#lest they get fucked over with more mental health complications than they had to start? AIN'T IT.

[chamerionwrites]

Also what people need to understand before leaving condescending shit in the tags is that by and large nobody is frustrated about CBT (yes the therapy, insert obligatory giggling) not being a mental health "panacea". People are frustrated about:

Therapists making zero attempt to ascertain whether CBT is right for their patients before diving in with a methodology that can actively make some mental health problems worse; and/or

Patients who do say "hey this really isn't working for me" being told (or frequently berated) by friends, family, assholes on the internet, and not-infrequently therapists themselves that they just need to work harder rather than offered alternatives; and/or

Systematic difficulty accessing other kinds of treatment because the healthcare system is fucked and CBT is more likely to be covered by insurance

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.21

Tense. Things at home were tense. Lance had muttered about needing to go shopping, then left. Keith knew when to bite his tongue, and this was definitely a time for tongue biting. Wanting to do something helpful Keith put his mind to cleaning. Not like in-depth cleaning, but enough to be counted as an effort around the house. That meant first he had to find everything, then he had to argue with the washing machine as he tried to figure the damn thing out as he didn’t know if sheets were washed on the same cycle setting as clothes... if they weren’t before, they were now. Blue had acted like it was the end of the world once the vacuum cleaner went on, dramatically running from the living room so fast she skidded. Adam would have been proud of him. As was every foster family he’d never fit in with. Sure, he had anger issues, but he wouldn’t have anger issues if people stopped making him angry.

Keith got less done than he’d set out to accomplish. Barely finishing the first floor before there was the sound of a car horn out the front, the approach drowned out by Lance’s ancient vacuum that would have been tossed out long ago if Adam had seen the device. Adam really did have the one functioning brain cell between him, Shiro and Keith. The hunter knew it was unhealthy to hold onto things, Adam had died over a year ago now, but he and Shiro together had been the best family Keith had ever had. Shiro never treated him like a legacy. The child of a hunter who’s name carried far too much weight. Since being accepted into the Order and beginning his training as a cadet, he’d lived in the shadow of the great werewolf hunter Krolia. He understood why she had to leave him, why she did fought as she did, but... Shiro and Adam felt more like family to him than she did. Krolia was... she was... it was heavy to think about her accomplishments. Stowing the vacuum back in the laundry, Keith rushed back through the house, trying not to appear like he cared whether Lance was alright or not... because he didn’t.

Heading out, Lance was standing at the back of his bronco, trunk door open

“Help me carry stuff”

Lance wasn’t supposed to be doing anything exerting like carrying in the whole damn shop from the look of it

“Did we really need so much stuff?”

“Not supposed to go out, remember. So I stocked up. Before you bite my head off, I didn’t go shopping alone. I found my phone in the car and shot Hunk a message”

“You... talked to Hunk?”

“Am I not allowed?!”

The snappiness in Lance’s tone kind of hurt, as did the fact Lance had talked to Hunk before they’d had a chance to talk about their situation

“I’m not saying that. I’m just wondering what... It’s none of my business”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have snapped. I told him Mami had a fall, well, Miriam had a fall and I was in Platt due to it. He went a little crazy shopping”

“So you’re blaming Hunk for this?”

They needed a whole army to eat the amount of food in the back of the bronco. Lance sighed as he passed Keith the first bag

“He’s a good man. I really do think he and Pidge are both interested in you, as in being friends. Sorry, can we save talking until we’re back inside. I want to wallow a little longer”

“Alright... but don’t think you’re getting out of this”

“I wouldn’t dream of it”

*

People were exhausting. Hunk was one of those people. He was a natural born worrier who’d worried the moment he showed up. Lance was pulled into a tight hug, hiding his discomfort as he was. Normally he loved Hunk’s hug, but he couldn’t tell him the truth and it sucked big hair testicles. Repeatedly trying to redirect the conversation from him, Hunk kept bringing up how unwell Lance looked and how he needed to eat more. Yeah. He did. But looking at all the food in the supermarket isles made him sick. It fed the knot of anxiety that’d settled in his gut. He was changing for the worse, and there was no way to back out of it now. When Matt came, everything would change again. Pidge would be over the moon to see her brother again, while Matt would be terrified of one wrong move exposing his secret. Secrets sucked. They festered like wounds. Growing and spreading that infection until you felt physically ill.

