Quest Will this Never End? (Ronan, Solicah)

[Jackalope]

It seemed simple enough, for even at his skill in webbing Ronan could create small weaves. Size and distance were his only limitations, and Solicah? He was right before him, ethereal, a form seemingly untouched by the darkness which overtook so many in current times. Yet the free spirited, optimistic young Drykas had indeed contracted the taint that threatened them all. Could any of their kind claim to be unblemished by the plague? Even the proudest amongst them had weakened, with some of them returning to the very web where the two friends now floated. A single tendril of light weakly protested the encroaching evil, as Ronan's hands spun forth a web in a desperate attempt to search internally, rather than outward as everyone else had tried. Perhaps there was the simplest flicker of hope to be found here. A fisherman Ronan would be, but not one casting into familiar waters. Endless depths enveloped the fragile strand, and while he sought the cause of the illness, the source of Solicah's plight, he would find out more about Solicah than he'd truly ever thought to know. For in the end, the web was full of information. It was no different than tying a strand to an origin in order to see what was going on. Only instead of a man made point, Solicah would act as the origin. His Aunt. His cousins. Friends. Hypnotism. Love. All of it, flowing like water from a dam broken, everything that was the golden haired Drykas came flowing free, drowning Ronan in information, emotions, wants, and desires. It was impossible to drink of it all. The memories hit hardest, personal, private, perhaps untold to any but the holds of his mind. If Ronan wished to retreat from his search, he wouldn't be able to do so before a scene overwhelmed his senses and brought a piece of Solicah completely to life in his mind... SolicahMy request for to include in your reply is to share with Ronan an important memory of Solicah's. Whether it's something private or not, that's up to you.

[Solicah]

*
Once submerged within the young Drykas, Solicah's essence came with a force, like the mouth of a gushing river, expanding out into Ronan himself, demanding that Ronan grow and adopt the information as his own or burst, and be washed away by the torrent of intimate information.

The sensation was unbearable at first, blazing hot white light spreading along Ronan's being, fusing into him without any perceivable purpose. Ronan's Drykas heritage guided him, however, and as if he were taking deep breaths along with the burning stimuli he drank the information in with pulses, waves, and found a rhythm. He turned what could be pain into something else, something purer, and continued his search with an unpracticed patience.

As the white light turned to thoughts and emotions, the information began to make sense of itself, flowing together into grouped sensations, much like recalling his own memory. They came in no coherent order at first, but with time they began to flow cohesively, following some abstract line of consciousness, lead distantly by Ronan's ethereal hand.

Ronan became like a fish within the stream of Solicah's body, as he grew more familiar with that which lay naturally recorded within, and with such a simple weave he began to be able to navigate with celerity. It was once this control had been firmly established Ronan inherently realized what must be done. In order to find the origin of the illness within Solicah he would need to find the single memory, likely even unknown to Solicah himself, when the unfortunate young Drykas contacted the deadly plague. This would be the key to the plague within the strong man's body, and gods willing the origin of the pox itself.

A grass woven basket held them, all bright and pure, gems of various sizes and hues, all intense in the relentless summer glare of Syna above. Solicah's voice came young, and distorted without a proper weave to concentrate the delicate information. "Really? May I?" No level of distortion could drain the excitement behind his inquiry. Without confirmation he pressed his fingertips into the basket of gleaming stones, and felt their smooth coolness envelop the palm and tender back of his small hand. More wealth surrounded his hand than perhaps he would ever have to his name a single day in his life, or the next, yet the young boy, not even a true Drykas yet, thought not of money, or status. Instead his face contorted with an awed grin as his eyes sparkled at the colours before him. Each stone allowed Syna's ray's to cast forth shadows as pure at Leth's own. Some were deep intimate blues, others bright unbridled red. But, in evocative to Solicah was what lay in the wake of the pure diamond, he turned over his wrist. Brilliant light condensed into a pure stream of unrelenting light, only to splay out less than a centimeter later into ever colour a man could ever in his life hope to see. Solicah's own private rainbow, stretching across his plain tanned skin...

