Felix Caelus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
conjuredskies) wrote2020-08-05 12:19 am
conjuredskies) wrote2020-08-05 12:19 am
Playing With Shadows II, for smartass_captain
The darkness flows around him, a river of shadow beneath a moonless night. His hands are in agony and there’s a dull thudding pain in his skull, but he’s safe. For now. At least until Jim finds out what he’s done.
Which… is fuck up a ritual in their most hated place and let loose a powerful, bloodthirsty daedric warrior.
Felix utters all the Andorian words Norn’s taught him not to say.
“Are you just going to sit there, featherless? Don’t you know how to walk?” There’s a familiar harshness to the voice; Felix isn’t surprised to lift his head and see the crow sitting in a stunted tree close by. Though in his defence, he thinks, it’s a black bird sitting in a black tree in the realm of eternal night. It doesn’t exactly grab the eye.
“You’re… the Knave of Rooks, aren’t you?” The smallest of the Blackfeather Court, and one of the lowest-ranking, from his observations.
“Correct, mortal!” The bird puffs and preens. “Prince Nocturnal commanded that I should guide you through her glorious realm of Evergloam, in fulfilment of your contract!”
"You? So then..." She didn't set one of her phantom Nightingales to handle this errand. Even a former mortal must outrank the bird. But Felix bites his tongue hard on that. Not the time to start offending his guide with such observations, even if he's inadvertently learning something.
The Knave cocks his head at Felix, the glint of his eyes a violet spark in the gloom. “Well? Speak! Where is it you need to go?”
“Uh-“ To the Enterprise, scream the white-hot nerves in his hands, the ache of his skull and ribs. To the ship and Dr. McCoy and all his wonderful shiny machines for making the pain go right the hell away.
Then he considers the look on Jim’s face when Bones immediately reports this, and winces. Anyway, there’s precious few shadows to fall out of on the Enterprise. He’d be as well going to their quarters and then he might give Jim a nasty surprise to his face.
“Iowa. My home on Earth.” He doesn’t know if that means much to the crow, but maybe that doesn’t matter.
“Very well. Follow! Hurry up!” The crow flaps off, leaving the mage to stumble after him, up the bank of the dark river and through a sparse wood Felix has glimpsed before. He finds his sight starting to adjust to the shadows as he picks his way over rocks and roots, trying to stick to what path there is. The bird calls to him again each time he drops behind, harsh and grating and peppered with commentary Felix can’t concentrate enough to be annoyed by.
The pain in his hands ebbs and throbs in turns. Eventually he musters himself to speak again, just to distract himself.
“Hey… Knave? You’re a servant of Nocturnal. A… a wise noble of this realm. Can you tell me… why the hood I wear didn’t protect my mind, from… from the foul place I delved into?”
The compliments seem to do the trick: the bird stops to preen instead of complaining about the question. He seems to hesitate, though. Felix nearly flinches when he flies down to the conjurer’s shoulder, leans over to tug the hood with his beak.
“The boon of Nocturnal? Her Gift of Merciful Shadow?" His voice is even harsher delivered straight into Felix's ear. "It softens the bitter edges of the light, veils the bones too sharp for mortal minds to bear.”
“Yes- I know that, but then why didn’t it work?” It didn’t stop Rielle from getting to him. Reminding him…
“How should I know, featherless? It makes things seem no more than the lies they tell, yes? Maybe you are a bad liar!” The Knave scoffs and flaps loudly away into the darkness.
A bad liar? That doesn't even make... Felix nearly laughs until the shooting pain in his ribs makes it a whimper. He doesn't have energy to waste on ruining what little dignity he has left; he shuts up and follows until the Knave circles a pool of shadow, cawing pointedly. The conjurer steps into it- and lands on the rug in a darkened living room.
He doesn’t dare look at his hands until he’s running them under cold water. The burns left by the backlash of the spell are… bad, the skin bubbled and raw. Conjurer’s burn is an occupational hazard but he’s never been so stupid as to let himself fail at a summoning this badly. Never felt the results like this.
He’s infinitely lucky not to be dead, of course. He knows that down to his bones. Lucky to be here - he couldn’t have worked a PINpoint like this.
The burns are nothing he couldn’t heal… if he only had the use of his hands. Felix allows himself to groan and swear with the pain- and the anger at himself. The house is empty, nobody cares. He does have a stash of potions, though the way his body complains he doubts he’ll have anything strong enough to fully tackle what he’s done to himself. He goes for the best one- the emergency elixir stashed in a cupboard, gingerly maneuvering it down to the counter with his seared hands. Hugging it in the crook of his elbow as he painfully gets the stopper off.
When he lifts the hefty bottle to drink- he tips his head back, there’s a moment of nauseating dizziness - it slips out of his fumbling hands, spilling across the counter as it bounces-
-rolls-
-hits the floor and smashes.
Felix stares at the ghastly mess over the tiles. At the ghastly mess of his hands. For some reason all he can think despite the despair and the burning pain is What am I going to tell Jim?
