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WHO: Wrathion, Anduin
WHEN: Late Feb - Early March
WHERE: Ke-Waihu, the house of the old village wise man
WHAT: Curses, scratches, and aches
WARNINGS: Wrathion will likely scandalously take his shirt off so Anduin can see what he's healing. Or not healing, as the case may be. There may be disgusting hand contact. There is definitely UST.

In Ke-Waihu, the darkness at night is thick, the silence as heavy as a blanket muffling everything around them.

Wrathion finds it both reassuring and a source of unease. He hears nothing coming, yet neither is there a gentle hum of activity to mask his own movements.

In truth, he should not be out in the dark at all. He should be in his own assigned home, sticking to their cover story. Yet he has grown... accustomed to Anduin's close company, and the scratches that recently appeared on his skin have begun to bother him.

He simply wants him to examine them. As a healer. That's all it is. He isn't thinking about anything else. Not the union ceremony Anduin got swept up in, not the prospect of the Beastmaster being here, not the sick unease he feels wondering if he should leave in case something happens. If he should leave Anduin behind, for his own safety.

Not Anduin's gentle sympathy as they traversed the forest, chased by fleeting visions of Azeroth taunting them with something they could not have.

Not the reminder of how he had faced down Fahrad, devoid of a way to save him as the whispers twisted his mind.

Wrathion feels... strange. He cannot say he has ever particularly been troubled to only have himself for company, yet in the inky darkness here his own thoughts feel... loud somehow. The rooms he stands in feel big, and he feels uncommonly ill at ease.

He sends Anduin a simple message:

I'm outside.

Then waits to be let in, a ghost lurking around the window of Anduin's room in the wiseman's old abode. It seems fitting Anduin has been placed here, since he seems well suited to resolving disputes and giving advice. Then again, he'd likely been enjoying the respite -- or what limited respite he had.

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Anduin's expression softens, his eyebrows raising in question at that particular turn of phrase. His... talents?

"Yes, of course," he offers, not even certain just what it is that he is agreeing to, just yet. He is -- assuming that they are talking about his healing, of course, but then again they've just spent the last few moments discussing the villagers coming for advice, so. He can hardly be sure either way. Best just agree and wait for Wrathion to ask for himself. "What is it?"

It is notable that he is asking for himself, after all. Half the time it feels as though he has to wring such things out of him.

"I'm not certain," Wrathion admits. "I woke up with them. I suspect it may be related to the unique ritual we partook in on entry to this village."

He considers Anduin a moment longer, uneasy, then moves to shrug off his coat and fold it over the edge of the bed.

"If you don't mind?" he prompts, then begins carefully unbuttoning his cuffs -- loosening them then unbuttoning his shirt and turning a little as he shrugs it off. Along the dark skin of his back are sore looking cuts... No, scratches that look as if they've been done by sharp nails. They aren't especially deep, in truth, but his clothing keeps irritating them. It would be preferable not to have them.

Anduin shakes his head at the question, indicating for Wrathion to go on. He watches with a healer's eye as Wrathion continues to unbutton his shirt and shrugs it off, his attention immediately drawn towards the scratches that are revealed once he does.

Anduin frowns, sitting forward to place a hand on Wrathion's shoulder and turn him slightly towards the light so he might see the scratches more clearly. By the shape and patterning of them, they almost look like...

"How long have they been there?" he asks. Just because he said he woke up with them, it does not necessarily mean that was today. Though it would be nice if Wrathion had come to him with an issue the same day it happened (for a change).

Wrathion tenses, just a little, at the touch to his shoulder -- yet all the same lets Anduin move him as he likes.

"Since the morning after we arrived. They do not appear to be fading on their own."

Which he had hoped they would, of course. They are not a debilitating injury, just scratches. They have not prevented him going about his daily routine in any way, so although it was... unusual for them to appear he had no reason to think they required healing.

Anduin studies the scratches in the dim light of the lamp from across the room. While they aren't all that bad, they do seem to be uncomfortable. They've obviously at least become enough of a nuisance for Wrathion to seek out his healing.

"That does sound as though they do have something to do with your curse," Anduin agrees. He splays his fingers out across the skin near the scratches, frowning as he examines the pattern of them for a moment longer before he takes a breath. There's no use worrying about them now, and so long as they do not return...

