westwhere | They build wooden houses on frozen ponds

Entry tags:

They build wooden houses on frozen ponds

WHO: Anduin & Others
WHEN: Travel arc!
WHERE: Mistress Isakanami's inn
WHAT: Starters for Anduin during the event! Plot with me here and I'll put together a starter for you too, and/or feel free to hit up Anduin's IC inbox!
WARNINGS: None from the start

It has been a long few months, in Serthica.

If Anduin is being honest with himself, the exhaustion had probably started to set in even before they had set foot in that city. On the boat on the journey over perhaps? When he had fired one too many arrows into the sky and knocked himself out for a solid three days. Or had that been the final straw? Was it before then, in Ke-Waihu? As he had fought to save the village from destruction. Children from sacrifice. Or was it in Ellethia before? Saving that ship from the rocks, and Zenobius from the collapse of the tower's magic. Even in Taravast, he had fought to save Donna Rigarda. For better or worse.

Again, and again, and again. Fighting for others. Sometimes winning the battle, sometimes not. Fighting for his own life. Risking it for others. Anduin isn't certain he knows how to turn it off, but he's... Tired.

They have succeeded in this last attempt and saved the city, but there had been a high chance they might not, and -- it was that thought that had spurred him on. Beyond his exhaustion, beyond his limits. Wrathion had reminded him of how Arthas Menethil culled the plague in Stratholme, and he would not, could not allow such loss to happen on his watch. Not when there had been something he could do about it. But now.

Here they are, in this quiet place of relaxation. And he is trying, he really is trying to take it easy. But he can't help but wonder...

What next?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Anduin sits in the corner of one of the common rooms of the inn, a book open on his lap that he's only really half-reading. He's clearly preoccupied, his brows drawn together, his eyes on the window beside him and the falling snow beyond. The cold is wreaking havoc on his old injuries, but he doesn't mind so much. This place -- it reminds him of home, in a way. Of Pandaria. Welcome memories of simpler days.

But it's clear that something is troubling him now. From the frown lines written across his face, to the shadows underneath his eyes. He's supposed to be relaxing here, and he is, really. Well. He's trying.

It would seem that such things are easier said than done.

Anduin sits on a cushion on the floor in the meditation quarters.

Taking in a long, deep breath, he lets it out slow exhale. Legs gently crossed, hands resting on his knees, he's... Trying to relax, really he is.

It helps, at least. The quiet. Not a lot of people seem to want to come in here. The springs get a lot more activity than he would have thought and more often than not he is joined by one traveler or another. It helps keep his mind off of -- most things, but he recognizes that it's only just a bandage as well. He needs...

Frankly he doesn't know what he needs. But some rest would be a good start.

He forces his eyes shut -- just in time for the door to the room to slide open behind him. Turning, he glances over his shoulder at the newcomer and freezes.

"...Eleven?"

The blood near the wells is... Concerning.

Anduin has been trying (and failing) not to be concerned by it for the past week, really. Having recently developed the habit of taking walks when the snow is not falling too hard, he has also developed the habit of stopping at the wells. He tells himself it doesn't count as an investigation or a break from his relaxation if he does nothing more than look.

The fact that the blood lingers in his thoughts even after he leaves says otherwise.

Anduin stands over the latest splattering of it, frowning. Telling himself he should just move along. The roil of unease in his gut keeping him firmly in place.

Anduin clutches his robe firmly around himself as he makes his way to the hot springs.

Again.

He has been spending quite a lot of time in the hot springs, if he is being honest with himself. And he supposes he has no reason not to be honest with himself. The warm water is quite lovely, and though its rumored healing qualities don't seem to have any long-term healing effects on his old injuries, the water is easing the stiffness in his joints that he might otherwise be suffering in, in this cold climate. If that isn't reason enough to take a daily dip, then Anduin doesn't know what is.

He can only convince Wrathion to accompany him some times. Today is not one of those times. Anduin suspects -- although he cannot confirm -- that part of it has to do with the ghost that has a tendency to haunt the springs with them. The headless one. It's hardly a pleasant sight, but Wrathion seems to have a particularly hard time not... Thinking about it. Worrying about it. It's been a stressful few months, Anduin can hardly blame him. He's left him behind in their room in a swath of fabric and those magical scissors he received from Serthica.

