❪ event ❫ hour of ruin

[natha]

HOUR OF RUIN     Sometime after midnight, after preparations have been put aside in favor of drinks and rest, a thunderous beating of wings shatters the air — the High Dragon Ysverai, once again risen. The sound echoes high off Namarak Mountain, but travels easily to both Wyver and Olympia: scream after scream rends the still night, as though a creature were dying rather than being born again. Having only had days to plan their defense against the creature, Olympia and Wyver snatch up their arms. The Royal Guard and the Knightryders can be seen on their steeds hurrying through the cities, because Ysverai doesn't remain isolated at the mountain's peak for long. There are pictures of Ysverai in abundance throughout both cities, but the creature that circles in the sky looks nothing like the majestic creature spoken of in history books. Even from far below, wounds and lacerations can be seen marring what should be smooth scales, and blood falls with every beat of the dragon's wings. The damage becomes more clear when moonlight illuminates Ysverai, revealing the rotting dragon for all to see. The sight of flesh peeling away and thick blood where it oozes from his cracked, greyish hide is as frightening as the power he possesses. REASON'S TRANSCENDENCE     Mad from the anguish of his forced revival, Ysverai will show none of his renowned wisdom or compassion, mindless and seeking to inflict his pain onto whatever emerges in his path. His very presence creates chaos: animals (Olympia | Wyver) domesticated and wild, flee from the merest hint of his approach, panicked and stampeding in wild droves. The reason is obvious: organic matter exposed too long to his presence begins to rot and decay. A field he lands in rots and lies fallow. Buildings crack and crumble, their supports pitted and corroded as though they've been left in disrepair for years. Even the ground that Ysverai walks upon is tainted; a corrosive sludge bubbles up in his massive, clawed footsteps, the ground beneath him putrefied and toxic, oozing corruption. This sludge can be tar-like, poisonous and sucking people in like quicksand; panic, and you'll only sink faster. Prolonged exposure to Ysverai takes a mental toll on anyone in his proximity as well. Effects similar to those from being near his heart — selfish desires and lowered inhibitions — will begin to fester in those around him. Every time Ysverai roars, pain will run through all those that hear him — a pain not just physical, but of true, anguished heartbreak. Those who hear Ysverai will feel (to a degree of your choosing) a sharing of his pain, the agony of flesh rotting from their bodies, blood oozing from under their skin, and a terrible, incandescent fury — and beneath that, a gut-wrenching sadness. This effect is further enhanced by any exposure to Ysverai's blood, and being drenched in greater quantities will cause one to become more in sync with the dragon. Finally, Ysverai is aggressive, attacking anyone and anything that approaches. He starts by breathing out a smog, acidic and putrefying — characters caught directly by this attack will find that medicine and healing magic of any kind hurts them for hours after exposure. The dragon will ignite the smog to breathe fire, if sparingly. IN WYVER     Ysverai's shadow falls over the near reaches of Wyver first. Upon hearing Ysverai's cry, the dragons in Wyver become completely frenzied, turning against their partners among the Knightryders without the slightest resistance. Those familiar with dragons might deduce that they're in pain, though they don't show any sign of injury. The dragons knock their riders off their backs in midair and dive at citizens, jaws wide. Any attempts to soothe them will be long fought, achieved with great difficulty, and will see them retreat into a cowering state. It's not just the airborne Knightryders taking to the defense of the city however, and people on the ground are mobilizing as well. On rooftops across the city are cannons set to fire harpoons. And if the spearheads alone aren't enough to injure the beast, they're coated with a paralyzing poison as well. Unfortunately, the soldiers stationed on the rooftops are prime targets to the frenzied dragons populating Wyver's skies, leaving the cannons open for ordinary citizens to use should they choose. Left alone too long, and cannons may fall under the control of the few remaining radicals that had opted not to flee the cities to join up with their leader Raysc, choosing instead to wait for an opportune moment to unleash their anger on the people of Wyver. These radicals will need to be dealt with before they can turn the cannons upon Wyver's defenders. IN OLYMPIA     In Olympia, the gryphon partners of the Royal Guard react with immediate hostility to anyone showing signs of Ysverai's influence. Their keen senses allow them to pick up the smell of Ysverai's blood and they attack anyone with so much as a drop of tainted blood on them. Those who bear lingering effects of Ysverai's mental attack and who remain in sync with the dragon after hearing Ysverai's cry are also targeted and must face the gryphons' wrath without mercy or restraint. The gryphons must be disabled, for Olympia will not look upon any injury to their prized steeds lightly. However, the gryphons also show some resistance to Ysverai's cry, which is a great boon in battle against the dragon — gryphons that have lost their riders will be available for use, able to carry two passengers at a time. The people of Olympia aren't planning to restrict their offense to pure brute force, and the mages of the city can be seen across Olympia wielding enchanted chains, using telekinesis in the hopes of restraining Ysverai and assisting in the airborne troops. But like the decaying buildings and wildlife, Ysverai is warping the magic around him, the chains faltering as they approach him, whipping back toward the city instead to cage whoever happens to be closest. It's not just the enchanted chains either, but other magic might behave erratically in his presence, as if the very essence of the spells have been corrupted. VIRTUOUS VERSE     Both cities realize they need to seek survival rather than victory against Ysverai, switching gears to carry out diversion efforts and evacuation plans. It falls to refugees to continue the offensive while the Royal Guard and the Knightryders devote their attention to ensuring the safety of the citizens as they flee. With official forces stretched thin, civilians and refugees alike will also need to step up to help herd citizens toward safety among a maze of collapsing buildings. Others will need to see to gathering resources for the evacuation, and while gathering non perishables is easy enough, it's considerably harder to wrangle livestock into cooperating amidst such chaos. Those fighting may be asked to act as bait for Ysverai. Chatter through official troops speaks of a switch in strategy: the objective now is capture the dragon's attention and draw him away from the populous