Residual (Chapter Twenty-One)
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mindcrackloveNot a lot happens in this chapter- it's sort of a break from the past bunch that have been pretty intense and heavy. It's long, though- the longest so far, at 3084 words. Woops.
Chapter list: http://tanadin.dreamwidth.org/382.html
Map of the continent: http://tanadin.deviantart.com/art/Monstrous-Residual-map-526465833
Character status spreadsheet: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1yvK6D0XzgjhMNjblFFQaAeJ7JkzdidaLJux1S8qsSUA/edit#gid=1227692709
Chapter Twenty-One
Kingdom of Traz’madar, Minecraftia. September 29, year 373. Time instance 483Z.
Blame stared, then blinked in confusion a couple of times.
“Wh…what? Who are you?” You look like Vechs, and yet, not like Vechs. He lacked most of Vechs’s defining features of his appearance: the goggles, the helmet, the toolbelt, and yet…
“A future-doomed-timeline version of Vechs Davion. I’m from six years in the future- a future that you will never see nor experience. If I had not intervened three days ago, Aureylian would have died from Saltar’vesque’s attack. Etho would have died from the poison half an hour later, and you would have lingered for several days longer before succumbing yourself. Others would have died in the attack, leaving only seventeen Mindcrackers alive. The group would have broken and demoralized over the course of the next year, leaving only Vechs alone to survive and suffer for five more long, hellish years.”
Blame looked into the dull blue eyes of the other man and he believed every word.
“Caught between wanting revenge, the base will to survive, and never wanting to see another sunrise.” the older Vechs growled, more to himself than anything. “Caught between wanting to breathe and wanting to meet that final oblivion. All hope destroyed, by my own creations! Ungrateful mongrels!” He shook his head, as if shaking off his rage. “But I’m not here to rage about my own misfortunes and the deaths I have prevented with interference in the timestream. I’m here to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I haven’t had a decent conversation with anyone in five years, Blame. Because the last conversation I had with you was arguing about my mother. Because…dammit, Blame, I missed you! I missed all of you! You, of all people, should understand that.”
Blame hesitated, and then nodded solemnly. “I do understand that.”
The gray-haired Vechs sighed and sat on the bed, taking the weight off of his iron foot. “It’s hard being the only survivor. It’s hard and no one understands.”
Blame nodded, understanding that feeling perfectly as well. He had been the last survivor of his own people. With a start, he realized that Vechs didn’t consider himself as one of the people of Valtarian or anywhere else- he considered himself a Mindcracker and nothing else, unlike Blame, who was also a Skullblade. Maybe that’s because he had never really belonged anywhere before joining the group. Blame found himself feeling a sudden lance of guilt at how he had treated Vechs during those first fifty years. Wow. I’m an asshole.
Blame searched for something else to think about and landed on the Bloodshadow.
“I need to see Kurt. And Paul has those starcharts.”
The gray-haired man frowned momentarily before understanding dawned on his face. “I had totally forgotten about that. The Bloodshadow never rose much higher than it did that first night, so it’s gonna be a damn long time.”
“I still want to-“
“Yes, yes, we’ll get them in here. At least let them heal.”
Blame frowned. “Heal? From what? What was it you saved Aureylian from, anyway?”
“Three days ago, Saltar’vesque attacked. The Mindcrackers battled him, and he was run off when I appeared and sliced off his hand. There were no casualties, at least not so far, but everyone except Doc and Nebris are injured- they did not fight. I brought the antidote to Zyr’s poison and cured both you and Etho. You are clearly on the mend, but I don’t know about Etho. He had only minutes to live when I got to him. I don’t know if he’ll be strong enough to recover- all I know is that it is unlikely that he will emerge unscathed.”
Blame felt chilled, knowing how close to death he had come.
Again.
“Where’s Pak?”
“Resting. He wanted to stay with you but we insisted that he rest elsewhere. He’s worried about you, you know. Who’s Varion?”
Blame’s blood ran even colder. “H-how-“
“Pak muttered something about you thinking about someone named Varion. Who-“
“He’s not important.”
