There was no telling for how long he paced the small clearing he called home, fretting profusely as he wore a path into the dirt and scuffed up the soil with his hooves. At any time now, with the rate he was going at, he'd burrow his way through Novus and come out the other side.
He just didn't know what to do.
He stayed in the swamp for a reason. He was a Commoner for a reason.
Was he smart enough to have potential as a Sage?
Yes.
Did he care enough about others and have the right personality to be a Caretaker?
Yes.
Was he, despite his currently, slightly underfed state, still a strong male with quite fearsome weapons in his jaws who could make quite a threatening enemy of the battlefield if he so chose, quite an intimidating Warrior?
Yes.
Why wasn't he any of those things? Why was he a Commoner?
Because he worried about things too much. He fretted and he fussed and he got into his own head and intrusive thoughts ran wild with panicked screams until he himself panicked and took off a gallop. He stayed in the swamplands because he was scared, he was afraid, of what, he could never be sure, but he was so afraid of everything that he simply stayed tucked away, and did none of the things that he was fully capable of if he put his mind to it because while he had the potential, he didn't have the right countenance.
What good was a Sage who panicked when spoken to?
What good was a Caretaker who couldn't handle stressful situations?
What good was a Warrior who ran away from the first sign of conflict?
There was a reason he was a Commoner. He shouldn't be involved in the affairs of gods and kings.
Yet here he was, his gaze constantly drawn to the small folded paper sitting on the ground, tucked under a root. It looked almost harmless, could be seen as nothing more than a trinket, if one didn't know the contents of the words within. Anyone who saw it would think maybe it was a love note, would pry it open to read with giggling eyes and a snickering voice, wondering who the recluse of the swamp had a crush on.
Only to find their face draining alabaster with horror at the contents within.
To him, it practically seemed a declaration of war.
Oh Vespera, sure he was probably exaggerating and overthinking things, but even his logic murmured that the note had had a very aggressive tone to it, and the words within seemed very grandiose for someone with a simple grudge. Seemed... more dangerous, more large-scale, than that.
He needed to bring it to the Sovereign, but what if the one who left it was still around? What if he was caught? Would he be killed for seeing something he shouldn't have? But it had been hung for all to see. Was it a trap?
What if it was just a prank? He'd be upsetting Florentine for nothing. He'd probably be kicked out for being such a nuisance, would blame him, and it wouldn't even be unfair.
With all these thoughts whirling round and round, Auru paced back and forth, not knowing what to do. His eyes kept drifting to the note. As time went on, he found the small, seemingly harmless paper the sole focus of his attentions more than he cared to think about.
It was like it was taunting him.
He stilled, staring at it for a moment with a haunted look in his eyes, the bags under them so prominent from his restless nights with the weight of the inked words hanging over him like an executioner. He looked at the small, innocently folded paper, and he felt like a viper was staring at him dead in the eye, looking right back.
Like a challenge.
'Approach me if you dare.'
('Unleash me upon Novus if you dare.')
But what if he didn't bring it, and someone was hurt anyway?
It was that which motivated him to suddenly grasp the note tightly with his telekinesis, not stalling in any movement so as not to give himself the time for self-doubt and introspection. He would never be able to do this if he let himself think.
The brown stallion sprung from his hideaway, note hefted high as he sloshed through the waters as quickly as he was able, using a year's worth of knowledge to swerve to the fastest paths to the keep, stumbling several times but keeping the note safely contained until he burst from the trees and onto solid ground, racing across the grass with a gallop that seemed far faster than he had ever run as he gave it his all to reach the keep, the capital of the Dusk Court, in record time.
He was heaving for air and felt like he was moments away from passing out as he burst into the keep, his hooves clattering over the stone as every muscle within him burned from the long run. Darkness threatened to creep in on the edges of his visions but he fought it valiantly, the wild mane about his neck and chest mussed and every aspect of him looking sweaty and windblown.
He didn't have the breath to call out for her, so he simply kept on, looking frantically around ever corner with the note still held weakly in trembling telekinesis.
She was in the woods when the thunder of feet began to beat off every tree. She was near the edge of the woodland and a mere glance between the sentinel trees was enough to spy the fleeting shadow of a boy racing across the grass.
Florentine was too far away to notice the note he brought and the way it whipped in the wind. But she was not too far from him to see the way he rushed, the way his limbs and torso fatigued. He continued to push and push and push. He ran like electricity licked and snapped at his heels.
