aefenglom | Audio; UN: username

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For those that might be interested, I have through considerable effort figured out how to tweak these devices into allowing the display of color video and images beyond sepia.

[There is a steady tap tap tap, like a claw on metal.]

Which I would demonstrate, save that this is a physical change to the device and requires me to put in several very small items to function. Thus if you have interest in seeing each other in color, I can be found at the Second Time's The Charm shop, which sells these communicators, for the next several days. Make an appointment. As I am generous, I will not charge for my considerable time and efforts in this, though I will not refuse donations. You will have to turn your device over to me for a bell or so, there's no way around it. If you refuse, you may purchase another, I can update that one, and you may turn in your old one for recycling.

Technically I can't refuse anyone who asks for my aid. But if you are rude, violent, or otherwise not on good behavior something unpleasant may happen to your device while my talons are in its guts. Try to at least feign civility.

[OOC: The first watch update is here, IN LIVING COLOR. Lahabrea absolutely must get his hands on a watch in order to upgrade it. While this interaction can be handwaved!! you may also come visit Lahabrea and have it done in person for delicious CR! He won't refuse anyone, and he'll take into account rude people at least making an effort at being polite. Upgrades are freeeee! Make an appointment (in this thread or inboxes or etc I don't mind~) and come get your color upgrade!

Although he didn't mention it in this notice, he's willing to teach others how to do this as well, so other people can do upgrades! If you're interested, find an excuse to ask him! I welcome any and all assistance; the more hands I get the faster I can do future upgrades too!]

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With anything that interests him sufficiently, I can imagine he can be quite detailed. ...Now, if you were to figure out the art of dedicated video broadcasting, you'll have made a friend for life.

[Just invent television as the next project, why not.]

But I can't say you're the most welcoming of voices to guide these skittish humans into your den. Only caring about tone, rather than content, believing that their banal notes to one another are of desperate interest to anyone else... I wish I could say I was surprised.

[It's absolutely inevitable, as far as he's concerned. Not wanting all of humanity wiped out didn't mean he couldn't still scorn them.

Making a note of the hours, he doesn't reply to them, turning up several of them later, when the sun had only just set, but its last rays remain to lighten the horizon.

And Emet-Selch is at least looking... not terribly worse than ever, as he enters the shop, with all his more recent scars safely covered apart from the deathbite at his throat. One might even say he's recovered, at least physically.]

Which is why we are not using my den, we are using a public shop well known for working on these watches. Idiotic creatures.

[It's true - the shop he picked was public, clean, well known and out in the open! Its only real claim to anything visually interesting is the stained glass windows, which by the time sunset rolls around is lit from within rather than from without, geometric designs of reasonable skill for mortals. It's not unwelcoming inside, a clean shop with rows of set up watches waiting to be inspected by interested customers, and Lahabrea himself seated by a table by one of the windows, wreathed in tools and bright, angled lights obviously meant to help the work he's set himself to. Unsurprisingly he's back to being clad nearly head to toe in black, and somehow has even managed to wrap his tail and long reptilian toes. Perhaps more surprisingly, he's clearly not stopped growing in the interim; dragons tended to be among the bigger monsters, and if it wasn't for the lack of bulk he'd probably outstrip adult roegadyn by now. The table and his chair are set to suit his size, not a customer's.

There is a convenient and comfortable looking second chair sitting in front of it. Not .. TOO comfortable, but enough so it's inviting and not a torture device. He glances up at the sound of the door, as does the shopkeep sitting behind one of the counters with tea and a book, but when the dragon raises one hand to beckon, the man goes back to his book without hesitation.

The clothing style Emet-Selch prefers also certainly hides much. But he's moving under his own power and not staggering about looking half-dead so that must be an improvement.]

Good, I'd been wondering if they'd have to be pushing you about in a wheeled chair still. The idea of healing arts this city has is lacking.

[And what was the shop but a den in its own right? It was territory, however impersonal... and for those already suspicious, even the utterly open and neutral wouldn't be good enough. There was little that Emet-Selch would be inclined to argue with.

