Ekkehardt moves like he's sleepwalking, but he at least seems amenable to following instructions. What looks like flesh flickers, decays, regrows again as he does what Avery tells him; a glamour born out of the creature that's coiled around the wizard's bones.
There's the faintest glint of red light in his eyes; it seems as though he's barely hanging onto consciousness. He doesn't speak; he merely grips Avery's arm weakly, the only sign that he might be thinking at all.
Avery hooks his arms under Ekkehardt's legs and lifts, leaning forward a little as he walks so that Ekkehardt doesn't have to worry about holding onto him for the trip.
He has questions. A lot of them. But now's not the time, and he doubts Ekkehardt would be able to answer them anyway.
"Sleep if you need to," he says, heading for the ruins. "I'll deal with that mess later." The bodies they leave behind don't even feel like people to him anymore.
"They were looking for you," Ekkehardt says, his voice thin and quiet and soft. He doesn't cough (he's still dead underneath, after all) but he does laugh. It's a brittle, crackling sound. "They thought I was using you."
His voice isn't reproachful, or accusing. He seems to find the whole thing very funny, in the way that tired people will laugh at anything.
He doesn't know what to say to that. He's even less sure how to feel. He thought that no one in the kingdom would bother with him now, what with the tale spread by Vanessa about him giving aid to the overlord. And yet, there these people had been, trying to "save" him, trying to kill the very man who had actually saved his life, even after Avery had killed him.
There's something bitterly amusing about it.
"You know you don't have to talk if you don't want to, right?" He means to act like nothing is wrong, to keep his head high and continue on as he always does. Instead, a gentleness of sorts slips through. "Forcing yourself when you need rest isn't going to help."
"I hate sleeping," Ekkehardt murmurs in reply, even though he seems on the verge of sleep (or unconsciousness) regardless. "Too many nightmares." The creature in him coils more tightly, painfully, as if in agreement. Though he doesn't have a heartbeat any more, the frantic pulsing of heat radiating from him seems to indicate his state all the same. "Too much of the past in there."
A sentiment he understands all too well. But if that's the case, Avery's more than willing to help him stay up a little later.
He adjusts his grip on Ekkehardt as they step into the ruins, the heat somewhat uncomfortable, more for the pulsing rhythm than its presence. "Never seen you pull off the trick you did out there before. What was that?"
"Not a trick, exactly..." He sighs, shifting a little, uncomfortably. The pulsing settles. "If it's attacked directly, too much...my power defends itself. It takes over."
He's tired. He can't remember the last time he felt this tired. He'll need to sleep like a human, soon. More weaknesses. "It's good at killing, this one. Not so much anything else."
He doesn't remember where Ekkehardt's room is (the ruins are big and there are so many rooms to remember), so Avery takes him to his instead, slowly lowering him to the bed.
"And?" Avery asks lightly, trying not to let out how unsettled the idea of that power being attacked directly unsettles him. "If those guys were coming to attack you, they should have known the risks. You both have the right to protect yourselves you know."
He sighs and takes a seat in a nearby chair, one arm draped over the back, his legs crossed. "Never got angry at you for defending yourself against me whenever we fought." Everything else, sure, but defending oneself was something altogether different.
Another brittle laugh. "It doesn't bother me, you know. Well, it used to bother me. When I cared. Doesn't any more."
There's another little sigh, as he curls in on himself. It's not something he strictly needs any more, but old habits fade slowly.
"It's good, that you weren't here." His voice is drowsy, his eyes barely glowing. "They had chains. A cage. 'Just in case', they said. I hate it when people say that. It always goes poorly."
His heart drops to his stomach, his already pale skin ghost white. "Chains..." His mouth grows dry, and he takes a moment to shut his eyes and take a long, shuddering breath.
They're gone, he reminds himself, and curses the fact that he thought they were trying to help him at all. He thinks he'll enjoy going back for their souls.
"Thank you," he says after a moment. "For keeping them away."
He says it like it's obvious, keeping them away, protecting him. If he was more awake, he might have followed it up with something like I'd be wasting the hard work I put into you to let you get captured like that, but right now, nothing follows it. He settles; sleep appears to have won, at last.
