#apparently there was supposed to be springs in the eraser bit and i. lost those LONG ago

[narsh-poptarts]

the eraser on my tablet pen has broken D: the rest of the pen works just fine but it's a hardware issue not a software one, not something i can readily fix o|< augh

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Shin Maniac [Epilogue]

ー The scene starts in the dungeon

*Drip drip*

Shin: Nn...

Where am I...?

*Rustle rustle* 

Shin: ( A prison cell...!? )

ー Kino approaches his cell

Kino: Hey there... Finally awake?

Shin: Kino...Did you put me in here!?

Fuck...

Kino: Okay, stop right there! No point in trying to use your magic.

This prison cell is a bit special, you see. It seals all magic. 

Shin: Wah...!? 

Kino: Or rather, you must be pretty stupid to sleep out there in the open while you are being pursued. 

Shin: Che...You put something into the spring’s water, didn’t you...!? 

*CLATTER*

Shin: ...And what are you hoping to achieve by capturing me? 

Kino: The options are endless? For example, I could force Carla to bow his head to me...For example. 

Back then Carla was just standing in for his Father...But right now, he is the one and only official Founder King.

Shin: You piece of trash...!

Kino: Also...The Founders’ powers are a force to be reckoned with in the eyes of the Vibora Clan, no? 

So I figured it’d be a big win for me if I could keep them away from me by capturing you.

Shin: ...I thought you were looking for a place to settle in the human world? 

So you were lying to us after all!?

Kino: That wasn’t a lie. Back then, that was the plan, but I just changed my mind.

Shin: ...Sounds like something I’ve heard before.

Kino: Oh come on, don’t be like that.

ー Somebody approaches the cell

Kino: ...Oh. Seems like your next visitor is here.

Zweig: ーー It has been a while, Founder.

Shin: ...The Vibora King.

Kino: See. I’ll step away then. See you later!

ー Kino leaves

Shin: ...! Hold up, Kino!

Zweig: Hahaha. Seems like the two of us are bound by fate, huh...?

Shin: Shut up. Who do you think you’re talking to!? Stay away from me, you drunkard. 

Zweig: Haha...I’m surprised you can tell I’ve had a couple of drinks. I suppose it’s true that Founders have an excellent sense of smell. 

Shin: ...

Zweig: No need to get so mad. The Vibora Clan and the Founders have a past together which cannot be erased...

Shin: ( This way...What is he saying all of a sudden...? )

Zweig: I doubt you are aware but...There was once a time where your Mother would visit our Castle quite frequently. 

Shin: Mother did...? What do you mean?

Zweig: This happened even before your Mother got married to Giesbach...

Krone was actually supposed to wed my successor, the Demon Lord Burai.

That is why she came here.

Shin: Haha...Don’t lie. A Founder woman wasn’t allowed to formally leave the Castle. 

It’d be impossible for Mother to have come here before her engagement. 

Zweig: Yes. It would have probably been impossible for her to achieve that on her own.

Shin: ...Don’t tell me.

Zweig: ーー But if somebody arranged it...Then it’s a whole other story, no?

Shin: ...!

I’ve never...heard about something like that.

Zweig: It is quite famous amongst the Vibora Clan.

Because this took place before the Founders were locked up inside Banmadenーー

Even before the current King, Carla, was born. So I honestly cannot blame you for not knowing.

Besides...I can only assume it would be a taboo topic amongst Founders.

Shin: ...Why?

Zweig: After all...It is rumored that Krone shared mutuals feelings with a Wolf Prince who worked as a servant under Burai. 

Shin: ーー !

Zweig: Apparently it was a Founder by the name of Ferzen who mediated their relationship. 

Shin: ( Ferzen...Our Uncle!? )

Zweig: ...Good grief. I suppose I’ve said too much.

I’ve fallen into a bad habit of drinking too much as of late...

ー Zweig leaves

Shin: Kuh...

