expiationlogs | [ OPEN / CATCH-ALL ]

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[ OPEN / CATCH-ALL ]

Who: Claude von Riegan and YOU?
Where: Around Aldrip; can be found in the fields outside of town, the apothecary, flying zafeera, being a busybody in the marketplace, basically anywhere!
What: Catch-all for July! I have a plotting comment up here for further planning, especially for the glitches -- since they're all so different, I'll be putting up custom top-levels for whoever wants them! <3 Also open to using this space for general shenaniganry!
Warnings: Likely discussions surrounding war, death, and other JRPG war game dealings.

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[ Khalid's hand does not move from his dagger, his expression uncharacteristically stormy as his bright eyes dart back and forth, as though trying to gauge every single threat around him and failing miserably at the task. There's simply too much, too fast, with no obvious route to retreat to. In fact, it seems obvious that the first thing that crosses his mind is simply to flee, legs bent and shoulders twisted in an obvious preparation to dart away at any moment.

He is scarcely placated by the stranger in front of him with his queer appearance, like nothing and nobody he'd ever see in Almyra, but he's the only one who's speaking to him now. It's a trick. Someone has sent him -- to a strange place, somehow, to kill him, and this fellow is play-acting as some sort of servant to get underneath his skin.

But what can he do but play along? ]

Fine, [ he says, tone clipped, imperious. ] Explain. And explain who you are as well.

[ It will be nothing but lies. But within the lies, he can seek some kernel of truth. ]

[ ugh. what a pain. maybe it's best to dredge up nil. "rafal" wouldn't get very far in this instance. he hated the idea but. well. needs must. claude is an excellent strategist. the best. but he doesn't remember rafal and he doesn't know nil. rafal has toppled empires with less. hands clasped in front of him, he adopts his best placid expression, earnest and quiet. ]

My lord. We've been summoned to the world of Aldrip. It was not by choice, but here we are, regardless. I am Nil. I hail from the world of Elyos. You have been here for some time and I can offer proof, if you will let me.

If we are truly from different -- worlds?

[ That sounds foolish. There are different nations, the world so vast that he can barely stand it some days (as much as he loses himself in books about Fodlan, about Brigid, about Sreng and well beyond, he knows he's unlikely to ever see them for himself) that some may seem worlds apart, they're so different, but different worlds entirely?

But as he looks around at bustling streets and neon lights, roads smooth and clean in a way their own gravel roads could only hope for, the little devices people are fiddling with in their hands, he has to acknowledge the grim reality of the situation.

No nation would have technology this advanced. Not without conquering the rest of the world with it. He grits his teeth. ]

If we are from different worlds, [ he continues, ] then you have no reason to show deference to me. [ His eyes narrow, suspicious. ] But if you say you have proof, then show it to me.

I—I have some reason. But that can wait.

[ thankfully, he has centuries of being nil. the mannerisms slip onto rafal like a glove. the stutters, the painful gazes to the ground, everything to makes himself small and weak and helpless. it's unmatched. no one ever knew. not his siblings, not the four winds. he's not even sure sombron knew. perhaps he thought he was bestowing his favor on "nil" all along.

only nel. nel seemed to know. he never understood that. the knowing. and the forgiveness. even now, it —

rafal dismisses it. simper. demur. shrink. defect. weak. failure.

"nil" pulls out his device and taps on it. though claude doesn't spend much time on the network, there is still a record of him. once he can display it, "nil" slides it over with a weak smile. ]

Here it is. The device i — is strange, I know. B — But you can see, there are messages you left in there.

[ Khalid frowns, accepting the device with an air of suspicion, as though worried it might jump up and bite him at any moment. It doesn't, of course, and he sets to searching through for images of himself -- which is a tall order. It seems that he's most interested in communicating via text. But eventually he manages to come across of a video of himself, introductions made in his mother's tongue, his garb gaudy and unfamiliar, his name...

Claude is his name. Just as much as Khalid is. Even forbidden to ever use it, he's held at least that much close to his heart, a tenuous link to the family he's never met. ]

This is...

[ He stops, breath catching in his throat. He switches languages. ] I have more questions than I did before. I -- the people here know me as Claude? What in heaven's name am I doing here?

[ is . . . claude not his name? fascinating. how very juicy. rafal no longer needs to play the long game, but if he was, oh this would be fun. alas, he is no longer that person. and he has no interest in screwing claude over. especially since claude has a stronger foothold in this place than rafal.

and . . . he does owe him. penance must come first. in "nil" stuttering voice, he replies. ]

I'm afraid that answer lies within you. We are just acquaintances so far. Perhaps your own device may shed more light on the matter?

It doesn't. It brings up only more questions -- like why I'm going by that name, and why I've decided to relinquish my post to run some sort of little shop of all things.

[ There's not the familiar noble disdain at the idea of having a job better left to a tradesman, but something disdainful in it nonetheless, some judgment of his alternative self for reasons he's not saying aloud. He scrolls through the device, finding very little to his liking. It doesn't appear that this other version of him is prone to a lot of chatter. ]

...then explain how you know me. And why you refer to me as a lord despite my moonlighting about as some sort of herbalist here.