cities and towards the South Outpost. Whether or not it's possible to defeat the dragon remains uncertain, but there's no question that it will be easier to battle him without worrying about civilians. THE RAGE     Luckily, the dragon is indiscriminate in his rage, and easily lured so long as a suitably infuriating target is before him. It doesn't take long to draw him to the South Outpost, but the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake is vast. Once there, the combined forces are greeted not just by Ysverai, but also by the appearance of Ysverai's master. How bravely you've all come to meet your doom! Great heroes, one and all, ha! I welcome you, bring your best. Show me the power that's protected Olympia and Wyver, all that you have to offer me, whatever pitiful excuse for valor you seek to cling to when the fear has you cowering in your beds. All will be for naught in the face of Ysverai's might! Let history witness the day the glory of war is reignited — the day that Wyver remembers its fangs once more! Come, Ysverai, last and greatest of the High Dragons! Come, and restore Wyver to its rightful place! Come, fulfill the promise as our protector that you could not in life! Raysc lifts a gleaming device as he issues his command. Red lights blink and blood, the same oozing liquid that drips from Ysverai's many wounds, runs in clear tubes through the device. Ysverai rears back as Raysc makes adjustments to a control panel — and then lunges forward, mouth agape. With a single swallow, Raysc meets his end. Raysc's attempt to control the dragon has only enraged him further, spurring Ysverai on to new heights of fury. It's become more vital than ever to face the dragon and take him down here and now. A few effective strategies are learned from research efforts and observed while defending Olympia and Wyver: goading the dragon into breathing fire will hurt him, burning him from the inside out, and attacks to his joints, eyes, wings, and exposed bone are effective. Ice is a natural repellent to dragons and can be used defensively or to weaken the dragon's hide. Healing spells will also react unnaturally to Ysverai's flesh, hastening his decay. However, while concentrated efforts will lock him down, Ysverai cannot be permanently killed in this state — his flesh constantly rots and spawns anew. Attacking him here is to protect civilians, keeping him busy to avoid mass destruction elsewhere. Therefore, the battle is one of attrition, a matter of a race against time. You must destroy his flesh faster than it is able to regenerate to have any hope of victory. Finally, when Ysverai is weakening, little more than bones with a few last vestiges of rotten meat hanging from a skeleton, the pathetic remnants of the last High Dragon takes to the skies. His wings are barely intact enough to carry him, yet desperation lifts him, higher and higher, until he lets out one great, earth-shaking roar. A roar that carries across the battlefield, sending all who hear it to their knees. A roar that shatters the swords in soldiers' hands, that rends apart the very air itself — Ysverai's last act, a great curse upon El Nysa, to bring down the sky. AND THE WORLD STOOD STILL     The terror of Ysverai's destruction hangs overhead — a tear in the sky, darkness pouring through, tendrils reaching down towards El Nysa to swallow up the planet in the dragon's final act of revenge. And yet nothing moves. A halo of brilliant light surrounds the rift in the sky, holding the grasping, hungry tendrils in check. And on the planet, not a creature moves. Not a blade of grass stirs. You're not able to even draw a breath. No matter where you are, not even the heart in your chest is beating. Everything has stopped — time has come to a standstill. In a wash of light, an aurora of transport, you find yourself delivered to Thesa Station. Darma stands before you, her expression solemn, perhaps even grim, though that may just be a trick of the station's harsh lighting. She explains what has happened in short order: planetside, time has been completely frozen. We have seen the birth and end of worlds. The rise and fall of civilizations infinite times over. We have seen all threads of possibilities that could have lead to this very moment... Or should have. Perhaps you might doubt our sincerity when we say this comes as a surprise to us, as well... Special technology has been used to blind us. To this day, we only know of one region capable of creating and utilizing such technology... you will find this technology in a city known as Nadril. We understand that you have created a life down in Wyver and Olympia, but now we must ask that you put that life on pause. We ask you to travel to Nadril and find the original Refugee, and with him, answers. As you will discover, he does not wish to speak to us. It is no matter. By now it is too late to keep the Nysan public unaware of our existence. We commend the efforts of those who wish to protect their comrades on the battlefield below, but a creature like poor Ysverai, twisted and warped, given unnatural life with terrible magic and technology, does not simply go down with manpower. Please, leave Ysverai to us. Time on the planet will remain stopped while we determine how to deal with the dragon. For now, rest and recover your strength. We have returned, and soon, there will be new refugees awakening. Perhaps you might like to prepare yourselves to greet them? I'm sorry that I can't answer more questions, but for now, all our attention must turn to finding a way to stop what Ysverai has wrought. A bank of monitors behind Darma displays the battlefield below: Ysverai's frozen, looming figure and the breach in the sky, and the Natha's halo, holding the destruction back. Though time passes normally on Thesa Station, El Nysa remains frozen, and all Refugees are unable to return to the planet until Ysverai's menace is dealt with. Luckily, with the Natha's return, full functionality has also returned to the station. The lights and environmentals are back to full power, access to all areas has been restored, the cafeteria is serving its normal offerings, and there's no evidence of any glitching or malfunctions. Doubtless, the period of rest is much needed after the hard-fought battle. For now, with time on El Nysa at a standstill, there's little else to be done but enjoy the reprieve aboard Thesa Station. FINAL OOC NOTE     Characters that reach an AC length action thread in this event will receive 2 rep for all factions, including Natha. Note that while these are split up for ease of processing, players may submit for all three. OLYMPIA | WYVER | NATHA Players can expect this event to run three days ICly before everyone is teleported to Thesa Station! From thereon, all characters will be grounded at the Station until the Test Drive Meme later this month. QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs ● bestiary taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp ● quest bulletin calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

