laography | 『 ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ sᴄʀᴇᴀᴍs ᴛᴏ ʀʜʏᴍᴇs 』

[ when the deputy of the crows is vanquished, it doesn't lead immediately to her master. it's a hell of a fight, and it's a fight that leaves a party full of travelers tired and a little beaten up, but successful in the gain of information. the pontiff's hound was a part of that fight - leading the charge, even, but even with only four of the usual group taking cubaryi on, it's not quite enough to distract him from his thoughts.

because his thoughts have been focused entirely on the entire reason he got here - the barely breathing crick wellsley sprawled out and left for dead against the wall of the very crows' nest he's served in stormhail. it had been a gut feeling that woke temenos almost violently from a dead sleep in the inn, and a gut feeling that brought him outside with exactly enough time to call down on the gods-be-damned-holy-light that he believed in so much for a revive and restore spell that was just strong enough to put breath in his lungs. it took the combined efforts of himself and castti but he had... stabilized. castti stayed behind while they dealt with the deputy, and now...?

... and now this. back to the inn, tired out and strung out, back to a quiet room that had remained untouched and unbothered (something about osvald standing guard outside seemed to scare off any ne'erdowells, and the crows themselves were busy trying to find the hole in their perfectly constructed nest.) it's close to three or four in the morning, the dawn starting to crest, pale blues and purples and golds streaking through the icy stormhail sky, and temenos is sitting in a chair at crick's bedside, taking a draft of medicine from castti to bring back some of his magic.

he waves off the others as they take their chance to sleep, and takes watch. besides, there's much to think about; the inquisitor's mind never rests, and he's thinking a thousand thoughts an hour, mind roiling with the crows and the kal people and the dusk, and as he does, temenos stares at the near-corpse of a bandaged knight in this inn bed, one hand curled by his mouth, elbows propped on his knees.

you told him to go investigate. you did this. it sneaks in among the logic like a cancer. led the lamb to the slaughter. ]

[ a messenger of the gods would never distort the truth, crick had claimed, chastising temenos for another moment of blaspheme and doubt. but... someone had done that. someone had twisted everything that the church stood for, had used it for their own gains, and were lying to everyone's faces. they were lying to his.

kaldena lied to his face. she struck him down, aiming to take his life for what he had found. a book that should not have been kept in the sacred guard's hands, should not have been hidden away as if it was some cherished treasure - especially not something that went against everything that the church of the sacred flame stood for.

but he had to get that knowledge to temenos. ]

... Tem...enos. [ his mouth and throat feel like they're full of cotton, but as he realizes that he's no longer out in the cold where he had stood kaldene down... crick lolls his head towards the figure seated at the side of the bed he's laid out in.

he doesn't know where he is, but the fact that temenos is here... he's safe. crick is sure that he's safe, that temenos got the information that he needed - that, perhaps, at least one chapter of this mystery that they've faced together since the pontiff's death has been closed and solved.

he tries to swallow, licks his lips, then makes another attempt: ] Temenos...

[ i wish to believe in the gods. as i believe in you. ]

[ the first time, he doesn't really notice it - drifting, thinking about the conversation he'd had with crick the night before, thinking about the book, about the conspiracy that ran through the church like rot - but the second call of his name is what finally draws the ever thoughtful hound out of his head.

well - it jars him. the world comes back into focus and he looks down, and is reminded in the violent clarity of the present that crick, despite his absolute best effort, is alive. something cracks, somewhere under the surface, and there's a millisecond of a moment where his face might change, where a complicated feeling of relief and a little anger and frustration flickers in his eyes, before the mask snaps back into place and he exhales.

too close. ]

Well, little lamb. [ he says - voice quiet in the early morning dawn, the only sound in an otherwise silent inn room. ] Calling for me on your deathbed instead of the gods...?

[ this sounds like it could be a tease, said light as ever, but there's something tired underneath it, and it's underscored by the feeling of a waterskein, pressed to dry, cracked lips. ] Drink.

[ the quiet delay doesn't surprise him, even in his current state of mind - muggy and drifting as he is - and crick finds himself almost wanting to wait for him to come out of his mind. but he's relieved that he does, tiredly looking at him.

everything hurts, in a numb, distant sort of way, and he feels the pressure of bandages on his body. his relief outweighs everything, though. ]

You're here... [ why would he call for the gods? their gods are far away, even if he'd thank them for how he's made it this far. under his power, with their blessing, with temenos' swiftness... ] Ah.