“He’s clearly important.”
Blame glared at him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Got it?”
The gray-haired Vechs shrugged a little. “Suit yourself.”
They fell silent then, waiting for the other to speak while never doing so themselves. Blame found himself wondering how the man had managed to lose his left leg and two fingers as well as how he got that scar on his face. He knew better than to ask, however.
Eventually the man stood. “I should let you rest. You have a lot of recovering to do.” He moved to leave, but Blame stopped him.
“Wait, V- uh. Just. Just wait.” Blame hesitated, not sure what to call him. “I have a question, before…before you go.”
The gray-haired man looked back at him. “Yes?”
“What…why the dragon foot?”
He grinned in a familiar wolfish expression. “I wanted a way to defend myself with my feet, and when I lost one, I figured putting some claws in would be a good idea. I went a bit overboard. Carved it with your sword.” He hesitated, then patted the blade hanging at his hip. “I…I hope you don’t mind that I took it. When you died. It changed colors, though, and the runes on the side vanished.”
Blame sat up straighter. “It changed color?”
The other Vechs drew the sword, showing off its dark red color. “I don’t know why.”
Blame frowned. “That’s…weird. I don’t know why it would do that.”
“Perhaps its previous name didn’t fit it anymore.” He sheathed the sword, shrugging a little. “I’ll let you rest now.”
“Alright. See you around, uh…what do I call you? It’s going to get confusing having two Vechses.”
He considered that for a moment, and then the expression broke through again.
“Iirkolav.” And then he was gone.
~~~
“Vex.” Nebris mumbled, annoyed. “He named himself ‘Vex’ in Dranonic.”
Blame shook his head, trying to keep in laughter. Of course he would do that. Why wouldn’t he?
An unstoppable sense of humor, albeit somewhat warped.
It was now September thirtieth, the day after Blame had initially awoken. He had awoken this time with a lot more energy and had insisted upon leaving his room. He had tried to walk himself, but quickly admitted that his leg wasn’t up to walking and let Pak help him to sit with Nebris by Etho. Paul and Kurt were too injured and not determined enough to bother- they were less used to gritting their teeth through agonizing pain, and the antidote had mostly taken care of him anyway.
He chose to sit with Nebris because he was the only one other than Doc that wasn’t injured and/or shellshocked, like Vechs and Aureylian were. He also wanted to check on Etho, and had figured that Nebris wasn’t bad company anyway. Pak stuck with him as well despite his injuries, worried about the mental state of his friend.
“What do you think of him?” Blame asked after a few minutes.
“Iirkolav?”
“Yeah.”
Nebris shrugged a little. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t distrust him…I mean…he saved our lives. Yours, Etho’s, Aureylian’s…”
“Apparently only seventeen survived the battle in his timeline.”
“He saved a lot of us, then.” Nebris sighed. “I feel kinda bad for the guy. You just need to look at him to know he’s been through a lot. More than most of us have been through.”
Pak exchanged a glance with Blame. From what Blame had told him about both Iirkolav and himself, he figured that Blame could give the gray-haired Vechs a run for his money.
“I wonder if he’s totally sane.” Blame mused quietly. “I know that it’s hard to hang on when you’re put through that much. If-“
He got no further, as Nebris gasped quietly, interrupting him.
“He moved.” Nebris whispered, looking at Etho.
Etho had indeed shifted a little in his sleep, tugging the blanket up a little. He sighed quietly but didn’t awaken.
Nebris reached out and put his hand on one of Etho’s. He didn’t get a reaction, but he did smile a little.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Pak asked quietly.
“I hope so.” Blame crossed his arms. “I really hope so.”
~~~
Vechs had not had a good four days.
He had been shaken and had been thrown into a vortex of paranoia, worry, and confusion. He had been incapable of sleeping except for brief snatches of rest that were interrupted by horrendous nightmares. They had been especially bad the first night, during which he had awoken screaming. He hadn’t done so since, but still often awoke with a jerk, breathing heavily. He always had to resist the overwhelming temptation to get out of bed and cross the room to the bed across from his to check on Aureylian. He told himself she was alright, but took a very long time getting back to sleep each time.