Settling down with a cup of coffee, like a normal human would, Lance stared into the cup as Keith put things away. Lance wanted to take control, he wanted to take back some kind of order in his life, yet with Keith living there, he needed to loosen up. Keith needed to know where things went and how to navigate his kitchen beyond how to use the coffee machine. Keith really seemed to like his coffee. He wasn’t so fond of broccoli, or corn for that matter, but he also never really complained about eating anymore... provided he could hover while Lance he cooked, still kind of paranoid Lance was going to poison him or something. If he was going to do that, he would taken care of Keith the second Shiro was clear of the picture.

“You look pale. Do you need blood?”

Keith’s question took Lance by surprise. He never hid his drinking blood from his friends, but they thought he was simply indulging in red wine. Keith had seen him drink, and extremely embarrassingly vulnerable. He’d swallowed down that blood bag at VOLTRON with no worries thanks to how hungry he was... So why was it now he was feeling self conscious thanks to Keith asking? And why were his teeth almost throbbing at the idea? It would be a blood bag like the rest of the times he fed, having Keith there was not his ticket to a fresh meal because he didn’t want a fresh meal. That’d mean only submitting to his vampire way

“Not yet”

“Coran said you need to keep your strength up”

“Since when did you care?”

Keith placed down the box of cereal he’d been trying to find a home for

“Since I don’t run away from mistakes I’ve made”

Ouch. Yeah. Keith had fucked up, but he was kind of trying... but only because he felt obligated too. Obligations sucked. Lance knew he was only a job to Keith, but “mistake” struck like a bullet to the heart

“Dude, ouch”

“I... I mean. I take responsibility for my actions. You’re changing because of me. We can’t ignore it”

“I can try”

Keith slammed his plan down on the kitchen bench with enough anger that Lance felt himself jump

“Why?! Why do you that? You said nothing to Luis. You didn’t try defending yourself. You didn’t ask to be turned”

He really hadn’t. He’d been such a lonely kid, he always seemed to have plenty of people around him, but he’d always felt so filled with faults that he kept messing up his friendships. Every month he seemed to have a new best friend who’d leave him to play with someone cooler and smarter than he was. Someone who better at games, and didn’t have problems with English as Spanish was the spoken language at home. He’d been alright with his siblings until they all started to grow older... then they’d all sort of... given up on their little brother

“Luis gave into his fear long ago”

“That doesn’t make it right. He tried to have you hunted”

“I know he did. Look, I’m way too sober for that conversation. But you’d be right if you thought I ruined our family. No one knew how to handle a kid with flashbacks, nightmares and all the things that come with being a vampire. I’m happy they all got out and had a life...”

“The rest of your family’s like that? Like, Luis?”

“It’s complicated. They don’t understand why I’m the way I am. Why I don’t drive a car in the hundreds of thousands of dollars, why I live in a house that’s a cross between farmhouse and plantation. Why I work so cheaply when I could be earning more. They all think I sponge off Mami, and stay with her so I have control over her. It’s easier to pick your battles and the way I see it, Mami won’t live forever. I’ve caused her enough pain that shouldn’t have to see me fighting with my siblings. Fuck... I really am way too sober”

Taking off his glasses, Lance leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Keith didn’t know his life outside of whatever he’d read. He didn’t know how hard it was in the house to have a blood sucker. He didn’t know how many times Lance had made things hard for their family. How he’d cost them all this extra money to keep him fed and safe. Then there was therapy. Him changing schools. Him dealing with his mental health while trying to deal with puberty and nightmares. And God knew how hard it was. How hard it was for his parents, how exhausted they were. How his condition was kind of taboo, and no one was allowed to make a joke about it lest his Mami heard and you’d get smacked across your arse with her pink slipper. Keith picked up the box of cereal again, Lance could hear his moves. The way the contents of the box shook, and the way his clothes rustled. The tiny shift of his footing as he stood on tiptoe to find a space in the cupboard

“I think you were wrong not to stand up for yourself”

Of course “Crusader Keith” thought he needed to stand up for himself, he’d been trained by “Shiro the Hero”

“Tried that, doesn’t work”

He always sent cards, via Mami who knew their address

“Even if Shiro turned, I don’t think I could ever give up on him”

