etrayalogs | December Catch-all(-ish) [Open]

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December Catch-all(-ish) [Open]

WHO: Barnabas, his Behemoth (the monster, not the, oh nevermind--), and YOU!
WHEN: All through December baby!
WHERE: Mostly Stonhyrr, but some threads could be elsewhere too!
WHAT: Oh you know, big ol' fortress showed up, there's also a giant muscle cat, maybe people wanna see the fortress. Maybe they're gonna get mauled by a cat. The world is our oyster. Also going to use this for general purpose threads, doesn't have to be Behemoth related!
NOTES\WARNINGS: Will update as necessary!

While Barnabas has never proven himself the social sort, ever intending to remain as such, when people come to Stonhyrr to inspect it, they will not necessarily find him there to greet them. This does not mean that Barnabas is not within the bounds of Stonhyrr, he most assuredly is, but he has no interest in playing host. That is, unless he is given reason to.

What most will find is a singular bridge that connects the imposing fortress to the mainland, and the waters around it prove unnaturally violent. As if the very place itself causes the waters to churn and clash wildly against the jagged rocks which act as the foundation for the whole thing. The bridge is wide enough to adequately fit a pair of carriages, or cars if that better serves. The stone is sturdy, so there isn't any worry about weight being an issue. Most certainly not when one arrives at the arena that acts as a mid-point for the bridge.

There are no guard rails around it as the bridge possesses otherwise, just a sheer drop off into the treacherous waters below. Certainly a poor fate to any, whether they survive the fall or not. A fate all the more possible given the snow and bits of ice that has accumulated upon the structure. Even furthering the difficulty to avoid it, should they find themselves greeted by the bridge's guard: the Behemoth. From its rocky perch it will land with the grace of a feline, but with the impressive force of a creature befitting its size. More than twice the height of an elephant, and thrice as wide, the hulking beast will stare down the interloper(s) with murderous intent. Intent it means to make good on.

However, not everyone who crosses the bridge will meet the beast there, and should they find themselves able to make it to Stonhyrr proper, getting through the metal gates and into the winding outer paths that encircle the central castle, they will find it depressingly...empty. What living quarters there seems to be are indeed stocked with beds and linens, oddly enough, but as all else in Etraya that is not inhabited by those whisked away from their homeworlds, there is no one. They are modest, however, what one might expect for those living as communal soldiers in a medieval era.

Though, should they linger for too long, they might hear the telling breaths and foot steps of a prowling beast searching for the scent its picked up. Perhaps hiding isn't a terrible option, but who knows how much the creature cares about the architectural integrity of whatever part of the fortress they're in! Only one way to find out.

Some of the internal buildings are not merely for housing soldiers or weaponry (though said weaponry is distinctly missing presently). One may find themselves stumbling upon an podium of some sort, with six-legged horse statues on either side. The shape of the room almost suggests an arena of sorts, and the podium seems to embolden this suggestion. Perhaps it might have been a room to judge contests of combat and the like. Who is to really say? Should one linger here overlong, they might find themselves no longer alone. At least, they certainly feel as though someone is in the room with them. Someone watching them, perhaps from the shadows, or from above...

Those lucky enough to make it to the docks will find them bereft of any ships of any kind. It's clear that there probably should be some, but whoever brought this fortress in clearly did not bring any of his ships along! Though, one might take an interest in the surrounding area, and the structures nearby. Most will be empty, some with myriad things like rope, or scant pieces of wood, perhaps an empty crate or two, but it is, like most else, otherwise hollow. There are more of those weird horse statues though... The place is anything but bereft of them.

If it weren't for the behemoth prints left in the snow throughout the wide outer paths of the fortress, and its eagerness to find (and remove) intruders, the place would otherwise seem completely abandoned. Between the snow, angry waters, flashes of lightning, and claps of thunder...the place is cold, oppressive, and desolate. Should one find a way to reach the entrance to the castle, they will be stopped short from reaching the door proper. Not by the behemoth, but by the sudden emergence of Barnabas himself. A billowing pillar of black mist will form from the ground, reaching roughly the height of a man, before Barnabas takes form and the mist disperses and dissipates.

