03.25.3014: A New Alliance Formed
Summary: Advent summons Nitrim and Cyrielle for a sit down. A new alliance blossoms.
Date: 10 December 2013
Related: Destruction Begets Life
Advent Cyrielle Nitrim 

A hotel…somewhere in Landing
Room description included in scene.
March 25, 3014

A quiet room was set aside in Landing at one of the larger hotels. All the employees have been paid to be discrete. This particular room has no beds and it's more of an office. There is a large fireplace, comfortable leather chairs and a table. The windows are closed and the blinds are closed. The fire is burning high in the fireplace. A message went out to both Cyrielle and Nitrim to meet Advent at this room and time and the message also stated 'This is to fix what's broken.'. Advent is sitting on one of the more comfortable chairs. He's wearing relaxed black leather pants, white tunic underneath dark purple leather double breasted jacket that hangs down to his knees. His hair is brushed back out of his face and his face is currently unreadable.

No doubt curious of the unexpected request for a meeting, Nitrim works quietly over his tablet with Cyrielle to arrange for the two to arrive together, though not to enter the hotel at the same time. Taking precautions toward the outside world of tabloid reporters and snooping nobles, Nitrim wears something black, with a hood, and few embellishments. He floats around Landing for a few hours, walking in a path to circle the hotel a few times until he travels through the corridors towards the room in question. His eyes lift to the figure of Cyrielle at the other end of the hall as he stands beside the door, knocking gently.

The time has come.

There is no hiding from the tabloids; a fact both noblemen are likely keenly aware of. Cyrielle is one of the — if not the — only nobles on crutches at current time. Still, she's not as hot a topic as certain nobles. While the Paramounts are causing such a stir, the vassals become less interesting. Still, the woman wears a pair of snug leggings with a tunic-style dress in a deep, wine-hued purple over. The coat she wears is her voluminous, wrapped thing with multiple buckles here and there.

There's a nod for Nitrim as she approaches, pausing a few paces away to rest a moment, leaning weight onto both legs. She's able to stand solid, just not easily walk without.

The knock makes his head beat rise and he stands up slowly. He takes a deep breath and walks to the door quickly. His hands lift up to the door and he pushes lightly while his eyes close. A few more deep calming breaths before his hand turns the knob and he pulls the door inwards towards himself and sees the couple. His lips lift in a very small grin but it's still warm, his gift to create ease. "Please come in." He extends his hand to so them the room. He pokes his head down the halls and once they are both inside he closes the door, locking it to keep it private. His hands press against the door again and a gulp. He turns with the grin again. "Would either of you like some tea?"

No stranger to skulking about and practicing intrigue, Nitrim remains quiet as Cyrielle joins him at the door. His eyes do the talking, glancing down to her legs and then lifting his eyes just enough to get a read on her expression. It makes the bruise lining the bridge of his nose all the more evident. The smile he gives her is faint, yet hopeful, and disappears before their host opens the door.

Waiting until he has crossed the treshhold, Nitrim pulls his cowl back to reveal his face to Lord Advent and sweeps the room with his eyes. Meeting the fire with the dark, he blinks to adjust to the change in lighting and turns to face both Advent and Cyrielle. "No thank you, Lord Advent, I've had entirely too much water this afternoon. It would do me well to remain dry, but thank you for the offer."

There is a slow draw of breath once the door is opened and they're invited in. Cyrielle moves forward after Nitrim, letting him lead the way in. It leaves less to wait upon her slower movements. The woman has become, however, fairly capable upon the crutches. Even if the bright, white gleam is at odds with the darkness of her attire. The locked door earns a sidelong glance, but she straightens and uses the crutches as more of a balance.

"Lord Advent," she greets, voice light. "How is your hand?"

The offer earns a slight tilt of her head in a nod. "I, however, would appreciate some tea. Moving about in this fashion," a gesture with one crutch, "is a tiring thing."

The Sauveur slowly looks to his hand which is still wrapped up. "It heals every moment." He turns and starts to pour the tea carefully. He remains quiet while he brings the tea towards Cyrielle and hands it to her. "It's hot." He warns. "I locked the door to prevent others from prying. What I am going to say…" He turns again and leaves it at that. More tea is poured and a glass of water. He leaves the glass of water on the table for Nitrim if he desires and heads back to the warm comfortable seat with his tea. "Do you know why I requested to speak to you both?"

Glancing down to the glass of water, Nitrim moves to take a seat before it and sets his case of cigarettes in between the three of them…ready for the taking. Casually rubbing the healing bruise across the bridge of his nose, Nitrim settles in. "I can't say that I do, Lord Advent. Your invitation was rather unexpected, as you and I have not been rather social in the past." Nitrim reaches for the case, offering them a cigarette and a fire lit by his Awakened power to light it with.

With the handing off of the tea, Cyrielle offers a small nod and murmur of appreciation. She settles into a chair, palms folding around the cup to let the warmth infuse and to occupy herself. She glances from Advent to Nitrim, offering a small shake of her head. "I have mulled it over, but I'm afraid I don't know either." And if she has theories, she's not going to voice them. After a gauging sip of tea, she leans forward to set the tea down. One of the cigarettes is accepted and the Hollolas is soon settled back, watching the Sauveur.

