...OF THE ESTEEMED LORD ESSEK THELYSS (UN: SHADOWHAND), FIRST OF THEIR NAME, HAILING FROM THE REALM OF CRITICAL ROLE, RESIDING, AT PRESENT, IN THE GRAND CRESENT. SINGLE.
[He knows that this is treason what he is doing. He's about to tell the enemy his weaknesses. But Essek isn't his enemy. Not anymore. And he has to know. It will come out eventually.]
He learned very early on in my forging that physical pain stopped working on me. I began to enjoy the hurting. The more I am hurt, the more I like it. Now, physical pain brings nothing but arousal and pleasure. It is the same with deprivation.
[He shouldn't say this. This was supposed to be Caleb's to tell Essek, when he was ready. But Wulf has to be thurough. He won't make the same mistake twice.]
He would strip us down to nothing and lock the three of us away with nothing but each other. Sometimes for days on end. We don't have the sort of time it would take to deprive me long enough to do anything but annoy me.
Instead, he found that to hurt me, to truly hurt me, all he needed was words and magic. He would tell me over and over again, how worthless I was. How ungrateful I was for the gift he has chosen to bestow upon me. Bren was brilliant, naturally talented. He would be molded in Master Ikithon's image to take the reigns after he decided to retire. Astrid was ambitious. Her political savvy and goals made her the perfect person to whisper into the Kings ear. But me... there's all kinds like me. He can find strong boys anywhere who would be more than grateful for the power and strength he gave them. He would expound on my uselessness, my failures. He was fond of reminding me that swords that were useless got unmade and replaced with better versions. He would discard me like the worthless blade I am. [It makes no sense, logically. The process of making a Volstrucker cost far too much time and magic and resources to simply throw one away. Especially one as specialized as Eadwulf. But he had been young and terrified that he would be replaced and leave Bren and Astrid without the protection of a meat shield that actually gave a damn about them. And after Bren broke, such threats were even more powerful. Eadwulf couldn't leave Astrid alone to handle what was to come. He still couldn't, even a decade later. It had taken divine intervention to force him from her side.]
But when he truly wanted to hurt me, truly punish me, he'd remove my will. [Not that he'd had much of that the longer he'd been under that man] He used Gaes once on me that I am aware of. But if I didn't want to obey him he could simply make me. I have many resistance to magic because of what I was made for, but not to magic of the mind. His go to was Dominate Monster.
[Both are higher level spells. Honestly, Eadwulf probably could resist Dominate Person or Suggestion, but even his utter conviction that he couldn't resist Enchantment School magics was all part of Ikithon's mind games and manipulation. Why try to resist magic he "knows" he can't. The later spell was an even more insidious hidden manipulation. Ikithon was burning a high level spell to enforce the narrative he'd painstakingly weaved around the man that said Eadwulf was not a person.]
[Essek listens carefully, even at times when he doesn't want to hear what they vile man did to these children. Yet, they aren't the first he's known to go through such things, not the first person in power that he's known to abuse and manipulate people to do his pleasing. While Essek had no interest in such things, it wasn't as if he was unaware of the people around him doing it -- he was a Shadowhand, it was his job to know everyone's dirty secrets and use them against them if they ever threatened the Dynasty or her Queen. or himself or his Den.
So to hear the egregious cruelty Ikithon put this man through is not surprising but no less unpleasant to hear.
Towards the end, Essek pulls out a small notebook and pencil and begins to write, still listening to everything. Ikithon had tried to manipluate him, tried to coerce and lure him in, because what was the use of a few spells when one could control a master of the specialty, but he didn't give in. No, he usually left feeling disgusting and telling De'leth to never expose him to that man again.
Once Eadwulf finishes, Essek continues to write steadily, not taking his eyes off the paper, not giving any verbal acknowledgement of what he heard or that he listened.
But soon he finishes writing and rips the page from his notebook.]
Before I give you punishment, I need a verbal agreement from you.
[A pause.]
I am not your master, nor do I have wish of it. I will enact punishment on you only if you fully consent and choose a word to make me stop if you reach a point of it being too much, one that you will use if it reaches that point -- I have no desire to be your gaoler or torturer. Without these, I will refuse to take part in your self flagellation.
[He doesn't know when the Shadowhand started writing. He hasn't looked up once. His eyes haven't been anywhere but that same spot on the floor this entire time. However he's not surprised. He's given the spymaster, a man who is still in the past for him a weapon against him.