There he will stand, staring down the intruder, waiting for an explanation.

(ooc: Feel free to place your character wherever around Stonhyrr, not only just the places mentioned. Barnabas will keep an eye on any aerial intruders as well (he can also fly). Just date your top level for when this is happening, and if you wanna plot something specific or have any questions, please do not hesitate to hit me up at

Zornsable or on Discord(Zanono)! Feel free to have your own threads here too if multiple people are wanting to explore the grounds of the fortress (just specify in the subject line), I can provide information, a kitty, or an old man should it be needed! Anyway, enjoy this weird haunted-ass looking place, it sucks!

I will match style, prose or action are both good ✨)

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It feels like home.

[ Vincent stares at the behemoth before walking closer to it - tilting his head at the creature, wondering how it is speaking without even breathing. ]

The oppressive nature. The silence that isn't silence.

[ His head tilts toward the thunder above. ]

All I wanted was some peace of mind. I wanted to pray and carry out my rituals to my god without being bothered by outsiders! [ His arm snaps out to gesture toward the people outside of this place. He raises his voice at the frozen beast before stepping away from it, instead. ] I'm not going to get my peace of mind, however!

Do you know why? Mm, do you have any idea why I'm not allowed it?

[ It's nice to vent to a willing audience as he lifts his hands to gesture next to his head, indicating the beast couldn't begin to understand his thinking. ]

[Barnabas watches Vincent, undetectable by the man, as he continues to suspect and act as though the voice belongs to the behemoth. It is understandable, where else could the voice be coming from, if he did not know of Barnabas' odd little abilities.

What Vincent says, however, intrigues him. At least slightly. Another man of faith, though like as not following a false God, wishing for solace and solitude to perform his rights in peace. The dramatics are a little much, yet they are not off putting. No, there is something oddly familiar in how he acts, how...performative he is.]

I assume you will tell me.

[It is then that the behemoth's eyes shifts, looking directly at Vincent again with a blazing intensity, a breath escaping as it snarls--yet it stills once more. If some puppeteering is in order to continue this little game, then so be it.]

I suppose we are getting close to each other now, hm?

[ His shoulders slump; the weather certainly doesn't yield for a comfortable conversation, but he doesn't mind that, either. He uses the side of his shoe to sweep some stones out of the way as he draws closer to the behemoth. If he explains himself, perhaps, he will be allowed to live in this place. ]

It's because outsiders will think I'm crazy. [ He breathes out slowly. ] They would see true faith and believe it to be the machinations of a madman. And they'd find reasons to interrupt my prayer and ritual. [ Breathing in. ] Even here, I'm not allowed to my peace.

Yet again trapped in a rat race... and my god is far from me. [ A sigh. ] A good and terrible thing, I suppose. But that's neither here nor there... regardless, I still wish to show my dedication to Her. I still love and fear Her as I always have.

I have not lost my faith so why should I act as though it is gone here just to avoid being seen as insane? [ He stares up at the best. ] I still am not allowed my peace of mind. If I bring my church here, while it would give me a place to rest, they could enter it at any time. Do you understand that!?

I don't want them looking at anything they can't show faith in!

And so you have turned here, to seek shelter in the storm.

[Barnabas' voice is as aloof as ever, yet there is a slight lilt that suggests some wry amusement. Part of him considers releasing the behemoth, allowing it a treat now that he knows why this ordinary man is here. It would make for a tidy end to this minor annoyance, and yet...another part of him understands the struggle he faces. The difficult reality of religious persecution, of how practicing one's very faith can lead to death and misery, all because those weak of mind choose fear over understanding. Perhaps such a fate would not happen here, but then again...

The dull ache of loss ever presses itself into Barnabas, but being reminded of such only makes the gravity more intense. Like a dull knife ground into an old, unhealing wound with renewed vigor. There is not much that Barnabas sympathizes with on an emotional level, and even now it is not quite a feeling that he experiences towards Vincent, perhaps it is more an acknowledgement of his situation, an understanding of that very thing. After all, it had fueled his choice to materialize Stonhyrr.

