Cay's comm rang again, shortly after they’d arrived in Sinfall post-fetching Terry.
Shedwyn’s voice came through, just slightly out of breath. “Caythaes? Do you have him yet? Leon may require some healing when you return.”
“Anar'alah, what did he do? I leave him alone for FIVE MINUTES, it's like he and Ranek cannot resist trying to out do each other when it comes to injuries. We have him, I just don't know what we're going to DO with him now. This half of Terry is not very convenient to transport.”
Caythaes looked up from their comm with a sigh. "I gotta go, Leon somehow managed to hurt himself looking after a wildseed."
Leon bawled in the background, “I didn't do ANYTHING, she HIT me!”
“Why did she hit you so hard you need healing?”
“SHE DOESN'T DO SOFT TOUCH!”
“THAT DOESN'T EXPLAIN WHY SHE'S HITTING YOU!!”
Shedwyn cleared her throat. “If you're quite done whining, he decided it was wise to play Tall People Keep Away with someone who is 4'9" and dangerous. So I kicked him. And then apologized profusely because I forgot I was wearing plate.”
“TELL THEM WHERE YOU KICKED ME YOU ASSBAG!”
She sighed. “I kicked him in the dick.”
“IN THE DICK, CAY!”
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"Hey guys. It's been awhile.
Times are tough. It seems like the world and my life are on the brink, and ive never been so torn. I wonder if it was as easy as you two made it seem.
I almost gave up.
Sometimes I still want to.
I'm trying.
I miss you.
I'll be brave."
The trees around her felt as empty as ever. The graves, as graves always were, remained silent, but the air a short distance behind her was another matter entirely.
“Oh, wee lamb. Th'easier it looks, th'arder it was. Forged in fire, hey?”
The voice surprised her, knowing she was supposed to be secluded out here, but the young gnome calmed herself, certainly a well-meaning passerby judging by how the tone had no malice whatsoever. She turned her head around to greet the stranger.
Seated on the grass next to a large oak stump, a woman bearing the not-quite-sharp, not-quite-round features of a middle-aged mother sips carefully from a steaming teacup. Her hair is dark and held up off her neck by a kerchief across her forehead, and her clothing is simple, but fine. The light-colored dress seemed a bit dirty, but it was hard to be sure since she, cup and all, was a softly-shimmering translucent green. “Don’t mind me, luv.”
Calmly adjusting to the fact that a spirit had decided to reveal itself, the gnome can’t help but smile at the ‘luv’, it gave away where the woman was from, anyway, and it did make her think of Leon, almost an uncanny feeling, really. “Oh, it’s no trouble, i’m not far away enough from town to expect privacy.” Adjusting her seating, she turning to face the woman. "I enjoy coming out here to talk to my parents, pretty place. You on a walk?“
When she chuckled, the slight reverb was much easier to pick up, but it didn’t make her sound particularly alien, rather giving her voice a more songlike quality as she set her cup down. "I do like t'wander in my free time these days. It is a lovely little spot you’ve found for yourself. My apologies for intruding on you, by th’ by. Couldn’t quite 'elp myself. It sounded so …mm, familiar.”
Pin gave her a smile. Spirits, though she had rarely encountered them, were rarely malevolent, and in truth she found this one to be pleasant enough that she didn’t want to cause her any discomfort. "Familiar? I suppose everyone has their troubles.“
"Very much so. First thin’ y'learn that’s worth learnin’ once married, luv; nobody’s marriage is without stumbles. Th’ longer they go, th’ more there are, o’ course, but that’s just probability, innit?”
“Personally, I talked t'my pillows about it.”
She chuckled, “I like to air this stuff out there, or at my training dummy if i’m mad enough.” a brief pause, followed by a deep breath, “There have been ups and downs, but this was the first time I thought I was making it worse. Still feel it.”
“Well, in a way, you’re right, luv.” She set her cup down, drawing a second one out of nothing and pouring from a homey little teapot that hadn’t been on the stump before. It certainly smelled nice, lots of bergamot, a little orange. “We’re all responsible for our own lives, aren’t we? So if it’s not goin’ th'way we want it, that’s always a little bit on us. Not quite s'much as we’d gen'rally like, I think, but still.”
It was not a great feeling, to hear those words, but she had a kind way of saying it that put that initial panic to bed, and… well, she was right. “True…. true. Guess I just let it get to me, though, tried to get away from it, saying it was for the greater good. Guess i’m still a bit of a greenhorn with this love thing.”
“Tch, you are ev'ry ounce his li'l girl, aren’t you? Ideas an’ words bigger'n than you a dozen times over for ev'ry li'l success an’ hiccup.” She gave a silvery laugh as she pressed the teacup into Pin’s hands, feeling solid and smelling heavenly.
“You’ll only ever be a greenhorn, luv. Life never runs short o’ surprises, least of all in love. Dwellin’ in th’ valleys makes climbin’ t'th’ peaks take all that much longer, though.”
The words took a little while to sink in, all of them, and the young gnome held the ghostly teacup in her hands, looking into the woman’s eyes for awhile, her brain catching up with the implications. She took a deep breath… “You… you knew dad?” her voice cracked a bit.
My but meeting that gaze was a familiar sensation, green shimmer or not. Pin looked into eyes like those almost every night. Come to think of it, her smile turned up just a little higher on the same side as Leon’s, too. “I’d be surprised if 'alf o’ creation didn’t know that man by now, luv. 'E’s got personality enough t'man a warship on 'is own.”
Almost by instinct, Pin lifted the cup to her lips, taking a sip of the ethereal, but… very real liquid, best tea she’d ever had, really. It was the only thing keeping her from tearing up. Dad… he was… around. She knew it, of course, proof of spirits and all that, just… to -know-. And as the gnome met her gaze once again… she knew. “You…. you’re Bettany, aren’t you?”
Almost bashfully, she nodded her head and picked up her cup in a half-toast. “Sorry for th’ theatrics, luv. I 'ave t’ find my fun where I can.”
Trying to regain a bit of sanity via levity, Pin gave her a bit of a wry smile, “Well, I suppose i’ve no room to judge on theatricality. I came back from the dead in golden armor.” giving herself a few halfhearted chuckles, she met Bettany’s eyes again. “I…don’t know why or how but… I… really wanted to meet you. Leon really thought the world of you.”
Another loud, full-bodied laugh for the armor comment really hammered home the truth of her identity. “And oh 'ow your poppa glowed fit t’ match when y'did, too! If not fer all th’ bloody nebulous rules of it, 'e’d 'ave already come t'you, luv, and don’t think for a moment that 'e wouldn’t.” Her smile faded just a touch at the edges at the mention of her son, sad but resigned. “'E still does, luv. An’ just like yours, I’ll come to 'im when I can. An’ when it won’t crush 'im further.”
There were the tears. She managed to ward of the outpouring of emotion with a few deep breaths, but it was good to hear… that he saw, that he knew. “I… i’ll do my best to help get him there. I’ve been scared… but he seems to be doing better.”
“It’s very 'ard not to once there’s so much less t'fret over. From what we could see, your time on that side o’ thin’s wasn’t quite th'same.” She waved one hand in an absent sort of swat, and she sipped from her tea again. “'They’ve never been anythin’ less'n’ ecstatic t'see you go, luv. ”
“I do wish 'e 'adn’t gotten t'talkin’ with Graeme fer a while, though.” A long-suffering, but not quite actually upset, sigh. “Thank th’ gods they can’t get themselves killed again, that’s all I’ll say.”
The thought of that scenario made the gnome smile, “I actually was referring to your son, Ma'am, but it is good to know all the same.”
“You’ll pardon me sayin’ so I 'ope, but I’d assumed y'would without needin’ said. I’ll admit I never knew what 'e needed was you, but it’s clear as day now.”
Her cheeks darken a bit as she takes the compliment, she briefly looks down before meeting her gaze again. “Thanks. You raised a wonderful man, Bettany. Heck, two of them, though the other one does have a smart mouth sometimes.”
“Terry never did quite like 'ow much like 'is poppa 'e wound up, but if 'e did, 'e wouldn’t be much like 'is poppa at all. Leon… I’m glad 'e came away from th’ man 'e was becomin’ just after.”
Pin takes another sip of her tea, only to find it just about finished. “Me too. He got me to believe in myself again. Got me to love myself as well as him.”
“Always th’ nurturin’ type, that boy.” She set her teacup on the stump where, after a moment, it faded off into nothing. “I think y’ deserve each other, an’ yes, that can be interpreted any number o’ ways, not all of 'em kind. I’ll leave it up t'you t'decide which one I mean just now, hm?”
She nods slowly, “Something to think about, at least. I… anything you want me to say?”
For the first time, Bettany stopped smiling, looking thoughtfully off into the trees around them. “… a great many. But they’d all be selfish. It wouldn’t 'elp Leon any t'hear from me th’ way 'e is now.” It wasn’t something that made her happy to say, but she’d resolved to accept it.
“I’ll ask y’t'keep this chat between us for now, on that note, please.”
“Yes’m.” Pin couldn’t help but go with Leon’s choice of words there.
A knowing smirk followed that familiar utterance. “At least not till I’ve gotten t'ave words with th'other girl.”
At that, Pin smiled, “i’m glad you are, Kae’s a bit lost, and you’re pretty good at this.”
She lifted her chin in mock imperiousness and sniffed once. “I raised one boy through puberty and another almost as far, all th’ while keepin’ their great dafty of a father out o'trouble. I should very well hope so.”
“You certainly lived up to the talk, ma'am.”
With a soft chuckle, Bettany gave pin’s nose a short tap. If she blinks, she’ll simply be gone by the time Pin opens her eyes again. If not, she’ll see the form of Leon’s mother softly pop into a million little green sparkles and whisk off with the breeze.
A faintly amused voice lingers just a few moments longer. “Don’t be a kiss-ass, darlin’.”
Pin can’t help but laugh, cogs, she could tell why Leon was a momma’s boy.
After they’d brought Terry’s remaining fragment to Ardenweald, things quieted down considerably. All they really needed was time and anima while Terry recovered from his ordeal, and after that...Well, while Caythaes understood how things worked in Revendreth and Maldraxxus, they didn't know what to expect from wildseeds. The fae and sylvar seemed a touch unclear on how this was going to play out, too. Most souls inside wildseeds were dead, after all, and Terry inexplicably wasn't, even though his soul was in pieces when it arrived.
At the very least, they'd come to the consensus that a wildseed would help him repair the damage that had been done to him, but after that... a lotta shruggin', and one exhausted sylvar asked for a hit of Cay’s tea. Since they were pretty sure this wasn’t one of the pots Tubbins had thrown Dread Rose into, they shrugged and poured the sylvar a cup.
They shared a tea cake, too, and then started putting the rest on top of the wildseed like they would arrange an offering to Belore. After a moment, Cay removed all the tea cakes, threw down their fancy offering cloth, and started placing cakes in a geometric pattern with the teapot positioned in the circle. Whether it was actually helpful to be doing this was less important than entertaining themselves while they waited for the wildseed to do its job.
Shedwyn sat with Cay and the seed for a while, leaned against it like she was the one exhausted from fighting a monster (this time), and one ear pressed to it like somehow she would hear his voice, a heartbeat, anything at all. She was dragged off by Leon before too long, ordered to rest herself and attend to the rest of the family she left behind, but when she returned, she did so with an eclectic assortment of items that followed in the footsteps of Cay's tea shrine.
Foremost was a fur-lined cloak that looked heavy enough to kill a man, used to carry everything else: A chain shirt with a pair of holes near the abdomen; a chunk of metal slag; a handful of healing potion injector darts; drafting tools; a smattering of toys for a variety of age levels; a large mug; and, most importantly, books. Educational, religious, poetry, good fiction, bad fiction, and legendarily bad fiction, all in a variety of languages.
Once unwrapped, the cloak was abused as a blanket and pillow right up next to the wildseed, allowing Cay to discover the joys of rabbit fur lining. Some of the books were set up on the blanket, the rest scattered around the seed with the other items like a haphazard roadside memorial. Letters from the kids were quickly added to the toys over the next few days.
