happiness

"Hm, hm.."

Curious. Young Soleis, all the way out here in the wild. Was he not supposed to stay inside Osrona? Let alone here, talking to a Dullahan..

He stares at them both - evidently not even trying to hide, watching.
(Ambrose Roche)

The echoing halls of what may well be Osronan territory soon prove themselves to be a chamber within which the screeches of the bitterly departed are quite capable of eliciting an effect upon those who dwell within the 'shining' city, regardless of whether there is a false idol to pay tribute to,

or merely an undead creature which respects no borders.

The clash is more violent than it truly has a right to be. The close quarters of the mines provide for intense terrain, allowing for winds, steel, and crackling electricity alike to join together in a thunderous series of impacts, doubtlessly inspiring deafening if not for the fact that both mages are doubtlessly immune to such a thing from their own magics.

It lacks a face to show surprise, but perhaps it very well might have; there is a distinct attempt to maintain a concordant rhythm that quickly finds itself destabilized, and the wails of the dead almost showcase fear in the aftermath of that initial clash, as the Dullahan is forced to actively beat Elias back with the barrel and stock of the rifle, expressing magical force through the runes adorning its outer edges as walls of wind surround the two of them, biting and clawing as a beast well might.

for the purpose of narrative cohesion they somehow get outside the mines, probably because elias is fucking scary as shit actually

Elias's defeat comes quickly, but not much quicker than the poltergeist's may have, and as exhaustion grows in the afterglow of the conflict, all that keeps it going is the simple fact that Elias's breath continually flows toward it, barely sustaining a form that seems apt to collapse if given a particularly stiff breeze.

Some paltry pittance of coins flows through the air.

"You have... fought well, child. Better than some twice... your age."

It clearly struggles to vocalize, so necessary is it for the specter's continued consciousness. It takes some small distance.

"Perhaps... the next time will not be so generous, to me."
(Reticence)

Sunderer is drawn from its sheath, a bolt of radiant lightning sent towards the undead as it flies at blinding speed, narrowly scraping against the suit of armor which the wayward soul inhabits.

Elias' thoughts focus on one goal: Sent this accursed soul back to the lifestream.

The ragged blade the boy holds is used to great effect, a devastating combination of martial prowess and manipulation of the heavens serves him well. Each blow from Elias serves to wear down upon the dullahan as the holy light along his blade crashes against his armor; the blade seemingly blunted by his magics.

Slowly but surely, Elias puts the dullahan on the back foot, his armed chase taking their encounter outside as the destructive force of their battle leaves much rubble in their wake.

The boy's face falls stern as he attempts to fight against the rhythm of the creature, each moment spent in the presence of the sound magic serving to slowly rend his vitality apart...

Until at last he falls to his knee, just a blow away from felling his opponent-- The stock on the rifle sent into his chest just a split second from the battle ending in his favor.

His coins are sent to the air as he remains there, a hand grasping at his chest as he struggles to regain his breath and composure.

Slowly does he begin to make paltry use of his attunement to wind magic to begin forcing the natural process.

"Ha... You aren't so bad, creature of the dark."

He wheezes and coughs, before he slowly raises to his feet, the dullahan departing.

"And perhaps next time... I shall return you... to where you belong..."
(Elias Soleis)

Elias laughs agonizingly.
(Elias Soleis)

Once again, at the conclusion of one of Reticence's outings and encounters, Ambrose's appearance proves consistent. Perhaps the Dullahan looks a little more impressive than it had mere months prior, or perhaps its difficulty in overcoming an Osronan youth might prove quite the opposite, but regardless, its armor and weapon shine under the lanterns that adorn the well-travelled forest. Elias is allowed to take time to rest if he needs; departure does not, in fact, come, but nor does violence toward him.

A message has been sent, and with it no further need to continue.

"Your wanderings bring you to me...
perhaps often.

Is it auspice...?"

Fate would never be so kind. It mocks the idea of a guffaw with a biting series of vocalizations, something closer to hacking coughs than anything else.

"Were we being executed, would you have intervened?"
(Reticence)

Elias begins to limp off.
(Elias Soleis)

"--Hm."