He too has been far from his god, and the silence is deafening. The loneliness as crippling as it ever is.]

If you wish to speak on the matter further, then cross the bridge. I shall await you beyond the gate. Do make haste, the behemoth will not show you the same mercy.

[As the voice quiets, Vincent may notice that slowly the behemoth begins to move again, but it is as if it has been slowed down. However, it does seem to be incrementally reverting to normal speed.]

Suppose that's the best way to put it.

[ Crossing his arms, he stares up at the beast in appreciation. It seems like that is the best argument that he can make about his wanting to find housing here.

To bring Silent Hill, it's too complicated a situation. If his god is not present, it is just an empty town; it would hurt too much to see. If he brought his church, he would shut the doors to keep anyone from entering. But he knows people would - he fears being called deranged or insane once they witness what is inside.

His chin lifts as he's told that the matter will be discussed once he crosses the bridge. He turns and shifts to start to take his step - before realizing that he hasn't been talking to the behemoth.

Vincent doesn't have the luxury to look around to see who he might have been talking to, however. He is clicking his tongue as he breaks out into a sprint to run across the bridge. Oh, how he loathes this - furthermore, it's a mad dash without even prepping himself. A sharp pain runs up the back of his legs as he runs. It leads to his thoughts being crystal clear, however.

Perhaps, he does lust for death because he has words to say to the one who played him for a fool. They burn in the back of his throat; his lungs feeling the same fire of them. If he has breath left after he's crossed the distance - oh!! He will be heard! ]

[That Vincent takes heed of the warning is good, because had he stuck around and waited, Barnabas might have released the behemoth that much quicker. Instead, he keeps it slowed for a while, but not enough that Vincent won't hear the distinct sound of its massive paws connecting with the stone here and there. Far slower than it would otherwise be, yet enough to remind him keenly why he's running like a fool towards the gates.

As Vincent gets closer to his finish line, the iron gates to Stonhyrr, he might catch the glimpse of someone just beyond. A man dressed in dark clothes, with black, shaggy hair, and stubble. He's watching as Vincent runs from the behemoth, the monstrosity slowly gaining in speed, yet just slow enough to not quite reach Vincent. Unless something unforeseen happens. There is a bit of snow, after all...

How unfortunate would it be to run all this way, and slip to one's death? Perhaps fate will not be so cruel, but Barnabas plans to watch all the same.]

[ Vincent has another clear and deranged thought as he runs.

If only he had taken Chu Wenshan up on training, he might not be struggling in the present. (Did he have enough time to increase his stamina and running speed from then to now? No. Does he still think it as he's struggling? Yes.)

His eyes roll about his head as he thinks that he might actually have to take him up on it. The very idea of getting hot and sweaty constantly and purposely irritates something deep inside of him. Betterment of oneself is one thing, but does anyone think of the cost?!

If he had it left in him, he might have let out some cry. However, he saves all of his energy to keep pushing himself forward. The sound of the monster is surprisingly the least of his concern. Anger and an iron-hot purpose keeps him motivated at this point.

You!

His green eyes shift to a darker color; he thinks that they might actually look black with how he feels. It's strange to feel the strain and pain running through his body as he's running. (Ha-ha, he's so funny!!!)

He does slip as he passes through the gates, however. Snow! What a concept!!!!! His thoughts shift to something along the lines about how the ground is coming up a little faster than what he'd like, before his shoulder collides into the stone. It knocks the air out of his lungs as he feels like - and certain he is - skidding across the ground. The knitwear, however, seems to help to act as a bit of a cushion, but that might be his exhausted, fury-fueled mind thinking so.

His entire side feels very wet as he lifts his hand up and slaps it on the ground. He can hear how loud his breathing is; he can hear the strain; he listens to the wheezing and pain coating every sound. He can feel his face twitching as he attempts to rise up from where he fell.

