• Closed • Tell Me More

[Doran Cooney]

Though rhetorical, Doran still nodded. While it had been a shocking revelation, like all surprises, as the trials had passed its impact had faded, becoming something more akin to a peculiarity. That was not to say it didn't still inspire apprehension in the back of Doran's mind. He'd never been one for breaking laws, but neither had he spent much time worrying over them. Murder, though, was something he actively avoided - not that he was ever in such situations. Alistair though had even admitted to it, though the guilt didn't appear to bother him in the traditional sense, focused as he was on the injustice dealt him prior to his transgressions. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of all it. Alistair frightened him, in many different ways for many different reasons; but Doran couldn't get him off of his mind. He'd never met anyone so absolutely impossible before.

His own self-deprecation was logical, though it seemed he hadn't quite caught on to the point Doran was trying to make. He had thought he'd already made it clear by not running off back to Rynmere, never looking back, that Alistair's current... dilemma wasn't something he was all that concerned about it. It had already happened, and Alistair was who he was - both the murdering mage and the friendly rancher. He'd already seen both sides enough to know that there was no separating them. Even now, Alistair seemed to play the part of a humble man, one who seemed to conveniently fail to remember that he had asked - even demanded - quite a bit of Doran only trials prior. What he had wanted to know was why Alistair had risked the modicum of peace he'd found. Had it been hubris? Lust? Or something more?

And then there was his kindness, tempered by the darkness he'd seen in him trials before. His cheeks flushed red and cleared his throat. He'd not been fishing for compliments, but he supposed that if Alistair was going to explain why he had bothered with him in the first place, such things were bound to be said. Even with all that had happened, the warm flutter of his heart found his charming words all the more lovely, even if they were words exchanged so causally by many a couple. Though etiquette might have demanded he at least try to deny the other man's claims, Doran held his tongue. He'd asked for reasons and they had been given, though it did give Doran a better idea of what it was between them. Not some fate ordained encounter, merely an impressionable young foreigner who had happened across a lonely man. It was better that way, he supposed, and helped to define the flutter as infatuation. Finally having put a name to it, he found it was all the easier the manage.

Having been given a suitable, if not somewhat disappointing answer, Doran still smiled softly as Alistair turned to face him, his feet still falling confidently in rhythm though his back was turned to the way ahead. A very small part of Doran wondered if that too was some magical feat. "Why? To see you, of course." His words were unlaced by charm or allure but genuine. His smile faded at Alistair's next question. It had been the point of his visit, in a way, to better understand what it was Alistair wanted from him and - more importantly - to decided what it was he wanted from Alistair. Though the threat of death still hung dark in the shadows of his mind, with what Alistair had said, he felt somewhat more confident that even flat out rejection would not bring about his untimely demise; if nothing else, he was glad to feel as though he could make a choice without worrying about whether he would live to see the next sunrise or not.

There was a sadness in his eyes as Alistair gave his own wishes, and Doran's feet came to a slow halt. The breeze had since died down, leaving them in a still sea of pale gold. The air was warm from the sun's light, and the gentle hum of insects wings kept true silence at bay. With a soft sigh, Doran stared back at Alistair, his cheeks still flushed but eyes clear and gaze tender. He truly was the most mesmeric man he'd ever laid eyes on. Through his smiles and tears and even his oppressive, commanding demands, he was the epitome of pulchritude. Though built as sturdy and strong as Andaris' walls, he was as gentle and as radiant as a Venoran sunrise. Even with his flaws, he still seemed to effortlessly paint the appearance of perfection.

Had they met under different circumstances, perhaps things would have been less complicated. He would have liked that. Instead, there was knot between them, one filled with threads of desire and lust, of fear and control, of helplessness and sorrow. Doran didn't know what to do with it, how to handle it, and though he wanted Alistair, he wanted a version of him that Alistair clearly was not. He was a complicated man with an even more complicated life - what Doran wanted, he couldn't have. And though Alistair had claimed that Doran was enough in his own way, Doran knew that he was not what Alistair needed. He was not strong enough nor wise enough nor could he protect Alistair from the darkness that clawed against his heart and soul. That was what Doran wanted, to save him, to let him be the man he wanted to be, to free him from the shadows he'd been cast into.

