TIMESTAMP: 11th Solace, Glade 4622
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
► Show Spoiler
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The dawning of the eleventh day of Glade came with no fanfare like any other day. For most, it really was just…any other day. If you’re waiting for something, for somebody, though, you might wake up just a little brighter, hope in your heart that today will be the day, right? It will, right…? It’s not. Unfortunate, but you can wait, right? Then more days pass…that glimmer of hope, the warmth of the anticipation within you slowly starts to dim, slowly begins to cool. Slowly, oh so slowly, it fades. Once the time frame you were given passes, your lucent excitement is drained and replaced with emotions of an entirely different variety. The glowing warmth you felt each morning is gone and so slowly is it replaced with roots and vines of dread, anxiety, and worry– more days pass and the fear begins to choke you. Being conscious is painful. Your heart aches and there’s no outlet to vent why you’re upset; you’re even too embarrassed to express your feelings to those closest to you. Living uncomfortably in static, you rise and go through your life as normal as you can, running on autopilot. At night, you crutch along using your magic to force yourself asleep lest you spend hours in tears. You wonder, how long will this last?
Throughout the final month of Frost, this bewildering haze slowly took root and blossomed into a heavy, agonizing mess of emotional vines suffocating and crushing the elven Veir, Degare, from within as each day crept by. If one were counting, and he certainly was, it had been precisely forty-one days since he’d last seen the man who’d claimed he’d be back in just a week or two. It couldn’t have been an intentional lie, could it? No…that’s so unlike him. Right? He’d asked himself this question probably over a hundred times by now. It was a question he, of course, could not answer no matter what and was therefore a pointless one to ask– but that didn’t matter; that’s not how his mind worked. This along with hundreds of other potential explanations had passed through his head over the past month or so and he couldn’t stop ruminating on just what cards fate had dealt to the one he’d made the rose-colored choice to fall for. He’d opened doors for this now missing man that had stayed locked closed for just over two decades and…for what? More heartache he didn’t understand how to cope with?
Now in his house’s Amoren manor, slave to sentiment that he was, the Ferrier sits at the desk in the study where he’d been initiated into Blood Magic. Resting most of his upper body and torso on the dark, finely crafted wood of the desk as the sun shines through the curtains in the room, he watches with a forlorn, near to wistful expression as the tiny Thing he’d been gifted crawls around within a small enclosure he’d made with his arms. When the little creature paused its wandering to puke blood, he would either Leech it into Blight or use Blight he’d already Leeched to add to and reshape the floating amalgam of blood he was shaping into…nothing in particular. The new Vandikar would often just Leech the blood into Blight at this point to continuously reshape the roughly one hundred and fifty milliliters of blood he’d collected into various different things. He shifted through sphere, cube, cone, and pyramid– he was casting and recasting these spells to increase his speed and efficiency…but also simply to occupy his time. In actuality, he’d come to Amoren for the purpose of attending Glade’s Blooming Glen in Ardenserat. This lovely event was held tomorrow, however, so for today? Nothing– hence what he was doing.
The door to this study was locked and he had the only key, though precious few others– him included– also had a skeleton key that worked on every room in the estate. Those with that, however, knew to leave him be…sole exception being his most loyal Valran, Lucia. Over the past month and some change, she’d watched her Veir deteriorate before her eyes and been deflected every time she’d asked for more specific details as to exactly why he was affected in this precise way. Despite how much time had passed, she knew precious little at the moment. One such thing was that this slow rot of his already damaged heart was kicked off when a certain little companion of his had to leave. She didn’t know why he left, only that he was somebody's missing slave, but she did know he was only supposed to be gone for no more than two weeks. She also didn’t know the extent to which he’d burrowed into the decayed heart of her Lord, hence her innate confusion. What she did know about the two is that the Rathor had given him a Vandikar’s mark, shared his bed, and spent most of his time at the Ferrier’s side in the days they had together. It’s not as if he’s slept alone every single night since his late husband had passed. No, quite the contrary. Degare had shared his time with several lovers since and didn’t seem to bat an eye as they came and went. In fact, it appeared as if he preferred it that way. As if he preferred to remain wholly unattached to those with whom he shared his body…but yet, this time, it was obviously very different. Had he told her why, though? No.
In this unfortunate state, she honestly felt more like the Veir of the pair than he was considering she went out of her way to do everything she could for him whilst he languished in emotions he had little effective ways to cope with. Not that she really minded on principle, no…Lucia cared a great deal for him. The problem, in her mind, was not that she was doing the lion’s share of the work; rather, it was that she hated to see him like this. She remembered how he was with Averre when she’d first met him. She remembered the budding emotions that resembled that joy, that radiant happiness in the latter days of his time spent with the little Rathor. At her core, the elven woman wanted nothing more than for herself and her Veir to achieve their own happiness– and hers was tied innately to his.
