@unspooling

[hellrider]

Since Avernus, there has been no time. No time to grieve or to rage, no time to celebrate, no time to sing or pray. Not for Zevlor, at least. Some of the others have managed to eke out moments of comfort between them, and not all of those moments have ended in disaster, but Zevlor is always on duty. Two Hellriders and a group of untrained civilians does not make a secure expedition to cross the wilderness with.

Which is why tonight is so surreal. Yes, the party was his suggestion, because his people need the morale and their heroes deserve to be lauded. He's certainly not expecting to have much fun; he'll be fretting over their next steps all evening, but watching the others get drunk and cuddle ad dance will be something of a balm for his hell-scorched soul.

Not everyone loves a party, though, and as the night wears on and a few of their more notorious couples start to slip off into the bushes for a little more private enjoyment, Zevlor can't help but notice Kael looks ill at ease. There has always been something strange about him, to the tiefling's eye; he knows a warrior's thousand-yard-stare by heart, having seen it on other faces and in his own mirror, but with the massive drow it seems to be more than that. He looks like someone who's moving through the world on pure instinct, fueled by uncertainty, leaning into one immediate need after another rather than sitting back and making plans, remembering home, seeking connection.

Maybe it takes one to know one. Zevlor's sense of identity was shattered when he lost his home and his career as a Hellrider in one fell swoop.

He watches the drow disentangle himself, metaphorically, from Bex and Danis and their enthusiastic chatter about plans for their home in Baldur's Gate (yellow wall paint for the kitchen, blue for the bedroom, and white rugs are lovely but awfully impractical and they're going to have pets of course...), and takes the opportunity to approach him with a cup of hot tea.

"Man cannot live by wine alone," he says, offering it out. "You look like you could benefit from a break from socializing."

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[unspooling]

Steps faltering in order to not steam through Zevlor, Kael's hands automatically reach out in a way that makes him feel instantly uncomfortable. To an onlooker, it would look like nothing more than two broad hands about to steady somebody else by the shoulders. For Kael, it feels like somebody else lifted his hands, puppet strings responsible for the way his fingers itch to splay and then clamp around something delicate.

It's a similar feeling to the creeping sensation of wrongness that refuses to abate no matter how enthusiastically he has tried to participate. Celebration seems like something anybody would enjoy, and yet he hasn't stopped feeling as though there's a shadow following him. A shadow that has been casting such a long way that he's desperately worried now about what might happen if somebody steps on it.

His icy eyes meet the flame of Zevlor's and, for a moment, he gives the tiefling the kind of look that isn't completely outside the realms of drowning and hopelessly looking for aid. The immediate follow on thought becomes so viscerally pungent in its intensity he only comes to again when he's almost on top of the man offering him a steaming cup of something. He'd been barely aware of stepping closer.

Blinking in his confusion, he frowns and shakes his head as though trying to loosen whatever had taken hold of him. An apologetic kind of grimace pierces through moments later. And eventually he finds his voice again as he gives Zevlor more personal space again.

"Is it that obvious?" He asks, smiling guiltily before adding in quick succession: "I like your people. It is... just discomfort at feeling at a disadvantage."

His eyes drop to the proffered tea, lips at least tugging into a more appreciative smile as he seems to flex his hands by his sides, shaking them out somewhat before even thinking of reaching up to accept the drink. Though eventually he does, fingers controlled to within a millimetre as he accepts graciously.

"Thank you."

[hellrider]

Physically, it's a very odd response. For a moment, Zevlor thinks he's about to be either shoved, or dragged into what seems as though it would be an uncharacteristic embrace. Then he gets a look at Kael's face, and it tells a saga in a few milliseconds. Confusion, loss, and then something underlying that, something downright frightening.

When the drow blinks and shakes his head, he will see that the tiefling has stood his ground, but his spine has straightened; he's standing like the military man he is, and his gaze is alert. Measuring. Something is not right, here. Maybe it's the tadpole, maybe not, but either way, Kael needs to not be in the midst of this crowd right now.

"You seem overwhelmed, to be honest. Sometimes..." He relinquishes the tea, thinking over his words. "Sometimes a certain scent or a sound can do that to a person. Or just the pressure of a crowd expecting you to do or be something specific to them."

"I remember in Avernus, some of Elturel's factories caught on fire. The smell of the sulfur, the plaster and metal scorching--sometimes I walk past a wood-fire and think I'm smelling it again, and I have to get away."

"Why don't you walk down to the water with me for a moment? See if you can clear your head."

[unspooling]

Quiet for a few long moments as he turns those words over in his head, the eventual nod of assent is reasonably quick to surface. The cup in his hand looks small, but there's a considerable amount of effort into not spilling any as he walks side by side with Zevlor until they reach the water's edge. Somehow it feels cooler, even though the distance from the camp itself isn't enough to create an actual variation in temperature.

He thinks on the story about the smells and knows he's afflicted by something similar without knowing the full shape of it. A looming spectre he doesn't know what to call but understanding it's more complicated than he can fathom for now.

His companions - his friends - all have their own worries to contend with, and the idea of piling on more seems unfair. So he carries what the scent of blood does to him alone, until now.

"Part of the problem is... my head is too clear. No, not clear. Not empty either. But barren of... memory. Meaning, too. I find myself caught up in feelings that must be mine. But recognition is beyond my grasp."

[hellrider]

There is sometimes a light breeze over the water, but tonight it's quite still. Crickets cry in the treeline, but before them the river flows black and tranquil, reflecting the sky above unbroken. The same water that flowed past Elturel, that washes up against the docks at Baldur's Gate. Damn it for being so close, and them unable to traverse it.

