There’s absolute darkness, an endless sea of nothingness. Oblivion.
Later, after all is said and done, Orym will lay down on the mattress provided in the room his friends booked for him to recover in despite how low on coin they’d gotten and silently listen to the sounds of his sleeping companions. With the protection that night brings, he’ll attempt to parse out if what he experienced was truly nothing, or if he was still present inside of all of the darkness. He knows the Gods are real, has seen divinity many times over the course of his life.... And yet, in that moment all that was there was a void. That was scarier than he could have imagined.
They’re in a small town, following up on a lead for Lord Eshteross when more of the terrible shadow creatures come out of nowhere and begin to ransack the village. Their group, reluctantly known as Bertrand’s Bells solely due to their inability to take away the name their old acquaintance had granted them before his horrific death, immediately jumps in to help the screaming townsfolk.
Things are going okay, certainly better than their first encounter that left Danas dead and half of them fighting in magical darkness with no idea what exactly they were facing. But it all comes to a screeching half when a harried woman’s voice carries over the sounds of the battlefield.
“No! Gods no! My baby!”
A quick glance to her shows a mid-twenties, olive-skinned, human woman being held back from the fray by an older man who looks equally as horrified at the sight before them. Dorian’s head swivels from the screaming townspeople, to the enemy he’s facing, to Imogen and Laudna fighting next to him, until finally, they land on a very young child far too close to the edge of a gaping pit with a Shade Creeper just a few feet away from her and stalking closer towards her. The poor thing’s eyes are wide with tears as she desperately tries to stay away from it without toppling to her almost certain death below.
He recognizes what’s about to happen at the same time as Imogen, and both of them attempt to disengage from their opponent only to be immediately blocked by their non-stop barrage of attacks. Ashton is too far from them, guarding Fresh Cut Grass as the automaton heals some of the wounded civilians but Orym, who is several yards closer to the child than anyone else, has seen the girl’s predicament and recognized how far everyone else is from them in only a split second. At that moment, his decision was already made.
It’s only after months of getting to know his little friend and fighting alongside him, that Dorian can recognize the manic glint in Orym’s eyes from across the battlefield as the need to defend and protect the people around him. Danas and Bertrand’s deaths hit them all hard, especially Dorian who felt immensely guilty for letting their older companion go by himself that night. But Orym took the role of protector seriously and felt as though he could have stopped both of them from dying, if only he’d been faster. The fact that he’d tried to save Danas at his own expense and had been sleeping off nearly dying when Bertrand had been slain, alone, because Dorian had let him go , didn’t matter to Orym, he bore the burden of everyone’s guilt with a stiff upper lip and never let the shroud that surrounded him go. Sometimes it seems as though the man punishes himself by never letting go of that guilt. He was silently sad in a way that can be hard to pin down but Dorian has seen it firsthand in flashes at night when the three of them are alone.
With a newfound vigor, the bard doubles his efforts to get away from his opponent, only to be blocked from moving away again. He’s too far away to help his friend.and can only turn to meet Fearne’s concerned gaze from across the town square in horror as what’s about to happen really sinks in.
The halfling is moving swiftly towards the danger, ducks nimbly under the claws of one enemy, and then swivels out of the grasp of a second on his sprint towards the little girl. He’s nimble, quick, and small enough to easily outmaneuver the Shades striking out at him. Dorian is reminded, again and again and again, that the halfling takes hits for them because he can, not because they’re unavoidable. It hurts to watch him go down for others, knowing he’s got a self sacrificial need to protect people at his own expense.
There’s no discernable way for him to grab the girl without one of them getting eviscerated by the enemy and there’s no guarantee that he can keep her alive if they fall off of the cliff- despite her being a child she’s about the same height as the halfling and despite his strength, he isn’t sure he can maneuver them both while falling. In a split second, Orym makes the decision to body slam the thing attacking the child instead of trying to fight it off with a frightened girl on the precipice.
Orym is deaf to the shouts of his companions but Dorian hears Ashton’s surprised shout of, “Is he fucking insane?!” loud and clear.
He certainly agrees with their sentiment.
