#so comically large swirl of steam from a hot drink will do for today

[silverior968]

Tried a new, less time-consuming rendering technique :]

[Image ID: A digital drawing of human versions of Ratchet and Optimus Prime from Transformers Prime. Both of them are drawn as men in their 50s. Ratchet is drawn sitting on a metal stool with a dark red colored seat. He has one leg hanging down and the other bent, rested on the midway beam of the stool. He is drawn with pale, lightly freckled skin and teal eyes, with a lightning scar on the right temple, a diagonal scar on the right cheek and a horizontal one on the left. He's looking down at a weathered journal of some sort, and in his other hand he holds a white tea mug with the text "World's okayest grandpa" written on it in black. The teabag's tag is hanging off the side of the mug, and the steam coming from it is used as a background element for the piece. Ratchet is smiling peacefully, with his mouth slightly open as if talking. His hair is ginger with white streaks, swept back at the front but left messy at the back. He has thick, unkempt eyebrows, sideburns and a goatee. His outfit consists of white boots with red details and steel toes, white trousers with red stripes running down the sides and horizontal strips of reflective fabric on the thighs. His jacket is mostly red with white shoulders and sleeves that have red pulse lines running down. His collar is open and he has a white zip-up with a red zipper underneath. The jacket also has reflective details, along with four pockets - 2 at the breast and two near the hem. The jacket is fastened at the middle with a white ratchet-belt with a steel buckle. His gloves are white. Optimus stands diagonally behind him, leaning forward with his hands clasped behind his back. He's drawn with light brown skin and five o'clock shadow, along with a faded scars across the left side of his chin and forehead, and a fresher, blotchy scar on the right side of his face. He has very dark colored eyes with incredibly hard to see sectoral heterochromia, partially brown and partially blue. He's looking at Ratchet, smiling gently. His hair is black with gray streaks, tied in a short ponytail with a few strands hanging near his ears. His outfit consists of a black turtleneck, a red cropped jacket with a light beige fluffy collar, blue trousers with gray patches and black combat boots that reach midway up his calves. His hands have many defensive scars on them from grabbing bladed weapons. The artist's signature "Silverior968" is overlayed over the image in blue. / End ID]

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Court Meeting

Next Chapter of Born Into the Wilds is here. Also, the Link to AO3.

Hadnissan words:

Galahkar = person of Galahd ohtahi triantafe = a type of rose native to Galahd with black petals. It's highly poisonous and even the smell can cause hallucinations. Aviosa linmuhru hes quäbehn. = one of the worst ways of cussing; literally: Damned dephs of the underneath. (Basically swearing by the place where the scourge comes from.) ahtri = spirit; umbrella term for everything from actual nature spirits to the presence of their ancestors mahir = mother; woman who raised me makti-oir = title of the person who leads others into battle; literally: Chieftain of the Hunt sinehär gisdrauht = Elder Storyteller

 The evening was murky and lukewarm as Nyx finally found Libertus, Crowe, Pelna and Luche occupying the usual table in that little outdoor eatery they all frequented regularly. They sat there, cups of something steaming hot with a bitter smell in front of them, and a platter of striped meat covered in what counted as a sorry excuse of edible seaweed in this city, between them. They had clearly been waiting for him.

 Without so much as a greeting or paying attention to his friends' curious faces he stole Libertus' cup, who only gave a token of resistance, and drank it down in two large gulps as he plopped down on the only free chair left. It scalded his tongue but he didn't really care. This hot the strong bitter-leaf tea was even semi-palatable. He was kind of put out, however, that it wasn't alcohol. Nyx set the cup down harder than he needed to, proceeded to lay his head on the table and groan pitifully. Bellowing laughter was his answer and if looks could kill every single one of his friends would be dead now.

 “Where's the alcohol?” he asked – more like whined but he would never admit to it – and forced himself to sit up when Pelna set a cup in front of him without a word. Had he mentioned that he was his favourite friend right now?

 Nyx took a sip from the cup – it was something that burned all the way down, cheap and Lucian – and as he finally looked up again, saw four faces in front of him with expressions ranging from exasperated to down right ready to strangle him. He resisted the urge to needle them a bit, if only to evade the dreaded subject for a few seconds more. They all stared at each other for a bit longer until Libertus made a noise at the back of his throat.

 “Shit, man. What by the Depths happened? The last time you looked at me like that...” he didn't finish the sentence and shook his head, clear worry in his eyes now.

 “It was a shit show from the very start,” Nyx forced himself to say and took another burning mouthful of the cheap alcohol. It tasted like piss. Or worse. He hadn't quite decided that yet.

 “It's the royal house of Lucis we're talking about here. What did you expect? Also, aren't you going to take that out?” Luche gestured at the left side of his head where the debtor's braid still hung, heavier than it had any right to be.