Odd to see such battles happen around here, and yet he doesn't seem all too bothered by it. His wandering already brought him to the fights more often than not - and little by little he was growing accustomed to Esshar.

He might even like it here.

But where Soleis child wanders off, his gaze turns towards the Dullahan. He tilts his head a little bit - finding it curious that such a question is asked.

Ambrose quietly hums in thought.

"I would have to put something of my own at stake. Something that others can't know."

As such, it might've been a difficult decision.

"But I suppose that little masquerade of mine can't last forever, so sooner or later it'd break anyway."

"You aren't boring, so it'd be a shame to see you go."

The answer is yes.
(Ambrose Roche)

It's not quite so odd to see these battles when Reticence is around!...

but perhaps its stalkings have left it less likely to fight here of late, most absolutely. Regardless, the spectre seems happy enough to continue conversation in such a locale, so close to several borderlines.

"Few would do so.

The scarcity you describe has value to it."

Of course, that value might be inherently dependent on whether Ambrose would win in saving the ghost-armor in question, but such things are rarely worth discussing. The heat of the moment is what it is, and no assumptions are worth making in either direction.

"You seem young.

Are your parents dead?"

hmm.
maybe in that direction, though.
(Reticence)

The value would be rather immense.

If he was to sacrifice what he had at a stake, then it would imply he would become a target to many, many men out there - perhaps even majority of Esshar, if one would will it.

He certainly had something to lose.

But it's best if he doesn't elaborate- the masquerade is exactly that, the masquerade, and that implies him wearing such a mask until the convenient time comes to remove it.

That time was not now.

"I am young, yes. I'm only fourteen." But he had to mature quickly, lest he would not survive.

"My parents died a long, long time ago. I don't even remember their faces at this point."

Likely he's been just an infant at that point.

"Why do you ask?"
(Ambrose Roche)

"Because you are alone."

While at face value the statement is no more than an observation, the chorus of the dead slowly rises to add a reverberating series of aftershocks to the statement, dramatically appropriate as they add depth to its vocalization, insinuating deeper meaning than the simple fact that Ambrose is very literally not accompanied.

An inherent loneliness to those joined voices calls out for loves lost, platonic and otherwise; though the dead join together in unison, the prize is not solace, but remembrance through those shattered, shared memories.

"Have you chosen to remain alone?"
(Reticence)

Was he truly alone?

At times he wasn't so sure - but the friends he had didn't always feel genuine. Truth be told, this little group that he's had with some other felt more akin to...

Just allies, useful to one another.

"I suppose I am."

"But not always! I have some people around me, occasionally. It just so happens that we have mutual things we want."

Does that even make them true friends? He often questioned that himself, pondering about it all - but for some reason, it didn't bother him that much.

Was he thinking about it the wrong way?

"I don't think I chose to remain alone."

"I was... just alone?" He shrugs. It's odd for a child to not even feel a certain way about this.

But perhaps he's just used to it.

"I don't remember having someone actually look out for me, genuinely."
(Ambrose Roche)

"Often, it is a choice to remain stagnant in what still is, or what once was. Often, it is the knowledge that to make a move to free oneself of a lack of bonds will involve putting what little we have at risk.

If you feel the need, throw fate to the wind. It will carry you."

The creature's connection to the element of air and, perhaps, to the very breath that it steals from others, may run philosophically just as much as it does magically or 'physiologically', as much as the latter word can be applied to a being composed of ghostly essence. It stands perfectly still as vocalization continue, attention starkly tight upon Ambrose as keening tones swirl around its form. Gradually, it has recovered from the combat that Ambrose had witnessed the aftermath thereof, and in so doing, the whispers have returned to gossip with one another, sharing worthless secrets they nevertheless hold dear.

"You think you are unlike those you meet." A reaching observation, perhaps. An assumption all the same. "You are likely correct. But you may find value in speaking to them.

Learning and knowing them.
Even if in the end such a thing leads to a failure."
(Reticence)

Calling it a stagnation was somewhat...

Incorrect. At the very least, not in regard of his personal growth - it's not that he wasn't involved with others; quite on the contrary, he knew that simply being a shut in would not help him grow at all. Quite frankly, it would actually lead him to being naught but a background plan for the world to occasionally look upon..