Advent takes a moment to breathe slowly, obviously having some issues. "For now…just Advent." He takes a sip of his tea and watches the ash fall slowly around his vision. His own powers aren't alight but if one was looking, it almost appears as snow around the man but it disappears before it touches anything. "I am… dumping out the poison. For so long I was holding a grudge against you, Lord Nitrim. Against your actions with which was a part of my cousins ill-fated death. To be a good man… I must forgive and ask for forgiveness. I've judged you harshly." He takes another sip and sighs quietly. "I respect Lady Hollolas and if she says you have changed how dare I not believe her."

Wow. Right to the bone. The normally socially slithering Nitrim manages a quirk of his brow at the words, which is a controlled version of a double-take for the man. He selects one of the cigarettes with his index finger, prying it from the case and drawing it to his lips to light it. In a moment of subliminal communication, his eyes flit to Cyrielle.

"Advent," Nitrim begins, breathing out the first wave of lung-exhaust. "All I can tell you is that if there is any rumor that when it comes to the topic of Soleil I suffer myself heavily, those rumors are true." Nitrim pauses, cigarette dangling from his lips as his eyes turn towards the royal across from him. "And if you did not believe her, there's little need to apologize. You've few reasons to believe it with less evidence to boot."

As Advent speaks, Cyrielle is still. The woman keeps a carefully schooled expression, though there is a glance to Nitrim. She turns the cigarette slowly between her fingers, watching the very end burn for those first few precious seconds. When she takes a long drag, exhaling to let the smoke curl up and away, the brunette leans forward. Right leg shifts out in such a way to provide additional comfort for the still-healing thing.

"Just Cyrielle, please." The woman is a mere vassal here; it makes her feel even more uncomfortable than she may otherwise to be given titles of respect. One has to feel respectable for such, right? It's all that she provides to the conversation… for the moment. Instead, she alternates gaze between the two men, watching them closely.

Advent frowns at Nitrim. "I must believe in people or what reason do I have to fight for them? We are at war Lord Nitrim and when I fight I want the trustworthy beside me. I have to believe in the good in people or I will not trust anyone." He takes another drink of his tea. "I have also been … told that Cyrielle fancies you. It is an honorable position you find yourself in and with time I hope to see you keep that honor intact." He puts the tea on the table and watches both Nitrim and Cyrielle carefully, through the eye of experience.

Far too trained to blush or grow bashful as the information, what Advent knows, is made clearly evident, Nitrim brings the cigarette to his lips to stall his reply. His dark, green eyes take in Advent's posture and expression as the cherry at the end flares. The smoke fills his lungs, and as the Khourni exhales, he taps the ashes into the tray before him. His eyes close, briefly, as the last of the smoke clears his lips.

"I fancy Cyrielle as well and, please, just Nitrim. If I've no reason to call you Lord here, you've none to me." Nitrim replies, eyes shifting between Cyrielle and Advent as he speaks. "Advent, if the Sauveur were to ever call for my aid or friendship, I would reply not out of duty or ambition or guilt. Your cousin is a ghost that haunts me, and for months I've been working to maneuver away from this tabloid trail I've tagged on. They're difficult. They are scorpions, my friend. For your sake I hope you never find yourself in my position."

There's a slight working of Cyrielle's jaw as Advent lays things out. She leans forward — with a shift of right leg — to lightly ash her own cigarette. There's an intent study of the Sauveur in the process and that faint air of ash around him. Reading the signs, as it were. When she settles back, it's with the tea in her other hand. The woman, again, has nothing to provide at this juncture. This is for them to work out, for the moment.

It's a long pause from Nitrim's words until he speaks, "Who do you think was the third scorned Lord in the Arboren fiasco?" He leans forward towards Nitrim. "Very few know it was I." There is a flair of black in his eyes, before the blue are there again. The hurt like a raw nerve. "Learn to be a ghost. Be present when they want you to be however, when they need their story… be hidden." He shrugs his shoulders. "If I wish to not be in the media, usually I am not. It's a rare time I am caught off guard." He grins though there is some hurt in his words.

"Ah…" Nitrim breathes out, leaning back in his chair to regard the Sauveur with a tilt of his head and a skyward pointing cigarette. "That."

Growing more comfortable with the conversation, at least to outward senses, Nitrim chews at his lip and draws Cyrielle into the mix. "Cyrielle has told me as much, but when being a ghost means disappearing for months on end, it's far more difficult than it would seem. Not to mention, the tabloids will twist details for sensationalism, drawing lines between you and others. It's a very dangerous place to be." Nitrim comments, turning his attention to Cyrielle. "Cyrielle, I'm sure, could tell you how much of a pain it can be even getting a cup of tea with me. All of the hurdles and double-backing, paying off the wait staff. It is a mess."

"It seems to be about the only advice offered," Cyrielle muses, turning the cigarette between her fingers before leaning forward to finally snuff it out. Smoke curls in tendrils away from the ashtray in the wake of the act and she watches it for a long breath or two. "To secret one's self away into hiding until they grow bored even of the hunt." Slim shoulders rise and fall in a shrug as she sits back.

Lifting drink, Cyrielle has a sip of the warm — yet rapidly cooling — tea within. "During a war, it's not really feasible. There are duties to attend to, patrols…"

Advent takes a moment and shakes his head. "You see Nitrim…" He takes a small breath as his skin pales and his eyes go black. "Since I was a child I learned the art of disappearing. The issue isn't the media finding strings… it's when you've disappeared so well people don't even notice you anymore." The last part spoken in barely audible tongues. "They forget you are there even when you are screaming for them to see you." He brings his hands together and lets the ash fall around him. "They don't care what I do… however, you are a sensation. That is what I fear. You want to change but they will not let you."

