mindcracklove | Residual (Chapter Forty)

Another filler chapter, with considerably more ship teasing and some dragon conflict.

However, I suspect that next chapter will be...less than fun. Buckle your seatbelts, everyone, and prepare yourselves for Wednesday.

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 Forty

Kingdom of Traz’madar, Minecraftia. October 20, year 373. Time instance 483Z.

Over the next couple of days, the group figured nothing out but set about preparing themselves for battle. As it turned out, Aureylian had asked Seth to retrieve his cannon from their village while one group went to the desert, and while he had been there some of the other Mindcrackers had retrieved a couple of other things, including materials and weapons.

With the help of the dragons, most of their weapons now carried at least a faint magical enchantment, allowing them to damage the Hostiles even if their enchantments weren’t the best. Many of them just had increased durability or immunity to various types of damage, but it was enough.

Five days.

Despite how much he hated having to deal with how he felt around Iirkolav, Blame found himself remaining in the presence of the man a lot more than he wanted to admit. He was comforting, in a way; Blame felt like they’d get through it as long as he stuck with Iirkolav.

…Which was stupid. But at least it helped abate his fears.

Iirkolav, on the other hand, was getting more and more jumpy the closer it got to the twenty-fifth. He knew what the Hostiles were capable of, and they were stronger than ever now. It didn’t help that no one had seen any of the Hostiles since the desert; it was clear that they were preparing themselves just as the Mindcrackers were.

Skera had been making healing potions around the clock, with the help of Aureylian and Vechs. Blame wasn’t made aware of this until Aureylian bumped right into him, carrying a sack of potions.

“Oh, hey, Blame! I’ve been looking for you.” She handed him the sack. “There’s a half dozen healing potions in there. If you could hand three of those to Iirkolav and keep three for yourself, that would be fantastic.”

Blame gave her an odd look. “Where did you get these?”

“Vechs and I have been helping Skera with making them. She wants to have three for everyone.”

“That’s a lot of potions.”

“Yep. I should get back. If you know anyone willing to help, send them over. We’re set up in our room.” Aureylian waved and left, moving quickly.

Blame looked down at the potions again and shook his head. Why hadn’t he remembered that they had an alchemist? He went to find Iirkolav at his table and handed him three potions.

“Where did these come from?”

“Your mother.” Blame sat down. “Working on anything I can see?”

Iirkolav shook his head and hid the paper. “You’re really inconvenient, you know.” he complained. “I can’t get anything done with you here.”

Blame moved to leave but Iirkolav stopped him. “No, don’t, it’s okay. Honestly I can work on it later. You…you help me not freak out over the Hostiles.”

Blame shot him an odd look. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Iirkolav admitted. “But I feel better when talking to you.”

Blame understood the feeling, but pretended not to.

~~~

Three days.

“I’m thinking of leaving.” Qadran hissed quietly to Mokdal as they sat by the entrance to the mountain, standing guard. “I don’t want to involve myself in this. I regret letting you bring me along.”
Mokdal was sick and tired of listening to his cousin whine about this, so he swung his head around to glare at Qadran. “Then leave.” he growled. “I’m staying. Malkorvyss wanted to help these mortals, and I trusted Malkorvyss. Plus, Aoxdorren and Kalzevrah want to help them.”

“They could be wrong.”

“They’re much older and much wiser than we are!” Mokdal flared his wings and stood, fire glowing in the back of his throat. “I would listen to them over you. You have done nothing but complain since you got here- why did you come along in the first place?”

“I don’t know, honestly! You convinced me somehow and I regret my decision completely!” Qadran shrank back a little, knowing that in a direct confrontation with his cousin, he would lose. He was a couple of years older, but he just wasn’t built for combat like Mokdal was. “I will be returning to the Dragonlands and I think that you should do the same unless you have a death wish!”

Mokdal lashed out at him, claws delivering a shallow slash across Qadran’s shoulder. The older dragon cried out in pain and scrambled backwards, avoiding his cousin’s fiery breath despite his immunity to it.

“Go, then!” Mokdal roared. “It’s your fault that Malkorvyss is dead, and you cannot change my mind about that! You’re a lying, treacherous scumbag and I wish I hadn’t convinced you to come!”

Qadran needed no further invitation to take to the air. He shouted one last scathing comment- “Malkorvyss was trash, and even then, he was too good for you!”- before putting on a burst of speed to the north.

The iron door creaked open and Nebris cautiously peeked out.

“Is everything alright?”

Language barrier.

Mokdal turned to look at him, not having any idea as to what he had said. He had been speaking to Qadran in Dranonic, and his grasp of English was still shaky at best. He knew that the purple-eyed human was at least somewhat familiar with Dranonic, though, so he tried to get a translation from him.

“Liik?”

Nebris racked his brain to remember what that meant, but even when he identified it as ‘what,’ he couldn’t provide an adequate translation. He made a vague motion at Qadran’s retreating shape and repeated the word.
Mokdal provided an explanation, but Nebris could only understand one word in three. Something about Qadran being a coward and a klgaosh, whatever that meant.

Nebris sighed and went back inside, figuring that Qadran wasn’t coming back judging by how angry Mokdal seemed to be and the blood on his claws.

Well, shit.