And oddly, that’s when something clicks. He understands, quite suddenly. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Felix starts to do both. A painful, racking, sobbing laugh as he slumps against the counter and lets himself just… surrender for a minute.
What are you going to tell him? Idiot. You don’t even know what to tell yourself.
Which… is fuck up a ritual in their most hated place and let loose a powerful, bloodthirsty daedric warrior.
Felix utters all the Andorian words Norn’s taught him not to say.
“Are you just going to sit there, featherless? Don’t you know how to walk?” There’s a familiar harshness to the voice; Felix isn’t surprised to lift his head and see the crow sitting in a stunted tree close by. Though in his defence, he thinks, it’s a black bird sitting in a black tree in the realm of eternal night. It doesn’t exactly grab the eye.
“You’re… the Knave of Rooks, aren’t you?” The smallest of the Blackfeather Court, and one of the lowest-ranking, from his observations.
“Correct, mortal!” The bird puffs and preens. “Prince Nocturnal commanded that I should guide you through her glorious realm of Evergloam, in fulfilment of your contract!”
"You? So then..." She didn't set one of her phantom Nightingales to handle this errand. Even a former mortal must outrank the bird. But Felix bites his tongue hard on that. Not the time to start offending his guide with such observations, even if he's inadvertently learning something.
The Knave cocks his head at Felix, the glint of his eyes a violet spark in the gloom. “Well? Speak! Where is it you need to go?”
“Uh-“ To the Enterprise, scream the white-hot nerves in his hands, the ache of his skull and ribs. To the ship and Dr. McCoy and all his wonderful shiny machines for making the pain go right the hell away.
Then he considers the look on Jim’s face when Bones immediately reports this, and winces. Anyway, there’s precious few shadows to fall out of on the Enterprise. He’d be as well going to their quarters and then he might give Jim a nasty surprise to his face.
“Iowa. My home on Earth.” He doesn’t know if that means much to the crow, but maybe that doesn’t matter.
“Very well. Follow! Hurry up!” The crow flaps off, leaving the mage to stumble after him, up the bank of the dark river and through a sparse wood Felix has glimpsed before. He finds his sight starting to adjust to the shadows as he picks his way over rocks and roots, trying to stick to what path there is. The bird calls to him again each time he drops behind, harsh and grating and peppered with commentary Felix can’t concentrate enough to be annoyed by.
The pain in his hands ebbs and throbs in turns. Eventually he musters himself to speak again, just to distract himself.
“Hey… Knave? You’re a servant of Nocturnal. A… a wise noble of this realm. Can you tell me… why the hood I wear didn’t protect my mind, from… from the foul place I delved into?”
The compliments seem to do the trick: the bird stops to preen instead of complaining about the question. He seems to hesitate, though. Felix nearly flinches when he flies down to the conjurer’s shoulder, leans over to tug the hood with his beak.
“The boon of Nocturnal? Her Gift of Merciful Shadow?" His voice is even harsher delivered straight into Felix's ear. "It softens the bitter edges of the light, veils the bones too sharp for mortal minds to bear.”
“Yes- I know that, but then why didn’t it work?” It didn’t stop Rielle from getting to him. Reminding him…
“How should I know, featherless? It makes things seem no more than the lies they tell, yes? Maybe you are a bad liar!” The Knave scoffs and flaps loudly away into the darkness.
A bad liar? That doesn't even make... Felix nearly laughs until the shooting pain in his ribs makes it a whimper. He doesn't have energy to waste on ruining what little dignity he has left; he shuts up and follows until the Knave circles a pool of shadow, cawing pointedly. The conjurer steps into it- and lands on the rug in a darkened living room.
He doesn’t dare look at his hands until he’s running them under cold water. The burns left by the backlash of the spell are… bad, the skin bubbled and raw. Conjurer’s burn is an occupational hazard but he’s never been so stupid as to let himself fail at a summoning this badly. Never felt the results like this.
He’s infinitely lucky not to be dead, of course. He knows that down to his bones. Lucky to be here - he couldn’t have worked a PINpoint like this.
The burns are nothing he couldn’t heal… if he only had the use of his hands. Felix allows himself to groan and swear with the pain- and the anger at himself. The house is empty, nobody cares. He does have a stash of potions, though the way his body complains he doubts he’ll have anything strong enough to fully tackle what he’s done to himself. He goes for the best one- the emergency elixir stashed in a cupboard, gingerly maneuvering it down to the counter with his seared hands. Hugging it in the crook of his elbow as he painfully gets the stopper off.
When he lifts the hefty bottle to drink- he tips his head back, there’s a moment of nauseating dizziness - it slips out of his fumbling hands, spilling across the counter as it bounces-
-rolls-
-hits the floor and smashes.
Felix stares at the ghastly mess over the tiles. At the ghastly mess of his hands. For some reason all he can think despite the despair and the burning pain is What am I going to tell Jim?
And oddly, that’s when something clicks. He understands, quite suddenly. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Felix starts to do both. A painful, racking, sobbing laugh as he slumps against the counter and lets himself just… surrender for a minute.
What are you going to tell him? Idiot. You don’t even know what to tell yourself.
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