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[rynlan meets it easily, keeping hold of the collar around thancred's neck to ensure he stays close; this part, this is easy. he knows thancred's good, can just-- enjoy this, for a minute, without much else on his mind.
when he leans back to breathe, though, he murmurs-]
...I do have ground rules. If you want more than this, I mean.
when he leans back to breathe, though, he murmurs-]
...I do have ground rules. If you want more than this, I mean.
All right.
[he's toying with the collar, a bit, as he speaks.]
I don't like being looked at too closely. Usually prefer the lights out, but it's not necessary, just-- no commentary on my looks if I'm not dressed. No touching anywhere that I haven't agreed to, and don't linger on it too much when you do.
[he's toying with the collar, a bit, as he speaks.]
I don't like being looked at too closely. Usually prefer the lights out, but it's not necessary, just-- no commentary on my looks if I'm not dressed. No touching anywhere that I haven't agreed to, and don't linger on it too much when you do.
Just using each other for mutual satisfaction, then?
[His finger looses from Ryn's collar in turn, coming up to run his knuckle down the line of his jaw instead.]
I've no objection to that, strictly speaking, but I prefer my partners willing and enthusiastic. If you'd rather I didn't seek your reactions by expressing my admiration, you'll need to meet me in the middle some other way. Your thoughts?
[His finger looses from Ryn's collar in turn, coming up to run his knuckle down the line of his jaw instead.]
I've no objection to that, strictly speaking, but I prefer my partners willing and enthusiastic. If you'd rather I didn't seek your reactions by expressing my admiration, you'll need to meet me in the middle some other way. Your thoughts?
Not quite like that, it's-
[it's hard to explain. not in the sense that it's difficult, but that it's hard to say any of the reasons outright.
his head tilts slightly into thancred's hand, at least.]
I don't mean to imply unwillingness. But there's more to my condition than just my leg. I prefer not to... [what are the best words, for this.] To feel exposed.
[it's hard to explain. not in the sense that it's difficult, but that it's hard to say any of the reasons outright.
his head tilts slightly into thancred's hand, at least.]
I don't mean to imply unwillingness. But there's more to my condition than just my leg. I prefer not to... [what are the best words, for this.] To feel exposed.
Good. Then once I've been sufficiently stripped of my sight, you can feel reassured that all of my proclamations of your beauty will be driven entirely by personally-serving ulterior motives.
[He got a smirk; why not try for an outright laugh? Might as well.]
But jests aside. Are those your only conditions?
[He got a smirk; why not try for an outright laugh? Might as well.]
But jests aside. Are those your only conditions?
[hello, thancred. wherever he happens to be at the moment, rynlan wanders over--
and they are unceremoniously dumped into the memory hole! he blinks up at the screen, ears pinned back, but... as soon as he realizes the scenery on it is familiar, he's stunned into silence, the memory starting to play.
the landscape here is icy and absolutely freezing, harsh and unforgiving, the howl of the wind overshadowed by the sounds of shouting, growling, of metal clanging against metal and teeth and fangs scraping against armor and flesh. their unit's overtaken by the undead, ambushed by scourge forces, and already three out of the eleven of them are bodies on the ground. they all wear the same uniform tabard bearing a stylized sun; rynlan is in the center of their group along with a taller elf in heavier armor, clinging to a staff while his partner bears a shield, struggling to hold off the swarm.
he looks different, too. not blue at all-- he's pale and blond-haired, with bright, glowing green eyes, the same color as his partner (though another elf here has glowing blue ones.) he's younger, if not by much, definitely healthier, golden sparks flying from his fingertips as the pair of them struggle to keep their unit healed. another staggers to their knees, a shield of light surrounding them as rynlan hurries to her side, the memory providing his internal narration. spreading already-- three distinct diseases. plague. rapid onset of necrosis, no response to cleansing-- fuck. fuck, i can't-- out, get out, damn you, let me fix this, please let me--
'ryn-!' he hears from behind him, as claws dig into his arm, the snarling maw of a ghoul entirely too close. rynlan screams, lacing it with magic on instinct to drive the creature away, its claws tearing free as it goes. his partner's mace comes down on it, and as he sees a geist slam into the paladin from the side, he realizes they're truly overrun. there's no defense, anymore, there's just each of them against the undead attacking them, too many for him to even focus on healing at all. 'move,' he manages, his voice hoarse, and the other elf understands.
