[Venora] Clear Skies Above

[Alistair]

14th of Cylus, Arc 717

Regardless of what happened at the ball, Alistair had made a commitment. He and Fridgar had shared a promise - that after the midwinter masquerade, they'd go together to Sabaissant to ensure the Lotharro got treated. Ensure that he didn't suffer any longer. Despite the man's uncertain moral position, and the clearly wretched motives of the one he professed allegiance towards, Alistair followed on this promise.

But it wasn't just because of the agreement, despite the word's weight. There was more to it all than just that - words meant something, but not everything. He realized something during that ball, as he danced with strangers and minimized the damage of the vultures around him. He realized, upon re-imagining Fridgar's image in his mind... that a man wasn't a reflection of his company, and he wasn't decided by the things he'd done before. He could be judged only by the future he would carry out.

Alistair fought for so long to erase the lingering memories of what had transpired in his youth, naive, subservient to the Matron of the Coven... and it was only through the burly Lotharro that he'd realized something to put it all to rest. That he didn't have to loathe any longer for following the footsteps of a rolemodel long gone. He wasn't the only one - he wasn't the only fool, led astray by one who wished to utilize others in the face of their great ambitions. And he wasn't incapable of change.

Ellasin had not corrupted him, not forever. He was still alive, and he still had a future. Just as he told Fridgar to think and reflect, he could do so as well, and he did. The man thought about these things all throughout the night of the ball, even with all of the maddening events that transpired, and he reflected even through the morning that followed. He decided something gravely important, upon the moment where evening crossed into night, though one could never tell in the darkness of the season of Cylus.

He decided that he had changed. That he was no longer Ellasin's progeny. There was nothing about the two of them that resonated, any longer. Her days of ruling over his mind and body had come and gone. Realizing this, the mage experienced a great moment of freedom, as if a great burden had been washed away. The moment was not dissimilar to the coming of sunset after a day of restless longing, or the achievement of a great dream.

And all of this - the product of a meeting he'd shared for no longer than thirty bits, in a ballroom shrouded by frost and night.

Needless to say, their meeting had made Fridgar special in his eyes. While the man was not yet a friend, he wasn't an enemy, and he deserved to be able to tell his story, too. He deserved to be able to change. That was why Alistair had decided to assist him, this night. To free him from the burden of illness. And, to do so, he'd brought him to Sabaissmais, Alistair's medical offices in Venora. The two of them arrived in one of the rooms by Rupturing portal, transported away from the streets of Andaris to the establishment across the veil. With a glimmer in his eyes, Alistair stepped before Fridgar and nodded his head.

"This is where you'll be residing for the next couple of days, if that's alright with you," he informed him. The room around them was well designed, with creamy white walls on one half of the clinic and a brick room for rehabilitation and critical treatment. The place was well-ventilated, with pottery and hanging flowers throughout the rooms, and all of the medical equipment and herbalist cures necessary to treat the basic illness. This illness was far from basic, but Alistair had already developed a general idea of treatment.

"Could you take a seat, somewhere, Fridgar?" he asked. The man began to search his glass cabinets for the medicinal assistance necessary, settling - right now - for Whitemoss and Leechbane. "I'll need to prepare things for a moment," he added, circling around the clinic with an intense expression. He was clearly focused on his work.

Looking back to the Lothar, the man bit his lower lip. "How did you come upon this illness, by the way? Understanding the source might be quintessential in resolving this issue."

[Varthakh]

It was bizarre, to say the least. This noble, who he'd been ready to fight to the death only breaks prior to this moment, was going to treat him of this mystery illness. They'd met on uneasy terms, both times. The first, he was being attacked by some woman deep in the woods and the man had transformed into some ethereal being before vanishing. The second meeting, he'd overheard him threatening Rey'na and thought he'd called her a disease. Safe to say, he was quick to turn hostile on their second meeting. Still, despite the events that transpired at the ball, the man was prepared to hold up on his promise. Admirable, that's the word he threw about quite often when contemplating Alistair, and rightly so; he shared a lot of Fridgar's values and standards, even though the noble was, admittedly, a lot smarter.

Despite being smarter, he let Fridgar think for himself; a decision he might have regretted, a decision that Fridgar might have regretted. Even so, what’s done is done. He took note not to squander Alistair's kindness, he was immensely powerful after all.

Fridgar blinked rapidly, teleporting was so much weirder than he'd previously imagined. One trill, he was in the snowy streets of Andaris, freezing cold - the next he was... 'here'... Wherever 'here' was. Sintih had made it look so simple in the past, but Alistair had used his magic as though it were second nature, like another limb, free to control. "Whoa." he echoed the sense of smell of a bear and took a deep inhale there and then. They weren’t in the city anymore, a quick analysis of the surrounding 18 miles revealed. If anything, this area was entirely new. Not like Andaris or Warrick at all.

"Alright, yeah, that's fine by me." Fridgar spoke in regards to staying here. "...Thanks, by the way." he expressed his gratitude a little late. It was a nice place, a little on the fancy side but pleasant to be in all the same. "...Do you own this place?" he asked, taking in a series of sniffs and slowly painting a more clear image of the building in his head. Once he'd finished, he looked to Alistair and nodded, somewhat impressed.

He took one of the available seats and sat himself down, exhaling the air he'd inhaled in one big puff of warmth. Alistair sorted through some medical supplies as he did, explaining that he had to prepare the treatment. His condition must have been common, for Alistair to already know how to treat him. That or Alistair was as good as he claimed to be, perhaps even better. His eyes narrowed a little while he sat, echoing the vision of an eagle and watching as Alistair did what he had to. He was focused on what he was doing, at least.