Ronan allowed his careful weave to dart with precision through the gushing water, first filtering the river itself through that of Tanroa, perceiving the memories chronologically, then approaching the present with blinding speed. The first memory he plunged into had been nearly a moon before. Solicah rode atop Aureunna, and they galloped without fear through pitch darkness following a drawn out burial rite. Ronan could tell by the particular hue of the night sky that Leth was enduring the darkest hours of the night, just before dawn stretched across the land. Solicah's body burned from exertion, and the chill bit like needles into him, due entirely to the frigid sweat which has begun to dry along his skin.

He felt safe atop Aureunna, and Ronan recognized the type of love they shared, for he knew it for Tairell, and he knew the sensation of burning muscles, for that was the life of Drykas, but most notably he felt that pervading concern wash through Solicah that washed through all of Endrykas. The plague was taking them all, slowly, but Ronan felt that this memory was too soon. No, Solicah had still been virgin of the plague.

Ronan pushed onward, and Solicah knew nothing of the intimacy he shared.
*

[Ronan]

It was all Ronan could do to stay upright. He was buffeted by Solicah. His entire being. Past, present, and future. His passions, his desires, his hopes. Fragmented memories, shards thrown at him with random meaning. He had to absorb it, rather than allow it to stagger him. His mind ached.

As he began to filter through it all, the weave became more rigid, it brightened once again. He could not say it was a comfortable process, but it slowly became easier as he tried to pull much of Solicah's presence inward, bracing against the storm.

There was so much, but it was hard to tell what was of worth. It came as a surprise when Solicah began to channel his own thoughts and memories. They came to the forefront, brighter than everything else, and so Ronan knew it was these he needed to search. He bound them to the Web so that he could study them further.

Stones, shining brightly. And still the memories came. An intense happiness rent open by the pains of the Drykas. Leaving a burial rite, the song giving way to silence and darkness. Solicah rode. Contemplative, but healthy. He searched and searched, the weave giving him a distinct sense of pain. And he felt the dire need to find what needed to be found - lest his people die.

[Jackalope]

Onward Ronan delved, pushing past the memories, the thoughts, the feelings. The vigor and passion with which the blond Drykas attacked life itself was apparent with each new flow of information. Vibrant couldn't possibly begin to describe it. Even with the sickness in his body, it couldn't be held back, yet in some ways, it would make the exploration easier. For one so full of light, darkness couldn't hide. The scene that played out in both of their minds wasn't anything of particular note at the time it happened. If there was any reflection upon it, it's likely that Solicah wouldn't have even remembered it occurring. Why it seemed so..anticlimactic. The Drykas walked about on his day to day business, whatever it may have been. Unremarkable. Nothing of note. Yet, this strand of web had caught something. Ronan had found something. For in a tent which Solicah simply passed by, there was a man stricken ill with the pox. He coughed. And in a visual representation of how horrific this disease was, the memory created blackness which came forth from the man, floating, dancing through the air. All the while, it may as well been targeted, for it found its way to the blonde man with ease. It landed upon him, caressing his skin tenderly before the evil began its work. Quickly it soaked into his being, and the infection began. The bright light, which represented the wholeness of him, dimmed slightly, cracks appeared in his exterior, and pure white was perverted with shadowy splotches. It wasn't widespread, but there was no denying it. This sickness infected more than body. The information was too much. Ronan, strong as he may be, was still young when it came to the web. The tension was unbearable, the burden placed upon him too heavy. He was being forced his connection with Solicah, as though something had decided it was enough. His presence was being rejected. More troublesome, though, was the unraveling of webbing he'd tied to both Solicah and his physical body. All this while Solicah could nearly feel a building inside him, a pressure, a darkness. He knew Ronan was searching into his very existence for answers, and when he found one, the shadow inside had had enough. His ethereal body was reacting like a disease had invaded, and this intruder needed to be repelled, or even worse, destroyed. He could feel his tie to Ronan weakening as the webbing tying them together began to fray.

