Velho
Approved Character
- Messages
- 200
- Race
- Æld'Norai
- Profession
- Ferrier
- Location
- AElheim
- Arcana
- Character Sheet
༺༉❁ december 12 year 122 of the third age ❁༉༻
<tw: light gore, light body horror>
<tw: light gore, light body horror>
The pale ælf's eyes shifted over Æhti's figure for a moment, scrutinizing him, while his companion spoke.
"I'm Eyrie, by the way. Did you put any thought into where you wanted the mark, then?" She asked with a small, reassuring smile. She could tell he was nervous.
The question almost took the younger man off guard, but her friendliness was certainly welcome. "I…yeah, on my shoulder, here," Æhti answered, pointing to the center of his left deltoid.
Her smile broadened a bit, expression warm– a stark contrast to the blank, sullen expression worn by Velho.
"Sure, sure– and Velho wanted to know, have you a favorite mineral at all?" Eyrie continued; it was odd to him that she spoke for the other ælf, but Velho appeared unbothered so, surely, it was fine.
Again, he wasn't expecting that question, and for this he didn't really have a specific answer. "There's…well it's hard to pick one. Opal or black star diopside are high up there and for metals I'm fond of platinum…why?" Æhti answered with a slight cant to his head at the last word.
"He– well, we are simply curious, 'tis all. Those are rare in Hesperia…not hard to find in Myrkvior, though." She replied, sounding encouraging.
It wasn't like Æhti could afford that sort of thing, though. He'd likely have to save his money for a time.
Velho's gaze set upon Æhti's, "...how long ago did you initiate into Abation…?" He spoke slowly; he sounded as tired as he looked– but he didn't sound bored.
"Um…six months ago, Vænir." He sounded unsure of himself even though he knew the answer.
"...fascinating…" the ælf mumbled in reply. "...go on, then, Eyrie; don't mind me." Velho turned, slowly manuerving to sit once again.
With Velho's go-ahead, Eyrie shifted her full attention onto Æhti.
"I recommend you undress at least a bit, Æhti; if ought goes awry it will be far easier to treat you without first having to do so ourselves." The woman spoke warmly, as if going out of her way to not make the boy uncomfortable.
Æhti was dressed simply, especially when compared to the two of them. Still, he had tried to dress nice, having picked darkly dyed linen more expensive than most of the rest of his wardrobe. He hesitated for a second before acquiescing but nevertheless did, stripping down to his undergarments in an attempt to maintain some modicum of his modesty– he wasn't sure how much that ultimately mattered, but still.
Eyrie's expression remained friendly, "...and you said on the left side, then?"
"...yes," he answered, having not lost his previous timidness.
"Okay, just lay back and hold still~..." the ælven woman replied.
The Galsterei waited for him to obey before she would begin the process, and when he did, she started by placing one hand on his shoulder to hold it still. And with the other, her dominant hand, she appeared to grow a metallic sort of pen-like instrument from her palm, controlling it with her pointer and middle finger to draw on Terra's mark. A simple, geometric shape drawn in one smooth, elegant motion– then, she used that same implement to cut open her other palm, swiping the blood over the aetheric symbol before leaning back.
Eyrie stepped back further, wanting to get out of the way. It wasn't as if the boy would become a hazard to her, no, it was more that if Velho needed to intervene in some way, her blocking him might result in his losing precious time. Now granted, Velho might very well choose to do approximately nothing even if Æhti's vitals did start to drop wildly– vitals both ælves could see courtesy of their Lifesight, though only Velho had the medical training to understand their fluctuations out of the two of them.
Painfully long seconds ticked by with absolutely nothing happening. But then, the arm on which the mark had been drawn twitched and Æhti's vitals visually began to shift. The boy's gaze shot to that arm as a strange, disconcerting discomfort began to roll through him. He visibly winced, a shock of pain striking his nervous system like the crack of a whip. So it was beginning; he grit his teeth, bracing himself.