He had finally admitted this to her on the third day- one of the few things he had said at all since the fight with Saltar’vesque- and she had informed him that she had had trouble sleeping as well. They had huddled together that third and the following fourth night, finding it easier to go back to sleep when they could immediately reassure themselves that the other was okay.
Nightmares perhaps sent by Saltar’vesque and Specterveil- they of nightmares and lack of sleep.
Paul noticed this and made a mental note to bother Blame later- there was no way that Blame was weaseling out of giving him those emeralds. It was October first and it hadn’t yet been a full month. There was no way this meant nothing- Paul, of course, didn’t know about the nightmares.
Paul’s thoughts on this were interrupted by the step clank sound of Iirkolav’s footsteps through the room. He sat up a little more and pushed the curtain out of the way so he could see what was going on.
Iirkolav had stood up from the chair he had been sitting in previously, writing something, and was now approaching where Paul knew Aureylian and Vechs were huddled. The gray-haired man raised his mangled hand in a silent greeting to the older man as he walked, reverting his attention to his original goal. Paul frowned slightly as he watched how the man walked. He hadn’t noticed previously, but Iirkolav walked almost like he was limping. Due to the fact that his left foot couldn’t actually move, he couldn’t take a full stride with his right foot and let it take his weight at that angle- thus making shorter steps and a more lopsided walk pattern. Paul predicted, likely correctly, that Iirkolav couldn’t move very quickly at the best of times and then found himself wondering how he had moved so quickly on the battlefield. He shrugged it off as Norazdomu’s interference and let it be.
Iirkolav moved aside the curtain around the bed he had been clanking to and found both Aureylian and Vechs asleep- not surprising, as it was early in the morning. He sighed quietly before putting his right hand on Vechs’s shoulder and shaking slightly.
Vechs awoke immediately, jerking and instinctively shifting slightly as if to protect Aureylian. He relaxed when he saw who it was, but he looked both confused and annoyed at being awoken.
“I hate to disrupt the slumber party, but I need to talk to you.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Vechs sighed and got up, apologizing quietly to the half-asleep and confused Aureylian. He and his older counterpart left the room together, Iirkolav leading the way. He cursed when they reached the stairs, grumbling something about needing to make a better system.
“I’ll help.” Vechs moved to his left side and supported Iirkolav there, helping him down the stairs by taking the weight off of his unstable left foot.
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“Anytime.” Vechs followed Iirkolav into the meeting room, which, this early in the morning (it was around seven) was empty. Iirkolav indicated for Vechs to sit in his seat, taking Blame’s chair beside him.
“You need to talk to Aureylian.” were the first words out of Iirkolav’s mouth.
“I know, I know. Don’t remind me.”
“Soon. Very soon.”
“Why?”
“If you don’t, you may regret not doing so.”
“But what if-“
“Vechs, step back and look at the damn situation from literally anyone else’s point of view. There is pretty much zero chance of her being freaked out. Very small chance of any kind of rejection at all. It will be better in the long run if you talk to her. I spent six years wishing that I had said something before that final battle. Maybe it would have changed something. Maybe not. I don’t know, and I likely won’t ever know. What ifs will get you nowhere. Got it?”
Vechs hesitated before nodding, more than a little confused still. “Was that all you wanted to talk about?”
“No. There’s more.” Iirkolav drew his sword and held it across his hands for Vechs to look at. “What do you see?”
“I see a sword. It looks like Blame’s, but red.”
“Yes. Notice anything missing?”
Vechs looked it over and almost said no, before realizing that there was indeed something missing.
“The runes. There are usually runes on the side of the blade. They’re gone.”
“Right. Any idea why?”
“No. Why is it red?”
