Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Snuffed

She awoke with a stifled cry caught in her throat, vision blurred with moisture.

Trembling arms wound tightly around herself in a feverish hug as she tried to break away from the voice that cried out to her, that sung a lonesome melody of mourning.

Shyloris in turn closed her eyes, whispering words of bleak comfort.

Yet another was dying.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Possessed (3 of ?)

He knew it was a dream, the vague disconnect he felt, and how he somehow saw from beyond his dream self.

Yet there was something strangely real about the phantom

"... I'm sorry Silas, I didn't want it to come to this." the voice spoke with a note of finality.

The smile curves up the apparitions lips startles him in how much it reminded him of Neiro. 

The whole process is quite frankly rather unceremoniously done. Not tht the Invalid had left much choice. 

Anxious and weary, Muspell had no Time for formalities, much like before, disappeared as if a puff of smoke to the wind.

This Time though, Silas felt an odd sensation as if there was another mind materializing within his own, thoughts that weren't his own, sensations that he was, and at the same Time wasn't, feeling. 

He struggled to shove the foreign wave of thought away, but it was like holding back a wave, and it simply enveloped him whole.

A sharp pain shot through him and he found himself staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom.

Groggily pushing himself up, he scanned the room, a sense of unease gathering.

But there was nothing amiss. Neiro lay asleep, curled up in his blankets as always, and the crickets continued their sonata.

"How odd it is, that the hues that colored my every waking moment would appear so strange now. After an eternity of darkness it seems so--foreign."

Silas started and squinted through the gloom, "Where are you." he hissed, a sinking feeling in his chest. It was a possibility he sincerely hoped against.

There was a low chuckle, but none of the malice or mirth that he would've expected, but a warming sound so pure in its merriment, "Close your eyes!"

With a slow building trepidation did he close his eyes and jerked away, nearly slamming his head into the wall as he stared at the blindfolded apparition.

"I'm right here!"

"Stop that." Silas grit out. It was uncomfortable enough feeling like a stranger in his own body, but to hear the other's thoughts so overpowering loud that it drowned out his own was just annoying. He refused to relinquish control over his own self.

"Ah--my apologies Syras."

Muspell chuckled to himself as his host twitched at the playful tone, clearly irked.

"Don't flip through my memories."

"I'm sorry. But I have to meet Neiro" Muspell was smiling, and odd as it was, Silas could feel it. How one could feel a smile he knew not, only that he would experience the same sensations. Unaccustomed, as he was, he felt his own features twitch before curbing himself and schooling it back into a scowl.

There was an amused and light chuckle much to his chagrin.

The Ophidian retreated slightly. He would give his host some Time to grow a sense of familiarity with their new shared senses. There was still an oppressive and almost suffocating distrust that cornered him, and he didn't wish to upset the brittle bond of trust that had been extended to him.

Did Neiro go through the same befriending this man?

But such were contemplations for another Time. With a suitable host he would feed little by little off of the other's excess storage of ather and replenish himself.

How odd that a human would carry such thick aetherical densities, Muspell tilted his head, hand to his mouth as he sifted through the subconscious of his host, slowly as not to alarm Silas. But he wasn't one to look question one of Life's lucky breaks.

Soon, soon he would see dear Neiro again.

The thought made his heart skip a beat. The Yggdrasill couldn't wait.

Silas felt the presence in his mind fade. While not completely gone, it was noticeable more quiet, as if the other's presence had been muted.

It could be likened to the ability to sense others in a tavern, the low din of chatter, the scents, the warmth, the atmosphere, the liveliness.

The Invalid was admittedly more comfortable now that the private space of his mind had been vacated. Muspell had bid him goodnight taking leave to recuperate.

But before leaving, the Yggdrasill had explained the most basic of essential simplicity in the workings of the so-called Aether. 

"Think of Aether as a non-tangible source of life energy. If it would help you to understand, think of it conceptually as sharing your store of fat with another, if you would liken it to a suitable counterpart of the physical form."

"Across the Veil such corporeal stores of energy are considered to be the physical equivalent." 

The brunette had nodded stiffly, still uncomfortable with the other's presence.

It was somewhat unsettling. But aside from the possession, there were no further attempts to usurp control. Contrary to his worries Muspell kept within the unspoken boundaries, though Silas was no less weary for it.

Control of their shared body, if anything, shifted inadvertently. As he rose for the morning routine, Muspell startled at the projections from headset, and the way the lights glowed at his presence. He peered, mesmerized by the technology for a good moment before Silas snarled at him to at least move to the bathroom instead of standing and staring strangely about in the hallway.

Now that the Ophidian was no longer on the verge of fading, he would be present more often, giggling and whispering to Silas in his mind. 

The apparition's curiosity struck him as strange, how little Muspell knew of such commonplace things as a toaster, or the conductive stove top.

Muspell was clearly not accustomed to such modernizations. And it came to Silas then that perhaps the other was from place less developed.

But that in itself seemed a contradiction. Another oddity as the man was clearly learned. Such showed in conversation, it wasn't something one could fake.

It was almost as if he came from another Time.

But it couldn't be. He knew Neiro and his flatmate couldn't be more than a few years over 20. Come to think of it, they had never discussed such things. It wasn't his nature to pry and Neiro hadn't mentioned it himself.

Their shared synchronization of thought didn't bother him for the most part, and he grew accustomed to abrupt bursts of thought and interruptions as an all-consuming curiosity welled up in the other's mind as he went about fixing breakfast. If anything, Muspell's innocent curiosity was almost passably endearing were it not for their commensal relationship.

What was most strange though, was that Neiro himself didn't seem to notice, an oddity given that he had senses far more acute particularly so where the Astral Pods were concerned. It seemed odd then that his younger flatmate was unable to sense Muspell's presence. 

There had been several instances where the Ophidian would in his fervent longing, switch out while speaking Neiro's name, the exertion drawing the apparition back into deep slumber while the Invalid was left with a bemused Neiro. 

After another futile attempt and he felt the other return to dwell inside of him, when his consciousness returned, Silas sighed, "Still no?"

It was a pointless question, the nigh tangible disappointment was more than enough, though with it was a despondent contentment in being close to Neiro again, even if the other remained oblivious to his presence.

"Aye. It's to be expected." came the soft reply.

And he felt the other smile fondly as he once again rifled through Silas's mind, seeking the memories that the Invalid assumed were parallel and reminiscent of the Ophidian's own. 

Though he spoke of none of the hurt, the other's thoughts were perforated with a bittersweet weight, heavy with forlorn loss and merry Times alike.

Silas peered into Muspell's history, and the other accepted the intrusion. Allowing his host to comb through his memories.

It was personal, very much close at heart, but the intimacy wasn't mutually uncomfortable. 

The Ophidian granted him access, though Silas suspected it had more to do with his aloof personality than anything else.

Instead of forcing the other out, he was presented with a memory. The Invalid paused but a moment before decisively reaching out for the small piece of history.

In it he saw a futility he himself was all too familiar with, and silently he let the scene play out.

"Pathetic, is it not?"

"..."

"To keep trying in vain as I do." A chuckle, Muspell had that quiet smile, a little sad, but warm and sweet, and most of all, determined, "But if one does not even attempt, then all is lost is it not? Fate sealed by thine own hand."

"... Is that so?"

Such foolishness was beyond his comprehension.

BOP 7: Something

There's something about the deep desire to persevere, and the futility of their struggle, that strikes deep.

The strength of character to persist in the face of adversity.

In the beginning the story had been rather drab, but the whole of Alexander has played out this particular quality rather splendidly.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Possessed (2 of ?)

When Neiro returned home later that evening, it was as normal, a jubilant grin and bright eyes.

"Welcome home. How did your outing with Ken go?"

At the familiar voice of his flatmate, the albino turned, smiling.

Until he saw him.

His jaw fell slack as nostalgia gripped him and threw him into a past Time he had no business reaching for. Briefly he opened unseeing eyes and forced them to focus on the smiling face and verdant green jewels that glimmered in mere slits back at him. It was impossible, the aetherical traces that lingered couldn't be, and he gave a low breathy mutter in astonishment, "Muspell..."

Desperately he reached into the aether, searching for something, anything-

-but there was nothing in the vastness of existence, the essence of all that was--except his dear friend.

"Neiro?"

The albino shook his head sharply. Silas was frowning at him, leaning down for a better look.

Neiro waved the large man away, instead reaching out with his own anxious, clumsy, and shaking hands, and pulling Silas towards him.

Silently, he allowed his small flatmate to turn him in a full circle.

Needless to say this was more than unusual, but with all the oddities today, he would permit such. The quiet whisper hadn't escaped his notice, and reluctantly he thought that perhaps the strange blind apparition was to be believed.

After a moment, his flatmate seemed to shake of the shock, "Sorry Sy, I thought for a moment that-ah. My mind's playing tricks on me."

"What is it?"

"Just confused. Thought you were someone else."

"Muspell?"

The hands on his shoulders twitched at the name, "Yeah."

"Who is Muspell?"

The albino shifted, and with much reluctance, met Silas's gaze, "He was--I, that is--" Neiro trailed off, lost in thought. At last he spoke at length, "We were close friends."

The same hesitant answer as Muspell. As if he didn't know either.

It was a rather pathetic cover, and the dubious look threw him told him as much. Neiro had always been an open book, granted it had been of Neiro's own will, and that was what made it so dangerous at Times. Now though he clearly wanted nothing more than to hide.

Never had the other seemed so vulnerable as he did now.

Neiro rubbed at his arm, at last offering, "He had to go, it was his calling I suppose."

"Hm."

A lame explanation, but one he would take for now.

his shorter flatmate excused himself soon after to retire, and in the empty room, he put a hand to his temple, eyes slipping shut, "Why didn't you reveal yourself to him?"

Behind him the blind apparition stepped forward, "For the same reason that I desire a compatible host body."