( What if Mother continued to have connections with the Wolf Clan...Even after getting married to Father? )

( If Father was completely unaware of this, and she managed to keep the whole thing hidden as well...It would explain everything. )

( Why they were so kind to me, and why they treasured me... )

It can’t be...No, no, no!

*CLATTER*

Shin: I’m a Founder...I’m...

( A tall and proud Founder...Those whose bloodline is more sacred than anyone else’s in the whole wide world... )

( But...Then, why? How come I won’t get infected with Endzeit? )

( I’m still alive and well even after Nii-san’s blood entered my body? )

It has to be a lie...There’s no way...I’m a Founder, a Founder...!

*CLATTER*

Shin: ( If I’m not, then what has my life been up till now!? )

Uu...Ah...Uwaaaaaah!!!!!

ー The scene shifts to the guest room at Eden

*Flap flap flap* 

Yui: Ah...He’s back!

ー Yui runs up to the Familiar

Yui: Thank you for delivering my leーー ...Wait, huh...?

( This letter...It’s not a response from Shin-kun. It’s my letter... )

Eh...? Shin-kun hasn’t returned to Banmaden...?

( What does that mean...? He should have made it there by now... )

( I suppose I’ll try consulting with Ruki-kun... )

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: ...And that’s what happened.

Ruki: I see...I understand the situation. 

ーー Kou, Yuma, Azusa.

ー The others approach

Kou: What’s wrong?

Yuma: Yes? 

Azusa: Did something...happen...?

Ruki: Go check up on those two. ...Okay?

Yuma: Ah? Why? 

Kou: I mean, if that’s what you want, sure...

Azusa: Yeah...

ー They leave

Ruki: I’ll go have a look as well. ...You stay here.

Yui: But...

Ruki: ーー Understood?

Yui: Okay...

ー Ruki leaves as well

Monologue

All I could do was watch over them,

as the others left Eden. 

I became painfully aware of my own powerlessness. 

ーー Deep down.

I want nothing more than to find Shin-kun myself,

and to save him with my very own hands. 

I’m just so unreliable for being unable to do that,

as I simply found myself to be so utterly pathetic.

May he please be safe. 

While clutching my Cross in my hands,

I continued to pray for a while. 

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

Here's a fun thing to wonder: when exactly did Héctor learn that, not only did his leaving make Imelda so angry that she never wanted to have anything to do with him again, but it was apparently so traumatic that she felt the need to shut out all music for the rest of her life.

And, very nearly, the rest of Coco's life.

And what probably amounted to most of Oscar, Felipe, Rosita and Julio's lives.

And for all of Victoria's life. I mean, she probably went from her cradle to her grave without ever being allowed to enjoy music.

That's got to have been a pretty horrific thing for Héctor to find out. He's already feeling terrible about abandoning Imelda and leaving her to raise Coco on her own, but at some point he must have learned that he also poisoned the entire concept of music for his family for five generations.

And, the question is, when did he find this out? 'Cause, as far as I remember, I don't think anybody tells him during the movie. I mean, Miguel tells him that his family "hate music!" but he doesn't know who they are at that point, and besides, he might well have assumed that Miguel was exagerrating.

After all, why would anybody hate music?

So the way I see it, there are three options for when he finds out:

Imelda told him after she died, when he was still trying to win her back. Possibly it was enough to make him stop.

After Imelda's branch of the Rivera family became more established in the afterlife, Héctor started asking around, trying to find out as much he could about them, and soon learned that they had this weird thing about music. "Apparently, some musician ran out on Señora Rivera and her daughter, and since then nobody in their family listens to music." and then the person telling the story has to stop to ask Héctor if he's okay, because he looks like he's about to faint or something.

He still doesn't know. Well, okay, so he probably knows by the end of the movie, when we see him crossing the bridge a year later, but it's entirely possible that he didn't learn about Imelda's music ban until after the events of that one fateful Día de los Muertos.

So now I'm imagining it's a few days after Día de Muertos, and Héctor's moved into the Rivera house (or at any rate, he woke up there after nearly going through the Final Death, and nobody's asked him to leave yet, so he's sort of hopeful) and, somehow, he gets hold of a guitar.

