nexus_crossings | (no subject)

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(no subject)

One of the Nexus' many features is, surprising no one, a portal. It's a portal with a black center and for the longest time, it's pulsated with swirling fingers of white light. It's fairly nondescript as portals go, and while the air around it tingles, any attempts to go through the portal simply lead… well, to the back side of the portal.

Today, it hums.

Today a wave of not-quite purple washes through the swirling arms, and the hole opens up to a library.

A library with a tiefling inside it, who pokes his head through, looks around for a moment, then withdraws.

A few minutes, then an hour passes as the portal goes dormant once more, no sign of the tiefling or his library visible through the center. Time ticks by, minutes and hours passing by before finally, the portal sparks once more.

This time, when it opens, the center of the portal is reinforced by a golden metal frame, and the tiefling comes through with a satchel laden with books and scrolls, dragging a table full of mechanical and alchemical contractions behind him. There's a giddiness to his movement and he grunts and curses the table where he wants it, even when he has to frantically rescue some of the instruments from falling. Then, once everything is settled exactly how he likes it, the real fun begins.

At least for the tiefling.

He spends a few moments recording readings from the array of instruments and meters, muttering excitedly to himself before plopping on the ground and digging through his satchel. Amidst the scrolls and books, he finds one of the many pamphlets explaining the Nexus and its rules. Regarding it with narrowed eyes, he pulls out an hourglass and sets it aside, returning his focus to his research.

The hourglass is flipped three times before the tiefling looks up from his work, tail swishing on the ground behind him, and he poses his questions.

"Has anyone here determined what happens if you don't ask a question? How long can you go without asking a question before something happens? Why is a question required? How poignant must the question be to be considered acceptable? Is a simple "How are you?" enough, or must it be philosophically intriguing?"

There's a pause in the tiefling's barrage as he scrunches his nose, scowling deeply at nothing. Then he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and relaxes, adding on his final question. "I suppose I might as well ask if anyone has seen a man named Lorroakan, by any chance? Human, red hair, thinks very highly of himself, and has a temper that Devil's would envy."

((Hello, I am new. I know it's been quiet but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? So here I am. Venturing.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Martyn had been in the library researching, mostly on alien mental health, alien hybridization, and, at the moment, a pile of books on the table related to brainwashing and military programming. When his own world's books failed to help him with his current client he had made his way here.

All the noise hardly bothers him, nor does the obviously non-human being that has taken over the space nearby. The first questions go unnoticed but that description has him looking up from his reading with a smirk that verges on a chuckle. "If you hadn't given a name I might have thought you were looking for my little brother."

With a snort through his nose, Rolan glances up at Martyn and gives him a look over, a wry smile curling one corner of his lips. "If your hair was considerably straighter, I'd almost think I was."

With a shake of his head, Rolan sets his writing aside and gets to his feet, dusting off his robes before offering Martyn his hand. "I'm Rolan, Master of Ramazith's Tower. I found the portal here buried behind half a dozen artefacts gathering dust. Are you a regular here?"

"My brother's is even curlier than mine." It was amusing to know there were more than one redhead around and Martyn couldn't help but imagining his brother meeting this man's 'friend'.

Martyn stands and takes the hand firmly. Like both of his brothers, he's on the taller side for a human. "Martyn Sterling..." He pauses wondering about the title for a second before adding. "Doctor of Psychiatry and Psychology."

Those were his titles, at least now. He wasn't like his third brother who still used the military titles. "No, not often. One of my current client's needs have brought me here. Are you a librarian or archaeologist?"

He's openly curious and guessing on the fact that this person was looking through piles of old artifacts.

"I confess, psychiatry and psychology are not fields I'm well versed in," Rolan says as he gives Martyn a polite smile and tips his head to the side, then begins to look over the Nexus, his golden eyes flicking this way and that. "A pity you're not more familiar with the location; I was hoping to find someone who's brain I could pick over the nature of this plane."

"As for your question, I am meither, my friend," Rolan explains, placing one hand on his chest and bowing his head. "I am a wizard of exceptional talent, and soon the knowledge to accompany it."

"As soon as I finish sorting through the mess Lorroakan left behind," he grumbles, lifting his head and glaring at the library just on the other side of his portal. "Lorroakan was the... former master of the tower, and he hoarded enough books and artefacts to make a dragon slaver in desire. As the tower's newest custodian, I'm doing my best to put things in order, which..."

