Premonitions [PV: Leonardo Chiadovini] - Elsewhere…

6 Mar 2025, 06:07

⬩.2/10/25, Early Evening ☽☆☾ Chiadovini Residence.⬩-
The tides of fate are flowing.
@Leonardo Chiadovini

The sun hung low at the sky's throat, the wane of it's brilliance cradled in pale gossamer arms. Hogsmeade's rooftops dripped in honey as the snow dressing them captured the slow dying glow of the day; it's golden essence nestling between each icy fractal to preserve itself, if only for a few moments longer. Urgency was absent in evening's wake.

It was a pleasant break from the endlessly churning machinations of the universe.

Pause.

It felt good.

It felt good to breathe- to admire time frozen- to live without rush. Stillness was a luxury many could not afford. Xailah hadn't known it until she left Hogwarts; even after, she wrestled with the idea of respite. For years she had been running, clawing; always moving; never stopping. She kept herself busy because she feared what could happen- what could catch her- if she slowed down. Training herself to stop was a challenge she had yet to overcome completely, it was hard to rip oneself from what they knew. Abscond urges still reared their ugly heads some days. But today would not be one of them.

Today was quiet. Contemplative.

Pretty as Hogsmeade was this time of year, it's true beauty laid in the less-traced ribs encasing the village's tender heart. Hogsmeade's surrounding forest was something out of a pop-up book, with it's pipe brush shrubbery and armature wire trees hemming the edge of the woods. Deeper, beyond the arts-and-crafts diorama, was a scene more akin to tales told by the Brothers Grimm: denser foliage with trees that swallowed a dying sun, a whispering wind smothered by woodsong, and a few trail guardians dutifully standing watch in the lightless spaces between trees. At the swell of it's belly, a stone cottage stood; erected as a landmark for wildlife and wayward traveler alike.

Past the village, keeping to the fringe teasing the forest's throat, one needn't wonder where Xailah ventured- only what her business was with only a small lidded basket and the light of her patronus for company. It was a sight that tickled the mind, further entwining the threads of folklore and reality: perhaps with her basket and hooded cloak, she was a fabled wishmaker- or a fair entity from a neighboring woodland realm. Nay, she moved with the mindfulness of a tracker. A huntress then.

That would make Leonardo Chiadovini the hunted. Her wolf.

Village folk had been kind enough to give up the location of his den- if reluctantly- directing her right to his doorstep; her arrival given away by the caw of corvids.

The home of Leonardo was a strange little structure nestled in the purgatory between wilderness and civilization: It was the only anchoring semblance of reality this far out. Xailah found the place quite charming and fitting for a man who preferred his own company above all else. It was close enough to Hogsmeade in a way that maintained the convenience of a modern lifestyle- if wished- while establishing enough distance to deter pesky busybodies from visiting.

What distance couldn't deter the cottage itself took care of: with how Hogsmeade's denizen spoke of the place, one would have thought they had a hag's hut planted on the threshold of their village. It was funny, really. Leonardo's stone cottage was certainly no hag's den- Xailah had seen plenty in her time to know the difference between a hermit and a creature that ate children. There weren't nearly enough bones strewn carelessly about for it to be the latter.

Nymh toodled atop her summoner's shoulder as sorceress and patron drew closer to the humble abode, excited by the chatter of the blackbirds overseeing the home. They were greeted by one bird in particular: a rather large fellow, stationed on a wooden beam overhanging the cabin's front door like a feathery gargoyle. He peered down at the pair, his blackcurrant eyes catching Nymh's blue-white light with interest. "Guten Abend!" "Good evening!" Xailah smiled at the avian, taking a moment to admire it's perfectly inky shape. "Is your friend home?"

Hazy amber light illuminated the two frosty windows on the front-facing side of the cottage, but no movement could be spied behind either of them. The bird chittered back, preening at a U-shaped dip in the timber he perched on. "Can you tell him I seek his audience?" A sound not unlike laughter came from the creature's beak; joined by a cacophony of joyous, gurgling, caws from- what looked to be- a small plot reserved for a garden where a few similar birds were playing.

Once resettled, the doorkeeper craned his head down and delivered a few hollow taps to his perch, seemingly mimicking the social gesture of knocking. I see, Xailah chortled softly. Whether or not the beastie truly understood what was asked of it, (although, the woman had always been inclined to believe creatures understood far more than they let on) it had one thing right: she'd have to knock if she wanted to find out if Leonardo was home. A gloved hand reached for the silver knocker secured to the door, giving it three good raps; the ping! of cold metal seeping through her gloves with each. An answer would reveal itself soon enough.

Before me, you rightly tremble. But, fear is not what you owe me. You owe me awe....
Stamina: 12 ~ Evasion: 17 ~ Strength: 2 ~ Wisdom: 16 ~ Arcane Power: 4 ~ Accuracy: 17
Student Account: Martyr Daeva-Lazarus

Leonardo Chiadovini

Oracle Aide, IV

128 518

7 Mar 2025, 19:55

Terrible Presence in Effect
| Aura of Unease Present |
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There is something that is just... not right about him. A chill in the air, a sense felt deep in the bones. The shadows might seem more lively, the night might play more tricks on his opponents' eyes. Yet there is one, undeniable truth -- the source is him.

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Leonardo was not a smoker, but the slight scent of tobacco was in the air mingling with strong tones of decaying leaf litter and musk. On the periphery there was a faint aroma of salt, an allusion to the sea only in an echoed regard, along with a sweet upturn that seemed to insinuate vanilla. It was very strong, perhaps a bit too strong, and so Leonardo was attempting to distract himself with the much cleaner and 'neutral' scent of the green jasmine tea in his hands.

Evening was coming on, and with it would come the chilly dropping of temperature that February always carried upon the coattails--Boreas enjoyed screaming in the trees and howling to the skies his complaints, and Leonardo liked to stay inside with the cozy warmth of a crackling fire and the comforts of his library. Winter, as he well-knew, also brought about some of the best of the clearest skies for celestial observation--but tonight was not the night for it. Indeed it was instead one of those Mondays that was slow-moving and painfully boring. His table was set for visitors, the living area still tidied after its cleaning the day prior after Eviana and Dante had left. His boy had forgotten his soft toy, which was now sitting perched on top of the library shelf and looking over the room like a guardian itself. He anticipated that they would be back sometime this week to collect it. Dante quite loved the gift, which Leonardo had been given to him for his second birthday, the reason he had hidden it away until after the woman had left with his boy.

While his small alternative means of bringing in a little something extra was mostly unremarkable, he had found some level of success in a relatively easily-identifiable crowd--usually those that were very discomforted with the idea of their own mortality, those that had had a scare in a dream or other portent, those who simply had questions about he bric-à-brack of their daily lives, and those that most likely (and most frustratingly to the very thin patience of the Seer) simply wanted to observe a Chiadovini as if he were a final specimen of a near-extinct species. Pickings were slim indeed, but necessary even as humiliating as they were. At least until something better came along... that frustrating, debasing feeling of something elusively escaping his hand even as he tried to wrap fingers about it--water draining through sand.

He was almost ready to close up for the night, just about prepared to figure out what it was he was going to be doing for the rest of the evening before Morpheus inevitably (if begrudgingly) came to visit at the bottom of a phial of Dreamless Sleep, when the low and rasping rattles of many voices outside caused the Seer to lift pale eyes from his tea and instead turned slightly towards the door. Had the Unkindness been disturbed by something, or had they been roused by someone?

Placing the teacup and saucer aside, Leonardo begrudgingly rose to his feet, the chestnut wand familiar in his hand even though its new handle post-redesign after separation from his cane was not. It now looked similar in some regards to that of a riding crop, a leather wrist loop that attached near the connection between the wand and the handle as well as a mushroom-shaped end of the handle itself that featured an engraved design of an armillary sphere. It was far less likely to be separated from his hand in this form, perhaps a product of a certain level of paranoia in the past year, but not an unwelcome benefit as a whole.

A light tap on his door, like a hand knocking gingerly but succinctly.

Collecting his cloak and throwing it over his shoulders in a way that would both obscure his wand arm and protect him from the cold, the wrist strap of the wand braced was slipped on and he padded on stocking feet to the door as a second, stronger knock from a different place on the door--from the knocker proper--presented itself to him.

Xailah would not have to wait long after her second knock, though the initial actions would appear to be slightly wary at first. The door would open inwards with a slight creak in its hinge, quiet but stubborn, and the frame of Hogwarts' former Astronomy professor made itself known in the doorway: visibly leaner than average with a certain sharpness to the shadows that formed across his face and in the darknesses of the velvet and silver-inseamed cloak that bore stellarly-accurate constellations covering a plain white undershirt with suspenders--home casual as it appeared.

There was something new about his appearance from the last time his former student likely would have seen him: a prominent pure white forelock that outlined the right side of his face despite being tucked loosely behind his ear. If there had been doubts of his credibility as being a Seer, this was a mark that offered the assessor to reconsider their former doubts--it had seemingly greyed, nay, whitened--overnight. Yet, his eyes and the way that he held them as he looked down at her from a slightly superior height was the same: dark, almost hooded, tired, hallowedly hollow, but sharp like those of the keen-eyed black birds that looked down at the cabin from the trees with inquisitively dark gazes. Just as similar to a wax statue, just as frail-looking in body as ice lattice moments before a hand's warmth melted its integrity, and just as possessing of a tangible presence of unease that was just barely capable of causing pause and hesitation.

There was a reason few came so far out of their way to visit. They had a very good reason indeed. Those with little bravery would recognize danger when they sensed it, and even those with wits to realize danger and find a way to compose themselves enough to face it could realize that something hidden lurked under the veneer of an almost sickly-looking if cordial man.

He offered to Xailah a small nod of greeting. "Good evening." He remarked slowly, almost with an invisible upturn of inquisition clinging to the end of the greeting with a single blink of observation. "I heard two knocks." Though he had a feeling he already knew where the first and lighter, more high-pitched one had come from.

