#aelium

[sasster]

Aelium what are your plans for the new sweep?

~) Spending s)x(me time with new friends and )x(ld |

[kervl-klear]

[sasster]

And Then?

im still SICK so if you see any typos, no you didn’t tw: blood Uhm, yeah, here’s the next part of the other drabble! If you’re lost, you should probably read that one first. [doc] —

This must be what divine intervention feels like, was the first thought that passed through Aelium’s mind when he woke up, not on the floor, but in a bed softer than anything he’d ever laid on.

For a time that felt like eternity he was surrounded by vast nothingness that even swirled through him at times, if he made a sound in that nothingness it did not reach his ears, nor did his lips move. Eternity was not enough time for him to catch his bearings, because before he knew it he was awake, in this bed, with a blanket thrown over his head.

Didn’t he die?

There were two voices murmuring with each other somewhere else in the room, but he refused to pull the covers up from his head to find what fresh hell Persep’d sent him to. He died, didn’t he?

“The fuckin’ puppet broke my phone, and I think he did something to my other connections, I can’t really call anyone that can deal with this.” Was the first voice, it was one he’d never heard before, but it sounded more annoyed than anything about the situation.

“I don’t even think I know anyone that has half an idea how to deal with something like this.” Came the response, a voice crowned by the grogginess of someone that deserved to be brumating peacefully, not being bled for however many days and nights that he was. Areios sighs. “Zeke, none of it makes any sense. Can’t we just burn the body?”

“If you say he died before and came back, I don’t think we should try to leave it to a simple burning.”

Areios groaned.

Poor thing. They must be talking about Persep, though Aelium couldn’t fathom why Persep would be the one that died. He was very clearly not the one that was stabbed in the heart.

At that thought, he reached up to touch his chest and found only the memory of having been stabbed; A fresh scar. The movement caused his hand to throb something awful, and he was reminded also that he’d broken thumb. His thumb was still broken, but the wound over his chest was closed up.

That didn’t make sense either. He did not enjoy playing in Persep’s world.

“Looks like your friend is up.”

The movement must have gotten the attention of the owner of the unknown voice and what came next was the sound of Areios lumbering over to his side, before he knew it he was wrapped up in his arms.

“Aelium, are you okay?”

He only nodded into his chest as the blanket was removed from his head. Then he caught a glimpse of the blue haired human that stood over his twin, now bound where Areios was.

“This one is breathing, too.” He said without turning to see the reunion of the two purple bloods. “Let me figure out what to do here.”

“I can call our ancestor.” Aelium whispered with an impossibly small voice, unsure.

Zeke laughed.

“Great, more Lycaons. It’s not like we have much of a choice here. Call ‘em up.”

—

By the time Thanat arrived, Persep was definitely awake. The unperturbed human had the foresight of blindfolding him before he woke up, “So he’s not tempted to do anything funny,” Zeke’d said as he did it.

Bound and blindfolded like that, Aelium found that he was much less intimidating. He didn’t seem fit for a conversation though, so silence was what he, Areios, and Persep sat in when Zeke walked into the room with their elder.

Thanat wasted no time crossing into the room and stopping directly in front of his blindfolded descendant, the scowl he sported was mostly obscured by his hair, but Aelium’d spent enough time with the pair of them to know it was there.

“Hey there, Embalmer. You’re late.”

“You must have forgotten to send out my invitation.”

“I figured you’ve been busy enjoying the company of The Evocator. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Even Aelium knew this was a sore subject, but what he could not anticipate was what came next. A growl ripped out of Thanat’s throat, and he snatched Persep up to his feet by the hair. The usual serenity their ancestor carried with him was swept out of the room as the growl increased in intensity.

Persep has a way of bringing out the worst in the other Lycaons, it seems.

“So,” Zeke interjected, leaning around the growling reaper to get his attention, as though this was all nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “Areios said that he stabbed Aelium in the chest and then fainted. That’s weird, right?”

The growling stopped almost immediately. “Is that so?”

There was no answer, and in the sudden silence, Thanat leaned over to grab the previously discarded knife from the floor.

“Is that so?” He repeated when he didn’t get the answer that he was looking for, then he shook Persep by the hair to indicate from whom he’d expected the answer. Persep only tried, fruitlessly, to pull himself free instead of answering. “Very well.”

