RO > call me out; a forever open RP post, version 2

[midvalley]

NEW OPEN RP POST

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[cultivations]

[ For half of a second, his skin crawls at the contact, and he flinches away--

But something in his head shrieks again, shrill and sudden like the screech of an alarm, and he screws his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.

When the moment passes, he lets out a shaking breath, and he drops his hand to seek out Warren's. He looks up at him with a tired, apologetic smile, a surge of affection blooming in his chest and turning the expression fond. ]

I'm sorry. My head-- the accident, I think.

[ He sags against the headboard, struck by how tired he is, how sore and weak. ]

Have I been sleeping long? I feel rather as though I've been hollowed out.

[spellbent]

[ Ah, there it is. That fond look is what he was waiting for. Even if nothing else about this pans out, he can take satisfaction in knowing that, even for a moment, this worked. It brings a smile to his face, something wicked at the edges of the expression. ]

It’s been a couple of days. You must be starving.

[cultivations]

[ It doesn't occur to him to be unsettled by that smile -- if anything, he's glad to have coaxed it from him. ]

Days? [ That rings true enough, and he frowns. ] No wonder you were worried. I'm sorry to have caused such trouble.

[spellbent]

[ The fact that Dorian doesn’t even bat an eye at the look on Warren’s face is also encouraging. He can only play saccharine for so long. It’s so much easier to be himself. ]

Can’t be helped. The important thing is getting you well again.

[cultivations]

[ he smirks a little -- something muted, less bright than what he might have afforded Charlie days ago. ]

Playing nurse, are we? I'll have to enjoy this while it lasts.

[spellbent]

“Destroyer” is the antithesis of “healer” you realize. Don’t expect anything too miraculous.

[ Still, at the very least he can try to get Dorian on the mend again- it’s vital that he does. He steps out of the room for a moment and comes back with a bowl of soup and some bread- not too dissimilar from the meal he left in Dorian’s cell, though this time it’s actually warm. ]

[cultivations]

[ In those spare moments while Warren is gone, Dorian has that skin-crawling sensation again, that nagging feeling that something is amiss. His ears ring, his mouth feels dry, and that shrill alarm sounds in his head again. This time, he brings both hands to clutch at his head, drawing up his knees and gritting his teeth to will the noise away.

He feels-- wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

What's happening?

The noise subsides as quickly as it came, leaves him feeling drained though he's forgotten why. When Warren steps back in, Dorian can't help the small, subdued smile of relief that brightens his face. ]

Careful, my dear -- you're being endearingly domestic.

[spellbent]

Ah-ah. No jokes, just eat.

[ Might as well start small, just to see how well he takes direction. ]

[cultivations]

[ He ducks his head with a murmured, ] Of course.

[ No comment on his sparkling wit (no jokes? my dear man, you might as well ask a bird not to fly). No quip about his ability to multi-task (may i not do both?). He simply sets into his meal. ]

[spellbent]

There's a good boy. I want you to rest up, and let me know if you need anything.

[cultivations]

[ He nods in response, and once he's finished, he sets everything aside and settles back into the bed. He hesitates, but when his reluctance passes, he asks, ]

Will you be here when I wake?

[spellbent]

Of course. I'm not going to go anywhere until you're well again.

[cultivations]

[ the corner of his mouth twitches upward, even as he shuts his eyes to sleep. ]

You spoil me.

[spellbent]

Oh, not at all.

[ There's something dark lurking under those words. This has already turned out better than expected. ]

[cultivations]

[ he sleeps and recovers, but never quite shakes the feeling that something isn't right, as though he's sitting outside of himself. He doesn't know why -- but most of the time, he's able to shake away that feeling or ignore it. Obviously things are as they should be. Obviously nothing is amiss. Everything is fine.

The first time he calls Warren amatus, his feels wrong.

But something shrieks in his mind, and he forgets that feeling all over again.

He follows Warren's instructions and directions dutifully -- little tests, probably, that he passes with flying colors. By the time he feels well enough, some of his sass returns -- muted, of course, and tentative, as though testing the waters -- and a sense of restlessness. ]

If I didn't know better, I'd think you were keeping me prisoner here.

[spellbent]

[ Warren gives a derisive snort, glancing up from whatever notes he was reviewing. ]

Hardly. There's the door.

[ Granted, what waits outside is a very small and extremely cold and snowy little European town. ]

[cultivations]

[ he gives a little snort of his own, half earnestly, half mimicking. ]

As though I would want to go anywhere without you.

[ he pauses, then leans over, trying to read the notes upside down. ]

Anything I might assist with?

[spellbent]

Sweet of you to say.

Actually, I was wondering if you'd be willing to indulge me.

[cultivations]

Of course. How can I help?

[spellbent]

We never did get a chance to discuss the full extent of your abilities.

[cultivations]

[ he frowns, trying to remember the conversation in question, but it doesn't come readily to mind. ]

I can't recall. What would you like to know?

[spellbent]

Anything you'd care to tell. You've only ever given me the basics.

[cultivations]

Well, we warp the Veil -- the barrier that separates reality from the Fade, where spirits exist. We draw on a pool of energy we call mana, tapping into the Fade and warping reality to summon flame or ice or lightning or psychic energy.

We have specializations, of course, if one becomes skilled enough with the basics. Healing, for one. Shape shifting. Knight-enchanters, though they're rare.

I, myself, am a Necromancer. Pull spirits from the Fade to inhabit the bodies of the dead. Play on people's fears. Quite different from the Necromancers of your kind, as I understand it. We actually respect the sacrifices of the deceased.

[spellbent]

[ He knew there was more to Dorian’s magic than he was letting on. While seems regrettably true that the mage is no healer, his Necromancy may have merit. ]

What do you mean “play on people’s fears”?

[cultivations]

I draw on the Fade to summon spirits of fear, direct them to attack whomever I choose. The usual reaction is that the spirits make those attacked relive their worst moments, though I hear it causes hallucinations. I suppose it depends on the spirits' whims, that day.