“I don’t know either. If you ever get any idea, let me know.” He sheathed the blade. “Just to make sure you know: this is not an ordinary weapon. You’ve seen how sharp it is. You’ve seen how it cut right through the Hostiles. It’s tough and I carved solid iron with it without too much difficulty- the only drawbacks were that it wasn’t made for that and I’m sort of missing two fingers.” He tapped his iron foot against the floor.
“I suspect that it’s made from one of Vallor’roth’s bones, fangs, claws, spines, something along those lines. I’m going to hazard a guess and say it’s a cutting from either a claw or his tailend. This is a piece of one of the fourteen creators of the world- and yes, there are fourteen, the ancient Skullblades did record them all. Although the lack of names is highly annoying. I also suspect that Blame’s mask is not made from the bones of a valk’vanor. I think it was cut from Vallor’roth’s bones as well. I’ve heard that some Skullblades obtain masks carved from him or his mate. I don’t know why, and dammit, I don’t remember her name. Somehow she didn’t seem all that important when I heard it the first time.”
Vechs blinked. “How did you figure all of this out?”
“Guessing, talking to dragons, and a lot of interesting conversations with my mother. By the way, if you ever get a chance, talk to Skera. She’s a very interesting person with quite a tale to tell, one that I’m pretty sure she never told me entirely. Don’t ask me for it- it’s not mine to give and I can’t tell it as well as she can anyway. She’s also incredibly helpful and alchemy is a lot more useful than you think it is.”
“Alchemy is pretty useful.”
“And don’t forget about your damn bow. Kaen no Mai is a damn good weapon and kicks ass.”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, right. You haven’t named it yet. Well, that’s what you end up naming it.”
“Why?”
“That was five years ago, hell if I remember.”
Dancing flame, if memory serves.
They were quiet for a few moments, before Vechs asked a question.
“Why the filed teeth?”
“Ahhh, right.” Iirkolav ran his tongue over his sharpened teeth. “I got tied up at some point and I had a damn hard time freeing myself. After that I figured it would be useful to have a weapon on my face. I can bite right through rope now. I wasn’t too concerned about long-term decisions or petty things like dental hygiene.”
“Don’t you bite your tongue all the time though?”
Iirkolav made a face. “Yeah. Yeah, I didn’t really think that through too well.”
“Apparently not. What about the gray hair? You said it had only been six years?”
Iirkolav glared at him. “You know, surprisingly, I was under a lot of stress over those six years and stress tends to age you faster.”
“But you don’t look-“
“And when your mother is an alchemist and you drink a lot of healing potions, it does weird things to your aging and body systems. It was seriously unhealthy to drink that many potions but, once again, I wasn’t too concerned about long-term effects. I’m probably going to suffer from heart failure or something in the next twelve years.” He barked with laughter. “I probably won’t live out the month. Why bother? I’m here and I’m staying alive only long enough to do as much good as I can here.”
Vechs frowned a little. “How can you be reduced to this?”
Iirkolav sighed, dull blue eyes meeting the brighter blue of his counterpart’s. “I’ve seen worse than hell. I’ve been through everything the world has to throw at me. I don’t know why I haven’t completely lost my mind. We Davions are rather prone to insanity, did you know that? Every single one other than both Vechses and Skera have lost their damn minds. Kaltaerion and others fell apart at so much less than what I’ve been through- hell, what just you’ve been through. What’s up with that, huh?”
Vechs’s eyes narrowed. “Insanity?”
“Yep.”
“Great. Wonderful. Something else to look forward to.”
“Hey, I’ll lose it before you do.”
“Fair enough.” Vechs reached out and took Iirkolav’s right hand, shaking it. “I don’t know how you managed to get through all of that.”
Iirkolav sighed. “I’m not sure that I did.” He stood, Vechs following.
“You can head back to Aureylian. Get some more sleep. Talk to her later.” Vechs nodded and walked back towards the stairs, but heard Iirkolav’s parting mumble.
“We’ll need to ask Zisteau to make another separate room when he feels up to it.”
Vechs turned red and almost turned around to protest, but decided it wasn’t worth it- it was useless for a third party to argue with Vechs, and he figured it would be useless to argue with another version of him.