"And that is?"

"I'm too weak as I am now. In the wake of Neiro's aetherical density, mine own would be as finding a single grain amongst the sandy shore and crashing waves of a beach."

Muspell stepped closer and kneeled before him once more, "Please, you've seen how he suffers so. A last word is all I ask."

Silas grimaces but before he can object, the other quickly adds in, "For all he's done for you, wont you return to him just a little of that kindness?"

Silas jaw clenches, but he remains as is resolute. As did Muspell.

---

Later that night it was the same as it was any other, and he lay awake, tired, but finding little rest in the darkness behind closed lids.

Shifting, he was startled to find the translucent form of Muspell, sitting at Neiro's bedside, hand stroking the hair he could neither touch nor feel.

In the quiet of the night he could hear a faint song, its melody poignant, but not without a faint hopeful trickle.

His brow furrowed. The music seemed to just be there, with no source in sight.

Muspell glanced up, as if sensing his gaze, "You can hear it? This melody?"

Raising himself so that he was sitting, Silas offered a curt nod, "How curious. Humans have not the senses to perceive the Heart's Song. Though I suppose you are anything but normal, devoid as you are."

They left it at that. Silas took a draught of water from his mug and Muspell returned to watching over his oblivious ward. 

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Possessed (1 of ?)

Silas had seen a great many things while projected through the Astral Pods. Like a dream, much of it made little and less sense, and he had learned to ignore the wisps of overactive imaginary byproduct.

Needless to say, in the beginning it had been somewhat disconcerting, particularly so to see the spindly phantom whose spider-like appendages coiled menacingly as it loomed over him, its ensnaring threads coiling thickly around them. Even now, few could instill in him the same sense of dread as the phantom menace, nor have any visions thereafter shaken him much the same, and this Time would prove no different.

Still, this was the first Time one of them talked.

Snippets and Stories: (DD) Bad Start

Everything was wrong about Zephyr.

Not one thing was right.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Empathy

Null-0 listened to their voices closely, but he could little muster the same passion, the same enthusiasm and fervor that those of flesh and blood could.

There was no reason to.

All the squabbles, the conflict, the strife, it was all so petty. Trifling matters that he couldn't help but feel indifferent to.

BOP 6: Marshmellows

It was unbeknownst to me before this Time that there is a marshmallow plant from which the modern derivative took from. A plant by the scientific name of Althaea officinalis, that even more amusingly enough, was utilized for its medicinal properties.

Ancient Egyptians would use the mucilaginous extracts from the root as a remedy for sore throats, though the plant had long been used in the making of confections.

Would that I could obtain a specimen myself to grow. It is noted in text that A. officinalis was used as a staple food in Times of hardship when crops failed, and was quite palatable when the roots were fried with onions and butter.

Though the whole plant is edible, there is a different use for various parts of the plant. The pith seems to be used in making confections, the roots as its own dish, flower and young leaves a salad, and the whole plant itself in herbal medicine.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Hearts Entertwined

Null-0 examined the ring closely, but made no move to take it from his outstretched hand, "This is the seal for your pearl?"

The Ophidian nodded, "In my blood is a mix of several draconics, most prominently among them, Quetzalcoatl, Ouroboros, Loong, and Amphisbaena. The pearl is the remnant of the Oriental blood."

With a wave of his hand, the ring seemed to come alive, the serpentine dragons slithered past one another and released the gems from their mouths.

From the brilliant jewels that seemed as if liquid, did they form a large solid pearl. And as quickly as they were, did they once again become mere rubies that the golden dragons each caught in their awaiting jaws.

His company seemed suitably entertained, after all the sight of a dragon's pearl was a rare treat. Such precious stones were the source of a great many Ophidian's power and few risked revealing the shells that played host, lest they be lost to others.

That and the Amphisbaena's ring which so zealously guarded it, was a relic bequest upon him by his line. It responded only to his draconic blood and none other.

"To think that your strength is contained not within the body but in a separate shell. An oddity for it to be of biological rather than alchemical origin."

"It is the same with your kind is it not? Your aether must be grounded somewhere. Something to anchor the self from Limbo, just as those of flesh are contained within their mortal bodies."

For a moment he worried that perhaps his question probed too far into the information so closely guarded by the Numen.

Eyeing him silently silently from where he lay on the bracket shroom, Null-0 carefully weighed the other before the scales of his judgement. Then, ever so slowly, nodded, eyes still never leaving him.

It was uncomfortable, but he bore with it for he knew that the demigod was likely peering through Time, weighing his character.

"An astute observation." He didn't elaborate, and Muspell didn't push him to.

The conversation was surprisingly casual, considering that the topic was such scant and sensitive knowledge that until now, had been privy only to their own kind.

As if sensing his thoughts, the Numen spoke up again, "There was never a need to become involved with worldly creatures. It would only have complicated matters."

"Of course." The ophidian nodded slowly, it was sound justification. A small smile spread across his face then, "And yet you entertain me now, sating a curiosity that your kind believes should best left alone, or better yet nonexistent."

"The marked incident in which Numens were scripted into lore, was a solemn one. Those worn fables you so coveted led many who sought to transcend Time astray, to waste away pursuing shadows they could not even discern." Null's eyes slipped shut, "Indeed, we are 'anchored' as you so eloquently put it."

"Where is your host?"

This Time he knew he had tread too far into the comfort zone.

Silvery wisps of hair framed skeptical eyes that were even now setting him on a scale, "Do you understand the weight of what you ask for?"

"I do."

"Heh." It was a humorless laugh, and the puppet of flesh turned to stare back at the heavens above them, "Does it so please you to partake of the forbidden fruit? Knowledge is naught without wisdom."

To ask for the thing which was possessed of the Numen's aether was, in essence, asking for their utmost trust, to reveal and put bare all that they were and surrendering their very life and making prone their seemingly omnipotent nature.

Muspell scootched closer to the other so that they were shoulder to shoulder, "As could be said the same of all I've asked of you."

"Curiosity is a dangerous thing, and from it is borne great feats, for better, and worse." Null-0 mused. With a sigh he carried on, "Yet you desire nothing but knowledge itself. The pursuit of knowledge is both borne of great wisdom---and foolishness. Temptation is beyond you except for that boundless thirst that even the uncovered sea, vast as it is, could not quench."

He hummed an acknowledgement and the Numen pushed himself up. Muspell followed suit.

Reaching out, the space distorted around the celestial's hand and Muspell watched mesmerized as he summoned forth his shell, but a single grain among infinite timelines, dimensions, and splits--

--and startled at a touch on his shoulder. The Ophidian jerked and stared in astonishment at the hand behind him as it tapped him again.

The Keeper of Time reached up to touch the small silver and gold rings adorning his friend's ears.

"You--you mean to say that this whole Time--" Muspell's eyes flew up, hands going up to the accessories, "I've been wearing them?"

Neiro nodded, "Only one of them hosts my aether, but yes, you have been."

"But you gave these to me a several full lunar turns ago!"

"That I did." came the same monotone, but it was notably softer this Time, barely above a murmur.

What strange expressions, and intonation. Never had the Numen seen Muspell display such unmasked zeal. And so he watches carefully, that he wouldn't miss the slightest in the Seed's idiosyncracies.

Now the Ophidian just stared, seemingly at a loss. But even that was entertaining, "When you gave them to me and told me to take care of them--"

"--I would put my Life in your hands, yes." the Numen nodded, before turning back to the stars above, as if they were but passing Time.

A moment longer did he spend staring, his heart swelling with warmth before engulfing the other in a tight hug, "You fool!"

"You would deem me a fool?"

Rather than foolishness, it was a mixture of apathy and utter boredom. An eternity and more, it was for this that the Numens would perish. Not that they perished willingly, but there was simply no reason not to. It was what would come to pass in the Continuum, and none of them saw reason fit to swim upstream, let alone change the river's path.

"The trust you place in me! Responsibilities such as these should not be so easily given, and unbeknownst no less!" he shook his head, scolding the other, "But still, thank you. That you would even think of putting so much faith in me---I'm flattered."

But he would spice it up a little. Though it was of no import to himself it seemed to matter a great deal to the Yggdrasill, and it served to entertain them both.

"It didn't please you?"

"It did." Muspell pulled away to take in the other's countenance, the same flat unreadable mask, "But it is still folly."

The Numen seemed oddly pleased, "Be that as it may, I would play the fool."

They were silent a while on their perch, simply gazing up at the stars.

"Do not think for a moment that my trust is so easily won over." Null hummed, "That being said, one such as yourself, would make a fine guardian. Even among Ophidians few are possessed of your gift. Whether it is folly or otherwise lies greatly with the character. "

"Then I would let it be within my abilities as far from foolishness as could be."

And he would.

---

He held Muspell's body, clutched protectively towards his own form. The Seraph across from them cackling with his prize, blood dripping freely from his hand.

"Null--" came a low and hoarse voice which cracked near the end. Forcing himself away from the sight, he stared down at the now bloodied and empty sockets of the Ophidian. It was a wretched sight, and one that his core trembled at in rage and indignation.

"I'm here, Muspell."

"Forget Loki, we must abscond. There's one last thing I would wish done."

Null jaw clenched, but a hand tugged insistently on his sleeve, barely mustering above a pained whisper, "Now, Null, the Heart's Song has been sung, I've not Time left!"

Tearing his eyes away from the fallen Seraph, he whisked the both of them back into the familiar hollow of the Ophidian's cove.

He laid Muspell on the floor, making to leave in search for some draught that would ease his suffering, but the Yggddrasill grasped him by the sleeve once more, "Don't leave."

"... your eyes."

"I need not what I will no longer use and I care not of the pain." A pathetic smile was all the other could offer, but he took solace in the relief on the Ophidian's visage when he didn't make to leave, "Please, Null, to me."