Despite knowing what Orym is going to do and wishing he could stop it from happening, Dorian is forced to look away from his distraction as claws sink into his shoulder. With a curse, the bard spins out of the way and lunges forward to stab at his target once more with a snarl. He makes contact and, despite the Creeper being a hard hitter, it dies quickly with a dagger through the face. Dorian turns away from it before it’s even hit the ground and barely registers the burning pain of it’s dying explosion, but when he’s finally turned around to check on his friend there’s-
Nothing.
Nothing isn’t totally true, the little girl is still there, looking down-
Down.
“Did he-”
'He went down, Dorian!' The bard jumps violently at Imogen’s voice echoing unexpectedly in his brain and he swivels back towards the sounds of fighting to make eye contact with her. Instead he comes face to face with another shadow monster and horrified tears spring to his eyes at the jump-scare. He raises a dagger to fend it off but before he can retaliate, Laudna is there.
She’s far too close to the thing for a caster but the smaller woman only shoves him away with a shout, “Go now!”
Dorian barely registers her order before he’s turning and sprinting to the edge of the pit. He takes a moment away from his panic to direct the little girl away from the battle and towards the group of people being protected by Ashton and F.C.G..
“Nancy!” The woman shrieks, reaching around F.C.G. with open arms for the little girls as she approaches.
Unbidden and inappropriately, Dorian finds a mirthful grin stretch across his face at the irony of that being this child’s name. Then, after centering himself, he silently thanks every single God he knows that he has his winged boots and can get down to his friend. He spares one last glance in Fearne’s direction to witness her fell another opponent, with one more in her way to him and Orym before he lets himself fall. It’s dizzying to just let oneself drop from any significant height and even though he’s only plummeting for a millisecond before he activates his boots, there’s still that telltale swooping feeling that takes over and makes him feel tingly
Fearne is reasonably stressed. She’s old enough to have seen some terrible things and she’s old enough to adapt and overcome adversity in most of its forms. However, other than Little Mister, she’s been low on “friends” for a while now and is quite enthralled with Orym and Dorian. Opal and Dariax too, but they aren’t here in danger, and they’re too far for her to help if there is danger. Her four little adventurers mean so much to her, even if she’s not so loud about it, and she has no intention of letting anything happen to them.
Thus, she is reasonably stressed. They’ve fought these creatures several times, and they’ve survived every time but not without injury. When they make contact, they hit hard, and literally explode when they’re taken down, so it’s no question that they’ve been injured facing them. With that being said, Fearne is less concerned with these new people they’re with facing Shade Creepers and keeping civilians safe simultaneously and more concerned with the people she loves being out of sight and potentially severely hurt, or dead.
By the hush that falls over the battlefield as she stands to her full height, she knows she looks ethereal and otherworldly. Being a Fey creature, Fearne is used to starry eyed stares. That makes her friends, the Crown Keepers, more dear to her heart because they see her and not something strange or different. She takes a moment to breathe deeply, and then feels her magic explode around her violently as she wild-shapes into an owl. Her feathers are a light tan mixed with dark browns, speckled with white like freckles decorating her wings. Fearne takes a moment to stretch in her new shape and then, with a nod towards her companions still fighting, is gone in a flash of feathers and wind.
She doesn’t spare a glance at anything but the crevice that her two friends went down, she refuses to be distracted by anything else until they’re with her and she can verify with her own eyes that they’re okay.
There’s nothing. There’s absolute darkness, an endless sea of nothingness. Oblivion.
He’s not sure if he’s there or if there’s truly nothing. There’s awareness to some extent, but it feels as though he’s floating in limbo. There’s no pain, but there’s also no emotion or feeling. There’s just-
Nothing.
Suddenly, there’s a sharp, harsh, ringing in his ears that overtakes all of the nothing and forces him out of oblivion. He finally fully awakens with a shuddering, wet, gasp and a harsh jolt that ignites every nerve ending in his chest with white hot agony. For a sickeningly drawn out moment, the pain had Orym half expecting to smell his own burning flesh and just the thought left him back on the ground trying to breathe through the intense urge to retch. Through the pain siphoning most of his attention, he heard a muffled grunt and then the telltale little pop of a Shadow Creeper exploding. Immediately on edge, he forces a quaking elbow underneath his failing body, prepared to shove himself off of the ground and away from whatever it was that left him in his current state.