With this in mind, Lucia resolves to once again try and pry the answers from the other’s lips. It’d been some days since the last time she’d asked and it’d been a grand total of sixty days since the Ferrier had that fateful encounter in his family’s business that started this entire snowball of an encounter. At this point, she really felt like she ought to know why the Dranoch, of all things, meant so very much to him. Much as she trusted Degare’s judgment of character, and as much as every interaction she had with the Dranoch had been positive, her own trauma still made that fact hard for her to cope with. Using the skeleton key she’d been given, she unlocks the door to the study within which her Veir lurked.
Whether he’d heard her enter or not, he didn’t react to it. Gently, she closed the door and stepped softly to close the gap between the entrance of the room and the desk where the Veir sat. He was facing away from the one window on the far wall and therefore facing the door, but again, he completely ignored her despite the fact that she was now standing, arms crossed, directly in front of him with only the desk between the two. At first, Lucia said nothing. Much as she came in here with a purpose, what he was doing was inherently interesting in and of itself. The strange, undulating blood floating just above his face and the little creature he’d come to covet was an interesting sight along with the fact that he wore an expression of utter defeat. She watched as he Leeched yet more Blight from a small puddle of blood the little beast produced and then used it to cast Bloodshaping to reshape his existing blood blob into a triangular prism this time. It spun enchantingly, catching and reflecting the sun’s rays on smooth, flat, glossy edges. Blood Magic, admittedly, captivated her as well.
A few more moments of odd silence passes between the two and then she speaks. “Please, Degare…it’s been long enough. Between you and Arkash, what happened? You only get worse with each passing day. It hurts me to watch you suffer like this,” she speaks with genuine concern and no effort put into masking or reshaping her emotions, voice soft and gentle. Degare’s eyes narrow just a bit in thought; his amber gaze stays transfixed on the small Thing as it waddles around in the enclosure created by his arms. With a sigh, he answers, “More than I could have ever anticipated.” His voice was empty as he delivered this dodge of an answer.
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The dawning of the eleventh day of Glade came with no fanfare like any other day. For most, it really was just…any other day. If you’re waiting for something, for somebody, though, you might wake up just a little brighter, hope in your heart that today will be the day, right? It will, right…? It’s not. Unfortunate, but you can wait, right? Then more days pass…that glimmer of hope, the warmth of the anticipation within you slowly starts to dim, slowly begins to cool. Slowly, oh so slowly, it fades. Once the time frame you were given passes, your lucent excitement is drained and replaced with emotions of an entirely different variety. The glowing warmth you felt each morning is gone and so slowly is it replaced with roots and vines of dread, anxiety, and worry– more days pass and the fear begins to choke you. Being conscious is painful. Your heart aches and there’s no outlet to vent why you’re upset; you’re even too embarrassed to express your feelings to those closest to you. Living uncomfortably in static, you rise and go through your life as normal as you can, running on autopilot. At night, you crutch along using your magic to force yourself asleep lest you spend hours in tears. You wonder, how long will this last?
Throughout the final month of Frost, this bewildering haze slowly took root and blossomed into a heavy, agonizing mess of emotional vines suffocating and crushing the elven Veir, Degare, from within as each day crept by. If one were counting, and he certainly was, it had been precisely forty-one days since he’d last seen the man who’d claimed he’d be back in just a week or two. It couldn’t have been an intentional lie, could it? No…that’s so unlike him. Right? He’d asked himself this question probably over a hundred times by now. It was a question he, of course, could not answer no matter what and was therefore a pointless one to ask– but that didn’t matter; that’s not how his mind worked. This along with hundreds of other potential explanations had passed through his head over the past month or so and he couldn’t stop ruminating on just what cards fate had dealt to the one he’d made the rose-colored choice to fall for. He’d opened doors for this now missing man that had stayed locked closed for just over two decades and…for what? More heartache he didn’t understand how to cope with?