In one clear stroke, the knife that ended Aelium’s life once again found itself spilling Lycaon blood. A darkness draped itself over the Embalmer and from the angle Aelium and Areios watched him slit Persep’s throat, it was hard not to see the resemblance the two held. Dark eyes, and a smug sense of satisfaction crossed his features.

Aelium and Areios watched in stunned silence, but Zeke laughed, a little hysterical.

“Fuck, I mean, you’re kidding right? Aren’t there rules to this shit?”

Perseps head lulled, only held firm by the hold Thanat had on it, and for all intents and purposes, he seemed to be well and truly dead. A second later he gasped for air and seemingly regained his faculties.

Once again, Aelium found himself touching the new scar on his chest, and once again fear started to cloud his thoughts, tugging at his resolve.

“I actually died?” He mumbled, so small that only Areios could hear him. The behemoth responded by pulling him in close. Nothing in Persep’s world makes proper sense, he wanted so badly to wake up from this nightmare.

“There are rules,” Thanat mused, ignorant to Aelium’s question, as he carelessly dropped Persep to the ground. “He already broke one.”

“Congratulations, pest.” He spit down at the troll down by his feet. “You’ve tethered your immortality.” The statement was accompanied by a kick to the ribs that no one in the room was expecting.

Persep swallowed something that sounded like a mix between a laugh and a cry, mutated by the new slit in his neck. The slit that, with the sickening sound of skin squelching against skin, seemed to be mending itself.

Aelium and Areios held each other tightly, or as tightly as they could given the exhaustion the day’s events left behind.  Aelium noted the way the giant’s arms quivered around him.

“He’s a reaper, then?”  Zeke clarified, not for himself, but the two in the room that’d been forcefully thrusted into this world. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” The Embalmer echoed calmly, with his attention now on someone other than his disgrace of a descendant, the clear animosity that poisoned his features melted away. “I really do not know how he did it.”

“That’s really fucked up.” Zeke mumbled.

An uncomfortable silence settled around the five of them, leaving them all to stew in the gravity of what this all meant. Aelium struggled to understand the nuance of what being a reaper meant. And why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t as though any of this made even a lick of sense.

Persep died sweeps ago, he should still be dead.

Aelium himself was just stabbed in the heart, and there was clearly no medical intervention, he should be dead.

He groaned at the headache that started to throb stronger and stronger, this caused Areios to attempt to tighten his hold on him. Selfishly, he drank in the fact that Areios didn’t seem to hold any of this against him.

Maybe he’d never held anything against him after all.

“Can you spell this out for those of us present that have no idea what being a reaper means?” He asked, voice partially muffled into the chest of his giant friend.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head too much, Leli.” Persep said as he brought himself to his feet, his blindfold now undone and slipping to the ground, with a saccharine smile and smugness that made him sound much too happy. “It was not exactly how I planned, but it just means I’ll be here for a while.”

“Yeah, that’s what immortal means. Thanks.” The human, that Aelium wished he had half the backbone of, said in a voice that dripped with sarcasm. “Basically, he found a way to break his bind to a very powerful God — Thazilis must be pissed off by the way — and the universe reconciled that by tethering him to itself.”

Aelium strained to look at Thanat for confirmation, who only nodded along solemnly.

“That doesn’t sound like good news.”

“It’s not good news, it’s like, medium news?” Zeke responded, also turning to look at Thanat, he nodded again. “It means he can’t hurt or kill people anymore, which I guess are his main hobbies?”

Perseps silence was starting to get to Aelium, so he turned his troubled gaze to his twin. Persep was standing at his full height, the chains that offered Aelium the peace of mind that held him together, were undone and pooled at his feet.

Though Thanat seemed unbothered by this, his hand immediately held firm in the younger man’s hair again, keeping him in place, he couldn’t help but be a little nervous that his twin was no longer so thoroughly restrained.

“That’s why he passed out when he stabbed you in the heart. Killing a mortal is the biggest no-no for a reaper, and the universe was correcting his misstep.”

The human kept droning on about rules and reaper responsibilities, but the only thing that throbbed louder and louder in his ears was the confirmation that he did, in fact, die. For a few moments, just a few moments.