"I was told once that at this stage, it's best to give little niblets and feeds to the press, so that they report on what is given and not what they can piece together with their imagination." Nitrim replies, to Cyrielle, smirking quietly as he points to her with his cigarette. "Jane Wyre. Lyrienne Orelle." Name dropping.

Casually, Nitrim reaches for his glass of water and listens to Advent, and as the royal finishes his explanation, Nitrim's eyes settle onto the man's face for a moment of reflection. "Advent, do you really believe that men like you and I could truly disappear?" Nitrim cants his head to the side. "After Soleil, after scandal, after the exposure, being forgotten is something that is simply no longer on my menu of items to choose from. I am a good man, Advent, with good intentions, but I'm now a product. I have no intention of feeding the image, but as far as visibility goes, too many people have an opinion. I feel whatever change is in my future presentation will have to come from verified actions or silence."

There's a small nod for the names offered, lips curling in a brief smile. Cyrielle takes another sip of the tea, lowering hands — and thus cup — to her lap. "A Royal and a Paramount… Mm, no. No disappearing for either of you, I'm afraid. The public would notice. You would be gone and they would wonder. The vultures of the press would descend, sensing fodder for their ratings and viewership."

"Perhaps, Nitrim," she muses, glancing towards him, "What you need is some time at sea."

Advent opens his black eyes and almost growls at Nitrim and Cyrielle. "I've already disappeared." He pushes himself up and there is a weight to the room as if everything is getting heavier. "Name one news article… one tabloid… one noble who even bothers to speak of me." The red lightning starts to strike. "I am invisible to their eyes until I do something foolish." He crosses his arms and takes a deep breath. The sound is painful and whispy. "I don't matter, Nitrim. You do matter, to them. That's important. Have you tried stepping up into humanitarian work or charity?" It's clear he's trying to calm himself.

"As Cyrielle suggests, I intend to bury myself in work, perhaps time at sea under the eye of the Hollolas." Nitrim's eyes narrow just a tad, watching the mood of the royal. With a quiet glance to Cyrielle, a bit of shared body language, he stretches the muscles in his shoulders and turns back to Advent.

"Would this be too bold, Advent, but from my perspective it seems that with your war efforts and your leadership, it's got to be ashes in your mouth that there's more news and knowledge of who I am, for all of my bullshit, than you and your work." Nitrim motions to Advent with his cigarette, keeping things real for the moment. "There's two types of invisible. What people see, and what people don't know they are seeing. I suppose the question then is, with all of the politics of our people, what do you want them to see you for? Whatever it is you are seen for, that will determine where you can find your privacy." Nitrim pauses a beat. "I can do citizen's work all day long and no one would notice, as no one would expect it, for example."

There's a long sigh at the growl and Cyrielle shifts forward, setting the cup down and moving forward in one steady motion. Her left leg is used to doing the bulk of the word. Hands spread in a placating gesture. "Advent, please. We're simply discussing the matter. Just because one doesn't appear in the tabloids doesn't mean they're invisible. Few members of your family find themselves featured- you may be simply blessed by birthright there. They may fear reprecussions…"

She glances towards Nitrim, then back to the royal. "You spoke well of your accomplishments as a Knight. I doubt those you have fought alongside or saved forget you so easily."

Advent turns slowly staring at them both. "I saved a woman in the Spine. I told a hostile bolt to the chest. Later she came to the royal towers to seek thanks… from my sister Ellinor. She didn't recognize me when she saw me and I bled all over her." He grips his arm. "I die each day for Haven and it's not the media I care about. I fight and my sister is gifted thanks." He shakes his head again. "I am not angry with your media Nitrim… I'm alone. It is no concern of yours. My sister is magnanimous and they love her. I came back from the fields of battle to have all but one of my sisters ask when I'd left as they never noticed I was gone." His grin is bitter. "I would rather die on the field of battle than to be asked who I was again by someone I saved."

Nitrim finally reaches for the glass of water, bringing it to his lips for a tiny sip. Leaning back into his chair, he sets the glass beside him and joins Cyrielle in the effort to soothe the burn of the lord before them. Nodding in agreement with Cyrielle, Nitrim brings his fingers to his goatee, brushing softly while he considers.

"You and I may not be so different, Advent, it's a shame we didn't speak like this sooner." Nitrim motions to Advent; another quick glance cast towards Cyrielle in the process. "The youngest of my mainline, I've been at many engagements: Ignis, Volkan, Obsidia, Niveus; I was there the day the High Lady of House Iah was killed on the battlefield." Nitrim's neck turns, showing the scars the Sauveur knight. "And yet…I am the gentleman from the tabloids. There are ways, however, to get your name out there, but Advent?" Nitrim pauses. "Which would you rather be? Silent or Overt? Truly."

"You are not alone," Cyrielle says, with a soft breath of a sigh. "There will always be those who outshine us. Often older siblings, or those who sparkle and shine upon an Infosphere display. I think we all pale compared to most from The Vale, mm?" She can't move forward easily; her right leg still too unsteady. The woman shifts a half-step forward, however, gesturing to Advent. "Please, sit. I don't think any of us wish to be on edge or upset."