When she wasn’t feeding the pod anima or being dragged home by her ear (usually by Leon, who accepted his lot in life as the dick to be kicked if it meant she got some sleep), she sat with her back against the seed and read a book or letter aloud. She had no idea if he could hear her, but it made her feel better to try. And, like all the items, it was strongly reminiscent of his life, being almost exactly how they first met and fell for each other. Except this time, other people showed up, most notably his brother.
Leon, for his part, stopped trying to understand the inclusion of the legendarily lousy fiction after he learned the heroine's name was Sanguynne. He contented himself with tending primarily to the wildseed itself rather than the weird (and adorable) little shrines the two of them were making. He didn't want to disturb those, but he also didn't have much to contribute to them beyond one thing: Seamour, Terry's plush shark. After Lucien had brought Toffee to Vember, it was only a matter of time before Leon had paid the moose (and his sister) a visit.
Being a little brother, naturally he'd made a note to give Terry endless shit for carrying his childhood plushie around in Toffee's saddlebags, but that could wait till later. He was still a nice little brother. Most of the time. When he felt like it. ...Anyway, it'd be rude to do it the second he woke up.
Once Cay's weird little shrine appeared to be Approved™ via other people bringing things, they brought a few more odd trinkets after their next rest rotation. They brought their favorite vampire and pirate romance novels, a Titendo and all the games, a few candles, and some crystals. Why? Why not? There was already a pile of books and toys, and the candles and crystals added to the atmosphere. Terry might not be able to appreciate them, but other people might.
And there was a small, giggling part of them that went, "Wildseeds normally house gods, right? And you leave offerings for gods. Terry will wake up and be very confused, and it will be funny."
The Titendo ended up getting stolen several times within an hour, prompting Caythaes to take a quick trip back to pick up a few more. They didn't mind that the Night Fae were so enamored with the toy; they deserved some form of thanks for helping with this, and if Cay had to sacrifice ten Titendos to their whims, they considered it a fair price to pay.
They chose not to rethink this strategy after the fae clamored for tips on beating the first boss in the critter-catching game. They continued not to rethink this strategy after rumors spread about there being a unique battle pet trap underneath a tram in the fifth city if you clipped through it right. The whole mess culminated in several fae trying to teach a tirnenn why "I like shorts, they're comfortable and easy to wear" was funny.
Around the third or fourth day–Ardenweald’s endless night schtick made it extra hard to keep count–that wildseed finally seemed to be getting somewhere, as the group found some of the shrines disturbed, bits and pieces fallen over or off. Though the fae could easily have been blamed, all of them had been more or less honest up till now, and all of them insisted they'd done nothing. After the initial tension of it all wore down, a few of the conservators piped up that they'd recorded the wildseed moving a few times, as they were wont to do near the end.
Cay got to watch Shedwyn practically levitate as she dashed off in the totally oversized, cozy cloak to send a message to Leon. Caythaes smothered a soft giggle with one hand, ducking their head as they thought about all the times they've been the one to dash off unexpectedly like that. Once Shedwyn was out of sight, they started picking up some of the fallen tea cakes.
A minute later, they could hear someone else coming up the path with far less certainty than Shedwyn would’ve been displaying. A tall, swarthy man in a well-cared-for, wide-brimmed boater hat and carefully destroyed tanktop, jeans, and weighted leather coat appeared down the path. Glancing frequently at a piece of paper in his hand and nodding or frowning at things as he passed them, he looked like a confused tourist following written directions in a language he didn't fully understand. At first, he passed Terry's wildseed, but swore under his breath and doubled back, taking in the seed, the disturbed shrines, and Caythaes.
Cay watched him pass, trying to figure out if this was someone they should know. It wasn’t until he turned around that the sense of familiarity clicked.
"Haven't- I've seen you with Miss Lariadne, haven't I?"
The newcomer peered at them a moment longer, not answering for exactly long enough that it got uncomfortable. "Been a while since I seen her, but yeah. You... perform with the Tarts, yeah?"
The pause was just long enough that Caythaes started to doubt themself, but the newcomer’s answer left them sighing in relief. Whew, they didn’t just accidentally make this weird. "Mmm, I- I haven't seen her, either. I- I do hear from her occasionally, though. She- she sends little love notes to the Tarts sometimes."
Nodding to themself, Caythaes rose to their feet and dusted off their robe; it was a light one today, meant more for comfort than adventuring, tied loosely at the waist so that it fell open at the chest. A pair of black leggings and sturdy workboots completed the ensemble. "I'm Caythaes. Leon has me, ah… Watching over his brother while he rests." They gave the wildseed a little pat.
The newcomer glanced between his scrap of paper and Cay a few times as they spoke, but his expression softened dramatically at the mention of Leon's name, and he breathed a noisy sigh of relief. "Oh, thank- thought someone was havin' me on. Told me Terry was here, but didn't say- alive or-...?" He had no idea what a wildseed was, so he began looking around for Terry as he stepped forward to offer his hand for a shake. “Uh. Ansul. Barton. But everybody calls me Wolf.”
"Y-you know, I'm not sure a word exists for- for the state Mister Terry is in." They huffed out a wry little laugh, accepting Ansul's hand in one hand while covering it with the other. Ansul automatically returned the two-handed shake with a pat. That done, Cay rested their hands on their hips and turned to look at the wildseed, their brow furrowing. "He - he doesn't have a real sinstone, so. He's definitely not dead, but- but I'm not sure he technically counts alive, either. At least not at the moment. I- I know it's probably not correct, but- but I've been thinking of it as, uh. Well, he's marinating. …Germinating. Th-that's what plants do, right?"
As Cay babbled, Ansul followed their gaze back to the giant, glowing seed pod. Thankfully, Cay wasn't looking at him, so couldn't see the wild array of expressions his face went through before settling back to a faint "what the fuck" squint. "Germinatin'. Yeah." He glanced at the scrap of paper in his hand and balled it up before shoving it in his coat pocket. "She coulda mentioned this part," he murmured.
"Mmm, oh, well, de-depending on when you got that note, she, uh-" They glanced to the side, eye widening a bit as they shrugged. "Well, also probably depending on who she is- things have been a bit, uh- complicated? But- but the seed started moving, so- so theoretically he's almost ready to sprout. M-Miss Shedwyn went- I think she's gone to get Leon."
"'Sprout.'" He repeated flatly. "'at's good." After a second, he shook his head slightly and turned away from the seed, inspecting the rest of the grove. "'is's weird, right? It's not just me?"
Caythaes snorted. "I've- I've been told this is, uh- somewhat normal for the Meddlers? But yes, it's- I find the whole thing pretty fucking weird."
"Okay…cool. An' you said his wife's 'ere?"
"Just missed her!" They chirped.
Ansul’s voice dropped back to a murmur as he said, mostly to himself, "'s'gonna be weird." Turning back to the seed again, he stepped up and slowly reached out to touch it, looking back at Caythaes just before he made contact. "Not gonna kill me or it t' touch it, yeah?"
"Go right ahead. I- I think it helps? I- I believe one of- of the conservators mentioned that- that sometimes, some seeds like to be cuddled, so. M-miss Shedwyn and I have- have certainly been leaning against it."
He put his hand against it, and whatever he felt caused an even more deeply confused expression on his face. Ansul was entirely out of his depth. Then the bloody thing wiggled, and he snatched his hand back like he'd been burned. “Fuck!” Caythaes laughed softly at the display, and Ansul took several steps back. “...Am I…in your way or anythin'? I dunno whatcha gotta do t' get ready for a fully grown man t'- 'sprout' outta a seed thing."
Cay shrugged. "I have... absolutely no idea. I- I'm with the Venthyr, mostly, so um." Another, more dramatic shrug as their eye went wide. "I have as, uh- as much of a clue as you do. I'm- I'm mostly just keeping Miss Shedwyn company and- and making sure she and Leon take regular breaks."
Finally, the mage in question came hurriedly shuffling back up the path. It was her turn to be reading something in her hands, a journal this time, with her head down and the hood over her face. "Caythaes, dear, do you think you can do that talking-to-the-gods thing you do, because I'm not certain how else to contact Eonar and actually be certain we're getting through to her. If she wants her Lighthound Champion back in one piece, she'll have to–"
She pushed the hood up a bit as she got close, saw the extra pair of feet, and hesitantly finished as she pushed the hood the rest of the way back. "To... to work for it? Hello?"
Ansul wiggled his fingers in an awkward hello. "'ey, 'Dwyn.'" He was feeling a bit dopey for not recognizing her in that cloak; he’d passed her on his way into the grove.
"... Cenarius in trousers, boy, I have never seen you out of uniform!" He was not expecting the ensuing tacklehug, given his little grunt of shock and the 'oh no someone's watching me receive affection' look he gave Cay. "He'll be so glad you're here!"
Caythaes just watched the reunion with amusement, patiently waiting for Shedwyn to address them once more.
She sort of half-released the man to look between him and Cay to tell them, "Caythaes, this is Wolf- well, you've probably done the basic introductions.”
Cay let out another soft laugh and said, "Yes, I do - I do have my tarot cards with me, so- so I can reach out to Belore if you'd like. We- we did do introductions, yes."
“Wolf is–heh, he's Terry's boyf–"
Ansul could tell from the look on her face that she was about to tease him and clapped a hand over her mouth before she could finish. "No, I'm not, an' don't say 'at in front of the baby or he'll die of embarrassment 'fore he can even be born."
Cay glanced over to the wildseed with a small smirk, giving it a little pat. "I'm- I'm sure he'll get over it, eventually. He wiggled when- when Mister Wolf touched him!"
Shedwyn looked mock annoyed at Ansul and jealously whinged, "He never wiggles for me." He just sighed at her. Caythaes giggled, covering their mouth with their hand.
"I'm- I'm sure he was just... surprised. He's- he's used to us hanging around, after all."
After a moment, Ansul blinked. "'Ang the fuck on, did you say 'Lighthound?' Is Terry the fuckin' Lighthound?! Who's Eonar? You can talk t' gods?" Shedwyn had a bit of an 'oh, did I fuck up? I fucked uuuuup, oooohhh' vibe at Ansul's questions.
She was very glad Cay answered first, starting with a louder laugh. "I- I can talk to one god, sort of, but- but I've had a few passing conversations with- with Mister Bwonsamdi too! It's more that, um-" They pulled their tarot cards from a pouch on their belt, holding them up with a shrug. "I- I usually call myself a seer, but I may have..." They sighed. "Actually obtained oracle status as of this adventure. So I usually deal with Belore, but- but he knows how to reach Eonar, who- who is a Titan and who sort of sponsored all of this."
Shedwyn was starting to relax as Ansul listened intently to Cay, nodding and squinting when he has to puzzle things together. But when Cay's explanations were done, he turned that intent look on Shedwyn and she winced.
"Which she did, because...yes, Terry's the Lighthound. I...don't know if that's her doing, entirely, but Terry...I think he first made a bargain with her on Argus. His help in return for healing me. And now she keeps helping, and asking for more help. He's her 'Champion,' or…something," she finished lamely.
Ansul spoke far more carefully, and enunciated properly, when he said, "It was officially declared that the Lighthound was a mass hallucination."
Shedwyn squirmed and took a few steps over to the seed, where she put both hands against it. "They were wrong. Or they lied. I couldn't tell you which."
This was not the sort of thing Cay wanted to get in the middle of, so they set their tarot cards on top of the wildseed and resumed tidying up, muttering, "I'm- I'm going to be so peeved if- if she does that to me," before sighing and accepting that it was probably going to happen no matter how they felt about it. Spoiler alert: it did.
Shedwyn slid her hand across the surface of the wildseed, following the 'grain.' "You're probably safe. She hasn't really bothered me until now, after all."
Humming softly, Caythaes set aside their teacakes and teapot, then started shuffling their cards as they asked, "Is- is there something you wanted to know in particular? Oh- m-maybe- maybe I should be scrying instead, that- that might make conversation style talking easier..."
"Ah, no, not something I need to know, I meant- she said we need her help to finish this.” Shedwyn paused, then added, “Though I suppose we do need to know if this should be finished here or somewhere else? And if there's anything more we need to do?"
Caythaes hummed again, closing their eye as they shuffled the cards. Their lips moved a little as though speaking to themself, then they laid out three cards on top of the wildseed.
