Dreaming: The Light Aerich had been expecting to die from his injuries, and he’d not had regrets about his own life. He’d been trying to exchange some final words to Khaavren and Pel, reassuring them that, while he accepted they would grieve his loss, that he only wished that Tazendra had not died some minutes before. Given the Paths of the Dead were known to exist, and some few undead (and most recently, the living Empress) had even returned, Aerich had been preparing for that journey.
At first, the mists hadn’t seemed too strange, as the Paths started at the base of Deathgate Falls. The peace and, for lack of a better word, closure, of this place settled into Aerich’s bones. Then he looked up. Instead of the Empire’s perpetual orange clouds, this was… well, for a man who had never had cause to look upon a clear sky, the sudden shock of the cosmos robbed him of words. Even tearing his gaze from them, he noticed others here… not Draegaerans (which Aerich, of course, thought of as human, despite distinct differences from baseline Earth-humans enough to make them a separate species), but some he would consider ‘Easterners’ (and we would consider ‘baseline humans’) and others he did not recognize at all.
He was struck by the sudden realization that, perhaps, maybe they were not so different from him. They lived shorter lives, many outside of the Empire, but had he not himself lived without the Empire’s protections for the last few hundreds of years? Perhaps they were all as much a part of this world as anything else.
He turned to share this insight to the nearest person. “Do you know, I have only but been here a moment, and I find myself considering things I had not thought of before.”
Rebirth (The Sovereign) Of course, going from this sense of oneness and sudden expansion of one’s horizons to ‘feeling one’s world die’ is a shock, and Aerich almost doesn’t muster the drive to break out of the shell. He is running on pure instinct, and when he does emerge, it is all he can do to struggle to a seated position, find what little concealment he can, and focus on calming his emotional state and schooling his facial expression. Because, to be honest, he is aware that he has a look of utter loss on his face, and barely has enough dignity to wish to hide it. That and, while he is aware that there are others here, he also wishes to compose himself because they are almost certainly not responsible for whatever he felt, and in this state, he might well lack the control of a hostile reaction.
He hasn’t even noticed the gem embedded in his forehead, centered right below his widow’s peak.
Captivity/Waiting Of course, that meant his reaction to the soldiers was, shall we say, lacking in his typical courtesy, and he was marked as ‘something of a problem’. The clothing (even though there had been a delay in finding something that fit at all) helped, as did having a meal. For the first time in a while, Aerich had no goal or idea of expected behavior, in a world he didn’t recognize (not his own, he could feel the absence of his link to the Orb even if he might suppose the pretense of the Furnace in the sky meant he might be in the East), among people not his own (and it was hard to remember that strange feeling of oneness now that he was something resembling alive and well). It was clear they were prisoners, but the guards had little interest in explaining to prisoners of whom and for what purpose.
At least the guards who had retrieved him had accepted his initial outburst as not habitual, which meant he had some manner of freedom of the camp (such as it was). Currently, that was spent in observation, though he nodded and gestured any of his fellow prisoners over if they were looking at him. “Good day. I have found that the events of late make it difficult to exchange polite courtesies.” The last was said with a slight twist of his mouth, acknowledging that either his bluntness, or the utter disregard for the circumstances may be seen as rude.
Aerich (aka Temma of Arylle) | Dragaera series | Sovereign
Aerich had been expecting to die from his injuries, and he’d not had regrets about his own life. He’d been trying to exchange some final words to Khaavren and Pel, reassuring them that, while he accepted they would grieve his loss, that he only wished that Tazendra had not died some minutes before. Given the Paths of the Dead were known to exist, and some few undead (and most recently, the living Empress) had even returned, Aerich had been preparing for that journey.
At first, the mists hadn’t seemed too strange, as the Paths started at the base of Deathgate Falls. The peace and, for lack of a better word, closure, of this place settled into Aerich’s bones. Then he looked up. Instead of the Empire’s perpetual orange clouds, this was… well, for a man who had never had cause to look upon a clear sky, the sudden shock of the cosmos robbed him of words. Even tearing his gaze from them, he noticed others here… not Draegaerans (which Aerich, of course, thought of as human, despite distinct differences from baseline Earth-humans enough to make them a separate species), but some he would consider ‘Easterners’ (and we would consider ‘baseline humans’) and others he did not recognize at all.
He was struck by the sudden realization that, perhaps, maybe they were not so different from him. They lived shorter lives, many outside of the Empire, but had he not himself lived without the Empire’s protections for the last few hundreds of years? Perhaps they were all as much a part of this world as anything else.
He turned to share this insight to the nearest person. “Do you know, I have only but been here a moment, and I find myself considering things I had not thought of before.”
Rebirth (The Sovereign)
Of course, going from this sense of oneness and sudden expansion of one’s horizons to ‘feeling one’s world die’ is a shock, and Aerich almost doesn’t muster the drive to break out of the shell. He is running on pure instinct, and when he does emerge, it is all he can do to struggle to a seated position, find what little concealment he can, and focus on calming his emotional state and schooling his facial expression. Because, to be honest, he is aware that he has a look of utter loss on his face, and barely has enough dignity to wish to hide it. That and, while he is aware that there are others here, he also wishes to compose himself because they are almost certainly not responsible for whatever he felt, and in this state, he might well lack the control of a hostile reaction.
He hasn’t even noticed the gem embedded in his forehead, centered right below his widow’s peak.
Captivity/Waiting
Of course, that meant his reaction to the soldiers was, shall we say, lacking in his typical courtesy, and he was marked as ‘something of a problem’. The clothing (even though there had been a delay in finding something that fit at all) helped, as did having a meal. For the first time in a while, Aerich had no goal or idea of expected behavior, in a world he didn’t recognize (not his own, he could feel the absence of his link to the Orb even if he might suppose the pretense of the Furnace in the sky meant he might be in the East), among people not his own (and it was hard to remember that strange feeling of oneness now that he was something resembling alive and well). It was clear they were prisoners, but the guards had little interest in explaining to prisoners of whom and for what purpose.
At least the guards who had retrieved him had accepted his initial outburst as not habitual, which meant he had some manner of freedom of the camp (such as it was). Currently, that was spent in observation, though he nodded and gestured any of his fellow prisoners over if they were looking at him. “Good day. I have found that the events of late make it difficult to exchange polite courtesies.” The last was said with a slight twist of his mouth, acknowledging that either his bluntness, or the utter disregard for the circumstances may be seen as rude.