Nyx grimaced and tugged at it. “Have to go back later.”            

Which was also the reason why he hadn't changed out of his service dress yet. Still, he finally shrugged out of the overcoat with its stiff collar and heavy black and grey fabric. Luckily what he wore underneath that was made of breathable fabric and light, even with its long sleeves, the black colour and the intricate silver embroidery on it. The latter a poor attempt at cultural acknowledgement. There was no rhyme nor reason to the patterns that would normally be carefully arranged in meaningful compositions mostly used on the northern islands. The most one could read out of it was 'Prosperity for Death' if one squinted and tilted the head just so.

 “What? Why?” asked Libertus and managed to sound indignant and put out at once.

 Nyx sighed and desperately tried to find an answer that didn't make everybody at the table explode. Well, if he hadn't found a way to break the news gently and without more drama than necessary on the way down from the citadel, he wouldn't find one now.

 “If you ever get invited into the King's private study be aware that a painting of the Conqueror King hangs there smack dab in the middle of the wall right behind the desk. It stares at you like it wants to kill you,” he started. This was the aspect of that awful meeting he could talk about without having the urge to jump over the railing into mess of piping below.

Their reactions were nearly funny, if this hadn't been such a sensitive subject for any Galahkar who still drew breath and especially for those who had lost family and friends to the Voice on the autumn storms. Libertus cursed up a storm, Crowe looked like she wanted to set something on fire and Luche had gone stone faced, his lips pressed into a hard line.

 “But why would the King do that?” asked Pelna, his eyes growing wide. “The Traitor King's portrait was taken down everywhere, safe for the Gallery of Kings, after the people learned what he did in Cleigne. So why not the Conqueror's? Is the King trying to invoke his spirit? We won't accept him, surely the King knows that.”

 “I really doubt that the Lucians invoke their ancestors for anything. Not with how fiercely they cling to the crystal and their Astrals. Especially Bahamut,” Luche said the Astral's name with an impressive amount of contempt.

 “I don't think he did it on purpose,” offered Nyx, not really believing he had just said that.

 “You defending that man again? I can't believe you, Nyx,” grouched Libertus and winced when Crowe kicked him in the shin under the table. Nyx hid his grin at that behind his cup. Libertus shot her a betrayed look.

 “Oh come on. You know exactly what that was for, you big oaf. Sometimes I can't believe you.”

 “I don't try to defend him, but I'm getting the feeling that there's much we know that he and all the other Lucians don't,” said Nyx and pushed the cup away from him, still more than half full.

It would be better, if he didn't drink too much alcohol right now. He had to meet with the King again in a few hours and he didn't want to be tipsy or worse, drunk, then. Instead he forced himself to eat something. Like he had expected, the seaweed didn't taste all that good, but it was edible enough. Libertus stared at the platter like it had personally offended him.      

 “They really don't know all that much,” nodded Pelna. “Not with how they all write it down in ten different ways and then argue which of those is the true one.”

 “Of course they don't. They're hiding behind their walls and all like they could solve all their problems,” grumbled Libertus and proceeded to quietly complain about the food. The only reason he did so quietly was that this time the meat was better than the last time they had had this specific dish.

 Luche leaned forward a bit, his face still serious where the others, including Nyx, had started to relax a bit in the face of old and well trodden arguments. “That's not all there is, isn't it?”

 At once all eyes were on Nyx again. He chewed slowly to buy himself more time, but it didn't help one bit to bring some kind of order to the chaos swirling in his head. He didn't even want to think about it. About how the King thought he could be his brother. Which he most certainly wasn't.

 Probably.

 Fuck, why did this have to happen to him?

“Eos to Nyx. Has the ohtahi triantafe stolen your mind this time?” asked Crowe while waving a hand in front of his face.            

 Nyx flinched and stared. “There's not any growing around here,” he said.

 It hadn't been his fault that he had fallen into a bush of them once as a teenager when he had been dared to free climb a steep part of the cliff near his home village. That slateroc had startled him! How was he supposed to have known that those damned roses had grown there and made him hallucinate the weirdest shit? She stared at him like he was stupid, which in this situation was rather justified to be honest.

 “Whatever happened, it's made you really out of it,” said Libertus in this non-request to talk to him, he usually did when he thought that things were getting serious.

“It's...” he sighed and carded a hand through his hair. “Aviosa linmuhru hes quäbehn.”

 Pelna nearly spat his drink over the table, jerking comically in his seat, and next to Nyx Libertus choked on his spit. Crowe just raised her eyebrows and Luche was the kind of blank he got when he carefully restrained himself from doing something he considered beneath him.

 “It must have been quite something,” stated Crowe at last when everybody had themselves back under control. Including Nyx who felt the irrational urge giggle. Damn his non existent alcohol tolerance.

