[ Clive has no idea how his body holds aether on a good day. Apparently, there's something inside of him that acts as almost an endless storehouse of energy, so it could really be the case that the aether he just lost is a blip in the grand ocean of his reserves, so negligible that he doesn't even feel it. It could be just as likely that nothing is wrong－
－is what he tells himself, before the earth rumbles under their feet. Clive reaches sideways to steady himself, but reconsiders when he realizes that he'd be putting his palm on another pulsing crystal. Instead, he tries to lurch the other way, and winds up bumping shoulders with G'raha in an attempt to stay upright.
Ifrit shifts under his skin; he can feel it, clear as he can feel the aether shifting around them. The air seems thicker, more charged. ]
Fuck, [ is reflexive. The first time he's been this crass in front of G'raha, likely. ] ―When Ifrit is interested in anything, it usually means there's something big and mean on the horizon.
[ Okay, not always mean. But usually. Clive rests his palm on G'raha where he'd jostled him, and looks at the small rocks now tumbling from the mountainside. ]
[ He bumps up against G'raha and nearly sends him tumbling to the side, but he manages to stay steady on his feet, reaching out to grab at Clive's arm in an attempt to stabilize them both. Just as quick as he'd reached out, he lets go as a residual rumble nearly knocks him off balance again.
Clive's language would be surprising in any other situation, but right now, when he can feel the air so thick with aether that it could very easily make his hair stand on end? It feels apt. ]
Not that I am aware of...
[ His hand feels warm on G'raha's shoulder, somewhat grounding, and he closes his eyes to think. ]
I read once, of a primal that resided nearby, though it had only been known to slumber. I daresay it has not been summoned for many eras.
[ And, naturally, it might be summoned now when they're both woefully unprepared for it. ]
[ A primal. Wonderful. Clive keeps his grip steady on G'raha, grounding him by his side, though the touch might get uncomfortably warm as Ifrit starts to show more interest in the rising aether and the presence of something else that he can sink his teeth into. Usually, these impulses are limited to when another Eikon in Clive's world reaches out for attention; Clive doesn't know how to fend against this new and heretofore unknown compulsion, but he bids the creature inside of him to stay, and heel.
It reminds him a bit of being fifteen summers old and priming for the first time. That strange, out-of-body experience. He doesn't want a repeat performance. ]
Which primal? Do you know?
[ It might not help much to know, but it's probably better than being completely ignorant. That said: ]
I don't know if you should stay here－ things might get a bit hot.
[ Ah, Clive’s palm is warm, and G’raha hisses lightly at the touch, setting his hand on top of Clive’s. ]?
Apologies, my friend, but I will remain here.
[ Tempering isn’t a worry, not as long as he’s got the shield in his pocket. As if on cue, the little disc activates, a bubble of magic forming around G’raha for a moment, as if it’s been touched by a visible hand, before it disappears. The primal is certainly reaching out for Ifrit, aether reaching out into the air, poking and prodding before it deigns to take shape.
He shoots Clive a little smile before the ground shakes and he stumbles slightly. ]
The primal is Madeen—a winged beast with lion-like features. Though I’ve merely read the name, as accounts are incredibly rare and not entirely credible.
[ So, something exciting and new. Surely Clive wanted that. ]
I will do my utmost to subdue you if need be.
Edited 2025-12-17 06:54 (UTC)
rng has spoken... stupid first, but it can def segue into serious 😎
[ The shield is an interesting, if brief, trick. Clive's eyes widen, but he has precious little time to comment on how sturdy something like that would be against two raging Primal-Eikons when the ground trembles again, creating a rift in the fabric of the space surrounding them that shimmers and glows.
Not good. (Probably?) It's just Clive's luck that he's never heard of this particular creature before, and thus has no frame of reference on how to combat it― not that knowing has ever helped. Knowing that something is a big winged beast usually doesn't make fighting it off any easier.
Still, Clive laughs. ] Subdue me. [ Not Madeen? Man, he really likes G'raha for that. ] Founder, I hope so. Don't be gentle with me.
[ Almost a verbal wink, if there was any time for that. Clive braces again as something appears from the trembling sliver of light in front of them, sliding out of hiding like a pastel-colored...
...wait, pastel-colored? Clive squints, but his eyes aren't playing tricks: the creature that slithers out of the void is a rather colorful little thing with lumpy limbs, soft and cushiony. It vaguely resembles a lion, if lions had cotton-candy manes and candy-like wings.
