He casts Feather Fall with a quick gesture, then takes the running leap.
The magic takes effect as they drop from the high point of the jump, wisps
of white light flickering in and out around them, bringing them over and
across the water of the harbour.
The feeling of being held and helped by magic is...difficult to describe.
Astarion knows that his ability to slip his fingers into the Weave and
manipulate it for his own purposes is inborn; the leftovers of a distant
fey heritage. He's never been without it. It feels like a kind word, a
gentle touch. Like being safely wrapped up in the very fabric of creation,
if only for a few moments.
He can feel how comfortable Astarion is which is very different from the resigned terror of Arthur making such an insane jump. That's why he doesn't yell or scream or complain; instead, there's something utterly delighted to feeling Astarion manipulate the Weave, use his magic and his talents. It's a little like listening to Arthur recite poetry or the few times he's heard him play the piano. He's silent, just soaking it in and enjoying it for what it is.
The fall is less than a minute long, but in the slow drift it feels like
more. He lands delicately on the harbour stones across the water from the
cargo warehouse, just outside the wreckage of the Foundry.
That's what I wanted to show you. It's hard to describe something
I can just...do, more or less.
Oh there's a glow inside, warm and delighted and fond. It's small but unmistakable. He feels very... honored is a little too formal of a word. But he feels good and a kind of special for getting to experience it with him.
He hopes Astarion sticks around long enough once he's graduated to let John do something similar.
You're welcome. As for the spell catalogue, I've only the one left to show you. Mirror what I do with my arm.
He holds up the hand he can control, waits for John to do the same and then casts Shocking Grasp, wreathing his hands and forearms in electrical sparks. The sensation is like static dancing across the skin.
I have to be within reach of my target, but this is less damaging than the firebolt. It can leave a person stunned rather than cooked.
John is very well practiced at working in sync, especially when it comes to things where there's muscle memory, and there's another burst of bright, childish glee at seeing the purple sparks.
[ There's something that can do this in the Dreamlands! ...not that that one wasn't trying to cook us.
It is. Although if I'm close enough to use it, we're closer to a fair fight than I'd like.
He releases the spell, the electricity fizzing away to nothing - then turns away from the water. Looking back uphill to the silhouettes of larger, grander buildings above them.
Where we started, the house overlooking the park - that's Cazador's palace. Convenient for him. It faced onto the Upper City for attendees to his grand parties, but the other spawn and I could easily slip through the back doors and into the Lower City, to hunt.
There's no emotion accompanying the words, besides a slight tinge of disgust.
Not in the time I knew him. He was a known figure in the city - considered
a little odd, reclusive, but by elven standards he wasn't old enough to be
suspicious. He had his reputation to consider. If one person saw something
strange at a social event, he could do something about it. If a rumour
spread that he was stalking beautiful young people in the night, well,
that's a little different.
He wants to maintain his power, his influence, his wealth. He needs to be
among his peers for that. But if anyone knew enough about him to understand
what he is, the palace would be up in flames within hours.
There's no paradox, to Astarion's mind. Knowledge is power; why would
Cazador give any of his own away?
To what end, though? That's the part he keeps getting caught on. Those with power don't hide themselves, in his own experience. They bend the world around them.
Not that he cares about Astarion worrying about it. Cazador is not Astarion's to worry about, other than as a danger and thankfully not now.
He turns away, walking along the waterfront, letting John see the boats in
the water. At the end of the dock is a temple, mostly open to the elements;
at its heart is a statue of a horned woman with tentacles from the waist
down, commanding a pack of huge sea serpents.
The Water Queen's House. The oldest temple in the city. I told you about
Umberlee, didn't I?
[Hmmm. I think so? She's one of the gods who fucked off on helping you, right?]
He will take a long time to look at the statue and Astarion might feel the enjoyment of a beautiful thing, the way he's examining all the facets of the statue itself.
There tend to be a few torches lying around the city in any given spot, either to light the streets from wall sconces or for Flaming Fist patrols to pick up. He finds one not far away and lights it with another fire mote, casting a flickering glow around them.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It is.
He casts Feather Fall with a quick gesture, then takes the running leap. The magic takes effect as they drop from the high point of the jump, wisps of white light flickering in and out around them, bringing them over and across the water of the harbour.
The feeling of being held and helped by magic is...difficult to describe.
