#duroxas

‘That wasn’t exactly a jog.’  Vindi’s inner voice snarked at herself. Panting heavily her hands rested on her knees, lungs on fire and legs feeling closer to jelly than actual flesh and bones. Indigo eyes slowly opened to take in her surroundings, the moon’s light causing her pupils to reflect whatever shone against them. Where was she? What was supposed to be a relaxing stretch and jog had turned into a run, then to an all-out sprint. Her heart pounded and nerves buzzed, emotions overwhelming her in a wave so massive and conflicting that she couldn’t quite discern what they were; all she could do was run. Run from whatever they were, run from anything and everything that threw her off balance mentally… and now she stood in the jungles of Limsa without any real idea of how to get back to the residential area.

Being lost wasn’t on the list of things that set the woman into any state of concern. She had gotten lost in the wilds many times and always found her way back to someplace that could point her in the right direction. Being a person who hunts her own game made tracking and finding signs of civilization second nature over the years. Still, this wasn’t the Shroud and she wasn’t entirely educated on the fauna here. Tall ears twitched and her hand rest over her heart as if that would calm it any faster. Ocean- the sound of it would certainly help her get back to someplace familiar.

She began her slow trek, careful not to touch any flowers or plants foreign to her if she could help it; the last thing she needed was to be covered in hives or blistering welts from a poisonous fern. Her long tail twitched and danced to avoid things from touching it- sometimes she wondered if it had a mind of its own.

A smirk played across her lips, the flicker of a fond memory causing a sudden onset of homesickness. Pushing that feeling aside she tried to focus on something happier. Duroxas’ birthday was soon. His gift was already wrapped and hidden beneath the bed. Should she tell the others? Or would he rather it be kept a secret? Her lips pressed as she pondered it.

Aetheorn’s birthday was in a few days too- She hadn’t yet gotten him a gift. One year closer to begin his training. Would this year be a good year to start? He was still just a child but he wasn’t exactly a baby anymore either. He was of an age to begin school.. to begin to learn to write and spell, could already count numbers and do basic chores such as drying dishes and cleaning up his toys. This wasn’t exactly a happy train of thought but it was one that she had been avoiding. Her quiet mood lately could be contributed to several factors but this one.. This was second to the top of her list of worries.

Her lips parted, nearly calling out Zulran’s name to consult him but held her tongue. Perhaps she should consult Duro first? Vindi’s gaze downcast and something in her heart ached. Her son’s curse was her responsibility and her mate had plenty on his plate already. The least she could do was handle this dilemma on her own.

What to do with him..? Would Zulran start small or go hard quickly? Would he take her son away to train or keep him close to his family? Would he need a true binding this year or could his use of engraved and enchanted jewelry continue for another year or two? The urge to run struck her again but she kept her feet firm to the ground, halting in her steps to take in the sight of the beach as her bare toes smooshed into sand.

Caeldrin would have answers to all of these questions, or at least know what questions to ask Vindi to help her come to a decision.

It starts when the threads lead to nothing. The channels weave into the pit of something, but what is it? Breath hitches; the blank space remains. Keloch doesn't have much time to wonder before he instinctively draws his hand away from Erden's wretched mouth. A mouth that can only smile and sputter the last words of a dying man, so close-- and yet..

                         "Wait."

He looks to Raphael carefully, gold meeting blue, then to the sword already beginning to saw into Erden's scaled throat. "I can't feel anything."  Nothing at all. Emptiness. A vastness. He knows this feeling.  The Halfblood yields to the request with measured curiosity. The pair were meant to bleed the Uyagir out and take everything that remains, but Keloch's aetherical senses speak otherwise. It was like tapping into a dry land for water and there is no oasis in sight. How? A wild look spares to the blackened veins clutching the center of Erden's chest, they roil beneath - alive, like some kind of creature. Parasite.

Another heartbeat closes in; the door opens and closes in a rush of excitement. Anxiety. Its Duroxas. Of course it is. Keloch can see he's already focused on the bound Erden,  "BOTH OF YOU-- GET BACK FROM HIM!"  The shout carries in the chambered space, vibrating into his horns something awful. His own chest swells with sudden seething frustrations as realization sets in to the words that spew from the red skinned man. Something must have been done to Erden, their prisoner, THEIR kill.

Words exchange between the onlookers.  He barely registers them; warnings, explanations, a compound of voices resulting in a circle of blame. Pity, annoyances. At one point, there's a distinct scent of burning flesh as Raphael manages to skewer Erden's palm with a smoldering hot poker.

Duro's maddening words suddenly cut into the brink of the Buduga's patience, rattling a familiar hunger, "His aether is rotted."

              That can't be.

              All of this for nothing?

              What about Seiun?

              ---It wasn't yours to take.