“That’s because you’re far more emotionally mature that my siblings were when they had to deal with a messed up little brother. I’m going to get a bottle of red. Fuck being sober, I’m going to wallow the patheticness out my system, then hopefully I won’t be such a grumpy dick”

“I don’t think you’re being too grumpy. You’re still a bit of a dick”

Lance snorted, placing down his cup of coffee

“That might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me”

“Don’t get used to it”

Lance’s lips turned upwards, the ghosting of a smile. Keith was a total dick, and had no place in Lance’s life, but he wasn’t as obnoxious as he’d been when they first met

“Have a look in the blue bag, down the bottom. I got you something while I was out”

*

“Have a look in the blue bag, down the bottom. I got you something while I was out”

Keith didn’t get Lance at all. He’d been moping, now he was kind of smiling, or grimacing, Keith wasn’t completely sure, but the fact Lance had bought him something seemed kind of like a trap

“You got me something?”

“Yep. Blue bag is all yours”

His? Wasn’t the food because he was human? What else did he need?

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why did you get me something?”

“Because when I saw it, I thought of you. Don’t make this weird”

It was already weird. All of this was weird as fuck. Peaking in the first blue bag there was a whole heal of vegetables, including broccoli which he hated, Lance snorted at him

“Not that one. The other one”

“You could have told me that”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda”

Whatever that meant. Grabbing the second blue bag, Keith pulled it forward by the handles

“Milk?”

“Lactose free. Actually, all the milk I’ve been buying lately to feed your coffee addictions been lactose free, so you’re welcome over that. I said in the bottom. You know, under everything else”

“Shut up. It just looked like bottles of milk”

“On the top, maybe. I’ll give you that”

Keith sighed to himself mentally. How was he supposed to put up with Lance for another two weeks when he had nothing to do. He couldn’t work out, Coran had benched Lance from teaching him anything physical. Sitting around and doing nothing didn’t agree with him. Lifting out the two bottles of milk, he was annoyed that Lance had something nice. He wasn’t strictly like allergic to lactose, but some brands definitely upset his stomach more than others. At the bottom of the bag was a wrapped box, the paper slightly wet from the condensation off the milk bottles

“It’s a box?”

“Wow, I bet those powers of observation are what makes you a great hunter. Open the box, dummy”

Grumpily Keith took the box out of the bag, mumbling as he did

“You didn’t need to buy me anything”

“You’re really bad at accepting gifts aren’t you?”

“Shut up”

Inside the box was a red digital camera. Keith had always loved the colour red, he also indulged in a little photography thanks to Shiro. It wasn’t as fancy as his camera at home, but it wasn’t bottom of the range either

“You got me a camera?”

“Yep. If you’re going to be sticking around, I figured you might want one to keep up the pretence of having left it here”

This would have easily cost Lance a couple of hundred. Didn’t the vampire have better things to spend his money on?

“Why...?”

“Not this again. Fine, I’ll play along. Why, what?”

“Why did you spend money on me?”

“Because you’re stuck here and I thought that it might be nice to have something of your own. It’s also an apology for all the shit I put you through by turning into a bat. Just make sure you get a few photos of the house, I told the others you were taking photos to help me renovate. Accept the damn gift”

Lance seemed as bad at giving gifts as Keith was at receiving them. Not that the camera was a bad gift, the vampire seemed embarrassed that he was making a fuss over it all. Big gifts like this were shaved for birthdays or Christmas, no one went around simply buying things for other people, unless it was Shiro. Shiro had absolutely awful impulse control, Keith’s not that much better. His savings only went as far as saving for what he wanted, buying it, then looking at his abysmally empty bank balance sadly. There was no reason to really save when any mission could see him dead...

“Thanks. I’m not used to things like this”

“I can tell. Just... the camera isn’t me trying to buy your apology. Just so you know, I wanted to do something nice for you, with like, no strings attached... and now that this has gotten even more awkward, I’m off to get that red”

As Lance pushed his chair back, curiosity struck, Keith tilting the box in Lance’s direction

“Hey, Lance... Do you show up in these things?”

“Really? Photos, videos and mirrors... People wish they’d looked as good as I do dead. I mean, otherwise it’d be super suspicious when I didn’t show up in Pidge’s videos, when I let her film me”

“Oh... I hadn’t thought about that”

Lance snorted at him

“Some vampire hunter you are. Please don’t destroy my kitchen while I’m gone. Also, I grabbed some stuff so we can make pizza for dinner... I assume you don’t mind pizza and beer?”