He scratched his chin "I don't know. I just started coughing up blood early this season..." he spoke in thought."Wasn't long until I was coughing up crystals, too... But I'd had a nasty cough since mid-Zi’da, it just got a lot worse recently." The hand at his chin shifted to the back of his head. "Around about the same time, I found out that I can't eat vegetables anymore, or anything that isn't fresh meat. So, I'm not sure, but I think it has something to do with becoming?" he asked, Ali was a strong mage, perhaps he could share his insight on the subject. "Do you develop permanent injuries for corruptions? Is that a thing?" he asked with an uncomfortable expression. If his magic really was the cause of his affliction, he was surely doomed. It would explain why Chrysalis didn't cure him too.

His foot tapped the floor in nervous repetition as he silently prayed for a cure to present itself. "You know, up until now I've only recognised you by scent and sound." Fridgar started, trying to make conversation. "You don't like to show your face much, do you?" he tilted his head, come to think of it - he'd concealed his face during their first encounter, but that was probably to keep Rey'na and the other woman from knowing that a noble possessed magic. "It's nice to put a face to those senses." he clarified before taking in more of the location's scents with short, sharp sniffs.

[Alistair]

...Thanks, by the way, the man spoke, showing his appreciation. To those words, Alistair turned around and smiled faintly. "You're welcome," he said, as he returned to searching for the necessary items for this procedure. He had Whitemoss and Leechbane, now he'd need a scalpel, some bandages and a container for the man's blood, to investigate the properties of it. That, and he didn't really want blood and crystals getting all over the floor. "I do own this place," the mage replied. "This facility is known as Sabaissant Medical Offices. I've been running it for quite a while now, and it's done very well since I opened it. Thing is, I've only ended up serving Venora aristocrats and other wealthy patrons. Sabaissant, the city we're in right now, has almost no commoners. If there are commoners, they're usually servants, and they don't have the money to see a medical professional. I'd like to change that."

He felt almost as if he'd gone on a tangent, but these things all went through his mind in quick succession, and speaking made him feel a lot less nervous about the fact that he wasn't entirely sure about what he was doing. At this point, he was trusting his instincts, which was something Alistair scarcely did - he almost always relied on the mind, and what he already knew. Instinct held no propensity towards science.

As the man began to explain the origin of his sickness, Alistair listened carefully. Coughing out blood early this season . . . he said. The man sighed in relief; at least the progression of the illness had only two or so weeks to its name. Fridgar was lucky, ironically, to have encountered Alistair so early. "Coughing out crystals . . . that's very strange," he noted. That was the strangest part of this illness. How could someone just . . . blurt out crystals from their insides? They had to form somehow, and they were doing so in a place unsuitable as an environment. This had to be an illness of some magical propensity, which made him nervous about his methods, which were fairly scientific. Science and magic didn't always interact properly.

"That's ironic," he spoke, in response to the fact that the man could only eat fresh meat and no vegetables. "I had a mutation where I scarcely ever have to eat, but can only eat things that have been dead or harvested for at least a trial. Sort of the opposite of yours." Setting down all of the necessary materials along one of the desks near the patient beds, Alistair guided Fridgar to the bed in question and beckoned for him to lay down. The process was going to begin soon, now that he'd heard the basic information. The mage decided he'd just try at his first instinct.

"You can develop permanent injuries from mutations. I have a very slow degradation at the top of my spine from a Necromancy mutation. My... mark... has counter-acted that, so it doesn't seem to be an issue anymore, but otherwise I eventually would have developed notable back issues come my middle age. However, I've never heard of someone developing a lethal illness from a mutation, and I've seen many mages in my life. This illness you have cannot be from a mutation. It has to be something else." That was what he concluded based on what he'd seen. It wasn't a greatly reliable conclusion, surely, but he'd possessed no trace of empirical evidence that pointed towards a mutation being anything like this. It had to be poison, or a disease, or a curse. Something.

His apparent aversion to presenting himself had been pointed out, the man biting his lower lip, and then exhaling. That wasn't the impression he wanted to give, but it made sense that Fridgar would think that way. Alistair stopped for a moment, pausing everything he was doing. He looked dead-on towards the Lotharro, and stared him directly into the eyes, with no mask or other covering. His face was clearly visible by the light the man had lit upon arriving, and it clearly displayed all of his features, from the rugged bits of hair growing across his lower face and jaw, to the strangely discolored eyes. "I don't dislike showing my face, Fridgar. It's just... difficult," he frowned. "Being a nobleman and being a mage has always been seen as antithetical. It's frowned upon, severely. My house's reputation could be buried if people realized the sort of lifestyle I've led up until now. So I conceal myself when I know I'm going to use magic... or I make sure there are no living witnesses to the act. That's how it's always been."

Was it moral of him to act in this way? He wasn't really sure. The collapse of House Venora over his actions was certainly an immoral thing, and it would cause great strife in the Kingdom, likely for hundreds of arcs. So killing witnesses, and lying to others - that was a necessary sacrifice in his eyes. At least until he somehow managed to normalize spellcasting in Rynmere . . . if that ever happened.

"Don't you have many faces, Fridgar?" he asked. "A Becomer, I've heard, has not just one identity... but others. In a way, we're both like that. I'm a different person when I'm not attempting to be a proper noble. I'm a lot more carefree, for one. But in Rynmere, I am always a noble, to everyone. I am always Alistair Venora, regardless of who I'm with. I can never be anything else. But..." he trailed off, glancing away, absently. "Moments like this, where I can escape from the supervision of moralizing influences... they're nice. Probably not for you," he spoke, laughing, "but I'm content. Knowing another mage in Rynmere lifts a burden off my shoulders. I feel a lot less... lonely, somehow, knowing there's people like you out there. Forgive my vagueness."

