From Ashes III: Allay Your Fears [Memory]
Posted: Mon Feb 28, 2022 12:21 pm
TIMESTAMP: 16th Cinderfall - Ash - 4572 / 17:03
NOTES:
NOTES:
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Degare’s immediate compulsion is to freeze and observe; usually one to think about his actions before he reacts in cases where this is allowed. Now, however, might not be the time for observation as each moment that ticks by appears to drain more energy from his beloved Averre. Hunched over such that he is now almost bent in half, arms hanging heavy, knees beginning to buckle– the man appears to be a mess. Snapping from his momentary lapse in judgment, the elven man lunges forward, bending his own knees to shorten himself such that he can catch his lover before he falls to the ground. He could almost feel the man’s strength continuing to drain as he held him in his arms, slowly being able to move less and less of his own body. The weakened man manages to nuzzle his face into the pale one’s chest, nipping at bare skin despite his current predicament.
The elf sighs in response, shifting his position to lift his lover into his arms and carry him over to the nearby daybed. It was near the door, nested in a corner lounge type area, with each nearby wall adorned with very tall shelves decorated with myriad texts. A plush rug of ornate design in colors black and purple lay beneath it. The daybed itself was made of black velvet with a purplish, royal blue sheen to it in the right lighting. Haphazardly strewn across it was a bright crimson blanket. The golden-eyed man can barely even attempt to hold onto his lover as he’s carried, and though he is placed down as gently as the other man can manage, he groans in pain; his body aches terribly. Seeing his lover genuinely suffering, lacking that usually omnipresent cheerfulness, hurt Degare’s heart.
He takes a deep breath as he moves to sit next to the smaller one, pushing the hair that had fallen upon his face out of the way. He tries to focus, to detect the pathos within his lover, but this is a lot different than before. With hush, it had seeped into his skin, sure– but it hadn’t fully absorbed into his body at the time, so it was a lot easier to isolate and chip away at. This, however, was a very different task. Since Averre had allowed a significant amount of it to flow directly over an open wound, he had essentially given it a free ride into his bloodstream. It flowed through his entire body and had seeped into nearly all of his muscles. The elf can feel panic begin to rise within him as he realizes that this is a fairly monumental task for somebody of his skill level.
This was the task he had been given, though. He owed it to his beloved to at least try to do as he was told. Running graceful hands over the other man’s chest, he attempts to begin allaying at least some of the present pathos. At minimum, he wanted to ease the pain. Averre shifts his legs and torso probably as much as he can in an attempt to get a little more comfortable, groaning as he does so. It was also realized shortly thereafter by the elf that he had done this to inch himself closer to him as well. The pale one grants the other an amused snort, finding it a combination of irritating and comedic that he’d make himself suffer more just to be that much closer. Though he could feel some modicum of the pathos dissipate into harmless ashes, the amount and the widespread nature of what he had done to himself was still…overwhelming.
Degare continued, beginning to feel strain on himself as he expended yet more ether in his meager attempts to cleanse his partner’s body. His arm twitches involuntarily as he begins to feel fatigue start to bite at him, nausea welling up in his stomach. The strain would be visible on his face, and the weakened man’s golden gaze had been firmly glued to his lover’s personage this entire time; watching, observing as he worked. He did feel somewhat stronger at this point, as some small amount of the pathos had been dispersed. Having to use quite a bit of what little strength he had, he lifts his own dainty hand to grip Degare’s wrist. “...Stop.” The word is given with the forceful tone of a command, despite how weak and quiet his voice is. The pale one freezes, his flow of ether ceasing, exhaling in relief. “...But…there’s so much left…how can I stop now?” he pleads with his raven haired lover, genuinely distressed at the state of his companion. The smaller man’s grip on the other’s arm managed to somehow tighten, eyes narrowing, “No– you’re finished now, that is all I wanted to see.” His voice was drained of its usual bright, bubbly notes as he struggled to speak.
Abiding by his mentor’s words, the elf granted him a gesture of surrender– he floated his hands palm forward in front of his chest as Averre’s grasp slipped from his wrist to rest on his own chest. The man closes his glinting, golden eyes and exhales, as if summoning as much of the energy he had left to fuel his next actions. At this point, the master Ferrier is allaying his own pathos out of his system, something that he had planned to do from the start. This little stunt was a trap, meant to get his lover familiar with what it felt to stand on the edge of overstepping as a Ferrier now himself. His breathing was slow, though less labored as time passed. He could feel the pathos dispersing into harmless ashes within me, more and more, and he was regaining control of himself as it happened.