"So, the first card is, where do we need to be?" And they flipped it to reveal Arthas riding a white charger. He carried a black banner bearing the image of a pomegranate, the Dead Scar stretched out behind him and the gates of Silvermoon rising in the distance. "Death! So I think here is fine."
"This one is, what do we need to do?" The next card featured five elves all armed with staves. They fought amongst themselves with no clear winner. "Oh no... ah- the Five of Wands warns to be cautious, and that someone seeks to interfere with our plans. It speaks of greed and lust for power, and says that confrontation will be unavoidable. So. That's fun."
Cay inhaled as they brought their hand to the next card, tipping their head to the side. "Th-this one is just for, ‘Is there anything else we should know?’ Because- because I always find it useful as a just in case sort of thing."
Flipping the card revealed a young elf hanging upside down, suspended from the branch of a tree by one foot. Despite his precarious position, he smiled happily, his arms folded behind his back as the sun haloed his head. The top of the card faced Caythaes. "Oh, the Hanged Man in reverse. So. It's not something we'll see coming, and we'll probably have to get creative to- to deal with it. Also fun."
Shedwyn watched mostly silently, unable to keep from sighing after the second and third cards. "Good, I was really hoping to avoid that, and shit." As Ansul stepped up behind her, presumably for a better look at the cards, she scowled and turned to face him, suddenly finding his characteristic quietness and looming to be very suspicious. "Something wrong?"
"... why didn' 'e tell me?"
"Off the top of my head? He doesn't like acknowledging that he's a worgen. There are so many bad memories surrounding it."
"Uh-huh. Why didn' you tell me?"
Shedwyn tilted her head quizzically, like it should’ve been obvious. "For the same reason I didn't tell you he was here. I still don't trust you. He has a lot of enemies, some of which I'm not sure I can protect him from if they find out he's here."
"... you didn't tell me to come here?"
"Nnnno, I didn't."
He took a deep breath and looked around sharply, hissing "hanged man in reverse" like it was an epithet, and proving he really was paying attention to all that.
He had time to recognize the glint of metal off in the distance just before the sharp report of a gunshot cracked the relative silence of the conservatory in half. A moment later, vicious snarling followed, and a small pack of feral Worgen crawled out of the trees and over the small hills toward the group. Each one of them bore a thick, heavy choke collar with a boxy thing hanging off of it, a tiny red light blinking away on the box.
"Oh, great," Cay laughed, incredibly unenthused about all of this as they slunk behind Shedwyn. "At- at least we had a warning? I- first impression says that- that those blinking red lights are the, uh- the way to go, but-"
They shrugged, slapping a hand to Ansul and Shedwyn's backs as bubbles of magic popped into place. "Have fun!" Ansul, barely reacting to the gunshot until Cay touched him, blipped out of sight with his bubble.
Cay’s other hand came away sticky, and Shedwyn stumbled under the light slap to the back. She looked back at Cay, a little horrified, and then stepped past them to put both hands on the wildseed. Their expression went from anxious to just as horrified as Shedwyn's as they pulled their hand back and stared at the blood on their palm. Right about that moment, they both figured out where the shooter had been aiming, and that he’d hit his mark.
She hissed, "You have one minute." The next moment, Shedwyn and the seed were both encased in glasslike crystal.
"Anar'alah Belore."
(To be continued! @daily-writing-challenge @mekandawn @shedwyn )
The following is a modified chatlog of the RP between myself, Ranek, and Caythaes to retrieve the final portion of Terry’s split soul. The first had fallen into the Maw, and at the insistence of Eonar the Life-binder, had been rescued first as its situation had been far more dire. Now, they had to fetch the remaining one from Revendreth, where reports of it wreaking merry havoc in the Ember Ward had spread far and wide. Once Cay had made the full details of the problem known to the Accuser, they were provided with supplies and a plan: find the beast, subdue it (ideally without killing it), and wait for her to find his sinstone. Though it was a forged one, it would hopefully still serve its intended purpose once read aloud.
There was rather a lot of bickering discussion at Sinfall over the best way to handle a worgen that was described as “big, fast, angry (rabid?), spits Light sometimes, eats Light sometimes, seems fixated on Venthyr for now, ignores anything physical that’s less than a building falling on it.” Once they’d decided (independently of one another) who would be the sacrificial lamb for the beast, they set off to hunt him down.
Also, I dunno how many other people do it, but in case it’s confusing, the house rule ‘round these parts is that Thalassian = Spanish and Shalassian = French. It’s easier than trying to dredge up what fragments of each language I can find and making stuff up in the moment!
And yes I’m going to keep up the Hellraiser title references as long as I can. Fight me.
The attendant at Sinfall was apparently well-informed, or at least, not so poorly informed that they got things backward. It didn’t take the Cay and Ranek very long at all to start seeing signs of the recent fighting on the ground once they got far enough from Sinfall proper: trees with the tops sheared off, scattered burnt or burning bodies in wildly varying conditions; if either of them had been familiar enough with the Ember Ward to notice it, they'd have recognized several of the ruins had been ruined even further, smashed into and through. The airborne phoenix easily made out an alarming number of what looked like laser burns in the cracked dirt and in the various piles of rubble they passed over, and Ranek passed through.
Ranek, in particular, noticed there was precious little movement to be spotted on the way to the Scorched Crypt, and absolutely none once he was within sight of the wall of the first terrace. Even in the Ember Ward, there was the occasional scuttling of hardy insects or emaciated birds, but here? Nothing at all.
He kept his Worgen snout down, keeping track of scents to filter and catalogue, though there were precious few to be found in the dirt. As they got closer and closer, the red flags came in waves; no signs of life, no sounds even by the standards of a crypt. At least this was a good sign for hunting a powerful predator.
Cay couldn’t help but be impressed by the damage from their bird’s-eye view. They didn’t know you could make the Ember Ward any worse, but the rampaging beast had done it.
Their feathers itched, and the closer they got to the crypt, the less it felt like itching than a somewhat insistent pull. Magnets under the skin close to magnets outside, but the polarities didn't quite agree, but they still wanted to be near one another, and GOD, that's uncomfortable...
The crypt should have been crawling with condemned Venthyr and feral souls seeking shelter from the oppression of the Light. Where was everyone?
"Good news, Ranek! If- if Terry's feeling anything like- like what I'm currently experiencing, n-neither of us will need to get hurt. F-follow me, I- I know exactly how to find him."
Ranek didn’t look directly up at Cay as he advanced, the sheer destruction blowing his mind. This was something far more dangerous than he’d expected, even with the briefing they’d been given. He simply nodded, gesturing that he would follow.
The scene within the walls of the courtyard wasn't much more comforting. The silence for the pair was almost as brutal as the heat for the condemned, the lack of movement in the air leaving them with the discomforting feeling that time had stopped. Pits and gouges were everywhere, torn into the dead grass and cracked dirt, easy to trip over and occasionally as long as Ranek's shoulders were wide. Many of them had pale, yellowish puddles at the bottom of them, not unlike muddy water in carriage tracks. Except for the lack of horseshit (or anything else, really) in the smell of it, kinda made a Gilnean lad think of home.
Thinking about it... the lack of smell and the lack of movement was one thing, that was starting to become normal pretty fast. But now, there was a lack of bodies, too. Plenty of wreckage to be found, but no... well, pieces. Ranek found a scrap of tattered cloth hanging from a tree branch after a minute of dedicated searching, but nothing more substantial than that. He gently tugged the scrap down, inhaling the scent–finally, a SCENT, if only a little bit of one–to get a proper clue to begin searching for their target.
To Cay, up in the air? Something moved. Somewhere. They weren’t sure what or where but something definitely moved. Right? Maybe it was just Ranek. Except… Ranek was over there, and the movement had been over here, and– Something moved again. What. They let out an anxious keen and shifted their flight, spiraling upwards in hopes of getting a better view of the situation, looking for more movement or anything that wasn't Ranek. "I saw –something, be alert."
Ranek’s head snapped around as Cay spoke. He strained his ears to find some sort of sound to focus on.
As they both shifted their focus, they saw a shift in the ground, though it was hard to tell what it was. A small animal? An errant breeze? No bodies to spot, though, nothing small scurrying about, and certainly nothing big. Maybe something invisible? No, there were no footfalls, either; Ranek would have heard them, or at least seen the prints forming in the dirt.
What had at first seemed like spatters and puddles of dirty water revealed itself to be something else entirely, shifting and roiling in the various places where it lay until it trickled down walls, slid across the bumpy dirt, and slithered through dead grass. From above, Cay could clearly see that all the individual puddles of fluid were all moving toward a single point, steadily growing brighter and brighter as they converged on Ranek.
Ranek, of course, could see an awful lot of creepy brownish-gold shit snaking toward him at high speeds... just not all of it. His ears swiveled at the sounds of the moving liquid, too late to see them begin to pool in his general direction. He was looking for a more solid target, a humanoid shape instead of flowing liquid.
"Anar'alah, is he water?" Caythaes immediately shifted back to elf mode in a burst of flames, slowing their descent the magical way and throwing a bubble as soon as they were close enough to Ranek to do it. The bubble startled the Worgen, causing him to erupt in growling and fighting against it before seeing the puddles and scrambling backward instead. SPLAP! Several of the "puddles" chose that moment to lunge up toward Ranek only to hit the shield with a wet, sticky smack and cling on.
A few more reached their destination before he was done fighting against his shield, and Ranek could see them joining together as they met. Other puddles found him faster due to his frantic scrambling, approaching him from all directions, but they didn't seem to be quite able to accomplish much besides obscuring his view. Yet.
Cay, from the outside, could see the unsettling horror show unfolding, though thankfully, their bubble seemed to be holding. Slowfalling gave them a few seconds not only to stare at Ranek in utter dismay, but also to try and figure out their next move. Unfortunately, the instant their feet touched the ground, several blobs veered off. Beelining straight for them, they sprang up and off the ground once they got within arm's length, aiming for the face!
Caythaes threw up a bubble with a squeal of terror as the blobs launched. Well, when all you have is a fire… They did not want to blast things with fire so close to their face, but that was just what they were going to have to do. Squeezing their eyes shut, Caythaes turned their face away as they threw out their hand, sending a blast of fire exploding from their palm.
Ranek, at a loss for other options, rushed toward Cay to at least try and stand back to back with them. The large mass on Ranek's bubble eagerly clung along for the ride, stretching out with unsettling, stringy tendrils toward the one forming on Cay as Ranek brought them closer together. Right about that time... his bubble began to sizzle audibly, and cracks spiderwebbed across the magical barrier. He wasn’t sure what would happen once the shields fell off, but it probably wasn’t good.
Fire near the face was nobody's favorite, at least not when they're in their right mind, but no one can say it doesn't get results. The water, or liquid Light, or whatever the hell it was recoiled from the blasts, finally relenting with a gurgling squeal not unlike Cay's own voice a moment ago. Just. You know. Wetter.
Peeling itself from Cay's bubble, the mass hit the ground with another dull splat and began slithering away. Seeing the gooey sludge slither down their shield filled Cay with a primal sort of revulsion, and they cupped a hand over their mouth as they dry heaved. For all the horrible scenarios they came up with while getting ready for this fight, this was so much worse. What the fuck did they even do?
Well, stupid ideas worked the last time, so Caythaes swiped a hand through the air and pulled back, Yoinking Ranek the rest of the way to join them. They hoped that if they got all the blobs together, it'd form an easier target to fight.
Ranek’s arms flailed for purchase as he was Yoinked. "FUCKING FEL, CUT IT OUT!" This was vastly out of control, and he was at a loss for what to do, and he hated it. He growled, losing his footing and rolling to a stop. He jumped almost immediately back to his feet but stayed put once he saw the slime on the move.
"Sorry!" Caythaes squeaked, reaching out a hand to steady Ranek as he landed and cringing back as slime flew everywhere. Anar'alah Belore, they wished they hadn't had so many teacakes before this.
The squelching horror seemed to be mocking Ranek, throwing his words back at him in squishing, burbling pops and hisses for a moment as it impacted upon itself with Cay's help. Ever played with slime as a kid? Put two big hunks of it in your hands and clap, then peel them apart? It was like that, but with speech. And then it was just like that: the mass mashed into itself with an almost gleeful fervor, rolling and surging across the ground in a cacophony of wet, semi-organic noises.