Now in his house’s Amoren manor, slave to sentiment that he was, the Ferrier sits at the desk in the study where he’d been initiated into Blood Magic. Resting most of his upper body and torso on the dark, finely crafted wood of the desk as the sun shines through the curtains in the room, he watches with a forlorn, near to wistful expression as the tiny Thing he’d been gifted crawls around within a small enclosure he’d made with his arms. When the little creature paused its wandering to puke blood, he would either Leech it into Blight or use Blight he’d already Leeched to add to and reshape the floating amalgam of blood he was shaping into…nothing in particular. The new Vandikar would often just Leech the blood into Blight at this point to continuously reshape the roughly one hundred and fifty milliliters of blood he’d collected into various different things. He shifted through sphere, cube, cone, and pyramid– he was casting and recasting these spells to increase his speed and efficiency…but also simply to occupy his time. In actuality, he’d come to Amoren for the purpose of attending Glade’s Blooming Glen in Ardenserat. This lovely event was held tomorrow, however, so for today? Nothing– hence what he was doing.
The door to this study was locked and he had the only key, though precious few others– him included– also had a skeleton key that worked on every room in the estate. Those with that, however, knew to leave him be…sole exception being his most loyal Valran, Lucia. Over the past month and some change, she’d watched her Veir deteriorate before her eyes and been deflected every time she’d asked for more specific details as to exactly why he was affected in this precise way. Despite how much time had passed, she knew precious little at the moment. One such thing was that this slow rot of his already damaged heart was kicked off when a certain little companion of his had to leave. She didn’t know why he left, only that he was somebody's missing slave, but she did know he was only supposed to be gone for no more than two weeks. She also didn’t know the extent to which he’d burrowed into the decayed heart of her Lord, hence her innate confusion. What she did know about the two is that the Rathor had given him a Vandikar’s mark, shared his bed, and spent most of his time at the Ferrier’s side in the days they had together. It’s not as if he’s slept alone every single night since his late husband had passed. No, quite the contrary. Degare had shared his time with several lovers since and didn’t seem to bat an eye as they came and went. In fact, it appeared as if he preferred it that way. As if he preferred to remain wholly unattached to those with whom he shared his body…but yet, this time, it was obviously very different. Had he told her why, though? No.
In this unfortunate state, she honestly felt more like the Veir of the pair than he was considering she went out of her way to do everything she could for him whilst he languished in emotions he had little effective ways to cope with. Not that she really minded on principle, no…Lucia cared a great deal for him. The problem, in her mind, was not that she was doing the lion’s share of the work; rather, it was that she hated to see him like this. She remembered how he was with Averre when she’d first met him. She remembered the budding emotions that resembled that joy, that radiant happiness in the latter days of his time spent with the little Rathor. At her core, the elven woman wanted nothing more than for herself and her Veir to achieve their own happiness– and hers was tied innately to his.
With this in mind, Lucia resolves to once again try and pry the answers from the other’s lips. It’d been some days since the last time she’d asked and it’d been a grand total of sixty days since the Ferrier had that fateful encounter in his family’s business that started this entire snowball of an encounter. At this point, she really felt like she ought to know why the Dranoch, of all things, meant so very much to him. Much as she trusted Degare’s judgment of character, and as much as every interaction she had with the Dranoch had been positive, her own trauma still made that fact hard for her to cope with. Using the skeleton key she’d been given, she unlocks the door to the study within which her Veir lurked.
Whether he’d heard her enter or not, he didn’t react to it. Gently, she closed the door and stepped softly to close the gap between the entrance of the room and the desk where the Veir sat. He was facing away from the one window on the far wall and therefore facing the door, but again, he completely ignored her despite the fact that she was now standing, arms crossed, directly in front of him with only the desk between the two. At first, Lucia said nothing. Much as she came in here with a purpose, what he was doing was inherently interesting in and of itself. The strange, undulating blood floating just above his face and the little creature he’d come to covet was an interesting sight along with the fact that he wore an expression of utter defeat. She watched as he Leeched yet more Blight from a small puddle of blood the little beast produced and then used it to cast Bloodshaping to reshape his existing blood blob into a triangular prism this time. It spun enchantingly, catching and reflecting the sun’s rays on smooth, flat, glossy edges. Blood Magic, admittedly, captivated her as well.
A few more moments of odd silence passes between the two and then she speaks. “Please, Degare…it’s been long enough. Between you and Arkash, what happened? You only get worse with each passing day. It hurts me to watch you suffer like this,” she speaks with genuine concern and no effort put into masking or reshaping her emotions, voice soft and gentle. Degare’s eyes narrow just a bit in thought; his amber gaze stays transfixed on the small Thing as it waddles around in the enclosure created by his arms. With a sigh, he answers, “More than I could have ever anticipated.” His voice was empty as he delivered this dodge of an answer.
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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
"Silvain Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
"Silvain Tongue/Speech"
