ᴋᴏʟᴛɪʀᴀ ·sᴜɴsʜɪɴᴇ· ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜᴡᴇᴀᴠᴇʀ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
respired) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-04-03 09:48 pm
respired) wrote in driftfleet2015-04-03 09:48 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Koltira; Lioriley
Broadcast: N/A
Action: The Paisley
When: RIGHT NOW ...?
[Fortunately, Koltira's torturous visions didn't last long. But their afterimages linger, and even though he can't perceive the shades anymore, he's still imagining them. Lurking in the corners of the ship; lunging for him; claws outstretched and jaws open wide. The aggressive shadows were once a constant in his life, dogging him wherever he went after he broke free of the Lich King's control. Someone had helped him, yes, had temporarily cleared them away--but they always returned.
He wonders if it's possible for the shades to cross over with him, to somehow follow him through time and space. The thought agitates him, paralyzes him.
He sits in the kitchen, gripping the edges of the table. The tension in his muscles suggests that he's ready for a fight, but there's no one there. Just him, staring straight ahead, biting his lip until it bleeds.
The relative isolation doesn't help. He's been here a few weeks now, and that's a few weeks longer than he's ever gone without a battle. It's taking a toll.]
Broadcast: N/A
Action: The Paisley
When: RIGHT NOW ...?
[Fortunately, Koltira's torturous visions didn't last long. But their afterimages linger, and even though he can't perceive the shades anymore, he's still imagining them. Lurking in the corners of the ship; lunging for him; claws outstretched and jaws open wide. The aggressive shadows were once a constant in his life, dogging him wherever he went after he broke free of the Lich King's control. Someone had helped him, yes, had temporarily cleared them away--but they always returned.
He wonders if it's possible for the shades to cross over with him, to somehow follow him through time and space. The thought agitates him, paralyzes him.
He sits in the kitchen, gripping the edges of the table. The tension in his muscles suggests that he's ready for a fight, but there's no one there. Just him, staring straight ahead, biting his lip until it bleeds.
The relative isolation doesn't help. He's been here a few weeks now, and that's a few weeks longer than he's ever gone without a battle. It's taking a toll.]
no subject
I'm fine. But I ... appreciate your concern.