The grasses whispered urgency and the flower girl’s heart floundered. It was a moment before she was in motion, her own slender limbs picking their way nimbly over twigs and shoots. Florentine breaks from the tree line and pursues the boy. Her wings flare to air her run and she airborne, drifting after him only to land upon the cobbled stone in the doorway of the keep.
He is sweat-licked and gasping, but she knows those wild eyes and that trembling torso. She had seen them upside down within the swamp. He was wet now too, but drenched with sweat and wild wonder. He sets the whole citadel alight with his nervous energy that licks out like flames.
Only then do her eyes see the note, a little wind-worn and still fluttering as he holds it with his trembling magic. “What is it Auru?” The flower girl asks softly, edging in towards the boy, she know him better than to be as bold as normal. She skirts him, drinking in his haggard look and panicked face. His mane sticks to his throat in damp, tangled tendrils and she takes a small step closer. “Can I get you help? Rest and a drink of water?”
Her eyes flit to the note once again, she knows the paper, it was the same used at the Winter’s End Festival. “Then you can tell me what you have brought for us.”
@Auru - all them drama llamas! Also tagging @Cyrene as she will need to be involved when Flora calls for her :)
He expected to feel relief spiking through his breast when he heard her voice. Expected to fall to his knees as the weight was lifted from his shoulders and he presented the note to her, thanking all the heavens that he could pass it to her and remove it from his responsibility. Instead, he felt a shock of terror, and an impulsive desire to clutch the note tighter to his breast, to hide it and retreat and keep the paper hidden within the swamp. To stamp it into mush and drown it in the water and keep its contents from ever reaching the eyes or ears of his people.
His people.
That was exactly why he had to show her, wasn't it?
He owed it to his people to warn them in case trouble was on the horizon, that's how being a family worked.
"Can I get you help? Rest and a drink of water?”
He doesn't even realize that he's frantically shaking his head back and forth until it dawns on him that he's struggling to keep her in his field of view she has grown so blurred with his movements. He stills his head, legs trembling now that his running has ceased. He feels weaker than a newborn foal from his terrified sprint, pushed on only by the sheer desperation with which he drove himself, lest he turn back and hide if his confidence falter for even a moment in even the slightest degree.
It took nothing short of the unobtainable to keep him going when he doubted himself. Which was most days.
“Then you can tell me what you have brought for us.”
No, no, no.
Now.
You need to know, now.
I can't keep it to myself any longer, it's eating me alive.
He coughed as he tried to fill his lungs with air as deeply as he could, taking large breaths to try and force his heart to slow so that his breathing might slow in tandem and allow him to speak. He forced his breathing to slow to a point it did not want to, forcing his heart to comply and be still so that he might speak. Everything shook and his heart still struck a frantic beat against his ribs like it banged upon the drums of war, but his voice managed to crack out as he wearily tried to raise the paper to the Sovereign, nearly stumbling and only just catching himself as he spoke.
"Cou-Could... b-b-be prank, c-could have been p-prank."
Even those few words were too much as he gasped for air, before forcing himself to continue. This could potentially be more important than any breathing.
"D-Don't know w-who... d-don't know who left... w-w-wasn't there l-long before I-I saw..."
He paused for breath once more, both to get the air to speak and because this was the part he was most afraid of her reaction for. He had waited. He had been confronted with serious information. And he had waited. He winced as he preemptively dipped his head down, ears going back in submission as he bowed his head and hunched his shoulders, as if he was hunkering down for a blow.
"S-Sorry... d-d-didn't want to r-ruin festival... so... w-waited t-t-to bring..."
He closed his eyes in fright but forced himself to continue speaking in a rush of words, he needed to finish his piece before he was struck down for betrayal, she needed to know everything before he was silenced. The words spilled over his lips like a gushing torrent as the dam was finally broken and the waters raged free.
"C-Could j-j-just be prank... b-but... seemed m-m-more serious th-than a p-prank so..."
It took everything he had in him to hold the paper up for her, everything in him a mixture of terror, guilt, and pure, unadulterated exhaustion. This had been resting on his shoulders for a while and he was tired, was tired of the weights of the world he didn't ask for.