Once the more advanced mage had finished cleansing himself of the bane, the bright, impish expression he usually wore floated back to the surface, though he was still a bit tired from the effect of his own blight Propping himself on his elbows, he looks up at Degare, “You were never supposed to get rid of all of it there, love,” he takes a slow breath before speaking again, “That was to teach you when to stop. If you’re channeling your ether and you feel like you do now– stop, immediately. Please. If not for yourself, then for me. Exercise safety and restraint with your casting, even if the situation distresses you.” His words were delivered as smoothly as he could manage, a more serious tone than the man had been known to use, but he genuinely wanted his lover to take him seriously in this regard. Looking off and to the side, the lesser Ferrier finds his face flushed with color from slight embarrassment as well as his own exertion. At this point, he’s refusing to make eye contact with the man who lay beside him. Not because he’s upset at the other, but rather at his own lack of restraint and his willingness to push his boundaries so early; he was usually very controlled, so this made him feel some modicum of shame.
It had taken a moment for the elf to find his voice again, “I…yes. My mistake– it’s just…when it’s you,” he starts but is cut off– “Remember, I can do everything you can do…just better. I’m not going to curse myself with a malady I can’t fix in front of you, either. There’d be no fun in that for either of us,” Averre states, laughing at the end. Degare speaks again, “I should’ve figured…At least you stopped me before I hurt myself,” words said with a sheepish laugh of his own at the end. The master sighs, “Do you recall when I told you of requiem?” he floats the question to the other man musingly, voice regaining some of its more musical qualities. “Yes, and I certainly wasn’t going to turn myself into a bomb of corruption in this moment, don’t think that little of me!” He had taken the question a bit personally. In response, “Ohh, darling, no– I didn’t mean to imply that. Only just that I wanted you to remember where you could one day end up if you acquire mageblight from such small things. Little drops in the bucket now, but later…” he trails off, vaguely gesticulating with his hands. “I simply care about you! Don’t take on any if you can manage it,” the man says with an affectionate wink.
The elven mage sighs heavily, “As you wish,” said in a voice of faux submission. He shifts his weight and position so that he is laying against the back of the daybed now; holding the smaller man in his arms as he rests his head directly above the other’s, tucking it under his chin. Averre rolls from his back to face his beloved, deliberately exhaling warm breath onto the other man’s neck before planting a few delicate kisses across his collarbone. His hand drifted downward to pull on the other’s belt, undoing the knot entirely.
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Degare’s immediate compulsion is to freeze and observe; usually one to think about his actions before he reacts in cases where this is allowed. Now, however, might not be the time for observation as each moment that ticks by appears to drain more energy from his beloved Averre. Hunched over such that he is now almost bent in half, arms hanging heavy, knees beginning to buckle– the man appears to be a mess. Snapping from his momentary lapse in judgment, the elven man lunges forward, bending his own knees to shorten himself such that he can catch his lover before he falls to the ground. He could almost feel the man’s strength continuing to drain as he held him in his arms, slowly being able to move less and less of his own body. The weakened man manages to nuzzle his face into the pale one’s chest, nipping at bare skin despite his current predicament.
The elf sighs in response, shifting his position to lift his lover into his arms and carry him over to the nearby daybed. It was near the door, nested in a corner lounge type area, with each nearby wall adorned with very tall shelves decorated with myriad texts. A plush rug of ornate design in colors black and purple lay beneath it. The daybed itself was made of black velvet with a purplish, royal blue sheen to it in the right lighting. Haphazardly strewn across it was a bright crimson blanket. The golden-eyed man can barely even attempt to hold onto his lover as he’s carried, and though he is placed down as gently as the other man can manage, he groans in pain; his body aches terribly. Seeing his lover genuinely suffering, lacking that usually omnipresent cheerfulness, hurt Degare’s heart.
He takes a deep breath as he moves to sit next to the smaller one, pushing the hair that had fallen upon his face out of the way. He tries to focus, to detect the pathos within his lover, but this is a lot different than before. With hush, it had seeped into his skin, sure– but it hadn’t fully absorbed into his body at the time, so it was a lot easier to isolate and chip away at. This, however, was a very different task. Since Averre had allowed a significant amount of it to flow directly over an open wound, he had essentially given it a free ride into his bloodstream. It flowed through his entire body and had seeped into nearly all of his muscles. The elf can feel panic begin to rise within him as he realizes that this is a fairly monumental task for somebody of his skill level.