[Varthakh]

"That's surprising, actually." Fridgar raised both eyebrows. "I didn't think many nobles knew about the need for doctors among us common folk." Fridgar spoke, impressed. There was an issue for sure, just one that not everyone talked about - it was universal, or so a lot of people thought. A few people in Warrick had gone and injured themselves as children, gone without treatment and grown/healed funny. Even more of those people were in Lowtown Andaris. He'd have put nel on the fact that most nobles hadn’t even considered the 'lesser-folk' worth healing, let alone set their ambitions to help them; Alistair was full of surprises. It was to strange to think that he once considered himself the minion of some maniac necromancer.

His eyes widened with worry after Alistair had spoken. "Wait, that's strange?" he asked with a tilt of his head, bridling his imminent panic. "But what about...!" He stopped himself abruptly, pressing his index finger to his lip by the edge and holding his chin as if in thought. With the removal of his finger, he spoke "...So I had this friend last season, they told me their kind were made of crystal, like entirely." He spoke, recalling clearly the experiments they did under her permission, they were searching for a poison that worked on her race and by extension her father. "...Don't tell anyone though. Anyway, I don't know why but I figured having crystals inside you wasn't that bad. I guess because there were entire people made of the stuff?" He shrugged. Now that he thought about it, the razor-sharp crystals in his blood were very out of place.

Alistair didn't cease to impress the Lothar "Really? That's so cool." his eyes were alight. "I mean, it's kinda gross... but cool. Doesn't it bother you to eat something like... rotting?" he asked with a grimace. It had to, surely? He complied to Alistair's beckoning, sitting on the bed before turning his body properly. The bed was comfy, despite his feet hanging from the bottom.

He listened to his explanation of mutations, it couldn't hurt to learn more about some of the changes he'd be facing after all. "That's awful, I'm so sorry to hear that." he spoke in regards to his spine, the price of magic was heavy one, especially for some. He shot up from the bed suddenly, full of energy with wide eyes "Fuck! Did I hurt you when I lifted you in the ball!?" he panicked, genuine concern in his black-brown eyes. "I'm so sorry! I-!" He halted himself. Since when did he apologise to people that weren't family? Only once before had he been sorry to a stranger and that was to Rey'na when they first met. Why did he care? He'd never cared for the opinions or feelings of anyone that wasn't family before, so why did he now?

After he'd calmed down somewhat, he laid back before continuing his talk. "...A mark? Those are the blessing that immortals give you, right?" Fridgar nodded, a look of pride about his features. "I've been trying to get one of them Immortals to notice me, damn near cost me all my nel. Ilaren, have you heard of that one? She's the party Immortal, or so I've been told." He scratched his head, smiling a little before breaking into a chuckle with his recollection. "Anyway, nearing the end of Zi'da, I decided to buy out a tavern with the last of my wages. It was a good night, from what I can remember. Well, it must have been, because I woke up in the dungeon the next morning!" Fridgar began to laugh, shaking his head softly. "To this trial, I don't know why I got arrested in the first place! Haha!" The Lothar bellowed with laughter. Calming himself a little, he spoke, wiping joyous tears from his eyes "...But yeah, that's why I had to choose a different name for the ball! Anyway, what mark do you have?" he lay there smiling. It wasn't often that he got to speak of marks or magic, but thoroughly enjoyed it when it happened.

A heavy silence smothered the room as Alistair stopped what he was doing. Had Fridgar said something wrong? Probably. He braced for impact, sitting up in the bed a little. Contrary to the explosion he'd thought imminent, Alistair showed his face in full to the Lothar. It became clear enough that Alistair had some things he wanted to talk about outside of marks and magic, so Fridgar listened. He watched with concerned eyes as the fellow mage poured his heart out to the Lothar that, admittedly, didn't know him very well. He simply nodded between his pauses to indicate that he was still listening.

He let go of the air in his lungs through his nose as Alistair finished unloading the heavy subjects from his chest. His eyes fell to the floor with comprehension - he'd wanted to kill this man in public not too long ago, was near enough about to. To think of him as a person with weakness and pain didn't feel right somehow. "First off, I didn't think being a noble would be so complicated, I thought you lot had it easy. But it almost sounds like a leash..." he paused, holding his chin in thought once more. "Secondly, I could never pull off a second Identity. Why would I waste a totem on another person? Nah, I'd much rather be able to fly, breathe water or run for miles. But in your case, I can see why you'd want a separate identity. 'Sounds like Alistair has it hard." His black globes failed to meet Alistair's gaze for a few trills before he looked up to lock eyes with the man. "I'd initiate you, if you wanted."

Alistair was a very accomplished mage, that much was clear. If anyone could handle the weight of the ability to control your body's shape, it would be him. He turned his body to be sitting at the edge of the patient bed and shook his head "...And third of all..." He spoke, returning his gaze to the human. "...I don't give a fuck about 'who you are', if you're a noble or a commoner, a Venora or a nobody." his eyes narrowed a little with his intent focus. "You're Alistair, the dude that saved me and Rey from that powerful mage out in the woods, the dude that's curing me of a lethal illness despite the things I did and the dude that helped me see parts of myself that I didn't know I had." he took a shaky breath.

"You're not a villain, you're a victim of that Ellasin maniac. You're one of the good guys, even if you don't think so." Fridgar's visage was dead serious, no hint of doubt passed his brown irises. "You threatened Rey'na." he exhaled with irritation. "...And I'm still furious about it." he explained, maintaining his sharp glare. "But you didn't understand. Your only flaw is that you think too much, you should try going with that gut feeling more often." Fridgar inhaled, softening his expression. "Am I making sense?"

