Event Log: April, Tangled Terrors Part Two

[faileas]

Event Log: April, Tangled Terrors Part Two

Hopefully you and your fellows have prepared yourselves for the trial that comes next, with supplies and backup, because it could be days until you see the city of Aefenglom again. Slashing down the curtain of blackened roots that bar entry to the source of all this trouble will open up access to a truly massive cavern, the ceiling of which is far, far over your heads. Unlike everywhere else in the Underground so far, slats of light from aboveground filter in through cracks in the ceiling of varying sizes, where thick, sickly roots penetrate the surface and reach down, down, down, hanging like stalactites or wrapping around the mass at the center of the chamber. There it is, the pulsing louder than ever, a steady drumbeat of unease: a beating, throbbing mass of Cwyld, easily as large as one of the bigger buildings in Aefenglom. Pitch black in color, it’s attached firmly to the coiling roots of what must be a huge tree above, leeching from it like a parasite and reaching dark vein-like fingers into the leyline. This is an ancient, well-established thing that must have laid dormant for a long time, newly awoken by the efforts to clear away infection in the tunnels close to it. With every beat of this hideous heart, the problems that plague the Underground, Aefenglom, and the Mirrorbound grow incrementally worse. It’s easier to feel out the leyline here, even for those who may not be sensitive to such things, and its poor condition is enough to fill even the stoniest heart with empathetic, deep-rooted despair - the magic here is badly tainted, the land dying all around you.

I. The Screaming Tree It’s possible to climb the winding roots up to the world aboveground, wriggling through the cracks in the earth’s ceiling. The Cwyld is deep-set here, the grass ashen gray and withered, crumbling under your feet, the plants black and twisted into strange shapes or simply dead, collapsing into dusty husks at the slightest brush. The ancient tree before you is just as dead, its branches long bare, its bark crumbling and leaving bone-white patches of the raw wood visible in the trunk. It might have been beautiful once, homey, its roots spread wide and forming natural hollows and bowers to rest in, but that was a long, long time ago. Before something terrible happened here. Look closer at the trunk, and bear witness to the faces of two dozen humanoid creatures who seem like they were partly absorbed into the tree and frozen there, their expressions a tableau of horror, fear, despair, many of their mouths twisted into screams. Men, women, there are even a couple of faces that seem so, so very young, held in place inside the dead tree by black, pulsing veins. Their long limbs are outstretched like branches, as if they’re reaching for you, desperate for help. Black, oily sludge constantly leaks from their unmoving eyes like tainted tears. The Dryads died out a long time ago, fallen to the Cwyld, that’s common knowledge, but now you’re seeing it for yourself. The pulsing mass of Cwyld below overtook this tree, and the Dryads who no doubt lived among its roots and branches. "Can thou feel their cries? The hopelessness wrought deep in their souls?" comes a larger than life voice near you, laden with despair of her own to see the evidence of lives cut tragically short. “I remember this place. It was a Dryad settlement once, long ago.”

II. Guardian's Blessing The source of the voice may be familiar to some: Creia, the guardian dragon of the earth, who was once freed from her own slumber thanks to Mirrorbound efforts; her scales are a vibrant, emerald color, evidence of her better health from her first true meeting with the Mirrorbound as a whole outside the boundaries of Aefenglom, and there's a sense of power in the words she speaks. The power that comes from long life, from an ancient being who has seen and experienced much. "Mine wings bore me as swiftly as they could," she says, settling into a sitting position in the dead grass, watching the tree with immeasurable sadness. "Thou hast seen what lies beneath, have thee not? The Cwyldheart." Her tone is nearer to disdain than sorrow, but there's a clear remorse in it as well. "I had not thought they existed still, but perhaps they merely laid dormant where my senses could not find them. This one poisons the very leyline that runs beneath thine Aefenglom." She goes on to inform all who are gathered that when she heard from you Mirrorbound that something was amiss, she came as quickly as she could to see the damage, and to try and offer her help if she can. Cwyldhearts, she tells you all, are masses where the infection is concentrated, where it has consumed a great amount of magic or lives, and when active, they cause powerful surges in infection all through the leylines they attach to. She wasn’t aware that any remained, and speculates that they hide themselves when they go dormant. This one is most assuredly active, and that means it won’t stop until it has consumed everything it can, turned every life from here to Aefenglom into an infected husk. But Creia, her talons scratching at the dead ground, and her gaze fixed on the tree, does not seem so willing to accept that. "Thou who hath been called by the world, thou hath proven thyselves capable of achieving the improbable before, have thee not? That I stand here now before thee is proof enough of that. Perhaps, should thee take heart and valor in hand, thou may be able to do so once more. Wouldst thou like to try?" In a surge of power, the ground immediately beneath her shifts, the grass changing color slowly from gray to white to green with new life, and she drags her claws through it to turn the earth, revealing large brown seeds shaped like teardrops, the size of footballs or ostrich eggs, nestled in the dirt. Despite their woody outer shells, she’s very careful with them as she offers a seed to anyone who steps forward to take one. "Each of these seeds contains a piece of my magic. Keep them safe, plant them in the center of the Cwyldheart, and add thy power to mine own. Yes, yes, those who are closer in form to myself as well, everyone with a spark of life in them can lend their voice to the chorus of this world. It will amplify thine abilities and thine hope for a better world, and enough of them should allow thee to destroy this blight for good." She casts a glance to the tree, to the frozen faces of the Dryads, something new entering her expression, something like hope. "And who knows what may happen then?" This mission is a dangerous one, but Creia sends off those willing to take it with a warm, heartfelt wish. "Thou must take care of thyselves, but be certain to take care of thy comrades as well. Thou shalt need one another."