A low, rasping rattle of a croak overhead only confirmed his suspicions. There was something decidedly special about the birds that had chosen to call the Chiadovini's residence their own compared to some of their more mundane lineages, perhaps the magic in this place had affected them over the course of generations much like the ancestral lineages of owls that had come to allow their services to be used for the purposes of postal. Leonardo had learned such things swiftly. "I see. Alchiba, was that really necessary?" The Seer leaned out of the threshold slightly and glanced upwards towards the lurking corvid, raising one of his brows in inquisition. This particular critter had a habit of knocking on his windowpanes and the beams of the cottage like a strange, overgrown woodpecker--something he had learned, apparently, from humans accustomed to the polite tradition of knocking on a household's door and was starting to teach to the other intelligent corvids that came poking about. The great black bird only preened his feathers in innocent sulk as if he couldn't hear the words of the Seer, perhaps a little miffed that the human in the house had not come out to spend the evening with him and the rest of the Unkindness.

He returned his gaze to Xailah. "Miss... Leveret." He said with that same upturning of the end of his words, as if unsure if he remembered rightly the new name. There had been something in the outlets about the joining of the the Leveret lineage with that of the Alptraums, a fact that he had only paid a certain amount of mind to simply due to the recent passing of Willard under auspicious circumstances. Oh how curious it was, the twists and sticky delights of Pureblood entanglements. How delicious it was for some to find their own name plastered gleefully on front pages, and yet how mortifying for others. How it was seen depended oh so greatly on the way that the tales of trials, murder, and scandal was told--which pen inscribed the right words and spun the right yarn. "If there is something I can do for you, please come in. The temperature drops quickly and the winds blow harder when the sun goes down at this time of the year, even despite the shielding nature of the trees."

So saying, he stood slightly aside in invitation, the golden light of his home surprisingly warm compared to the disposition of the resident that called it his abode.

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Reducio

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Statistics & Abilities

Stamina 5 ⬥ Strength 0 ⬥ Evasion 9 ⬥ Wisdom 15 ⬥ Accuracy 14 ⬥ Arcane Power 17
Seer ⬥ Fearless ⬥ Advanced Casting ⬥ Terrible Presence ⬥ Spell Spread ⬥ Crucio

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Seer

⬥ Uncanny Insight ~ 10% Auto-Dodge & Auto-Hit Rate
⬥ Prophesy ~ Vision Occurrence Chance 1ce/Thread (1/1)
⬥ Indiscriminate Knowledge ~ No Critical Failure Chance & +1 Critical Success Range
⬥ Fatespinning ~ Reroll an Ability Check 3ce/Thread (3/3)

Fearless ~ Immunity to Fear Effects, Spells, and Potions

Advanced Casting ~ +1 Critical Success Range while Casting Spells

Terrible Presence ~ Aura of +1 Critical Failure and 10% Automiss & Damage Reduction

Spell Spread ~ +2 Wisdom DC, +1 Critical Failure Range, -2 Accuracy, +1 Target

Crucio ~ Capability of Casting the Unforgivable Torturing Curse

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@Xailah Alptraum

⟣𝙱𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚜, / 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜⟢

Xailah Alptraum-Leveret

Performer [Intermediate], III

3 749 2 079

14 May 2025, 09:14

@Leonardo Chiadovini

The folktales never inscribed how hospitable the Wolf was; only how sharp his claws and how wicked his teeth were. His reputation was left at the mercy of storytellers and their vicious tongues and quills, each stroke a stone to laden his belly. The story, his crafted being, was his to drown in; his voice never rising loud enough to pierce the rapids that would pull him under, in time. It was an unkind fate, but it was a sentence all beasts were to face.

But, should one seek it; listen to the beings that did not speak the tongue of man; they would find that the woods had a much different story to tell about the Wolf.

The sound of movement settled on sharp ears before it neared the door. Xailah stood alert as the handle rattled slowly. Even if she paid little mind to what village folk muttered about Leonardo, she wasn't immune to pondering what became of his nature with the passage of time. As a mortal on this earth, he was victim to change just as all else was. No one could escape the long arms of Father Time, not even an elusive man such as Leonardo.

Amber spilled onto greyed snow, like a javelin of lightning across a stormy sky. The color widened with each slow breath she took, until it split the winterland down the middle. Concentrated at its center was a bat-winged silhouette. The Huntress readied herself for bared teeth, but not so much as a snarl slipped through fangs. Anticipation dissipated as the sky rained with dark feathers and shrill cries- not of aggression, but friendliness.

For a few good minutes, silence was the only salutation she offered as she took in the tall shape in the soft glow of the doorway. Golds flicked themselves to burnished silvers, searching their cold light intensely. A smile split through the corners of reddened lips; thin, but deep, like a crack across a frozen lake.

Leonardo.

He was a bittersweet sight.

Maybe age etched his eyes with a few fine lines and hollowed them with darkness- and maybe he was a little snowier around the temples than one might recall- but he was undeniably the same Leonardo Chiadovini Xailah knew so many years before. And if there were any doubts, his star-drawn cloak easily did away with them; it was the one relic from her school days that remained unchanged. Time had not yet worn him to a husk.

"Hallo Mr. Chiadovini." the metamorph greeted softly, her voice light with familiarity. She dipped her head respectfully, her gaze steady beneath the shade of her hood. The presence of an Unkindness favoring this spot of the woods was a peculiar sight indeed, but Leonardo's regard for his little doorknocker revealed more than just one simple explanation for their choice to roost here. "Indeed, you did." Smile still apparent, Xailah sent a knowing look above the door where a second greeting spilled from the doorkeeper's inkwell throat.

Such an enchanting little thing Alchiba was- as Leonard called him- making the old astronomers unamused handling of the bird almost criminal. How could anyone be terse with such a delightful creature? While immune to many forms of charm, Xailah could not find it in her to resist Alchiba's and was easily pulled to his defense. "Oh, let him be. He was only trying to be a good doorman," she cooed at the great black bird. "Isn't that right?" Slipping her hand beneath the lid of her basket, she produced an end piece from a loaf of heavily seeded dark bread and held it up as an offering to the cheeky raven, inadvertently rewarding his bothersome behavior. If Leonardo had any plans to break Alchiba of his little habit, he'd best do away with them and save himself the frustration- he stood no chance against positive reinforcement and hearty bread.

What Alchiba didn't claim from the crust got tossed away with practiced aim for the corvids in the garden bed to pick over. It was only fair the rest of the Unkindness didn't go without- birds of a feather and all.

Brushing some crumbs off her hands, she returned her attention to Leonardo. Her gaze, however, did not follow. The slip of her new name was unanticipated as it was surprising. Half astonished the man recognized her, and partly appalled he knew her by a married name, her eyes shifted away from the seer's face, desperately avoiding his steely hues. She stiffened; a bashful gargoyle on his doorstep, uncharacteristic of someone typically so collected.

It wasn't shame or embarrassment that dissuaded her gaze, her avoidance was rooted in something more complicated; a feeling even she had trouble grappling with. It was uncertain- hesitant- but undeniably tender. "So it seems." With that, she folded her hands over themselves and modestly withdrew them into the wings of her cloak, obscuring them from view. "Word travels swiftly." Perhaps to no one's surprise. Their circles had a propensity for cycling news faster than a rat could spread the plague.

Kind, was not a word that typically came to one's mind when describing Leonardo. He was best suited for negative derivatives. Yet, the second he opened his home to the elements, he made himself akin to it- starting with the birds. Strange as they were charming; their presence vouched for a softer part of Leonardo's nature, a piece of soul hidden beneath the cuff of a somber sleeve. Their happy squawks upon seeing him immediately dispelled Hogsmeade rumor for what it was: petty talk. Ravens, let alone a whole Unkindness, were not quick to befriend. Their sole trust in him spoke volumes of his true character behind doors.

And maybe, it was those feathered omens that made Leonardo's offer of shelter easier to accept.

Nymh was the first to let herself into the old cottage, shamelessly fluttering under Leonardo's arm and into the light, leaving a chemtrail of bluish glow for her summoner to follow. A gracious, "Thank you," was given as the metamorph slipped after her patronus.

Xailah breached the doorway with all the wariness of a feral cat, looking up and around as if at any given second the house would snap shut on itself, giving way to a cleverly hidden cage. It was an old, unbroken Hogwarts habit- muscle memory. This once, however, she'd stop herself before she started logging potential exits. Pausing not far from the door, she tried to take in the space slowly, letting the cottage settle over her like a weighted blanket. Grounding, but not restricting.

The cottage was warm. The cottage was safe. Hogwarts... well, it had its reputation for a reason. It seldom possessed either quality. Even if Leonardo's strange aura tried to convince her otherwise, there was nothing to fight here.

Scents swam like fog in the air, marking the home with phantom fingerprints of a day come and gone. It wasn't unlikely to assume someone (or many someones) had been here before her, and not too long ago.

The heady aroma of vanillin was the first deciphered from the bouquet of smells. A strong feminine note. Sticky-sweet. Nearly suffocating. It was deceivingly pleasant on the first inhale before quickly becoming overwhelming with the second, making the tobacco in the olfactory charcuterie almost a welcome palate cleanser. Almost. Bitter and acrid, it clung unpleasantly to the vanilla, leaving little room to appreciate the more pleasant odors woven with the two. It begged the question: which scent was meant to cover, and which lingered as an unwanted guest? Xailah couldn't begin to tell. Both made her head twist.

A wave of nausea hit the woman almost instantly, her hand quickly rising to action to prevent the remnants of a pre-dinner snack from spewing Leonardo's floor with an unwanted coat of lacquer. The sickness was easily blinked away, providing temporary relief. If Leonardo happened to notice, he'd be sent an apologetic look. "The senses have been unkind these last few weeks, pardon me," she swallowed.

When she had a better grip on her bearings, she'd regard him properly. "I must apologize for visiting at such a late hour," the changeling gave politely. "I did not catch you at a bad time, I hope?" With a flicker, she eyed his fragmented ensemble. Plain shirt, suspenders, stockings; he didn't seem to have plans for visitors- or if he did, Xailah certainly wasn't the right visitor, seeing as he looked more prepared for a date with the Sandman than an old ghost from his professor days. She tried to look past the leisurewear, casting her gaze to the shelves and bookstacks lining the small living space. There was no room for judgment; she often lounged far less decently in the privacy of her own home- not that anyone beyond her spouse and his unattended shirts would know.