Golden eyes sanction to the Xaela who still lays prone, shackled to table. With a blink, Keloch loses time - already at the side of the table in a magnetic pull. Vindi is at his flank, Raphael across the pitiful display. The gleam of a dagger snaps Keloch's attention swiftly to the blood that now flows from Erden's mouth as the Ishgardian reaps through flesh, slicing the owner's tongue clean out. He inhales sharply and doesn't blink twice, so wholly transfixed that Vindi's attempt to distract bids no reaction.

                       Salt and metal. Salt and metal.

The heavy scent of the gore comes washing through in a surf of Erden's whimpers and gurglings as someone lifts those chained restraints. Its only when the prisoner sits up, does it cue an instinct from the depths of the Buduga. For the throat -- tear it out -- he grabs again, pinning Erden down with enough force to make his head bounce against wood. The pain doesn't come, not even when Erden fights back and claws into his sleeves through the layers of fabric in pathetic instinct.

                     "Keloch. It's done." Raphael's voice, ubiquitous ringing.

                                           It wasn't yours to take.

                                     There has to be something left.

                                                     "Keloch."

Another slam of skull to the table. There's a grotesque crack of teeth clacking together in finality and Erden goes dark in a slump of weight.

                                     It wasn't yours to take!

Taking in air burns his lungs, as if he'd forgotten to actually breathe through the fine lines of the inbetween. Hands are at his horns suddenly, Raphael's hands, and the Xaela's eyes grow wide while the weight as the Isghardian pulls them close to face level. Don't look, don't look. Something is uttered, but all Keloch can hear -- feel, are the vibrations and the weight of the tone that transcends normal signals.

Wordlessly, he follows. The tethered hand is squeezed as they reach the tide, wading into the shallows ankle deep across the beach. Keloch can only seethe at the very serenity of the water, the way it pulls back and forth, endless cycling of soft waves crashing in a buzz to his horns. But there's a drumming there, louder than ever, louder than the hearts in range thumping their rhythmic chorus. It's so much that he doesn't even feel armor being peeled away, pauldrons lifted like a burden,  or the coaxing feather-light touches of guidance.

None of it matters.

Then a pulse fluctuates; familiar aether - so thin it might break apart between them before it reaches the center. Keloch turns to stare down at Raphael who bids whispers, ushering to dip into the wading tides at their feet. It's cold. But there's that nagging again, those terrible urges, they have him obeying but only to snatch massive hands around the Isghardian's neck.

Calm. Those eyes were calm, knowing.. any other time they might have infuriated him. The chill of the ocean creeps to the giant's wrists with pale salted hands. Keloch just looks harder, focusing to find the face through the haze, anchoring once he feels the throat's pulse inching delicately beneath heavy palms. It would be so easy to just . . .

                   now, now, now---!

The call is loud, burning through Keloch's skin and bone in the wasteland of his aetherpool. So empty, he's starving. His teeth bare, glinting dangerously in the dimming sun of the horizon.

                   So easy, so easy.

Sun looks to meet moon again in a drawn gaze, to where a memory and melody sings. It digs its way to the surface of that snarling expression that's inches away from ripping chunks from Raphael's face. But just like that, Keloch's shoulders ease and fingers drift from that neck and massive giant surrenders into the Halfblood's chest. Deep breaths; Keloch gasps for air that was far from stolen, but yearned for in the struggle. It was too close for comfort.

Mild panic hangs in a soft noise, catching into his throat as Raphael cups his face in his hands, lifting. Of course, of course he doesn't tear away and their foreheads meet in this odd unspoken gesture.  But what had he done? What did he almost just fucking do? The questions manifesting mentally abruptly end when Duroxas' presence is felt nearby. Foreboding.

"Do you have any of those potions, Duro. Or crystals."

             "What sort -- aether..?"

                            "Or-- even your own would help. Aether."

Don't do this. Bad idea. You fucking dumbass. The Buduga's eyes widen to saucers. But Duroxas approaches and sits within arms reach, all in offering. Dinner bells. It was all that was needed for the calm to recede, the world 's on fire again - smoldering with aether that rips away at the red skinned Xaela, whose now squared on his spine and eating sand with face. A claim lays across their throat with claws biting into darkened scale, to the flesh; it seems to be a theme here - but a working one at that.  

Drowning, Keloch could be drowning and still it isn't enough. Never enough. The pull he takes from the mage is terrible, raking away sublime levels of magic in a vortex that seems endless. Runes burn white, shining past the blue hue across Keloch's dark skin. Now there's a familiar hand at the nape of his neck, pressing with cooled committment, -- tap, tap, tap--  like rapping at a door.

          The light seeps in through the cracks, another channel is opened.

“Just a little more.” It's Raphael again, coaxing. But it doesn't take much to convince a beast to keep biting when it's teeth were lodged so deeply to begin with. However, the magic suddenly seems insignificant as something else catches the Buduga's senses. It's a scent he's oh-so familair with, surging all attention away from Duroxas to the shining beacon of magics just a few breaths away.  Who was it--?  Vindi? No. The face didn't matter. All that was left was the hunger.

