#aurivore;; stand tall don't look downˌ (and it's a lonelyˌ lonely world now)

[duunswitch]

The first few new weapons are smacked aside, or in the case of one in particular, back at their master as the sword takes the opportunity to study its opponent back. It's fairly clear it's never fought on its own like this before, movements stiff and almost stumbling even if only to an experienced eye. Equally clear, it's a fast learner–movements smooth in increments between seconds.

"I was a weapon forged for «one» alone and I will not allow that vow to be forsaken a second time. You are «not enough». I won't accept you."

A flicker of rage at its core drives it closer, the very idea of being coveted by one unworthy to possess it enough to disgust it. More so by the waste of weapons being thrown at it, the dozens or more hidden behind those golden gates that lay collecting dust for a collector. They probably hated him too.

No such thing as fair in battle it remembers, a lesson learned well by someone long ago and it swings one leg through earth to kick up dirt and follows with another–bladed despite its appearance as a normal leg, this time.

"Who said I can't make my own face? I simply chose this one because «Master» thought it was cute. Though now I'm hesitant to see why. The person wearing is it so ugly. Coveting other's belongings for your own, how vulgar."

“Ironic, isn’t it? You call me a parasite, yet you can't even make a face of your own.” 

     SO this wasn’t easy prey — all the better, for this would make conquering it all the more thrilling and worthy of his time. Every dodge the sword enacts does nothing but whet Gilgamesh’s desire to possess it, an impulse that was more innate than instinctual yet powerful all the same. He watches the sword’s every movement with the precision of a raptor, not even the minor movements of its physiognomy and footwork beyond his scrutiny; there was no such thing as ‘minor’ movements in the field of combat, not where even a millimeter’s misstep could be the deciding factor between breathing and being buried in the dirt. Watching a facsimile of his physical form transmogrify its forelimbs into blades was its own sort of wretched amusement. Two swords? Cute. As if he didn’t have more of those than it could count — as well as the means to fire them at the speed of thought. 

                But that wouldn’t be rewarding, would it? 

     THAT would likely be far too easy, and his prey had yet to demonstrate that it was worthy of such displays of power — and he wanted to test the durability of this phenomenon in a manner more direct than all-out annihilation would permit. No, Gilgamesh would test it first, experiment with its nuances before pinning it like an insect to a board, provide it a drizzle before the storm. 

     “IT’S quite funny you say that, because that’s exactly what I intend on making you.” His smile is still hauntingly there, steadfast like a perennial yield or a monument reigning pristine whilst its surroundings crumble with the vicissitudes of time, his eyes twin blades of scarlet whose succulence spills forth in rays of luminescence unmitigated and unbounded, a sanguinary gaze of bloodsoak ash that perfectly compliments the manifestation of even further aureate ripples in the spacetime fabric — twice in number, this time, than their last assault — the emergence of storied blades from their apertures consuming the air with the sleek scent of iron. 

     AND with the forward flick of Gilgamesh’s wrist — an unneeded action, the pomp more a herald of bombardment than an accessory to the directive  —  the swords rain down upon Calesvol, a fusillade that might seem bereft of restraint to anyone but the boy who sent it. 

[duunswitch]

He hasn't even summoned anything and already she's got her hands pressed to her face, eyes wide and shifting all over the place as she follows the ribbons of color–she doesn't know if he's seeing it the way she is, but with the glasses on he will see the magic in whatever form makes most sense to him.

A beat, and she yanks a pen and notebook from her bag to start scribbling.

"Anything's fine, as long as it's from inside the gate." She can see the way the colors twist together, how they tangle themselves around and through the golden circle in intricate knots. "Oh that's amazing, so it–that's the connection, you're pulling right from yourself oh, that's tragic, I hope it doesn't kill you some day–I see now where it... and that's where it reaches back to you so that one there must be to the contents inside–"

But if it were true that the inside of his gate contained multitudes of items, then for the magic to connect...? "I need to see something coming out, yeah? I have a theory but I can't be sure until I see something from inside on its way out–if the magic is connected like that but there's more than one item inside it must splinter to form all the connections–oh that's got to be fascinating to watch, do you control the threads to pick what comes out, or does your magic make the choice for you? Oh, but if the magic makes the choice, is it sentience or instinct? It's your magic, so it'd in theory be easy for you to control it but magic like this can be tricky..."