[Alistair]

"Not many nobles know because... they've been sheltered. They live on a higher pedestal than everyone else, and they get what they need, when they need it. It's difficult to understand or comprehend the tragedies of what happens below when you've always lived above. But I've explored this world as a commoner, for a long time, across many seasons. I understand what life is like without privilege. That's a part of the reason why I... why I want to become King." Those words held a great deal of gravity, but they were becoming easier to say. I want to be King, he would repeat to himself. Until the civil war, he'd eternally considered himself a loyal and unquestioning vassal - but Veljorn's rebellion had changed a great deal. The life he knew now was different than back then, as when all was said and done and the war had resolved, Alistair left. He disappeared to the wind, and gained knowledge he never thought possible.

As for the crystal person . . . the man raised a brow. He wasn't sure if he understood what the man meant - that someone was made entirely of crystal. He'd operated on some strange creatures, to be sure - but none of them were ever... composed of a synthetic object, or a mineral. "What race was this crystal person?" he asked. He wouldn't be surprised if Fridgar didn't know, but... it would answer some things, potentially even the origin of this illness. If a human anatomy could naturally be made of crystal, it was possible that this illness was not the cause of magic, but even some biological irregularity - likely triggered by poison.

"I don't have to eat rotten food," he said. "It can be dried and cooked. It's just like eating regular food, but slightly less fresh. But really, how much food do you think your average person eats directly after harvesting or killing it? Most food sits there for at least a day. It's barely an issue, really. I get sick if I eat food that was freshly killed or picked, but the only time that sort of food comes into my view is if we've just gone on a family hunt, or if we're sampling the products of the vineyards. I just make sure to tell them that I'm not hungry." It was a difficult thing to explain, but it was a part of his changing anatomy, from magic. And ultimately, it was a privilege - he could eat significantly less frequently than others, allowing for excellent survival in the wilderness. Due to the way his metabolism and muscle growth changed to reflect that, it was even an aid in keeping his developed musculature without having to work out as much as other strength-builders.

"Anywa-" he was stopped while attempting to change the subject, the man shooting up from the bed and offering him a loud apology. Alistair was nearly taken back, his eyes widening as his body bent backwards a little, an instinctive reaction to the loud voice and sudden movements of the Lothar. "No, no," he shook his head. "I'm fine. I was fine back then, too. I'm actually quite durable, Fridgar. As I said, my spinal issues have been minimized due to my blessing. Trust me. If anything, I really enjoyed our dance. It wasn't painful, it was - comforting." He said this knowing that he'd likely sound quite odd, but it was the honest truth, and he didn't wish for the man to be so apologetic and disheartened. He'd done nothing wrong.

Alistair was, quite honestly, amazed by how sensitive to others he could be. Fridgar was not the man he expected him to be. He was a lot kinder - a lot better. Alistair really . . . found himself liking the sort of man he was.

Listening to his story afterwards, when he'd calmed down, made the mage laugh a little. The Lothar had proven himself to be rambunctious and carefree, spending all those nels just to try and attract the attention of an Immortal. Ilaren, at that. "Isn't Ilaren sort of like the village dandy horse? I used to live in Rharne - there were practically orgies on the street trying to catch her attention. She must've responded to at least some of them," the man shrugged, his expression innocent. Fridgar might have not noticed, but Alistair cleverly avoided the question entirely as to what mark he had. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Lothar, it was more that he hated even bringing it up. Syroa had forced her mark on him, and Alistair didn't want for anyone to get the wrong idea and think that he served her. He did not. He didn't even want her mark upon his back. She wasn't even worth bringing up.

To all the man's words, Alistair could only nod his head in surprise. Fridgar was more understanding than most people, which was ironic, because at first glance Alistair realized that the man doubted his intelligence severely. He could only remember I think, I think a lot in his heads, words Fridgar said with a sense of doubt - even insecurity. Yet he wasn't worthy of insecurity. He actually was capable of seeing the other side of things, and feeling empathy. If only everyone had that trait.

The man offering to initiate him was a surprise. Alistair could barely pose a proper reaction at all. It was... sudden. "Really?" he asked, his body leaning forward slightly. His heart started to beat more quickly, because - he wanted to. He actually really wanted to say yes. But... he didn't want for Fridgar to be accepting a commitment that he wouldn't want, now or later down the line. "Fridgar, you know that... when you initiate someone, you form a permanent bond with them, right? It's not just sentimental, it's a real bond. Spiritual. Magical. Your sparks connect. That's a... crazy proposition considering - well, you know," he muttered, eyes lowering.

He hadn't imagined anyone ever asking him that in a situation like this. All of his initiations had been by those who had known him for years, or by those who had - at one point - trusted him with their lives. Even Geliadal, back with the Seekers. But Fridgar was willing to give him a bit of his spark so easily. That felt so strange. He almost wondered if this man was just woozy from the illness and the loss of blood.

But it didn't seem like it. Fridgar actually seemed to like him. And to be honest, Alistair liked him too. He was a good guy, and he had good intentions, and he cared. He was one of the few people Alistair had just been able to... be completely honest to. Even with Syroa's compulsion, that thing that always made him want to lie and conceal, he could be completely forward with Fridgar. That was just the type of man he was - trustworthy. And . . . Alistair also wanted to be that kind of person - trustworthy. He wanted to show Fridgar that his faith, even if hastily drawn, was not misplaced.

"I'm not going to think too much then," he said, proudly. "I'll speak on my gut feelings. Though you might be surprised to see what sort of world that creates around you. I'm not the best at self control," the mage admitted, scratching his head, embarrassed. However, with the fullest confidence in his eyes, he turned to Fridgar and smiled, faintly. "I'd let you initiate me. If we're going on gut, then I'll be the first to say that I trust you. That I like you. My gut feeling about you is that you're a great man, and I wouldn't mind sticking around you for a while. Maybe longer than just a while," he added, quietly. "You've shown me a few parts of myself I didn't know I had, either. You've shown me the shameless part of myself - and it turns out, I like that Alistair. Quite a lot more than I thought, to be honest."

