[ ACTIVE ]

[blackscales]

WHO: Wrathion & fellow siege survivors
WHEN: Part 2 of the siege
WHERE: Various locations in and on the borders of Alem
WHAT: Investigation, crafting, pacing, thinking. Some closed prompts! You can throw a new one at me, or plan with me here for me to write something custom.
WARNINGS: None to start, beyond some bad mental health situations going on here.



War was something Wrathion understand. He'd never had a childhood, not really. Never really had friends. What youth he had, as he grew far too quickly, had been taken over by his dark purpose. By the threat of Deathwing --

( A shadow of dark wings, a deep voice, metal plates, magma held into shape --)

and all those who would have killed him for being related. For wanting his freedom. The threat of his family, turned to insanity, and then the threat of invasion, of the armies of the Burning Legion, the threat of N'Zoth who sough to turn him as he had his father --

An endless sea of troubles.

Watching Irenia bank and turn back towards Alem, Wrathion feels as if this place is not so far from Azeroth. Endless threats, all of them dire. None, individually, feel quite on the scale of threatening the entire planet but... all of them have the potential to certainly build up if left unchecked.

The sight of her brings dark, brooding fears to the surface. What if he dies here, and is brought back as she was -- a tool to be turned against friends? To be used to spread destruction? Following in his father's footsteps, haunting these mountains as the Aspect of Death.

There are those who believed his corruption inevitable. Perhaps he has been foolish to think he could ever escape such a fate, but still.

One thing at a time.

Comments

[blackscales]

Wrathion straightens a little at that, arms lifting from the table to fold over his chest and body language stiffening.

He's never said, directly, that he wasn't human -- but perhaps he's given himself away in other ways. They did discuss the Doctor being mortal, but regenerating, and he mentioned he thinks that he hadn't observed timeway based powers in mortal races. He'd displayed use of magic, but humans can use magic in Azeroth. Perhaps they cannot in the Doctor's experience? In Hermione's world, not all humans can. Or is it the eyes? Glowing eyes from exposure to high power magic sources in not uncommon in Azeroth, but seems to draw attention here.

Equally, he supposes, it's entirely possible the Doctor thinks he is human but his country has fallen and he's only similar in that respect. A population mostly wiped out by an invading undead army, the last of his people rather than a... species. He'll assume its that. He's totally got this. His cover is brilliant. His overinvestment in the undead dragon is just a coincidence, clearly, never mind the fact that Red already saw directly through it.

"We have undead lords on my world," he says, "and undead who have freed themselves of the control of undead lords. I have observed the cycle before, of those being captured, then freed and no longer quite belonging anywhere. We have a whole city the free undead took it upon themselves to congregate in, to populate as a new united faction. They call themselves the Forsaken."

Perhaps this information will distract the Doctor from the fact that Wrathion did not, in fact, answer part of that question. He does seem easily distracted.

[thedreamer]

It's all very fascinating and he almost—almost—latches onto it, because he does genuinely want to know more about that, too. He can be distracted easily, it's true, and it might have worked under different circumstances.

"I'm bookmarking that, for the record," the Doctor notes. "The Forsaken, we'll come back to that."

And they will, yes, but now he's locked onto Wrathion himself, for better or worse.

"I'm very old, as you know. Been around, seen a lot. Your magic—or what I know of it—is unique. Fascinating, extraordinary. Stick with me a moment, eh," the Doctor settles back against the table again, arms folded.

"Your red eyes—lovely—the dragon pendant, an understanding you seem to have not only of Irenia, but with her. The carefully crafted instrument suited to her specifically, the tokens you've made to help people fly. So much like a dragon. But here you stand before me, not a dragon. The rest of my point, I'm getting to it. I've met many species in the universe that could change form, shapeshift: Kymbra Chimera, Zygons, Axons, Rutans, I could go on. Different mechanisms, of course, different adaptations, but all variations on a theme."

The Doctor's eyes are both curious and soft. "So! You're a dragon in a different form. I'm sure I'm right, but I'm also sure and will insist that you have nothing to fear from me." Secret that it is; many must already know. "Secrets keep us safe, I know all about that. You can lie to me if you want, deflect, ignore all of it, you don't have to say anything else at all in fact if you'd prefer. You could stand there and glare or raise a withering and skeptical eyebrow, but I've found moments of truth don't have to be as terrifying as we imagine."

Ah, yes, because the Doctor is always so excellent at this himself, of course.

[blackscales]

The simmering tension stays within Wrathion, increasing as the Doctor continues to talk until his top lip begins to twitch. Like a cornered animal ready to bare its teeth, he has an air of being braced to do something.

He controls it, just about, lets out a slow breath and runs his tongue over his teeth as he decides what to say.

"A small number are aware," he admits.

Anduin, Hermione, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and Red. Emilia perhaps, he's so far avoided talking to her about the fine detail of what she understood. The members of the tower team who saw him change by necessity, Strange and Stephanivien. The number is, slowly, growing. He's not entirely sure how he feels about that.

