DWGJay
princess
CitrusArms
Remram
Not a Sayan
Oso
Sanguine Rose
Race: Silver-Wolf Shifter
Class: Arcane Mystic
Location: Bar
Interactions: @Funnyguy Wendel (Miris)
Mentions: @oso Bastion, @princess Phia
Equipment:
Attire:
Gold Balance: 22
Injuries: Stabbed in left shoulder, minor stab on middle left side of body, minor cut on right shoulder, blood loss, possible internal hemarraging
As consciousness left him, the world around him went black; his body lay in empty darkness as the inky substance beneath spilled and rippled. A deathly coldness gradually seeped in as the wounds bled, the wolf's minor attempts at aid served in giving him whatever little time left him.
And he could do little else but lie there, useless, the bitter thought garnered a low, raspy chuckle, as if a feral beast attempting to laugh in mockery. A chilling sound that came from deep within his mind, buried within a cage of inky black chains, lurked a massive, shadowy figure, obscured in darkness. A pair of vicious eyes hummed softly with pure feral fury within the pitch blackness. Mismatched in colors, the left shone like freshly spilled crimson, glimmering wickedly as the right a pale ocean blue that thrummed with fading flickers, appearing as if the sea itself was becoming washed out. The stench of blood exhaled from its hidden maw in a vicious plume of shadowy huff, while vicious tar, thick red fluid, dripped down the gleaming fangs.
A curling scowl of displeasure; a rumbling guttural growl rasped from its bubbling maw as it appeared to spew words of rage and dissatisfaction, but most were lost to the wolf's muted senses, save for snippets able to blurble through.* WeakâŚpathetic whelp! Think..over? More..hunger still..mere..crumbs!* The voice burbled with rankled hate that grumbled with an unending appetite, the two meager prey had barely wet their teeth.
They muttered like an unpleasant whisper on a breeze, though no wind blew in this darkening void; air growing cold and foggy as the lone sound of a beating drum pumped like a ticking tock, gradually fading in tempo, weaker, though a stubbornness that kept it from ceasing.
As the beating fought on, his body lay there upon the inky blackness which rippled gently beneath his motionless form. Unable to do little else but feel pain coarsing through him numbly ceaselessly, the world around him cut off as the physical and inner damages momentarily left him deaf and cut off from his senses, save for touch, with every nerve fluctating with flaring intensities as a suffocating coldness filled him down to his bones, eventually choking his lungs making it difficult to breathe.
âYou did well. You protected them, and once this battle concludes, we will do the same for you.â
An inky bubbling near his ears; bubbles of various sizes grew until a few popped, and from them a voice spoke in fragmented words. Soft and comforting unlike the harsh bestial rasp, something about it sounded off, almost robotic but too difficult to discern much through muffled earsâŚwhat little he could hear offered little understanding, and yet strangely helped put his stressed heart in fretting pounding somewhat at ease making the effort to breathe more palpable once more.
Voices and movement whirled about him, then came an unexpected shuffling like fabric shifting, followed by sudden flaring pain that burned like magma coming from his recently made wounds, signaling that he was being touched.
For a moment, his breath hitched in alertness as panic nearly set in as he could feel foreign hands touching him, had it not been for the tightening pressure that brought a cooling relief to the aching wounds.
As Wendel peeled back the blood-heavy fabric of the haori, he would find his skin deathly, snow-pale slick with sweat. Undearneath the fabric, there would be a fluctuating bout of heat and cold; the magical temperamental effect worked in full force to maintain Menzaiâs weakening body temperature. And were he to look past the blood, hints of various scars marred the flesh, other battle wounds, or others?
âStay with me, Menzai. I know you want to be the one to explain this to Phia. Iâm sure the young lass would be much too worried about you for your liking.â
Again, a voice burbled through; snippets popping through, this one more gruff and somewhat familiar. Their words sounded motivating..pleading almost, though upon mentioning Phiaâs name did the wolf came to understand the person helping and not an enemy.
