JUDICATOR

What he also explicitly understood was the awkward position he found himself in. While his injuries wouldn't be immediately fatal ( surely he'd survived far worse in the past ) , they were potent and complicated enough to confer a measure of complexity when it came down to trying to figure out a way back to proper help while he was still stranded in relative isolation, out amongst the remote sands where few ever dared to traverse.

So here he found himself, up between a rock and a hard place; offered a compromise no individual of any proper reason or sanity would ever even consider taking on.

Cyno made a renewed and feeble attempt to prop himself up, sit, roll over - the weight of the Doctor's presence was perturbing enough without having to hear him SPEAK - and succeeded only in moving a few inches off the now bloody and soiled patch of sand he'd woken up upon before collapsing heavily again, sharp pain blossoming from his wounds anew, a steady and oozing trickle of fresh blood marking his futile path.

What a pathetic waste of energy. It is something that the other should be cautious of ; that limited resource when the very life essence that fuels that energy spills upon the sands they're born onto. But it is rather in line with nature ; animals of all sorts often thrash around when injured despite the net negative that such actions are likely to cause. It seems the General Mahamatra is no different in that regard.

" Indeed there are. " Such is a statement of fact and therefor nothing worth downplaying. ( Even if many others would either for their goal or out of sheer ignorance to the cruel realities this world was capable of. )

This is progress.

Dottore allows a light smile to tug upon his lips, though the fire casts the shadows of his mask deeper and darker than they otherwise would be. " Rest assured, I had no intentions of deceiving you to the nature of this transaction. You'll find I'm rather UPFRONT about such matters. " Unlike some Harbingers he could name who liked silk-coated words and charm to obscure true intentions. " It would waste both our time and it is tedious. " This was a simple transaction ; his aid comes with a cost.

“You are not the first to harbour such inquiry.” Cyno hissed the words through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, narrowed eyes never leaving his face. In the idle flicker of the firelight that framed him, the Harbinger's features became distorted - like an oasis shimmering in the distance, a spectre flitting in and out along the borders of awareness, haunting the lost and unwary.

“…though you may be the first I am unable to refuse OUTRIGHT.”

There could be no masquerading in this scenario, no cleverly crafted lie or piece of trickery that might obscure his undeniable vulnerability where he lay, a carcass beneath a discerning vulture’s talons and beady-eyed scrutiny. Here, the illusion of choice was little more than a clever construct of courtesy - a bitter truth known to the both of them.

Though far from ideal, such an investigation admittedly wasn’t without its own benefits. The power that dwelt within him was poorly understood, and anecdotal evidence of the subjective sort could only ever get one so far when it came to trouble-shooting, or trying to define its nebulous borders.

To that very point, absorbing the second fragment hadn’t been without its risks and ensuing consequences, all of which he’d come to endure firsthand.

Cyno had been born in the desert, a true child of the sands and all its silence and old gods. Though he had come to find his niche within the rainforests, his roots remained secure and unchanging. All that said, the desert was IMPARTIAL, showing no mercy to even her own children.

There was a near imperceptible shiver of energy in the air as he blinked awake, a ripple like a lightning storm passing over and turning the air briefly to ozone. He roused to the lasting sting of his injuries, each gouge and rent blazing with the telltale ACID pulse of abyssal contamination. Each wound had been seeded with such an unfortunate combination - the corrosive ache of the alien and DEEP, alongside a potent toxin carried upon an assortment of fine, barbed stings. It all culminated into a heady cocktail that would have lethally felled any lesser individual.

Even now, it was only the innate pulse of Electro and the tenuous heartbeat of an ancient blessing that had him - sick, exhausted, nauseous; just scraping the surface three degrees from dead - ALIVE. His limbs remained leaden - the air around the fire may as well have weighed more than five men - pain radiated from his injuries, and his throat was parched and hoarse as if he’d tried to swallow a sandstorm whole.

“H-Harbinger.”

Unable to organise his faculties sufficiently to coordinate the monumental effort it would require to push himself up, his fingers curled in lieu of any meaningful attempt, digging into the soft, cool sand beneath him. His gut roiled, his breathing pitching to something rapid and erratic, his mind still drifting hazily in and out of consciousness.

What an unexpectedly interesting turn of events. It was a shame it had interrupted his ORIGINAL intentions of returning to his homeland, but he was not opposed to a detour when something of interest appeared before him. AND WHAT AN OPPORTUNITY THIS WAS. He could hardly name any who would still survive all that had befallen the other even just upon a cursory glance. What a resilient test subject he would make. But there were far more factors than only that to consider. Namely the consequences that might occur should such be discovered.

" Oh? Now that's a rather unusual address. " Not that it was wrong, but rarely was he addressed with Harbinger as the title.

Dottore stands up and crosses over stone and sand to crouch down beside Cyno. He does nothing for a moment, the silence and stillness OPPRESSIVE in their weight that neither offers nor betrays the doctor's intentions. It's vulture-like ; like how they watch from afar the disasters and brutality that unfold beneath their wings yet rarely do anything to intervene. Then he reaches under the lapels of his coat and pulls out a water canteen.