When he finally spoke, his breathy voice was quiet and warm, much like how the world around them seemed in that moment. "I'm... a terrible liar, Alistair." His lips turned a wistful smile as his ombre gaze held with Alistair's own impossibly beautiful eyes. "To say I have no intention to see you again would be a lie. I would very much like to." But. "As I am, as you are... this..." His hand moved to his chest and extended in a shallow gesture towards Alistair's. He shook his head, eyes almost plaintive. "Even if you have nothing to ask of me, there is still so much I wish to give to you." Drawing a shallow breath through his nose, he stared deep into Alistair's eyes. "I want to help heal your wounds, to dry those tears that still fall even now, to save you from the darkness." He took a deliberate step forward, his hand placed gently over Alistair's chest as his gaze fell to where his heart was. "But I'm afraid I am to weak to do it. I would only tumble farther down with you, spiraling into..." Again he shook his head.

Looking up, he met Alistair's eyes once more. This is not an end, but neither can it be a beginning. We met too soon; or perhaps too late?" His hand moved to tenderly cradle the side of Alistair's face. "But I am glad to have found you, Alistair Venora. You are truly one of the most... fascinating people I have ever encountered."

[Alistair]

He could already taste it, preemptively. It wasn't... rejection, not yet, but that was the path these words lead to. He wanted to see him again, which was grand, but that meant that they would part. Alistair had greatly wished they would not have to. The saddest, largest part of him wanted to hold him, keep him here. The valley felt like home with him here - with someone he cared about. Alistair... desperately wanted to convince Doran to stay. He knew that if he merely accepted his rejection, even if it meant complying with his wishes, he would not be acting as a man. He needed to show him how important this was. But after everything that had happened at Cappola, he felt afraid that he would come off as forceful or controlling.

The situation he'd put himself into was wholly unforgiving. But Doran had to know, now, that he was a different man than that singular action. He was caring and passionate, and he wanted to direct that passion to the Venoran, regardless of the difficulty it would take. He had to show that. So, as Doran spoke, he started to assemble the right words. The things he needed to say. Even if he didn't take Alistair's objections to heart in the immediate present, the mage could at least offer him something to hold onto.

"I need you, Doran," he said, his expression pausing in motion. The words were low and filled with emotion, but he could not allow himself to seem begging or weak. He wanted to articulate himself, not break down. "There is so much you can give me. And so... so much, I want to give to you," the mage's fingers smoothed over Doran's forearm as he touched his chest, trying to get whatever touch he could. He'd wanted to hold him this entire time, but the apprehension Alistair had built from the previous two trials had sunk in. It was... binding, restricting a mountain of movement. No caution was too great to ensure that Doran did not once again feel violated, but he found that all the more reason why they needed to come together. He needed a second chance, as right now he'd felt the pure psychological malnutrition of failing the first.

"You're saving me right now," he said, taking grasp of the hand he'd used to cradle his cheeks. Interlacing their fingers together, he made the dangerous move of stepping forward, bringing their bodies close. This was -- precarious, but he was hopeful. Alistair knew that mirroring him, Doran held a part of him that wanted for the two to come together. He only needed to capture that part of him. "I've fallen for you, Doran. I know that my actions when we last met were wrong. I was prepared to stick a knife through my throat that very night, after what I'd done. But you came to me, showed compassion, tried to understand why. And you come to me even now, seeking me out... because you care about me," he whispered, his chest warming. Doran was truly good to him. Others had been as such, but few had the same... loveliness in their compassion.

Doran was the encapsulation of everything he'd wanted, and needed, and wistfully hoped for when staring into the fields of Kingsley from his empty window frame. He was empty and alone - but not now. The mage's mind was filled with light and for once, he was hopeful.

"I wouldn't let you spiral into darkness," he adamantly stated, the warmth of his breath slowly blowing in tempo against the forehead of the younger man. "Just as you didn't allow me to. And even after, the thought of seeing you this trial or the one previous stopped my emotions from going out of hand. I don't want to be one of the most fascinating people you'll meet, like a... a story. I want to stay a part of your life. Please, Doran --" he asked of him, bringing his hands together in a prayer's stance, a sign of a request deeply wanted.

