Arcturus noticed the blush, but didn't acknowledge it. He wasn't sure what had set the Hound off.
"The athelas should keep it from scarring, it's pretty strong stuff." He smeared the boulderwort juice across the wounds, leaving a thin layer of it on Bane's neck. It had a very neutral smell, but was a very good pain reducer. It would immediately get rid of the pain of the wounds with enough of it on there.
He looked for someplace to wipe his hand, only to realize he was using his hand and not the mist.
"What… what did you do to me to get me this level of solidity?" he asked, surprised.
Bane tried to wrangle the hotness in his face. But it was a no-go. Being searched for wounds had set him off, and he was embarrassed by it. "I-If you say so.. But, er, hellhound wounds don't usually heal." And here Arcturus was, smearing herbs all over his wounded neck. Bane's neck was super sensitive, making him blush more. What a very awkward moment. He cleared his throat, trying to get the redness in his face to go away. He looked down at the ground, noticing his boots were untied, and laced them backup. Looking up, he was surprised to see Arcturus had more of a physical form. "I didn't do anything. That was your doing. Maybe it was the herb you spread all over your hand?"
Arcturus had noticed the blush deepening, but was more concerned with his sudden corporeality.
"Well… I don't think athelas does that, and how could I have put it on my hand if my hand wasn't already solid?"
He thought hard for a moment, and studiously didn't look at or touch Bane's neck again, trying to give him a chance to compose himself. Though if the Hound was touch-starved, he'd be friendly.
"Maybe it was all that work I did last night trying to control the mist. Perhaps the magic I've marshalled in trying to do that has given me more solidity." It was the best answer he could come up with, and in any case, he was just curious. Frankly, as long as he could do it, he didn't much care how.
Bane’s face tingled. Goddamn, his sensitivity. He felt awkward. A burning sensation fired in his head, and he looked at Arcturus’ form. He noticed that he had less of a fading look. The dead elf’s face gained color. What a strange phenomenon. Bane had done nothing to cause it, instead, he assumed it was the neckless— or maybe the fact he had gained control over himself. Being protected by a Hellhound would only give his soul longevity outside of the after-realms. Taking a deep breath, the blood recited back into his face, no longer making him red. “It could be, perhaps. Although, in my 27 years of life, I’ve never seen this.” Bane stood, taking off his jacket. “I’m going to change into a shirt that is not shredded, fair warning.” He wasn’t sure if the elf was comfortable around him, but he wasn’t about to step outside. Outside was dangerous. Turning around, Bane pulled off the torn red shirt. His back had multiple scars. A notable one ran from his shoulder blade around to his waist. There was almost no fat to his body, the bones in his back visible. Due to the placement of the scar, when the ligaments of his shoulder moved to pull the burgundy shirt over his figure, it seemed to hurt him. Bane left his jacket off, going over to organize his bag.
Arcturus nodded at Bane's words. So this is new to him too. Orome's Horn, what's happening?
The Elf had long been a firm follower of the Huntsman of Valinor, often sending up quick prayers for the Hunter, his Horse, and his Hound to help him. He briefly wondered how Bane fit into those prayers, but the thought was unimportant. Somehow, throught the Hellhound's help, and some unseen aid, he wa gaining the ability to interact after death. He was still in danger, the serious risk of having a soul-seeker drag his incorporeal being down into the Pits of Morgoth still present, but…
He definitely felt like he was being given a chance to help his people.
He glanced up mid-thought and realized Bane was changing. He eyed the scars across the hound's body, noting that the young one had been through much, obviously. He didn't stare, but he did begin thinking of Bane as part of the 'his people' he was supposed to be helping.
Bane played with his hair, ruffling it up. He pulled his shirt down and then went to his bag. He started to pull out herbs and small containers. He didn’t have a clean track record. After all, he had to gather these things by stealing. He opened a few jars and placed some herbs inside. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out more items he’d stolen. Ropes, knives, rags, books and maps, and other miscellaneous items. He rearranged his bag, placing items back in their specific places. One thing Bane hadn’t put away was a carved ram's horn. “We should probably get moving. There are things for us to discover, especially since your form is becoming solid. We might want to consult a demon or such.”