III. Heart of Darkness You can’t put it off any longer. With seeds in hand, it’s time to venture back down below, to the pulsing Cwyldheart. The steady thump-thump, thump-thump resonates in your very bones, in the back of your brain that has your instincts screaming at you to run the other way. The twisted knot of blackened roots and veins at the center of the chamber does not welcome visitors, but it’s possible to slip through a gap between the tangles, into a darkness you’ve never known before. Whatever entrance you find closes up the moment you and your fellows step through it, and it becomes obvious quickly that either you will succeed here, or you’ll join those Dryads in the infected tree. Your Watch still works, at least - most of the time. The connection is quite spotty, and voices can come out sounding garbled and nightmarish on both sides, but with persistence, this is the only way you’ll be able to talk to anyone who isn’t on this mission with you. Otherwise, you’ll have to rely on your fellow volunteer heroes to help you through this. a. Inside the Cwyldheart The inside is much larger than the outside would suggest. Once your eyes adjust to the darkness, an easier feat for Monsters than it is for Witches, the true scope of this maze of tangled roots becomes clear. The walls move in and out like they’re breathing around you, some corridors much tighter and others feeling vast. In some, you can walk right side up, while in others, your feet remain on the ‘ground’ but the blood rushes to your head, the actual floor far below you. Time and space take on a dreamlike feeling, and you can’t tell if minutes have passed or hours, can’t tell if you’ve gone feet or miles, but Mirrorbound at least should be able to tell the difference between dreams and reality. This is all very real, and you won’t wake up miraculously fine if you get hurt down here. Negative feelings seem always at the forefront, paranoia and fear especially, filling those who venture here with the sense that they need to watch their backs. The air is thick and stale, damp and reeking of rot. The natural pathways that tunnel through the Cwyldheart like twisting arteries are lined with clusters of purple fungi, and very old, sludge-covered bones of the creatures it infected long ago. They’re rare, but occasionally blind Shades still wander within the chambers of the Cwyldheart, so twisted and mutated you can’t tell what they used to be. These are attracted to sound and motion, and by staying very still, you can generally avoid their attention. Everything in this place gets more dangerous once it gets the scent of those seeds you carry, though. As if sensing what they could do to it, it will react defensively. Protect those seeds; Shades will come after those who carry them, the roots in the walls and the bulbous mushrooms loosening and growing and lashing out. The Cwyld may sink its claws into you in an attempt to infect and consume those seeds - too much contact with the roots or the Shades may start to cause physical mutations in you, just like those mutations of the velvet wormipedes and the native creatures of the tunnels. Your limbs may change and twist, you may grow new blackened protrusions. It's painful, and disgusting, and if it goes too far, you may need to hand your seed off to someone you can trust, lest you sabotage the mission yourself. b. Heart on Your Sleeve As the hours pass within the Cwyldheart, things get… a little weird. Your sense of perception could feel off. It may feel like something is always watching you, like you have to keep looking over your shoulder every few minutes. Or you might feel utterly, utterly alone in the universe, even if someone is standing right next to you. Whatever makes you feel worse, it seems like. But then the strangeness gets more improbable, like the Cwyldheart itself wants to probe at your weaknesses, bring them out to the forefront to better get under your skin and make you lose hope in ever finding the center. All those things that have hurt you in the past, that left their marks on your mind, your soul rather than your body, surface as wounds or scars on your physical form. None of them will be debilitating or life-threatening in themselves, you won’t bleed out from your past broken heart, but they will be painfully obvious to those around you, and some may not handle that type of vulnerability well. The only thing that seems to ease the pain from these psychological wounds is talking about the events that caused them to another person, whether they be your Bonded or a total stranger, or just sharing an emotional connection of some kind. No one wants to discuss some of their worst memories or open up to a near stranger, but it might be necessary to keep yourself from being distracted or held back as you wander the maze of the Cwyldheart. c. A Helping Hand The rampant issues with Witches’ magic, with Bonds, even sometimes with Monsters; abilities, continue even here. With your proximity to the source, they are even stronger - but there is a way to alleviate the effects enough to progress. The land recognizes all bonds, even those that are unofficial, even those that are new. While you can hang on to your Bonded if you’re lucky enough to have them with you, friendships or familial relationships or a budding romance, the heat of a rivalry, or even the new and tenuous bond of two strangers brought together by mutual dangers can be used to your advantage. Physical contact with any of your fellow Mirrorbound, even just clasped hands, or a comforting hand on your shoulder, can make it easier to cast spells to light your way through the dark or fight off the few wandering Shades. It can give you the strength to use your abilities, not quite to their fullest, but better than you can use them alone. It will also help you protect those seeds you hold close to your chest. Your bonds, and your Bonds can help shield their presence from the Cwyldheart, making it safer to proceed. It’d be easy to push people away, especially bearing the physical representations of your deepest emotional hurts, but you’ll never survive that way. You’ll only make it to the center by coming together.