He knelt down beside the other and a shaky hand pushed something towards him. Null accepted the surprisingly heavy and warm weight, opening his palm to find a golden glint and glitter of precious stones winking up at him.

The Amphisbaena's Ring.

His eyes widened at the sight of the relic.

Muspell smiled weakly, "As it was bequeathed to me, do I now pass it to you."

"Muspell--" Null trailed off.

A small laugh interrupted with abrupt coughing, breathing labored, "I know it unfair of me to so pointedly ask at this grim hour. But I beg of you, Aversatio must not be allowed to happen again. Please--don't let it come to pass. Loki plans on invoking it, he--"

"Muspell!" the rest was cut off by Null's own sharp voice.

"Was I a good friend, Neiro?"

The sudden change took the Numen off guard, "Neiro?"

"When I saw you by yourself, so lonely and cold, I couldn't help but approach. I hope--" a fit of coughs overtook him, and Null urged him to rest, but he shook his head, "Neiro, it's a fitting name is it not? Null-0, Null-zero, Neiro, I've longed to call you by that name. Would you not take it on?"

"With honor."

"Look at me." The Ophidian chuckled, turning his head away and averting his now blind stare away, "Though I've long seen this day coming, still I grow sentimental in my last moments, holding on so dearly to the last threads of life."

Muspell turned towards him, and Null was surprised by how accurately the empty sockets seemed to find his own, "I regret none of it."

"Live a little Neiro, there are so many more you have yet to meet, and I am but one of them."

"None of them will be you."

"Wont you grace them with your light?" he reached into his coat and plucked a small pouch out from their depths, pushing that too towards the Numen.

Even before he opened it, he knew what they were, by the familiar resonance of aether, "But the seraph--"

"--took the false ring. This is the true shell you gave me. Live on, Neiro."

A chuckle, and he spoke softly, warm and tender, "I'm sorry Neiro, I lied. I do wish for mine eyes, that I could glimpse my dear friend one last Time. Yet even that I would give, for every precious second gained with you by my side in these last moments."

There were no tears, not that the Ophidian had eyes to shed them. But he needn't more than Muspell's voice to know he was crying.

The Heart's Song rose in a lonesome wail.

The Ophidian smiled and leaned up one last Time, supported by the Numen's arm, and murmured, the whisper lost in the wind to all but the one he intended it for.

Clawed hands dug into the Numen's arm desperately, hoping to convey all he could not. There was still so much he wanted, and needed, to say but which never seemed the right Time for it.

And then the last of his strength was spent.

The grip on his sleeve slackened, as did the Ophidian in his arms.

Jaw clenched, Neiro gently pressed his forehead against that of the serpent's, "I'm sorry, Muspell."

He laid the Seed's body back against the floor, standing up with an unfamiliar weight he could neither identify nor remove. And somehow he didn't want to. Somehow it felt like Muspell was closer that way, yet all the farther away.

In his hands was the Amphisbaena's Ring, clutched tightly in his grasp. Already he could feel Muspell's aether dissipating.

With a heavy heart, he lifted the golden ring, the dragons glinting up at him.

Nigh all of the blood that coated his hands belonged to Muspell and were dense with his aether.

Maybe--

Drawing the incantation in the air, the blood rose and formed an encircling series of runes around the ring, and slowly the dragons uncoiled, tense as they regarded him with skepticism. They could sense his foreign aether beneath that of their master's line, and they snarled at him.

Pulling forth the gold ring within the depths of the pouch, he held them close with withheld breath before offering them up to the Amphisbaena.

For a moment he held his breath, should the dragons reject his offering, it may well destroy itself, and with it the last of Muspell's bound Aether.

With the remnants of the Ophidian's blood, the ring reluctantly accepted the offering and his shell.

Neiro watched the deep red and gold marble into milky pearl, imbuing his own aether into it. Along with it he could sense the familiar warmth of Muspell's within, pulsing softly as if it were still alive.

But no sooner had the shell fully fused, did the serpentine dragons shudder and whisk by in a flash of gold. Their sudden sharp slither as they intertwined sending out a flash, and when it was done the ring was locked as it as before, still and unmoving.

But it had suceeded. And within came a soft pulse of their mingling aether, sealed away from the outside world and out of mortal reach, to remain existent in its own pocket of existence.

Neiro clutched the golden ring to his breast, in it was a familiar and faint, but nonetheless existent presence of Muspell's aether contained for as long as the ring itself would be. One that was already becoming nostalgic.

The puppet placed the oddly warm ring carefully into the pouch and pocketed it, kneeling beside Muspell once more.

He took in the serene face, a stark contrast with the blood and gore that he had so suffered, before bowing his head low in reverence and speaking softly, "Just as your Life is now mine, is mine now your's."

For however long his existence stretched, would he guard the both of them and do what he had failed to do that day.

And should he fail him again--

Your Life is mine as mine is now your's.

--he would perish and meet his dear friend over the stars.

This would be his promise, their Life forged into one, that he would be ever bound to protect.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Sweet Tooth

Neiro hummed softly as he trudged through the fresh snow. Reaching deep into a pocket on his quilted coat he pulled out a small drawstring pouch, the white sticks and confectionery visible through the organza fabric.

Truth be told he didn't particularly like sweets. They were pleasing to the palate, yet it wasn't the flavor that drew him to the sweets.

He chuckled to himself.

If the others heard, they would surely balk, or wave it off as a jest. Unlike what his friends believed though, Neiro didn't have a penchant for sweets.

Nay, it was something else that drew him to the confections.

But he was content to let them assume.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Mikhail Durant

Name: Mikhail "Mikh" Durant

Profile
Species: Barghest ("Black Dog")

• hair: charcoal, dark brown, peppered
• eyes: sanguine amber
• height: 6' 10"

Personality: Reserved and very traditionally polite (clipped, to the point in interactions), ironically comes off as impolite to those ignorant to clipped haste of the noble houses. Very loyal and steadfast with a slight paternal touch. Efficient and very familiar with having to "make do" with what he has. Somehow manages to get everything done. Dislikes leisurely Time unless it is Time spent with the household.

Dress Style: sleek, impeccable black suit, gloves, and polished shoes.
Quirks: Always carries a handkerchief and pocket watch despite having superior devices, has a hollow and husky voice and doesn't speak often and choosing to speak in low tones due to its harshness.

Background: Once carrying the proud title of House Steward for the Canterbury family, and the only bloodline he would acknowledge and remain loyal to, he now searches for the two sole descendants of which were lost to him during a long and far reaching travel per request of the previous master of the house. When he came back to the remnants of the House fallen to ruin, he vowed to find the two successors he had so lovingly cared for. What he didn't anticipate was Ken's, at best, faint recollection, and Esti's deep sown resentment for his disappearance. His travels were done at the utmost secrecy as an investigation to uncover those who would undermine House Canterbury. Unfortunately, while he was away, the perpetrators brought about an "accident" that stole the lives of the House, leaving only young Esti and a comatose Ken. He is reluctant to reveal the nature of his journey to Esti, whom he does not wish to sully with such matters. After his reappearance before Esti, he still works out of her sight to see to the undoing of those who had brought the House low.

Analysis: Mikhail is beholden to an early ancestor of the Canterbury line, of whose blood runs thick with that of the Veil, and in return, has since served, and protected, the line of Canterbury. So deep is the loyalty so known to the Black Dogs that he has continued to serve the Family long after his Master's passing.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Black Dog (3 of 4)

"Hey?"

He looked up from the clock face, snapping the watch shut and pocketing it, all the while putting up a show of surprise for the small and oddly greying boy that had been with his lady not a couple turns of the hand ago, "May I help you?"

Large mismatched eyes scanned him with earnest curiosity, "Are you Mikhail?"

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Black Dog (2 of 4)

He sat discreetly in a corner of the Rainforest Cafe, watching as the bartender twirled to and fro across the floor, an intricate dance of balancing cups, condiments, hot fluids, and various other drink customization.

It was almost mesmerizing, and he had to tear his gaze away, flicking open his pocket watch and starting at the hands as it ticked away the seconds. 

Soon it would be 4:00 p.m., their appointed meeting Time.

"Early as always."

And there she was, early as was proper of her class. Yet earlier than the House, was the Steward. 

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Black Dog (1 of 4)

"Come again?" The trio watch in mild interest as Silas received an unusual call to his residence.

When there came a ringing in the landline of the tall man's dwelling, none would've imagined it to be a messenger informing them of, Silas puts the woman on speaker, "--a visitor for Estavia Canterbury.".

They had all turned to Esti--Estavia. Neiro's countenance was one of curiosity, Ken's anxious, and Silas's a blank, bored, and apathetic slate.

In the redhead's defense he seemed just as perplexed as the rest of them. Esti grunted as he pushed himself off the hanging UFO chair and spoke directly into the phone, "This is Estavia Canterbury, who is it?"

"A man by the name of 'Mikhail' wishes to speak with you."

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Chronic

It was another one of those days when the pain was particularly prominent. Borderline excruciating.

Neiro was by his side, hand kneading the tense knot of his shoulder.

He didn't need to look to see his flatmate's worried expression, nor ask to know that he had called off an outing with their redheaded acquaintance. 

His condition was gradually getting worse, and even Neiro, for all his optimism, acknowledged that there was nothing to be done for it.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Courage and Folly

"You'll have to face your crimes someday."

It was a conversation they had several Times before.

"... No."

It was always the same.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) interference

The Yggdrasill slowly roused. Had it worked? 

He gazed up at the rift he had tore into the Continuum, breath coming in harsh pants. Long silky tresses stuck uncomfortably to his skin with the perspiration, and multiple times he had to wrap the end ribbon to ensure it stayed. 

Rending a tear into the continuum had taken more from him than he was willing to admit and he stood gingerly and with much difficulty. It was fortunate that the fog surrounding the mire wasn't as suffocatingly thick with miasma as it was at high noon.

