#scionel

He's judging.

Literally judging.

It's clear as day that he's disgusted by Thancred. How dare he bring this plate of abomination? He picked up some of them and pinched ever so slightly. Afterwards, he slid his thumb and index finger down to get rid of the honey coating these delicious worms. They do not need any other flavor. The raw taste of worms is simply enough. Thancred should have known better.

it had happened in holminster switch. the beast had diverted its attention from thancred, drawn to the powerful aether of his healing magic and hungry to ruin it. 

the shield had manifested mere milliseconds too late. to the outside observer it had been in the knick of time, the blade stopped the instant before it could rend flesh from bone. they talk about it later, laughing breathlessly at what a close call it had been, for to not laugh would be to weep at how close the spectre of death had come to one of their own. how often it had happened. how few of their number remained.

and so they laugh. for what reason do they have to despair?

the point of it hadn’t even left a mark. how could they have known? he hadn’t felt it. only the intent from the beast, some twisted idea of salvation and propagation had radiated from it.

all it had taken was a touch. and so flawless was its deceptive victory that he hadn’t noticed until days later, and it isn’t until lightwardens later, when the corruption had finally worked through the density of his aether and begun to take root. they’ve but one to go, and he knows he can no longer count of the restoration of the night and the return of his soul to his body to save him.

though he finds out the hard way. collapsing the same way he did on the source. 

( a world away krile wrests his body back to life. exhausted and frightened beyond all belief. )

he misses the strategy meeting in the ocular by hours. they give him time, time to sleep or finish whatever scheming he’s doing, but worry sets in and eventually they bid thancred to go. by then he’s come to, forced himself upright, and taken to his books. the door is unlocked, the secret bare for whomever they send to gather him.  the fingers of his left hand are stiff and nearly unbending, bronzed skin bleaching faintly to porcelain at the ends. so like the exarch, he’d thought, and wondered if this was truly divine punishment.

( its a gamble and he isn’t sure of the odds. ryne or thancred the most likely. the warrior the second. alisaie, if he’s particularly unlucky this day. y’shtola if she feels the urge to yell at him for deceiving her, and he had, relying on the warrior’s overpowering corrupted aether to hide his own. )