" It seems your humor is intact as well. " That was a bit of a shame but not something that was unexpected. Coherency, however, was another matter entirely when the other displayed signs of struggling consciousness.

Now what to do? The current state of the other is naturally more advantageous to him - be it to seize an opportunity or leave the other to suffer and perish. On the other hand, there are potential benefits to extending a hand regardless of if it is accepted or not. The desert is cruel, and Dottore shares the same penchant for it as his birthland. But he knows opportunities are not to be dismissed so easily.

What he also explicitly understood was the awkward position he found himself in. While his injuries wouldn't be immediately fatal ( surely he'd survived far worse in the past ) , they were potent and complicated enough to confer a measure of complexity when it came down to trying to figure out a way back to proper help while he was still stranded in relative isolation, out amongst the remote sands where few ever dared to traverse.

So here he found himself, up between a rock and a hard place; offered a compromise no individual of any proper reason or sanity would ever even consider taking on.

Cyno made a renewed and feeble attempt to prop himself up, sit, roll over - the weight of the Doctor's presence was perturbing enough without having to hear him SPEAK - and succeeded only in moving a few inches off the now bloody and soiled patch of sand he'd woken up upon before collapsing heavily again, sharp pain blossoming from his wounds anew, a steady and oozing trickle of fresh blood marking his futile path.

→     𝐈 .    GENERAL

❛   hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse . ❛   sit .   gesture  for  my  muse  to  sit  down . ❛   door .   hold  a  door  open  for  my  muse . ❛   tap .   tap  my  muse  on  the  shoulder  to  garner  their  attention . ❛   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . ❛   cook .   present  my  muse  with  home - cooked  food . ❛   brush .   work  a  brush  /  comb  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  my  muse . ❛   hand .   hold  out  a  hand  for  my  muse  to  take . ❛   dressed .   help  my  muse  put  on  an  article  of  clothing . ❛   note .   give  my  muse  a  note  saying :   [ content ] . ❛   amplify .   turn  up  the  music  in  the  car .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    ANGST

❛   patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound . ❛   night terrors .   hold  my  muse  after  they  wake  up  from  a  nightmare . ❛   company .   silently  sit  with  my  muse  to  comfort  them. ❛   hospital .   my  muse  is  told  that  yours  is  in  the  hospital . ❛   revelation .   show  my  muse  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . ❛   indulge .   find  my  muse  drinking  to  cope . ❛   downfall .   find  my  muse  collapsed  on  the  ground . ❛   console .   comfort  my  muse  as  they  cry . ❛   nurse .   give  my  muse  company  in  the  hospital .

→     𝐈𝐈𝐈 .    AFFECTIONATE

❛   wink .   wink  at  my  muse .  ❛   wrap .   wrap  an  arm  around  my  muse’s  [ shoulders  /  waist ] . ❛   caress .   gently  caress  my  muse’s  face . ❛   tousle .   mess  playfully  with  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   chest .   place  your  head  on  my  muse’s  chest .    ❛   comb .   comb  fingers  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   grasp .   run  to  my  muse  &  jump  into  their  arms . ❛   lean .   lean  on  my  muse’s  shoulder . ❛   tender .   kiss  my  muse  on  the  [ forehead  /  cheek  /  nose ] . ❛   abrupt .   kiss  my  muse  out  of  the  blue . ❛   chaste .   chastely  kiss  my  muse . ❛   good morning .   kiss  my  muse  the  morning  after . ❛   volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’ .

→     𝐈𝐕  .    VIOLENT

❛   strike .   [ slap / punch ]  my muse in the face . ❛   gun .   wield  a  gun  at  my  muse . ❛   twist .   twist  my  muse’s  arm  behind  their  back . ❛   throttle .   aggressively  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   parch .   burn  my  muse  with  a  hot  object . ❛   take down .   forcefully  bring  my  muse  to  the  ground . ❛   gouge .   wield  a  sharp  object  at  my  muse . ❛  shunt .   shove  my  muse  backwards . ❛  stickup .   yell  at  my  muse  to  put  their  hands  in  the  air. ❛  shoot .   [ fatally  /  non-fatally ]   shoot  my  muse . ❛  stab .   stab  my  muse with a  [ knife / other object ].

→     𝐕 .    NSFW

He never has held any fondness to the rainforests or their cities. It provided excellent opportunities for scientific research, this much could be acknowledged without difficulty. But on a personal manner, he never has been fond of it - it loathed him and he reciprocated such feelings. If that were not enough, it was more of a nuisance. THE DESERT HAS ALWAYS BEEN FOND OF ITS SECRETS. It barely offered anything up from the mounds of sand, and with its vastness and cruelty towards survival, one was generally left alone to it. ( Provided one could continue to survive. ) But the rainforests and its cities were constantly under surveillance. IT WAS NOT IMPOSSIBLE TO AVOID ; merely an inconvenience that left Dottore less than thrilled. Fortunately, he had no intentions of paying a visit to the city that so despised him when it was the desert he needed.

