Lamplight and Lamentation

[Seven Xu]

Spring 5, 512 AV
Time unknown.

Leather soles scraped an irregular gait across timeworn flagstones as blind feet searched beyond the confines of the hovel that had been his home for days—or maybe weeks, it was hard to tell, with the blood moon, perpetually fixed in an inky sky. Seven had managed a few steps further, every time he tried; today, he’d gotten to the end of their short street. His burned and broken foot screamed its protestations and urged him to turn around, but the Lhavitian was born of stubborn stock.

A thousand tiny stars teased the corners of his wavering vision. He stooped, dropped his chin against his chest, and inspected the wrap of linen around his leg. Yellowed pus and dark blood had soaked through; the dressing required a change, but the wound had not festered and it didn’t stink of rot. It took the halfblood several heartbeats to stand again, and even then, a torrent self-deprecating curses sprung from a venomous tongue.

You’re lucky to even have kept the leg, a passerby had chided him, a handful of naps ago, stay off of it, else you’ll be a cripple forever.

No. He’d be a cripple if he let himself hole up in the darkness, to let his limbs seize up while he feasted on the bitter tang of self pity. Though, his short walks never seemed to stop the constant, nagging tug he felt every time his thoughts drifted to the surface. Was the tavern still there? What of Laszlo, pitted against death in the Unforgiving, what of many-armed Ifran, what of the simpering dwarf and his stinking dog? Had Alvadas itself been flattened, had Ionu abandoned it?

Seven dipped head-first into a windowless stone shack. He had expected no more than nebulous blackness to welcome him, but when his fingers loosed an unlocked door, he smelled burning wax, and saw the orange of flickering flame-light.

He should have closed the door, but a lack of food and a bounty of pain had made ruin of his sense of reason. “Hello?” His neglected voice cracked, but soon settled into its airy cadence. “Does any one live here? I don’t mean harm, I’m not even armed.” That was a lie. He had a dagger. Not that he was especially great at wielding it. He was also crippled. The halfblood pushed the door further and stepped in, curious reds darting about, knifing through the low light and taking in his surroundings. “I’m Seven.”

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric laid on the floor of an abandoned stone house beneath the once mighty city of Alvadas. He had not washed in over a week. He had not eaten in days. And he had no interest in pursuing either. He felt empty, dead. Or, at least he assumed this was how the dead felt. He had lost all of his possessions; all of his friends. The windows that had shown him the world, were shattered. The Roof that had protected him from the rain, destroyed. The blankets that had kept him warm, were torn and lost. The books of his childhood, were shredded without remorse. Everything he ever knew seemed to be gone. He had thought he had reached the bottom when he had lost his hat and mask. Well he had been proven wrong when he had found Kinneas, only recently uncovered as a half-brother, dead in the Winter Crisis. He had been proven wrong again. Oh, he had cried at first. He had bawled his eyes out; wailed and sniffled in self-pity. He suspected everyone had. The silent storm had destroyed everyone's lives, taken away many friends and families, and had taken many homes. Alric supposed he was lucky. An acquaintance from before had, by happenstance, led him to the Underground before the Wilmot Manor had been obliterated. Alric had managed to take a new set of clothes, his money, his Winterbane Robe, and rapier. But he soon found that they were next to useless. The money was more of a burden than anything. He had to hide it viciously to keep desperate thieves from trying to take it. As a result, he barely ever bought anything anymore. It just attracted attention. He got the most use out of his robe, using it as a blanket to ward off the chills that came in the night. He knew they were mostly in his mind, but that didn't make them any less real. At the moment though, the impromptu blanket wasn't enough. The chills had gotten worse. He had relented and bought a candle, and was lucky enough to have flint and tender with him. It had been a parting gift from Bob. Alric had been too distraught to thank him at the same. But he was grateful. The warmth wasn't much, but he thanked the little candle all the same. Ionu curse those petching storms. Alric turned quickly towards the door as he heard it creak. That was the door's warning that it was opening. And seeing as Alric was not expecting company, that meant thieves. He grabbed his rapier and unsheathed it. He had no idea how to use it, of course. He had been thrown through one crisis to another and had never found the time to find a teacher. However, a man with sword drawn was usually enough to discourage thieves. "Hello?" It was a weak, cracked voice. A broken voice, if Alric ever heard one. It was... a lot like his own nowadays. “Does any one live here? I don’t mean harm, I’m not even armed.” Alric did not let go of his weapon, it wasn't that he didn't believe him. It was that he didn't trust him. Alric could have laughed if this was a scant season ago. He used to trust everyone. The man entered, he was in horrible shape. Once again, highlighting how lucky Alric really was. The man was pale, with pale hair, and dark eyes. Alric couldn't really make out any detail. The candle wasn't bright enough. His leg, though, was obviously damaged. Alric could make out bandages, or something similar to bandages. He could also make out the glimmer of blood, seeping through them. "I'm Seven," said the man. Alric let his sword arm slacken, though he did keep his blade gripped. He held out his free hand, and said. "Hello, my name is Alric Wilmot. How may I help you, Seven?" oocI bought the Winterbane robe and Rapier in the Winter, but the thread hasn't been graded yet. They should be soon though. Also, just in case you were wondering, Alric does not have the mask on from my Avatar yet. But he does have the clothes. The mask will be bought/ made/ found some time during the reconstruction of Alvadas.