Ignoring the shopkeep once it's clear he's not about to be accosted, it wasn't difficult for him to spot the other Ascian, even without being waved over. Lahabrea had certainly grown... more than the last time he'd seen him, he's fairly sure. Whether it was to be his full height, he doesn't ask; how would the dragon even know? But even sitting down, he was almost sure that Lahabrea was taller than before. And the other man was as covered up as he would expect from him, with even the tail thoroughly hidden.]

My legs, you'll be pleased to hear, escaped relatively unscathed from affairs. [He says, settling heavily into the chair of Distinctly Average Comfort. It would do, it wasn't as though he intended to take a nap in it.] Once my strength returned, I could amble about to my heart's content.

[Which was to say that he did not. Even getting to this shop had been mostly the work of teleportation. But there was nothing new there.]

That's not to say that the healing work here is anything but a disappointment. [A measured headshake, as he pulls out his watch, and sets it on the table before the other Ascian, in easy claw-range.] But the same could be said of all their magic.

[Immediately the watch is picked up, flipped over, and its back cover removed, exposing all sorts of frankly watchlike tiny gears, some less watchlike tiny crystals and a few glowing components that have nothing to do with ordinary wristwatches.

Time to begin removing ALL of it.]

It is strange and sad that they chose to reach only the intermediate level and then declare all else impossible or offlimits. Surely some of them have survived long enough to see there is so much more to sorcery than they have limited themselves to. In healing arts and everything else.

[Those sharp claws are actually useful in this delicate work, it seems, allowing him to forgo some very small, fragile tools in favor of the built in ones. There's a pause now and again, to study Emet-Selch a bit closer, but while there seems to be a sign here or there of something lingering, it isn't exactly signs of continued deathly crippling.

There's that at least. Elidibus' updates, while surely never a lie to begin with, are confirmed if nothing else.]

Especially given what was shown in that recent.. frustrating little dream sequence. If they were capable of so much more mere millennia ago, then they can do it now as well, Cwyld aside.

[It wasn't at all the same as seeing the Lahabrea of Amaurot performing his unequivocally exceptional magic. But there was a practiced skill demonstrated here that was- not wholly removed from the feeling, not completely foreign to it. It was satisfactory to watch, at least, and the precise way he could maneuver those claws- perhaps there was no problem with his dexterity after all, and Emet-Selch was content to watch him. That Lahabrea observed him in return, amidst his work, that was fair enough, and to be expected.

The comments on magic get a thoughtful sound from him.]

Ah yes... that shared dream where it was revealed that there existed a time in this world where magic was used to a far more appropriate degree. Better than what exists now... if not up to our standards.

[But who could ever match their ways?]

A pity that it was this society's crude forebears that were the ones to survive. And that their lack of creativity is apparently genetic.

[If they were supposed to find fault with the magical 'excesses' of the true fae and their students... Emet-Selch didn't see why. There had been nothing to demonstrate that they had at all created the disease that ran rampant through them, only that they were more susceptible to it. It was a result tragic, not some sign of hubris.]

But what can one expect from mortal ingenuity. [He makes a sound that's mostly a scoff, as he leans back in his modestly-comfortable chair, dismissing an already mocking statement further with a wave of a wrist.] The same across worlds. Apart from their limitless potential for cruelty, they seem content to wallow in their own mediocrity, as if satisfied that they've already understood all.

[The words come easily... perhaps too easily, really, but it was a line of thinking he hadn't exactly parted entirely from. The humans of the Source, perhaps- perhaps they might eventually reach past the disfigurement of their souls and attain something greater. He had to have hope in that, something he'd not only long believed to have been lost, but to have never existed to start.

The mortals of other worlds though- they had yet to prove much of anything to him (though his starting point of scorn wasn't quite as developed as it had once been). Their souls were presumably not broken, distorted wrecks- so what was their excuse for yet being so flawed?]

A few millennia hasn't been enough to teach them any better.

Certainly not up to standard. Did you see the 'foundations' of their work? Shoddy craftsmanship all. The magic portion might have been nearly acceptable but they wholly ignored the physical underpinnings. Imagine if our cities and towns were a set of shacks concealed by illusion!