IV. Seeds of Hope In the real world, at least a week has passed before you and your fellows find the center of the Cwyldheart, though it may feel like only hours or it may feel like weeks to you, stuck in a place that ignores the conventions of the real world. The innermost chamber is a small space, tucked away, with sloping walls made of latticed roots littered with holes. This is the only place inside where a thin trickle of light filters down, weak, through a small hole in the ceiling. This chamber is vulnerable, all the strange defenses outside meant to protect it. The soil here is black with infection, but soft, easily dug with your hands or tools if you happened to have brought them. The perfect place to plant your garden of hope for the future of Geardagas. Once you’ve broken through to the innermost chamber, the pulsing seems to fade away, letting you think again, clearly, for the first time since you entered. The walls are still. You’ve made it this far and no more dangers will come for you. Plant the seeds you worked so hard to keep safe in the blackened soil, hold your friends tight, and plant a piece of your own innate magic with them. All your best intentions, all your joys, all your light. Let it bloom. The seeds take root quickly, and bloom they do, growing fast and strong and pulsing with magic, Creia’s bolstering your own to make something bright and brilliant. The resulting plants grow huge in a matter of minutes, twining together in harmony. Maybe you can even tell which seed you have carried, because the plant is a larger version of something significant to you, or it bears colors that represent you. They form a sheltered bower, and spread upward, pushing away the blackened walls, sinking fresh green tendrils into the bigger roots of the dead tree. The Cwyldheart crumbles around you. The black recedes. The leyline fills with fresh magic and pulses with new life. A gentle warmth wraps around you like a blanket and heals your wounds and banishes any infection you picked up. It will keep working over the next few days, the new life sinking in, banishing the Cwyld entirely from the Underground caverns and weakening its hold above. It will gradually bring life again to the ancient tree and make it bloom once more. At this point, you can stick around to watch it happen, or you can return home with the good news, and trust in what you helped to start. With the destruction of the Cwyldheart, all its negative effects will fade. Your Bonds will snap back into place and right themselves from the Dryad Tree clear into Aefenglom. You might feel the phantom ache of that loss for some time more, but the moment it’s destroyed, everyone will know that all will be well.

Welcome to Tangled Terrors, Part Two! This part takes place entirely at the site of the Cwyldheart, but anyone is welcome to do Watch threads on this log to communicate with the group they aren't part of (staying home vs expedition team). We'll be posting a small wrap-up at the very end of the month that will describe the aftermath and the rewards characters will reap for their efforts, but it won't be a full event post of its own. As always, you're welcome to use this log or make your own, and please make sure you warn for any content that might be disturbing to others! And lastly, please direct your questions here. Have fun!

