Falon'Din was gone. Not gone, relocated.
Chip was alive.
Inala was back.
It should've been a happy moment it was all tainted with the stain of his actions. His actions. Destruction at his hand when he'd been too weak willed to stop Falon'Din from consuming him. Death at his hand. He had a front row seat, the veil in his mind lifting in those last moments where it was usually pitch black. His crowning act was to show Carasson visions that would haunt him for the rest of his life. In the moments when Xochipilli succumbed to his might, there was Carasson, beating madly at the barrier, his face twisted in anguish, his screams muted. When the wraiths appeared, their death masks unmovable as they awaited orders, there was Carasson.
He remembered it all.
And instead of sticking around to face the music and rebuild what they'd lost, he fled. He ran, and ran and ran until there was nowhere left to run. He would then shift into his hawk form and sail into the clouds, beating his wings against an unforgiving current until he was atop the loneliest peak of the tallest mountain. It was there that he would stay, only doing so much to keep himself alive but wondering if that was even worth the trouble after a while. Especially when a frozen wind would lash against his exposed skin day and night and unforgiving punishment he knew he deserved. He couldn't face them because he couldn't bear to see their expressions. It was a pain that guttered him, siphoning what remained of his fortitude, his self preservation.
He missed them.
He lost track of time and by the time he connected with one of the Frozen Peak clans, and found Thedas was rife with chaos as it always was. He might've ignored mention of the rising heat, had news of Arlathan's inferno not reached him before he'd fully made up his mind to return to his misery. Arlathan was where the clan had retreated when everything had descended into chaos. Where would they go, now?
It was the impetus he needed to return, the guise he would use to hide a desperate yearning to see the two most important people in his life. Maybe if they could help Arlathan together....they could....what? Fix everything broken? It was very fantastical.
No.
Nothing would be the same and yet there was nothing to fix the twin holes in his heart but the very painful truth. So he would try.
He arrived in Arlathan first, assessing the damage that continued to worsen as the heat continued to rise. He didn't make himself known to the rest and instead bent his head and followed the crowd as they decided to travel via eluvian to their ruined clan center. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he stepped through, but it was so much worse. His body turned numb as he took in the destruction, his mouth going dry when the very person he dreading seeing stepped above them, unavoidable. Cara's eyes cast up.
Xochipilli.
Chip was alive.
Inala was back.
It should've been a happy moment it was all tainted with the stain of his actions. His actions. Destruction at his hand when he'd been too weak willed to stop Falon'Din from consuming him. Death at his hand. He had a front row seat, the veil in his mind lifting in those last moments where it was usually pitch black. His crowning act was to show Carasson visions that would haunt him for the rest of his life. In the moments when Xochipilli succumbed to his might, there was Carasson, beating madly at the barrier, his face twisted in anguish, his screams muted. When the wraiths appeared, their death masks unmovable as they awaited orders, there was Carasson.
He remembered it all.
And instead of sticking around to face the music and rebuild what they'd lost, he fled. He ran, and ran and ran until there was nowhere left to run. He would then shift into his hawk form and sail into the clouds, beating his wings against an unforgiving current until he was atop the loneliest peak of the tallest mountain. It was there that he would stay, only doing so much to keep himself alive but wondering if that was even worth the trouble after a while. Especially when a frozen wind would lash against his exposed skin day and night and unforgiving punishment he knew he deserved. He couldn't face them because he couldn't bear to see their expressions. It was a pain that guttered him, siphoning what remained of his fortitude, his self preservation.
He missed them.
He lost track of time and by the time he connected with one of the Frozen Peak clans, and found Thedas was rife with chaos as it always was. He might've ignored mention of the rising heat, had news of Arlathan's inferno not reached him before he'd fully made up his mind to return to his misery. Arlathan was where the clan had retreated when everything had descended into chaos. Where would they go, now?
It was the impetus he needed to return, the guise he would use to hide a desperate yearning to see the two most important people in his life. Maybe if they could help Arlathan together....they could....what? Fix everything broken? It was very fantastical.
No.
Nothing would be the same and yet there was nothing to fix the twin holes in his heart but the very painful truth. So he would try.
He arrived in Arlathan first, assessing the damage that continued to worsen as the heat continued to rise. He didn't make himself known to the rest and instead bent his head and followed the crowd as they decided to travel via eluvian to their ruined clan center. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he stepped through, but it was so much worse. His body turned numb as he took in the destruction, his mouth going dry when the very person he dreading seeing stepped above them, unavoidable. Cara's eyes cast up.
Xochipilli.
I'm so sorryHe would whisper as he lowered the hood and stood stock still at the edge of the panicked crowd.
05-08-2023, 08:29 PM