He waits until Ekkehardt's asleep before leaving, this time making sure to leave a note, just in case he wakes up before Avery gets back.
He had felt some sense of connection to these soldier's before. The moment he catches sight of the chains, that feeling disappears entirely.
These people aren't his allies. They didn't even look up to him. They're nothing but a bunch of leeches that feed upon his blood, sweat, and tears, crying and moaning when they're favorite blade disappears.
His companion, at least, protects him. It provides him with power. It gives as much as it asks.
These people...
They're parasites.
---
He returns, sated, overly so, lazy and content and letting the magic flow through him, sparks dancing from knuckle to knuckle as he hums a little tune.
He didn't bother to bury their bodies, or even to burn them. The lifeless husks served better as a warning, strung up by the very chains they'd come to take him in.
He's not sure how long it's been--he lost track during the hunt--and so he heads to his room once he returns, checking the bed to see if Ekkehardt's woken up.
Ekkehardt is sitting up, at least, though by the way his eyes flicker unsteadily (and by the fact he still looks mostly human) he hasn't finished recovering yet. A small pile of decaying leaves is sitting in his hand.
"You're looking well," he comments. He doesn't even have to ask; his power stirs like it's tasting the air, responding to Avery's state. "I assume you were extravagantly successful."
"Of course. Took down every last one. Even counted the bodies twice to make sure." He grins and there's an edge there, though not pointed toward Ekkehardt in any way. Even the way he speaks feels a little different from before.
"You on the other hand, looks like you need a pick-me-up. Not much of a cook, but I don't mind going out to fetch anything you want."
"I'll be fine when I can find something to drain," he says, shifting a little. He's aware he's in Avery's bed, which is Inconveniencing Someone, and that's grating on him a bit. "Though walking is somewhat beyond me at the moment, which hampers my ability to do so."
He notes the changes, but he's not sure what has changed. Perhaps a tie broken with his old life...he doesn't know. He's not sure he needs to ask.
"Don't sweat it," he says with a wave of the hand. "Name it and I'll bring it in. Or I can pull off another piggy-back ride if you feel like picking your own piece of fine dining."
He laughs. "Hell, make it a buffet if you want! Who am I to judge?"
"It's not as if I can taste what I drain, you know." He's amused despite himself (or perhaps he's just amused in general). "As long as it's big enough and lively enough, you could bring back anything you wanted." Or anyone.
That does remind him, though. "Do souls taste different? You've never said."
A shame Ekkehardt hadn't managed to keep one alive. But Avery supposes he can find something to suffice. He's gotten much better with the thorns.
"Hm... That depends. From eachother? Yes. But I can't really describe the taste exactly. There's nothing that tastes quite like it. I suppose it's more... a feeling, if that makes sense."
"Interesting," he muses, shifting as he tries to get out of bed and almost immediately buckles. He makes a grumpy noise as he crawls back in.
"Being like this is intolerable," he grumbles, sitting back with a huff, arms crossed. "It's as if I'm still human and able to get sick." Which, by implication, he also greatly disliked.
He draws his legs up to his chest, his tone almost sulky when he speaks next. He rests his chin on his knees.
"It's weakness," he mutters, looking away. "Being human earned me little, except heartache and injury. That's what being human is. Some wax poetic about it, but I detest the reminder."
They're too alike, and there's a pang in his chest that he doesn't want to examine. How long has it been since he'd thought that about another person? Even as someone in service to the dark lord, he'd kept his distance; he was friendly enough, but his first thought had always been of work, of his missions. It was too risky to become attached, to reveal those vulnerabilities and feelings that still ached in him.
"Oh, that's not very heroic. If you keep saying things like that, I might start thinking you don't hate me that much after all."
Avery hums and stares thoughtfully at the opposite wall. "I don't think I do," he admits. "Odd as it is to admit... I, uh... I think you might be my first friend."
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There's the faintest glint of red light in his eyes; it seems as though he's barely hanging onto consciousness. He doesn't speak; he merely grips Avery's arm weakly, the only sign that he might be thinking at all.
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He has questions. A lot of them. But now's not the time, and he doubts Ekkehardt would be able to answer them anyway.