He died for a few moments.

His head started spinning, the smell of the blood on his shirt finally started to suffocate him.

When’d the room get so hot? Why couldn’t he make sense of anything Zeke was saying about Persep’s new lot in life? He screamed for everything to stop, for everyone to shut up, but the sound just rattled around in his skull instead of leaving his lips.

For the second time this evening, Aelium passed out, this time his fall was broken by the behemoth that held him so securely.

[sasster]

of course. check out my epic cork

~) Y)x(u are being s)x( n)x(nchalant ab)x(t it, my friend |

>He leads you to an examination table I fucking guess and starts to...Doctor you??

>Do his gentle hands make up for your sad experience at the clinic today?

[sasster]

bro kidnapped a girl

~) I.. |

~) I am s)x(rry t)x( hear that and I d)x( h)x)pe there is s)x(me res)x(luti)x(n but I can't |

>And this is hard for him to say, really.

~) Carry the burden )x(f my br)x(ther's sins any l)x(nger |

>Damn, what's in the juice that Ailzea is serving?

[sasster]

Headhunt

Get it? Because… Ah, you’ll get it. This is a commission for @byrdstrolls! Who owns Leftie :) Commissions are tentatively open but I can’t promise turnaround times right now.

[doc] — Spider never minded being among the shorter ranks of her caste. For most of her life it worked to her favor, allowing her to sneak and stealth about as she saw fit. One evening made all the difference, as she tried her damndest to keep pace with the much taller purple blood as he made his way around the church grounds. Why was he in such a rush, anyway?

She huffed when he rounded a corner and then disappeared into a crowd just beyond the garden walls.

The garden walls became her perch as she caught her breath and started to devise a plan to corner him the next time she spotted him.

–

A week later, Leftie hummed to themself as they fiddled with a set of jars containing an assortment of glitters and embossing powders that claimed to be magical cure alls, eager to set up shop for the day as they unpacked the delicately wrapped various glasses and set them in their appropriate spots. A benefit they maintain that came from the corner they chose to tuck their stall of magics in for the evening into was the fact that it was so out of the way, that it was almost impossible to sneak up on them when they were distracted. It would be a quick bike ride out of here if they ended up not making as much money as their magical bits and bobs are worth. Their ears only twitched in response to the sound of shuffling and settling against the booth behind them.

“Are you getting sloppy or were you just that excited to see me?” They questioned, a hint of excitement in their voice despite not making the attempt to look at the visitor and continuing to shelve the jars. “How was your trip to the better side of town?”

“It was totally awesome!” The visitor, their mate, exclaimed, with a flourish that saw her kicking the side of the booth.

“Careful, you’ll wake the demons I keep under there.” They chastised with a smirk. “They’ll run away and I won’t be able to ride it anymore.”

Spider laughed.

“Awesome huh? Tell me all about it, then! What did the Restorer need?”

“His daughter – You know the one made out of wood – Needed her arm reattached! Needed help putting life into it and everything. Miss Weaver let me help.”

Leftie hesitated in their movements, their fingers lingering at the edge of a mica powder filled container that promised something like eternal bliss or whatever. A pang of jealousy threatened to ground them in place before they shook the feeling away.

They couldn’t be so unfair to Spider.

“That sounds really awesome, Quill.” They didn’t have to turn to know that Spider was beaming from her where she propped herself up on her elbows. It would kill them to drain that light out of her. “I bet you did great.”

“And one more thing.”

“What’s up?”

“I met a doctor that might be able to uhm,” she paused and Leftie turned intime to see her toying nervously with one of her braids. “Help. Uhm, you know. With everything going on.” She tapped two fingers to her own temple to indicate. She did not need to elaborate. 

Quick to cover their own anxieties, Leftie clasped their hands together and casted their gaze away, as though they meant to address an invisible audience that might help them come up with a way out of this one. They swallowed a nervous chuckle.

“Quill, I–”

Spider interjected quickly.

“Just. Will you just see him? For me? Please?”

Leftie dropped their hands to their sides and turned to give her their back again. An eternity of silence drifted between them before they nodded their head.

–

“Doctor Lycaon!” She shouted from behind him, causing the object of her hunt to startle slightly.