[Seven Xu]

Seven’s unwavering stare followed the thin blade. Long after it had lowered, his heart persisted in its tiny cage—though his efforts in arriving were just as likely a culprit as a startling flash of steel. He exhaled through dried lips, tried to calm his fluttering chest, and fumbled for the proffered hand. His bony grip was tighter than it should have been, as if searching for an excuse for balance as he scanned the room for a chair, a bench, a rug to sit on.

The broken halfblood settled for a wooden chair, that, he wagered, was no less than twice his age. “Sorry,” he murmured, masking a candid sigh of relief. His bloodied irises never left his well-dressed host, darting between the threat of a sword and the comfort of a face as bemused as his own. “I didn’t expect to find anyone.” I was excited. No, hopeful is a better word. “I don’t want to disturb you, I— I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Maybe even that assumed too much.

A set of fingers tucked themselves beneath the lip of makeshift gauze, to lift and release, as the slight man made a hissing noise between taught lips and grit teeth. There was no use in picking at it, testing the boundaries of pain’s grip on his wits; he forced his curious hand away from fire-eaten flesh and shattered bones as his mouth trembled and face grew pale. Again, those eyes made a steady climb up the candle-lit outline of the stranger called Wilmot.

What a pair, they made: Alric, though tired of face, was wrapped in the finery of a man with a heavy purse; Seven, on the other hand, had a shirt that hung too long and clung to bare milk-white thighs and smallclothes beneath to hide what little shame he could afford. What was left of his trousers was wrapped tight about his leg. A forced smile tugged at the corners of the halfblood’s lips, and the old chair creaked as he leaned his back on it.

“You wouldn’t happen to be a physician, would you, Alric?”

[Alric Wilmot]

"Sorry, I didn't expect to find anyone here. I don’t want to disturb you, I— I’ll leave as soon as I can.” Alric observed the pale man, Seven, as he squirmed from the pain in his leg. Alric felt pity, which suprised him. He hadn't felt much of anything for a while now. And if he had felt pity before, it had most certainly not been for others. Seven sat on one of the old chairs Alric had found in the place, easing his leg. Alric didn't bother helping. Seven seemed plenty capable. His clothes did strike Alric as being rather beggarly, but he wasn't about to comment on it. Everyone's clothes seemed to be beggarly nowadays. Save his own of course. “You wouldn’t happen to be a physician, would you, Alric?” Alric shook his head in the negative. "No, I'm afraid not. I...did do some healing work before the Storm. But, I did not heal flesh. I know very little in the ways the body works. It's actually a little ironic, I know more about the mind than the body. Yet the body is easily the more observable of the two." Alric sheathed his sword, but kept it close. He felt as though he was being silly, since the man was obviously in no condition to mug him. Yet at the same time he did not want to take that chance. Still, he at least wanted to appear hospitable, so he kept the blade sheathed. He doubted it made a great difference, but it might make enough to matter. As he continued to look on at the wounded man, though, he began to feel less pity, and more curiosity. What was this man's story? How did he escape the Storm? Or did he not escape it at all, and was lucky enough to survive? Alric wanted to know. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. "So, Seven, what's your story? How did you hurt that leg of yours? if you share your tale, I might be able to lessen that pain. I don't know how to heal it, mind you. But I might be able to keep you from feeling the pain until it heals on its own."

[Seven Xu]

Seven’s disappointment left him in a ragged sigh and a curt nod. Ionu’s Mercy may have found him, had he stayed on the surface—but so may have death. “It’s okay,” he muttered inaudible.

Trembling fingers danced over slavering red, where faultless white had once wrapped his leg. Skin had been burnt, peeled off as blood and ash and a scab had replaced it, protected it; he had been lucky to keep it, to escape infection, but had been left with the constant torment of a nagging, mutilated limb.