He doesn't bother to ask what's on the paper that was just torn out loudly. It's not his place to know.
He almost tell Essek he wouldn't be here if he hadn't fully consented to this, but he knows that for a lie. He'd have been here every night until they left waiting because he truly believes that's what he deserves. He deserves to be punished for breaking the alliance so quickly. He deserves worse for hurting Caleb.
Instead he tries to think of a word. Mercy comes to mind but is quickly waved away. It has to be a word that Eadwulf is willing to say. He will never beg for mercy. He knows none will be given if he did.
It comes to him and he knows he's giving Essek even more ammunition against him for the future.]
I fully consent. And my word is Astrid. [Because of course he would choose her. Of course he would call out her name when things got unbearable. Of course he'd reach desperately for the only person he had left, the only person who had been there through everything, who understood him down to his broken core, and cling to the safety he found there. After all, he'd lost his use when she rose to power and the Volstrucker had been disbanded. And unlike Ikithon, who would have gleefully sent him off to die in whatever war he needed to start next when his uses were done, she had yet to discard him.] I will call for her if I can no longer endure whatever you have decided is fitting recourse for my failure.
[He quiets once more and waits. He's given himself over to the Shadowhand. The verdict and the decision of how he must be made to repent rests squarely on those mantled shoulders.]
[With that he waits a moment, rereading and correcting a couple of the things he wrote. He has zero desire to be anything like that vile man, to treat this man like a discardable tool. To be associated with anything to do with that man, though some of that is a burden he is already carrying.
Still, if he can make sure to punish Eadwulf in a way that will be like anything Ikithon has ever done, then he will do it. And honestly, from what he's heard and seen of the man before him, he would be shocked if this didn't end up being exactly the punishment it was meant to be.
Besides, he wanted to do something that if Caleb found out he would approve more than not.
Taking the piece of paper, he holds it out.]
There are three rules.. One: you will not speak any other words than that is written on this page, the name Astrid if you desire to stop, or the phrases "yes Shadowhand" or "thank you Shadowhand." Two: you will be as sincere as able. Three: you are free to express your emotions so long as you follow pervious rules. Understood?
[When Eadwulf looks at the paper he is handed, it says the following affirmations in a neat, beautiful script:]
I am more than just a weapon, I am a person with my own mind who deserves my own wants and desires separate from the machinations of others.
I am not a failure, I succeeded in saving Caleb from magics that were forcing him to be someone he is not.
[ The rules are simple. So simple. It feels like a trap suddenly. But he agreed to this. He will follow through with his agreements. He won't fail at this alliance again. But he's not expecting this. Not this. The paper. The words written. His fingers actually shake a little around the parchment. That tremor is the most he's moved since Essek has walked into the room.
He reads them and he feels like this man has forced him to his knees. He's still standing. He knows he is, but the words tangle in his sight and his chest heaves like he's been hit. He looks at the paper longer than it should take to read, His head shakes a little, denial of what's been written. For the first time, he looks up at Essek. It's not deadened dark blue but a storm of utter disbelief and hurt in his eyes. The Shadowhand had found the smallest of cracks down his forging and hit it square. He can't...He knows he can't. He can't say any of this. Not when he knows with every ounce of his being that the words aren't true. Not for him.
He can't say these words and actually mean them. Not on any fundamental level. But that's the punishment, isn't it? It's clear now, why the Shadowhand had been such a dangerous enemy. He's not even fully aware of how much his hand on that paper shakes or the small trickle of blood down his lip from where he's biting down hard enough to split it, trying to use physical pain to control his visceral reaction to this kind of punishment.
He knows better than to only say the things he knows he can. He can say that last part. That he saved Caleb from magics. Not the part before and most definitely not the part before that. He doubts Essek would consider him sufficiently punished if he didn't say the whole thing, word for word.
He feels like he needs to sit down. He's not certain if he's stopped breathing or if he's light headed from the attempts to say even the first few words. He locks his knees and tries to get hold of his emotions, to freeze them solid again while he holds this paper, this dark star, pressed by the gravity of those words and what they truly mean.
Essek did tell him he could feel however he wanted to feel about this. All he can feel though is growing dizziness and rushing anxiety of being unable to perform. Being unable to comply properly. But he still doesn't say it. He doesn't utter Astrid's name.
Instead, his free hand goes up and clutches against his shirt. Under the layers is his necklace. He can feel the outline of the feather there. There's a swell of shame that he had moved, even if it's just his arm. But the feather gives him something solid to hold onto while the graviturgist before him turns his world upside down with a few sentences.]