When he recovered from the scare, he gently lowered the leg of the troll he’d been investigating. Spider might have felt bad if she couldn’t see for herself that it was just a scrape over the knee. They would live. She had more pressing things to talk about.

“Good evening,” Dr. Lycaon turned to look at her with an expression that was equal parts inquisitive and concerned. He offered a smile that met his eyes. “How can I help you?”

Spider dug her heels into the soft earth, balled her fists, and puffed out her chest, taking the time to both steel herself and gauge the reaction of the man before her.

The doctor said nothing, seemingly studying her himself, as he stood up to his full height, hands folded patiently in front of him. He was taller than she thought he’d be.

She hesitated and then the floodgates opened.

“My mate needs help. We don’t know what kind of help! But if you ask me, I think it’s purple help, okay?” He raised an eyebrow, she continued. “Everything is all locked in there and we need…I don’t know what we need. Like I said. I think the right kind of voodoos will get it all out.” Her plea came out, for the most part, in one breath, each word deflating her chest more and more. “And I know Lycaons are weird and have a whole host of things they can do. Even! Beyond the puppet string stuff. I want you to look at them. I want you to see if you can help! Please?” 

She finished with a great gasp, bracing herself as though she’d just run a marathon.

Dr. Lycaon did not do much for a moment, aside from tilting his head this way and that, no doubt wondering if it was his turn to speak.

“Will you help us?”

“I would be honored to take a look.” He offered softly, and made quick work of catching Spider when she tossed herself between the small distance that separated them in an expression of her gratitude.

–

“Why don’t you take a seat and make yourself comfortable so we can talk about what’s going on?”

Leftie followed the doctor into his office, one hand gripping Spider’s in a vice the other fiddled idly with the key around their neck. Once seated, facing the man’s desk, Leftie gave themself permission to breathe in the sterile air of his clinic. It was almost suffocating, but at least the knick knacks that decorated the desk made the doctor feel more like a person.

A voice in the back of their head mumbled something along the lines of people being able to hurt people, but they focused more on watching the doctor take his own seat across from them.

He offered a well-meaning smile.

“Let me make sure I understand; there’s a block somewhere in your brain that is preventing you from accessing your own abilities? And we don’t know what it could be or where it originated? Is that right?”

Spider opened her mouth and shut it quickly, as though she wanted to lay her theory out on the table. It would explain why Miss Weaver couldn’t help, but the thought of it always left a bad taste in Lefite’s mouth

She says nothing.

Something must have found its way into Leftie’s throat in the meantime, because words did not leave their mouth when they opened it.

They could only nod as twisted nightmares encroached on the peripherals of their mind. A world without magic, a world dark and alone. The air in the doctor’s office stung their throat, it tasted like bile. Spider squeezed their hand.

Dr. Lycaon nodded as well. “That seems like an easy enough thread to pull. Of course, it’s something you needn’t run into if it’s not causing immediate harm.” He said, and then nodded his head toward Spider when she started to rile herself up against the perceived rejection. “I won’t know for sure if it’s the result of a psychic attack or a physical trauma until I’ve gotten in there myself. I’d like to rule out other possibilities if it means not subjecting you to… Well, what needs to be done if it were psychic in nature.”

The room shifted around Leftie, a cruel optical illusion that bulged walls toward them and made the floor writhe beneath their feet.

It was one thing to be stuffed into an MRI and have a doctor poking and prodding at their body, horrifying a concept as it is, and it was another entirely to let someone just walk into their mind.

How could they be expected to invite another troll into their brain? What would he do while he was inside? The thought was almost enough to make them lose their lunch.

He sounded both miles away and as though he was speaking from directly in their head, his words filtered into their ears through thick cotton. They forced themself to speak.

“What do you have to do?” They couldn’t believe how small they felt. “If the normal stuff doesn’t work…?”

Dr. Lycaon’s reassuring smile did not waver, but there was a sadness to it, like it was his head meant to be infiltrated. “My voodoos give me complete control of the body, and very limited control of the mind. Nothing more than a suggestion, really.”

They sucked in a Nycada flavored breath.

“While I’m in there, theoretically, I should be able to feel the parts of you that are blocked off. From there, I will only have to urge it loose..”