Probably a friend lent it to him (after first extracting promises from Héctor and any of the Riveras who happened to be in the room at the time, that they will do all they can to make sure that the guitar does not end up lost, broken or confiscated by law enforcement) to give him something to do while he's recovering from the Final Death.

And he starts to play a few notes on it and across the room he sees Victoria just sort of... stiffen, and he doesn't know why. And, looking around, he sees that the rest of the family (with the exception of Imelda, who is still looking resolutely at the shoe she was working on, though she seems to have stopped what she was doing) have all turned round to stare at him.

It's a bit unnerving, to be honest. All he did was play the guitar.

So, to try and break the tension, he calls out to Victoria. "Hey..." there's a pause while he tries to remember her name, and a pang of guilt about the fact that, even though she's Coco's daughter, his granddaughter, he still struggles to remember her name. "Victoria! Do you have any requests?"

"What?" she looks confused.

He gestures to the guitar. "Songs? Do you have any songs you'd like me to play?"

The look of confusion switches to one of panic. "Er... I don't... I mean, we don't..." she trails off, looking embarassed.

"It's okay mija." the man sitting next to her says, putting a reassuring hand on her hand.

Julio. Héctor remembers. Victoria's father. Coco's husband. Coco had a husband. Even now, the idea seems alien to him. He can't stop picturing her as a little girl.

"Er, Señor..." Julio is nervy by nature, and has been skirting round Héctor ever since he arrived in the Rivera House, brushing off any attempts at conversation and refusing to spend any time in the same room as him unless accompanied by another member of the family. He's also the first person in a long while to insist on calling Héctor "Señor".

It feels weird. He's grown used to just "Héctor", or "amigo", or "Hey! You! Get away from that bridge right now!"

He's tried asking Julio to call him Héctor, but to no avail.

"Señor..." Julio says now, "Sorry, but Victoria doesn't know any songs."

Héctor drops the guitar in shock. The rest of the family look away uncomfortably, except for Victoria, who's looking at him apologetically.

"No manches?" he says at last, when he's finally remembered that it's possible for him to close his mouth. "You don't know any at all?"

"My family... we don't really do music." she says, her expression now so embarassed that he suspects she'd probably be blushing if such a thing were possible.

"Do music?"

"Play it, listen to it, allow it in the house..." she shrugs. "So I never really heard any songs."

"Why?"

"Because..." Victoria looks panicked again, and this time the lady sitting in the corner— Rosa? Rosita! Héctor's not quite sure how she's related to everybody else, but he's heard Victoria and Miguel call her Tía— takes pity. "Well, it was banned, you see. Ever since Coco was a little girl. Because..." she too trails off, but shoots a pointed look at Imelda.

Ah. Words spring to his mind.

"I wanted to forget you! I wanted Coco to forget you!"

He hadn't realised how much she'd meant it. How much pain had he put her through that she'd taken such drastic measures to try and erase him from her life?

He looks down at the guitar. Suddenly all the excitement about getting to play again drains out of him. He takes the strap off his shoulder and goes to put the instrument back in its case. It can stay there until Juan comes back for it.

"Poco Loco." a voice breaks the silence and everybody stares at Imelda, who keeps on working on her shoe.

"What?" he says, sure he's misheard.

She sighs. "If you're looking for something to play, then what about Poco Loco? I've always liked it."

The rest of the family continue looking at her in disbelief. Particularly the younger generation— Victoria looks like the sky actually has turned red, and the moon turned blue at the same time. Her mouth opens so wide that her bottom jaw actually slips right off. She deftly catches it before it hits the ground and slots it back in place, still staring at Imelda.

"Poco Loco?" Héctor says at last. "Sure. Yes." he picks up the guitar again, "of course, Imelda."