[ with his help, he drinks, eyes fluttering closed again but consciousness remaining for the time being. ]

[ oooh!!! he could take this bottle and dump it in his face!!

he does not do that. for a moment, the image flashes in the back of his mind - the bloodied, mangled body on the ground - but he keeps it at bay, even if somewhere, internally, he wants to yell at him, wants to hit him with his staff, but he knows just as logically that that is stupid and also would be pointless and just might kill him.

temenos holds the water for him for a moment longer, and then pulls it back, setting the skein back to the side. ]

I'm here, yes. Despite your best, most heroic efforts, we both are. [ idiot, he thinks, but there's no heat, no malice, as his gaze sweeps down his injuries briefly, back up to his face. impassive. placid. ] You're an the inn in Stormhail. My companions are in a room next door.

[ do it coward

a soft mm leaves him, as he processes the information that's being given to him. that makes sense. as surprising as it is that he's found himself, well, alive, if anyone were to find him it would be temenos. ]

Not despite them... [ how dare you? crick knows that being called a lamb is out of his hands, but he'll certainly protest that. his best efforts went towards survival, towards seeking out the truth that temenos had pushed him to seek out. (though, perhaps not quite like this, he would admit - but he couldn't just leave well enough alone that night.) ] Is it over..?

Is it ever?

[ over, that is. a nicer person would say something different. castti, for example, might have a better bedside manner. might comfort the man who just nearly died, might say - yes, you got the information, yes, you did a good job.

but doubt is what temenos mistral does, and so, he has no comforting words to say. no, of course it isn't over. they still have to go after kaldena, wherever she disappeared to, and there are precious few leads.

but he looks at crick, pale and exhausted, and presses his lips into a thin line for a moment, then shakes his head. ]

The head of the crows still flew away. The book that you found gave me an idea of how deep this particular mystery we've begun to unravel truly went, so while it isn't even close to over... [ ... ] ...Recklessly, you've espoused your values; that noble flame of yours burns brightly.

[ foolish. ]

[ perhaps someone else would have given him comforting words. but crick looks tiredly at temenos, asks it of him, rather than anyone else, and waits quietly for the answer. the one that he gets doesn't surprise him or leave him particularly dismayed or discouraged. it causes something in him to relax, just a little.

it isn't relief. now that he's pushed back against the sacred guard, against kaldena - against the night - and he's survived their retribution, he knows that he'll be a wanted man the moment someone realizes that he yet lives. ]

I wasn't... going to give up on my values. [ a pause to gather his breath and strength, and then crick continues, looking at temenos, refusing to look away. ] I know what I believe in. Even... even if Kaldena has warped the Sacred Guard for her needs.

I believe that she has to be stopped. And I believe in the gods. And in you.

[ "and you."

believed in him enough to nearly die for it. crick is - something else, if the conversation they had the night before didn't tell him that. if every conversation they've had didn't, really, if only because he's watched this little lamb go through a crisis of faith and come out of it swinging. only because he should have died, would have died if something hadn't roused temenos out of bed, for being reckless and foolish, because he believes.

temenos is quiet, for a long moment - just sort of taking crick in, thoughtful and inscrutable as always, in the faint light of the dawn, matching his gaze evenly.

... and then, he huffs, something that could almost be a part of a laugh, closing his eyes before he opens them again, and his mouth is turned up in its usual smile, though - it's a little more tired than normal. ]

... And I believe you've talked quite enough for this evening.

[ embarrassing!

but he does mean it, though. ] Go back to sleep, or I'll knock you out myself. [ no you won't ] These injuries certainly won't heal if you spend the rest of the dawn staring at me, little lamb.

[ has temenos always looked tired, beneath everything?

crick feels like he's gotten a better understanding of him, than the day that they first met. but he doesn't think he's gotten through every layer that makes him who he is. little bits and pieces, yes. little nuggets of information that temenos has deigned to share.

he's worried him, hasn't he? put unnecessary worries upon his already burdened shoulders. so slender as they are, it's a wonder that they can carry all that they do. all crick had wanted to do was help carry some of that burden, as he came to understand the reason for temenos' doubt, his mission, became all the more certain that he had to uphold true justice alongside his companion.

at least there was an answer. at least some part of this plot has been thwarted, even if the grandest parts of it still hang over their heads. ]

If you'd like some quiet time to yourself, Temenos, you need only say. [ a weak joke. ] How long have I already been asleep..?

