[To call what Joshua comes upon a mess is... well, putting it mildly. Yet it it is not an entirely unaware mess. His eyes had been the last to go, leaving him in a blackened world filled only with agony and his own thoughts, but he can still vaguely feel. He had tried to bury himself in memory at that point, to think of anything but the agony he was in.
Torgal, at least, had been a comfort. He wasn't alone, and when it became clear that he was no threat to the beast, he took comfort in that.
Now, though, there is the presence of another. He cannot speak. He cannot move. All he can do is hope. Hope that Joshua will not hate him for the way his own mind begs to be put out of his misery.
[ Joshua can't even tell if Luca knows he's there. But the... the mess that was once Luca is clearly alive in some way, that much he can tell. It's flesh, but not flesh, and the subtle twitches of whatever it is tells him that this thing is suffering. That Luca is suffering.
The thought makes his chest ache, and he exhales sharply, pushing himself to stand up. He can't let Luca continue to suffer like this.
The room is freezing. But of course it is. He hasn't been staying here, he's been staying at the inn. The fire in the hearth isn't burning, nor is it burning downstairs. Because of his own affinity for fire, he has left the flint downstairs, unused since Dion's departure. With abilities vanished as they are, he finds himself in desperate need of it.
But not for lighting a fire in the hearth.
Standing, he flexes icy fingers, swallowing down a hard lump in his throat. Torgal is kind enough to direct him to his sword, which returns to its scabbard at his belt. Collecting a blanket from the back of a chair, he kneels, and gently gathers the creature that once was Luca within it, then wraps it over and carefully carries the bundle downstairs. He retrieves the flint from the mantel, and then outside he goes, with Torgal at his side.
For all the snow, it doesn't take long to spark a flame in the outdoor fire pit. Once it is burning strongly, Joshua lifts the blanketed bundle, pressing his lips to the fabric covering the being inside, in the hopes that the pressure will convey. He doesn't know if it will or not.
With a quiet sob, he lays the bundle over the flames, and stands vigil with his hand on the pommel of his sword and tears on his cheeks and in his lashes, until naught is left of the creature and his heart but ash. ]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2026-01-12 03:27 am (UTC)Torgal, at least, had been a comfort. He wasn't alone, and when it became clear that he was no threat to the beast, he took comfort in that.
Now, though, there is the presence of another. He cannot speak. He cannot move. All he can do is hope. Hope that Joshua will not hate him for the way his own mind begs to be put out of his misery.
What a foolish way to go.]
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Date: 2026-01-12 04:02 am (UTC)The thought makes his chest ache, and he exhales sharply, pushing himself to stand up. He can't let Luca continue to suffer like this.
The room is freezing. But of course it is. He hasn't been staying here, he's been staying at the inn. The fire in the hearth isn't burning, nor is it burning downstairs. Because of his own affinity for fire, he has left the flint downstairs, unused since Dion's departure. With abilities vanished as they are, he finds himself in desperate need of it.
But not for lighting a fire in the hearth.
Standing, he flexes icy fingers, swallowing down a hard lump in his throat. Torgal is kind enough to direct him to his sword, which returns to its scabbard at his belt. Collecting a blanket from the back of a chair, he kneels, and gently gathers the creature that once was Luca within it, then wraps it over and carefully carries the bundle downstairs. He retrieves the flint from the mantel, and then outside he goes, with Torgal at his side.
For all the snow, it doesn't take long to spark a flame in the outdoor fire pit. Once it is burning strongly, Joshua lifts the blanketed bundle, pressing his lips to the fabric covering the being inside, in the hopes that the pressure will convey. He doesn't know if it will or not.
With a quiet sob, he lays the bundle over the flames, and stands vigil with his hand on the pommel of his sword and tears on his cheeks and in his lashes, until naught is left of the creature and his heart but ash. ]