Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-12599067-20131223145721/@comment-12599067-20131227063121

Makoru was dimly aware that he was lying on something soft, but other than that had no idea where he was or what was going on. His stomach hurt, and his throat reminded him of his distant home of Hammerfell, which is to say dry and empty. He turned on his side, smacking into the wall of the cabin with a dull thunk. He didn't mind, though, because he literally could not feel his face. As a matter of fact, the only art of his body that wasn't completely numb was his mouth, and that felt like he had just swallowed a bucket of sand. He sighed and drifted off into sleep once more.

Meanwhile, Mak's soul had other plans. He walked aimlessly onwards, and this time an image floated through the mist. Iman, his one time lover, almost seemed to appear inches from his face, smiling with playful eyes. She dissolved into mist before he could even process what had just happened. He growled and walked on, realizing just what kind of prison this was. It was taking every mistake he had ever made, every good thing he had ever lost, and shoving it back in his face. He let out a defeated sigh and slumped his shoulders, vanishing into the mist yet again.

('Night, Kenyon.)