Edited 2023-08-26 02:54 (UTC)

[ don't make jokes you dumb buff man

that being said, temenos' mouth twitches just slightly at the comment - it stings, a little, if only because of the reminder of what nearly happened, but it's only a little, and he gives a slight shake of his head. ]

A day or so. It's - [ a pause; he glances out of the window. ah. ] - near morning.

[ when did that happen. oops? oh well. it's fine. anyway!! ] I intend to guide you along a bit further with us, so you'd best save your strength. We'll be hunting down a cart in the morning to wheel you off whether you can stand or not, but I highly doubt it will be a ride in the lap of luxury.

I'm not here for luxury and glory.

[ quiet, for a moment after, crick closes his eyes and focuses on the noises of the inn so early in the morning, or the lack thereof. the tranquility before they return to the storm. because he might have been taken out, for a night, but he'll get back up on his feet. he'll listen to temenos, and ms. castti, and he'll ensure that he recovers, because kaldena must be stopped.

whatever she's part of must end. ]

Perhaps... perhaps then you should also get some rest, Temenos. [ has he even stopped, truly, since he found his mangled body? his fingers flex against the sheets of the bed as he opens his eyes again to look at the cleric that's been guiding him all this time. ] Even if you don't sleep.

Less about luxury and glory, and much more about you breaking open an injury and bleeding out while we're walking.

[ the very relaxed way he says this does not match the fact that he hates that idea, but it's much easier to joke about it, and it even comes with a quiet chuckle. it's entirely besides the point, but who would temenos be if he didn't poke a hole in statements of bright and shining faith and good character.

he's finally gathering together the feeling of magic in his veins - there's enough that he should be able to cast a heal wounds spell, now, and as temenos rises out of his chair to fetch the staff of judgement, crick speaks up again, and he pauses, fingers curling around the rod briefly. ]

Justice never sleeps, dear Crick. [ just as light and relaxed, as he shakes his head, and makes his way back over. ] I'll rest. [ eventually. castti is going to lecture him onto another planet if she finds out, but, what she doesn't know won't hurt her. ] Now, hold still.

[ justice never sleeps, he says. and crick had tried to stick to that. later, when he can think more properly, he'll dissect where he might have gone wrong in his first foray into lone breaking and entering on that night that he had decided to not let sleeping dogs lie. perhaps someone had overheard them. perhaps someone had tailed him, after he had bid good night to temenos.

not much that they can do about what's already happened, though. they'll just have to keep going forward.

gods, he has the chance to go forward. all because temenos found him in his moment of need, after having guided him as far as he has. he doesn't know what the future holds for him - especially with the doubts and questions that he's still navigating his way through - but he's ready to face it.

... well, he will be. once he's able to. ]

It's not as if I'm about to move anywhere, you know. [ weakly ] I am, once again, at your mercy, Temenos.

That's the spirit.

[ cheerful as ever - it comes with a smile this time, placid if the tiniest bit threatening. the tiniest. he lifts his staff, almost like it's a threat, almost like yes, yes crick wellsley is once again at his mercy, like this is an inquisition. it hovers briefly as he looks down at crick, expression unwavering...

and then he says: ] Repent.

[ and very, very gently bonks the staff against an uninjured place on his temple.

it's followed a moment later by a warm, pale green light that curls around crick to cast a healing wounds. for as much as he acts like a heretic, for as much as he seems to question and - well, doubt - the healing light of his spells are as warm as the sacred flame itself. ]

I - repent?

[ OH N

ever since they met at flamechurch, there have been ample opportunities for crick to see temenos be intimidating. after all, they've fought alongside each other, have dove into danger together, and he is the inquisitor. of course he would have to be threatening.

he is, truly, at his mercy.

his eye squints shut on the same side of the bonk, but of course it doesn't hurt. temenos is healing him, not harming him. and it is as warm and powerful as the sacred flame that burns before the church. no moment comes where crick doubts temenos, for all of his heretical commentary and own doubts.

(but he is a little fearful, for a moment. what sort of punishment is this man going to dole out upon him for being so reckless?) ]

[ no punishment comes beyond the singular bonk, though the staff of judgement stays firmly in its place on crick's forehead, and, he's right. no punishment comes... for now.

(no punishment will actually come, except for maybe more teasing than usual, and the occasional comment as a reminder that he ran off to do something reckless, snuck in among the usual, but that's besides the point.)

the healing spell stays to its completion- he focuses on it, lets the familiarity of white magic flood through his fingers, and only when it fades out does he pull the staff up and away from his head. he's still smiling, but, in the light, he does look tired. ]

Ruminate on what you've done, and say your prayers. [ such an inquisition, from the hound himself. he lifts the staff, and gives one more singular, soft bonk. ] Understood?