âI need more to really secure this, so Iâm going to sit you up. Please help me if y-â
His body, which had been partially tensely alert went slack just as the dwarf began attempting to lift him up into a seated position; the motion caused a grimaced grunt and a quick fluttering of the eyes.
In that instance, his eyes fluttered, catching glimpses of sunlight, a crackling ring..then multiple purple glints shining brilliantly as if flying towards them whenâŚ
Like a shooting star, it shot into his briefly opened left eye, where his head then slacked forward limply. For a few seconds his breathing appeared to have stopped, then abruptly his body jolted up with a heaving panting gasp, his mouth opened wide grasping to suck in as much oxygen as his freezing lungs could manage.
Menzai struggled to make sense of where he was and how much time had passed, surprised even to find himself conscious, his right eye buzzing around in vain attempt to scan the surrounding, but the blood loss left his vision too blurry to the point of blindness and the faint ringing of his ears still lingered. This left the wolf confused and forced to endure fresh spasms and waves of pain that jolted through him with every slight motion or touch, even breathing proved a taxing effort.
What he found most concerning was the strange warm tingling centered on his left eye, which had remained shut as if it were stuck with some light glue. Perhaps some bits of caked blood, he mused. Whatever it was, it was foreign, an intruder, and most of all, it felt magical, that he could sense.
Gingerly opening the eye expecting to feel some form of discomfort, bumps..anything but the eyelid slid open without any disturbance and yet he could feel something resting within the eye as if it had melted..no, melded into his eye?
(image credited to Oso!)
The jagged shard, unknown to the wolf rested at the center of the pupil, appearing as if floating adrift across the rippling deep blue ocean, glittering like a fragmented fallen star, the crimson glint seemingly trapped within the centerâs crystal, a faint crackling thrum that glinted shrink and soften in shade as if it was slowly being drained or eaten by the gem.
The strange tingling of his left eye had Menzai feeling a mixture of great unease and immense curiosity towards the foreign intrusion. He had many thoughts and questions, were that he was not in the midst of bleeding out exhausted, that he may have pursued inquiry into whether it was a beneficial or malicious entity.
With his dwindling health too important, the wolf forced himself to brush aside any thoughts that didnât aid towards his survival, which was all that mattered now. Closing the left eye as he thought this, the effort was too taxing.
With a begrudging sigh of acceptance, he chose to instead turn his attention to the figure behind him, attempting to give him aid. Through his blurry gaze, he was able to make out the stocky build that told of a dwarfâs size; recognition came with the realization that it was Wendel, and from the intense spasms and still wet puddling blood beneath, and from it surmised that he had only been passed out for a minute, two at the most.
A part of him cursed the strange object for having chosen this most apt moment to wake him during the peak of spasmic pain though the wolf through his disciplined training and slow meditative breathing made maintaining his composure simple enough, His deathly pale face slicked with sweat kept a calm and resolute expression that showed no hint of what he felt other than slight grimaces wrought from Wendelâs hands that hinted of inexperience as a healer.
He sat there, focusing on slowing his pulse through breathing as the severe blood loss was well felt, his head heavily woozy and lightheaded, and his stomach roiled sickly. Anything he could do to ensure his survival and keep himself calm was his best chance until one better equipped could get to him.
Thoughts of Phia helped him hold firm with conviction, enabling him to endure the increasingly exhausting lull to sleep. His right eye trembled with the effort, fighting to keep hold of reality, fearing this time he may not get back up.
A tired gulp followed by a tired wheezing gasp as his lips moved, straining to speak, his cracked lips moving, but his cotton parched throat made pushing out the words take immense effort.â DwarfâŚ*cough* -llantsâŚleft?...an-...civ- *cough* safe? HnghâŚneeâŚwuther.â Menzai coughed in panted frustration at his inability to get the words out.
Wanting to find out what was happening, were the attacks still going on? Were the people and Arya safe? These and more he sought answers to, but could do little else but scrabble to manage his breathing and wait.
A low, bitter growl rumbled in his dry, parched throat.