Seven’s gaze darted upward, caught the yellow glow of candlelight. Eerie blood-irises closed around boundless black. “My story,” he echoed, unraveling a bit of string from the makeshift linen dressing to wrap his forefinger until it went cold and purple and prickled. “There’s not much to tell. You saw it; Alvadas on fire—didn’t you? I woke up deaf. The sky looked unlike anything I’ve seen. Our floor was shaking, so we abandoned our tavern. We were running. Something fell. A porch, I think. It was just wood, but it was heavy as shit. It burned and broke me.”

He paused, chin dipped back to the monstrosity that clung to his knee, and caught a dry lip with a sharp white canine. His palm groped for his clammy neck, behind his ear, where silvered flesh rose up in a promise of something more.

“I’m alive, if that counts for anything. Gods know who else is.” Seven leaned forward, elbowed the tabletop, and abandoned a vow beneath a tangle of dirty white to run his thumb across the pliable lip of the burning candle. It was warm, to touch; almost too warm. Questions began to fall from his slack jaw, each more venomous than the last. “What do you mean when you say you can lessen my pain? Is that some sort of jape, some mind over matter nonsense? What’s your story? What sort of person can heal without healing?”

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric almost laughed, Seven had quite a wit. It wasn't so much that the man said something funny, it just seemed to Alric like all the people he had met after the Storm had lost their wits. And they had far less serious injuries than Seven. Though, now that he thought about it, it could be said that he had lost his wit too. It did not surprise him. He had lost everything else, why not his wit? "Yes I saw it. Fire, water, lightning, wind, chunks of rock flying every which way. All devoid of sound, and killing as easily as a lad stomping on an ant hill. But I suppose I'm just curious how many ways one could have survived it. I've heard stories of luck mostly, but I've heard one or two about skill. I was just wondering what yours might be." Alric sat on the floor next to the candle. He hadn't talked to anyone in a while, and it felt good to do so again. Something about prattling on just calmed him. It was as if he had been starving for conversation, and this Seven had offered to sate his hunger. As such, he got comfortable, and laid his sword by his side. He still didn't trust Seven, but he felt like he was far enough away where he'd be able to draw the blade in time. "I'll answer both of your questions, in the order you asked them. My story, is one of coincidence, luck, and slight skill. Mostly luck, but I digress. Anyway, just a few hours before the Storm hit, I awoke with a very bad feeling. A lot like the one I got before the Winter Crisis. You, remember that right? Golems everywhere, fires, explosions, pretty much a baby Storm. Seemed like the worst thing that could happen to Alvadas at the time..." Alric trailed off, recounting his experience in the sordid affair. He did not pause long however. He cleared his throat and continued. "Well, before that incident, I felt an odd wave of Djed, like... like how one would smell a rancid odor. I felt a similar one before the Storm too, only I had connected the feeling to something bad once, and so thought something might happen again. I was unaware of the magnitude of what was to come, however. I had only grabbed a few small things." Alric laughed bitterly, angry at his mistakes, but glad he was finally acknowledging them. "I intended to go for a walk to clear my mind. I wanted to lie to myself, say that I was Imagining things." He shook his head, he hated lies. Why did he lie to himself? "Before I knew what was happening, the Storm had hit, and an old acquaintance led me to the Alvadas Underground. The next day i tried to go home, only to find that the storm had ravaged it. I lost... everyone I ever loved." Alric was close to tears, but quickly pulled himself together. He could cry later. He wasn't about to give Seven an easy target. He steeled himself, and grabbed his rapier again. He calmed himself with a few short breaths, and gave a heavy sigh. The momentary joy he had found by talking was ending. He decided to give Seven a shorter explanation for his second question. "As for your second question, Yes. It is a mind over matter 'nonsense'. I would normally hesitate to tell you this, but seeing as I'm the one with the blade, I think I'll take my chances. I am a Hypnotist. A rather good one. I made my living in the bazaar curing addictions, and ailments of the mind. If I can convince your mind that the pain doesn't exist, it will ,um, ignore your leg's attempt to tell it it's hurt. If that makes you uncomfortable of course, I won't go through with it. I realize hypnotism is one of the more feared magical disciplines."

[Seven Xu]

Seven’s waxen lips drooped as he cast his stare floorward. “Everyone,” he shook a chilly thought from his head, sending a mess of unruly hair over his face that two fingers had to immediately gather and draw away. The unassuming halfblood had found more in the depths of chaos than most; his hand lingered at the mark below his ear again, tracing a crescent moon beneath hoarfrost wings. Goddess-kissed, they were, like countless before them. Seven exhaled. No comfort from his wounds could be found, there.

“I’m sorry,” He managed to croak, before clearing his throat, and moving on.

