out of glittering gold dust.]
Of course I know shit about you. You don't even have the courtesy to give me your name. Where are your manners?
[Even as he berates him, he's summoning his book with a flick of his finger. The pages glow with lines of ink, ethereal and blue. The words peel themselves free and, like a swarm of fireflies, encircle the man. Their light soothes his pain, mending broken skin and muscle.]
You were too busy ranting about your delusions of grandeur, you pompous ass! Even if I'm a third-rate spirit, it's only right that you introduce yourself to me!
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[he says it, and yet, the spell is soothing him, helping him out. the wounds are healing, and he doesn't need to have himself in an iron grip. no more blood trickling out, and that is something. taking a few deep breaths, he regains control, and pulls the cloak away from where it had been pressurizing him.]
Nothing I said is a delusion, Caster. If you are going to decry it all as impossible and ridicule my existence, then that is your choice, though I suspect it will end in your eternal frustration.
[he would see, in time. it was inevitable. his tone is still that careful authority that's accustomed to being heard without repeating itself.]
However, I am not an ungrateful man. And so I thank you for your magecraft, and what it has done.
[less pain meant perhaps he could gain a bare scrap of rest tonight.]
My name you so desire. I am the Count of Monte Cristo.
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It's been a long time since I've written for nobility. Monte Cristo... where exactly is that? I can't say I've heard of such a place before.
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[checking his clothing and his body, he pulls the cloak close - it's dark, so the blood that stains it will be hidden. he'll be able to get home easy now.]
I must to home - to be away for too long will arouse suspicion.
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I suppose you'll want me hidden? Though, I'd be surprised if someone like you lived with others. You give off the aura of someone who'd rather remain alone.
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[he talks as if it's the most natural thing in the world, posture having lost all traces of pain and instead befitting a man who called himself nobility.]
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There's no need to treat me as a human. I am a spirit, after all. If you wish for me to be at your beck and call with little fuss--
[Caster snaps his fingers. In an instant, he vanishes in a puff of golden motes. His voice echoes in the Count's head.]
Then I can simply do this.
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there's anger, thick and choking, barely restrained.]
So, Caster, you can read minds as well? I know not of your previous masters, but I find such a tactic distasteful.
[his words are freezing cold, speaking without forming the sentences that Caster should show himself again at once.
(one errant chord in the roar that comes in response. a twist in it that can only be matched with the idea of fear and reflexes born from hair trigger responses. get out of his head, that's somewhere that shouldn't be touched, get out-)]
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(was that a trickle of fear he felt, in the midst of all that fire?)]
Reading people is what I do. [Despite the storm trembling before him, Caster retains his dry tone. He's been threatened with violence and death plenty of times before. He can bear any ill will slung his way.] Reading minds isn't. If I possessed such a power, I wouldn't have bothered to answer your summons in the first place. I can tell you're already going to be a handful, Master.
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[he says no more, and turns away to keep walking, his steps at a quick clip for a man that was just recently bleeding out. he wants to leave this conversation - leave this moment. what this spirit does is not his concern, since right now he needs to slip back into his residence without the neighbors seeing.]
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Hmph. I apologize. I'm an author with a penchant for the dramatic. I didn't think you'd react so poorly.
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[he's walking fast so that no one will see him and notice the blood on his clothes.
and because I have no clue how far they are, at a point they will stop at a gate outside of a house, one where Monte Cristo unlocks it and comes through, waiting for Caster to follow.]
...It will probably be best if I enter alone, though - introductions can be made on the morn. How many people need to know your real nature is something I have to consider.
[he'll relock the gate and lead them to a side door instead. so yes, now he has permission to become invisible, to speak in his mind.]
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