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No title.
(2013-08-10 - Now)
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Blivon In Traverse Town, Glabados had relatively no authority, and this wasn't to say that it was out of the possibility that they'd invade, yet, at the same time, problems could arise if they were perceived as trespassing on the turf of the Traverse Town's legitimate leadership, by violating their rules. Because Blivon wasn't adored by the church, he often kept within the city limits, choosing to promote the name of The New Zodiac Braves while trying to forage for himself, so that he could reduce the influence Mullonde had in the World of Ruin in a universal sense- if such a day were to arrive, the druid would feel a lot more comfortable making more frequent trips beyond the borders.

Today, being nothing exceptional in the way of preferred activities, Blivon was doing something that he often did on weekends; he was sitting at a table, volunteering some of his time for something along the lines of 'Habitat for Sapienity', which was like 'Habitat for humanity', but on a more broad scale, since it applied to any being with enough self-awareness and intellect to warrant a validated claim to humane treatment, including housing! The eighty-three inch tall shaman was standing beside a table, waving to folks as they passed by, asking politely if they were interested in offering a small donation, or even putting forth such a commitment as to sponsor an entire family in need, which meant getting updates on their improvement, and often letters of gratitude from the recipients to show their appreciation for being given a chance at a better life.

Not wearing his armor, or carrying a weapon of any sort, Blivon had decidedly also kept his pet skunk at home, since she might've served as a deterrent to prospective donors, even if he was thoroughly accustomed to aromas of the wild that few other folk could so easily tolerate!
Sydney Losstarot Sydney walks through the streets of Traverse town slowly and boredly, his appearance cloaked by a heavy, charcoal colored cloak. His footsteps echo across the cobblestone floors of the town with a light "Clank...Clank..." noise, like the sound of metal upon stone. His hardset gaze carefully scans all around him, noting the man at the street table, waving and asking for donations. Bah.

...Then again, Sydney /does/ have a lot of money he has no use for, having long ago surpassed the needs of human flesh like food and housing. And those Templars he cuts down do carry gold... Bah. I guess even a man as cruel as Sydney can have moments of morality. He walks by the small table, making no indication that he might do anything. He just...stops. And something about this man Simply being in his presence can make ones stomach drop, his sickly, maligned power radiating through the air around him. He holds out an armored hand, the hands ending in large, serrated claws. The claws covered in blood... Well, dried blood. That looks like its been there for quite some time. But it is still blood nonetheless. As the claws unfold, whats in his hand can be seen.

A hefty sack of Gil.
Blivon Able to distinguish the sounds of metal percussing against mineral, Blivon is not a total stranger to cyborgs, even if his encounters with them have been few and far between, but when Sydney approaches, Blivon studies the man calmly, with a mellow gaze, wondering why he has paused his stride. Although the holy-man(Blivon) can tell there's something slightly amiss about Sydney, it isn't as though he's going to be terribly judgmental over the matter, since instincts don't tend to govern his thought-processes as much as they might others, or so it might seem; the fact that this peculiar man with a foreboding aura has stopped may portend something good, regardless, and soon enough, a taloned mechanical appendage seems to slither towards Blivon, with the former individual's claws creaking open to reveal a sack of coinage stationed atop his palm, as if to relinquish it to the shaman who is soliciting passerby.

Nodding with a sincere grin, despite the emanations that are probably terribly unnerving to the normal person, Blivon stretches out his hand as if to accept the bag, but he does so cautiously, deciding that caution was in order, given that Sydney's blood-stained claws smelled of humanoid entrails, even if the odor was faint, given how long ago the fluids had dried. Nodding his head appreciatively, either out of sheer ignorance, or perhaps inhumane self-discipline, the taller fellow asks, "I take it that you intend to offer this satchel to our cause, sir?"

Despite the fact that Sydney might effectively be 'robbing Peter to pay Paul', Blivon isn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.... at least, not at the present moment; when conditions in the world change, sometimes people's decisions can be regretted, or retracted, when optional.
Sydney Losstarot A low, dark chuckle echoes from beneath the hood. "Of course. I wouldn't waste my time were I not." He says, reaching his clawed hand up to his hood. He pulls it down, revealing...a face that Blivon has probably seen before, if he was once associated with the Glabadosian Church. The face of "???", literring wanted posters put out by the church quite often. His bounty is incredibly high, second only to the likes of Ramza Beoulve himself. His crimes? Might want to pull up a chair...Murder, Arson, Extortion, Aiding Known Heretics, the list goes on and on.

