09-19-2018, 04:37 PM
there was a heaven in youbut god, there’s a devil in me
He feels Tangerine leave his side and the moment her warmth is gone from him there is a shiver that uncontrollably rattles his spine, instinctively shifting his body weight to somehow sheild himself from the fever of the disease. Slow blinking eyes turn from the two strangers (alike in quiet solemnity, as well as the softness etched on their unfamiliar faces) and the glassiness of his gaze rests on the shadowed figures of his wife and daughter, the sight of their tender embrace allowing the gentlest of a smile to prick at the corners of his cobalt mouth. He remains on the warm, stony floor with the navy of his legs tucked carefully beneath him, lowering his chin to rest on the crook of his knee.
Weariness sets in again easily like an old friend. The pinprick of sleepiness and the welcoming embrace of a coma tempts him, darkening his eyesight with slick and oily promises of rest.
The world around him brightens though as the sound of his daughter’s voice calls to him. He’s roused once again, lifting his head from his knee to search for her nearing face. Her navy mouth finds the burning auburn of his flesh and there is a tremble of a fatigued sigh that shudders from his lips. Her voice is so soft, so quiet, but it is a sound he knew extremely well - like a drop of water in the midst of an ocean, her voice, but he would hear it always - even in the midst of turbulent seas and cyclones. Marble names his guests, and his brilliant cerulean eyes flicker towards the sisters. Healers. Warrick’s eyes click across Leliana and Exist curiously, a sparkle of hope igniting in his pupils.
Perhaps this is all he needs. Healing.
His daughter’s muzzle presses firmly into the part of his skin behind his ear, a reassuring touch that he knows would have been hard for her to withstand. He attempts to glance at her retreating form, wanting to say something but unable to find words. He then remembers that Marble would rather there be no words spoken at all as she leaves the warmth of their family’s grotto.
“Exist,” he manages to breathe with warmth on his face, finding comfort in the emerald green of her quiet eyes. “Leliana,” Warrick repeats, shifting his eyes to the other. He says nothing in response to Exist’s request, but instead gives her a solemn nod.
They both step forward - strangers, yet so willing as if Warrick was an old friend - and he finds his eyes fluttering closed. He remembers being healed once - by Amorette - and he wonders if it would feel the same, or if the disease inside him would fight back like a striking viper.
Immediately at their touch there is a warmth that spreads through him. It is a curious feeling to have magic flowing through blood and muscle, though not at all unfamiliar. After all, the sickness within him is bred by magic and magic alone. Warrick breathes heavily and for a moment he feels lighter (unburdened, unyoked). It is in this moment he feels a stirring of hope - perhaps not all is lost, perhaps light will defeat the darkness. It thrums wildly in his veins, their gift, and it breathes a new life into him that he had nearly forgotten he had.
When their touch fades away, however, so does the light. He had almost thought he would stand and fly into the night sky only moments ago, but as Exist and Leliana step away with darkened skin, he feels his strength drain. The disease curdles and festers, weakened but not at all destroyed, writhing madly within his lungs. Despite the blood that begins to trail through a single blue nostril, he looks at them almost wistfully. “It does, actually,” came his confession, and though it appeared as though the worst is yet to be over, he truly did feel better. Enough so that he positions his legs beneath his body and attempts to stand.
It is clumsy and silly looking - like a foal, nearly - but trembling legs finally straighten enough so that he could fully stand and even shake the numbness of lying down from his body. He can still feel the stain of blackness that riddles his insides, but it is cloaked with renewed strength that allows him to appear less sickly, less frail. His cobalt feathers shuffle idly at his sides, stiff with sweat and disuse. “Thank you,” he tells them both, his voice solid and the most that it’s sounded like himself in a long while. “I cannot bring into words to tell you both of my gratefulness. You have already sacrificed so much for a man you don’t even know.” He pauses, truly in admiration of such a thing.
“If you are sure that you wish to stay with Tangerine and I, we have made plans to travel to Hyaline. My daughters - the queens - will welcome you with open arms and will protect you as one of our own.”
Weariness sets in again easily like an old friend. The pinprick of sleepiness and the welcoming embrace of a coma tempts him, darkening his eyesight with slick and oily promises of rest.
The world around him brightens though as the sound of his daughter’s voice calls to him. He’s roused once again, lifting his head from his knee to search for her nearing face. Her navy mouth finds the burning auburn of his flesh and there is a tremble of a fatigued sigh that shudders from his lips. Her voice is so soft, so quiet, but it is a sound he knew extremely well - like a drop of water in the midst of an ocean, her voice, but he would hear it always - even in the midst of turbulent seas and cyclones. Marble names his guests, and his brilliant cerulean eyes flicker towards the sisters. Healers. Warrick’s eyes click across Leliana and Exist curiously, a sparkle of hope igniting in his pupils.
Perhaps this is all he needs. Healing.
His daughter’s muzzle presses firmly into the part of his skin behind his ear, a reassuring touch that he knows would have been hard for her to withstand. He attempts to glance at her retreating form, wanting to say something but unable to find words. He then remembers that Marble would rather there be no words spoken at all as she leaves the warmth of their family’s grotto.
“Exist,” he manages to breathe with warmth on his face, finding comfort in the emerald green of her quiet eyes. “Leliana,” Warrick repeats, shifting his eyes to the other. He says nothing in response to Exist’s request, but instead gives her a solemn nod.
They both step forward - strangers, yet so willing as if Warrick was an old friend - and he finds his eyes fluttering closed. He remembers being healed once - by Amorette - and he wonders if it would feel the same, or if the disease inside him would fight back like a striking viper.
Immediately at their touch there is a warmth that spreads through him. It is a curious feeling to have magic flowing through blood and muscle, though not at all unfamiliar. After all, the sickness within him is bred by magic and magic alone. Warrick breathes heavily and for a moment he feels lighter (unburdened, unyoked). It is in this moment he feels a stirring of hope - perhaps not all is lost, perhaps light will defeat the darkness. It thrums wildly in his veins, their gift, and it breathes a new life into him that he had nearly forgotten he had.
When their touch fades away, however, so does the light. He had almost thought he would stand and fly into the night sky only moments ago, but as Exist and Leliana step away with darkened skin, he feels his strength drain. The disease curdles and festers, weakened but not at all destroyed, writhing madly within his lungs. Despite the blood that begins to trail through a single blue nostril, he looks at them almost wistfully. “It does, actually,” came his confession, and though it appeared as though the worst is yet to be over, he truly did feel better. Enough so that he positions his legs beneath his body and attempts to stand.
It is clumsy and silly looking - like a foal, nearly - but trembling legs finally straighten enough so that he could fully stand and even shake the numbness of lying down from his body. He can still feel the stain of blackness that riddles his insides, but it is cloaked with renewed strength that allows him to appear less sickly, less frail. His cobalt feathers shuffle idly at his sides, stiff with sweat and disuse. “Thank you,” he tells them both, his voice solid and the most that it’s sounded like himself in a long while. “I cannot bring into words to tell you both of my gratefulness. You have already sacrificed so much for a man you don’t even know.” He pauses, truly in admiration of such a thing.
“If you are sure that you wish to stay with Tangerine and I, we have made plans to travel to Hyaline. My daughters - the queens - will welcome you with open arms and will protect you as one of our own.”
WARRICK
All my Warrick posts are novels, sorry not sorry.
Wrapping up this thread (of course any are free to reply!) so that we can focus on getting everyone over to Hyaline! <3333