Ashan 29, Arc 719
Branching off from here.
Branching off from here.
...and like that, he continued through the portal. He stepped through the 'door' he'd crafted, though he did not know wholly what had occurred between the men, only that Fridgar - apparently - assailed Abaddon in a fit of jealousy, according to the suspicions of Kleine. Alistair only knew one thing in its entirety: that he was far from pleased, returning to such madness, though he could not say he didn't expect it. He left at a time of need, where emotions were raw and high for all those parties involved. He left at a moment where he knew he would miss Damien's return, and where Fridgar's fury would grow, and where Kleine would be seeped in the sorrow that was loneliness.
As one root ascended from the soil, all others began to wilt around him. Alistair had truly lost his tact, the ability to control the emotions of those around him. When he first stepped through the portal, and saw the men around him - Abaddon on the bed, Fridgar against the rocks of the interior, and Devin standing idly at the entrance to the cove, the mage immediately grit his teeth. There was also another man present, though he did not know his name. The wounds were grim, and from what it looked like, they'd been left untreated for at least a few trials. His legs were heavily bruised and discolored, likely due to an improper blood flow.
Alistair sighed, glancing back to Fridgar. The portal remained open, and as it was, he ushered Devin through to return to the estate. Kleine must have utilized his protocol to get him to follow him around, though as a result the safety of Alistair's children had been compromised. He would need to speak to him later, though he doubted that he would take heed of his words, and changing the protocols would likely be a mistake.
"Abaddon," he called out to the younger man. "How long has it been since you received this injury? It looks grievous, and by the tint of the colors on your legs, long-standing. But you don't need to be amputated... a medical curiosity, some would say. Kleine appears to have given you a reagent I thought I would never see again . . . El'ganneth Rhovanion," he stated, lowering his gaze. It wouldn't be enough for the side-effects; the desire to consume human flesh, or really any organic matter from other men. It was just a glimpse, to stave off any infections, and really to prevent the body from changing at all from its present state. It was called the 'preservation serum' for a reason; Abaddon was, essentially, in stasis from the first trill where his legs had been broken.
But it was irresponsible of Kleine to prescribe El'ganneth Rhovanion to anyone. Alistair had stopped the usage of the medicine long ago, because of the horrors it inflicted on its patients. More than a fortnight of the medication would leave lasting effects on one's psyche, particularly if they were lucid amidst the process. Luckily, it appeared Abaddon had also been prescribed sleeping and numbing agents, which would severely impair the negative effects of the medication.
"Did you do this, Fridgar?" he asked, bluntly. "It only makes sense, considering you're still presiding over a man you surely felt - at some point - vitriol towards. It seems like you; your sense of responsibility and all."
He did not appear upset with him, merely curious. If anything, his responsibility had always been an endearing factor, though the fact that he was still capable of producing such wounds was... well; it was him, and it was a factor unchanging.
He looked... really different, though. Considerably so. Fairer skin, paler hair, like he'd aged yet the colors did not appear brittle or winnowed through time on Idalos. It must have been a mutation, and considering what he knew from his time in the Coven... it was one path in particular, he could only wager.
"Thank you for staying," he told him, "and for being good to Kleine. He seemed a lot happier than he was when I left for Ne'haer; I imagine it's been nice for him to have something to do outside of watching children and overseeing the dying. I hope you've been well, too," said the man.
And then, stepping over to Abaddon, he observed his condition more closely. It wouldn't take much; they merely needed to align it all properly, and they would need to prescribe him with Rockmaze Moss Powder, Acid Crocodile Blood, and Buzz. And some rest, at least, a few trials largely spent passive, without any El'ganneth Rhovanion to ensure that no symptoms surfaced. It wouldn't be an incredibly difficult endeavor, he surmised, considering it would still take some time to recover.
"The splints weren't a bad idea; they kept his legs from rolling down the side of the bed, really. Did you do them, or Kleine?"