He opened the container for the Whitemoss, and placed it against Fridgar's skin, near the wrist. The man held a candle to the wet substance, which caused for it - strangely - to enter the man's system, as if melding through the pours of his skin and flesh. That was a technique he'd actually invented, by his own estimation - normally doctors would cut open a vein and have the Whitemoss enter through the bloodstream, but it would move in through the pours if exposed to a great deal of heat.

Then, pouring the Leechbane into a glass cup he'd procured, he offered it to the Lothar to drink.

"This will boost your blood production, while the Whitemoss kills off the poison attempting to circulate through your newly produced blood. If the crystals are a biological function, even if not by your race, then they're susceptible to biological treatments. I believe fully that this will work." Looking the man in the eye, Alistair placed a hand on his shoulder, attempting to provide him some comfort. He leaned forward a little, scooting his chair in so that his knees pressed up against the bed, and he presided directly over the taller man. He was showing him that he was right there, if he needed him, in his fullest capacity. And he was showing himself, too - that Fridgar was right. That he was a good guy. That he could be a good guy. That it was even possible.

[Varthakh]

"Yeah, I figured as much." Fridgar spoke, distasteful. He looked away from the noble situation, not particularly interested in redeeming the high and mighty folk. His gaze soon returned to the mage with a sharp turn of his head "King!?" he asked with wide eyes. "Talk about 'setting the bar'!" he fumbled for words, thinking of something encouraging to say as to not dishearten Alistair. "I mean, having someone like you on the throne instead of that 10-arc-old would be nice, you'd get stuff done. I reckon you could pull it off too, I'm rooting for you." Fridgar nodded with a sincere smile.

He scratched his chin, then cast his head into his palms in thought. Think, come on, think you dumbass. What was her race called? "Uhhh..." he shook his head. Valyeria hadn't said, but Eric spoke of them unfondly, often saying that the transformation abilities of a Becomer were far superior. What did he call them? He rubbed his head in his palms before looking up at Alistair again and exhaled. "Loodith. That's the only thing that comes to mind, sounds made up right? I'm not lying. There are people made of crystals and they can transform, like Becomers. Just not as good." he furrowed his brow, focusing serious eyes on the other mage. "You believe me, right?"

"Okay, yeah. That's a lot less gross!" Fridgar laughed. Looking the mage over, all of his transformations seemed subtle. Possibly passed off as birth defects, even. Why were his so much less subtle? Growing four inches and gaining fifty pounds of muscle? He was a giant, even among his own kind. His eyes, too - black instead of white and his unnatural amount of hair was profusely shaggy. How people hadn't noticed yet baffled him, perhaps they were just being polite? The thought forced a smirk. Admittedly - he had a long way to go before his corruptions would stop, he only had the one spark and already seemed to have changed more than Alistair with his minimum of two. Perhaps it was down to the fact that his magic focused on changing his physical appearance while Alistair's potentially didn't. Either way, he was glad not to have received any permanent injuries... yet.

The Lothar hung his head, not only had he gone and broken his 'tough-guy-streak' - but he'd done it for no reason. Alistair was fine, which was... relieving? "I'm glad. Yeah, I liked it too." he spoke as he gathered his composure. His mind clung to the fact that he'd almost killed him in that dance and a darker part of him still wanted to. How dare this noble threaten the life of his Rey'na. He might be powerful, but he was still human. Humans all bleed the same, and if it can bleed - it can die. "Can you please do me a favour, after this? It would put my mind at ease." he clenched his claws in a firm grasp that shook the balled fist a little, then released it. "Apologise to Rey'na? She's not evil and she's harmless enough - I think you two just got off on the wrong foot. She might worship Lisirra, but I get why she kept that from me if everyone lashes out like that when they find out." Fridgar inched closer across the patient bed to Alistair, looking him dead in the eyes. "I promise you, she's not evil. Even if she is, which she isn't by the way, isn't she worth redeeming too?"

Orgies? On public streets? "Oh." Fridgar's hands connected with his head as he lay in patient's bed. "I have to step up my game then." he rubbed his eyes at the resolve. "I hope you don't mind me stirring up hell in lowtown over the next few seasons!" Fridgar laughed uncomfortably, half serious and half joking. One way or another, this immortal was going to come and see him, either to shut him up or to shake his hand. The Lothar, being as blissfully stupid as he was, didn't notice Alistair avoiding the question and left the topic there.

He scratched his beard "Maybe I should jump into those fighting pits? I could choose a cool nickname and beat people up in Ilaren's name!" Fridgar punched upward into the air while lying down. "'And in the red corner~ We have the terrible, the savage, the crusher of cranium's... THE BEAST!!" he roared, riling himself up to a point. He jumped to his feet from lying down with one fluid movement. His superior core strength and the bouncy-ness to the bed making the motion easy enough. With sudden ferocity, he held his arms fully extended above his head, pressing them to the ceiling softly and mimicked the cheer of a crowd. He then focused his attention on one point in front of him and assumed his fighting stance, regardless of any of Alistair's protests. He struck the empty air, his fists made heavy 'swooshing' noises with the tremendous force they carried. "...bam, bam! Knock out! Another astounding victory for THE BEAST in the name of his immortal! Can anyone stop this absolute savage!? More importantly, does his immortal even give a damn!?" Fridgar stood with his stance wide on the bed, emitting power and copious amounts of enthusiastic energy. He looked down to Alistair "This is happening, I've decided. Dude, help me think of a cool fighter name!?" he spoke before lying back down.

Fridgar nodded, listening to Alistair's sudden speech with understanding, smiling at times. It was a big leap, he knew that, but the mage had grown on him. "I know, I've initiated one other person before. An Aukari named Avrae, I'm thinking of going off to find him in Ashan, check up on how he's doing and share what I've learned with him." The firey prick always had a spot in the back of his mind. "Well, I like you too - And you're in need. If you're okay with it, so am I. As for trust, well. If jumping through a portal with you wasn't proof enough, then I don't know how else to prove it!" his smile only grew, though a twinge of anger lingered still. "Who needs self-control?" he spoke with a confused smile, the pull of his scars on his features reminded him that he should consider some self-control.

