It would seem they'd have no time to lick their wounds. No sooner had they made it into the safety of the city itself than cries even began to ring out from within the walls. He knew that the golems still feasted, a myriad of new and fallen flesh fueling them on in their frenzy. Until those threads of magic were suddenly severed as well. The scent of brimstone and smog suddenly filtered through the air, accompanied swiftly by the acrid odor of singed hair and flesh. His magic was quickly depleting after the fray, but as the indescribable heat came too close to ignore, he would lay bloodied palm to the dirt floor of the tent, a shield of crimson engulfing them scarcely before the rain of hellfire did.

He could no longer catch his breath, not that he entirely needed it, but habits died hard. The taste of ichor swept his tongue, the overwhelming mixture of smells churning his stomach. Straightening, he was reminded once more of the damage done to his shoulder as well, the venom that lay beneath the skin, no doubt blackening the veins there, if that was all, he would count himself as fortunate, he supposed. Though the stiff and awkward nature of its movements hinted that perhaps it was not only punctured, but dislocated as well. There was little time to dwell on such matters, however, as sterling gaze cut to the weak, hapless youth. One that had, for some reason, decided to risk limb and life to defend this place. Perhaps he was more like his mother than he would ever be willing to admit.

Regardless, he would pressure the unwilling form of his body to move. To stand. A harsh huff of air departed him, ribs screaming for their reprieve only met with callous resolve. So long as his head wasn't separated from his shoulders, it mattered not the plight the rest of him suffered. He could bleed out, and he could be revived. Such a thing had happened before, an escape cruelly denied. He held his doubts that anyone else would spare time or attention for the mortal, however. "Get up." He growled, vocals guttural as the hand belonging to his good arm would reach down in an attempt to drag Fin to a stand the best he could. Lightening danced fatally close by, ending a life with a disconcerting wail. His skin prickled in response to the proximity as he ripped the magic ring from the swollen finger where already traces of the dog's venom could be discovered.

He forced his thoughts to focus upon his own house, clamping his eyes shut as the world began to precariously tilt to and fro. Tossing the ring, the door would open, and there was a familiar room upon the other side. Dim, dark. But there. Without wasting time, he would shove the boy through, perhaps the motion was rougher than he had initially intended, but he made it through regardless, and Theo would stagger after him. Upon bidding the portal to close, it did so.

And it was like they were never amidst that hell.

The commotion didn't go unnoticed as already the maid was rushing towards them, her footfalls heavy down the stairs as the vampire slouched unceremoniously into the armchair that faced the empty hearth. "Maria," he spoke as soon as she reached the threshold, not wanting to hear her animated questioning or her normal antics, "can you fetch a healer? Someone who will tend a human. A mortal." He drug in a deep breath, exhaled it, and seeming to sense his mood, the young woman would merely nod, and as she started to step away, he would add: "I don't want anyone to know we're here." She stiffened slightly, but once again bobbed her head.

Silver would slowly open, looking to wherever Fin had managed to. "You'll be safe here." He assured, allowing his eyelids to once again fall. For the first time he could recall in any recent age, he was grateful for the presence of the peaceful darkness belonging to Lavalles's shade.

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From beneath the growing haze there were still pieces of reality that broke through, fragments that pierced the shroud of slowing thoughts. The familiar scent of fire, the magic which thrummed to life from the presence which hovered so near to him now in this temporary shelter. Unconsciously he nearly offered his own spark to fuel whatever the other did and yet that flickering essence failed to break the surface. Not that it would have made much of a difference, nothing seemed to here, though before he knew it lyrics reached for his senses. A distorted growl, a command not heeded until he was jerked up from the ground and set on his feet.

Positioning Fineás’ body didn’t agree with for it was as if a hot iron had been dug into his skin the moment limbs had to fully support his own weight. Weeping ichor eagerly staining his clothes, soaking through with all else to drip to the dirt beneath feet unwilling to move. Though he didn’t need to, before much more than broken sound could protest it was as if he was falling anew. An abrupt shove sending him stumbling not back to the earth but against the warm floors of what one could only assume was another’s home. He wasn’t even going to ask where the fuck that portal came from. At least he wasn’t still _there_, for a moment he thought to remain where he lay but wavering senses bid him to take in surroundings.