3. i do what i want

[stripebacked]

[ He will admit he's seen the man very little since his return. Claire's taken to tending him and Jamie's been guarding the home (when Sansa is indeed there) hoping that Ramsay would try anything so he could have an excuse to simply end him. To remind him he's not untouchable. Especially here. There wasn't any time recently to come face to face with the man and talk. But now it seems they've been given time. Literally almost. But Jamie is just as worried about Theon and Sansa as Claire is. Especially when he knows that Ramsay won't simply stay silent or keep his distance.

It takes a moment to recognize the man as the one with the crossbow who once stood up for him. But he's well aware of what prolonged torture and manipulation can do to a man. Though Jamie's damage these days is more psychological than physical. Whatever physical damage remains is easily hidden from the public view. Something he prefers. ]

Yer looking well, lad.

[ At least he's alive. He's upright. That's one thing he hasn't taken from him. It's the one thing that Randall didn't take from him either. He could take his soul, but Claire showed him to cling to his life. Even when he didn't want to. ]

[reek]

[ Theon raises his eyes, tilting his head questioningly.

Are you blind?, he half considers asking. He’s seen himself in the mirror, with his bone white hair and the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He’s seen the shards of broken teeth that fill his mouth, and he doesn’t smile properly anymore because of them. Even after a month of whatever Claire’s been feeding him (he honestly doesn’t dare to ask), he’s still too thin to fill his clothing.

