Stained Red.

[Drixar]

One week. 7 days. 168 hours. 10080 minutes. 604800 seconds.

That’s how long it’s been since the fight with Nero. Since holdfast experienced its largest amount of losses in a single 24 hour span. 23 deaths on their side alone. Nearly one for each grueling hour.

This is a fact Drixar has been trying to ignore. He spent the night after war intoxicate after another trying to cope with his own demise, feeling as if he traveled through time instead of receiving a fatal blow from Nero himself. In the Malarous herd, death was permanent. It’s possible that people died in combat or in their sleep then got up without knowing, but once they could no longer reach their body by their own will that was it. Waking up on the inn floor surrounded by family and loved ones was equally comforting as it was terrifying. They all held him as he sobbed, tears from deep within his core surfacing with each heaving breath.

And now, a week later, Drixar finds himself in the same situation. He’s processed his own death, but now he has to process theirs. The blood caked under the fauns fingernails from all the people he could find as they were bleeding or dead clings like a fresh frost to leaves. He revived four people, or at least that’s what town tells Drix, death took that memory from him. What the boy could remember was enough to haunt him.

Merric stood over rosco’s body, using his sword blessed by the lords to bring him back from deaths icy grasp.
J’rase’s spirit, casual in its steps, almost accepting about their current circumstance.
The pools of blood that still stain the wooden floors of his home, puddles showing where people fell and either died or came close to.
The dying grass outside, once stained so deeply by the crimson that courses through the veins of those he loves now barely visible as the rain mixes it with mud.

For the first time since his death, Drixar notices the choke of withheld tears in his throat, the burn behind his eyes as the emotions beg to pour out. Quickly excusing himself from the apothecary table, the faun sprints out of the inn and into the woods, through twisting paths and beating through bushes until he eventually finds a familiar spot. It’s a spot Z showed him many moons ago amongst the berry bushes, somewhere you can still hear what happens on the field and amongst the paths without being spotted if you don’t want to be. Feeling the burn in his lungs from running and feelings left unexpressed, Drixar sits amongst the berries and begins to cry, no sob, no, wail.

He doesn’t care who hears him, he doesn’t care what finds him in this moment. The hurt in Drixars heart is the only thing that can pour out as he finally realizes that yes, in the fight against Nero they prevailed

But at what cost?

[Gull]

Arms wrap around Drixar from the side, gentle but firm. Gull reaches out a hand and cups the back of Drixar's head, turning the faun's face until he's weeping into Gull's shoulder. He hums tunelessly, soft and low, so that Drixar can feel the steady vibrations.

[Drixar]

Drix jumps at the un-expected hug from his friend, but as soon as he realizes who it his whole body melts into Gull, only keeping his hands tucked tight to his chest, fearing that he will stain his friend with the none-existant blood of their allies he perceives on his hands. He’s a sobbing mess for awhile before his breathing begins to match the steady drum of Gull’s humming.

[Gull]

"That's it," Gull murmurs, rubbing Drixar's back. "There you are." When the sobs have faded to sniffles, he addresses Drixar without pulling back. "Do you want to talk? Or do you want to sit?"

[Rosco Agassi]

Timestamped to "later" in case I forget to check this forum post for updates:

When Drixar and Gull eventually return to the inn, they'll notice the stains on the floors actively soaking. Some concoction of various household and kitchen products have been thrown together in a homemade cleaner. A few hours later, one of them will likely catch a glimpse of Rosco on his hands and knees scrubbing with a dish brush.

(OOG: It's possible the timeline of this won't work out if I end up going with Providence folks, but just in case it does <3)

[Drixar]

The fauns body jolts with each hiccup and sniffle, his body still reeling from the flurry of feelings he let out. “Well, how open are you to talk about our friends deaths.” Drix chuckles dryly, his usual demeanour temporarily dulled.

[Gull]

Gull leans back just far enough to look Drixar in the eyes without releasing his hold. "Of course." Drixar can see tear tracks on Gull's cheeks but the bard's expression is calm and open.

[Drixar]

Drixar takes a deep breath before starting. “There was so many… so much blood.. they were.. you were.. I was..” the fauns eyes well with tears once more, all his sentences seeming to fall short of completion as he cups his face in his hands to steady his breathing back to what they had gotten it to be. “Malarous’ didn’t come back gull. This is all so new.”

[Gull]

Gull nods. "Aye. A lot of things are different in Holdfast, death among them." He lays a hand stop one of Drixar's own. "Tell me more?"

[Drixar]

Drix flinches as Gull attempts to lay his hand on his, but settles and allows it to happen. He continues to steady his breathing as he speaks. “When people died in my herd, nobody knew until they couldn’t come back on their own. Then we would bury them. But to hear of so much death, to be told I was the first thing some people saw when they returned from death and to see each person that died back on their feet, hearts pounding in their chest?” He sighs, the breath shaky. “It feels surreal. After two years I thought I’d be used to it.”

[Gull]

"I'm glad you aren't." Gull shakes his head. "Too often, we act like they never died just because they're back. Sometimes it feels like they never died. But they did. And if even they're the same on the outside, death changes a person on the inside." He meets Drixar's eyes, his gaze intense. "You know that now. Even if you were told before, you *know* now."

[Drixar]

Drixar nods. “It feels different than the times I’ve given some of myself. Those felt peaceful, like I was letting a leaf course down a river. But this?” He clutches his chest, confusion washing over his face. “It feels like a piece of me was stolen.”

[Gull]

Gull nods. "Stolen... Aye, I can see that. 'Ripped away' is how I've always thought of it. The difference between hemming a garment and tearing part of it off." He tries to suppress a shudder and fails. "And the way your body feels after. Like your soul hasn't settled back into it yet. Even if your mind and heart have accepted resurrection, desire it, the flesh is different. The flesh only knows that something has happened that should not have happened." Gull sets a hand on Drixar's shoulder. "You are changed, Drix. Don't deny yourself the grief of that. But know that you're still growing. You won't shake this, not really, but you'll grow past it."

[Drixar]

Tears well in the fauns eyes ones more, quietly wiping them and nodding as his friend speaks. “It still feels really weird. Or at least get rid of these, they aren’t exactly pretty.” Drix pulls the collar of his shirt revealing more of the branching scar tissue on his chest. “But like you said, I’m growing. Maybe I’ll grow used to them.” The faun sighs, resting his head on his friends shoulder. “Thank you for chasing me, or at least finding me.”

[Gull]

"Pretty? What does that matter?" Gull throws his arms wide. "You denied death its claim and returned marked with lightning, the wrath of the sky blossoming from your very core!" He grins. "Just don't forget to stretch them out so they don't get sore." Gull relaxes and lets his arms fall. "As for finding you, I was hardly going to ignore a sound like that around here. I was just glad to find you in one piece." He laughs lightly, a little sheepishly. "And that you were in no state to notice how out of breath I was coming from the Green Corridor."

[Drixar]

Drix laughs at Gull’s sheepish admission. “You’re lucky I recognized you, otherwise I wouldn’t smacked you and started running again.” He sits upright, taking gulls advice as he rolls his shoulders to make the skin of his chest pull taught to stretch it. “Honestly I’m glad I’m in once piece too, wailing like a banshee could have gotten me eaten or shot”

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