There will be more losses before they reach security. Zevlor doesn't dare assume otherwise, but he can at least hope they'll be few.

He stands next to Kael, clasping his hands behind him idly, and tilts his head to the side, listening without looking at him. Eye contact could be too much to bear for a man that's rattled like this.

"Your mind is full of emotion and imagery without context." He nods his understanding.

"I've counseled soldiers--Hellriders and others--after battles so terrible and traumatic they shut their own minds down rather than perceive the memories. It's possible you've been through something like that."

"Not that I have a sure answer for you. Any number of things could be affecting you. But I'm happy to listen."

s o sorry this has taken so long. my kael brain upped and left for a bit sobs

[unspooling]

The two of them standing away from the fray like this has drawn a few looks, curious more than anything too judgemental. Perhaps it is Zevlor's reputation among his people that keep anybody bounding up insisting they celebrate. He isn't miserable, but associating the feeling of wanting to celebrate and the inky darkness that resides in corners of him he can't yet see feels off. Wrong.

He wouldn't dream of halting anybody else's fun, but he's relieved that adding distance to the party is helping him loosen some of the tension that's strung tight at his core. It's almost got his stomach in knots.

"I may be ill," he says, guessing in a way that has as much chance of being correct as Zevlor's suggestion. Either of these things are possibilities, and though being a soldier fighting for a cause sounds more noble, part of him hopes it isn't the answer. Though no sooner has he mentally favoured an explanation as flashes of viscera cloud his vision.

Another moment's pause as he brings a hand to his head, frowning deeply as he presses fingers to his forehead as if he's trying bore them into his own brain.

"...or-- yes. Or a soldier."

never a problem!

[hellrider]

Semi-isolation serves a dual purpose. It's not out of the realm of possibility for a traumatized person to lash out, and having seen what Kael is capable of doing to goblins and gnolls, Zevlor would rather he not do it to anyone else. No matter how you slice it, this is a large, powerfully-built person. That doesn't mean he hasn't been through horrible things on his own account, or exempt him from compassion, but it does make caution a good idea. If Zevlor has his way, the two of them will stay apart from the rest of the party for the duration. And that's fine. Honestly, he doesn't feel much like celebrating, himself.

There is a long, long way left to go before they can relax.

He moves a little further in front of Kael, making sure he's well within his line of vision, before offering his hand, as if for an armclasp. He's hoping touch, connection, will be reassuring, while being keenly aware just grabbing the drow is a terrible idea. "Hold my hand for a moment. See if that soothes at all."

"You're in pain frequently, aren't you? Gale mentioned you have headaches on the regular. It's hard to know if that sort of thing is tension, old wounds making themselves known, or some other kind of ailment." Presumably not the tadpoles, no one else complains of pain, only the squirming which sounds equally godawful to Zevlor.

[unspooling]

It seems as though it should feel more strange that 'frequently' in his case is a trivial amount of time. How can he verify how frequently his head has been hurting him when he feels as though the yawning blankness of a life lived before the nautiloid is inaccessible to him? He knows it happened, but it could as well be somebody else's life for how connected to it he feels. For all he knows, he could be prone to headaches and has been since he was small.

The offer of a hand cuts through that particular tangle of thoughts, eyes dropping and focus fixing on the physical urge to meet that offer. Firm but not forceful, the thick meat of his forearm bumps up alongside Zevlor's as he clasps the tiefling's arm. Eyes flick up to meet that radiant gaze. He feels--

"Better?" No, not better. Not exactly. There's relief, but it's more than that. The contact leaves his fingers gripping in a way that suggests pressure. Pressure that feels good against his fingertips.

"The headaches come and go," he finally says not loosening his grip as he speaks but instead his fingers squeeze testingly, as if inspecting the integrity of the tiefling's arm by touch alone. "Sometimes they are... debilitating enough that I must remove myself from my current situation. Other times they pass as though a fleeting visitor. I... don't think my friends know what to make of it. I don't know what to make of it."

[hellrider]

It's a strong grip from the start, but Zevlor expected that. This man is one of the biggest he's seen. He rivals Halsin, but there's a stark difference in the way they move, the way they interact with the world around them that makes Kael seem like a walking threat, while Halsin is more like an immense tree, or a sleepy bear, a part of nature. Kael stands out, like he's not meant to be a part of the world he's in. There's somewhere else, somewhere dark and jagged and red, that he belongs to.

But he's not there now, and his actions have always been reasonable, even kind, towards Zevlor and his kin, and so he ignores the primal unease and just lets him hold on.

"Often, when someone is getting lost in their own head, it helps for them to interact with their surroundings on a basic, sensory level. Feel the earth under your feet, how your toes fit into your boots. Listen to the leaves rustle, breathe in the air, feel how it's cool when you inhale and then warms up inside your lungs. Smell the woodsmoke from the bonfire."

"It doesn't always work, but it's a distraction that can help calm you."

He feels the squeeze to his arm. He's wearing splint mail, but his bracers are mostly leather. It occurs to him that he's put himself in danger of having his arm broken, which is a wild thought to have in a quiet conversation by the water. His own grip tightens, as if to meet a subtle challenge, and the tips of his claws press against Kael's sleeve, as if to remind the both of them they're there. But he doesn't let go or back away, and his expression remains calm, fearless.

"If it were muscle pain, I'd recommend compresses or massage, but I'm not sure that will work for your head. I'm afraid you're a mystery that will take time to unravel, my friend."