The two quickly fell into a discussion about magick. He carried the skull toward the food stores and placed him on top of a barrel as he ate a scant breakfast. Now that he was awake, though, there was plenty to do. The lack of agency was, in its own way, strangely freeing. He was effectively trapped in the cellar for a week. Without the pressure of having to do something, to constantly be pushing himself, make decisions and take risks, Tyron had finally been able to sleep peacefully. I can't exactly track the movement of the sun from down here. The young Necromancer shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Well, at least you didn't have to sit around and wait while I was sleeping." I think I just had the equivalent of a ghost nap. You were kind of still and quiet in there…" Tyron looked at the skull in his hand curiously. It was with total surprise that he came back to himself as Tyron picked him up off the floor.Īwareness came flooding back to the spirit as the flames ignited once more. In that half aware, half dreaming state, time passed outside of his awareness. If he lived for too long like this, just how much of his humanity would be lost? How long until he was little different from the monsters he'd devoted his life to defeating?Įven as a spirit, the thought was frightening enough to cause his soul to shiver.įilled with such thoughts, he sank within himself, unaware that the light burning in his sockets dulled as he did so. Dove was no longer bound by the things that hemmed in everyone else, but the mage was canny enough to recognise what a trap it was. What sort of dreadful acts would a being be able to commit if this was how they felt? The sadness, pain and grief that they experienced, or caused, wouldn't touch them, but drift past, like dust in the breeze. This is dreadful," he muttered to himself. The guilt he felt at murdering the inhabitants of the farm was… there… somewhere, but so faint and immaterial that it may as well not have existed. The emotion he felt was a distant, hollow thing, with no physical outlet that would make it real. He couldn't cry, his heart didn't pound with the force of his anger, no adrenaline poured through his veins, no sweat beaded his brow. The normal functions and responses of a human body no longer applied. He existed purely as a spirit, bound to a physical object, his skull, and in some ways that explained his detached state. ![]() The lack of feeling caused him to reflect on the nature of his present incarnation. It would take something special to kill those fuckers. Another high pitched shriek rang out and a memory flashed into the mind of the former Summoner, of the burning sky beyond the rift, of the enormous, raging beasts who had cut down so many of his friends. What hadn't been destroyed in the blast was currently being devoured by the hordes of rift-kin that would be pouring into this realm every moment. He was dead! Rogil, Monica, Aryll, all gone. He'd thought he'd be more outraged, or sad, or anything. Blurred and cast in a strange purple light, it was difficult to make out much detail, if any.Įmotionally, he was… largely numb, which surprised him. The input he received through the flames that burned in the sockets of his skull was far from ideal. He had no sense of touch, or taste or smell. In a sense, he didn't feel anything at all. To say he felt strange was an understatement. Unable to sleep, or breathe, or scratch himself, or do anything, really, Dove tried to take stock of himself. ![]() He was so exhausted he didn't need to spell himself to sleep, drifting off just minutes after his head had hit the pillow he'd swiped from the house. The young mage lay down after kicking off his shoes and dragging off his cloak. "The best thing you can do is free me from this skull."Īs a disembodied spirit, there wasn't much Dove could do to argue, so he suppressed his anger. Alright? That's the best I can do right now." "Just let me sleep! I'll see what I can do when I wake up. "It's just… who the fuck casts magick they haven't even studied and aren't quite sure how it works? Worse than that, who does that and succeeds? Just thinking about it makes me furious." If I'm honest with you, I'm still only half sure how I managed to bind your spirit in the first place." "I don't know, Dove," he told the spirit honestly. He'd been awake for several days straight at this point, emotionally drained from the turmoil, destruction and death all around him, all Tyron wanted to do was rest. Tyron blinked owlishly at the skull which still sat on the floor. "Hey," he objected, "you're just going to sleep? What am I supposed to do?" After putting the cellar back to rights, cleaning up the mess and laying down his blankets and bedroll on the stone floor, he began to prepare for sleep. As the hours passed, the piercing cry of the monsters only grew louder over time and Tyron slowly came to the realisation that it wouldn't stop any time soon.
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