Post by Dorien on Oct 26, 2010 20:36:09 GMT -5
((I went back and read this and just... Wow. Dorien was pretty bad back then, but he might have an excuse? Just getting out of a basement, well...
A year ago or so, Nath came to get Dorien out of the basement.
Also, Annaleah is the worst villain ever. She doesn't even show up when her 'prey' escapes.))
That's it. Too much time has gone by since Natharai last saw that damned tattooed archivist and the 'remnant' that was left behind in the park was far too unsettling to outright ignore. A while back, Ester brought him a charred book she found outside the Lamb near some bushes, with unmistakable evidence that it was, indeed, the missing redhead's belonging. However, that was not the most unsettling part... It was that the charring had a different 'feel' to it than your average flame or conjured mage spell. It was tainted–With fel magic. So, even though Natharai had entertained the thought of Dorien spontaneously exploding due to holding in a sealed spell for too long, that was clearly not the case anymore... Enough time was given for Mydral to contact him if he escaped harm and now was the time for action.
In the dark of night, he decided to make his move. No more distractions, no more waffling, no more excuses that he was too busy... He needed to find Dorien and find him now, be it he was dead or otherwise. Cloaked in his ritual vestments, he moved through the darkened forests of Elwynn with a felhunter plodding along steadily by his side and Dorien's book tucked under an arm.
"Fzuushon, melar zila..." The tentacled creature looked up to him with a *growf* before obediently snuffling at the text that was offered to it, its tendrils snaking around and 'pawing' at the fel-scorched edges. “Ruk zar maez daz kar ze..?" The felbeast looked to Natharai once again, contemplating for a moment before its tentacles began swaying about the wretched creature as if it were tasting the air.
After a few minutes of 'sniffing', Fzuushon paused, still as a mill pond, before bounding off with a triumphant howl like an overexcited bloodhound. He was on the scent...and it was leading them both towards Duskwood.
The trail took them deeper into the dark forests of Duskwood, to the large graveyard in the west, and the equally dead town. Raven Hill was eerie, dark, and near silent, save for the odd creaking of the various houses, derelict and ruined. An odd sight, as many of the buildings were missing their doors, was the one they were drawn to still had one.
Even more curious, the door looked new, despite the beat up look. The hinges were also new, despite the installer's attempt to make them seem old and rusted. The camouflage would have been passable if no one had been looking closely.
That wasn't the case, this evening.
Upon arriving on the apparently derelict plot of land, Fzuushon made little haste in bounding over to the door, its strange monoclawed 'paws' thudding against the damp grass gracelessly. Its tentacles rubbed and grasped futilely at the door as its entire body wiggled in one tremendous tail wag.
He's here, he's here! I did such a good job...! See what I did? At least, that would probably be what Fzuushon would say if he could speak. Despite its hideousness and demonic nature, it really was, at its heart, just a dumb, yet oddly endearing, dog. Thankfully the mongrel at least had enough sense to keep quiet...
Creeping closer, the warlock pauses to reward the hound with a brief pat on its head before peering at the dwelling's windows. Hm... no light. Either the house's inhabitants were out or they were asleep. He looked down at the door's lock and hinges, scoffing quietly upon noticing the hasty attempt to age the hardware, as he fished inside his robe to fetch a small leather case from one of its internal pockets–A lock picker’s toolset. Fzuushon did not seem to sense any warding sigils, at least upon the door, but he figured stealth would be preferable to, say, kicking down the door 'with guns blazing'.
Procuring a torsion wrench and a half diamond pick, Natharai kneels in front of the door lock and tries his hand at letting himself in. While he is no stranger to lock picking, it has, regrettably, been a while since his last attempt... He could only hope that he would not rattle around too much to cause an alarm.
The lock quite possibly of the cheapest make, and is easily unlocked. Apparently someone wasn't expecting visitors. The door, on well oiled hinges, swings open, revealing a rather dark room. It's filled with the usual trappings of a home, a table with a few chairs, a designated kitchen area with a hearth, and a small sitting area. There are two staircases, both appear to be a in a state of disrepair, one leading to the second floor, while the other leads down into a basement.
The hearth has long since died, but there are logs beside it, as well as ash within it, to suggest that someone does live here, although haven't been they haven't been here in awhile.
There's a faint light coming up from the basement, through the poorly maintained floor.
Natharai looked about the area idly, eyes narrowed, as he gave Fzuushon a silent signal to stay outside and guard the door. Besides, he would make too much noise with those 'paws' of his scrabbling about the wooden floor. Ugh, just his luck, they will probably squeak if he so much as sneezes wrong. So, step by step, toe to heel, the warlock crept across the floor as quietly as possible.
It WAS just his luck! Not only did they squeak, but they creaked as well, no matter how hard he tried to keep quiet.
Heaving out a great sigh, at least mentally, Natharai reached back to pluck his stave from its holding upon his back. If anyone was below, he'd like be introducing himself to them quite soon.
There was a small thump from downstairs, but no further sounds of that sort. The house settled into an uneasy silence, only broken by the floorboards creaking under him.
What was that...? He wondered with a faint flinch of his eyelids, his gaze flitting to the floor for a brief moment as he continued to make his way towards the basement door. Reaching out with his senses, he attempted to see if there were any possible wards and sigils ahead that might be...problematic to this endeavour of his.
Apparently the owner of the home was either an idiot when it came to magical protections, or they really thought no one was going to come looking. For any reason, there's no magic on the door. Although there's a faint 'taste' or sorts, from behind it.
This hint that was detected was not exactly a surprise, considering it was apparent from the scorched book that Dorien's abductor was indeed some form of fel caster. An encounter with such a person would prove to be extremely unpleasant since the only thing that is worse for a warlock to fight is another warlock. Those of holy and arcane magic’s can, eventually, with enough finesse, be corrupted and destroyed some how... Warlock battles tended to be an aggravating stalemate of curses, drains, and suggestion spells. Oh well... Dorien's retrieval was his priority right now, so he will simply have to make due if such an event happens. He reaches out to open the door, trying not to make too much more noise than he already has due to those accursed floorboards.
The door opens easily, behind it a staircase that matched the floor he just crossed in the level of repair it was kept in. At the bottom of the staircase, there was a small candle, almost down to the end of the wax and wick. Judging from the candle, and the amount of light that was coming through the floor, this couldn't be the only one.
Moving ever deeper into the basement, Natharai tightened his grip around his ceremonial stave as a few pre-emptive words of demonic bubbled around in his mind––ready to fight or flee should something happen. Yet, after a few more agonizingly long seconds, he found himself nearing the base of the room.
More candles show up, with a two foot difference between them, as they form a circle to fight the darkness in the room. They're all close to running out though, suggesting how long they have been burning. There's a larger concentration around a few stacked books, with a pitcher of something, as well as a few papers.
Within the circle of candles in a large chalked array, an exact match to the tattoo’s circles on Dorien's chest, the ones that were for a summoning. From the small pile of books and papers, there was about a foot and a half wide line of smudging of the chalk circle.
In the middle of it all, at the dead centre, was Dorien.
Nath's eyes widened slightly as he spotted the ginger priest, his lips pressing into a fine line as he tried to discern whether or not the hapless man was alive or not. He looked around the room quietly as he made his way towards him, ready for anything that might jump out at him.
Dorien does look to be breathing, with the steady rise and fall of his chest. He's shirtless, with his right hand resting on his torso. Something seems off about the hand, but with the poor light, it’s hard to tell.
He eventually nears Dory's side, looking down to the hand with a furrowed brow. ...What...?
Dorien's hand, or more specifically, his fingers are all swollen and discoloured just before the second knuckle. There's similar discolouration around his throat, although significantly fainter. He, overall, looks like crap, with his matted hair, shadows around his eyes, and pale skin.
Light... what a mess he was. But it was no surprise to him considering how long he has been formally "missing". Wordlessly, Natharai presses the palm of his spindly hand over Dorien's mouth in a pre-emptive effort to silence him should he make any noise from being awakened.
Dorien wakes up, and shudders slightly, opening his eyes slowly, dreading to see who owned the hand. He blinks, after a moment, confusion on evident on his face. After a moment of staring at Natharai, he reaches out with his good hand, which had been laying at his side, to rest it on Nath's. He felt real too...
The warlock offers the archivist a small, yet fleeting, smile. Hey there, Mydral. Good to see you alive... But the reunion was wilfully cut short as he looks around quickly, withdrawing his hand as he murmurs quietly. "...Can you move?" He was in awful shape just from at a glance, so there was no telling how bad it truly was overall.
Dorien's hand seems to follow his, refusing to break contact in case Natharai should disappear if he let go. It takes him a moment to register the question, still staring at the other man, before he shook his head. "Mm, no. She..." He pauses for a moment, breaking his gaze away from Nath to look at his discoloured fingers as if he'd never seen them before. Shaking his head again, he looks back up. "She broke my legs."
The warlock pauses, looking to Dorien with mild disbelief before redirecting his gaze towards his legs. Dammit...! This will make things difficult. He's not exactly strong enough to carry Dorien out of this place -and- ward off potential attackers. The wheels in his head were visibly turning; Natharai's visage scrunched thoughtfully as he weighs his options... He could call his voidwalker, but he would need to keep Fzuushon tethered to the door. He cannot dismiss him now–not until they get out into the open again. He hasn't bothered trying to control two minions at once, but Fzuushon and Jhomnuz are two of his more mild-mannered demons that he has under his "employ".
Dorien watches Natharai, his thumb absentmindedly moving to rub the pad against the other man's hand. "Hey..." He coughs slightly. "Uhm..." He pauses again, as if trying to remember something. "Right, how well can you fight necromancy?"
Closing his eyes briefly, shutting himself off from the outside world for just a brief moment, a large and shadowy mass begins to take shape in one of the darker corners of the room. Slowly this figure detaches from its hiding place, slipping towards the duo as a pair of dimly glowing eyes bob listlessly in an area that would probably be considered its head. "Jhomnuz," the warlock murmurs lowly to the creature. "Carry him and be mindful of his injuries." The shadowy figure's eyes close as its head dips slightly in a subservient bow, thick arms of dark energy reaching forward to pick up the frail and battered man.
Nath pauses for a moment though, cracking open an eye lightly as he looks to Dorien. "...Well enough." His eyes fully open, but remain half-lidded as he regards the man almost warily. "...Why?"
"Well," Dorien starts, frowning for a moment as he eyes the void creature. He looks back at Natharai. "She brought back her father."