He could have been a warrior, could have been a caretaker, could have been a sage. He could have been any of the four champions. He had the natural weapons to be called on in battle, the kindness to be called on to heal, the brain to be called on for knowledge, and the understanding of what it was like to be small to be called on to speak for the community. He could have fought for leadership, fought to prove his worth and showed the natural power of his body, his kindness, his smarts, and his understanding to make a most marvelous leader if he had cared to strive for it.
But there was a reason he was a Commoner.
He wasn't meant to be involved in the affairs of gods and kings.
He could be, he could fight for his right to be a king, he had the potential, but it would break him.
He wasn't meant to be involved in the affairs of gods and kings, and yet here he had been dragged into them anyway.
Panic had possessed him. It left his shaking and weak. It stole the words from his tongue and made his eyes wide, wide, wide. Florentine watches him gently, her breath slow, her eyes slower as she looks to the paper in his grasp. It trembles like a leaf, rattling in the wind like a sail loosened on a ship.
Auru shakes his head, defiant determined, afraid. “It’s okay Auru.” The flower girl breathes. She thinks just how she is no longer the girl who lay in the mud waiting for him to relax. How long had it been since she made a joke? How long had it been since they stood together in the swamp and ate fruit together? Long enough for her heart to be broken, for Lysander to lie bleeding in their infirmary…
He talks of pranks, his tongue stumbling but his heart stumbling faster still. Maybe it was nothing to worry about, but his fear was a palpable thing and it worked its way in to the flower girl’s heart too.
Eventually he holds out the letter, bent and bruised and worn by the wind as it is. Carefully, as if he were a hummingbird she longs not to scare, the Dusk girl takes the paper from him. The ink upon it is simple but fierce. There is a poison in its words, a warning. Flora knows the paper, it was Terrastella’s own. “It came from the Swamp?” Florentine asks Auru, even though she knows what his answer will be. The Winter’s End Festival was supposed to have been a time to leave mischievous notes, love notes. But nothing about this festival had gone to plan for Florentine. Nothing.
The queen calls for Cyrene and reads the words again.
‘Once tainted,
a nation dies;
once betrayed,
revenge survives.’
Her eyes lift from the words. “You did well Auru. I am not sure this is a prank, even if so, we cannot treat it as such.” She takes a breath. “Cyrene and I should work out what to do with this…” Softly her amethyst gaze returns to Auru, “I do not suppose you saw who left this?”
Slight trigger warning for descriptive imagery when referring to Anxiety and Paranoia, mostly Paranoia. Some may be uncomfortable with the sorts of imagery related to death and decay used to describe them.
"It's okay Auru."
He forces himself to breathe as she speaks. His lungs are burning from his run, and the rapid pounding of his heart causes his breath to come in gasps far too shallow. To say nothing of the dizziness that panic brings upon him, and as she takes the note from him he slowly lowers his haunches to the floor, moving as gently as possible to not go falling with his shaking limbs. Once his rear end is down, he slowly slides forward until he is laying down as she reads, unable to care for propriety as he rests his head upon his forelegs and the ground, curving his head toward his chest as he heaves for breath.
It is easier to breathe now that he is off his hooves, now that he can stop trying to hold his weight on those shaking limbs, even as they tremble anyway with the aftereffects of exertion and the panic that burns through his veins like a wildfire. The inside of the keep seems blurred, and everything distant.
"It came from the Swamp?"
The most he can manage is a jerky nod of the head, not really lifting his visage as her voice is nearly unintelligible through the ringing in his ears. His head dips before he jerks it back upright, his unstable blood pressure leaving him near to passing out as he forces himself to breathe even as the keep seems darker, like the day is fading into dusk even though the sun outside is bright with spring's rays.
He distantly thinks that it is too nice of a day outside for this.
He does not listen as she calls for Cyrene, the face connected to the name momentarily escaping him as he struggles to remember which way is up and which way is down. He looks up as he feels her gaze come back to him, the thin, cowardly lion looking up at the flower girl, once silly and now forged into a noble visage, his eyes almost pleading as he prays to be wrong. He does not want to be wrong for he fears her wrath at his overreaction, but he wants to be wrong because of what being right would entail.
“You did well Auru. I am not sure this is a prank, even if so, we cannot treat it as such.”
Orange eyes dropped, as a moment of true, unbridled emotion, something like grief or sorrow but that he cannot name, settled over his heart, the sudden ache in his breast almost warranting a sob.
He was right.
He didn't want to be right.
Anxious nerves soon banished the grief-like emotion to the far corners of his mind as she continued.
