aionlogs | walk of shame

Entry tags:

walk of shame

WHO: Howl & Ciel; Howl & you?
WHAT: On the afternoon of the second day of the TDM's events, Howl set out to make good on his lofty promise to take out Estinien. Once he found him, however, things did not go well. He returns at the end of the day with severe injuries, to be found by Ciel and whisked off for healing and rest. For the next several days, he stays sequestered in his room, but don't think he's so upset that he won't see visitors willing to give him sympathy and attention.
WHERE: Kenoma Lodestone (closed); Howl's quarters (open)
WHEN: Approximately April 27-April 30
WARNINGS: Description/discussion of Howl's pretty significant physical injuries; plus there's a good chance of self-loathing/self-destruction/vaguely suicidal ideation. He is a Kenoma after all, and he's having a bad time.

If you wanna plot something specifically for this, you can PM me here or poke me at

lazdo/OddLazdo#2470!

CLOSED: for Ciel (April ~27)

[ The day is turning to late afternoon when the magic of a far-off returning stone glimmers beside the Regent's Lodestone. In the next moment, a large, sticky black mass of feathers appears. The Aion buried somewhere inside shivers in shock and relief as he realizes the spell finally executed, but that quick pulse of emotion drops off sharply as the cold floor crashes against the torment permeating through his entire body. And then, gradually, comes a pervasive aura of not just despair, but tangible physical pain, emanating off the broken wizard like poisonous gas.

A few cultists turn from their current tasks to gawk at the monster that is now, suddenly, bleeding profusely in the Regent's grand and austere hall. They glance at one another as if wordlessly debating who should approach, if anyone. Before any of them move, the pile of feathers does; it rises as if trying to turn itself into a pyramid before two distinct but mangled wings peel away from the mass, along with arms and legs. There is no head to speak of, or at least, no protrusion that can be recognized as a head.

The creature turns very slowly towards the nearest archway leading out of the Lodestone's hall and begins to shuffle towards it. It leaves a trail of blood and iridescent black feathers in its wake. The cultists gawk, unaware of what exactly to do, but to any fellow Kenoma Aions nearby, the creature's mind is familiar. This tortured glob of malleable feathers is clearly, obviously the Wizard Howl, and he is not well. ]

OPEN: for all (April 27-30)

[ In the days following his return to Achamoth, Howl has done his best to keep to himself. Unfortunately his best cannot account for the tenacity of the others here, who to his dismay, have somehow already found out what had happened to him. Whether they know the details, Howl has no idea, but the mere fact that people know that he returned to the city in defeat after a day of fighting inflicts a kind of humiliation on him so severe that he cannot bring himself to show his face outside of his room.

Sadly, this has not stopped people from contacting him through communion — or even attempting to visit. Howl can't decide which is more dreadful: being trounced so thoroughly or suffering the concern of others.

At the same time, it is so very boring in this room, and Howl has never been able to bear being alone with his own thoughts. Regardless of who you are, there's a strong chance he will answer your message, and a fairly good chance he will yell back at your knock that the door is open. ]

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"Oh, for the love of..." Emet-Selch puts both hands to his face and rubs his eyes out of sheer exasperation. He doesn't even try to hide the frustrated sigh that he loudly emits.

After momentarily grumbling, he lets his hands fall back to his side. "I explicitly told you that he is a Dragoon that excels in close-quarters. Yet your method of handling his offense was to ensure that you kept him as close as possible?" The last few words are in a raised tone of disapproval.

Emet-Selch folds his arms and mutters in a huff. "...No wonder your injuries were so grievous."

Howl will not argue. Not because he has nothing to say in response — he gave him the short version on purpose — but because he hates arguing. Arguments make him anxious and test his patience and temper. He simply stares at Emet-Selch, his once somber expression turning cold and empty. Emet-Selch doesn't know what he's talking about, Howl tells himself — he didn't see his injuries.

"Not that you'd know," he mutters. "For someone acting so concerned, it took you long enough to come ask these things. Now, why did you bring me out here?"