"Give me that chance. I know that I have no way in which I can convince you. All I can do is ask."

[Doran Cooney]

His heartbeat caught in his throat at Alistair's words. Face flushed with a rosy heat, Doran could not help but react in such a way to such an honest, unreserved statement. While he didn't recoil from Alistair's touch, the muscles in his arm and shoulder tightened, ready to pull away should the need arise. It was more difficult than he'd thought it might be to keep a clear mind, and as Alistair took his hand in his, he found himself silently regretting placing his hand upon Alistair as he had done. The warmth of Alistair's hand enveloped his own, firm and secure, but with a lingering threat of overwhelming strength looming on the outskirts. As he drew closer, Doran focused not the hot flush of his cheeks or warm touch of their hands. Instead, he kept his eyes pinned to Alistair's lips, listening intently to his words.

The assertion that Doran cared was not something he could refute. Clearly, as Alistair had already pointed out, he would not have returned in either instance had he not. But there needed to be more than just Doran caring for him - it was not out of some cosmically ordained love that he did so. Much of it was a softer cousin to pity, something he would have extended to any broken soul. Lily had trained him as such, and he was loathe to cast her beliefs aside. While his words filled his chest with warmth, the flutter of his infatuation responding with quickening of his own heartbeat, he held his ground. It wasn't that Alistair had fallen for him - just an idea of who Doran was. Just as Doran seemed to have done the same.

More words and earnest seeking, and Doran stared up at him, his eyes finally rising to meet Alistair's pleading stare. That beautiful man; he had far too much confidence and not nearly enough sense. Even Doran, who was wont to traipse about Venoran forests, singing to trees and chattering with the squirrels knew that it would only be a matter of time before the two of them met misfortune. Alistair was saturated in it; both by blood and magic. Doran was followed by the quiet reminder of death and the brief nature of life. He wanted to life as Lily had desired, beautifully and wonderfully. The man before him was anything but. And still...

"That you even ask..." Doran's voice was little more than a whisper, the words a quiet sigh. He shook his head, a hand pushing Alistair's aside, a soft smile on his face. "What a peculiar man you are, Alistair Venora." Entertaining the idea, at last, he took a step back, not out of fearful retreat, but because he could not think straight so close to the other man, the heady scent of his aroma already threatening his thoughts. To stay whatever worries the other man might have, Doran set a finger on Alistair's nose, his brow quirked honest question. He too didn't want Alistair to be just a short page of his life, but even had he wanted to, he could not remain in Oakleigh. Lily's grave was something he simply couldn't abandon, not for Alistair, not for anything. "Say I were to acquiesce. That this," The finger moved to tap lightly against Alistair's lips. "Might truly be a beginning. I cannot stay here, and you cannot return with me."

It was statement of fact, his words clear and airy breath certain. He let his hand return to his side, "It is hardly a simple matter of a yes or no." There was a quiet sadness in his voice and eyes. If Alistair truly meant his words, if it was a second chance not to prove his goodness but to share more than just lust and desire, Doran wanted it. But as he'd learned, long ago, wishing for something did not make it so.

[Alistair]

The soft, stoic expression quickly shifted into an excitable grin. Doran was beginning to see this for what it could be - if only the two were strong enough, and brave enough, to let everything fall into place. There was of course the same inhibitions there had always been, but now moreso; magic, the label of a traitor, the distance between them. Doran would go back to Rynmere, that much was certain. But that didn't need to be the end for them. Magic... could bring them together. If there was ever anything to convince Alistair that he was right about the wonders of the arcane, it was this moment.

"A peculiar man that is, as we speak, falling in love with you," he spoke from the heart, eyes gleaming intently at the smaller man. He wanted to hold him close, so badly... but until Doran's mind was made up, he would still hold himself back. As a relief to all of this, everything, he already had the answers Doran sought in store. A way to keep them together. The aforementioned influence of magic, even though it had been the thing to expel him from Rynmere, was their link.

"If you trust me --" he continued to stare, hopeful that Doran would look back with the same sort of eyes, "I can make it work. I don't have to go back to Rynmere. We can choose a location, and every trial at the same time I'll open a portal there from over here. You'll step through, and will immediately find yourself at Cappola, in my arms. It will have to be remote, but I know Venora like my own body. I already have a hundred places in mind. We can be together, Doran," he stated confidently. The other man was correct in his assertions; Alistair had far more confidence than sense. He was a hopeful man, who had spent his life wanting and dreaming. And Doran - he was such a dream to have.