[Solicah]

*
Solicah felt so very little of the rending assault upon Ronan, only the slightest of tugs then looseness: an unraveling. He took in the sight of Ronan, and worry filled him as his companion's visage slid away, blurring in the sea of informative light about them both, and being enveloped by washes of uninvited sources, ones that had no place taking presidency before that which he had tethered himself to.

"Ronan." The word was no sound, but a summons, and what remained of their tether wrapped tangled and unraveling before Solicah. He reached for the foundation of the weave and felt so very little left to grasp to. It had diminished in moments, and continued to do so at an alarming pace. That loss of closeness caused true and untempered panic within Solicah.

He needed Ronan.

If only he had taken notice of Ronan's loss of identity, lose of body, he may have focused himself upon saving Ronan from such a cruel fade, but he did not. He felt his friend slipping from his own grasp and perhaps selfishly conspired with the entirety of his existence to hold to this unnatural separation.

The information caused a sensation akin to pain as Solicah thrust himself into the crumbling bond. A pain he ignored as he filled his mind, and fed the strands, thoughts and memories of Ronan and himself. He let his entire self flow the length of the tether's foundation, letting the fractured stories of their friendship pool within him, and when emptiness obscured truth, when he discovered the place where darkness had begun to eat away at their bond he let that strength and information pour straight from his heart, reweaving the fractures in a frantic attempt to hold to Ronan close, despite what else might be lost to them.

Together friendship could defeat anything, even the ever frightful unknown which waited beyond the web for them all.

The first time Solicah heard Ronan laugh, an awkward sound, for he was in fact an awkward child, nothing compared to Solicah's effortless and ever flowing giggles, but none the less a sound which Solicah treasured and worshiped in his youth. A goal.

The smell of his sweat as he helped raise pavilion posts proudly toward the skies, and the thick rich smell of salt as they washed clean within the Suvan's body.

A shared waterskin, a failed race, a shared compliment from his mother, along with a shared insult from a foreigner.

All repaired, replenished. Healed.

Solicah lost himself in the rush, and focused singularly upon what seemed to be an impossible task, to fight against this force to secure his friend. He reached out with his ethereal fingers to grasp tightly to Ronan as the ambiguity conspired to consume him, and wash him into the folds of history, where he did not yet belong.
*

[Ronan]

The darkness was vile and seeping, like a poison that coated everything. And the light faded as it began to pour into the edges of his vision. He grasped futilely, trying to find Solicah. But the Webbing. The forsaken Webbing! It unravelled faster and faster, the link between he and Solicah fading.

Solicah? Who was Solicah? The boy with the golden hair. Always smiling, and yet surrounded by death. How had he met him? He thought and thought, but the thread twirled about the air, falling and evaporating.

Why!? What was this? He turned against the darkness, but only more awaited. Was this the poison? The plague? The disease that threatened the Drykas and its legacy?

"Solicah!" he replied to the boy's own name calling. He tried to remember, but with every inch of Webbing that unravelled, it seemed their shared past did too.

He looked beyond the golden haired boy to the other line of Webbing. His body. Now his spirit unravelled from that too. A hand. A hand in the darkness, almost swallowed up by its entropy.

He reached. Sol... icah. He had to remember. Fingers spread, glowing. The sun. Remember the sun. Hunting. The rabbit. Ronan remembered. Ronan remembered it all.

"I REFUSE TO FORGET!"

And the darkness swallowed both their hands.

[Jackalope]