he snaps the vial around their fallen companion's neck and hurriedly steps back as the body is consumed in blinding, holy flame, all of the dead around them hissing as it burns their eyes. in seconds, the body is nothing but ash. nothing left to stagger to its feet again, mindless. at least he can keep her from that fate.
he can't keep the two of them from theirs, though. there are too many, and they're both healers-- he sees the other elf glance back at him as he staggers, his own arms almost too heavy with exhaustion to hold his staff. the dead mob his partner all too easily, and he screams in outrage-- but this time they don't go anywhere. he just doesn't have anything left, eyes wide with panic at the realization.
'i'll hold them off you,' his partner mutters, determined.
'shut up-- get them off yourself!'
he doesn't listen.
the rest is a blur, for him, even the memory on the screen fuzzy and unclear from there, but the last thing rynlan remembers of him is seeing him flash a quick, reassuring smile before snapping the vial around his neck. he remembers thinking no no no don't you dare don't you fucking dare do this-
the last thing he remembers, the last thing shown as teeth and claws sink into his leg, his back and arms, anywhere they can reach, body curled in on himself in a desperate attempt at protection, is hearing a gut-wrenching scream in his own voice.]
and they are unceremoniously dumped into the memory hole! he blinks up at the screen, ears pinned back, but... as soon as he realizes the scenery on it is familiar, he's stunned into silence, the memory starting to play.
the landscape here is icy and absolutely freezing, harsh and unforgiving, the howl of the wind overshadowed by the sounds of shouting, growling, of metal clanging against metal and teeth and fangs scraping against armor and flesh. their unit's overtaken by the undead, ambushed by scourge forces, and already three out of the eleven of them are bodies on the ground. they all wear the same uniform tabard bearing a stylized sun; rynlan is in the center of their group along with a taller elf in heavier armor, clinging to a staff while his partner bears a shield, struggling to hold off the swarm.
he looks different, too. not blue at all-- he's pale and blond-haired, with bright, glowing green eyes, the same color as his partner (though another elf here has glowing blue ones.) he's younger, if not by much, definitely healthier, golden sparks flying from his fingertips as the pair of them struggle to keep their unit healed. another staggers to their knees, a shield of light surrounding them as rynlan hurries to her side, the memory providing his internal narration. spreading already-- three distinct diseases. plague. rapid onset of necrosis, no response to cleansing-- fuck. fuck, i can't-- out, get out, damn you, let me fix this, please let me--
'ryn-!' he hears from behind him, as claws dig into his arm, the snarling maw of a ghoul entirely too close. rynlan screams, lacing it with magic on instinct to drive the creature away, its claws tearing free as it goes. his partner's mace comes down on it, and as he sees a geist slam into the paladin from the side, he realizes they're truly overrun. there's no defense, anymore, there's just each of them against the undead attacking them, too many for him to even focus on healing at all. 'move,' he manages, his voice hoarse, and the other elf understands.
he snaps the vial around their fallen companion's neck and hurriedly steps back as the body is consumed in blinding, holy flame, all of the dead around them hissing as it burns their eyes. in seconds, the body is nothing but ash. nothing left to stagger to its feet again, mindless. at least he can keep her from that fate.
he can't keep the two of them from theirs, though. there are too many, and they're both healers-- he sees the other elf glance back at him as he staggers, his own arms almost too heavy with exhaustion to hold his staff. the dead mob his partner all too easily, and he screams in outrage-- but this time they don't go anywhere. he just doesn't have anything left, eyes wide with panic at the realization.
'i'll hold them off you,' his partner mutters, determined.
'shut up-- get them off yourself!'
he doesn't listen.
the rest is a blur, for him, even the memory on the screen fuzzy and unclear from there, but the last thing rynlan remembers of him is seeing him flash a quick, reassuring smile before snapping the vial around his neck. he remembers thinking no no no don't you dare don't you fucking dare do this-
the last thing he remembers, the last thing shown as teeth and claws sink into his leg, his back and arms, anywhere they can reach, body curled in on himself in a desperate attempt at protection, is hearing a gut-wrenching scream in his own voice.]