The first time, when Æhti gained Abation, he was in the presence of a caring, empathetic physician and his initiator, a beloved cousin. This time, there was…a physician…? a man with icy, calculating eyes, and a stranger. It felt different, it…it was different, and it was messing with his head. He felt scrutinized, he felt the growing paranoia that those around him saw him as an object, an experiment, not…not a person. And how quickly could this sickly ælf even intervene if something went wrong? Did he even intend to? Because, it dawned on him that to his knowledge, Velho was a Ferrier– a lauded, coveted position, but it was one for a man in charge of death. Was he only there to perform coronary duties should he pass…?
But it was far, far too late for these thoughts, far too late for these doubts, and far too late to walk anything back.
Another crack of the aetheric whip caused a spasm to arc the young man's spine; he groaned, loud and primal. This was like tremors in the earth, like being struck with a hammer. It wasn't subtle and insidious like Abation had been– and it hurt.
Curious. Velho's gaze was steady, observant, and devoid of emotion…but he was curious. Æhti's vitals were far more stable than what one might expect by now. Either he had nerves of steel, or…or he was, in some way, special? The Ferrier hoped for the latter. He hoped he'd finally found somebody useful among the Fælniri chattel.
Æhti screamed; a sound that pierced the room and startled Eyrie, though Velho remained placid. A small tear, no, a seam, was ripping itself open in the soft tissue of the young man's abdomen. Tissue warped with crystal lay within, the growth of sharp, jagged emeralds was tearing him apart. Emeralds; Eyrie's favorite.
The woman let out an exhale, concern writ on her features. The boy was bleeding… a lot. He must have nerves of steel, too, because despite the patina of sweat gathering on his skin and the slight, barely visible tremor, he sat still– stone still. Her emerald eyes flit to Velho, as if to ask if she could help him. His tired gaze met with hers, and she received her answer: no.
Again, Æhti cried out– a spike of solid emerald tore through the flesh of his left shoulder in an instant, like scissors through gauze. He was struggling to regulate his breathing now, panting in abject agony, but still, Velho noted to himself how brightly the Saol burned within Æhti, how much vigor the boy possessed despite the trauma. It was so fascinating. He couldn't decide whether he'd more prefer the boy to live or die; he would likely learn a lot from necropsy.
Blood was pooling on the floor now. The sight of it bothered neither ælf, though it did tug at Eyrie's empathy. For Velho, however…he felt hunger. He'd always had good control of himself. Of the urges implanted in him from Devorare. Was it the volume this time? No, he'd been around far more; he'd been in rooms with the blood of multiple exsanguinated bodies– fresh ones, too– and even then, they hadn't smelled quite so sweet. So what was it? Why…?
Velho's grip tightened 'round the wooden orb at the top of his cane. The boy was like a succulent fruit, rip for the picking, all he had to do was pluck it from the tree and– no. Not in front of Eyrie, not so promising a research subject, no. He swallowed the urge, the gnawing hunger, the distraction, though it howled within like a caged beast fighting against steel, like the mountain winds in Frostlund. Biting. Cold. Agonizing.
Eyrie saw something of this internal struggle within Velho, though she couldn't place it– she had no idea. What was wrong? She could only wonder, and it wasn't her place to question.
Æhti exhaled– a pained groan, a heavy breath. Beads of sweat rolled down his body, his face. Would he bleed out…? He desperately didn't want to die, and that rising panic spiked his heart rate– something that only served to harm him further.
Velho stood, moving slowly, deliberately, closer to the pain-stricken man on the slab. The bioluminescent wood of his cane appeared to glow, as if agitated by his magic, and, gently, he lifted a hand and placed fingertips to Æhti's sternum. With a subtle, glowing pulse, the major bleeding stopped. He'd decided he'd rather this subject not bleed out.