[ everything in him is filled with warmth, the weight of his wounds lifting just that bit more, the aches in his body soothed, the frayed edges brought that little bit closer. there's the feeling that he will need quite a bit of healing, just from a moment of wakefulness while being taken care of.

but looking up at temenos, he sees... more.

the second bonk brings him out of his staring, and he scrunches his eyes closed in mild surprise. but he shakes his head, just a little, to prevent himself from getting dizzy. ]

... understood. But. [ mustering the strength to move, crick hooks his fingers in the holy robes that adorn temenos' body. he gives the smallest of tugs. ] Temenos... please, rest.

[ the staff is removed off of crick's forehead, finally, as temenos considers his next move. sleep...maybe, if he can manage it, but more than likely - an hour or two to sit and think, to try and sort all of his thoughts out piece by piece and prepare for the final confrontation with kaldena.

he's not even really listening, already starting to make his way up and out, but the tug to teal fabric surprises him, snaps him out of it, and he glances back down.

... ]

...I will, [ he starts, and then continues, instead of ending the sentence there, raising an eyebrow. ] Are you implying something?

[ there was only one bed.png ]

[ he should really have expected this, though. ]

Temenos - must you have a comment for everything..? [ crick is so tired. why. ] Just...

[ there is only one bed, but he's willing to make room for him, even if it'll tire him out or likely hurt him as he does. but he does it regardless, using his elbows to replace the fact that his core strength would fail him right now. any pain that he feels, he swallows it down - and it's brief, anyways, a shift to the side and then more space is made.

hoo. even when training to become a knight, he'd never felt so tired before. ]

... you clearly need rest, too.

[ oh god he was serious ]

[ well, yes, he has to have a comment for everything, because he is temenos mistral, but he doesn't apparently have a comment as crick starts moving anyway. he gives crick a pointed look as he starts moving, threateningly readying his staff with his other hand, and the pointed look remains as crick scooches over, though it folds into something that looks more like really?

... he sighs. ]

...Honestly. This goodness and righteousness of yours is beginning to get to excessive levels of self destructive.

[ stop! hurting yourself!

and after a pause, temenos lays the staff against the wall, within grabbing reach, and eyes the small space he's left. he sits, first, near the foot of the bed, kicking his foot up over his knee so he can undo the laces on his brogues and take them off, because he's not a complete heathen, and shakes his head. dress shoes kicked off, eventually, very, very delicately - he shifts, lifting his knees and carefully slotting into the space that's been left behind, adjusting a little bit of the pillow so there's some space for his head.

thankfully, he's pretty small and generally bony, but it's still a tight fit - still, despite brushing him off, temenos is very, very careful not to aggravate or touch a single injury. ] You won't survive the night because Castti will come up here and kill me and you for this - forget the crows. Do not move.

[ you've met crick wellsley, right??? sincere to a fault??? means what he says at all times???

crick lets out a laugh that strains at the edges, peters off into a little wheeze because it works his diaphragm and twinges on his healing wounds. a part of him fears what he might look like beneath these bandages, but scars mean that he survived what he went through. that he stood up for what he believes in. that he will get to continue to do so, alongside temenos once more.

though, he tries not to think much on temenos, now, or at least in the present. he's only ever shared a bed with ort during training, and that was when they were in the field and lacking the space for an alternative option. this is much the same, but feels very, very different. not that he has the energy to really be embarrassed.

why does he feel like this? ]

I will do my best to not earn Ms. Castti's ire, especially with the work that the both of you put in to heal me. [ voice lowering a bit further, his eyes close.

when he next speaks, it's very nearly a whisper. but it's full of sincerity. ] ... thank you.

[ good!! suffer!!!

anyway. he is unaware of any internal plight that sweet crick is having about sharing a bed with the wizard (cleric) who cursed his entire life and also maybe his dick. he mostly is still thinking and trying not to hit any injuries on accident as he gets comfortable. it ends up that his knees are just lightly resting against crick's leg, but, whatever, he'll have to deal with it.

he is... not expecting a thank you. at all. (which is silly - he should be.) it throws temenos very briefly off guard again, in the very quiet stormhail inn room, in the dawning light of day, and he makes a very quiet - ] ...Mn.

[ acceptance, after a maybe slightly awkward pause. like he's trying for a real answer. ]

...Don't thank me yet. I've many more truths to uncover, and you will have many more metaphorical and literal doors to break down. The finale is yet at hand.