[He almost averts his eyes, once he realizes what he's watching. Not because the scene is gruesome, though it is. Not because it unfolds into horror, though it does. But because something like this isn't supposed to be for him to see — because this is being exposed in a uniquely cruel and violating way, taking images that Rynlan never wanted to share and hanging them up for all manner of scrutiny and regard.
He almost looks away, except that looking away won't help. The sounds will still be there. To say nothing of the fact that this is hell, and more likely than not the images would just project onto the backs of his eyelids even if he did try to close them, because cruelty is the point. It could only be the point, of a moment like this.
So he looks. Sees how strikingly beautiful Rynlan was before whatever corruption took him; understands with new poignancy why he hates mirrors so much, why the person reflected in them is wrong, wrong, always wrong. He sees the ripping talons catch his leg and already knows that it will be lost, that a prosthetic will be needed in place of whatever wreckage of a limb they might leave behind — if they leave anything behind at all.
He sees the paladin. He's wearing armor. It doesn't disguise the knowledge that somewhere on him, there's a ring.
He watches, because this is hell, and as the Rynlan in the projection begins to howl he picks up a chair and smashes it into the screen in a single rapid and unbroken movement, hard enough to crush a hole into the center and send spiderweb cracks skittering all throughout the rest.
It's impossible to say whether it's his percussive maintenance or the natural end of the memory that stops it. This is hell, so likely it's the latter. But it was worth it to attempt the former anyway.]
...Ryn.
[He wavers, just on that syllable. Unsure what to say. Don't comment. Don't draw attention. Don't leave him feeling exposed.]
Rynlan. I didn't see this. We were never here.
He almost looks away, except that looking away won't help. The sounds will still be there. To say nothing of the fact that this is hell, and more likely than not the images would just project onto the backs of his eyelids even if he did try to close them, because cruelty is the point. It could only be the point, of a moment like this.
So he looks. Sees how strikingly beautiful Rynlan was before whatever corruption took him; understands with new poignancy why he hates mirrors so much, why the person reflected in them is wrong, wrong, always wrong. He sees the ripping talons catch his leg and already knows that it will be lost, that a prosthetic will be needed in place of whatever wreckage of a limb they might leave behind — if they leave anything behind at all.
He sees the paladin. He's wearing armor. It doesn't disguise the knowledge that somewhere on him, there's a ring.
He watches, because this is hell, and as the Rynlan in the projection begins to howl he picks up a chair and smashes it into the screen in a single rapid and unbroken movement, hard enough to crush a hole into the center and send spiderweb cracks skittering all throughout the rest.
It's impossible to say whether it's his percussive maintenance or the natural end of the memory that stops it. This is hell, so likely it's the latter. But it was worth it to attempt the former anyway.]
...Ryn.
[He wavers, just on that syllable. Unsure what to say. Don't comment. Don't draw attention. Don't leave him feeling exposed.]
Rynlan. I didn't see this. We were never here.
[he's looking away, arms folded so tight it's like he's trying to wrap them around himself-- like that will afford him a measure of protection from seeing this, from being reminded again of something he still has nightmares of from time to time.
he expects-- he doesn't know. sympathy. pity. he doesn't expect what thancred actually offers, attention snapping to him, eyes slightly wide behind his glasses.]
You-
[whatever he means to say dies in his throat, choked, and he shakes his head.]
he expects-- he doesn't know. sympathy. pity. he doesn't expect what thancred actually offers, attention snapping to him, eyes slightly wide behind his glasses.]
You-
[whatever he means to say dies in his throat, choked, and he shakes his head.]
I didn't see anything.
[It's patient, the way the words leave his mouth. Steady. Coaxing. And he knows better than to think Ryn wants to be touched right now, not with his body language screaming loud and clear to stay away, to keep distance, but —
But what good is a promise like I'll protect you against something like this? Nothing. Because there's nothing he can position himself between, nothing he can fight. Not when it's this.
He wants to reach for him. It's a motion that makes it only a few ilms before it falls short, and he takes his hand back, bringing it back down again to his side.]
I won't look at you if you don't want me to.
[It's patient, the way the words leave his mouth. Steady. Coaxing. And he knows better than to think Ryn wants to be touched right now, not with his body language screaming loud and clear to stay away, to keep distance, but —
But what good is a promise like I'll protect you against something like this? Nothing. Because there's nothing he can position himself between, nothing he can fight. Not when it's this.