For Æhti, the withered ælf's magic was a breath of fresh air, a cool drink of water– it was sweet, sweet succor. Though the emerald growths would have to be surgically removed later, he was in far less pain, he was no longer panicking about blood loss. He still felt awful, his whole body wracked with tension and pain, but the urgency had been allayed.
"I'm Eyrie, by the way. Did you put any thought into where you wanted the mark, then?" She asked with a small, reassuring smile. She could tell he was nervous.
The question almost took the younger man off guard, but her friendliness was certainly welcome. "I…yeah, on my shoulder, here," Æhti answered, pointing to the center of his left deltoid.
Her smile broadened a bit, expression warm– a stark contrast to the blank, sullen expression worn by Velho.
"Sure, sure– and Velho wanted to know, have you a favorite mineral at all?" Eyrie continued; it was odd to him that she spoke for the other ælf, but Velho appeared unbothered so, surely, it was fine.
Again, he wasn't expecting that question, and for this he didn't really have a specific answer. "There's…well it's hard to pick one. Opal or black star diopside are high up there and for metals I'm fond of platinum…why?" Æhti answered with a slight cant to his head at the last word.
"He– well, we are simply curious, 'tis all. Those are rare in Hesperia…not hard to find in Myrkvior, though." She replied, sounding encouraging.
It wasn't like Æhti could afford that sort of thing, though. He'd likely have to save his money for a time.
Velho's gaze set upon Æhti's, "...how long ago did you initiate into Abation…?" He spoke slowly; he sounded as tired as he looked– but he didn't sound bored.
"Um…six months ago, Vænir." He sounded unsure of himself even though he knew the answer.
"...fascinating…" the ælf mumbled in reply. "...go on, then, Eyrie; don't mind me." Velho turned, slowly manuerving to sit once again.
With Velho's go-ahead, Eyrie shifted her full attention onto Æhti.
"I recommend you undress at least a bit, Æhti; if ought goes awry it will be far easier to treat you without first having to do so ourselves." The woman spoke warmly, as if going out of her way to not make the boy uncomfortable.
Æhti was dressed simply, especially when compared to the two of them. Still, he had tried to dress nice, having picked darkly dyed linen more expensive than most of the rest of his wardrobe. He hesitated for a second before acquiescing but nevertheless did, stripping down to his undergarments in an attempt to maintain some modicum of his modesty– he wasn't sure how much that ultimately mattered, but still.
Eyrie's expression remained friendly, "...and you said on the left side, then?"
"...yes," he answered, having not lost his previous timidness.
"Okay, just lay back and hold still~..." the ælven woman replied.
The Galsterei waited for him to obey before she would begin the process, and when he did, she started by placing one hand on his shoulder to hold it still. And with the other, her dominant hand, she appeared to grow a metallic sort of pen-like instrument from her palm, controlling it with her pointer and middle finger to draw on Terra's mark. A simple, geometric shape drawn in one smooth, elegant motion– then, she used that same implement to cut open her other palm, swiping the blood over the aetheric symbol before leaning back.
Eyrie stepped back further, wanting to get out of the way. It wasn't as if the boy would become a hazard to her, no, it was more that if Velho needed to intervene in some way, her blocking him might result in his losing precious time. Now granted, Velho might very well choose to do approximately nothing even if Æhti's vitals did start to drop wildly– vitals both ælves could see courtesy of their Lifesight, though only Velho had the medical training to understand their fluctuations out of the two of them.
Painfully long seconds ticked by with absolutely nothing happening. But then, the arm on which the mark had been drawn twitched and Æhti's vitals visually began to shift. The boy's gaze shot to that arm as a strange, disconcerting discomfort began to roll through him. He visibly winced, a shock of pain striking his nervous system like the crack of a whip. So it was beginning; he grit his teeth, bracing himself.