That sounded simple, they breathed out through their nose and realized that at some point Spider must have fully wrapped her arms around their shoulders.

“It could be one session, it could be several. And we can go at whatever pace is comfortable to you. I don’t do anything without permission.” Leftie tossed a glance to Spider, finding little resolve in her hopeful smile.

“Can I take some time? To think about it?”

“Yes of course, my doors will not close to you.”

They nodded, feeling some of Spider’s hope alleviate the panic rising in their chest.

[sasster]

I give Aelium, Thanat, and Termia each a littol vase with a pretty flower in it

>Thanat, of course, does not accept the vase from your hands and indicates where on the table in front of him you can set it. He thanks you with a smile!

>Termia takes the vase with enthusiasm and pulls it close to his mask in order to investigate not just the flower, but the vase it sits in as well. After he is satisfied with his inspection, he disappears somewhere into his loft to set it down.

>Aelium thanks you and takes the vase to set right on his desk. He gives it a fond look for a brief second, thanks you again, and gets back to the paperwork he was looking through.

[sasster]

In Limbo

Uhm! This is a good time to post a drabble, hm? [Doc] —

And so it happens that an overabundance of caution can present as more of a detriment than self-preservation in the grand scheme. How else could it be that Aelium allowed himself to toil over the implications of his brush with death when at the heart of his city lives a church that specializes in such matters? Why does he feel like a stranger, spot-lit by the moons that dance through stained glass stretching high above him, that sticks out in the manner that a sore thumb might?

Nevermind that he is indeed a transplant into this city, an expat from an evil forest the likes of which one might find in a child’s tale. It’s a wonder this is his first stroke with death, when he thinks about the nature of his upbringing in that context. Nevermind, still, that he has never so much as set foot in a church, carnival, or whatever else the subjugating caste comes to call their ensembles.

Shouldn’t this be his natural habitat?

Right, well, he knows that to be an illogical response to the frustration rising for his inability to help himself. That helplessness roots him a short distance from the main entrance of the House of Restoration’s main building. If it were only as simple as a bird spreading its wings and taking easy flight to have the conversations that he needs to have.

He has only vocalized once or twice by now, his gripe with his journey across to the otherside. What could the Restorer tell him about death that he did not experience first hand, anyway?

That thought almost makes up his mind to flee this space that he does not belong in, but not before someone approaches him from somewhere to his right, his heart nearly jumps out of his throat when they address him.

”Dr. Lycaon. This is a surprise.” They speak with a gentle tone, one likely borne of sweeps of practice with assuming a tone and posture to make themselves appear less imposing.  To appear like less of a threat. Aelium knows that game well. “Are you just visiting then?”

After adjusting to the shock of being referred to by name, he turns to face the stranger and suddenly finds himself lacking the knowledge of how one should address a religious elder. Sure it can be argued that the church is only a clown church in that it is a church run by someone painted to look like a clown, but even the most unorthodox of followings have their traditions and routines.

There are expectations and the realization that Aelium does not know what any of them are coils like a snake around his neck, laying its girth heavily upon his chest.

In short, the inexperienced purple blood chokes on his tongue at the sight of Father Roatus, the man he made the trip up to see, just as soon as they make eye contact.

Another wholly undo reaction as the priest's demeanor does not betray his reputation. He stands with his arms folded in front of him, patiently waiting for a response to his inquiry. There is not even the undertone of a threat that he’d often detected from his own ancestor during their visits, the principal reason Aelium sought to find a third party to vent his fears to.

By all accounts, on surface level at least, the Restorer is just a kindly old man. A kindly old man whose presence seems to make Aelium incapable of drawing in a breath.

The irony is not lost on him, either. Purple blood doctor with a soft touch and even softer bedside manner that new patients can never seem to come to terms with the first go around, meet the priest of a clown church with kind eyes that always makes the time to lend an ear. Two oxymorons walk into a bar.

What’s the punchline?

Aelium opens his mouth, but the snake of his anxiety establishes its dominance by tightening around him. He wishes he knew why this was so difficult.

The elder purple blood takes a glance around the room, seemingly surveying those of his following that mill about in their duties and worship. “Perhaps somewhere a bit more private will suit your purposes?” He offers in a voice only meant for Aelium’s ears.

