Winter's Archon

To be with the House of Light now reminds the boy all too keenly of what it was like to be with the House of Wolves before and of some times spent in the City since. He’s not oblivious to the way these strangers respond to him — the expressions they make, the ways they react to his appearance, to his scent, the looks some of them give him when they think he can’t see.

He feels exposed. Overwhelmed. Like he’s surrounded by eyes and teeth and seething hunger. Evris notices — gently suggests the child find somewhere quiet, and he’ll come find him when it’s time for bed.

So he hides, as he did when he was much younger. He takes to one of the buildings that appears empty in the hopes no one will be there. For a short while, at least, he’s alone.

Then he’s not. He hears footsteps and presses himself further into the corner he’s chosen and hopes whoever’s just entered will overlook him. Maybe, if he’d closed his eyes, he would’ve been lucky.

Instead Xariks shrinks into himself and wishes he’d stayed with Evris.

He recognizes the Eliksni in front of him from the first time he was brought to visit the Quarter. She’d been mean to Rook, like some of the City people had been mean to him, and he didn’t understand why. He still doesn’t.

It takes a moment to register what she says. He’s had to readjust to speaking Eliksni again, here, and the words take longer to process than they used to. Uncertainty and trepidation about the Eliksni in front of him don’t help.

“…Evris… Helping others…” the child murmurs meekly, gaze dropping as anxiety rises. “Should I… Leave?”

Seltras drew a deep breath of ether as the child fumbled with his Eliksni, tried not to let her frustration with his guardian bleed into her interactions with him, for what it was worth. How could that stupid Exo not see how not being with other Eliksni was affecting him? He was scrawny as a half fed Drekh, hardly able to speak their language anymore. And she dared call him her child?? More like a pet. It was only the vague nudge of common sense (and the fact that Misraakskel was in earshot) that kept the Eliksni medic from outright striking her.

She kept a hold on her patience as the boy shrank away, but offered no means of physical reassurance (that might just give him a heart attack). He finally speaks and she sighs again, a shimmer of ether visible in the dim light.

“No. It doesn’t look like you’ve done any harm hiding in here,” she said, glancing at the stored supplies. “As long as you keep out of the way, you can stay here until Evris comes to get you.”

She got to her feet and began putting away the boxes she’d brought in. Something nagged at her, even though she knew asking might just scuff her plating…

       So the juvenile offers a hushed, “Okay.” Remains in his spot where it doesn’t seem like he’ll be an obstacle. After a short moment he notices his fingers are starting to ache from how hard he’d been holding himself. A habit born of stress, and one that’s now gotten some of his claws snagged in his clothing apparently. It’s not the first time. It probably won’t be the last.

       Xariks works quietly on freeing himself while the older Eliksni turns her attention to the boxes. The last nail pulls loose a thread but he can’t do anything about it before he’s being addressed again.

       Primary eyes blink once, and then his gaze shifts to the medic. He certainly hadn’t expected the question. Does he enjoy being with Mama? He doesn’t know why the elder would ask, or think he would lie. To him, at least, his reply should be obvious. But this Eliksni doesn’t like his mom. Because she’s a Guardian? Some of the others in the Quarter had voiced similar sentiments about Guardians, and he thinks he understands why, but it’s not like Mama ever did anything wrong, right?

       “. . . Mama’s good,” he mutters, in the end, his gaze dropping.  “And she’s kind. She makes me happy.”

It had been a few days since the child had been left with them– specifically with the former vandal Evris– and Seltras couldn’t help a scowl whenever she saw him. Not directed at Xariks, necessarily, but certainly directed at his caretaker, the Exo who had brought him to them. As far as the medic was concerned, it was her fault the boy was so small. Malnourishment tended to do that. (And he’d been around the Guardian so long that he even smelled like a Lightbearer. It made Seltras bristle whenever the wind shifted the wrong way.)

At the moment the small one was hidden somewhere out of sight; no chips in Seltras’s shell. Arms full of medical supplies,she shouldered aside the door to her “office” and set the boxes on the table… only for four tiny eyes to catch her attention. It seemed like she found Xariks. She gave a heavy sigh and crouched down, but didn’t move any closer. 

He feels exposed. Overwhelmed. Like he's surrounded by eyes and teeth and seething hunger. Evris notices — gently suggests the child find somewhere quiet, and he'll come find him when it's time for bed.