Even in the darkness illuminated only by the false moon above, Dottore can spot something odd on the dunes. SOMETHING THAT SHOULDN'T BE THERE, which invites the curious to investigate and see what might be revealed. Well, he is in no rush. It only takes a few moments to stride over to the object and crouch down beside it. ( No doubt a terrifying sight to behold with the eerie blue glow of the ornaments upon his person. )

" It seems I am not the one who needed protection in the desert, General Mahamatra. " Dottore remarks into the cooling night air despite his own ears being the only ones to hear his words. His gloved hand reaches out towards the throat, pressing against the carotid artery to check not for if there was pulse (he could see the chest rising and falling), but for the strength of it to determine his next move. Leave him to die or take another course of action?

It would be easy in this moment. To crush the throat, or pierce through major arteries so death would come in seconds. Not out of malicious hatred, but either troublesomeness or simply because survival was NOT POSSIBLE. Alas, such was not the case. Cyno would presumably survive just fine, assuming neither beast nor man decided to intervene. BUT WHAT TO DO? Dottore's first instinct is to simply leave. He is not required to help and there will be none to tell of his presence. Even the sands would likely have shifted to conceal the footprints.

But... intervening could be of great benefit to both himself and the Fatui - much like his younger segment's intervention in Mondstadt years ago. A debt to be repaid in the future. It was, by logic, the best course of action to take despite his disinterest in that course of action. Nonetheless, a decision has been reached.

It takes little effort for him to hoist up the other to move to more suitable grounds in the desert or start a fire to ward off the night chill to keep the UNLUCKY MAHAMATRA warm. He can't feel it, but he remembers how cold the desert could get at night in contrast to the scorching heat of the day. All life signs indicate stability despite being worse for wear, so Dottore does little to intervene on that front - it wasn't as if he came to offer aid to anyone. It is only when the other stirs that his masked visage moves from sitting opposite the fire crafted upon old ruins where shelter from winds was possible if the winds picked up.

Cyno had been born in the desert, a true child of the sands and all its silence and old gods. Though he had come to find his niche within the rainforests, his roots remained secure and unchanging. All that said, the desert was IMPARTIAL, showing no mercy to even her own children.

There was a near imperceptible shiver of energy in the air as he blinked awake, a ripple like a lightning storm passing over and turning the air briefly to ozone. He roused to the lasting sting of his injuries, each gouge and rent blazing with the telltale ACID pulse of abyssal contamination. Each wound had been seeded with such an unfortunate combination - the corrosive ache of the alien and DEEP, alongside a potent toxin carried upon an assortment of fine, barbed stings. It all culminated into a heady cocktail that would have lethally felled any lesser individual.

Even now, it was only the innate pulse of Electro and the tenuous heartbeat of an ancient blessing that had him - sick, exhausted, nauseous; just scraping the surface three degrees from dead - ALIVE. His limbs remained leaden - the air around the fire may as well have weighed more than five men - pain radiated from his injuries, and his throat was parched and hoarse as if he’d tried to swallow a sandstorm whole.

“H-Harbinger.”

Unable to organise his faculties sufficiently to coordinate the monumental effort it would require to push himself up, his fingers curled in lieu of any meaningful attempt, digging into the soft, cool sand beneath him. His gut roiled, his breathing pitching to something rapid and erratic, his mind still drifting hazily in and out of consciousness.

@ninebow said: Nudges Alhaitham. "Pass the ajilenakh nuts."

Flopped on the couch next to Cyno, al-Haitham turns his head to look at him, then to the other side to look at the bowl of ajilenakh nuts on the small table next to him. A beat of silence passes. Then, the scribe picks a nut from the bowl, looks back at Cyno, and continues to stare as he pops it into his mouth.

@ninebow said: sits in the shade of an ajilenakh nut tree. drinks a couple sips of water from his flask. crosses and uncrosses his legs. polishes his vision. thinks about alhaitham.

Talk about the devil, and he shall appear. In the smoldering heat of Sumeru's summer, there is no more desirable reading spot than the shade of an ajilenakh nut tree on the way back from a brief expedition in the desert. Especially when the General Mahamatra in person seems to have been purposefully placed under this very same tree, right on his way back to the city, as though a little trick orchestrated by a fate he does not believe in.

Al-Haitham pushes back the hood of his cloak and steps off the road to drop under the shade of the tree, right next to Cyno, and sweeps his flask from his side, taking a few gulps of much needed water (without asking permission, of course - sharing is caring after all). Then, at last - he leans to press a kiss to the General's cheek.

He'd set off four weeks ago, spending the better part of two months mired in the unfeeling sands and vicious gales of the Gavireh Lajavard, with no company aside from the chittering of scorpions and the occasional yelp-scream of a wayward Hilichurl.

There were times when he yearned for the desert, when the dormant ties of his ancestry overpowered his every DESIRE to maintain the life he'd lived within Sumeru City for so long and sought the open skies and rolling sands. But return eventually he must, and here he was - a new dossier of information compiled and a ceaseless hankering for the city renewed in his heart.

Cyno glanced up lazily; he'd recognized the rhythm of his footsteps before he'd come even within earshot. That said, even he could not push the tinge of delight from his voice.

"Fancy seeing you here."

from this generator.