[ryn's busy checking out what they can see of the dorms, already changed into a different outfit-- long-sleeved, high-necked dark grey robes and gloves, leaving only his face and ears uncovered. nooo more jumpsuit.]
So. Your opinions, so far? I think it could be much worse, as punishments go.
[Even if he wasn't capable of stealth-following Ryn to the library after the farce of a trial concludes — which he is — it still would've been one of the first places he would've looked for him, regardless. Call it a hunch, or maybe just a familiarity with nerd elves and their habits.
Regardless, he looks quite unlike his usual self when he rolls in and seeks Ryn out — this certainly isn't the Thancred making jokes and quips at spin the bottle just days before. His eyes are dark, his demeanor moody and withdrawn.
[hello, thancred. ryn's at the new bar today, but i'm leaving the degree of Shenanigans up to you-- at the moment he's testing out the beer, seeing if it's as bad as it is at the other bar. everything otherwise seems the same with him, except that there's a thin gold chain visible around his neck; whatever is on it is tucked under his robes.]
Thancred- come here, have a seat. Little obnoxious here, design-wise, but the options seem better.
[why is thancred out looking for ryn when it's so fucking late i mean we just trialed all day and then he ran off for some more shenanigans how are we not all exhausted
oh well anyway knock knock pay attention to him rynlan]
[we'll make this before Boat Hell. rynlan is somewhere out in subnutica, wandering... largely because he seems to keep pausing to squint at signs, occasionally turning back a way he already came.
also, his hair is very fancy this evening, it's important.]
[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.]
[hey guess what chums are you sick of RANDOMLY FALLING INTO HOLES by now because GUESS THE HELL WHAT have we got a SURPRISE FOR YOU
|| What — what's this? Something is...interfering with the equipment! the Loporrit cries incredulously, one heartbeat before the alarms begin to sound.
5:50 worth of cutscenes far more convenient to watch rather than transcribing them all out here, the memory shifts —
To the landscape of Ultima Thule, black and green and ultraviolet, an ultimatum of decay and regret nested there at the very edge of the sea of stars. Seven figures stand in the midst of a barren landscape, surrounded by smog and the ridged white ghosts of dragons: two tall elves, one in armor and one in robes; two short ones, identical but for the colors they wear. Three with furred ears and tails, each bearing a staff of a different design on their backs.
The eighth figure in their midst hovers above them on a platform invisible to the naked eye; she is smaller than all of them, ink-black and grey like she's had all the color leached out of her. She is birdlike, with clawed talons in place of feet and wings jutting from the sides of her head. She is the center of attention, for all those assembled.
Our friend Thancred, asks the elf in robes, his stance shifting like he's bracing for a fight to accompany his answer. Where is he?
The birdlike girl smiles sweetly, cocking her head. Mocking him.
A strange question, she answers innocently, like a child gleeful with a secret. He is at your side, is he not? Oh, yes — he is here, and there, and everywhere within this space.
Her smile sharpens. He would tell you himself, if he had form to form words.
The robed elf's eyes narrow; a mixture of confusion, uncertainty, and dread crosses the expressions of the others assembled, one by one. And the bird-girl's look turns wryly pitying, as she casts her eyes down at them again.
Huh. Such loathing and uncertainty...you don't know why you still exist, she remarks. In like manner to the oblivion I send, I tried to drown out your aether with dynamis. Beginning with this Thancred, who came at me despite being unable to breathe.
It quickly becomes apparent that the bird-girl is enjoying the horror of the seven assembled below her; as the terrible recognition begins to dawn in each of them, she looks only more pleased, carrying on with her explanation as if to further twist the knife:
Such a simple thing, unmaking men. In the blinking of an eye, he was gone. Didn't even have the chance to be transformed.
But then, her own expression darkens, just slightly. Yet somehow, he managed to leave a sliver of himself behind. What you call...the heart...or perhaps the soul? In his final moment, he...cried out from it. A single word.
"Survive." ||
As as the robed elf on the memory screen gasps, taken aback with wide-eyed horror, Thancred finds he can't bring himself to look at Ryn — suddenly afraid he'll see the exact same expression mirrored there on his face as well.]
[Hey, Ryn, where you at, because here's Thancred in his pajama pants and his Fat Cat slippers and conspicuously not the matching hoodie (you thief), and he's actually out and about walking in search of you.]
[SO ANYWAY now that the tone of curfew has been set by Ryn falling facefirst off a boat after some kind of miserable CYOA and Thancred is being #TankBehavior about it, it probably comes as no surprise that he literally does not put Ryn down from Gigantica all the way back to College Island — albeit with a few stops at a number of his most-visited locales to grab some shit on the way.
See, the thing is, he's started to notice a pattern: people come back from some wildass adventure all fucked up, and then later that night all the doors lock. So right now, he's betting tonight is going to prove to be the same, and if he's right, then he's right, and if he's wrong, so much the better.
So anyway, here we are tucked away someplace secure in the library, where Pack Rat Thancred is making an appearance yet again.]
