Waking up was a hazy thing, a cloud not only over the archivists eye's that didn't seem to want to lift, but one over his mind. One that made it hard to remember where he'd been before he'd fallen asleep. Had he fallen asleep? No, that wasn't quite right was it. He'd been healed, that much he remembered. Healed from his encounter with the false god, and back home, sore, but whole and resting.
It had been a mistake to accept something for the pain. It had left him vulnerable in the wake of sending his husband away to deal with the starvation that was spreading across the Free Marches almost worse than the flames before it. Faelyn had never allowed others within their home, much less guardsmen. There was no need for it. Arlathan was safe. It was supposed to be his refuge, knowing that he and his people could not be touched within its borders while the Wolf watched. But years before, in insisting that his home be constructed on the very edges, in seeking his solitude, Faelyn had left them all open to this very act.
A familiar weight was at his throat. Heavy and oppressive, one that he had not felt for thousands of years. That caught his attention first as pale grey eyes slowly opened to survey the unfamiliar surroundings. He was not in Arlathan anymore, nor was he alone it seemed. These were not people he knew, but yet they were to share the same cage it seemed. This was a situation he was familiar with, one that he knew immediately where they all stood. And just how very screwed they all were if they were not careful.
Faelyn was also deeply aware that the golden vines that curled around his face, neck, and arms, marked him for what he was. If these people could see past it. It marked him a slave, and he hoped that they saw it for that... not as someone who devoted himself to the very man who'd left those marks in the first place. A precarious situation to be in. All of it was precarious.
While he was unsure if he was the first one to wake or not, he needed to provide what hope he could. And to keep sanity and reason above all else if they were to escape.
Summary: Reflection on where he'd been before he was taken (home in Arlathan). Awoken, and somewhat unnerved that his vallaslin could be misconstrued for happy dedication to Elgarn'an rather than a mark of slavery. A request to remain calm, and quiet.
Order: Nezumi, Zezette, Stringbat, Ashon, Stitchy.
It had been a mistake to accept something for the pain. It had left him vulnerable in the wake of sending his husband away to deal with the starvation that was spreading across the Free Marches almost worse than the flames before it. Faelyn had never allowed others within their home, much less guardsmen. There was no need for it. Arlathan was safe. It was supposed to be his refuge, knowing that he and his people could not be touched within its borders while the Wolf watched. But years before, in insisting that his home be constructed on the very edges, in seeking his solitude, Faelyn had left them all open to this very act.
A familiar weight was at his throat. Heavy and oppressive, one that he had not felt for thousands of years. That caught his attention first as pale grey eyes slowly opened to survey the unfamiliar surroundings. He was not in Arlathan anymore, nor was he alone it seemed. These were not people he knew, but yet they were to share the same cage it seemed. This was a situation he was familiar with, one that he knew immediately where they all stood. And just how very screwed they all were if they were not careful.
Faelyn was also deeply aware that the golden vines that curled around his face, neck, and arms, marked him for what he was. If these people could see past it. It marked him a slave, and he hoped that they saw it for that... not as someone who devoted himself to the very man who'd left those marks in the first place. A precarious situation to be in. All of it was precarious.
While he was unsure if he was the first one to wake or not, he needed to provide what hope he could. And to keep sanity and reason above all else if they were to escape.
If you are awake, good... If you are able bodied, better. But whatever you do, I beg you to stay quiet and keep your voices low. If we are very, very lucky, we may yet slip beyond without loss of limb, or worse yet, life.
Summary: Reflection on where he'd been before he was taken (home in Arlathan). Awoken, and somewhat unnerved that his vallaslin could be misconstrued for happy dedication to Elgarn'an rather than a mark of slavery. A request to remain calm, and quiet.
Order: Nezumi, Zezette, Stringbat, Ashon, Stitchy.
07-09-2023, 10:18 PM
