One Another

[Alistair]

71st of Vhalar, Arc 718

He sipped wine from his glass, as the lens that made his sight gently narrowed until his eyes could hone into the fungal moss. He could see it - strands of green, like thread or hair, weaved together from within the wound. An odd infection he'd noted to be somewhat unique to this place, which thrived upon the flesh and grew into a mess of painful, leech-like fungal bacteria. The mage frowned, noting how unfortunate it was that the infection could even grow in seasons of cold. Luckily the prey in this particular situation was a rodent he'd found creeping in the yard, but uncertain as to the contagious nature of the illness, he decided it would be preferable to have his undead frequently sweep the perimeter to ensure no such pests brought illness into his home.

Quacia was mired in filth, as he'd always said. Even in the Gleam, even in Ashvane, a mere block from the structure of Fortress - the home of the Nobility. Considering many of the institutions had been rooted underground, it made sense that they were entrenched in insects and rodents, though he did not understand why the city hadn't thought to utilize their resources more effectively. The mage noted that the city scarcely utilized magic to improve their standards, whether by ignorance of its potential impact or by hesitation. It was clear that they'd preferred to use the Domains for warfare, and had considered that in itself to be enough.

There was much about the city that frustrated him to no end, and he often wondered how they'd gotten to this point of desperation in the first place. If they were not so attached to the foolish zealotry of the Wounded God, they could have even beseeched an Immortal for aid. Why did they...

The magister sighed, an aggravated breath escaping between the chasm of his lips. It was stressful for him, a man who enjoyed micro-managing his surroundings so explicitly, to be encircled on all sides by risks and enemies that piled onto one another. There was always some variable preventing progress - the piety of the Theocratum, the ignorance of the Heaps, the weakness of the military... the infection of the Creep. Spending these trials pondering, even for the purpose of his position, had been infuriating. The mage needed to do something... else, other than sitting at a desk observing his own fury.

He wondered what Abaddon might have been doing. The man brought him the immediate sensation of calm whenever the two shared one another's company, and so in moments of frustration he'd often found himself seeking him out. Stepping through the thick, stone-metal door that separated his room from the upper hall, Alistair once again knocked against the surface of his partner's doorway before pressing the structure inward.

"My light?" he called to him. "I do hope I'm not intruding, but I'd like to take a break from my studies for a time. Would you mind joining me in my room? There's a lot I'd like to discuss with you," he stated, almost shyly. Despite the serious-sounding nature of his words, he didn't intend for their words to contain all too much insight or brevity. At least, not at the beginning.

"I also have something for you - a manual I wrote down and bound together, like a book. It's exercises, techniques, dietary suggestions. I even customized it to suit your body and what I've noted of your metabolism. I can show it to you, a bit, in the room. If you'd like me to."

[Abaddon]

Maintaining peak form was easier than achieving it. While Abaddon toiled endlessly to meet Alistair's exercise plan, his muscles felt raw, throbbing with pain. The skin on his everything was hot to the touch from muscle fibers being broken down and rebuilt under the strain of constant suffering. Kielik's Nightmares be damned, this hurts so much worse than any hellish thing I'd ever had bite into me, he raged into the depths of his mind as he pushed against the floor. Forty... forty-one. Breathing staggered, he did his best to bring it back under control, struggling to stay aloft atop fisted knuckles as his wrists had become too pained to hold him and push the earth away at the same time.