Hm... Well, this would be a problem, wouldn't it. Natharai kept his displeasure heavily veiled, being he had larger problems to deal with at the moment. Dorien had to get out of here and -fast-.
Jhomnuz carefully scooped up the broken cleric and cradled him against its chest. It was much like floating on a cloud...a very cold cloud. The demon looks Dorien over idly, seeming bemused by the odd magics that surround him, before being snapped back to attention with Natharai saying "Jhonmuz. Follow close and do not let anything happen to him."
"...I understand," it drones in a nebulous voice.
Dorien makes a vague sound, trying to grab on to Natharai again. He stops, after a moment, realizing how stupid it was. The redhead waves his good hand over to the pieces of paper, near the pile of books. "Could you grab those? She doesn't... Seem to know the tattoo off by heart..." He looks around. "I'd rather not let her keep a copy of them." He finished, murmuring slightly.
Grab what? His eyes follow Dorien's hand, resting upon the pile of materials, before quickly moving over to fetch them. "I will need you to hold them, Dorien," he murmurs as he quickly, yet gently, stacks the materials upon Dory's chest. "I have...too much to concentrate on at the moment and I need my hands free." Hope you don't mind, man.
Looking to Jhomnuz once again, their eyes meeting, he jerks his head towards the door before heading up the stairs–The vaporous demon obediently following.
Dorien clutches the papers to his chest with his good hand, muttering something about burning them. Had it always been so cold? Not to mention the fact that he still wasn't sure that this was a dream or not.
Wood creaked, and the door at the other end of the basement opened. The sound of clay hitting stone follows.
Both the demon and its master pause upon hearing the sound of another entering, the voidwalker instinctively turning to place its back to the wall nearest to the basement exit. It had to keep Dorien safe, after all, being it was its primary directive. Natharai quickly turned on a heel, eyes seeking out the intruder as he gripped his ceremonial stave with both hands.
At the other end of the room stands a man, with a wrinkly, craggy face, in loose brown robes. In his hand is a long metal rod, about the length of a hand-and-a-half sword. One half is smooth, while the other half has spikes coming out of it.
Upon closer inspection, the wrinkles aren't wrinkles at all, but cracks and breaks in the clay molded over the bone that sometimes peeks through underneath. Empty eye sockets watch the trio, but it does nothing but stand there.
"Let's just go," Dorien murmurs quietly.
"I intend to," Natharai drones lowly as he keeps his eyes trained on 'Bone Daddy', willing the voidwalker to start heading up the stairs as he sidles after it. The warlock takes care in not turning his back to it, backing after Jhomnuz.
Bone Daddy continues to stare, it’s really creepy. Dorien even shivers, despite not being the one stared at directly.
The skeleton does manage to stir some unrest within the warlock, but he has seen far more horrible things in his lifetime due to his 'trade'. Right now, all he was concentrating on was moving up the stairs and back up to the main room.
The skeleton follows them out, although makes sure to keep a healthy distance from the group.
"I wish it'd just go away," Dorien mutters, making sure to keep Natharai in view. Oh Light please let this not be a dream.
Natharai lets out a non-committal grunt as he, Dorien, and Jhomnuz come back up into the main room–the floorboards making their displeasure known about being stepped upon by the warlock and the macabre construct. Jhomnuz, however, has no problem keeping quiet. A small perk to being made up of shadowy vapour.
The door is so close! Fzuushon peeks at them curiously as they come into sight before bearing its rows of pointed teeth at the encroaching skeleton. Oh good, a chew toy.
The skeleton stops in the middle of the main room, if it didn't realize it was outmanned before, it knew it now.
"You have the loveliest companions, Natharai," Dorien smiles slightly at the sight of the demon dog.
Natharai murmurs quietly as he continues to keep his narrowed eyes trained on the construct. "I do not believe this to be the time for levity, Mydral..." Surely this creature has a master lurking around somewhere, so if it knows of their movements, surely it, too, would be alerted to trouble.
The warlock continues to back towards the door, trying to move outside in to the open.
Bone Daddy continues to watch them from the middle of the dark room, not moving an inch.
Dorien smiles wider. "If you say so, Nath." He quiets down, but still stares intently at the other man.
Ah... Finally. Out in the open again. The felhunter stalks over towards its master, snuffling curiously at Dorien and Jhomnuz before coming to his side.
Well. Now he has room to move around... He cannot let the construct "live", being it would follow them endlessly, and he is rather certain that it knows his intent as well. No use beating around the bush. The perk to being one who specializes in the corruptive fel arts is that it can serve as a rather powerful foil against necromancy... After all, necromancy was borne from his predecessor's magics. With any luck, this construct's master is as careless with its creation as it was with safeguarding the house.
The dull necrotic glow of his craft forms around his finger tips, illuminating the ground around him with dim violet light.
The skeleton brings it's mace up to bear in response, but doesn't move in any other way. It stares at the man as if daring Natharai to strike, even if it hadn't done anything to hamper him. It's mouth clicks open, as if trying to form speech.
Huh... Ballsy abomination, wasn't he? Well, what else can you expect from a drone. "Shi!" Natharai quickly hissed in demonic, Fzuushon bounding towards the construct with a frothy snarl. As the felhunter began its charge, moving to play harrier to his huntsman, the warlock let loose a bolt of corruptive magic towards the skeleton.
Bone Daddy swings the mace as the felhunter runs forward, aiming for its side with the spikes on the weapon. The bolt hits, and the clay seems to flash with various magical symbols, but clearly the magic defenses are sub par, as the clay cracks all the same, exposing the bones underneath.
As the clay cracks, the magic slowly worms its way inside, spreading upon its bones in black 'veins' like an infection. The felhunter, sadly, was not so lucky and was hit a meaty *thud*, the spikes driving into its side. With a yelp, it staggers away before regaining its footing and beginning the assault anew–its tentacles lashing out at the mace in an effort to subdue it.
The creature continues to swing it's mace, or at least trying to, against the felhunter's assault. It doesn't seem to notice the corruptive magic, not until it's too late. Despite this, Bone Daddy attempts to go down swinging, as it were.
Fzuushon tries its damnedest to keep the mace still, which manages to still connect with its head, albeit lightly, a few times as the creature tries to snap at its lower legs. Its..kind of hard to hurt something that has no sense of pain, but its purpose is to distract the construct while Nath does his work.
The magic continues to take its toll, worming into all the nooks and crannies of the skeleton as the warlock seeks to disrupt and break apart the necrotic forces that bind it to this world.
The skeleton drops the mace finally, as it's hands start to crumble and decay. It looks up from the beast, to look at Natharai. Despite the fact of nothing to convey emotions with, the construct looks... Pleased.
It continues to fall apart, still staring at Natharai until the magic takes it's face away.
Nath cannot help but seem bemused at this turn of events, watching the skeleton slowly crumble into a pile of ash, bone particulate, and clay. Hm... That was strangely less difficult than he anticipated. Fzuushon, in the meantime, prods at the heap tentatively with a tentacle before moving away to lap at its wound on its side.
"Is Bone Daddy gone?" Dorien finally says, still staring at Natharai. "Can't see anything in the dark, and you were blocking the door."
Jhomnuz still hovers near Natharai, holding the hobbled priest as it looks to the remains of the construct impassively.
...'Bone Daddy'? Natharai quirks up an eyebrow as he looks to Dorien. What an insipid nickname, but... from the sound of what he said earlier, it is an apt name all things considering. "Yes," he drones monotonously. "It appears so." Though he wasn't quite sure about that, in all honesty... The trouble with necromantic creations is that they sometimes do not want to stay dead. But it was easy enough to dismantle, so it is very possible that the deed was done entirely. "...Dorien. Do you have any idea where that creature's creator has gone?"
Dorien closes his eyes for a moment, brows furrowed. He sighs, and shakes his head slowly, opening his eyes again. He looks down, although still staring at Natharai. "I can't remember. I can't even remember how I got my fingers broken, or why my neck hurts. I assume she did both of them, since I do remember her breaking my legs... Or telling her daddy dearest to break them."
Letting out a faint sigh, the warlock reaches up to rub at his forehead thoughtfully. Well then... There is one way to probably flush this person out. He shoots the voidwalker a look, staring at it sidelong. "Jhomnuz... Take Dorien away from here to a place you deem to be safe. I will trust your judgement in this matter, but no matter what... Do not let harm befall him." The voidwalker bobs its head obediently, murmuring a quiet 'As you wish' in response.
Natharai, however, rubs his hands together briskly before holding them apart at either side of him–flames sparking to life upon their palms. If one wants to flush out a rat... you need to destroy their nest.
Dorien lets out a rather terrified sound, and tries to hit the voidwalker with his elbow when it tries to take him away. All the calm, languish emotion the redhead had seemed to dash away at the thought of leaving. "N-no!" He tries his best to thrash about without doing anymore damage.
The flames are quickly squelched as Natharai's face visibly droops in irritation. He turns to Dorien, speaking rather thinly as he attempts to keep his composure intact. "... Dorien," he murmurs neutrally. "I understand you have been through much and are, quiet likely, frightened... But worry not. Jhomnuz is one of my most reliable..."
"Are you going to come after? After you do whatever here?" Dorien stares intently at the other man. He's breathing just a little bit too quickly, and his eyes are just a bit too wide, almost showing the whites around the colour of his eyes.
Natharai furrows his brow lightly as he watches the other man. "Of course," he offers plainly. What, does he really think he's going to just pitch him somewhere and leave him to rot after all this? "I will meet up with you soon once I deal with the missing portion of this supposed duo... You have my word on that."
Dorien nods slowly. "O-okay. Right, thank you, um. Have fun with burning?" He offers, in a subdued manner. He sinks back into the voidwalker's hold, clutching the papers against his chest.
Natharai quietly nods, glancing briefly to Jhomnuz. Time to be on your way, big guy. The voidwalker, yet again, dips its head in acknowledgement as both it, and Dorien, disappear into the shadows.
Now then... The flames once again ignite in Nath's hand, tossing two bolts of fire towards the dilapidated house–One into the main room and another to the roof.
The house starts to burn! The fire eats away quickly at the dry, ruined wood, but nothing comes out of the doorway as it progresses.
Natharai was not expecting for the construct's master to come rushing out of the burning house at all... Quite the contrary. She, or he, would have done so long ago once they noticed that their prize was being stolen from them. No... This was to hopefully give this person a signal and, with any luck, have them hurry on home so he might deal with them in person.