The first time, when Æhti gained Abation, he was in the presence of a caring, empathetic physician and his initiator, a beloved cousin. This time, there was…a physician…? a man with icy, calculating eyes, and a stranger. It felt different, it…it was different, and it was messing with his head. He felt scrutinized, he felt the growing paranoia that those around him saw him as an object, an experiment, not…not a person. And how quickly could this sickly ælf even intervene if something went wrong? Did he even intend to? Because, it dawned on him that to his knowledge, Velho was a Ferrier– a lauded, coveted position, but it was one for a man in charge of death. Was he only there to perform coronary duties should he pass…?
But it was far, far too late for these thoughts, far too late for these doubts, and far too late to walk anything back.
Another crack of the aetheric whip caused a spasm to arc the young man's spine; he groaned, loud and primal. This was like tremors in the earth, like being struck with a hammer. It wasn't subtle and insidious like Abation had been– and it hurt.
Curious. Velho's gaze was steady, observant, and devoid of emotion…but he was curious. Æhti's vitals were far more stable than what one might expect by now. Either he had nerves of steel, or…or he was, in some way, special? The Ferrier hoped for the latter. He hoped he'd finally found somebody useful among the Fælniri chattel.
Æhti screamed; a sound that pierced the room and startled Eyrie, though Velho remained placid. A small tear, no, a seam, was ripping itself open in the soft tissue of the young man's abdomen. Tissue warped with crystal lay within, the growth of sharp, jagged emeralds was tearing him apart. Emeralds; Eyrie's favorite.
The woman let out an exhale, concern writ on her features. The boy was bleeding… a lot. He must have nerves of steel, too, because despite the patina of sweat gathering on his skin and the slight, barely visible tremor, he sat still– stone still. Her emerald eyes flit to Velho, as if to ask if she could help him. His tired gaze met with hers, and she received her answer: no.
Again, Æhti cried out– a spike of solid emerald tore through the flesh of his left shoulder in an instant, like scissors through gauze. He was struggling to regulate his breathing now, panting in abject agony, but still, Velho noted to himself how brightly the Saol burned within Æhti, how much vigor the boy possessed despite the trauma. It was so fascinating. He couldn't decide whether he'd more prefer the boy to live or die; he would likely learn a lot from necropsy.
Blood was pooling on the floor now. The sight of it bothered neither ælf, though it did tug at Eyrie's empathy. For Velho, however…he felt hunger. He'd always had good control of himself. Of the urges implanted in him from Devorare. Was it the volume this time? No, he'd been around far more; he'd been in rooms with the blood of multiple exsanguinated bodies– fresh ones, too– and even then, they hadn't smelled quite so sweet. So what was it? Why…?
Velho's grip tightened 'round the wooden orb at the top of his cane. The boy was like a succulent fruit, rip for the picking, all he had to do was pluck it from the tree and– no. Not in front of Eyrie, not so promising a research subject, no. He swallowed the urge, the gnawing hunger, the distraction, though it howled within like a caged beast fighting against steel, like the mountain winds in Frostlund. Biting. Cold. Agonizing.
Eyrie saw something of this internal struggle within Velho, though she couldn't place it– she had no idea. What was wrong? She could only wonder, and it wasn't her place to question.
Æhti exhaled– a pained groan, a heavy breath. Beads of sweat rolled down his body, his face. Would he bleed out…? He desperately didn't want to die, and that rising panic spiked his heart rate– something that only served to harm him further.
Velho stood, moving slowly, deliberately, closer to the pain-stricken man on the slab. The bioluminescent wood of his cane appeared to glow, as if agitated by his magic, and, gently, he lifted a hand and placed fingertips to Æhti's sternum. With a subtle, glowing pulse, the major bleeding stopped. He'd decided he'd rather this subject not bleed out.
For Æhti, the withered ælf's magic was a breath of fresh air, a cool drink of water– it was sweet, sweet succor. Though the emerald growths would have to be surgically removed later, he was in far less pain, he was no longer panicking about blood loss. He still felt awful, his whole body wracked with tension and pain, but the urgency had been allayed.
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