Lᴏʀᴅ Kɪʀɪᴀɴ Nɪʟʜᴀɴᴅʀɪʟ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timewalking) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-12-01 07:41 pm
timewalking) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-12-01 07:41 pm
Porcelain teacups decorate
Date & Time: 12/1, evening
Location: Kirian's office, the clinic.
Characters: Kirian (timewalking) and Boyfriend #16 Rynlan (voidshift)
Summary: Kirian conjures tea and fancy cups.
Warnings: Elfs. Probably one-sided UST.
Kirian stood from his desk, limping across his office. It had been some time since he had spoken with someone on matters not of business, not of impersonal matters. Even sex, the act itself, was always impersonal. And true, he had shared tea with Haytham, but somehow, these seemed more...difficult to keep his walls where they should be.
He muttered under his breath, limping to a cabinet near his desk and pulling on a pair of black cloth gloves. At least he felt well enough today- the past fey days had been marked by pain that he could do little about. He could drug himself into sleeping, but even that lost its appeal years ago. Were he in Azeroth, he would return home, to where "home" truly was, in Quel'thalas. He would visit his sister, allow her to fuss over him for a few days until the worst of it subsided.
But here, he was alone, and the ache in his body was one he could only filch medicines for, unfortunately.
He mostly grit his teeth and just tried to bear it, anymore.
But today was better, and thus he felt the need to treat himself to a bit of company. Truth be told, he supposed he found Rynlan to be agreeable enough. He didn't seem the type to wastefully babble about himself, or to pry, and Kirian appreciated that.
Time would tell, however. For now he was buttoning his gloves and peering at the tablet, frowning to no one.
Location: Kirian's office, the clinic.
Characters: Kirian (
timewalking) and voidshift)Summary: Kirian conjures tea and fancy cups.
Warnings: Elfs. Probably one-sided UST.
Kirian stood from his desk, limping across his office. It had been some time since he had spoken with someone on matters not of business, not of impersonal matters. Even sex, the act itself, was always impersonal. And true, he had shared tea with Haytham, but somehow, these seemed more...difficult to keep his walls where they should be.
He muttered under his breath, limping to a cabinet near his desk and pulling on a pair of black cloth gloves. At least he felt well enough today- the past fey days had been marked by pain that he could do little about. He could drug himself into sleeping, but even that lost its appeal years ago. Were he in Azeroth, he would return home, to where "home" truly was, in Quel'thalas. He would visit his sister, allow her to fuss over him for a few days until the worst of it subsided.
But here, he was alone, and the ache in his body was one he could only filch medicines for, unfortunately.
He mostly grit his teeth and just tried to bear it, anymore.
But today was better, and thus he felt the need to treat himself to a bit of company. Truth be told, he supposed he found Rynlan to be agreeable enough. He didn't seem the type to wastefully babble about himself, or to pry, and Kirian appreciated that.
Time would tell, however. For now he was buttoning his gloves and peering at the tablet, frowning to no one.
no subject
"I've never really encountered shadow magic. My work with the MAgisters and Kirin Tor...and even with the Timewalkers...has kept me rather secluded from all of that. I suppose it's a tool, like any other, and one must use what comes to them naturally."
Naturally.
"Of course, were it fel magic, I feel this would be an entirely different conversation. I've done what I must to survive, but I was never fond of those that meddle with demons."
He looked down at his cup, resting it in front of him. His voice falls slightly quieter as he speaks.
"Save for one, I suppose, but I suppose we were all fond of him at some point, in our own way."
No one ever really seemed to talk about Kael'thas anymore, and how truly they had all once believed in him.
no subject
He toys idly with the cup, turning it in his hands; he remembers parts of that period well enough. If not the Fall, then what came after-- what they'd turned to, what they'd thought they needed to do to save themselves. What he'd done, especially. There's little doubt in his mind that without help, he'd never have ended the fel addiction himself.
"He thought he was doing what was best," he murmurs, shifting a bit uncomfortably, pausing for another sip. "It's so easy to fall into that, though."
no subject
To know that all hope was not lost.
And for what?
Had they failed him? Or had he failed them? It was difficult to truly say. And it was difficult to think that perhaps the rumors had been true about his final demise, in the Magister's Terrace.
His prince. He couldn't always justify everything that had been done- Nether knew he hated the abuse of power that the Magisters enjoyed while they ruled the city.
And yet, could Kirian truly say he could have done any better? Could any of them honestly say that there was no point that Kael'thas truly cared for them? Perhaps it was blind foolishness to believe so. But men rarely met such dramatic ends for things they didn't believe in.
And after all, they had survived with his help, didn't they?
Kirian takes a drink. "It is. I feel many of us can justify much, and though, perhaps, it was foolishness to think we could truly be saved...we've endured."
He looks back down at his tea, thinking for a moment. A drake had asked him once if he would change his past, if he could. Kirian had known how to answer, but the truth of it is that he wouldn't. He was an old fool now, but better for some things. He didn't believe his suffering to be divine, simply that he saw things differently, now. And perhaps that was better.
He'd rather be the man he knows than a stranger, he thinks.