The man frowns. "Yet I am the eldest, unwed, no prospects." He turns to Nitrim and sees the scars. "I have defended the Vale, the Spine, the resort… I am not longer fully human. I lost that months ago. I thought I could be happy but I was wrong." He is still showing that aura and the weight in the room is stonger, the legs of the table creaking. "Neither." He speaks to Nitrim's question. "I … want to stop …" He finally feels the weight and moves to sit himself down, creaking the chair he sits in. Those eyes black as a shark and equally as empty. "I want you happy… both of you. How can I help that?" His voice barely audible.

As the moment's pass, Nitrim's eyes harden to somewhere between wanting to calm the Sauveur and being prepared for some kind of fight. His face a passive mask with hardened jawline and steeled brows, the cigarette in his hands is forgotten as the tip turns into an ashen worm that needs to be tapped. As Advent sits, Nitrim tries to move the cigarette to the ashtray, but the ashes fall to the floor instead.

Oh well. Another drag is taken.

"If you forgive me for Soleil, and if you do not feel that I am a murderer, then whatever support you can give me from that direction would leave me grateful." Nitrim replies slowly, the end of his cigarette flaring with his follow-up drag. "And if I have your forgiveness, then I would like your permission to deliver flowers to her resting place. Soleil and I were poison to each other, and on my word my intention was to spare the both of us. What happened was never my intention." Nitrim adds, letting out a slow breath. "Like you, Advent, peace from within is what I seek."

"No prospects that you are aware of," Cyrielle points out smoothly. The woman almost falls back into her chair; the weight is too much with her leg as it is. A hand goes to that space, just above the knee, where the join between flesh and synthetic lies. She rubs absently, as if an afterthought. "There is no guarantee for Nitrim or I, either. We are noble; our lives are not our own." There is a glance for the Khourni lordling and as the youngest of the gathering speaks, the Hollolas gains a thoughtful expression.

Advent takes a moment and stares at Nitrim. "I will accompany you and stand guard as you speak your peace to her resting place." He offers a kind grin to Nitrim but those eyes and the pale skin makes it a little too sinister … more than what Advent intended. "You were poison to each other but it was her choice to drink just as much as it was yours." He glances away from the two in front of him. "All I need to do is back your pairing and many would follow. Just by the name Sauveur… not Advent." He shakes his head quickly. "No Cyrielle. None. I've spoken with my parents and they are concerned with marrying my sisters off. When I asked about my match they said they'd not ever received a request and they do not feel I will be matched. That I should focus on dying in battle…" He growls and the table jerks to the side but stops when Advent closes his eyes. His breathing deepens. "I'm sorry, give me a moment please."

"Take all of the time that you need." Nitrim replies, watching Advent's eyes close. With the brief moment of privacy, Nitrim turns to look to Cyrielle over the edge of his cigarette for a long, quiet stare. Fingertips brushing at the filter, his wrist turns and extinguishes the butt in the ashtray beside him.

"You do me a kindness, truly." Nitrim replies, the tone of his voice showing interest in this endorsement that Advent speaks of. Nitrim leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and speaks quietly to the man. "And, as of current, it would do you no well for you and I to be seen as kindred spirits and brothers, but perhaps with time and enough photography, both our images could change because if there is anyone that understands your pain, it's I." Nitrim swallows, his lips forming into a frown. "Perhaps it is we who should be asking what we could do to aid you in return for your support, Advent."

"I was considering such a thing," Cyrielle says into the silence after Nitrim speaks. Though there is a brief glance for the drake, her eyes are largely on the royal. Watching for any signs similar to the night so recently past. "If you were to show a support for him, though it would have to be done… carefully. Perhaps your sister, Lady Lyrienne, could assist in finding the right way to do so? She has more experience in matters of repairing image than most."

There's a glance for the tea sat down previously, but the woman does not move for it. She gives a small nod, then, echoing Nitrim's offer: "If there is, say the word. I'm sure I could show you some of the things that lead to… the interest of the tabloids. Drinking, parties…" Her lips quirk absently, in a wry smirk.

Advent winces and shakes his head quickly. "It is something to plan yes… to socially and in medias view, forgiveness." He rubs his chest and keeps breathing slowly. "I do not drink. I do not party. I do not sleep around. I do not kiss others. I am untouched in such a way and until I am ready to be …" He winces as the force pushes out of him hard, like getting a door slammed in the face before it's pulled back and the royal grips the chair. "I feel like I'm drowning." He whispers through the force around him. His black eyes open up and stare at the ceiling. He starts repeating his oath as a knight but it's wheezed out.

Watching the force start to build, Nitrim plants the arch of his boot into the coffee table. When it surges forward, he presses down with his knee and holds the thing firmly in place. It does little to stop his glass of water from flying past his head and crash into the wall.

"Advent." Nitrim replies flatly, with some bite to his words. "Close your eyes and out loud count backwards from ten. There are no troubles outside of this room and you are with friends, friends who have been through this just like you." Nitrim's voice lowers to a soothing tone. "Picture in the mind two hands reaching through the quicksand, grasping at your wrists and pulling you back up to where the air is."

Much like Nitrim, Cyrielle seems prepared for this. Her tea cup is grabbed and a hand planted over the top of the ashtray. At least there will be minimal cleanup to be tended to. The woman seems about to offer… well, much the same as the Khournas. Instead, lips pressed into a thin line, she observes for a moment. Everyone has their own ways; often learned or passed through a mentor.

"I may sound like a terrible, dirty, sullied thing… but perhaps that's part of the problem. We all have to let off steam sometimes, Advent."