Edited 2022-04-27 02:11 (UTC)

Again, this boy complains about him not being present. Ugh. He had overseen entire nations that required less attention.

"I know given that I was at your bedside while you were unconscious." He informs evenly. "I knit many of your wounds back together, but the extent of your injuries pushed the magic I possess here to its limit. I was not able to return because I required rest thereafter." A spell to heal a few bruises made him tired when they had first met. Though his skills of manipulating the strange energy of this place grows day by day, healing such an extensive array of wounds came at a cost.

And judging by the way Howl walks, his magic is far from perfected.

This new information makes Howl pause. He has, of course, wondered how he recovered so much so quickly. The possibility that Emet-Selch came at some point while he was unconscious to lend his healing powers had occurred to him, but it was only one possibility of several. After not seeing or hearing from the old man after he awoke, Howl had considered it unlikely and assumed that the cultists or some other person had helped mend his injuries. For him to have come after all, to help him at expense to himself... for this wizard, it's a shock.

Howl does not know what to say, but a change in attitude is plain on his face. His defensive posture softens and he regards the Ascian with a gentler, almost childish gaze, although he is still just as haggard-looking.

"...I see," he finally says. "I wasn't told. I... well. Thank you."

In turn, Emet-Selch's eyes open a little wider and he gives a few innocently startled blinks at Howl's recognition - like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have. He averts his gaze without further comment.

In a calmer tone this time, "I brought you out here so that you may learn to better defend yourself so that it does not happen again. Given that I am a disciple of magic, I thought I may have a perspective that would be of use." He motions out to the field around them with a hand. "Although I need to be more familiar with the type of magic you wield to do that with any amount of effectiveness."

The shift in tone away from resentment and towards something more understanding, fostered by a greater understanding of the truth, puts Emet-Selch's earlier orders in a new light. Sensing that Emet-Selch's odd reaction to words of thanks might be making him uncomfortable, Howl looks away, but he is carefully considering the proposition in his silence.

From his recollection, his transformation had not receded completely before he passed out. In his effort to keep himself alive long enough for the returning stone's spell to execute, he'd applied several layers of the transformation on top of the original one. He knows from his formal education — and from his own past experience — that this had only increased his suffering at the time, even if it was necessary to stop himself from dissipating. How much of the spell had worn off by the time Emet-Selch came to heal him? Possibly none, but possibly all of it.

After a moment of thinking, he speaks again. "You are asking me to show you the magic I used," he states matter-of-factly. "I can only assume that by the time you came to help, most of it had worn off." Emet-Selch wouldn't be asking the question so openly if it hadn't, Howl reasons.

Is it a good idea for him to transform again while he's still recovering? He's not sure. He certainly still feels tired. Pushing the transformation as far as he had on that day is undeniably a bad idea, but that seems to be what Emet-Selch wants to see.

Howl sighs and slips his hand behind the untied neckline of his shirt. A second later, he has his Shard in his hand. Affixing his eyes on it, he focuses his mind and envisions an approximation of what he looked like that day in his head — but only an approximation; it's not like Howl had checked himself in a mirror at the time. Two feet taller in height, a hundred pounds heavier, body covered in glossy black feathers. The image shifts once he's given Emet-Selch a moment to digest the first one. What was still recognizable as Howl becomes something more horrible and fearsome: less human, more monstrous, with a hulking posture and an even thicker coat of feathers; two legs lengthened and bent to resemble the mighty legs of an eagle, similarly equipped with the long-toed feet of an eagle and wicked black talons. Accompanying both images are the feelings Howl experiences while under the effects of the transformation, mainly an energetic intensity and the exhilaration of flight, but also a faint sense of dread and guilt, especially when it comes to that larger and more contorted form.

His eyes narrow to a focus when the shard emerges from within Howl's clothing. The few images of feather creatures flicker through his mind, and he takes a moment to assess them accordingly. Not only the images... but the feelings along with them.

Emet-Selch motions with a hand. "Suppose that your opponent could not fly, how would you have intended to keep them at a distance using this transformative magic?" Swooping at a dragoon with a lance at the ready seems like it could afford a worse outcome than what had actually happened.

