03-03-2011, 09:32 PM
It had been the right thing to do. To perish, to fall, for the cause of preserving those that matter - that was noble, was it not? So many words, so many memories. Images, flashes of time, of faces, of places, all of them rushed into the forefront of his mind, tripping and stumbling and falling over one another. Everything was as one. The world was united in that single, perfect moment.
Red.
He knew, as he looked into her eyes, that his suffering had brought her much happiness. Even as the ichor dripped out of the gaping wound in her neck, he knew that she had won, in the end, regardless of all his efforts.
Things moved quickly. He was dimly aware of time moving, in flashes, in bursts of speed. He was on the ground now, blood pooling underneath him. The sword that had plunged into his chest had been removed, leaving a gaping, crimson wound, angry and furious.
His mother's voice rang in his ears.
"Do not leave. Stay here, with me. I need you here...and you need to stay, for your own health."
"Aenarin, do not leave! Mother cannot survive without you!"
"Do not walk out that door! You cannot survive out there! You're too weak! They'll destroy you!"
In the end, she had been right. There were other voices. Cries of fury. Words. Disgust. Irritation. He saw legs move in, and legs move away, walking down the road. He heard the clash of blades, the cackle of mania. So desperately, he wanted to reach out, and scream for help. It dawned on him now that the life he had once depended on was fleeing from him, escaping his grasp. He wanted to call out to it, to scream, to tell it to come back to him.
He knew he was not ready for this, now, at the end of all things. But there was no turning back, not now, perhaps never. The world finally began to slip out from underneath him, and an impenetrable darkness took its place.
- - - - - - - - -
A smelly tavern deep in the south, of all places. No dignity there. A small, cramped, crowded room. Putrid, and smelly. Bickering.
Light, radiant, and cruel, bore down upon all things. Suffering. An ache, so deep, in the heart. And the silence. A presence. Words. A name? Echoes, in the dark, deep in the caverns of nothingness.
And then, sensation, and warmth, and the shadow dispelled. He cried out. Rose. The darkness could not be allowed to return. Never. He had not been afraid of death then. But now...that had changed. The experience was too much to bear repetition.
Never again.
- - - - - - - - -
Killer: Jeneva
Resurrector/s: Senel and Stagdas
Drawbacks
Short-Term
Slow thought processes.
Inability to wield magic.
Frequent bouts of irrational fear and/or depression.
Long-Term
Weak magical abilities.
Failing lucidity.
Personality lapses.
Permanent
Tiredness.
Highly paranoid.
An irrational fear of all Death Knights (save for Amabael).
An irrational fear of blood. Especially the congealed variety.
Diminished hunger.
Good manners damaged somewhat.
An extreme fear of dying.
Prone to wandering aimlessly. Restless.
Reliance on a walking stick to walk steadily.
Red.
He knew, as he looked into her eyes, that his suffering had brought her much happiness. Even as the ichor dripped out of the gaping wound in her neck, he knew that she had won, in the end, regardless of all his efforts.
Things moved quickly. He was dimly aware of time moving, in flashes, in bursts of speed. He was on the ground now, blood pooling underneath him. The sword that had plunged into his chest had been removed, leaving a gaping, crimson wound, angry and furious.
His mother's voice rang in his ears.
"Do not leave. Stay here, with me. I need you here...and you need to stay, for your own health."
"Aenarin, do not leave! Mother cannot survive without you!"
"Do not walk out that door! You cannot survive out there! You're too weak! They'll destroy you!"
In the end, she had been right. There were other voices. Cries of fury. Words. Disgust. Irritation. He saw legs move in, and legs move away, walking down the road. He heard the clash of blades, the cackle of mania. So desperately, he wanted to reach out, and scream for help. It dawned on him now that the life he had once depended on was fleeing from him, escaping his grasp. He wanted to call out to it, to scream, to tell it to come back to him.
He knew he was not ready for this, now, at the end of all things. But there was no turning back, not now, perhaps never. The world finally began to slip out from underneath him, and an impenetrable darkness took its place.
- - - - - - - - -
A smelly tavern deep in the south, of all places. No dignity there. A small, cramped, crowded room. Putrid, and smelly. Bickering.
Light, radiant, and cruel, bore down upon all things. Suffering. An ache, so deep, in the heart. And the silence. A presence. Words. A name? Echoes, in the dark, deep in the caverns of nothingness.
And then, sensation, and warmth, and the shadow dispelled. He cried out. Rose. The darkness could not be allowed to return. Never. He had not been afraid of death then. But now...that had changed. The experience was too much to bear repetition.
Never again.
- - - - - - - - -
Killer: Jeneva
Resurrector/s: Senel and Stagdas
Drawbacks
Short-Term
Slow thought processes.
Inability to wield magic.
Frequent bouts of irrational fear and/or depression.
Long-Term
Weak magical abilities.
Failing lucidity.
Personality lapses.
Permanent
Tiredness.
Highly paranoid.
An irrational fear of all Death Knights (save for Amabael).
An irrational fear of blood. Especially the congealed variety.
Diminished hunger.
Good manners damaged somewhat.
An extreme fear of dying.
Prone to wandering aimlessly. Restless.
Reliance on a walking stick to walk steadily.