It’s true, he’s better, but he still doesn’t recognize himself as Theon. Theon had been dark haired and smiling. He only sees this frail creature as Reek, and he hates it. He hates how easy it is to slip back into that role. ]

I look like shit.

[ Blunt, but it does mean that he’s firmly aware of who he is right now. ]

[stripebacked]

[ He's only trying to do as his wife told him and not rile the man. He thought if he employed brutal honesty he might not leave him feeling the best. He knows what it's like to feel like you've lost it all after captivity. To feel your pride stripped away. He doesn't want to remind the man of that. Though he knows from experience it's rarely something you are able to forget or push to the back of your mind for very long.

Jamie gives him a sheepish smile somewhat and nods his head. He crosses his arms over his chest. His fingers are stiff in one hand, but that's simply how they healed after Randall and his hammer. They ache a bit at the change of surroundings, but he figures that's likely the air here. Different than what he grew used to back on the planet. ]

Aye. Ye do, but Claire told me t' be nice.

[ He gives him a shrug. ]

I dinnae look quite as bad as yerself after my time being a prisoner, but internal damage rarely shows now does it?

[reek]

[ When you’ve been beaten, flayed, and burdened with your own guilt daily, cruel words can only scratch at your skin. Brutal honesty was a good day in the Dreadfort. Brutal honesty meant there were no tricks at play, and no games with impossible rules to try to decipher. ]

You don’t have to be nice. I’ve seen myself. She's seen me as well.

[ He looks slightly annoyed, but he appreciates the honesty. ]

It doesn’t.

[ No, internal damage doesn’t show. Neither does mental damage. No one really knows what’s going on in Theon’s head, or how he struggles between the identity he knows and the identity that was built for him by Ramsay. If he tried to explain it, he isn’t sure he could force it to make sense. He doesn’t ask, nor does he share. He simply gives Jamie a short, questioning look, before turning his gaze back to his own maimed hands. ]

House Bolton has a long history of flaying their enemies. It’s just how things are done.

[stripebacked]

Aye. True enough. Suppose it's rather disingenuous given what ye've been through.

[ It took Claire being completely honest with him. He had been on the ledge at one point. Ready to pitch himself over if it meant leaving the shame and the anguish behind. His body could heal, but his mind was the troubling thing. Unsure how to cope during his time so it tried it's very best to muddle through. All it really did was help Randall in confusing Jamie's responses. Making it more difficult when he did return to his wife. He still cannot handle lavender. It ruined him as did Randall.

That's a struggle Jamie knows all too well. The man that was Jamie Fraser and the man that lowed himself to the ground and let Randall use him freely to free his wife. He became another man's play thing and though he's managed to cut through quite a bit of the extra baggage it's still difficult. It's the nights when his brain just doesn't want to lose the image of Randall looming over him. ]

I have a feeling Black Jack Randall would fit right in with those lads.

[ For a moment his mind drifts, but Jamie has to pull himself out of the moment. Keeping himself from spiraling. ]

He was keen on lashes until yer skin turned to ribbons.

[ He owes it to the lad to talk plainly with him. There's no covering it up in clever language or anything. They're victims of trauma. If he can perhaps relate to someone else struggling he'll try. He'll unpack what needs to be unpacked. ]

Then that's how they got ye is it? Flaying? [ He nods at him. ] I left most of the skin on me back on the ground of a whipping post.

[reek]

[ Theon raises his eyes once more, his mouth set in a firm line. Most days, he’s wanted little more than to be left alone: just himself and his ghosts, but he can see that he and Jamie have been through similar experiences. He never had to speak of it with Jeyne Poole, or with Sansa, because it was all simply understood. Maybe speaking of it with someone who wasn’t there but has been through similar trauma will help.

Beneath the fine clothes that still don’t fit him properly, there’s hardly an inch of skin left that’s been left unscarred. He’s been beaten, whipped, and racked. He’s had hounds set on him and he’s been starved to the point of death, but the flaying knife is what he will always associate most with Ramsay Bolton. ]

Flaying was his favorite way of going about it. It’s slow. You don’t die. Not unless he wanted you to.

[ And Ramsay clearly didn’t want Theon dead. The fun would be over, and someone Ramsay worked so hard to break down into a shell of his old self would be gone. ]

He only took skin unless you begged. That’s all.