He had time... He would wait.
If there were any secret alarms, or signals, either the person didn't care or were busy with something else. No one appeared to show up.
So the warlock waited...waited...and waited. Hm. Either this person is extremely careless, or inobservant, or they are planning something else…
So Natharai decided to give up for the time being... Dorien was in poor condition, so he had to see to that. But how...? Light, he cannot be healed since he'd simply absorb it. How bothersome.
As the house eventually collapsed in a smouldering heap, the warlock walked out into the woods to where he sensed Jhomnuz to be waiting. The voidwalker had seemingly chosen a secluded outcropping of land near the river, shielded by trees and dense foliage. The water provided a good means of escape if it had to, being it could just float over the surface of it.
Dorien seemed to start to life again as he saw Natharai appear. He still looked pale and broken, but he somehow looked better than he did in that house. Understandable, really. He smiled slightly at the other man. "So, have fun?"
Natharai plodded forward steadily, using his ceremonial stave as a walking stick, eventually offering the weary man a faint smile. "Somewhat... Still no sign of your friend, however." He nodded to Jhomnuz, murmuring quietly. "We need to get him to a bed." He stepped closer to the voidwalker, mere inches away from its arms and Dorien's form. "Take us home, Jhomnuz."
Dorien, after a moment's thought, reaches out and rests his hand on Natharai's sleeved arm. He seems to relax even more, a small smile settling on his face.
Nath quirks up an eyebrow at Dorien before reaching up to gently pat that same hand. Well, if he was stuck in a basement for who knows how long, Nath would be glad to see a friendly face as well. And in a blink and puff of black vapour, the trio disappeared and soon find themselves in a living room of sorts... Or a library. It is rather hard to tell at this point.
Books, tomes, and textbooks line nearly every inch of exposed wall–baring a few spots where archaeological or artistic trinkets are displayed. The place smells like old books, old polished wood, and a rather unmistakable scent that belongs to a certain warlock. This is Nath's home alright... A long couch and three armchairs are situated around a rectangular coffee table and hearth–The table littered with periodicals, newspapers, and notes. Not to mention an used teacup or two...
Dorien looks around, taking it the surroundings in. He lets out a low whistle, before coughing a few times.
"Cozy..." He murmurs, still holding onto Natharai's arm. "How many books do you have?" Leave it to Dorien, to get distracted by books despite being in pain, and just being rescued. "Do you have a kitchen too? Or at least a stove... I assume with the tea..."
Oh Light, now he was rambling.
'Cozy' is probably a word that would be used if it wasn't so damned messy. Whatever Nath has been up to, he's been busy/distracted/tired enough to neglect his housework. "...Mm. Apologies for the mess," he offered neutrally as he debated something. Well... He has never really bothered to have guests over for an extended period of time, so the only options he had was a couch or his bed. Well... Sticking him on the couch is poor form, really. After being put through so much, he'd need something better than a damned slab to lay on. "...I will be but a moment. I need to prepare your bed."
And with that, the warlock moves away and begins lighting some oil lamps along the way. The sounds of cloth being hurriedly tossed aside and rearranged soon follows.
Jhomnuz simply waits and continues to hold Dorien aloft, eventually glancing down at the frailer man wordlessly. Hello, tiny human...
Dorien lay in the creature's arms, careful not to look too closely at it. To be honest with himself, Dorien was slightly worried about the void creature. It was a lot like the Bone Daddy, in a way, just different magic. So he made sure not to look at it. Not to imagine it with a mace, not to look into its eyes for the fear of seeing nothing.
His legs were starting to hurt again, but he stayed quiet, looking around the room, trying to read the titles of the books from where he was.
The books vary from subject to subject with each section, but there does not seem to be anything of great importance–like grimoires or magic tomes. Novels, namely fiction, political debates, history books, how-to texts, encyclopedias, etc...
Jhomnuz eventually looks away, much to Dorien's delight, no doubt, after he senses that the fleshling has grown restless just hanging there. Ohhh, the trials of being a warlock's peon...
Natharai eventually comes back into view, dressed in civilian clothing, as he beckons the voidwalker to come to him. Jhomnuz, of course, obliges as he hovers over into the bedroom.
Dorien seems to brighten up again at the sight of Natharai. "Do you have a first aid kit? Or something? I don't remember how long it's been, but they've probably been healing, slowly. She said to make it clean, but really, with that weapon, I'd rather not take chances."
Why did he have to start rambling? Dorien snaps his mouth shut.
Once inside, books aside, the bedroom almost looks rather spartan. A simple night stand, a few oil lamps, a worn mahogany dresser and mirror, and a clothing rack. The only real lavish part about this room is that he at least has a full-sized bed rather than a twin.
"Yes, yes, I will bring you what you require, Dorien. Worry not," he murmurs idly as he tosses back the covers. "Set him down, Jhom–Carefully, of course." The voidwalker obliges, gently setting the priest down upon a series of propped up pillows so he is able to partially sit up. Once settled, Natharai covers him up lightly with a thick blanket as he looks down to him semi-impassively. "...What kind of tea do you want? I will make you a kettle."
"Uhm. Uh," Dorien stutters slightly. He wasn't use to this sort of thing, even when he had been sick. He was the one running around usually. "Whatever you want to drink, too." There, that seemed safe enough.
"Hn... Earl Grey then." He nods to Jhomnuz. "...Feel free to make yourself scarce." The voidwalker seemed all too pleased with this, or at least so it seemed (hard to tell with a giant blob of shadow energy), and quickly evaporates into a puff of black 'smoke'. There... No more scary voidwalker.
With that, Nath slips out of the bedroom and heads to the kitchen, sounds of ceramic cups clinking and a metallic kettle being filled with water soon following.
Dorien sits there for a moment, staring off to the side. It felt good here, even if only one person lived here. It was lived in, you knew that someone was here, that they would come back every night. The redhead missed this feeling. His own small place was rented, so he made sure to keep it clean, in case he should be booted out. It didn't have the same feel as this home.
He winced slightly at the thought of getting kicked out of his room. Was he behind in rent? He forgot, what day was it? How long would the woman wait before she tossed all his things outside? Had someone already taken up? No, stop thinking.
Dorien organized the papers he had brought with him, staring at them for a moment, before doing his best to start tearing them apart with one hand. He found he had to start using his teeth to help.
After many minutes, Natharai comes back with a small tray of odds-and-ends. A kettle of steeping tea (with cream and sugar to the side), two mugs, two slices of thick toast with strawberry jam, and a first aid kit. He carefully sets it upon the bed, going right to handing Dorien his toast before fixing them both some tea. "...I was not certain how hungry you were or if you were able to manage anything, so I have this for starters. Hope you do not mind," he murmurs idly, focusing on the task at hand. "How do you take your tea?"
"One cream is fine," he nods, taking bite out of the toast. He almost seems to moan. "This is great, perfect even. Oh Light, this is delicious. It isn't burned at all, yessss." He scarves down the rest of the toast quickly.
Natharai cannot help but smirk lopsidedly at the fuss Dorien is making, but it has probably been a while since he had anything resembling decent food. "...You are welcome," he says mildly as he offers the tea, with one cream. Once that is done, he settles down at the end of the bed, sipping at his own tea quietly.
Dorien leans back against the pillows, holding the tea cup awkwardly with the wrist of his bad hand, and his good one. He takes a sip, closing his eyes for a moment while smiling. "This is wonderful."
Nath does little else but quietly grunt in acknowledgement, enjoying his tea as he stews in silence. He seems to be mulling over a great deal of things, but he does not seem exactly willing to discuss them at this time.
"... Do you require anything else to eat?"
"I'm perfect, thank you," Dorien smiles brighter, looking to the other man. "Maybe I can try and make a big breakfast tomorrow. Or at least breakfast. I'm good with eggs, and such..." He trails off, looking at his tea, before looking back up at Nath.
Catching this pause, Natharai looks at Dorien sidelong, lifting an eyebrow rather than his head. Yes?
"Assuming you have eggs and whatnot. I'm thinking pancakes."
The warlock hums quietly, expression impassive. "...While I do have eggs and I am open to the idea of an eventual breakfast. ...How do you intend to pull off this feat?" He gestures idly towards Dorien's legs. Yeah... You still can't walk, bucko.
"I'll crawl. Hope you'll set up a chair in there," Dorien snickers, and winks to Natharai, since he can't offer a thumbs up with his hands full.
With a faint snort, a faint smirk flits upon Natharai's lips as he watches the cleric from the corners of his eyes. Well, it is nice to see that he is such an optimist in light of all things. "I will entertain the thought, but I make no promises..." He pauses again, remaining pensive. "Do you care for some sort of bath? I could probably help set something up so you can clean yourself off... I doubt your captor gave you the courtesy of such a thing during your stay."
"... Yeah, no she didn't. What did you have in mind?" Dorien finishes off the rest of his tea, still watching the other man. He looks at the cup, then around for a proper place to put it down. Not a good idea to put it on the covers, he didn't think.
"Well," he drones thoughtfully. "I cannot very well put you in a tub, but I can set up a chair in the bathroom with a basin of hot water and some cloth. You will have your privacy, of course. If you are worried about reaching your legs, I have one of those, ah, sponges on a stick... Whatever one calls those things." He waves a hand dismissively as he gestures to the tray he set down to Dorien. Feel free to set your cup down there.
He does so, and nods. "That works out well enough. Uh. I think I'll need scissors... And do you have any extra clothing you don't mind borrowing me? She took away my shirt and stuff when they got ruined." He smiles sheepishly.
"Hnn... There should be some within the first aid kit. Do you require aid or...?" He trails off, looking at the priest uncertainly.
"... Do you think you can carry me?"
Well that got his attention... Nath looks to Dorien and arches his brow skeptically. "... I could try." He doesn't look so sure on this, but he has never really had to carry a full grown man before. Thankfully Dory's kind of thin and small, so it will probably work out...?
"... Maybe piggy back would work the best." Dorien murmurs. The last thing he wanted was to be cradled against Natharai's chest.
The subtle shift in expression makes it seem like that is even a worse idea to Nath, but... The guy's got a point. It might be easier for the sake of leverage and so on. "Very well," he drones as he stands up. "Let me go prepare the washroom. Until then..." He gestures vaguely to the teapot before making his way out of the room once again.
Dorien thinks about pouring himself another cup, but goes against it. It was hard enough drinking the tea the way he was, pouring was something he wasn't interested in trying.