Howl shakes his head. It seems the old mage needs some extra explanation.

"Surely, you're familiar with how a bird of prey hunts? Diving at their quarry, talons outstretched, striking with a single swift blow. Close quarters combat is not the point — it does not get that far."

But even as Howl says that, a troubling thought seems to hit him. One other detail that he has yet to tell anyone about is how he told the dragoon he was coming. Gave him notice. Not a good idea when one is relying partly on the element of surprise, but not fatal if one assumes that their foe cannot defense against an aerial attack like that.

Howl is smart enough to know that the real reason he lost was a discrepancy in knowledge. It's why he brought it up so early in this conversation with Emet-Selch today. He is not going so far as to blame him for his defeat, but he is highly aware of the fact that he went into that battle assuming his enemy was one way, only to find he was not.

The wizard's gaze has fallen in the few seconds after his answer, as his mind is weighed heavy with thoughts again. How much should he tell Emet-Selch about what happened? Can he trust him with the full truth? Can Howl himself bear whatever his reaction would be?

"While that can be incredibly effective, nature is not the same thing as the field of battle." It could work for one opponent, yes, though the possibility of missing exists. Not to mention the diminished effectiveness if there is more than one opponent.

Emet-Selch puts a hand to his chin. "What could benefit you is some protective magic. It could keep others at a distance while allowing you to continue unabated." Which could be easier said than done. "Are you familiar with any such spells?"

These words push Howl over some kind of limit. He does not answer, instead keeping his eyes affixed on some imaginary point below the grass around them. Of course he is familiar with defensive magic — he spent his youth studying at the Sorcerer's Academy, being trained to be a loyal warmage for the king — and he feels vaguely insulted to be asked as much. But more depressing is the fact that so much of that magic is gone now. All that schooling does him no good when magic seems to operate so differently in this place. He's lucky to have retained his transformation magic as much as he has, it being his favorite offensive spell, but is "lucky" even the right word? Assuming some of that lost magic did come back to him — what would he use it for? To fight in someone else's war? Doing the exact thing that drove him to flee from his apprenticeship?

He thinks again to Estinien's offer: to be killed after all, after he was inexplicably spared, and taken to wherever the Pleroma are hiding in an effort to... "help" him, somehow. But again, for what? To fight one another? The thick coat of black over his soul has suppressed how Howl would normally answer that. Instead, it all feels pointless. Pointless and miserable and far too personal to confess to anyone.

"Yes," he finally answers, leaving out the bigger issue of his ability to learn anything from Emet-Selch. With a brooding sigh, he walks past the old man, farther into the field, only to lay down in the grass. "But I don't need to relearn them here. I can beat him. I'll just need to... approach it different." Howl's withdrawn body language says that he would prefer Emet-Selch leave if he's going to continue insisting on this patronizing attempt to school him.

Edited 2022-04-30 20:13 (UTC)

The lack of response is clearly indicative of someone who doesn't want to answer. To which, Emet-Selch's frown deepens. What is so difficult about explaining if that would allow them to devise a better strategy? One that could potentially save him later? He is trying to help.

However, he doesn't press the issue. Emet-Selch follows Howl with his eyes as the boy lays in the grass and provides an answer in words that is just as petulant as the unspoken answers he's providing. So he lets the boy sulk in silence and resigns to finding one of the training benches just off of the grass to take a seat on.

Perhaps instead of trying to ask about magic and how to address the situation, he could ask something that has been in the back of his mind since he healed those injuries a few days prior.

After a long period of silence he finally asks, "Can you tell me of your escape?" It's very possible he could get a response that is just as unwilling to engage as before, but he has never been one to shy away from confrontation. It is obvious enough that Estinien let him live, but he could have been a potential hostage. Are they so soft-hearted to let that opportunity pass them by?