“I do not suppose you saw who left this?”
He was shaking his head before she had even finished speaking. No, whomever had left the note had been gone before he arrived. He had not seen anyone who had come or gone, but he was certain no one else had seen either. He may have missed whomever had been by, but he had been close to the boardwalks for much of the Festival, and even if they had not been in his sight, he could often hear those who came by, the swamp man huddled in the shadows and listening from a distance, he did not think anyone else had been by.
His form was still trembling, but he found the energy to force himself to begin rising, even as he shook his head. His hooves stumbled underneath him a little, and his limbs were like leaves in a hurricane, but he managed, his mouth working as he found himself trying to continue speaking even though he had already given her a negative response.
There was something else, something in the back of his mind that was important, but he just couldn't think what...
He hadn't seen who had been by, but he had seen something, something that was important.
Something that he had seen and his brain had recognized but that he just couldn't remember for the life of him. It wasn't a person, but something about the note...
He closed his eyes as he grit his teeth, racing back through his memories to stand upon the boardwalk in the depths of his mind, the note hanging before him as he saw it for the first time.
Everything was slightly blurred and unstable, his memory far from perfect. Everything outside of what was directly before him was near invisible, and even the sight before him has a dream-like quality to it. Even his form seemed wispy and unstable, and there was something like a low hum around him, the other thoughts flowing through his brain like distant chatter that made background noise as he concentrated, standing in the memory of where he had once been.
He looked at the note, whose substance was dream-like and intangible, brow furrowing as he tried to focus harder on it.
In the depths of his mind, a scrawny black stallion approached the note as well, a crow swollen with maggots and fat seated upon the snapping shadows that hissed around the black man with a maw like a viper fish. Eyes as dark as the abyss looked upon the note from where the newcomer stood next to Auru, and Auru turned to the man in his memory with desperation.
Anxiety was very observant.
People were naturally observant, but their brain cast out thoughts deemed as irrelevant on a subconscious level before they were even aware of them. Anxiety wasn't like that, he took the thoughts Auru had and forced him to look at each one as if they were relevant, no silly thought was cast aside, the man obsessed over everything and Auru had to do so as well, was forced to listen to the insistence and look upon all.
Auru had seen something, something.
Anxiety noticed everything.
"Anxiety, Anxiety, what did you see?"
The maw parted, long, translucent fangs that stretched beyond lips, beyond the jawline of the beast. Saliva connected them where they held themselves at crooked angles as the man parted them with a guttural hiss of escaping air, soft crackling of bones and unnatural popping and stretching of flesh as he opened his maw to speak. The lips that were non-existent on the black man of skin and bones could form no words when they themselves existed not, and the words that poured forth from the all-consuming void within his jaws seemed to be formed from the air itself, no movement to the jaws as the man simply held them there, his mouth agape as he spoke.
The words were like the hissing of metal burning from the forge when dipped in water, and the force with which the shadowed man said them was as great as the plume of steam from the water that the metal created. They came so fast, so suddenly, the man not stopping for breath even once.
"Dry dry the note was dry the note was dry the ink was dry the ink was not old but neither was it fresh the ink was dry the note was dry the swamp is not dry the notes in the swamp the festival notes the paper is affected by the moisture in the swamp by the time the ink dries the note begins to curl at the edges from the water in the air the note was dry the note was crisp the ink was dry dry dry the note was dry..."
The hissing faded to unintelligible mumbles, the words being repeated over and over as Paranoia, the fat and bursting bird seated upon the skeletally thin stallion crowed with a noise like a rupturing buboe. Like the spurting of pus from a swollen, fat, maggot-filled lymph node filled to the brim with blackened and rotten flesh. Anxiety's hissing was like the buzzing of the flies around the dead as Paranoia crowed.
"If the note was dry and the ink was dry, it must have been written, pre-mediated. Someone did this on purpose, this was planned. Someone wants war and someone did this on purpose, the note was made before it was posted, someone waiting for the right moment when no one would be around to see. It was a secret, someone waiting for everyone to leave so that way no one would see them declare war. Waiting for you to leave so that-"
From there, Paranoia devolved into crowing about how it related to Auru specifically, but the cowardly lion ignored that, instead turning his attention back to the note in his memory.
"Dry dry the note was dry..."
"Someone did this on purpose."
"The note was dry the ink was dry..."