Skimming the rows of old titles on display, a strange character was spotted among the familiar faces of universal theory, divination, and celestial phenomena. High on the tallest shelf, a pair of glassy eyes stared down from a lumpy plush body.

Leonardo had a doll.

Leonardo had a doll?

It was too bizarre not to address. Uncurling her pointer finger at the fellow overseeing the room, a question left Xailah's lips slowly. "...Are you a collector of sorts?" At that second, it was the only explanation that made any sense to someone who hadn't gotten the memo about recent life changes within the Chiadovini line. If Xailah had paid more attention at those haughty pureblood parties her aunt dragged her to, then maybe she'd look less of a fool.

Leonardo Chiadovini

Oracle Aide, IV

128 518

27 May 2025, 19:13

Terrible Presence in Effect
| Aura of Unease Present |
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There is something that is just... not right about him. A chill in the air, a sense felt deep in the bones. The shadows might seem more lively, the night might play more tricks on his opponents' eyes. Yet there is one, undeniable truth -- the source is him.

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The smallest indication of emotion presented itself as a momentary and fleeting amused upwards twitch of the corner of his lip as the former pupil defended the actions of the concierge overhead, and the large motes of feathery darkness would take kindly to another human fulfilling the duties that the first had failed to perform so far that evening. Seed was good for the corvids, even if the dough proper was less-so, and they were certainly resourceful enough to find their meat and berry as the new sprout and blossom yielded fruit and the creatures that were unfortunate enough to find themselves weakened after a winter chill were found wanting in the bitter waltz that was nature's means of thinning any overpopulation of flora and fauna.

Alchiba stooped from his favored perch and down for the food with a croak, as did a few others of notable name both from the trees and from the hidden nooks of the cottage's wooden bones: Pallas, Mórrígan, Altair, Pagliaccio. As for his habit, the Seer recognized the importance of natural and recreational enrichment despite his... chagrin at the inherent nature of that learned skill. They weren't vicious in their greetings towards the strange new witch, simply excitable, their feathers would stroke like firm horsehair bristles on skin and scaled feet would gently curl and grasp on shoulder or forearm, claws ever-cautious to never grip too tightly. They had learned by experience in the form of the frail, thin skin of the Seer, even if accidentally caused wounds had never lingered long.

When satisfied, they would pick about the garden, upturning leaf litter and pecking at the woodlice or ants beneath. Every so often a glossy beak would reveal a sparkle of material in the scant light with its probing: coins, keys, rings... quartz, marbles, oyster shells with pearlescent nacre innards, bits of seaglass and bottleglass. Little, shiny things.

Tells in the Alptraum child were not hard to miss, especially to eyes that had been long-trained to watch for and seize such indications with vigor. Argent beheld the slight shrinking with nary a waver to their beholding. Complicated body language, mingled indications. Had she been sure she had wanted to come all this way? Or was the reason for such a venture, a reaction to his inquiry, the vandal behind such subito aversion?

"And whispering tongues can poison truth." Another thin, curious upward curl of his lips before it vanished again. "I find word tends to travel too quickly at times." A further reason for trusting little and watching more.

The bluish ethereal moth patronus fluttered past his arm and into the household, his pale eyes following with fleeting interest at the charming little arthropod guardian, and the former pupil followed. With a light bow in response to her thanks, Leonardo proceeded to gently close and latch the door. No magic was needed, not at the moment, and the Unkindness was left to croak and laugh in the night.

As he let the young woman gain her bearings, the Seer clasped the cloak properly so that it comfortably fell around his shoulders in the familiar and signature fashion that resulted in the obscuring of his arms when he had them at his sides, traversing to the table where there were two teacups both filled with tea. His movements were smooth but careful in the pleasant silence cut only by the popping firewood, sweeping one aside and placing it on the shelf covered with potion components and palming the deck of tarot cards in its place. He was, admittedly, under the assumption that it was his telling services that would be desired, and so he was prepared for it.

The flicker of alabaster hand fluttering to lips would not evade his sight as he had returned, though he did pause and observe quietly with careful presence as she apologized. "It's truly no bother, especially from a former pupil. Would something to clear the mind be of help? I have several herbal teas on hand." Came the softly curt return query with assurance. Chamomile, licorice root, peppermint... traditionally, the Chiadovinis tended to err towards the herbal for both magical and health reasons. The gold and black backed cards slid onto the table. "And, if I may offer a seat," He pulled a chair away from the table, perhaps too well-trained in the formal art, and if Xailah accepted he would help to push it back in again. "do tell the reason for your visit, if there is something I can do to assist you."

But the question of collector caused him to follow the woman's eye, falling upon Dante's vintage raven on its high perch overlooking the room. "Yes..." He said slowly. Perhaps he had made the soft item a little too visible... "I have found myself to be a bit of a lifelong learner." So saying, he crossed to the shelf and considered the critter for a moment without looking up at it.

Was it better to pretend he had not noticed, or was it better to simply accept that the little piece had been discovered? His fingers wrapped instead around a small pocket-sized enamel, ebony, and brass telescope he well-knew was of the 1800s era's make, he turned it in both hands for a moment before replacing it on its stand with measured disinterest. "And, I suppose because of that same nature, guilty of a collector's habit." He rarely actively used such antique items, but he cared for them just as diligently. The same went for his horde of books, though those that concerned poultices, potions, and magics were infinitely more wrought with use yet kept in similarly crisp conditions. No... the little boy would be kept in blissful anonymity for as far as it was possible. He was displeased as it was that fangs glittered and claws curled already in anticipation for any minute developments concerning the little prince.

If there was a God, He would certainly know the trials that the child would one day be forced to undergo for the sake of satiating the scrutinizing Eyes.

Thoughts were interrupted as a silvery ghost walked through the wall of ingredients and their brewing equipment, a thick shock of white discernible even among the wild curls of hair that must have been much darker in life. In one hand was a pipe that was being replaced in his mouth and in the other was a saucer that held a teacup. His trappings were of the 1700s Italian era, though admittedly less of that of nobility and instead that of something akin to a worker's ensemble. Actually, it was perhaps more inclined towards the 1700's version of a mad scientist: linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves to the elbows and broad at the collar layered neatly over a simple waistcoat, leather breeches that cut at the knee, and riding boots that took their place down to the foot. He was strangely 'ruddy' for a ghost, his glow while moderately faded being pure and luminous in a shade closer to white than blue: his eyes the brightest and most piercing shade of silver of all.

He was speaking as he 'walked' through, his feet striding a few centimeters off the ground. "Questo tè verde è abbastanza buono, molto forte. Cosa hai detto che era di nuovo: jasmine e camelia? This green tea is quite good, very strong. What did you say it was again: jasmine and camellia?" The spectre 'puffed' on the pipe while looking at the fireplace's mantle and the little knickknacks upon it, producing a thin, invisible line of 'smoke' that was even more immaterial than the rest of him was. "E anche l'ambra grigia è deliziosa, dovrei cercare di convincere tua madre a bruciare un po ' del Demesne qualche volta. Davvero non mi sentivo così vivo dal 1713! Haha! And the ambergris is most delightful as well, I should try to convince your mother to burn some about the Demesne sometime. Truly I haven't felt this alive since 1713! Haha!" He turned and immediately fell silent, glancing between Leonardo, who had seemed to suddenly freeze in place mid-service like a statue, and Xailah. "Oh. Buongiorno! Benvenuti! Oh. Hello! Welcome!" The pipe in his hand was swept politely in greeting, along with a very deep bow.

In the moments during which Leonardo slowly closed his eyes and mentally counted to three before opening them again, one could almost sense the exasperated sigh. 'Of all the unfortunate timings...'

The still-living Seer took a slight breath followed by a tight exhale as he recovered, gesturing to the spirit. "I deeply apologize, Miss Xailah, this is... Agostino, an ancestor--great, great, great..." He had to think for a moment on how many generations... "I believe four or five greats total... grandfather. He says hello and welcome." Agostino had been invited to his home a few times for personal reasons, they had several things to discuss and they had been discussing them frequently over the course of the year. He was, indeed, the reason for the strong scent of tobacco--the ambergris. In life, the spirit had had a very strong, vice-like attachment to the import and other strong variants of the leaf. In death, the powerful and pungent scent often enabled him the comforting, if fleeting, sense of nostalgia of enjoying a good pipe.

"Perdonami se non parlo inglese, sono passati tre secoli da quando l'ho usato per uno scopo significativo. Forgive me for not speaking English, it's been three centuries since I used it for any meaningful purpose." The ghost smiled.

"He hasn't spoken English since he shed the mortal coil." Leonardo hated playing translator and his flat and impassive method of speaking was proving it. "He apologizes for forgetting how."

But as nice as introductions were, now was not the time for such pleasantries. "Reverendo Agostino, ti prego perdonami per questo, ma mi sembra di avere un ospite. Revered Agostino, please forgive me for this but I appear to have a guest." He said softly but sternly, clasping his hands behind his back curtly and gently standing across from the phantom. His chin slightly tipped towards the ghost, but his eyes did not depart from it. "Mi perdoni per un po'? Would you please pardon me for a while?"

"Oh Leuccio, non smetti mai di lavorare, vero? Oh Leuccio, you never cease working, do you?" Another flash of luminescent teeth in cheerful disposition. "Molto bene, i vivi prenderanno parte alla loro vita. Di sopra, suppongo? Very well, the living shall partake in their lives. Upstairs, I suppose?"

"Se non fosse rozzo da parte mia chiedere. If it would not be uncouth of me to ask." Soft, deferent, though if Xailah was keen (as he suspected she was) she may have noticed that for an infinitesimal moment the Seer's waxy cheeks had pinked at the geist's utilization of "Leuccio".