"Sleep if you need to," he says, heading for the ruins. "I'll deal with that mess later." The bodies they leave behind don't even feel like people to him anymore.
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His voice isn't reproachful, or accusing. He seems to find the whole thing very funny, in the way that tired people will laugh at anything.
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There's something bitterly amusing about it.
"You know you don't have to talk if you don't want to, right?" He means to act like nothing is wrong, to keep his head high and continue on as he always does. Instead, a gentleness of sorts slips through. "Forcing yourself when you need rest isn't going to help."
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He adjusts his grip on Ekkehardt as they step into the ruins, the heat somewhat uncomfortable, more for the pulsing rhythm than its presence. "Never seen you pull off the trick you did out there before. What was that?"
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He's tired. He can't remember the last time he felt this tired. He'll need to sleep like a human, soon. More weaknesses. "It's good at killing, this one. Not so much anything else."
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"And?" Avery asks lightly, trying not to let out how unsettled the idea of that power being attacked directly unsettles him. "If those guys were coming to attack you, they should have known the risks. You both have the right to protect yourselves you know."
He sighs and takes a seat in a nearby chair, one arm draped over the back, his legs crossed. "Never got angry at you for defending yourself against me whenever we fought." Everything else, sure, but defending oneself was something altogether different.
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There's another little sigh, as he curls in on himself. It's not something he strictly needs any more, but old habits fade slowly.
"It's good, that you weren't here." His voice is drowsy, his eyes barely glowing. "They had chains. A cage. 'Just in case', they said. I hate it when people say that. It always goes poorly."
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They're gone, he reminds himself, and curses the fact that he thought they were trying to help him at all. He thinks he'll enjoy going back for their souls.
"Thank you," he says after a moment. "For keeping them away."
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He says it like it's obvious, keeping them away, protecting him. If he was more awake, he might have followed it up with something like I'd be wasting the hard work I put into you to let you get captured like that, but right now, nothing follows it. He settles; sleep appears to have won, at last.
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He had felt some sense of connection to these soldier's before. The moment he catches sight of the chains, that feeling disappears entirely.
These people aren't his allies. They didn't even look up to him. They're nothing but a bunch of leeches that feed upon his blood, sweat, and tears, crying and moaning when they're favorite blade disappears.
His companion, at least, protects him. It provides him with power. It gives as much as it asks.
These people...
They're parasites.
---
He returns, sated, overly so, lazy and content and letting the magic flow through him, sparks dancing from knuckle to knuckle as he hums a little tune.
He didn't bother to bury their bodies, or even to burn them. The lifeless husks served better as a warning, strung up by the very chains they'd come to take him in.
He's not sure how long it's been--he lost track during the hunt--and so he heads to his room once he returns, checking the bed to see if Ekkehardt's woken up.
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"You're looking well," he comments. He doesn't even have to ask; his power stirs like it's tasting the air, responding to Avery's state. "I assume you were extravagantly successful."
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"You on the other hand, looks like you need a pick-me-up. Not much of a cook, but I don't mind going out to fetch anything you want."
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He notes the changes, but he's not sure what has changed. Perhaps a tie broken with his old life...he doesn't know. He's not sure he needs to ask.
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He laughs. "Hell, make it a buffet if you want! Who am I to judge?"
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That does remind him, though. "Do souls taste different? You've never said."
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"Hm... That depends. From eachother? Yes. But I can't really describe the taste exactly. There's nothing that tastes quite like it. I suppose it's more... a feeling, if that makes sense."
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"Being like this is intolerable," he grumbles, sitting back with a huff, arms crossed. "It's as if I'm still human and able to get sick." Which, by implication, he also greatly disliked.
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And then the tone hits him. "And from the sounds of it, you didn't exactly care for being human, did you?"
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"It's weakness," he mutters, looking away. "Being human earned me little, except heartache and injury. That's what being human is. Some wax poetic about it, but I detest the reminder."
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"I probably should say something about how humans aren't that bad or 'wax poetic' as you said, but... Honestly, I can't say I blame you."
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"Oh, that's not very heroic. If you keep saying things like that, I might start thinking you don't hate me that much after all."
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"Me? Truly?" How does that even work? "Surely you had other people around you, as a hero?"
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