Arcturus watching him going through his things. Much of it didn't look cheap enough or of the right make for Bane to have come by it honestly, but Arcturus was in no place to judge.
He'd gotten by in rough situations through similar means.
"Is my solidity that concerning to you?" Consulting a demon seemed rather extreme, and on top of that, Arcturus didn't want to get pulled too far off his own goals: defending Eryn Lasgalen.
Bane fitted the bag over his shoulder. He wasn’t ready to deal with the dead becoming undead. It was practically unheard of. “Yes, your solidity is concerning me! I don’t even know how you're becoming— solid.” He bit his tongue. It was weird, very weird. Supernaturally impossible. “That’s why we need to leave. It’s better to consult people on it rather than freak out.”
Arcturus nodded quickly. "You're the expert. I've never been a ghost before." The Elves had always been a strange people when it came to death. But Arcturus had no clue how this worked, and Bane seemed very worried.
"It just-… I need to help my people. Eryn Lasgalen is under attack, from a horde of evil, and the only reason I feel my spirit hasn't made its way to the Halls of Mandos is because I'm supposed to help defend from that." he said quietly.
"If we're consulting with demons and other sorts who know this side of things… well, can we hurry? I wish to be back and helping as soon as I can."
Bane took a deep breath, staring at Arcturus, He was stressed, confused, worried, and flustered. He didn't know what on this green Earth that elf could be fighting for. "Okay, look. I'm not an expert, far from it, but I can shadow travel us to a location." But what location? Another country? That wouldn't help the elf's cause. "You can help your people. You can defend whatever you need to defend. Let's just figure this out, my ghosty friend." He slipped his hand into the others. "This is the only way I can teleport us both, as you know." Bane closed his eyes, willing his mind to bring him to a place of consulting. Opening his eyes, they were in a restaurant on the fancier side. Bane went red. "Uhh, shit." His stress must have been holding him back. Closing his eyes again, he felt the coldness of shadow. It slithered around his throat until it disappeared with a scream. Opening his eyes once more, he they were in a dark castle. More specifically, the dungeon of a dark castle. Bane nervously laughed. "Looks like we've got trouble." An invisible force hit him in the back, knocking the wind out of him.
Arcturus nodded as Bane explained. He chuckled quietly to himself when the hound felt the need to explain why he was reaching for his hand.
The restaraunt confused him a bit, but the dungeon made a bit more sense. He didn't like it, but it made sense.
The ghostly Elf braced as Bane was knocked away from him. He spun, tendrils of mist rising and waving slightly, making him look like some tentacled beast. He stepped over Bane and stood there, protectively. The tendrils lengthened and spread, ready to fend off any attack.
"We come for counsel. Speak."
He tried to make his voice as smooth as he could, not wanting to give off threatening vibes so much as calm the situation.
Bane coughed. It was a grisly cough with a dry grit behind it. He looked up at Arcturus, getting to his knees, and secured his bag. He had expected to get attacked by nothing. It was strange. The hound waved his hand, and his umbra sword appeared. The blade reaped of shadow, the cold cascade flowing from it. A low growl came from the dark when Arcturus asked for counsel. Sounds of claws and paw pads tapping across the ground of stone echoed about. Bane looked down at his hands, noticing the small scrapes stitching themselves together. Loud footsteps clacked in the shadows, and Bane lifted his head. Someone was coming. Something dangerous. He could practically smell the blood. Two hellhounds appeared, baring their fangs and snottily snarling. A low voice spoke in another language, and the hounds sat, huffing at one another. A thin figure with a sunken face emerged from the shadows. His hair fell to his shoulders. This man seemed fragile, his black robes almost too big for him. It was as if he hadn't seen the sun. "Sorry about my hounds. I don't get visitors often." The man's voice was slow and calculated. His smile pushed skin over his exposed cheekbones.
Bane growled when he saw the figure. The grip on his hilt tightened. The man glanced over to Arcturus, his smile turning into a frown. "You." He hissed. "You dumb elves. When will you learn to die? Relax, maybe catch a break." Bane stood up. This guy meant trouble. He held the blade in front of himself, his eyes dead set on the man. The ominous man stifled a laugh. "Your blade doesn't scare me, boy. I've seen your kind use it. I have felt it on my skin." He lifted two fingers in the air beside him, motioning for the hounds to stand. They stood, creeping closer.