Astarion knows that his ability to slip his fingers into the Weave and manipulate it for his own purposes is inborn; the leftovers of a distant fey heritage. He's never been without it. It feels like a kind word, a gentle touch. Like being safely wrapped up in the very fabric of creation, if only for a few moments.
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The fall is less than a minute long, but in the slow drift it feels like more. He lands delicately on the harbour stones across the water from the cargo warehouse, just outside the wreckage of the Foundry.
That's what I wanted to show you. It's hard to describe something I can just...do, more or less.
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Oh there's a glow inside, warm and delighted and fond. It's small but unmistakable. He feels very... honored is a little too formal of a word. But he feels good and a kind of special for getting to experience it with him.
He hopes Astarion sticks around long enough once he's graduated to let John do something similar.
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You're welcome. As for the spell catalogue, I've only the one left to show you. Mirror what I do with my arm.
He holds up the hand he can control, waits for John to do the same and then casts Shocking Grasp, wreathing his hands and forearms in electrical sparks. The sensation is like static dancing across the skin.
I have to be within reach of my target, but this is less damaging than the firebolt. It can leave a person stunned rather than cooked.
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[ There's something that can do this in the Dreamlands! ...not that that one wasn't trying to cook us.
Looks useful! ]
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It is. Although if I'm close enough to use it, we're closer to a fair fight than I'd like.
He releases the spell, the electricity fizzing away to nothing - then turns away from the water. Looking back uphill to the silhouettes of larger, grander buildings above them.
Where we started, the house overlooking the park - that's Cazador's palace. Convenient for him. It faced onto the Upper City for attendees to his grand parties, but the other spawn and I could easily slip through the back doors and into the Lower City, to hunt.
There's no emotion accompanying the words, besides a slight tinge of disgust.
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[ So he never hunted himself? ]
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Not in the time I knew him. He was a known figure in the city - considered a little odd, reclusive, but by elven standards he wasn't old enough to be suspicious. He had his reputation to consider. If one person saw something strange at a social event, he could do something about it. If a rumour spread that he was stalking beautiful young people in the night, well, that's a little different.
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oops wrong tense
He wants to maintain his power, his influence, his wealth. He needs to be among his peers for that. But if anyone knew enough about him to understand what he is, the palace would be up in flames within hours.
There's no paradox, to Astarion's mind. Knowledge is power; why would Cazador give any of his own away?
Re: oops wrong tense
Not that he cares about Astarion worrying about it. Cazador is not Astarion's to worry about, other than as a danger and thankfully not now.
[I'm glad you didn't lose your home, then.]
That's all he can say about that.
Re: oops wrong tense
Likewise.
He turns away, walking along the waterfront, letting John see the boats in the water. At the end of the dock is a temple, mostly open to the elements; at its heart is a statue of a horned woman with tentacles from the waist down, commanding a pack of huge sea serpents.
The Water Queen's House. The oldest temple in the city. I told you about Umberlee, didn't I?
Re: oops wrong tense
He will take a long time to look at the statue and Astarion might feel the enjoyment of a beautiful thing, the way he's examining all the facets of the statue itself.
But he's also thinking of something else.
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They all did. But she's the only one I dressed as for a Halloween party.
Brief amusement.
What's on your mind, John?
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Why not? Might as well ask.
[...wanna blow it up too?]
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Astarion laughs, but there's a note of confusion in it.
Why would I want to do that?
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...we can put some fake guards in so you can be sneaky. ]
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Ha. No, no thank you. Though I didn't realise you could create other people for this place. Illusions, I assume?
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Interesting. They can't hurt us?
That feels like it'd take a lot of the challenge out of it. A lot of the motivating nature of a physical threat.
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Probably to keep things interesting.
Hard to fight something you can't collide with. ]
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Not impossible, though. Maybe I'll come back here for target practice sometime.
He turns away from the temple, heading back inland.
Can you still make much out? I assume you're working with human vision.
And elves have a much easier time seeing in the dark.
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And Astarion might feel the trepidation at that. He doesn't like the dark.
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Ah. One moment-
There tend to be a few torches lying around the city in any given spot, either to light the streets from wall sconces or for Flaming Fist patrols to pick up. He finds one not far away and lights it with another fire mote, casting a flickering glow around them.
Better?
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