And nothing more.

It's a fate he would never accept. A fate that he would never resort to- but there's still some truth that he understands about it all, no matter what others may say.

"Mm.."

"I am unlike others, yes." He pauses. It may sound intriguing, but a revelation of his true nature comes - albeit, partially.

"If they knew, they'd think I'm a monster, that I do not belong." Another pause.

"Maybe they're even right!" But it doesn't seem to bother him that much. Maybe he already acknowledges that role, despite his young age.

"What would I learn from them?"
(Ambrose Roche)

"That is impossible for me to know."

Perhaps the sentence works well as a reply to all that Ambrose has stated, truthfully. Reticence offers little context in addition to the statement, instead falling silent as its advice, maybe lacking the entirety of that statement, and holding only the remnant pieces of need that often manifest in one's dying moments,

lies incomplete.

The faceless being stares upon Ambrose's form. Shoulders shift slightly to the left as Reyleigh gradually nears, with observation noted. The pause is nevertheless maintained.

It shifts once more, subtly. Ambrose earns full attention again as a sullen song rises in their surroundings, lamenting inadequacies of those long gone. Lovers cry out for children they failed to save,

and who even now cannot fathom how they might have.

"Rarely does wisdom come through one's demise, and all alike were fools in their passings. I - we - all -" haltering, staggering crises of identity "know this. maintain it.

Ask those who are happy. They will know."
(Reticence)

Impossible for them to know?

How unfortunate. Still, Ambrose doesn't seem affected- perhaps even somewhat numb to the potential things that he's ever missed out in life - the way he was brought up, after all, contradicted that of what a proper child should receive.

It was never even close to that.
Never even close to developing him as a proper person.

What instead remains is a child with no guidance, one that simply had to do what it did in order to survive - but with how used he is to it all, he doesn't know any better, nor he thinks much of it in the first place.

Knowledge comes from comparison.
And he has nothing to compare to.

"Well, yes.."

"I imagine my own demise would not teach me much." At that point it would just be too little..

Too late.

"I do not know who's happy here."

"Do you?"
(Ambrose Roche)

With such a thing stated, somberness rises in its surroundings, and the voices of the long-dead along with it. They speak amongst themselves in wordless tongues, babbling as they join their own dirge, all too thoroughly preoccupied with things once existent, or perhaps never-so.

For a full minute Reticence remains silent, while those which help compose it fail to do so. They busy themselves with mindless wonderings and bitter conclusions, before the geist finds need to express itself just one more time.

"I have stayed too long.
I will be going, for now.
Should you seek and find answers, then share them."

It turns in the direction opposite Reyleigh, explicitly. Whether the creature wishes to avoid mere awkwardness or other notice lies unclear, but regardless, thus it travels.
(Reticence)

It's odd.

To think back on it... there were vague memories of happiness- vague memories of his parents, cradling him as a child and doing their best to protect him. It's even weirder to think that he barely remembers their faces, except these vague moments..

But he remembers the night when they ceased to exist all too well.

At that point, it was naught but survival - something that he had to learn and adapt to all too quickly, or else he would simply not make it here. Of course, one could say it matured him as a survivalist, one who knows how to make it out of practically anything...

But this lack of upbringing? It did not help his maturity.
Mental or emotional.

And deep inside, he does naught but parrot others and their behaviour, hoping that it's right. Maybe he would need to find those people.

It leaves him pondering. Maybe more than Dullahan expected.

"--Mm."

"So long."

For now, he seems in thought. Almost..

Lost?
(Ambrose Roche)


Ty'raj Toryia asks, ".. Are you alright?"

Ambrose Roche says, "Yes."

Ty'raj Toryia says, "You seem absent.."

Ty'raj Toryia asks, "Was anything done to you?"

Reyleigh Voss asks, "Ahh . . . Did you just realize that the creature that was speaking to you does not have a head?"

Ambrose squints.

Amidst those countless thoughts swirling in his head, he finds something to smile about- his gaze, turning to Reyleigh, makes for an awfully chirpy voice.

"Nope! I knew that all along."

Odd...