"Hmph." He mutters under his breath, as he takes a minute to look about the surrounding. "To what charitable cause do I owe my coin?" He says, raising a brow at the "Habitats for Sapienity." "'Tis a world rich with foolishness. There are those who will exploit you, and think nothing more of it. 'Tis the world we live in. So why continue offering such services?" He says, his hard, stony face hardset on Blivon with a mixture of curiousity and condescension.
Blivon Truth be told, when Sydney shows his face, Blivon is ignorant to his identity, primarily because the Glabadosian church with which the shaman was once affiliated, long ago, was presumably not the exact some one, in some senses, and having hailed from a different time(world?), the lofty ex-priest hadn't had an opportunity to really encounter wanted posters with Sydney's face, by virtue of having taken great strides to /avoid/ the church. Whereas Sydney had been wanted for a myriad of crimes, some more heinous than others, Blivon was a heretic no less, ergo, he wasn't one to keep the company of zealots, given the choice!

Arguably, Blivon might've recognized of the man's name, if Sydney announced it, since word of mouth might've enlightened the druid to another of the church's blacklisted folks, but there is no indication that the guru recalls the blonde from right off the bat. When Sydney criticizes Blivon's choice of preoccupation, the priest shrugs a little bit and gives an honest response.... at least, as earnest as he possibly can, in the allotted time available- which is little, since he doesn't want to impose too much on Sydney, until it's proven that the cyborg wants to invest in the shaman's ideological preconceptions, "There are those who would exploit those who might exploit me."

He nods, and proceeds with his explanation, "I can only act on what I think, and what I feel, whilst hoping for the best. I cannot act on what I presume exists what's beyond my awareness, because it's just as possible that every single thing I've ever been told was relayed with disingenuousness; if that were the case, then it've been sheer dumb luck that any of my ventures had worked out at all in spite of investing in fraud.... and so maybe my dumb luck will continue as it has my entire life." Strangely enough, Blivon doesn't seem bothered that Sydney is giving him a somewhat patronizing appraisal, so he either truly doesn't care that he's being belittled, or he's hiding his feelings on the matter rather well; nevertheless, if it turns out that Sydney did fork over the bag of gil into Blivon's awaiting hands, it could be assumed that the holy man thanked him profusely, without any sign of trying to dissuade a conversation.... if the clawed man with the disturbing vibrance wants to talk, and he just pitched in to help fund the cause, then Blivon isn't going to be the one to turn him away.
Sydney Losstarot Sydney looks a little surprised by Blivons answer. He was expecting something along the lines of "There are no bad people." Or "God will protect me." Not "Terrible people exist and people will be terrible to them too.", a rather...blunt acceptance of reality exactly as it is. Sydney takes a deep breath, looking as though he might say something.


A low, dark chuckle echoes forth once more. "A charitable soul, who accepts reality as it is, instead of denying possibilities of fraud and cruelty by espouting tales of divine protection. Interesting. Usually stupidity and kindness go hand in hand, 'tis rare to see such cynical acceptance and altruist drive." He says, amused by the personality of the being before him.

"If you accept the reality of those who would do you harm, why continue to spend your time in the pursuit of others happiness, without securing your own safety first?"

He asks, more in a rhetorical tone than an actual question. He places the small satchel of Gil into the other mans hand, a cruel smirk on his face as he realizes the implications.

"You have amused me, beggar. 'Tis yours."
Blivon Blivon maintains his warm expression as he observes Sydney's laughter, even as light as it was, it might have been a precursor for something terrifying to come- or not. The dark chortling only lasts a little while, until Sydney starts to analyze Blivon's decisions in life, regarding his election to aid others as opposed to simply trying to secure a domain for himself, in which he would surely be able to feel confident that he was 'safe'. Sydney was surely about to get some more information, as soon as he inquired as to why the guru had elected what he had, and as ever, a completely honest answer; but first, he gently points at Sydney's blood-stained talons, and remarks, "It doesn't appear as though you've managed to attain much security, if you're having to kill people on a semi-regular basis, sir; no offense intended, of course."

