Scene #5524:

Owner	Pose
Count Kord	The Mausoleum of Yveltal A tremendous stone structure built into the mountains surrounding Dragoni, to call this structure imposing would do it an injustice. Boxy structures jut out of a lifeless spire of stone, appearing to bulge out of the natural formation with few stone seems to be noted. There are no windows in the entire structure, just countless morbid, gothic designs that cover the outside of it. The only way in is a pair of enormous doors at the base of this structure, whose highest building seems to touch the clouds where the mountain cracks through it. Walking inside of the building, it is very empty. All of the grave markers are simply that... markers. Plaques etched on the walls or gravestones lined up in perfect, tight order, with only the names of the dead on them. An attendant greets Septette and leads her through the structure with very little sound, bringing her to a large chamber with only two notable features aside the crystal-lit glow: A massive statue of Yveltal, painstakingly maintained and painted, curled around an enormous stone egg... and Kord himself, staring up at the two story statue. Kord doesn't look away from the statue. The attendant simply nods and walks out, leaving the mechanical being alone with the silent man in a very grim setting. It's very quiet. Kord seems distracted.
Septette Arcubielle	For many, time is money. For Septette, time is blood. She is utterly indefatigable in helping others however she can, sparing moments for more trivial pursuits only in those brief reprieves when her arcane calculus determines her time couldn't be better spent. This is not one of these reprieves: Kord's summons came at a wholly unexpected moment. Yet however many lives she calculates may be forfeit in her unplanned absence, she still estimates that the long-term consequences of accepting the Count's invitation are likely to be worth the loss. Such is often the case in dealing with Elites. Those whose actions can shape worlds are always worth knowing, and worth knowing well. None of this unwholesomely detached ethical arithmetic is apparent in Septette's demeanor when she arrives in the Mausoleum, save that she failed to wear anything more suitable than her customary shawl. Quietly thanking the attendant, the little machine strides forward with clanking steps to stand beside and slightly behind Kord, arms folded behind her back as she gazes up at the statue as well. It's quiet here. But not silent. No room that Septette occupies, unfortunately, can remain devoid of noise. The subtle whine of her electrical components, the muffled click-click-click of fine gears, the distant violin whine of piano-wire tendons pulled taut... all drowned out by conversation, but in a place like this, they stand out sharply against the somber background. To call it annoying would be a stretch, but the mechanical susurrus is certainly a reminder of her presence. It suffices in place of clearing her throat.
Count Kord	"I have listened to you speak. You echo sentiments I hold to my heart, and you spare much thought to your words. I value those who might become my enemy on another day, should purposes cease to align, those who stick to what they know is right. So I want to tell you the story of my life. I feel like it is appropriate to do so here, where the lives lived are honored, where families can go to mourn. Do you want to listen? To talk?" Kord hardly moves as he speaks. The statue of Yveltal has its eyes closed, as if asleep, guarding an egg that will never hatch. It seems peaceful, but in a place like this, different meanings might be derived from its presence. Kord's tail can be seen unfurled from his waist, swaying and twitching behind him.
Septette Arcubielle	"I haven't come to this place to close my heart to you, Count Kord," Septette replies earnestly. Her silvery ear-fins flick at the air, angling themselves subtly to pick up the timbre and emotion of his words more clearly. Her eyes briefly dart between his tail, and that of the likeness of his patron. "You're a man of uncommon principles. Or perhaps- principles commonly espoused, but rarely acted upon as faithfully and to such a conclusion as you have done." "It seems strange to me that you'd come here, to the terminus of so many journeys, to tell a story that is still in the writing. You cannot conduct a faithful post-mortem on that which still lives. But perhaps there are chapters of your life that you feel are duly concluded, and have their place among the annals of the dead." She tilts her head, shifting a bit to a more open and receptive posture. "Exhume what you wish for me to hear, but feel no guilt if there are secrets you still wish to keep. I shall listen attentively, but will not pry."
Count Kord	"Yes." Kord begins to talk. His voice isn't droning, but quiet, and his head doesn't turn to address Septette. His inhuman eyes fixate on the statue as if it were the focal point of his feelings here. "I was born on a farm, to two completely ordinary farmers. Not the only child they had, to be certain. I had a tail, a clearly strange feature to find on a human child... and its shape and color..." He lifted his arm and pointed one claw gauntlet digit toward the statue. "They named me Jakob, and they kept me near as long as they could, before the religious leaders demanded I be raised properly and took me here. I was taught the value of life and how fragile it was by staying here, and I was taught that death is not always an end." Which, in the Multiverse, is true. "But it was here that Yveltal first spoke to me. It told me to go out into the world. It told me to live. A god of death, demanding that its brood go out and simply experience the world, to be alive. So I took up a foolish quest. I would see the whole of Bayern, and live the fullest life I could. I learned how to fight when I learned that all Pokemon would reject my nature, teaching me to fight like a beast myself. I would learn that common men fear death, and so they feared me, a child that had done no wrong to them. I learned that terrible things, both men and monster, hide in the dark waiting to prey on the weak, and they care very little for the squabbles of humanity and their religions. I learned that even the gods would spurn me, when all I wanted was to gain their acceptance. All I wanted was acceptance. That is all. Not wealth, or fame, or power. Acceptance. They refused to accept who I was, and only accepted what they thought was true. Even Xerneas only saw me as the offspring of its rival, and not a mortal seeking counsel." "So I discarded my farmboy self and became the man you see now, taking on a new name, a new identity, a new way of thinking. It was just... easier. I became a Count because I finally decided to use the fear and reverence of my community to form an army, and I used that army to purge an evil from a neighboring land, without asking, without debating, without pausing to ask their gods for mercy or assistance. I just... did it. It destroyed a part of me. It destroyed families and a community. That place will never be what it once was. I killed it, to save the rest of the world." "I have lived to see my parents die, to see my friends grow old and forget me. I am just... tired. Very tired." "You seem like someone who would understand how that feels."
