A Moment Between Friends

Benedicto

Benedicto had briefly conversed with Aban via tells when he had noticed Aban awake. It was a rather terse conversation regarding the Shadowgate and the happenings within Sterion. A week later, Benedicto is training in the Vigil and Aban comes to visit him.

Aban

He is a stalwart Human duamvi and stands just shy of six feet in height, towering over many of his peers. He is a sobering, if not grim individual that is seemingly more prone to frown than smile. Broad-shouldered powerful, Aban's military training is written in his musculature, training further marked by the warm sun-blessed shade of his skin that all but gleams with a bronzed hue. His nose has been broken at least once, and a few scars line his face beneath one golden eye, traveling back towards his cheek and temple. His heavy brows are expressive, and dark hair is cut close in a cropped trim that has begun to outgrow its formality, while several days of neglect have added a perpetual shadow to his strong jawline. Suffused with a pale glow, he walks with the blessing of the Unbound.

(covering the body) : dark, sparsely-ornamented robes
(covering the body) : ring mail of the Il'ahji
(worn on a finger) : an iron-banded ring
(worn on a finger) : a dull iron ring
(worn on the legs) : loose brown trousers
(worn on the feet) : solid leather boots

Benedicto

He is a muscular Yeleni duamvi of Kelki heritage and is clearly a creature born of the Maelstrom. His face is smooth and hairless with water-like veins barely visible beneath pale, blue skin. His broad features are characterized by sharp cheekbones, a square chin and piercing pearl-white eye. His left eye is split by a neat scar that runs from his brow to the hollow of his cheek. Thick tentacles of an off-white color form his 'hair' and are left free to dangle and rest upon his broad shoulders, the coils undulating lazily. His body is covered in midnight-blue scales that shift to an electric blue under direct light, silvery lines cut through the plating, tracing out a massive network of scars across his entire body. Most prominent of these is a large sunburst scar that dominates the center of his chest, stretching from shoulder to shoulder, throat to sternum. Translucent skin can be glimpsed between his fingers should he have cause to splay his hands. His body is well-muscled and toned, his movements smooth and fluid. He wears the gold and purple trimmed scabbard of a Justiciar. The clean scent of a refreshing sea breeze lingers around him - the aroma marking the blessing of the Maelstrom. Suffused with a pale glow, he walks with the blessing of the Unbound.

(hanging from a klaio bronze pendant chain) : a tempestuous globe of the Maelstrom
(hanging loose from his right shoulder) : a Knight's draping white cloak
(ringing his left shoulder) : decorative shoulder cords
(form fitting and belted at the waist) : a sleeveless, gold and midnight blue uniform
(strapped to the belt at his hip) : a Royal Enorian Army soldier's quiver
(fitted to each bicep) : a set of oceanic aureate armbands
(secured upon his right forearm) : an engraved metallic arm piece
(impressed into the top of his right hand) : a flickering elemental brand
(decorating the top of his left hand) : an orange tiger tattoo
(worn upon his right index finger) : an intricate wedding band of mithril links
(worn upon his left index finger) : a robust wedding band of tarnished obsidian
(affixed to his armpiece) : a Slyphian astrolabe
(pinned prominently upon his lapel) : a gold and coral brooch of the Silverain
(hanging from his weaponbelt as a trophy) : the shrunken head of Nisavi

The soft click of boots heralds the arrival of Aban as he steps through the arches, arriving onto the training field. He carries his weapon, a bared shotel, in a cradled position, seemingly comfortable and at ease as he strides towards you. "Do I interrupt your training?" He asks clearly, his voice a rich, warming timbre that seems to only exaggerate the sense of light he exudes.

You have emoted: Benedicto shakes his head, glancing up from whatever reverie he was lost in. "No, not at all." He smiles warmly in greeting, proffering a large, webbed hand towards Aban. "It's good to see you."

Aban steps forward to clasp hands with you, his other reaching out to grasp your other arm in a gesture that speaks of his warmness towards you. "And you, my friend." That singular golden eye intent upon you, it seems as if to pry the very depths of your countenance, poised around the singular question: "How are you?"

You have emoted: Benedicto shrugs lopsidedly as he returns the clasp, his expression mirroring Aban's affection for his old comrade. "Waiting for the next act in the recent goings on." He replies levelly. "The foolishness and ignorance of my fellow mortals never ceases to amaze me. Here we stand at the precipice of another great threat." He looses a sigh that is heavy with frustration. "I have opted to keep my distance from Sterion and the Shadowgate unless my presence is absolutely required. Standing there with them all is an exercise in patience that I seem to be incapable of maintaining."

Adding with a serious note, you say, "And as a Duamvi, it is not healthy to position oneself so close to such a strong concentration of Shadow."

Aban's lips turn upwards at the edges at your admittance, but the severity of the topic allows little of it to show elsewhere across his features aside from the slight crinkling of crows feet at the edges of his eyes. "You are very wise - on both accounts, I think," he imparts, and finally breaks free of the embrace in order to take a single step back. "If but I was just as wise, I would not be here to ask something of you."