Blivon then scratches his head, "If you didn't have anyone threatening you, and you were living the life of luxury, courtesy of having somehow found yourself subscribing to a more ideal path, I'd wager your claws would be coated in dried juice originating from peeled grapes, and from gristle of London Broil." He tilts his head to the side, "When someone comes along and shows me concrete evidence that they've found perfection, I'll gladly endorse their way of life; does that sound like a reasonable plan of action?" This isn't to say that the shaman has claimed that his /own/ way of life is the best, yet, when he considers the notion that he hasn't had to break a sweat and risk his neck getting severed by the sword of an enemy, Blivon feels that he isn't in the absolute worst circumstances that life could offer!

It may be true that Sydney's query was rhetorical, but that didn't mean the holy-man was unwilling to offer insights of his own to counter what he'd been given, after all.... the cyborg shared a few coins that he'd earned from toiling in some physical manner, no doubt, having had to slaughter countless templars followed by the munny's seizure therein, so the guru saw fit to impart some of the tokens of knowledge he'd gained by toiling in a mental manner, through contemplation and of asking himself some of what could be construed as life's most potentially important conundrums! All that aside, he bows his head when Sydney offers the currency, "Thank you sir. I shall only hope that your proceeds aid our cause in a positive way. I also hope that whatever is ordained for you, is not as anguish-laden as it could be.", and he means every word of it; why would the sage profit if Sydney were to suffer even more? He might become more bitter, more jaded, and kill more folks.... possibly ones who didn't even deserve it! Subsequent to receiving the munny, Blivon begins to stash the bag into a box that is designated as the 'sterilization donations' subdivision of the acquired proceeds- receiving a bag of coins from hands that were covered in human plasma could give them wealth in coin, and germ alike!
Sydney Losstarot Sydney chuckles amusedly at Blivons remarks. "Security is for the weak. Humanity was meant to sit around, and have utopia come to us. We were meant to fight, drag ourself tooth and nail through hell itself before we can find happiness. As for those who fall by my blade... well." He says, a cruel smile coming to his lips. "Rarely do they not have it coming. Those who obey orders blindly, are those who have outlived their usefulness as human beings. If one allows a person who's survival will only bring pain to others...then they have done an act as cruel as causing harm to those people themselves." He says, flicking his claws together with a "SHIIIINK.", and a few dazzly sparks.

"Hmph. Only the rich can live in such decadence. For one to be happy, another must be unhappy. For one to live a life of luxury, peeling grapes, than there are the farmers who are barely alive, trying to carve out a living under cruel lordlings who attain a position through naught more than birthright. The only way for a king to be happy is to have peasantry who are barely alive. And the inverse is true as well...Kings and Priests gorge themselves, while those of us at the bottom of the ladder must live in pain. I am nothing more than a man who seeks to change the status quo. The world is ripe..."

"For revolution."
Blivon Blivon smiles as Sydney states that security is for the weak, and that people want the garden of eden to be delivered on a silver platter, for while he can't disagree that it's the common desire of most to have their life made more convenient, even at the expense of others, he can disagree about a few of the remarks that Sydney makes about the nature of exploitation, when the cyborg goes off on a mild tangent about the greedy folks of the world. Though, Sydney seems to take pride in the fact that he's able to administer 'justice' to those who do wicked acts, even though it could be said by some, perhaps, who've had experience with Sydney, that he's not much vaster in virtue than that of the girth of those who he sunders.

The bladed phalanges make a sleek sort of screeching sound, not horribly unpleasant to the ears, but possibly a mild irritant to those who have sensitive hearing, as some remote ignition takes place as a consequence of the abrasive scraping- thank goodness there's no gunpowder nearby! Shrugging his shoulders, Blivon rubs his chin at Sydney's generalizations, and raises a brow, suspiciously, as he says, ".....And yet, decadence is such a subjective word, I would say." He bobs his head from side to side, thoughtfully, "....After all, according to the records of the history of Manhatten's Earth.... forty thousand years ago or so, everybody lived in caves, and the difference between a rich man and a poor man, would manifest itself in the more fortuitous person getting to wear a full-body bear-skin, and an unfortunate soul wearing a half-body bear-skin, both of whom would've still been likely to catch hypothermia if /either/ of them left the confines of the communal cave in which they flourished."