"Affatto. Piacere di conoscerla, signora! Mi scuso per il disturbo. Not at all. A pleasure to meet you, madam! I apologize for the disturbance." The ghost swept into a deep and low bow all the way to his knee, his locks of hair floating after him only to be 'fixed' as he righted himself once more and replaced the pipe in his mouth before running his hand through his hair. With a small spin, he proceeded to spring through, and vanish into, the ceiling and presumably into the room above, Leonardo's gaze following him the whole way.

After a pause, he turned on his heel slightly and returned to the present. "Ancestors." He said very matter-of-factly, soundlessly travelling to the opposite side of the divining table across from Xailah and taking into hand his own jasmine and camellia. It was better Agostino here than any other number of ghosts at the Demesne simultaneously, though. Arguments among those others had oft summoned the entire living household at times, forcing them apart only with the assistance of several Skurge spells.

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@Xailah Alptraum

Xailah Alptraum-Leveret

Performer [Intermediate], III

3 749 2 079

17 Jun 2025, 18:09

@Leonardo Chiadovini

Few moments arose where a wix could experience something magical in the mundane. With glamours oversaturating much of the wizarding world, the wonders of wizarding life were often driven to scarcity. What did "magical" truly mean, in a place where all things breathed the essence of enchantment? Sometimes, when a wix was fortunate, they would find their own answer.

It took Xailah the better part of eighteen years to discover hers. She found magic was the strongest when she walked the line between ordinary and the Veil. That's where the Little Things were; burrowed between the road-map fractures in stone and moss, or suspended in the tidepools of mysticism.

The Chiadovini cottage housed ordinary and unordinary; settling into both fracture and mystical well: a place to rest, for those trekking the Between. More than just simple scavenger birds, the guardian corvids proved magical in their own right as they neared the scene at the doorstep, eyeing Alchiba's treat with eager, beadlet eyes.

Xailah held still for them as they flurried and clasped her frame, for closer inspection. Alight with wonder, her gaze shifted between Leonardo and his forest friends; and for the slightest, fleeting moment, she felt an overwhelming sense of belonging as the latter cloaked her from the cold with their sooty feathers. She hadn't felt kinship like this since withdrawing from her ancestral London home; in turn, leaving behind the flock of death's-head hawkmoths she had devoted a large portion of her lifetime to rearing. They were so sorely missed in this new phase of metamorphosis.

Touched by a memory just out of Leonardo's reach, her eyes briefly fell shut as she imagined the flick of raven quills to be the paper-like flutter of dusty moth wings. When she opened her eyes again, she'd laugh; softly, as to not disturb the ravens feeding. "Jetzt vorsichtig. Hier ist genug für euch alle." "Carefully now. There is plenty here for all of you." The darkling chided, watching as one of the smaller ravens hopped down the length of her arm to steal a crumb from Alchiba. A light laugh would slip as another bird scolded the runt, having noticed the attempted thievery.

Maybe coming here wasn't a mistake.

"They are very gentle." A soft remark, matching the bird's careful regard. Their grips were firm, but not digging; clasping like well-fitted onyx bangles. Not all creatures were so gentle; birds especially had a habit of leading with their talons and beaks. Not the Chiadovini corvids, though. Much like Alchiba and his tricks, their gentleness was a conscious effort. Clever little creatures, the pantheress thought, as the unkindness dispersed once they had their fill.

In spite of the withdrawal they provoked, the Seer's words still managed to strike something. Xailah appeared again, this time unlike the shy beast that had receded into its shell. She stood once again, as she had come; as collector and hunter. Gone was the cordial approach between mentor and former mentee; they spoke heir-to-heir, now. "Indeed," was all she had to say on the matter of tongues and toxins, at first- until Leonardo's all-too-knowing curl hooked her like a fish to a barb. "The swiftest tongues do not know they lap from the same trough they poisoned. They are an inconvenience, nothing more." Arsenic could not be detected if it was gulped without savor. The slower, testing palates, were the ones to look out for. While they did not spread poison as quickly as their faster mates, theirs was slow-acting but detrimental all the same.

His commentary would punctuate itself as an unusual point of consideration as he adjusted his cloak and locked the cottage door. The latter was nothing unusual, but while he shifted the fabric draped upon his body, Xailah saw, for only a second, that his wand had never been holstered. He'd been holding it when he answered the door, concealed beneath his cloak. The handling would not be commented on or questioned, simply observed.

The offer of drink and a seat was accepted with a slight- yet eager- nod. "Tea would be delightful. Host's choice." She only hoped she could keep it down. The woman took the place Leonardo spared for her at his table- not bothering to question why there were two cups there already. Perhaps he foresaw this visit or one was left from an earlier client, though the latter was more likely as one cup was whisked away.

In any case, she was thankful for the hospitality, expressing her appreciation with a single bow of her head. In exchange for the tea and temporary shelter, she placed her own offering on the table. "I brought some things for you," she said, sliding her little basket toward him. "I was not sure what you liked, so I got one of everything from Hogsmeade's bakery. I would have tried my hand at making some goods for you, but I am not much of a cook, I fear," she explained with a fleeting curl of her mouth's corner, a partial hint to why she came to him so late in the day.

In further truth, it had been somewhat of a last-second venture to satiate an unusual bout of peckishness; which the bakery's owner had capitalized on, allowing Xailah to leave with more food than she knew what to do with. When gripped by that ravenous, tangible hunger, she had been certain she could have eaten all that had been purchased. "I will not be offended if you do not wish to accept my offerings." An addendum, in the instance he was too polite for his own good. She had already prepared for rejection long before arriving at the cottage, having not expected to make it past the doorstep; but, Leonardo only continued to surprise. Still, she was ready for the gentle let-down, if he was not one to take gifts.

Come the inquiry about intentions, she brought her hands atop the table, folding them onto themselves. "To be truthful, I sought your abode because I wanted to see you," she admitted with a drifting breath. Not for help. Not to gawk at him like Hogsmeade's busybodies. Just to... confirm he existed beyond memory.

"I had the privilege of meeting with Farron Horne back in November-" For work. It was by chance the stars fell into alignment, forming an unconventional bridge that allowed their paths to cross. "-the witch who succeeded you after you departed from your astronomy position." She explained. "It was nice to see someone who... made it out." There was no need to elaborate on what that meant. Leonardo was surely aware of the unending trials Hogwarts attendees faced; distress wasn't so easily forgotten, even years after separation from the source. No one, not even the most skilled professors the school had to offer, left without harboring some baggage; and the unluckiest of the lot didn't even have the pleasure of getting to leave.

"While Ms. Horne and I were catching up- as old associates do- I overheard a few Hogsmeade denizen discussing the curious topic of the village fortune teller, who just so happened to go by the name Leonardo Chiadovini." A slight smile hid behind polite ruse. "They do not speak of you with fond regard. Nor have they grasped the proper pronunciation of your surname." Her hands shifted, fingers bowing into a cradle to support her chin.

"I understand it is, perhaps, a silly notion; but I could not snuff my curiosity." She hummed a flat note, dipping her gaze to the porcelain of the remaining teacup. "However, since you asked- and seeing as I do not wish to waste more of your time than necessary- I suppose there is a matter you may be able to aid me with." But that would have to be discussed once the glaring doll matter was addressed proper.

Incredulous, was the look delivered at Leonardo's evasion. Had he not- no, he did see her point, she was sure. Knife blade-gaze stayed on the man as he made his way across the room to perform his best act yet: the Elusive Collector. Where was this man when Shakespeare was in his prime? He would have made a killing in Elizabethan theatre. While Leonardo's shelved bits and bobs were certainly impressive and worthy of recognition, his antique telescope wasn't currently looking down at the duo with two pleading beads for eyes, begging to be let down from its guard post. Quick to amend the confusion, Xailah would raise her finger a little higher. "Oh, your collection of academic material is quite lovely, but I was referring to the-" Call it luck or incredible timing, Leonardo would be saved from interrogation by a chance intrusion. The tradeoff for keeping his secret for a little longer? Mild inconvenience.

A small price to pay in the name of confidentiality, especially when a child was involved. Out of touch with small children and the mementos they tended to leave about (seeing as there hadn't been a baby in the Alptraum household since the birth of her sister- fifteen years ago- and her youngest relatives were her in-laws, Remedy and Avery); Leonardo with a child wasn't a concept Xailah even began to consider. It seemed a preposterous idea, in complete truth.

Macabre was to be expected with the Chiadovini man- between the Unkindness and his witches hut from fable, encountering something ghastly was almost a given. The Alptraum heiress welcomed all the dark qualities of his home with familiar joy- the phantom intruder included. Ghostly pipe in hand- a curious remnant of the life he had long departed from, and a potential indicator of the light odor he seemed to emit- and radiating with rustic brilliance, the non-corporeal man stole all attention with ease.

Nymh fluttered around him curiously, delighted, perhaps, over the prospect of meeting another non-corporeal being.

Introductions were given, albeit begrudgingly; though, they were hardly needed. That ghost was a Chiadovini man if the pantheress ever saw one. One needn't look far to see where Leonardo got his genes; silver eyes, vellum skin, and unruly chessboard hair must have been dominant traits in their line. "Do not apologize, he is no bother. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Agostino." Xailah hesitated with what to call him; her kneejerk reaction was to address him by the surname he (presumably) shared with his great, great, great- five greats total- grandson, but ultimately concluded two Mr. Chiadovinis under the same roof was one Mr. Chiadovini too many. Polite didn't have to mean personal.

The second apology, this time from the spirit himself, was pushed away much more gently and cushioned with light humor. "You lose what you do not use." A cheeky finger wagged at the silver specter. "It is no trouble at all. Although, knowing what was being said would have been nice too.

The words exchanged may have been missed through the simple fault of not understanding all spoken, but what hadn't gone unnoticed was Leonardo. Or rather, a flash of oddness in him- if such was even possible with the (already) exceedingly strange man. Was that... life, budding beneath the marble of his flesh? Peculiar. If there were any doubts about Leonardo Chiadovini being among the living, fear not, the proof rested above the carving of his cheeks. Unable to pinpoint the cause for such a response, Xailah could only assume the ancient Agostino had let something embarrassing slip, as all grandfathers tend to do.

