ꙮ The Citadel of Valaïs, grasping up into the sky. Where is Luĉja, and where are they headed?
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is no stranger to waiting, but the circumstances are a bit different this time. They’ve been hanging around the rooms where Clan Emberlight have been put up, waiting for an all-clear to go speak with The Guard-Capitain’s prisoner.
ꙮ And the all-clear arrives, rather more quickly than you might have expected. Casimir knows that, for whatever reason, Clan Emberlight wishes to speak with Valaïs’ mortal enemy before he is disposed of, and although he would rather not tarry, he intends to make sure that you have your chance. There’s a long hallway that leads to a single, heavy-looking door.
walks down the hallway, metal steps echoing. They look down at it, and attempt to open it, so they can duck inside.
ꙮ There is some kind of Contraption used to open the door - a wheel that spins, that does something, that does something else. It’s well-oiled, and easy to activate. When the door does finally swing open: The room seems purpose-built to contain one specific prisoner, who’s chained to the far wall - made out of a bright metal that’s been deliberately scuffed to be unreflective, with silver chains that have received a similar treatment. In the entire room, right now, Luĉja’s probably the only thing a person could see their reflection in. The prisoner looks up, cheerfully.
: “Oh, hello. Please, make yourself comfortable!” He’d been sort of spacing out, you think, until the door started announcing itself.
immediately understanding the situation, and still having a bit of glass and silver in their pocket, Luĉja snaps a small bit of slate between their fingers, and once more, they’re covered head to toe, with their outfit from Mu. They sit by the door. “As comfortable as one can be in such a place. Do you mind a bit of conversation, Naught Nemo Nicodemus?”
looks a bit amused – not at Luĉja’s expense, certainly, but still, he smiles. “I’ve never minded it before, I’m certainly not about to start now.”
nods, bright eyes shining out from behind a mask of white fabric. “I am Luĉja of Clan Emberlight. I have many questions. I think my first is, did you plan to best us in combat? Or was being chained up here part of your plan?”
: “Well, the stakes seemed fair? Either I capture you, or you capture me. Either way, I get to watch you fight firsthand, and we have some time to talk.”
: “Then you are not afraid of what the Guard-Captain will do to you?”
: “Mmmm, not particularly, no.”
nods. “Feel free to trade in questions if you have any. It is only fair stakes, after all. Why are the people here so frightened of the Undead?”
: “Mmmm. Why do people ever fear death? It descends, without words understood; it takes and it takes. It’s not like they’d live forever without us, though.” He looks thoughtful. “I suppose, if anything, it’s the communication barrier. Which is why I spend so much time this close to the Pathos trying to make myself understood, and I get chained up like this for my efforts.”
would shrug, but he’s, y’know.
: “And what are you attempting to make understood to these people?”
: “That they don’t have to fear what they don’t understand. That there’s more to life than staring up, moon-eyed, at the High Houses, I suppose. It’d be nice if they didn’t mostly have to die in order to realise that?”
: “Will being thrown into the Pathos stop you from achieving this?”
: “Oh, dear Luĉja, I’ve no intention of being thrown into the Pathos. When I dance that dance it’ll be of my own volition, and no one else’s.”
: “Then I remain unworried.”
: “Good! Good. No sense living life full of worries. What else can I relieve you of?”
: “How long have you been at this dance?” Luĉja is unsure if they should ask How long have you been alive?
laughs, softly. “If I say, oh, around 279,936 solar years, will the Sword-Saint burst through the door breathlessly?” He looks up and grins, hair falling into his face. “Although I’m sure that’s only a matter of time, anyways. I’ve been very much looking forward to it.”
: “Careful what you wish for. She well might, and she has far less patience than I.”
: “Ah, she can’t threaten me with anything I won’t enjoy, either.”
: “Anyways, it hasn’t been quite that long, depending on how you count it. But close.”
: “What was it like, at the start?”
: “Do you know, it’s hard to– well, actually, you might know, more than most.” Another smile. “Memories start to run together after only about a century, don’t they? Even if you’re careful.” He looks up, though. “The High Houses weren’t always here, though, I’ll tell you that much.”
: “I’d imagine it’d be a bit trickier in here. You don’t quite have the time right. So then. Can you see the other worlds from your vantage point? Or just in the habit of checking out the Library?”
tilts his head to the side, curiously. “Hah! I finally do have a question. What does time feel like to you? Normally, and then here? Anyways, I can’t– well. I probably could poke my nose into the Library if I wanted to but it’d be terribly rude, I intend to earn my tomestone like everyone else has.”
: “Do you remember what it feels like to have a heart? Like that, but without the warmth. If you listen for it, a constant, steady, rhythm. Here, it feels like being pulled in eight directions at once, but knowing that the ninth one is correct.”
: “…huh.” That shuts him up for a thoughtful moment, and then he shakes some of his hair out of his face. “What was it like. No, I can do better than that. It was… we didn’t fight, the humans and the Undead. We didn’t fight at first, that came later.”
, much more softly, now: “They stopped being able to hear us when we talked. I still don’t know why. So we tried to sing, and that made it worse. They… they got the idea in their heads that we were causing them to die. That they should fight. So we… gave them the narrative that they seemed to want. Made a performance of it all. I suppose it’s gotten rather out of hand, hasn’t it?”
: “We seem to have different ideas of fun. It does seem rather out of hand at this point. How long ago was this? And I can only assume this led to the High Houses?”
looks up at Luĉja, face hidden in shadow, even though the room is well-lit. “THEY could stop any time. Sometimes, they make people suffer until their body finally gives out, and then lay them out on the lith like an offering for us. Did you know that? And then we take them, and anyone else ready to follow us, and go home, and the guards have unusually-bountiful hunting expeditions out in the lith for a time, and nobody thinks anything of it. We didn’t ask for the sieges. I don’t think anybody did.”
: “Did Almachadta and Samudra lure you into a false sense of security about things being straightforward and as they seem? Or was the performance the High Houses put on for you that tempting? I’m curious.”
: “Home…” Luĉja thinks for a moment. “Lash out all you like. Humans are not blameless. Not here. Not on my home. Not anywhere, I would imagine. Neither are we. Undead, Endjinn, or otherwise. Granted. I have always been able to speak my piece on my world.” They hold a shard of glass in their hand, turning it back and forth within their palm. They look up, eyes burning. “Your vantage point is bluster. I came here first because I knew their performance was just that. I sought to help you and your kind, because I have lived that experience, if only briefly. You seem more interested in talking down to everyone you meet.” They crush the glass into powder. “Perhaps I will try my luck out on the lith.” They stand.
: “If things were simple, we wouldn’t need all the help we’ve needed so far. We have solved nothing. Much like you.”
turns to leave.
says, before Luĉja can go, and softly again. “There is a place on Valaïs from which you can see the worlds. I hope I get the chance to show it to you and your clan soon.” He does not try to stop Luĉja from leaving, though. He never would.
: “If it helps us save them, I’d forgive you. Good luck. I’m sure we’ll meet again.” Luĉja closes the door behind them, their other hand full of broken glass.
makes an incredibly rude gesture at the closed door, once the hatch seals, and then slumps in his chains.