Comments

[faithlikeaseed]

[The big stag gives an audible huff as L slides off his back and leans ever-so-slightly back against his Witch to keep him stable. His ears twitch as he feels Light draw near them, the fur on his neck and shoulders half-raised from protective zeal. Yes, Light is going to help them now; yes, Light had not taken any of the ample opportunities presented in the past to hurt either of them.

But try telling that to the stag's instincts and see how well they took it.]

Linden, [he rumbles, discontent at being triaged ahead of his smaller, frailer Witch. The burns are deep enough to warrant worry, having scorched away the full thickness of his hide to the muscle and fat beneath...and they hurt enough that the protest is only token.]

[worldcleansing]

Arguing with him will only waste time.

[ It's important to know when to indulge L and when to push back. The time spent pushing back in this case would only cost them precious time. Light could have them both healed before L agreed to be treated first. ]

Are your eyes hurt?

[ Under normal circumstances, it might seem like a stupid question, but having Myr's eyes bleed fits into the theme of this place. Until now, he hasn't heard of Myr using his eyes for anything, but he admittedly doesn't know a lot about the faun. ]

If it's fresh, I should try to heal that first before you bleed out. [ If it's not, Light's magic is useless against the bleed. ] If it's the magic of this place, I'll move to your burn first.

[ They're both injured enough that it's not going to be a quick fix-up. Each injury is going to take a decent amount of magic, and Light needs to know what to prioritize. While he may know for L, he hasn't seen Myr enough to know how these caverns have affected him. ]

[hearthebell]

I'm fine,

[Snaps the man who is clearly not fine. He stands aside, letting a nearby boulder take his weight so that Light can better see the burns.

The edges of his eyes tighten at Light's questions, a slight wince.]

The... burns, please.

[It's the magic of this place, and Myr is unlikely to tell Light, at least, what has ailed him in his life's dealings and darkness.

He pushes himself up once he's had a moment to catch his breath, moving around to stand at the stag's shoulder. If he needs a receptacle to whisper into, and heal himself, the detective is all ears, at least... and happens to know more than Myr realizes.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Myr flinches at the inquiry, much more obvious than his Witch; it is a pure relief L is able to answer Light's questions in his stead.

Explaining that there are no eyes under the blindfold to be hurt is not something he has in him right now. In lieu of words (treacherous, difficult words), he nods in emphasis to L's request; just the burns. He won't bleed out any time soon.

He shuffles his hooves, turning side-on toward Light's voice to better bare the awful burns for inspection. He turns his blood-streaked head toward the sound and presence of his Witch, intuiting what L's there for and almost--almost desperate enough to shove his inhibitions entirely aside.

They're stubborn, though, this inhibitions; Light's proximity makes it worse. And...]

I haven't been able to tell anyone, [he murmurs, for his Witch's ear alone. His tone is small and ashamed.] It isn't--it doesn't hurt, [because "it isn't as bad as it looks" is wrong when he knows very well his blindfold and fur are both saturated,] that much.

I thought I could hide. And not explain.

[Not a safe idea in a Cwyldheart, Shivana, and you know it.]

[worldcleansing]

[ That gives him the answer he needs. Light, by nature, is logical. A story or explanation isn't required, not in this instance. Their replies say more than a simple 'it's not fresh' would have told him, though none of the information is especially surprising. It's not fresh, but that was a possibility even when Light asked. He's also sensitive about whatever hides behind the blindfold, or at least how it came to be. Also not shocking; few of them are eager to explain their scars. For now, it was more important to know his health than his history. Since L didn't say "the burns, first', the eyes won't be healed at all and won't make a difference in what's about to happen.

Then, onto the burn. Painful, but at least not bleeding. How deep? Light's no doctor, but he studies what medical texts are available to help supplement his magic under the assumption that the better he can understand what he's doing, the stronger and more accurate his magic will be. It's definitely at least a harsh second-degree burn, perhaps even cross the line from that.

Shaped like hands. That's impossible to miss. ]

You'll have to hold still. Healing burns isn't like closing a cut; there's missing skin. If any part of it feels numb, there might be nerve damage, and when the starts to heal, it's going to hurt, but if you can bear with it, it won't be for long.

Is the person who attacked you nearby?

[ He holds no desire to have a fire monster suddenly ambush them. But, since the answer isn't relevant to healing, there's no reason to delay it any further. Bringing both hands in front of him, both palms hover above the burn and the healing starts. It begins in the deepest depths of the injury and as he'd warned, any damaged nerves that had been blissfully numb would start to hurt as the damage starts to become undone. ]

[hearthebell]

[With Myr's enormous neck and head to L's side, he keeps his eyes oriented forward, away from all of this. Looking away from his two Bonded, for just a moment, gives him a chance to catalogue the events of the last hour, put them in order, examine them in disparate units and in context. They all form some picture, some answer, some meaning, and he's agitated and unsatisfied with it, no matter what he rearranges.]