[ He’s repeated those words a lot, and it shows that his mind still isn’t completely in his own control. Whatever Ramsay did to it, it goes deep. Begging is what lost him his fingers, after all. Ramsay only flayed the skin from them until the pain got to be too much. ]

[stripebacked]

[ He didn't want to talk to Claire about what happened. If he could have he never would have told her a thing. He would have kept it all locked away. It would have killed him though. He does not doubt his own insistence to take his life after what Randall had done. If only to escape the shame. What does calm his soul is knowing that twenty years from now he will still be alive. He will be a different man. Perhaps one that has let go of what Randall did to him.

Jamie doesn't say anymore while Theon is quiet. He's not going to bulldoze the man. Instead he's patient and observant as Theon finds the words to explain what was done. Once he gives it a voice he nods slowly. He's careful not to change the way he looks at the lad for even a second. He knows better than most than a pitying gaze or even one that appears to be so can make it worse. He doesn't want to put Theon through that. ]

Aye. Did he consider it an art form?

[ That's how Black Jack saw torture. Jamie was his finest masterpiece once upon a time. Likely still is because of what was done to him during his lashings. Then piling on the fact that for some time he broke the man. A hundred lashes on top of fresh lashes from before and he never cried out. What happened in that cell was another story entirely. ]

I imagine a man like him had ye begging quite a bit.

[ He's not going to sugarcoat it. From what he's gathered Ramsay did his very best to break this young man. He wanted to ruin him. It was part of the game he played. Theon's strong and he likely held out for as long as he could, but every strong man breaks.

With a sigh he drops his hand to un-tuck shirt from his kilt. He raises the shirt up to show a scar along the left side of him just below his peck. It's a circular one, but not perfectly shaped. ]

Randall took a brand and marked me while I was his captive. He had broken me.

[reek]

[ Theon isn’t calmed by the knowledge that he survived all of Ramsay’s torture. The near-constant pain is a hindrance, it’s true, but it’s the least of his worries. He could overcome it and he still wouldn’t be comforted. For as long as he lives, he’ll still fear that he’ll forget his name once more.

Just let me die as Theon, before he can rip that away from me again. ]

He—he isn’t his lord father’s trueborn son.

[ His words are chosen very carefully, nervously stepping around the word bastard in particular. Ramsay hates being called a bastard. He’ll hurt you if you call him that. ]

He was legitimized by the king, but might be that he likes flaying because it ties him to his family history.

[ The suggestion almost makes him ill, because it halfway reminds him of himself. Theon remembers a young man who tried desperately to tie himself to a family leagues away, decking himself in golden krakens, telling tales of a god he could hardly remember, spinning stories of increasingly foggy memories of the sea and longships.

He is wholly unaffected by Jamie’s scar, but when he explains what it is, it hits a little closer to home. Theon hasn’t been physically branded, but the entire Reek persona…that may as well be the same thing. Trying to keep things even, he removes his gloves—Robb’s gloves, and holds up his hands. His ring a pointer finger have been cut down to nothing, and his pinky on the other hand. ]

A bare finger hurts enough to drive a man mad. Begging is better than that sort of pain. He always made japes about balancing me out.

[ He frowns, thinking for a moment before he speaks again. ]

I wasn’t Theon then.

random icon time

[stripebacked]

Ah. A bastard then. I've met a great many of them.

[ He's not careful about calling him a bastard. He is one. Through and through. Not simply for obvious reasons. He does know how painful the name could be for some, but he's not going to extend Ramsay that courtesy. Technically Jamie has one of his own, but he'd never call Willie that. He hasn't lived through it yet, but he saw the future memory. Claire filled in the blanks. For as much as it hurts knowing his son is out there wearing another man's name he knows it's for the best.

It makes sense. For as twisted and demented as it sounds that does make sense. Feeling close to your family because of something tied to them. It also shows a great many things about Ramsay for him to latch onto something like that in an attempt to feel close to them. He supposes it's what one does though. When he was Laird for a short stretch he did go a bit mad trying to be like his father.

As far as scars go for Jamie it's mundane and tame, but he knows what it once was. He knows the skin once held a vile man's initials. He doesn't say anything when Theon removes his gloves. He simply leans forward a touch, to look at them. He leans back once he's properly seen them. ]

Aye. Sometimes showing our stomachs is all that we can do.