Ah. ]
Ah.
[ Madeen (?) hovers in the air, and makes the sweetest little growl-adjacent noise that Clive has ever heard. (Ifrit still rumbles in Clive's chest, curious.) ]
...G'raha...? [ Implied: is it supposed to look like that...??????? ]
yesssss 🙌 i've already got a few ideas for making it more serious hehe
[ Give him a moment for, well, many things. Clive's comment is already enough to give him a bit of a verbal stumble, to make words just that much more difficult to form as they lay thick and heavy on his tongue.
That he would very much love for the earth to swallow him whole goes without saying, really.
And now? Now they're contending with a primal that looks anything but—full of curved angles and soft limbs and bright, welcoming colors. It grows sweetly, too, like a lion fashioned into a toy for children. ]
Well. My readings are oft filled with fact rather than fiction, but mayhap on this one occasion the author had penned the wrong impression...
[ Somehow.
It's difficult to assess in full when he feels so knocked off balance. The Creature That Might Be Madeen twirls in the air, before growling again, as if readying itself for a fight. A fight, of course, that would be incredibly one-sided. ]
Well, [ is a little like a sigh-laugh, absolutely bemused by all of this, ] it... is technically a "winged beast with lion-like features".
[ So. G'raha wasn't wrong. Maybe the author just liked to exaggerate.
Clive lowers his sword, but doesn't sheathe it entirely. Vigilance is written into his bones, and he'd be foolish to be deceived by appearances alone－ even if the appearance happens to be kind of adorable and soft and cuddly and comes with rainbow-colored sparks of aether that feel like cotton candy instead of anything harmful or dangerous.
(Oh, he knows what this feeling is. He misses his dog.) ]
Have there ever been accounts of your people taming a primal...?
[ Perhaps... the ones that are friend-shaped...? Again, Clive knows better than to coo and try to touch a strange creature, but all Madeen Lite has done thus far is wave its noodly arms at the both of them with indignant purpose. Like a child throwing a tantrum at a candy store. ]
[ Ah, but maybe if Clive read the sheer gravity of the prose he would understand why G’raha was so apprehensive. Well, maybe. He thinks Clive would, and he has half a mind to grab that tome once he has a moment of time just to show it to the man for a laugh. Clive would like that sort of thing, surely.
But more importantly… ]
The answer to that inquiry is a… complicated one. [ He offers Clive a small smile. ] I daresay you would not like the methods of the ancient Allagans.
[ The subjugation of dragons, including the primal Bahamut, was a dark spot of history, one whose scars still remain.
He pulls a small emblem from his pocket, affixed with the scale of a dragon. It glows softly, clearly at work. But the little primal continues to float around them, making an observant lap around the two, its attention largely fixed on Clive.
The sparkles it leaves in its wake make this act seem completely without threat, however. ]
‘Tis a shame to witness a rather docile primal, yet one that still attempts to temper nevertheless.
[ And Ifrit is likely keeping Clive safe from it, same as the way this scale shields G’raha. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
－is what he tells himself, before the earth rumbles under their feet. Clive reaches sideways to steady himself, but reconsiders when he realizes that he'd be putting his palm on another pulsing crystal. Instead, he tries to lurch the other way, and winds up bumping shoulders with G'raha in an attempt to stay upright.
Ifrit shifts under his skin; he can feel it, clear as he can feel the aether shifting around them. The air seems thicker, more charged. ]
Fuck, [ is reflexive. The first time he's been this crass in front of G'raha, likely. ] ―When Ifrit is interested in anything, it usually means there's something big and mean on the horizon.
[ Okay, not always mean. But usually. Clive rests his palm on G'raha where he'd jostled him, and looks at the small rocks now tumbling from the mountainside. ]
Does anything big and mean live around here?
no subject
Clive's language would be surprising in any other situation, but right now, when he can feel the air so thick with aether that it could very easily make his hair stand on end? It feels apt. ]
Not that I am aware of...
[ His hand feels warm on G'raha's shoulder, somewhat grounding, and he closes his eyes to think. ]
I read once, of a primal that resided nearby, though it had only been known to slumber. I daresay it has not been summoned for many eras.
[ And, naturally, it might be summoned now when they're both woefully unprepared for it. ]
no subject
It reminds him a bit of being fifteen summers old and priming for the first time. That strange, out-of-body experience. He doesn't want a repeat performance. ]
Which primal? Do you know?