Keith wrinkled his nose. That sounded like he was going to be cooking... and if the piece of shit toaster Lance used to have was anything to go by, then maybe that wouldn’t be the best idea. Lance was already walking towards the kitchen door

“I don’t know how to make pizza”

Raising his hand, the vampire waved his concerns off

“Then prepared to do the learn. Man, I’m going to have to teach you everything, aren’t I?”

“About vampires?”

“Nope. First you learn to do the human, then you’ll learn how to do the dead human. Don’t forget, I’ll hear you if you try breaking my kitchen... ow, fuck...”

Walking straight into the door frame, Lance rubbed at his forehead. Keith had no idea how Lance managed to walk into so many things and be so absolutely uncoordinated while in his own house. He wore glasses, shouldn’t that like help him see? Shouldn’t he have some kind of sense when he was getting too close to something? What kind of a vampire needed glasses? Lance didn’t make sense at all.

[istrys]

A Grim Awakening

“How do I look?” Istrys asked, lifting the ends of her dress while she curtseyed as formally as she could; with the illusion rune in full effect, the life seemingly returned to her pale skin and eyes. But unlike the other runes she would normally use, this one applied a small dash of freckles and turned her hair into a rich black. The clothes she decided to wear also made her appear deceptively young. “Think I can pull off a Sun’rael with this rune? I’ve been working on my voice for it too.”

 “I think that will do. Dark hair, fair skin. They seem to carry a tone of superiority about them as well. At least the ones I encountered.” he paused, contemplating his interactions with Kaevia’s relatives. “I suppose my experiences might be a bit skewed.” He sighed. “It will do though. We don’t have time to waste. Are you sure you’re prepared for this? Your life hinges in the balance.”

 “You had me at fair skin.” Istrys winked, smiling briefly before turning to walk. “And I’m more than prepared for those filthy fucking High Justicars and their brainless lackeys.” The Necromancer casually brushed her hair away from her face. “If we managed to pull this off, that Arveld asshole will be out of my hair forever. That alone is worth it.” She paused while she cleared her throat and straightened out her dress. “Let’s go.”

He let out a light, frosted breath. Slight discomfort was apparent. Hopefully the place wasn’t laden with wards dispelling illusions, although since it was Dalaran, anything was possible. Another deep breath and he was prepared for the worst. They turned the corner into the rehabilitation ward of the medical facility and casually came across a door. No more special or elegant than the next, yet a couple of Paladins stood guard nearby. He approached, attempting to enter.

 A large hand blocked his approach. “You. Whitstan. We accept your presence only in that of Lady Sun’rael. She isn’t here Death Knight, what business do you have entering? High Justicar Sun’rael has nothing for you, nor anything  to say to you.” the Sunwalker bristled, the other hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “And you dare to bring another here without the consent the Justicars or Kaevia Sun’rael? You must have a death-wish.” Whitstan grit his teeth as his swirling blue gaze settled on the Paladin, eyeing his weapons and armament along with his partner’s.

 “Excuse you!” The way Istrys enunciated her voice made her sound like a sixteen year old brat. “I am Belandia Sun’rael, and Lord Wilhelm here is escorting me!” She took several steps forward to poke the Tauren in the chest. “I have traveled for weeks to get here! You will step aside or there will be hell to pay! … in fact, who’s your superior officer?! By the time I’m done chewing him out you’ll be back grazing in Kalimdor, Cow-Man!”

 The Tauren breathed out sharply through his nostrils, eyes narrowing to stare at the woman. A multitude of thoughts raced through his mind. He could stand his ground and deny her entry yet he know that often the sad truth was that political courtesy was held above security policies when it came to nobles or others of some import. He huffed again, nodding his head as he slowly opened the door for the two. “Watch yourself Death Knight.” he spoke in an aggressive manner in attempt to save face after having bowed to the whims of a spoiled Sin’dorei.