Advent pulls at his shirt and starts to count backwards from ten. He pictures the hands but it's not helping the heavy feeling. The power ebbs off though at a single thought. Hidden and known only to the Sauveur. He goes limp against the chair and blue returns to his eyes. "No…" He speaks quietly to Cyrielle. "That causes more issues than it resolves. I'd rather avoid it." He grumbles and brings his hands to his chest. "I still… feel heavy…Did I suddenly gain a hundred pounds… as it feels like it."

"You're fine." Nitrim continues, his voice soothing as he reaches out to touch Cyrielle's knee. Rising from his seat, he moves to stand beside Advent's chair and unfurls his own aura. Reaching out telepathically to the Sauveur, he sends a sensation of calmed emotions and flat-line peace to the man, should his call be accepted. "Sometimes residual force from the use of telekinesis remains. It's all completely normal. You've two lifeguards here with you, my friend." With a smile to his voice, he places his hands on Advent's shoulder. "Perhaps what you need, Advent, are friends, and through unity we shall figure out our problems as a team. No man is an island."

"You are Awakened," Cyrielle murmurs, moving a hand to brush at Nitrim's coat as he passes. A brief, simple thing of support. "It is as much a part of us as our eye color. It's more natural than the cybernetic limbs we both bear." A brief rub at the same spot, above knee. The woman draws a slow breath.

"I am happy, as I'm sure Nitrim would be, or even your sister… to help you learn better control and understanding." She looks towards the Khournas briefly, before dark gaze returns to the royal. "However, I personally… would ask that you first learn to embrace that part of you. I know you seek love, Advent, but you need to know… anyone who will love you will love even those parts of you that wake you in the night."

It's the human contact that he jerks away from but he accepts the call. He calms down and looks up at Nitrim. "I used to be an island just fine. Killing the sharks from the shore with my spear." He shakes his head slowly and looks at Cyrielle. "I will never find love so I do not seek it. I've tried and I found something like it but it burns. I'd rather avoid it in the future. There is nothing to worry about there." He pushes himself up to stand and his cybernetic leg cracks slightly sending pain up his side. "I'll… get you more water. I'm sorry."

"Oh, be sorry if it was an aged bourbon, Advent, it's just water, really." Nitrim laughs with a wave of his arm, suggesting that he doesn't need anything. As Advent moves out of Nitrim's field of vision, the Khourni uses the moment of cloaking to cast a concerned look to Cyrielle, eyes widening and lips giving a soft cringe.

"Advent, if I may be so bold…" Nitrim starts, his boots planting firmly to the floor. His hip presses against the sofa, forcing his dagger's sheath to hang at an awkward angle until he corrects it with two fingers to push it back into place. "The tabloids from me weren't all lies, and a good deal of that is because I believe it was best for me to be alone and not believe in myself. You, yourself, being an Awakened like Cyrielle and I, I implore you to accept our friendship. If you're endorsing us, then allow us to endorse you. Like all things there are no promises, but life is a present tense thing, and your future, when it becomes your present, may be for the better with the love of friendship to help you fill the cracks."

"I don't believe just fine is the way to put it," Cyrielle says, a hint of a sour tone entering her voice. "You spoke of people giving your sister gratitude for your actions. You've loved and lost. You told me you see yourself as death." She shifts somewhat; awkward to be the only one seated at this point.

"That is not fine. I spent each visit to the cities during my time away drowning myself in whatever I could. Be it sex, drugs, or alcohol. I was scared to open myself to anything else. Were I still that, you would not believe me if I claimed to be fine." There's a look to Nitrim and a tilt of head in a nod. "We are offering our friendship and help, Advent. Please do not push it away- you trusted me enough to call to me when you struggled. Beyond your own family. Trust me now."

Advent winces and nods slowly. "I accept your friendship…" He starts to pour more water but his hands are shaking and it's splashing everywhere. Finally there is some poured and he turns to Nitrim. He holds out the glass and stands tall. "I called you because Lyr would have thrown me in a room and lectured me like one of her children. I knew whatever I showed you… I wasn't going to get a lecture in thin…things." He brings his hand to his head. "I don't like this side of me. I get mad…ever since Artex… I've not seen her in a long while and I very much miss her."

"We know you do, Six, Advent you wear it like a shroud." Nitrim follows after Advent, coming to a stop beside Cyrielle. His hand lifts to brush the small of her back in a sign of support before coming to rest at her wrist. Shifting weight from one hip to the other, the Khourni bites his lip; his thinking face. "So, Advent, I have an idea. Nothing makes a man attractive to others than being seen living. I'm not saying wear a mask and I am definitely not suggesting that you do anything that puts your morals in compromise, but like Lyrienne suggested to me, it would do you well to be seen out and about with friends." Nitrim lets the idea hang for a moment. "I could introduce you to my more behaved friends; a meal here, sitting together during tourney there, and all the while I implore you to let Cyrielle and I be your mentors, because these new talents of yours may feel like a curse now, but are truly just a sixth sense; another part of who you are."

"Let me be your example, Advent." Nitrim breathes. "If I can change and find love and life through my dark clouds…myself the fool, then someone as capable as you surely can as well."

Advent shakes his head. "I have a duty to the people. I have to fight. I do not have time for tournaments or meals or much else." He turns to the couple. "It is my duty to fight back the evil that threatens to over take all of us. Should I die doing so, than I have been given an honorable death. Should I sit back and recline while others die… I should leave this world ashamed. Nitrim, Cyrielle… I must fight. Love no longer has time for me and I for it. Friendship I can maintain and mentors in this…power would be welcome however… I am a Knight. I am honor bound to lay my life on the line for those who cannot."