Fingers splayed as he pushed himself up, looking around the dim light of the room toward the various adornments which glinted in the low light. However, in these moments, he could not find it in himself to be fixated by any of it but whatever cushioning lay unclaimed by the vampiric. Rather gracelessly the boy hauled himself upon it, merely looking to the other as breath rasped against the air. Taking a moment to find his voice Fineás attempted to hold the same tone he so oft kept, a bitter disregard; ”Theodred,” yet even this dramatically faltered beneath all else which blossomed in his breast. The wet stickiness of blood a plague in how it clung to his clothes, his skin, even daring to lace amidst the strands of fiery hair cascading over his shoulders in wild disarray.

Briefly his crown shook as if action alone would clear his head, only to find immediate regret as furhter discomforts rose in reverberating pang. Each staggered motion sending a new wave to course against nerves and convince a feigned air to drop entirely, “What the hell was that?” Lyrics nearly breathless as a frantic mind attempted to piece all which had just transpired into one cohesive thought. Magic raining from the sky, the pressure of tightly wound fingers against him before falling through a swirling doorway. Maybe he was loosing his mind? Had all of that really happened? Though even through a fogged mind, the general’s voice still filtered through. Cementing itself into the wild thoughts buzzing about his cerebrum.

He called for a healer, spoke to someone Fineás didn’t even try to look at but as the shuffle of feet vanished down the hall, he could not help but to question it. Gloved fingers pressing back plastered hair, hooking against an eye patch to reveal striking crimson and allow the duality of his stare to hang upon the other. Silence stretching until once more he gained some semblance of breath, “A mortal healer? What good… will that do?” Unless of course they were cursed with the very bond which dug its claws into his own veins. “Besides I thought the damned needed blood to recover,” at least whenever their seemingly natural vitality waned.

Using nothing but his eyes, attentions flickered in none to subtle gesture toward Theo’s more loosely hanging limb, “’specially when it came to nasty bites.” Those laced in the toxins of a canine’s saliva. While he’d never seen the affects of it first hand, in these moments he didn’t exactly wish to. There was not a single moment in his life that would benefit from beholding what he may now but, at the same time, neither could he tear his gaze away from obvious injury to beasts not easily subdued. If nothing more it provided a sense of distraction, wrenched the mind from all which marked his own hide. Each mark of sundered flesh screaming in agonizing reminder upon each shallow beat. He hated this creeping sensation of defeat, of a weakness that could not be easily combated for it thrummed with his pulse.

Still a forced scoff left him at the vampire’s rumbled tone, safe, that particular detail remained to be seen though he would not question it aloud at. If Theodred intended to kill him it would have happened by now. He would have already been met with the puncture of fangs or simply left in that tent to await death alone. It stirred a strangled sigh to slip free before nearly choking on his own voice, “Theo?” Any sense of formality with the man's name dropped, hesitance clear upon a trembling tone yet he did not wait for an answer, “Thanks… for all that.”

No matter how he wanted to resign himself to the exhaustion creeping unnaturally at his bones, his cerebrum was held prisoner to his own body. To the sensations that flooded through his form like wild fire, setting his very veins alight. Alas, illuminated silver would simply turn upwards, to the ceiling which so delicately drifted this way and that with his unfocused sights set upon the intricacy of the tiles. The room was large, cavernous, he would have often claimed, but it was filled comfortably so. The furniture within was plush, lavish. The large chandelier that lingered overhead was dark, its multitude of candles bidding but a spark of magic to unfurl the stretch of light to reveal more details. Like the embroidery of a tapestry and its twin on either side of the large hearth. The couch Fineas found himself on set before a low, well crafted mahogany table. A few glasses settled upon its surface, though from the distance and the sway of his sights, he couldn't see if they had been recently used. He had figured Maria bright enough to speak if she had a guest somewhere in the estate.

”Theodred,” he would blink a few times, trying to clear the haze away as his head tilted faintly upon its axis to better peer at the sundered youth, a low grunt his only answer as both his arms settled upon the rests of his chair, sinking into the warm comfort of its familiarity. He'd spent many hours here before being stationed to Dunmeath. Leisure found him reading here often. “What the hell was that?” Despite his attempt at a somewhat normal vocality, the spitfire seemed exasperated, stressed by something other than the obvious disdain of injury. A low hum reverberated within his chest as he considered the words. As his thoughts were taken back to those last moments within the destruction of the city. How far had it spread? He should have probably remained, simply assured safety for Fin. It wasn't just normal magic, that much was certain. Even as close as that perilous bolt had struck to them, he had sensed only it, no tangible threads of the arcane to connect it to. Even the tongues of destructive fire that had roared to life from over head had been based only from the heavens, masked in its origin otherwise. "I don't know." He answered in earnest. He swallowed thickly. "I've never seen anything like that before."

