#bolyde

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ unprompted character questions — always accepting, always appreciated. ♡

speaks directly into the microphone held up: for the most part the lingering damage caused by the blight sickness is curbed by the joining (alistair having to perform the joining on his older brother adds a great deal of flavor to everything imho). while the joining doesn't fix it entirely, it does slow the progression and reverse it somewhat. that said, he was pretty far gone to begin with. flemeth is flemeth but even she can't stop the taint from spreading in its entirety; given the amount of time that passes between the battle of ostagar and the wardens showing back up to flemeth's hut, mixed with the constant back and forth of her healing, his injuries progressing, her healing, his injuries progressing, rinse and repeat, he was already on the brink. to me, the milkiness to his eyes remains (as does the reflectiveness, much like the darkspawns' do hehe), as do some of the black spidering veins across his face. his appearance remains uncanny but he is fine, otherwise.

additionally, i do think that some of his organ function (especially around his gi tract/his lungs) is greatly impaired going forward due to the injuries he sustained from the ogre at the battle of ostagar. flemeth was able to keep him alive, but she did not heal him entirely for two reasons: one being that healing magic isn't the end all, be all of injuries, and two, that she needed to keep him teetering in order for her to use him as a bargaining chip with the wardens. healing him to full health would defeat the entire purpose when the guy could just get up and run from her hut. she needed to keep him vulnerable and reliant on her, and the longer he sustained the injuries, the more complications cropped up.

this, of course, complicates things when you are a warden fresh off the joining presses and you want eat everything in sight while you have the energy of a mabari pup with the zoomies. he is ill constantly, and he is lung function is greatly reduced.

“ not hiding what very well ? ”

but they know the answer. terror. it’s like the thick, black smoke that took the svalich woods. with gale as close as he is, it’d be impossible to ignore. 

it doesn’t stop them from lying. “ i’m fine. if i seem off, blame the shadows. it disturbs us all, doesn’t it ? ” 

                                    unprompted!

@bolyde: Zevlor  walks  her  to  her  room  for  the  night,  pressing  a  kiss  to  her  knuckles  before  he  releases  her  to  sleep.

"Rest  well,  Alara."

he  may  not  be  a  mage,  but  he  has  a  clear magic  of  his  own.  warmth  unfurls  through  her  chest,  reverberates  within  her.  from  something  so  simple,  he  suspends  them  in  a  fantastical  little  reality  where  nothing  &  no  one  else  exists. 

beheld  by  him,  alara  never  felt  so  much  like  a  princess  in  one  of  her  stories  –  a  feat  considering  she's  windswept,  &  not  in  an  endearing  way,  & only  just  recovering  her  breath  after  an  evening  of  entertaining  a  crowd.  she  hasn't  peered  into  a  looking  glass  yet  to  assess  the  damage,  but  she's  done  enough  of  these  to  know  that,  this  close,  her  makeup  is  probably  smeared  in  places  &  coming  off  in  others  &…

suffice  it  to  say,  if  any  other  of  their  party  even  attempted  something  like  this,  she'd  have  slung  them  into  the  wall  for  the  insult. 

but  with  him,  there's  no  hint  of  mockery.  he  looks  at  her  like  they're  at  a  ball,  &  she's  the  prettiest  one  there,  even  though  she's  a  disaster,  ruined  by  revelry.  even  the  way  his mouth carries her  name is  careful  &  treasured. 

it's  disarming,  utterly  captivating,  how  unguarded  he  allows  himself  to  be.  &  she's  staring,  she  knows  she  is.  time  stops,  save  for  the  candles  in  their  sconces  guttering all  around  them,  caught  in  an  invisible  tempest  to  the  time  of  her  heart.  the  moment  seems  to  last  forever,  &,  yet,  it  cannot.

❝     likewise,  zevlor.     ❞  

eventually,  &  with  great  reluctance,  she  slips  her  hand  from  his  &  turns  away.

she  fumbles  with  the  iron  key  &  the  lock.  the  spell  is  broken  &,  yet,  she  wants  nothing  more  than  to  return  to  it.  like  a  halfwit.  this  is  exactly  how  she  was  so  soundly  beaten  in  the  game  years  ago,  made  a  fool  of  &  left  to  the  strain  of  scandal.

she  rests  her  forehead  against  the  smooth  wood  grain,  closes  her  eyes,  &  considers  hitting  her  head  against  it  to  knock  some  sense  back  into  herself.  instead,  she  opens  her  big,  fat  mouth  with  a  half-formed  offer.

❝     unless…     ❞  

gods,  she  sounds  like  she's  propositioning  him,  doesn't  she?  better  think  quick  a  little  vindictive  voice  in  her  head  gloats,  &  she  sighs,  rubbing  her  eyes.

❝     what  i  mean  is,  i'm  probably  not  going  straight  to  sleep  –  though  i  probably  should  –  too  much  energy.     ❞

she's  always  had  a  way  with  words;  how  vexing  to  be confronted with  their  lack  when  she  could  use  them  most. 

❝     i  know  it's  a  little  unconventional,  but  there's  a  balcony,  &  wine,  &  –  well,  i  can't  promise  it'll  be  good,  but  –  conversation  to  be  had,  if  you  want.     ❞

                          𝘂𝐧𝐩𝗿𝐨𝐦𝐩𝘁𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝘁𝐞𝗿𝐚𝐜𝘁𝐢𝐨𝐧𝘀 .