Knockety-knock-knock-it-the-knock-off rattled a large man's fist against the door with all the delicacy of a flower in bloom, and the door creaked open to a shadowy realm with no lights to be seen save for the long tilted rectangle of candlelight penetrating into the darkness. "Ah! Mmm!" Breathy bellowing grunts sounded, and Abaddon's shadowy form emerged from the contrasted black as a Naerikk might, hobbling forward upon borrowed strength. "Light," he panted, pausing to breathe. A hand wiped sweat from brow, but he gave a quick nod, his other hand pressing to his neck to feel for the heart rate, counting off the beats in his mind. "Oh, no, huff. "Nhh-not intruding at all. Your room? You mean - oh, oh, of course!" Abaddon wrapped a wet arm around the nobleman's stocky shoulders and walked with him, his body exerting such an impressive amount of heat. Moving closer with his cheek until they were both pressed together, he shut his eyes. "For me? You shouldn't have." His hand squeezed the bicep of Alistair's he now had a hold of. "Let's go over it together, I'm always ready for more, never not." Clearly the man was at his limit, but pushing himself well beyond that.

[Alistair]

The man's brows rose immediately as he realized that Abaddon was exercising in the dark. It... wasn't particularly beneficial, or for that matter generally effective, considering one would have a more difficult time discerning their form. Perhaps, he considered, that Abaddon may have been diffident about his body? He was a Lotharro, and not particularly physically impressive, despite that fact. Those two factors conjoined were already... capable of evoking insecurities, and he'd seen such fears before when living in Aedirn.

Figuring it would be separate from his interests to exacerbate the man's image-worries, Alistair seemed to stare as straight and undisturbed as he usually did - if not with the same light of affection as always. Though for a trill that affectionate gleam in his eyes was slightly thrown off-kilt by the sloppy, wet feeling of sweaty arms around his shoulders. Normally he wouldn't have particularly cared, but he wasn't bare-chested like his companion -- his clothes were going to get all dirtied. Still, the irritating side-glance quickly faded as Abaddon pressed his cheek into Alistair's, and shut his eyes with the two of their forms pressed as one. The mage breathed softly, his chest rising and falling, as the frustration from earlier quickly dispelled like he'd expected it to. Thereafter, he smiled, and kissed the man gently upon the lips.

"For now - let's not," he dismissed him. "Going far beyond what you're able is no longer productive - but dangerous. You've done considerable work to improve your form of late, so we can read over the manual tomorrow. I wanted to discuss topics of a personal nature, and your current condition makes those conversations even more viable." The mage directed him through the door frame, guiding Abaddon's tired, sluggish movements as the two stepped quietly across the common room. Alistair's door remained open, revealing a somewhat dimly lit bedroom, covered in the colors of satin -- red, and crimson. It was likened to that of his chamber of rule in Venora, the color symbolizing the shades of the rose of Venora.

The entire area was lavish, and well maintained, with nothing appearing out of place or anything near a breach to the perfectly crafted aesthetic of the room. Alistair was clearly a meticulous man, and preferred to keep his estate as such. He was a hawk for disorder, messiness, and the wearing down of any object.

"Take a seat on the bed, Abaddon," he asked. Alistair quickly removed himself of his upper attire, placing it into a large woven basket that he sealed at the corner of the room. He did not wish for it to be made more... slimy than it already was, though did not begrudge his lover. As such, the mage returned to naught but loose linen trousers and pantaloons that covered as far as his heels. His torso was, however, in a similar state as the Lotharro's.

Turning back to him, the mage stared somewhat quietly at the man and his features. It was a good thing to see he'd been enforcing his own progress, though Abaddon's activities had been something of a part of this conversation, and why it had come to light. The mage seated himself next to him, and placed an arm around his waist, keeping their sides together. "I need to ask: what happened to your Clan? Why are you anathema to the Stahlmark's, for an action performed not even in this life? And why, genuinely, do you seek to grow in strength so considerably? I need to know your agenda - and to determine whether it is in line with my own. We are both mages, and our kind must correspond well to one another, lest we separate by a flurry of ether. I've seen it happen all too many times - including in my last progeny, Jonathan, who now lays dead in a catacomb of Ne'haer. Not by my hand - but it very well could have been. I would not enable the same fortune for you and I."

[Abaddon]

Here we are now, the broken and the forged.

