09-12-2018, 08:13 AM
Leilan
a dragon who couldn't be hurt on the outside
could have so many ragged holes inside
could have so many ragged holes inside
He supposes that dying has a way of changing one's perspective. As it should. He thinks that he can almost hear the Ice Fairy's sharp tone, so he wonders if that is his thought, or hers? But back then, he had just been too angry with her for not letting him die for real; he ran away and, though not intended originally, did it all over again. The dying part anyway.
It was only after the second time that he'd changed visibly, that his aura trait had transformed into a freeze ray of sorts (he still needs to sort that out), that he resembled a dragon perhaps more than he realized himself. That he finally has his mother's eyes like Breckin had said once before, although the default colour was ice and his mother's was fire. Quite opposite to the warm brown they used to be. Like his father's. Like hers.
He'd joked to Deiti that scaling might be contagious, though she had been very distressed at her actions. But he could forgive her. No harm was done after all. Not really anyway. He would survive, and, he had been hurt before. Way worse at that. Nothing to worry about now.
But his second death then, nearly grasping at the Afterlife, his slamming into an invisible magic wall, peeking in to see if Ea was there, if Rain was, if Wrynn was - not seeing any of them, he had been wondering about them. About the things he'd last told his mother - he's what's fucked up, and he basically caused it himself - he figured there were two someone's he needed to talk to. Three if Wrynn ever showed up, but she was nowhere to be found, for all he knew she might be too old to move by now.
And those two that were here in Beqanna, just happened to be best buddies in Nerine.
How very convenient of them.
But for once in his life, his mother wasn't the first one he'd turn to. Not even after they had basically fought last time - there was another he'd fought with earlier, so she deserved an apology earlier. Besides, Scorch and he were just too similar, which might cause them to tear at each other again, causing him to leave Nerine again. He knew that now. He just hoped it wouldn't be the same with Chryseis when she grew up. Maybe he'll be able to do better by her. Just maybe.
He hasn't paid much attention to who rules Nerine these days. He suspects he should call for Wishbone, if he did not want to call Scorch, and lingers on the coastal kingdom's eastern border, near the river. Still salty from swimming, but not drenched - only his fetlocks, mane and tail remain wet, whereas the scales have dried pretty quickly, and he's not at all cold in the winter winds.
He should call out for any leader, but he doesn't, yet, still. Voice stuck in his throat, moving in place, back and forth, back and forth, to and fro, to and fro, again and again like he'd done a million times without being seen. He's been stalling this conversation for so long, he's run through so many options in his head, he cannot yet bring himself to start it. What if she's still angry. What if she's not even in Nerine. What if she's with another now. What is she's gone from Beqanna. But still he's here - he has to know something.
Or perhaps he'll be kicked out before he reaches her. He's not your everyday knight or saint, after all. Someone might have talked, they might all look down on him like the scum he is, was, or has been. He might just about be hoping that they would keep him out, so it's not his fault that they haven't spoken, so he can say he tried and failed to reach her, that it's not his fault.
But it is his fault. All of it. He shouldn't have let her leave, should have followed when she told him no, be that irritant figure she could not shake like he'd done with Arthas earlier in Loess, he should have done something instead of leaving her alone with her thoughts. Because there was nothing to be thinking about. Feelings just don't work that way. They're either there, or they're not, and even though he's come to accept that on her side, there probably aren't any, not for him anyway, he'll just have to live with his own, because the fairy demands that he lives. Forever if need be.
But to do that, he just needs closure. Not a memory of yelling at her, of nearly-attacking, all to just make it stop.
He breaths in deeply - and out again. Snorts. Well, shit, this can take a while then. Glancing at the winter sky, he knows it's getting late. He should have whinnied hours earlier, upon arrival. And now it's getting dark. Dark? He looks up. Oh great, rain incoming. He can't keep standing here forever...
And yet he does. When the water washes over him, his now-scaly skin shimmering with water (he muses with an unamused snort that his black and white locks are the only parts not shimmering these days), he's just standing there. Pacing again. It's not even cold, this rain. Maybe it's an early spring storm. Or perhaps he's just not that susceptible to cold any more. Who's to say? He's changed so much.
An hour passes, maybe more, before he moves. Not to call anyone. But he walks, slightly north along the coast, looking for the nearest cave to hide in. He's technically trespassing now, but he figures that someone will find him soon enough. Chase him out, keep him prisoner, whichever. Or maybe they'll never find him. Or maybe they'll all avoid him. Too bad he can't die any more, so he wouldn't even starve.
Damn, that's frustrating, depressing and hopeful at the same time. Has he ever been so confused about his own emotional state?
He's heard vague rumours of Klaudius being captive here, so he doesn't move too far north. It's the first-best cave that he finds, that he sets foot in. Not too far from the border. The rainstorm is a perfect excuse should anyone find him. Though he hopes that the water will cover his scent tracks soon.