He did plan, however, to get him back for it.
How, he had no idea.
He’d figure something out, though.
Chapter list: http://tanadin.dreamwidth.org/382.html
Map of the continent: http://tanadin.deviantart.com/art/Monstrous-Residual-map-526465833
Character status spreadsheet: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1yvK6D0XzgjhMNjblFFQaAeJ7JkzdidaLJux1S8qsSUA/edit#gid=1227692709
Chapter Twenty-One
Kingdom of Traz’madar, Minecraftia. September 29, year 373. Time instance 483Z.
Blame stared, then blinked in confusion a couple of times.
“Wh…what? Who are you?” You look like Vechs, and yet, not like Vechs. He lacked most of Vechs’s defining features of his appearance: the goggles, the helmet, the toolbelt, and yet…
“A future-doomed-timeline version of Vechs Davion. I’m from six years in the future- a future that you will never see nor experience. If I had not intervened three days ago, Aureylian would have died from Saltar’vesque’s attack. Etho would have died from the poison half an hour later, and you would have lingered for several days longer before succumbing yourself. Others would have died in the attack, leaving only seventeen Mindcrackers alive. The group would have broken and demoralized over the course of the next year, leaving only Vechs alone to survive and suffer for five more long, hellish years.”
Blame looked into the dull blue eyes of the other man and he believed every word.
“Caught between wanting revenge, the base will to survive, and never wanting to see another sunrise.” the older Vechs growled, more to himself than anything. “Caught between wanting to breathe and wanting to meet that final oblivion. All hope destroyed, by my own creations! Ungrateful mongrels!” He shook his head, as if shaking off his rage. “But I’m not here to rage about my own misfortunes and the deaths I have prevented with interference in the timestream. I’m here to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I haven’t had a decent conversation with anyone in five years, Blame. Because the last conversation I had with you was arguing about my mother. Because…dammit, Blame, I missed you! I missed all of you! You, of all people, should understand that.”
Blame hesitated, and then nodded solemnly. “I do understand that.”
The gray-haired Vechs sighed and sat on the bed, taking the weight off of his iron foot. “It’s hard being the only survivor. It’s hard and no one understands.”
Blame nodded, understanding that feeling perfectly as well. He had been the last survivor of his own people. With a start, he realized that Vechs didn’t consider himself as one of the people of Valtarian or anywhere else- he considered himself a Mindcracker and nothing else, unlike Blame, who was also a Skullblade. Maybe that’s because he had never really belonged anywhere before joining the group. Blame found himself feeling a sudden lance of guilt at how he had treated Vechs during those first fifty years. Wow. I’m an asshole.
Blame searched for something else to think about and landed on the Bloodshadow.
“I need to see Kurt. And Paul has those starcharts.”
The gray-haired man frowned momentarily before understanding dawned on his face. “I had totally forgotten about that. The Bloodshadow never rose much higher than it did that first night, so it’s gonna be a damn long time.”
“I still want to-“
“Yes, yes, we’ll get them in here. At least let them heal.”
Blame frowned. “Heal? From what? What was it you saved Aureylian from, anyway?”
“Three days ago, Saltar’vesque attacked. The Mindcrackers battled him, and he was run off when I appeared and sliced off his hand. There were no casualties, at least not so far, but everyone except Doc and Nebris are injured- they did not fight. I brought the antidote to Zyr’s poison and cured both you and Etho. You are clearly on the mend, but I don’t know about Etho. He had only minutes to live when I got to him. I don’t know if he’ll be strong enough to recover- all I know is that it is unlikely that he will emerge unscathed.”
Blame felt chilled, knowing how close to death he had come.
Again.
“Where’s Pak?”
“Resting. He wanted to stay with you but we insisted that he rest elsewhere. He’s worried about you, you know. Who’s Varion?”
Blame’s blood ran even colder. “H-how-“
“Pak muttered something about you thinking about someone named Varion. Who-“
“He’s not important.”
“He’s clearly important.”
Blame glared at him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Got it?”