A wizard—no, a weather-predicting wizard, that’s what this man had claimed he was. “Listen, Alric,” Seven resumed his wax-play, dipping a nail into a hot pool of shimmering gold. He flinched. Wiping the clinging and dried wax on his shirt, he lost none of the pragmatism in his cadence. Their eyes met. Seven’s lips twitched back in a fleeting smile. “You can put your needle away. If I were capable, or had the intent to hurt you, don’t you think I’d have done it by now? I’m not a threat—I mean, look at me.”

He offered the wizard a defeated shrug. “As for magic, it insinuates a sort of fear in of itself, even to those who practice it. I donnot blame those that outright condemn it.” Eager fingertips twitched. With no task to busy them, they itched and nagged to divide Seven’s attention. A need had coalesced inside of him and was boiling over. “The last hypnotist that rifled through my mind uncovered things, memories better left alone. I’m not sure how skilled he was at his craft, or if he just wanted to hurt me.”

Invisible purple tugged itself from Seven’s nails, spotted over a leg where a bandage was failing. Fire, fire, his own voice whined to him and he succumbed, urging that weave around the calf it craved to protect. To anyone watching, he had only shifted his discomfort—to anyone with a keen eye, a sense for auras, or the same shield-magic a spirit had pushed on him, they would see the shimmering violet clear as day.

After a pause turned lengthy, Seven continued. “It doesn’t even seem like a good idea. Pain isn’t needless. I could hurt myself again, if I were numb to it.” He knew little of hypnotism, other than its success in changing his mind at the drop of a pin. Had Alric given him options, or had his choice already been made for him? Could he even succumb to the man’s silver-tongued suggestion if he were aware of it? Questions tugged at him, whispers nagged at him, and a constant, burning pain made him tired and dizzy.

“Just do it,” he broke under a rasping sigh, “So long as it doesn’t make me stupid. Do it.”

[Alric Wilmot]

“You can put your needle away. If I were capable, or had the intent to hurt you, don’t you think I’d have done it by now? I’m not a threat—I mean, look at me.” He did make a valid point. One Alric had been considering since their meeting. If he had meant harm, he would have harmed by now. For a brief second, Alric thought the man might have hypnotized him. However, he quickly disregarded that thought. He knew when Djed flowed into his head, and it hadn't this time. Alric did not even bother replying. Seven was right. He was no threat, Alric had to take just one look at him to know that. Really, he had known it all along. But, he just couldn't quite convince himself until Seven pointed it out. He almost ignored Seven, until he realized he was lying to himself again. In a flash, he dropped his sword, not even bothering to take another glance at it. Alric kept his eyes on Seven as he shifted his position, thinking over Alric's offer. He shared his thoughts on magic. It seemed Seven was quite wise when it came to that sort of thing. Alric suspected that he might be a mage himself. He had never met a non-magic user with that opinion before. In fact, he was pretty sure he still hadn't. However, despite the man's protests, it seemed the temptation of peace was too much. Alric smiled at this. If their was one thing he enjoyed more than conversation, it was hypnotism. He had thought, with the destruction of his booth, he'd never be able to help anyone again. He thanked Ionu that he was only misled. It seemed that his reality, was not as bleak as it first appeared. "Don't worry, a hypnotist, a skilled one at least, can control what parts of the mind he influences. I won't bother with your memories. Those are private, and you have not given me permission to influence them. So, we'll leave them be." Alric took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, gathering his Djed together in preparation for the session with Seven. Alric was used to hypnotizing those who were willing. But it was still rather difficult. It was a good thing that Seven was the one in the chair. That meant Alric could relax him more efficiently. "Now, Seven, since you are aware of what is happening, we need to relax you. Hypnosis works best when the mind is at ease. And the mind is at ease, when the body is at ease. So I need you to listen to me, and do what I say. I realize it might be difficult with the pain in your leg, to relax that is. But do your best regardless." Alric then released his djed, and sent it into Seven's mind. While it was true that Hypnotism worked best if the person was relaxed, it also worked if the person was not expecting it. The ideal condition would be if they were both, of course. But in lieu of one, the other would do splendidly. He used one of his more recent techniques, an emotional surge, to help Seven relax. He sent forth a wave of relaxing feelings, and drowsy sensations. He kept the connection going, allowing a constant steady flux of his djed influence Seven's mood. It was more powerful than an Emotional response, but also much less subtle. Despite that, it was unlikely someone would notice it unless they were expecting it. He cut it quickly after the initial push, as it drained him fiercely. However, as soon as the connection was cut, he began to instruct Seven in relaxation techniques. Hopefully, with the two in such quick succession, Seven wouldn't have noticed it. "I need you to take a few slow even breaths. In fact take, oh I don't know, 35 of them." Alric waited until Seven was done before moving on. "Now, we are going to slowly go through your body and relax each and every part of it. Trust me, the more comfortable you are, the better I'll be able to hypnotize you. Now, I want you to bend your right hand back at the wrist and briefly hold the tension. Now relax. Now do the same thing with the left hand. Hold the tension and then relax it. Now, this time tighten both hands into fists and hold the tension. Feel it spread up the arms towards the elbows, and relax it. Bend both arms at the elbows and raise your hands up towards your shoulders. Tighten up the muscles in the biceps. Hold it, then let it go. Now for your forehead raise your eyebrows up as far as you can and hold the tension. Hold it, and release it. Good! very good. For your eyes, squeeze the eyelids tightly together. Hold the tension, and release. Now bite down and clamp your teeth together. Feel the tension along the jaw, and relax." Alric continued his instruction, remembering the steps as easily as breathing. He had told so many others the same things. He only hoped Seven was really listening to him. By the end of it, Alric should be able to enter the man into a trance. That was, of course, if Seven really did relax. Relaxing the body was simple enough, relaxing the mind? Well, that was far more complex. "Tell me when you're ready." said Alric.

