The Shrunken Heart Darlshei Sjaal
Name Meaning: Shroud
Bonded: 03-06-22
Bonding: The Worst Loneliness — Artemis
Rank: Darlshei
Gender: Male
All white, he might be mistaken for an elderly king if not for his small size, enhanced by the way his back hunches him slightly, the curve pushing his head down with enforced humility. When he focuses his powers, shadow-black sigils diffuse a dark light from his coat. The rest of the time, his eyes are off-coloured, one a dark teal, and the other a light turquoise. He moves stiffly.
Shroud.
It was never supposed to be like this.
The healer had been wizened in years when he had joined the Qu'ellar under Erthe, and his occupation did not age him any less quickly as more time wore him down. He was glad, to be able to provide aid to any who could, to serve as a mentor on occasion for those willing to take the advice of a common Kal'daka when the nobler ranks were occupied with other matters.
HIs job, his birthright, his calling was to heal. But some things cannot be fixed, as Rendan had learned long before Sjaal had to.
He was there, waiting, when they brought the first body to him. It was a horrible sight, not that many deaths were neat and tidy, but it was if the attacker had gone out of their way to make a gruesome mess of their loyal messenger. He found the spot to let her body rest, if not her soul, and spoke the funerary rites over her, an unfortunately necessary part of his role that he bore with solemn responsibility. It did not bring him pleasure like easing the pains of others did, but it had to be done, and he would rather he carry that burden than any of the others.
And only a few moons later, he had to do it again, deja vu worrying his brow as he saw another female Zanjur dragged before him.
Where all had attended, gathered around the corpse of Ungue, only the heartbroken necromancer sat audience to the burial of his beloved. Sjaal tried, with quiet words, soft touches, to comfort him, but his every attempt caused him to flinch away as if struck by the same teeth that had ended his mate.
Sjaal could not fix this. Whatever fates had decided to slowly tear their found family apart, he was helpless to do anything but watch as it destroyed them inside and out, gradually breaking down formerly unbreakable bonds and trust.
He knows a healer can only do so much. He knows no amount of mending could fix the rift in their souls. He knows he would rather carry it with him, in silent observation, than have anyone else be painfully aware of the unstoppable implosion unfolding before him. But still. Still. Did it have to come to this?
He does not blame himself, not the way the others do, but he calls himself Sjaal, shroud, the veil that covers the dead, and wonders if he had known sooner, if he had thought of something just a little cleverer, if he had trier harder… maybe he could have prevented if a sliver of the pain that was cracking through them.
Mindspeak: Italic #128880