[ He spits that out past gritted teeth having fallen to his hands and knees. It's the worst he's ever felt. When the world was ending, in the aftermath of Hydaelyn's fatal stroke, Emet-Selch had thought then that nothing could compare to seeing his people reduced to less than a shadow of themselves. When he saw what they did to one another, he resolved to fix it. Fix everything.
For twelve thousand years, he toiled for that purpose. The maze last year challenged him for what felt like another twelve thousand more. And you know what? He's still here. Not dead - not even after wishing for it so many times in so many lives and faces and bodies.
Emet-Selch begins to laugh. It's harsh and no doubt disturbing to the two civilians who want to help. He slowly, painfully, gets his feet beneath him and drags himself upright. The red mark of his station flashes across his face as his entire being rebels against the miasma.
With such pain wracking his body, using any sort of magic is beyond him. ]
Go find that...priest, or shaman...whatever he is. And warn him I'm coming.
[ Where were they stationed again? He sways and the world spins. It will keep spinning even without him now, he realises. The time of the ancients is over.
But not him. And if he cannot fly then he will walk. He'll pull himself ilm by godsdamned ilm through this life just to spite Hydaelyn and her followers and to tell her: he survived the worst her new world had to offer and he's still here. ]
no subject
[ He spits that out past gritted teeth having fallen to his hands and knees. It's the worst he's ever felt. When the world was ending, in the aftermath of Hydaelyn's fatal stroke, Emet-Selch had thought then that nothing could compare to seeing his people reduced to less than a shadow of themselves. When he saw what they did to one another, he resolved to fix it. Fix everything.
For twelve thousand years, he toiled for that purpose. The maze last year challenged him for what felt like another twelve thousand more. And you know what? He's still here. Not dead - not even after wishing for it so many times in so many lives and faces and bodies.
Emet-Selch begins to laugh. It's harsh and no doubt disturbing to the two civilians who want to help. He slowly, painfully, gets his feet beneath him and drags himself upright. The red mark of his station flashes across his face as his entire being rebels against the miasma.
With such pain wracking his body, using any sort of magic is beyond him. ]
Go find that...priest, or shaman...whatever he is. And warn him I'm coming.
[ Where were they stationed again? He sways and the world spins. It will keep spinning even without him now, he realises. The time of the ancients is over.
But not him. And if he cannot fly then he will walk. He'll pull himself ilm by godsdamned ilm through this life just to spite Hydaelyn and her followers and to tell her: he survived the worst her new world had to offer and he's still here. ]