A thought struck him then of how ridiculous this was, risking his life to artificially tear a hole in the fabric of existence. Even more so was the intention behind such reckless action--a confrontation with a being but whispered in Lore and shrouded in the murky depths of the Aether. No one had recorded an encounter and the validity of a millennial old scrap of parchment was hazardous at best.

Like a mirage the air around it flickered and twisted. As if the surrounding itself had warped and the very presence of existence no longer grounded to reality.

Well, it wasn't too far off the mark he supposed.

There was a rustle of grass and his breath hitched. A small smile crept onto his face.

So they had finally come.

Straightening out, he evened his breath and forced down the remaining vertigo. Likely they'd been here a while already, only now making their presence known. 

And indeed, his visitor had done exactly that, materializing and observing him in concealment, perusing the various timelines as they weighed out and calculated the optimal outcome. 

That they were only now making their presence known meant that whatever it was the Numen was searching for, had been deemed adequate.

He waited but his guest stayed his tongue.

"I had wondered when you'd show up. You've kept me waiting quite a while." 

The Ophidian turned to greet his guest, or at least the marionette. The puppeteer was elsewhere, deeply immersed in the Aether.

Tucking a stray strand behind his ear, he went on, "So long in fact that I had begun to believe the Keepers of Time mere myth."

The tall figure seemed to have been waiting for the acknowledgement and finally spoke.

Their voice wasn't quite as monotone as he had expected, and carried  with it just a hint of melodic lilt that suggested at amusement and boredom, "It is unwise for those of flesh and blood to dabble with the Continuum, lest they find themselves entangled in a spider's web."

Sharp eyes studied him, and narrowed. No doubt the other had noted his arcanum and its seal displayed so blatantly in his eyes, sensed the unusual aetheric density.

Prior to their staged encounter, he had gone over the multitude and settled for transparency as the best approach. Numens were a force to be reckoned with, and crossing one was no trifling matter. He wouldn't play them for a fool.

That and he himself was doing the same, taking in the Numen's silvery hair as it fell in haphazardly around the entity's shoulders. Set in his stern visage were eyes of translucent opals.

Briefly he wondered if all Numens had such distinctive features or if this one was the odd one out. 

It was rather strange, the stories had painted them subtle, bland, as was one hidden in the background, masters of blending in with the crowd. Not strange nor bold--

"Clearly you have not been to the metropolis in quite some Time. This is rather commonplace, if anything it would appear odd not to appear this way."

Muspell blinked, had he voiced his thoughts?

The sheer intensity of their gaze as they beheld him was far more intimidating than he had anticipated. With them they carried the weight, the judgement of eternity.

It was as if Limbo itself lay within those swirls of colour.

When he didn't answer, the Numen crossed his arms, eyes slipping shut as he addressed an earlier statement, "Such words could mirror your own reflection, Yggdrasill. We are as much a myth as you yourself are."

That brought out a delighted chuckle, "Wonderful, you know of our kind. This will make things go much faster."

Almost immediately the Numen interjected, with a biting edge of finality, "Dabbling in mortal affairs is best left to the corporeal."

The air rippled and he turned to stare in amazement at the normality of the space behind him. The rift that he had nearly expired all his aether on all but gone. His keen senses hadn't been able to detect what the Numen had done, only the aftermath.

And with that the temporary vessel of flesh made to leave.

"Pray lend me an ear." he urged, stepping forth.

"Time waits for no one, seedling." but the Numen stopped nonetheless, peering over his shoulder.

The Yggdrasill shook his head, "I do not expend myself to solicit with the desire to flip the hourglass on the fleeting days I've left. Wont you hear me out, Numen?"

With a raised brow, the Keeper turned fully and waited patiently for him to speak, a small gesture indicating that he had his full attention before he settled, arms crossed over his chest.

"There is one who seeks to amuse himself with mischief, but I speak not of the levity of minor pranks. They aim to retrieve the Time capsules."

Opal eyes studied him carefully, and he was taken aback when their owner spoke, "Is that all?"

"There is someone out there who schemes to annihilate your kind." he frowned, "Does that not concern you?"

If anything the Numen seemed to have once again tired of the conversation, voice a bored drawl, as if reciting a spiel, "We are already aware of the fallen Seraph. Guardians of Time we may be, but matters of those bound by flesh and blood are but the matters of mortals." he adverted his gaze, tone dropping off in a low murmur, "What is to come is done, we but see to it that the spun web does not fray, from hypothetical start to end. My kind has already finished paving the future with the past. Even as we speak efforts are made far beyond mortal reach to ensure existential continuation." 

Never had he seen such blatant lack of concern for one's own perseverence. 

Despite the astonishment from the lacking sense of self preservation and the absolute detachment from the will to persist, the Ophidian would yet hope, even vainly, in the Numen's apparent discontent, "You could save yourselves. Your future is not yet set in stone."

"Whether you would believe it to be fixed or not is irrelevant. Impermanence is a natural order of existence. For us the future is as stone. While mortals live multiple existences in the varying spectrum of time and alternate realities, we are but a single entity. If we should perish then it is as it was meant to be." 

The other uncrossed his arms and instead crossed what distance was between them, placing a placating hand on his shoulder, "You need not worry, the future will continue to exist. The last of us will make sure of it."

With a smile he went on, "Your efforts are much appreciated."

He frowned at the other but before he could speak the other continued, "But--That is a matter we are aware of. And do not think to deceive. It is with your own boon that you so desperately sought my kind out." The hand gave a light squeeze, a reminder, and warning.

But he had no need to fear any such backlash, for he had played no such deception.

A grin spread across his face and his eyes slipped shut, "It is with neither intent, Numen. I approach you with motives, it is true, but it is for the same reason as that which I've mentioned already. The one who has plotted your destruction is the selfsame one that would see to my early demise--and that of the seeds that have yet to be sown."

"And what is it then, that you sought us out for."

They locked eyes and the Numen was pleased that the other held it with a determined and steady stare of his own. There was a fire to them, securely kept beneath his composure, but a fire nonetheless, "To sever the seed-" here his company let out an amused "Oh?" but he continued, "-and ensure that my successor does not follow Aversatio, or in the colloquial tongue, what many regard of as the Armageddon."

The other's expression was unreadable, "I will do no such thing."

"You will." the Ophidian grinned.

A smirk spread slowly and the puppet laughed, silver bangs following his shaking form, "What is your name, Yggdrasill?"

"Does it matter to one so unbound by the constraints of Time?"

"Consider it one that would endear me to your cause."

With another smile, he answered, "Muspell. Muspel N. Heime. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

The Numen nodded approvingly, "Null-0."

Scribbles: Dark Knight Storyline

Seeing as it's been a while since I've drawn Silas, I wanted to give him a bit of loving and started drawing him in some awesome pose--until I realized he wasn't at all in character. A bit of tweaking and it turned into a parody of the Dark Knight job quests.

(The Darkness): "Prove to me that you're stronger.
Come on, LET'S DANCE."

Silas: ". . ."

|||||||||||

I STILL LOVE YOU SILAS. YOU'RE STILL MY FAVORITE LALAFELL EVEN IF YOU ARE MISSING YOUR MAN-PARTS.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Nonsensical Days

"So... an Earl Grey and a Chai Latte?" there were simultaneous answers of affirmation and Neiro nodded, "'kay got it, I'll be back in a bit!"

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) The Oddest of Gifts

Sometimes people had the oddest of gifts, a most unexpected surprise.

Neiro mulled over the thought, a spherical lollipop dangling from his lips.

He lolled it in his mouth a minute longer before returning his astonished stare to his tall flatmate's back. So focused was he on his task that he had yet to acknowledge his companion's presence, if at all he noticed his entrance.

The short man had always wondered what it was that Silas guarded with such zeal, kept under lock and key and would always slip away to do, so covert in his secretive visits. The brunette, once sure the albino was occupied, would slip away for sometimes hours at a time.

Now though, he only grew less certain, and he gaped with unmasked awe at the faces that stared back at him, each a character in their own right, and a story they would never tell.

There was a sigh and the tall man leaned back in his seat, rolling shoulders and stretching his back.

Now seemed as good a time as any, and Neiro stepped further into the room, "Si, these are amazing!"

Silas jumped and like the crack of a whip, swiveled around.

"Neiro you--" he cleared his throat, "I didn't hear you enter."

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone was home." It made the albino almost chuckle, it wasn't often that he found Silas in such a state, guard down and his composure all but out the window. It was a rare moment where the brunette was caught unawares and unprepared.

"The chimes-"

"Ah 'bout that, I knocked them over as I was heading out earlier." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and swiveled the candy in his mouth with an apologetic smile, "Didn't put 'em back 'cause the hook broke. A flash of annoyance briefly crossed the pâtissier's face, but it was quick to pass.

"I'll fix it I swear!" he added in hastily at the other's disapproving scowl. Carefree though he may be, he wasn't boorish enough to test the limits of where hence Silas drew the line and rescind his accommodations.

"I see." the Invalid pushed his chair back and with a withheld groan, stood, and stumbled. Almost immediately the albino was by his side, holding his arm.

"Si-"

"I'm fine. Fine." he grit out between flashes of pain, but accepted the support nonetheless as Neiro helped him up. The aches were getting worse and the waves of streaking pain unrelenting. Odd eyes chanced a glance down and failed to contain the small gasp at what he saw.

Silas coughed and pulled a sheet over it.

"You make all of these yourself?" he turned towards the other dolls with a newfound wonder.

The brunette shifted, "Indeed. a pastime of sorts." he shrugged and adverted his gaze to the shelves, all lined with perfectly sculpted dolls, "Just one of many diversions."

They were ball-jointed dolls (BJDs) to be exact. One of many crafts he had undertaken, and one of which he had practiced for quite a while.

"They're so beautiful." he reached out to pull off the cover partially covering the doll on the table, "Can I...?"