He just doesn't know what to do any more. And hasn't for a long time.
It was only after the second time that he'd changed visibly, that his aura trait had transformed into a freeze ray of sorts (he still needs to sort that out), that he resembled a dragon perhaps more than he realized himself. That he finally has his mother's eyes like Breckin had said once before, although the default colour was ice and his mother's was fire. Quite opposite to the warm brown they used to be. Like his father's. Like hers.
He'd joked to Deiti that scaling might be contagious, though she had been very distressed at her actions. But he could forgive her. No harm was done after all. Not really anyway. He would survive, and, he had been hurt before. Way worse at that. Nothing to worry about now.
But his second death then, nearly grasping at the Afterlife, his slamming into an invisible magic wall, peeking in to see if Ea was there, if Rain was, if Wrynn was - not seeing any of them, he had been wondering about them. About the things he'd last told his mother - he's what's fucked up, and he basically caused it himself - he figured there were two someone's he needed to talk to. Three if Wrynn ever showed up, but she was nowhere to be found, for all he knew she might be too old to move by now.
And those two that were here in Beqanna, just happened to be best buddies in Nerine.
How very convenient of them.
But for once in his life, his mother wasn't the first one he'd turn to. Not even after they had basically fought last time - there was another he'd fought with earlier, so she deserved an apology earlier. Besides, Scorch and he were just too similar, which might cause them to tear at each other again, causing him to leave Nerine again. He knew that now. He just hoped it wouldn't be the same with Chryseis when she grew up. Maybe he'll be able to do better by her. Just maybe.
He hasn't paid much attention to who rules Nerine these days. He suspects he should call for Wishbone, if he did not want to call Scorch, and lingers on the coastal kingdom's eastern border, near the river. Still salty from swimming, but not drenched - only his fetlocks, mane and tail remain wet, whereas the scales have dried pretty quickly, and he's not at all cold in the winter winds.
He should call out for any leader, but he doesn't, yet, still. Voice stuck in his throat, moving in place, back and forth, back and forth, to and fro, to and fro, again and again like he'd done a million times without being seen. He's been stalling this conversation for so long, he's run through so many options in his head, he cannot yet bring himself to start it. What if she's still angry. What if she's not even in Nerine. What if she's with another now. What is she's gone from Beqanna. But still he's here - he has to know something.
Or perhaps he'll be kicked out before he reaches her. He's not your everyday knight or saint, after all. Someone might have talked, they might all look down on him like the scum he is, was, or has been. He might just about be hoping that they would keep him out, so it's not his fault that they haven't spoken, so he can say he tried and failed to reach her, that it's not his fault.
But it is his fault. All of it. He shouldn't have let her leave, should have followed when she told him no, be that irritant figure she could not shake like he'd done with Arthas earlier in Loess, he should have done something instead of leaving her alone with her thoughts. Because there was nothing to be thinking about. Feelings just don't work that way. They're either there, or they're not, and even though he's come to accept that on her side, there probably aren't any, not for him anyway, he'll just have to live with his own, because the fairy demands that he lives. Forever if need be.
But to do that, he just needs closure. Not a memory of yelling at her, of nearly-attacking, all to just make it stop.
He breaths in deeply - and out again. Snorts. Well, shit, this can take a while then. Glancing at the winter sky, he knows it's getting late. He should have whinnied hours earlier, upon arrival. And now it's getting dark. Dark? He looks up. Oh great, rain incoming. He can't keep standing here forever...
And yet he does. When the water washes over him, his now-scaly skin shimmering with water (he muses with an unamused snort that his black and white locks are the only parts not shimmering these days), he's just standing there. Pacing again. It's not even cold, this rain. Maybe it's an early spring storm. Or perhaps he's just not that susceptible to cold any more. Who's to say? He's changed so much.
An hour passes, maybe more, before he moves. Not to call anyone. But he walks, slightly north along the coast, looking for the nearest cave to hide in. He's technically trespassing now, but he figures that someone will find him soon enough. Chase him out, keep him prisoner, whichever. Or maybe they'll never find him. Or maybe they'll all avoid him. Too bad he can't die any more, so he wouldn't even starve.
Damn, that's frustrating, depressing and hopeful at the same time. Has he ever been so confused about his own emotional state?
He's heard vague rumours of Klaudius being captive here, so he doesn't move too far north. It's the first-best cave that he finds, that he sets foot in. Not too far from the border. The rainstorm is a perfect excuse should anyone find him. Though he hopes that the water will cover his scent tracks soon.
He just doesn't know what to do any more. And hasn't for a long time.
@[Breckin]
Well he sort of disappointed me in not actually letting anyone know he's here, oops.
So I guess she can see him walking in from above the cliff or another distance, be in the cave herself already, or follow his scent in the rain or after the storm has passed (: At least he's not in K's cave because he wants to avoid Scorch
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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