I am more than just a weapon...
[His voice is so small. It's barely audible. It shakes. He feels so small and defeated with how hard this is for him. He starts and stops. He has to breathe between words. He's certain with any more effort, he would start sweating. He feels like he's fighting an entire army, but it's his own tongue. His own mind. He only stares at the paper now, as if hoping the words will suddenly change. They don't as he works slowly though them, fighting the urge to just beg the Shadowhand to stab him or something. But he never says Astrid's name. He knows deep down, she would probably approve of this too. Which only makes his difficulty in saying it that much worse. He's not sure in the end if he achieved the kind of sincerity that the Shadowhand was after, but at least the last part, he could manage with some actual honest, conviction. That he could believe with his whole heart.] I succeeded in saving Caleb from magics that were forcing him to be someone he is not.
[Essek knew this would be a difficult punishment, for someone so beaten down and broken.. to have to say something kind about oneself when like that is difficult. To build oneself back up, even with the help of others, can be a torture and torment like none other.
Why throw away a sword when you can repair him and give him new purpose of his own choosing.
Caleb got out and rebuilt himself, Essek saw parts of that journey, saw how strong Caleb was by the time in the boat, how strong he is now. Eadwulf says Ikithon is gone yet asked for Essek to punish him like Ikithon would -- something Essek refused to be part of. No. If Eadwulf wanted to fall apart then Essek was going to give him the hard work of putting himself back together again.
And it would be hard.
Especially as he sees those hands shake and blood trickle, sees the storm in those eyes that finally look at him. And he meets those eyes without hesitation, but with an expectant look, calm and sure of himself, of his choice in punishment.
The only knit of concern he feels is when he notices the man lock his knees and used his magics to carry a chair behind Eadwulf without a word. He did not say the man needed to stay standing, that was a personal choice, so he would provide a seat without a word. He had no desire to order the man to sit unless he looked faint.
When the words start, Essek listens to that small quiet voice, more that of a Child's than a grown man. Like a child who does not know if he should or can speak up because he's been beaten down every time he has in the past. But the safe word is not uttered and the man eventually gets through it all, the last part so much easier than the rest, so much more sincere. He wants to say "again" but he's not without sympathy for how difficult this had been already. It would not do to break something he is trying to help mend.
So, with a gentle float, Essek gets to his feet and moves to stand before the man.]
I would like you to repeat the last part once more. [A small pause.] May I touch you? You can say no.
[He notices the chair behind him only barely. His head is swimming. He doesn't look down at the paper anymore. He holds it down and away from him as if he's certain that the words are going to jump off the page and attack him. He can't even feel relief that he had managed to choke the words out. He's certain he's done this wrong. There's no way he hasn't somehow made another mistake. He's accustomed to even the smallest failure being picked apart mercilessly. No matter how he tied, he would alwyays be wrong. Always displease his master. He was never good enough or perfect enough or loyal enough. Trent could always find something wrong to correct in him. The forging was never done, not truly.
There's a real part of him that is indeed afraid, terrified that he'll be made to say it over and over again until Essek is satisfied. That it'll be like some of his very first punishments, before the true work on him started, writing lines for Master Ikithon, hundreds of thousands of the same words, filling reams of paper, I will learn for the good of the Empire. I will grow stronger for my King. My loyalty is to the Empire, the Assembly, and my Teacher. I will obey my Teacher above all others until his fingers cramped.
He still doesn't sit though. Even with how lightheaded he feels. It's like he doesn't know he's allowed to. He's already moved too much and he knows he's supposed to stand and take it. Not because Essek told him to but because that's how it always was. A Volstrucker didn't get support and comfort, they must endure. Still, it takes every ounce of his broken willpower to not step back when Essek floats towards him. He's not a man that flinches at anything, but he's not in the right headspace to control visceral reactions. He wants to be punished. He needs to be. Has to be. He can't make this mistake again.
But he knows he's also told Essek that powerful secret. He doesn't know what magics the Shadowhand possesses other than what he'd seen at the Grove and what he had learned from this man. There's a dread oozing from the steel he's tried to wrap about his fraying emotions that Essek will do what Ikithon did when he was truly upset with him. That he will use Command and make him say it right.
