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A moment of respite in a long series of high strung days, Erik would never have thought that the crew could fathom the concept of a full night's rest. At least not for another month’s time. Despite the limited space Duncan’s quarters provided, with the awry state they found Stilben in since the six month time jump, it was a welcoming sight. Just enough room, both warm and mold-free in the midst of a swamp town? What more could they ask for?
Riding the high of an unexpected, but successful exit from a Transport via Tree spell and a meeting with Goury’s wife, of whom they’d never once heard existed, the Golden Raven Crew were all but ready to lay their heads down to sleep. Though as Erik tossed and turned in his bedroll, his mind was filled with thoughts. Thoughts of the now, of the then and of the tomorrow. Of the crew and of their friends and family. His mind went quiet for a moment before it drifted back to a state he’d found himself in more and more often as of late.
Erik felt in those moments that in the whirl of events ongoing and with Goro’s persistent and relapsing memory condition, he could very much be the only member of the party he was traveling with right now that was so concerned about the state and health of Goro’s mind. Not only since it was a condition that in some strange way had caused some rippling effect into his own consciousness, but because in all the empathy Erik could conjure in his heart, he’d never quite felt so much for an individual in the way he’d felt for Goro as he watched the effects of a curse so profane.
Still, Erik was very conscious of his disposition and how it’s translated to the crew. As distracted as he’s ever come off in passing prior, Erik’s mind was drowning in thoughts, and as anyone would have guessed, a full mind was almost paralyzing to him. Once concerned only with the arrhythmic call of a nearby storm, his mind was not accustomed to thinking so deeply so often… it used to be all gut feeling.
So in an attempt to go back to all gut feeling, Erik was determined to try and turn some of his attitude around, at least for the night, and though he originally intended to chat up with whomever was still awake enough to converse, some impulse in his body pulled him towards Goro.
Goro was set up not too far away from Erik’s bedroll, they were often grouped together by virtue of Erik’s own worry and of saving space. Only a few steps over, Erik could see Goro turned away and curled over what could only be his journal, a nighttime routine he’d established since he rediscovered the significance of his own record-keeping, one of the few surviving constants of Goro’s tumultuous life. He’d keep quick but detailed notes, sometimes so detailed that the text would bleed into the gutters of his book. His handwriting was small but somehow remained legible, but always a little different between memory lapses.
Erik inched his way over, not trying too hard to be subtle; he’d have hated to startle him mid-phrase. Close enough to peer over his shoulder, Erik could peek at Goro’s hand clasped over a worn down pencil as it scrawled out thought after thought. A little too tired to notice particulars of his writing, instead finding his eyes tracing the lines of Goro’s hands. The harsh curves of his fingernails bitten and dulled. His habit of rolling the pencil side to side between his finger and thumb. The way his knuckles tensed over a pencil too small for him to hold—
“Hello?” Goro’s voice, a little hoarse. Maybe from lack of use in the past few hours. “Erik? Are you good?”
Erik recoiled in surprise before laxing. “Yeah- Yeah, I’m good. I just noticed you writing, and I guess I wanted to watch a little.” At that moment, Erik was convinced he could have thought of a better excuse, but when that failed, no better excuse than the truth, he guessed.
“Alright…” Goro curled back over to keep writing, though with a noticeably more careful hand.
Erik leaned back over, though not bothering to shield his curiosity. In his near decade of clarity since his own memory lapse, Erik couldn’t understand how Goro managed to maintain such an intricate skill as writing seemed to be. Erik recalled his own penmanship, shuddering at its inadequacy.
In enough time, Erik found himself in what could only be described as a trance, as his eyes followed the scrapes and swoops of Goro’s writing. He let his mind wander, not in the images Goro painted with his words, but rather in a moment of almost dissociated awe at the kind of power Goro held in the palms of his hands.
Perhaps exhaustion was to blame, but Erik felt so enamored by his train of thought, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts slip onto his tongue.
“Do you ever wonder where your magic comes from?” Erik murmured, just barely under his breath. “Because I know I’ve got mine from the Stormlord, but… though yours and my magic are the same in a lot of ways, I feel it’s still different. I mean, in a good way.”
Goro quietly palmed his book before turning himself over to face Erik. “What do you mean ‘feels different’? How does magic feel different?”
“I mean that as a cleric of Kord, the magic he gives me almost has a… flavor? Or a smell? It leaves a texture to the tongue that is so specifically his. It tastes like the air after a storm, smells like the earth calling for rain? But your magic, when I’m around it, is almost spiced? Almost sweet. Like a stick of cinnamon or a clove bud roasted over firewood. Or… it’s just something I’ve noticed?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it like that. Or been around enough people’s magic to know the difference.” Goro’s eyes glazed over in thought before he turned back to Erik, “Does my magic really smell like cinnamon?”