 “That’s better. Come along, Lord Wilhelm.” Istrys huffed with her bottom lip stuck out, turning to grab him by the wrist to pull him around. He leaned in toward her as he walked into the room, waiting for the door to be shut behind him. “You know I’ve never been referred to as a Lord, right?” he asked. Istrys turned around to shush him, squeezing his hand while she picked up the pace. He paused. It didn’t matter at this point, he was in the room and Istrys was present as well, as they had planned. He looked to the Paladin laying in the bed before him, restraints holding him in place due to his mental health. Fel poisoning had eaten away at him slowly and unravelled his senses. A shallow breathing could be heard but the man was otherwise unresponsive. “How the mighty fall in the face of the Legion. The Light can’t save any of them.” he responded in a low, echoed tone.

 “Whatever you say, dramaqueen.” The Necromancer shrugged, pulling Alucieus’ arm out from the covers. “Gods he’s lost weight… was he always this frail and sickly? I remember thinking I could grind cheese on his abs before.”

 “No… this is what remains of months of torment. He’s a shadow of himself. Locked away in this room… I’m sure he would have chosen another path if he was presented with the option… but luckily for you, too many people want to see him stand again.” Istrys rolled her eyes as she turned his wrist upward, pausing to pluck a small switchblade out from a strap on her thigh.

 “Let’s get this over with before ‘Cow-Man’ comes snooping around. Our problems are going to get a whole lot worse if we’re caught.” She reached into her bra and withdrew a small swirling vial. “You know the plan, right? Drain his blood…. slowly… and I’ll filter the poison out of his body. Judging by how his wrists are as tiny as mine, he’s particularly fragile right now. So we need to be extra careful.”

 “You don’t need to remind me of the gravity of the situation. Just do your part. We’ll both walk away from this a little more at ease.” Luckily they didn’t bother to rid him of his runeblade when since he was escorting a ‘Sun’rael’. He uttered a few words drawing on his hemomancy which the spirit in his blade enhanced. The runes etched into his arms began to glow a bright red as he droplets of blood formed into a slow stream down Alucieus’ arm. Istrys raised her hand and followed suit, letting the unholy rune carved into her palm seethe and glow. From there the blood would flow out into the open and form a into a river around them, as this occurred the Justicar’s skin grew even more pale. “We need to act fast…” he muttered, “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Let’s get this done.”

 “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast…? Right. Got it.” Istrys popped open the vial and put a few droplets into Alucieus’ open mouth, only to press his jaw closed once he began to struggle. The blood-draining had to be especially painful, and she couldn’t risk him being conscious for this ordeal lest he die from the agony. With her other hand she manipulated the blood with a surge of unholy magic, causing the stream of life-essence to splash around and stain his once clean dressings. The Necromancer focused, letting Whitstan cycle the affected blood back into the High Justicar’s body. “I don’t even know if this will work, but I don’t care; worse cast scenario we raise him into undeath and I get as far away from this place as I can.”

 “That’s not an option. If he dies, we’re both branded. You think they were upset…” he grimaced and let out a slight grunt as he attempted to retain his focus, “... because the right hand of a Justicar fell to a Death Knight? Imagine…” he continued speak, the very life essence of the Paladin being drained and restored simultaneously as they used sinister magic to draw the poison away from him. “... that two Death Knights snuck into the room of one and he was left for dead. Or worse… raised into undeath. In his unstable state we can’t even assume that he’d make a decent ghoul, much less an unholy warrior…” his voice echoed lightly. The blood shifted tones from a tainted crimson with hints of grey into a vibrant red as it was returned to the slit in his forearm.

 “I’m not afraid of them. I’m not afraid of anyone.” Istrys mumbled beneath her breath.

 “Then what is it you are afraid of?” Areus spoke in a soft voice to the little girl. He glanced over at Tyrasam for a moment, then back to Jaeras. “I heard you could use fire magic without a problem. Is that wrong?”

 “Go ahead honey.” The Paladin soothed, gently running a hand through the little girl’s hair.

 “I-I have scary nightmares…” Jaeras started, wearily glancing up at her mother for further confirmation. “Sometimes I dream that I’m hurting people… that I’m doing bad things with my flames. I’m scared but I don’t stop… even Momma gets hurt…”

 “Well…” he spoke in a kind tone, lowering his mask to look directly at the child with a slight smile. He hoped the smell of bourbon wasn’t too off-putting to the child. “You’re a very special girl, with very special parents. I just want to help you control those powers so you don’t have any more nightmares and so momma won’t get hurt. Uncle Areus just wants to teach you a few things. I think you might be able to learn some other magic too. That way you can help momma whenever she’s in trouble. Will you help me teach you? Can you show me what you can do?”