He goes back to tearing up Anna's notes on his tattoo, planning what to do with them after he finished. Probably setting them on fire was his best bet.
After a few more minutes of knocking around the storage closet and heating up the water for the wash basin, Natharai comes back into the bedroom and moves the tray onto the nightstand wordlessly. "Very well... Everything is arranged and you should be able to clean yourself up." He pauses for a moment before furrowing his brow lightly. "If you require assistance, I will do what I can... Are you ready?"
While Dorien had been waiting, he had pushed back the covers, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He sighs. "As ready as ever."
Natharai quietly sighs through his nose, shoving aside the embarrassment of this whole ordeal, as he crouches down in front of Dorien with his back towards him.
Dorien flops forward, wrapping his arms around Natharai's shoulders, and shuffles forward enough to get his legs on either side of the other man.
He mutters something along the lines of this being embarrassing to save face.
As Dorien flops on his back, Nath lets out a quiet *hrk* as he struggles to his feet, trying not to either fall over or drop Dorien. Yeah... This is embarrassing alright. But it's a good thing he has been working out for a while now, being, not long ago, he would have crumpled over like a brittle twig. The warlock slowly makes his way to the bathroom, which has a wooden chair, a metal basin on a stool, a bucket of cleaning acoutrements set up, and plenty of towels. With great effort, he carefully stoops down to set Dorien on the chair.
Dorien sits back, and looks everything over, nodding to himself. "And I left the first aid kit in the other room... Do you have any other clothing, a pair of pants will do, since I'm going to ruin these soon enough."
Natharai straightens, smoothing down his shirt before nodding to the priest. He murmurs a brief word of pardon, moving out to fetch just that. When he returns, he sets the first aid kit near the chair and then looks to Dorien impassively. "Anything else you require?"
Dorien smiles. "I'm good, I may need help later with..." He trails off, and shakes his head. "But yeah, that'll be later."
He nods and offers a brief smile before turning to head to the door. "I will see what sort of spare clothing I can manage to find... Until then, call upon me if you happen to need anything." And with that, the door closes with a click.
Dorien shifts slightly, staring at the door for a moment, trying very hard to hear the sounds of the other. The closed door bothered him, because it completed the room, which was small to begin with. It only seemed to become smaller.
He went through the first aid kit, pulling out the scissors, and attacking his pants with them, doing his best to cut down the length of the sides of them. Stop thinking, damn it.
When he finally got his pants and whatnot off without hurting his legs too much, Dorien proceeds to wash up.
In the meanwhile, Nath remains blissfully unaware of all this and currently sits in the living room while reading a book. Not to mention trying to forget the embarrassment of trying to piggyback Dorien moments ago.
After avoiding another panic attack because of the size of the room, Dorien wraps himself up in several towels to save his decency.
His legs looked worse than he felt. Much like his right hand, they were a wonderful array of colours, from black to yellow. The swelling had gone down, which makes him wonder how long since he had them broke.
"Um... Nath?"
An idle voice sounds from the other room, muffled by the door. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure how well I can wrap up my legs and whatnot with one hand."
After a few more moments, Nath comes back into the room and makes his way to Dorien. He keeps his expression neutral as he regards the man and his demeanour calm. He has played 'medic' before and has seen other people naked before... Making this a bigger deal than it actually is would be bad on both parts.
Dorien sits there, looking vaguely embarrassed, while holding a roll of bandages in his bad hand, while the other is firmly holding the towel around his waist in place. "I didn't see if you had anything to use as splints..."
With a faintly dismissive grunt and a quick murmur of 'I will be right back', Nath ducks out of the room to go rummage around in his supply cabinet. Then he comes back with splint material in hand, kneeling next to Dorien's legs. He frowns vaguely as he regards them, but says nothing to draw attention to his actions as he goes right to carefully bandaging up his legs.
Dorien sits and watches, relaxing again how that the door was open again, and he was all clean!
Once he finishes with both legs, now properly splinted and bandaged, he reaches up to carefully offer the same treatment to his injured hand and fingers.
Dorien holds out his hand, still watching. "You're good at this... Do this often?"
Natharai shakes his head as he goes about his work. "Not tremendously so, but I have...had a great deal of exposure to basic combat dressings in the past." A bit vague, but purposely so.
"Mm, still, useful. I have medic training," Dorien murmurs. "Didn't have enough healing to begin with, had to take anything that would help."
Natharai murmurs and shrugs faintly "You are a combat medic, yes? Well... That is rudimentary knowledge. Even with the Light, you still need basic medicine to back it for it to do much good." He fastens the ties on the bandages, completing the job. "That should hold..." He trails off as he looks up to Dorien. "Let me go grab you a change of clothing..." And with that, he leaves the room yet again!
Dorien still keeps a near white-knuckled grip on the towel around him, staring after Natharai. He rests his newly bandaged hand on his lap, and sighs. That wasn't too terrible, nothing awkward happened, good.
Eventually Natharai returns with a pair of loose clothing, tucked under one arm, as he comes back into the bathroom. He looks down at Dorien idly before handing him a long bedshirt, still holding pants with one hand.
Dorien takes it, offering a small smile, before pulling the bedshirt over his head awkwardly. Running a hand through his hair, and twitching the shirt into his proper place, Dorien offers Nath another small smile.
Ah ha, nothing like laughing at yourself.
"Er... I'm not sure..." He looks awkward, and a bit red in the face. "I'm not sure I can... I hate broken legs."
Natharai shrugs faintly as he offers the priest a faint smile. It is no trouble, man. You have broken legs, after all. Wordlessly he comes in front of him, stooping down to carefully help his legs into the pants legs. He does his best to shuffle them up towards his waist without making this more uncomfortable for the priest than it already is.
Dorien does his best to help while trying to keep his decency. Once the pants are secure, he pulls the towel away and lays it on the edge of the basin. "Thank you, I hope you aren't, uh, too bothered."
Natharai straightens again, looking down to Dorien idly as he smirks lopsidedly. "No... But you make it sound like I have never seen someone naked before." Yeah, it is a bit awkward, but the man's crippled. What can you do. "Are you finished?"
"Yeah, well. I mean... I'd be surprised if you hadn't. Uh." Dorien closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose with his good hand. Stop talking and get your thoughts straight. No good talking like an awkward teenager. Of course he's seen someone naked, he's got to wash, right?
"I'm done, yeah," Dorien manages.
Natharai nods and moves in front of him, back to him, as he readies to help haul him back to the bed.
Dorien flops over again, doing his best to get on Natharai's back without hurting his legs too much, or bother Natharai.
With a *hrk* and a heave, Natharai staggers to his feet and shuffles his way back towards the bedroom. Once there, he carefully deposits Dorien on the edge of the bed, helping him slip onto it and under the covers. "Well then," he pants lightly. "Anything else you need?"
"I think I'm good." Dorien nods, settling against the pillows. "Thank you for doing this..."
Natharai slowly shakes his head, moving to adjust a few pillows for him. "Think nothing of it," he murmurs idly as he straightens. "...Do you wish to sleep? I would imagine that you are exhausted."
"Maybe... Uh, where are you going to sleep?" He had seen the couch earlier...
"Ah, the couch. I already set it up... I do not mind. It is a comfortable couch, after all." He smirks faintly. "I have passed out on it during my studies enough to confirm this..."
"You don't have to," Dorien says quietly, going red in the face again. Ahh, Light strike him now, why was he asking this. Wait, he knew why, but still, why.
Slowly, Natharai arches an eyebrow at the priest. What was he trying to get at...? Surely he wasn't trying to... "Ah, no... It is fine. Truly." He reaches out to rest a spindly hand upon the crown of Dorien's head. "Rest well, Dorien. Call if you need anything...alright?"
Dorien fights for his composure, but his eyes widen slightly, whites showing. He reaches up, and rests a hand on Natharai's. "I-I know this is awkward, but... I..." He stops, looking frantically around, before letting out a small laugh. It has a hint of hysteria in it. "I'm still not convinced that this isn't a dream. You can't feel pain in dreams, right? I feel it, but I'm absolutely terrified that I'm going to wake up on the floor again, with..." He shuts up, and grits his teeth. Damn it.
The warlock furrows his brow slightly, watching Dorien slip into this bout of hysteria with a concerned, yet thoughtful, gaze. "No... This is not a dream, Dorien. You are safe..." For the time being, at least. His captor was still out there and would, likely, take another shot at capturing him again.
"I was wondering, if you wouldn't mind, if it didn't make you uncomfortable, if you could sleep here too. I'm sorry if this sounds weird, but... I need to know someone's there. I won't do anything." Dorien bites out. There, he said it, and now he dearly wished this was a dream, because then at least the humiliation was his alone.
And Natharai stares...and stares...and stares. What? Oh, Light, did he really just...
Slowly, he reaches up to lightly drag his hand down his face, heaving out a lengthy sigh through his nose. "As you wish," he murmurs flatly as he removes his hand, moving around towards the other side of the bed. Yeah, he's not thrilled with this, but if it'll keep the man quiet then...well...
Kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning one of his shirt's buttons, Natharai flops down onto the other side of the bed–Lying on his back.
Dorien watches him eyes wide. What. It worked? Oh, oh Light this just got more awkward. Don't talk, don't make it worse.
"Ley said you only had one nipple," Dorien blurts. What! That's the-- Damn it! Dorien goes bright red. "Ignore that."
Dorien tries to bury himself under the covers and hide... And after an after thought, passed a pillow over to Natharai as well.
Natharai's brow furrows severely as he lies there, frowning lightly. "Good night, Dorien," he murmurs monotonously, taking the pillow and stuffing it beneath his head.
Dorien closes his eyes, and rests on of his hands on his chest. "... I'm sorry," he murmurs. "And thank you so much for finding me and saving me. You didn't have to, thank you for putting up with me too. You're a great friend, and a good man, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
He pauses, for a moment, before going on, just as quietly. "If there's anyway to make it up to you, just ask. Good night, Natharai."
There... He hoped he could fix the damage. Please let him be able to fix it.
He grunts quietly, but it does not seem terse or strained. Probably as genuine as a grunt could be, really, and he does not seem bothered by the nipple comment. That just kinda came out of left field, if anything. Slowly, but surely, he lets himself drift off to sleep.
Dorien does so as well, feeling significantly more relaxed than he had been all night. After waiting a few moments though, his good hand sneaks out from under the covers, and reaches across the length of the bed before he holds onto the other man’s hand. He smiles slightly, half asleep already, before he drifts off finally.