Oh, Abaddon knew the pompous blowhard just loved having his fancy, many-Nel'd clothing stained by a man's presence, but he savored the contrast. After all, who was a lowly serf to wet a cleanliness-obsessed leader with the grime of his body? The horror. The whiskers of his stubble poked in their march across the skin, turning his neck to meet that kiss with one of his own, the taste lingering upon his breath.

"Rrghmm." he growled, brow tightening. "I can keep going, I can!" His body shook and he stomped his foot, only to feel his calf roar with lightning bolts of agitated nerves coursing right up his warm leg. "Mnnnghhh, guess not!" he winced, sighing and relenting to the tide of Alistair's wise guidance.

Brought to this... room, if Abaddon could call it that, he oggled the extensive luxuries scattered about, free hand sliding up his own chest as the sheer vanity of it all began to weigh upon his shoulders. "Kie-" he stopped himself, about to curse in Kielik's name at the sight. instead opting for less sacriligious words to keep himself in line. After all, he was used to it since Etzos, and the men of Gauthrel and Yaralon were far from appreciative of Kielik. In fact, there were so few he could confide his faith in, and even Alistair he worried about at times.

Doing as he was told like a good Lothar ought to, he sat upon the bed and leaned back, hands gliding across the smooth satin, a texture he'd hardly felt in his life, except for one time with someone he'd paid - but that's a story for another time! Head still throbbing with the pound of his heart, it stayed steady as Alistair began to undress, but finally began to quell its racing pace when the reality that his love was simply shedding a layer of fabric made itself apparent. "For a moment there, I thought I might get to see more of you," he cooed as weight joined him upon the bed, leaning into the embrace and wrapping an arm around Alistair's waist all the same. At that time, difficult questions began pouring out of him, and he had to stop and think for a time. "Ah, well, you see," he began, but a hand moved over his chin and he looked the other way, recalling the sequence of painful events that led from then until now. "From what I gather, from what I was told, it was a feud over religion that could not be forgiven so simply. My ancestors took with them a great number of men, and blood was shed during a time when fighting monsters should have been more important. We were the instigators, and there was a lack of persistence on my part as well, although to their credit they did allow me to stay for a time until I was ready to make the journey back to Etzos. Perhaps I was not valuable to them, or they felt inviting me to hunt with them would invite these tensions again. Until I can unite my clan and prove our worth to the Clans, I fear the exile will hold for all of us."

Moving his other arm around the man he was so close to, he fell back with him into the sheets, clinging closely to his body. "You truly wish to know? It's more than a Path, I seek to grow strong to unite my clan, whatever remains . . . " He sighed quickly, dragging that breath back into his body by its gaseous heels with a quickness. It was the tell-tale breath of someone recounting Arcs of mental strain, of a difficult childhood. That body of his wiggled up until they were brow to brow, pressing closer. There was a genuine depth of pain in his eyes as he began to recount his story. "When I was young, around eight Arcs, it began. In the night, a man would vanish without a sound to be heard. In the clay hovels our clan lived in side-by-side, as we slept we would be taken, and if there were guards, they would be taken. Over the Arcs our numbers fell and fell, until there were so very few of us. I lived in constant fear that I would be taken, and I trained and I trained, knowing how pointless it was, that I couldn't match our best warriors who had been disappeared by this entity we could not catch. By the time I left Yaralon and returned to undergo the Run as all youth coming of age must, there were only three of us, the man who raised me, and another who slept beneath the floorboards in filth to hide, certain it was a beast that relied on scent. The man who raised me, Lokhmin, he was elderly and wise, so he'd theorized it was making him pay for the shame our clan had wrought by stealing away its brothers as fulfillment for some blood curse. So I fled." His eyes creased, eventually shutting, and he folded his chin down to press his head into Alistair's breast. "I grew up afraid every single Trial, having so many sleepless nights, in true, utter terror that I was approached by something in my dreams you may never understand, but I beg that you do. Please promise you will consider what I have to say, and do not turn me away for my beliefs. My heart has fallen into a deep oblivion long before your hands unearthed it, my light in the void." Tears began to brim at the corners of his eyes, worried he was letting his emotions jeopardize this wonderful relationship. Alistair was not the first he'd confessed his faith to, but there were few in number, and it never ended well for him.

