† - Arnica
Traejan had been very well-behaved from the time Arvalin had answered the door to let him in up until the time he did so again to admit Rosearnica. He was the picture of calm, quietly accepting the tea he’d been offered and having the most bizarre conversation with his counterpart (as Arvalin was concerned; he would never get used to seeing his Lord Lightrend and the very dead one from the other side sitting in the same room).
And then Arnica had arrived, her expression already a clear enough indication of exactly how she felt about him. It didn’t help that he was sitting across from the warlock, the both of them eyeing her with that same intense gaze that lingered longer than than it rightly should. He rose, already starting in on the words he wanted to say, remembering Vittani’s anger and insult and Rosefica’s anxiety all through the night, playing on his own nerves all too easily. These two women he cared about in different ways whose feelings had been wounded by her stupid, needless opinions and that needed to be set right.
He couldn’t recall who struck first. Perhaps his hand had strayed too close to his weapon for her comfort or if the shift of magic in the air had changed with her drawing a spell, maybe only a whisper of a prayer. It didn’t matter ultimately. The Light had seared him, the smell of burnt flesh strong and pungent and completely inescapable as the spell had hit his face, feeling like a blade cutting across his eyes and down his cheek. It had blinded him momentarily, though when his vision finally began to clear he realized he would likely have to replace one.
Traejan felt a hand upon him then, tugging him back roughly and he nearly tripped over his feet as he was disoriented. He could taste blood and a chunk of something between his teeth, which he instinctively chewed and swallowed without verifying exactly what it was. He felt the warmth on his face and down onto his chest, which was strange given he’d just been innocently having tea. He looked around after wiping blood from his chin, eyeing the smear of it on the back of his hand.
Arvalin had gone to her, frantically whispering assurances Traejan could no longer hear, pressing the Light and the green mist of the monks and whatever else he knew to mend into her to try and save her. But Traejan had seen his share of deaths and knew that the blood pouring out of the hole in her throat was coming too quickly and the wet sound of her gasping for breath was growing weaker. He felt bad for this Arvalin who clearly loved her and kept on lying to her again and again about her being alright. She was a healer and no doubt knew that she was anything but alright. The hand on his arm belonged to the warlock, his claw-like fingers digging in as he dragged him along furiously. He would have an incident on his hands now to clean up, so Traejan could understand his counterpart’s anger.
But then he realized he would have to tell Rosefica. This Arnica was not her true sister, but close enough. No doubt she would only think of how both of them met the same fate at the hands of the Scourge. And Rosearnica (and the memory this counterpart revived) had been her sister a lot longer than he had been her friend..
