@stalwartsouls asked: Gale can't really tell how much time has passed since stumbling out of Ishgard. The frigid winds have subsided to some sort of chilly breeze, the mountain and rocks offering some poor semblance of shelter huddled where he is. Some part of him can still register the cold he feels in his haze, head throbbing, pain dull yet still very much present, and the blood trickling down the side of his head has stopped already, even if that may be the biting cold doing its part. Thoughts are difficult, muddled, what little feels clearer still reigned in by residual panic, and Gale... Gale doesn't know what to do. ( they know, all of them know now, have seen his scales, his horns, his darker eyes. they know, and he can only blame himself in his desperation to save peopleโ )
There are footsteps approaching, snow crunching under boots, and it takes him a moment longer than it should've to register them and react, head lifting to search for whoever has found him. He should be faster, should be more concerned after the events of the dayโ and yet, in his daze, Gale can only watch, a delay in processing what's in front of him until the indistinct figure becomes clearer colors, and colors shapes. He knows those eyes, those horns and scales that would never be accepted in Ishgard otherwise.
"Ovanโ!" And for a moment, his scrambled mind doesn't know whether to run towards him or away from him, the only vague thought it can come up with is get back on your feet this instantโ "Iโ I'm sorryโ" that really is the first thought he can come up with, isn't it? "I wasโ I was being careful, I was being carefulโ" he's frantic, words spilling out without thinking, eyes wide, heartbeat far too loud in his own head, guilt weighing him down and nausea heavy in his stomach. "I really wasโ" He takes a few shaky steps forward, sword dragging behind him, and that's all he can manage before stumbling and falling back on his knees, curling on himself, a hand covering his mouth, head pounding, a pathetic little whine caught in his throat. He's never really felt this sick before, has he?
"I was... I really was careful..." / but were you careful enough?
Ovan scarcely remembers how he managed to snap the Ishgardians back into action. Perhaps his strange scales were different enough compared to the wyrms' cousins that his presence was tolerated through his efficiency, through the stoic expression that didn't waver sneer after sneer, intending to take all of the burden off of Gale. He'd faced enough discrimination, barely scraping by with his overbearing generosity. The moment they stepped into Coerthas, after the narrowed scrutiny of Gridania, after the ousting of their group, Ovan knew.
Perhaps it was the ushering of his voice, the calculated reminder that they needed to pick up or be picked off, inevitably taking the role himself despite his profession. Ovan doesn't want to have to continue this, as they have no real position besides the disagreement they cannot even voice without hushed tone. But.. he has to play the part. He can't search for Gale if the dragons that siege lay waste to one of the few entries into Ishgard. He has to ward them off, even if he almost wants to see the place burn ( because in the end, there are people who don't see the sun, the commoners who rarely see the top levels of foundation deserved a better future ).
When he finds the end of the trail of splattered blood and heavy, inconsistent footsteps, he hopes Gale doesn't notice anything different in the icy snow. The summoner himself is roughed up, unsurprisingly, but his surface wounds appeared to be sealed up, angry and raw at the wind chill of Coerthas.
"You're concussed. Just focus on inhaling and exhaling." Had Gale not immediately collapsed, he would have been able to offer some kind of reassurance, but unfortunately, things have not been going their way lately.
And where Ovan was an exceptional summoner, he was a mediocre scholarโhe was lucky to have the arcanists' guild be so forthright in having their students learn everything they could. Still. his physick should be enough to quell the blood that dripped down Gale's face, sticky and drying into his floppy hair. "Hold still," he hums, kneeling down and holding up his hand, hovering over azure hair, the aether manifesting in a soft, minty glow. At least with the hidden wounds taken care of, it may ease the headache Gale is bound to be suffering with among other symptomsโthe issue of getting to a safe place to rest was his next priority, for they were not going to be heading back to Ishgard so soon.
"The threat has been averted, we managed to hold them off," he informs him, returning his hand to his side and kneeling properly on in the snow. "I wasn't able to explain much until the last wyrms were either slain or retreated, but the Temple Knights, naturally, wanted answers. You saw them, of course." There's no easy way to dispel the confusion that a Xaela brought to Ishgardians. After all, the last tribe had been persecuted to death. How many of those knights were woven tales of men clad in Nidhogg's scales? Even the Raen wasn't exempt, but at least it was a step closer to a Hyur in comparison. Still... it wasn't easy to explain without referring to himself, the other Au Ra that had been subject long enough to their tendencies to comment.
"I did... the best I could, given the circumstances. Between the Lord Commander's pleasantries and Ekal's... mm... brashness, they cannot dispose of you, especially not under the house of Fortemps. The rest is up to the Count, I fear, but... I have my faith in him." Of course, therein lay the problem: having to placate the greater masses. Perhaps appealing to Halone could ease them, but being less visible, in the end, was the safest thing to do. "Whether or not you choose to disguise your horns again is up to you, but for the time being, we need to find shelter before we freeze out here. You need somewhere to decompress," more concern enters his tone, a worried crease in his brow as he looks over Gale's hunched form. It's difficult to gauge his other injuries under the armor, but given he could stumble he way out there, perhaps all he did suffer was a nasty blow to his head.