"This may sting a bit," he warns, before calling up a minor healing spell, the Light filling the room with a gentle glow as he channels it through the palm of his hand and passes it over the scratches on his companion's back.

Nothing happens. As the spell fades, the scratches still remain.

Anduin frowns. That isn't right. Those scratches aren't all that deep, that spell should have... Gathering his resolve, Anduin reaches forward and calls forth a more powerful healing spell, the Light brighter this time in the darkness of the room around them. Encircling Anduin himself and spilling forth from his palm towards the skin of Wrathion's back.

And still nothing happens.

Anduin releases the spell with a noise of frustration, the room falling back into darkness once more with only the dim light of the paper lamp on the table left to light their view. He feels momentarily blinded and also inexplicably frustrated. It's supposed to work. It's supposed to work.

"I'm sorry," Anduin says at last. "It's the curse, I think. I had hoped..." He trails off, shaking his head. "It doesn't seem to be letting me heal anything brought on by its side-effects." These scratches. His wrists. He wonders what other suffering the curses might have been brought upon the otherworlders that he isn't aware of yet.

Ah.

Wrathion absorbs that information a moment, then carefully turns towards Anduin.

"Thank you for trying," he says simply. A part of him had suspected something like this, so he although he is disappointed he is not exactly surprised by the outcome. Considering Anduin thoughtfully, his eyes skim and land on the dark bands around Anduin's wrists. Wrathion reaches out with one hand and lets his fingers hover over them, curious but not bold enough to touch without permission.

"Do these hurt?"

Since if Anduin cannot heal him, then presumably he cannot heal himself either.

Anduin glances down at his hand, turning it over underneath Wrathion's gesture and letting his companion get a better view of the deep, dark band that encircles his wrist.

"It's... Uncomfortable," Anduin says, at last. "Stiff. It's not -- helping the existing discomforts I already have, and when does not seem to be any way to get rid of it...?"

Anduin shrugs, somewhat helplessly, before glancing back up at Wrathion. He needs to -- do something. He needs to be able to help in some way. Being unable to heal these things, for himself, for Wrathion, it feels like a failure on his part. Even if he understands that is not the case.

"I'm sorry," he says again, as if it is his fault. "Let me at least clean those off for you? I have no idea whether a curse-induced wound will be able to get infected but. Let's not test our chances with these."

Edited (i like this phrasing better) 2022-02-27 13:58 (UTC)

"If you believe it will help."

Either the injury, or help Anduin's own anxieties. Wrathion stays still, eyes following Anduin thoughtfully. One hand lifts to try and pull his dark curls as much over a single shoulder as he can. He feels oddly small with his skin bared this way, no coat or shirt to dress himself up.

"I suppose the solution is to atone as quickly as possible."

To break the curse, surely that will allow their marks to fade?

Anduin hums softly in agreement as he pushes himself up to stand. With identical markings around his ankles as well as his wrists, the effect has been -- unpleasant, as he has said. It is as Wrathion says. It would be best to atone for the ancestors' curses as soon as possible. It's just that that is easier said than done.

"One moment," Anduin says, crossing the door to step out of the room, closing it quietly behind himself. It does not take him all that long to fetch a bowl of hot water and a cloth, the house quiet for once in the still of the evening. He is grateful for that, a cloud having settled over his mood after his failed attempt at healing, he does not wish to face up to any of his housemates to have to explain himself to them.

Carrying the bowl back into his room with him, he sets it down on the bed beside himself, moving to dampen the cloth and wring it out.

"I suppose that I have become overly reliant on the fact that the Light has always answered my call," Anduin says, eyes downcast. "All the same..." The fact that it does not do anything against these curse wounds troubles him greatly.

"Overly reliant?" Wrathion echoes, tone mildly curious. "Would you call a warrior overly reliant on using a blade?"

Light is Anduin's main skill, of course he is reliant on it to some degree. Is a bow hunter overly reliant on their bow and arrows? Is miner overly reliant on a mining pick?

Anduin is a priest of the Light, of course he expects the Light to answer his call -- and of course it is troubling when it does not. These are not flaws to criticised.

Anduin glances up at Wrathion at the question, then back down at the cloth in his hands.