Which is why he looks utterly shocked when he's asked permission of all things. There's no room for things like consent for a Volstrucker. You did what you were told to do. He stares at the floating drow, unsure. He's never been told he's allowed to say no. Ikithon had been very keen on nurturing that part of his personality, the part that longed to please his betters. No doesn't exist in his world. There is only obedience, willing or not.
His eyes drop again. His hand drops from the feather within his shirt. He doesn't slump because perfect rigid posture had been beaten into him but there is a subtitle shift within his positioning that speaks of subservience. He isn't going to brace himself, though he harbors silent fears that the mage is going to cast. Whatever comes to him comes to him and he knows he will deserve it.] Yes, Shadowhand. Thank you, Shadowhand.
[Essek can touch. But he doesn't forget the previous order. The last part. The part he actually believes. He was a failure, Eadwulf knew that, but he did save Caleb. He kept Caleb from truly becoming a story mothers scare children with.] I succeeded in saving Caleb from magics that were forcing him to be someone he is not.
[Essek watches with keen eyes, trying to determine if the permission was given freely or if it the man was falling back on old practices. He could see so much within Eadwulf that he did not need a keen mind to discern -- he was like an abused child trying to be good but fearing more pain. If Essek had more of a heart for those he didn't yet care about, it would break for this man, but instead there was just an ache for the horrors he's had to endure, knowing Caleb has also endured them.
This was more than enough punishment, Essek did not need to make him repeat it over and over again, not when the man was tormented over the affirmations Essek asked him to say. They would likely haunt the man in a way, perhaps cycle through his mind enough that something, even a fraction, sticks.
When the words are said once more, Essek comes to a taller float and reaches up wipe the blood from Eadwulf's lip with one gloved thumb while running his other a half gloved hand over the top of Eadwulf's head and through the shorn hair. Giving him a slow and gentle pet.]
Good, you did very well to endure such a difficult punishment. [His voice is sincere and gentle, he means it. He can see how hard this has been and he wishes to reward the man for it.]
You saved Caleb, even if your methods could use some work, you used what you had. You did well, Eadwulf.
[Again he runs his hand over the man's head, this time allowing his nails to bite into scalp some, remembering that pain is a pleasure and it would likely be welcome.]
[There's a moment where he goes stiffer, as if that was possible. Muscles lock up and he freezes. It's not the touch that makes him baulk so. It's the praise. He's given his everything to earn even the smallest scraps of praise from his Master in the past. He wants more than anything to be told he's done well, that he's been useful. But Ikithon had been very sparing on it. Purposely starving him of it because he must have known how far Eadwulf would go, how low he would crawl, how dirty he would make himself, to earn even the smallest speck it. And such an intense devotion, a single minded desire to serve, to please the his teacher, it must have fed the Archmage's narcissistic ego very well. So he received it so rarely that he honestly doesn't know what to do with it or how euphoric hearing it makes him feel when he's in such a vulnerable state.
But there are delicate scholar's fingers in hair that he still butchers to an unsightly crop and he's being petted. It should be degrading, to be all but treated like a dog, but he likes it. He's being praised. He likes that even more. Then the pain comes. Just pinpricks of sharp pleasure at his scalp. The low keening noise he makes surprises even himself as he all but melts into it, boneless but still somehow still upright. His voice a dreamy sigh of relief.]
Thank you, Shadowhand.
[There is a reverence in his tone as he surrenders into the pleasure that comes from both the praise and the pain. The hinting of something almost worshipful in it's promised obedience.
He won't ask for more. He accepts what the Shadowhand will give him, in punishment or in reward and will be happy for whatever he is given.]
[Essek wasn't one much for touch, he was rather adverse to it to be honest, but he knew that Eadwulf needed something to reground him, so petting his cropped hair was something he was willing to do. The keen surprises him, but to see the man melt into the moment and the praise, Essek can't help but feel pity for him.
A pity that is more empathetic than he would ever admit.
But Essek knew what it was like to want praise so badly and never receive it, to feel deprived of the one fleeting thing that would give you solace.
The tone makes Essek a touch nervous, he doesn't want to be this man's new master, even said as much, but he does still feel that pity and cannot find it in himself to reject the man in this moment. No, Eadwulf needed something stable to lean against as he received what he was never allowed to have before, what he didn't have the self ego to give himself.
Essek passes his hand through the man's hair a couple more times, offering the drag of his nails against scalp, allowing the man the full benefit of reward, before fully retreating his hand and self from Eadwulf's personal space.]
