[hello hunter... it's much easier for me to frontload memories, so we're starting off with getting dumped right into the memory hole.
the version of rynlan on the screen is-- a lot different. clearly a lot younger, and not at all blue, with none of the usual echo in his voice. he's pale, blond, with a long braid that reaches to his waist.
it's stained here and there with blood where it's brushed against the floor, his sleeves and the front and hem of his robes similarly reddened. most of it isn't his own, though; the bodies all around him are covered in it, the urgent voices of other healers cutting in over their muffled noises of pain.
'dawnslight. any luck?'
he doesn't look up from his work, exhaustion clear on his face as his hands glow with warm light, desperately trying to restore the half-conscious elf he's kneeling next to. 'no, sir. this disease-- it won't purge. these wounds are heavily infected. i'm doing all i can and it's barely even...'
the elf makes a choked, pained sound, struggling to breathe, and his ears flatten back.
'...as i thought,' the older healer murmurs. 'the scourge carry plagues. we're only dragging out the inevitable, here-- save every one of them that you can, but if you see signs of infection, you need to... you need to reserve your energy.'
'sir-?' he asks, glancing up, his voice disbelieving and shaky, but... he asks nothing else after looking at the man's face. at the way the lines on it look almost like he's aged just from what they've gone through so far today, the unmistakable twist of grief to his expression. rynlan's ears droop, and when he can find his voice again, he whispers, '...understood.'
the bodies are ordered burned. more injured elves continue to be brought in, the chaos of their makeshift field ward and the number of bodies growing, until the sounds of alarm bells and distant shouts and screams carry over the sounds here. a ranger, barely still on his feet, shoves his way in smelling of smoke and hoarsely croaks out-- 'the dead broke through. they've broken through.'
there's no way out, from their position. the grim expressions around the area make it clear enough.
'tell our guard they're defending this position.'
'understood.'
...and back in hell, rynlan watches the memory fade out in silence, eyes closing for a few moments before he murmurs-]
[Oh, geez. Hunter remains silent for a moment after the memory fades and the screen goes dark again, listening carefully to Rynlan's words despite not understanding shit.
After a moment, quietly:]
... Sorry. [Oof.] Were you at war with the undead...?
[he shakes his head slightly, trying to clear it. that memory's one that lingers, a little.]
They invaded our home. There were a number of them to begin with, they had agents on our side working with their leader for power-- it was easy, for them.
They were there for our magic source. Once they reached it and had done what they came to do-- they left, and all of us who were still alive were left to try to rebuild.
We took the war to them, eventually. The entirety of our world did-- they considered themselves the enemies of all the living.
We did. The Lich King is gone, now. I wasn't a part of the final efforts against the Scourge, not personally, but I went north with our forces.
...we were able to restore our source some time before that, as well, so we've been rebuilding at the same time. Splitting our efforts where we can. It's nowhere near finished, yet, but we've been much better than we were.
[-oh. well, that's-- he doesn't have a lot of room to talk about weird, but whatever is going on with this man's face is still kind of unsettling, nevermind the rest of what he says.]
What by the-- the rain what? Is that really what you're used to?
[Sometimes, you are old and half of your face is rotting. Nbd. Hunter is glaring at the screen when the memory winds down — until Rynlan addresses him.]
Ehh... [A shrug.] It's about as hot as this realm. And we do have magic. As long as you don't do something stupid like run outside in the middle of a painbow or gorenado, you'll be fine.
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w3 monday
the version of rynlan on the screen is-- a lot different. clearly a lot younger, and not at all blue, with none of the usual echo in his voice. he's pale, blond, with a long braid that reaches to his waist.
it's stained here and there with blood where it's brushed against the floor, his sleeves and the front and hem of his robes similarly reddened. most of it isn't his own, though; the bodies all around him are covered in it, the urgent voices of other healers cutting in over their muffled noises of pain.
'dawnslight. any luck?'
he doesn't look up from his work, exhaustion clear on his face as his hands glow with warm light, desperately trying to restore the half-conscious elf he's kneeling next to. 'no, sir. this disease-- it won't purge. these wounds are heavily infected. i'm doing all i can and it's barely even...'
the elf makes a choked, pained sound, struggling to breathe, and his ears flatten back.
'...as i thought,' the older healer murmurs. 'the scourge carry plagues. we're only dragging out the inevitable, here-- save every one of them that you can, but if you see signs of infection, you need to... you need to reserve your energy.'
'sir-?' he asks, glancing up, his voice disbelieving and shaky, but... he asks nothing else after looking at the man's face. at the way the lines on it look almost like he's aged just from what they've gone through so far today, the unmistakable twist of grief to his expression. rynlan's ears droop, and when he can find his voice again, he whispers, '...understood.'
the bodies are ordered burned. more injured elves continue to be brought in, the chaos of their makeshift field ward and the number of bodies growing, until the sounds of alarm bells and distant shouts and screams carry over the sounds here. a ranger, barely still on his feet, shoves his way in smelling of smoke and hoarsely croaks out-- 'the dead broke through. they've broken through.'
there's no way out, from their position. the grim expressions around the area make it clear enough.
'tell our guard they're defending this position.'
'understood.'
...and back in hell, rynlan watches the memory fade out in silence, eyes closing for a few moments before he murmurs-]
Elu'meniel mal alann.
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After a moment, quietly:]
... Sorry. [Oof.] Were you at war with the undead...?
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[he shakes his head slightly, trying to clear it. that memory's one that lingers, a little.]
They invaded our home. There were a number of them to begin with, they had agents on our side working with their leader for power-- it was easy, for them.
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... How did it end?
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[a little quieter, there.]
They were there for our magic source. Once they reached it and had done what they came to do-- they left, and all of us who were still alive were left to try to rebuild.
We took the war to them, eventually. The entirety of our world did-- they considered themselves the enemies of all the living.
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Oh. [Oh...] Did you get your revenge, then?
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...we were able to restore our source some time before that, as well, so we've been rebuilding at the same time. Splitting our efforts where we can. It's nowhere near finished, yet, but we've been much better than we were.
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I hope you get to go home, Rynlan. You should get to see it through to the end.
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Sweet of you, but we're more or less at peace, at the moment. I do want to be there, it's just-- not as dire as it used to be for us.
[they're pretty okay, at this point.]
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[But just as he says this, the screen flickers to life again.]
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What by the-- the rain what? Is that really what you're used to?
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Uhh... Yes? The seas are boiling, too.
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[hunter what is wrong there]
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[sometimes you live on a carcass and the sea is a warm bowl of soup.]
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