While lust was what originally consumed him, his soul was captured. It was more than that, now. For once. He had to make it work - the hankering he carried was too strong to let sleep and lay.

[Doran Cooney]

Doran raised his brow at the comment of love. He wasn't sure how to take it - forward as it was. Instead of responding directly, he merely politely smiled. Time would tell if Alistair's feelings were truly those of love or something else - just as it would the same for Doran. He could admit to himself that that time was something he wanted to spend, but as Alistair brought up the question of trust, Doran met his searching stare with one of clear hesitation. He didn't trust Alistair, not really. He wanted to, but faith in another was not something so easily won back as simply wishing it. Still, he listened to the proposal with a thoughtful frown, nodding slowly.

If he understood correctly, Alistair's plan was to use his magic to ferry Doran back and forth through only the Seven - or perhaps only the Immortals themselves - knew what. The thought of playing the role of the pear that Alistair had drawn forth from the inky emptiness did not sit well with Doran, and his unease showed plainly on his features. He knew Alistair thought differently, that magic was meant to harnessed by man, to be wielded for what he believed to be their benefit. That part of him that so desperately wanted the other man easily pushed aside his apprehension, but that part of him was small in comparison to the lifelong warnings and fear that had been cultivated within him. Alistair truly was a mage - a concept Doran had yet to fully grasp. "A portal...?"

He drew a breath, running his hand through his hair, his wavy locks springing back into a tousled mess atop his head. "What... what happens if the... portal? If it doesn't... work?" It was clear that while Doran understood very little about magic, the cautionary tales had always warned that with power came consequence. To him, cutting a journey of trials into a matter of trills was certainly a impressive power - one that surely came with equally impressive consequences. "Please don't misunderstand, Alistair, I just... magic?" His brows knit, eyes searching and not without a fair amount of trepidation. "Is there really no other way?"

It was clear that Doran didn't trust Alistair's magic - or any magic for that matter. His misgivings weren't directed at the mage specifically, more so the arcane arts overall. Even the prospect of a visit once an arc was more suitable in his mind, but he supposed he should have expected Alistair to make the suggestion he did, and so confidently. They truly were so very different. "Perhaps letters...?" He wanted to see Alistair, to be able to hear his voice and watch his lips move and he spoke, to smell his scent and feel the warmth of his presence. But if the price was magic, was allowing himself to benefit from its use, he was little more than a mage himself - though perhaps even worse, as he would have no power of his own - , and that was a price he wasn't certain he was willing to pay.

[Alistair]

The apprehension regarding magic remained. Alistair... understood. A part of him accepted that this outcome was the most likely - Doran couldn't just ignore the implications of magic. He was resistant to it fundamentally, and nothing Alistair had told him earlier had changed that. So, he brought himself back. He would think before he spoke, listening to Doran's concerns regarding the portals. They made sense - they weren't... superstitious, illogical assertions. Sometimes portals did fail. Not his, but others. The unskilled, the impatient, the reckless.

He needed to make him understand. There were so many ways to put it, and he had to basket it all carefully. Doran viewed magic as hubris, as unnatural, as . . . unclean. Alistair needed to shift his view, and while he knew he couldn't do that immediately, he had to start the process now.

"The portal would work. But I understand your fear," he stated, even though internally he felt somewhat dejected. Magic was a part of him, an immense piece of who he was. It was sad to simply accept that one of the cores of his being was viewed with such apprehension by others, even someone who he felt considerably liked him. But he'd fought with that factor for a long time - it wasn't the beginning of an introduction to the Rynlist fears. This was no surprise.

"If I go back to the Kingdom, Doran... I could die," he said, solemnly. "I would do it for you - I would take that risk. But for my sake, and for yours, I want to help you understand. I can teach you about magic, Doran. All of the good, all of the bad. Every school of spell, every spell within... the people who have wielded each school throughout history, and all of the acts of greatness and feats of evil they've all collectively done. I know you have a fear of the arcane," he said, lacing his fingers together quietly against his lower chest.

