Backlash
A walk. That's what Vaelyn had wanted – just his daily, easygoing walk to keep some fitness up in his constant state of illness. It had been suggested running practice was needed, but the thought hardly thrilled him, and it hadn't remotely been implemented as of yet, so the stubborn Elezen wasn't doing it. Just a calm, easy walk with his own thoughts, that's all he had wanted. It started off that way, at the very least, and as he made his way around the Lavender Beds, he mentally catalogued all the things that he needed to do. Speak with Ivory in regards to his feud with Ulfarr. He'd need to speak to Clayton soon as well, to appraise him of these whispers that haunted he, and many others. He wished to speak with Professor Ozerov, though with so many affected and demanding each other's attention, a private session might be difficult to come by. While he pondered how to handle these things and more, pleased with the solitude of his little meander around familiar, and often safe grounds, the whispering still sat at the back of his mind, likened to a dull throbbing but also possessed of a quiet uttering that refused to cease, the words too quiet and overlain with too many voices to make out at the moment. Perhaps that was Vaelyn's own doing, as he made a concious effort to suppress and ignore it. He wasn't paying enough attention to know what the voices were saying. It wasn't necessarily the best tactic, but it was all he could do for now. He had refused to give the voices an answer, and he had heard the call over the linkshell not to answer them in any manner what-so-ever. It was a curious state of affairs, stressful certainly, but interesting in it's own way. What had made him a target? What had made any of them a target? He pondered these things as he walked. It was about halfway through his circuit that it struck him, like a jolt of electricity that shook him to the bones, and sent his whole body a-tremble. It was worse than that still though, as the Elezen clutched at his chest and stumbled before falling all together. His glasses, so preciously kept safe on a chain Clayton had given him, managed to crack against a stone in the path, one of the lenses shattering. His breath quickened, and an unsettling sense of panic kicked in, for Vaelyn instinctively knew what this was, and it was entirely out of order for it to be happening at all. Some years past, Ulfarr had been bound by Vaelyn, to Vaelyn, for reasons that remained between them, and few others, and now the Elezen was recieving an impossible backlash across it. Backlash that under no circumstances should be happening. His whole body felt like fire, and indeed the Lord was burning up with a fever now, his breath becoming ragged as he felt a tightness in his throat. He couldn't see well enough for his gaze to become unfocused, for without the benefit of those spectacles, all Vaelyn could make out was a bleed of colours that at the moment seemed dull, and faded. As he lay there, he tried desperately to think of what could have caused this, but there were no answers to be found, and it was becoming difficult to think clearly as the roaring pulse in his ears was steadily overwhelmed by the indistinct whispering that just moments before had been imprisoned at the back of his mind now took the opportunity to creep back into the foreground. We can save you the pain and grief of loss. He ignored the voices as best he could, a trembling hand reaching up to fumble at and activate any of his pearls – all of them incidentally. Let Us in. We will help you. Vaelyn's eyes clenched shut tightly, and over those pearls a weak voice cried out for help, calling the names of those close to him, and those meant to protect him: Clayton, Ulfarr, Ivory. Calling for help. It was all he could manage before the darkness claimed him and he lapsed into unconciousness. Still, the voices whispered. @the-faceless-ffxiv @crooked-tarot-rp @anunlikelyknight