It would seem he was not the first one to consider a dip in the springs. Anduin offers a polite smile to the occupant of the water, before -- stopping short. The horns, the facial structure. A... Draenei?

"Ah," he says, very carefully. "Good afternoon."

"Hullo, dear." Illumination had kept herself quite busy after arriving on this plane. Was it an ideal solution? No, but keeping occupied allowed her to focus on something other than her concerns (not fears) about the strangeness of the situation. Still, worries and hard work aside, there was always time to find a hot spring and soak.

"I ought to warn you, this is one of the hotter pools, but I don't think it is too dangerous." A pause and then she tilts her head. "Which is to say, if you want, you're welcome to join me."

Without a thought, Eleven had followed the sense of light to the meditation rooms, hadn't considered what he might do beyond locating the source of it.

He should probably be less surprised to be recognized.

Eleven steps fully into the room after a wooden moment, then slides the door closed behind him. His memory is improving; a name lingers around his tongue- a roll of pleasantly soft syllables that will come together before too long.

For that one moment of recognition, it feels like he's looking into a mirror.

A shiver catches him then, crawling over his skin and steadily sapping his strength as his limbs lower him to the floor to sit.

"We were friends," he says quietly, as certain of that as he is of one or two other things he knows without asking. Another chill shrugs through his shoulders. "..How are you?"

A gut-wrenching moment of confusion takes Anduin before he remembers that yes, the beacons do this. Give and take at leisure. Anduin had experienced that first-hand, when Wrathion had gone, and then came back. Months gone by in Azeroth, minutes here in this world.

Does his companion recognize him? Anduin does not dare to ask, steeling his heart against the thought he might not as he offers him a nod in response to the first thought. Yes. They had been friends. Eleven had been one of the only people who had seemed to -- understand. Even if he was not priest exactly. And then...

"I..." Anduin says, trailing off as he takes in the measure of his companion. He offers him another soft smile. "I suppose that I should ask you much of the same."

Anduin doubts that the inn would have any spring open to the public so hot that it would be dangerous to enter, so he waves off her concerns with a gentle nod of appreciation. Worst that will happen is he will overheat, and given the dropping air temperature surrounding them, he doubts he'll have much of an issue cooling off if that should happen.

"Thank you," he says, setting his towel aside with a soft smile. "Some of the other pools -- there is a ghost I have run into there several times, and. Well. He is harmless, really, but a companion of mine finds it troubling that anyone might be haunting the hot springs in the first."

For all his talk, Anduin has yet to make any move to remove his robe. Do... They recognize him? Perhaps not. It is not every day you fall through dimensions, to wind up at an inn with the High King of the Alliance, after all.

"I don't know. I suppose there are worse places to be left to haunt, but that probably wasn't the issue." Illumination shrugs and settles back so that she's as much under water as possible.

"Are you alright?" She could ask if he's uncomfortable or offer to avert her eyes while he climbs in, but that's not really her style. If he wants to get in the water, then he needs to do it himself. "Or do we need to shake hands and exchange business cards?"

Eleven returns his smile, at ease in a way he hasn't been since returning here.

"My memories are still coming together," he answers. "It's been a challenge, to.. to organize all of this. Alternate dimensions, worlds, and split timelines.." Eleven waves a dismissive hand, then shrugs, smile turning wry as his voice takes on an edge of humor. "You know I was raised in a small village in the mountains?"

( Then, there is Lan Wangji, the Heavens' most ambitiously indifferent creature, balancing a wealth of dew turning gelid and crystalline as it trickles down his back in morning beads under the starting snow.

And two buckets, rusted, slow, ancient in their service of water bearing.

And his sword Bichen, magnanimously unfettered from her sheath.

And a gaggle of inn keepers, who swarm and storm him in various degrees of outrage, stupefaction, terror and resignation, shouting as Lan Wangji approaches the barred, blooded well.