“Not exactly like cinnamon, but it’s warm and full and a little pepper-y? A little sharp, sometimes overwhelming-” Erik caught himself too late in the phrase and his cadence quickened nervously, “Again, I mean in a nice way.”
“That’s kind of what it feels like too,” Goro muttered quietly, waving his hand about in a mock spell cast before resting it back down on his thigh. “If it makes sense for your skin to feel spicy?”
“I think it kind of makes sense…” Erik hesitated, a bit too long to sound convincing. “Does it ever hurt to cast a spell?”
“Hmm. If it ever did, I don’t remember.” Goro held up his journal and swung it gently, “And old me didn’t write about things like that, so I guess we’ll never know.”
“I ask ‘cause to be honest, the time I rediscovered that I could do any of this magic, things like calling lightning really hurt like hell.” Erik said with a joking wince, “Still, something inside convinced me to keep trying and eventually, it stopped hurting. It kind of keeps me going these days, but it does make me painfully aware that my body isn’t meant to take impacts like that naturally.”
“I don’t know…” Goro’s voice trailed off, as if chasing a thought. “I can’t really tell you how it could have been, but I guess I could tell you that right now, casting spells kind of starts like a deep rumble in my chest. It fills my lungs like a sharp breath of cold air, even stings like it.” He gestured to the centre of his sternum, as his explanation slowly picked up in speed, “And for a split second, it feels like my body is so full that it might just explode, but then just as quickly as it built up, the magic is pulled from that deep part in my chest and rushes out. Kind of like how blood does when you move an arm that’s gone numb? Casting spells can sometimes leave me feeling unstable and my head a little hazy, but it also makes me feel like my body’s made of the magic and it feels good—” He stopped abruptly before a sharp inhale, as if he’d forgotten to breathe in his musing, "And it feels right.”
Erik sat silent in an effort to absorb all that had been laid out for him. To have magic relayed to him in such a way, he couldn’t help but let a chuckle escape his lips, as he was brought back to that same state of awe he was in only moments ago. “May I?” With a spark of impulse and a smile, Erik had reached a hand out to Goro.
A bit reluctant at first, Goro slowly mirrored Erik’s gesture.
Gently taking Goro’s hand in his, Erik took the opportunity to take in what he could of every crease and callous; running a thumb over each knuckle and tracing a finger over every vein. It was a hand, not unlike his own, and yet it was as if he could feel some thrumming, a deep resonating power, like a squall in the furthest distance; too far to reach, but ferocious enough to notice.
Before long, he placed down Goro’s hand side-by-side with his own, just as calloused and travel-worn.
“The way spells were taught to me by Kord? Every word is like a prayer. A request to ask for some of his generosity to strike down an enemy,” Erik explained solemnly, his gaze fixed on the palm of his hand, “I’ve been told that I’m lucky to be able to live on my own terms since I’d been granted this, and I’ve never regretted anything. And though his divine magic can do some major damage, it could be just as suddenly taken away as when I woke up with them in the first place.
“But you, on the other hand,” Erik exclaimed enthusiastically, his eyes rising to meet Goro’s, “No pun intended, of course, but your magic feels so uniquely yours. I don’t know anything about the ins and outs of magic or arcana or whatever mages call it, but I’ve seen many storms and I’ve heard thunder, and seen lightning, *felt* it even. And it always felt like the Stormlord’s. But when you tell me,” He said, lifting a palm up and pressing it against the centre of Goro’s chest, “That you can feel that thunder rolling in here? I believe you. There is something fierce stirring inside you and I think that is… amazing. Beautiful, even. And nothing and no one can claim it from you, now or ever.”
Erik paused. He could hear his heart race in his fervor. He allowed his breath to slow as he regained cognizance, his hand promptly dropping from Goro’s chest before a wave of embarrassment washed over him.
“I’m so sorry,” Erik muttered nervously through an awkward grin, “That was so much, all at once.”
Goro stared back at Erik, eyes wide and visibly astonished. “I’m not sure what to say-”
“No saying necessary,” Erik interjected a little too loudly, before fumbling back to and into his bedroll, “The best of nights to you, Goro and I’ll leave you to it-”
Panicked, Erik clumsily tucked as much of his seven foot frame into his clearly just large enough bedroll and laid as still as he could with his back turned to Goro, almost missing a half-whispered “Good night, Erik…?” over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.
Erik’s mind ran through a hundred thoughts a second as he tried desperately to lull himself back to unconsciousness.
What the hell was that?