[ he does suffer!

still, crick doesn't react much to the knees against his leg, even if the intimacy is blatant, foreign. it's that strange place between comfortable and distracting. distracting enough, at least, that he doesn't notice the awkwardness, as exhaustion starts to bleed into him again. moving, speaking, simply being conscious - it's all so tiring.

but he still tries to speak to him now. ]

Perhaps we shall have less literal doors to break down... [ must they? he would much rather not resort to that sort of thing again, but. but. if it will get them their answers, then... ] Regardless, you will have my thanks, Temenos.

[ for your guidance. for saving him. for coming back safe. for closing the book on this chapter. thank you. ]

[ no, unfortunately, temenos is the only one who is the most conscious of this interaction, which means he gets to feel any faint hints of awkwardness to it - though, the sort of soul crushing tired of the past 24 hours does help with that. he's very, very good at repressing, and in the grand scheme of things, that tiny moment of 'hm well this is intimate' is small potatoes compared to an unending grief he's never spent a second processing, from roi's disappearance and moving on.

this was close. it was too close.

there's a small, soft noise, a faint hum of a laugh, and it comes with a smile as he slowly closes his eyes. ]

Those muscles have to be good for something. [ maybe he can settle. for a little while, at least, maybe his thoughts can slow down long enough that he can rest. it's not over, but it's - they're fine.

the dawn is coming. ]

Get some rest and be prepared to move in the morning. I'd rather not waste much more time so close to this particular murder.

[ as consciousness starts to weigh heavier and heavier, crick thinks to himself about how his muscles will be useless for some time. it twinges something in his chest that isn't a healing wound, a map of gnarled and darkened stabs and slashes across his torso that could have taken his life. instead, it's a little despair.

everything he's ever known, ever strived for, after having met roi... it's all gone. surely there are others in the sacred guard and the sanctum knights that were not corrupt, but the rot ran deeper than he ever could have guessed. and it had tried so hard to rip out the healthy roots, culling everything that brought attention to their machinations.

at least cubayri has been taken out of the equation. ]

... no, better to leave. I will do my best to not slow you and your companions down, Temenos.

[ ... hmm. something about that doesn't sit quite right. temenos is too perceptive to miss out on the subtleties of this reaction, the carelessly laced despair and self-loathing that comes in such a remark. he's the cleric, after all, the guiding light of flamechurch, and he's heard many a miserable soul say the same.

... hearing it from crick has a unique weight, though, in the context of his situation, and he presses his lips together, eyeing him for a moment where he's very carefully perched himself. ]

I hardly think that will be a problem. [ 'slowing them down'. and even if it were, it wouldn't matter. the other travelers nearly fell over themselves to make sure crick was taken care of, and still have. they supported temenos in ways he is so deeply thankful that he will never be able to repay them for, and now, they'll travel along to toto'haha together, as they have traveled this continent over and over before.

he makes the statement with finality. something crick can't argue with, even if there's no heat to it, as his gaze flicks back over his bandaged torso one more time, as he lifts a hand almost absently, to reach out and very lightly touch the back of his hand to his forehead. check for fever. pay attention to signs of infection. stay awake. ] We'll make for Toto'haha. And rest assured, if you're the type to be seasick, we will not stop for you at any moment, so you'll expel your insides over the side of the boat like the rest of us.

[ a joke, at least, lighter, to see if he might assuage that self despairing talk lightly, first. ]

[ trust temenos and his perception to snatch up something that he was trying to not focus too much on, himself, as his consciousness toys with the idea of more sleep. a rare, wry twist pulls at the corner of his mouth. caught. but it smooths out again as his eyes flick to his companion briefly, then close again as he feels the cool skin of temenos' hand against his own.

he's in the clear, at least for now. if there was a fever, it's broken for the time being, but there's still a warmth there that comes from having been feverish. but he still turns and presses into the touch almost unconsciously.

it's that strange, familiar yet foreign comfort again, the same that comes from temenos' knees pressed into the side of his leg. in his exhaustion, he wants to curl into it, into temenos, and cling onto that comfort.

like a lighthouse as a bastion of safety. ]

I've not done much seafaring, or even much travel by boat, but what little of it I have... [ the levity does draw him away from the quiet despair. the wry twist leaves, and is replaced by a quirk of a tired smile. ] I've not been seasick, but it could certainly change, crossing to Toto'haha. Farther than I've ever traveled, nevermind on water.

『 ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ sᴄʀᴇᴀᴍs ᴛᴏ ʀʜʏᴍᴇs 』

chapter 3 isnt real

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