So he hides, as he did when he was much younger. He takes to one of the buildings that appears empty in the hopes no one will be there. For a short while, at least, he's alone.

Then he's not. He hears footsteps and presses himself further into the corner he's chosen and hopes whoever's just entered will overlook him. Maybe, if he'd closed his eyes, he would've been lucky.

Instead Xariks shrinks into himself and wishes he'd stayed with Evris.

He recognizes the Eliksni in front of him from the first time he was brought to visit the Quarter. She'd been mean to Rook, like some of the City people had been mean to him, and he didn't understand why. He still doesn't.

It takes a moment to register what she says. He's had to readjust to speaking Eliksni again, here, and the words take longer to process than they used to. Uncertainty and trepidation about the Eliksni in front of him don't help.

FUCKING YES!!!! TAKE MY MONEY 💰💰💰💰💰

A few months after Jorvek was allowed to kill his abuser , Jorvek felt an ease he hasn’t felt on his shoulders in a long while. He still tensed at certain times and Great Machine forbid, had a flashback at the worse moments but he survived. He made it to Baron. And he was an expert at interrogation.

Perhaps that was why his Kell decided to promote him. Of course he was confused as fuck but accepted it after some grumbling.

Which finds him here, leading the Winters Archon to where there Servitors were. It wasn’t the best location but it was something. “Tavek, I’ll find you later. ” He mumbled to the vandal who was trailing next to him since Xariks showed up. “I’ll be alright.”

“…Better be, Miishma.” The young vandal grumbles at his mother. He gives Xariks another glance before he slips away leaving the Archon and stealth Baron alone.

“Sorry about him. ” He grunts out giving the Archon a glance. His helmet prevented Xariks from seeing the scars across his face for the time being.

He never thought in his long years that he would be allowed, chosen, to help the servitors and his House further. Jorvek felt honored that the Prime and the rest of the servitors trusted him and seemed to want him to be their new Archon. It came down to their decision after all. The Kell might order it but, if the servitors didn’t like you, well, they made your life miserable. And this crew has done that to previous Archons. 

       He’s mindful in his approach regardless. Movements are kept predictable. Anything sudden or unexpected could end poorly here, he knows. Thus, when reaching for the lower access panel, he exercises the same care in prying it open that he used when tending to his own Prime.

       Perhaps more care, in truth, given that Kaarsis isn’t making a game of floating out of his reach.

       Device is connected to the uncovered port. The Archon adjusts the settings to run a full diagnostic, and then it’s a matter of a short wait. Resulting readings are hardly surprising. The Prime is in good condition, overall, and the only things that merit additional attention are, frankly, rather minor. More for efficiency than anything.

       Xariks disconnects the scanner shortly. Hatch is resealed and he withdraws from the Machine-God of Kings.

* body language masterlist

* a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

* a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

* 550 words to say instead of fuckin said

* 638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

* some more body language help

A few months after Jorvek was allowed to kill his abuser , Jorvek felt an ease he hasn’t felt on his shoulders in a long while. He still tensed at certain times and Great Machine forbid, had a flashback at the worse moments but he survived. He made it to Baron. And he was an expert at interrogation.

Perhaps that was why his Kell decided to promote him. Of course he was confused as fuck but accepted it after some grumbling.

Which finds him here, leading the Winters Archon to where there Servitors were. It wasn’t the best location but it was something. “Tavek, I’ll find you later. ” He mumbled to the vandal who was trailing next to him since Xariks showed up. “I’ll be alright.”

“…Better be, Miishma.” The young vandal grumbles at his mother. He gives Xariks another glance before he slips away leaving the Archon and stealth Baron alone.

“Sorry about him. ” He grunts out giving the Archon a glance. His helmet prevented Xariks from seeing the scars across his face for the time being.

His eyes shift to glance over at the Prime, resting a hand on the casting for a moment. “Old one, I’ll be here when my other duties do not pull me away. You do not need to worry about yourself and the others safety.” He speaks reassuringly.

The Prime seems to take both the outsiders words in account and what its own Baron speaks. Or is it Archon now? The Prime makes an accepting noise, mild though not as joyful as the younger servitors. It still had some doubts.

But no one could really blame the old Prime.

       Great Machine help them both if it such remarks turn out to be a constant, however.