You've been very good, Eadwulf, now go rest before the day starts.
[He says nothing about the piece of paper, the man can keep it or throw it away, he has no care about it.]
[Each pet, each bite of nails brings a small shiver to him. However, he doesn't chase after the touch when it departs. He has been trained too well. He can't demand more than what he's given. He can only be grateful for it.
In this moment, he would do anything. He would do anything that Essek said. If the Shadowhand hadn't had complete authority over him before, he certainly did right now. Just that smallest bit of praise had him so malleable. Any order given would be completed without question and without hesitation. He could be ordered to do anything, anything at all and he would do it gladly and readily.
But the drow doesn't take advantage. Instead, Eadwulf hear the order on the end of that praise he basks in. He can only open his eyes, only now aware of how he'd closed them to truly enjoy the feel of the nails against his scalp, to truly let those words he longed to hear washing over him. The absolute obedience in his eyes is eerily reminiscent of those times long past, when Essek might have seen this man standing behind Ikithon. A sword in it's sheith, waiting and wanting to be put to use.]
Yes Shadowhand. [He straightens up. Catches his breath. The paper vanishes within the confines of wrist pocket without even thinking about it. It's so he can bow to the man, a sharp thing, one hand in a fist over his heart in salute, heels clicking together as he bends.] Thank you, Shadowhand.
[He means it. The thanks, even if it's tainted a little by how he's been affected by this. The punishment was well done and now he can start to rebuild the trust of the alliance. The trust of this drow that he won't violate their agreement around Caleb again. But once he's bowed properly, he will go, as ordered. He will go and rest and probably have some of the best sleep he's gotten since he's arrived in this place.]
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no subject
He learned very early on in my forging that physical pain stopped working on me. I began to enjoy the hurting. The more I am hurt, the more I like it. Now, physical pain brings nothing but arousal and pleasure. It is the same with deprivation.
[He shouldn't say this. This was supposed to be Caleb's to tell Essek, when he was ready. But Wulf has to be thurough. He won't make the same mistake twice.]
He would strip us down to nothing and lock the three of us away with nothing but each other. Sometimes for days on end. We don't have the sort of time it would take to deprive me long enough to do anything but annoy me.
Instead, he found that to hurt me, to truly hurt me, all he needed was words and magic. He would tell me over and over again, how worthless I was. How ungrateful I was for the gift he has chosen to bestow upon me. Bren was brilliant, naturally talented. He would be molded in Master Ikithon's image to take the reigns after he decided to retire. Astrid was ambitious. Her political savvy and goals made her the perfect person to whisper into the Kings ear. But me... there's all kinds like me. He can find strong boys anywhere who would be more than grateful for the power and strength he gave them. He would expound on my uselessness, my failures. He was fond of reminding me that swords that were useless got unmade and replaced with better versions. He would discard me like the worthless blade I am. [It makes no sense, logically. The process of making a Volstrucker cost far too much time and magic and resources to simply throw one away. Especially one as specialized as Eadwulf. But he had been young and terrified that he would be replaced and leave Bren and Astrid without the protection of a meat shield that actually gave a damn about them. And after Bren broke, such threats were even more powerful. Eadwulf couldn't leave Astrid alone to handle what was to come. He still couldn't, even a decade later. It had taken divine intervention to force him from her side.]
But when he truly wanted to hurt me, truly punish me, he'd remove my will. [Not that he'd had much of that the longer he'd been under that man] He used Gaes once on me that I am aware of. But if I didn't want to obey him he could simply make me. I have many resistance to magic because of what I was made for, but not to magic of the mind. His go to was Dominate Monster.
[Both are higher level spells. Honestly, Eadwulf probably could resist Dominate Person or Suggestion, but even his utter conviction that he couldn't resist Enchantment School magics was all part of Ikithon's mind games and manipulation. Why try to resist magic he "knows" he can't. The later spell was an even more insidious hidden manipulation. Ikithon was burning a high level spell to enforce the narrative he'd painstakingly weaved around the man that said Eadwulf was not a person.]
A weapon doesn't need a will of it's own.
no subject
So to hear the egregious cruelty Ikithon put this man through is not surprising but no less unpleasant to hear.
Towards the end, Essek pulls out a small notebook and pencil and begins to write, still listening to everything. Ikithon had tried to manipluate him, tried to coerce and lure him in, because what was the use of a few spells when one could control a master of the specialty, but he didn't give in. No, he usually left feeling disgusting and telling De'leth to never expose him to that man again.
