The Bard Picks up the Sword
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Eiry watched Isi drop the phone on the ground in front of him. The reality of the situation should have hit him at the sudden phone calls, the surreal images floating in pale colors on the television set, and framed in by astounded text on the newspaper, but it didn't. It only sunk in when Isikoro, not more than a boy on the brink of adulthood, looked up at him with his soulful gray eyes, at a complete loss of what to do. Again, the Delaran family was cuffed with disaster.
Thankfully, though, it wasn't directly caused from the family, which was usually the happenstance in the first place. An illness, an anger, a mistake, from one of the direct members of the family that resulted in a storm, changing their lifestyle again for good. Their collective lives were the foundations of guilt that made the stability of the next day possible.
Today, it was Eiry's guilt that triggered his next act.
He was no hero. Eirdirsceol knew that better than anyone. He was a coward, a trickster who hid behind pranks and cleverness to make up for his lack of strength and courage. When he got hurt, he whimpered as he nursed his wound, and when he was scared, he hid underneath Rivener's arm. When he was sick, he hurt others and when he was lonely, he made sure that no one could reach him. Twisted logic, but it was the sole human element strung between his twin genetics of Nordic Yggdrasil leaf and ethereal specter of death. It was the same logic that prompted him to clear his throat, clutch his quavering heart tight between the tensing of his ribs, and speak up over the clatter of teeth and breathing that was a near comatose Delaran.
"What duty I hath not sworn before, I swear it now," he said, trying to fight the obvious quivering in his bottom lip. He hardened his brows, counteracting his display of twitching muscles. He said louder, "The Green-Eyed Lady is imprisoned in that abandoned pallid fortress, the one whom Aphismet worships so, and if it should heal him from his ague, dither I shall fly. Only my best effort will I offer to spirit her back here to Aphismet's side. I will crack Lazarus from the icy slush and rend the White Doctor from his pale tomb."
"Eiry, stop the dramatics," Isi muttered.
Eiry felt the beating drum of his heart waver, and he no longer felt the tinglings of pride that he was desperately trying to sum up. He withered before Isi, looking at him from beneath baleful brows. The boy was haggard. He looked old. He had a weary kind of slump to his figure, a deep heaving of his chest as if it were hard to labor for each breath. The strong Isi that he had always been, looked weak, a thing that Eiry had seen only few times before. It was a terrible sight, one that Eiry hoped with all his being that it would be the last. Refolding his wings awkwardly to his back, Eiry slumped to the ground, as if he were moving onto his knees if he had any.
"What shall I-" Eiry began, but Isi cut him off with a large agitated sigh. The strong, although weak, Isi was back, a much preferable sight than that of the entirely weak one.
"Eiry, I want you to go to the Lab. I want you to try and help those trapped inside," he said, "but I don't want you to be a hero."
The minty raevan furrowed his brows at him and opened his mouth to reply, before Isi stared at him with a cold glare of his stormy eyes.
"I don't want you to do something that will get you hurt," Isi took a deep steadying breath, "Frankly, I don't care for the others as much as I do you. So go in there, try to get through the ice and the walls, but don't get yourself stuck in them if you can't trust yourself to get through them."
With an echoing breath, Eiry blinked his eyes, trying his hardest to keep his composure intact. He was unbearably emotional, and when it came to personal situations like this, all he could hardly keep himself intact. He wanted to get close, hold his hands, or something, but Eiry knew that Isi would bark at him if he made the move. Eiry was a sappy poet at heart.
"You'll need snacks," Isi said. He looked away, down at his hand where the cellphone was. He picked that up too and held it out to Eiry, "And you'll also need my cellphone. Use it. And get your things ready in a bag or something. Zeke is coming soon and you'll need to do your best."
There was not much more than that, because Isi shooed him out of the room and Eiry had things to pack.
Ultimately, he had some souls to save.
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Eiry watched Isi drop the phone on the ground in front of him. The reality of the situation should have hit him at the sudden phone calls, the surreal images floating in pale colors on the television set, and framed in by astounded text on the newspaper, but it didn't. It only sunk in when Isikoro, not more than a boy on the brink of adulthood, looked up at him with his soulful gray eyes, at a complete loss of what to do. Again, the Delaran family was cuffed with disaster.
Thankfully, though, it wasn't directly caused from the family, which was usually the happenstance in the first place. An illness, an anger, a mistake, from one of the direct members of the family that resulted in a storm, changing their lifestyle again for good. Their collective lives were the foundations of guilt that made the stability of the next day possible.
Today, it was Eiry's guilt that triggered his next act.
He was no hero. Eirdirsceol knew that better than anyone. He was a coward, a trickster who hid behind pranks and cleverness to make up for his lack of strength and courage. When he got hurt, he whimpered as he nursed his wound, and when he was scared, he hid underneath Rivener's arm. When he was sick, he hurt others and when he was lonely, he made sure that no one could reach him. Twisted logic, but it was the sole human element strung between his twin genetics of Nordic Yggdrasil leaf and ethereal specter of death. It was the same logic that prompted him to clear his throat, clutch his quavering heart tight between the tensing of his ribs, and speak up over the clatter of teeth and breathing that was a near comatose Delaran.
"What duty I hath not sworn before, I swear it now," he said, trying to fight the obvious quivering in his bottom lip. He hardened his brows, counteracting his display of twitching muscles. He said louder, "The Green-Eyed Lady is imprisoned in that abandoned pallid fortress, the one whom Aphismet worships so, and if it should heal him from his ague, dither I shall fly. Only my best effort will I offer to spirit her back here to Aphismet's side. I will crack Lazarus from the icy slush and rend the White Doctor from his pale tomb."
"Eiry, stop the dramatics," Isi muttered.
Eiry felt the beating drum of his heart waver, and he no longer felt the tinglings of pride that he was desperately trying to sum up. He withered before Isi, looking at him from beneath baleful brows. The boy was haggard. He looked old. He had a weary kind of slump to his figure, a deep heaving of his chest as if it were hard to labor for each breath. The strong Isi that he had always been, looked weak, a thing that Eiry had seen only few times before. It was a terrible sight, one that Eiry hoped with all his being that it would be the last. Refolding his wings awkwardly to his back, Eiry slumped to the ground, as if he were moving onto his knees if he had any.
"What shall I-" Eiry began, but Isi cut him off with a large agitated sigh. The strong, although weak, Isi was back, a much preferable sight than that of the entirely weak one.
"Eiry, I want you to go to the Lab. I want you to try and help those trapped inside," he said, "but I don't want you to be a hero."
The minty raevan furrowed his brows at him and opened his mouth to reply, before Isi stared at him with a cold glare of his stormy eyes.
"I don't want you to do something that will get you hurt," Isi took a deep steadying breath, "Frankly, I don't care for the others as much as I do you. So go in there, try to get through the ice and the walls, but don't get yourself stuck in them if you can't trust yourself to get through them."
With an echoing breath, Eiry blinked his eyes, trying his hardest to keep his composure intact. He was unbearably emotional, and when it came to personal situations like this, all he could hardly keep himself intact. He wanted to get close, hold his hands, or something, but Eiry knew that Isi would bark at him if he made the move. Eiry was a sappy poet at heart.
"You'll need snacks," Isi said. He looked away, down at his hand where the cellphone was. He picked that up too and held it out to Eiry, "And you'll also need my cellphone. Use it. And get your things ready in a bag or something. Zeke is coming soon and you'll need to do your best."
There was not much more than that, because Isi shooed him out of the room and Eiry had things to pack.
Ultimately, he had some souls to save.
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