[ If he is not Khalid, then he is no longer royalty. That much, he's caught onto. The thought is a little intoxicating, but not enough to overwrite his trepidation, his fear, the strangeness of it all. ]

[ "nil" wrings his hands. what a tedious act. and to think, he did this for centuries. ]

It is a rather complicated tale. Are you s-sure?

Nil.

[ His voice is sharp -- sharper than Claude's usually is, partly through frustration, and partly because he'd never quite learned the social niceties that his counterpart had over the years. ]

I am in a foreign land, and have been told I've been here underneath a pseudonym for what appears to be months, with absolutely no idea what's happening, or why I'm here. What sort of fool wouldn't want to hear it?

[ hearing that name makes his head snap up, makes his act so wholly real. "nil" sighs, placing his palms on the table as he collects his thoughts. ]

You hail from a world called Fodlan. I come from the land of Elyos. In my land, there is a great power. A power that summons heroes from across all worlds. Well. A facsimile of them. Think of them as an avatar of a hero's thoughts, feelings and desires condensed into power. Like a mythical weapon but conscious.

These powers are called Emblems. We have the Hero-King Marth, the Caring Princess Celica . . . all great heroes in their respective worlds.

And we have you. The Gifted Strategist. Claude Riegen.

[ It doesn't take a genius to piece this all together.

Not the part about summoning heroes -- that's a headache and a half, and something he can't bear wrapping his head around right now, not when he's more concerned with where he is now, and who he was pretending to be. It isn't that Claude is not his name. It's that he's never gone by it in his life, and certainly has never gone by von Riegan; it would be just asking for trouble where he attempts to avoid it at every corner.

He was, for whatever reason, pretending to be from Fodlan. And somehow, people bought it. Does he really look that much more like someone from Fodlan than he does someone from Almyra? He must.

And so here, he's Claude von Riegan of Fodlan, will wonders never cease. A part of him wonders if he should attempt to keep up the ruse, but one glimpse at himself, his clothing, his confusion, the braid swinging from the side of his head, the language he'd spoken in... perhaps with others, he can. But with this Nil, the cat's out of the bag. His lips thin as he tries to accommodate all of this into his worldview. ]

...you're wrong about one thing. [ It's beside the point. He just doesn't know what the hell else to say. ] Our world isn't called Fodlan. Fodlan is just a continent in a much bigger world.

[ To hear his mother tell it, it's just like someone from Fodlan to describe it as such. Is that who he's assimilated into, in this other life, this other facsimile of self? ]

O-Oh. I'm sorry.

[ as if rafal cares. he has no idea what the politics are in another world. it's all the same everywhere. kingdoms vying for power. politicking, manipulating, pretending. every person thinks they're above it all, better than the rest, with high hopes. big dreams. even the kindest kings chomp at the borders.

whatever. this is a game he's won and he's not truly playing, merely . . . easing the way for this strangeness. in another life, he would have enjoyed this more. peeled back the secrets. but he doesn't need to and rafal isn't here to fuck claude up.

"nil" merely gives an apologetic smile. ]

I don't really know all the details. I only know a little from the conversations we've had together. T-That's all.

That's why I'm questioning you about this, [ Khalid says bluntly. ] Because I'm trying to sort out what I told you, and why. If that wasn't just an excellent impersonation of me.

[ It's not. He knows it's not. He saw the videos, the similarities even the best actor couldn't replicate; the way he shrugs and gestures with his hands, his long, loping sentences, the cheesy grins, dead behind the eyes. It's him.

It's him, if he was born and raised in Fodlan. Maybe this other him was better off. ]

And what is our relationship, then? I sincerely doubt I have anyone calling me their lord when removed from the palace. I wouldn't stand for it. I'd want to be called...

[ He glances down at the communicator, frowns. Even his own mother doesn't call him Claude. Khalid, Khalid, Khalid, only Claude on paper, whispered to him in quiet evenings when she's particularly homesick, a small, private thing that he holds in his heart.

It feels almost invasive that everyone here knows. ]

...by my name.

My sister and I have always been deferential to our Emblems. It's etiquette.

[ after all, he is a dragon. what are kings and nobles to that? nothing but dust. this reaction is rather unusual though and rafal files it away again. ]

Of course you are not that, you are the real person. But there's no reason not to be polite, is there?

[ a soft beat as "nil" asks. ]

What would you like to be called then?

[ He stares moodily down at the device, then hands it back. His other self clearly went by a different name here. Perhaps he should follow suit.

But then a part of him rebels at it, the idea of hiding who he is, his proud Almyran blood, to distance himself any more from a people who have never accepted him in the first place, and for what? To fit into some cursed place they were brought, where people have no knowledge of his world, of his kin? For what purpose did his other self decide to betray his countrymen?

He lifts his chin. ]

By my name. Khalid. No title is necessary, no deference needed for... whatever this Emblem business is all about. [ He shakes his head. ] I will assume the title when I've earned it. Which I will, no doubt, but I don't stand on needless etiquette.

[ fascinating. "nil" offers a light bow of acknowledgement. ]

As you wish.

What will you do now?

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