"This was planned."
"Dry dry the note was dry..."
The note had been dry.
Auru pulled himself from his memories even as Anxiety continued to hiss and Paranoia to crow, words stuttering to his lips as he desperately tried to pass on what little he knew, wanting to give everything that he could think of so that way they had ever detail they could to figure out what this meant. This was a game of gods and kings and he was not meant to be here, but he could at least help if he had been dragged into it either way.
"Th-The note!"
He stilled after his sudden outburst, taking a breath as he tried to gather his thoughts for a moment, more stuttering words spilling forth now that he had made his need to say something more known.
"W-W-When I found it, th-the note was dry. I-Ink takes a-a while to dry in th-the swamp, s-since there's so m-m-much moisture in the air, but the n-note was dry. The paper w-w-was dry too."
He fumbled for words, trying to convey what he meant by that, eyes spinning as he tried to think.
"W-W-When notes w-were hung up, th-the humidity made th-the paper get damp and c-curl after a little while, b-but the note h-hadn't curled yet, l-like i-i-it hadn't been there very long. Th-That's why I-I-I don't think a-anyone else saw, be-because the note hadn't b-been there f-f-for very long. B-B-But the ink was dry."
He took several breaths, looking up at Florentine for a moment as he struggled to breathe, wanting to convey what he felt was the importance of his recollections.
Cyrene Remember this when you are king;
I moved the earth and the water for you.
—
Musty, dust-covered scrolls rustled in grudging protest as Cyrene flicked a crimson wing absentmindedly against her side. How long had it been since she’d felt the dew-soaked grass beneath her hooves, the burning sun against her feathers? Far too long, she sighed, sharp lion’s eyes glancing every which way except at the yellow-paged tome sitting sternly open in front of her.
"I am thoroughly sick of books,” she voiced aloud, sable curls nodding in agreement as she slumped forwards in frustration. As the smell of ancient paper and gods-awful history filled her nostrils, the spirited nymph wondered for the umpteenth time that day if she would ever be cut out for the role of Emissary.
It had felt like ages ago when Florentine had spoken those fateful words to her under a rose colored sky; in reality, little more than a week had passed since then. But what a frenzied week it has been, Cyrene lamented, looking bitterly at the mountain of paperwork spread out around her like a curse. It had been a rough transition, resuming her studies again after so long gallivanting through enchanted forests and seaside towns. How she missed it, the traveling! The sights, the sounds; every night, they whispered silk-spun stories to her in her dreams.
Yet despite her grumblings, Cyrene regretted nothing. For her court, for Florentine, she would toss her soul to the flames if that was what was required of her as the Emissary. No longer was she the flighty, reckless girl of her springtime youth. The plague's grisly reign had made sure of that. Still, she almost wished for some excitement…
And did the gods grandly deliver. Cyrene lifted her head sharply in surprise as a breathless maid burst through the heavy oak doors of the study.
”Queen Florentine requests your presence immediately in the throne room, Lady Cyrene.”
"Thank you. I shall hurry to her immediately,” Cyrene answered, papers scattering every which way as she dashed out of the room in a rush of feathers and curls. Florentine had never summoned her with such urgency before, and the young Emissary felt her heart flit in her chest like a startled sparrow as she flew through the keep’s labyrinthine halls.
It was by nothing short of a miracle that she found herself in front of the throne room’s gilded entrance in a matter of minutes. She was not yet familiar enough with Terrastella’s castle to know her way around, and Cyrene’s exasperated instructors now sent maids to escort her every morning, to ensure she arrived to her lessons on time.
As she stepped across the marble floors, amber eyes widened in bewilderment as a familiar, razor-boned boy knelt, trembling, in front of an equally distraught Florentine.
“L-Like it had a-already been written.”
"You called for me, Florentine. What has happened?” Cyrene asked, steps quickening to carry her to Flora’s side as she sought the queen’s amethyst gaze. The closer she approached, the more she could make out the boy’s anxious face, slick with cold sweat. Is that… "Auru? Are you alright?”
Puzzled, she lowered her head to examine the parchment Auru held up with shaking telepathy. And with each poisonous word she read, dread lodged itself deeper and deeper in Cyrene’s stomach.
The flames of discord, of bent and broken bonds, had been lit.
Or had it always burned there, steadily, under Dusk's lavender skies?
