teaching dietfried occult

The Prince makes his way back, at last.

His gaze turns towards Dietfried upon him speaking out towards Ambrose, if only to remark in return.

"Mm?"

"I assume this is about what you spoke to me regarding the other day?"

He should know what it is.
(Ambrose Roche)

"Jawohl." They answered in the affirmative, offering a nod toward the floating man in case the word wasn't clear enough.

Dietfried pushed off the fountain they'd been leaning against, standing up straight now. "If you have the time, I want to start as soon as possible."
(Dietfried)

"I see."

It's no wonder that exactly this would be requested. After all, they spoke of it the other day. But for now..

"I think I know a very fitting place for such."

"Follow me."
(Ambrose Roche)

The Dreadwoods.

There was no better place on entirety of Esshar to introduce Dietfried to such dark arts, given the long history that this place possessed. Even after the wall of the Twilight Coven all these years ago, it still seeped of Occultic energies, even centuries later...

A truly potent place.

"This place will do fine as your training ground."

Magi could often be receptive to magic - especially if they're willing to bask in it. While one could always shield themselves from the influence around...

What's to say if they willingly harbour it?

"Perhaps you could already guess why we're here." It was difficult not to notice, given the vast influence of the Occult all across this land.

Though...

"This place reeks of the dark arts, and even after many years, it still remains a place of power."

"You could say this is the lingering mark of Occult on the land, one that fails to dissipate."

With that said, his gaze turns to Dietfried.

"What do you know about Occult?"
(Ambrose Roche)

Despite all their years of experience, all the time they'd spent fighting, there was still a nervous air to the young foreigner as they approached the Dreadwoods. Something that grew worse as they made their way within the occult stained patch of woods.

Hadn't Valar been here all those long months ago? Hadn't he brought Dok Zong along with him? If they were caught here Ambrose could probably fight whatever tried to hurt them, and yet anxiety lingered.

Dietfried didn't hesitate to follow despite that. When Ambrose finally came to pause by the waterside, they found a spot just at the edge of the sand. They nudged a pebble with the tip of one boot, turning it over to see just what kind of weird little insects this corruption wrought.

They only looked up when he had finished speaking. Then they glanced about. "It's transformative." A blunt, broad statement.

"Whether physically, or emotionally, it's a kind of power that makes things different. Usually more.." They made a vague gesture to the surrounding plantlife. The brambles, the twisted branches, the sickly air.

"More strange. But.. That's all the more I've really experienced with it."
(Dietfried)

There was no anxiety on the mind of Ambrose.

The Dreadwoods almost felt like home to him, given the vast Occultic influence - and even at such young age, he was already a master of it; an impressive feat that few could reach so quickly, yet it is a testament to his talent and knowledge.

If he already excelled so young, what would he be as the time goes on?

"Correct. Partially."

He remarks regarding Dietfried's answer, though soon an explanation follows- one that he ought to listen to very, very carefully.

"The Occult is the force of Entropy, at its core."

"The Entropy can be transformative, changing as you said - but it can also be destructive." There, a faded fire of Occult appears on his hand; it is akin to a kindling flame yet a mixed color of black and purple lingers to it.

This was by no means a simple flame.
It was ethereal in its very nature.

"It could change you, or destroy you- it could do the same to others. I'm sure you're well aware of that by now." A smile passes.

A reference to Dietfried's past experiences, no doubt.

"Yet to wield it, one must constantly walk on a razor sharp edge. To wield it is to constantly balance the madness of Entropy at the back of your head."

"It is not for weak willed, Dietfried."

Surely he could understand that by now. And still...

"This madness persists even in me."

"I grow excited at the display of violence. It's difficult to control the urge for bloodshed - and this craving for ambition and to test myself is ever present."

"If you do not control yourself, if you do not possess sufficient willpower to wield such destructive magics, then.."

He pauses, soon to add.

"You will be no better than those rabid dogs from Shadowmire."

Perhaps it is the reason why Ambrose acted so cold and calculated quite often- to ensure that he keeps himself in check and does not fall to this madness.

"Do you think you have what it takes?"
(Ambrose Roche)

Transformative, but also destructive. At least Dietfried had gotten it partially right. It wasn't hard to see the destructive effects whenever they fought against the creatures that used such magic.

To think, when the foreigner met 'Bishop' all those years ago he was already wielding such a destructive magic. How old was he then? How old had they been?

The foreigner lifted a hand to rub the back of their neck as they watched the occult flame dance on his palm. "So it's like.. Rot, kind of. It changes things, but it usually changes them by destroying them. And what's left behind is the.. Uh. Corpse. Or mulch. Or whatever else.. Madness."