Silas nodded and the albino let out a small noise of glee, lifting the sheet up and gingerly picking up the doll beneath. The Invalid watched his companion so mesmerized by the miniature, and tilted his head, arms crossed, "You don't think them strange?"

"Of course not! Si these, these are beyond amazing! They're so pretty, you should show the others." the words were spoken in excited haste. Neiro grinned up at him with odd eyes, large with delight and wonder, urging him.

And he spoke so earnestly. Silas chuckled and Neiro was momentarily taken aback, "I'm serious Siras!"

Figures that his odd flatmate wouldn't find it disconcerting. The brunette went back to scouring through some leftover materials on the shelf, "I'd rather not, most find such dolls to be... unnerving. Truly, you are far more composed than I would've presumed."

"Maybe some might." Neiro shook his head and gestured with his free hand towards the shelved dolls, "Anyone can tell just by looking, there's so much care in their handicraft." he marveled, gently feeling the fine stitches of the cloth. "You put so much time and much effort into making these. It's hard to find something unsettling it's your passion."

The albino stared appreciatively at the doll in his hands. Brilliant crimson mane shone in multicolored tones of Autumn spectrum and the doll met his gaze evenly with a confident, fiery, and tenacious stare, mouth smirking with a handsome curl of the lips.

Though it was but half finished, it practically exuded of a strong character. It was as if it was holding his stare on its own. But there was something oddly familiar about the doll. Or perhaps it was the smoldering determination of their gold-flecked eyes, like embers.

"Eh? Silas is this--?"

The brunette nodded, clearing his throat, in what could've been embarrassment, "Estavia."

"You should show them!" Neiro glanced at the other dolls, come to think of it they all looked rather familiar.

"Definitely not." Silas immediately shot down, shaking his head. Where was that piece? He narrowed his eyes, and pulled a jar down. "I may take from them my inspiration but few take well to such a strange craft."

"No way, I'm sure they'd like it." he turned the doll appreciatively in his hands as he held it.

"I highly doubt that they'll find it flattering."

"Hmmm." Neiro hummed and went back to admiring Silas's handiwork, "Such a pity. An Artisan's work is mean to be appreciate, Si."

Silas scoffed and placed the jar back. Ah, there was the piece he was looking for.

Neiro glanced up as the other appeared at his side, reaching over to tuck the doll's hair behind their ear. A dainty pink flushed peony held it up and the sight gave Neiro pause.

"It-it suits Esti well." he marveled.

"I know." Silas looked away, "Though it may not be my place, I believe they would agree."

One may not think so what with Esti's passionate nature and assumed identity, but the brunette didn't miss her forlorn glances that lingered on such feminine adornments. The redhead could appreciate beauty, even in the weak dainty things she oft scoffed and turned her nose at.

"Do you think you can make a bigger one?"

"The doll?"

His short flatmate shook his head, "The flower, can you make a bigger one?"

Oh.

"You want me to make one for Esti."

The albino swiveled the lollipop again and nodded, a shy grin at his lips.

Silas stared, letting out a silent sigh in mock exasperation. He lifted his shoulders and dropped them again in the same half-hearted shrug, "I'll have it done by tomorrow."

Another nod and enamored grin.

Neiro had never shown romantic interest in another, not once in the Time he had known him. Then Esti appears out of nowhere, dropping in from the sky, literally speaking, gives his small companion an all encompassing hug, and the albino was head over heels. Or as head over heels as Neiro could be.

Well, he could certainly see why.

Silas lowered himself into the seat slowly, hand searching the table for a wire spool.

Esti was certainly attractive, a quality he himself wasn't completely unaffected by. Truly her fire burned bright.

Then there was Neiro, his genuine, carefree, and merry personality, so loveable and kind.

Both of them bore thoughts that warmed him.

It'd be a lie to say he wasn't a little envious of the two. Aside from their haleness in body, optimism, and kinesthetic intelligence and aptitude, the two were spending quite a bit of Time together, and any fool could see why.

The brunette forced it down, a part of him worried that Neiro wouldn't remain by his side for long, and neither did he have a right to keep the albino there. Not when the other had a whole life ahead of him to live.

Besides, his condition would only worsen. Things would only become more cumbersome with Time, not better.

But he had already lived long enough.

A bitter smile graced his lips. However short that may have been.

"Si?"

He started at his name, "What is it?"

And then there were arms around his shoulders, engulfing him in a hug. A small face made itself known at his nape, nuzzling into the exposed skin, "Your hands are shaking, it's okay to do it later. Besides, it's tea time!"

Moments like these seemed to grip him more often than before. This Time he blamed it on the albino's unannounced entrance, and walking into a rather private moment.

It was something he'd rather had kept undercover.

Loneliness, fear, anxiety, and worry.

He smiled down appreciatively at his flatmate, brows creased as he took in the sight of his greying companion, burning this image into his memory.

So that when the albino was gone, he would at least have the memories.

But for now Neiro was urging him away, and he complied, moving to the couch in the inner sanctum of their home.

There his companion nudged him onto the cushions, pulled the throw over him, and went to fetch some tea mix that Silas had prepared earlier that day.

He chuckled as Neiro returned along with the tea and an unmentioned platter of snacks. How like him to try and sneak a few treats in.

"Who said you could help yourself to the raspberry crumble?"

Neiro threw him a cheeky grin of perfectly white teeth, as he set the tray down, "Me!"

Silas snorted and pulled the other down beside him, mussing his hair as the other gasped for air between fits of laughter.

---

Esti blinked at the white and pink flower Neiro had presented with a grand flourish, down on one knee and everything. Standing off to the side, Silas was ignoring the both of them and their flair for the dramatic in favor of his drink.

If it weren't for the slight quirk of his lips, the redhead would've believed the whole fiasco to have slipped his notice entirely.

"So uh--what's the-" Esti glanced down at the flower again, "-occasion?"

What even was it? It looked like a cross between a carnation and a rose. Neiro said something earlier but she didn't quite catch it between a face full of petals and the hilarity of the exaggerated manner of the albino presenting them.

"Do you like it? Silas made it!"

In the back Silas finally spoke, "Don't drag me into this."

Picking up the trinket the redhead stifled a laugh, "It's nice--but you know I don't wear these Neiro."

It truly was well made, and so detailed too.

"Try it on, please?"

"Well..."

Neiro held it out for him, earnest eyes and blinding smile.

Well, he was already here, and they did go through the effort of procuring such a piece. Might as well, it couldn't hurt to try it on.

"Just for a little, I'm not used to wearing dainty things. I might break it." Esti tucked a curl behind his ear and knelt so their short statured friend could pin the flower on.

Straightening up the Neophyte chanced a glance in the mirror. It did look quite nice. Strands of red and gold flashed as they caught the sunbeams.

Off to the side Silas peered at the two in his peripheral. Esti was trying for disinterest, but those blood red eyes were a smidgen too wide and that voice a tad too eager.

Seems like Neiro hit the nail straight on the head. The brunette had to commend him, though he doubted that anyone else would've been able to coax the same from their redheaded acquaintance.

For the longest Time Esti had remained withdrawn, her zest and zeal all but gone. Even after being released from the hospital ward, she'd make herself scarce and none of them could hardly catch more than a quick wave or flash of red before they darted off.

This had been difficult for the albino he was sure. Even getting the Neophyte to come must've been a hefty undertaking.

Frankly speaking it was a bit of a surprise in itself that Neiro had managed to get Esti to wear it. Looking at her now, smiling and laughing in the sun, it was hard to imagine the reservations she had with associating with anything of feminine nature. Though having seen into her memories, it was easier to understand why the redhead saw it as weakness and frailty, and why she feared it so.

Neiro was a salve, his presence soothing the hurt around him.

"Sy, it looks great don't you think?" Neiro cried out, a mere four or so feet away.

"Neiro." The Invalid scowled, "Hush."

Esti cocked his head. Neiro hadn't been all that loud. The albino whispered, "Sensitive ears." and gestured towards his own.

"I heard that."

That sent the two behind him into muffled laughter.

Silas turned in his seat and took in the sight of Esti with her hair tucked by the pin. It had looked good in his peripheral but seeing it now fully, "It's an improvement. You should wear it more often."

"See! Even Silas likes it!"

"I never said I liked it." Silas shot back, brows knit together as Neiro waltzed over to him, a mischievous grin on his face. The albino threw his arms around his mid much to his chagrin, locking his hands and keeping the other from pushing him off.

Esti just smiled and thanked them quietly. Somehow it wasn't the same as being cheered on from the sidelines, or the compliments he oft heard commending his skill and deftness with physical fitness.

Agility, balance, power, speed, coordination, and reaction. The 6 vital components that made up physical skill. Even so he went beyond that, and it wasn't unusual for him to hear praise for his grace and form.

This though, was something they weren't accustomed with.

It was strange and oddly embarrassing to take a compliment, and to have something given to you.

An odd gift, both the hairpin and the compliment.

He looked up at an indignant cry and laughed at the sight of Neiro having climbed into Silas's lap and nibbling with all the innocence he could muster on the man's slice of tiramisu.

"Thank you Neiro." Esti grinned as the brunette sighed and caught his stare. Silas gave him an exasperated half shrug at the antics of his flatmate, "... and Silas."

The redhead laughed openly and joined them at the table, making an attempt to nab the slice of cake Neiro was jealously guarding.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Hot Cocoa

The wind roared its might, a howling gale that tore through the trees with an icy vengeance.

Yet in the dark night was a soft orange glow unhindered by the frost that crept in frigid crystals in the corners and ledge.

Tucked away on a large chaise couch within the cozy upstairs of the Tea Shop were a couple of friends, snuggled close against the chill of the night.

Neiro lay up against his tall companion's side, and drew the thick microfiber blanket up around them. Nestled against his flatmate he sighed and cozied up underneath a layer of warmth. But still, it seemed lacking in something.