"Would she?" Cyrielle raises an eyebrow, but there's a gentle smile as well. "Your sister must be quite different with family. She's been nothing but kind and supportive as we've worked together." There's a glance of appreciation for Nitrim and she moves to her feet slowly. It takes a long second or two for her to place her weight upon her right leg, but she finally does.

"Much as you might at times think otherwise…" It's a joke, by the smirk that tugs at her features, "we do have friends who are less inclined to partying. I could arrange a small event…" Her mind works as she speaks and interacts; less a thoughtful face as Nitrim, but more of a continuation. One thread to the next. "Mayhap a charity dinner. Elections have just passed. There was that word of the Vale moving forward with clearing out any Hostiles… Winter is just passing. It'd be a good time for such a thing."

"Everyone must eat and both Cyrielle and I fight as well. The war is happening always, but as lords and ladies we still have responsibilities to our people, and being seen healthy and strong, not lavishly laughing our way, is important." Nitrim counters. Hands crossing behind his back, his chest rises and falls in a deep breath. "But you also have a responsibility to your men in the field to get these powers under control and, if necessary, be the winning edge by being good with them."

Advent shakes his head slowly and groans. "I blew up a hostile with these. It hurt Artex. It doesn't breathe anymore." He growls a little the air getting heavy again, a protective force pushes out around himself and envelops the room. "An event is a party." He points out to Cyrielle. "That would require me talking and getting to know others and I leave that to … the women of my house. I'm a soldier. A fighter. Sometimes a scorned man but mostly a fighter." He walks over to them. "Charity is good but I won't be there the whole time." He grumbles.

"And I prefer to fight with mine," Cyrielle says, lips curving upwards in a smile. "I cloak myself in my power, rather than wear armor. I call down lightning rather than bear a sword. I killed two, in spite of my leg. Yes, it led me to make the final decision to get the cybernetic, but.." She spreads her hands faintly. "You're a Royal, Advent. You can be eccentric and odd or whatever you'd like, but you yourself struggle to be forgotten. Let yourself be seen, even if you just drift amongst the people. We could make it a dinner where people must purchase a plate to attend. A smaller, focused function. Perhaps proceeds can go to… those who wish to study at the Academ to support the war efforts, but cannot afford it." The force is difficult for her, perhaps; a hand reaches out to grab at Nitrim's arm. Keeping her balance. "Become a supporter of your people, Advent. We know and you know that you're more than just a killer. Let the rest find out as well."

"Your people," Nitrim replies slowly, his arm suddenly snaking out to catch Cyrielle at the hip as she falters. To emphasize his point, the Khourni nobleman gives a tick of his head towards Advent, eyes serious and filled with glorious purpose. "Will need to see their lord in control of himself at all times. Heed my warnings, Advent, there are always eyes. The offer of training stands, as does our friendship, but I know this look well, and this road only goes to certain places."

Nitrim's arm rises, extending for a shake to the royal across from he and Cyrielle. "Don't let your current failure in trust numb your ability to know when to trust. What say you?"

Advent stares at Nitrim and it takes a moment before he nods slowly and takes a hold of Nitrim's arm. He nods slowly. "Wise words." He breathes out and he moves closer but stops and takes a step back. "I know it's … what I'm used to." He pulls his hand back and he stands there awkwardly. "I will learn to control this but I want it to defend me when all else has failed." He speaks quietly. "I hopefully will get there. Time…I need time."

There's something of a curiousity for Nitrim's last words as Cyrielle steels herself; appreciative of the Khourni lordling's support, but not wanting to take things too far. Advent may be a supporter, yes, but there's still appropriate times and places. "Advent," Cyrielle offers, in a soft tone, "one thing in particular… you and I are both late Awakened. It's a different beast for us. Unpredictable. You may find it helping you now, there suddenly when you need it… but I promise, there are times when it won't be. Unless you hone the skill and make it work for you just as your own hands."

"And where will you learn to control it?" Nitrim asks Advent directly, an attempt to skirt away from the non-sequiturs and focus on yes or no answers. "When things were out of hand with me, I turned to help, and for that help I will forever be grateful as my life has turned for the better for it. We are here, you and I, and because of the man I've become I will be able to ask for my forgiveness finally."

Advent tilts his head. "I've always been Awakened…I hid it though. I used to bring pencils towards myself in the library and I was scolded and told to hide that part. I did. Now here I am, fourteen years later with more power that I didn't want." He looks at Cyrielle. "I need both your help to bring this back…into myself. To put it away again." He bows his head and keeps it bowed. "I need help." Not too proud to ask. He slowly sits down and glances in front of himself with blue eyes full of fear. "What now?"

"You may not want it, but you have it," Cyrielle says firmly, but not unkindly. She finds a seat herself once again, extracting from Nitrim to lower into it. There's a slow exhale of a sigh as she considers. "There are books. Basic texts, on how to control and manage. The main question, however… is what school of thought you intend to follow."

"And rest." Nitrim points out, moving to light a fresh cigarette in the midst of the now cluttered hotel room. "Rest is going to be key to controlling yourself, Advent. If you wish for this to pass unnoticed only as needed, then your mental and emotional state and your awakened senses are going to have to live in two separate spaces." Nitrim adds, moving to sit back down as well. "I am a Hermetic, and Cyrielle here follows a druidic path."