[Lahabrea had major issues with their magical excesses - mostly because they ignored everything they put it on. A solid base to work with was all but required, and if pride couldn't be taken in conjuring up the stone and wood and creating something aesthetic from it, then nobody got any points for decent illusion and glamour later.

But at least they made an effort at it. He makes a brief negating gesture with a tiny screwdriver, scowling. Once a teacher, in some ways, always a teacher; he couldn't simply let go of the idea that these 'true fae' and their pets had simply skipped over the first several steps and gone right to trying to make everything look nice.]

The price they pay for short, pointless lives.

[He returns to his work, still scowling. It's easy to tell when his focus shifts mostly to that instead of conversation, his tone changes, more absently following sound than actively being alert to it. It's fragile work, and he doesn't have all the tools he'd LIKE to have. Or his magic. But for the moment he's overcome that particular handicap.]

By the time they've even begun mastering the basics, they're already withering away. What choice do they have but to smugly think their poor worst is actually the best they can do?

Oh, they're not worth particular praise, [Is an easy sort of concurrence, as he muses more on what he could remember of the place.] I wouldn't care to live in one of their houses overlong unless I had no other choice.

[Enchantments could be broken, could fade... but carefully wrought constructions like they had in Amaurot and its contemporaries would last across time and disaster.

Still, he didn't think the fae's work to be excessive, and any higher use of magic was better than none at all, as far as he was concerned. That it was in a more frivolous direction- he didn't think it was the worst thing.]

It still speaks of a potential that's since been squandered. Not that humans have much of a choice.... Such are their limitations.

[He also falls quiet for a bit, as Lahabrea seemed to be concentrating. While he doubted the other man would accidentally damage his watch in some way irreparable, there was no need to test fate.

The mortal lack of available years... though they had any number of flaws, he'd long suspected this to be the foundation of most of them. Without time, they lacked perspective. Only few cared overmuch for the world they left behind for generations to come, and for those that did, there was no guarantee that those generations would make any use of it.

--Yet he wanted to see them try. If left on their own, without immortal interference, what might they accomplish?

Shaking off the thought, he adds with a sigh:]

Even their rudimentary magic isn't mastered in a day. Who knows, perhaps it's not as feeble as it seems, but in human years there's no chance of any of them ever reaching its true pinnacle. While the longer lived of monsters aren't even permitted to try, limited by nature.

[There would probably be ways to get around the limitations of mortal aging.. if they had any actual interest in doing so. They rewrote the very laws of reality once, editing mere flesh and bone to at least maintain some vestige of generational memory might not even be terribly difficult.

But for Lahabrea at least, that would be very much akin to admitting defeat, and that they would not one day be the very people they once were. Caring about some fragile mortal now, when in another few centuries or an eon or two would again be ancient, timeless and perfect was simply a waste of time. He knew there was a place for timewasters, he was indulging in one right now, but ... not mortals. He never had the strange willingness to spend entire lifetimes among them the way Emet Selch did.]

One would figure at least some of them would have a greater ambition in even extending their own lifespans.

[A tiny screwdriver is waggled, as if this is somehow an example.]

For all that the mortals of this world are weak and pathetic, they are ... after their fashion, whole. There is no reason to think they could not, in time, improve themselves bit by bit. And yet I hear no stories of witches or sorcerers dabbling in life-extension or reincarnation of a truer sense, or even better healing magics.

[That it seems, is important enough to drag him out of his work, though he returns to it quickly. This bit isn't as complex as some, though it requires a minute welding device.]

Our wretched mortals at least yearn for something greater. For all that they will never reach the stars, they stretch their feeble hands towards the heavens regardless. These truly do squander it. Mayhap because they have no knowledge even instinctively of the possibility of greatness.

You would think so... but even the fear of their own mortality hasn't been enough to spur them on.