He starts to play, and then to sing. He's got his eyes shut, but at the start of the second verse he hears her voice come to meet his. They haven't sung together like this since... well, probably days before he left her. They sounded good together. Everybody said so... well, everybody except Ernesto, but he pushes the thought away, not wanting his ex-best friend to ruin this moment like he ruined so many others. Imelda would never sing in front of a crowd, but she'd sing when he played for her, and sometimes other people would hear, and tell them that they sounded amazing together. With a thrill, he realises that they still do.

The twins join in together for the third verse, followed swiftly, and to his surprise, by Julio and Rosita. For a moment, he wonders how on earth they know it, before realising that they're probably young enough— or old enough, he supposes, remembering exactly how much time has passed— to have been children when the song was first released by Ernesto. They'd have grown up with it.

Even Victoria joins in a bit, falteringly singing the "poco loco"s and humming the tune for the rest, clearly self conscious about being the only one in the room to not know the lyrics, but he thinks she's enjoying herself. He resolves to get hold of a book of song lyrics for her. He suspects that there'll be several such books going for practically free, very soon— so long as she doesn't mind one with Ernesto on the cover (possibly he can cross it out).

But for now, he's just glad she's singing. His eyes are open now and he watches his family singing together, for the first time in what must be nearly a century. Admittedly, not all of them sound as good as Imelda. He used to joke that the twins couldn't carry a tune to save their lives, and the loss of those lives hasn't improved things much. And, though Julio and Rosita are a little better— Rosita especially— they're out of practice and it shows. Victoria has inherited her grandmother's— and her mother's, for all he knows, he realises with another faint pang of guilt— talent, but she can't really let herself go when she doesn't know the lyrics.

But together, he thinks, they're probably the best thing he's heard since he first entered the Land of the Dead.

[dancingnlancing]

Cavern of Burials

(RP collaboration between @vagrant-aevis​ and I.) A group of miners hire Therron to investigate a strange spike in scalekin activity near a cave in Abalathia’s Spine. Being that the rest of his Free Company is away on research missions, the retired Dragoon traverses the frozen mountain’s alone in search of the anomaly. 

A harsh wind blew through the various dips and curves of Ishgard's fabled mountain range. Though bundled in armor and the skin of a bear, Therron's flesh still twinged. Frost nagged at pulsing and cold pained flesh. At this rate, if he didn't find cover, exposure was guaranteed. The man braced into the wind, trudging through a drift with heavy aid of his lance turned make shift walking stick. If it hadn't been for a sickening, familiar smell the blizzard would have whited out all hope of ever finding this supposed cavern. Part of him wondered if this had been a trap... Maybe so. The surrounding area reeked of Dravanian musk. The scent only intensified until he was standing at the mouth of a large cavern. Hot air blew back from within, only adding to his unrest. But, it was either step inside or freeze to death. A dragoon could handle a dragon, but not exceptionally vicious weather. Therron padded his first steps inward, lance quirked at the ready, poised to strike the very moment any aberration passed him. Heavy breaths escaped his helm in the form of fleeting vapors, but he couldn't stop the nagging sense of dread. Something big was in this cave. From disregarded bones to simple aetherical pressure, his anxiety spiked. No going back. He'd broken a sweat, and returning to the storm would kill him for sure. "Hello?" He called out, intent to bate whatever beast may be stalking him out of hiding. It could be an advantage... Or perhaps not. Either way, he was not content with waiting.

The cavern was large, and horribly, horribly dark. Jagged rock walls reached every upward, until disappearing into the inky black of shadow. Footsteps, while soft, reverberated and echoed of of far-reaching walls, making such a den a veritable labyrinth by sound alone. Deathly still silence was the dragoon's only answer, aside from a warm bath of air that steadily escaped the maw of the alcove.

The hallways stretched onwards, the deeper the knight dared to tread, the more treacherous the climb downward. Aetheric crystals curled like veins through the walls, setting the place aglow faintly, pleasantly, even - casting light on the smallest of scalekin who promptly skittered to refuge upon sight of the intruding elezen.

The twisting tunnel eventually gave way to an enormous room, aglow by those aspected crystals and illuminating a floor of gold and treasure - piles of such that sank into a spring that carved a shallow moat that carved is way along the wall and out of sight behind the piles of the treasure trove.