"Then you should be that Alistair more." Fridgar's neck began to ache from all of the nodding he'd been doing, but nodded regardless. "What's the point of doing something if it doesn't make you happy?" he asked the 'noble' with a suddenly serious look. "I think we'll get on well, if I survive this." Fridgar smiled half joking. There was still a very big 'if' for the Lothar's survival, as his illness was unknown to the mage.

He looked to his right arm as Alistair started the treatment with some sort of white stuff he'd been making. He then put a candle to it, warming his skin pleasantly from the distance "Okay, what does-!" his eyes widened and his jaw dropped as the substances melted into his skin. What the fuck just happened? Without another word, he accepted the drink he'd been offered and took a whiff. Didn't smell like anything he wanted to drink, though with the bear's sense of smell - there was no such thing as a bad smell, only interesting ones. He knocked back the glass, drinking it entirely when instructed.

Fridgar stared at the man, blank. "Okay." while he had no idea what Alistair had said about the treatment, he had a vague idea that he probably meant it would cure him? "So it'll cure me, right?" he asked with curiosity. A hand then contacted his shoulder, he followed the arm up to Alistair. The noble was trying to comfort him, which could only mean one thing - this was going to hurt. He mentally prepared himself as the medicine did its thing, how bad could it hurt in comparison to an eight-minute transformation? Fridgar met his eyes while laying, the mage felt different somehow. Less of the arrogant prick he'd met at the ball, more something else? Perhaps he'd rubbed off on the man. For now, all he could do is wait for the treatment to end, sharing in the comfort and company of the new Alistair. He maintained un-flinching eye contact, a look of uncertainty building in his features.

[Alistair]

He was enthused to know the man would root for him. That was at least one supporter in Rynmere - only twenty million more to go. Alistair nodded his head with a small smile, acknowledging Fridgar's show of support.

Surprisingly, too, it seemed the 'bear' was capable of educating Alistair on biology. Loodith was all it took for it to click in his head, the man's memories coming back to him, after research he'd done while developing his preservation serum. "Yludih?" he asked himself, quietly enough that Fridgar likely wouldn't hear him clearly. Knowing that these people had a crystalline biology made a great deal of sense to him, and it also meant that he'd had an answer for in case the current treatments did not work on Fridgar: Claytona Monticola.

It would treat any illness of the Yludih, and it may have worked - additionally - to treat any Yludih-inspired illnesses. That all depended on whether or not the Whitemoss and Leechbane themselves would work, however.

"I believe you, Fridgar," the man replied, nodding. "You've actually helped me learn something. I didn't know that the Yludih were made of crystal," he said, biting his lip - he almost looked embarrassed by his lack of knowledge on their physiology, considering he was supposed to be one of the world's great medical professionals. Apparently not.

His embarrassment, contained in something of a blush, only increased as Fridgar admitted to liking the dance as well. It was not only embarrassing because of the fact that Alistair had approached him to gain information and/or make threats, but also because they'd begun their dancing career with a silly noble step dance that everyone and their mother knew in the aristocratic class. Still, it was sort of fun, even though he could tell Fridgar was thinking wow, this is lame for at least the first half of it. Alistair would have to learn new dances at a later time, to reveal that he was actually capable of being fun, instead of what everyone thought of him as: a cold stick.

Maybe he could start off that trend by giving second chances. If Rey'na really wasn't that bad, then she did deserve... something of an apology. After all, she didn't make any threats in return, and she was just serving the will of a deranged deity. Alistair had done the same for Syroa, and for Ellasin. Really, they were all in the same boat. Maybe Rey'na just... needed to be introduced to another path. He didn't know what her intentions were - it was at least worth finding out. So...

"Okay," he said, nodding. His expression was quiet and non-expressive, but his stare was fairly intense. He was thinking. How would he even approach this? "If it'll lighten your mind, I'll apologize. But I'm going to make a request of you, too," he said, leaning his head back slightly. "Please don't hate me if I'm still a little skeptical. Maybe she's just been misled, maybe not - I don't know. I'll give her a chance, though. After all, I have to retain some sense of objectivity," he said, with a light chuckle, deciding to completely ignore Fridgar's notions about 'stirring up hell in lowtown'. Until Alistair was King, that was Cassander's problem. He'd decide to politely ignore it.

Although, he couldn't ignore the man's boisterous behavior in front of him, which seemed to be a staple of the Lothar's. He'd gotten up from his patient's bed, roaring and yelling, recreating the imagery of an area in his mind. And seriously, with no shame in saying it, Alistair could actually imagine - in that moment - Fridgar in the arena, breaking people's backs in with chair legs and eating little dashing rogue types in bear form. The mage broke out into laughter, warmed up by the man's endearing behavior. "Haha, everyone's trousers will be amok with shit at the sight of the Beast," he said, clapping for the man as he got back onto the bed.

"I'll try to think of some names... alright, let's see..." he started, oddly enthusiastic about the whole thing, "Hell From Gauthrel," he raised immediately. "The Ursine Land Mine. Furious the Injurious!"

For a moment, he seemed to get into this almost as much as Fridgar did. It was like the man's positive energy was kindling his own, which was a phenomena - Alistair was usually as stale as rocks, but right now, he felt completely different. He wasn't even the same person. The only thing that snapped him out of his silly bluster was the mention of a particular man - Avrae. Alistair knew Avrae, intimately. They had undergone a lot together, though all the way in Ne'haer. His brows perked up immediately.