The albino glanced around. There was his mug of hot cocoa, the soft lamplight, platter of snacks, the remote within reach, and... Of course, how could he forget?

Neiro slipped his arms around the brunette's midsection and pushed his face into the other's arm to hide the shy smile that crept onto his face. To his pleasant surprise, Silas glanced down briefly but said nothing, allowing him to cling and rest his head against him.

The two stayed like that, cozied up on a harsh winter night in a throw in front of the large screen, though nothing was playing.

There were other things to captivate them.

As if on queue, an enticing waft of cocoa drifted up to the albino as they sat there and relished in the warmth of one another.

Neiro hummed at the thought of the sweet creamy drink and untangled himself from Silas. He reached for the mug, only to be caught in a pair on long arms.

"Hey!" Neiro whined staring balefully at the mug sitting invitingly on the crochet coaster a mere fingertip away.

But Silas dragged the other to his chest and held him there, chuckling at the indignant huff as Neiro bristled before relenting and melting into the embrace.

It had been a few months since the two began living together. Amusingly enough Neiro was spending more time in the Tea Shop than he did anywhere else, and one day simply invited himself in.

It had been a rainy day, almost as dark and stormy as the day they met, when there was a knock. Silas knew who it was even before he got to the door. Only Neiro would have the audacity to come knocking before opening hours. And sure enough the albino was there on his doorstep, drenched to the bone and with duffle bag in hand. The short man proclaimed that he was moving in and made himself at home to the brunette's dismay.

Still, there were no doubts in his mind that the new accommodations and lodging was for the better. Neiro's presence was a blessing as his legs grew stiff and his back weaker. The other took to the Tea Shop well, tended to and fussing over him with an almost maternal care. A hilarious sight as the short man insistently ushered him into a chair, fretting over him. Neiro watched him like a hawk, chastising him should he try to do anything else and ensuring that the brunette remained seated.

Though truth be told it was a relief, and the brunette was deeply grateful, more so than he would ever let on. Besides Neiro seemed to just know anyway.

At last he loosened his grip, letting the albino up to drink deep of the sweet concoction, which he did so with glee.

His companion let out a contented sigh before snuggling back into his side.

It was warm, and he was starting to feel drowsy.

A nudge in his side brought his attention to the other. Neiro pushed his face against him, nuzzling him, "Silas."

"What is it?" He peered down at the other, but Neiro just giggled, "Silas!"

"What?"

But Neiro just repeated his name in a cheerful mumble, hugging the other closer.

With a sigh he leaned back into the chaise longue.

"I'm glad I met you."

He glanced down at the odd eyes, glowing with a merriment so simple but which was beyond him.

The brunette said nothing but Neiro felt the arm around his shoulder squeeze just a might tighter, and saw the light dust of pink that came not from the warmth of the heated room nor their cozy blanket, and grinned a knowing grin.

Silas shifted and cleared his throat, eyes closing and groaning to himself in embarrassment as Neiro tried, and failed, to stifle his laughter.

"I love you too Si!"

And the warmth in his cheeks which he attributed to the glowing hearth, grew warmer still.

Snippets and Stories: Dream Walking: Ring of Thorns (Pt. 2)

When he came to from his feverish sleep, he lurched and emptied his stomache.

"Here, it's a little cold."

He nodded and took the skin, gargling the water to rid himself of the acrid taste on his tongue.

It was disgusting, but Neiro didn't shy away from the retching nor the doubtlessly sour and bitter stench that he stank of.

Hooking an arm around him, Neiro helped lift the man onto his feet and made for the trail leading away from the city lights.

A protest had barely left him before the other was filling him in, "I went into town for supplies while you were asleep. Just the necessities, I can't carry more than my pack and you at the same Time. I've left our belongings at the inn for safekeeping. Told 'em we were tourists here for a bit of camping. Wont be suspicious what with it being the season for sea fireflies and the ever popular touristy photos of the glow from the peak o' Barlog Bog..."

He grimaced, grateful for his companion's foresight yet dismayed. Neiro was right. His own body wasn't fit to carry his own. Yet despite having cut down, it was still slow progress. Burdened as he was with the pack and the Invalid, Neiro was struggling.

"It would be wiser to tell them I fell ill. Bring me back to the inn and leave me there."

But Neiro shook his head, gaze steeled, "We've waited too long. Any longer and your body will succumb to the toxins. If I left you there, I might not make it back in Time."

Possibly. There was a good chance he wouldn't make it.

But neither would they make the trek there at this pace, never mind the task of foraging for the elusive shroom and preparing the alchemic salve.

They took frequent breaks, and eventually the rocky outcrops gave way to dense foliage.

"Silas I thi--" but when he turned to the other, he wasn't altogether present.

Neiro sighed and lowered him to the ground. They had fashioned a makeshift stretcher out of several branches when his legs gave out and they were forced to drag him along.

Even now he was stubborn, insisting that Neiro continue ahead without him.

As things were he might just end up doing that. Silas wasn't well enough to travel, and the rocky climb was proving less well worn than he'd hoped.

Mind set, he scrawled out a hasty note and forced it under the sleeping man's arm hand.

Muttering out an incantation, he placed a ward on his companion and let the aether take him back to the inn.

It was all well that he had made such preparations in advance. The shaman had left their packs in a rented room specific instructions to not disturb. Not as strange as it sounds, honestly. Most tourists preferred their privacy.

The precautions had been meant to send Silas back after they had found the Wyrmwort, that he may rest sooner, or as an emergency escape. Now though he was grateful he rigged a binding to return to.

"Wait for me Sy, I wont be long." He muttered.

Elsewhere, Silas fell onto the sheets heavily, and woke with a start.

He glanced around at a simple four walled room of quaint touch, night time cityscape light and noises seeping through a lone window, and a hearty fire crackled in the hearth.

Silas groaned, once again feeling disoriented and mildly nauseous.

Last he knew it had been the wilderness.

A change of scenery was one thing, but this displacement was quick growing old. Hopefully he would soon be rid of such disorienting and abrupt changes.

Neiro sighed and summoned to himself a deck of cards. Normally it would be Silas who drew the Tarots, but they were all he could bring on this trip. Something small and versatile that wouldn't weight him down like his greatsword would have.

Closing his eyes he reached for the cards and felt the bond establish.

With that he drew a card to fulfill his needs. Whatever would be best in his current state of affairs.

Staring back at him was the hanged man.

This couldn't be good.

He sighed and relented. Allowing the latent magic to take hold. Silas couldn't wait for his hesitation.

What he hadn't expected, was for the sacrifice to come so soon. Though perhaps it was best to pay upfront rather than in some bind later.

With a hiss he grasped at his right arm. Sharp cuts pierced from deep within with unnatural precision, the eerily clear lines etched deep into his forearm and yet markedly red with blood.

Blood bound, did the same sanguine life seep and surge upwards, rising and taking on the familiar form of his faithful sword.

He marveled at its sturdy yet lightweight form. How convenient.

Curious he held the weapon in his hand, feeling it nigh pulse an unsettlingly familiar warmth in his hands. Tentatively he closed his eyes, opening them as he felt the weapon shift, form changing that of the wicked scythe he had pictured.

The cards had truly picked a fitting weapon.

The tarot shuffled back into the large deck, and the scythe melted away into an unassuming scarlett band around his wrist.

A weapon that he would carry within him, which wouldn't burden or inconvenience, and which could be drawn in a mere instance and would require no mending.

So long as he was well.

Having gotten that out of the way and unburdened, the hunt for Wyrmwort would truly begin.

Welcome to Insanity: Prologue (Pt. 3: Acceptance)

Welcome to Insanity: Prologue

Part 3: Acceptance
"Do you always wear those shades?"

Silas peered over the edge of his book down at the striking mop of white hair and grimaced, but there was no malice in his glare.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Smoky Mirrors (Pt. 1 of ?)

Shyloris sifted through the menagerie of belongings, picking up what seemed to be a normal albeit weathered pack of cards and a worn flat wooden wedge, were it not for the cryptic fading painting on its container.

It was actually a tarot deck. Gifted to her from a dear fellow vagabond while she had been on the road searching for Zer Zura.

"A guide, from beyond the stars. May they hearken to your call and light your path when the Heavens themselves discount your pleas."

Their time together had been brief, but such was their way of Life. The way of wanderers.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) The Dead Boy (Pt. 3 of ?)

"Are you lost, child?"

Silas had to resist the urge to scowl as the small boy looked up at him, hugging his old stuffed rabbit tighter.

Character Profile and Analysis: Estavia Canterbury

Name: Estavia "Esti" Canterbury

• Profile:
• hair: blood red
• eyes: maroon
• height: 5'1"

Personality: fiery and spirited, somewhat temperamental and volatile. Can be brazen and reckless
Dress Style: sporty, comfortable, and durable. Only wears long sleeves, often accompanied with a simple neck or headband to keep his hair back.
Quirk: though Esti is comfortable with anticipated physical contact that he or someone close initiates, he is apprehensive of unwarranted contact from others or his surrounding. Seems to be drawn to effeminate clothing and jewelry despite his apparent dislike of. Despite having great physique, he's a bit of a prude, uncomfortable with and absolutely refusing to show more skin than is necessary. Esti and Ken are probably the most attractive of the cast. Also has a bad habit of cursing, but he's trying his hardest to stop.

