#moogle mail.

I forgor

Any other day and Meteor would be reaching out to that kindness like a man starved, like a freezing vagabond desperate to draw near a proffered hearth after so long without warmth. Tonight, though, it is a reminder that he is anything but the invincible warrior he is expected to be, even though he knows Haurchefant intends anything but.

There are two things that haunt him this day. One, that his greatest weakness has always been strength in numbers. A few adversaries too many, and he will find himself overrun, his defenses pounded to rubble, with himself soon to follow to ruin. Two, that even despite all his training, he hasn't been able to compensate for this weakness. A sword jutting out of his abdomen is proof of the second, the long of the blade an unrelenting column of icy metal that his flesh convulses around, making him wince with every movement.

He snarls in anger, more towards himself than anything else. To think that he could be so careless. All it had taken was a split moment, his focus meandering in the thick of battle, and suddenly he found himself run through like cattle gored by a pitchfork. It wasn't enough to put him out of commission-- he'd be a shite Warrior indeed if it did-- but it was enough to make him double over in pain, unable to move in the moments after repaying his assailant in blood and fury.

Haurchefant spared him any further need to defend himself from anyone else planning to pounce in his moment of weakness, and he pulled him away from the fray while the rest of his men charged forth. Still, Meteor couldn't see the concern in his eyes-- he hardly felt like he could see at all. There's only fury now, all-consuming and impossibly incandescent. The tang of iron makes him nauseous and the cold steel in his gut makes his vision swim, but the adrenaline pounding in his skull keeps him conscious, despite.

BG3 starters // @heirbane

It feels strange, seeing a man like Gaius in despair. Even now, with his former "shepherd to the weak" mindset forsaken, he remained inscrutable even without the armored helm to conceal his expressions. A changed man now, aye, but a stoic man all the same, whose moments of vulnerability were few and far in between.

Yet every man has their shadows, their moonless nights. This, Meteor knows better than most, and when he quietly enters Gaius' room with a tray of stew balanced on his hand, the sight of empty bottles crowding the table reminds him of his own past demons. Of the twenty something bottles that littered the tables and floor of his inn room at Cloud Nine, as much alcohol it took to drown out his sorrow over Haurchefant, until not even his supernatural constitution could keep up any longer.

He had been alone then, unable to show weakness anywhere and thus forced to deal with his pain by himself. He wouldn't let Gaius be the same way, former enemy or no. The tray is set on an empty space on the table that isn't taken up by cups or bottles, and then Meteor takes a seat next to where Gaius slumps. If the man wants him gone, he speaks nothing of it. Instead, he spills his regrets to Meteor, as alcohol is wont to make a man do.

"There is no redemption. Can't you see? It's too late."

Perhaps if these words had been spoken to him back then, he would have no good answer for them, but he has already learned about dealing with guilt through his reconciliation with Fray and Myste, and so he has an answer now.

That answer, however, does not offer any comfort. He cannot offer any; it is not his place to. Instead, he says, "It weighs as it should." You have sinned greatly, and you must live with that fact. "Maybe there will be no forgiveness, but can you afford to stop moving forward now? Is your burden really that light?"

His hand comes to rest on Gaius' shoulder. "Regardless, the fact remains that you want to change for the better... and so long as that remains true, you can consider me your ally. One who thinks you ought to stop chugging this swill and get some rest."

Eventually, he hauls Gaius to bed, dumping him on the mattress without much effort and pulling the thin worn blanket over his body. The stew he left on the table is brought to the nightstand, a hot tincture placed on top of the lid to keep it warm when the man eventually awakens with a monstrous hangover. When they next meet again, Gaius looks weary and disheveled, but the stoic mask is back, his expression betraying none of crushing guilt he had displayed the night before.