"You know Avrae? Kyric?" he asked. "I know him, too. We're actually pretty close. That's such an odd coincidence," he said, confused. If not for the heavy conversation already at hand, he'd have been stuck on the thought of how strange this was. Looking the Lothar in the eye again, Alistair smiled brightly and nodded his head. "Thanks, Fridgar," he said, quietly. "And you're right. I should be that guy more. I'm gonna be him now!" he exclaimed, putting on an expression that quite greatly resembled the face one made while constipated, though he only did this as a joke. He was... facetiously channeling his shameless side, though in truth, it was already here.

And, honestly, it made him quite inspired. He thought of a way to deal with this whole thing cleanly, without having to partake in bloodletting to remove the old and infected blood. The mage tightened his grip on the man's shoulder, displaying that he was going to cause him a bit of pain. "Trust me," he said, staring the man back in the eyes. Averting his gaze for a moment to his chest, the mage drew back his arm, and pounded his fist against the man's abdomen, once. Immediately pulling his palm over to the man's mouth, Alistair formed a small portal between his palm and used the pulling technique to act as a vacuum. Fridgar would begin to bleed from his mouth, yet again, with crystals and all the like - and it would be, in all likelihood, the worst of the expulsions he'd had so far. But it would be the last.

The portal would pull all of the blood and crystal through it, and they would disappear to another place, leaving the man relatively clean of the fluid. Alistair sighed in relief, realizing that his procedures had actually done what he hoped they would. They'd worked.

"You survived," he said, grinning in triumph. He felt... genuinely happy. Like he'd done a great thing, today. This was by far not the first life he'd saved, but it was the one that brought him the most jubilation out of all of them. There was something about Fridgar that... invoked something in him. His humanity, in a way.

Upon declaring his victory in saving the man's life, Alistair leaned forward, and gave the Lotharro as big of a hug as he could. He didn't feel shame in doing so, either. It was right. It was what he wanted.

"Alright," he started, "I thought of another fighting name." Pulling his head back from the Lothar's shoulder, and his eyes meeting Fridgar's from a close distance, the man held back a laugh. "The Crystal Cougher," he said, his cheeks growing red as he snickered away.

[Varthakh]

"Yludih! That's the one!" he exclaimed with a snap of his fingers, his eyes alight. "Wait, I taught YOU something?" Fridgar smirked, surely not? This guy was smart, very smart. He was a doctor and all. Fridgar shook his head "I mean, of course I did. I know stuff." he cast his eyes to the floor.

"Really? You will?" Fridgar asked, almost shocked. But of course, there was a catch to the apology, Alistair wanted something in return. "Of course I won't." Fridgar waved his hand, as if to imply that Alistair was being ridiculous. "I don't think you'll stay sceptical for long once you get to know her though." While he had no idea what 'objectivity' meant, he understood most of it. This was a good start, at least. He'd be able to release his resentment at least a little if he knew that Rey'na was completely safe from this man.

Finally, he'd found someone that understood his antics. Alistair was just on-board with his new hobby as he was, cheering as though he was a part of the crowd... or maybe he was laughing. It was difficult to tell between the two in this state of adrenaline. "You bet they will! And if they're not, they can jump in! That'll teach 'em!" he growled, brandishing his claws a little and baring his teeth - nearly getting a little too carried away, it would appear. His fiery gaze fell to Alistair as he wore an almost sadistic smile. "I have to do this, it's where I belong!" he declared before laying back down into his bed.

A small laugh escaped his lips upon hearing the names Alistair had thought of. While he didn't know what 'Injurious' meant, he could determine that it had something to do with injury. "I like 'The Ursine Land Mine' the most." He grinned with a nod before sighing. "The thing is, I don't think non-slaves can enter." he groaned. "As awesome as Ilaren is, I don't really want to be a slave. You know?" He pondered as he lay there.

Fridgar looked to Alistair with a twinge of confusion. "Yeah, but I didn't use his last name. How'd you-?" he started between Alistair's sentences before realisation claimed his features. "Oh. Gotchya. Yeah, I initiated him back in Saun, last arc. He's a 'cool' guy." Fridgar grinned, very proud of himself. Maintaining eye contact with the mage, he spoke "It's fine, just- whoa...". Fridgar forced himself silent by pressing his jaw, he'd otherwise laughed hysterically at the man's 'becoming' of new Alistair. With his lips curling into a smile, he spoke "Careful! You don't wanna hurt yourself!" he laughed.

The sudden pressure on his shoulder confirmed his prior suspicions - This was going to hurt. Fridgar took a deep inhale and exhaled before nodding to Alistair to confirm that he trusted him. With his free hand, he punched him in the gut, earning a brief grunt and a curling of his nose before being covered my Alistair's hand. he coughed and gagged as the burning sensation filled his throat once more, just worse than all the previous times and a lot more rapid. Within trills, blood and crystal exploded from his throat violent and painful. He forced his eyes shut to escape the pain, to no avail. Thankfully, the ordeal was over soon enough. Fridgar opened his eyes and sat up, looking to Alistair confused.

He'd survived? Was there a chance he'd die? "...Did you just punch out all my blood?" His expression at first serious before meeting Alistair's, who was beaming. Almost contagious, Fridgar's features lit up with his. "That's pretty hardcore, not gonna lie." A small chuckle escaped his lips as euphoria washed over him. He was cured? Before he could think any further, Alistair embraced him. Fridgar froze. The man was entitled to his victorious hug, surely? Cured a disease never seen, that was some achievement if any. Maintaining his smile, he wrapped his arms around the smaller man and pulled in closer.