Once Eadwulf finishes, Essek continues to write steadily, not taking his eyes off the paper, not giving any verbal acknowledgement of what he heard or that he listened.
But soon he finishes writing and rips the page from his notebook.]
Before I give you punishment, I need a verbal agreement from you.
[A pause.]
I am not your master, nor do I have wish of it. I will enact punishment on you only if you fully consent and choose a word to make me stop if you reach a point of it being too much, one that you will use if it reaches that point -- I have no desire to be your gaoler or torturer. Without these, I will refuse to take part in your self flagellation.
no subject
He doesn't bother to ask what's on the paper that was just torn out loudly. It's not his place to know.
He almost tell Essek he wouldn't be here if he hadn't fully consented to this, but he knows that for a lie. He'd have been here every night until they left waiting because he truly believes that's what he deserves. He deserves to be punished for breaking the alliance so quickly. He deserves worse for hurting Caleb.
Instead he tries to think of a word. Mercy comes to mind but is quickly waved away. It has to be a word that Eadwulf is willing to say. He will never beg for mercy. He knows none will be given if he did.
It comes to him and he knows he's giving Essek even more ammunition against him for the future.]
I fully consent. And my word is Astrid. [Because of course he would choose her. Of course he would call out her name when things got unbearable. Of course he'd reach desperately for the only person he had left, the only person who had been there through everything, who understood him down to his broken core, and cling to the safety he found there. After all, he'd lost his use when she rose to power and the Volstrucker had been disbanded. And unlike Ikithon, who would have gleefully sent him off to die in whatever war he needed to start next when his uses were done, she had yet to discard him.] I will call for her if I can no longer endure whatever you have decided is fitting recourse for my failure.
[He quiets once more and waits. He's given himself over to the Shadowhand. The verdict and the decision of how he must be made to repent rests squarely on those mantled shoulders.]
no subject
[With that he waits a moment, rereading and correcting a couple of the things he wrote. He has zero desire to be anything like that vile man, to treat this man like a discardable tool. To be associated with anything to do with that man, though some of that is a burden he is already carrying.
Still, if he can make sure to punish Eadwulf in a way that will be like anything Ikithon has ever done, then he will do it. And honestly, from what he's heard and seen of the man before him, he would be shocked if this didn't end up being exactly the punishment it was meant to be.
Besides, he wanted to do something that if Caleb found out he would approve more than not.
Taking the piece of paper, he holds it out.]
There are three rules.. One: you will not speak any other words than that is written on this page, the name Astrid if you desire to stop, or the phrases "yes Shadowhand" or "thank you Shadowhand." Two: you will be as sincere as able. Three: you are free to express your emotions so long as you follow pervious rules. Understood?
[When Eadwulf looks at the paper he is handed, it says the following affirmations in a neat, beautiful script:]
I am more than just a weapon, I am a person with my own mind who deserves my own wants and desires separate from the machinations of others.
I am not a failure, I succeeded in saving Caleb from magics that were forcing him to be someone he is not.
no subject
[ The rules are simple. So simple. It feels like a trap suddenly. But he agreed to this. He will follow through with his agreements. He won't fail at this alliance again. But he's not expecting this. Not this. The paper. The words written. His fingers actually shake a little around the parchment. That tremor is the most he's moved since Essek has walked into the room.
He reads them and he feels like this man has forced him to his knees. He's still standing. He knows he is, but the words tangle in his sight and his chest heaves like he's been hit. He looks at the paper longer than it should take to read, His head shakes a little, denial of what's been written. For the first time, he looks up at Essek. It's not deadened dark blue but a storm of utter disbelief and hurt in his eyes. The Shadowhand had found the smallest of cracks down his forging and hit it square. He can't...He knows he can't. He can't say any of this. Not when he knows with every ounce of his being that the words aren't true. Not for him.
He can't say these words and actually mean them. Not on any fundamental level. But that's the punishment, isn't it? It's clear now, why the Shadowhand had been such a dangerous enemy. He's not even fully aware of how much his hand on that paper shakes or the small trickle of blood down his lip from where he's biting down hard enough to split it, trying to use physical pain to control his visceral reaction to this kind of punishment.
He knows better than to only say the things he knows he can. He can say that last part. That he saved Caleb from magics. Not the part before and most definitely not the part before that. He doubts Essek would consider him sufficiently punished if he didn't say the whole thing, word for word.