No shortage of people, who would rather keep wounds than relinquish secrets.

[He's one of them; Light's one of them. So many choosing to nurse their misery because worse misery and exposure awaits them if they breathe a word of what happened to leave that mark on their soul. He rests a hand on Myr's neck, stroking the blood-streaked fur; is he more of a source of stress or comfort, for his Bonded? Is L the one selfishly seeking a grounding touch now to banish the memory of Mello's searing hands on his neck?

At least he knows from experience that Light's touch is gentle. The meticulous young man has always taken great care when handling the damaged flesh of others. They'll need that skill and care, given the current unstable magical climate.

He glances back at Light, continuing to pet Myr's fur in short, quick strokes.]

No... and he won't be.

[Keep him the fuck away from me.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[The Faun breathes out a great sigh as L rests a hand on his neck, a little of his tension seeping out of him. His ears twist back to catch Light's words; they're nothing he hasn't heard before, old hand as he is at magical healing, but it always did to listen to one's healer.]

Dangerous, amatus, [he mutters, to his Witch alone. Even knowing very well L's words were meant as sympathy rather than rebuke, he's taking it as remonstrance because he deserves it. (Craves it, even.) It is more of a risk to keep some secrets than it was to split the misery behind them across those who were able and willing to help.

Or so went the thought. He makes a noise of discomfort as Light's efforts wake dead nerves back to itching, painful life; the skin on his side twitches like he's been bitten, though he's otherwise still as instructed.]

I did this to myself.

[The words are scarcely above a whisper now.]

My--eyes, and what came after.

[worldcleansing]

[ While Light has been able to piece together their relationship over time, it's his first time seeing L comfort another person. It's odd for its rarity, but it doesn't him as roughly as one might expect. Perhaps Light's just adjusted to seeing an overall more human side to L. It's easy to remain cold, distant, and analytical when literally locked away from everything else. Not that that side has left, but it's been tampered by L's ongoing existence in this world, living among the people and being so affected.

Myr's outwardly quiet. While their relationship can hardly be called a relationship, the faun has spoken to him when their paths did cross so even if Myr's judgment is obvious, the polite side of his personality usually wins. Possibly, he's too bothered by what happened to speak, but it's more likely they're speaking to one another through the bond.

Reassuring. Myr considers his decision to keep the secret to himself silly, or at least L thinks he will. L isn't wrong, of course; a lot of people are making the decision to keep the physical reminder of their pasts a secret to keep from sharing.

While the initial heal is painful, Myr should begin to feel an ease not long after as the endings themselves heal further. The replacement of the skin is more advanced and does take longer to manage. ]

Was it an inhabitant, or something down here?

[ As much as Light realizes they're having an internal conversation, he also wants to know the safety of these tunnels. A lot of his attention has to be on the magic to give it the best chance of not going awry. ]

[hearthebell]

[Over the Bond, L speaks soft words of encouragement and nods; he knows, a part of him wants to say that he saw the whole thing... but Myr needs to confide it for his condition to improve at all. L supports that, whether it's by giving form and voice to painful memories, or allowing his arch-nemesis to cause him momentary nerve pain as he heals what L's hand and history basically did, through another.

Such a mess, for one he wants to protect. So many mishaps and pitfalls and dangers. He wonders, idly, if later on when they're in better shape, he'll confide in Myr that he's actually witnessed the event that resulted in the loss of his eyes.]

A mirrorbound witch.

[Better to skip at least a few of the twenty questions, in a game that could otherwise turn tedious.

What he'll say about the situation's personal nature, his targeted instigation and the rage and grief Mello could only feel for his fallen idol, remains to be seen.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Speaking of keeping secrets... He cannot help but listen to the other conversation going on around him, as he struggles with finding the right words to repair his own injuries. L is treading in uncomfortable territory here, something dangerous enough to roust the stag's instincts once more.

Perhaps this isn't the best time to discuss this. (Perhaps there's a relief in that.)]

You won't be able to lead him on forever, Linden.