~~~

Two days.

Iirkolav looked at the small vial that he had obtained from Skera. Inside of it was a tiny amount of Vechs’s potion- enough for two or maybe three transformations. He had insisted upon only taking a small amount, as he was more likely to die in battle and lose the potion than Vechs was- plus he would likely have to pull it out with his left hand, and he was missing two fingers.

Blame looked at it curiously as well, not having had the opportunity to before. The liquid was dark red and really looked like Skera had liquefied one of Vechs’s scales and mixed it with blood before handing it back, claiming it to be a potion.

“What does it feel like?” Blame asked quietly.

“What? Going monstrous?”

“Yeah.”

Iirkolav paused to think about it. “Wonderful.” he admitted. “You feel a lot stronger and a lot more powerful, because you are. You lose some dexterity and you hit your head on things all the time, but it’s more than worth it, especially when you can transform at will…you feel unstoppable and never want to revert to human form.” He sighed. “I hate being stuck like this, sometimes. But it is how it is.”

Iirkolav seemed to be lost in thought, looking at the liquid in the vial. Blame could see years of stress and worry, sadness and grief, carved onto Iirkolav’s face, and wished that there was something he could do to help him. He also privately wondered if his own face carried similar marks- he certainly didn’t have a scar like Iirkolav did- but discarded the thought, supposing that he would never know.

The mask never came off.

His eyes traced Iirkolav’s scar, evaluating how bad the wound had been. It looked like it must have been a major injury due to how obvious the scarring was and how far it went, and he was lucky to not have lost an eye. Blame paused when his eyes reached where the scar vanished into Iirkolav’s shirt, and found himself wondering how far it went.

He immediately kicked himself for the thought, because now he was imagining a shirtless Iirkolav. He shook himself to clear his head, getting Iirkolav’s attention.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Blame answered, a little faster than he had intended.

Iirkolav frowned and pocketed the vial. “No, you’re not. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Blame insisted.

Iirkolav looked him over before standing. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

No. “Sure.” Blame followed him out of the mountain, helping him down the stairs and trying to ignore what being so close to Iirkolav did to his heart.

Blame sighed softly as they left through the iron door, passing Kalzevrah on their way out. He very carefully walked a few feet away from Iirkolav, not wanting to do anything embarrassing. The sound of Iirkolav’s footsteps made his mind ring, though, and he once again wondered why Norazdomu had sent him the sound of Iirkolav’s footsteps.

Was it perhaps a warning that he would end up liking the source of them far too much? Or was it something else? He couldn’t imagine why Norazdomu would care.

He sighed softly as he glanced over at Iirkolav, looking him over.

Okay, maybe there was no denying it any longer. Blame pulled his gaze away, finally allowing himself to accept the fact that he really, really liked Iirkolav.

A lot.

He noticed Iirkolav glance over at him, somewhat worried. He reflected that he would probably need to tell him.

If he didn’t already know. He had known about how Blame felt about Vechs, but that paled in comparison to this. Judging by his lack of comment, however, Blame decided that Iirkolav was ignorant of the fact.

He met Iirkolav’s eyes and barely tried to suppress the flutter he got when the gray-haired Vechs smiled a little at him. Blame’s mouth twitched into a slight smile as well.

He’d talk to him later. For now, this was all he wanted. He didn’t want to ruin it, despite knowing that he had to tell him eventually.

~~~

Blame wondered exactly how he had gotten into this situation. The two of them had been walking for awhile before Iirkolav had complained of his leg bothering him, prompting them to sit down with a boulder to their backs to rest.

Apparently they had both dozed off, as it was now several hours later than Blame remembered it being and Iirkolav was asleep, leaning against both him and the rock. Blame couldn’t exactly say that he minded Iirkolav’s head on his shoulder, but it was certainly a bit of a surprise.

He closed his eyes, not really wanting to move. He was startled about ten minutes later, though, by Iirkolav’s voice.

“You didn’t feel like moving, either?”

Blame jumped. “How long have you been awake?” he demanded.

“About twenty minutes.”

Blame swatted at his shoulder, earning a laugh as Iirkolav sat up. “I woke up like that, honest. I just didn’t want to disturb you by moving.”

Blame wished his mask covered a little more of his face to hide the redness. “I didn’t want to disturb you by moving! Why didn’t you get up when you realized I was awake?”

Iirkolav shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.” He stretched and got to his feet, shaking his left leg. “Let’s head back. Unless you wanted to stay out here?”

Frustrating.

Blame shook his head and got to his feet, leading the way back to the mountain.

Just as he had a few days ago, he mentally cursed himself and Iirkolav, but mostly himself.