He feels like he needs to sit down. He's not certain if he's stopped breathing or if he's light headed from the attempts to say even the first few words. He locks his knees and tries to get hold of his emotions, to freeze them solid again while he holds this paper, this dark star, pressed by the gravity of those words and what they truly mean.
Essek did tell him he could feel however he wanted to feel about this. All he can feel though is growing dizziness and rushing anxiety of being unable to perform. Being unable to comply properly. But he still doesn't say it. He doesn't utter Astrid's name.
Instead, his free hand goes up and clutches against his shirt. Under the layers is his necklace. He can feel the outline of the feather there. There's a swell of shame that he had moved, even if it's just his arm. But the feather gives him something solid to hold onto while the graviturgist before him turns his world upside down with a few sentences.]
I am more than just a weapon...
[His voice is so small. It's barely audible. It shakes. He feels so small and defeated with how hard this is for him. He starts and stops. He has to breathe between words. He's certain with any more effort, he would start sweating. He feels like he's fighting an entire army, but it's his own tongue. His own mind. He only stares at the paper now, as if hoping the words will suddenly change. They don't as he works slowly though them, fighting the urge to just beg the Shadowhand to stab him or something. But he never says Astrid's name. He knows deep down, she would probably approve of this too. Which only makes his difficulty in saying it that much worse. He's not sure in the end if he achieved the kind of sincerity that the Shadowhand was after, but at least the last part, he could manage with some actual honest, conviction. That he could believe with his whole heart.] I succeeded in saving Caleb from magics that were forcing him to be someone he is not.
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Why throw away a sword when you can repair him and give him new purpose of his own choosing.
Caleb got out and rebuilt himself, Essek saw parts of that journey, saw how strong Caleb was by the time in the boat, how strong he is now. Eadwulf says Ikithon is gone yet asked for Essek to punish him like Ikithon would -- something Essek refused to be part of. No. If Eadwulf wanted to fall apart then Essek was going to give him the hard work of putting himself back together again.
And it would be hard.
Especially as he sees those hands shake and blood trickle, sees the storm in those eyes that finally look at him. And he meets those eyes without hesitation, but with an expectant look, calm and sure of himself, of his choice in punishment.
The only knit of concern he feels is when he notices the man lock his knees and used his magics to carry a chair behind Eadwulf without a word. He did not say the man needed to stay standing, that was a personal choice, so he would provide a seat without a word. He had no desire to order the man to sit unless he looked faint.
When the words start, Essek listens to that small quiet voice, more that of a Child's than a grown man. Like a child who does not know if he should or can speak up because he's been beaten down every time he has in the past. But the safe word is not uttered and the man eventually gets through it all, the last part so much easier than the rest, so much more sincere. He wants to say "again" but he's not without sympathy for how difficult this had been already. It would not do to break something he is trying to help mend.
So, with a gentle float, Essek gets to his feet and moves to stand before the man.]
I would like you to repeat the last part once more. [A small pause.] May I touch you? You can say no.
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There's a real part of him that is indeed afraid, terrified that he'll be made to say it over and over again until Essek is satisfied. That it'll be like some of his very first punishments, before the true work on him started, writing lines for Master Ikithon, hundreds of thousands of the same words, filling reams of paper, I will learn for the good of the Empire. I will grow stronger for my King. My loyalty is to the Empire, the Assembly, and my Teacher. I will obey my Teacher above all others until his fingers cramped.
He still doesn't sit though. Even with how lightheaded he feels. It's like he doesn't know he's allowed to. He's already moved too much and he knows he's supposed to stand and take it. Not because Essek told him to but because that's how it always was. A Volstrucker didn't get support and comfort, they must endure. Still, it takes every ounce of his broken willpower to not step back when Essek floats towards him. He's not a man that flinches at anything, but he's not in the right headspace to control visceral reactions. He wants to be punished. He needs to be. Has to be. He can't make this mistake again.
But he knows he's also told Essek that powerful secret. He doesn't know what magics the Shadowhand possesses other than what he'd seen at the Grove and what he had learned from this man. There's a dread oozing from the steel he's tried to wrap about his fraying emotions that Essek will do what Ikithon did when he was truly upset with him. That he will use Command and make him say it right.
Which is why he looks utterly shocked when he's asked permission of all things. There's no room for things like consent for a Volstrucker. You did what you were told to do. He stares at the floating drow, unsure. He's never been told he's allowed to say no. Ikithon had been very keen on nurturing that part of his personality, the part that longed to please his betters. No doesn't exist in his world. There is only obedience, willing or not.