“I,” he swallows. “I think that would help.”

Father Roatus nods and turns to walk, he leads his new sheep down a corridor built for something much larger than the pair. If the Dominion were known for leaving his domain, these high ceilings and wide berth provided by the hall would suit him nicely.

The Restorer is not friends with the Dominion, but Aelium wonders about the stoic priest’s ability to make friends in the first place. From what he saw of the man’s children in public, they at least seem to be pretty reasonable and personable.

He winces at the judgment he passed, suddenly feeling mean for having passed it on the man he sought out for help.

When they arrive at what Aelium assumes to be the man’s study, a comfortable space with shelves full of books lining the walls and the feature of a desk more fit for large projects than paperwork, the doctor is overcome by a feeling he can only describe as serenity. Loath as he is to use the word.

They take their seats at opposite ends of the table, that up close looks made custom with carvings of little mantis heads along the edge, and Aelium finds himself fidgeting with the edge of his sweater. He curses himself for not bringing along one of the knick knacks from his own desk to save him from his idle hands.

The Restorer says nothing, maybe he is wondering what the hell is wrong with this kid. Maybe no thoughts pass behind his eyes at all.

“Uhm, I heard about Marrie.”

“Oh, yes. Information tends to find itself into anyones ears these days,” he pauses and gives him a once over. “Do you suppose that your medical know-how will be of use to her?”

“No! Uhm, sorry, I just wanted to extend my condolences, I am sorry she was hurt is all.” He wants to kick himself for saying sorry in the same sentence.

“Yes? I will ensure they reach her, then.”

Aelium nods, finding it suddenly difficult to navigate words around his own tongue.

“I assume this is not what brings you.”

“It is not,” now, finding himself unable to make eye contact, he focuses his attention on his hands under the table. “I died recently.”

“Is that right?”

Aelium looks up to see the priest watching with eyes that refuse to tell him what he is thinking, his own eyes darting around in search of answers to the questions he is too afraid to ask. The features of the other man are no help, only a pair of nicely groomed eyebrows raised ever so slightly and the pencil thin line that his lips pull together in.

There is nothing. He is unreadable. Aelium has had just about enough of nothing lately.

“Only for a moment, I think? I was stabbed in the heart.”

“I see.” Maybe he is sick of people coming to him with this issue, his daughter literally just had this catastrophic incident, and here is Aelium begging him to help make his problems go away. So what if he has a death church that has his name on the door, why is any of this his problem. “Now you feel lost?”

Aelium takes in a shaky breath and tries to remind himself that his anxious thoughts are not rooted in reality. But at the same time he is stricken by a vivid memory of the inky black nothingness he experienced, it stabs directly into his heart. He feels his limbs start to grow cold, as if his body were reacting to hypothermia and evacuating his extremities to more important organs, like his heart that is doing its best to jump out of his mouth.

“There was nothing.” He whispers.

“Why is that so terrible? That there was nothing?”

An answer does not come quickly to Aelium, instead, his mind is clouded by the nothingness that he swam through for an eternity and for no time at all, before he knows it tears spill over his cheeks. He gasps for air, but his lungs do not work very hard to aid him in that quest, and he feels a bit stupid. He blubbers like a baby in front of this old man that definitely did not ask for it.

Ailzea does not move, not at first, hands folded on the table in front of him, perhaps he lacks the know-how in comforting a stranger having a breakdown in his office.

For a few moments more, Aelium sits there sobbing, and his shoulders begin to shake, big globs of tears streak down and make a mess of his shirt and the table before him. “I am terrified.” He finally manages, his voice strained by the force. “I am terrified of nothing.”

He does not hear the older troll rise, gaze still on the table in front of him, nor does he hear him walk to this side of the table. He remains ignorant of the movement until the priest wraps his arms around him and pulls him in for a hug.

“I am sorry to hear this, my child,” he says softly, one hand moving up to pet his hair as the doctor turns to bury his face into his robes, staining them with his tears now. “Thank you for sharing this with me, I will do my best to take care of you in your time of need.”

Aelium grips uselessly at his robes and lets out one more desperate sob before nodding back into the safety of the embrace.