A year ago or so, Nath came to get Dorien out of the basement.
Also, Annaleah is the worst villain ever. She doesn't even show up when her 'prey' escapes.))
That's it. Too much time has gone by since Natharai last saw that damned tattooed archivist and the 'remnant' that was left behind in the park was far too unsettling to outright ignore. A while back, Ester brought him a charred book she found outside the Lamb near some bushes, with unmistakable evidence that it was, indeed, the missing redhead's belonging. However, that was not the most unsettling part... It was that the charring had a different 'feel' to it than your average flame or conjured mage spell. It was tainted–With fel magic. So, even though Natharai had entertained the thought of Dorien spontaneously exploding due to holding in a sealed spell for too long, that was clearly not the case anymore... Enough time was given for Mydral to contact him if he escaped harm and now was the time for action.
In the dark of night, he decided to make his move. No more distractions, no more waffling, no more excuses that he was too busy... He needed to find Dorien and find him now, be it he was dead or otherwise. Cloaked in his ritual vestments, he moved through the darkened forests of Elwynn with a felhunter plodding along steadily by his side and Dorien's book tucked under an arm.
"Fzuushon, melar zila..." The tentacled creature looked up to him with a *growf* before obediently snuffling at the text that was offered to it, its tendrils snaking around and 'pawing' at the fel-scorched edges. “Ruk zar maez daz kar ze..?" The felbeast looked to Natharai once again, contemplating for a moment before its tentacles began swaying about the wretched creature as if it were tasting the air.
After a few minutes of 'sniffing', Fzuushon paused, still as a mill pond, before bounding off with a triumphant howl like an overexcited bloodhound. He was on the scent...and it was leading them both towards Duskwood.
The trail took them deeper into the dark forests of Duskwood, to the large graveyard in the west, and the equally dead town. Raven Hill was eerie, dark, and near silent, save for the odd creaking of the various houses, derelict and ruined. An odd sight, as many of the buildings were missing their doors, was the one they were drawn to still had one.
Even more curious, the door looked new, despite the beat up look. The hinges were also new, despite the installer's attempt to make them seem old and rusted. The camouflage would have been passable if no one had been looking closely.
That wasn't the case, this evening.
Upon arriving on the apparently derelict plot of land, Fzuushon made little haste in bounding over to the door, its strange monoclawed 'paws' thudding against the damp grass gracelessly. Its tentacles rubbed and grasped futilely at the door as its entire body wiggled in one tremendous tail wag.
He's here, he's here! I did such a good job...! See what I did? At least, that would probably be what Fzuushon would say if he could speak. Despite its hideousness and demonic nature, it really was, at its heart, just a dumb, yet oddly endearing, dog. Thankfully the mongrel at least had enough sense to keep quiet...
Creeping closer, the warlock pauses to reward the hound with a brief pat on its head before peering at the dwelling's windows. Hm... no light. Either the house's inhabitants were out or they were asleep. He looked down at the door's lock and hinges, scoffing quietly upon noticing the hasty attempt to age the hardware, as he fished inside his robe to fetch a small leather case from one of its internal pockets–A lock picker’s toolset. Fzuushon did not seem to sense any warding sigils, at least upon the door, but he figured stealth would be preferable to, say, kicking down the door 'with guns blazing'.
Procuring a torsion wrench and a half diamond pick, Natharai kneels in front of the door lock and tries his hand at letting himself in. While he is no stranger to lock picking, it has, regrettably, been a while since his last attempt... He could only hope that he would not rattle around too much to cause an alarm.
The lock quite possibly of the cheapest make, and is easily unlocked. Apparently someone wasn't expecting visitors. The door, on well oiled hinges, swings open, revealing a rather dark room. It's filled with the usual trappings of a home, a table with a few chairs, a designated kitchen area with a hearth, and a small sitting area. There are two staircases, both appear to be a in a state of disrepair, one leading to the second floor, while the other leads down into a basement.
The hearth has long since died, but there are logs beside it, as well as ash within it, to suggest that someone does live here, although haven't been they haven't been here in awhile.
There's a faint light coming up from the basement, through the poorly maintained floor.
Natharai looked about the area idly, eyes narrowed, as he gave Fzuushon a silent signal to stay outside and guard the door. Besides, he would make too much noise with those 'paws' of his scrabbling about the wooden floor. Ugh, just his luck, they will probably squeak if he so much as sneezes wrong. So, step by step, toe to heel, the warlock crept across the floor as quietly as possible.
It WAS just his luck! Not only did they squeak, but they creaked as well, no matter how hard he tried to keep quiet.
Heaving out a great sigh, at least mentally, Natharai reached back to pluck his stave from its holding upon his back. If anyone was below, he'd like be introducing himself to them quite soon.
There was a small thump from downstairs, but no further sounds of that sort. The house settled into an uneasy silence, only broken by the floorboards creaking under him.
What was that...? He wondered with a faint flinch of his eyelids, his gaze flitting to the floor for a brief moment as he continued to make his way towards the basement door. Reaching out with his senses, he attempted to see if there were any possible wards and sigils ahead that might be...problematic to this endeavour of his.
Apparently the owner of the home was either an idiot when it came to magical protections, or they really thought no one was going to come looking. For any reason, there's no magic on the door. Although there's a faint 'taste' or sorts, from behind it.
This hint that was detected was not exactly a surprise, considering it was apparent from the scorched book that Dorien's abductor was indeed some form of fel caster. An encounter with such a person would prove to be extremely unpleasant since the only thing that is worse for a warlock to fight is another warlock. Those of holy and arcane magic’s can, eventually, with enough finesse, be corrupted and destroyed some how... Warlock battles tended to be an aggravating stalemate of curses, drains, and suggestion spells. Oh well... Dorien's retrieval was his priority right now, so he will simply have to make due if such an event happens. He reaches out to open the door, trying not to make too much more noise than he already has due to those accursed floorboards.
The door opens easily, behind it a staircase that matched the floor he just crossed in the level of repair it was kept in. At the bottom of the staircase, there was a small candle, almost down to the end of the wax and wick. Judging from the candle, and the amount of light that was coming through the floor, this couldn't be the only one.
Moving ever deeper into the basement, Natharai tightened his grip around his ceremonial stave as a few pre-emptive words of demonic bubbled around in his mind––ready to fight or flee should something happen. Yet, after a few more agonizingly long seconds, he found himself nearing the base of the room.
More candles show up, with a two foot difference between them, as they form a circle to fight the darkness in the room. They're all close to running out though, suggesting how long they have been burning. There's a larger concentration around a few stacked books, with a pitcher of something, as well as a few papers.
Within the circle of candles in a large chalked array, an exact match to the tattoo’s circles on Dorien's chest, the ones that were for a summoning. From the small pile of books and papers, there was about a foot and a half wide line of smudging of the chalk circle.
In the middle of it all, at the dead centre, was Dorien.
Nath's eyes widened slightly as he spotted the ginger priest, his lips pressing into a fine line as he tried to discern whether or not the hapless man was alive or not. He looked around the room quietly as he made his way towards him, ready for anything that might jump out at him.
Dorien does look to be breathing, with the steady rise and fall of his chest. He's shirtless, with his right hand resting on his torso. Something seems off about the hand, but with the poor light, it’s hard to tell.
He eventually nears Dory's side, looking down to the hand with a furrowed brow. ...What...?
Dorien's hand, or more specifically, his fingers are all swollen and discoloured just before the second knuckle. There's similar discolouration around his throat, although significantly fainter. He, overall, looks like crap, with his matted hair, shadows around his eyes, and pale skin.
Light... what a mess he was. But it was no surprise to him considering how long he has been formally "missing". Wordlessly, Natharai presses the palm of his spindly hand over Dorien's mouth in a pre-emptive effort to silence him should he make any noise from being awakened.
Dorien wakes up, and shudders slightly, opening his eyes slowly, dreading to see who owned the hand. He blinks, after a moment, confusion on evident on his face. After a moment of staring at Natharai, he reaches out with his good hand, which had been laying at his side, to rest it on Nath's. He felt real too...
The warlock offers the archivist a small, yet fleeting, smile. Hey there, Mydral. Good to see you alive... But the reunion was wilfully cut short as he looks around quickly, withdrawing his hand as he murmurs quietly. "...Can you move?" He was in awful shape just from at a glance, so there was no telling how bad it truly was overall.
Dorien's hand seems to follow his, refusing to break contact in case Natharai should disappear if he let go. It takes him a moment to register the question, still staring at the other man, before he shook his head. "Mm, no. She..." He pauses for a moment, breaking his gaze away from Nath to look at his discoloured fingers as if he'd never seen them before. Shaking his head again, he looks back up. "She broke my legs."
The warlock pauses, looking to Dorien with mild disbelief before redirecting his gaze towards his legs. Dammit...! This will make things difficult. He's not exactly strong enough to carry Dorien out of this place -and- ward off potential attackers. The wheels in his head were visibly turning; Natharai's visage scrunched thoughtfully as he weighs his options... He could call his voidwalker, but he would need to keep Fzuushon tethered to the door. He cannot dismiss him now–not until they get out into the open again. He hasn't bothered trying to control two minions at once, but Fzuushon and Jhomnuz are two of his more mild-mannered demons that he has under his "employ".
Dorien watches Natharai, his thumb absentmindedly moving to rub the pad against the other man's hand. "Hey..." He coughs slightly. "Uhm..." He pauses again, as if trying to remember something. "Right, how well can you fight necromancy?"
Closing his eyes briefly, shutting himself off from the outside world for just a brief moment, a large and shadowy mass begins to take shape in one of the darker corners of the room. Slowly this figure detaches from its hiding place, slipping towards the duo as a pair of dimly glowing eyes bob listlessly in an area that would probably be considered its head. "Jhomnuz," the warlock murmurs lowly to the creature. "Carry him and be mindful of his injuries." The shadowy figure's eyes close as its head dips slightly in a subservient bow, thick arms of dark energy reaching forward to pick up the frail and battered man.
Nath pauses for a moment though, cracking open an eye lightly as he looks to Dorien. "...Well enough." His eyes fully open, but remain half-lidded as he regards the man almost warily. "...Why?"
"Well," Dorien starts, frowning for a moment as he eyes the void creature. He looks back at Natharai. "She brought back her father."