Excusing himself from the conversation further supported this idea. Tickled by his ability to coax more than a stern look from his stoic of a grandchild, Xailah called to him with a request. "Before you go-" Her hand unfurled inquisitively to the phantom, in hopes of stealing one more second of his time. "I am unfamiliar with the tongue in which you speak. Give me a word to learn." If she was lucky, maybe he'd share the one that made the younger Chiadovini go pink.

Overlooking Leonardo's exasperation- which was amusingly akin to a teenager's, who had just been abashed by his relatives in front of his friends- was a challenge in and of itself. A chuckle nearly slipped, but Xailah saved herself with a grim remark. "I haven't the pleasure of mine being dead." The worst of them, anyway. The ancestors who had crossed over to the netherworld rested peacefully, or at the very least kept out of living affairs on a corporeal level. "You keep that one close." Golds slid to the upper level of the home where the ghost had vanished. He may be your thorn, but I suspect there is a reason he chooses you to haunt. Aside from you two being family, and therefore an easy target for mischief, of course."

Watching the man collect his tea and take his spot at the table, Xailah circled back to the purpose of her visit; filing the ghost and doll away to revisit another time. "I was going to inquire about your services, before that little interruption." Her eyes flashed to the ebony cards he had laid on the table earlier. "I have been plagued by the strangest dream since the beginning of this month. I am... unsure what to make of it. Might I pester you about a reading, with the hope of gaining some clarity?"

Leonardo Chiadovini

Oracle Aide, IV

128 518

2 Jul 2025, 21:33

Terrible Presence in Effect
| Aura of Unease Present |
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There is something that is just... not right about him. A chill in the air, a sense felt deep in the bones. The shadows might seem more lively, the night might play more tricks on his opponents' eyes. Yet there is one, undeniable truth -- the source is him.

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At the indication of "host's choice" the Seer quickly ran through his inventory of teas and attempted to determine the most ideal one. Perhaps... simply chamomile. Yes, that would be fine. It had been strange, his hand had hovered over licorice root and over ginger for a few moments each... but something had caused his confidence to waver for long enough to convince him towards the simpler chamomile that he was running low on due to its popularity among customers on the whole. It had been a feeling--a gut feeling--but that had been enough to stay his hand. Something in choosing either of those two other herbal substances had... seemed wrong.

"Well it would be remiss of me to turn away a gift," He said simply, his brow furrowing as he tried to reconcile the sensation with the rejections he had made, what it meant, "especially when given from the heart and with pure intention." He would not so much linger on the rules of the Fair Folk in this matter, and instead busied himself with sorting the tea and ensuring that the fragrance and the flavor of the leaves would be suitably strong and spread enough. "Insofar as the culinary art... well," He shrugged to himself. "I've found that time and practice are excellent teachers." It had been a while since he had had house elves (or other trained chefs in their family legacy that were still hired under the Chiadovini family's behest) preparing the food that he ate on a daily basis.

While the tealeaves had steaming water poured over them, Leonardo listened attentively. "Is that so...?" Came the soft inquest. "I am pleased that the school found a well-qualified professor. She seemed capable and personable enough." Yes, he had met Miss Horne before as well, though admittedly it had been during one of his... less-than-best moments. Yet he remained silent and contemplative when the topic of his former professorship at Hogwarts was conjectured. Yes, that school never seemed more than a few inches away from tragedy in recent years, it seemed. Even when he had been schooled there the dangers had been great, indeed he had only graduated a few short years before one of the bloodiest wars in recent Wizarding memory.

A slight smile again. Yes... reputation preceded him, as it always had: foreign name or not. "Well, I don't think many would fancy testing a theory that visiting a 'feral' Chiadovini Warlock makes for a pleasant picnic." He raised his brows, recalling one of the strangest vocalizations he had heard once while in town for ingredients. "I myself wouldn't find myself eager to test the theory." He placed the teacup and saucer before the Alptraum heir, his expression having slipped back into the comfortable grim masque as business came to be at hand. "But cats do possess nine lives for good reason."

It was only because of the fact that Agostino had chosen to make his presence known that Leonardo was spared from the worst of the embarrassment of trying to explain away the item that seemed to be the most out-of-character for the dark-temperamented man, and perhaps for that he should have been grateful. And perhaps he was, though it seemed at the same time to be a matter of being thrust out of the frying pan and instead directly into the fiendfyre. Indeed, he was once again relegated to playing translator, though for the sake of niceties he was more than willing to oblige the matter.

Agostino was thoroughly delighted with the guest that had taken remarkably (at least by ghost and Chiadovini standards) bemused interest with him. It was strange to see the two men side-by-side, the ancestral ghost and the living descendant: one all smiles, mirth, ease and fluty delight in speech while the other remained grim and composed with a dirging cadence.

"Una parola? A word?" He queried with a brief thought, pale eyes averting towards the skies in thought as he tapped his pipe on his lips. "E che dire di Leuccio? Well, how of 'Leuccio', indeed?" His eyes returned to Leonardo, who continued to stare at him deadpannedly. 'Of course...'

Agostino raised an eyebrow and Leonardo sighed in defeat. "In Italy, it's common to add diminutive suffixes to names to denote familiarity or affections." He felt it required the explanation to an extent. "Usually among family members, friends, or lovers, naturally." He glared at Agostino again, as if he could somehow petrify the ghost like the fearsome basilisk. "Leuccio is one of those diminutives, often for the name Leucio or Luciano. Literally, it translates to "small pale one" "white" or, in some cases, "weak" or "frail" due to its association with "Leukemia" via the Greek root "Leukos"."

"Significa "piccolo puro". It means "little pure one"." Agostino puffed on the pipe again with veiled amusement. ""una pelle chiara, gentile e delicata."Come una piccola stella. "fair-skinned, gentle and delicate one." Like a little star." The little smoky 'wisp' did a poor job fogging the visible twinkle of deep affection in the faded ghost's eyes.

"It could, therefore, be applied to "Leonardo", especially as a physical descriptor nickname." He was doing everything in his power to ignore the sweet and affectionate words of the ghost. It was neither the time nor the place for such things.

And when Agostino left them in blessed peace, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes for a few moments and then returned to his work. "Agostino is a very dear ancestor. He died very suddenly." It seemed a pattern that many of the Chiadovini males seemed to have the unfortunate nature to encounter. Sudden, sometimes inexplicable, deaths; often at ages around or slightly younger than his own. Agostino himself had only been nearing Leonardo's current age when he had suddenly died seemingly in his sleep from an alleged accidental poisoning despite his near perfect health. "His demeanor is very different than most of the rest of the ghostly host, and he took a particularly internalized... responsibility for me when I was young." Agostino, it could be argued, had been a second father to him--and while he had his own quirks he had filled neatly the deep and gouging gaps that Ricardo possessed in his own methods and means.

"He comes here to gain respite from the rest of the spectres sometimes. And... I do not complain. He is a good houseguest."

Once he had his own tea--he had decided licorice root for himself, for it was indeed one of his favored teas in moderation--his role changed. The mention of a potential dream portent immediately ignited in him a deep interest, for indeed his own most powerful and most accurate predictions came in the form of Oneiromancy. Perhaps the shift in his demeanor was more sudden than one may have thought: the gleam in his eye turned to starlight in its coldness and age, discerning and terribly aware. His fingers turned the teacup soundlessly on its saucer, a considering action that indicated focus, and his brow furrowed heavily to form a shadow that darkened the hollows of his eyes more fully.

An air of menace was in the air now, and the shadows seemed to flicker to life in tandem with the sound of sap crackling in the burning logs of the fire.

Perhaps some of the rumors that had begun to circle about the recluse's web had not been entirely without basis.

"You may indeed." Had his voice changed as well? Become more hollow, having gained an edge of bassiness that rumbled in the table itself. "Tell me everything you remember. We may also consult the cards for further insights as well." It was still soft, still the professor that Xailah likely remembered during his short stint, but while the changes may have been misconstrued for performative at first gut-check, it could not be waived aside the fact that the Seer seemed to now be visibly more imposing despite the lack of any actions to enforce such ideas--larger than what a frail and lean form would have been able to evoke in the mind of most.

This was a Chiadovini that the Alptraum heir was speaking to. The last of them known to have the power.

And the last of a species tended to possess the sharpest teeth and the most bristled air about them. An awareness of its own uniqueness--of its mortality.

Pale fingers began to shuffle the tarot cards, their golden moon backs and star-threaded design dancing with lives of their own as he plied them with practiced skill.

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@Xailah Alptraum

Xailah Alptraum-Leveret

Performer [Intermediate], III

3 749 2 079

18 Oct 2025, 17:21

@Leonardo Chiadovini

Providence. Sometimes, when fate was not weaving, meddling, or hiding its hand, it plucked out a new thread to strengthen the lead rope of one of the mortals under its watch- revealing a nurturing side to an otherwise unpredictable (and often malignant) entity.

Through the wavering lens of crawling nausea, Xailah watched Leonardo's waxy fingers sample the collection of blends he had on reserve. Licorice sounds lovely, came a gluttonous thought from the gnawing little beast of a conscience she swallowed down; a craving short-lived, as her mind quickly returned to suppressing the acid scaling her chest. She kept her focus on his work, transfixed by the fluidity in his movements. Quick were his hands; his palms and fingers shuffling as one streamlined unit, demonstrating decades of trade wrapped under rice paper skin; pale, with mortal translucency. A faint reminder that he too was fleeting, in the face of an immortal craft.

Conversation did well enough to keep her mind away from the unwanted disruption of lingering smells her nose had yet to adjust to. She listened, mostly, adopting a faint unassuming smile as the mentor regarded the basket. While the pureness of her heart and intentions were up for debate, there was certain relief in parting with some of the saccharine, paper-wrapped burdens. Even if the goods found their way into the snow for the birds, at least the vile turntable of overconsumption had been nulled for one day.

"While I find that proves true for other crafts," Xailah peered eagerly across the table, gaining a better view of Leonardo's tea preparation, "time and practice have no patience for me in the culinary arts." It was a terribly ironic predicament. Xailah could brew well, and she was well-versed in intricate tasks requiring a great deal of skill and patience. The formula was all there, and yet, cooking came as a reoccurring challenge for no reason other than to be an inconvenience. Failure plagued her efforts in the kitchen, time and time again. "I try, still, with the hope of seeing a change in my skill. In the meantime, I am fortunate to have been blessed with a very talented personal chef." Never keen to rely on another, cooking was the one area where she was content to make an exception.