There was the sound of an aborted sniffle and a shuffling of something moving near his head which alarmed him because he hadn’t sensed any danger there and had no idea what was behind him. Orym began to twist his body towards the perceived threat before strong, familiar arms gently but firmly stop him from moving and doing any more damage to himself. The ringing that had been so intense in his head that he could barely think suddenly stopped, and the ambient sounds of his surroundings rushed back with startling clarity. After another moment of panic and disorientation, the litany of soothing sounds coming from the person gently pinning him down became his anchor.
“Shh, easy, easy now. Don’t move, Orym.” Dorian sounded wrecked and, in response, the shocked, disoriented halfling forced his aching eyelids open so he could make out his friend’s face.
When the genasi swims into focus, Orym forces his burning eyes over every inch of him that he can see to assess if he’s okay. He’s not even aware of the awkward angle or how hard he’s craning his neck to see him until Dorian shifts to lessen the strain, and loops an arm under his neck, lifting him just enough to place Orym into his lap with a watery sigh.
“Are- Are you,” Orym gasps weakly, “Are you okay?” He reaches a bloodied hand up until it’s grasping Dorian’s bloodstained sleeve weakly.
The laugh that bursts from deep in Dorian’s chest startles both of them. “Am I okay? Am I okay ? I’m fine you- you idiot!” Tears nearly force their way out of his eyes despite his harsh blinking to keep them at bay, and he buries his face in Orym’s short hair, “I’m okay… You protected everyone. Again. You absolute....”
“Oh. Oh, good.” He allows himself a moment to relax into Dorian’s hold, “a-and Fearne? The others?”
“They’re on their way to us now, I think… I hope. They were dealing with the rest of the enemies when I first got to you. I just need you to stay with me until Fresh Cut Grass can heal you, okay? I’ll do my best but my magic- I- you-”
“It’s okay, Dorian.” He replied with an exhausted huff of air.
The man in question mutters a nasty curse to himself ruefully, “It’s not, but I’ll save the lecture for when your blood is no longer literally all over my hands.”
The bard focuses on where he thinks the worst of the damage is and gently rests his hand atop Orym’s ribs. The trembling halfling’s eyes cloud over with pain and he hisses involuntarily. He begins to shift away again before seeming to remember where he is and what Dorian is doing and with as deep a breath as he can take, Orym wills himself to be still. The magic is a familiar cooling sensation as it flows through him and it leaves an almost mint-like aftertaste despite being non-corporeal. Although it doesn’t heal him near completely, he finally feels safe again and fully relaxes in Dorian’s hold.
Dorian flinches harshly at the sound of his friend’s bones snapping back into place, but his little companion seems to barely register the horrific noises his body is making as the process of repairing it begins. He uses his last spell slot to pump more healing magic into his friend and has to hide his tearful eyes in Orym’s hair again when the wounds seem almost just as gnarly as they had been before. After a brief respite, Dorian sits back up and begins to hum a tune to fill the space with something other than the oppressive feeling of death. Subconsciously, he begins to softly rock back and forth, being careful not to move too abruptly and hurt his friend any further.
There’s a moment of silence, broken only by Orym’s slightly labored breathing and Dorian’s soft humming, when Fearne’s owl form suddenly lands loudly next to them. They both startle horribly, and Orym’s eyes fly open in alarm with a shaking, bloodied hand instinctively reaching for a sword that isn’t there. Fearne, now back in her regular form, quickly assesses their situation and lunges forward to stop him from extending his arm all the way.
“Hi, guys.” she says sweetly as she pushes Orym back into Dorian’s arms.
Dorian chuckles, and rests a hand atop Orym’s hair, absentmindedly smoothing it down, “Hi, Fearney,” then, after a pause, “any idea how we’re getting him up without hurting him? Or Letters down, I suppose. I- I don’t particularly want to leave him to go back up.”