His eyes drop again. His hand drops from the feather within his shirt. He doesn't slump because perfect rigid posture had been beaten into him but there is a subtitle shift within his positioning that speaks of subservience. He isn't going to brace himself, though he harbors silent fears that the mage is going to cast. Whatever comes to him comes to him and he knows he will deserve it.] Yes, Shadowhand. Thank you, Shadowhand.
[Essek can touch. But he doesn't forget the previous order. The last part. The part he actually believes. He was a failure, Eadwulf knew that, but he did save Caleb. He kept Caleb from truly becoming a story mothers scare children with.] I succeeded in saving Caleb from magics that were forcing him to be someone he is not.
insight = dirty 20
This was more than enough punishment, Essek did not need to make him repeat it over and over again, not when the man was tormented over the affirmations Essek asked him to say. They would likely haunt the man in a way, perhaps cycle through his mind enough that something, even a fraction, sticks.
When the words are said once more, Essek comes to a taller float and reaches up wipe the blood from Eadwulf's lip with one gloved thumb while running his other a half gloved hand over the top of Eadwulf's head and through the shorn hair. Giving him a slow and gentle pet.]
Good, you did very well to endure such a difficult punishment. [His voice is sincere and gentle, he means it. He can see how hard this has been and he wishes to reward the man for it.]
You saved Caleb, even if your methods could use some work, you used what you had. You did well, Eadwulf.
[Again he runs his hand over the man's head, this time allowing his nails to bite into scalp some, remembering that pain is a pleasure and it would likely be welcome.]
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But there are delicate scholar's fingers in hair that he still butchers to an unsightly crop and he's being petted. It should be degrading, to be all but treated like a dog, but he likes it. He's being praised. He likes that even more. Then the pain comes. Just pinpricks of sharp pleasure at his scalp. The low keening noise he makes surprises even himself as he all but melts into it, boneless but still somehow still upright. His voice a dreamy sigh of relief.]
Thank you, Shadowhand.
[There is a reverence in his tone as he surrenders into the pleasure that comes from both the praise and the pain. The hinting of something almost worshipful in it's promised obedience.
He won't ask for more. He accepts what the Shadowhand will give him, in punishment or in reward and will be happy for whatever he is given.]
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A pity that is more empathetic than he would ever admit.
But Essek knew what it was like to want praise so badly and never receive it, to feel deprived of the one fleeting thing that would give you solace.
The tone makes Essek a touch nervous, he doesn't want to be this man's new master, even said as much, but he does still feel that pity and cannot find it in himself to reject the man in this moment. No, Eadwulf needed something stable to lean against as he received what he was never allowed to have before, what he didn't have the self ego to give himself.
Essek passes his hand through the man's hair a couple more times, offering the drag of his nails against scalp, allowing the man the full benefit of reward, before fully retreating his hand and self from Eadwulf's personal space.]
You've been very good, Eadwulf, now go rest before the day starts.
[He says nothing about the piece of paper, the man can keep it or throw it away, he has no care about it.]
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In this moment, he would do anything. He would do anything that Essek said. If the Shadowhand hadn't had complete authority over him before, he certainly did right now. Just that smallest bit of praise had him so malleable. Any order given would be completed without question and without hesitation. He could be ordered to do anything, anything at all and he would do it gladly and readily.
But the drow doesn't take advantage. Instead, Eadwulf hear the order on the end of that praise he basks in. He can only open his eyes, only now aware of how he'd closed them to truly enjoy the feel of the nails against his scalp, to truly let those words he longed to hear washing over him. The absolute obedience in his eyes is eerily reminiscent of those times long past, when Essek might have seen this man standing behind Ikithon. A sword in it's sheith, waiting and wanting to be put to use.]
Yes Shadowhand. [He straightens up. Catches his breath. The paper vanishes within the confines of wrist pocket without even thinking about it. It's so he can bow to the man, a sharp thing, one hand in a fist over his heart in salute, heels clicking together as he bends.] Thank you, Shadowhand.
[He means it. The thanks, even if it's tainted a little by how he's been affected by this. The punishment was well done and now he can start to rebuild the trust of the alliance. The trust of this drow that he won't violate their agreement around Caleb again. But once he's bowed properly, he will go, as ordered. He will go and rest and probably have some of the best sleep he's gotten since he's arrived in this place.]