Rolling, surging... and growing. That... that was a lot of goo. There was more coming down from the main crypt up the hill, too; it seemed like it just took a while for it to get down to this level. Thankfully, none of it was paying attention to Cay’s bubbles anymore, though Ranek had much too close a call. As the last dregs of his gooey assailant loosed from the magical barrier, it failed, fizzling out as the goo plopped onto his boot and burned a hole straight through it before letting go.
A string of curses came from the Gilnean, enough to peel paint off a whorehouse as his boot was partially melted, the protective cover gone from the top of his right foot, including fur and some flesh. It was a unique searing pain that made him bite down but not howl, only angering the Worgen.
"Th-that definitely worked, though. We- oh-" they look down at Ranek's boot, their ears drooping sadly. "I- I think we just have to, uh. M-make sure we don't touch any of that."
"No shit, but how will weapons work if it burns that hot.. or melts. Either way, I am going to have to be a lot more careful than you."
While they watched, trying to keep their stomachs from turning themselves inside out--would the result look like the mass in front of them?--and trying not to think about their partially melted tootsies, the slimy blob began to form itself into something more solid. Or at least more solid-looking; who knew? Eventually, limbs formed, and a humanoid torso at the joining of them, enormous and barrel-chested. A great, pointed head rose from the top, sharp, angled ears jutting out from it and brilliantly white fangs popping out of a muzzle as it was still taking shape.
As its feet and hands formed, it fell forward into a hunch, hands thudding audibly into the dirt and coming to an end in wicked, dull claws. Top-heavy and gorilla-like, save for that wolfish face, the beast began to dry out, then heat up, glowing like clay in a kiln until it's almost too bright to look at, white and tipped in orange.
A roar like a great flame erupting from a fissure in the earth, more sensation than sound, almost enough to blow out the eardrums, clipping in and out of audibility from the depth and volume alone, exploded from a now foaming maw as Terry finally reformed, fifteen feet tall and glowing like lava.
Anar'alah Belore. Cay's ears drooped even farther as the blob kept getting bigger, and then... turned into a Worgen so much bigger than they were expecting.
"H-hi Terry," they whimper, popping up another pair of protective barriers for themself and Ranek.
"THAT is Terry? Light above, that is a big Worgen." He planted his feet despite the pain and summoned a pair of blades made from pure shadow.
"Y-you go left, I go right?"
Ranek nodded, darting left and moving to flank the beast. At least one of them would be able to strike.
It was hard to tell which way the beast looked unless he moved his head; the eyes were merely another point of light in a Worgen-shaped sun. Once the pair got far enough apart, though, it became clear that he was watching Caythaes, and Ranek could see him dig his claws into the dirt a second before he launched himself after The One In The Dress. He raised one enormous meathook of a hand high, clearly intent on either smashing the elf, or impaling them.
POONK! Terry's hand hit Cay's shield, shattering it on impact and sending them flying sideways with a sound like kicking one of those red rubber playground balls from elementary school. Cay's brain did that near-death-experience thing where they experienced slow motion and had time to realize Terry’s hand was big enough to wrap completely around their torso.
This is fine. Caythaes trusted their bubble to absorb the worst of the hit, and they skidded to a halt as they started singing to themself. Motes of darkness appeared around Terry's massive head, coalescing into an orb before exploding outwards. They hoped the shock from the spell would disorient Terry long enough for Caythaes to get off a more powerful one, or Ranek to distract him, or both. Anything besides being murdered was a good option, really.
Almost on cue, Ranek came in at a dead sprint, aiming a vicious slice at Terry’s hindmost leg and ripping a nasty gash across his calf. Terry was prevented from any meaningful follow-through by the explosion around his head, and that well-aimed slice ripped a furious howl from him as he spun to face the more direct threat.
The Gilnean watched as both of their strikes worked, but the speed with which it swiped Cay and turned to face him made his mismatched eyes widen.
Bringing both hands up above his head, Terry curled his fingers in as far as he was able, and brought them down like a haymaker from hell.
As those hands came up, Ranek swallowed hard. "Shiiiiiiiit." If he went back, he could get hit. Left or right, the beast could swipe him. So…the only logical choice was closer. He leaped forward to roll on the ground and make more slices at Terry's legs. Ranek's gamble paid off in a couple of ways: first, he didn’t get absolutely flattened into the dirt, though he did feel the impact and nearly stagger from it. Second, he could see the first wound he left on Terry's leg, an ugly, dark mark that slowly filled in with white-gold and eventually shifted back to the same color as the rest of his body. The final color seemed just a bit less white and a bit more orange now, overall.
Caythaes was grateful the only thing they had to worry about getting hit with was the ground for the moment. Too dazed for any real spellwork, they took a deep breath, letting out a dissonant scream, hoping to scare the beast away from Ranek and buy them both some time. It didn't quite frighten the monstrosity, but it did force him to bring his hands back up and cover those radar dish ears of his, stomping forward and away from Ranek, but in a vaguely Cay-ward direction.
The shriek did affect Ranek as well; clamping his eyes shut and growling loudly at the noise, he just thanked his lucky stars he was out of harm's way for the moment.
That was… the exact opposite of what Cay’d been hoping for. Their ears tipped back as they pulled desperately at the ground, tendrils of red anima rising up and wrapping around them. Ranek, spotting Cay’s escape attempt, moved back to Terry's side, slashing away at arm, flank, and leg; if it was close enough, it got a knife in it. Anything to pull attention away from Cay for the few seconds they needed to sink into the ground.
Taking the doggo's toy away made him a very angry doggo, and he snarled furiously at the space where Cay was, only for that sound to twist up into another pained yowl. Ranek ripped right into his distracted ass one, two, three times before he swung his arm blind, clipping the smaller Worgen's right arm with all the force of a speeding tram.
The clip was more painful than a straight hit from a Tauren, Ranek’s right arm feeling like it was torn from its socket. He howled in pain and anger, focusing on his left-hand blade while the right slowly got feeling back. He swiped again and again, his attention primarily focused on Terry's clawed hands.
A pool of anima opened up directly behind Terry, and Caythaes rose out of it, throwing another blast of fire at the giant lava-gen's back. The fire seemed to push him down more from the force than any actual damage; Cay finally realized that heat wouldn’t do much good. Cay also finally spotted the effect of Ranek's wounding, the dark rips that filled with molten gold and faded slowly to match the rest of him. After that many rapid-fire blows, the overall color of his body was noticeably less bright.
Oh.
"Ranek! St-stop trying to protect me and- and just keep hitting him!" they shout, throwing a volley of three fireballs at Terry to draw attention back to themself. "I- I can't hurt him; only you can! You- you have to trust me and- and focus on- on getting as many hits in as you can!"
"What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do?!" He had a small laugh to his voice, owed to the pain in his arm and his frantic darting in and out of Terry’s range.
After a little pause, Cay shifts their attention to shout, "Hey TERRY. SHEDWYN misses you and- and- andandand wants you to come home now!"
Shalassian coming out of a mouth lined by gleaming white stalactites in a snout that glowed like beaten steel was a trip, but he very clearly roared "MON CIEL" directly at Cay, spittle flying from his mouth. It was a bellow of possession, a roar of challenge, of affront; how dare they speak her name at him? And yet, he didn't get a chance to act on his mad outrage, occupied with batting away the flurry of slices at his big ol' mitts. He put up with this for a few seconds before snarling something undoubtedly much less poetic and reeling back for another haymaker on poor Ranek.
Caythaes sighed in exasperation, throwing a shield at Ranek before switching languages and shouting again. Their Shalassian was nowhere near as poetic as Terry's, but they were hoping the sound of it would be enough. "[Your sky is worried, Terry! She has searched the Shadowlands for you, and she will not rest. Come back to Shedwyn. You can finally stop fighting.]"
Ranek did not understand the words between Cay and Terry, but the momentary distraction allowed him to stab deep with his good arm, twisting the knife until he looked up to see the haymaker coming. He already had a wounded arm, so he turned to take the hit on his right side. He could hear something pop, most likely his shoulder or a rib. The blow lifted him up and off his feet to land in a slow roll. The shield Cay had given him had, at least, prevented his death.
Ranek now sufficiently dealt with for the moment, Terry turned his attention fully on the impudent little shit that kept speaking of his mate.
Then he bent down, picked up the crumpled Worgen's body, and hurled it at the elf.
Caythaes hit the ground with an "oof" as all the wind was knocked from their lungs. Ranek was jarred to semi-consciousness when he impacted Cay, but the blow made him see stars all over again. With Ranek stunned, this would be a lot harder than they'd like, but they were not about to let this be the end yet. They put another barrier on Ranek as they got back up, but this one felt different before– if Caythaes could get their spell off in time, healing en–
Someone started semi-yelling about parties and getting ready to die, and it took a second for Cay to remember that they’d changed their comm’s ringtone recently.
Why the FUCK was their comm going off? Okay, new plan; Caythaes used their other Door of Shadows to get behind Terry again, dragging Ranek along with them.
"I can stand…sort of." Ranek struggled to his feet, breathing heavily, and manifested another blade in his left hand. The Worgen curse allowed for faster healing, but it was nothing that could fix his body during this fight. Cay's aura helped dull the pain enough to let his right arm dangle at his side and focus on using his left.
Finally, Cay answered the call. "If- if this is anyone other than Belore, Eonar, or Shedwyn, I'm- I'm a bit busy trying to, uh. Not die right now."
"I don't know who any of those people are, but if you want to keep your tongue long enough to explain that at a later date, I expect you to keep this channel open." The Accuser ... was probably smiling when she said that, but gosh, it was hard to tell.
Terry's footfalls were awfully loud when they weren’t being interrupted by shouting, roaring, or blows landing, and they were coming closer.
He could almost certainly take a simple leap and close the distance without effort, but he was stalking them, eyes fixed unblinkingly on them while they babbled into a rock. Steam curled up from between his teeth as his body slowly cooled further, now a dull orange that was both better and worse than the white-hot he started with. The various slices and cuts Ranek had given him–as well as dozens upon dozens of others crisscrossing his entire body–glowed an angry red that was much more visible now.
"I don't suppose you still have need of that Sinstone, courtier?"
"O-oh, Madam Accuser, I didn't- one moment-" Caythaes pauses to press a hand to Ranek's side, giving his shadow magic a little boost to help numb the pain. "Okay, I'm sorry, I'm- I'm putting you on speaker, p-please do the thing!!"
One button later, Caythaes held the comm out towards Terry like a tiny shield.
Terry was... understandably puzzled, for a moment, by the small thing holding up a rock at him, and for a moment, he actually laughed, before the Accuser's voice exploded out of it. She was in full oratory mode, and it was a great and terrible voice that announced, "LET THE SINS OF TERRENCE SAMUEL AMBROCE BE KNOWN HENCEFORTH..."
Immediately he was done playing, letting out a horrific snarl and charging at Cay and Ranek.
Welp, Cay was out of Doors, so it was every person for themself. They gestured to the ground at Ranek's feet, throwing down a rune that would grant him a quick speed boost before doing the same for themself and darting to the side. They continued to–they paused to turn the volume up on their comm to full blast before continuing to hold it up.
Buy some time. Ranek charged forward to meet Terry halfway. The blade dissipated, and instead, he focused on the very shadows at Terry's feet, springing to reality a chain between the two Worgen. Ranek ran to the side, pulling tight on the chain to at least unbalance Terry and steer him away from Cay.
"Whose desire for adoration and glory saw him forsake his familial bonds…"
The commstone crackled with the red energies of Revendreth's anima as the Accuser spoke, and Terry's lip curled higher as he found his claws raking across only dirt and rock instead of elven flesh and bone.
"Whose arrogance saw him bargain for and with bodies, lives, and lands that were never his…"
The chain hissed and began to heat rapidly where it held him, and he had little time to do anything about it before he was staggering on one foot, arms wobbling almost comically before he regained his balance.
"Wow," Caythaes whispers as the Accuser speaks, scooting away as Terry staggers, trying to get out of crushing range should he fall.