Rolan sighs, slumping his shoulders as a low chuckle rumbles in his throat. "I suppose makes me both a librarian and an archaeologist in its own way."

"It's not a career for most." Even Martyn had problems dealing with some of the topics that his patients brought up, or he got too involved and sympathetic.

"I am not ignorant of this place. One of my long time friends lives here most of the time now." And he said that with intonation that invites questions. Even if he couldn't answer, maybe he could direct Rolan in the right direction.

"In my world wizards are, for the most part, are only fiction." He didn't come from a world that had wizards though he could probably argue that the aliens, if discovered, would be seen that way. "I could use a break from my own work, do you want some help?"

Wizard artifacts he didn't know but he had seen his fair share of alien items over the years.

"Few careers that involve the title of "Doctor" are," Rolan agrees with a soft laugh. "But they are no less important."

It's a bit grating to be told that his life's work is regarded as a flight of fantasy elsewhere, but it does spark a thought. A possibility that he had failed to consider in his eagerness to study the new extraplaner realm; did his magic still work here?

With a few quick gestures and a muttered incantation, Rolan throws his hands into the air and is relieved to see the familiar flash and glitter of Prestidigitation. The smug look returns to his face as he returns his attention to Martyn, gesturing to the last of the sparkling lights as they fade away. "As you can see, I am very real here."

"As to your offer..." Rolan mutters to himself as he trails off, retrieving the book with his notes and readings. "You said it's possible to remain here long term? How? What I mean to say is, if one intends to stay here for extended periods, are questions required at regular intervals, or is the first simply enough to count as a tithe?"

"I know several and I think they would agree with you."

Martyn is curious about all the 'different' beings here. Your perception is changed when your younger brother's childhood friend starts a family with an alien. "I don't doubt the realness of it here and if I am honest with you, a culture not recognizing something exists doesn't mean it isn't part of the reality."

His realm also thought aliens were not real even if one of their biggest celebrities was half alien. No one knew and he couldn't fault a magic user from hiding the same way if they existed.

"I think you are compelled at the beginning but after it is a matter of curiosity and assistance with so many different minds here." He wasn't sure but none that he knew who came here regularly complained of the burden of constant questions. Martyn was certain he would hear about it before anyone else if that was the case.

"It's true, there are a lot of short minded people in the world," Rolan drawls, then grimaces and scowls as he realizes just how condescending and dismissive it sounds. How close to Lorroakan it sounds. Rolan was better than that. Rolan would be better than that. "Forgive me, that was... a thoughtless remark. There are many causes for ignorance, and few are caused by the mindset of an individual."

Clearing his throat, Rolan gestures to the glowing portal and the library beyond. "That's part of what brings me here. I'm cataloguing and organizing Lorroakan's collection to determine what is safe for the public to interact with, and what must be left to more experienced hands. So far this realm seems safe enough, especially if it is some sort of living library as it seems, but I'd like a bit more information before I let the adventurers of Faerun run around here willy nilly."

Martyn shook his head at the apology. There was no need. "I am used to people speaking their mind around me. I'm not going to hold it against you if you speak your mind or without a filter."

His job was often to listen to people's more private and sometimes less acceptable opinions. "Often the ignorance is the will of people who would rather not be seen, or seen completely."

Hiding for safety was something he was familiar with in general and from his patients. His attention was on the portal and he was a little overwhelmed even if this wasn't the first portal he has seen to a world that isn't his.

"Maybe you should go to the housing office here and get a residence before bringing everything here, if it might be dangerous?" Martyn was being practical and could only imagine the chaos the rockstars he was currently dealing with might cause here. "Some of my clients have mentioned that their gods live, or visit, here."

"It's..." Rolan hesitates, pursing his lips and looking to side in the face of Martyn's graciousness. His feet shuffly awkwardly as his tail swings back and forth before he final settles on a way to articulate his thoughts and Rolan steels himself with a sigh. "It's not a matter of a filter, or lack thereof. It's about mindset. Lorroakan, my old master, he had a habit thinking he knew everything and treating people like things, and I'm doing my best not to fall into such habits as well."

What Rolan didn't mention was how close his own mannerisms mirrored his master's even before he was taken on as an apprentice. Of course, he'd developed his habits as a coping mechanism against a world determined to make him hate himself, but it scared him, how close he'd come to being a hateful man throwing his weight around because it was the only thing he had.