He wants to reach for him. It's a motion that makes it only a few ilms before it falls short, and he takes his hand back, bringing it back down again to his side.]
I won't look at you if you don't want me to.
[he's right, he doesn't want to be touched. what he wants and needs might be two different things-- but he's a little relieved that thancred doesn't, anyway.
he promises, effectively, to forget he's seen this, that rynlan was exposed at all, and it's that exact sort of understanding that makes him a little more willing to speak of his own accord.]
...I didn't say anything about him, before. His name was Aren. Knew each other for a couple of decades.
[it's a little bit of an invitation, a concession to the memory. a sign he's at least somewhat willing to talk about it.]
he promises, effectively, to forget he's seen this, that rynlan was exposed at all, and it's that exact sort of understanding that makes him a little more willing to speak of his own accord.]
...I didn't say anything about him, before. His name was Aren. Knew each other for a couple of decades.
[it's a little bit of an invitation, a concession to the memory. a sign he's at least somewhat willing to talk about it.]
[His gaze drifts, migrating slowly from Ryn's face to the set of his ears, then down further to his tightly-clutched arms, and after a moment he shrugs off his gunbreaker's coat and offers it to him by the back of the collar — an invitation of something to wrap up in, one more psychological shield against the anguish that had played out on the screen.
An embrace that involves no touch whatsoever.]
How long is a few decades, for you and yours? 'Tis a different reckoning of time, isn't it?
An embrace that involves no touch whatsoever.]
How long is a few decades, for you and yours? 'Tis a different reckoning of time, isn't it?
[he hesitates, for a few moments, but.
eventually he does take the coat, draping it around himself. rynlan may be taller, but while it's short on him it's still oversized in every other way, given that he's entirely too thin.]
It isn't long. I'm an adult, by our standards, but still on the young end. [and that's at 145 or so.] But it felt longer, with everything that happened in those years.
eventually he does take the coat, draping it around himself. rynlan may be taller, but while it's short on him it's still oversized in every other way, given that he's entirely too thin.]
It isn't long. I'm an adult, by our standards, but still on the young end. [and that's at 145 or so.] But it felt longer, with everything that happened in those years.
No-- those weren't creatures of the void. Those were the Scourge. The undead.
[his ears both twitch, reflexive.]
Their king and his army invaded our lands. Plagued the southern half of our territory so badly we still haven't cleansed it. Killed the majority of our population. That place-- it's their territory.
[where they took the fight to them-- everyone, not only the elves. there were only three in the unit in his memory, the rest composed of various races.]
Those vials... we had to burn every body that we could so that they couldn't reanimate them, but it's hard to get a fire going in Icecrown.
[his ears both twitch, reflexive.]
Their king and his army invaded our lands. Plagued the southern half of our territory so badly we still haven't cleansed it. Killed the majority of our population. That place-- it's their territory.
[where they took the fight to them-- everyone, not only the elves. there were only three in the unit in his memory, the rest composed of various races.]
Those vials... we had to burn every body that we could so that they couldn't reanimate them, but it's hard to get a fire going in Icecrown.
Edited 2023-02-28 05:55 (UTC)
So you found some manner of arcane means, and equipped each of your comrades with one. A last failsafe.
[ He hesitates, debating with himself a minute before venturing carefully: ]
But Aren used his to take that mob with him. He was still...
[Alive. When it snapped. Gods.]
[ He hesitates, debating with himself a minute before venturing carefully: ]
But Aren used his to take that mob with him. He was still...
[Alive. When it snapped. Gods.]
And he had been burned. So there was no chance of it for him.
[And so many things are snapping into such terrible clarity now. Why a statement like if I get you out then I've done my job well would provoke such a vehement and furious reaction. Why I've made my peace with it would be so abrasive and heartrending.]
Was that what changed your hair, the revival?
[It's so much more than just hair, but he's still being careful about don't remark on my appearance, so this is likely the safest bet he can employ.]
[And so many things are snapping into such terrible clarity now. Why a statement like if I get you out then I've done my job well would provoke such a vehement and furious reaction. Why I've made my peace with it would be so abrasive and heartrending.]
Was that what changed your hair, the revival?
[It's so much more than just hair, but he's still being careful about don't remark on my appearance, so this is likely the safest bet he can employ.]
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