     Gilgamesh doesn’t retract his stance even as she leans close, does not so much as twitch while her features beam with enthusiasm. There is only his gaze, viciously red and unblinking. The boy tilts his head and smiles.

“Okay!”

        However this ends, he thinks, it will be a vital lesson. 

     “I’ll take up that offer on the glasses, too,” he says, palm outstretched. The spectacles, once proffered, are placed onto his nose, ever so slightly too large for his youthful features — he places his index finger on his nasal bridge to keep them aligned to his sight. The next step happens without pomp: a circular golden ripple manifests in the open air several feet away from their standing position, undulating in its ancient mysticism. “Have anything in particular you’d like to see?”

[duunswitch]

"What a weird question. Of course it does." Why wouldn't it? "I think the one in the palace is restricted access for obvious reasons, but if you request a book that none of the public libraries have, they'll often make and send a temporary copy." Well, so long as said request wasn't for something restricted.

She was... pretty sure they'd deny a request for a book on how the city's main water source had been enchanted to be ever flowing, for example. The risk of someone reverse engineering and dismantling the enchantment by accident was too high, and not something they could afford.

"Most people travel on foot, or something like horses but we have to cross the mountains south of town so it's a bit more difficult for us..." She frowned, thoughtful as she tilted her head to consider the problem. The mountains themselves weren't terrible, there were multiple paths through. But the harpies...

She considered the sky, hands on her hips. "If we go now, we might... Mmm. Well, I think we can risk it. If we leave in the morning it should only be a day or two to cross. Faster if we run into a dragon."

A pause. "Slower if I get thrown off a cliff again. Which I'm sure won't happen. Definitely."

“I see.”

CURIOUS. He’d have to immerse himself in the pertinent literature to attain a better grasp on this world’s history and cultural mores. The status of international transport spoke to the condition of international relations — this information appeared to indicate either a relative lack of world conflict or a system of intergovernmental diplomacy so robust so as to suggest relative indifference to people crossing borders with minimal regulation. An implicit honor system was not uncommon in more collectivist, tight-knit societies, but its praxis on worldwide scale was largely unheard of in both his world’s antiquity and modern age. Prevalent warfare was sufficient to encourage the construction of fortifications in and around Uruk, but it was the contemporary lack of globalization and intercontinental transport that impeded the development of travel documents that could be broadly enforced and recognized.

“So how will we be getting there, exactly? If traveling is as easy as you suggest, then I imagine there’s a system to support it.” Leanne’s comment on Zanjkran attested to some degree of border security, but their purpose was to guard for sandstorms, not martial threat? While natural forces could prove more lethal than the fruits of civilization, the prospect of not accounting for the human element appeared to Gilgamesh both foreign and negligent. Had not Zanjkran things worth guarding on a basis of greater severity? A country’s fortifications often attested to its history with war, informed by its status with neighboring nations and resources. While his mind churns at the possibilities, ever-devouring in its near-insatiable hunger for knowledge it had not held (a circumstance precious and rare), he stills — Leanne alone would not be sufficient. She could, at best, provide anecdotal or somewhat reliable responses toward the questions he had. 

      “Does Zanjkran have any libraries?”

[duunswitch]

"Oh boy."

Another one.

And he's gone.

[duunswitch]

"D–does that even count if it's not from your world?" Oh dear. "Please don't fight the fae sword that eats souls." Allegedly.

   “A sword, you say?”

   “If that’s the case, then it’s already mine — donning my face as it is. Perhaps I’ll go remind it of its place.”

[duunswitch]

"I really doubt that it has any interest in actually pretending to be you or incite... uh, whatever you're thinking. It's just a sword, despite everything. Or, shield? I'm not clear on that point. Anyway, it's got a singular purpose and it can't exactly deviate."

   "As if I'd ever be jealous of an insect."

   "I can permit insects to exist, small and insignificant as they are, even if they're pretending to be something far larger. But if this ant decides to tell tale and they begin to increase their numbers, then extermination might just be in order."

[duunswitch]

"Maybe if I ask really nicely?" Doubtful, but hope springs eternal in the stupid, or something like that.

"Actually since you're here, how likely do you think it is I can convince you to let me stick my hands into that gate thing? I have dreams about the research papers you can provide."

"And make him obscure a part of himself? Might be a tall order."