Advent frowns and stares at Cyrielle. "School of thought? W…what?" He looks utterly confused. "I don't understand. What does that mean? Is that like School of Combat?" He leans back and tilts his head slowly. He's so very confused. He shakes his head slowly. "I never paid attention when Lyr spoke…What are they? Hermetic…Druidic…what else?" He is so very confused. He brings his hands up to his face and he grumbles angrily.

Reaching into her coat, Cyrielle pulls out a tablet. She starts tapping out a few things. "Sorcery, though I know rather little on that. There are also the oracles of The Ring. They say theirs is similar to the druidic path, but… I'm inclined to disagree, personally." There is a small smile for the Sauvuer, at a glance towards him. "I'll send you a few texts on them. Study on them, meditate on it. Find which calls to you the most."

"Think on it like this, Advent." Nitrim starts, the cigarette lowering from his lips as he leans back and blows a trio of smoke rings into the air above him. Lounging now, he looks just like he does in the tabloids, but his words and thoughts do not match the care-free they say the lord has. "If you were to fight with a sword, or use a sword for anything, there's numbers of styles. Two swords? Two handed? Sword an board? Well, for us Awakened there are a number of methods used to stylize and access certain abilities, as well as prime your mind like an engine to be in control. Like swordplay…unorthodox doesn't do the trick."

Advent frowns and thinks it over. "Can I be a defensive Awakened?" He keeps his eyes on his feet. "Is that a style? Or is it between Hermetic, Druidic, and Sorcery? Which is defensive? Which is protective?" He finally looks up and he glances between the two that know more than he does. "I will read it and meditate on the text. I'm sorry I have so many questions, it's rude of me." He sits back and puts his hands into his lap.

"It's not rude of you," Cyrielle says with a slight wave of her hand, smiling. "As for defensive, well…" Her brows furrow and she frowns somewhat. "I wish I could say yes, but save for the armor and some tricks with moving objects… One has to get creative, mostly. Your sister, for example, on Lazarus Island… called up the plants of the jungle around us to hold one of the Hostiles in place."

Shifting to sit more upright, she sends off the texts to Advent. Basic rituals, descriptors, and the like. "It more has to do with how you approach and feel as an Awakened. Nitrim finds his comfort in rituals, runes, and the like. I feel most at peace when I'm working with nature. Druidry is a more freeform things than hermeticism. We work with the earth around us. Sorcery, well… I haven't really a clue." She glances to Nitrim, eyebrow raised.

Nitrim gives Cyrielle an almost comical shrug of his shoulder, flashing a quick smile her way. "I've never had a use for Sorcery, sorry, guys." Laughing, he reaches aside to ash the cigarette, clearing his throat quickly. "Sorcery is more…classic in delivery. Somatic gestures and elementalism, somewhere between Druidry and Hermeticism. They're styles, Advent, not the purpose."

Sitting up quickly, he scratches his chest and leans forward, motioning for Advent to pay attention. "Your discipline only determines what style you use to access the source, so-to-speak. Druids attune with the world around them. Hermetics are far more mathematic and astrological in nature. Sorcerous tend to believe more in ley-lines and runic beliefs. In the end though, you could be as offensive, defensive, or non-functional as you want. Think of it as priming your mind to find that warm ball deep inside you, and what language you speak to it to make it go." Nitrim pauses, briefly. "And with enough skill, you won't need for armor or a warm coat anywhere you go, and could communicate telepathically with your friends and loved ones. Believe me, it's a boon."

Advent listens to them both and he thinks about it. "I have a greater connection with Artex than I've ever had with anything else. She's my world. Perhaps… I'm more of a druid." He doesn't feel close to the other forms. "I can go riding in the Vale with Artex and all else melts away. I feel like I'm home." He isn't carrying his things so he doesn't get her texts right away. "Can you talk to the dead?" He sounds so very hopeful with that request.

"The telepathic communication can be almost a vital thing in battle. It's why large patrols near always have at least one Awakened. To be able to inform everyone in your group, instantenously, where an enemy is?" Cyrielle tucks away the tablet again, offering a warm smile to Advent. "In the woods, I can reach out with my Awakened senses, into the trees and plants around me. I can sense everything nearby. Be it beast, Havenite, or Hostile. Nitrim could command an area of silence. Strip the words from our mouths. There is.. a great deal that can be done. There's still limits, in many ways, but the path you follow… Only you can know it. You can learn of others, but your best work will be done in the way you find yourself drawn to."

At the question, Cyrielle draws a slow breath and looks to Nitrim. Letting the Hermetic field this one.

Feeling Cyrielle's eyes on him with her silence, Nitrim turns to look to her, leveling another simple stare to her as he chooses his words. Shoulder lifting in a brief shrug, he ashes his cigarette and prepares for another pull from the addictive habit.

"No." Nitrim says quietly, shaking his head from side to side. "Death isn't the end, I don't believe, not for anything, but it is a wall. If we could literally wall-call and speak with the Sage, the Wave-Mother, or the Devil herself, then we'd have no mysteries left in the universe. Communication with the dead is a one-way call and a long wait to get an answer, but in the span of a lifetime it is believed the afterlife could be a second to a million years in feeling." Nitrim half-smiles. "You'll see this horse of yours again, Advent, but you will be able to learn to feel the emotions and, if you grow as strong as we, be able to speak with your new horse. Which of course would be no replacement, but prepare you for being able to speak with Artax after you've passed."