The assault was unyielding, and both the Drykas men could feel it in their very being, and Ronan was dealing with the brunt of it. Was it due to his lesser skill in web walking? Or was it something deeper? Regardless, whatever the darkness was, it was unforgiving. The strands of pure light which tied Ronan and Solicah together were deteriorating. Those which remained were twisted by the black, as though the strands themselves were pox-touched. The web was all that kept the two together at this point, and only through Solicah's strength alone did they not snap entirely and send Ronan spiraling into an abyss. That did not, however, mean things were going good for the dark haired man. Like whips did they lash out, unforgiving and painful. The scars they left behind were not on his skin. His flesh was left untouched. The web allowed for a connection much more personal, much more..unprotected. His will, his thoughts, his wants, and desires, the web could see anything that was placed upon it. Only instead of waiting to be gifted these, the strands seemed intent on taking them. Tendrils wrapped around him, penetrating his psyche, his spirit, and his soul. The pain was otherworldly. And it's target quickly became apparent, but after a few moments they became less so. How could a man mourn for something he couldn't remember? Without memories, those sad times would be as though they never existed, but so would the good. First went the newest ones, but that wouldn't do enough to the Drykas man. The rejection of this intruder on the web would be much harsher than that. Mealla Stormsong. Stormwarden of Zulrav. Defiant. "I'm never going to just be someone's baby maker!!" Her blushing when she looked at her trainer which suggested that wouldn't have been such an awful thing, if it were with him. The way she always tucked her hair over her ear. The way she always... The way who always what? Her name faded from his thoughts. Then her face. Then..who? What do you mean Sam's other apprentice? I'm his only one. -------------------------------------------------- To Solicah, Ronan was suspended in the air, his body occasionally convulsing. All was closed to him, the torment he experienced, the pain he was going through, the losses, the weight of his agony. All he could hear were Ronan's cries for his friend. At first they were muffled, as though they came from a voice trapped underwater. More and more fearful, more and more desperate. "Solicah...Solicah...." The pox couldn't touch them as long as they remained intertwined. They were both sure of it. Hands touched. A spark of blackness ignited. "I REFUSE TO FORGET!" The darkness grew. Ronan was unware of the source, but the curly haired Drykas could feel it. He could feel it move from within him. Once brilliant strands of light faded to grey, and then to black as the evil took them both in its embrace. --------------------------------------- "Ronan...Solicah...Wake up..." A very familiar voice roused both of them from their slumber. They were in the Sunsinger Pavilion. It was all just a bad dream, right? Smiling, the Sunsinger Ankal leaned down and offered his hands to both of the waking Drykas. "Get up, you two...We've got to go and repair the web. Our team is getting sent out today, and we don't want to be late. I've already got Aureunna and Tairell ready. Just waiting on you two." After helping the two to their feet, he flashed a smile and turned on his heels, taking his leave from the large tent he called home.

[Ronan]

The darkness was sentient. Lucid tendrils gripped and grabbed him, constricting him, lashing at his very soul. The pain was hollow and numb, but deep all the same. Penetrating. Still things flashed before him, but where there was once understanding, there came nothingness. Rigid and sharp. Brutal. Pain swept across his temple.

Mealla spoke. Her voice in his head. The flighty one. He remembered the way she always... Always what? Who was she? Who was this? What he was thinking of? The pain surged more intensely as he tried to recall.

Sam's other apprentice? Ronan was confused. Utterly lost and confused. He was Sam's apprentice. There was no other. What had he been thinking?

❖

Suddenly he shot up from sleep. The familiar womb like walls of the pavilion surrounded him, a wind whirring outside. That voice... why was it so painfully resonant?

He accepted the hand. He heard the words. But the man was gone before Ronan could see his face. Tairell... his Strider. He turned to look at Solicah and smiled wanly.

"I was having the strangest dream... a nightmare. It felt real... but. I'm glad it wasn't."

He waved his hand in front of his face, annoying even himself with his blathering.

"Sorry. Ignore me."

[Solicah]

*
Solicah's entire being seized as his light became obscured by the overwhelming force devouring them both.

He produced panic akin to a strangled scream as he pulled toward the only person who held value to him, the only person who seemed be exist at all- his weighted, sinking buoy in a black night's ocean.

He clung, and scrambled closer, pressing himself to Ronan and tying tighter, desperately trying to feel what his brother felt, desperately trying to find the precious gems of him which rapidly became obscured by blackness.

Cold, and dark his metaphysical pulse rose till the climax swept him into unconsciousness.

☼

He welcomed the calm, lying still as a snake basking, afraid to disturb the peace which suddenly enveloped him.

His eyes opened tentatively, carefully, and he drew in a hot breath of sedentary air trapped by the pavilion's embrace.