Standing still only served to perturb his nerves further. And so, the Ishgardian was not want to linger, thusly traversing inwards. His lance arm was no less lax, and at the sight of smaller scaled beasts he flinched. The larger of the beasts he'd threaten with bared teeth. Rapidly accumulating stress was making his head pound to the beat of his throbbing heart. At a particularly bright vein, the knight would take brief respite. One hand rose to press under his helmet and again his temple. Keep it together, Therron. He repeated internally, an increasingly common mantra. On the bright side, the sting of cold was beginning to thaw from deep in his skin. Dim lighting wasn't such a burden on his Duskwight eyes, either, not nearly as much as the blinding white had been. If not for his on edge reflexes, this place might have been pleasant. He groped along the cavern walls until they started to widen out. Here, the stink of dragon was increasingly repugnant in his nostrils. Yet, the spring drew him in. Therron's own waterskin had frozen solid in the storm. Exhausted and parched, he stepped tentatively closer, jade eyes flashing around every bit of gold and more. If safety was seemingly granted, the Elezen would take to his hands and knees to test the water, if not drink it outright.

For a moment longer, nothing answered the dragoon, just a surprisingly peaceable silence and the temperate climate of the cavern.

It wasn't until the elezen had his fill of the cool spring water that the archaic and baritone drawl echoed off the chamber's walls.

"Tis not often I receive-eth visitors, much less a son of man."

The piles of gold and trinkets shifted, the great wyrm's tail slipping out from its hiding and a grizzled head lifting itself from his trove. Pupils were cloudy, betraying the beast's age as he peered down to the dragoon, but doing little else to shift his position, non-threatened as he was.

"Ah, and a knight. Dost thou come in the name of conquest?" the dragon continued, unmistakably bitter in his delivery.

His blood turned temperatures matching the flurry outside, if not at the voice, than the mere shifting of gold against scale. In a flash, Therron picked himself back up to his feet and was poised. Any calm which had begun to string into lethargy was quickly dispelled. 

"Get back!" The Elezen quickly back stepped, pike turned skyward while chest heaved. 

Then, this colossal serpents words began to sink in. It was... calm. In light of recent revelations, his panic thick coil subsided some, though not entirely lest the ancient creature lash out. Never before had he set eyes on a wyrm of this magnitude so close, much less be addressed by it.

 "N-no... I'd rather not fight if it can be avoided... I just came here to look into a m-mystery." Therron's tone fell off to nothing more than a whisper.

Eyes slid shut in a slow blink, studying what he could of the defensive dragoon. How peculiar it was, that such a fabled and fearsome warrior could be so small, so meek, but then again, he was not the first. Nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, the beast's gaze never leaving the elezen's shape as he shrank even smaller.

"Who hath ever heard of a feeble knight?" came that low, rumbling baritone, his head craning a little and the flesh of that neck swaying as he shook with a low laugh, amused by this.

"Ah, but thou art no mere dragoon - thou hast the boon of another's blood. How curious. What sort of mystery is it that thou dost seek, little knight?"

Each roll accompanying hideous laughs were as nails to Therron's sensitive ears, and likewise his pride. For such an ancient and decrepit beast to be mocking him. But the dragoon bit his tongue for the sake of not seeming petulant-- much less angering the huge monster. 

"Scalekin being drawn here in droves... seems I know why. Your kind seem to attract them... If I tell them you are here, they might expect me to slay you. Perhaps it would be best to move? With all due respect, you seem like you've seen better days."

Amused chuckling died in his throat as his eyes settled back onto the dragoon, the mirth gone as he regarded the gently worded phrases, uttered, but hardly withholding their calloused meaning.

"I have always been here, little knight, twas your kind whom encroached on my home." The sound of sliding coin filled the room as the wyrm readjusted his pose.

"Thou brought thine war and ruin, claimed the lives of many mine children and brethren alike, and wouldst dare asketh me to move? I've enough of such petulant squabbles betwixt man and dragon alike. If thou art here to end me, then so be it."