Vincent pauses to touch his face - thankfully, his glasses didn't fall off. However, they are misaligned and he has to adjust them.

GIVE HIM A SECOND! HE'S GETTING UP!!! ]

[Barnabas watches that whole display with an unchanged expression, the only thing that really moves are his eyes as they follow Vincent's unfortunately trajectory to the stony floor. Had Barnabas not lost crucial parts of himself at the cost of self-improvement, he might have found the whole thing rather funny. Yet, here he stands humorless and apathetic to the pitiful scene before him. Unmoved by the comedy of it, nor sympathizing with the piteous state the other man is in. Cold as the snowy wind around them.

However, Vincent did indeed make it past the gates, and so as the behemoth swiftly approaches, ready to push under the stone arch and through the metal bars of the gate, Barnabas flicks his gaze to meet the beast's own. This stops it in its tracks—not because of Barnabas' magical prowess and command of Odin's powers either. The behemoth growls, low and angry, having been released fully from the magical affliction, but obediently stays put.

Then, Barnabas looks to Vincent again as the man corrects his glasses, and will presumably rise. He's in no rush himself, ever patient, and so he waits for Vincent to gather himself, to stand so that they might speak on the matter as intended.]

[ His head slightly turns as he acknowledges the approach of the behemoth. He can hear how loud he's breathing; feel the air pass his lips as he reaches down to pick up a discarded stone that was knocked past the gate. From his own feet? Who knows! Blessings on high, he supposes.

Clenching the stone in his hand, he chucks it at the beast. Despite the size and impossibility of it, the stone whiffs hard to the side and misses the creature entirely. Vincent sits back down on the stone floor. If he had more energy, he might have had something close to a tantrum, but he's running on fumes and petty anger.

His eyes shift back to the main cause of this situation. The person just staring at him with such apathy. He sets his teeth together as he pushes himself up to stand, sits back down, and struggles to get to his feet. Holding his arms out, he drops his gaze down - accepts that he's going to remain standing.

Removing one of his knit gloves, he notes the snow and dirt on it. Flinging it in the man's direction, he watches as he lacks the strength to get it across the distance and it flops on the ground between them. Vincent stares at it in irritation before stepping forward and attempting to walk past him instead. ]

[...The unearned confidence is rather captivating in an odd way.

Certainly such arrogance should have gotten this man killed, and perhaps it has, yet it would seem he has not learned from it if that is the case. That he would throw a stone (and miss) at the behemoth, then throw his knit gloves (a miss would imply it had hope of reaching him) at Barnabas, then choose to walk past him as if he has earned himself the right?

Barnabas does not move to physically stop him, but neither does he magically stop him either. Instead, he watches him, first with his eyes tracking him, then his head turns slowly to follow.]

And you are bound for...?

[It isn't like Vincent knows the layout of the fortress, just where does he think he is going without the king's guidance anyway? Still, now that Barnabas has spoken, it is certainly solidified that it was he that Vincent had been talking to.]

[ His shoulders involuntarily hunch as he breathes in and out. Each breath is painful, agonizing. He twists his head around to stare at the man upon hearing his voice. Vincent hates he is mouth-breathing, but what choice does he have? Hm???

... wait.

... he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, he holds it there with his top teeth. Nostrils flaring, he keeps breathing hard as he shifts - with great effort!!! - so that he can face the unknown individual. ]

... am bound for? [ Spit and foam build in the corner of his lips. ] Is that... [ He takes a step and his legs immediately give out from underneath him. However, rather than doing some sudden drop, he is sitting on his knees - at least he's able to catch himself like that although it also hurt.

He looks up and points at the man's face before gesturing with his index finger that he comes down to his level!!!! ]

[There is actually a reaction from Barnabas this time. Nothing big or eventful, really, but his eyebrows to shift skyward as Vincent descends to his knees with a solid and painful landing. He offers him no help, why would he? Instead, he just watches this mess of a man continue to prove how pathetic and helpless he truly is. Pitiful in ways that might surprise some, but does not fully surprise Barnabas.