"Oh?" Fridgar asked in a hushed tone through a warm smile. Fridgar drooped. "I can't believe you just said that." Fridgar spoke, closing his eyes and shaking his head, mimicking a look of disappointment. "Funny guy." he declared before breaking into a smile, opening his eyes to meet Alistair's. He fell silent upon noticing the very small distance between them, his scarred cheeks filling with red. With closed eyes, he hung his head and pressed his forehead to Alistair's. "...Thank you." he spoke quietly. A quick breath through his nose revealed everything he needed to know; Alistair stank of either fear or lust. It was difficult to tell between the two with his sense of smell, but he would have put money on which one he thought appropriate here and now.

Why did he feel this way? It was wrong, without a doubt. Especially with everything that he and Rey'na had confessed when they were snowed in just a few trials ago. No, he couldn't do that to her. If she found out, she'd be heartbroken. No fibre of his being would ever want to see her hurt. As such, he couldn't bring himself to hurt her. With that, he released Alistair. "I'm sorry." Fridgar started, casting his eyes to the bed fabric. "I can't do this. I love her too much." he spoke, pained and sorrowful. "I didn't mean to lead you on, I'm sorry if I did."

[Alistair]

The last thing he expected was . . . what came after the cure. There was a triumphant moment, one where Alistair and Fridgar both engaged in a tightly woven embrace, the Lothar bringing the mage in closer, increasing the intensity of their... spontaneous cuddle-fest. What he'd realized, though, as they were locked so closely to one another - was that he was... content. It was a simple sort of fulfillment, but it was one he hadn't experienced in a long time. Just being alive, being here, having company - that made him really quite happy. And it would have continued to make him happy, regardless of what happened, before it was . . . so quickly ceased.

The man brought their faces together, their foreheads touching. He whispered 'thank you', the smell of iron in his breath. Alistair only smiled back, a sense overcoming him. Just as Fridgar breathed through his nose, and caught wind of a particular scent, Alistair felt a similar awareness. And it wasn't because of Sesser, and it wasn't Syroa's influence that inspired this feeling. It was natural, for once, in so long. It felt right.

But - not right enough. Just as he was moving forward, his hands locking around the titan's waist, the man's eyes seemed to display a different sort of thing. Not a desire at all, but a rejection. An anger with himself.

Alistair knew that sense too well. That... feeling. He had experienced it many times, for all his life, by virtue of who he was. This was not the first time he'd been in a situation like this, but it was the first time that he was the one to be rejected, instead of the other way around, content always to be the rejector. Was it right? Was it the right choice? He didn't know. But it was what Fridgar had chosen - Ali couldn't begrudge him for that. Any of that. He felt a guilt, too, right now, for putting himself in this position in the first place. Of course he'd become attached. He realized ever since he learned of his passions that they were strong, and compelling. Difficult to control. And it didn't help that Fridgar was such a good guy. He reminded Alistair of someone else, from before, who'd always managed to make him happy with the simplest of things.

A person he'd never been able to forget. This Lothar had his qualities, and his brilliance. His inner good. And that was why . . . it made sense that he wouldn't betray his lover, even with the chemistry they had. It wasn't right to him - he already had someone.

Alistair nodded his head, seating himself beside Fridgar on the bed, his body removing itself from the man's embrace. "It's okay," he said, reassuring him. He didn't know if this would invoke a negative reaction, but he put his hand on his shoulder, again. He was saying that he understood. "I wouldn't want you to feel shame, Fridgar. Do what's right for you. Besides, I don't want to have to apologize to Rey'na for another thing," he said, shrugging it all off. The man stood up, beginning to put all of the supplies away in their respective places, and preparing himself one of the patient's beds so that he had a place to sleep.

Was he really all that tired? Maybe. Fatigued was more like it - after all the events of yesterday and today, and on top of that, the disappointment. He'd made a mistake by allowing himself to become invested so quickly. There was no happily ever after for a man like him, and that was something he'd learned long ago, in his failure to keep the best person to have ever come into his life. Instead, there was sleep, something he'd gladly take right now, if only so that he could lay down and clear his head.

"Good night," he said, his voice quiet. With those words, his eyes closed, and his sides laid into the surface of the bed.

[Varthakh]

The mood had dampened, to say the least. What was meant to be a celebration for the Lothar's survival and Alistair’s success quickly turned sour with Fridgar's rejection. A heavy sorrow lingered in the air, Fridgar couldn't muster the nerve to look at him. It wasn't fair, he was aware of that much. Alistair had shown him the light, brought him out of the darkness at least a little and set him on the path to redemption. He deserved to be happy, a man of his status could have had anyone they wanted, why did he have to choose Fridgar? Had he been a lesser man, he'd have said 'to hell with it' and taken the affair as far as he could. But Fridgar wasn't that person.

Why did Alistair make him care? Was that even his intention? To care only lead to hurt. And it certainly hurt to see Alistair this way, the man he'd come to admire, the man that had saved his life on more than one account now and the man that he desperately wanted. Alas, it couldn't have worked. Fridgar was too loyal, too in love and too wrapped up with Rey'na to ever hurt her like that.

To make matters worse, Alistair understood. By the immortals, why couldn't he have just exploded? Lashed out, punched him or something and stormed off. This would have been so much easier. Alistair removed himself from Fridgar's arms and put a hand on his shoulder, comforting him? Why was he the one in need of comfort? "No... A-alistair, I-" he stuttered, sorrow had all but robbed him of his ability to speak coherently. A burning in his throat and eyes were tell-tale signs that if he made another attempt of a sentence, he'd surely burst into tears. Alistair was such a good guy; caring, full of hope, strong, ambitious to help the less fortunate. And he'd gone and broken his heart. Dammit, Fridgar.

Alistair went about tidying up the workspace before climbing into one of the patient’s beds and speaking 'goodnight'. After a trill or five, Fridgar mustered the composure to speak "Good night, Ali." his tone heavy with remorse. What had he done to the poor man? Closing his eyes, Fridgar lay awake in his bed, meekly hoping that sleep claimed him soon.