"Anyway-" Rolan clears his throat, pulling his mind away from the dark tangent and back to the present. "Encountering a god is not an uncommon circumstance on Faerun. I myself am acquainted with the goddess Selune's daughter," he adds with a smirk that is more fond that it is smug. "I owe her a great deal, though I believe she considers my debt squared simply for standing at her side."

"That part, I'm not concerned about. No, I am much more worried about adventurers treating this space like the Yawning Portal in Waterdeep," he rumbles, his eyes narrowing as his tail twitches in agitation. "Stomping around like they own the place, looking for fights and treasure, and making a bloody ruckus while they're at it."

Rolan shakes his head grumpily, scowl firmly in place. "No, I think for the time being, I'll see if Tolna would be willing to keep it behind her desk with the rest of the restricted items. Limiting its usage to those who cannot find the answers they're looking for in the rest of the library should suffice until people prove they can handle unlimited access responsibly."

A pause before Rolan adds, "Not that your idea doesn't have merit, of course. It could be useful to have a space where I can test things without endangering innocent lives."

Barcus watches from a safe distance for a few minutes as the tiefling bustles in, drops instruments everywhere, collects himself, and begins researching. He's privately rather charmed; it's the kind of thing he would have done himself if he were A) unoccupied back home and B) a little more confident in his ability to defend himself physically. Because of course you want to learn everything you can about a new phenomenon, a portal to a whole new world. He's already taken note of dozens of materials that are rare to nonexistent back home, things he can absolutely find uses for.

It actually takes him a little while before he realizes he recognizes this tiefling. Tav, the Last Light Inn, Baldur's Gate, Ramazith Tower. Barcus took little note of him until after the battle with the Netherbrain, because he had tunnel vision that was focused on Wulbren, but he's had occasion to learn a little more about him since.

Interesting that they should both find their way here, but at least the gnome can approach him without anticipating hostility.

"Well, the first and only question I've answered here was a wordless hissing noise while the asker pointed at a shop window. It seems to have counted, so I don't think poignancy matters."

"Lorroakan?" He gives him a quizzical look. "Last I heard, Lorroakan--" Wait. It's possible they're from different timelines, isn't it? Maybe the less he says, the better. "You're Rolan, aren't you? Are you...still his apprentice?"

((not quite ready to drop Dammon in here yet but in the meantime these two are nerds of a feather so I'm sure they'll have fun))

"No," Rolan replies rather abruptly, his expression dark for a moment before he reins himself in.

"No," he repeats with much less force, shaking his head and taking his time to examine the Deep Gnome before him. Like Barcus, he recognize the other from the Last Light Inn, and he recalls the slight commotion he and the other Deep Gnomes caused prior to the Nightsong taking to the sky. "I was simply asking to see if he'd ever actually used the portal, or if it was like every other device in his collection."

"It's a bit too soon to call it, but I do not think the odds are in his favor," Rolan drawls, rolling his eyes with a scoff.

"Anyway, I don't believe we've been formally introduced." Rolan offers his hand with a polite smile that boarders on smug, not bothering to stand up from where he's seated. They're already eye-level as it is. "You're one of Tav's associates, are you not? I believe I've heard the name Wulbren used in your presence, but not, I suspect, in reference to yourself."

"And thank you," he hastily adds, ready to jot down a note as soon as the handshake is over. "For answering my question. Have you been here long?"

((Absolutely understandable. This is entirely a "do it now, or I will sit here until I forget to do anything at all" sort of thing. Besides, you are not wrong about Barcus and Rolan nerding out together))

Yikes. Ask a stupid question? But it wasn't meant as impertinent, and the tiefling seems to soften after the first knee-jerk response. Barcus relaxes a little, a sympathetic quirk in his eyebrows. "Well, that's good. I wasn't sure whether I ought to tell you he's dead, last I heard." And good riddance, based on what Barcus has heard, as well, but he'll keep his opinion to himself for now.

"I wouldn't know if he had contacts here; honestly, I've barely spoken to anyone. But for the record, if you happen to see an animated skeleton with large green gems for eyes about? He's harmless and rather sweet, don't hurt him."

The gnome accepts the handshake; Barcus has the calluses of a mechanic and tinkerer on his hand, and his grip is strong for a small man. He nods slightly, then winces at 'Wulbren'. A loaded topic, to say the least. "Yes, well. Wulbren was the leader of the Ironhand Gnomes, but I have that honor now. My name is Barcus. Barcus Wroot."

"I first visited a few weeks ago," he answers, letting go to allow the man to take his notes. "But my free time is limited. I haven't visited often."