Farron was one of Hogwarts' kinder pieces of history. Talk of her came as sweetly as She, at least for one of two oddlings. "While her tenure may have been short, she was a gift to many of the students she taught." Xailah said in agreement. "I am glad she is there no longer. That place does terrible things to spirits like hers." Pausing on the solemn note, she looked up from the steeping tea in confrontation of a subtle slip in conversation. "Seemed?" To that, she rose a brow. "You are familiar?" Such a small oyster shell the world was; though, Leonardo's knowledge of the fellow ex-astronomer was slightly unsurprising, considering her choice to roost in Hogsmeade village. Farron specialized in hospitality, and Leonardo, while not as warm as the Australian, was not too unsimilar in that regard. Their tracks were near-destined to cross at least once.

How strange was it that she had chosen Leonardo, out of all figures of memory, to visit; let alone, permit aid. There was something animal about it all. The choice. Seeking him out. Their exchange. Not animal in a cunning, fleeting sense- met with hooked teeth and frothing, dripping gums- animal in a cautious one. Leonardo had likely tended to his fair share of ill fauna delivered unto him by the woods: ravens, being social birds, commonly sought help from able-bodied creatures when needed. Xailah's behavior, while primarily cordial, shared an uncanny likeness to ailing, furtive beasts, when she faltered in the intermission between pleasantries.

Perhaps it was a trust of sorts. Recognition of similitude between heirs and beings of fable. Or, at the very least, an audacious streak telling of the feline's quondam time in Gryffindor; so the corvid man would remind. "I suppose not, but it would make for an interesting one, no?" Between them, that inclination for adventure was where the similarities would end. "A rumor of such nature inspires intrigue." And put much more simply: testing the theory sounded all but unappealing. One life could be spared to indulge wonder.

Xailah dipped her head in silent gratitude upon her host's delivery. Teacup and saucer sang with a soft clink! on the table, inviting her to indulge in the comfort waiting within. Heeding the call, the darkling took the cup in both palms, siphoning what heat she could from the vessel's underbelly. Tea steam warmed her senses and dampened her throat as she brought the porcelain's lip to her mouth; breaking the sporadic waves of illness by providing a steady moment of solace. She dipped into the liquid balm and withdrew with a still, "Mhmm". A thimbles worth was enough to satiate, but the cup was kept near for the sake of savoring. "The tea is very fragrant. Do you craft your own blends?"

Mayhaps there was fortune for Leonardo, in the heiress not knowing her way around a frying pan. She'd leave him to smolder in the coals, for Agostino. Charming, lively Agostino. Standing alongside his disgruntled (and vaguely moribund) next of kin, the jokes practically wrote themselves.

It was in their contrast, a seed of interest was permitted to root beyond topsoil; and with it, a deeper willingness to learn. Her question, though cheeky, was of honest intrigue.

A word she requested, and a word she'd receive. Ah- there it was- the one Leonardo receded from. He may have been a stone man but he was a man, and humans had their little quirks: a shift in the eyes; a shuffle of hands; perhaps a slight downwards tug of the mouth, when presented with something not to their taste. Leonardo's was his distinct lack thereof- which was certainly nothing short of ironic. The one thing he practiced to veil his tells would betray him the second "Leuccio" left his ancestor's ghostly lips.

Admittedly, she found herself watching the spectral apparition more than she was listening to Leonardo. The occasional upturn of her peaked ears was some indication of attention, but her gaze ultimately remained with Agostino as he tried his best to elucidate his chosen word, in the only tongue he knew. Alas, Leonardo possessed the upper hand, brushing away his great grandfather's chatter. But, what the ears could not decipher, the eyes did well to translate.

Affection was a look still being learned, but Xailah could mostly recognize it when it resided in the eyes. Leonardo's explanation on the subject of words mattered little, so long as that warm gleam shone in Agostino's tarnished rings. His truth may not have been fully understood, but it didn't go unseen. The split in tone between the two men did, however, invite and air of roguery from the onlooking pupil.

Leonardo's emphasis on diminutives made himself a target for play. The pantheress seated across the table would wait for her moment to swipe. "Danke, Agostino." "Thank you, Agostino." She gave- once Leonardo concluded his elaboration and Agostino was ushered away- watching the specter leave beneath a slight half-bow. Then, she lifted her gaze to the remaining man. "So, which applies to you?" Small, pale, or weak? Xailah's toothless curl echoed. The dismissive answer was blatant for anyone with eyes; but, a perspicacious individual would know the question was not intended for the obvious. The veil of politesse parted a sliver, revealing a paw that challenged. Yes, cats had nine lives for good reason: they possessed a proclivity to bat.

The topic of Agostino's passing deterred further nudging from the young Alptraum; restoring her respectful diction. One would expect condolences to follow after such a solemn reveal, but Xailah found no need to waste her breath on something unnecessary. Agostino's shift into the afterworld did not seem to be a wholly negative thing for either man, nor something to mourn. Kinship blurred any trace of tragedy, as was concluded with one of Leonardo's later statements. "How did it happen? He looks so..." Young was what Xailah wanted to say, but it wasn't the right word. Agostino was clearly not a young man, but he had a youthful spark- a glow eternally trapped under glass, never to burn, never to extinguish. She pressed her lips together in contemplation, her eyes narrowing at Leonardo's closed lids. "Lively." She settled. Like he hadn't been ready to go at the time of his reaping; a complicated thing to explain, but perhaps the older man understood, given his apparent familiarity with the non-living. "What business does a dead man have with the living?" Came the query following the reveal of Agostino's guardianship.

The changeling brought the earlier prepared tea to her lips once more, retting in the clean aroma of chamomile. "You did not seem very pleased with his entrance." A final quip before getting to business.

The change- it was instant. And that was the unnerving bit- like Leonardo had been sitting there crouched at his end of the table, waiting to pounce once he caught a glimpse of something vulnerable. As if it had been the plan from the moment he opened his home to the darkling. On occasion, Xailah saw similar in her brother-in-law Avery; and it always gave her pause. Avery, however, could be combatted. Leonardo... well... was being felt out.

A huntress does not holster her bow just because the wolf doesn't lunge. Wolf. Hunter. Beast. They all have a nature, even if unacted upon. Unwilling did not mean incapable. And Xailah was very much aware of how capable Leonardo was.

Fantasy has roots in reality, as do lies in truth, after all. Hogsmeade denizen peddled a little more than simple ghost stories. Indeed.

She considered what she held; what the wolf's steely gaze locked to: compelling feed; an exquisite piece of meat just out of reach of the black canine's jaws. She could attempt to trick him, pull back her bowstring and risk the teeth he hid under orchid-white lips; or, she could pay him what he was owed. What he demanded.

Respect.

From one hunter- one starving, endangered beast- to another.

She laid the meat on the table, bloody. And from it, she began to cut.

Her tea was placed to the side; a finger cushioning the bottom of the teaware for a noiseless descent to the tabletop. "Your aid is appreciated." Her voice rode on the back of his funeral bell toll. "It is not often I seek help for matters of the spirit; but, I believe you may find what I have seen to be... peculiar." She proceeded slowly, gauging the Oracle's reception.

"Oneiromancy is a customary practice within my kinship," And only the tip of an occult iceberg that ran as deep as the waters that cradled it. Once old enough to grasp the threads of the world's elder magics, Xailah began her own spinning with them; oneiromancy, scrying, osteomancy, and novice tasseomancy became the chosen mediums of her craft. "And yet, answers are scarce when I seek them." Deciphering the visions of others came easily; but, when it was her own in question, she felt like she was peering through the eyes of someone she did not recognize. Blame could be placed on excessive- and often violent- night terrors; their frequency overwhelmed the mind, making her an uncertain witness to their machinations. Dreaming felt like a trap, with how recurring her nightmares were. "I do not dream often, Chiadovini. Something is at work."

That then raised a question: just how much did she trust Leonardo? Oneiromancy wasn't a simple exchange of visions- it was a glimpse at someone's most vulnerable being: the fragments of their conscience in limbo. It was an intimate trade; in that, she would have to open a part of her mind to him that was intangible to all else, if she truly desired clarity.

The answer came as her eyes fluttered closed and her head slowly lowered. Enough, she decided, she trusted him enough. "Allow me a moment..."

One thing she had learned from her rearing in a ritualistic home was that there was a time for magic, just as there was a time for prayer and a time for worship. Leonardo- the walls- the home- had aged right before her very eyes. The shadows followed in their stretch, elongating across the room, and firelight dimmed. Wood peeled and ichor-like darkness creeped out of the corners it had been hiding in. And, although she could not see them now behind the sable of her lids, she knew those dark phantoms were still reaching. If there was a time to speak, it was now, while the old magics were present.

She focused on the sound the cards made when sliding between the Seer's long, birch twig fingers. She could visualize the gold moons and stars peeking out in waves, at the center of her mind, while their black backs disappeared and reappeared under Leonardo's hand. She focused on their inkiness until she found the darkness she was looking for; the darkness from her dream; a darkness she could curl her fingers into- steep in- from flesh, to sinew, to bone.

Her first breath came slow, suspended. "I, alone, rest in a chamber." No. Not quite. It was more. "No, not a chamber... A vastness; an unending stretch of darkness that embalms. Neither wall nor dome stand to contain me, I kneel, but not on ground. Light does not penetrate the space, yet I see myself, illuminated." How eerily Leonardo's cabin captured the essence of the dream's solitude. The corvids outside the house had long gone silent; Agostino's haunting subsided; and Leonardo was so quiet, for a moment she began to question if the Seer had ever been present to begin with. It was disorienting, but a quick press of her palms to the table beneath assured she remained in the waking world. "The infinity is imposing, but there is no dread or discomfort in its endlessness. The abyss cradles, and I feel... calm. I think it exists to protect something, but... I am unsure what." There was uncertainty in the short pause that followed. "I hear something close. Heartbeats. The fanfare drums in my ears; I am certain one belongs to me."