"And I'm fine. Nothing was done to me."
(Ambrose Roche)

Ambrose seemed to be handling it much better than the Toryia had as a child. That damned dullahan still lived to this day. Waking him at night with that awful bell of his.

"If you say so. If you are hurt.. there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Good health is of.. utmost importance."
(Ty'raj Toryia)

"Mmmm.."

Ambrose stares off somewhere for a moment, constant thoughts buzzing in his head. Even now he contemplates what he's been told, but he isn't entirely sure what to make of it, still.

Maybe another will know.

"Hey."

He turns towards Ty'raj, perhaps as suddenly as he stopped talking just a moment ago.

"Are you happy?"

He does not ask anything else beyond that yet, expectantly looking at him.
(Ambrose Roche)

The abrupt question has him befuddled. The script was flipped, questions were now being asked of him.

"Am I happy.."

A span of hesitance loomed. Personally, he was very happy. It was others he worried for. Recent events had him mystified. The political climate hadn't done him any better.

The amount blood spilt over a single mine. It was horrid.

"I'd say so. I'm happy. .. Why?"
(Ty'raj Toryia)

The question was as prompt as one could expect it.

Sudden and perhaps without much reason, at least that's how it looked on the surface. Still, his gaze remained entirely upon Ty'raj, now suddenly very curious.

"Hm.."

The answer, however, wasn't entirely satisfactory for him. Where he remarks in response, soon another question follows.

"Why are you happy?"
(Ambrose Roche)

The ignored question brought another perplexed glance. Further prying done by the young boy.

"I've got people that.. care about me. I've got purpose, passion.. There isn't much for me to be unhappy about."

Finding difficulty pinpointing an exact reason. Thorough consideration was unneeded. Happiness was a state of mind, one that he confidently belonged to.

".. I'll ask again. Why're you asking?"
(Ty'raj Toryia)

Why exactly Ambrose asked this?

When he thought back on the words spoken to him, at first, it felt like he couldn't exactly pinpoint the reason as to why he was asking this- and even then, Ty'raj's answer left him somewhat..

Confused.

Is it the people that cared about him, purpose and passion that were already enough, or was there more to it? And what did he strive towards, if that's the case?

Though, thinking more on it... that probably didn't matter. Everyone had their own passions - even he realized that, despite the young age.

"--I'm not sure." He retorts, soon to follow up.

"I was told that I would find value learning something from others." He pauses.

"From someone who's happy."

Yet Roche was searching, uncertain. Another brief pause lingers, after which he adds.

"Do you have something to teach?"

Is this matters about magic, about some tricks, about something like that? No... not even close.

It was not simple like that.
(Ambrose Roche)

It wasn't simple, not in the slightest. Ty'raj was far from remarkable. In regards to magic, there wasn't much to learn. Most of what he knew came from an innate elemental affinity. Whichever came most natural to him.

No, what he did have was KNOWLEDGE, a knack for cooking and a honed mastery over the coveted art of...

"Arcana."

Not a single smirk betrayed his countenance. Spoken with utmost pride and seriousness. His most notable practice, his proficiency in a children's card game. A veteran and former champion.

"But.. there's quite the learning curve. If you'd rather learn about.. actual useful life skills.. ehm.

I document most of my experiences and have.. gathered quite the collection. If there's anything specific you'd like to know about, I likely have a book pertaining to it."

Never could he truly learn all that he read or wrote.
(Ty'raj Toryia)

Ambrose keeps wondering.

Listening, maybe more intently than he's been listening to anything for the past few days, or even months. If Ty'raj was happy, then surely there's a key to it all that he knows - a key that Roche would all too likely try to grasp. But...

Arcana..?

A game, nothing more. An off hobby perhaps, but it certainly did not thrill Ambrose that much. At first, he seems surprised - his head tilts in confusion, but it is only there that it dawns upon him.

It doesn't matter what he loved doing.
It's just the passion itself that matters.

Unbeknownst to Ty'raj, he already answered Roche's question. A small smile appeared on his face, lightly veiled behind the golden locks stretching over his features.

"No. The card game isn't something I'm interested in."

"But you gave me an answer I was looking for already. Thanks."

Just as these abrupt questions followed, it seems that he's beginning to head off somewhere else.

How quaint...
(Ambrose Roche)