Rolan's lips quirk in amusement as Barcus delivers the news that Lorroakan was dead. It's a bit strange to think there might be circumstances in which he didn't know, given his own hand in the man's undoing, but the pamphlet had mentioned the possibility of fluctuating timelines. A part of him wonders if he would have been less receptive to such news if things hadn't turned out the way they had; who would he be if Tav had turned over the Nightsong? Who would he be if he hadn't stayed and instead left the grove to its fate?

"While it may be old news to me, I'm still glad it remains true," he offers Barcus with a wry smile, rolling his eyes as he adds, "He was not a good man."

To say the least.

As Barcus continues to speak, Rolan does his best to recall what he knows of the Ironhand Gnomes and their entire situation. While he knows that as the master of Ramazith's Tower, he'll need to keep up with local politics, such things have never been his strong point, and with the state the tower is in, he's even more distracted than he normally would be.

"Given that Tav likes you, I'm sure the Ironhands will be in good hands from now on," Rolan settles on, mentally noting Barcus' grip and how similar it was to Dammon's; it could be worthwhile to introduce them, one day. "As much as it pains me to admit, they're a good judge of character and they have a habit of bringing out the best in people, myself included."

"Tell me, how have you been getting in?" Rolan asks, gesturing behind him at the portal he came through. "This was inert - and quite buried behind books - when I found it. I presume that means there's at least one other portal in Baldur's Gate?"

"So I've heard," he says, and Barcus' nature is a little more pacifist than some. He can't entirely celebrate the man's death, but he's not sorry for it, either. He got what he had coming to him, by most accounts.

"And I understand his successor is making a good job of it, though we haven't met before." He offers a small, but friendly, smile.

"Tav is both a good judge of character and a bit of a loose cannon," he laughs. "But thank you. I think I'm managing well enough. Between the Ironhands and the remnants of the Church of Gond, we're putting together a guild with the intention of rebuilding the infrastructure of the entire city." An ambitious project, but a timely one.

"Magic isn't my forte, friend," he says. "I don't know a portal from a hole in the ground, which is what I was in when I found this place. The caverns in Rivington where the Ironhands were hiding out before the battle are largely unmapped, and I wanted to see if there were links to the sewer system or the undercity. Best to know these things, in case of more incursions."

He shrugs. "I haven't finished mapping them, but I have added 'interplanar gateway' to my notes. Small wonder, really, with all the wild magic around our world."

It's hard not to preen - just a little - at the compliment, even if logically Rolan knew the bar set by Lorroakan was so low, it might as well be in Hell. All he had to do was not treat people as objects, and he'd be sailing above the bar with flying colors.

"I appreciate your kind words," Rolan replies with a bow of his head. "I've opened what rooms I can for public housing until things have settled, but I'm afraid there's not much more that I can do until the tower is completely secured. There's still so much wild magic making parts of it dangerous for even me to traverse..."

He shakes his head with a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't think Lorroakan put a day's worth of effort into maintenance for the entire time he occupied it."

"But enough of that- If I can lend you my aid in anyway, you need only to ask," Rolan offers, his tail flicking absently at his side. He's almost excited at the prospect of working on something outside of his tower. As grateful as he is to have it and all its resources, cleaning up someone else's mess is frustrating work, and it'd be nice to have a project with tangible results. "And if you don't mind, I'd like a copy of that map when you're finished with it. I'd like to mark down all the entrances to the Nexus that we can find and see if we could use them for the transportation of goods. And-"

He pauses to make a note to himself, tail flicking with much more excitement as the possibilities begin to ravel out in his mind. "I ought to write to Gale in Waterdeep. If we could connect our two cities, imagine how many students could attend school at Blackstaff while living here in Baldur's Gate. Not to mention the amount of commerce Sorcerous Sundries will receive from visiting wizards..."

"Maybe it balances out from people who ask a bunch of questions." The answer comes from a child, perhaps no more than fourteen, who is openly inspecting his odd devices and gizmos. On first glance they appear perfectly human, despite the oddness of being clad in a full set of bronze armor, but there are signs they may not be. A bright golden glow within their pupils, not quite like the glow of a tiefling's irises. Deep purple scarring around one of those eyes, and little metal ornaments embedded into forehead and cheeks. And for those with the senses for such things, a strange infusion of energy permeates their being, like a creature from the Void itself.

Their behavior, however, could not be more human. Or more child. They sink to the ground seiza-style, placing their hands on their knees to lean forward and look at one of Rolan's more esoteric instruments. "What is it?"

