@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."

Comments

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."