His movement snared his focus, dull gaze dragging with agonizing slowness over the smeared carmine that darkened his face, that made itself home. He dared not breathe any longer, and it was difficult to finally pull the full of his focus to the mismatched intensity of a now unveiled gaze in whole. What did that cutting eye see when it looked to him now? He'd heard the merchants claim that it could pierce disguises, but what now? When no illusion covered him, was it a simple corpse he witnessed with it? “A mortal healer? What good… will that do?” The next words that left him forced sterling from him entirely, once again finding their way to the ceiling. To trace the patterns scrawled there by attentive artists much too enamored with their craft. “Besides I thought the damned needed blood to recover. ’specially when it came to nasty bites.”

His words were drawn in darkness as he finally spoke after a long pause, as he refrained the threads of control within his grip. "The healer is for you. Someone who will tend to human mortals." The explanation was rather nonchalant, though he still didn't allow his appraisal the opportunity to drag over the crimson stains once again. "And do not tempt me." It was here his intonation drug along with a soft threat, a grave warning. There would be no escaping the reality of his condition, of what it was that his frame currently demanded against stark reasoning. For now, however, he could still remain within the firm illusion of sanity.

He could feel the youth's eyes upon his arm, the one that seared with malady. The one that spasmed tautly with the effects of the toxins coursing through dark veins. His fingers twitched along the arm of the chair, gripping, releasing without reason or cause as the effects ravaged through the limb. It would take its time to mend, even with ichor, a reminder whispered in the otherworldly heat that poured through it.

“Theo?” His brow piqued lightly in response to the far less than formal address. It felt like a lifetime ago before someone had called him that, as simple a notion as it was. “Thanks… for all that.” This was also a foreign concept, something strange that left him somewhat unsettled. He shouldn't be thanked for this - for even as helpful as his aid had been, Fineas never should have been present. Especially not side by side with them on the front lines for this fiasco. No boy should have witnessed and been apart of the horrors that war wrought on either side of the coin. In truth, he felt as though he should be apologizing, despite it not being his hand that had brought him. Slowly, his crown would shake, though he still did not bring his gaze back to those blood dappled features. "There's no need to thank me."

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Any other opportunity to snoop around this man’s home would have been seized in an instant, discover what sort of secrets the general kept tucked away behind these walls. Surely many would kill to find out about his life and yet, in these moments, there was no urge to move. Little want to brandish his usual level of deviance no matter how he attempted to cling to envenomed hostilities. But right now, even the slightest breath was seemingly enough to set off an echoing flare of pain that traveled throughout his frame. Brinigng air to crackle in his throat, hitching upon every rising notion. Sensations which brought a jaw to tighten as the boy shifted, fighting to find a sense of comfort atop plush upholstery all while that dual toned gaze fixed on but one target - Theodred.

Refusing to stray as he grasped for answers… only to be left wanting. If even a man deemed as ancient as the one before him know knew nothing of what just transpired, had never even seen such a display before in his lifetime. Than who did? “Oh,” dejection was clear in the refractions of glimmering sights as for a moment they fell away, futilely grasping for stability before flickering back to the damned as unasked queries flooded the mind. Left to silently wonder just what may cross the other’s thoughts in these moments, did he not even have a guess? What all had he been able to pick up on that Fineás was left blind to? Did he too harbor regrets over this? Or was it just another matter that came with his line of work? Would it all be swept under the rug or would their Queen actually seek answers for the rain of fire?

Though it is none of this which flees his lips, instead one chooses to cling to what may be easiest to hear. Phrases over the peculiar choice of a healer, a mind not grasping that he merely sought one who would be willing to treat a mortal for all the boy had encountered thus far had held no qualms in mending sundered flesh. Even if a sister was typically his go to whenever a body allowed for such travel, when she did not hide away upon the shores… he should visit her again. A thought which did not linger as he focused on the way Theodred’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling tiles as if anything but he were of interest. And yet the way vocals darkened brought his own lyrics to crumple into silence, not even a whisper daring to jab at a warning over temptation. 

He knew all too well of the undead’s hunger. It would not be the first time fangs had torn into flesh, neither the second nor third either; but in these moments luck would not be pressed. There was no intention of provoking the general especially when given a barely restrained threat over the matter. So instead he deviated from antagonizing another and turned back to question. Hesitant at first in fear of sounding a fool but still it lay asked, “Do elixirs work for dog bites?” For he knew there was one such vial hidden away with his belongings, one declared to hold healing properties and yet he’d not tried it himself. Yet if it could stop the way another’s arm seemed to spasm beyond control perhaps it would be worth a try? Though he would need acceptance or to convince a healer to deviate from the task a superior set them on. Phrase rising upon quiet breath, almost spoken to himself, “You need one too you know… a healer,” not just him. That much was clear just by looking at the man.