"I have more rites for communication with the afterlife than I believe Cyrielle does, but all three schools have their methods." Nitrim adds quickly, a final comment slid in before replies. "We'll just have to see who is right when we're all dead."

Advent shakes his head quickly. "Artex lives." He speaks almost happily. "Her first rider does not." He bites his lip. "I failed her. I rode her into battle and each time I promised to cherish her life. I didn't the last time. Hostiles… attacked us and that's…when I lost my leg and she almost lost her life. It was my fault and I cannot forgive myself for hurting her so much. I failed her. Her first rider… that is the woman that holds my heart. I might have been young and stupid but I was in love. If I could call to her and ask forgiveness for letting her fall… letting her die… That I have always wanted to trade places with her… That it should have been me on the end of that sword not her…" His emotions mount and so does the aura. "I protect Artex now. I can't face her and tell her I don't want to ride her into battle. I want to keep her safe."

He glances between them both. "I am glad they cannot talk back though. I fear that if that were the case, no one would see me again. I'd speak with only the dead until I too died." He closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten to calm his racing heart. "I want her back."

"OH." Nitrim blinks. "…oh." It makes sense now and Nitrim looks like an idiot for it.

There's a brief flare of eyes in near-apology from Cyrielle to Nitrim. She leans back in her chair, gazing towards the fire that burns low. It warms the room, but soothes aches in places from injuries both old and new. "There are no particular rituals for speaking with the dead for the druidic. We celebrate life and we celebrate the lives of those who have passed, but… Once the Six take one, we try not to reflect too deeply."

One of many reasons, perhaps, she never discusses her late mother. "Something I am learning, Advent, is that it does no one good to live in the past… It's not an easy lesson, but it's an important one."

"Here's an idea." Nitrim starts, breaking the heart-hardened moment with his casual sigue into a different approach. Rising from his seat, his hand waves with his cigarette, creating little streamers of light in the dim lighting. Knocked over lamps will do this. "And I apologize, as Cyrielle and I going disappear-like for too long tends to cause issue; we may have to slip out all separately soon, but I think you'll like this one, Advent."

Stepping over to the man, Nitrim brushes a few fingertips across Cyri's shoulder as he passes, a brief moment of affection. "I suppose I was wrong about Druids and speaking with the dead, but I believe rather strongly in it. Another point you and I have in common, we owe a debt, or feel we do, to people who have passed. We'll have to face that in the afterlife, I believe, but for those who love us, I wouldn't believe they would want us to suffer. My sister would not want me to suffer, as you are. Soleil…" Nitrim tilts his head. "…her heart was filled with anger always, I don't know so well. This girl of yours, though, will see you have a life to prepare for that next meeting. So…here is what I propose: Accompany me as guard and escort to the grave of your cousin so that I may ask for forgiveness, and in turn, allow me to be your guard at the tomb of yours, and as friends we will dedicate ourselves to a future of purpose."

Advent shakes his head. "She was that person that made my heart flutter. She made me see a future. She gave me hope. She was… heaven." He frowns and looks down again. "I'll never find that again. We all have a soul mate and when you lose that one who you belonged to, you'll never find happiness like that again." Then Nitrim is there and he nods slowly to the suggestion. "Yes. I haven't been… she wasn't properly buried but I remember where she died." He stands up and stares at Nitrim. "Take the service elevator out back. Cyrielle take the kitchen lift. Two different sides of the hotel. My guards at posted on each and have absolute discretion."

Once Advent rises, Cyrielle gets to her feet as well and gathers up her crutches. She shifts her leg a few times before settling into place, the supports braced against her arm. "I'm not sure I believe in the concept of a soul mate," she admits, glancing over to Nitrim. As if to say 'no offense.' She starts to move around the chairs to a more open space. "As I think there's a great capacity for love within us. It can just be difficult to find that right person in the midst of so many."

"It's okay, Cyrielle, I don't believe in the concept either. Love is love. We all love different people in different ways with different reason." Nitrim replies, giving her a playful, hairy eyebrow. It's a mock look of disappointment, followed with a rogueish smile as he steps past her. "But this settles it. Advent, we'll trade introducing each other once again to our past memories and move forward from there. In the meantime, remember to count backwards from ten and that your emotions, your center determine your control." Nitrim looks over his shoulder to Advent as he stops near the door, ready to open it for Cyrielle. "And if you need me, you know where to find me."

Advent nods slowly and shakes his head. "I believe in it. It's why I don't really try. I had my chance." He stays standing and he bows his head to both of them. "You'll hear from me if I need you. Either of you. Hopefully I will learn to control this in short order. Until then… be safe love birds." He takes a few steps back and bows his head again, keeping his hands clasped together in front of himself.

"Precisely," Cyrielle says towards Nitrim with a warm smile. A new form of understanding, with appreciation of such. She chuckles softly as he steps past her and soon she follows, towards the door once opened. "Advent, read over those texts I sent you. Meditate on the options… We'll help you once you decide, even if it means locating a sorcerer."

Opening the door for Cyrielle, Nitrim leans against its hardwood frame and motions for the atypical ladies first from her. Already having their escape route, he gives her a quiet wink; a knowing constant that they'll be in contact soon despite moving separate ways. Eyes simmering, he whispers something gentle to her and then turns towards Advent. "Advent? I'll be around, but I've got to stop by the florist. If we could link up later this afternoon to stop by and see Soleil, I'd be grateful, and thank you for this audience. It meant alot to us both." With that, he turns to leave.

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