[ It might not help much to know, but it's probably better than being completely ignorant. That said: ]
I don't know if you should stay here－ things might get a bit hot.
[ You know, because. Fire. Ha ha, ]
no subject
Apologies, my friend, but I will remain here.
[ Tempering isn’t a worry, not as long as he’s got the shield in his pocket. As if on cue, the little disc activates, a bubble of magic forming around G’raha for a moment, as if it’s been touched by a visible hand, before it disappears. The primal is certainly reaching out for Ifrit, aether reaching out into the air, poking and prodding before it deigns to take shape.
He shoots Clive a little smile before the ground shakes and he stumbles slightly. ]
The primal is Madeen—a winged beast with lion-like features. Though I’ve merely read the name, as accounts are incredibly rare and not entirely credible.
[ So, something exciting and new. Surely Clive wanted that. ]
I will do my utmost to subdue you if need be.
rng has spoken... stupid first, but it can def segue into serious 😎
Not good. (Probably?) It's just Clive's luck that he's never heard of this particular creature before, and thus has no frame of reference on how to combat it― not that knowing has ever helped. Knowing that something is a big winged beast usually doesn't make fighting it off any easier.
Still, Clive laughs. ] Subdue me. [ Not Madeen? Man, he really likes G'raha for that. ] Founder, I hope so. Don't be gentle with me.
[ Almost a verbal wink, if there was any time for that. Clive braces again as something appears from the trembling sliver of light in front of them, sliding out of hiding like a pastel-colored...
...wait, pastel-colored? Clive squints, but his eyes aren't playing tricks: the creature that slithers out of the void is a rather colorful little thing with lumpy limbs, soft and cushiony. It vaguely resembles a lion, if lions had cotton-candy manes and candy-like wings.
Ah. ]
Ah.
[ Madeen (?) hovers in the air, and makes the sweetest little growl-adjacent noise that Clive has ever heard. (Ifrit still rumbles in Clive's chest, curious.) ]
...G'raha...? [ Implied: is it supposed to look like that...??????? ]
yesssss 🙌 i've already got a few ideas for making it more serious hehe
[ Give him a moment for, well, many things. Clive's comment is already enough to give him a bit of a verbal stumble, to make words just that much more difficult to form as they lay thick and heavy on his tongue.
That he would very much love for the earth to swallow him whole goes without saying, really.
And now? Now they're contending with a primal that looks anything but—full of curved angles and soft limbs and bright, welcoming colors. It grows sweetly, too, like a lion fashioned into a toy for children. ]
Well. My readings are oft filled with fact rather than fiction, but mayhap on this one occasion the author had penned the wrong impression...
[ Somehow.
It's difficult to assess in full when he feels so knocked off balance. The Creature That Might Be Madeen twirls in the air, before growling again, as if readying itself for a fight. A fight, of course, that would be incredibly one-sided. ]
🥹🙏 god bless... they won't know what hit them
[ So. G'raha wasn't wrong. Maybe the author just liked to exaggerate.
Clive lowers his sword, but doesn't sheathe it entirely. Vigilance is written into his bones, and he'd be foolish to be deceived by appearances alone－ even if the appearance happens to be kind of adorable and soft and cuddly and comes with rainbow-colored sparks of aether that feel like cotton candy instead of anything harmful or dangerous.
(Oh, he knows what this feeling is. He misses his dog.) ]
Have there ever been accounts of your people taming a primal...?
[ Perhaps... the ones that are friend-shaped...? Again, Clive knows better than to coo and try to touch a strange creature, but all Madeen Lite has done thus far is wave its noodly arms at the both of them with indignant purpose. Like a child throwing a tantrum at a candy store. ]
😌
But more importantly… ]
The answer to that inquiry is a… complicated one. [ He offers Clive a small smile. ] I daresay you would not like the methods of the ancient Allagans.
[ The subjugation of dragons, including the primal Bahamut, was a dark spot of history, one whose scars still remain.
He pulls a small emblem from his pocket, affixed with the scale of a dragon. It glows softly, clearly at work. But the little primal continues to float around them, making an observant lap around the two, its attention largely fixed on Clive.
The sparkles it leaves in its wake make this act seem completely without threat, however. ]
‘Tis a shame to witness a rather docile primal, yet one that still attempts to temper nevertheless.
[ And Ifrit is likely keeping Clive safe from it, same as the way this scale shields G’raha. ]