@Florentine @Auru | notes: so sorry for the wait! but cy is here and ready to rumblee >)
Anxiety tastes strong and bitter in the air. It controls the boy, sets his torso to shake and tremble.
But she waits, with eyes wide and so filled with worry. But she waits.
Soon he speaks, and it is of dried ink and uncurled paper. Florentine looks to the note again crumbled and wind-worn but still crisp. Indeed the paper had not softened in the heat of the swamp, drinking its moisture into its pores.
Flora considers the ink and the writing. The ink was the very one used for the notes at the festival, but the writing – she does not know it. If it was from Night, then it was not by Reichenbach’s hand. He wrote her enough letters (and her heart clenches as it thinks of the love he once poured into them) for her to know his writing by now.
“I do not think this is from Night…” Florentine says slowly. She is still considering the letter when Cyrene arrives, pouring from the citadel like wine. The words settle themselves between the trio, and for a moment the Dusk girl allows their silence to permeate.
“The notes in the swamp were from everyone, to everyone.” Her eyes trail over the menacing scrawl and it is as if she can already heart those words resonating to the sound of clashing steel. “Anyone could have left this note, but it talks of a nation…” Florentine takes a breath, “There is discord between most Courts right now, to discover which Court this has come from and to which it refers, is no small feat.”
Her gaze lifts to Cyrene. “What would you suggest?” To do nothing, was to leave someone unguarded, but to tell all would inspire worry and discord. Oh to just be able to burn the paper and be rid of such menace!
The girl draws a breath into her lungs, “It seems we have much to discuss.” Her amethyst gaze flits to Auru and she smiles gently, “Thank you again Auru. You have served us well.”
@Auru @Cyrene - well, since the raid in Solterra has already started, I am not quite sure where we should take this thread now lol!
His head was spinning, and he could scarcely breathe. His chest burned like it had been lit aflame, and his heart pounded for freedom. He wanted nothing more than to flee from this place now that his task had been completed, to gallop back to the swamplands as though the hounds of hell were chasing him down. But the trembling in his limbs bespoke that he would only fall to his knees if he tried to rise from where he had collapsed.
He heard their words not, heard them turn to one another and discuss. All he could hear was the pounding of blood in his own heart.
The flower-girl read, the chamomile girl adorned with fireflies asked after his well being. He heard her, but could not respond. Did not have it in him to even think to reply. All he could do was gasp for air, trying to still the frantic thumping in his breast. But his panicked gasps did little but keep the panicked rhythm a tempo, the great heaving of his lungs keeping blood flow at painful levels in its haste.
After oxygen had wound its way back into his legs, he stumbled to his hooves, shaky, uncoordinated as a newborn foal.
He staggered a step forward, trying to walk around the women but his bony shoulder bumping against the flower girl as he did so. He stumbled away, hooves clattering in distress over the stone floor as his limbs shook beneath him. He had not meant to run into her. He turned his gaze to her, trying to stutter out an apology, but found that his voice would not work, his throat closing in on itself.
His jaws worked uselessly, the large canines of a predator looking all but useless in the trembling jowls of a frightened boy.
Auru turned away then, continuing to try and shakily walk his way to freedom, only for his legs to give way beneath him before he had even cleared both women, his body slumping to the ground and bony hide roughly impacting the wall as he leaned against it. He managed to keep his chest off the ground, his forelegs shaking but holding his torso up, but his backlegs shook uselessly against the ground, the panic rising to take him full force as tears pricked at his eyes, still gasping for breath but feeling like he could never get enough air.
His voice wouldn't work, he couldn't say a thing as his throat seemed to swell tighter and tighter.
Had it always been so hard to breathe?
He wearily began to lower his chest to the ground, legs unable to continue holding him up as a single tear rolled down his cheek, pupils but mere pinpricks in copper eyes as he stared into the distance, unseeing but for the fright that consumed him utterly and kept his body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.
He also felt the first touches of shame trying to wind its way across his face in heated despair at the knowledge that he lay in the midst of the Court's seat of power, a full grown man, shaking like a foal confronted with a pack of wolves when there was Court discord and mutiny afoot.
There was war on the horizon, and all he could do was shake like a useless child before the gods.
OOC: I am aware that this thread is old but figured I might as well get up a reply and let y'all figure out what to do from here <3 Yeah tl;dr Auru tries to walk off to let them worry about it because he was just the messenger but the panic attack really sets in and he's currently on the floor