[worldcleansing]

[ It isn't an instant or even particularly fast process with this degree of injury. It's easier to mend skin than recreate flesh after it's been burnt, but the two subjects Light decided to study in school both taught healing, making him a fast study. Finally, the skin itself begins to heal. It'll feel odd; organic skin isn't actually being created out of nowhere so much as the surrounding skin is growing. Light has to focus; he can be petty and immature, but he isn't someone who hurts for hurting sake so his goal isn't to mess up the wound. ]

But you're sure he won't attack again. Did you kill him, or is his reason for attacking gone?

[ The 'why' isn't necessarily as important as assuring they were safe. Magic isn't stable yet. If there's an attack and Light's caught off guard, he can't promise nothing will happen. ]

[hearthebell]

[The diversion of asking Myr to lay some of his pain in his hands was, it turns out, at least a little bit selfish. Mello is at the center of this, and Mello won't be laid so easily by the wayside when the two of them have come to Light for urgent healing.

Myr's right, as he often is. Myr says the things that L's first impulse is to fight or deny, but can't because he trusts the source, knows the truth at the heart of it himself even if it's inconvenient.]

In the altercation, Myr and I prevailed.

[Light might notice that L's magic is still silenced, near the end of the spell's duration. It's the reason Mello isn't dead, truly, and that's probably the most disquieting part of all of this for the detective.]

He's not stupid... he knows that under the same circumstances... the same results are likely.

[faithlikeaseed]

[Myr wishes he weren't right quite so often as he is, but it's neither here nor there. What is here is his injured Witch and the fact Light's nearly done with healing Myr's own burns. It's hard not to keep from twitching as the itch of regrowing skin intensifies but he manages, only stomping a front hoof once as outlet for his discomfort.]

He may have been infected, [he adds to L's comment, for both Witches' ears. ] Which would worsen matters when we're already on edge, but he's seen reason now.

[That... does mean they owed a duty to Mello and the other Mirrorbound to track him down and see him cleansed. Damn it. The stag grumbles to himself and noses against his Witch's hair, snorting dismay at the smell of blood and--odd softness to L's skull.

Shit. That's not a wound L could be up and walking around with so it's likely a result of the Cwyldheart but it still nearly stops Myr's heart a moment to feel it and sends a charge of icy adrenaline through the Bond.]

--Your turn for healing. Now.

[worldcleansing]

[ Finally finished, Light takes a step back and releases a controlled breath. Even with experience and knowledge, such deep and complicated injuries aren't easy, especially with the added caution; if the spell were to go backfire, Light couldn't have stopped it with the current magic climate, but it meant he went slow enough that should the magic begin to backfire, he'd have been able to stop before too much damage was finished.

Thankfully, that wasn't necessary. ]

I'll need you to stand still and turn the injuries toward me. And I have a lot more questions after you've had a chance to heal.

[ L likely would have known he would. After all, it's important to know if that person is a new risk or an old risk, and considering they lived together, a risk to L could likewise be a risk to Light. ]

Remember that it's going to hurt at first, but I'm sure it's already hurting enough that it won't be too easy to notice. The guy really wanted you to suffer, didn't he?

[hearthebell]

[There's a sharp intake of breath from L at the touch of Myr's snout against a wound the stag likely does not intend to give like mush, the way it does. When he answers them, his soft sound of agreement is tense, soft, wavery. Satisfied that Myr's been seen to (for Kira is, paradoxically, an excellent healer), he keeps his faun at his side for support, turning the left side of his face toward the other man. Third-degree burns, easily, starting at L's jaw and traveling down his throat over the Cwyldheart's finger-shaped bruises.

He's unhappy to entertain more questions. Speaking of Mello with Light, at all, is a minefield waiting to go up, not just with Light but with their mutual bonded Near. It's imperative that L behave as though he knows nothing about his future after his death; so far, it should be simple enough for Light to believe that would be impossible, that L had no way of receiving information about a future he was dead for.]

He was confused.

[He steadies his breaths. Keeping his information straight will be more difficult through the pain of the nerves regenerating.]

I don't think he knows what he wants.

[Does L, for that matter? At this point, the best he has been able to surmise is that he feels bad that Myr was injured, but struggles to determine what else about it he might regret.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Loathe as Myr is to participate in subterfuge, as little as he likes lying--and as much as he thinks L's tactics in this respect are liable to end them in far more trouble than not--he can at least understand and grudgingly approve of maintaining secrecy in this instance. Now, when the Cwyldheart is warping their emotions and turning them against each other, is not the time to reveal Mello's identity and its breadcrumbs back to Kira's eventual demise.