Hm... Well, this would be a problem, wouldn't it. Natharai kept his displeasure heavily veiled, being he had larger problems to deal with at the moment. Dorien had to get out of here and -fast-.
Jhomnuz carefully scooped up the broken cleric and cradled him against its chest. It was much like floating on a cloud...a very cold cloud. The demon looks Dorien over idly, seeming bemused by the odd magics that surround him, before being snapped back to attention with Natharai saying "Jhonmuz. Follow close and do not let anything happen to him."
"...I understand," it drones in a nebulous voice.
Dorien makes a vague sound, trying to grab on to Natharai again. He stops, after a moment, realizing how stupid it was. The redhead waves his good hand over to the pieces of paper, near the pile of books. "Could you grab those? She doesn't... Seem to know the tattoo off by heart..." He looks around. "I'd rather not let her keep a copy of them." He finished, murmuring slightly.
Grab what? His eyes follow Dorien's hand, resting upon the pile of materials, before quickly moving over to fetch them. "I will need you to hold them, Dorien," he murmurs as he quickly, yet gently, stacks the materials upon Dory's chest. "I have...too much to concentrate on at the moment and I need my hands free." Hope you don't mind, man.
Looking to Jhomnuz once again, their eyes meeting, he jerks his head towards the door before heading up the stairs–The vaporous demon obediently following.
Dorien clutches the papers to his chest with his good hand, muttering something about burning them. Had it always been so cold? Not to mention the fact that he still wasn't sure that this was a dream or not.
Wood creaked, and the door at the other end of the basement opened. The sound of clay hitting stone follows.
Both the demon and its master pause upon hearing the sound of another entering, the voidwalker instinctively turning to place its back to the wall nearest to the basement exit. It had to keep Dorien safe, after all, being it was its primary directive. Natharai quickly turned on a heel, eyes seeking out the intruder as he gripped his ceremonial stave with both hands.
At the other end of the room stands a man, with a wrinkly, craggy face, in loose brown robes. In his hand is a long metal rod, about the length of a hand-and-a-half sword. One half is smooth, while the other half has spikes coming out of it.
Upon closer inspection, the wrinkles aren't wrinkles at all, but cracks and breaks in the clay molded over the bone that sometimes peeks through underneath. Empty eye sockets watch the trio, but it does nothing but stand there.
"Let's just go," Dorien murmurs quietly.
"I intend to," Natharai drones lowly as he keeps his eyes trained on 'Bone Daddy', willing the voidwalker to start heading up the stairs as he sidles after it. The warlock takes care in not turning his back to it, backing after Jhomnuz.
Bone Daddy continues to stare, it’s really creepy. Dorien even shivers, despite not being the one stared at directly.
The skeleton does manage to stir some unrest within the warlock, but he has seen far more horrible things in his lifetime due to his 'trade'. Right now, all he was concentrating on was moving up the stairs and back up to the main room.
The skeleton follows them out, although makes sure to keep a healthy distance from the group.
"I wish it'd just go away," Dorien mutters, making sure to keep Natharai in view. Oh Light please let this not be a dream.
Natharai lets out a non-committal grunt as he, Dorien, and Jhomnuz come back up into the main room–the floorboards making their displeasure known about being stepped upon by the warlock and the macabre construct. Jhomnuz, however, has no problem keeping quiet. A small perk to being made up of shadowy vapour.
The door is so close! Fzuushon peeks at them curiously as they come into sight before bearing its rows of pointed teeth at the encroaching skeleton. Oh good, a chew toy.
The skeleton stops in the middle of the main room, if it didn't realize it was outmanned before, it knew it now.
"You have the loveliest companions, Natharai," Dorien smiles slightly at the sight of the demon dog.
Natharai murmurs quietly as he continues to keep his narrowed eyes trained on the construct. "I do not believe this to be the time for levity, Mydral..." Surely this creature has a master lurking around somewhere, so if it knows of their movements, surely it, too, would be alerted to trouble.
The warlock continues to back towards the door, trying to move outside in to the open.
Bone Daddy continues to watch them from the middle of the dark room, not moving an inch.
Dorien smiles wider. "If you say so, Nath." He quiets down, but still stares intently at the other man.
Ah... Finally. Out in the open again. The felhunter stalks over towards its master, snuffling curiously at Dorien and Jhomnuz before coming to his side.
Well. Now he has room to move around... He cannot let the construct "live", being it would follow them endlessly, and he is rather certain that it knows his intent as well. No use beating around the bush. The perk to being one who specializes in the corruptive fel arts is that it can serve as a rather powerful foil against necromancy... After all, necromancy was borne from his predecessor's magics. With any luck, this construct's master is as careless with its creation as it was with safeguarding the house.
The dull necrotic glow of his craft forms around his finger tips, illuminating the ground around him with dim violet light.
The skeleton brings it's mace up to bear in response, but doesn't move in any other way. It stares at the man as if daring Natharai to strike, even if it hadn't done anything to hamper him. It's mouth clicks open, as if trying to form speech.
Huh... Ballsy abomination, wasn't he? Well, what else can you expect from a drone. "Shi!" Natharai quickly hissed in demonic, Fzuushon bounding towards the construct with a frothy snarl. As the felhunter began its charge, moving to play harrier to his huntsman, the warlock let loose a bolt of corruptive magic towards the skeleton.
Bone Daddy swings the mace as the felhunter runs forward, aiming for its side with the spikes on the weapon. The bolt hits, and the clay seems to flash with various magical symbols, but clearly the magic defenses are sub par, as the clay cracks all the same, exposing the bones underneath.
As the clay cracks, the magic slowly worms its way inside, spreading upon its bones in black 'veins' like an infection. The felhunter, sadly, was not so lucky and was hit a meaty *thud*, the spikes driving into its side. With a yelp, it staggers away before regaining its footing and beginning the assault anew–its tentacles lashing out at the mace in an effort to subdue it.
The creature continues to swing it's mace, or at least trying to, against the felhunter's assault. It doesn't seem to notice the corruptive magic, not until it's too late. Despite this, Bone Daddy attempts to go down swinging, as it were.
Fzuushon tries its damnedest to keep the mace still, which manages to still connect with its head, albeit lightly, a few times as the creature tries to snap at its lower legs. Its..kind of hard to hurt something that has no sense of pain, but its purpose is to distract the construct while Nath does his work.
The magic continues to take its toll, worming into all the nooks and crannies of the skeleton as the warlock seeks to disrupt and break apart the necrotic forces that bind it to this world.
The skeleton drops the mace finally, as it's hands start to crumble and decay. It looks up from the beast, to look at Natharai. Despite the fact of nothing to convey emotions with, the construct looks... Pleased.
It continues to fall apart, still staring at Natharai until the magic takes it's face away.
Nath cannot help but seem bemused at this turn of events, watching the skeleton slowly crumble into a pile of ash, bone particulate, and clay. Hm... That was strangely less difficult than he anticipated. Fzuushon, in the meantime, prods at the heap tentatively with a tentacle before moving away to lap at its wound on its side.
"Is Bone Daddy gone?" Dorien finally says, still staring at Natharai. "Can't see anything in the dark, and you were blocking the door."
Jhomnuz still hovers near Natharai, holding the hobbled priest as it looks to the remains of the construct impassively.
...'Bone Daddy'? Natharai quirks up an eyebrow as he looks to Dorien. What an insipid nickname, but... from the sound of what he said earlier, it is an apt name all things considering. "Yes," he drones monotonously. "It appears so." Though he wasn't quite sure about that, in all honesty... The trouble with necromantic creations is that they sometimes do not want to stay dead. But it was easy enough to dismantle, so it is very possible that the deed was done entirely. "...Dorien. Do you have any idea where that creature's creator has gone?"
Dorien closes his eyes for a moment, brows furrowed. He sighs, and shakes his head slowly, opening his eyes again. He looks down, although still staring at Natharai. "I can't remember. I can't even remember how I got my fingers broken, or why my neck hurts. I assume she did both of them, since I do remember her breaking my legs... Or telling her daddy dearest to break them."
Letting out a faint sigh, the warlock reaches up to rub at his forehead thoughtfully. Well then... There is one way to probably flush this person out. He shoots the voidwalker a look, staring at it sidelong. "Jhomnuz... Take Dorien away from here to a place you deem to be safe. I will trust your judgement in this matter, but no matter what... Do not let harm befall him." The voidwalker bobs its head obediently, murmuring a quiet 'As you wish' in response.
Natharai, however, rubs his hands together briskly before holding them apart at either side of him–flames sparking to life upon their palms. If one wants to flush out a rat... you need to destroy their nest.
Dorien lets out a rather terrified sound, and tries to hit the voidwalker with his elbow when it tries to take him away. All the calm, languish emotion the redhead had seemed to dash away at the thought of leaving. "N-no!" He tries his best to thrash about without doing anymore damage.
The flames are quickly squelched as Natharai's face visibly droops in irritation. He turns to Dorien, speaking rather thinly as he attempts to keep his composure intact. "... Dorien," he murmurs neutrally. "I understand you have been through much and are, quiet likely, frightened... But worry not. Jhomnuz is one of my most reliable..."
"Are you going to come after? After you do whatever here?" Dorien stares intently at the other man. He's breathing just a little bit too quickly, and his eyes are just a bit too wide, almost showing the whites around the colour of his eyes.
Natharai furrows his brow lightly as he watches the other man. "Of course," he offers plainly. What, does he really think he's going to just pitch him somewhere and leave him to rot after all this? "I will meet up with you soon once I deal with the missing portion of this supposed duo... You have my word on that."
Dorien nods slowly. "O-okay. Right, thank you, um. Have fun with burning?" He offers, in a subdued manner. He sinks back into the voidwalker's hold, clutching the papers against his chest.
Natharai quietly nods, glancing briefly to Jhomnuz. Time to be on your way, big guy. The voidwalker, yet again, dips its head in acknowledgement as both it, and Dorien, disappear into the shadows.
Now then... The flames once again ignite in Nath's hand, tossing two bolts of fire towards the dilapidated house–One into the main room and another to the roof.
The house starts to burn! The fire eats away quickly at the dry, ruined wood, but nothing comes out of the doorway as it progresses.
Natharai was not expecting for the construct's master to come rushing out of the burning house at all... Quite the contrary. She, or he, would have done so long ago once they noticed that their prize was being stolen from them. No... This was to hopefully give this person a signal and, with any luck, have them hurry on home so he might deal with them in person.
He had time... He would wait.
