Something Wicked This Way Comes [Hydra Renown][Closed]
Dec 19, 2023 19:25:26 GMT -5
Post by Lady Astrid Stormstone on Dec 19, 2023 19:25:26 GMT -5
Despite having done so little flying, Astrid’s wings feel heavy, and she lands in the muck unsteadily. The magic holding them to her dissipates like the last hope she holds on to that Cyran is joking. He must be joking. But why would he play such a cruel joke rather than admit to such a silly truth?
He wouldn’t.
No, there’s no reason for Cyran to lie to her about this, so he must be telling the truth. It explains so much more than her stupid little theory. That explains why Caedes was so out of sorts when Astrid started questioning him. That explains why Zarius’ family were vague about where he was. That explains why Cyran wanted to avoid the topic. Why couldn’t she just let it be? Did she really have to press the matter?
Astrid feels her eyes burning, holding back tears of frustration, of grief, of fear, of regret as Cyran pours out what happened to her. His voice trembles, and each stammer, each rattle, is just another prodding finger of blame jamming itself in her face and against her back. How could you? Can’t you just behave? Look at what you’ve done!
Short as she is, Astrid’s small stature always feels so big because of the confidence she displays. She can take on bandits, warlords, and even gods, but grief looms over her as a mighty, undefeatable monstrosity. In its shadow, she becomes tiny and frail, unable to muster the courage to speak or act on her own. Below grief, she simply…exists.
When she finally manifests a voice, Astrid is quiet. “I-I’m sorry, Cyran.” I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have pushed. I made you hurt. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to!
She can see her hands rattling below her, and she looks at them for a moment. What doe she do? What can she do? A pit forms in her stomach, and she feels as sick as the day she finally let everything out to Cantio after stuffing down everything she felt with Vikram’s death. Somehow this feels just as bad, if not worse. For the first time, Astrid has to deal with the death of someone she held near and dear to her heart. This isn’t someone who left her of their own accord. This isn’t someone who chose death over a worse fate. This is someone who died not on their own terms and completely unexpectedly.
Tears finally spill over, draining along Astrid’s cheeks and dripping off to mix into the murky water below. Her eyes and cheeks burn hot with sadness and even some anger, but not at Cyran, at the world, at the situation. She’s never been one to curse the hand she’s been dealt but this time… Her hands clench into fists.
There has to be a way to fix this. If there is powerful enough magic in the world to revive someone long dead, then Zarius can be saved too. Sitting around crying about things won’t solve the situation. Everyone needs a helping hand when they’re in the pits. Zarius offered one to her, and she can do the same. He might be in the pits of the hells or the afterlife or even Vulcadreaus’ damn stomach by the sounds of it, but he could use a hand too.
Digging into her back, struggling to see the different potions through the tears she fights off, Astrid procures a bottle of lavender-colored liquid and pops the cork.[1] Then she looks at Cyran with fierce eyes. “Take Big Frizole an’ get back ta Del,” she says authoritatively. “I’m gonna find a way ta help.”
Without giving him a moment to respond, Astrid downs the bottle in one swig just as Big Frizole lets out a victorious roar. The drake stands over the dead body of the ancient hydra who fell to his and Buttfellow’s combined efforts. When the creature looks over to its master for praise, it sees she’s disappeared from the scene entirely and turns its attention to Cyran.
1. Elsewhere Juice
He wouldn’t.
No, there’s no reason for Cyran to lie to her about this, so he must be telling the truth. It explains so much more than her stupid little theory. That explains why Caedes was so out of sorts when Astrid started questioning him. That explains why Zarius’ family were vague about where he was. That explains why Cyran wanted to avoid the topic. Why couldn’t she just let it be? Did she really have to press the matter?
Astrid feels her eyes burning, holding back tears of frustration, of grief, of fear, of regret as Cyran pours out what happened to her. His voice trembles, and each stammer, each rattle, is just another prodding finger of blame jamming itself in her face and against her back. How could you? Can’t you just behave? Look at what you’ve done!
Short as she is, Astrid’s small stature always feels so big because of the confidence she displays. She can take on bandits, warlords, and even gods, but grief looms over her as a mighty, undefeatable monstrosity. In its shadow, she becomes tiny and frail, unable to muster the courage to speak or act on her own. Below grief, she simply…exists.
When she finally manifests a voice, Astrid is quiet. “I-I’m sorry, Cyran.” I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have pushed. I made you hurt. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to!
She can see her hands rattling below her, and she looks at them for a moment. What doe she do? What can she do? A pit forms in her stomach, and she feels as sick as the day she finally let everything out to Cantio after stuffing down everything she felt with Vikram’s death. Somehow this feels just as bad, if not worse. For the first time, Astrid has to deal with the death of someone she held near and dear to her heart. This isn’t someone who left her of their own accord. This isn’t someone who chose death over a worse fate. This is someone who died not on their own terms and completely unexpectedly.
Tears finally spill over, draining along Astrid’s cheeks and dripping off to mix into the murky water below. Her eyes and cheeks burn hot with sadness and even some anger, but not at Cyran, at the world, at the situation. She’s never been one to curse the hand she’s been dealt but this time… Her hands clench into fists.
There has to be a way to fix this. If there is powerful enough magic in the world to revive someone long dead, then Zarius can be saved too. Sitting around crying about things won’t solve the situation. Everyone needs a helping hand when they’re in the pits. Zarius offered one to her, and she can do the same. He might be in the pits of the hells or the afterlife or even Vulcadreaus’ damn stomach by the sounds of it, but he could use a hand too.
Digging into her back, struggling to see the different potions through the tears she fights off, Astrid procures a bottle of lavender-colored liquid and pops the cork.[1] Then she looks at Cyran with fierce eyes. “Take Big Frizole an’ get back ta Del,” she says authoritatively. “I’m gonna find a way ta help.”
Without giving him a moment to respond, Astrid downs the bottle in one swig just as Big Frizole lets out a victorious roar. The drake stands over the dead body of the ancient hydra who fell to his and Buttfellow’s combined efforts. When the creature looks over to its master for praise, it sees she’s disappeared from the scene entirely and turns its attention to Cyran.
1. Elsewhere Juice