They didn't exactly have an elegant way of describing it. Truly they'd never been very good with words. But they wanted to know if that understanding was essentially correct.

"It sounds a lot like the hunger-The ambition-That you put inme all those years ago. Something that'll only hurt unless it's kept in check."

Could they manage to control something like that?

With practice. And constant effort. Two things they were entirely willing to put toward making themself stronger. And if this magic was stronger than their busted old blade?

"I've made it this far. I am certain I'll be able to use it well."

Confidence. There was no room for anxiety here. Ambrose had stolen most of that a while ago. And what little they felt was not shown anymore.

"I believe I have the willpower to do so."
(Dietfried)

Rot.

It would likely not be the word that he uses to describe it, but all the same, it wasn't entirely incorrect. Whereas Ambrose could only find himself further mastering such arts, Dietfried was still new to it all.

He realized that much, that he would need to take it slower.

"Yes and no."

"It is much like the hungering ambition that is seated deep inside you. The will to overcome, to change."

A pause, to which he adds.

"Success is often measured in the amount of destruction all around you."

"And there's so much you can destroy.."

"Until you build it back up."

In a sense, it is the way of change- both oneself and the world around them. Yet, whereas Dietfried remarks of being ready to wield such flame, the Prince doesn't seem surprised.

Backing off now would be foolish, a waste of time.

"Then accept it."

There, Ambrose offers up the faded flame to Dietfried; while it remains above Roche's palms, still controlled so it would not go out of control, he remarks.

"Place your hands over it."

"Think of your deepest desires. Think of how much determined you are to achieve them."

"And then realize that none of it will happen, unless you claw your way through any obstacle without remorse of hesitation."

In a sense, it is rage...

Rage against the fact that one could never achieve something - unless they're willing to sacrifice much and dig into it, even with their nails, if they have to.

Even until it bleeds.

"Leave any hesitation behind."

"Or this flame will burn you."
(Ambrose Roche)

Success is measured in destruction. That was an odd way to look at things.

Growth seemed like it was the easier way to measure success. Change that gave the world something, rather than taking it away. Yet what ambitions did they have to grow anything anymore?

What were their ambitions, anyway?

Dietfried took a long few moments to consider that thought. What they wanted from life had changed so much since their first steps on Esshar.

Back then, they were always looking behind them. Toward the past they barely knew. Faces of their long lost family. The faint, distorted voices that barely rang through. Why had they been sent to Esshar in the first place? Who sent them here? How? Where were they from?

Now, that was a footnote. A few scratched lines in their journal now faded from time. They held other goals. Ambitions that only might be possible. And only if they grew much stronger than they were now.

Their sapphire gaze lifted from the flames to meet his, focused for a moment. At one point their goal had been to make him hurt.

Maybe some day that would be the case again.

For now, they channeled their attention to the more pressing matters. The things they wanted more dearly than vengeance for something that happened so long ago.

Family. A good home. The strength to protect that family, that home. The removal of every last mutant they saw. The death of Dok Zong.

To turn that monsters metal bones into a weapon.

None of it would be possible unless they fought for it. None of it would ever come to fruition without great effort on their part. They couldn't hesitate to change things if those things would get in their way.

Their gaze fell to the flames again.

And finally they reached out. Both hands splayed palms open over the flames, fingers faintly trembling. Not from fear, but anticipation for whatever happened next.
(Dietfried)

It's not everyday that someone gets to wield the Entropy itself in their hands.

The pure, raw power of Occult found within the faded flame that seems to linger in the air, just above the hands of Roche- and it is here when Dietfried reaches out, a steady shift is made.

If only to place the flame upon his hands, instead.

"--Do not shy away from it."

"Hold onto it."

It is, of course, hosted with Ambrose's support- Dietfried was not ready to wield the flame entirely on his own, and while he serves as a proverbial 'crutch' to ensure that this does not go terribly wrong..

In many ways, this has become an effort mostly placed upon the foreigner.

"Attune to this flame."

"Reach out, like you would to any magic - yet maintain your thoughts on such desire, on your inner spark." A task that is not always handled easily, but still...

"And do not dare let go."

It is there that it's becoming evidently clear that it's being an effort to essentially grasp at the roots of Occult- to let it take host within Dietfried's own mana circuits..

So that he may attune to it easier on his own.

"Do you feel it?"

Unless he were to shut it out, he should; the lingering presence of something unnatural, the pure Entropy that rests upon his fingertips.

It is dark,
and tempting.

It's calling for him.
(Ambrose Roche)

Years of fighting mutants had ingrained the sensation into them. The occult was familiar, even if this instance was new. Never before had they felt it brush against them without express intent to harm them.