Septette Arcubielle	A solemn pause hangs in the air for several seconds after Kord finishes. It gives the deliberate impression that Septette is very carefully composing her reply- though, of course, for her to actually do so takes no time at all. Sometimes gravitas is in the silence, not the words. There are many things she could say. Many analogies, however rough and imprecise, from her own experience. No analogy for childhood, but several for loss; none for humble beginnings, but too many to count for dreadful uses of power. But Kord isn't here to hear her story. He's here to share his past with someone willing to hear it. "You are tired," she responds gently, "but nevertheless, you persist. I understand how that feels. Even when no part of you is willing to press on, you can still be driven forward by a purpose that is larger than yourself. By the desire to see some goal achieved, even when it may not bring you happiness to see it done. Even when it may be actively painful to pursue it..." Her eyes shut for a moment, then open again. Her expression is still solemn, but resolute, having reached an internal conclusion. "It had been so long since I last had comrades. Hard times do not create strong people- merely reveal them. In the crucible of the Abyssal War, perhaps one human in a thousand would not break utterly. In those people, in those survivors, I found allies whom I could depend upon. And I watched them erode slowly, body and spirit, because even a roaring flame must someday burn itself out." Septette's head tilts back, and she clutches her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. "In the decades that followed, I tried to bring about a gentler world. A world without such a crucible. I have hoped that heroes of their kind would never again be needed. I have hoped, ultimately, to never again have someone I could trust." "And yet, with Unification..." A sound approaching a wistful sigh escapes her lips. "... There are people I can trust again, I think. People who have survived such a crucible. ... Have you made any new friends, Count? Any to replace the ones you've lost?"
Count Kord	"No." Kord only has that as his answer. No reason, no explanation, it's only said after a big sigh. "Living is not meant to be gentle. Living can be made easier, illness battled and dangers softened, but it will never be gentle. You cannot promise that for anyone. The promise of death alone makes living harsh. It is demanding of us because it is finite. Even for you. You will not live forever, Septette. Eventually, something will break down, and there won't be a way to stop it, to fix it. You have said as much. Your resources are limited." "I only have so much time, and I haven't any to spare for friendship."
Septette Arcubielle	"There are things that can make one regard even death as gentle, Kord," comes the soft reply. "That I am ultimately mortal is something that is always in my mind. Yet I have no fear nor apprehension of it: intrinsic aversion to death would ill suit any machine built for the same purpose as mine. There is one reason only that the prospect of death troubles me. The thought that, after I am gone, I cannot trust anyone else to prosecute my ideals as faithfully as I could. That is why every moment is precious. I have a purpose larger than myself, and everything else is instrumental." "I have one more question for you, however, before we fall into philosophical debate. Why do you tell me this story, Kord? Why anyone, first, and why me specifically?" The edges of her lips twitch downwards into a concerned look. "I can empathize, but so could others. I am honored, but so would others be. What insights did you hope I would have for you, Kord? Or were you simply looking for a sympathetic ear?" She looks puzzled, and... worried. Worried, perhaps, at the implication that she could be the warmest person he could find.
Count Kord	"Because you are not an ally. Because you have said enough that I know you would strike me down the moment I become a true threat to what you value. And what you value is life. It is not trust, but an assurance, a matter of preserving something. Even a mind can erode, and I am growing old, and I do things that threaten my own life and mind often. I don't need insight from you, or trust, or empathy. I only needed to tell you so that someone knew. Someone I felt might live a while longer than most, and might tell others after I'm dead, even if my story ends in tragedy or madness." Kord shrugs, then turns to look at her. His eyes focus on her face. "I don't care if you desire to remember or if you eventually discard my memory, when I really get down to my feelings on it... I just have... moods." He has good humor in his tone and a smile on his voice. "Lumiere is very burdensome on the mind, particularly when it comes to what value life has and what happens when the mind begins to disappear. I think some call this... stress relief?" He breathes a sigh and gives an animated, helpless shrug at her.
Septette Arcubielle	As Septette's gaze meets the Count's, her eyes slowly dim from their customary purple glow to an almost imperceptible dull shimmer. It looks almost as if she's staring through him, or as if she has momentarily retreated into herself. Her face, as always, conveys only and exactly what she wants it to: wistful thoughtfulness, in this case. "Count Kord," she finally says, "I do not always remember, but nor do I allow myself to forget. Your face and story are engraved in my heart, and may there outlive whatever limestone epitaph you finally earn." She inclines her head towards him and bends her knees slightly, the respectful movement coming with a hint of deliberate stiffness as if she were unused to performing it. "Thank you, Kord, for telling me your story. I am honored that you would let me hear it. But the next time you require stress relief," she adds with a hint of matching good humor, "I demand you allow me to ply you with tea. It has never done an ailing spirit ill. Do we have a deal?"
Count Kord	"Hnn." Kord actually thinks about it. And then he reaches up to adjust his helmet, and then he turns to leave without answering her at all, his steps not making noise even in the near utter silence of this room.