"But," Alistair started, "That... is a belief. A view, like any other. We can debate it, we can challenge it, mutually; you can even try to show me why I'm wrong. I know in some ways that I am. But I'm sure that you are too," Alistair nodded, confident of such. Doran and he had to meet half-way. That was simply the fact of it.

"I can teach you about Rupturing, my passion," the mage offered, his expression controlled, but passionate. His eyes were nearly staring out of their sockets.

Alistair really did love that domain - it was so... freeing. "I can tell you the history of Reyard, who sought to connect the world together, bringing nations to friendship and saving countless men from death to dysentery and the wrathful sea. I can tell you of Elaine Fremont, and the Scions of Wanderlust, who still roam Idalos today... bringing people to freedom. Magic can be good, Doran. You may not believe it now, but it can be. It can be used for the good for us, too; it can bring us together." Alistair was clearly intent on shifting his view, as difficult as it was. Clearly, his arguments before were not persuasive, but he was but one man speaking from his own worldview. Magic was a many, splendorous thing. It had a place for everyone - if not a domain itself, a way in which to interact with that domain.

Perhaps they could find a place for Doran in magic, too. Though he wouldn't even dare propose that just yet.

"We have a few trials left," he recalled. "You have time to make your choice, and we can spend the whole of nightfall exploring my domain. I've never used it to harm you, and I never will. So, I ask you for a chance."

[Doran Cooney]

Though Alistair surely meant to reassure him, Doran couldn't help but notice he didn't answer the question. He wondered if it was because he'd been right in his assumption, and should the portal fail, it would do so catastrophically. The thought sent a small shiver down his spine. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain he wouldn't be able to step through when the time came. Even the slight fall of Alistair's chest wasn't enough for him to cast aside his growing doubt.

Without hesitation, Doran shook his head at Alistair's rhetorical offer. He absolutely didn't want Alistair to die, and certainly not for his sake. Once one was dead, that was it. There was no sense in sacrificing oneself for another, and if he could help it, he wanted to play no part in any foolishness of the sort. But it seemed Alistair didn't plan on such things, not for the time being, as he continued right along, and Doran listened quietly. His cheeks had since lost their rosy color, but the light of interest, tinged at is was with uncertainty, had not left his eyes.

It was an interesting proposal, and one that Doran found himself considering, his fear more so of the practice of magic, not its theory. There was no real harm in understanding it. After all, he'd come to Alistair that trial to learn more about him, to understand what it was that drove him and why he felt the way he did. Clearly magic was an important part of that - of everything that Alistair was and would become. He nodded, slowly, as Alistair spoke, though it was with some reservation, as the mage's passion, even quiet as his voice was, was rather overwhelming. Just in his few sentences already, Alistair had hinted at schools and a grander history of mages certainly unknown to Doran. He couldn't help but wonder if that knowledge would serve to cast magic in a less terrifying light or worsen it.

The invitation to debate, to have a conversation, not simply sit and be lectured at, appealed as well. He preferred asking questions, asking "why". That Alistair was offering all of that on such a subject as magic... Even Doran understood the value of what the mage was extending towards him. It was something, no doubt, many searching for power and control would have killed over. But he desired neither of those things, not in the traditional sense; and that made Alistair's proposition all the more intriguing. He wanted to teach Doran, not to bestow upon him sovereignty over the laws of reality, but to assuage his concerns over his uses of it. He was offering Doran secrets to the universe in order to calm his fears. Though what Alistair was literally extending to him was by far the strangest gift he'd ever been offered, the thought behind it was touching.

What he did share sounded grand, as grand as the tales of heroes and villains, triumph and despair, love and loss. Doran gently chewed on his bottom lip as he thought. In the end, it was all just stories. Those he'd been told and those that Alistair offered. There was no harm in hearing them, not really, and he did want to see Alistair again. The fear of stepping through the portal, of utilizing Alistair's magic to their benefit, staunchly remained, but his curiosity had been caught upon the many hooks that Alistair had cast his way.