Blinking the droplets away, he held his eyes shut. "Lord of the restless, of the eternal void, Kielik. This is my God, to which I consider Thetros a second to. What he represents has shaped my mind from a broken coward into what you see today, and I would be nothing without the gifts he offered me, though they come at a price. Nightmares torture and tear away at me in my sleep. Out in the street, I rob passerby of their ability to sleep so that I may stay awake as long as I possibly can, and I do so with his blessing." Shutting his eye and pulling his cheek down, he showed the black starburst pattern over his left eye. "This is his mark." Letting go, his voice fell to a hushed, insistent tone. "I would never dream of afflicting this curse upon you, your family, or your friends, and I will not wish Nightmares upon them. Your house is safe with me under its roof, I assure you. I have heard no tale of the monster of Yaralon since leaving the place of my rebirth, nor does my faith necessitate murder. Even if you do not accept me for what I am, I could never dream of turning on you, and I will leave peacefully if that is your wish..."

[Alistair]

Abaddon's story . . . was lengthy, and there was a lot to consider - much to... handle, as he would have put it. A religious conflict; that had to be rare in Gauthrel, considering how much of a mono-culture it really was, at least comparatively to elsewhere. Abaddon's Clan must have been populated, then, by 'heretics' - but he couldn't imagine what sort of deity they must have worshiped to incur such a conflict. Nevertheless, they were kept away, only to be led into the slow erosion of their numbers at the hands of some beast. His first thought was a Soraanar, and it was very possible that it was. They were malevolent, and enjoyed to whittle away at their prey endlessly, never truly providing them a finishing blow. Alistair had fought one alongside Fridgar, and even Ellasin, and they had not managed to kill it. A truly fearsome thing.

But this was only an assumption, and he would never really know what it was. All he could do was guess, and so rather than contemplating all the steep possibilities, he decided instead to listen to Abaddon. More and more - of how nightmares haunted him, of how he'd always lived in gut-wrenching terror. Abaddon spoke now with true emotion, splaying out the languishing contents of his mind as he recalled the emotions of yore. Or perhaps even now. He spoke of his nightmares - a sensation Alistair personally understood. He could remember his own dreamscapes, but only briefly. He remembered the world of Nagareen, a whole city populated by Nightmares. And the room, he used to dwell in, simple like a farmer's shack - but with the tall silhouette of a man lurking in the corner, snipping away at his own fingers with his tools.

In this respect, the two understood one another inherently. Alistair couldn't remember his last dream that wasn't a nightmare - he'd always lived with them. Always. The fear in Abaddon's eyes was one he could relate with, and the man's harrowing sorrow brought within the mage a great deal of empathy. Quickly, he was compelled to comfort him, wrapping the Lothar into the confines of his chest, with his arms circling around his back and wrapping each of his sides firmly. The mage offered him a warm, affectionate kiss, and for a trill stopped him in his words.

"I promise you, Abaddon. Feel free."

When the confession came, the mage sat quietly, uncertain of what to make of it. He'd only heard briefly of Kielik, and of course, he was shrouded in the concept of darkness and malediction. He was seen as one of the 'evil' Immortals, though Alistair had begun to grow certain that no common distinction would be so easy to ascribe. He had brought Abaddon peace, and fearlessness, and the possibility of further advancing his life. In many ways, his relationship to Kielik was akin to Alistair's with Syroa; she had brought him the ability to feel, only with it, the ability to feel strongly and immensely... and unconstrained. From her influence he had felt wroth, and lust, and hunger on scales unmatched by other men. But without those feelings, how far could he have gone? To remember the emptiness he felt before her, was... disturbing. He was like a thrall, to be used and molded to his master's will. Ellasin Dathlande.