"I. Suppose not," he allows. He can see where Wrathion is going with this. It's what he knows, and he is good at channeling it. He understands that he is only being hard on himself because this curse is beyond the abilities of any healing power, and that Wrathion intends to point this out. Still.

He wishes he could do more.

Wetting the cloth once more, he rings it out again before bringing it up to test against the edges of the scratches on Wrathion's back.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, moving to brush Wrathion's hair aside again where a stray curl has fallen back over his shoulder.

"A little sore," he admits. Nothing he can't tolerate, in that regard. His skin twitches just a little under Anduin's touches, but Wrathion keeps himself otherwise still -- endures it without complaint, even when it does sting.

"They don't appear particularly deep...?"

A comment as much as a question -- Wrathion cannot see the things on his back very well, not without some awkward twisting and squinting. Anduin can judge better. He doesn't seem to be alarmed, so he... assumes they aren't horrific?

"No," Anduin agrees, moving the cloth gently along the line of one of the scratches then wetting it again. "They're fairly shallow, but the skin is broken. It doesn't seem to be bleeding, at least."

Not for now, at any rate. If it's anything like Anduin's own affliction, it has been getting slowly but steadily worse since the first day it had settled into his skin. He's doing his best not to think about how much worse it could get, if they do not solve these ancestral curses soon.

"Do you suppose that your other form would also sport these curse scratches, if you were able to transform?" Anduin asks, lowering his voice just in case. He cannot, of course, so there's no point in wondering. But it's something to discuss and it is an attempt to take Anduin's mind off of the smooth span of dark skin in front of him, warm underneath his touch, and the scratches that run down the line of it which are... Not that further spaced than the span of his own fingers, he has not failed to notice.

"They would carry across," Wrathion admits, then hesitates -- turning just a little to try and catch Anduin's eyes.

"It would be better if they did not bleed. You are... familiar with my blood."

It's hot, remember? Unusually hot. Burning hot. It will be a problem if he starts bleeding, and he'll need to start binding them all somehow. Wearing layers of clothing. Titans, what a mess. Should he mention the other scratches? He can wash those himself, and Anduin might be upset there are more injuries he cannot heal. Surely if he just bathes them daily? Is there anything more to what Anduin is doing?

Anduin meets Wrathion's eyes, the weight of the implication of Wrathion's words settling in along with Anduin's understanding of them. Wrathion's blood. Dragon's blood. It had stung him when Wrathion had used it to test their connection, on the shore by the lighthouse. Hot, almost too hot to touch. Despite himself, Anduin's eyes trail down to where his hand has come to rest against Wrathion's shoulder, the skin underneath his palm warm, so warm.

"I... yes, I am," Anduin agrees. He looks back to the scratches then back to Wrathion himself, a worried look in his eyes. "There is a chance that they might. We should. Prepare ourselves for how best to tend to these when they do. If you do not think you will be resolving your curse in the next several days or so."

Of course he is including himself in this. They are in this together, and he would hardly expect Wrathion to be able to care for a wound he can hardly see for himself. He wets the cloth again, and asks the next, most obvious question.

"Did they only appear here, on your back?" He does not see any others on Wrathion's arms or chest. (Not to admit that he's been looking...)

Ah, the choice is being removed then. Wrathion isn't about to lie about this.

"No," he admits. "There are some on my legs too."

Will Anduin want to bathe those too? Wrathion can reach his own legs, he doesn't need him to. The thought of him doing so feels... strange. He cannot quite describe it, like something is happening to his stomach. The muscles are... clenching, in some way. He's sure it would be helpful, perhaps Anduin would feel as if he is doing a better job as a healer, yet Wrathion thinks it would be... unwise. Unnecessary? He feels warm, tense. He should discourage it, he thinks, if the priest asks.

Ah. On his legs.

Anduin carefully moves to dip the cloth back in the basin then moves on to the next scratch, doing his best not to picture the image of these finger-spaced scratches raking down the line of Wrathion's calf or thigh. No, better not ask exactly where.

"I'll take care of these," Anduin offers, "but there's really nothing more to be done for the rest that you can't do yourself. Warm water, a soft cloth, and just be careful to make sure that it dries properly before you cover it up again. We'll... Revisit what to do if it starts getting any worse."

If, not once, though the assumption is there. Sitting heavy in the back of Anduin's mind.

A small mercy.