[thedreamer]

He's hit a nerve, obviously, he doesn't miss that particular cue, at least. No doubt the Doctor himself would feel a similar sort of way, and he has. But—good, he thinks. Best to get it out. He respects the need to keep secrets, he won't betray anything Wrathion's told him, but there's no need to hide from him, either. Everyone just needs to see it his way, of course.

"And what we know will be kept safe," the Doctor adds to reassure. Though, perhaps little comfort. "And you, your kind—are you all that's left?"

Though the question is asked with care, with a gentleness of tone, the Doctor isn't unaware that it's still intrusive and likely not altogether comfortable. It's not a subject he particularly enjoys himself, yet if he's at all correct, in some fashion perhaps they would share an understanding in this.

[blackscales]

Wrathion frowns, worrying his tongue against his teeth. He wants to argue this isn't relevant, that it's unnecessary information. Yet people do, he's learned, like to talk about this sort of thing. To offer sympathy.

Sympathy has never helped Wrathion. Never brought back dead dragons, never solved a crisis, never made him feel better.

Still, he can indulge it if he must.

"I have one brother," he admits. Ebyssian. He's new to his life, only recently come forward, but Wrathion is glad to have him -- as different as they may be.

[thedreamer]

On some level, the Doctor is aware that it's not his business and Wrathion doesn't owe him more explanation, but that's never stopped him before. He could sympathize openly to a certain extent, perhaps, though how much he chooses to share of his own losses is always variable.

"I know a bit about that. Not the brother part. Well, I did once." The tips of his fingers skirt along the edge of the table for a moment. If they're sharing, well...he should share, too. He should. He's not always good at that, either, and only in certain moments. But if ever there was a time. "They're gone. I understand that, and I'm sorry."

In what way does he understand? He doesn't elaborate. It's definitely not important or anything.

"What you are, what you've shared, I don't take it lightly. Your secret is protected, and you'll be protected if I have anything to say about it. And I do have quite a lot to say, generally, as you well know."

[blackscales]

"Quite alright," Wrathion says, in something of a tense undertone. "I've protected myself for quite some time now."

He's a black dragon, he doesn't need protecting. He protects other people, that's how it's all meant to work. How it should have worked, would have if everything hadn't all gone horribly wrong. He drops his gaze to begin packing up, movements stiff.

"You may think you understand, Doctor, but I sincerely doubt we are the same. Most of my kind died by my own hand."

There's something of a threat there, a warning. Don't underestimate me. Wrathion is capable of being dangerous. He may be here, mourning a creature he barely knows, sleeplessly trying to keep their party alive and together but he has done terrible things before. Will likely do terrible things again, in the pursuit of his greater good. Of the bigger picture, as he sees it.

framing your tag btw it was everything I never knew I always wanted

[thedreamer]

And there they arrive at last, at a point the Doctor couldn't have entirely predicted when they'd started, but it satisfies the curiosity and the part of him that fully believed there was more beneath the surface.

"Well," the Doctor's lips briefly curve upward as though a darkened and humorless smile might make an appearance, but just as quickly, it's gone and his eyes are a starless night, his entire form tense as he grips the edge of the table.

"I know a bit about that, too. More than I'd ever care to, or for anyone else to, either, being honest." Jaw taut as he speaks, his words are a bit more halting than usual.

He doesn't admit this to people, he simply does not. Oh, the part about being the last, yes, he'll come around to it eventually, less easily than in his previous life. But this, this, this is a secret few know. And is he really going to share with Wrathion, is he honestly about to? He doesn't have to, he doesn't owe him anything at all, yet as guarded as the one across from him has been, he's shared this much about himself and doesn't he warrant the same in turn?

A question that will haunt him long past their time together here.

"I'm the last of my kind, Wrathion, and I'm the reason for it."

Just The Right Amount of Suffering

[blackscales]

Wrathion frowns at the first comment, then slowly lifts his eyes as the Doctor clarifies.

The last of his kind. The reason for it.

Not something he expected, in truth, from the man's demeanour. Then again, do people expect it from him? He couldn't say. What manner should someone who had done such a thing even have? What would be expected?

Blood is not always visible on hands, even when you can feel it. The stain of it, the creep of corruption.

"Not everyone has the stomach to do what must be done," he offers. "Sometimes, some of us must stand alone against the darkness so that others may bask in the light."

[thedreamer]

Some of us must stand alone. Too right. Unfortunately.

He certainly hadn't expected the conversation to turn in this manner, either, but now he feels a strange and unfortunate connection to Wrathion borne of tragedy and mutual blood on their hands. For the greater good. Certainly a Pyrrhic victory, and not a win at all, at least in the Doctor's mind. No one really won the Time War, but it was a war against death itself, in the end, and so the universe going on at all was a triumph.

"And we don't stop. We can't. The darkness is always there chasing the light, the universe always needs saving, the choices always need to be made."

Curious as ever, the Doctor wants more context for what happened to Wrathion's people, but his own words tell him enough. Enough for now.

"You're not standing alone, Wrathion. Not here. And that's all we have at the moment."

What happens beyond this when they eventually leave here, the Doctor can't say. He imagines he'll be alone again himself because that's the fate always waiting for him; hard to imagine otherwise when you've seen the beginning and end of everything.