And that reminded him of his own actions in the past. How could he ever judge Abaddon, for anything he'd done? With all that Alistair had seen... with all he'd partaken in... it was--

"I believe you," he stated, with a nod. "I don't feel any ill or vindictive nature from you, konnebrand. Not towards me, especially. In its stead, I've noted a sort of... peace from you when we're together, a satisfaction that I feel mutually. Your willingness to reveal all these details to me is at the behest of our trust - and even our love. Even in the briefness of our time together, I have come to love you, Abaddon. I would never shy away from you due to any notion of religious beliefs - there is much beyond common mythologies in our understanding of the Immortals. Each of them has something to offer, I've learned, at least to their followers. I... am blessed by one that others would call terrible, a woman who led to the death of my sister, and much of the destruction of my House. I never wanted her blessing upon my back, but... if I were given the opportunity to discard it, I would not. It has brought me, even for its darkness, a solace of my own. And the ability to feel for you as I do."

She had been a pandora to him, unveiling a whole world of secrets he'd never once known. Kielik was a thing of Nightmares, yet symbiosis with such horrors sounded... almost enthralling. He would have liked to experience something akin to that, himself, in the dark. It would have been a reprieve, to understand the nature of the Nightmares that plagued him. That had, apparently, plagued them both.

"I love you, Abaddon," he repeated, this time more clearly. Alistair's emotions came easy to him, and were raw - they were honest things. As he whispered the words, he kept the man firmly within his embrace, squeezing gently upon him to bear out the intensity of what he felt. "And I'm sorry for all that you've endured, my darling. You won't have to experience that isolation any longer - and I would never throw you back to the wolves. We'll get through it all. Even the reunification of your Clan. Perhaps I'd even join it, if you'd allow me to," he nodded, with the gleam of a smile warmly upon his lips.

Alistair did not know what to say, else, that could bring him comfort. He supposed, as he looked to the canopy above their bed, that he could tell him who that Immortal was.

"I'm blessed by Syroa - as cruel a mistress as they come. And I never tell others, because I always feel that they might believe I'm manipulating them, or that any positive emotions they may have felt to me are false. It's especially difficult with... people like you, who I have affections for. Might you believe that all your desire for me is misplaced? That it's an illusion, forged of divine magic? I don't know when I would have told you, Abaddon," he stated. Perhaps soon - perhaps never. It never felt like the right time. "But of course, we have our own concerns. And we are further tied by our vices. At least, that's what I believe."

[Abaddon]

The heart throbbed.

The pulse quickened.

The height of the mind soared to cloudy skies, and then at once they both fell together unto their own sanctimonial sects of oblivion and evil, each reminded of the plight of the other, an embrace of the otherworldly worldly, of contrare and contrary. Alistair, Abaddon, shooting for the stars above, and surrendering hearts without a fight.

Wholly embraced, Abaddon shut his eyes calmly, his body slack in those comforting, burly arms, mess of hair tickling upon the underside of the chin. "Alistair, I..." he swallowed his words to accept the advance, pressing into the shared moment with all the love he could muster in these trying times.

His words still spoke of a mind unsure how it could articulate that guilt. "That may be how you feel, but..." at last, he gave in with a sigh, turning his chin an inch. "How could I argue? I feel the same." Arching his back, he pushed himself outwardly against those arms, testing and trying the tension, fitting more snugly to the man's grip as he spoke.

That declaration of love hung in his mind, focus drowning out many of the other words. It carried a weight he was uncertain of, but it just felt right. Revelations soon revealed themselves as well, and he blinked with confusion. Who? Who did this man refuse? "It was not the same for me, I really do value my own darkness, for what it has brought me. Were Kielik absent from my life sharpening me into a blade for his sadistic whims with every night, I cannot say I would have survived what haunts me. The pains of childhood dig deep, konnebrand, especially for me. It is unfortunate to hear that you cannot feel without her blessing," he shuddered at the thought, rubbing along his chest. "Perhaps she is helping you to be who you need to be. Who all us creatures of the tainted soul must admire. I love you, I love you with all my quaking heart, I just hope we last for each other."