The child is not alone, either. It looks almost like someone in a suit of armor, if that armor was crafted to look like natural flesh and muscle, painted white. There are no eyes on its head, only glowing spots here and there in symmetrical places across its entire form. Its hand rests on the hilt of a sword at its side, ready to draw but not on edge, as a bodyguard might be. A long blue scarf winds around its neck, though whether this is a concession to the cold or some inscrutable fashion statement, who can say. The bodyguard remains silent, lurking behind the child at its full height, looking for all the world like a stoic guard watching over some noble's young heir as they play.

Edited (missing a very important word) 2025-01-30 22:20 (UTC)

Rolan's first thought as he takes in the child's appearance is to leap to his feet and shoo them away from his instruments. They're delicate, old, and a few he would not know how to replace if they were damaged. He restrains himself, exhaling a small sigh of relief as they sit without actually touching anything.

Rolan's second thought is that they must be an aasimar; the ethereal glow to their eyes, the metallic ornamentation, their otherworldly aura, and even their armor all remind him of Dame Aylin, the Nightsong. While shooing them off is unlikely to result in the wrath of an unknown god, there's no good reason to be disrespectful, either, especially when the child has caused no harm.

"That one measures energy fluctuations in the surrounding area caused by the increase or decrease of electromagnetic phenomenon," Rolan explains, ignoring the suit of armor much like he ignores the animated armor peppered throughout his tower. "In simpler terms, it tracks whenever someone enters or leaves the Nexus within a 100 meter radius. I actually don't know the details of how it works, yet," he confesses with a bit of excitement in his voice, "Electromagnetism is a completely new subject to me, but I've found this book that says that every living creature produces a faint electric field that can be tracked using magnets, and can even manifest in sufficiently saturated environments! The author was studying storm sorcery, specifically how traumatic experiences within storms themselves can unlock latent magical potential, and they posit that this electric field is what enables otherwise completely mundane individuals to develop an affinity for the arcane."

Leaning over, Rolan grabs the book and flips through until he finds the page outlining the topic, pointing to a paragraph with one clawed finger as he shows it to Ayatan. "See, here's a diagram for a similar device, one that measures individual fields. As you can see from the table, the higher the reading, the stronger the arcane potential. It's been interesting watching the meter react, although as now, I have no way of tracking whether a fluctuation is caused by single individuals or by a group. Some readings I've been getting are MUCH stronger than others, which is hardly surprising when you consider that there's a sizable population of beings with god level abilities."

Edited (didn't properly close an italic oops) 2025-02-05 17:33 (UTC)

Their hands remain firmly planted on their knees, the body language of a child who's been told to keep wandering fingers to themselves - or perhaps someone who knows better than to go ignorantly touching someone else's tech. Either way, they listen without interrupting, taking in the knowledge with all the seriousness it is due, craning their neck slightly to better see the diagram. "Real paper," they murmur under their breath. What a novelty!

Those glowing eyes dart over the page, drinking in the text alongside the complex illustration. They've not seen its like, but the principles aren't too unfamiliar. "You might also be getting interference from the Nexus itself - like background radiation. People aren't the only things here that can be powerful."

"Of course it's real paper," Rolan scoffs, too caught up in his wizardly enthusiasm to think such a remark through. "It's not as if there's such a thing as fake paper, at least to my knowledge. Although to be fair, there are a few books in the library printed on things like vellum and papyrus."

"As for the interference..." Rolan grunts softly in annoyance, then sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. "I've considered that, naturally. However, unless I can find a space in the Nexus that is completely unoccupied aside from myself, I'm not sure how to establish a baseline for the plane itself. Given the random nature of the place, and how people seem to come and go without any consistency, I'm not entirely sure a place like that exists."

Their lips twitch up into an amused smile, but they don't respond, simply nodding slightly. They don't recognize the other words he uses, but it's not hard to guess from context. Fake paper, of a sort. Just not what he wants to consider as such.

Well. Probably. Either way, it's not what the Tenno is used to.

"Why not narrow the beam, focus on people one at a time?" they ask, looking up at him, and despite the adult-seriousness of their speech, their gaze can't help but childishly wander over his face, taking in the horns, the sharp angle of his brows. Less so interested in the sharp teeth that flash as he speaks than they are of the flames kindled in his eyes, a more primal glow than their own.

The armored white creature behind them shifts slightly, and the child's head turns as if listening to something Rolan cannot hear. They straighten, an apologetic look flickering over their face. "Oh, I guess some people might not be happy about that if you weren't asking them first."