'We don't take water from there today, young man! Come back!' )

Unnecessary. ( 'I'm telling you, the kitchens won't have it! )

Ease yourself. ( 'The other two, just look, the water's clear there, aren't two other wells enough? Is your belly so bottomless, you'll drink two wells out of their waters? What's next, the lake?' )

Respectfully decline. ( 'Must we be so greedy, when the gods already give?' )

The well remains for taking. ( 'These grounds already generously receive us, shouldn't we concede on this one matter?' )

You bar path. ( 'There is no path, the well is blocked.' )

Appears open. ( 'Young man! Any sight-seeing man can tell just cut through the rope that was set down before it.' )

Bring witness. ( 'You have your sword out!' )

And pails. For water. ( 'Wait, won't you stop to talk things over properly? Who raised you to ignore your elders?'

...suffice to say, Lan Wangji has a purpose, the blooded well has water, and a school of hair-pulling servants don't deter his progress.

Enjoy the parade, Anduin. )

Edited 2022-12-14 19:16 (UTC)

"Ah," Anduin says, politely. Is he alright? He supposes that if she is suggesting that they might exchange business cards, then it is at least a safe bet that she doesn't recognize who he is. Which -- earns a sigh of relief, really. There is only one person in this land currently who understands his position, even if he has broken the news to several others. It really would complicate matters.

"No," he concludes. "That's -- fine. I'm fine." He flashes a self-conscious smile. "It has been quite a while since I have been afforded the opportunity to relax like this. I suppose you might say that I am out of practice."

Anduin quirks a smile in response to that comment, shaking his head as he does.

"You had not said so," he replies. "And if you mean to bring it up now as some commentary on your lack of worldliness, I think you are selling yourself short." He cocks his head at his companion. "After all, you have already been here once before. It will all return soon enough."

He hesitates for a moment, wondering if he should ask, before he simply goes out on a limb. "I am called Anduin," he says, gently. "In case having a name to connect to the face makes it easier to recall."

Eleven laughs shortly and hopes that Anduin's faith is well-placed. He grins, eyes bright.

"I knew it was something like that. I know I like you- that part of it is because your spirit feels like.." Eleven blinks, focusing a moment on warmth and light, then closes his eyes with a quiet hum. "Like mine."

Like something he could take refuge in if ever he found himself wretched and bereft again. He sighs softly and regards Anduin with a peaceable smile.

"But there was some other reason we were friends too, I think."

[There is... Quite a commotion, coming up the path from behind him. Anduin turns to look over his shoulder, squinting to make out just what exactly it is that is going on. Uncertain he quite understands even when he does take in the measure of Lan Wangji and his entourage.

...he will admit, he's not entirely certain why he is intent on taking water from this particular well, given the blood. It seems something of an ill omen. But Lan Wangji also seems the sort of person who does not bide by that sort of a thing, he supposes.]

Lan Wangji.

[Anduin nods to the man, glancing between the buckets, the sword, and the gaggle of servants then back at the man once more.]

You... Wish to draw water from this well? [A careful question, even if the answer is likely obvious.]

"Darling, you'll never truly be proficient if you don't practice." Lu leans back a little, gets comfortable in the hottest part of the water, and gestures towards herself. "You see? I have put a considerable amount of time and effort into learning how to be as delightfully louche as I am."

"What do you think of the result?"

Louche. Anduin can't help the quirk of his lips at that choice of words. Well, she certainly does seem... Relaxed.

"I think you're doing a marvelous job of it," he replies. "Perhaps you might be able to teach me how it works."

He forces himself to shrug off his robe, ignoring that little voice in his head protesting the way his body looks (it's fine, he's fine, he's honestly quite fit and attractive, it's really just the scars that make him self-conscious) and stepping forward to quickly slide into the water.

"Or," he continues, "is this one of those lessons that must come only with practice?"

"We were drawn together because of the Light, I expect," Anduin replies, gently. At least, that is how it had been for himself. "Because you are one of the few here who understood half of what I meant about... Any of it, really."

He casts a glance aside to his companion, smiling softly as he does.

"Myself as a Priest, and... You as an Acolyte, if I am remembering correctly?"

"Cham-" Eleven flushes, glancing off. Fidgets, then shrugs. "..Champion, would be most accurate," he says on a breath.