Any Mirrorbound death, down here and so far away from the Coven, would be permanent, and could plausibly be made out to be an accident.

(It is a pity that Kira is such a skilled healer: It makes it harder to oppose him without wondering what else could be and whether there was a way to redeem him that wouldn't be subject to manipulation.)

So the Faun shifts himself just a little closer to his Witch, offering a warm flank and a silent promise of support. His own breathing steadies, slows, falls into sync with his Bondmate's; he does his best to quiet his own flutterings of anxiety and offer an emotional backstop to lean against rather than another distraction.

(They will have to talk about what actually happened to touch off the fight--later.)]

[worldcleansing]

He was infected?

[ Anyone who lived here for any length of time would know about the Cwyld, never mind any good healer. Light's experience with it is limited to L's infection at the party, but he's done no small amount of research on the topic.

Another deep wound. Right after the first, during a time when magic doesn't feel as safe and reliable as it's come to feel. It's odd, the way it turned from massive and a bit frightening to feel almost like an extension of his body. Still, arrogant as Light is, it's normally not without some kind of baseline, and his confidence in his ability to heal L and Myr comes from what he considers an honest assessment of his ability. ]

The same advice applies to you. Don't move, even when it starts to hurt. It won't last long.

[ With another centering breath, his hands are in place and the healing begins. This time, he falls silent, deciding to turn all resources inward. When healing Myr, Light was as well-rested as he'll be in these caverns. After, there's a decent drain on his energy. ]

[hearthebell]

It's a reasonable assumption that he was. The veins in his hands were blackened... his overall state emotional and agitated.

[He doesn't say that that's Mello even on a good day. Just nods, allowing Light to place his hands over the burns, trying to keep the tremor from his breaths and the wince from his face. The rest of the wounds hurt, certainly, but it's all grown into a sort of baseline ache that he bears and manages. For all of them with wounds like those, isn't the implication rather that they bear and manage them anyway, only unseen?

The burns are different. Tender, real enough to remain long after they go back to the surface if nothing is done. Light's warning is accurate; the nerves regenerating are like feeling the flames again, in a way, and involuntarily, he reaches for a handful of Light's sleeve, twisting the material in his hand to keep from pulling away from the pain.

Light's reassurance is accurate as well, though; it dissipates and smooths itself out along with the skin. Some healers might not take such care in restoring a scarless appearance, but Light has a way of going above and beyond, striving for perfection, taking that extra step.

He's grateful for it now, as annoying (and thrilling) as it was when he was fighting Kira.]

[faithlikeaseed]

He smelled of it.

[So did everything down here, but Mello had carried the peculiar and threatening overnote it took when mixed with living blood.

Myr lapses silent, having said; Light clearly needs all his concentration to work this time. L's discomfort is all-too-palpable, though, and tugs at the Faun's instincts to comfort and assure. A moment passes before a fragment of melody insinuates itself into their Bond, a familiar and wordless lullaby. It is meant as a soothing distraction--from L's pain, and from Myr's dwelling too long on his own realizations.

(Any Mirrorbound death down here would be permanent. Light would be close to the ends of his magic once he's finished with L.

Oh, Maker, let me not be tempted.)]

[worldcleansing]

[ Slow and steady. In spite of Light's actions back on Earth, he does consider himself a healer, if of society instead of one single person. It's no different here, in this world, but there's also just a general combination of pride and general competence in all things he tries. Light enjoys losing as much as L, which is to say he doesn't.

It had to hurt. The same was obvious of Myr's injuries. The magic was probably hot enough to do this quickly since even if L was small enough to hold, it would take a monster or a spell to hold a faun as large as Myr. If he'd wanted to fight any healing, Light would have had a hard time, an impossible time without magic, stopping him.

No level of skill could heal the other injuries. Only confession would do that much.

It won't be healed.

Finally, he finishes. Thankfully, this time, there's no backfire. That was an unspoken worry, but they both know how magic is working at the moment.

Another exhale as Light inspects the results. Surrounded by so many other ghastly wounds, it feels almost silly to focus on one, but that one is at least closed. He's tired now, tired enough that Myr is right: he wouldn't be a difficult target. Likewise, he'd be easy to catch by surprise. By his assumptions, Myr isn't someone who'd go on the offensive very often. ]

Does anything feel strange?

[hearthebell]

[There is surreal and ongoing irony in Light ending L's life in their world, and mending his flesh in this one. It's disquieting, and never lost on the detective. Myr can't see the way he swallows thickly and grimaces, but he can certainly hear the sharp, short breaths, feel the fiery nettles of nerves springing back to life. He knows, partly because Myr felt this himself moments prior, and also because he can hear the threads of a melody over their Bond, as soothing and gentle as any lullaby.