                          “Keloch, how are you feeling?”                            The Halfblood inquires almost innocently.

Again, he bares his teeth – finding footing in the sand in a rise of posture. Unblinking, the Xaela turns to what he perceives as nothing but a festering junction of primordial fuel. The implication sets in the taut square of his shoulders of what he would do next. “Empty.”

Pale fingers grab for his face, inching across the scales, “We will go hunting.” A promise, a plea maybe from Raphael. But Keloch – he can't hear it and tears away in favor for lunging across the sands. To that beacon, the air thickens with potent magics – A FEAST. His bones and blood sing for it, driving him forward in blinding speeds. But a few feet is all that Keloch manages before a noise from behind catches his horns – a splash, a thud, Raphael’s yell strangles loose before the quiet.

                                      He jerks his head to look back                                                               & all goes dark.

                                                 ‘ What is it like being a tool of fate? ’

Silver eyes locked firmly to a knot in the wood pattern above him, one hand idly petting through Ranirus’ hair and the other held skyward, fingers trying to trace the pattern in the wood grain even from a distance. The spotted Miqo’te lay comfortably sprawled across his bare chest, calming breaths causing his body to rise and fall; if he was asleep or just as spaced out Thaldrin couldn’t be sure. At some point the Thaldrin’s shirt had been lost and he wasn’t entirely sure when but given his company he didn’t mind. Nothing lewd or passionate came of it, just the soft feel of Ran’s hair and tail against his skin and the comfort of warmth. 

He could still feel the substance the two had shared coursing through him and it was blissful. All worries and frustrations gone, and all focus was on how light he felt, how comforted he was by the Keeper atop him, how exciting and wonderful this new home and new beginning was. All from a little blue vial. 

At least that’s how he felt for a long while until the glint of his sapphire ring caught is attention. “…Thaldrin?” He breathed the name in a whisper, sound barely passing his lips.

‘Yes?’ The low thrum of a voice echoed in his mind, both heard and unheard at the same time. 

He hadn’t entirely expected anyone to answer him back, glowing silver orbs blinking owlishly up at the ceiling. “I don’t want to hurt them.”

‘So then don’t… but it’s never been that simple for you, has it, Snuffles?’ Came the heady sigh. 

”I thought I could escape having the cards stacked against me. I’ve made amends. Duroxas and I both have… Has he told them? Why would he tell them? Surely he wishes to escape his deeds too.”

‘If there is anything that will always be the same for us, Snuffles, it is that nothing will ever be in our favor. Such is the way of anyone who has forsaken the Goddess. We have to pave the way on our own.’

“What sort of advice is that?” He whispered with a huff, trying to remain quiet enough to not disturb the resting prophet. “Are you telling me I –should- do something to prove myself?”

‘I am saying to do nothing would maintain exactly where we are now.’

“That’s not fair. We shouldn’t have to start six feet under. We should start on the same grounds as he started. His family started it- Not us. Not me. How come I’m being punished again for something that these people know nothing about? All because they simply don’t trust me? For what reason? This is supposed to be a new start.” His words grew louder, more heated. 

All at once panic set in, as if finally hearing himself speak outloud- Speak to his other self. He fell still, heartbeat racing as his breathing grew difficult, chest tightening and goosebumps rising. No. No, no. He was a singular person. He was both Thaldrin and Snuffles; there were no two. Not anymore. Just one. Just Thaldrin Imbertain. This had to be the Blue- had to be the come-down. 

‘People like us... like you- You don’t get to start from the beginning.’

Trembling fingers felt a sudden warmth and he jumped, staring at the olive-brown hand that gripped his hands. Ranirus hadn’t even lifted his head, clawed digits guiding Thaldrin’s hands back atop his head to his ears; the Elezen had stopped petting them at some point. With a purr and a gentle nuzzle to softer part Thaldrin’s stomach the Miqo’te shifted his position to rest facing another direction. A light blush rose to his cheeks and he let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. 

Curses: Does your muse believe in good/bad luck? How about karma?

“I’m in the business of believing that things happen for a reason. It’s not particularly of the good or bad luck variety, but it can border upon karma in of itself, as fate is one to give balance in the grand tapestry of the universe.”

Caeldrin gave pause at the table, its surface covered with a linen cloth, and a pleasant maroon lace center embroidered in. An opened gold box resided to his left; the rose in full bloom with a wreath of thorns and feathers; and delicately hand crafted no less. Its contents were being shuffled by the elder across from his friend Duroxas. The chamber was open and the corner of his kitchen with the window blinds kept shut is where they conversed.

The slide of narrow and long cards shuffled continuously until the Duskwight was satisfied. Methodically, he placed four cards on the table between himself and his friend before placing the entire deck back into the box. Leaving it open, he returned his sight on the red-head with an eerily wavered calm. Cael became solemn and did so unnaturally as if second nature.

“That’s neither here nor there though. The question is if I believe in it, or no.”