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Theotar didn't particularly enjoy visiting Bastion. The crisp yellow landscape and the bright and relentless sunshine only helped to bring back memories of his time spent struggling to survive in the Ember Ward, none of them good.
Draven and the Maw Walker were further up ahead, the pair stood in the middle of the stone path as they conversed together, pointing out the various groups of Forsworn that moved about below the hill that the venthyr were stood on. They had arrived together - Renathal was adamant that having a Venthyr or two accompany the Maw Walker would be good for their relations with the other realms - but Theotar had held back a bit, preferring to stand in the shade of the tree he was currently leaning against instead of in the glaring sunlight, sipping the nice cup of (now lukewarm) tea he had brought along. It was quite peaceful if Theotar was being honest, but of course, nothing compared to back home in Revendreth.
But always, serenity never lasts.
"Your Sire has doomed us all!"
The sudden rage-filled cry coming from behind him certainly took Theotar off guard, which didn't make him anymore prepared to handle the shock of a body roughly slamming into him and taking him to the ground. The saucer and teacup that he had been holding tumbled from his grasp, both shattering as they fell upon the ground, hundreds of sparkling shards scattering amongst the grass as the puddle of tea quickly soaking into the dry ground. Those had been a part of his favorite set, but Theotar didn't have time to mourn the loss of dishware.
"Oof!" Theotar felt all the air in his lungs make a hasty exit as he slammed heavily onto the dry yellow grasses of the Bastion plains. He quickly flipped over onto his back and made to push himself back onto his feet, but was quickly stopped by the person who had knocked him down placing their foot against his chest to pin him to the ground. It looked to be an aspirant of Bastion, clad in a simple tunic, a sharp sword held in their trembling grasp. The expression set upon their blue face was one of pure fury and hatred.
"Now, now," Theotar raised his hands, chuckling nervously as he looked up at the blade that was shining in the painfully bright sunlight of Bastion, "I'm sure this is all a big mistake, perhaps you could let me up and we could discuss this over some tea or-?"
"Silence!" The crazed aspirant shouted, almost a feral scream with the amount of rage held within the sound. Theotar was honestly surprised that the Maw Walker or Draven hadn't heard and come investigating yet, "Your people have taken everything from Bastion! Your Sire has taken everything from me!"
"Wait, I'm not- Sire Denathrius is not my-" Theotar stammered through his words, eyes wide as the foot on his chest pressed - painfully - against his ribs, feeling as if his bones were about to snap beneath the pressure.
"There are no excuses for what your kind has done to us." The aspirant hissed, raising the sword high, "May this be an example to your fellow sympathizers of what we do to traitors."
Oh dear.
Theotar barely had the time to open his mouth once more to try and explain when the aspirant brought his sword down, using his full weight to stab it into - and through - Theotar's stomach.
The world went white as Theotar howled in agony, his back arching from the ground and his limbs jerking in pain. His sharp fangs tore through his tongue as his jaws clamped together, blood filling his mouth before he slumped, limp, back onto to the ground.
As his eyelids slid shut, he could just barely make out the blurred form of the aspirant reaching down to grab the hilt of their sword, most likely to deliver the final blow.
"Theotar!"
Draven's shout brought Theotar back from the edge of oblivion, the venthyr sluggishly tilting his head to see the large stoneborn looming over him, the Maw Walker visible behind him wrestling an aspirant away from the two.
"Draven..? What happened..." Theotar craned his head to look around and oh-
That was definitely not where a sword is supposed to go.
His stomach was soaked in red, the grass and blade of the sword that was currently stuck in - through - him spattered with the color as well.
"Theotar, stay still." Draven pressed a large hand against Theotar's shoulder, pushing him back down against the ground.
Theotar let his head fall back against the grass, his eyes drifting to gaze at the slowly passing clouds as Draven called to the Maw Walker. There was a slight hint of panic in the usually solemn stoneborn's tone.
With Denathrius locked away within Remornia, there was no chance for a venthyr to be brought back after perishing. Even Renathal didn't have that power. Nobody knew where venthyr - or any of the races of the Shadowlands - went after perishing. Theotar doubted that there would be a second afterlife. More than likely, this was the final ending for him if he didn't get help soon.
"I-I am sorry, I thought-" a timid voice from somewhere behind Theotar's head spoke up.
"You thought? Do you know who he is?! He's Prince Renathal's..." Draven's angered voice was replaced by a ringing in Theotar's ears, his vision darkening around the edges.
It made the blindingly bright skies almost bearable. Theotar almost preferred it this way. The stammering voice faded as an ascended lead the aspirant away, speaking to them in a stern tone as they departed, and there was a moment of silence as Draven looked over Theotar's wound.
"Maw Walker, I will hold the blade steady. We cannot safely remove it yet, but you can wrap bandages around it to at least help the wound not get worse." Draven's low rumble caused Theotar's eyes to open once more (when had they closed in the first place?).