Mankind is wretched, and the depths of how pitiful and frail it can be proves fathomless. That Vincent was able to make it this far puts him above some, but that is no different than saying a rodent stands tall over an insect. Nothing overly impressive, especially with how his little jog has left him in such a state. Was this man truly so out of shape?

At being gestured—directed, really—to literally condescend, Barnabas refuses and stays right where he is. He heard the man bellowing his complaints at his behemoth, winded though he may be at the moment, he need not be closer to hear what he has to say.]

Speak, and I shall hear you.

[He is not getting closer to you, Vincent.]

[ His breathing slows but his shoulders continue to rise and fall with each breath. He lifts his head at the comment - he squints his eyes and mouths the word "oh" as his head bobs side-to-side in a manner that indicates how little he cares for that response.

However, he soon lifts his hand to hold it close to his head - as a means to calm and steady himself. His eyes began to unfocus as he stared at the stone floor in front of him; he thought of how he'd have to ask Chu Wenshan to train him.

He swallows, pressing his lips together, and his eyes closed. ]

Did you want to continue our conversation? Hm?

Once you have caught your breath, perhaps.

[There is...judgment in how he says it, and in how he's looking at Vincent. That he should be so feeble is truly astonishing. He only ran, what, three-hundred feet at most? A pitiful amount, by Barnabas' measure. This place brings all types, and Barnabas considers how this man may not bring the salvation his world needs if this is anything to go by. Though, that is not Barnabas' concern.

Finally Barnabas moves, stepping with careful ease around Vincent as he begins along the Stony path. A silent and unspoken invitation to follow, should Vincent find it within himself to do so.]

[ That white hot purpose comes back to him.

He breathes out a little hard before pushing himself up to stand. ]

You don't get to judge me. [ Vincent all but spits out his words at the man's retreating back. ] You who has power and decides to look down on me. [ Fury gives him new energy as he straightens his posture, remembering everything he thought to say. ]

You don't get to hear a confession of faith and treat as though it your due. You are just another outsider. [ He takes a step closer, what does he care if he is seen as insane at this point ( a lot but whatever.) ]

Those with power never understand the faith of those without it. And ... as for where I go, I go inside to find a place for myself. [ He keeps breathing hard as he pushes forward. ] I will figure it out with or without you.

[ Yeah, maybe he does lust for death. But whatever!!!! ]

Thanks for letting me across the bridge.

[His gait does not change as Vincent speaks to him, well, lectures him really. Though at the mention of power and faith, Barnabas' brow furrows slightly. That he has power means nothing in the face of his faith, and well has he known a life without. Even then a pitiful sprint would not bring him to his knees. Still, Barnabas knows there are limits between power and faith, and the need for one to bring about change through the other. When he was at his most powerless, his faith did not protect that which he held most dear, yet at his most powerful he was lost without his faith. One needs both, if they are to achieve anything at all.

However, the contempt for those with power from those without is not unknown to him, far from, in truth. It is their covetous nature that breeds their sins, makes manifest the suffering that begins with the corruption of their souls, fueled through dissatisfaction and desire.

You are just another outsider.

There is an irony there, to be told that by a man who just chose to trespass, but it is true enough. Whether to Vincent's faith, to Valisthea, Ash, or even Stonhyrr itself--Barnabas has ever been an outsider. Isolated in origin, faith, and ideals...that Vincent should come to remind him of that while seeking refuge as he and his mother once did, it is beyond absurd.

It almost seems as though Barnabas is fit to ignore everything Vincent has said, despite what minor irritation in his expression, yet when Vincent thanks him at the end there, he stops. Pivoting slightly, he looks to Vincent with those cold, steel colored eyes of his.]

Believe yourself permitted to stay?

Edited 2024-12-07 16:09 (UTC)

[ Vincent turns his head to breathe out a loud sigh - it is a white plume in the air. His head tilts to the side; he feels the sweat on his body and it makes the cold feel colder.