[Seven Xu]

Seven had already managed to still the fluttering in his chest, but there was something to be said of relaxing muscles that simply did not want to relax. His fingers worked, opened and closed, and he let the nagging pull of violet pour out over his palms, moving upward like a shimmering tide as he relaxed his wrists, his forearms, his shoulders. Fire still filled his mind, its heat, its destruction, its crackling orange-yellow that licked carelessly at his skin cried to be warded from his fragile frame.

Would this be how it was, forever? Seven’s parched lips moved to ask this man—this wizard—how to cope with magic’s call. But he couldn’t. No one knew of his invisible barrier-magic, no one but Victor, and Victor knew everything there was to know about the blond halfblood. Even that had taken time. Too much time, he had paid for the lack of trust with harsh reproach.

He almost didn’t answer Alric, when the question came. There was a long pause, and vapid red eyes stared out from beneath uneven white lids. “I’m…” his voice cracked, his brow creased. “I’m ready.”

Nothing had felt strange, he wondered if the man had even forced suggestion on him. Had he felt it when Laszlo entered his mind, pored over his deepest thoughts, when he was at his most vulnerable? Seven’s eyes fluttered and closed, and his upturned hands fell with an unceremonious slap into his lap.

[Alric Wilmot]

"Good, you are now absolutely, completely relaxed. My every word is heavy, so heavy, you feel as though you are going to topple over at any moment. You won't, of course, you're too strong for that. Instead, you seem to be in a place between sleep and consciousness. Forced there, by those heavy words that I spew. It takes all your energy to sit there, and you can only look straight ahead. You can only stare ahead, and listen to the sweet sound of my voice." The words were meant to influence, and flatter Seven. Yet, at the same time subdue him and keep him from reacting violently while under Alric's influence. Alric used this technique often these days, keeping the process safer for both himself and his patient. The 'heavy words' would often act as weights to keep the subject rooted to their place. This was especially useful when and if Alric made a mistake. Alric spoke slowly, and enunciated every word, making himself as clear as possible. "Now, feel your body. Every ache, every pain, every sensation both pleasurable and excruciating. You can feel everything now. From the soft cotton of your clothes, to your hair brushing against your scalp. Each and every sensation is known to you." Alric paused, waiting for Seven to respond to what would undoubtedly be the pain in his leg. When Alric saw what he thought was the appropriate response to the pain, he continued. "Good, now, you are feeling a horrible pain. A searing and fiery thing, that causes you discomfort. You do not like it. You do not want it. Can you feel it?" Alric waited for what he was sure would be a 'yes' "The answer, Seven is 'no'. You cannot feel it. What you are feeling now, is not real. That pain, in your leg? It isn't really there. The pain in your leg is nothing more than a troublesome nuisance. One you created." That was not true, of course. Seven was feeling pain, and it was undoubtedly real. Well, Alric was willing to call it real anyway. His ponderings of illusion and reality could wait for a more opportune moment. "You are strong, Seven. You are not subject to pain. Pain is subject to you. Therefore, this pain you've subjected yourself to, must not be real. Put it in its place then. Subject, it. Abolish it. Send it back to the farthest corners of your imagination, where it came from. Embrace your strength, and know you feel no pain in your leg. You do not think that you feel no pain in your leg. You know that you feel no pain in your leg." Alric gave a deep sigh. This should do it. But, before he ended the trance, he wanted to make sure. "So, Seven. How do you feel now?"

oocI'm Back!