If there were any secret alarms, or signals, either the person didn't care or were busy with something else. No one appeared to show up.
So the warlock waited...waited...and waited. Hm. Either this person is extremely careless, or inobservant, or they are planning something else…
So Natharai decided to give up for the time being... Dorien was in poor condition, so he had to see to that. But how...? Light, he cannot be healed since he'd simply absorb it. How bothersome.
As the house eventually collapsed in a smouldering heap, the warlock walked out into the woods to where he sensed Jhomnuz to be waiting. The voidwalker had seemingly chosen a secluded outcropping of land near the river, shielded by trees and dense foliage. The water provided a good means of escape if it had to, being it could just float over the surface of it.
Dorien seemed to start to life again as he saw Natharai appear. He still looked pale and broken, but he somehow looked better than he did in that house. Understandable, really. He smiled slightly at the other man. "So, have fun?"
Natharai plodded forward steadily, using his ceremonial stave as a walking stick, eventually offering the weary man a faint smile. "Somewhat... Still no sign of your friend, however." He nodded to Jhomnuz, murmuring quietly. "We need to get him to a bed." He stepped closer to the voidwalker, mere inches away from its arms and Dorien's form. "Take us home, Jhomnuz."
Dorien, after a moment's thought, reaches out and rests his hand on Natharai's sleeved arm. He seems to relax even more, a small smile settling on his face.
Nath quirks up an eyebrow at Dorien before reaching up to gently pat that same hand. Well, if he was stuck in a basement for who knows how long, Nath would be glad to see a friendly face as well. And in a blink and puff of black vapour, the trio disappeared and soon find themselves in a living room of sorts... Or a library. It is rather hard to tell at this point.
Books, tomes, and textbooks line nearly every inch of exposed wall–baring a few spots where archaeological or artistic trinkets are displayed. The place smells like old books, old polished wood, and a rather unmistakable scent that belongs to a certain warlock. This is Nath's home alright... A long couch and three armchairs are situated around a rectangular coffee table and hearth–The table littered with periodicals, newspapers, and notes. Not to mention an used teacup or two...
Dorien looks around, taking it the surroundings in. He lets out a low whistle, before coughing a few times.
"Cozy..." He murmurs, still holding onto Natharai's arm. "How many books do you have?" Leave it to Dorien, to get distracted by books despite being in pain, and just being rescued. "Do you have a kitchen too? Or at least a stove... I assume with the tea..."
Oh Light, now he was rambling.
'Cozy' is probably a word that would be used if it wasn't so damned messy. Whatever Nath has been up to, he's been busy/distracted/tired enough to neglect his housework. "...Mm. Apologies for the mess," he offered neutrally as he debated something. Well... He has never really bothered to have guests over for an extended period of time, so the only options he had was a couch or his bed. Well... Sticking him on the couch is poor form, really. After being put through so much, he'd need something better than a damned slab to lay on. "...I will be but a moment. I need to prepare your bed."
And with that, the warlock moves away and begins lighting some oil lamps along the way. The sounds of cloth being hurriedly tossed aside and rearranged soon follows.
Jhomnuz simply waits and continues to hold Dorien aloft, eventually glancing down at the frailer man wordlessly. Hello, tiny human...
Dorien lay in the creature's arms, careful not to look too closely at it. To be honest with himself, Dorien was slightly worried about the void creature. It was a lot like the Bone Daddy, in a way, just different magic. So he made sure not to look at it. Not to imagine it with a mace, not to look into its eyes for the fear of seeing nothing.
His legs were starting to hurt again, but he stayed quiet, looking around the room, trying to read the titles of the books from where he was.
The books vary from subject to subject with each section, but there does not seem to be anything of great importance–like grimoires or magic tomes. Novels, namely fiction, political debates, history books, how-to texts, encyclopedias, etc...
Jhomnuz eventually looks away, much to Dorien's delight, no doubt, after he senses that the fleshling has grown restless just hanging there. Ohhh, the trials of being a warlock's peon...
Natharai eventually comes back into view, dressed in civilian clothing, as he beckons the voidwalker to come to him. Jhomnuz, of course, obliges as he hovers over into the bedroom.
Dorien seems to brighten up again at the sight of Natharai. "Do you have a first aid kit? Or something? I don't remember how long it's been, but they've probably been healing, slowly. She said to make it clean, but really, with that weapon, I'd rather not take chances."
Why did he have to start rambling? Dorien snaps his mouth shut.
Once inside, books aside, the bedroom almost looks rather spartan. A simple night stand, a few oil lamps, a worn mahogany dresser and mirror, and a clothing rack. The only real lavish part about this room is that he at least has a full-sized bed rather than a twin.
"Yes, yes, I will bring you what you require, Dorien. Worry not," he murmurs idly as he tosses back the covers. "Set him down, Jhom–Carefully, of course." The voidwalker obliges, gently setting the priest down upon a series of propped up pillows so he is able to partially sit up. Once settled, Natharai covers him up lightly with a thick blanket as he looks down to him semi-impassively. "...What kind of tea do you want? I will make you a kettle."
"Uhm. Uh," Dorien stutters slightly. He wasn't use to this sort of thing, even when he had been sick. He was the one running around usually. "Whatever you want to drink, too." There, that seemed safe enough.
"Hn... Earl Grey then." He nods to Jhomnuz. "...Feel free to make yourself scarce." The voidwalker seemed all too pleased with this, or at least so it seemed (hard to tell with a giant blob of shadow energy), and quickly evaporates into a puff of black 'smoke'. There... No more scary voidwalker.
With that, Nath slips out of the bedroom and heads to the kitchen, sounds of ceramic cups clinking and a metallic kettle being filled with water soon following.
Dorien sits there for a moment, staring off to the side. It felt good here, even if only one person lived here. It was lived in, you knew that someone was here, that they would come back every night. The redhead missed this feeling. His own small place was rented, so he made sure to keep it clean, in case he should be booted out. It didn't have the same feel as this home.
He winced slightly at the thought of getting kicked out of his room. Was he behind in rent? He forgot, what day was it? How long would the woman wait before she tossed all his things outside? Had someone already taken up? No, stop thinking.
Dorien organized the papers he had brought with him, staring at them for a moment, before doing his best to start tearing them apart with one hand. He found he had to start using his teeth to help.
After many minutes, Natharai comes back with a small tray of odds-and-ends. A kettle of steeping tea (with cream and sugar to the side), two mugs, two slices of thick toast with strawberry jam, and a first aid kit. He carefully sets it upon the bed, going right to handing Dorien his toast before fixing them both some tea. "...I was not certain how hungry you were or if you were able to manage anything, so I have this for starters. Hope you do not mind," he murmurs idly, focusing on the task at hand. "How do you take your tea?"
"One cream is fine," he nods, taking bite out of the toast. He almost seems to moan. "This is great, perfect even. Oh Light, this is delicious. It isn't burned at all, yessss." He scarves down the rest of the toast quickly.
Natharai cannot help but smirk lopsidedly at the fuss Dorien is making, but it has probably been a while since he had anything resembling decent food. "...You are welcome," he says mildly as he offers the tea, with one cream. Once that is done, he settles down at the end of the bed, sipping at his own tea quietly.
Dorien leans back against the pillows, holding the tea cup awkwardly with the wrist of his bad hand, and his good one. He takes a sip, closing his eyes for a moment while smiling. "This is wonderful."
Nath does little else but quietly grunt in acknowledgement, enjoying his tea as he stews in silence. He seems to be mulling over a great deal of things, but he does not seem exactly willing to discuss them at this time.
"... Do you require anything else to eat?"
"I'm perfect, thank you," Dorien smiles brighter, looking to the other man. "Maybe I can try and make a big breakfast tomorrow. Or at least breakfast. I'm good with eggs, and such..." He trails off, looking at his tea, before looking back up at Nath.
Catching this pause, Natharai looks at Dorien sidelong, lifting an eyebrow rather than his head. Yes?
"Assuming you have eggs and whatnot. I'm thinking pancakes."
The warlock hums quietly, expression impassive. "...While I do have eggs and I am open to the idea of an eventual breakfast. ...How do you intend to pull off this feat?" He gestures idly towards Dorien's legs. Yeah... You still can't walk, bucko.
"I'll crawl. Hope you'll set up a chair in there," Dorien snickers, and winks to Natharai, since he can't offer a thumbs up with his hands full.
With a faint snort, a faint smirk flits upon Natharai's lips as he watches the cleric from the corners of his eyes. Well, it is nice to see that he is such an optimist in light of all things. "I will entertain the thought, but I make no promises..." He pauses again, remaining pensive. "Do you care for some sort of bath? I could probably help set something up so you can clean yourself off... I doubt your captor gave you the courtesy of such a thing during your stay."
"... Yeah, no she didn't. What did you have in mind?" Dorien finishes off the rest of his tea, still watching the other man. He looks at the cup, then around for a proper place to put it down. Not a good idea to put it on the covers, he didn't think.
"Well," he drones thoughtfully. "I cannot very well put you in a tub, but I can set up a chair in the bathroom with a basin of hot water and some cloth. You will have your privacy, of course. If you are worried about reaching your legs, I have one of those, ah, sponges on a stick... Whatever one calls those things." He waves a hand dismissively as he gestures to the tray he set down to Dorien. Feel free to set your cup down there.
He does so, and nods. "That works out well enough. Uh. I think I'll need scissors... And do you have any extra clothing you don't mind borrowing me? She took away my shirt and stuff when they got ruined." He smiles sheepishly.
"Hnn... There should be some within the first aid kit. Do you require aid or...?" He trails off, looking at the priest uncertainly.
"... Do you think you can carry me?"
Well that got his attention... Nath looks to Dorien and arches his brow skeptically. "... I could try." He doesn't look so sure on this, but he has never really had to carry a full grown man before. Thankfully Dory's kind of thin and small, so it will probably work out...?
"... Maybe piggy back would work the best." Dorien murmurs. The last thing he wanted was to be cradled against Natharai's chest.
The subtle shift in expression makes it seem like that is even a worse idea to Nath, but... The guy's got a point. It might be easier for the sake of leverage and so on. "Very well," he drones as he stands up. "Let me go prepare the washroom. Until then..." He gestures vaguely to the teapot before making his way out of the room once again.
Dorien thinks about pouring himself another cup, but goes against it. It was hard enough drinking the tea the way he was, pouring was something he wasn't interested in trying.