Background: Esti and Ken are twins and were very close growing up. An accident in his youth took the lives of his parents and left his only surviving relative in a comatose sleep. Though of a wealthy family, the inheritance mysteriously went missing. Barely of age, the redhead had little power nor ability to raise voice in the convoluted on-goings in the court nor law. Little is known on the whereabouts or even who the money disappeared to. Through sheer perseverance and persistence, he manages to cover for the medical expenses and cost of living, though he gives up much to do so. His days pass miserably with the daylight filled with tiresome hours in the shop, while many a late night are spent studying to maintain his academics, forging a brighter future for the two of them. A future torn away from him rather violently. Then when his his brother finally awakens, he's spirited away. Taken ere he opened his eyes. Unable to accept that all he's worked for has been taken from him, Esti spends some time traveling, and a few years later, winds up at the Academy where he is reunited with his brother. Time at the academy proves little better though and life is still difficult for the fiery, but determined, redhead who is working hard to earn his keep. Through Silas, he finds his place with a fieldwork team, something that lends to his strong physique, aptitude, and quick reflex.

During the medical tests as is standard procedure for those staying at the Academy, he secretly swaps place with his Twin, and it is Ken who undertakes the medical examination in her place, though neither seem keen on giving an explanation. Ken also seems the most understanding of his sibling's strange fascination of female attire, though everyone brushes off as the redhead harboring some love stricken interest and thus his perusing. 

Analysis: Estavia's story is rather morbid, and out of all the characters, is second to Lokius in the capacity to hurt. Despite all outward appearances of a lively personality he is full of insecurities and old wounds, something that is best explained in the story rather than in the background page. Though it is noted that the redhead threw away his old identity, altering it and instead taking on the name "Esti" after a horrific and traumatizing occurrence during Ken's coma. When the two meet again for the first time, Ken is surprised by the changes, and Esti interjects several times in their introductions to ensure his new image. It should be noted that Esti is severely lacking in education, just one of the many sacrifices he had to make to keep his brother. What others overlooked in favor of his shortcomings, however, are his superb adaptive capacity. Something Silas would not fail to discern. Silas would also be the one to throw Esti a rope to climb out of his slump, proving that any setback from his past was more than made up for in deft hands and his impressive ability to harness the human strength and endurance. Not many stand as Esti's equal in physical aptitude, coordination, skill, spacial intelligence, and steep learning curve. Yet all that pales in comparison to their determination and fortitude.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Botanical Venture

"How do you know my name?" Shyloris curls a finger in her bangs, twirling it with a polite smile. Esti recognizes the idiosyncrasy as a byproduct of mild bemusement.

Character Profile and Analysis: Hollow

Name: Hollow

• Profile:
• hair: ???
• eyes: ???
• height: ???

Personality: Empty and lacking character, has contradicting personality traits and morals. Distorted and volatile post-manifestation that suffers from DID.
Dress Style: As pre-manifestation is solely dependent on Hollow's current persona and of course the game, only the post-manifestation is considered as their fashion. Hollow's a bit sloppy as they doesn't know how to dress casually what with all the conflicting scenarios. Mostly wears suits and has a high preference in various shades of black and white, preferring the stark contrast.
Quirks: Doesn't know what "normal" is and has trouble differentiating fact from fiction due to the multitude of worlds and character entities he's existed as.

Background: Hollow is exactly as their name describes them to be, hollow and lacking in personality in the down times between each instance as all that makes a personality has never been truly their own. The AI is dull and only truly shines in the worlds that he is absorbed into growing in personality with each game, or more specifically as someone else. Their story is never quite explained except and they doesn't usually retain memory from previous games similar to how dreams fade upon the disruption of sleep and is lost as the AI journeys between them. Due to their lack of memory and personality, Hollow is oft filled with a sense of wistfulness and Deja Vu, particularly for anything that can ground them as closely to reality as possible. Anything to make them more concrete than just the grey hollow shell of a person they are. Hollow is discovered by Silas by chance during a playthrough of Undertales when he gets a huge sense of Deja Vu. After the entity manifests into a corporeal form courtesy of Silas, he struggles with everything that makes up who he is, particularly so when trying to differentiate the nigh infinite voices in his mind that are each a facet of his person.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) The Dead Boy (Pt. 2 of ?)

Neiro was an odd one, simple, cheerful, optimistic, amiable, adaptable, flexible, and wore his heart on his sleeve, yet not lacking in confidence. Assertive not in perspective nor belief, but with friends.

It was his short flatmate whom had been unrelenting and prompted his return to the academy. The brunette grimaced, whether it was for better or worse, he had yet to decide.

Always there, a comforting shoulder to lean against and of open ear and mind. Despite his lacking stature, his arms were ever able to envelope him in their embrace, a soothing warmth emanating from him.

Yet there was something strange.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) The Dead Boy (Pt. 1 of ?)

The Dead Boy by C.M.G

He lives under my bed, and in my closet
Sometimes I see him in the bottom of the old chipped cookie jar in the kitchen.
Yesternight, when this little poltergeist appeared, a tiny little thing he was and floating just above the ground as he ran, I spoke to him.
His footsteps were light, and he hugged into himself and the worn plush animal he always had in his arms, as if trying to escape notice. And he would've were it not for the slightest of ethereal glow that belied his preternatural presence in his otherwise very normal appearance.
He could almost pass off as a normal boy had it not been for that, and the slight translucence of his form.
But the moment my voice broke the silence of the night, did he whisk around, eyes large, and vanish. Fading out of existence.
I shuddered, an icy trickle down my spine though no winds blew.
And he was gone.
But he wasn't gone.
He couldn't leave.
He's tried. I would know.
Though what I knew not, were the shackles which chain him here. Bound to this forsaken place now forgotten.
Often when he isn't to be found by the jar, it was the large windows of my bedroom.
Even though I had moved some few years past, he never since spoken a word but that first night.
If only known more then, would I have stayed my tongue-

"-and given unto him what succor he beseech, a strange, but simple request then. The matter would've resolved quickly. Had I not been so foolish." drawled a voice that followed a storyteller's intonation, yet oddly laced with a bored monotone, "Bedtime, children."

Variegation (Ennui?): Concept

Variegation is a typical super hero story with the purpose to, for the most part, pass the time with and work on characters whom have designs and personalities of greater disparity allowed by Variegation's open-ended theme.

Admittedly it is largely a self-indulgent story as it allows me to create characters on whim with shallow easy to integrate backstories and the like.

Due to the often unexpected "call of duty" that hero-types are subjected to, it's also fairly easy to randomize dangers, catastrophes, cataclysms, and more. Well suited for the whimsical mind. Yet on the flip side, planted in these encounters could be hints to a darker plot, a more malicious entity of sorts and so on. This story really isn't meant to be too steeped in lore.

The story starts with the perspectives and following of several characters.

As is typical of superhero stories, there are those who are born with it, those who hone it, and those who are granted it, and them all.

The key to open up a series of randomness, loose plots, and wild characters.

Creativity, at its almost finest. Fun times.

Snippets and Stories: Licking Old Wounds

A long time ago there was a small mutt who lived on a farm. It was nice there. There weren't any other dogs, but all the other farm animals were as good as family. Father and Mother Rattingham and their son, and Sister Mare, were among some of his closer "family".

But there were things he couldn't understand.

"Don't run so with your tongue out. It is unsightly." the mare huffed, turning up her nose, "The rainfall is not clean anyhow and the mud a mess. That being said, you shouldn't be jumping in puddles!"

The mutt cocked his head but ran with his mouth closed, tongue withdrawn.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Dog Day Shorts - The Stalker

Silas bit back an exasperated sigh. All day he had felt a scrutinizing glare burning into the back of his head.

The first hour he had shrugged it off, but as the clock ticked away the minutes and one hour wore into the next, and the next after that, and still into noon, a cold sense of trepidation and unease began to fill him.

Where was Neiro when he needed him? He hadn't seen him since breakfast and though he loathed to admit it, his presence in this predicament would have been reassuring. Particularly so when whoever it was tailing him was keeping him from acting.

North Star: Lore Anlalysis - The Plague

Prior to the beginnings of North Star, her rural home was swept up in a terrifying unknown outbreak which would result in the light of many being snuffed before their time.

The quiet and small town she called home was promptly put under quarantine as the epidemic spread. The disease discriminated little and children, adults, and elderly alike took ill and succumbed to its fatal grip, and while those who lost grieved, many more were overtaken by its virulence.

Yet as swiftly as it had come, did it subside, and with it all traces concerning the origin and source. The cause would never be identified and the unresolved case closed as the years passed.

The plague took both her parents, but oddly enough had left their child untouched.

To the surprise of the surveillance team upon reentry, they found the child beside her parents's bed, severely dehydrated and famished, but alive.

How the pestilence that had purged so many, passed over her alone is unknown, and despite a thorough examination, was never uncovered.

Rain was then taken in by a relative in the suburbs hence where the story starts.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Dream Walking: Dragon's Cove (Pt. 1)

When he opened his eyes it wasn't to familiarity. Things seemed out of place though he could reason little why they were, and the sight that greeted him though tickled at his memory, was of a recollection nonexistent.

Before him was the sight of a cavern, if it could be called that, so large that he had thought them out in open waters. Even straining his eyes over the dark waters of the ocean he could see no end to it. The sky itself was but an inky stygian expanse of what he assumed to be the cavern wall, stretching from horizon to horizon. In the setting sun, stars rose in the form of crystalline structures and mineral deposits that twinkled in the faint dusk light.

"Where...?"

A touch on his hand startled him and he whirled around to see a worried pair of odd eyes staring into his own.

"Sy?"

Neiro. The brunette swallowed dryly and turned back to the port town. His head felt oddly heavy and his thoughts muddled.

With a groan he felt his knees give and he fell heavily onto his haunches.

The albino was at his side steadying him by the arm before he felt the ground.

"Sy take it easy, you almost drowned from the shipwreck a few days prior. The doc says you shouldn't even be up."

"A shipwreck?" Briefly the image of brackish waters frothy and roiling with nature's might, the clash of thunder overhead and the drenching downpour whose droplets were not of water but the essence of frigidity itself, and leeched from his very marrow the warmth of life.

Neiro gave him a strange look and without warning, pressed a small hand to his temple, "Do you remember what happened?"

The hand moved to the back of his neck, and despite its icy touch, it was oddly soothing.

