(no subject)
Furious green eyes still burned into his as Isandare woke, gasping. Somehow he managed to roll over to the side of the bed and hastily swipe the chamberpot out before dry heaving into it. Shuddering, he hung over the edge, clenching his teeth shut against the aftershocks until they subsided.
Isandare flopped over in the wrecked bed and took a deep breath, dropping an arm over his eyes. Those green eyes flashed again in memory and he hastily removed his arm in favor of staring up at the worn beams of the ceiling, dimly visible in the darkness. Mother, he tried in the quietest of mental voices, so unlike the desperate shout it had been in reality in the moments before the meaty shock ran up his arms as heavy unfamiliar breath washed against his face. The sound of her name covered none of it, from that first, shocked gasp to the final pained struggle.
He shuddered again as he tore himself away from what came next, before memory could spool itself out any further.
Setting his teeth as he scrubbed his hands over his face, Isandare wearily shoved the memory back down to the bottom of his mind. He crawled out of bed, ignoring the sweat already chilling his bare arms and chest, desperate for some distraction -- any sort of distraction. The tome caught his eye from where it rested on his makeshift workbench, and he scooped it up gratefully, already patting around for his pen as he sank into the chair.
--
I agree, it'd make the ground a lot less sloppy when the Forsaken are through with you. :)
With dreadful precision, Isandare folded the tome's cover shut. Only then did the growl building in his chest escape to roll around the small room like thunder.
(( OOC: Sorry to those folks who saw the first version of this! I decided I wasn't happy enough with it and pulled it down to edit it. ))
Isandare flopped over in the wrecked bed and took a deep breath, dropping an arm over his eyes. Those green eyes flashed again in memory and he hastily removed his arm in favor of staring up at the worn beams of the ceiling, dimly visible in the darkness. Mother, he tried in the quietest of mental voices, so unlike the desperate shout it had been in reality in the moments before the meaty shock ran up his arms as heavy unfamiliar breath washed against his face. The sound of her name covered none of it, from that first, shocked gasp to the final pained struggle.
He shuddered again as he tore himself away from what came next, before memory could spool itself out any further.
Setting his teeth as he scrubbed his hands over his face, Isandare wearily shoved the memory back down to the bottom of his mind. He crawled out of bed, ignoring the sweat already chilling his bare arms and chest, desperate for some distraction -- any sort of distraction. The tome caught his eye from where it rested on his makeshift workbench, and he scooped it up gratefully, already patting around for his pen as he sank into the chair.
--
I agree, it'd make the ground a lot less sloppy when the Forsaken are through with you. :)
With dreadful precision, Isandare folded the tome's cover shut. Only then did the growl building in his chest escape to roll around the small room like thunder.
(( OOC: Sorry to those folks who saw the first version of this! I decided I wasn't happy enough with it and pulled it down to edit it. ))