Swallowing any other words that threatened to rise Fineás allowed the cushions to embrace him as much as possible. Pointed ears turning back upon an offering of thanks as finally those eyes drifted away. Unsure on if he wanted to see the man’s face when such things fled his lips and while it was not an outright rejection, it still stung. Remark which brought a half sneer to cross his features though this quickly faded beneath another pang when it stretched injury, “There is so fuckin’ accept it… you’ll likely never hear it from me again.” No matter what the damned thought there was reason to thank him within Fineás’ eyes, “You could’ve left me there.” Anyone else who remained would have and deep within there was an inkling which said he should have.

He couldn't get that glaring blast to leave his mind's eye. Still yet as he closed his gaze it echoed red hot and angry against his lids, engrained and impressed upon silver in striking animosity. The feeling of it washing over his skin in tantalizing familiarity and also demoralizing enigma. The shield would not have held against any further onslaught, almost as if that scathing raze had been nothing but warning fire. One that had still left them scorched, and if he could, he'd have been drowning himself in water, in ice, in anything to soothe this dry tinder crackling dangerously close to ignition within his throat. It felt as though it was made of earth, dry and separating in the face of a merciless drought. His good arm would raise, the touch tentatively knowing as it pressed to the gore of his torso, a stabilizing reminder that not all was brought upon him by that eerie arcane. The larger suspect was base instinct. To replenish what had been lost. To refill the reservoirs spent through his own mana and physical damages. Don't breathe.

“Oh,” Despite himself, he managed a small, hollow chuckle at the let down obvious in the youth's intonation, though he still didn't allow his peripherals to find him once again. His fingers dug deeply within the fabric of his shirt, the ruined tunic tightening uncomfortably despite the limitations of its threads. "I'm certain the queen will spare no effort to find out." He assured on a lower hum, lashes finally parting, though his left eye remained tightly shut in a grimace. "And when she does, I suppose you've earned to know." He was certain that as soon as she received word, emissaries would be dispatched, libraries would be combed through, anything and everything to gather insight into this new potential enemy. He found it unlikely to be anything the hounds could conjure, after all, most of their gifted were in nature magic, and while fire and its siblings were forces of nature, their talents pooled in vegetation itself. Herbology, twisting and morphing roots and vines. Never had he seen a dog belch lava, and he found the possibility of such a sudden manifestation unlikely. Not only that, but with his guise in their military, he had heard nothing of any other entities joining them for this one last hoorah. It was a strike born of desperation, there was little to no careful planning. They were animals driven into a corner and forced to fight back or die - as simple as that. Who in their right mind would cast their lot in with them?

“Do elixirs work for dog bites?” His brow would arch lightly, his curiosity certainly piqued by the possibility. He would be lying to claim he didn't wish to know. The sooner this insufferable burn resided and he regained full control over the limb, the better. He could manage the rest of it, for better or for worse, but the spread of the venom was increasingly taxing in admittance. However, he'd learned the hard way that it was nigh impossible to ingest anything besides the silken iron of crimson ichor. Even water only lasted shortly before coming back up. No food, he'd forgotten the way it tasted, in truth. He could no longer recall the taste of even the name of his once favorite dish. He'd attempted in bitter, stubborn earnest to make exception, to force his body to tolerate it if nothing else for the sake of normalcy. He had only ever found rejection, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to risk such a gamble now. If he lost anymore blood, at this rate... A breath would leave him from between his teeth, and he would slightly shake his head. "I don't know. I have my doubts. I would be willing to try it though, once you've been tended to." Yes, if nothing else, that would aid in his restraint, one he struggled to keep leashed.

“You need one too you know… a healer,” a nod would meet the obvious observation. "I'll find one." He assured, his intonation lacking any bite. His own condition held little concern to him in the end, even if he bled out here and now, true death had all but abandoned him. It wouldn't kill him in a way that would matter, in a way that couldn't be simply reversed. Another fact held tried and true. “There is so fuckin’ accept it… you’ll likely never hear it from me again.” Normally, he probably would have been humored by the youth's nipping words, but in the present, he was merely finding quiet exhaustion becoming his closest companion. “You could’ve left me there.” While he'd been grateful for the youth's presence, in the end, it didn't change one simple fact: "You never should have been there." War wasn't a place for children, and while Fin would loath to hear it, he still was one. He shouldn't have been placed onto the front lines in the very least until he could raise his own goblet in a proud toast.

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