A spat of wind snorted from his nose, feeling a certain giddy delight in sharing, at the same time wondering how far this adventure into the abyss could delve. "Oh, Alistair, were there a clan still left, I would gladly make of you a blood brother. I feel more and more confident that were are right for each other, I - ...what? Syroa?" His eyes narrowed with visible pain at the thoughts of deceipt from someone he so cared for, trying to make sense of each and every word that poured forth. "...That explains, so much..." A void between them seemed to grow, a distance Abaddon erected by instinct as thoughts consumed him. "I do love you, I... I don't know how strong this illusion is. Truly all my desire? I feel I would have loved you from the beginning. After revealing to you my own deepest secrets, I can hardly judge, but yours we should someday test, if ever there were a way to dim the allure to see if I would truly enjoy your company - I feel I would, no, I'm certain." Pushing on Alistair, his clothed form sat atop him now, hands upon abdomen, the lower portion where you might think it should be. "Until we prove that fact, or perhaps at least until we have truly gotten to know one another, I propose celibacy, to abstain from a union of the body, until our souls are truly right, and to prove that I can resist Syroa but not you, my light. We may be bound so truly by our vices, but I don't believe that anyone feels the way I do, about you, in this moment..." Peering down, he smiled, brushing Alistair's arms softly as he slowly extricated himself from the bed, standing tall with his back turned. "I love you," he said, turning some to stare at the floor. "I love you," he said, quieter, thinking to the meaning of the word, and if he truly did. "I'm certain of it."

[Alistair]

Their heart, for a trill, synchronized. I love you, Abaddon replied. And then... moments past, flickers of affection in disjointed spurts came and went. And Alistair watched, quietly, as the man's feelings did so express. He'd almost become accustomed to the moment when the other realized of his blessing - and his nature, that of an Incubus, to prey on them and their desires. Or so they thought, though truly all he'd ever wanted was someone to meet him in body and mind. He so did prattle on, though, of his worries - of the illusion it may have been. And somehow, Alistair wasn't even particularly hurt... only, disappointed. For a moment - a long one - he shut his eyes, listening to Abaddon speak. The mage attempted to clear his mind, only to stow away the malignant thoughts that burrowed.

That's it, then. It's done.

I'm leaving.

It's always like this.

Another ignorant -- another... fuck.

And for a few trills, he could feel that disappointment broiling into anger. A festering rage that swept from the pits of his being, and rose into the center of his eyes -- if he were to open them, he would stare with the utmost fury, and shape his fists into claws, and...

Calm. Calm. He repeated to himself. You just said you love him.

"Right," he responded, his eyes slowly opening. A small, fake smile laid upon his lips, as Abaddon spoke of celibacy. Why? he could only ask himself. Why would you deprive me of...

"Right," he repeated again. Resist Syroa. She had no part in this, did she? The attraction he felt... the affections... none of them were for her. And the part she played had already been played out; she was no Immortal of love. If her hand were to stroke the chords of Abaddon's muse, she would have already compelled the two to lay together and end it there. Perhaps culminating in his death; a bloody, violent affair at the hands of Alistair's fury. And Ire's Talons.

But no - here was where the curse was. A thing that brought him deep insecurity: to know that whenever someone looked upon him, they would wonder if it was their eyes that found beauty in his face, and his form, or if it was merely the Lust-Bringer fueling a desire that would've otherwise not existed.