The gray-haired Vechs shrugged a little. “Suit yourself.”
They fell silent then, waiting for the other to speak while never doing so themselves. Blame found himself wondering how the man had managed to lose his left leg and two fingers as well as how he got that scar on his face. He knew better than to ask, however.
Eventually the man stood. “I should let you rest. You have a lot of recovering to do.” He moved to leave, but Blame stopped him.
“Wait, V- uh. Just. Just wait.” Blame hesitated, not sure what to call him. “I have a question, before…before you go.”
The gray-haired man looked back at him. “Yes?”
“What…why the dragon foot?”
He grinned in a familiar wolfish expression. “I wanted a way to defend myself with my feet, and when I lost one, I figured putting some claws in would be a good idea. I went a bit overboard. Carved it with your sword.” He hesitated, then patted the blade hanging at his hip. “I…I hope you don’t mind that I took it. When you died. It changed colors, though, and the runes on the side vanished.”
Blame sat up straighter. “It changed color?”
The other Vechs drew the sword, showing off its dark red color. “I don’t know why.”
Blame frowned. “That’s…weird. I don’t know why it would do that.”
“Perhaps its previous name didn’t fit it anymore.” He sheathed the sword, shrugging a little. “I’ll let you rest now.”
“Alright. See you around, uh…what do I call you? It’s going to get confusing having two Vechses.”
He considered that for a moment, and then the expression broke through again.
“Iirkolav.” And then he was gone.
~~~
“Vex.” Nebris mumbled, annoyed. “He named himself ‘Vex’ in Dranonic.”
Blame shook his head, trying to keep in laughter. Of course he would do that. Why wouldn’t he?
An unstoppable sense of humor, albeit somewhat warped.
It was now September thirtieth, the day after Blame had initially awoken. He had awoken this time with a lot more energy and had insisted upon leaving his room. He had tried to walk himself, but quickly admitted that his leg wasn’t up to walking and let Pak help him to sit with Nebris by Etho. Paul and Kurt were too injured and not determined enough to bother- they were less used to gritting their teeth through agonizing pain, and the antidote had mostly taken care of him anyway.
He chose to sit with Nebris because he was the only one other than Doc that wasn’t injured and/or shellshocked, like Vechs and Aureylian were. He also wanted to check on Etho, and had figured that Nebris wasn’t bad company anyway. Pak stuck with him as well despite his injuries, worried about the mental state of his friend.
“What do you think of him?” Blame asked after a few minutes.
“Iirkolav?”
“Yeah.”
Nebris shrugged a little. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t distrust him…I mean…he saved our lives. Yours, Etho’s, Aureylian’s…”
“Apparently only seventeen survived the battle in his timeline.”
“He saved a lot of us, then.” Nebris sighed. “I feel kinda bad for the guy. You just need to look at him to know he’s been through a lot. More than most of us have been through.”
Pak exchanged a glance with Blame. From what Blame had told him about both Iirkolav and himself, he figured that Blame could give the gray-haired Vechs a run for his money.
“I wonder if he’s totally sane.” Blame mused quietly. “I know that it’s hard to hang on when you’re put through that much. If-“
He got no further, as Nebris gasped quietly, interrupting him.
“He moved.” Nebris whispered, looking at Etho.
Etho had indeed shifted a little in his sleep, tugging the blanket up a little. He sighed quietly but didn’t awaken.
Nebris reached out and put his hand on one of Etho’s. He didn’t get a reaction, but he did smile a little.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Pak asked quietly.
“I hope so.” Blame crossed his arms. “I really hope so.”
~~~
Vechs had not had a good four days.
He had been shaken and had been thrown into a vortex of paranoia, worry, and confusion. He had been incapable of sleeping except for brief snatches of rest that were interrupted by horrendous nightmares. They had been especially bad the first night, during which he had awoken screaming. He hadn’t done so since, but still often awoke with a jerk, breathing heavily. He always had to resist the overwhelming temptation to get out of bed and cross the room to the bed across from his to check on Aureylian. He told himself she was alright, but took a very long time getting back to sleep each time.