Laying on his back, Howl gazes up at the cloudy morning sky above. The buildings around them peek into his peripheral view, but only barely. For the most part, there's nothing but a blue and white expanse above him. He remembers laying like this in the flowers at his uncle's cottage in the mountains during those long weeks by himself, before he met Calcifer. Tuning out everything else like this helps him calm down and focus.

"I used a returning stone to come back," Howl says cautiously. He still doesn't know if he should tell anyone what happened... if he can tell anyone without tarnishing himself further in the Regent's eyes. Howl knows that their leader is probably already fully aware of what happened, but he isn't sure. If he can spare himself some grief, he should.

And yet, at the same time, if Howl can't confide in Emet-Selch, that would make him completely alone in this place. Without a single person to talk to. Isn't that worse than whatever the Regent might do to him?

For a moment, it seems the young wizard will not say more, but then his fist tightens around the grass beneath his palm and he sighs.

"...Estinien... isn't anything like I thought he was. I believed him to be a ruthless murderer, like any other 'war hero.' But when he had me beaten, and could do whatever he liked with me..."

He didn't. Howl doesn't realize that Emet-Selch already suspects as much, so he lets the thought trail off, too cowardly to say it aloud.

The initial answer is obviously hedging, so Emet-Selch stays quiet to allow further explanation if Howl decides to provide any. And indeed, it seems there is more to say, although it is not an elaboration on what happened as much as thoughts on the person he faced.

Positive thoughts. Interesting.

"He showed you mercy instead." he finishes the unsaid thought so that Howl would not have to. Emet-Selch looks up and across the grass area to where Howl lay. "Why do you suppose that is?"

Howl feels a certain amount of relief when Emet-Selch spares him from having to say it. The question he poses, though, is vexing in a related sort of way, because Howl is not sure of the answer himself — and uneasy with the possible explanations.

"Hah, well," Howl begins, resentment creeping into his voice. "That question is the real curse he cast upon me. I have no idea what his motivations were, but I can make some guesses. Some stupid tendency of the Pleroma is the most obvious possibility, but..."

His voice trails off, doubt lingering for a moment longer, until he decides: no. He'll tell him. Whether he can trust Emet-Selch or not, it makes no difference in the end, does it.

"...pity, most likely. He... he offered to kill me, truth be told... and take my Shard back with him. To 'save' me."

The surface-level motivation seems simple enough. The Pleroma think this world is worth saving, why would they not think of the people whom they so vehemently oppose worth saving as well? A Hopelessly idealistic notion.

Although this hesitation, this perceived 'curse', lends itself to this offer being something more. Why feel the need to hide it otherwise?

So Emet-Selch carefully ventures, "Did you consider accepting his offer?"

Edited 2022-05-02 14:03 (UTC)

"No," Howl answers with little delay, signaling the truth behind the answer. But, that still isn't the entire story, and after a moment he continues in the same quiet, uneasy voice.

"...I'd assumed that, if I lost, he'd have crushed my Shard under his boot, or between his jaws, or some other barbaric way, and that would be the end of that."

But Estinien hadn't, even when, through the pain, Howl held out his Shard for him to do so. That proved more than anything that the dragoon was truly not at all the person Howl had believed him to be.

Regardless, the way Howl went after him under the assumption that he would either win or die trying says quite a lot about the wizard's state of mind. A state of mind that is mostly unchanged since his defeat.

The answer causes Emet-Selch to narrow his eyes, careful to pick it apart in his mind. He says nothing and allows Howl to recount the encounter however he wished to. Although, this specific way of recounting this doesn't seem to strike a chord of approval - but then again, not much does.

He leans one arm back to brace himself against the extremely uncomfortable wooden bench, letting the other fall across his lap. "No, instead he offered to kill you and take that which is most precious to you. Like any truly merciful savior would." He ends the sentence with the slightest disapproving huff.

"That which is most precious?"

Howl echoes the words in the course of pondering them. What exactly does Emet-Selch mean by that? His life? That's only true in the most technical sense — his body would come back, presumably, even if Estinien had taken his Shard back with him to the Pleroma. Or does the old mage mean something else? Howl's... freedom, maybe?

