All these weird creatures who lock up their spirits

[elashte]

Elashte is well over his concussion, and given that Thane hasn't reappeared around the Gauche and the charming man styling himself the Vesmier passed along advice in no uncertain terms that he leave solving the problem to persons more experienced in mental restructuring than himself (a reprimand Elashte had to fight not to take offence at - he's a

Comments

[wineandvenom]

Eric's body is, as usual, just sort of sitting around. Oh, he'll follow simple directions, be led around, that kind of thing, but there's a distinct sense of 'nobody home'. And Eric most definitely isn't at home, though where exactly he is could be debated. And it really all depends on one's perception.

One portrayal that might be accurate: a tiny, flickering spark of consciousness in the back of a mind gone otherwise dark.

Another, and one which reflects Eric's own perspective: darkness and cold, and a man walking over an endless expanse of concrete. Sometimes he sits. Sometimes he runs. Either way, the ground holds no footprints, and every direction seems to go on forever.

At first it was peaceful. Then it was terrifying. Now, it just is. He's wondered more than once if he's dead, if this is a special hell created just for him. On an emotional level, other people are noisy, pushy, and occasionally overwhelming, but over time, one gets used to it. Over more time, one comes to need it. Hell isn't other people for a Glaysa, Eric

[elashte]

Elashte settles down near Eric - near Eric's body, in any case - and reaches in with his mind, brushing over the patterns, examining the damage. Dissociation, he's used to. He knows how to read stress damages and defense mechanisms and... this is something different, something as much akin to a Glaysa-Labolas effect as a Poludnica one.

Which makes sense, of course. That's what put Eric there in the first place.

He sighs, digging his fingertips into his temples and closing his eyes. Eric is neither dead nor braindead. He knows this much. So long as that's true, there's hope for bringign him back - at least, that much, he tells himself.

Where are you? he thinks, though he's not a projective telepath, as he examines the threads frayed or snapped, the paths which should lead to conscious controls which don't, any more. Oh, the conscious controls are mostly fine, if disused. But playing with them isn't going to get him anywhere. He'll have to forge deeper.

[wineandvenom]

Eric's vaguely aware of something different; something familiar, just at the edge of his perception, like a speck on a distant horizon.

Mirage, or...?

In his perspective, he starts running, waving, screaming to anything that can listen that he's over here. To an outsider, though... There might be a flicker of mental activity, buried deep. Just the smallest of changes, really, but if someone's looking for it...

[elashte]

There! The smallest indication. He hones in on it, carefully guiding a few of the broken paths of cognition back toward that flicker. Oh, it might be nothing, in which case this is futile at best. But it might be something, and sometimes the only way to progress is by trying all the options.

El isn't the sort to advance in any way other than slowly and cautiously, but he's advancing, keeping tabs on anything there to sense, rebuilding those lost connections carefully, methodically. He's going to have one hell of a headache when all of this is over, but Eric is his friend. And Elashte is not a man who considers many people his friends.