Blivon goes about rearranging some of the supplies while still being wholly content on obliging Sydney, the oversized shaman comments, "I'd venture to say that political strife is responsible for lack of adequate distribution of resources. From what I hear, some places have considerably substantial technology, enough so that industrialization could easily solve a lot of the world's hunger problems. Of course, deliberate suppression of harvesting and destruction of property in an attempt to keep many in submission is what leads to destitution- or so I've heard." He rubs the back of his head, "I don't blame the desire to gorge as the sole culprit in suffering in the world, for there is enough for practically all to gorge, if resources were used properly, I think. I suspect it has more to do with some folks who just want to be given self-gratification and deference to help reassure them that they have personal worth, which they insecurely need external validation to confirm.... and that by proving to themselves that they have power of some sort, or influence over their environment, they briefly get the 'fix' they need to make them feel like they're in control...." He chuckles, "....which lasts all of two seconds, before they realize that's not enough, and they want even more."

Blivon nods to Sydney, "But good luck with your revolution, nonetheless, sir. I know not the effect of the beating of a butterfly's wings or a cyborg's bloody rampage, in the grand scheme of things- you may be doing more good in the long run, than I. I'm pretty ignorant about what is in store for this universe." He winks, "....or rather, I think that I am."
Sydney Losstarot "Hmph." is Sydneys first response to Blivons argument, before thinking for a splitsecond. "Perhaps. But I'd argue that decadence is one of the few terms in this world that can be defined realistically, as wasting resources. In a kingdom where all live on the brink of starvation, the lord has no right to indulge himself in the nicities of feasts and steaks whilst the people of his kingdom teeter on the sidelines of death. They must be removed from power, and...punished. Kings who do not abuse such power? ...They have no right to rule either. Those who are simply born into their position are those who do not deserve it. Of course, Kind Kings have a blessing...they need not be punished for transactions." He says, with a foul smile crossing his lips.

Sydney laughs once more. Jeeze, Blivon. You're Sydneys new favourite comedian. "Self Gratification is the most foolish way of life of all. Humans, at the very center of their core, are nothing more than husks, filled with hatred and inhumanity. We have a way about ourselves of convincing ourselves that there is only one truth. The only way we can learn to get along without bringing strife against one another is to accept that we all are worthless on the same level. Only then, can we ascend to something greater."
Blivon Blivon scratches his head a little bit, and smiles at Sydney, seemingly serene about being contradicted, "I'd venture to say that it might be hard to define what is a kind king, when, in the end, a ruler still forces others to abide their wishes, and eventually, somebody gets the screws put to them...." He could cite the most classic example of the death penalty's implementation, which satisfies the agrieved, but torments the families of the offenders. It was true that some form of deterrent needed to be instituted to prevent sinister folks from committing heinous deeds, but then, when did one draw the line and deem one person salvageable, to be imprisoned for decades, while others would be annihilated, so that they could never be redeemed?

Obviously, -someone- had to make such a decision, and someone /else/, who held the perpetrator dear to their hearts(usually their mother, at the very least) would find the punishment objectionable. On the other hand, how rampant would crime run if felons were permitted to behave as they pleased, without fear of reprisal; in the end, the dilemma boiled down to the fact that a 'kind king' to one, might be a tyrant to others. On the other hand, the shaman didn't want to point all of that out, because he didn't want to put up a fuss-- he was not tending to Sydney for the sole sake of shoving his ideologies down the other man's throat, so much as 'speculating' what some alternate avenues of thought /might/ be, in terms of plausibility.

All of that notwithstanding, Blivon is grateful to have brought laughter to the cyborg, and feels no desire to prolong the discussion, since it clearly isn't causing the other man any hassle; the moment Sydney finds himself not taking delight in the consultation, the witch-doctor will be sure to pick up on it, and try to steer things in a different direction, or else hint that he has to get back to work, instead of dilly-dallying. Whatever the case, incurring the ire of the 'blood-stained machine of living death' did not seem like a fruitful enterprise! Allowing his shoulders to sink a little, Blivon adopts a more comfortable stance akin to the basic starting position of a Tai-chi practitioner, since he gambles on the conversation lasting a bit longer, as he remarks, "I, myself, wouldn't be so quick to assign worthlessness to anything, or anyone.... namely, because things are what they are, they must have some purpose, in spite of our ignorance to what that role may be. Being non-omniscient, it's hard to take a position of authority on subjects where I am anything but well-versed.....", he tilts his head to the side, questioningly, as if once more demonstrating that his words are conjecture being proposed, not necessarily fact.

This scene contained 11 poses. The players who were present were: Sydney Losstarot, Blivon