She looks between them for a long moment, and then up at the top of the cliffside. It’s about fifty or so feet and slanted at a pretty harsh, steep angle. If Orym didn’t look so fragile, she’d tell Dorian to just carry him back up. As it stands, she supposes using her second wild-shape to just go back up and bring F.C.G. to them instead would be the better option. Then, once he was healed enough that being carried wouldn’t put too much of a strain on him, she could take Letters back up while Dorian could get his wish to stay with Orym and carry him. As loath as she is to leave them for even a second, she’s verified that neither of them are in immediate danger of dying and can now breathe easier with them out of sight.
“I’ll go get Fresh Cut Grass and he’ll fix you right up,” she says with a chaste kiss to her halfling’s brow, “and then we can go home.” her eyes meet Dorian’s firmly and she moves forward to press a kiss to his blushing cheek too.
He sputters for a moment, instinctively embarrassed, but the sound of Orym’s short laugh has him looking down with a small but fond grin on his face, “You’re a little traitor, you know that?”
Before he can reply, Fearne’s transformed back into an owl and, in a flash, she’s gone back to their friends.
There’s a hush as the final Shade Creeper falls, the civilians behind them are sniffling and huddled around Nancy, the little girl who’d almost-
Imogen takes a deep, shuddering breath and then turns to where their three companions had disappeared to.
‘Do you think,’ Laudna’s whispered voice doesn’t startle her at all and actually relaxes her tense shoulders a fraction. Despite how disconcerting Imogen knows others see Laudna, the other woman feels almost like a comfortable sweater, like her home, ‘they’re okay?’
After a beat of silence, Imogen looks away from the hole and back to Laudna a few feet away. Out loud, she says, “Maybe we should-” and gestures in a subdued manner towards the others.
Ashton nods, “Crazy motherfucker went right over. Then crazy motherfucker two went after him!” They studiously ignore the indignant gasp of the mother behind him, and begin making their way to Imogen and Laudna.
“You have healing left, right? Fresh?” Imogen asks as she distractedly kicks at some of the ash left by the Shade Creepers.
The little automaton wheels over, “Of course, not a lot but enough to help you guys out.”
“Good, I think-”
They’re interrupted by the flapping sound of wings, and owl-Fearne lands with grace directly in front of them. She looks at all of them quickly, then settles on F.C.G. with an impatient hoot. When no one immediately understood what she wanted them to do she reaches a clawed foot towards the group and makes a grabby-hand motion while hooting more insistently. The little robot cocks their head to the side cutely, and then turns to Ashton with an easygoing nod.
“We’ll be back, y’all stay up here and make sure nothing comes back for these folks.”
Ashton opens their mouth to reply, but is cut off by Fearne’s mighty take-off with Fresh Cut Grass clasped gently in her talons.
“Crazy…” They mutter.
“Good crazy, I think!” Laudna supplies softly, with one arm around Imogen and the other petting Pate in a soothing, repetitive way..
Imogen sighs quietly, “I hope they’re okay.” and begins the wait for her friends, trying to ignore the anxious feeling in her gut that reminded her of the dream she’d had before Bertrand had been killed by helping to steer the frightened townsfolk back into their homes.
After several painful hours of healing the worst of Orym’s injuries, levitating him to where everyone else was gathered, and then traveling back to the rooms that Lord Eshteross had prepared for them on foot, the group finally finds themselves out of danger and blessedly resting.
Ashton is sharing a drink with some men under Lord Eshteross’ employment, while F.C.G is supervising the ‘soul-touched’ around them with a curious tilt of their head. Imogen and Laudna, after checking in and making sure Orym and Dorian were alright, headed to their own room with an air of exhausted relief. They all know tomorrow resumes their mission to find Bertrand’s killer and continue to help Lord Eshteross, but at that moment they were finally trying to relax after such a stressful day.
For their part, Orym, Fearne and Dorian are all in one room, despite having their own separate ones already made up. The night directly after discovering Bertrand had been killed had been incredibly hard. It found all three of them awake long into the night due to Dorian’s guilty conscience which left the bard incredibly anxious. They were always able to sleep apart, but ever since that night, more often than not they found themselves in bed together. The trio takes a moment to sit and rest, trying to either forget the events of the day or come to terms with how close of a call it was. Finally breaking the spell, Fearne stands up with a flourish.