(sorry friend. Been really down. Will get a response up soon, my bad)
That cough was worrying, but Bane seemed otherwise ok. He was aware enough to arm himself, and the umbra sword seemed to whisper to Arcturus. The Elf might not have ever heard it if he were alive, but in this ghostly form, certain things were so much clearer to him.
The hellhounds were an unwelcome sight, but they seemed obedient enough when their thin master emerged. His voice was enough to set off Arcturus's instincts, and the Elf stayed tensed, standing in front of Bane with tendrils of mist waving slightly all around them.
Bane's reaction to the man, and the man's reaction to Arcturus, made the situation worse. The hounds standing was definitely a bad sign, and Arcturus flaired the tentacles around him, their ends sharpening and coming to razer thin points.
"We don't want to fight you, but I'll put down the hounds like mongrels if I have to." he said evenly. He remembered what Bane had told him about the mist and its lethality to hellhounds, and he was fully prepared to use it.
(Sorry it's pretty short. I have a bad headache)
Bane braced himself, standing in a battle stance. The hounds crept forward, snapping their large jowls at Arcturus' form. They sounded like rottweilers, a snotty growl coming from their throats. Bane slashed his sword through the side of one hound, making their master frown. "Do you enjoy killing your own?" The man turned his head to Arcturus and narrowed his eyes. "Mongrels? Come on, they're not mongrels. That's like calling your friend here a mongrel." Bane growled at him, pointing his weapon at the guy. "Don't even try hound. I can and will kill you."
(Youre ok, I've been under a little black cloud the last couple weeks, so my responses have been short and sporadic. Hope you feel better)
Arcturus shrugged, the tendrils sharpening further, pointing towards the hounds. "I don't care what you'd like me to call them, you call them off or they'll be called corpses." He jabbed both hounds in the side, just lightly, not enough for them to feel more than a pinprick, but enough to make his point.
The man was threatening Bane, and Arcturus wasn't here for that. Nobody was going to touch the Hellhound, not while the ghostly Elf could do something about it. He stepped over between Bane and the hounds again, locking eyes with the man. In life he'd been a steely-eyed warrior, brought down in the end by numbers, poison, and magic. In death, he retained the steely-eyed quality, and now that he could fight back, it wasn't empty posturing.
"Your move."
The man laughed. It was high-pitched. Such an awful sound to echo in a dungeon. "I don't care what you call them either, but mongrels is far from it." The hounds snapped at Arcturus' mist, growling at the elf. Bane tensed, blocking out the words of such a lunatic. The hounds turned their heads, growling at the other hound. One dared to leap at Arcturus and the other stayed loyal to its leader. The man, however, wasn't affected by the elf's glare. He was just another warrior to bring down. Many didn't deserve the right to live. "My move?" The man spoke. "Me? Fighting back. You wish. I don't bestow that luxury on many. Instead, I have others do my work." He lifted two fingers in the air and jerked his arm down. A creature attacked the dead elf from behind. Bane, on the other hand, was slashing and hacking the best he could. He could only handle so many opponents at once.
Arcturus smiled. Any person who could be baited into combat wasn't worth his salt in a fight.
The hound that lunged at him found itself skewered on a long mist spike. The creature that attacked hom from behind would have been a surprised, except the man commanding it had monologued and telegraphed the whole time. Arcturus didn't even bother turning around, he just stabbed the attacker wit three different mist spikes, each of them moving independently like the tentacles of some monstrous squid-beast.
In life, Arcturus had fought this way with metal. He'd often used spiked metal cables and darts to take out multiple enemies at once. So the method he was using with the mist was a well-practiced habit.
He also immediately skewered Bane's attackers. All of them. The fight was over before the hellhound could get hurt, which was the thing Arcturus was trying to avoid.
He stepped towards the shadowy man. "I believe you were getting ready to answer some questions…" He looked at Bane, wondering why the hound had brought the here exactly.
(I forgot to reply, whoops)
The hound yelped, the spike going through its stomach and poking out on its dorsal side. Its jaws gaped open, and its eyes became glassy. Its thick, dark purple blood spilled down the misty spike. The other attacker, which was a vicious dark fae, made a pleading, blood-curdling sound before its body folded over itself. Bane was busy with his attackers, slashing each one through the stomach. He was largely unharmed but was covered in blood from other creatures. He huffed. He wanted to fight some more off before the elf murdered all his enemies. Bane wasn't too concerned about getting hurt. It wasn't a problem. He could just heal like normal. He found the elf made a big deal out of everything.