It's far from the first time a child has stared at him with such open curiosity, and he tolerates it with an amused smile of his own, the tip of his tail flicking up at his side.

"You're welcome to ask questions about my nature, if you like," he offers gently. After all, the child has been polite thus far, and Rolan doubts that they're about to start shouting slurs at him. Besides, it's far better to encourage curiosity than fear.

"It is a good suggestion," he agrees, putting down the book on sorcery and retrieving his personal notebook. "Perhaps I'll make it my question the next time I visit the Nexus. People here seem rather happy to help, so I imagine I'll get at least a few volunteers if I put it out there."

Well, if he's going to offer, who are they to turn him down? Besides, if this place does bank excess questions for those who don't ask right away, maybe this will help balance the scales. "Does everyone look like that where you're from?" Not quite what are you. That would be rude.

"You might," they agree with a nod. "People here can be really friendly. It's kind of weird. Half the time they don't want anything in return either. Or at least that's what they say."

They chew on their lip, thinking about something, and lift their hand in greeting before they can change their mind. "I'm Ayatan, by the way. This is Umbra," they add, gesturing to their silent shadow. Umbra doesn't move, not until Ayatan adds a gesture of encouragement. The white head dips slightly toward Rolan in a reluctant nod, appeasing the child in its charge.

"No, they don't." It's not the question Rolan anticipated hearing, but it's still a very good question that allows him plenty of room for elaboration and well. Exposition (a wizard's favorite thing).

Clearing his throat, Rolan sets his book aside and straightens his posture, murmuring an incantation and gesturing with his hands as he conjures the illusion of a brown haired, brown eyed, bearded human in purple wizarding robes. "There are many humanoid races on the planet of Torril, where I am from. Humans, of course, tend to have the greatest population, and the most assertive cultures, hence why we use the term humanoid and not, say... elfin."

Speaking of, a flick of his wrist shifts the illusion to that of a pale, slender elf with a sly smile and red eyes. "Elves tend to be the next largest group, and they come in a wide variety such as High Elf," a flick of his wrist and the illusion takes the shape of a tall, imposing elf with brown hair, leathery skin, and a kind smile, "Wood elf," another flick, and now the illusion is a stern woman with white hair tied back into a bun with dark grey-purple skin, "And the Drow. There are many, many more types of elf, but as they are simply subraces under these three categories, going into detail is a bit much for the time being."

"After that are the smaller races, halfings, gnomes, and dwarves, each with their own slew of racial variations." Each flick of his wrist shows a new individual, including Svirfneblin - Deep Gnomes - like Barcus, and Duegar. "They're not seen as often as humans or elves, as they tend to live in burrows or caves, but there are still plenty to be found in cities and settlements."

"Then there are the mixed races; half-orcs, half-elves, and tieflings like myself." With a few more flicks, he finishes off his display, lingering for just a moment on a pair of tieflings with dark hair, orange eyes, ruddy skin just a shade or two darker than Rolan's, and teasing smiles. "These are my siblings, Cal and Lia. We... I was separated from my parents very young, and their mother took me in."

"I am Rolan," he says, touching his chest with one hand as he bows his head respectfully to Ayatan. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

They listen attentively, studying the images Rolan conjures like they're studying for a school quiz. They're used to holograms, so the projections provoke no surprise or wonder - but the sheer amount of nonhuman species he's describing definitely does. And all from one planet! Maybe they have a common ancestor, so far back that it's long forgotten. They do look similar, don't they? Same basic shapes, same configuration. Someone who didn't know a Grineer's origin would never consider them the same as the Corpus, after all.

They hold their questions as he speaks though, taking it all in, and paying extra attention to the clearly personal images of Rolan's siblings, their heart aching with compassion for the family he found through loss, an all-too-familiar tale. "I'm sorry about your parents. I lost mine too." A statement of fact, not accompanied by tears. An old wound, healed over as best it ever will. Common ground, perhaps.

"Tiefling," they say, mulling over the word, putting together the pieces of commonality in their mind. "What does that mean?"

"It's not an uncommon circumstance on Toril," Rolan remarks, his tone just as matter of fact as Ayatan's. 20 odd years have come and gone since the loss; plenty of time for him to come to terms with it and move on. Yet for others, the loss is much more recent, and he can't help but think of Ide and the other orphans who accompanied their rag-tag group from Elturel. He'd been so caught up in himself, in his apprenticeship to Lorroakan, that he had not been kind - had barely acknowledged them unless he had to.