“I am going to go wash up, prestidigitation certainly works but I would feel better with a real bath. Do you guys want me to bring any food or drinks back up with me when I come back?” Her voice is so soothing sometimes, that it would be so easy to fall asleep listening to her talk about anything at all.
Orym shook his head tiredly, “I’m okay, thank you though.. I-” he hesitated, “I truly owe you guys so much. Thank you both.”
Dorian, sitting next to Orym on the bed, scoffed, “I’ve told you, no debts between us. We help you because we, l- we want to. Because you’re someone we care about. Do I wish you’d be more careful with your life? Yes. But I-” He blinked rapidly for a moment, “ I won’t stop coming for you, Orym.”
Fearne, from her place near the door nodded with a small smile, “We’re in this together. We love you.” and with that, she left the room.
The halfling and the genasi sat in silence for a long moment after Fearne’s departure. They were past the point of being exhausted but were both still wearing their armor which kept them from just flopping into bed. The silence stretched for several more seconds before Dorian finally sat up.
“She’s right,” Dorian nodded resolutely, “we do love you. And Opal and Dariax love you and we are all making it through this so we can all love each other-” here he cut himself off with a fake cough, “Just… Please let us take some of your burden. We hate seeing you hurt, and you aren’t the only one that can take a hit.”
Orym glanced at Dorian through long eyelashes, then softly, but fiercely began talking “I can’t not protect the people around me. It was my job at one point but even when it was, I think it’s just who I am. I won’t lose anyone else, Dorian.”
“And if we lose you? What then? We- I can’t lose you . So just… Protect people. But protect yourself too… Let us protect you too, you selfless idiot.” With that, the genasi moved swiftly across the room to begin removing his weapons, instruments and armor.
Orym hummed in response, and then sat up gingerly to begin the arduous task of removing his own armor. On a normal day, it was therapeutic to remove his armor and weapons. The task of then polishing them to perfection was as monotonous as it was soothing, but today had been hard, and despite being healed, he was still incredibly sore and sometimes short of breath. As the armor moved up his torso, the pain increased and he had to stop with a choked off gasp and a wince. His arms slowly moved back down to clutch at his tender ribs just as Dorian appeared back at his side with a steadying hand on his hip.
“Hey, what did I just say?” He chuckled ruefully, “ask for help when you need it. I’ll be here for you.”
Through the subsiding pain, the halfling looked up into Dorian’s eyes and noted how uncharacteristically serious his normally laid back friend looked, “I- I’m sorry. I just… I’m used to taking the hits. I want to take the hits.”
“I get that, protecting people you care about is noble and I think we all want to… Just remember that as much as you don’t want to see us hurt. We don’t like seeing you hurt. So please, just let me help right now and we’ll work on the rest later.”
After a brief pause, Orym nodded and then rested his head on Dorian’s shoulder where the other man was kneeling next to him, “Later.”
Slowly, giving Orym the option to move away if he so chose, Dorian reached for the clasp on his armor, and motioned for the smaller man to lift his arms as high as he could. With another wince, Orym worked with Dorian to get the armor off, lamenting silently about how much work it was going to be to clean it later. After a longer than normal process, he was left in his under-clothes and panting due to both the pain and exhaustion. Dorian made quick work of the rest of his own armor and then sat next to his friend, gently pushing him back onto the pillows behind him.
“Rest, for now. Later, Remember?”
Orym’s eyes closed of their own accord, and he allowed his body to take over and felt himself relax with Dorian’s hands running through his short hair gently. He vows to stay awake until Fearne is safely back in their room, though he can feel himself dozing almost immediately.
Orym’s not sure when he became so used to listening to Dorian’s heartbeat next to his ear, Fearne’s quiet sleepy muttering, and Little Mister’s snores, but at some point something in him intrinsically shifted to incorporate these people in his life. When Fearne returns a short time later, she finds her friends cuddled together, places the food she brought on the table in their room, and gently joins them on the bed. With their trio complete and the promise of fixing things later, Orym falls soundly asleep next to his companions.