He had finally admitted this to her on the third day- one of the few things he had said at all since the fight with Saltar’vesque- and she had informed him that she had had trouble sleeping as well. They had huddled together that third and the following fourth night, finding it easier to go back to sleep when they could immediately reassure themselves that the other was okay.
Nightmares perhaps sent by Saltar’vesque and Specterveil- they of nightmares and lack of sleep.
Paul noticed this and made a mental note to bother Blame later- there was no way that Blame was weaseling out of giving him those emeralds. It was October first and it hadn’t yet been a full month. There was no way this meant nothing- Paul, of course, didn’t know about the nightmares.
Paul’s thoughts on this were interrupted by the step clank sound of Iirkolav’s footsteps through the room. He sat up a little more and pushed the curtain out of the way so he could see what was going on.
Iirkolav had stood up from the chair he had been sitting in previously, writing something, and was now approaching where Paul knew Aureylian and Vechs were huddled. The gray-haired man raised his mangled hand in a silent greeting to the older man as he walked, reverting his attention to his original goal. Paul frowned slightly as he watched how the man walked. He hadn’t noticed previously, but Iirkolav walked almost like he was limping. Due to the fact that his left foot couldn’t actually move, he couldn’t take a full stride with his right foot and let it take his weight at that angle- thus making shorter steps and a more lopsided walk pattern. Paul predicted, likely correctly, that Iirkolav couldn’t move very quickly at the best of times and then found himself wondering how he had moved so quickly on the battlefield. He shrugged it off as Norazdomu’s interference and let it be.
Iirkolav moved aside the curtain around the bed he had been clanking to and found both Aureylian and Vechs asleep- not surprising, as it was early in the morning. He sighed quietly before putting his right hand on Vechs’s shoulder and shaking slightly.
Vechs awoke immediately, jerking and instinctively shifting slightly as if to protect Aureylian. He relaxed when he saw who it was, but he looked both confused and annoyed at being awoken.
“I hate to disrupt the slumber party, but I need to talk to you.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Vechs sighed and got up, apologizing quietly to the half-asleep and confused Aureylian. He and his older counterpart left the room together, Iirkolav leading the way. He cursed when they reached the stairs, grumbling something about needing to make a better system.
“I’ll help.” Vechs moved to his left side and supported Iirkolav there, helping him down the stairs by taking the weight off of his unstable left foot.
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“Anytime.” Vechs followed Iirkolav into the meeting room, which, this early in the morning (it was around seven) was empty. Iirkolav indicated for Vechs to sit in his seat, taking Blame’s chair beside him.
“You need to talk to Aureylian.” were the first words out of Iirkolav’s mouth.
“I know, I know. Don’t remind me.”
“Soon. Very soon.”
“Why?”
“If you don’t, you may regret not doing so.”
“But what if-“
“Vechs, step back and look at the damn situation from literally anyone else’s point of view. There is pretty much zero chance of her being freaked out. Very small chance of any kind of rejection at all. It will be better in the long run if you talk to her. I spent six years wishing that I had said something before that final battle. Maybe it would have changed something. Maybe not. I don’t know, and I likely won’t ever know. What ifs will get you nowhere. Got it?”
Vechs hesitated before nodding, more than a little confused still. “Was that all you wanted to talk about?”
“No. There’s more.” Iirkolav drew his sword and held it across his hands for Vechs to look at. “What do you see?”
“I see a sword. It looks like Blame’s, but red.”
“Yes. Notice anything missing?”
Vechs looked it over and almost said no, before realizing that there was indeed something missing.
“The runes. There are usually runes on the side of the blade. They’re gone.”
“Right. Any idea why?”
“No. Why is it red?”
“I don’t know either. If you ever get any idea, let me know.” He sheathed the blade. “Just to make sure you know: this is not an ordinary weapon. You’ve seen how sharp it is. You’ve seen how it cut right through the Hostiles. It’s tough and I carved solid iron with it without too much difficulty- the only drawbacks were that it wasn’t made for that and I’m sort of missing two fingers.” He tapped his iron foot against the floor.