Ranek held the chain tight and tugged hard, though with Terry's full attention shifted, he had serious doubts he could go toe to toe. But distracting and wounding were his only priorities. Believing the chain to be burning the great beast instead of the other way around, he held on as long as he could.
"Whose hatred was so unreasoning and vast that he saw no value in lives that were not human…"
"Oh, y-yeah, Leon did mention he- he was kinda racist, so-" That sin didn't surprise Cay much.
He'd been cooled rather a lot by now, but Terry was still too hot for metal to touch him and not get a glow-up. It still did an excellent job of frustrating him, even as he got his wits enough to snap his caught leg back and drag Ranek toward him. Stupidly, Ranek kept hold, so he was launched forward. He growled in response, charging Terry in a foolish attempt to slide between his legs and take the monster down with him.
"Whose pride allowed him to atone only for what he deemed a worthy mistake…"
The crackling around the commstone solidified into an ominous red glow, pulsating with the cadence of the Accuser's words.
"Sh-should I throw the comm at him? Or do we- is this when we start hitting him again? I've- I've never been to- to a Sinstone reading before." All the rituals they’d attended were the ones that involved fighting oozy sins made manifest.
"Who refused the hands that would save him, over and over again, even as he destroyed those he loved and lost himself..."
Terry grinned a vicious, evil grin as Ranek flew toward him and bent double. The sound of one Worgen slamming headfirst into the skull of another was an incredibly satisfying, coconut-like CLONK, but also it hurt way more than the friggin' giant seemed to be expecting, and they both reeled. The collision instantly knocked Ranek out, and like a puppet with its strings cut, Ranek dropped on the spot. He would not find out till later that the gamble worked.. just nowhere near how he expected it to work.
The glow around the commstone intensified, and anima manifested around it now, swirling around Cay's hand and then snapping out toward Terry. The Accuser's voice rose to a dull roar, despite her speaking with the same cold, dignified authority that she commanded at all times.
"Knowing his debts and their unworldly weight, he has yet to see them paid in full!"
Binds of furious red curled around Terry's wrists, dragging his arms back and preventing him from mauling Ranek any further.
"Faithless and heartless, this wretched soul stands destined for the Maw, lest he accept our final outstretched hand!"
Three more binds appeared on his ankles and finally around his massive neck, then practically threw him to the ground like Cay had snapped his leash. With a final angry flash, a glowing red muzzle clamped down on his snout, and he thrashed wildly, but to no avail.
After a few seconds of silence, the Accuser cleared her throat. "Well. Either that worked, or all of you are dead."
Terry hit the ground, and Caythaes stumbled a bit, then decided fuck it and just plopped down on their ass. Anar'alah, that sucked.
"G-given that I'm sure Ranek and I p-probably have a few sins to work off, and the fact that - that we're already here? I- I think we wouldn't go far, if we died. Th-thank you, he's... well, he's definitely not going anywhere, but uh- I- I don't know how we're going to- to get him over to Ardenweald." They paused to eye Terry over. "He's very... Big."
The Accuser clinically explained that the bindings she created lashed the soul directly to the sinstone, regardless of distance. It wouldn't do much for his weight, but that turned out to be less of a problem the longer they waited; as the body cooled off more and more, Terry seemed to be losing mass, excess material cracking and crumbling off of him like wood burning too long. The crumbly ez-bake-Worgen finally settled somewhere around nine and a half feet tall. He was still god damn huge, but not uh. That. Anymore.
"I'll send a few attendants with a carriage as quickly as they're able. If I can secure one or two stoneborn, it will of course be much quicker, but they are frequently occupied with more important matters, I'm afraid. Once the soul is safely within Sinfall, I can inspect it more closely." A brief pause, then, "In truth, I'm delighted that this worked at all. He was never dead, and the sinstone was a forgery, so... a bit dicey, hmm?"
"I- I don't think he's going anywhere, so. T-take your time. I- I appreciate everything you've-" They paused and exhaled a soft sigh. "I know there's... so many things of- of a higher priority, but- but I am very grateful for- for all you've done, Madame Accuser. I- I don't think we could have done this without you."
"Yes, I know; I am amazing, magnanimous, and extremely good at my job. But you are welcome. Let me know if anything changes."
Caythaes glanced over to Terry for a moment, figuring they could probably float him to make loading him into a carriage easier, then looked back to Ranek.
It took some time before Ranek blinked his eyes open again with a loud groan of pain. Now that Terry was no longer able to kill anyone and Ranek was groaning, Caythaes got up and walked over to him, squatting down at his side.
"Gods... who was blabbering their mouth?" He rolled his eyes.
"TH-that was the lady who saved your ass, b-be nice to her, or- or she'll probably rip you a new one," Caythaes deadpans, shaking their head as they end the call and add whatever number the Accuser called them from to their contact lists. Wonder if she'd like cat pictures?
"Congratulations. I have- I have a skinned knee and probably a- a bruised hip."
Ranek groaned loudly, looking up at Cay. "G... good. Everything hurts. Wait.." He took a second. "Nope. My right hand is numb. Thought it was fine. Are my fingers wiggling?" They were not.
"I- I think you dislocated your shoulder. Do- do you want me to set that for you? I- I am very angry with you, by the way."
Ranek took a few breaths. "Dislocated shoulder, cracked rib or two. That head butt didn’t crack my head.. though my neck hurts." He chuckled softly, which became a cough. "Oh, don't get high and mighty. You made as many decisions to put yourself in harm’s way as I did. We did a good job protecting each other, so just.. leave it at that."
"A-anyway, even if I did, I- I somehow managed to- to come out relatively unscathed, didn't I? Y-you ever hear of dodging?" Shaking their head, Caythaes very gently rested a hand on Ranek's chest, humming as they pumped enough healing energy into him to stop the internal bleeding and make it safe for them to move him. "S-sit up. I'm- I need to pop your arm back into place and bandage it."
"Ah.. well. Glad she helped." He sighed, slowly sitting up with a pained grunt. "I dodged plenty. If I had taken any of those.. except for the last, I would be dead, or close to it." He looked up at his dear friend and patted their cheek with his good hand. "You did great. And for the record, I was luring Terry into a false sense of security by charging him. I had to do something." He laughed and nodded. "Set it."
Caythaes gave Ranek a look that clearly showed they disagreed, but they let it be, shaking their head as they shifted positions. Taking Ranek's dislocated arm with one hand and bracing against his shoulder with the other, they pulled until the shoulder bone moved and popped back into place. Then, Caythaes pulled out the bandages they were sent with.
"P-part of me wants to believe that, if I make you heal manually, th-the pain might make you reconsider your choices, but-" they grumbled as they bound Ranek's arm in place and fashioned him a nice little sling. "I- I also feel like, if you haven't learned by now, y-you're not going to. But I'm still annoyed, so- so I'm not going to be nice."
A bit more bickering and shenaniganery passed on the way back to Sinfall to meet up with the Accuser and figure out what to do with their quarry. By the time they'd all gathered again, the oversized Worgen had hardened into something not unlike twice-fired clay and gone inert. It was blissfully quiet but very disconcerting up till it was confirmed that he was, in fact, still alive in there. The Accuser was... rather put out, to put it mildly, once she'd been given a more detailed explanation of just how half a soul had ended up like this. Among far harsher terms, she'd referred to Eonar as incompetent. Once her temper had settled, she set about figuring out the best way to separate the soul from the wierd, wierd body.
After about an hour, she just had a dredger hit him with a hammer and chisel while she held a soulkeeper at ready. To her own annoyance, it worked just fine, and she almost spiked the thing like a football before passing it off and all but pleading to get that absolute headache out of her sight.
Reassembling the soul pieces is somebody else's problem.
Also it turned out that comm number Cay had saved was for the dredger that’d asked for everyone’s teeth if they’d died. Good news is, Muckle does like cat photos.
I was late but I did finish them, so hey, go me. Thank you to @shedwyn, @ranekvilmas, and @mekandawn for your participation/assistance in the RP and the writing of several of these.
As always, if you wanna participate in the next one, go check out @daily-writing-challenge for rules and updates!
Day 1: Silver/Darkness
A day in the life of a prisoner in Torghast.
Day 2: Forever/Displaced
Playing fetch.
Day 3: Sentimental/Feral
In the DICK, Cay!!
Day 4: Impress/Exhaustion
It’s the denouement! Right?
Day 5: Fluff/Shiver
It was not the denouement. This one is though. Super swearsies.
Day 6: Zealous/Rot
...can there be multiple denouements? asking for a me
Day 7: Peace/Unforgiven
Terry’s story (well, this arc) is almost concluded now...
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Cay sighed, a fizzle of crackling purple energy rolling from their head to their feet. "I'll- I'll tank then. T-try for the boxes."
Speaking with a voice that seemed sourceless, an invisible Ansul said simply, "On it, boss." As the rogue began to move away, a flare fired into the glittering sky overhead, and a few seconds later, a dull thoonk from the same spot as the gunshot sent a small, ominous cylinder hurtling toward the wildseed. Thankfully, it wasn’t incendiary, but the resulting explosion coated everything it touched in clinging dust of an unpleasantly bright greenish tint.
Unable to do anything about the dust and sure that Ansul wasn’t hurt, Cay focused on the more immediate threat. They inhaled and let out a silent, deafening scream, hoping to scatter the worgen or draw all their attention.
They succeeded in making sure all five of the frothing worgen advancing on their position were focused entirely on them and not remotely interested in the crystal behind them. Unfortunately, they were suddenly and sharply reminded of how terrifying it was to have five frothing worgen focused entirely on them and heading toward them. For just a second, all Cay could do was whimper.
As much as Caythaes believed themself to be a bit of a cockroach, they hadn't actually ever fought more than one person at a time before, but it was too late to do anything besides deal with it. They picked one of the worgen from the center of the pack and lifted their hands, red anima gathering at their fists and around the beast's head.
Tactically speaking, Ansul knew it was the wrong choice not to pursue the sniper. But for all that he didn't care about the controlled worgen, he couldn’t leave someone in a robe to be swarmed. Swearing under his breath, he reappeared in dulled Alliance blue and grey armor above one of the worgen. As he fell onto the beast, he sank a pair of stiletto-style knives into its neck as casually as one might box its ears. Worgen didn't typically yowl that way; it was more of a cat thing to do–particularly a cat who'd been set on fire–but sudden knives in the neck had a way of changing the status quo. As Ansul's worgen collapsed in a thrashing heap, a second one turned to tackle him off its comrade with a vicious snarl.
As their spell took hold of their chosen attacker and it slowed its own charge, Cay shouted, “No! Attack the BOXES!”
"They are trying to kill us!" Unable to disappear again thanks to whatever was in that dusty green shit, Ansul fell back on dodging and backpedaling while he pulled something from a pouch at his belt.
Cay's chosen target, now firmly under their control, had time to stop running and wind back for a swing at one of its two remaining fellows before its collar erupted in crackling blue. An electric surge brought it to its knees, howling in pain. The other two paused at the sight, and their collars likewise crackled to life until they made their final pounce at the caster.
As they watched their would-be minion fry, Cay breathed, "Shock collars..." and then threw up a shield before they could be bowled over. The attacking pair crashed into the shield and scrabbled at it with long, dull claws and sharp, yellow fangs screeching and gnashing uncomfortably close to their face, but thankfully, it held.
They focused their attention on the collars, throwing out a volley of fireballs in the hopes that one would score a hit and break them. The impact sent the worgen flying backward, and they seemed inclined to stay where they landed before their collars jolted them back to their feet to try again. The controlled one on the ground had no chance to dodge the flames, and while it was also very unhappy from the impact, the collar did end up charred and fizzling around its neck, apparently ruined.
Taking advantage of the mayhem, the last furry assailant finally drew first blood for Team Furball when it lunged forward to swipe both sets of claws across the rogue's abdomen. It wasn’t quite the disembowelment the beast had been hoping for, but it was certainly a start, and it stung like a bitch regardless. Ansul dropped and rolled backward with the hit, coming back up on his feet and launching himself into a tackle against his assailant. There were no knives in his hand, just a small jamming device he slapped onto the worgen's collar as they tumbled across the grass. For a second, it seemed like Ansul’s gadget successfully shut down the collar before it crackled to angry life and gave them both a good hard jolt before they separated.