He goes back to tearing up Anna's notes on his tattoo, planning what to do with them after he finished. Probably setting them on fire was his best bet.
After a few more minutes of knocking around the storage closet and heating up the water for the wash basin, Natharai comes back into the bedroom and moves the tray onto the nightstand wordlessly. "Very well... Everything is arranged and you should be able to clean yourself up." He pauses for a moment before furrowing his brow lightly. "If you require assistance, I will do what I can... Are you ready?"
While Dorien had been waiting, he had pushed back the covers, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He sighs. "As ready as ever."
Natharai quietly sighs through his nose, shoving aside the embarrassment of this whole ordeal, as he crouches down in front of Dorien with his back towards him.
Dorien flops forward, wrapping his arms around Natharai's shoulders, and shuffles forward enough to get his legs on either side of the other man.
He mutters something along the lines of this being embarrassing to save face.
As Dorien flops on his back, Nath lets out a quiet *hrk* as he struggles to his feet, trying not to either fall over or drop Dorien. Yeah... This is embarrassing alright. But it's a good thing he has been working out for a while now, being, not long ago, he would have crumpled over like a brittle twig. The warlock slowly makes his way to the bathroom, which has a wooden chair, a metal basin on a stool, a bucket of cleaning acoutrements set up, and plenty of towels. With great effort, he carefully stoops down to set Dorien on the chair.
Dorien sits back, and looks everything over, nodding to himself. "And I left the first aid kit in the other room... Do you have any other clothing, a pair of pants will do, since I'm going to ruin these soon enough."
Natharai straightens, smoothing down his shirt before nodding to the priest. He murmurs a brief word of pardon, moving out to fetch just that. When he returns, he sets the first aid kit near the chair and then looks to Dorien impassively. "Anything else you require?"
Dorien smiles. "I'm good, I may need help later with..." He trails off, and shakes his head. "But yeah, that'll be later."
He nods and offers a brief smile before turning to head to the door. "I will see what sort of spare clothing I can manage to find... Until then, call upon me if you happen to need anything." And with that, the door closes with a click.
Dorien shifts slightly, staring at the door for a moment, trying very hard to hear the sounds of the other. The closed door bothered him, because it completed the room, which was small to begin with. It only seemed to become smaller.
He went through the first aid kit, pulling out the scissors, and attacking his pants with them, doing his best to cut down the length of the sides of them. Stop thinking, damn it.
When he finally got his pants and whatnot off without hurting his legs too much, Dorien proceeds to wash up.
In the meanwhile, Nath remains blissfully unaware of all this and currently sits in the living room while reading a book. Not to mention trying to forget the embarrassment of trying to piggyback Dorien moments ago.
After avoiding another panic attack because of the size of the room, Dorien wraps himself up in several towels to save his decency.
His legs looked worse than he felt. Much like his right hand, they were a wonderful array of colours, from black to yellow. The swelling had gone down, which makes him wonder how long since he had them broke.
"Um... Nath?"
An idle voice sounds from the other room, muffled by the door. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure how well I can wrap up my legs and whatnot with one hand."
After a few more moments, Nath comes back into the room and makes his way to Dorien. He keeps his expression neutral as he regards the man and his demeanour calm. He has played 'medic' before and has seen other people naked before... Making this a bigger deal than it actually is would be bad on both parts.
Dorien sits there, looking vaguely embarrassed, while holding a roll of bandages in his bad hand, while the other is firmly holding the towel around his waist in place. "I didn't see if you had anything to use as splints..."
With a faintly dismissive grunt and a quick murmur of 'I will be right back', Nath ducks out of the room to go rummage around in his supply cabinet. Then he comes back with splint material in hand, kneeling next to Dorien's legs. He frowns vaguely as he regards them, but says nothing to draw attention to his actions as he goes right to carefully bandaging up his legs.
Dorien sits and watches, relaxing again how that the door was open again, and he was all clean!
Once he finishes with both legs, now properly splinted and bandaged, he reaches up to carefully offer the same treatment to his injured hand and fingers.
Dorien holds out his hand, still watching. "You're good at this... Do this often?"
Natharai shakes his head as he goes about his work. "Not tremendously so, but I have...had a great deal of exposure to basic combat dressings in the past." A bit vague, but purposely so.
"Mm, still, useful. I have medic training," Dorien murmurs. "Didn't have enough healing to begin with, had to take anything that would help."
Natharai murmurs and shrugs faintly "You are a combat medic, yes? Well... That is rudimentary knowledge. Even with the Light, you still need basic medicine to back it for it to do much good." He fastens the ties on the bandages, completing the job. "That should hold..." He trails off as he looks up to Dorien. "Let me go grab you a change of clothing..." And with that, he leaves the room yet again!
Dorien still keeps a near white-knuckled grip on the towel around him, staring after Natharai. He rests his newly bandaged hand on his lap, and sighs. That wasn't too terrible, nothing awkward happened, good.
Eventually Natharai returns with a pair of loose clothing, tucked under one arm, as he comes back into the bathroom. He looks down at Dorien idly before handing him a long bedshirt, still holding pants with one hand.
Dorien takes it, offering a small smile, before pulling the bedshirt over his head awkwardly. Running a hand through his hair, and twitching the shirt into his proper place, Dorien offers Nath another small smile.
Ah ha, nothing like laughing at yourself.
"Er... I'm not sure..." He looks awkward, and a bit red in the face. "I'm not sure I can... I hate broken legs."
Natharai shrugs faintly as he offers the priest a faint smile. It is no trouble, man. You have broken legs, after all. Wordlessly he comes in front of him, stooping down to carefully help his legs into the pants legs. He does his best to shuffle them up towards his waist without making this more uncomfortable for the priest than it already is.
Dorien does his best to help while trying to keep his decency. Once the pants are secure, he pulls the towel away and lays it on the edge of the basin. "Thank you, I hope you aren't, uh, too bothered."
Natharai straightens again, looking down to Dorien idly as he smirks lopsidedly. "No... But you make it sound like I have never seen someone naked before." Yeah, it is a bit awkward, but the man's crippled. What can you do. "Are you finished?"
"Yeah, well. I mean... I'd be surprised if you hadn't. Uh." Dorien closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose with his good hand. Stop talking and get your thoughts straight. No good talking like an awkward teenager. Of course he's seen someone naked, he's got to wash, right?
"I'm done, yeah," Dorien manages.
Natharai nods and moves in front of him, back to him, as he readies to help haul him back to the bed.
Dorien flops over again, doing his best to get on Natharai's back without hurting his legs too much, or bother Natharai.
With a *hrk* and a heave, Natharai staggers to his feet and shuffles his way back towards the bedroom. Once there, he carefully deposits Dorien on the edge of the bed, helping him slip onto it and under the covers. "Well then," he pants lightly. "Anything else you need?"
"I think I'm good." Dorien nods, settling against the pillows. "Thank you for doing this..."
Natharai slowly shakes his head, moving to adjust a few pillows for him. "Think nothing of it," he murmurs idly as he straightens. "...Do you wish to sleep? I would imagine that you are exhausted."
"Maybe... Uh, where are you going to sleep?" He had seen the couch earlier...
"Ah, the couch. I already set it up... I do not mind. It is a comfortable couch, after all." He smirks faintly. "I have passed out on it during my studies enough to confirm this..."
"You don't have to," Dorien says quietly, going red in the face again. Ahh, Light strike him now, why was he asking this. Wait, he knew why, but still, why.
Slowly, Natharai arches an eyebrow at the priest. What was he trying to get at...? Surely he wasn't trying to... "Ah, no... It is fine. Truly." He reaches out to rest a spindly hand upon the crown of Dorien's head. "Rest well, Dorien. Call if you need anything...alright?"
Dorien fights for his composure, but his eyes widen slightly, whites showing. He reaches up, and rests a hand on Natharai's. "I-I know this is awkward, but... I..." He stops, looking frantically around, before letting out a small laugh. It has a hint of hysteria in it. "I'm still not convinced that this isn't a dream. You can't feel pain in dreams, right? I feel it, but I'm absolutely terrified that I'm going to wake up on the floor again, with..." He shuts up, and grits his teeth. Damn it.
The warlock furrows his brow slightly, watching Dorien slip into this bout of hysteria with a concerned, yet thoughtful, gaze. "No... This is not a dream, Dorien. You are safe..." For the time being, at least. His captor was still out there and would, likely, take another shot at capturing him again.
"I was wondering, if you wouldn't mind, if it didn't make you uncomfortable, if you could sleep here too. I'm sorry if this sounds weird, but... I need to know someone's there. I won't do anything." Dorien bites out. There, he said it, and now he dearly wished this was a dream, because then at least the humiliation was his alone.
And Natharai stares...and stares...and stares. What? Oh, Light, did he really just...
Slowly, he reaches up to lightly drag his hand down his face, heaving out a lengthy sigh through his nose. "As you wish," he murmurs flatly as he removes his hand, moving around towards the other side of the bed. Yeah, he's not thrilled with this, but if it'll keep the man quiet then...well...
Kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning one of his shirt's buttons, Natharai flops down onto the other side of the bed–Lying on his back.
Dorien watches him eyes wide. What. It worked? Oh, oh Light this just got more awkward. Don't talk, don't make it worse.
"Ley said you only had one nipple," Dorien blurts. What! That's the-- Damn it! Dorien goes bright red. "Ignore that."
Dorien tries to bury himself under the covers and hide... And after an after thought, passed a pillow over to Natharai as well.
Natharai's brow furrows severely as he lies there, frowning lightly. "Good night, Dorien," he murmurs monotonously, taking the pillow and stuffing it beneath his head.
Dorien closes his eyes, and rests on of his hands on his chest. "... I'm sorry," he murmurs. "And thank you so much for finding me and saving me. You didn't have to, thank you for putting up with me too. You're a great friend, and a good man, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
He pauses, for a moment, before going on, just as quietly. "If there's anyway to make it up to you, just ask. Good night, Natharai."
There... He hoped he could fix the damage. Please let him be able to fix it.
He grunts quietly, but it does not seem terse or strained. Probably as genuine as a grunt could be, really, and he does not seem bothered by the nipple comment. That just kinda came out of left field, if anything. Slowly, but surely, he lets himself drift off to sleep.
Dorien does so as well, feeling significantly more relaxed than he had been all night. After waiting a few moments though, his good hand sneaks out from under the covers, and reaches across the length of the bed before he holds onto the other man’s hand. He smiles slightly, half asleep already, before he drifts off finally.