This was the task he had been given, though. He owed it to his beloved to at least try to do as he was told. Running graceful hands over the other man’s chest, he attempts to begin allaying at least some of the present pathos. At minimum, he wanted to ease the pain. Averre shifts his legs and torso probably as much as he can in an attempt to get a little more comfortable, groaning as he does so. It was also realized shortly thereafter by the elf that he had done this to inch himself closer to him as well. The pale one grants the other an amused snort, finding it a combination of irritating and comedic that he’d make himself suffer more just to be that much closer. Though he could feel some modicum of the pathos dissipate into harmless ashes, the amount and the widespread nature of what he had done to himself was still…overwhelming.
Degare continued, beginning to feel strain on himself as he expended yet more ether in his meager attempts to cleanse his partner’s body. His arm twitches involuntarily as he begins to feel fatigue start to bite at him, nausea welling up in his stomach. The strain would be visible on his face, and the weakened man’s golden gaze had been firmly glued to his lover’s personage this entire time; watching, observing as he worked. He did feel somewhat stronger at this point, as some small amount of the pathos had been dispersed. Having to use quite a bit of what little strength he had, he lifts his own dainty hand to grip Degare’s wrist. “...Stop.” The word is given with the forceful tone of a command, despite how weak and quiet his voice is. The pale one freezes, his flow of ether ceasing, exhaling in relief. “...But…there’s so much left…how can I stop now?” he pleads with his raven haired lover, genuinely distressed at the state of his companion. The smaller man’s grip on the other’s arm managed to somehow tighten, eyes narrowing, “No– you’re finished now, that is all I wanted to see.” His voice was drained of its usual bright, bubbly notes as he struggled to speak.
Abiding by his mentor’s words, the elf granted him a gesture of surrender– he floated his hands palm forward in front of his chest as Averre’s grasp slipped from his wrist to rest on his own chest. The man closes his glinting, golden eyes and exhales, as if summoning as much of the energy he had left to fuel his next actions. At this point, the master Ferrier is allaying his own pathos out of his system, something that he had planned to do from the start. This little stunt was a trap, meant to get his lover familiar with what it felt to stand on the edge of overstepping as a Ferrier now himself. His breathing was slow, though less labored as time passed. He could feel the pathos dispersing into harmless ashes within me, more and more, and he was regaining control of himself as it happened.
Once the more advanced mage had finished cleansing himself of the bane, the bright, impish expression he usually wore floated back to the surface, though he was still a bit tired from the effect of his own blight Propping himself on his elbows, he looks up at Degare, “You were never supposed to get rid of all of it there, love,” he takes a slow breath before speaking again, “That was to teach you when to stop. If you’re channeling your ether and you feel like you do now– stop, immediately. Please. If not for yourself, then for me. Exercise safety and restraint with your casting, even if the situation distresses you.” His words were delivered as smoothly as he could manage, a more serious tone than the man had been known to use, but he genuinely wanted his lover to take him seriously in this regard. Looking off and to the side, the lesser Ferrier finds his face flushed with color from slight embarrassment as well as his own exertion. At this point, he’s refusing to make eye contact with the man who lay beside him. Not because he’s upset at the other, but rather at his own lack of restraint and his willingness to push his boundaries so early; he was usually very controlled, so this made him feel some modicum of shame.
It had taken a moment for the elf to find his voice again, “I…yes. My mistake– it’s just…when it’s you,” he starts but is cut off– “Remember, I can do everything you can do…just better. I’m not going to curse myself with a malady I can’t fix in front of you, either. There’d be no fun in that for either of us,” Averre states, laughing at the end. Degare speaks again, “I should’ve figured…At least you stopped me before I hurt myself,” words said with a sheepish laugh of his own at the end. The master sighs, “Do you recall when I told you of requiem?” he floats the question to the other man musingly, voice regaining some of its more musical qualities. “Yes, and I certainly wasn’t going to turn myself into a bomb of corruption in this moment, don’t think that little of me!” He had taken the question a bit personally. In response, “Ohh, darling, no– I didn’t mean to imply that. Only just that I wanted you to remember where you could one day end up if you acquire mageblight from such small things. Little drops in the bucket now, but later…” he trails off, vaguely gesticulating with his hands. “I simply care about you! Don’t take on any if you can manage it,” the man says with an affectionate wink.
The elven mage sighs heavily, “As you wish,” said in a voice of faux submission. He shifts his weight and position so that he is laying against the back of the daybed now; holding the smaller man in his arms as he rests his head directly above the other’s, tucking it under his chin. Averre rolls from his back to face his beloved, deliberately exhaling warm breath onto the other man’s neck before planting a few delicate kisses across his collarbone. His hand drifted downward to pull on the other’s belt, undoing the knot entirely.
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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