[Emet-Selch would have a hard time justifying his habit of spending so much time around mortals, living their lives... as it wasn't as though it had caused him to become any more fond of them. Much the opposite, really. Time and again, he'd made the mistake of getting attached to some mortal for reasons that grew ever murkier, even to himself. And time and again they would die, and the Ascian lost that bit more hope in all who remained. That hope was a bit more rooted now, but as for whether anything would come of it... it wasn't for him to find out.

And after so long, there was some relief in that.

The points that Lahabrea chooses to emphasize and protest amongst his work get a brief nod of agreement, and eventually a quiet hum.]

Those of our star who do reach... mayhap it is something unique to them, by virtue of who they once were. Some scrap remains, calling them to something more.

[Considering Hydaelyn's method of awakening more sacrifices in Her endless war against the dark, by calling up imagery reminiscent of the Final Days, something scarred into the soul of every Amaurotine, no matter how broken... it wasn't as though it were in question that something of their people remained in those peculiar mortal remnants.

Perhaps that was why he could never give up on them entirely, no matter how much he despised them.]

For all that they're whole, I wonder if the mortals here are that much more pitiable. [An idle musing, as he settles back with loosely crossed arms.] No Rejoining exists to improve their lot. Their history doesn't point to any time of being particularly more advanced. And from what I've learned of humans from other stars, the blight of mortality is the default.

More the pity.

[There are lengthy pauses and silences as he works on his task; ordinarily Lahabrea would be snappish at best with interruptions to something he's focused on but it is allowed. An allowance he didn't grant to others, but if there could be exceptions made, surely they could only be granted to a fellow Ascian.

This, at least, made him feel somewhat less inadequate. If it was a job Emet-Selch could do himself, would he necessarily turn to others and idle about, bored, waiting for it to be completed?

Possibly, but unlikely by Lahabrea's estimation.

He can still manage something of value.]

It is some small comfort to know that timelessness isn't unique to our kind, at the least. I have heard of at least two other species that count their lives in the eon, not the year. And yet most of these short lived ones are indeed, human. Is it a flaw of that specific design, across all realities?

[Humanity was ubiquitous, and their grievous flaws alongside them.]

But it gives a glimmer of hope too, in turn. Once matters are settled with our star, we too may have the opportunity to turn outward, and find others like ourselves and build bridges across the cosmos. Rare though we immortal races may be.. we are not alone.

[The pauses are congenial to him, the witch not requiring a running commentary to keep himself entertained. At the same time, if he'd been completely disinterested in speaking with the other Ascian, he would've dropped the watch off and returned once it was complete. At the same time again, quiet company wasn't the worst thing.

Sometimes observing, sometimes contemplating his own thoughts, Emet-Selch refocuses on Lahabrea as he speaks, though one part, naturally, gives him pause.]

Not unique, no. But far too unusual.

['Once matters are settled with our star.' A statement that has him fall silent after his initial reply, apart from a quiet sigh to follow it. If there was to be anyone reaching out to other worlds, it would not be them, but humanity with all their flaws.]

--Well. That won't be for some time in any case. The search for other worlds at home, that is, should there even be any others in reach. Or any that are worth reaching for.

Oh, no. I imagine not for.. eons upon eons.

[A touch wistful, that. He wasn't sure he'd still be alive to see it, to be there, and he accepted that much ... but he could still imagine.]

But even we must have something worth looking to the stars for, don't you think? To have dreams outside our reach, mayhap even outside our lifetimes, long after the star is made right and Lord Zodiark's peace embraced by all. Eventually we must turn outwards.

[And bring their God with them, to star after star, extending the shadow of His greatness across the galaxy. He doesn't say it - it's basic, an unstated obviousness. His hands still for a moment, silence following, before he shakes his head, a rattle of tiny nearly unseen ornaments on his horns following the gesture.]

I do not think it will be part of my future. Dragons do not last that long. But I will not release those dreams so easily. If we have naught to look forward to, then all we can do is look back, and that's a terrible way to rebuild a civilization.

[A slight slip of a clawtip sends a tiny spring cartwheeling across the table. He watches it for a long moment before simply fetching a different one and replacing it.]

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sorry for delays RL is. ... a challenge.

take your time <3 god it's not like i'm not full of delays

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