The Maw Walker quickly nodded and knelt to rifle through their pack, quickly grabbing a roll of white bandages and a bottle of swirling liquid from within.
The bottle was offered for him to drink, and that he did.
The drink must have been some sort of numbing potion, as when Draven grabbed the sword that was currently impaling him, slightly jostling it despite his best attempts, Theotar didn't feel a thing. It rather felt like he was floating, disconnected from his body.
"Is there anything we can do to help him?" A female aspirant moved forward into Theotar's vision, nervously clutching her spear to her chest as she looked up at Draven.
"No, your anima will not mix well with that of Revendreth. We must return to our realm. Prince Renathal and the court are the only ones that might have enough power to heal him fast enough." Draven shook his head, his voice a deep rumble. "We shall send the Maw Walker to assist you another time."
"That is understandable. I wish you all good health." The ascended that had taken away the aspirant returned, inclining their head respectfully. "I understand that words aren't useful in this situation, but I am deeply sorry for the actions of that aspirant. He shall be properly punished and educated."
Theotar unwillingly let out a low groan, grinding his sharp fangs against each other in a pained grimace as he was gathered up in Draven's large arms, the smooth and cool stone thankfully bringing some semblance of comfort to his aching body. The Duke dimly noted that the once grey stone was now spattered with red, the same color that covered Theotar's chest, still sluggishly seeping from where the blade was extruding from the gaping hole in his stomach.
"We must get him back to Sinfall, there is no time to waste. Hold on tightly Maw Walker, I will not stop for anything." Draven knelt to let the Maw Walker to clamber upon his back, allowing them a moment to get situated and tightly wrap their arms around his neck. For Theotar, he clutched him tighter to his chest but still taking care to be sure that he wasn't aggravating the injury to the best of his ability. "Everything will be alright my friend, just hold on a little longer."
With that, they took to the skies. Draven's powerful wing beats propelled them through the Bastion skies as the mighty stoneborn headed towards the mirror that had taken them to this doomed mission in the beginning.
Theotar rested his head against the smooth surface of Draven's chest and stopped trying to keep his weary eyes open. As the world blurred out of focus and his eyelids slowly slid shut, Theotar could just barely hear Draven calling his name, begging for him to stay awake, telling him that they were almost back to Sinfall, almost back to Renathal. Draven's voice sounded worlds away, Theotar's heartbeat filling his ears instead. The venthyr weakly coughed, eyes watching as flecks of red spattered across the stoneborn's chest.
There was a simplicity, a welcome serenity, in accepting the inevitable.
Theotar wondered if it was just better to give in and accept the inevitable future rather than fight.
"My apologies Draven," Theotar managed to force his eyelids open for a few more seconds, but they were already falling back down as a hoarse whisper escaped his lips, "but I am just so... tired...."
And that was all Theotar managed before he drifted off into unconsciousness, oblivious to the concerned promptings of Draven.
"And they are having doubts. I think we could reassure them and quell any problem before it takes root, but it is something to be aware of. Additionally, I noticed... Renathal? Renathal!" The Prince in question was shaken out of his musings when the Curator snapped her fingers beside his ears, a raised eyebrow and unimpressed expression meeting him when he sheepishly turned to her. "Can you tear your attention from your Duke from a few moments to focus on the matter at hand?"
"My Duke? He's not-" Renathal sputtered as the Curator chuckled.
"She's right, you've been trying to sneak peeks at that mirror at all opportunities since Theotar left with Draven and the Maw Walker." The Accuser spoke up from the Curator's side. "You needn't worry, they will return soon."
"And speak of the Jailer, we told you. You just..." The Accuser motioned over Renathal's shoulder, but her face suddenly paled and she cut herself short, her eyes focused on something behind the Prince as the Curator mirrored her expression.
Renathal twirled around, and felt his stomach plummet, his eyes widening as he took in the scene.
Draven was standing at the mirror, obviously having just jumped through, and he was covered in blood. His hands were soaked in it, bright red streaks went up his entire forearm, and more spots and streaks covering his chest.
But it was what was clutched in the mighty stoneborn's arms that horrified Renathal.
Theotar was limp, his hair messy and escaping its ties in a way that would normally have the venthyr complaining about looking decent. His chest was a solid swath of red. And there was a sword sticking out of his stomach, the bloodied weapon running the venthyr through.
There was a moment of silence, of shock and horror as all eyes in Sinfall stared at the venthyr in Draven's arms, and then chaos erupted.
"Theotar!" Renathal raced to where Draven stood, the Maw Walker - who Renathal just noted had also arrived with them - quickly jumping from the stoneborn's back and moving out of the way.
"My Prince," Draven dropped to his knees, taking great care to gently settle Theotar against the cool stone floor. Renathal quickly knelt beside the unconscious Duke, "he was mistaken for a sympathizer of the Sire and attacked by an aspirant, we didn't remove the sword out of fear of making it worse. He was responsive up until a minute or so ago, but I fear we have little time."