But still --

-- he wishes he was walking ahead so he could whirl around.

What he has to say loses impact when he's talking to someone glancing in his direction. He breathes out again - louder, through his teeth. ]

If you're going to kill me, then kill me.

[ If he had the strength in his legs, he would have tried to kick a rock in the man's direction. Hopefully!! He would hit his leg. Would it do any damage? No! Would it make him feel better? T-B-D! ]

Otherwise, shut up.

[ Yes, he's staying - and going to keep walking forward. ]

[Were Barnabas a man who cared about petty things like disrespect and ego, he might have had a more violent reaction to Vincent's manner. In truth, such perfunctory things like politeness were as meaningless as near all other social customs made by man. There to simply comfort the fragile and weak, to allow them some delusion of superiority when they held none.

It is no question between them that Barnabas could unmake Vincent in an instant, for just as easily had he spared the man from the jaws of the behemoth. Yet, Vincent does not bow nor grovel, he does not hold back his thoughts nor criticisms for fear of death. Is it arrogance or apathy that spurs him thus?

Perhaps Barnabas will learn in time.

He studies him for a moment, allowing Vincent to pass him as he does so, deciding what to do with him. He could remove him, true, and yet part of him that is louder than even the thunder overhead thinks otherwise.]

Very well. If you are to stay, the terms shall be negotiated with the guard.

[The guard being the behemoth, of course. Barnabas will not evict you, Vincent, but you best make nice with that killing machine!]

Terms?

[ Ugh.

Vincent gently rubs underneath his chin - the sweat has already cooled. He has that thought that he is definitely going to catch a cold. His tongue clicks; his fumes are still running.

If he gets sick, so what? He'll die before he asks for help. He doesn't need this person's or "the guard's" assistance. Not that he could see the behemoth helping to nurse him back to health, but the point remains as it is. He can only rely on himself. ]

Is it intelligent enough to understand words or was that just you?

[Barnabas in contrast is utterly unaffected by the cold, at least in how he holds himself. He is not dressed for the weather any more than he might otherwise--his typical attire being as it is, most of his chest exposed, his hands uncovered, and no attempt to bundle up beyond the layers his doublet otherwise provides. Whether this is some sort of flex or he is truly untouched by the weather, it is hard to say from a glance.

He isn't shivering, at least.

Vincent is met with a wry huff through Barnabas' nose, and if one were generous they might claim amusement in the fringes of his expression.]

It can understand words, whether it cares to is another matter. You believe yourself clever, do you believe yourself equal to the task as well?

[And with that, wisps of black mist start to form around Barnabas, slowly building upward, as if to swallow his very form.]

Edited 2024-12-07 20:27 (UTC)

Knock that off.

[ He snaps at the black mist that is rising to cover the man. ]

I'm not done talking so what gives you the right to just leave the conversation and not see what I can do? [ A beat passes. ] I guess you can already see it, but don't be irritating. We're going to be neighbors so we should at least try to get along with each other.

[ He tugs on his knitwear, adjusting it, which he hadn't done since he fell on his side in the first place. Speaking of, he's starting to feel some aches in his body. His head tips back as he acknowledges that he probably has some bruises. He might even have a sprain! If it wouldn't waste energy, he might throw his arms up and fling them around - but he has work to do.

Pivoting, he is heading back to the behemoth. ]

Well, hi. [ His tone immediately shifts to something friendly. ] I'm going to be living here, so that whole chasing me thing that was done? It's over with starting today. [ He has to look up to stare into his eyes, but he's making his point. ] It doesn't give you any exercise. You could kill me any day, so don't bother wasting your time with it today or the next.

Kill someone worthwhile who is a godless heathen without any hope for the future. I think they'd appreciate it, even if they'd die screaming and crying. [ He turns his head to bark out a short laugh. ] As I said to him, we're neighbors now so don't be irritating. You can kill me, but I'll just come back, and you've wasted your time.

Got it?!