Utterly terrified by the sheer amount of snarling worgen in their face, Caythaes swallowed thickly before shouting, "Hanged man! Th-they're being controlled!" and throwing out a hand. Golden bolts flew forth, and one struck true, leaving one more worgen reorienting itself without a collar motivating it. That done, Cay’s attention shifted, throwing another shield around Ansul while reinforcing their own.
Almost like a reminder that it was there, another gunshot rang out from the trees, and Cay's new shield shattered like spun sugar practically the instant they put it up. The last worgen standing by Cay saw the opportunity it was given and clamped its teeth down on the elf’s fleshy arm to give it the worst kind of nomming imaginable. Dark magic wreathed Caythaes's arm, significantly dampening the amount of pain they felt, but it still staggered and frightened them. They let out a soft whimper before pulling their prosthetic hand back and aiming a punch at the worgen's face.
Hot off the heels of a profoundly uncomfortable equipment failure he’d barely managed to save himself from thanks entirely to Cay’s shield, Ansul hollered and swore up a storm. He didn’t have time to examine that failure right then; instead, he pulled another of those devices and a dagger as he charged toward Cay and their bitey little friend.
Bitey paid for that brief victory, first with a punch from a mechanical fist right to its delicate snoot and then to a dagger and a thing on its neck that made the collar go zap and--... then the zapping stopped, and oh yay! But then there was the matter of that dagger... The worgen didn't want to be stabbed, no matter what was going on, so it made a desperate grab for the knife. Ansul let the knife go and skittered back; he had more and could replace them if they went missing. "No more biting means no more stabbing!"
Caythaes dropped onto their rump with a soft grunt, chin wibbling as they steadied their breathing. For the moment, they trusted Ansul to deal with the worgen, and they closed their eyes, searching for the sniper's mind.
The worgen flung its newfound knife into the woods now that it was no longer being stabbed, then sat down to lick its palm. The other worgen (that weren't slaughtered) had lost whatever will they had to fight now that their collars were not creating an external source of it...
...and the giant, furry hand holding the remote control for that source irritably crushed it as Cay focused through his eyes. They could see him pick up an impressive, heavy rifle and step toward what seemed to be a handmade mortar tube, picking up a belt of very standard-looking explosive grenades. They heard a low, sneering growl practically curl into a purr of "Gotcha" before their connection to the gunman fizzled out.
"Ooookay," Caythaes murmured, their fingers drumming on the ground as they took a mental inventory of what was on them. A pistol probably wouldn't be enough, given the size of that rifle, and maybe their shields would hold up against an explosion, but they didn’t want to risk it. Scrambling to their feet, Caythaes ran to Ansul and made a grab for his bicep. "We- we need to get away? I- I don't know if he's going to aim for us, or Shedwyn, but- but I don't want him hitting both."
Ansul looked at Cay like they were bonkers for a moment, but he had a very good idea of where the sniper was because he saw him just before this all started. After half a second to orient himself and say, "Okay, go!" he took off in that direction, zig-zagging because sniper and stupid fucking green dust.
Just as Ansul broke away, Cay noticed an odd shimmering along the tree line that they recognized but couldn’t quite place. It clicked into place at the same time the sound of a rifle cocking reached their ears from about ten feet behind them. The same voice cheerfully piped up, "Wotcher, knife-ear? Li'l off th' top?"
The cock of the rifle had Cay staggering to a halt almost before they started running. They sighed, taking a moment to collect themself before whirling around and throwing out their hands. A pillar of fire burst to life over the gunman's head and dropped down towards him. Even in a heavy, oiled duster and covered in a nigh-Liefeldian number of pouches, pockets, and bandoliers, the decidedly unferal worgen moved fast, tucking and rolling as soon as he saw the elf's hands move.
Once again swearing a blue streak (they really shouldn't let him out of his office with that kind of potty mouth), Ansul slid to a stop and sprinted back toward Cay. Throwing knives out in one hand and the pistol based on Terry’s Babygirl in the other, he unloaded all his shots as soon as he thought he was remotely in range.
The gunman was a guy with survival instincts and obvious training, though there was only so much he could dodge with almost no cover before he ran out of luck. One of the bullets ripped across the duster, grazing his back and making him swear before he took a couple potshots toward the pair to keep them from volleying more. "Tha' slag can't be tha' bloody important t' you!"
As the gun went off, Caythaes reflexively raised their hands, creating a wall-shaped magic barrier in front of them and Ansul. The rogue barely pulled up short of face-planting against it.
Cay shrugged. "I- I feel like at this point, it's- it's a bit more self-defense, really. I- I have no idea what's going on."
Ansul almost didn’t respond at all but came up with, “Just don't like racists," as he moved to put himself between the iceblocked wildseed and the gunman. His pistol was empty, but he still kept it pointed at the worgen.
"Good! Then I'll get rid o' that'un for you an' we'll both get what we want, an' I won't 'ave t' kill you both. Ev'ryone wins!"
"I-I think M-Miss Shedwyn and Terry's children lose," Caythaes mutters to themself, their ears tipping back.
The gunman poked his head out, just barely, from behind the rock he'd chosen for the moment, jerking his thumb at the crystal. "Lotta people want 'im dead an' I bet you know 'ow much 'e deserves it."
With a shake of their head, Cay raised their voice and said, "Actually, I don't! So, um- as far as I'm concerned, y-you just started attacking for no reason!" They paused, flicking a hand towards Ansul, imbuing him with haste. "A-anyway, y-you called me knife-ears, so. Y-you've been more racist to me than Terry." They wondered if they could keep him monologuing long enough for Terry to hatch.
"Wh- hey, I- ..." Ansul looked away like he was running some calculations in his head, "Actually nah, I just wanna shoot him myself!" He didn’t use that speed boost to make a beeline for the guy, but rather for another spot of cover safely away from Cay, the gunman, and the hunk of crystal containing the wildseed.
The latter of which was starting to glow blue.
The gunman was annoyed and done talking once he heard running that was much too fast for his liking. Instead of opening fire, he lobbed a grenade out after Ansul. When Caythaes saw it, they released a tired sigh and dropped the barrier, switching back to a personal bubble. There was some relief when they managed to catch the remnants of a void-based, directional teleport after the explosive went off. It was accompanied by the flailing of someone trying to hide their glowing greenness behind the cover they managed to reach.
They squeaked and ducked their head reflexively as the gunman took aim to fire at the stammering elf that was still too close to his actual target. The shot pinged off the shield, so Cay took off running right at Mister Shooty McShooterson. They pulled back their left sleeve and popped a panel on their prosthetic, pulling out a small pistol. They didn't take the time to aim, just providing cover fire.
Cay's pot-shots did save them from being hit by the gunman’s retaliation, but not from the absolute whoopin’ of a furry wall slamming into their much smaller frame. They didn’t know how else to handle a full-on tackle, hitting the ground flat on their back and gasping for air. The best they could do was roll out of the way before the worgen gunman trampled them.
Blue light began to swirl inward and around Shedwyn within the crystal, taking on green tones, then gold tones as it became downright painful to look at. Fortunately, the only one trying to look at it was the gunman, who solved his problem by looking down at his rifle to reload it as fast as he could. The protective rock cooked off in a final, brilliant flash of light, dissipating back into motes of arcane energy and hanging in the air around Shedwyn’s floating body. The wildseed it had been protecting alongside the wee mage had practically burst open, not unlike a popcorn kernel, from the top.
Shedwyn raised her head, looked directly at the gunman, and growled, "YOU," with a darkly satisfied sense of recognition that reverberated through the trees. She wasn’t expecting the worgen to snarl the same word right back at her in response, though he was furious rather than pleased. Staring up at her in nearly frothing hate, he planted his feet, took aim, and fired straight at her face.
The motes around her snapped into a wall of spinning 2-dimensional shapes, like glowing shards of glass. She stared at the bullet as a few shards enveloped it, then reached for it. The rest turned 90 degrees and launched at the gunman almost as an afterthought.
As soon as Caythaes realized the gunman was ignoring them, they rolled to their knees and clawed at the air, summoning red anima to their hands once again. It swirled around the worgen's head, trying to take control of him long enough that one shot was all he got.
A low, ominous growl rumbled up from within the burst wildseed. With a final flash of green light and the briefest glimpse of Eonar's smirking visage in the air above it, a black-and-tan worgen erupted from the pod, entire body aglow in golden circuitry underneath his thick, bristly fur.
Terry reached up with one massive hand to grab Shedwyn by the ankle, snarled "Mine!" and threw her, shield and all, straight at their enemy.
Shedwyn was a tad more in practice with this particular move than the last time she was around Terry's worgen form–It turned out Kyrian could be pretty disrespectful once you gave them the idea and permission. Still, the joy that lit her face at the sound of his horrible voice became panic, and she yelped, "No, not-!"
The gunman was too busy shielding his face with his duster and trying to stave off the intrusion of another mind to see the freight train coming, but he could hear it. This, unfortunately, meant only that he was aware of how fucked he was in the couple of seconds he had before Dwyn crashed into him like a tiny missile.
Caythaes had been concentrating with all their might on keeping the gunman distracted. So, when Terry weaponized his wife, they weren't paying any attention, and the impact of wife on wolf caught them off guard, making them yelp and scramble to their feet as the worgen skidded towards them.
Shedwyn curled nearly fetal as she slammed down into the gunman, so she wasn’t too stunned to immediately pull her shield shards back in and backhand him across the nose with all the strength her rage could bring to bear. Smacking a dog with a rolled-up newspaper got the same sort of yelping noise that being straight-up bitchslapped did. She wasn’t weak, but he was a furry tank, and the noise was mainly because he wasn’t expecting her to slap him, of all things. A slap was something he could recover from, though it took a lot more effort when she kept fucking slapping him.
Eventually, he managed to wriggle his rifle up between them enough to shove hard and get the screaming little banshee the fuck off of him.
And so arrives Terry, given ample time to crawl the rest of the way out of his cocoon…seed…thing…and shake out the cobwebs. His lip curled back to reveal every single crooked nightmare tooth, and he stomped steadily faster toward Dwyn and the gunman with nothing but murder in them glowing golden eyes.
He wasn’t fifteen feet tall like in Revendreth anymore, and he wasn’t controlling six armored minions. But a nine-foot-tall worgen empowered by a Titan and full of pent-up aggression was more than enough.
Ansul, finally recovered from his close brush with a grenade, staggered out of cover and took in the entire messy scuffle. Nope. He then decided to stagger over to the nearest feral worgen that he didn’t know was feral. "Hey. Sup? We cool?"
Caythaes took one look at what was about to happen, then watched Ansul stumble out of the bush and decided, "Mmm, yeah, Miss Shedwyn's got this." They likewise staggered over to Ansul, eyeing his chosen worgen before saying, "Ah, good, you're in one piece. Uh. As- if he doesn't bite, I need you to catch me."
The feral stared at Ansul like he had seven heads for a minute, made a confused 'baroo?' sort of sound, then finally scrabbled to its feet and ran like hell into the trees. The others took this as their cue and followed. They would be very confused when they couldn’t figure out where Darkshire was.
Ansul shrugged, bringing up a lighter to a cigarette. Caythaes watched the beast run for a bit, hummed, nodded, then said, "Falling now," and swooned. Ansul leaped to catch Cay without dropping lighter or cigarette.
Shedwyn reeled back as she was levered away. Looking up at the stomping, she immediately realized that it was Terry, but it was not her husband. She glanced toward Cay and Ansul and, frustrated, grabbed the gunman by a finger and shrieked, "I said NOT NOW!" With a faint blong noise, both of them were contained in a sphere of energy that was just slightly too small for them. The gunman, unable to easily move and not a complete idiot, silently thanked his lucky stars he was inside the sphere and didn’t fight anymore.
Might’ve also peed a little.
Terry rammed into the sphere with a very frustrated "NOOOoooo" that practically screamed petulant four-year-old and suggested Dwyn had denied him things this way many, many times. Clawing and scrabbling at the sphere ineffectually, he was just an angry dog instead of a psychopath just looking for something to devour like the first encounter in Revendreth.