[Hey Ryn guess what, we're going to the onsen today, but unlike previous visits to the onsen, upon arrival Thancred embarks on a quick journey of:
1) casing the premises to ensure they're alone 2) barricading the door 3) setting up a bunch of stuff that'll fall and make a loud noise if someone tries to force the door anyway
before finally slinging an arm around Ryn's waist and nodding in the direction of the hotsprings.]
...Can I tempt you with a soak? As there's no one here but us.
[leaves this here because Thancred's probably still sleeping in the Home Biome because let's be honest, where else is he going to go? Movement? He's tired of movement. Let him sleep forever.
The real question is, if everyone who was with them on curfew has vacated and now it's just Thancred and Ryn around, Whose Biome Is It Anyway?]
[WELL OKAY THEN guess who's in a real bad mood about mind control? If you said Thancred, you'd be right!
Ryn's choice where we're going post-trial but hopefully somewhere they can both like. Sit down for ten billion years. It's a shame the ice cream shop would probably leave a bad taste in everyone's mouth (pun intended) at this point because sulking over ice cream honestly sounds like a pretty decent way to spend an evening.]
Edited (wrote execution when i meant to say trial oopsie doopsie) 2023-03-19 01:54 (UTC)
[sometime after execution, wherever they're hanging out-- ryn has clearly had something on his mind, and eventually he just glances up and asks, out of nowhere-]
["Let's spend the night in the home biome", they said, because the truth is it's an awfully comfortable and convenient place to spend the night, for the following reasons:
1. No demon roommates 2. It's not the Bone Palace™ 3. More comfortable than the onsen 4. Nostalgia
And the thing is they've done this before, except it's generally been Ryn's influence that took hold of the biome and turned the setting to his own thoughts of home — but tonight, when the area shimmers and takes its shape, they find themselves outside on a warm spring night on what is clearly some sort of academic campus, all green trees and sprawling quads and dotted with marble buildings and benches. Down by the harbor, a magnificent statue sprawls up into the heavens, magicked waters spilling steadily from its ever-pouring ewer.
Welcome to Sharlayan, Rynlan. Is this what you would've imagined, when trying to picture the place Thancred thinks of as home?]
[Anyway, following a positively Mandervillian return from CYOA on the part of one (1) ThanBoySuperThan FanCred, Rynlan Dawnslight, these two idiots will be heading for the onsen because there are like three whole locations that Thancred defaults to holing up in around here in Superhell, and this seems like one of the best for warming up after being wet and cold in the bitter chill for so long.
Also, it's 100% less hazardous than the coffee shop to his sensitive bits. So.]
...And I thought the garb I was sent back in after one of those misadventures was atrocious.
[Now here's a place we've never had a PC before: still on Execution Island™, just outside the doors to the Execution Bar™. After all, that's what you do after a performance, isn't it? Go wait just outside the backstage door for your leading man to finish taking off his executioner's costume and void makeup and come stumbling back out into the bright blinking light of day.
The thing is, this is just — it's just been a hell of a week on Ryn in one particular manner that Thancred really doesn't like. Injuries are one thing, of course, but all the mindfucking and perception-switching and personality-reversing and voidcalling has him more than a little worried. And sure, he's been doing his damnedest to field it as best he can, to roll with it and accommodate it and do his job keeping Rynlan safe, but at the end of the day he really just wants his elf back.
He's even waiting with a bribe. His gunbreaker coat is already off his shoulders, dangling instead from one hastily-bandaged hand.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
w0 sunday
So. Your opinions, so far? I think it could be much worse, as punishments go.
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w0, monday
there's an elf struggling to get one of the dorm room mirrors down the steps by himself without breaking it; it's very slow going.]
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w0, saturday (post-trial)
Regardless, he looks quite unlike his usual self when he rolls in and seeks Ryn out — this certainly isn't the Thancred making jokes and quips at spin the bottle just days before. His eyes are dark, his demeanor moody and withdrawn.
Great company, in other words.]
I thought you might be headed this way.
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w1, monday
Thancred- come here, have a seat. Little obnoxious here, design-wise, but the options seem better.
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w1, saturday
oh well anyway knock knock pay attention to him rynlan]
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w2 tuesday
also, his hair is very fancy this evening, it's important.]
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w2 friday
You know, they could at least kill one person who's actually-- a problem. A threat. Anything like that.
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w2, saturday
anyway he's coming to find ryn after a while, fully expecting to find an absolute wreck.]
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w3 monday
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.]
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w3, thursday, pre-curfew
5:50 worth of cutscenes far more convenient to watch rather than transcribing them all out here, the memory shifts —
To the landscape of Ultima Thule, black and green and ultraviolet, an ultimatum of decay and regret nested there at the very edge of the sea of stars. Seven figures stand in the midst of a barren landscape, surrounded by smog and the ridged white ghosts of dragons: two tall elves, one in armor and one in robes; two short ones, identical but for the colors they wear. Three with furred ears and tails, each bearing a staff of a different design on their backs.
The eighth figure in their midst hovers above them on a platform invisible to the naked eye; she is smaller than all of them, ink-black and grey like she's had all the color leached out of her. She is birdlike, with clawed talons in place of feet and wings jutting from the sides of her head. She is the center of attention, for all those assembled.