"But perhaps, in some way, we're stronger for it...like a piece of tempered steel. No doubt our former friends and family would think we're mad to think so, but..." He shrugged slightly, recalling Ryel, his own blue-eyed cousin. "...we've survived. Quel'thalas has survived."
no subject
That's the part that's really stung about the entire situation, honestly. That they'd needed the Horde, even just for the time being-- and worse, that they'd needed help even establishing those ties. It's going to take time to re-establish themselves, to make it clear that they ought to be a power in their own right and that they're not in the same desperate situation that brought them to the Horde in the first place.
And with that done, with the Ghostlands hopefully fully reclaimed by then, they can withdraw back to Quel'thalas and not have to deal with things.
"We've done only what we had to, and if they must look down on us for it-- well. They can stay among the humans and see how long it takes 'til they're turned on, as well." It comes out a bit more bitter than he really means it to, brows furrowed as he frowns down at his teacup- but fel, they of all people know what it was like. They, out of all of Azeroth, should understand what had been done and why.
no subject
But, of late, he didn't even have that to leave to.
But it was truth, and he knew it. Everyone in Silvermoon did. The Sin'dorei needed the Horde- Quel'thalas was no longer the stalwart kingdom it once was. Pulling away, now, meant being threatened by the Forsaken. Though they were led by a daughter of Quel'thalas, they could not be trusted.
Kirian loathes even these undead.
He takes a drink, smiling to himself.
"I don't speak of politics in Silvermoon, but I suppose it's safe enough, here. I rather agree with you."
no subject
He shrugs one shoulder as he takes another sip of tea.
"The orcs ought to have put more consideration into politics, I think. It's a shame that Hellscream never will."
No, he'd just drive everything into the ground if it meant winning his bloody war against the Alliance, and some of them simply couldn't afford that. The sooner they're able to break away, the better.
"Still, it's always good to know others feel the same. One can only hope the Regent Lord's in agreement as well, if... silently."
no subject
He smiles to himself, wrapping gloved fingers around his teacup.
"Personally, I was glad to see a new group of Spellbreakers trained, and more so to assist with that. They did a fair deal of good out of the Isle of Thunder, I am told."
no subject
He can't help but frown a bit, there. Had it not been for that injury, he might have moved on from priesthood, joined them instead-- he's still got the shield Aren had used, back at home, and Ryn's sure he wouldn't have wanted to see it locked up.
But that's nothing to dwell on unless he wants to be in a foul mood for the rest of the damned day. Instead he leans back in his chair, looking Kirian over curiously.
"I'm not certain I'd have taken you for one-- or were you assisting only with the magical aspect of it?"
no subject
Back when he still proudly wore blue and gold.
"I served in the Second War, with the Alliance." And he looks down to his cup, remembering that. Recalling the soldier whose name he would never forget, but he could hardly bring himself to say, anymore. And how foolish he had been. Certainly, he had the years of a man, but he was almost a mere child, with all the naivete in his soul, back then.
"After that, I defended Silvermoon against the undead."
Lot of good that did everyone, he thought, bitterly, though he didn't say it with shame.
"I was injured when Silvermoon fell." There's almost pride in his voice. To Kirian, there is no more worthy way to be injured than defending one's homeland, to fight or something one believes in.
Even his scar, he is not ashamed of. It's doubt, it's pity, that he hates. A scar meant that one survived whatever tried to kill them. They would never be the same, no, but in some ways, it was better to live in spite of that.
He took a drink, smiling to himself. "I'm afraid I'm a bit rusty with a sword. My blades are a bit shorter these days, though..." He gestured, remembering his cane. "...I like to have one close, just in case."
"But no, I was aiding in training the new Spellbreakers in defensive magic and using spells cast on enemies."
He chuckles to himself, quietly, for a few moments.
"My greatest secret, I suppose, is that I'm no great mage. My skills were always more in defensive magic...though I've no skill with the light, either." A nod. "I'm a Magister simply because they wish to bolster their numbers, and because I have a mind for theory. Thankfully, the Magistrix who allowed me to apprentice with her was fairly patient as I bumbled through conjuring."
no subject
At that, he gives Kirian a brief look-over, almost but not quite disguising it as plain curiosity-- and his mouth twitches into a small grin. "Though to continue being honest, I certainly can't say I've found you lacking yet. My opinion might have been higher had I run into more magisters like yourself."
Rynlan takes a long sip of his tea, there, quietly pleased with himself. He'd like to think he hasn't lost his touch over the years, out of practice as he is.
"I'm sure the defensive spells are far more useful as it is," he continues on casually, "particularly taking into consideration that we need as many of us living as possible. What good does firepower do us if we only burn ourselves out?"
no subject
"If only we had more that agree with you. Defensive magic isn't always the most impressive- it's hardly a show of fire that many Magisters prefer. They'd rather have their phoenixes...I'd rather not have a spellblade in my belly."
And he can remember just that, how easily his blade cut through Lightflare's robes, his eyes glowing as the magic reversed itself on him. He burned from the inside, Kirian knew.
He had no regrets for it. Lightflare was the type of man they could use less of.
"I can think of other things I'd much rather have." And he smiled to himself, not meeting Rynlan's eyes as he took a drink. It was only fair.