"That was a good decision. That blade is the only thing keeping the majority of his blood where it's supposed to be instead of bleeding out." Renathal's hands hovered over Theotar's limp chest, wary of making the injury worse. "It will take a lot of strength to fix this..."
"It's a good thing you're not alone then," the Accuser spoke up from behind the prince's shoulder. "you need not bear this price alone."
"I can't in good conscious demand this of you, you know the ris-" Renathal started as he looked up at her, but the Accuser quickly cut him off with a frown and a raised eyebrow.
"Renathal if you dare to finish that sentence, you'll wish you were back in the maw." The Accuser held her head high as she crossed her arms. "I am prepared for what we must do."
The Accuser put forth a blunt and emotionless front, but Renathal knew that she cared deeply for all those that she loved, and Theotar was among those nestled securely within her heart.
"I as well," the Curator stepped forward to stand next to the Accuser, "we must act quickly."
The trio knelt around Theotar's body, Renathal motioning for Draven to join them at Theotar's head.
"Draven, when I say to, you will need to remove the sword." Renathal instructed the general, "We will be forcing our own anima into his body, and it will want to reject it."
"Understood." The stoneborn nodded, steeling himself for the ritual.
In unison, the three venthyr gathered around Theotar began gathering anima from deep within themselves, wrenching the very force that kept every creature of the Shadowlands 'alive' from their souls and forming it into a physical form, the swirling crimson strands twisting around and shaking themselves into a large sphere.
Renathal gave it a few moments to allow the orbs of anima to grow in size, before calling out to the venthyr across from him.
"That's enough!" The prince gasped, yanking his hands away and disrupting the stream of anima. He put a hand to the floor to support himself, his limbs trembling as his body registered the amount of missing anima.
Across from him, the Curator slumped, being caught by the Accuser before she could slide to the floor. The three of them were exhausted and would need a few days of rest before their anima would restore itself completely, but Renathal knew it would be worth it.
Renathal could already feel the effects of leeching from his anima supply, his arms trembled as he raised his hands to cup the swirling ball of anima.
The Dark Prince looked up to meet the Curator and Accuser's eyes, and when they nodded in response to his unasked question, he directed the ball of anima to hover over Theotar's chest, the Curator and Accuser's following suite.
Renathal took a deep breath, steadied his hands, and nodded to Draven.
"Now."
Draven wrapped his hands around the hilt of the sword, and in one fluid motion, he pulled it out of Theotar's chest with a wet 'squelch', the lower section of the blade stained a bright red.
Tossing the blade aside and letting it clatter upon the stone, Draven returned his hands to Theotar, placing them on the unconscious venthyr's shoulders to hold him down.
"Make sure your grip is tight, he will likely awaken for this." Draven tightened his grip at Renathal's words, preparing for the worst.
With a little force, the anima orbs descended into Theotar's chest and quickly disappeared from view as they were absorbed.
As Renathal had suspected, Theotar's eyes snapped open the second it happened, the smaller venthyr's back attempting to arch up and off of the blood-stained ground but only making it a few inches before Draven's strong hand pushed him back to the ground, holding him still as he attempted to writhe in pain. His mouth was stretched wide in an agonized scream, but all that slipped past his bloodied fangs was a gargled groan as his eyes rolled in their sockets. His pupils focused on nothing, panic and pain clouding his senses.
"It will be alright Theotar, your body just knows that the anima within it is not its own," Renathal rested a hand on Theotar's, intertwining the twitching digits with his own. "it will be over soon, your body will accept our anima."
Theotar gave no response; Renathal wasn't even sure if the Duke could even hear him from within the tight grasp of agony.
After a few more horrible moments of Theotar's pain-filled spasms and choked cries, his eyes finally rolled back into his head and his body fell still as the Duke slipped into unconsciousness once more. Thankfully Theotar's wound had closed, the only evidence of its existence left behind being the drops of red covering his stomach. The venthyr's features were now relaxed, reassuring Renathal.
"He'll need to rest for a few days at least," Renathal heaved himself to his feet with a groan, before extending a hand to help the Curator up as the Accuser picked herself up from her position kneeling beside Theotar. "Draven, he can rest in my quarters. He'll need the undisturbed rest."
The stoneborn nodded, carefully gathering Theotar in his arms and carrying him out of sight, taking all the care in the world to treat him as gently as possible as they moved.
Renathal tore his gaze away from the last spot he had seen Theotar as the Curator swayed, her already anima-deprived body obviously affected hard by the loss of even more anima.
"Curator," Renathal started, only to be promptly interrupted by the Accuser.
"I will take care of her. You take care of yourself. Don't make me tell Theotar that you're working yourself to exhaustion again when he awakes." The Accuser sternly commanded Renathal before returning to the Curator's side, guiding her deeper into Sinfall, most likely to her personal quarters to rest.
Renathal allowed himself a chuckle at the Accuser's protectiveness, before slowly making his way to follow in Draven's footsteps.
He could certainly use a few days of sleeping after that ritual, and he was sure there would be at least one cup of tea awaiting him when he awoke.