The ominous man watched Arcturus slaughter all of his footmen. He raised an eyebrow. "No, I wasn't. You do not need answers to those questions of yours, elf." With a quick speed, the man knocked Bane to the ground and place a deadly dagger on the hound's neck. Silver. The man's hand was holding the butt of the dagger, far from the actual blade. Bane howled like a puppy as the silver burned his neck. "These adorable little creatures seem to be attracted to me… or rather I attract them." He smiled. "And when I heard there was a free-roaming soul around— Well, I just had to get a good look at it myself." He pushed the blade down further. "And once your protector is killed off, I can have you for myself… to torture."
(You're ok, no worries)
Arcturus did have a tendency to blow everything up to a big issue, but this was exactly why. Angry enemy with silver knife held to his… friend? ally? 's throat.
Not ideal. he thought to himself.
That silver would be bad for Bane, on several levels, and Arcturus formulated his plan in a split second on that premise.
Tendrils of mist shot forward at the speed of thought, 3 of them skewering the man's arm. One at the elbow, one at the wrist, and one right through the palm. They pulled taut, wrenching the arm back, away from Bane, even as another tendril snaked out and wrapped tightly around the silver knife, tearing it from his weakened grasp.
Arcturus tossed him backwards, into the stone wall, and stood between the man and Bane, spiked tendrils pinning the man against the wall by his shoulders and legs. The ghostly Elf kept the silver knife in his tendrils, out of reach but visible.
"You were saying?"
(Thanks. This weekend was just rough)
Bane gasped for air, scratching at his burning throat. The silver spread red blotches around his neck, the initial contact sight burning his skin. One could swear they could see the inside of his throat, but it was a bundle of flesh. He howled from the pain. This silver would start to look sickly, almost infected. Little speaks of purple powder lining the wounds.
The man laughed at the hound's misfortune. Being skewered by the mist didn't seem to phase him. It didn't seem to hurt him. No blood dripped out of the puncture sites, nor did he cry out in pain. "Please. You think these little misty tendrils of you can stop me?" The man's body became translucent. He fell to the ground as he phased through the spikes. Poking his head up, he became solid again. "I would worry more about that hound." He flicked a gaze over to Bane, whose movement had become lethargic. "Wolfbane slows the body and kills all vital organs. It'll be either quick or slow. Who knows." The man smiled, staring into Arcturus' eyes. "And you might as well become my prized possession."
Arcturus noted Bane's issues, but also knew there was nothing he could personally do about it just yet.
If they had time to focus, however, he and Bane could get out of here and he xouls treat the wound.
So time it was. The mas wasn't hurt by the mist, but he could be moved by it, so that was good.
Arcturus spun, lashing out with multiple tebsruls at once, trying to bludgeon instead of stab this time. He was trying to knock the man back through the open door he'd come in through.
The man hissed. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He was being knocked around, but not knocked inside. "You look like a giant squid! Stop that. I haven't done what I wanted to go with you yet." A low growl came from the darkness, obscuring what was beyond the open doors. "Goddamn it." Something grabbed onto his black robs, pulling him back through the doors. Bane whined, scratching at the wounds. His movements grew slower, his breathing grew slower, and his muscles started to spasm. The deadly power had seeped into his bloodstream. To most humans' knowledge, there was no cure. But there was a cure, it only depended on if the elf knew it. (The cure is an antidote containing the ashes of the wolfsbane/monkshood plant or smoking out the wound. The antidote would be most desirable in this situation.)
"Giant effective squid." Arcturus corrected, as the man was pulled back through the doors and away from them.
He turned to Bane and rolled his eyes. For a hound who consistently acted like he was tough and brooding and intense, the kids was… a bit of a wimp.
"You got us in here, you're gonna have to get us out. I've got the herbs to treat you, but you insisted on going somewhere, so you get us back to where we left them." He spoke gently, knowing Bane was slipping, but he didn't have the power to just zip them around, that was the Hound's thing.
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