H-Huh?
Consciousness came back to him in soft pulses, each beat of his heart carrying a little piece of him from the well of darkness into which he had fallen. The cold was the first thing he felt, the gentle tapping of rain patting across his skin like tiny pinpricks to shock his senses alight. For a time, he was content to simply lay there in the grass and listen to the sweet music of rain falling against the leaves.
All at once, Ehoron’s eyes snapped open and he bolted upright before immediately he rolled to one side and violently emptied his stomach. Bile stung his throat and a throbbing pain sprung up abruptly just behind his eyes; all the while, he coughed and shuddered in wracking pain, wondering why it was that the gods hated him so.
He did not need to roll onto his back and continue on to his right to see what was hidden just behind the bush he had fallen in front of. Even through the rain, he could taste the sharp, coppery flavor in the air. No peal of thunder could obscure the dying moans, nor the sharp, blinding flashes of light hide the bodies long enough to forget it.
It came to him in a rush; the faces of the men who had taken up arms against the monsters, the screams as they tried desperately to defend their farmlands and families. A cry began to well up from his chest but choked halfway out of his throat as he rolled in the mud. He remembered taking up arms to help them, to give strength to their cause and see to it that their families lived to see another bright dawn. Victory seemed assured and they began giving up their cries of joy and thanks.
Then he felt it; that sick, oily taint that roiled in the pit of his stomach. He stumbled and convulsed as that foulness seeped over his every sense and feeling. In a far off distance, perhaps in another life even, he could hear their concern; how they worried for him, that their savior might have taken a grievous blow...
“W-Why….?” The question came out of his lips in a raspy croak, too dim to be a question for anyone apart from himself. “Why must others suffer… for my sins….” He struggled to open his eyes, and for a heart’s beat, those green orbs were left to search the pallid sky for an answer that did not come.
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WC: 417 / 3,000
Consciousness came back to him in soft pulses, each beat of his heart carrying a little piece of him from the well of darkness into which he had fallen. The cold was the first thing he felt, the gentle tapping of rain patting across his skin like tiny pinpricks to shock his senses alight. For a time, he was content to simply lay there in the grass and listen to the sweet music of rain falling against the leaves.
All at once, Ehoron’s eyes snapped open and he bolted upright before immediately he rolled to one side and violently emptied his stomach. Bile stung his throat and a throbbing pain sprung up abruptly just behind his eyes; all the while, he coughed and shuddered in wracking pain, wondering why it was that the gods hated him so.
He did not need to roll onto his back and continue on to his right to see what was hidden just behind the bush he had fallen in front of. Even through the rain, he could taste the sharp, coppery flavor in the air. No peal of thunder could obscure the dying moans, nor the sharp, blinding flashes of light hide the bodies long enough to forget it.
It came to him in a rush; the faces of the men who had taken up arms against the monsters, the screams as they tried desperately to defend their farmlands and families. A cry began to well up from his chest but choked halfway out of his throat as he rolled in the mud. He remembered taking up arms to help them, to give strength to their cause and see to it that their families lived to see another bright dawn. Victory seemed assured and they began giving up their cries of joy and thanks.
Then he felt it; that sick, oily taint that roiled in the pit of his stomach. He stumbled and convulsed as that foulness seeped over his every sense and feeling. In a far off distance, perhaps in another life even, he could hear their concern; how they worried for him, that their savior might have taken a grievous blow...
“W-Why….?” The question came out of his lips in a raspy croak, too dim to be a question for anyone apart from himself. “Why must others suffer… for my sins….” He struggled to open his eyes, and for a heart’s beat, those green orbs were left to search the pallid sky for an answer that did not come.
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WC: 417 / 3,000