Her head dipped farther toward her bosom as her mind slipped deeper into trance. One hand slowly lifted from the table and was pulled to her chest, where two fingers pinned themselves at a point above her heart. "I am aware of myself- of what is inside..." Her features pinched together in her attempt to retrace the phantom sensation, in her conscious body. "I can feel blood snaking through my veins; every muscle moving and contracting. But my attention falls here. Near my heart." The fingers tapped the spot gently, and the organ knocked back rhythmically against her ribs. "There is something nestled alongside it, I can feel it. See it. It glows under my skin and bones, like candlelight between fingers. It speaks to me in soft flickers; it wants out-" The tips of her fingers stiffened, curving into the start of hooks. "-And I am compelled to fulfill that wish. I dip my fingers into my flesh without a second thought, peeling my skin away like petals from a flower bud. There is no blood or pain. Sinew moves without resistance and beneath it I see a small orb of light, twinkling in tune to my heart as if it too draws breath."

Quietude took over for a beat as the scene continued to unfold in her mind's eye. "The light filters through my ribs; they are in the way. I take them in hand and snap them one by one. The breaks are clean. I reach between the broken bones." Although deep in meditation, signs of external awareness were still present. The fireplace spat in protest to a sap pustule in its fuel, making her ears perk with animal interest. "There are voices. They do not come from within. They are hasty. Angry. Conspiratorial. They grow louder as I retrieve the star, but I do not heed them." The hand on her chest closed around itself, manifesting the little star's warmth in her corporeal palm. "They berate as I cradle the thing in my hands. I feel... happy, despite the voices' cruelty. And so I remain, unmoving, holding and watching that little star, until the realm falls back into silence and the darkness of sleep."

Just when it appeared she would come to, her hand fell back to the table and her eyes creased tightly in their forced rest. "Every night I have dreamt this; but only once did the dream change." A new scene projected itself on the walls of her skull. "It started as it did before, in that same dark space; only this time I could sense a disturbance. I am unsure how to explain the feeling..." but, she'd try, "... It is like that cursory weight that sits in your gut or on the back of your neck, when you know you're being watched by eyes unseen. A uncanny awareness, of sorts." Something Leonardo was likely familiar with. "Once again I look to my chest, I know the steps by now- I see the light- I reach-"

Xailah did not motion this time; her hands remained on the table, palms splayed flat against the polished wood. "-I split my skin as I did before, from collar to diaphragm, but something is wrong. I bleed. Sanguine covers my hands and pours out of the gash I have made, spilling onto the floor. It is then that I realize the ground I kneel on is impossibly dark soil, and it puddles with my blood." Her voice darkened with the recollection. The star still shines in my chest but its glow is hazy. It is struggling, so I make the decision to deepen the rip. It hurts, but I have to get the star out. I must-" an unsanctioned breath shakily exited her ribs, "-for it fades with every breath I take. I can feel it weakening. Through the pain I look up, and there is a sky I did not see in my other dreams. It tears open as I press through the gore."

Her fingers suddenly stiffened, her claws curling into the table supporting them, resisting her gloves. "The voices are present, they come through as distortions that try to distract me with their urgency. I hesitate this time, but as I feel my fingers wrap around the star, I know I have made my choice; I free it from my body and it flickers dimly in my grasp. I hold it close to the wound I made, shielding it, as the sky begins to crumbles upon us-" Us? The slip crept her by without correction. "Hot ash flakes from the heavens, and I see a tree bound in flesh and rust peering from the mangled slit in the sky. It burns. The sky. The world-"

If there was more to be said, it was left to fade with her dream body as her consciousness slowly forced itself back into the physical realm. "That is everything," she unconsciously dabbed the corner of her eyes with the back of a gloved knuckle, "everything I remember." Her voice was noticeably damp, this time the culprit couldn't have been the tea. Groggily, her face lifted to Leonardo, but her eyes did not meet his. "Strange, is it not?"

Leonardo Chiadovini

Oracle Aide, IV

128 518

2 Jan 2026, 01:58

Terrible Presence in Effect
| Aura of Unease Present |
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There is something that is just... not right about him. A chill in the air, a sense felt deep in the bones. The shadows might seem more lively, the night might play more tricks on his opponents' eyes. Yet there is one, undeniable truth -- the source is him.

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"Practice makes better, I have heard." He mused lightly in return, a remark slightly different than the adage more commonly known that alluded to the ability to achieve "perfection". "Perfection"... ha... there really was no such thing, he had learned. "All things take time," A painful reality he had come to know. It was a tax and a price; something both unwittingly written off as a fact of life and a cost to obtain certain things in it. "And it is good to become a renaissance man. Or... woman, as the case may be." Ever he had been a student, far beyond his student years. Life was the great Education, and loathe was he to pass up a lesson tutored by it on any day.

The meeting with Farron had been brief, indeed more of a strange interaction more than a memorable one. If nothing else he had remembered her name, even if he knew not much about her besides her previous work in the same position as he had once held. "I met her briefly at her place of work. She is possessed of a delightful personality, so I am not surprised that she has gone so far in life." Was all he elaborated, neglecting to mention the foul and feckless condition he had been in when they had met as well as the first of the disturbing dreams that had come around that time.

Tidying the kitchen, the host took the Alptraum-Leveret's praise with quiet gratitude. "Alas, I do not." He confessed. "Some of these are imported from Italy, from sources the family often uses. I'm sure I could grow some of my own were I to put effort into it, or find them were I to scour the woods." In reality, it was perhaps the technique that he had greatly come to master: thousands of cups of tea for the purposes of Tasseomancy, head colds that had come and gone, light herbal remedies that he had determined worked best for his intents and purpose. He had determined the right way to create the beverage, through his own trial and error. "I saw a "change of skill" in my methods, more aptly."

As Agostino had been dismissed and he had been permitted to return to the business at hand, Leonardo considered the adjectives he had spoken as being the diminutive's purpose.

Which applies to you?

There had been a time, so terribly long ago and almost forgotten, when he remembered how large and bright his eyes had twinkled when he looked in the mirror as in that era it had the purpose of reflecting back a child's face. Many of those features had only been able to be distinguished by dark hair and brows that served as outlines. Hair just like his father's, which while just as dark, was possessed of the slightest air of a curl that ultimately produced a minute wave unlike his progenitor's straight and harsh cut. A waif of a child, called sickly before he had suddenly and inexplicably flowered shortly before his show of talent. How many times had his mother, had he himself, heard from the passing and quiet breaths of gossiping geists that infested the very walls that in a more antiquated era he perhaps would not have had the pleasure of life that the modern amenities had enabled. The fact of matter being that not so many chances would have been available, most likely.

Agostino had never partaken in those musings, a cheerful laughter among them in rebuke and reminder that magic manifested in strange works. And besides, being small and unremarkable had its uses. He had the uncanny habit of vanishing quickly and almost at will, especially if he heard─or felt─the particular vibrations of a certain type of his father's footfalls through the hollow corridors. Off and away, to the secret alcove in the library seemingly unknown or at least unheard of by a majority of the ghostly host. In fact, when tempo of strides were heard─felt─he did so with much, much greater ease.

They were footfalls, a lingering fragment of a bygone and flickering ember of a memory, he wished to hear nevermore.

Leuccio─the small, pale, frail one. One who had apparently elicited the favor of One much greater than all the rest of them.
Like a little star...

A muscle in his jaw tensed once and then vanished, replaced instead with a cordiality well-resumed. "Indeed." He curtly and quickly concurred in a non-answer. "As for Agostino, his death is just as much a mystery to us. Unsolved, as it were." It was an old piece of family lore, spoken of often and often to the point of encouraging the teasing of Agostino's often absent-minded demeanor. "Our best suppositions are that he was poisoned by one of his plants in the greenhouse where he died. Ironically, not even he knows the manner; he passed away in his sleep." It was a commonly accepted theory, especially considering that the man had a frightful fondness for Venomous Tentaculas and their potentially undiscovered magical properties at the time. "He was... somewhat obsessed with herbal discovery; potentially to the point of not permitting himself to... fully depart." It was a delicate matter, though Agostino had never shied away from such conversation. It was more out of respect for his ancestor that he spoke so gently of it, truth be told.

While the timeline of the particular incident was a bit foggy, there was one matter for certain─at the time of his passing, Agostino had barely had the pleasure of being a father himself. His first and only child─a son─had only been born a matter of months before his death. "Especially when it came to matters of the family." If nothing else could be said of Agostino, it was that he was a noble man even among those who were truly honorable. Ambitious, intent and single-minded, but noble. Certainly one that was, perhaps, deserving of much better than the lot he had reaped from what he had bravely sown. "Ah... I ask you do not mistake my... mild frustrations... with distaste. He is better company than some others I could host."

His shuffling of the cards persisted, his lips pressing into a thin line as he listened intently to what Xailah began to invite his attentions towards. Peculiar, for one, was a word that carried little weight to him. Indeed, it was often more a distraction than observation of the matter. Oneiromancy, the matter of dream interpretation, tended towards that end. It was a method that demanded peculiarity to be observed, to determine the patterns in it, and then to assign emotional and intellectual symbols and meaning to those patterns.

There was a reason that whenever he dreamed, he remembered.

He nodded in silent commiseration. Often when a dream, or series of dreams, was remembered─not to speak of the rarities of their appearances on the whole─it was wise to attempt to understand them. Not to do so was akin to simply closing one's door on the sound of cacophony from another place in the home: a willful ignorance of one's own subliminal psyche demanding them to listen to what they were being told.

Grand illustrations of word made vision danced in his mind's eye, and his thoughts began to spin themselves in weft and weave as tongue bestowed understanding. Xailah's eyes were closed in concentration. Very good. He expected nothing less of a pupil of the Divinatory arts. Every morsel she could offer to him, every sensation, every instinctual first thought... everything had a significance. His eyes narrowed, dark brows furrowing in a way that made his eyes stormy with intent. A darkness─often associated with internal reflection, uncertainty or unknown. In an altered or distressed mental state typically affiliated with fear, negative emotion, or undesirable unknown connotations. Yet also... as it seemed in this instance, was likely to be interpreted as an internal exploration. Concentration on the self as opposed to a concern with the external. Something inside.

