- STORMBORN -

THE WAY IT FEELS WHEN I BREAK THE CHAINS

Dungeons and Dragons Storm Sorcerer OC

Written by Silver II Private and Selective

INNER THOUGHTS - accepting

He's hardly ever home anymore. When he was, he circled around the outskirts of the city to sneak back into his manor. No matter the attention hoarding the child sought on the outside--that of the city wasn't his favorite. Even when the gazes were that of pure praise and reverence now.

His home faced the western winds, high up so you always felt them on the rooftop. He sat up there, lying back with fingers picking at a thin hairpin. His curls bristled.

What's wrong, my little lightning? The wind whispered to him.

"Do you like him?" He asked her.

Does it matter what I think?

"Of course it does." He spoke, his eyes closed, he could smell the salt from the shore, "...I suppose you would have told me earlier."

You have a weary heart, my dear, no matter the stone you build around it. If he cracks those walls what am I to do but trace the gales through them?

His face twists, yet the wind is warm, it brushes past him gently, "I don't know--tell me he's right--that I'm not just going to hurt him more than he's already hurt." His eyes open, he sits up and rests his arms on his knees, "I've had others--I've held the moon and the stars and he's the fucking sun. And he burns the same as me, and I've tried to be the sky. I've tried, for all of them yet--at least the moon has the stars when I can't--I don't want it to hurt every time, yet I don't want the burning to stop."

INNER THOUGHTS - accepting

He hardly ever writes so thoughtfully on the road. He had told you that it was a letter to a dear friend. She was back home with her family for the summer. She was getting older, tentatively walking a lifespan far faster than his own. You recognized that forbidden somber that creased past his normal look.

Yet he may have fallen asleep after a long day's issues with you. Only in pure arcane exhaustion have you ever seen him sleep so still.

--You would adore her, love. I seldom find anyone in my travels that could match your might and virtue--

You couldn't help but slightly glance at the words as you gently pull him over to a proper bed from the table.

--She could never replace you, of course. But, if I have to have someone by my side, be comfortable knowing she will protect me from myself. Maybe I could introduce you, next I visit your village in the autumn. There are shadows that haunt her, but you know that well. You've always told me the finest friends start off broken until they share their pieces with you. I'm not quite sure if I've been what she's needed, but I've tried to be. Something powerful tells me she would find her way regardless.

SPENDING THE NIGHT TOGETHER - accepting

"--I'LL JUST SLEEP--" He cuts himself off as he realizes his words are a stark mimicry of hers. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, looking back at the bed with a light scoff. It was comfortable one, VERY COMFORTABLE for two depending on who your company was. He was very comfortable with Florence--but maybe not in this specific context.

"You could at least let me PRETEND I'm an ounce of chivalrous for a FAIR LADY--" He snorts as a sharp STRIKE impacts his shoulder, pain he had to roll off with a circle of the muscles.

"And I think I'm IRRESTIABLY CHARMING that doesn't stop people from finding me maddening, but I understand, DENIAL is a very human emotion."

His EFFORTLESS sarcasm aside, he settles briefly on the top of the collapsed wall. Whatever building it was apart of has long since been ruined like many others. He was keeping a healthy distance for some time after hearing the sounds of conflict. Uncharacteristic, considering the half-elf was prone to throw himself into whatever action was closest. Then again, the fight was basically over before he even got close enough.

"You're a MESSY FIGHTER, stranger. Did they kill your family or something else dramatic?" Because the butchered remains weren't exactly dispatched with elegance. Yet, it wasn't the sign of an AMATUER either. Quite the opposite.

The half-elf housed a FOREIGN VISAGE, one so starkly stripped of veneer. The gaze he had broke through the night but not the fog between them. It would be one of very few times he would ever look like his FATHER'S SON, and that was the last thing he was thinking about.

"...Would you PREFER that I CARRY ON AS MY USUAL SELF?" His usual escape, his usual running from everything this conversation was. What good would running do? YET, WHAT GOOD IS THERE IN STAYING NOW?

"I wouldn't believe you if SUFFERING was an absent affair." He's looking at Valas, yet Valas won't look at him. That gesture clung to him, his tongue planning a question that he forces down his throat. WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME?

WHY WOULD HE WANT TO?

"...Yet if you don't want to speak, I WON'T MAKE YOU," the Stars know how used to that he is. "It HURTS, DARLING. IT HURTS. Yet, I did it to myself. There is no one else at fault." The Stars know how used to that he is.

WORD PROMPTS - accepting

"--I can't REMEMBER the last time this room was even used." He speaks with an uncharacteristic softness, as if out of curtesy. The servants here were more than aware of his behavior--some of them have worked in this home since he was a child. Madame Talia still calls him 'little lightning bolt' in cadence that aged so gracefully.

He strides into the room darkened by the quiet night, a gentle turn of his wrist forming a ball of light in his hand. It illuminated a ballroom still and awaiting some kind of sound and drink. It was not a GRANDIOSE thing, the kind of open space meant for private events. He glances back to the elf with a sideways smile and a short laugh, "Well--not any events i WAS INVITED TO, at least. If I am to give mercy to anyone from my presence it would be my long-suffering father."

He spins a couple fingers, the little light dividing itself into a speckle of soft glow that drifts toward the ceiling. He steps back toward him, quick to guide his hands hands around his waist, "I KNOW you were forced to learn how to move on a floor like this."

Even still, he led, UNCONCERNED that Lucan could keep up, he knew he could. This was a matter of IMPROV, as a technique learned when they were noble children wasn't an intimate affair. He guides their sequence, each step matched, a touch closer. His mind IDLED as they drew together, his back against his chest. I LOVE YOU, that was something he could say. He's never SAID IT, only HEARD IT. ONLY REPEATED IT AFTER THE GHOST OF SOMEONE SAID IT FIRST.

He draws back into a slow spin, pulled back, their foreheads gently touch, lost in whatever music they are hearing in their heads. I LOVE YOU. That would be so easy to say.

They drift in a circle, their breaths together. His hands glide over his shoulders. I LOVE YOU.

SAY IT. IT'S OKAY. YOU CAN SAY IT.