The young ankal looked confident and capable as always, his skin kissed by Syna and hands calloused by sword work.

"Sama'el." The name seemed uncomfortable in Solicah's mouth as the wind left him dizzy on his feet. He squinted as the man retreated, his mind reeling from the horrifying dream which seemed altogether impossible, yet altogether real. Real as the web, like a dream should not be.

Solicah flushed at the urgency of his awakening, the idea of keeping them all halted when he should assist, but Ronan's words distracted him, froze his heart somewhere above his chest, blocking his words a moment as he tried to comprehend.

Ronan stepped from the parted passage in toe of his faithful Ankal, and Solicah's hand reached for him upon its own accord, pressing outstretched fingers to firm back. The give of the fabric, the sensation of the muscled flesh struck him inexplicably and he recalled his hand with utmost celerity.

Something was not as it seemed. Perhaps the lingering effects of the profound and perhaps mutual nightmare deceived his senses. Solicah still felt his companion hovering before him, weightless as his glory was extracted from him, as his gleam died slowly like so many of his brothers and sisters who's body's filled the Pavilions of Endrykas.

He looked Ronan in the eyes as he glanced back at the fleeting touch, and significance filled Solicah's face.

"Will this never end?" He asked, more pleaded, and knew that Ronan understood of what he spoke, for it was the question which plagued all of their dreaming, both while slumbering and awake.
*

[Jackalope]

Syna's rays penetrated the pavilion, a soothing warmth soaking straight into both the Drykas men's bones. It was certainly a welcome relief from the horror they'd both faced in their sleep. There was work to be done. There was no time for them to sit around and worry about what had happened. The web was in ruins. They were the only one's who could. "Hey," called Sam. "Hurry up, you two." He was clearly in a rush to set off on their mission. It wasn't only important for him and his people, but for his apprentices as well. They would all have a deeper understanding of the Drykas. They would be tied closer to their people than any had been before. Only . . . something was wrong. His voice was muffled, though his shadow was visible just on the other side of the tent. "Guys? Can you hear me?" Panic settled into his voice. Was he in danger? "Who are you?!" The winds picked up outside the tent, a sudden gale swooping down and threatening the very safety of the structure. "W-what's going on!? Ronan! Solicah! I can't-" His voice faded, and before either of the men could move, cracks appeared in the fabric of the pavilion, like a thin sheet of ice was stepped upon. Beams of light burst forth from these crevices, and in an explosion of brightness, both men were again engulfed in energy.

There were plumes of smoke and raging fires throughout the grasslands. Cries for help, the sound of steel meeting steel, and hooves against the ground engulfed the senses. It was pure insanity. Ronan and Solicah stood side by side as the battle unfoled around them. "Hey there, you two. Are you okay?" Sam'ael sat upon his strider, her glorious wings outstretched. Fully clad in plate armor and a lance at the read, he looked down at the two men of Endrykas. "Our battle with the Akalak isn't going well. What are you two doing down there? Get your armor on and mount your Striders! We're at war!" To Ronan, it made perfect sense. This battle with RF had been season's in the making. The dark skinned giants had been aggressively expanding into the Sea of Grass, threatening the beautiful Drykas way of life. Beside him lay a sword carved out of diamond, shining as a beacon of hope in the battle against the aggressive Akalak. Leather armor, etched with protective runes lay beside it. It was time to be the hero he knew he could always be. To Solicah, this was madness. The relations between the two cities were on great terms. They were working together to fight the pox. So why now had it gone so bad? What had deteriorated things to the point where they were having a battle in the open field? Why did everything have a blue tint to it? And what was up with that ridiculous makeup on Sam's face? A fireball whizzed overhead, exploding only twenty or so yards from the three men. "Why aren't you moving? This will never end unless you do something!" The Sunsinger Ankal pulled a helmet over his head, dropped the visor of the great helm, and raised the lance in defiance to the approaching Akalak army. "Let us ride with Zulrav at our backs! For Endrykas!" Dozens of mounted Drykas sprang forth from nowhere, cheering and shouting as their great leader rallied them. "We will not be defeated!"