So much of the past few months had been humbling; he made a note to see which of the tiefling orphans had gone with Halsin to Moonrise Towers, and which had stayed in the city. It wasn't within his power to change the past, but he could, at the very least, start making changes in the present.

Taking a deep breath, Rolan set his mind to conveying what it meant to be a tiefling.

"I am... not entirely sure where the word originates from," he begins, tail flicking at his side as he curls a hand over his chin. "Up until 150 years ago, our heritage was extremely mixed. Tieflings could be born from a number of fiendish races, including demons, Rakshasa, and hags."

He included an illusion of a Rakshasa, an anthropomorphic tiger like race with a taste for fine clothing and jewelry, and a hag, an ugly, twisted looking humanoid with gnarled limbs and grotesque features, so that Ayatan had an idea of what he was referencing.

"But a ritual was done to bind all of our bloodlines to Asmodeus, the ruler of the nine hells," he continues, conjuring up an image of a devil. Not Asmodeus himself, as few books depict his likeness, and even then the accuracy is debatable, but a tall, red skinned being with massive horns and wings and features that match Rolan's is deemed enough to get the point across. "People call us devilkin, hellspawn, and foulblood despite the fact that we're more human than fiend, but there are places that are more willing to accept us than others."

The sliding scale of beauty in 'fiendish' ancestors is truly staggering, and Ayatan leans forward a little to examine the illusions better. Particularly the Rakshasa, taking note of their finery and strange hands with a sharp intensity in their gaze. Beautiful creatures, but appearances don't always match hearts, do they?

"You mean he enslaved you," they interpret, a note of quiet, cold fury in their voice. Not anger at tieflings, but for them, outrage kept in check but simmering visibly in their face. Behind Ayatan, Umbra's posture also shifts, that eyeless head turning to commit the appearance of Asmodeus to its memory, fingers tightening subtly around the hilt of its sword. "It's what always happens when people have too much power. When they don't care about anybody else except how they can use them." Ayatan shakes their head in disgust, raising their eyes to meet Rolan's. "It's not your fault how you were born. What you are."

Enslaved. The Tenno isn't wrong to make that connection, but it's a word - a concept - that Rolan hadn't ever considered before. His ties to Asmodeus had always felt esoteric at best; sure, he could see the devil's influence every time he looked in the mirror, and he knew that without the intercession of another deity, his soul would be doomed to the Hells, but he didn't feel enslaved.

Not like he had with Lorroakan.

"Well, he certainly draws his power from us," Rolan finally concedes, swallowing around the tight knot suddenly caught in his throat. "But it's not impossible to escape him, and we're quite free to live as we please. Still, I appreciate your empathy and understanding."

Once again, Ayatan reminds Rolan of Dame Aylin, of her rage over not just over what Lorroakan intended for her, but for what he'd already done to him. Such a strange thing to think that the divine not only accepted him for what he was, but cared so strongly for the injustices he'd experienced as well.

Gods preserve him, but he prayed he could live up to their expectation.

"Do you have any other questions I can answer?" he asked, gesturing to his equipment and the portal behind him. "About myself, my world, my research or otherwise?"

Their gaze searches his face, looking for any sign that he's hiding anything, gentling down a brutal truth to avoid scaring them. It happens to Ayatan sometimes, and they understand why, but it rankles to be treated like a child to be sheltered when they've not been that naive innocent for longer than they can count. They see no such deception in Rolan's open expression, and while this does not dampen their anger at what's been done to the tieflings, it does ease their more immediate fury. They nod once. "That's good. Everyone should get to choose for themselves."

A basic, childish declaration of rights, but no less true for it.

They lean back on their legs, taking a measured breath, letting the anger go. Embrace emptiness. Recalibrate. They look up at Rolan again, not as relaxed as before but letting glimpses of that childish curiosity back in, eyes wandering back to the instruments. "What are you researching anyway? You said you're measuring power, but why? Are you trying to invent something?"

Rolan takes the moment to recenter himself as well, pushing down the shame of his selfishness and any lingering anxiety over Lorroakan. The man was dead - at his own hand, no less - and wouldn't be hurting him or anyone else ever again. The rest were things that could be dealt with later, once he returned to Baldur's Gate.

"I'm researching the Nexus," Rolan replies, slipping back into a more scholarly tone as he gestures to the space around them. "I've read the pamphlet, certainly, but while it explains what this place is and how to interact with it, I'm extremely curious to know how it works. Why does it exist? What powers it, and how did it come to be?"