       Yet as of now, that’s neither here nor there. Instead the elder Eliksni takes a brief moment to assess the Prime’s condition without being intrusive. Visually, it looks fine. Nothing sounds out of place either. If problems there are, they’ll be hard to find and harder to fix.

       But he’d brought the scanner for a reason. When Jorvek addresses him, he raises it into view.

       “This is all that’s necessary for a diagnostic. I can show you how to properly use it later, if you do not already know how.” Had it been another servitor, he would have offered to show the Baron right then. But on a Prime? That would be an affront.

       Attention shifts almost entirely to Kaarsis.

The sword is the worst of humanity. It is a tool designed solely for the purpose of destroying human life. The edge is too fine for utility, too long for craft, and too short to be useful for the hunting of game. The first sword ever crafted marked a turning point; that it was an effective use of hard won resources to craft something only useful for killing other humans.

 The sword is the best of humanity. Ingenuity and creativity coming together. Harnessing all four elements, earth, air, fire, and water, to create a sidearm well suited to attack and defense, yet convenient enough to carry by your side.

Swordplay is humanity at it’s worst. It is an art dedicated solely to the destruction of the human body. It is the most efficient means of parting flesh, tendon, and bone to the end of separating the immortal soul from the all too frail body. It is cruel, ruthless, and brutal. 

Swordplay is humanity at it’s absolute best. It is the passionate science. A small person can best a giant and a weak person can best a titan through careful application of the rules of distance, measure, and timing. It is an exultation in all that the human body can accomplish.   

It is a lump of metal and it is art.

It is a riot of violence and it is a dance.

It is ugly and vicious and horrible.

It is beautiful and glorious and magnificent.  

It is art and science joined in one.

“Once your house is built, you have no further need for a sword, since it is an ugly piece of metal and its adherents idiots”

       To witness the pair interact with each other draws the slightest of smiles, unseen though it is beneath the Archon’s helm. Such camaraderie and antics… He’s not allowed himself to indulge in either for some time. To see others enjoy it, however…

       Xariks lets his thoughts stray elsewhere.

       With the Vex in the area now eliminated, the Cabal above are likely to soon move in. Returning this way won’t be viable once the imprisoned conquerors manage to fortify a position – not with only the three of them, not with himself already injured and the Ghost unable to wield a weapon. Should anything bar the path below, their escape routes will only be limited further.

       Silently he unholsters the shock pistol from his thigh. Checks his ammo. With luck there will be enough for the dangers ahead.

       “Will pass through Hive area,” the male clicks as he carefully strides behind the Guardian. “Worst case will need go to deepest levels. Strongest enemies there. Frozen still if lucky.”

       If not…

       Well. He hopes they’re lucky.

“Oh, hive! We’re used to dealing with them, right Nilin?” Cam said in a much too chipper voice.

“I had hoped to get break from them now that we aren’t patrolling the Dreadnaught as often as we used to. But I suppose that’d’ve been too much to ask for.” Though Cam wasn’t wrong; they had plenty of experience with hive, so they could no doubt handle whatever was waiting for them below. She wasn’t as confident about their chances in the high security zone. Nilin hoped they were lucky too. “If they aren’t frozen, I can give them a bit of help with that.”

Cam kept ahead of the other two, bobbing through the air and occasionally stopping to inspect the walls. They didn’t notice the hum of an enemy weapon until it was too late to react. 

       He tries not to think about such times — focuses instead on their surroundings. The sounds of the Cabal grow distant the deeper they traverse, and the stench of Hive grows pungent. Xariks wonders if the Warlock can smell it.

       Then he notices the movement. Sees the eyes, peering from a crevice, and the faint glow of a weapon raised. He knows, instinctively, where it’s aiming before he even looks.

       The Archon is already in motion by the time the Guardian calls out. His hand reaches for the Ghost — snatches them from the air as bolts are loosed, and he twists. Solar energy sears the air, sears his armor, and the impacts jar agony into a wound already tormented by sudden action. For an instant he cannot breathe.

       But the little Light is safe.

       He looks to where he clutches them against his chest plate. They’re... So very small.

       Gaze shifts back to assailant. The acolyte is dead. His own arm is extended, shock pistol in hand, but he’s unsure if he’d fired it — unsure he would've managed a fatal shot even if he had.

       Massive form sinks to one knee. Cam is released.

       Xariks sucks in a breath.