When Light's hands pull away, L lets his sleeve go, wrinkled now from the force of his grip. Smoothing his palms over his healed neck and face, he blinks and nods appreciatively.]

You really went all out...

[His skin might be softer and more even than it was before the burns, even.

At Light's question, he makes an uncertain sound in the back of his throat, still tense from the bracing he did during the healing process. There's space, now, to think of what happened a few minutes ago.]

Aside from...?

[Aside from everything. This whole bizarre situation, having two of his Bonded with very different outlooks so close to him at once.]

No. I don't think it does.

[faithlikeaseed]

[Myr was not often one to go on the offensive--but not for want of recognizing the moments when he could.

(The opportunity is right there; the fatal knowledge of it pounds with the beat of the Cwyldheart through his skull.

It would be easy. Neither Witch could stop him. It would end a future threat to his beloved and maybe all of Aefenglom.

It would deny a man his chance to repent. It would break L's heart. It would be wrong.)

Apropos of nothing, the stag snorts and bumps his nose against his Witch's shoulder--mute warning he's about to move before he takes several steps away and settles down on the tunnel floor with his legs folded beneath him and his head pointing away from Light and L.

It makes ambushing anyone harder.]

Nothing strange here, either. You did good work. Thank you.

[Even if he had a feeling the question was not addressed to him as such, he needs to say it.

For many reasons, he needs to say it.]

[worldcleansing]

[ It's no secret that L is their nexus, their only common denominator. Myr and Light have known of each other much more than they know about each other, but the question can apply to them both. It would be easy to assume someone of Kira's ego would hate anyone who disagreed with him, but he doesn't. Hate is a strong enough emotion that he won't waste it that easily and even if he has a sizable following, he also has sizable opposition, his father included. The plan has always been patience and allowing people the time to come around, to see the peace his choices created. L was unique in his ability to push the right buttons, which is one of the reasons he's always been such a brilliant, successful detective. Logical people are most likely to make mistakes when they're made emotional instead.

So, he doesn't hate Myr. The same logic understands why Myr would dislike him. That said, he still believes in Kira's nobility, but simple disagreement alone isn't enough to put anyone in danger. ]

You're welcome. You two should rest up. I can heal the injuries, but I can't give you back your energy.

[ Finished now, he leans against the wall. Light needs to follow his own advice. ]

We don't know what's ahead, and none of us are at our best right now.

[hearthebell]

[Resting is a good idea, in theory. If they had the luxury of doing so, it would be ideal; unfortunately, they do not possess it.]

I'd not want the party to move on without us, and leave us more prone than we would have been if we'd had the safety of numbers to protect us. In any case... my attacker is in the same situation, if not worse off, and so all we should need to worry about are the shades.

[Not a small concern, but if others are taking those down, the three of them may be able to straggle to the finish line with their bodies and seeds intact.]

We'll rest when the group does. It shouldn't be much longer until the next stop.

[faithlikeaseed]

Linden's right. We can't afford to get behind.

[Though Myr has not yet heaved himself back to his hooves. He's more exhausted than he thought he was when he was still standing; a full-shift takes a great deal out of him even when he's well-rested and not in the grips of an adrenal drive to defend his Bonded.

He really does just want to rest, whether or not it gets him eaten by a Shade. More, he does not want to be in this conversation, as an unneeded appendage whose only contribution now is the Cwyld-driven desire to kill the light L orbits like a moth around a flame.

(It isn't hatred beneath it, really, nor even dislike of Light himself--however blasphemous and warped Myr found what he knew of the younger man's outlook. Kira is simply a threat, and it is easy for Myr to ignore that a threat is also a man with a man's capacity for repentance and redemption.

To say nothing of how L and Light fit so naturally together that even a blind man could see it, and stand aside from it with a mix of awe and jealousy. Whatever the flaws of the men who made it up, that relationship had a natural glory to it that asked for respect.)

None of this really rises to a level of conscious thought as Myr considers their options, leaning down to rub the itch of blood from his face against one fore-knee. It runs beneath all that, pushing him toward the kind of perverse self-spiting action he's inclined to in his worst (and best) moments.]

You two might take a break from walking, though. I can carry double until we've caught up. [He'd pay for it in spades once he shifted back, but they'd be as safe as they could be in these tunnels, by then.]