He offers another shrug, glancing up. "But I fulfilled my role, and Yggdrasil isn't here, so it doesn't matter so much now. What er- deity are you pledged to?"

Marcos is very aware that his experience in their last stop was easier than some of their group. He's seen the haunted expressions on the faces of their companions, and despite some of what he went through, he knows he spent more time being ignorant to just how much they were suffering. Now that they've had time to breathe, in a very haunted but relatively quiet inn, he has every intention of doing more to help than he has these past few months. At least check in on the few people he's been traveling with the longest.

He's known Anduin by proxy for some time now, back when he was constantly crossing paths in the villages while Wrathion snuck out to see him. Enough that he can tell when something has changed, and the stress might be getting the better of him. Since he doesn't see Wrathion around, he decides it's time he said more than a passing hello.

So he approaches when he spots Anduin reading his book, with an offer ready in case he needs another excuse to be there. He could blow him off, but he can at least give him a chance to get something off his chest if he needs to.

"Hey. Do you want some?" He interrupts with an outstretched cup in his hand. Nothing alcoholic; just something to keep warm. "I made too much tea for one person."

Anduin offers his companion (another) gentle smile. It's okay to admit to his role. Anduin won't judge him for it. Stormwind had its own Champions, as did Orgrimmar. Anduin is familiar with the concept.

"Oh -- no," he says, shaking his head. "No deity. The Church of the Holy Light does not worship anything else but the Light itself. It's founded on the Three Virtues: of Respect, Tenacity, and Compassion. And the belief that the Light exists in all things."

Anduin glances up at the sound of Marcos' voice, startled out of his thoughts not only by the fact that Marcos has approached him, but also by the fact that he is offering him... Tea?

Reaching out a hand, Anduin accepts the drink from his companion on instinct.

"Thank you," he replies, taking the cup from him and moving to cup it between his hands. He has always liked tea, and the warmth of it in his hands is automatically comforting. He offers Marcos a slightly uncertain smile, tilting his head gently to the side at him as he does. "Not that I don't appreciate your hospitality -- I do like tea -- but I must ask why offer it to me. Did I seem that desperate?"

Desperate is an interesting word choice. While he may or may not have an ulterior motive for the tea delivery, it's telling that Auduin is more concerned about appearances. Truthfully, if Marcos wasn't as observant as he is, he wouldn't have thought anything of someone reading quietly by themselves.

"Maybe I'm the one desperate for company," he supplies, hoping to ease his concerns. It isn't entirely a lie; he doesn't necessarily like where his mind goes when he's alone with his thoughts, and Lorna has enough to worry about. He gestures to the nearest empty seat. "Do you mind? I don't think we've had a chance to hang out that didn't involve sneaking around so we didn't blow our cover."

He offers his companion a gentle smile, shaking his head at the question and gesturing to the seat as well.

"Not at all," he offers. "Please, sit. Save me from myself. I've been trying to read, but it clearly has not been a successful attempt."

He hasn't been getting enough sleep, there's been too much on his mind. Serthica, the child, the sickness, Wrathion. Home.

Marcos spends a few seconds after settling in the chair trying to get a glance on what he was reading. Or not reading, as the case may be. He hasn't really found anything that would count as something he'd pick up for entertainment around here.

"It's been a wild few weeks. We did what we could, but it starts to weigh on you." All that death. Marcos feels like he got away easier than most, but that has a lot to do with having Lorna around. He has a feeling Auduin was in the thick of it. Then there's some of them, like Kaneki, who weren't so lucky to get away. As much as he's tried not thinking about it, he's got a beating heart in a box that's pretty hard to ignore.

"You know, I used to really think it was possible to change the world. Now I just try to not make it worse." So far he's had mixed results. "I don't think any of us really know what we're doing."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

They build wooden houses on frozen ponds

MARCOS ❅ tea & conversation

ELEVEN ❅ meditation

WANGJI ❅ the wells

ILLUMINATION ❅ hot springs

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

GOD I AM SORRY FOR THE DELAY somehow i never got a notif for this reply, sweats

oh no, it's okay

sorry this is so late!

no subject

that is fine!!!

no subject

no subject

no subject