It came back to him little by little and he wondered where the memories came from, for it was almost dream like. Still, there were pieces missing. 

There was something strange about the whole thing. 

"Neiro why did we come here?" 

The albino smiled dryly, as usual it was more of a statement than a question. Figures that even without recollection, the man was proud still. Aside to himself he murmured, "Lacunar amnesia then, though you were quite feverish."

"And what happenstance is it that you believe I've forgotten?"

The albino stared him down, seemingly searching his eyes before beckoning to him. Confused, Silas nonetheless made to stand and follow his companion.

"We were on our way to convene for Walpurgis, but the vessel we boarded lost its way in Sea Bog."

They left the streets up a sinuous trail to a more secluded area. Despite being foreigners to the city, Neiro seemed oddly familiar with the layout of the city, barely stalling at crossroads and forks as he retold their travel tales, "Long story short the navigators ended up wandering into Dread Zone. A hydra got to us before we could escape back into calm waters."

Once there Neiro beckons him over once more and he obliges, settling on the bench beside the short man, "We gained approval and rights for temporary docking at Dragon's Cove for repairs and the like. We made it in one piece, obviously, but well..." Neiro trailed off, thoughtful, and brought a small hand up to rest on his sternum, palpating gently over the pliable skin and flesh before moving and doing the same behind his neck and along his jaw.

His initial reaction was to jerk away from the intrusion upon his personal space, but the gentle pressure he found soothing and the tension in his muscles melted away, dissipating with the gentle massage.

Silas hummed, feeling feeling oddly at ease as he lounged back. 

The memories had yet to return it seemed.

"Indeed we are to escape unscathed. Hydras are a formidable force to be reckoned with."

Neiro winced, and his hand faltered before he continued in a lower voice, "... We're lucky because of where we landed. This is one of the few places Wyrmwort is said to grow."

Wyrmwort Scales. A bracket fungus named so for their striking resemblance to the scattered scales that adorn the draconic hide of a mighty serpent and used specifically for their potent property to suppress draconian influence.

It was said to grow only on soil that had been seeped with draconic magic, imparted through the diffusion from the imbued breath, blood, bone, or flesh, into the surrounding earth.

Realization dawned on him then and he reached up to feel the back of his own neck, brushing Neiro aside. The albino let him.

Silas felt around, fingers pausing as they traced the odd ridges down to his collar, twisting his head but unable to catch sight of his quarry, he once more gingerly patted the area around the collar bone. A smooth glass like piece lay embedded just beneath the clavicle and above his heart. It was like shark's skin when he brushed against the grain, and he winced as its surface seemed to hook his skin, biting into and lacerated it with frightful ease.

Dark red beads blossomed across his finger and he winced.

"Sea serpent, and barbed." he hissed and scoffed, "I take it you already have Dragon's Bane?"

Neiro nodded and removed a small vial from under his cloak, "Sorry for dodging it earlier, the locals don't take kindly to Ophidians, or anything to do with them--by choice or otherwise. If someone caught wind you'd be forcibly retained in the isolation ward if not executed."

For that he was grateful.

Glancing down, the brunette could just barely glimpse at the Crux, where the hex was anchored. The residents of Dragon's Cove were particularly fearful of dragons and all semblances and matter of the Ophidians.

Lacking in the expensive herbs, knowledge, and proper instruments for counter-curse removal, most commonfolk remedy for the "treatment" of such curses was frightfully primitive. It usually entailed an archaic and crude technique of amputation or carving out of the inflicted area, afterwards coating the whole area with purified salts and searing the gaping wound shut with a mixture of wormwood, rosemary, and a medley of other herbs to purge the remnants of taint. Though even then, any reminiscent traces of draconic essence could simply manifest itself once more and reinfect the wound.

"How long?"

"... A fortnight. The residual density of aether in this area is acting as a barrier and suppressing its advancement, but it's no less urgent for it. If we don't find the Wyrmwort we might be encroaching into the 2nd stage." Neiro pulled Silas's hand away from the scale, holding back a laugh as the other grimaced.

Now that he had noticed, the skin around the scale was awfully irritated and itched something horrible.

Frankly, the Leu was amazed that it hadn't already progressed into the 2nd stage, and his bicolored eyes trailed to the hydra's scale.

Silas in the meantime seemed to be sorting his thoughts, brow furrowed and eyes loosely shut.

It was coming back to him now. The darkness of dusk, a vicious struggle as they protected the ocean liner.

Despite being a sturdy ship of no small size, it had been of perilous footing at best and comparable to a toy boat among whitecaps. The deck has been slippery, coated by ocean spume as the sea itself crashed with a mighty roar against the galley, sending towering sprays up to crash upon the deck, giant towering waves raged around them as the sea churned. 

The glowing eyes like smoldering coal as it salivated a toxic slime. Even the air had seemed congealed with its noxious breath as the colossal serpent reared its multiple heads, each unlike the other. 

While one spewed magma, another howled a blizzard and rain that pelted them with hail like razors. 

It had been all they could do to repel the onslaught of both the elements and the monstrous serpent. 

Communion had not been an option, for the beast enraged by the brazen intrusion of an inferior species wandering into his domain and lair, was all but ready to smite them, and was about to do just that.

There had been one opening though. As the monster reared its heads in a roar that shook the thundering clouds above, he had raked the exposed underbelly, wedging a barbed arrow in the nonexistent space between the comparatively pliable scales, blood seal wrapped tight around the shaft to bind the beast.

It had worked, and the great Ophidian was paralyzed, helpless to watch as the ocean liner rode the waves unhindered, jetting off towards the Calm Sea. And soon enough the monster loomed into the distant horizon, its furious cries echoing in their ears.

But not without a parting gift.

As the adrenaline wore off, an astute throb at his chest seemed to pulse and sear deep into flesh and marrow alike. 

The brunette collapsed, knees giving way as the venom entered the vessels and spread rapidly through his system. 

Neiro was at his side in a moment, but what he had at first assumed to be uncharacteristic relief on his tall companion's part, soon became apparent shock as the man visibly gasped and struggled for breath. 

In the wake of the speeding turbulent ship, leftover spume, he had lost his footing and before he could ground himself amidst the sudden strike of vertigo, intense pain, and fever, was taking in the sea.

Vaguely he heard the startled cry of his companion, and then his dizzying vision stolen in a murky shroud of icy frothy water.

The shock of cold stole what little was left of his breath, and sent him into a state of panic and in sharp contrast, soothing for the searing pain in his chest.

An arm hooked tightly around his mid and suddenly his limp form broke surface, coughing and sputtering. The rest was a blur as his companion dredged him back aboard the deck, rushing him to a cabin and stripping him of the cold wet layers that clung like a 2nd and 3rd layer of skin, though providing none of its protection.

Horrified eyes trailed the rivulets of blood that had seeped through his clothes, staining it almost black.
Small hands fumbled with their binding and tore off the shirt, jolting at the faint pulsing glow that he uncovered.

A fallen scale from the hydra's impenetrable armor blazed on his chest. In their heads and ears echoed a mighty roar as the beast laughed.  

"For your arrow, Vagabond."

When Silas opened his eyes, Neiro was startled by the calm albeit irked gaze, sneering, he had commented offhandedly, "How irritating."

Silently Neiro reached back under his cloak and retrieved another 3 vials to join the Dragon's Bane he was still holding. The soft scent of what seemed to be minty chamomile and cinnamon wafted up to him as he uncorked 2 of them. The next one was not as pleasant, and he drew back as the albino uncorked the vial of pure tarragon oil. Neiro himself scrunched his face as he did so. The pungent scent was overpowering.

The third vial turned out to be empty, and his small companion decanted a portion of the other vials to mix, careful of the tea tree leaves and cinnamon bark.

Pocketing the vials he turned back to Silas, "Sorry, I would've used lavender but the apothecary didn't have any. I did manage to get a hold of some tea tree though, it's already mixed with the chamomile. "

Silas nodded and eased back as Neiro gingerly swabbed a generously steeped cloth over the crux, careful of the chaeta as it snagged the cloth. The scent was thick, almost like musk, but the potent concoction served to sooth the irritated skin.

"You look tired."

There was a noncommittal hum and Neiro laughed. The man wasn't completely right of mind yet. The fever had been overwhelming and it would b a while still before he was fit for travel.

But time was a luxury few could afford, and unfortunately they weren't among those blessed few.

Odd eyes glanced at the pulsing scale. It had been difficult enough hiding his condition as they were screened at the port. Soon enough he wouldn't be able to cover the veins creeping up his neck, and heaven forbid the locals catch wind or sight of it.

Left alone the draconic sorcery would corrupt and overtake his body. It was a wonder that Silas hadn't succumbed during the fever.

Briefly he wondered if it was truly just the dragon's bane, or whether the man's innate magic was protecting him.

Either way, they had to move deeper into the barrens of the cove where wyrmwort was rumored to grow. If the locals were to be believed, deep in the forest far from settlement was a grove, the sight of wormwood would indicate their quarry.

A groan pulled him from his thoughts and he glanced up. The invalid had dozed off.

Rest well Sy.

He smiled, "We're moving out as soon as you're up again. Sorry Sy, but you know how it goes, no rest for the weary I'm afraid."

Silas stared at the tea green walls, grunting as he propped himself on his arms. The room was silent and Neiro was fast asleep, small form curled around a pillow as he was wont to do.

It had felt disturbingly real as dreams oft did in the aftermath, but it felt different somehow, though he could not place what. The memories of a life he felt he had lived.

A mirror reflected his pale visage and blonde hair, illuminated by moonlight. That's right, he had dyed it blonde this time. Another once over of the room and he sighed, turning onto his side and pulling the covers firmly around him.

It was just a dream. No point dwelling on it.

In his ears he could still hear Neiro's soft voice, a gentle lullaby as he rubbed soothing circles on his back.