Log:Dialydd the Elder

Grimm Family Matters 2020/07/24 Dialydd Grimm 9

Dialydd's in one of the few long term rooms in the Steinberg Medical Facility. His case apparently interests the doctors and healers here for several reasons: he's alien, it was a magical attack, and all their techniques have not, so far, reversed the damage. It's also both helpful and irritating to them that their patient is a physician, if unlicensed on Earth, as well.

The alien youth, well, not quite so youthful looking now, lies propped up on a bed reading something on his PDA when you arrive. Perhaps youth is the wrong term, but he still doesn't look elderly either. At least not as a human ages, but his skin now has that translucent, slightly loose look of an old human near the end of their life. And the broad streaks of white in his long hair try to age him as well. Still, he's a hot grandpa.

Grimm knocks on the door frame to check, not peeping in just yet. "Hey, Dialydd? It's Gabrielle. You awake?" she asks quietly.

"Yes, I am well awake, sera Grimm," he murmurs his deep basso, it now roughened as with a fine whiskey. He's looking at the door as you come in, his gaze somehow both sharp and distant at the same time as if he's looking past you in some way. Again, a look of the quite elderly.

Grimm steps in and looks inside. Surprise shows on her features initially, an she quickly tries to mask that. He's still good looking. Damn her thing for older men. "Um, ah. Hey," she says as she steps to his bedside. "How're you feeling....?"

Dialydd looks at you for a long moment then murmurs, "Do you desire a comforting answer or a truthful one, sera Grimm?

Grimm winces faintly. "Truthful."

"The truthful answer is that I ache all over, not greatly, but continuously. That the tests show that the biological nanites that sustain my body are dying off. And that Jon'no awaits to guide me to Eissa's Garden." He looks at his hands which have a faint tremula to them before he links them together on his lap. "I have seen all this before when I cared for Jerinthas, my grandfather, in his last days. We Jerin maintain our youthful appearance until near the end. Then age, cha, catches up with us as our little helpers pass on."

Grimm blinks and looks in surprise. A bit numb, at first. "W...wait. What? Does that mean you're...?" she asks in shock. " F***. No...no, no....this is my fault. I'm sorry. There's got to be something I can do!"

Dialydd reaches over and takes your hand if you allow it, engulfing in in his own strong but slender hand. "Sera Grimm, do you realize how, cha, insulting that is? To claim that you are responsible for my Fate?" he murmurs in a gentle but reproving tone. "I chose to accompany you of my own free will. I chose to take the risks in confronting the Qliphothic. I chose that long before I ever met you and I would chose it again."

He gently squeezes your hand. "I am dying, yes, but not quickly. Not today in any case. My people are vulnerable, thanks to the Destroyers, to ailments that afflict the body such as the spell that man cast. And there is always hope that the process will reverse it or, cha, short out. A battle rages deep inside of me but it is not over yet."

Grimm allows him to take her hand. She blushes as he dispels her guilt with his words. She never though to see it that way. "I'm...sorry. I didn't mean to insult what you did for me," she sighs softly. There's some comfort that there's still time at least. "Is there anything I can do for you...?" she asks, giving back a gently squeeze.

"Well, it would be wonderful if your Gifts lent themselves to healing and restoration, sera Grimm, but alas, no," he says with a gentle smile. "But there is one thing, yes. I, cha, wish to pass, if I do, not here but in the home I have made, in my shop with Nona and my friends."

Grimm sighs softly. "They don't. I can alter reality, but I can't heal you. Radical tried his spell in an attempt to restore order, but that seemed to have no affect, either." She gently pats his hand. "We can still try searching, though. And sure. I can help get you back to your home and Nona. Help you gather your friends."

"There are not many to gather I fear, sera Grimm. A byproduct of growing up in a royal court. Trusting someone enough to call them friend means letting them get close which is a, cha, danger...or so I was raised," he murmurs. "Arthur, yourself, cha, I shall think on it."

"But, first, we must beard the nurses and doctors in their lair...Or rather in this room and convince then to let me out."

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