His great and scarred head reclined back somewhat, staring down the length of his snout at the knight.

"Mortals are selfish. The little ones seek refuge from man, who am I to deny them sanctity?"

He shifted uneasily under what felt like a searing gaze. Clearly, the elder beast was well aware of who he was by appearance and smell alone. Therron backed away slowly towards the mouth of the cave. No small amount of guilt began compelling him to escape. "If I lie to them and say I found nothing, they'll still send more people to have a look-- likely people who are less friendly than I... And if I should say I dispatched a massive dragon atop a pit of gold, it will only end in the same." Therron paused. "I don't want to kill you. You haven't attacked yet so... what would be the point?" As a tentative sign of good will, the dragoon lowered his lance and removed his helmet so they could see eye to eye. "I'm sorry about your loss. The Dragonsong war was anything but one sided... our predicament still stands, however. What should I say to the people who hired me?"

"Thou walkest on eggshells, child."

His head lowered as the knight reclined that weapon, removed his helmet and continued to speak softly, humbly.

"Do not pity me, son of man. War breeds contempt and vengeful souls."

Shoulders shifted beneath his trove, posture more relaxed again.

"Of which do you speaketh, little knight? The dravanians seeking gifts that not belong to them, be it my boon or treasures alike?" The beast scoffed. "They may take the gold. Thine material wealth doth did little to fill the gaps in mine life that the loss of mine children left. My blood shalt never be theirs, as I have lost enough family to hate, and children are not fodder for conflict."

Therron felt his skin fester, and if he hadn't been totally clad, the goosebumps on his arms would be apparent. This dragon kept going on and on about boons and blood which in turn made him very, very uncomfortable. Regardless, he tried to remain tactful for the sake of safety and understanding.

"I... couldn't claim to understand how eternal your hurt must be." The dragoon began. "My father died chasing vengeance, so I've learned from him not to be so inclined. Then, in service, friends, more family... Perhaps not comparable but... I can empathize. We... At least I was born into the War with little understanding of it. Being that our lives are short, tragedy is erased by the rush of lives lived."

The great beast's eyes narrowed on the knight, focusing for all his worth as he spoke.

"Thou speakest of thy sire?" he started, taking another deep breath, craning his head forward slightly. "Another knight, such as thou?"

"Not exactly the same. He was a Temple Knight, and I am... well, was, a Dragoon. He spent most of his life obsessed with a dragon we call Darkscale. I wasn't born yet when it happened, but apparently he destroyed my father's village and my sister's mother in the process. As I got older, he grew more and more distant... I watched his obsession consume him until one day... he just took off saying he would 'take care' of  the dragon. Needless to say, he never came back. A few days off of my tenth Namesday is when he was pronounced dead." Therron rubbed his bicep, staring hard towards the ground. How odd it was that he was here, speaking of personal woes to a Dragon. There was something oddly endearing about him. Perhaps the aged features, or perhaps his mind was merely slipping further. Either way, any consideration of actually killing the wyrm slipped away. 

"I'm Therron, by the way. Might I ask your name as well if we are going to trade tragic pasts?" His right hand twitched, nearly extending out of habit towards to creature.

A low hum issued from the great wyrm's throat as he thought.

"Another knight, ill with obsession. Thou bearest resemblance, Therron. I am Adiemus, if thou wouldst follow me, I would show thee something."

Coins shifted further, before sliding off of the beast, who with great effort stood, aged joints protesting with creaks and pops as he did so. His body was archaic, the juts of hips evident against the shallowing of scaled flesh and his ribs mirrored just - left leg showed injury of some terrible, though haphazardly healed maiming, though he was still reluctant to put overly much weight on the limb. His hide was a litany of old healed scars, marks of centuries past. Adiemus turned towards a back passage, an oddly trusting gesture to turn away from a dragon-slayer, and with his lumbering, slow movements, made his through a tunnel.