The wizard rolls onto his side, facing Emet-Selch again, and props his head up on one hand.

"To his credit, or his foolishness... whichever it might be... he didn't. The only thing he demanded from me was the vial I was given before I left Achamoth. And then, he left me there to use the returning stone."

"I see..." Emet-Selch gives him a long assessing look, the kind he gives while puzzling out information in his mind. What kind of consequences would that bring? That demand was likely not insignificant. Though perhaps inevitable in the long term.

After a while, he stands from his seat with a grunt of effort. "If we are not here to train, perhaps it would be best if I accompanied you back to your room."

Howl watches Emet-Selch get up and realizes, as he's offering to escort him back, that he's glad the Ascian came to bother him in his room, and that he really did need to talk to someone about everything that happened, and that he... doesn't want to go back just yet. Before answering, Howl gets up from the grass, huffing softly when the effort agitates some lingering pain.

Once he's on his feet, he dusts himself free of any loose grass and trains his eyes back on Emet-Selch. "I've got a better idea. Let's go drinking." And for the first time since Emet-Selch barged in, a hint of an energetic smile comes back to Howl's face. "You want to? I know I could use it."

The look on his face yields a flicker of surprise before giving way to uncertainty. He's quiet at first, like it's a question he's asked so seldomly that he doesn't know what to say.

One can't help but think of the days prior, when he stood over Howl's bedside tending to those grievous wounds. It's an unfortunate reminder of what becoming attached would bring. What it would always bring. These creatures are so frail. So..withered. Being invested in them always brought suffering no matter how much he wished it otherwise.

"I do not want to 'go drinking'." He says listlessly. "I will escort you to the kitchens to get whatever drink you desire, if that is what you wish."

"Oh, come now — don't tell me you're disappointed you didn't get to teach me any magic," Howl chides, although his tone is playful. It did not escape his attention that Emet-Selch was taken somewhat aback by the invitation. Suspecting that he might be convinced with one more push, Howl walks back towards him, limping slightly on his bad leg.

"An ancient being like yourself must possess truly unparalleled hardiness against spirits! Probably still not as hardy as me, of course; you wouldn't believe the sort of mischief I got up to at the academy."

Okay, maybe he can believe it. But still! With a broad grin that sharply contrasts with his dour mood from a few minutes ago, he gives Emet-Selch's high shoulder a chummy pat.

"I've been sitting in my room for days. Turn me down if you want, but know that I'll be inviting you again many more times until you come!"

The look of uncertainty does not cease even as such cheerfulness is freely given. Persistent cheerfulness- the worst kind of cheerfulness.

Emet-Selch closes his eyes and folds one arm over the other, a frown clear on his face while he debates his options. "Perhaps it would be useful to hear what kind of chicanery you have committed in your schooling years, so that I may know what the future may hold." It's not...entirely a no.

"Ah, that's a perfect idea! Trading tales of our youth over our drinks!"

That is... not at all what Emet-Selch said, but with how the younger wizard grins up at the ancient with a slightly coy look in his eye, one gets the feeling that Howl is teasing Emet-Selch a little bit on purpose. Either way, Howl is undeniably in a better mood now. And could anyone blame him? Now that he's got all that talking about feelings out of the way, he can go back to what he loves most: doing whatever he wants, for the sake of it being what he wants. And having fun is always part of that.

"I know the best place, right on the edge of the Entertainment District. It isn't far. Come along!"

The sparkling lights of the Entertainment District are soon in view. Emet-Selch, for his part, still seems unsure about the whole sorted affair.

They reach a bar soon enough. It has large glass windows and lights that are strewn up over the entrance. Emet-Selch gives it a critical look, but he seems convinced enough that it's worth going inside.

The pair are shown to their seats by the host - every employee is excited to have two living and breathing Aions in their establishment. Well, they are enthusiastic about having Howl there. Emet-Selch they still seem a little wary about.

Emet-Selch slips into his seat at the bar with an enthusiastic grumble. "My, I wonder if they could have found seats any less comfortable."

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Later...