Edited 2024-12-07 20:44 (UTC)

[There is the slightest widening of Barnabas' eyes as Vincent scolds him about his teleportation magicks starting to roil, about how he wants him to see what he can do, and the amicable nature of being "neighbors". The fearlessness reminds him a little of Havel, how the man would speak out of turn against men he should fear, despite the fragility of his own existence. The hubris of man exuding from him in such a way that grossly highlighted all that is corrupt in man...yet, that tenacity of spirit had a contemptible appeal.

The mist dissipates like the white puff of one's breath in winter, and Vincent is met with a silent tilt of Barnabas' head as he watches him approach the behemoth that has not moved since the king's silent command.

As Vincent approaches and greets it, those imposing eyes stare down at him with all their glowing intensity, yet the beast stays still of its own volition this time. There is an intelligence within its gaze, behind the ferocity and lust for destruction, and for all Vincent only seems to get deep, bestial breathing in reply, there is a level of understanding that isn't just one's imagination.

However, by the end of his little tirade, it stands up, towering over him with ease. Lowering its head, it brings its nose right to Vincent, pressing flush against his front as it takes a long sniff of him. Then it exhales wetly, lifting its head with a chuff. Stepping over him thereafter, as if he were nothing more than pebble among the stones. Clearly disinterested in this little rat of a man who would barely serve as a chew toy.

Though, who is to say it won't find him a convenient chew later on. Behemoths can be fickle creatures.]

[ Ah - what will I lose?

Vincent wonders if he dies what he'll lose. A precious memory? Does he have any of those? A feeling? If they take his happiness, it's a waste - he hasn't felt it despite every avenue that he's walked. A sense? That'll be inconvenient.

There is no way to know - no one can guess.

Guess it is, as always, in God's hands.

His mouth twists into a nasty smile. Smiles never look good on his face; it's more like he never learned how to do so normally. Ah, well, maybe that can be taken?

When the beast steps over him, he can't help but feel a little irritated, but he does say that it was a waste of time to kill him. He has no power; he is powerless. That is why he places almost everything into his faith and the rest into his capabilities. Those with powers won't understand that kind of belief.

His shoulders shake as he feels a wave of pride hit him but also - gravity.

He collapses onto his side.

Blinking, the pain and exhaustion hit his body completely. His eyes roll up - looking around; he has to drag his face across the stone floor to keep looking. ]

Hi, neighbor. I'm Vincent.

[Who is this man, truly? He must be some level of mad to do what he has so far. To see a beast like the Behemoth and simply act as if it were some naughty animal he needed to set straight on its behavior. Not to mention that he did not bat an eye at Barnabas' magic, treating it both mundane and annoying, when most familiar have been conditioned to either be disgusted or frightened.

Here he lays upon the ground, crumpled without pride nor dignity as the Behemoth spares him his life and carries on down the path to guard elsewhere. Barnabas stares at Vincent, meeting his gaze and his introduction with the same affect one might expect from a statue.]

King Barnabas Tharmr.

[There is no shift in tone as he introduces himself, it is spoken with the same disinterest as most else. He glances back to the oppressive stone architecture behind them, his gaze returning to Vincent a moment later as he speaks.]

You are within the bounds of Stonhyrr. You are not a guest, nor less an ally. Remember this.

[You're a squatter, Vincent. He will tolerate you so long as you prove tolerable! Or until his pet eats you, whatever comes first.]

Your Majesty.

[ Vincent lifts his hand in the air to make rolling gesture with his wrist. His hand flops back down on his body as soon as he's finished. Rolling onto his stomach, he grumbles to himself as he starts to pick his body back up. ]

Congratulations, you've invented the concept of neighbors.

[ He breathes out hard to help with boosting himself up to stand. Another wobble like a newborn deer, but he's up! Vincent starts to walk, but feels the sharp pain in doing so; he realizes he really must have sprained his ankle. Great! Cool! He's going to start limping into the building. ]

I won't ask you to show me anywhere, then. I'll figure it out. [ Is what the adds as he limps (slowly!!) past him. ]

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