 “You can say that again,” he muttered.

 “Out with it, Nyx. And I swear, if you try to give me a heart attack again, I will throttle you,” threatened Libertus and stared at Nyx like he wanted to read his mind.

 “It's not my fault you've got such a weak heart, big guy,” Nyx grouched half heartedly and sighed again. His shoulders slumped and he slouched in his seat, which was probably the only reason the others didn't say anything this time. “I got called to the King because of the magic thing I have. Apparently Lucians think that 'true independent' magic is only found in two families in all of Eos.”

 “Wait, really? That's ridiculous,” said Crowe full of indignation but didn't bother to elaborate. Everybody in the whole Glaive knew her views on magic and the Lucians' habit of ignoring the more subtle things it was able to do.

Nyx made a gesture that clearly said you're telling me? while he pulled himself upright again. He was an Ulric, damn it, and he would act like one. Even if – if – the King's suspicions turned out to be true he had earned that name. Lived by it and its values most of his life. His mother had named Ilias Ulric his father and the man had accepted him as his son. That was all that counted, was important, should be important to him. His ancestors, those that guided him and had a part in making him the man he was today, were the Ulrics and not the Lucis Caelums. But why then, if he knew that with absolute certainty, did he have a bitter taste in his mouth?

 “I think we already established that Lucians have no idea about the things that are actually important,” stated Luche.

 “Yeah, but where do they think all of the attributes the flora and fauna showcase come from? How do they think do killer bees turn the pollen they collect into poison when they feel threatened?” Crowe spoke like the Lucians' ignorance had personally offended her.

Maybe it actually does, Nyx thought, at least where magic is concerned.            

Before the Fall of Galahd Crowe had made a large portion of her money hunting down the nests of the bigger bee species', and harvesting their honey. It was very dangerous work but the honey had great medical properties, not to mention it tasted good, so it was well worth it, if one wasn't stupid enough to aggravate the insects.            

 “Anyway,” said Nyx to get them back on track again. Before this dissolved into a discussion of the magical properties of nature and the spirits that lived within it. Once Crowe got started, it was hard to get her to stop. “The King thinks I may be a Lucis Caelum bastard.”

 There. He had said it. For a few seconds there was disbelieving silence, before bellowing laughter sounded from the people around the table for the second time this evening. Even Luche couldn't suppress an amused chuckle.

“Ahtrii, Nyx. Everybody who knows about the Ulrics knows that you're one of them and nothing else. You embody everything they are, down to your reckless possessiveness. Even I know that and I don't come from the same island as you,” said Pelna still gasping for breath and rubbing tears of laughter from his eyes.            

 Nyx would never admit it to anybody but at that statement he felt something deep within him relax. His magic sparked again and he felt the urge to drape himself all over the darker skinned man and purr. He bit his tongue and kept his lips tightly shut to not start purring right then and there.

 “Nyx,” said Libertus and patted him on the shoulder in a comforting way, “even if... you know, this happens to be true, the Lucii, or whatever they call them, are not your ancestors, you realize. You earned your name the same way everybody else who does, did. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. The only people from beyond the gate who have any influence over you are the Ulrics and those deadbeat Kings can natter on all they want. It's not like their own descendants are listening.”

 “Thanks, Libs,” murmured Nyx and sent his hunting brother weak smile.

 This meant more to him than he had thought it would. A warm feeling grew in his chest until it was a little sun behind his sternum. He loved these people with all his being and he would do everything in his power to protect them. That he swore by the ancestors he had chosen and that had chosen him, by the Great Coeurl who had made it so and by the spirits of Galahd who still connected all of them. He had sworn it so before but this time it left the taste of magic on his tongue that gave it a different kind of gravity.

 “I can't quite wrap my head around it. What does the King hope will happen if Nyx turns out to be his... relation?” Pelna looked at Nyx for information after a long moment of silence.

 “Brother,” he said and nodded towards Luche in thanks who put down a cup full of bitter-leaf tea in front of him. In this eatery it was the only Galahdian thing one could drink that actually tasted genuine. But maybe the reason for that was that even under normal circumstances bitter-leaf tea tasted like shit.

 “Brother,” Pelna repeated and paused. “That's quite the age gap, though.”

 “So, Mors Lucis Caelum. The guy who pulled the Wall back from encompassing all of Cavaugh to just surround Insomnia,” said Crowe with a frown on her face.

 “Why do you know that?” asked Libertus.

 “How do you know that?” asked Luche at the same time.

 The mage shrugged. “I make damn sure to blame the right people for shit they've done. Otherwise it just gets messy.”

 There was a flicker in Luche's eyes that was gone as fast as it had appeared. Nyx had no time to think about it because Pelna started speaking at that moment: “He's also the first Lucian King since the Wanderer King who personally came to Galahd. Not sure if he was just that careless or had balls of steel.”