...Still. It was nice to hear the man say it again, and again, and state his certainty. Alistair had... enough time to still his rage. As much as it all affected him... and as much as Abaddon's reaction made him hurt - dearly - knowing that it would offset a great deal of the affections he'd gained, and even the trust... he bit his tongue and decided not to destroy another relationship on fury and volatility. Perhaps if he were in the same situation as the Lothar, he would feel equally as paranoid. And perhaps to know that brought him this immense sensation of fear; thinking that he would forever let Alistair's affliction cling to his mind. Syroa... he quietly whispered beneath his breath.

And then, he sighed. And let his eyes shut again, but this time without the same, sputtering anger. He was truly calm now; it took a lot, but he'd learned again how to discipline himself. Finally.

"Your love is... a precious thing to me, Abaddon. Trust in it, at least; Syroa does not inspire love. That feeling you have for me is real - given to you by yourself." Alistair nodded, before averting his eyes to the wall and running his gaze towards the ceiling, only to be obstructed by the canopy. "I trust whether the heart can be honest. My heart always plays me a fool. I'm quick to every emotion - rage most of all. I'm constantly wielding a state of suppression, to mask it, or at least minimize its influence on me. The moment I know I love someone is when I no longer need to do so, around them."

And that didn't mean he didn't love Abaddon. Fury still came; his affections, if anything, had managed to keep it from manifesting. But still... he always wondered, and worried, that everything he felt was too strong. Sometimes, it grew to be all too much, and he receded into a state like the psychopathy of before. Like upon that ship, dealing with the birth of Asher, and the wild and vivid emotions of Kleine... and all the stress and turmoil of the Mer's raids, out at sea.

It seemed, now, that they were both questioning themselves. Alistair almost wanted to believe that he was just... feeling too much -- too strongly, as always. But he would never really know, and it was how he felt, and until the thought of celibacy came in he'd accepted that fact. Shaking his head, he quickly understood that he was acting - thinking - immaturely. That there was no reason to compromise everything he had with Abaddon out of a moment of dejection.

He looked back to him, down from the satin lens of the canopy, and smiled faintly. Genuinely, this time around.

"That's alright, then. Until you know that your desires are your own, my light. I wouldn't want it otherwise."

Raising his chest by digging his arms into the mattress, and suspending himself, he brought his lips to the other man's and laid a gentle kiss upon his lips, before looking to the candle that lit their bedside. "Would you at least lay with me?" he asked. "Promise I won't press my boundaries. At least - not enough to marr our wholesome vow of celibacy," he laughed.

[Abaddon]

Abaddon was certain. He had to be. There was a difficulty to be found in the spell between them, but the feeling was mutual at the very least. Alistair loved him dearly, of that he was certain. Composing mental gymnastics of the mind, he hurdled over obstacles as they arose, until he was certain that what he felt wasn't a complete lie. "There is no reason for me to doubt your love, and maybe this curse you bare is a good thing," he admitted as his lover came up behind him, arms extending to meet that careful embrace. Their lips shared a bond for a trill, but Abaddon pulled back to look into those strange magical eyes. "I can't be angry, I can't not love you, for who you are, and what you've done, what you're doing. Rest easy that I know how you must be feeling, wondering if you've given me a worm in the brain eating away at my trust. No, I'll tear that little worm out and stay with you, right here, in your arms."

Hand moving over the stocky man's muscular frame, rising up his neck, he moved over the hair upon his head idly making a mess of it with his fingers as the warm breath of another sighing breathed upon his shoulder. "As is your love, Alistair. I will not lie to you, I don't think I can, there's a slight question but that's all it is. Slight. I still love you. I trust you. I trust in our love, my light."

With Alistair baring the state of his emotional being, he couldn't help but smile. "I've honestly grown tired of the lover-talk myself," he laughed. "Where I'm from, we don't use our words, but our actions, and what we do for one-another. I'm certain you've done more than enough to show me how much I love you, and I'm working hard to match that sentiment."