[ He cocks a brow though. ]

Ye''ll always be Theon, lad. Even if ye didnae quite remember or he beat ye into believing otherwise. [ He shakes his head. ] I'll admit that when I was in Randalls clutches--I grew t' believe myself his. Fooled me into believing there was something wrong with me for cherishing the pleasure throughout the pain. Men like Ramsay and Randall fool ye, but none of it's ever true. I wasnae weak because I let him do what he wanted with me and ye will always be Theon no matter what some monster does or says.

[reek]

[ In an instant, Theon’s face goes white with fear. Being a bastard isn’t so bad for some; Jon has risen quite high in the world despite his standing as a bastard, but Ramsay is different. ]

You must never call him that.

[ Bolton, never Snow, his thoughts invade in an almost automatic reminder. He hardly needs it any longer. He knows what comes of those who call Ramsay what he is, but fear and anxiety still fuel so much of his very existence. ]

If he hears you, he’ll hurt you.

[ Those mangled hands begin to twist anxiously into his hair, his eyes darting around as though he truly expects Ramsay to appear out of nowhere. Theon tries to listen, struggles to focus, but what Jamie says next simply fades in and out of the static. He thinks he catches most of it anyway. ]

I’m—not. You don’t understand.

[ He’s not Theon, not always. Sometimes, he’s somebody else, somebody he doesn’t even recognize. Some days he would rather die than become that other person, and other days he looks to that other person for comfort. ]

[stripebacked]

[ He's not afraid of that little bastard hurting him. He can understand how Theon would worry though. Being under the man's thumb for that long and having to endure whatever fits of outrage might come from him. He would certainly worry about things like that. Especially things that he suffered for in the past. But it's not the same here as it was in his realm. Whatever power and intelligence that Ramsay displayed and abused would not go the same way here. ]

Dinnae fret, Theon, whatever power he once had is nae the same here. I'm nae afraid of him. He's a boy with hate in his heart and too much time to fill. They always fall in the end.

[ Whatever power that Ramsay Bolton once had in his realm isn't the same here. He trusts in his wife a lot more than him. If he ever did make a move he doubts that Claire wouldn't be the first one to see it or anticipate it. Especially with as close of an eye as she's keeping on him. He doubts very much that Ramsay will get away with anything while they're here. ]

Then, explain it to me, Theon. Tell me why ye think ye're not Theon.

[reek]

[ Theon has seen Ramsay hurt enough people to know better. This Ramsay, from some mirror Westeros that Theon has never even set foot in, is different in a handful of ways, but he doesn’t suspect that he’s any gentler or more forgiving.

He does fret. If he had enough teeth left, he would be clenching them, but he curls his hands into tight fists instead. Why won’t anyone listen to him when he says Ramsay is dangerous? Why is it always shrugged off? ]

I am Theon, but I’m—I’m not.

[ He looks frustrated. It’s difficult to understand, difficult to explain, but he can try. ]

He changed me. Turned me into someone else. He made me forget my name and made me learn a new one. Most of the time, I would rather die than be that person again, but sometimes—sometimes I want to be him, rather than Theon.

[ It makes him feel sick to admit to, but Theon is a stained name, drenched in blood and laden with sins than he just can’t shake. Sometimes it helps to be free of it, just for a time. ]

[stripebacked]

[ Being afraid of a man will do you no good in the long run. It won't help you when you're facing him. Being aware of what he's capable of and what damage he can inflict is far better. He's no fool. He knows Ramsay is tricky and will often wiggle free from situations. He's a planner and likely very paranoid if he had to wager a guess. He's a threat, but not one to fear. He's a threat to watch. He's a threat to study and that's how Jamie will always see it.

Jamie doesn't speak though. He simply listens to what Theon has to say. He's doing his best to process and understand his train of thought concerning the torture he experienced at Ramsay's hands. Jamie himself struggled to come back mentally. Sometimes he still sees Randall in Claire's place, but that's died down quite a bit. This sort of mental torture and scarring will fade given enough time. You simply have to make it through.

It's a conflicting emotion coming from Theon. He wants to put the man that Ramsay made him become behind him, but at the same time he's afraid of being Theon. Shame? Fear? Guilt? Sadness? It could be any one of those. ] Why would ye rather be him than Theon at times? I'll nae look at ye any different. Ye have my word.