 “Lucis always thought of Galahd as a full part of their territory, even if all we did was pay our taxes sometimes and they did nothing for us. With that it's not surprising that he walked into Galahd like he owned it. Lucis, especially the Lucis Cealums always had a special kind of arrogance.” Luche said this with carefully projected carelessness that Nyx didn't buy and neither did the others, if the looks they shot each other was any indication.

A thought practically hit Nyx over the head. He choked and nearly started to swear to the Gates of Death and back again. “The King thinks mahir slept with his father.” He didn't know if he should laugh or cry.

“No shit. Your mahir would've sooner clobbered that Mors over the head with one of her smithing hammers than let herself be touched by him,” guffawed Libertus.

 Crowe snorted and nodded and Nyx couldn't help but agree. His mother would have never accepted a Lucian in her bed. Not after what a Lucian hunter had done to her sister when she had gone looking for Solheimr ruins on the mainland. Alyxa Utris had been resentful like that.

 “Lucian Kings have never struck me as overly intelligent,” mumbled Pelna and put another piece of meat into his mouth.

“It's not like the King knew mahir,” Nyx couldn't help but point out. Not that he knew that for certain since the King had been in Galahd for the second to last leg of fighting they had done there and she had been purely a weapons smith by that point, but he would never have come to this outrageous conclusion if he had.            

 “That's only part of why I doubt their intelligence and I didn't even know your mother for more than two weeks,” said Pelna after swallowing. “It's also the abhorrent state of our supplies and equipment. Our radio sets are too old and too susceptible to hacking because of it.”

 “Haven't you told Drautos?” Libertus wanted to know.

 “Of course I did! Drautos said he would talk to the General and the King about it, but until now nothing has happened.”

 “When did you talk to him?” asked Luche, his eyes suddenly intense.

 “A few weeks ago. I wanted to speak to him again about it but then that mission happened and until now I haven't had the chance to do so.”

 “I'm supposed to meet with him tomorrow. I'll talk to him.”

 “Thanks, Luche.” Pelna smiled in gratitude.

 Nyx couldn't help but frown. “Something about this stinks to the Lows and back.”

 “You're telling me? No offence Luche, but why was Pelna's Unit the one to infiltrate the compound and not Sonitus'? His is the stealth unit,” asked Crowe, her gestures wide and jerky.

 “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Crowe,” Said Pelna with a grin.

 “Oh, you know what I mean.”

 Luche made a face. It looked like he was fighting with himself, trying to decide what to say. “Those were the orders. I couldn't simply ignore them.”

 “Know what? Fuck those orders! Next time we're doing things our way. The Lucians have no idea how to execute a proper hunt. It's no wonder they're losing ground by the day with those crap orders. Not even our best hunters can balance that out.” Libertus nearly exploded in outrage when he said that.

 “That's coming very close to treason,” stated Luche, but there was something in the way he said it that didn't make it sound like an admonishment.

 Libertus ground his teeth but didn't say anything.

“To do anything effectively, short of a Great Hunt, which we can't simply call, we would need a makti-oir,” Pelna said slowly like he was tasting each word out in his mouth.            

“We would need to talk to our people about it and without the sinehär gisdrauhtis on our side it would be a lost cause before we would have even started. And if it comes to a vote, it won't be subtle,” added Nyx. The Gil had already been tossed, so why not add a little more spin to it?

 Luche carded both hands through his hair. “I cannot believe we're seriously talking about this.”

 “It's better than more of us dying because they can't get things sorted out correctly,” shrugged Crowe, a dark look on her face. No doubt she was thinking about the training ground incident again.

They all fell into a thoughtful silence, considering this insane idea for its merits and flaws. Nyx wondered what would happen if they actually managed to do all this. Vote for a makti-oir and then tell the Lucians they would from now on hunt the proper way. He didn't imagine it would go over overly well.            

 The ringing of his phone broke the silence. He jerked in surprise and hurried to fish it out of his coat pocket.

 “Ulric speaking,” he said in Lucian for the first time he had sat down, his accent thicker for it. He already knew who it was.

 “Good evening, Sir Ulric. The test results are here. Please come back to the citadel at your earliest convenience. The guards will let you through to his Majesty's private study without issue,” said General Leonis, sounding just a tad impatient.

Translation: Be there at once.          

 “Of course General,” Nyx answered and wondered what had crawled up the General's ass now as he hung up without another word. Had there been some kind of noise in the background? He wasn't quite sure.

 He nodded towards his friends as he stood up and put on the coat again. “I'll see you later guys.”

 A chorus of good-byes sounded after him – Libertus, the ass, yelled the traditional words of the Last Journey – as he trudged up the stairs towards what felt like a funeral.