"In the short time we've met, you've become my world, so please keep showing me the sun, the moon, and the stars. Don't let this destroy us, I was living in a void before I met you Alistair. I will certainly lay with you." Taking Alistair's arms, he pushed against them, guiding the man back towards the satin sheets where they both fell in unison to the comforting pleasure of a mutual embrace, hearts matching beats to tap away at the other's chest. "No more words, let's just lay here for awhile, until life calls."

[Alistair]

His mind was set at ease. Abaddon predicted each of his negative emotions, it felt, and had words for them - setting his thoughts once again to their previous calm. Alistair nodded at his words, and accepted what he had to say, though he too began to tire of the lover's squabble. Everything was quite alright between them, and it was okay for that to be the case. There was no reason to search for issues, or to press the matter. They were but men, and men all had their boundaries. For a trill, he realized that the agreement they'd made would be beneficial for the both of them. Alistair feared Syroa's influence over him. He, too, didn't wish for whatever passions they shared to be spurred by the will of a malevolent seducer.

The more he thought on it all, the quieter his compliance became, until ultimately he accepted the terms offered him. It was... all well, what the other seemed to want. To focus on development, on understanding and growing. Abaddon had much he needed to learn, whereas Alistair was a jaded and somewhat immaterial man. His cynicism had begun to leak into everything, and desperately he sought a shovel with which to escape his entombment. His mind had already begun to covet the other, entangling him with wild expectations, of acquiring fulfillment and the loss of his grief, both. He realized, then, that it was all too much.

Love was enough. It should have been, anyhow. Everything Abaddon spoke and all his actions led Alistair to believe that his words were genuine. His heart, at least, was honest... and in this context, they were both truly aligned. The mage nodded, quietly, and smiled.

"That's enough for me, Abaddon," he called him. "My love. Let's lay until the morrow comes, and then... we'll focus on growing strong. I want you to always feel at ease, and safe, protected; even when I'm not there. We'll soon confront the Creep. Be ready... and for now, good night."

A wisp of ether reached forward, lunging towards the candles, one by one. In its wake, the flames dissolved, as it burned through the embers, deconstructing the quality that made heat into flame. The room grew dim, then dark, then pitch black. And Alistair laid, quietly, thinking and sometimes whispering... until the veil of darkness settled into his mind, too, and rest came.

[Korva]

Rewards!

Name: Alistair

Knowledge:

Discipline: Withholding Fury
Discipline: Letting Rationality Triumph Over Emotion
Discipline: Reining In Anxieties
Discipline: Introspection As A Tool
Meditation: Focus as a deterrent to anger
Meditation: Resisting compulsions, even fundamental ones
Meditation: Focusing on a positive thought to dispel negative ones

Loot: NA
Injuries: NA
Renown: NA
Magic XP: NA

Points:

- - -

Name: Abaddon

Knowledge:

Skill
Strength: Push-Ups Exercise
Strength: Making Adjustments to Exercises To Mitigate Pain
Strength: Reaching Your Limits In Exercise
Strength: Measuring Heart Rate For Fitness
Endurance: The Burn of Muscles In Exercise
Meditation: Thinking Through Magical Attraction
Discipline: Holding Back Words
Discipline: Confessing Something Difficult to Someone You Love

Non skill
Alistair: Syroa Blessed
Immortal: Syroa

Loot: Alistair's Fitness Manual
Injuries: NA
Renown: NA
Magic XP: NA

Points:

- - -

Comments: I wasn't expecting all these feelings first thing in the morning, it starts out so soft and worried then you couldn't the tension no matter what blade you had. Even as they worked through everything there is this undercurrent of tragedy incoming, especially from Alis thoughts that you can't get over. And Abaddon is so determined to prove he knows it isn't some fictional love. Very beautifully written guys, you wove amazing story together and I feel like I just got a little sneak peek into their life

Also Ali, you're entitled to 1 more knowledge if you decide you want them just let me know!

If you feel I've missed anything or if you have questions about your review, please don't hesitate to send me a quick PM or ping me in Discord. Thanks!

**Made by the magnificent Kes