"Will you take me to this...Sterion?" Aban poses evenly, his back straightening and chin coming up as his features grow stern. "I will not delve below its surface, but I would stand before the wreckage of the shrine, and gauge the taint of that place."

Aban just thought:
"I should feel the stirrings of what is to come, I think."

You have emoted: The admittance causes Benedicto's brows to rise in faint surprise, but rather than query why, he nods without hesitation. "Of course my friend." He shifts a barbarous selkachoar and a buckler of kav and living coral upon his person, settling them to be readily available if required. "Now?" He asks.

"Now," Aban confirms, and steps into place behind you.

Aban begins to follow you.

<<<Movement to Sterion and the destroyed Shrine of Bells>>>

The destroyed Shrine of Bells.
Much of the heavens are blotted out by clouds, the dawn sun struggling to break through. A pervasive sense of age and importance clings to the area in spite of the destruction wreaking the yard, the ruined foundations of a pitted stone shrine scattered in heaps of broken rock over the ground. Disturbed from their place atop the edifice, a slew of bells lay in haphazard repose here and there, their clappers stilled forevermore beneath a layer of powder snow coating the destruction in a fine layer of white flakes. Silence lingers in place of the sacred chiming, a haunting quietude twisting the atmosphere to one of unease and trepidation. Wizened and timeworn, a stone tablet wreathed in mist rises from the ground. The sun nymph Milihion, of the soliad Vanguard, lights up the surroundings with his form. Glancing around with a lazy air, a large, dark blue taerilan is nearby. A thickly-furred albino tiger prowls here. Aban stands here, light ebbing in fragmented tendrils about his form. He wields a curved shotel in his left hand. A monstrous apparition looms menacingly from within the fog, surrounded by writhing tentacles.
You see exits leading down (hidden), east, and west (open door).

Immediately this place begins to exude an unkind effect upon the Duamvi, evident in so many sudden changes, both subtle and otherwise. There is a slight hitch to Aban's breathing now, as if each inhalation is a chore protested to vehemently by his lungs. The warmth of his visage is now gone entirely, replaced by something stoic and cold that radiates a fury kept tightly bridled.

"I would not have thought to feel this again," Aban grits through teeth clenched tightly together. "Not here, not again."

You have emoted: Benedicto's countenance twists with a vague discomfort as he draws close to the destroyed Shrine of Bells. He glances sideways towards Aban. "Already I can feel it below - but for you, it must be so much more intense." He reaches out to steady Aban, his calloused left hand gripping Aban's shoulder reassuringly. "It is the same as it was upon Rewh'va?" He asks with a terse note of concern.

Aban's head jerks forward in the choppy semblance of a nod. "There are obvious similarities," he explains stiffly. The whites of his knuckles stand out on clenched hands, tendons showing taut lines across his skin. "We should be thankful there is still only one. What comes through that gateway-" He gestures below with another jerk of his head, "Will create more abscesses upon this Plane, allowing yet more still to arrive like a flood."

Aban's attention is drawn towards the scattered remnants of bells then, focusing his gaze there for the time being.

You have emoted: Benedicto gives a nod of understanding, following Aban's gaze. "As far as I am able to ascertain, the folk that have been warding the gate have been doing a fairly steadfast job of clearing out the abominations that have made their way through." He comments thoughtfully. "For all their bickering and petty arguing." He adds. "However, it is not a permanent solution. We cannot continue like this."

In silence, the sun casts its first rays across the land, banishing the night westward before its ascending brilliance.

The sudden rays of sunlight that touch the man seem to work in counterbalance to the effects of this place, reaffirming the sturdiness of his features and the strength that is exuded from him. "Even now my brothers and sisters sit in council, still trying to come up with something that will help save this land from what is coming." Aban pulls his gaze away from the shattered remains of metal to fix you with his single eye. "The line between fantasy and hope can oft be measured with a razor's edge. I will not lie to you and say that we have hope in finding a solution to this problem."

Aban just thought:
"But the Host will fight. Hopes and fantasies alike be damned."

You have emoted: "We have experienced, fought and lived through slim chances before. As long as even the smallest slither of hope remains, we will fight for it." Benedicto replies firmly as his pearl-white eyes lift to watch the spreading dawn across the horizon. "Not just me, nor just the people of the Beacon, but everyone who has something in this world to protect."

"I have little enough that is personal to me, but that which I do have, I will protect all the more fiercely because it is precious."

Your pose is now set as:
Benedicto stands beside Aban, his hand resting reassuringly upon the Duamvi's shoulder.

Drawn to this place and the ruined bells with some purpose, Roux pulls his mount to a halt, unwilling to necessarily interrupt the conversation, his features cast in grim lines, gold-green eyes moving swiftly over the Duamvi pair.

Aban's own gaze is pulled towards the burgeoning sky, basking in the warm hues of yellows and oranges and reds that make up the sunrise so high in this place. Reaching out with one hand, he clasps you high on the shoulder, content for the time being to stand in quiet contemplation.

Quietly, Aban says, "Let us go home, old friend. I have a need to wash this place from my bones."

You have emoted: Benedicto acquiesces silently, directing a nod of respectful acknowledgement towards Roux before he turns and walks southward, heading back towards Enorian with Aban beside him.