He was also completely unprepared for a full-grown, bellowing bull moose to come storming up the path and barrel into him at full speed. The glowing worgen went tumbling, briefly stunned but thankfully not gored. After he got to his feet and saw what hit him, his ears pinned back, and he thought about it. Even a nearly-feral giant of a worgen understood the implicit threat of a moose. Especially Terry’s own well-trained, extremely loyal moose.
The glowing worgen finished doing math and, with the signature sounds of bones snapping and organs squishing, decided he was done too, leaving a very wobbly, glowing, naked man standing there in his place.
"DWYN! DO I NEED T' KILL ANYBODY OR ARE THIN'S IN 'AND NOW?!" echoed across the grove after silence fell.
Ah. Leon. That explained where Toffee came from.
The sphere split just a little so Shedwyn could answer, "NEED HEALING, MANACLES, AND CLOTHES, PLEASE."
The shouting snapped Cay out of their swoon, and they came to first by tensing, then by letting out a groan that said they really wished they hadn't woken up and going limp in Ansul's arms. Dwyn's call for healing made them groan even harder.
"Noooooo," they whine, twisting as if they were going to try and roll to the ground. "I don't wanna yet.... need juice and a nap."
Hearing whining settled Leon's nerves some; whining wasn't screaming or wailing, so there wasn't necessarily an emergency. That meant it was safe to come up the rest of the way with the rest of his so-called cavalry: Lucien and Praecormu. "Well, if you can't, th' boy could use th' practice..."
Terry, for his part, went back to the wildseed and sat down before the kids saw his junk.
"No, I can," Caythaes sighed, holding up their mauled arm. "But-but probably I should have- have someone else heal me first." After a pause, they added, "And after some juice. Or tea. Is- is the teapot still upright?"
With a little frown of concentration that made him look exactly like his mother, Lucien bore down on Cay and Ansul, hands out.
A bit gravelly, which made sense since he hadn’t had occasion to speak much in the last few years, Terry answered, "Teapot fell in. S'not cracked, though."
"Oooh, tea~" Caythaes cooed, sounding a bit (or perhaps a lot) like Theotar at the moment. Someone was tired and woozy. They started to extract themself from Ansul but decided to behave for Lucien. "Um. Y-you can- yeah, just- I can sit."
Lucien’s head whipped around at the sound of Terry’s voice, and he hesitated. The little troll boy accompanying him–presumably Praecormu–placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently toward Cay, then split off and moved toward Terry. As soon as he came within reach, Terry eagerly scooped the boy up–troll or not–to hug him. There were too many people around, so Prae didn’t say anything that might embarrass Terry, just folding himself up against him.
Lucien nodded his thanks to Cay for being a decent patient, and after a quick once-over to assess, he placed his hands on either side of that crazy bite wound on their arm. "What did this?" He didn’t wait for a response before the sweet relief of holy magic started pouring into their arm.
Caythaes had had enough uncooperative patients that they were not going to inflict that on a novice. Plus, the pain in their arm was extraordinarily distracting, and the feeling of the holy magic was a relief. "Worgen bite. Not your father! A- another one that's uh. Probably very confused right now. Anyway-"
They paused as a thought occurred to them, scowling down at the bitemark. "Oh. Uh. Sh-should I worry about acquiring the affliction? I- I don't know how well that's going to, uh. Mix? With the whole, um... phoenix thing."
Lucien closed his eyes and concentrated. "Terry's bites are far messier than this. And the curse is largely broken, so it can no longer be transmitted. I was very worried about that when I first found out about him!"
Half-wearing his armor and carrying the rest over his shoulder, Leon brought up the rear, going to Shedwyn and the gunman to investigate them. "Luv...are you aware yer bleedin'?"
Dwyn glowered up at Leon from basically the gunman’s lap. "I was shot, but Eonar healed me." Leon was a touch skeptical since he could see flesh through that exit wound in her chest, not just skin. Before he had a chance to question her, she went a bit cross-eyed, leaned toward the sphere's edge, and the bubble popped as she passed out. Leon sighed a little bit, leaning down to carefully pick Dwyn up. He looked down at the glaring gunman, said only, "Stay put," then whistled softly at Toffee. Though the moose desperately wanted to go to his poppa, Toffee also recognized a threat when he saw one, so he trotted over and sat down on the gunman's chest. Leon heard a few bones crack, but for some odd reason, he couldn’t find any sympathy to spare for him and walked away.
The gunman, if he'd been planning to do any talking, was briefly very, very loud as a moose sat on him and then very, very quiet. He was definitely not dead, but he was now nursing a broken rib or two and disinclined toward further upsetting the moose.
Terry was utterly unconcerned with anything but the little boy in his arms. After a minute, though, he dragged himself to sit up again and stare out at Cay. "...I know you?"
Caythaes looked over at him and flashed a smile. "Nope! I'm, um- I'm with Leon. I'm helping!"
Leon approached the wildseed, looking down at his brother and Praecormu for a minute. He leaned down, thumped his forehead gently on Terry's, muttered something only Terry and Prae could hear, then dropped a pair of pants and a tatty linen shirt on his big brother's head. Terry didn’t even care that he was crying a little bit; he just put the frickin' clothes on.
Caythaes looked at the moose with a concerned expression, then decided they didn't care enough and returned their attention to Lucien. "Th-thank you for the healing. I- I can take care of Mister Ansul and Miss Shedwyn, if- if you want to go hug your father."
Leon padded up alongside Lucien and touched the boy's shoulder, "It's fine. I've got 'em now, hey?"
Lucien was, for several moments, torn between his duty as a healer (which he was trying to take very seriously!) and the offer. But y'know what, he hadn't seen his papa since his little brothers were born. So with a quick bow, he excused himself and went to tackle Terry and Praecormu.
Caythaes smiled softly as Lucien took off, humming a warm note before they got to their feet and followed him over. "I still want that tea!" They chirped, ignoring Terry as they grabbed the pot from the seed and found a cup from the ground. Terry, in turn, ignored Cay in favor of his eldest son throwing himself bodily toward him, hugging the kid while muttering an awful lot of Thalassian comforts to him. "Kept my promise" was easy to catch before Cay left with the teapot.
After pouring themself a cup and taking a sip, they hummed happily and returned to Leon. "So! Th-that could have gone worse. How are you?"
Leon leaned back on his hands once they settled. "Briefly terrified, but all thin's considered, seems I missed all th' fun... yer all right, then?"
"Th-the bite was the worst of it. M-Mister Ansul had- had a grenade thrown at him, but- but given that he's up and about, he- I presume he dodged it well enough."
Ansul grunted and continued to not mention the pounding headache and throbbing pain all along his back and belly. Finally, he lit his damn cigarette and went for a walk. He could get his own round of healing later.
Cay sipped their tea as they sat down and leaned heavily against Leon's side, their eye closing briefly. "T-tired now, mostly. A- a lot is catching up with me."
He cradled Cay's head a little bit, patting their cheek and watching the others with a faint smile on his face. "This's rather a lot more'n I ever intended t' ask o' you. Thank you."
"Mmm, b-but you know me," Caythaes murmured, melting even more against Leon as they reached up to give his hand a squeeze. "I- I'm always ready to help. And- and I was here, anyway. Wh-what was I supposed to do? L-let Terry be murdered after- after all I did to put him back together? Nope."
"Tch. Spoken like a Meddler, luv." Leon huffed a soft chuckle, rubbing Cay's hand with his thumb. "'Ope yer ready t' find out wha' it feels like t' 'ave a debt this big repaid."
(YES THE REST IS COMING THIS ONE TOOK THREE DAYS TO EDIT I JUST HAVE RAID NOW )
Getting out of the burnt grove had taken them a fair while. Distance in Ardenweald--and, Leon suspected, all of the Shadowlands--seemed variable, malleable even. He did admit to himself that not being able to see hardly anything beyond washed out colors and movement made it easy to simply be confused, though. At some point, they definitely started going uphill, though; that was not just his senses betraying him.
He rather wished it was; his entire body hurt in a dozen different ways, many of them in the same places at the same time. His face stung at least as badly as his eyes; taking off the mask had taken a lot of flesh with it, and the tears had been deep. Bandages kept it from getting worse, but they didn't have time to do a proper cleanup or major healing in the middle of a dangerous spot like that. It didn't help that even in a paradise like Ardenweald, dirt got in things and it burned like hellfire too. Valarin hadn't even done that much damage himself, the damned Drust had simply run him ragged for over a week and his body was trying desperately to shut down and rest. At any moment, his legs were going to mutiny.
Eventually, he heard himself say "need to rest a minute" and thought that was a pretty smart suggestion, they should listen to that guy. Fortunately, Valarin agreed, and their feet settled on a path shortly before they found a nice, non-burnt tree to lean against. They both knew if Leon sat down, he wouldn't be able to get back up no matter how hard he tried--his muscles were at the "make the stupid go away" stage of things, and would shut down the instant he wasn't using them anymore.
There was a waterskin in his hand, and immediately he was guzzling it, though Valarin's simple command of "Sip this" filtered through only after he'd taken a couple deep swigs. Suitably embarrassed, he handed it back, then rubbed his eyes. He couldn't see his wee savior, but he could hear him, and he knew that Valarin had probably been through a lot of shit on his own. The man couldn't avoid asking any more than Valarin could avoid helping him.
"Are you all right?"
"No," Val said quietly. "I'm worried to death about you and I- and I-" His voice broke, and he hugged Leon. "I didn't know it was you. I wouldn't have attacked if I knew..."
While Leon didn't immediately respond out of simple surprise, his arms did eventually wrap around the elf's shoulders and squeeze. He'd missed holding him so much. "I'm okay. It's okay. Y'did wha' y'needed."
He was aware of a sniffle, and then of hands cradling his face with the sense not to press on the bandages there. Leon couldn't have said later how he got from that to Valarin's lips on his, and he was too surprised in the moment to do anything but let it happen, hands still and eyes perfect circles.
Audibly crying, Valarin pulled back just enough to say, "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was so wrong. Please don't leave me," sob, and then kiss him again before Leon could get out more than half of an incredulous "You're."
A thousand memories and emotions thundered forward at once, vying for dominance and attention. He'd missed this, gods how he'd missed this, holding Valarin, kissing Valarin, being comfortable and content and safe with and for Valarin... It had been the cruelest rock-and-a-hard place: tell Valarin that he'd gone and developed feelings and risk the loss of his friend, or act like nothing had changed and let it all be a lie? Leon had chosen the former, panicked, and done it in the clumsiest way he could have. They'd fought, and they'd both said horrible things to one another, and then it'd happened again later, and he was sure they'd never speak to one another again.
...But there they were. There Valarin was. And Leon winced, both from the sting of fresh tears in his own eyes and from the realization that he couldn't repeat the same mistake twice. Pushing Valarin away all but killed him, but he did it, and in broken tones told him, "I can't do this. I still love you."
Valarin responded by trying to shake off Leon's hands and close the distance between them again, his own hands shaking on the other man's stubbly face. Voice gone raw and nearly inaudible from crying and a flood of the same fears and sadnesses, he answered, "I love you too," and destroyed Leon utterly with another kiss.
They stood there in blissful, sniffly silence for what could've been seconds or eons. Leon did not know, and he did not care; he had gone from utter despair to jubilation in record time, and he was damn well going to ride it. Only the need for air brought words back into play.
Trying to blink away tears, Valarin leaned back and whispered, "My dear, sweet Leon."
One hand curled up under Valarin's chin so Leon could thumb one of those tears off his cheek, and he bent (ignoring the distinct protests of his back) to press his forehead against the elf's. "If you'll 'ave me."
"Don't leave my arms. Light, Leon..." To his own frustration, Valarin was weeping again as soon as he started talking. "I love you. I just want to see you safe. I'm sorry for all the hurt I caused. I was--I was an idiot." Sniffling again, he nuzzled into Leon's hand.
Leon couldn't hold back an incredulous, short laugh. "You were afraid. O'me. An' I made y' tha' way. Cuz I said stupid thin's in th' stupidest way I could. We're both idjits too scared t'be smart or sweet ferever." He let him nuzzle, then slid his fingers carefully up into his dark hair. "...I'm sorry, too."