  She struggled to prevent Alucieus’ blood from going all over the place, but there was little she could do to stop it; her grasp on blood magic was extensive, but without any blood runes to work with, all of that knowledge was moot. The Necromancer furrowed her brow and cursed to herself while she did her best to guide the stream back into Alucieus’ open wrist, but even with all of that visible concentration, she was still making a bit of a mess. “Is this all of it? We didn’t stop his heart, did we? Cause that’s going to complicate things…”

 “... Fuck…” he felt his heartbeat slow drastically. It became more of a chore to draw from his life essence without the engine behind the blood-flow. “He stopped breathing… we just have to keep the flow going.” his voice was calculated and quick, “If we stop, his heart will stop. Then we have to gamble with resuscitation. Let’s not reach that point.” His voice sounded rushed and hurried at this point. “Just a little more to go, we’re almost done.” he spoke as he drew the rest of his corrupted blood from him.

 “Come on, you son of a bitch…!” Istrys hissed, doing anything she could to hasten this ordeal. Alucieus’ body began to convulse, even under Istrys’ paralyzing spell; his eyes were open but he was still unconscious, gazing up at nothing while foam began to form on the corners of his dry lips. “Don’t you die on me, you self-righteous fuck! Breathe…! BREATHE!”

  Jaeras inhaled deeply while she rose to her feet, clearly uncomfortable with casting her craft while sitting down. Just like she practiced a hundred times before, she clapped her hands together for a few prolonged moments before slowly opening them, revealing a soft orange light between her palms. Her flame was tiny but fierce, flickering at her slightest manipulation. Tyrasam watched her face carefully, seeing that same familiar fear in her eyes from months before. Jaeras blinked a few times but kept her breath steady, glancing up at Areus to see his reaction.

 The man slowly and gently brought his palms to the outside of her delicate hands, “Close your hands and extinguish the flame, Jaeras. I want to try something, little one.” he said, looking to her reassuringly. She silently obeyed, cupping her hands closed to snuff out the flame with a weak hiss. Jaeras watched his hands intensely, feeling a sudden surge of cold tickle her palms; she instinctively tried to move her hands away, but Areus kept them closed and steady. Tyrasam watched them both with mild curiosity, but the soft smile spread along her lips instantly vanished the moment she saw it; a tendril of living shadow the size of an infant snake coiled out from between Jaeras’ fingers, seemingly running down her hand before disappearing altogether.

 “Whoa…” Jaeras squeaked, feeling feathers rustling in her enclosed hands. “What is happening?! Did you put a bird in my hand?!” He nodded carefully, “Yes, can you make the birdy fly?” he asked softly. His gaze rested heavily on their closed hands, a twitch of his eye came as he tried to concentrate on how well she maintained the intricate structure and workmanship of the finely shaped shadow raven he placed in her hands. He withdrew the magic sustaining the delicate form as his hands slipped away.

 Slowly she opened her hands and gazed down at the manifested creature, not much unlike a toddler finding a wounded infant bird for the first time. With one free hand she reached down and poked its peak, jerking away at the sheer intensity of the cold emanating off the shadow raven. It ruffled its ‘feathers’ while it slowly stood upright by her command, reluctantly spreading its wings wide to take flight. Tyrasam watched in horror at the creature, already imagining Jaeras completely engulfed in a shadow form, wreaking havoc on anything and anyone who dared come near.

 “O-oh no!” Jaeras squeaked as the bird jumped from her palm, suspending itself in the air with a series of frantic flaps of its wings before dive-bombing into the ground; it crashed with a soft plop and dispersed, disappearing without a trace. “It’s okay…” he responded to her, “The birdy just returned to the shadow. You did good Jaeras…” he said, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “You did well…” he said, breathing in slowly. The little girl smiled up at Areus, but said nothing, suddenly looking very exhausted; manipulating a foreign magic for the first time took more of a mental toll on her than he previously thought, but it wasn’t all that surprising. After all, she was only a twelve year old.