"I believe I can handle them myself," Wrathion says, trying to sound as smooth as he can. "I will let you know if they progress."

To the point where they might need... intervention. He certainly hopes not.

"You said your marks are not painful? Only... stiff?"

A topic that isn't Wrathion's legs, and if Anduin will need to tend to them or not. A topic that is also not Wrathion thinking about the warm hand on his shoulder steadying him. This is... a lot of continual physical contact.

Anduin wets the cloth again, moving on to the second to last scratch, carefully cleaning it as he answers Wrathion's question.

"They're not -- exactly," he replies. "It's not painful in the way that a wound or a scratch might be. But it's not... Comfortable. I suppose it's not unlike the feeling of the stiffness and ache of the Bell," Anduin explains, with a shrug. "It's just that I am usually able to relieve myself of that discomfort. This..."

This is weighing on him. He has to wonder how much worse it will get, how much worse he will feel, before he manages to resolve the ancestors' curse that has been assigned to him.

Not wanting to be one to sit there and complain, Anduin shakes his head. "It is no matter," he says, aiming for levity. "I will survive."

"Is there anything beyond healing that helps with the stiffness you get from the Divine Bell? Warmth, perhaps?"

Something to... ease the tension, if the stiffness is akin to that? It's all guesswork on Wrathion's part, in truth. Human bodies are so... different, sensitive in ways his natural shape isn't. Often the way his visage behaves is strange to him, the signals it sends him a foreign language. He's heard some dragons prefer their visage, after a while, and certainly for ease of interaction with the mortal races he can see that but... the lack of control in the way it behaves can still be... uncomfortable.

Anduin considers the question as he works the cloth slowly down the line of the scratch and, consequentially, Wrathion's back.

"Warmth, yes," he replies. "I used to spend quite a lot of time in the hot springs, when I was first recovering in Pandaria. The healers showed me some physical exercises that help, sometimes, when I have the time for moving around. And -- breathing exercises for the times when I do not."

They have been over this already, there's no use in feeling self-conscious about his injuries when Wrathion has seen him at his worst already. All the same, speaking of it like this still makes him feel... Lesser. He never aspired to be any great warrior, but he would still prefer to be a whole man, if given the choice.

It takes all Wrathion's focus not to squirm. Human skin is peculiarly sensitive, it's a wonder to him they get through each day without being distracted sometimes by how everything feels.

"Might exercises help?" he prompts, glancing over his shoulder at Anduin again. Is he still cleaning the cuts, even? He's going about it at a very leisurely pace. "Where is the stiffness worst?"

Perhaps that might help narrow down the most useful exercises? Wrathion is no expert, this is all theoretical.

Anduin dips the cloth into the bowl one last time, turning his attention towards the one remaining scratch before he can bring himself to respond to Wrathion's questions.

"Perhaps," he says, voice uncertain. "I don't know. It's... My hands, so far, mostly. I've never really had to worry about such things in the past, not specifically anyway." Different areas of his person, yes, but he's never especially had trouble with his hands before.

There are also rings around his ankles of course, and he's worried that the stiffness will spread there in the same way, but that is a... Private concern, for now. He would rather leave it at such.

It makes sense to be worried about movements in your hands, of course. Most mortal races require their hands for most of their daily activities.

"Something to keep movement in the joints, then," he suggests, waiting until Anduin seems to have stopped running the cloth over his skin. Is he done? He'd... quite like him to be done, the stimulation on his skin is beginning to be a little much. "May I see?" he prompts, turning a little sideways and holding out a hand to the priest curiously. He's curious if the stiffness is palpable, if the muscles are genuinely beginning to seize in some way or if there's something more to it. His cuts seem real enough, after all.

Edited 2022-02-28 01:51 (UTC)

Anduin hesitates, setting the cloth aside as he finishes with the last of the cuts, but he sees no reason why he should not allow Wrathion to investigate his wrists and hands. He has after all just spent the last few minutes caring for Wrathion's own curse wounds.

"I... Yes, of course. Here."

Drying his hands hastily on the sides of his trouser legs, Anduin raises one to hold out towards Wrathion's outstretched hand, palm-up, glancing uncertainly at his companion as he does so.

"I do not understand what significance the marking has, but it seems to be radiating out from there," Anduin observes.

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