Our friend Thancred, asks the elf in robes, his stance shifting like he's bracing for a fight to accompany his answer. Where is he?
The birdlike girl smiles sweetly, cocking her head. Mocking him.
A strange question, she answers innocently, like a child gleeful with a secret. He is at your side, is he not? Oh, yes — he is here, and there, and everywhere within this space.
Her smile sharpens. He would tell you himself, if he had form to form words.
The robed elf's eyes narrow; a mixture of confusion, uncertainty, and dread crosses the expressions of the others assembled, one by one. And the bird-girl's look turns wryly pitying, as she casts her eyes down at them again.
Huh. Such loathing and uncertainty...you don't know why you still exist, she remarks. In like manner to the oblivion I send, I tried to drown out your aether with dynamis. Beginning with this Thancred, who came at me despite being unable to breathe.
It quickly becomes apparent that the bird-girl is enjoying the horror of the seven assembled below her; as the terrible recognition begins to dawn in each of them, she looks only more pleased, carrying on with her explanation as if to further twist the knife:
Such a simple thing, unmaking men. In the blinking of an eye, he was gone. Didn't even have the chance to be transformed.
But then, her own expression darkens, just slightly. Yet somehow, he managed to leave a sliver of himself behind. What you call...the heart...or perhaps the soul? In his final moment, he...cried out from it. A single word.
"Survive." ||
As as the robed elf on the memory screen gasps, taken aback with wide-eyed horror, Thancred finds he can't bring himself to look at Ryn — suddenly afraid he'll see the exact same expression mirrored there on his face as well.]
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w3, sunday, post-execution
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w4 monday
[hi thancred... rynlan's dropping by to check on him in the morning, brows furrowed in concern.]
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w4, wednesday
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w4, thursday night curfew
See, the thing is, he's started to notice a pattern: people come back from some wildass adventure all fucked up, and then later that night all the doors lock. So right now, he's betting tonight is going to prove to be the same, and if he's right, then he's right, and if he's wrong, so much the better.
So anyway, here we are tucked away someplace secure in the library, where Pack Rat Thancred is making an appearance yet again.]
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w4, friday, post-death announcement
2) barricading the door
3) setting up a bunch of stuff that'll fall and make a loud noise if someone tries to force the door anyway
before finally slinging an arm around Ryn's waist and nodding in the direction of the hotsprings.]
...Can I tempt you with a soak? As there's no one here but us.
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w4, Saturday
I know what you were doing, Thancred.
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w5, tuesday
Let's go to the clothes shop and flirt and get Thancred a baby slut crop top I guess!]
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w5, friday
The real question is, if everyone who was with them on curfew has vacated and now it's just Thancred and Ryn around, Whose Biome Is It Anyway?]
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w5, saturday, post-trial
Ryn's choice where we're going post-trial but hopefully somewhere they can both like. Sit down for ten billion years. It's a shame the ice cream shop would probably leave a bad taste in everyone's mouth (pun intended) at this point because sulking over ice cream honestly sounds like a pretty decent way to spend an evening.]
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w5 sunday
Have you ever considered piercing your ears?
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w6, monday
2. It's not the Bone Palace™
3. More comfortable than the onsen
4. Nostalgia
And the thing is they've done this before, except it's generally been Ryn's influence that took hold of the biome and turned the setting to his own thoughts of home — but tonight, when the area shimmers and takes its shape, they find themselves outside on a warm spring night on what is clearly some sort of academic campus, all green trees and sprawling quads and dotted with marble buildings and benches. Down by the harbor, a magnificent statue sprawls up into the heavens, magicked waters spilling steadily from its ever-pouring ewer.
Welcome to Sharlayan, Rynlan. Is this what you would've imagined, when trying to picture the place Thancred thinks of as home?]
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w6, thursday, pre-curfew
ThanBoySuperThanFanCred, Rynlan Dawnslight, these two idiots will be heading for the onsen because there are like three whole locations that Thancred defaults to holing up in around here in Superhell, and this seems like one of the best for warming up after being wet and cold in the bitter chill for so long.Also, it's 100% less hazardous than the coffee shop to his sensitive bits. So.]
...And I thought the garb I was sent back in after one of those misadventures was atrocious.
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w6, saturday
wherever they end up afterward, ryn is completely fine! he's just chilling. vibing, even.]
Don't know what we're all so upset about, sixth time we've gone through this. We caught him, he dies.
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w6, sunday, post-execution
The thing is, this is just — it's just been a hell of a week on Ryn in one particular manner that Thancred really doesn't like. Injuries are one thing, of course, but all the mindfucking and perception-switching and personality-reversing and voidcalling has him more than a little worried. And sure, he's been doing his damnedest to field it as best he can, to roll with it and accommodate it and do his job keeping Rynlan safe, but at the end of the day he really just wants his elf back.
He's even waiting with a bribe. His gunbreaker coat is already off his shoulders, dangling instead from one hastily-bandaged hand.
It's warm, and carries his scent.]
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