Half turning to gesture to the portal back to Ramazith's Tower, he adds, "I have books upon books on the recorded history of Toril, of its cosmology, and the Powers That Be. I know of many of the planes that are connected to my world, but never have I heard of the Nexus before."

"Perhaps at a later date I'll invent something, but for now..." He shrugs, tail flicking at his side with all his unexpressed excitement. "I'm curious. And well..." Cough, ahem. "Writing a few academic papers on an unknown plane will likely afford me no small amount of acclaim back home."

Academic. Understanding dawns, a connection made. "You're an Archimedean," Ayatan exclaims. "Or whatever your people call them. An important scholar." Well, that makes sense why he's so curious. It's literally his job, then. Or will be?

"I don't think you'll be the first to try," they tell him with a small shrug, "but I don't think anyone's figured it out either. This place is even more complicated than the Void, and nobody understands that yet. Although..." They bite their lip a little in a nervous tic. "The Nexus is probably a lot safer to study. I hope it is."

"We're known as wizards on Toril," Rolan says with a bow of his head and a flourish of his hand. "I'm far from being a master, but I have a very good headstart for someone of my age, and I am nothing if not a prodigy."

"As for being the first to try..." He shrugs, an absent flick of his tail accompanying the motion. "That doesn't matter to me. What's important is that I'm the first from my realm, and that I am the one making the discoveries. It's just more fun that way."

He flashes a toothy smile. "And if I never learn all there is to learn about the Nexus? Well, then I'll never run out of questions to ask, will I?"

"Wizard," they repeat in a murmur. An unfamiliar word to their ear, but since coming here they've made an effort to memorize the things other people prefer to be called. Both out of basic respect, and because the Orokin don't get a say in what people are titled anymore.

Their gaze is drawn to Rolan's tail when it twitches, a barely restrained grin of childish amusement on their face. It's so expressive, like a kavat or a kubrow! They don't think he'd appreciate the comparison though. He is a person after all.

A person who is saying things they should probably be responding to, at that. "Probably not," they agree. "This place is infinite." A faint frown flickers across their face as they look up at him. "That guy you were asking about? You might never find him, but infinity means the odds are pretty much impossible he's not here somewhere."

Rolan can't help but notice Ayatan looking at his tail, and it flicks one last time before going completely still, embarrassment creeping up the tiefling's already rosy cheeks. He could control it, of course - it was prehensile - however, the subconscious mind often exerted far more control than the conscious mind did.

Ahem.

Anyway.

"I know, and I'm rather hoping that I don't," Rolan mumbles, his expression dropping into that of a scowl. "He was not a good man, and I do not relish the thought of some alternate version of him entering my reality through my portal."

He looks back at the portal with a huff, his brow furrowing as a hand curls over his chin. "You... don't know of that ever happening, do you?

Ayatan regards him with a seriousness that sits strangely on their youthful face. "People go through each others' doors all the time. I've seen some people put guards on theirs, or set up sensors that tell them if someone goes through. I don't know if you can lock them."

Probably not, from what they've seen around here. But one never says never.

"Zurgen," Rolan swears, looking away as his shoulders reflexively hunch around his ears defensively. A small sliver of panic slices through him, but he stomps it down quick; he'd accepted the abuse Lorroakan doled out before because he thought it was what he had to do. He knew better now, and he knew - he knew! - that he was capable of taken the other wizard on by himself. Hells, he hadn't even needed magic to finish the bastard off! All it had took in the end was one solid push off the side of the tower...

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rolan forces himself to relax and think things through logically. "Fine. This is fine. I can deactivate the portal when it's not in use, and if the others are anything like the Lorroakan I knew, then it's unlikely that they'll know how to reactivate it. I can work with this."

"Thank you," he adds, returning his attention to Ayatan and bowing his head in deference. "Your input has been very helpful and has given me much to think about."

He's taking this remarkably well, in Ayatan's opinion. When they'd first realized Ballas could turn up at any moment, it had taken weeks for Umbra to let them anywhere near the Nexus, and they hadn't been much inclined to argue. Antiviolence field or no, the armor is their compromise, just in case. They're hardly helpless, but they are a child, and an adult Orokin with the kind of track record Ballas has... well. Safer is always better.

They nod, meeting Rolan's eyes. "You're welcome. For what it's worth, I hope whoever he is, he never finds you."

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