Don’t ask him why he bothered. He wanted to test out his own truth, to see just how far along this dreaded curse was. Perhaps it was restlessness, or loneliness, or delirium. But here Rogier was, attempting to stand. To walk. He propped himself up against the wall, letting the blanket slide halfway to the ground. It caught on the thorny protrusions sticking out from his legs, and he swallowed an agonizing groan as he tried to let the weight of himself balance against the pain.
He could move one leg, and it looked as if he might be able to make another, towards the balcony railing, but his hand does not quite reach it in time. He falls onto the cold floor, and he’s horribly reminded of how long it took him to crawl out from beneath Stormveil. Alone and subject to the most horrible pain.
“Be gone,” he forces himself to say in a sad attempt of a warning growl when he hears the footfalls of someone to find him. He can get back into his chair by himself. Rogier could do that much. He wished not to be looked down upon. No longer in his former glory, he was still a person worthy of his own agency, yes?
His arms were strong enough to push him up to a sitting position, and while the thorns and roots scrape loudly and unpleasantly against the stones, he grits through it and stares at nothing. “I’ll be just fine.”
It could be much worse than this, he thinks. But he’s furious all the same, digging his fingers into the cloth of his trousers, not caring as the blood seeps through from the wrappings of the thorny vines.
` ♛ ⸻ Ducking through the cramped doors of the hold Maliketh comes upon the sight of the spellblade Tarnished on their side, tangled vines and sharp thorns digging into twill trousers. He can smell it; the blight in all of its awful stench. He continues his way across the great hall towards the protruding balcony where he takes position on his hind legs, looking at the man’s predicament.
Now, he doesn’t take too kindly to being addressed in such a way. Nose scrunching up as a low hum trembles in his throat, his fangs almost bare if he hadn’t recalled the courtesy of another Tarnished though, he still wonders why most of them proved to be so stubborn? The comment is brushed off, the shadow deciding to side with patience.
Maliketh huffs. “If you worry about your dignity, I assure you that you would not lose it if another were to lend their hand to you, sorcerer.”
Through his mask he examines the other’s condition, both paws moving into action as one reaches over the wooden railing and takes hold of the seat to bring it closer for the man to sit. He retrieves the blanket and permits the sorcerer to at least try and settle down comfortably on their own. “This blight has not yet consumed you entirely as we speak.”
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