"If..." Doran spoke slowly, searching Alistair's face and finding the earnest glimmer in his impossible eyes reassuring. "If I am to learn these things; if you are to teach me..." He drew a breath in through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth, a steady sigh that was followed by tentative smile. "Then I suppose now is as good a time to start as any." Cutting off anything Alistair might say in return, Doran raised a finger between them, his smile traded for a somber expression, one of resolute gaze and calm, low voice. "But you must promise me, should I not find the courage even after learning more about what it is you do and how you do it, you will under no circumstance risk your life to stay in mine." He shook his head, hair gently swaying back and forth. "If you die for my sake, I will never forgive you. Is that understood?"

[Alistair]

He... had convinced him. Alistair appeared almost surprised, as Doran began to relent; finally, it seemed he'd said the right things. Doran was a hard sale - discussing these topics had not been dissimilar from a tense bartering, discussing terms and taking steps backwards and forwards. Doran pulled in, Alistair's words failed to convince him; he pulled out, Alistair brought him back in. That was... how he liked it, though. The mage never wanted a docile companion. It would only be the more satisfying, he thought, when he finally managed to convince him that perhaps mages didn't need to be locked in chains, burned or confined to some cave apart from civilization. Though of course this was hyperbole - but Alistair wasn't particularly convinced that Doran couldn't have believed in any of these measures.

That could change. Hopefully, it would change. It was simply in his best practices to be real, be honest - but to show him the human element. Most people did not see mages as being the same as them. They were a different caste within society, with suspicion and dark whispers cast down upon them. Alistair and Doran would have rigorous debates, they would discuss, they would learn and expand their knowledge simultaneously. And they would love, too, when it was right to do so. By being a mage that Doran cared about, he could do a great deal to help him understand their plight. Because - they did have a plight. No matter what magic was, it was not worthy of humiliation, torture, isolation... only to be rounded into pens and burnt at the stake. Rynmere had a disease that needed curing, and it was not magic.

For now, however, he could be jovial in that he'd succeeded in opening the doors to conversation. Doran was willing to learn about magic, and that meant everything. Alistair would have to be articulate, and vigilant, and thorough - but if he could speak in a way worth listening to, the two of them could work out.

"I understand, Doran," he nodded. "Thank you," Alistair added, moving in closer to gently rub at his shoulder. "Now -- I think it's best we get started. We have a limited amount of time, and a great deal to cover. I'll start with Rupturing," he nodded, and continued walking... preparing a script of stories, theories, skylines and constellations.

[Tristan Venora]

Alistair:

Knowledge:
Persuasion: Thinking you've persuaded someone
Persuasion: Failing to persuade someone
Persuasion: Seeking someone's priorities to help with persuasiveness
Persuasion: Attempting to veer someone's deep held beliefs is difficult
Persuasion: Laying out terms for a discourse
Negotiation: Making an agreement to handle a disagreement
Negotiation: Offering an extreme as an alternative to make someone capitulate
Psychology: Learning to articulate your passions
Psychology: Holding back physical intimacy
Discipline: Sexual self-control
Discipline: Keeping oneself calm despite passions being put into question
Animal Husbandry: Attempting to treat a horse
Animal Husbandry: Horses don't like me
Animal Husbandry: Animals are apparently not fond of Necromancers

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Renown: N/A
Magic XP: N/A

Points: 15

Doran:

Knowledge:
Alistair: Once-member of the Coven
Alistair: Proud to Be a Mage
The Coven: A Real Organization

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Renown: N/A
Magic XP: N/A

Points: 15

- - -

Comments: I’ve been following your threads since you started posting together because I was so curious about what would happen between the two of you.

Doran, you apologized for being wordy in chat. You shouldn’t have. Your writing is beautiful and detailed and quite enjoyable to read. I find Doran’s blossoming relationship with Alistair interesting. Doran’s very different from the other men in Alistair’s life. He’s so kind and gentle and charming, and he seems to be good for Alistair.

I find it amusing that horses don’t like Alistair, and Alistair doesn’t seem to particularly like horses either. I always pictured him confidently sitting on his horse’s back and having everything under control. Your PC changed a lot since the days he was the heir to House Venora. I could never have imagined him wearing simple clothes and sandals and living on a ranch then!

I found Alistair’s talk about the Coven and magic very enlightening. Threads that deal with matters of magic or philosophy are my favourites!