“I suspect that it’s made from one of Vallor’roth’s bones, fangs, claws, spines, something along those lines. I’m going to hazard a guess and say it’s a cutting from either a claw or his tailend. This is a piece of one of the fourteen creators of the world- and yes, there are fourteen, the ancient Skullblades did record them all. Although the lack of names is highly annoying. I also suspect that Blame’s mask is not made from the bones of a valk’vanor. I think it was cut from Vallor’roth’s bones as well. I’ve heard that some Skullblades obtain masks carved from him or his mate. I don’t know why, and dammit, I don’t remember her name. Somehow she didn’t seem all that important when I heard it the first time.”
Vechs blinked. “How did you figure all of this out?”
“Guessing, talking to dragons, and a lot of interesting conversations with my mother. By the way, if you ever get a chance, talk to Skera. She’s a very interesting person with quite a tale to tell, one that I’m pretty sure she never told me entirely. Don’t ask me for it- it’s not mine to give and I can’t tell it as well as she can anyway. She’s also incredibly helpful and alchemy is a lot more useful than you think it is.”
“Alchemy is pretty useful.”
“And don’t forget about your damn bow. Kaen no Mai is a damn good weapon and kicks ass.”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, right. You haven’t named it yet. Well, that’s what you end up naming it.”
“Why?”
“That was five years ago, hell if I remember.”
Dancing flame, if memory serves.
They were quiet for a few moments, before Vechs asked a question.
“Why the filed teeth?”
“Ahhh, right.” Iirkolav ran his tongue over his sharpened teeth. “I got tied up at some point and I had a damn hard time freeing myself. After that I figured it would be useful to have a weapon on my face. I can bite right through rope now. I wasn’t too concerned about long-term decisions or petty things like dental hygiene.”
“Don’t you bite your tongue all the time though?”
Iirkolav made a face. “Yeah. Yeah, I didn’t really think that through too well.”
“Apparently not. What about the gray hair? You said it had only been six years?”
Iirkolav glared at him. “You know, surprisingly, I was under a lot of stress over those six years and stress tends to age you faster.”
“But you don’t look-“
“And when your mother is an alchemist and you drink a lot of healing potions, it does weird things to your aging and body systems. It was seriously unhealthy to drink that many potions but, once again, I wasn’t too concerned about long-term effects. I’m probably going to suffer from heart failure or something in the next twelve years.” He barked with laughter. “I probably won’t live out the month. Why bother? I’m here and I’m staying alive only long enough to do as much good as I can here.”
Vechs frowned a little. “How can you be reduced to this?”
Iirkolav sighed, dull blue eyes meeting the brighter blue of his counterpart’s. “I’ve seen worse than hell. I’ve been through everything the world has to throw at me. I don’t know why I haven’t completely lost my mind. We Davions are rather prone to insanity, did you know that? Every single one other than both Vechses and Skera have lost their damn minds. Kaltaerion and others fell apart at so much less than what I’ve been through- hell, what just you’ve been through. What’s up with that, huh?”
Vechs’s eyes narrowed. “Insanity?”
“Yep.”
“Great. Wonderful. Something else to look forward to.”
“Hey, I’ll lose it before you do.”
“Fair enough.” Vechs reached out and took Iirkolav’s right hand, shaking it. “I don’t know how you managed to get through all of that.”
Iirkolav sighed. “I’m not sure that I did.” He stood, Vechs following.
“You can head back to Aureylian. Get some more sleep. Talk to her later.” Vechs nodded and walked back towards the stairs, but heard Iirkolav’s parting mumble.
“We’ll need to ask Zisteau to make another separate room when he feels up to it.”
Vechs turned red and almost turned around to protest, but decided it wasn’t worth it- it was useless for a third party to argue with Vechs, and he figured it would be useless to argue with another version of him.
He did plan, however, to get him back for it.
How, he had no idea.
He’d figure something out, though.