There was a momentary lapse of uncertainty, when Ambrose made to pull his hands away. Would this flame not just flicker out? Maybe-

No.

For a moment it almost seemed like it would. But Dietfried adjusted the position of their hands, curling their fingers around the flame. Protecting it like candlelight in a storm to keep it from being snuffed. It was fading out despite their efforts.

A faint glow lit behind their eyes. Ethereal flames. That's what they looked like. Fire that burned at something deeper than the surface.

Their desire. All their hunger. The ambition that pushed them so far as to ask for this from Ambrose of all people. They focused all that emotion into their current task.

Still the fires were dimming. All that remained were low burning embers.

What lines did they have to follow to replicate this? A visual and vocal caster, the foreigner wasn't entirely used to using solely their emotions to wield their magic. They hadn't attuned to magic by their emotions. And usually those had hindered them when they fought.

When they got too angry over things their ethereal shroud burned them-

Burned.. Ethereal fire.

Were they so close to this revelation all along?

A faint shift. Both hands shifted beneath the flames. Their fingertips started to glimmer faintly with azure 'fire,' ethereal mana leaking from their skin to mesh with the magic that had until that point mostly been floating. They hadn't touched it much.

What had nearly faded to sparks now roared to life again. It clung to their handlike it belonged there, merrily dancing upon their bare skin.

"Oh.. I feel it now."
(Dietfried)

It's a good thing that he felt it.

Had he failed to do so, then perhaps the arts of Occult would be simply too hopeless for him to grasp. After all, when taught by a master Occultist, and done so amidst the place of power for the dark arts that is Dreadwoods…

Surely he could not fail.

At the very least, failing here would mean that there's no hope - for there are no potentially better circumstances for him to learn that. Even then..

Slowly does Roche retract his hands; there, Dietfried could see the flame slowly nearing his hands, but instead of burning him, it seems to soak up within.

Almost as if to take the root within his circuitry.

"Good."

It is a final gift that Ambrose could give to him; a final gift that would ensure that Dietfried's attempts to not end in a crushing failure.

"Use these flames well."

"They will be your means of accessing the dark arts in the times to come - but you must further allow it to grow, feeding it into your own sensations, emotions, ambition and drive."

"It is the only way to let that flame grow."

To that end, however, there wasn't much else for Ambrose to share. Of course, he could simply guide him along the way at all times, but..

Where's the fun in that?

"From this point onward, it's on you to grasp this magic fully."

"The lessons only go so far. Simply clinging to the theory will not show you the path."

"Practice is just as important."

Would Dietfried be able to tap into these dark flames in the times to come? Would he master them?

Only time will tell.
(Ambrose Roche)

It didn't burn. That was the strangest part.

Every time their ethereal shroud went haywire, every time it got out of their control, pure mana had burned them. Their skin was still marked in thin silvery lines where their circuitry had been fried.

But this fire? In their hands it was cold to the touch. A chilling sensation that sank into their circuitry. It woke them up. It was exhilarating to feel as it spread through their form. Though the fire only lingered on their hands, they felt that power seeping further into their form.

Dietfried didn't even seem to notice when Ambrose withdrew his hands. The fires didn't waver much, though they gained a slightly more blue-green coloration. A tinge of their own mana, since they weren't fully attuned to the magic themself.

They held on even while he spoke. Their gaze remained fixated upon the dancing fire. There was something so lovely about it..

But eventually the fires burned to embers. And so they let their focus turn back toward him. "I have to fuel it.. I get it. Yeah. Can't keep a fire going without that."

".. Thank you, Prinz Ambrose. I will put this knowledge to good use." They offered a slight smile toward the floating man.

Then. A letter. Delivered by magical means, one can assume. The foreigner snagged the parchment, eyes narrowed toward it. Then their shoulders slumped as they realized who it must be from.

"You uh.. Want to go monster hunting?"
(Dietfried)

The mystery of Occult remained secretive to most.

Perhaps it is this dark nature that attracted them to study it, but the potential that it held was often underestimated as something merely destructive. One would be very, very wrong to assume that.

When you wield the Entropy itself, the potential is truly great.

"You do."

"Do not forget to foster it in such manner, else it will fade out."

The invitation to the hunting, however, is one that is given some thought- but soon enough, he remarks.

"There were other things for me to take care of, so perhaps another time."

"Though, I'm sure you'll be more than capable of doing all of this on your own, and more."

A pause, to which he adds.

"Farewell, Dietfried."

"And don't get consumed by it."
(Ambrose Roche)