▌ He seems asleep enough that Lia's gaze finally falters from the treeline surrounding their camp and falls to Bernard's sleeping mass. He would be fine in the morning, but not without scars from the battle. She shakes her head to remove the thought of pulling his blanket up further over him. She was no mother hen, and he didn't need her to be. Just as well, Lia rises instead to go kick Cal awake for his watch. She clearly needed sleep if she was thinking of coddling Bernard Ulin.   「 @bolyde 」  

       There  were  few  things  Bernard  could  not  heal.       Trying  not  to  show  it,  but  burned  flesh  made  him  squeamish.  He  gets  the  job  done,  though.  Poison  is  a  tricky  thing,  too.  But  he  gets  the  job  done.

Drow  poison  was  simply  more  complicated.  Elusive.  Comes  in  so  many  forms.  There  must  be  full-on  tomes  written  with  all  the  different  kinds   &   still,  there  were  mixtures  people  overground  never  seen  once  in  their  life.  As  a  cleric,  it  was  his  job  to  handle  even  those.

Yes,  the  helmite  experienced  more  slashes   &   cuts  on  his  own  bruised  body  than  he  can  count.  Arseholes,  who  dip  their  blade  in  stinging,  burning  toxins.  It  made  recovering  unnecessarily  hard,  time-consuming.  Not  to  mention  the  nausea.  His  body  begged  for  rest,  and  the  tiefling  eventually  had  to  start  listening  to  it,  before  he  would  just  collapse  the  next  day.  So  he    (  reluctantly  )    agreed  to  lay  down.  Alone.

Only  a  couple  of  hours  of  sleep,  before  the  fever  plagued  him  with  ugly  dreams,  inevitably  letting  him  wake   &   stir.  In  utter  annoyance,  the  man's  tail  lashes  out  stubbornly.  'Just  let  me  fucking  sleep  this  off  already'  .  Weak  crimson  orbs  observed  Lia's  moving  form.  Usually,  he  would  have  insisted  on  taking  her  spot    —    night  watch.  She  needed  the  sleep,  needed  to  stay  sharp.  A  tired  head  couldn't  aim  well.  Bernard  considered  just  rolling  around,  not  striking  up  conversation.  He  didn't  need  the  attention.  Nobody  should  remember  ,  '  Ah,  Ulin  on  it  again,  wasting  time,  lying  around  like  the  lazybones  he  is.  Could  make  himself  useful  instead.'

   However  .  .  .

       ❝  I  can  take  on  the  watch  for  now. ❞      Came  grumbled,  only  barely  loud  enough  for  the  ranger  to  hear.     ❝ I'm  slouching  around  here  anyway.  Might  as  well  keep  one  eye  open  for  threats. ❞

        anais bristles slightly at the touch, though she doesn't move or try to bat his hand away. instead, she closes her eyes and draws a long, slow breath. he's been teaching her a few things of his druidic craft, finding little parks and patches of nature in the city where they could reach the earth to do so. she's not sure about the spiritual parts, but the magic feels...different from what she works as a sorcerer. gentler, somehow, yet also more solid and certain of itself. less chaotic. more stable. she likes that about it.

 ▌@kenostaph  sent  : "Here."  Nasrin  splits  the  orange  she  spent  time  carefully  peeling  the  pith  off  of  so  the  fruit  wouldn't  be  so  bitter. "We  can  share."  She  recalls  Cricket  mentioning  something  of  the  thri-kreen  sharing,  the  exact  details  eluding  her.

       Nasrin  peeled  the  orange  for  him.       A  curious  glance  danced  over  the  juicy  flesh,  naked   &   complimenting  the  surrounding  air  with  a  welcoming,  tangy  odour.  He  was  naturally  drawn  to  any  strong  smell    —    fresh  or  not.  And  the  Thri-Kreen  was  contended  with  the  leftovers  or  mouldy  parts  his  companions  gave  him. 

   The  simple  act  of  sharing  was  something  he  found  easy  to  honour,  and  his  taste  buds  weren't  as  picky  as  the  humanoids'.

       ❝  That  is  very  kind  of  you.  I  thank  you.  ❞      Words  left  smiling  lips,  never  one  to  deny  a  meal.  He  was  not  in  a  hurry  to  dig  in,  rather  waiting  politely  for  her  to  hand  his  slices  over.  Flimsy  appendages  on  his  head  vibrated  in  anticipation.       ❝  You  don't  mind  looking  away  for  a  moment    ?     I  don't  want  to  put  you  off  with  my  mandibles.  ❞

@bolyde ♡'d . . . for flambae

" with the right drink, ANYONE could be my type, " robert sedately swirls his half-downed sprite and watches the bubbles rise to the surface, jostling his elbow not-too-softly into flambae's side, " ⸺lucky for all of us, i'm the designated dispatcher tomorrow morning and won't be touching anything remotely alcoholic for the duration of the evening. "

he knocks back the rest of his drink and sets at the bar counter to be cleared, no longer concerned with nursing something distracting in his hands, " pretty sure ALL OF US would work better without a hangover, but what do i know, " he squints at something in the distance and huffs a dissatisfied grunt, " JESUS. i think sonar's found a way to extend the night. the hell is he holding? "