The natural cavern walls started to look more uniform, more notably and painstakingly dug-out, the veins of crystals clustering often in places along the ceiling and walls, the pathway much less hazardous than the one getting down into his trove by far as they wound downward.

"I wouldst not abandon my kin to the likes of Sohm Al, for fear they wouldst be desecrated by fetid curs."

The carved out cave gave way once more into an open room, crystals littering the ceiling, obviously placed in their patterns deliberately to look like constellations. Light danced off the arches of dragon bones, old and undisturbed.

"I did once cometh across a knight, maimed in battle, who hath staggered his way into mine hunting grounds. I bade him company and listened to his words of regret, though he spat his ire for my kind unto his dying breath. I am to understand that man buries his dead - I couldst not let his remains to be picked by beasts, so he lays here with my children, under mine watchful gaze."

The dragon settled himself back down near a small burial place, unlike the towering dragon bones around it, an obvious dug grave marked by a stone, sword and shield lain over it carefully.

As the monstrously portioned wyrm turned, he couldn't help but feel reluctant to follow, yet simultaneously drawn. Adiemus' smallest claw was nearly as tall as he was, and to finally see the full length of the beast as an inspiring spectacle. Curiosity drew him in to walk beside the tail of the beast. Eyes lifted to scan the length of his hosts body. Aged, battle worn. Adiemus must have been a warrior in his youth, if sheer size wasn't an clue. Perhaps in this way they were likewise similar-- two souls made to fight who would have otherwise been at peace. For now, Therron didn't dare question, perceptions frankly enthralled with the wondrous cavern beyond. Temperate and welcoming as it was, he could see why the dragon lingered. Then, as they traversed into intentional depths he started to really understand. This was a burial ground. Jade eyes shifted somber around the shrine, lifting up to stare at Adiemus empathetically. The Ishgardian listened well, brows furrowing with increased weight for the concepts being thrown at him.

"You... met him?"

 For such an imposing man his voice was small. Gaze dared search the area again until they found the grave of which he spoke. All two familiar sword and shield immediately drew his attention. A hand rose to attempt to halt a gasp, but he wasn't quick enough. Suddenly his limbs were struck with weakness. Without permission, he staggered between the ancient wyrms massive limbs towards the rocky grave, closely examining the make of the sword to be sure it was real. At last his body was overcome with emotion, and the warrior fell low to his knees. Vision was swiftly blurred by tears. He kept holding his mouth to stifle agonized sounds. Futile. Back heaved with violent sobs, cries echoing around the large room.

There was initial concern as the dragoon so quickly approached the grave, reached out to touch the makers so - it was instinctual, his desire to guard the dead making him horribly wary, though he said nothing. It was the resulting sobs that made him less on edge. Therron was no grave robber, and his assumption had been correct - but it was a bitter reunion. The great wyrm's expression fell, empathetic as the knight wept.

"Thine sire did teacheth me humility - to be wary which hubris hath wrought. The arms are thine to take, as such clearly bespeaks of sentimental value to thee."

That archaic baritone was surprisingly soft and soothing, suddenly very aware of the pain he had brought the dragoon. It tugged the beast's heartstrings, tearing asunder his own grief anew.

"If thou dost wish to mourn, Therron, thou art always welcome here."

Adiemus' voice wobbled in his ears without meaning. For a moment, he was caught up in his own grief, unable to speak or even think straight. Hands trembled out towards the shield marked with rose symbols and other ornate embellishments. How vividly he had entrapped every detailed scrape in his mind. 

"Often as a boy..." he started. "He would let me play with his shield-- sliding down slopes or just... silly games children play. Pretending to be turtles and such." He laughed hysterically through the tears, wiping his face on the thick bear pelt he had draped over his shoulders. 

"He was... a good man, and I regret resenting him. So many years wasted on anger..." he stared strangely at the stones, beginning to calm. Gently the arms were returned to their rocky plot. Therron took to his feet again, drying his cheeks as best he could.

 "They are his... I won't take them; but maybe I will come back to visit..."