But but. I want to see my wife Perfect Alexander 🥺

After-action patch-up starters // @soulsalight

Battle-hardened though Meteor may be, his knowledge of curative magicks is shockingly unimpressive given all his experiences, and all the cuts and scrapes he's sustained throughout. A lack of knowledge that he'd largely attribute to his overreliance on the Echo's regenerative abilities, and the chirugeons and healers that attended to his wounds when that alone wasn't enough. In other words, there had never been any need to learn anything beyond basic first aid... at least until now, when the mark they were hunting dug an ugly gash into Granson while the both of them weren't paying attention.

If only he could inherit Fray's inherent talent for healing, he thought. Yet he knew the Fray residing within his soul was not the talented white mage that grew up with Sidurgu Orl, but a shadow of him that remained with his soulstone; a memory of a memory. The advice his other self gave him could only be what he himself already knew: use what potions and supplies they traveled with to do what they can. Apply pressure to the wound to staunch the bleeding, wrap it securely with the bandages, then let the tinctures foot the rest of the work until a proper healer came by to help.

"There. Hope that's not too tight." There's an apologetic glance from him as he finishes tying up the bandages. He's definitely not well-versed enough to take care of other people, if Granson's wincing is anything, and an answering stab of guilt draws a deeper frown from his lips. But the red blooming from his wound doesn't entirely soak the coarse fabric wrapped around it, and he supposed that was sign enough that he did a decent enough job, Meteor thinks grimly.

"I suppose I should thank you for saving me, even if it means playing nurse now." comes Granson's terse reply, and now Meteor is frowning for an entirely different reason. He doesn't miss the self-deprecation in his words, the implications of him being a burden, and something about it rattles him. He could never be a bother to Meteor. Not him, not when he liked his company this much.

"Hey, don't say that. I don't mind... it's more important to me that you're alright." Gods forbid if he was any slower-- he's had enough people he's loved die in front of his eyes as it is. Perhaps he can take solace that his friend is still here to grouch about the situation then, and he offers a little smile, patting his shoulder.

That was way too close // @elpisbloomed

No matter how inviting the adventure, abandoned ruins always tended to be a treacherous expedition. If not for the labyrinth of traps or slavering beasts within its chambers, then because the architecture itself posed its own danger, with some walls and ceilings becoming unstable with the passage of time. An explosion too great, and suddenly the area was threatening to cave in, a rumble in the floor foretelling their doom.

There had barely been any time to react. Out of instinct, Meteor immediately shoved E'kusye out of the way, pushing her just out of range before he was crushed by rubble and his vision was covered in darkness. A certain death for any other man, but Meteor only groaned in pain at the weight of the rubble pressing down on his head and ribcage, and grunted as he started pushing at the rocks and dirt surrounding his body.

It looked like E'kusye knew Meteor would be just fine too, because just as he manages to get his head free, he hears her call out. "Who's not dead? Sound off!"

"I'm the only one who came with you." He grumbles in response. He manages to get an arm free then, but managing that much has already tired him out, and he dangles it at her uselessly. "Could you give me a hand?"

Meteor wasn't the only Warrior of Light who had come down here. With an impressive amount of force and enough strength to wrench a normal man's arm off with all the ease of dismembering a doll, he gets yanked out from the pile of debris and faceplants on the ground. As if he hasn't eaten enough dirt already.

"Urgh..."

That was way too close // @ahkmourn

"It's nothing too serious... just a blow to the head." Five of them, actually; the larger enemies he ran into seemed to have this running theme of dropping boulders onto his head. A man of a lesser constitution would have crumpled under the assault, armor or no, but Meteor simply stood, bowing his head at Iri's unspoken plea to let her have a look.

No warmth trickled down his face nor scent of rust hit his nose to indicate any open wounds on his head, but Iriste was more thorough than to leave it at that, and he felt her start to part his hair to check for any wounds that he couldn't feel. "I doubt you have any fear of going bald; you've a veritable forest of hair up here, coarse and dense as bear fur," she had teased once as he lay his head in her lap. Though he'd assured her he had a high pain tolerance before, he felt her fingers work through his scalp as gently as they had that sleepy afternoon, and the reminder of that memory felt like a balm, as a warm hearth did to a weary adventurer.