[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/qSXKgkY.png[/img]
[sub][@Nanaya][@Estylwen][@Psyker Landshark][/sub][/center]
A starting gun to trigger the activation during proper usage. And the sounds of someone crying when channeled through the hands instead? Something that triggered the activation of emotional essence in order to simply abort the operation.

Otis clicked his tongue. He needed more samples before he could make sense of it. Wingram Academy was rife with them, but how many could he truly be certain possessed an Ethos with such curious restrictions as Davil’s? Was it only a matter of learning one’s Ethos before one learned of their prime essence? How unique was Wund’s scion?

How had it changed, from a gale to a deluge!

The Strigidae’s eyes widened, willing the light to fill his eyes to such clarity that not a single detail could be missed. The nature of Ethos was to accomplish what was incomprehensible for mere magic to, and Davil’s peculiarity finally revealed itself. It was the willingness to risk his very organs for an ascent to the stars. It was strength enough to break free from the shackles of gravity itself. It was human audacity, reaching for the Sun as their wings burned to slag.

It [i]was[/i] useful.

Davil plummeted, approaching the earth at a faster and faster rate. He reached terminal velocity, the wind pulling back the flesh of his face as his limbs flailed without purpose. There was no sign of Otis weaving any magic, no sign of Otis pulling out any cushioning from the aether. There was nothing but [i]impact[/i].

Such a swift impact that he must have died without feeling a thing, and now, he was falling still, falling into an abyss of junk-stars and invented constellations. Falling, tumbling, rotating, and then…hm? He could feel himself slowing down, as if instead of falling, he was rising? As if the gravity that chained him had changed its mind, and was now trying to pull him the opposite way?

And then, as he continued to slow, continued to rotate, an asteroid that had lost its way, Davil could see it. A door in front of him, like so many other doors. Opening up, revealing light and life, laughter and the smell of breakfast. Paradise for the hungry and then…

He rolled out from the front door of the cafeteria, tumbling right into the most curious scene enacted between a true knight, an eccentric king, a shadow-witch, and a masked servant.

Otis stepped after, the traces of his Ethos disappearing as the door to the Cafeteria that he had spied the day before returned to its normal state. He looked at what was before him, considered the situation, recalled the principles of work and reward, and finally said, in the flattest voice possible, [b]“Ciara, I can tell you have eaten, but would you care for coffee? Because Davil wants coffee with you, and he may not survive tomorrow.”[/b]

So why put off one’s regrets, really?

[b]“And the rest of you are free to join as well. Especially you, Iraleth.”[/b]