  He exhaled sharply as the last of his blood entered his system. His vitality restored and his body cleansed of fel taint. He grit his teeth as he shot up in the bed. His bloodshot eyes held teal glows that burned through the two at his bedside. His left hand clutched at his chest as he struggled to breathe, eventually gasping at air. The wound on his arm had already healed as he subconsciously called to the Light. As his focused settled a Tauren burst into the room thanks to all the noise, “What’s the meaning of this?! What is this disturbance?!”

“Stand… down…” Alucieus breathed out. His eyes fixated on Istrys. A jolt of Unholy magic had escaped her unknowingly when she called for him to live. At the same time, a bit of his Holy Light had been absorbed by her. He had touched his mind, ever so briefly as he had touched hers in his broken state. In that moment, truths were made known to the both of them that only the other had known. Istrys tasted the sensation of living for the briefest of moments and held memories only Alucieus held. On the other side of that same token, he had felt the darkness and despair that came with the cold truth she held. His withered arm grabbed forcefully at her wrist. Whitstan stood ready to intervene, although for a moment he was unsure who he was trying to protect.  “Rethandus… where is he?” Alu asked, his voice rasped from the dehydration.

 “Andy is busy in a meeting with your daughter.” Istrys quickly answered, pretending not to notice the peculiarity that connected their minds in an instant, while ignoring the screeching of the Val’kyr in her head. “Apparently she needed to talk to him about something? A lot has happened while you’ve been… um… resting.” A loud grinding noise was heard as the Paladin released Istrys from his grip. Dry knuckles cracking could be heard as he made a fist.

 “I’ve rested enough.” A blinding flash of light jolted from his presence, searing everything within reach of him with a bolt of Holy Light. Istrys had enough time to cover her face and partially shield herself with an anti-magic shell, but the ferocity of the High Justicar’s wrath pierced her defenses and sent her crashing into the adjacent wall; Whitstan didn’t fare better, using his armor and weapon to prevent the Holy Light from searing his face clean of his undead flesh, but the force was still enough to send him airborne. “Rethandus… betrayed my friend… caused so much pain and suffering, yet he has the audacity to be near my daughter?... I’ll rectify that soon enough.” he uttered out dryly between grit teeth only to see the Tauren, Istrys and Whitstan all incapacitated against the walls of the room, slumped down in a seated position.

His body was withered and frail, but his determination was stalwart. Alucieus barked out in pain the moment his bare feet slapped against the cold floor for the first time in over half a year. He struggled to walk, let alone stand, using the nearby railing to help him maneuver around his ‘visitors’ while he made his way for the exit.

 The little girl was fast asleep now, “Your daughter…” he said, looking to Tyrasam, “She can control magic, regardless of the source. That’s not normal. I don’t know who her birth-mother was, but her father is… according to records, the youngest warrior to bear the mantle of Spell-Breaker and was adept at deflecting magic with little to no training. Now he’s a nightmarish Death Knight that can control blood magic with surgical precision. While the figure she called father all these years was a pyromancer beyond reckoning, and without even a blood relation she is able to control the element of fire at her whim. She’s dangerous. She adapts to her surroundings and uses them to her advantage… much like her biological father. She’s the daughter of Whitstan Wilhelm.” He spoke, solemnly, taking a puff from his pipe. “She needs guidance… or she’ll go down a path you can no longer follow.” he spoke to the Paladin.

 The news didn’t hit Tyrasam as hard as she thought, for deep down she had known this for a very long time. Seeing how well she learned Pyromancy without a single drop of related blood in her veins proved the theory she had harbored for half a decade; seeing her handle Umbramancy so effectively for the first time in her life only confirmed her worse suspicions. “I don’t want her learning shadow magic.” Tyrasam spoke flatly, staring intensely at Areus while she cradled Jaeras’ head on her lap. “Maybe if she’s capable of all forms of magic… maybe she can be granted the gift of the Light. But I’ve seen what the Void does to people… and… I don’t want that happening to her…”

 “... Tyrasam… it doesn’t matter. We can show her the Light or lead her to Shadow. All that is irrelevant. We may be born to embrace Light or inherit the Darkness... and while I might not be a shining example of either I can recognize the potential for darkness when I see it… and ultimately, whether we’re born for one or the other… it’s up to her to decide what she truly is...” he said, taking a sip from his flask, a grim expression on his face before he situated his mask, “Good… or evil. It’s all about perspective.”

Collaberinos: @istrys @whitstanwilhelm