The further exposition on the act of withdrawal from within only confirmed his initial suspicion. Two heartbeats, a preliminary guess, indicated a significant other in the forefront of the mind─perhaps not necessarily in the form of spousal relation, but at least one who had "captured the heart" in some way. Retrieval of the little light came with no complication, no suffering, no struggle on behalf of the retriever. Something natural, something desired in outcome.

And the outside world, silenced otherwise in this quiet place, cried out in complaint at the act of it. Leonardo's eyes searched the ceiling for a moment, flicking back and forth for a moment in consideration. Something unwanted by the outside, something desired─protected─by the self. Silver returned to the raven-haired changeling. A taboo?

Another dream, a complexity upon the first; further illumination, a warning perhaps. The vision turned bloody, and the Seer unconsciously closed his eyes, grimacing at the vision behind his own eyelids. He felt as she described, the sensation of sanguine running through corpus as wine through the flask. Here metaphor fell away, and a more literal interpretation was pressing foremost in his mind, foggy but possible. Very, very possible as the cards in his hands silenced themselves and fingers pressed to the grain of the table in an attempt to ground himself in a world that was beginning to crush in on every side. Sudden, unpredictable. The light was borne away from its danger within. Born away.

The skies burns, air filled with hot ash. A tree bound in flesh. Rust in the fissures of celestial sphere.
Calamity. Roots of sinew and bone. From the heavenly eye, a slow destruction─a gradual decay.

Perhaps it was for the better the Alptraum heiress did not meet the eyes of the Chiadovini that had become wild and perturbed. One hand held the cards in a gentle fashion, the other's fingers were curled on the table, fingers pressed into the grain as a blind man would struggle for the feel of something familiar. Were these two dreams of but one moment, or two instances in time with the second arriving as a consequence of the first's outcome? His own heart had raced, had rattled in him, at the escalation and climax of the tale. With a suddenness, his hand over the cards caused them to be spread across the table in a crescent. He had to know.

"Xailah Alptraum." He commanded in a low voice, similarly shaken. "Draw two cards and turn them over."

When obeyed godmod approved, the two faces that would meet the heiress were these, in order. The first was that of the upright face of Queen-Mother Dido of Carthage upon her throne. All around her, her city flourished, but in a reflection over her head in a gleaming brazen dome a vision of the city burned as a living symbol of her madness in grief and heartbreak. The second card, when turned over, depicted the upright visage of Diana as the lady of the hunt─a danger capable of the nature of being seen or unseen─her moonlit arrows gleamed with subdued light in black quiver as she drew her silvery bow at a hunter whose back was turned to her and whose heart would, when struck, be pierced instantly and peacefully as life would be taken in a mere breath.

"The Empress." Leonardo would breathe, recapturing his sense of reason. "And the Moon."

The little star, the second heartbeat within, the desire to bring it into the light and to protect it with very fibre of being come hell or high waters. Yes, he had a guess. A supposition if nothing else. Whether the dreams were connected─perhaps one and then the other later on or the two premonitions occurring as one event in dual consequence─he could not know for certain, but the one guess, the supposition, was very clear in his interpretation.

He would nod, mostly to himself, as he leaned back slightly in the chair in consideration of how to politely suggest his thoughts. Tersely, he wetted his lips for a moment, blinking, and then steeled himself with the determined words in mind. "Miss Alptraum, begging your forgiveness on my potential forwardness of query..."

The little star, the little light.
The inexplicable aversion to the licorice.

Silvery eyes suddenly turned soft, turning upon the changeling with a calmly astute countenance. His voice transformed. If his prediction was true, then... "But do you have any reason to believe that..." The awkwardness of it was a sensation that make him hesitate for a moment with a short and nervous smile of an exhale before he dedicated himself. "... that you may be with child?"

He tapped the Empress with a thin finger. "Upright, she is a symbol of earthly fertility, of feminine energy. Of motherhood." Similarly his confidence flickered as he indicated Diana opposed. "The Moon, when upright and beside her, however, can be an omen of unseen dangers or complications." The menace in him was gone. Was it... a gentleness in him now? "Or... uncertainty. Say... if one only recently had become..." He silenced himself, the remainder of that sentence fairly clear in meaning.

"Your dream, I believe, could indicate this twofold." He explained further, determined to tie the two divination methods to each other. "Your first dream is your act of procuring a beloved light into the world, which assumes the shape of the star, the second heartbeat next to and beloved which thrives and lingers next to your own. The voices may be those that do not believe that the light could be procured, or that they do not approve of its shape or appearance for whatever cause of reason. Dispute, perhaps, or complication. But protect it and cherish it you choose to do, anyways. It is beloved to you, and so you bear it and its natural emergence with grace, and deep care."

And as for the second half, the more strange one. "It is your second dream that brings me concern. I cannot tell if it is related to your first as a consequence or complication or if it represents perhaps a second instance entirely apart, a second star." He did not like what he saw in this interpretation. "I believe the Moon in this dream could represent... complications to bear or..." He despised this part of his work, though it was most natural of his family's reputation to predict these sorts of things. "dangers that rise because of... the star's birth, or births. Unseen dangers, or at least dangers that are so far unknown until time comes when it may be either too late to or of the nature to act against them quickly before it is too late to do so. The tree of flesh may well be possessed of roots of sinew and bone, a family tree. The fractures of the skies may represent calamity on the grand scale or of the smaller in your own life or... theirs."

Even as he spoke, there was the creeping sensation of the lucid world on all sides beginning to dissociate. Slowly, gently at first, but in a frightening fashion that bestowed a sudden onset of vertigo. It was a sensation that he had not experienced often, indeed being least among his ancestors to bear the price of their gift, but it was a recognized sensation nevertheless; and his fingertips pressed into the grain in attempt to ward off the moment for as long as could be managed before control slipped from his grasp entirely.

It began with a migraine; the raven-haired Seer's entire body began to tense, head lowering slightly as he grit his teeth to fight the growing pressure behind his eyes. The darkness came over him as he felt the familiar demand to no longer listen, no longer suggest, but to instead speak.

It demanded a mouthpiece. That alone was the sole purpose of his small, insignificant existence.
This was the purpose of the lineage's work. Its own methodical approach to the madness.

He was present and far away, close and apart. He sat before the Alptraum child, and yet it would seem the soul of the man was temporarily banished as with a deep gasp the sudden contortion caused his upper body to arc back for a moment and then gradually loosen ever so slightly. His hands and arms were still tense, locked, but his head lowered again to eye level, eyelids opened to reveal weaving white collagen-like spindles that crisscrossed over themselves across the pupil and blinded him to the immediate material world trapped in its mundanely forward-moving temporal state. The eyes did not shift, nor move, nor flick, but stared sightless and aware.

A deep exhale brought a looseness to the shoulders, then, and then as if the possessed man seemed to hear something beyond that of mortal ears that was pleasing to him, there came a crooked smile that caused his teeth, in particular an especially sharp canine, to catch the light of the fire in its grate. Eyes turned only for a moment towards the ceiling once more, before returning to Xailah─staring through her as if her soul were not even worth the trouble of scouring in favor of something beyond it all.

So with that smile, a strange variation of the Chiadovini's voice made itself manifest by the powers that claimed him in the temporary fashion. It did not so much rumble as it did rattle those things that came in contact with the reverberations of the intonation. Loudly, in a sort of strange exhortation, a vague amusement in the periphery of the words, his particular method of prophesying would form word and rhythm in a form familiar to him and painstakingly practiced for moments the likes of these.

"Come then, ye voices of fore-elder kin,
Foretell all that thy scion should enact.
For while those of old penned the ancient hymn,
Shall whims of youth the old's ways keep intact?

Laurel of stygian father's eye,
Priceless gemstone of mother's graceful mind,
Of twain demeanors twined, betwixt them plied,
To stand where threefold paths conjoin and bind.

Arachne's web, whose clever threads complex
Wind about unclear, forms not yet inset.
Cowed by the Sisters' hands, or may yet contest
By silver shears in hand a lot abet.

In Diana’s light, Nox may her grip stay,
Save for the dawn. Might Aurora bring day?"

No sooner had the last syllable of the sonnet been spoken than the Seer's entire body shuddered and then tensed up once more─half-smile transformed into pained grimace─before the body then unceremoniously collapsed forwards onto the table with labored breathing and a general shivering as if a soul itself was exorcised. He returned to himself aware in the least that a prophetic bout had overwhelmed him in the forces of its willful tides, but with not much more to recall besides that general knowledge. Lifting himself from the embarrassing position, he tried for a moment to rise to his feet before thinking better of it as he wobbled and instead relenting as he instead favored a turning to one side and burying his face in his hands to massage his eyes and temples.

The world was spinning slightly, his voice was sore from use, and his head feeling that it were splitting in two.

His tea, which had splashed slightly on the table from the disturbance, was taken into both hands and then sipped in an attempt to calm both nerves and nausea. It seemed to him at least (having noted tendencies over the years), that while he had not been given the honor of prolific sights he had also been spared from the worst side-effects of experiencing them. The moment would pass, and he would recover.

"F-forgive me, Miss Alptraum." He stammered, and his voice cracked once at the end. He cleared his throat. "A moment, please. I apologize for potential... disturbing..." He silenced himself with his own tea again, mind wandering as it attached itself to familiar sights in the room again: cupboards, shelf, orrery, King Lear, Dante's raven. Metal latches, wood grain, brass and bronze, parchment and leather, plush and cotton...

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Reducio

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Statistics & Abilities

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Seer

⬥ Uncanny Insight ~ 10% Auto-Dodge & Auto-Hit Rate
⬥ Prophesy ~ Vision Occurrence Chance 1ce/Thread (0/1)
⬥ Indiscriminate Knowledge ~ No Critical Failure Chance & +1 Critical Success Range
⬥ Fatespinning ~ Reroll an Ability Check 3ce/Thread (2/3)

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@Xailah Alptraum

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