"Not as sorry as me. I hurt you. I hurt you so much. I was too scared to even think about--about how I was feeling. I pushed you away and--" Another weak sob. "But it hurt. I missed you so much. I would--I would find myself reaching to text you and realize that I couldn't and it just broke me over and over again. My darling Leon. Light..."
"You may've knocked me senseless a few minutes ago, but yer gonna 'ave t'try a lot 'arder t' make me ever let you make it all yer fault, luv." Forehead bumped against forehead again and stayed there, and Leon finally let himself relax enough to shudder in a mix of relief and weariness. "It 'urt. Course it 'urt. But 'urt fades. Let it go."
Valarin was equipped for battle, largely unscathed except for maybe some bruising in his back and a burn on his chest, and a healer to boot. Leon had been driven to exhaustion, controlled by a malevolent entity for at least a week, gotten light-slapped several times, had a spooky mask literally torn off his face, been blinded, and then coughed up a monster. Valarin felt like the comfort was going in reverse here, but his emotions were catching up to him and overwhelming him. "I love you," he said again, tears wavering his voice. He planted several more kisses on Leon's lips, as if trying to make up for months of drought all at once.
That Leon was the one doing the comforting in this situation was, frankly, par for the course, and they both knew it. Leon wasn't going to be the one who said it first, simply holding the little elf close and relishing in the feeling of his warmth and closeness and of course, those kisses. "I love you, Val'rin. I wish I'd said it better th'first time."
Valarin sniffled as he tried to compose himself. "Do you think you can walk again? I have mana to spare, for now. I could heal you, or float you back to the... village?" He didn't much know how to categorize Tirna Vaal. "But either way, I'm getting you back to safety. I swear it."
"I've no doubt y'will." The Gilnean stole one more short kiss, then waved a hand toward what he was pretty sure was the path (it wasn't). "Y'went an' gave me energy fer days, some'ow. Fancy tha'?"
Either in spite of or specifically to spite his continued sniffling, Valarin laughed. "I'm still reeling from it myself. Put your arm around me. Let's walk a bit further..." He hesitated, wanting to add some term of endearment but struggling to find what to say.
Leon picked up on the pregnant pause, smiling a sheepish little smile that Val could almost swear went along with a bit of a blush. Instead of calling him out on it--how strange a thing that would've been for him to do anyway--Leon simply offered his hand for Val to take. "I've missed this."
"Missed you so damn much." His tone carried a pout as he took Leon's hand and squeezed. "Lean on me if you need to. Don't you dare try to walk on your own if you can't."
"I make no p--" Valarin took Leon's hand and looped it over his shoulder, ducking under his arm without consulting him. He was going to walk like this, damn it. Leon could only sigh, smile stupidly, and finish it: "Promises."
It would’ve been a long walk even if Leon could see. For some odd reason, neither of them minded. Once they’d found a bed for Leon in Tirna Vaal, he’d collapsed there, and by the time Valarin had run out of energy to help other wounded there and returned to join him, Leon was fast asleep. Curled up together, they slept peacefully for the first time in weeks.
It took about 20 minutes for things to calm down in the grove where Terry had been... reborn? Reconstituted? Baked? Whatever. The Sylvar had come running with a fair number of Vorkai in tow, only to find the majority of the dust settled and only a single corpse to clean up. There was some debate over whether the one feral worgen that'd been killed would need to be sent to the Arbiter for judgment or taken to a good spot elsewhere in the Weald to rot and replenish the anima reserves a little more. That argument kept going long after the group had taken the body away. Just as well that they figured that one out themselves; it was well beyond Terry's wheelhouse, it certainly wasn't Shedwyn's, and even Leon as a druid wasn't entirely sure which one felt more appropriate. He personally leaned toward returning the body to the earth, but this was the Shadowlands; how did that work, exactly?
Terry had had far more pressing concerns, which he announced simply and clearly to the small crowd assembled near the wildseed. "I don't know 'o ev'ryone is an' I don't rightly care, I'ma go fuck my wife an' then we're goin' th' fuck 'ome." True to his word, he'd immediately bent, hauled his wee wife up onto his shoulders, and tromped away to find a sufficiently secluded tree or bush to sully. She hadn't seemed all that inclined to object, beyond wishing he hadn't said it in front of Lucien and Praecormu.
Of course, they had to stop that eventually. A bit sooner than either of them would have liked, but then, neither of them was super fond of the notion of exhausting themselves before they got home. Though it would have been so easy to get lost in one another the way they'd both sworn to themselves in private they would do the moment they were reunited, they had other shit to do first. With utmost reluctance and only after promising to break a -lot- of furniture later, they separated to tend to their "guests." Shedwyn slipped away to chat with Leon and Cay, and Terry went to find Ansul and Toffee (who nearly killed him trying to pounce him like an excited puppy).
Wolf–the deeply ironic nickname Ansul had earned while deployed–was not difficult to find, smoking a cigarette a few meters away from Toffee and the worgen. He'd stripped back down into his civilian clothes and was reading one of the books that had been part of the "shrine" around Terry's wildseed. For all that he'd been ready to commit a whole lot of murders, the gunman was not willing to make a break for it once the moose stopped sitting on him. For one thing, the moose was still nearby, and for another, several of his ribs were either bruised or broken already. A few knives and the Babygirl knockoff were also arranged next to Wolf for easy access if their captive so much as coughed wrong. The gunman refused to shift back to human form, but Terry would have been surprised if he had; dumbest idea in the world, showing your enemy all your faces.
Wolf didn't look up when Terry approached, but they both knew perfectly well that Wolf knew he was there.
For the time being, Terry ignored the gunman, coming to a stop about two arms lengths away. After a moment, he tilted his head, then offered, "It doesn't get any better in th' second book."
Wolf looked confused for a moment but was insistent upon finishing the paragraph before marking his page and closing the book. He looked up at Terry quizzically. "Long as the second one's as good as this one, 'at's fine." To his credit, Terry didn't flinch at the comment on the book's quality, only saying, "As good as, I spose," before he took a couple steps closer.
His friend took a deep drag of his cig while looking Terry up and down. "Practically glowin', y'know that?" The word 'glowing' made Terry roll up a sleeve on his borrowed shirt to check for that creepy circuitry stuff, but thankfully, it was gone.
He gave Wolf a bit of a smirk. "Wuzzat intentionally smartassed, or...?"
"Nah, the literal glow's gone, now. 'S'just the figurative kind. Y'know, like y'just got resurrected, your kids told you they love you, and y'fucked the love of your life a dozen times, all in the space of like an hour."
The smirk shifted to a genuine, if subdued, smile as Terry rubbed the back of his neck. "...Not quite a dozen." Though it stayed on his face, the smile shrank a bit, and he stopped closing the distance. "Yer about th' only one tha' 'asn't done some kinda jumpin' fer joy yet."
Wolf put the book down with exaggerated care, buying himself a little time to figure out his response. "For them... you not bein' there was a hole in their lives. For me..." He sighed and patted the spot next to him, opposite the weapons and book. The Gilnean sat down as he was invited.
"Still a hole, but one I heaped a lot of frustration into."
Terry raised a brow. "Th' fuck's tha' supposed t' mean?"
"... Hatin' the dead don't hurt the dead. I made some dumb choices, an' caught a lotta hell for 'em, an' it was easier t'blame you for it all while I was goin' through it, y'know?"
"...yeah. Yeah, I know." After a short, pensive silence, Terry asked, "Was it you?"
Wolf frowned, confused again. "Was what me?"
"Last thin' I r'member clearly b'fore I was..." He couldn't quite bring himself to say 'dead,' no matter how accurate it might have been. "...here... was chasin' Toffee into a void rip an' gettin' kicked back out of it. Without 'im. I thought... I thought I was never gonna see 'im again."
"Oh." Wolf's brows went up as he looked over at the moose. "Yeah, that was me. Uh... Five months MIA. Lotta fallout." He looked at his hand and the faint, bluish pockmarks on the back of it. "Lots."
Terry's expression was hard to read, even more so than his usual, even for Wolf, who'd spent the better part of two years sharing a tent with him, as he examined that hand. After what seemed like a frickin' eternity, the Gilnean reached out to set his own hand over the marks there. "I'm sorry."
Wolf went very, very still for a while, and his voice was barely above a whisper when he replied, "I know. An' 'm sorry I told 'em you were dead."
That got a laugh out of Terry that seemed to startle even him, and made him laugh harder for a second. "Well it ain't like it wasn't true, right?"
Wolf leaned away. "Iunno, was it? Y'seem pretty alive to me." After all, it stood to reason that if resurrecting the dead just by going to the Shadowlands and finding them was possible, they'd have had an epidemic of returning souls on Azeroth by now.
"I' ave... absolutely no idea wha' I was b'fore or wha' I am right now. Eonar certainly said I never died, but... fuck, thinkin' about it is just... it almost 'urts t' wrap my brain around it."
Terry brought both hands up to scrub at his face, heaving a long, extraordinarily exhausted sigh. "...why are you sorry fer tha'?"
As they talked, Wolf spun his hands slowly around each other. "...I saw you get booted back to Azeroth. Made somethin' to follow you, to get us back. But when I got back, I found out you'd been missin' that whole time, too. An' I saw 'ow people were destroyin' themselves lookin' for you. So I told 'em you were dead. An'... An' I was mad at you for it all."
Direct as always and unwilling to let anything go unsaid after everything he'd been through, Terry let his hands drop away from his face. "Why'd y' tell 'em I was dead?"
It took him a few tries to actually get words out, and when he did, he was much more precise about his diction. "You... were either dead, which would suck, but we'd get over it if we just moved on, or you'd abandoned everyone - everyone - and that would be worse."
Terry tilted his head, narrowing his eyes a little. "...Okay. But why'd you tell 'em I was?"
"... 'cause if you weren't, I was gonna wreck myself lookin' for you."
"I dare say y' already did." He gestured toward Wolf's hands.
Wolf looked at his hands again and heaved a sigh. "... I'd been back.. Iunno, less than a day, more than an hour, when they showed up in the clinic I'd stumbled into. In Pandaria."
"Pand–?! Fuckin'... fuck, o' course it bloody would..." He trailed off as his battle buddy kept talking, expression quickly falling blank and wooden in lieu of showing open pity. Terry knew better.
"I was- I was really messed up, man. Bein' in that place that long, it'll fuck up anyone, mentally and physically. I was in... I needed some surgeries done, some of 'em real big, an' I needed rest' fore we could do 'em, but they ordered me to be in Uldum to hunt for you.. An' I was- I'm still kinda mad at you. I ended up just tellin' 'em you were dead. Got your shit kicked in by a moose, and dumped somewhere deserted, of course you were dead."
"Well... I'm 'ere, now. If yer still needin' t' get shit outta yer system, I've never been so punchable."
Wolf rolled his eyes and reached out to firmly hold Terry's face by his jaw. There was the briefest twitch to the man when Wolf reached for him–they both knew he had temper problems, after all, and he'd quite literally just given him permission to punch him. "'My choices are my own an' no one else's.' 'Sides, I'd lose my anger management chit."
"Then I don't think yer tha' mad at me. I think yer mad cuz y'don't know wha' else t' be."
Wolf released him with a nod and a bit of a shrug. "Could be." He leaned back on his hands and looked up at the amazing skies of Ardenweald. "Barnes had that sayin' about anger bein' a fake emotion to shield your real emotions, an' all that."
"Gods forbid we validate Barnes' bullshit t'day, on top o' ev'rythin' else." Terry chuckled, mirroring Wolf and finally looking up for more than a second or two. "...I kin think o' worse places t' wake up from a nightmare.'
Wolf glanced around the grove, taking in first the scorch marks and discarded weaponry. Then, he considered the loving little shrines still set up around Terry's pod. Then he looked back up. "Yeah. Definitely worth the trip."
They sat there in silence for a bit longer until Terry scooted closer and leaned over to kiss the scruffy, battered man on the cheek. "Glad t' see you too, ass'ole."
Wolf looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but didn't do more than lean his shoulder against the other man's and say, with a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "Worse company to wake up with, too." He made a point of not pulling away after he fell silent.
And with that heartfelt reaffirmation of love and undying loyalty, they sat together and watched Ardenweald's sky for a while. The pleasant silence was only interrupted once in a while, when one of them decided to kick the gunman in the ribs.
