The hours in the camp pass without notice. He'd rested and had since passed the time by idly focusing on the flames of the campfire, lost in thought.
His senses began to return in bits and pieces, muddled as they are. The smothered souls of those around him were a dim glow - dimmer than usual - and he's yet to see the vibrant swirling energy of aether from the world around them. Almost if the very world itself is made of something different.
It's within that intent focus that he hears his name called.
He turns and his eyes grow wide in sheer surprise. The familiar warmth and brightness of this soul is impossible to mistake for another. This is someone he's not seen in an age. Someone he thought he'd lost so long ago. He can feel the faint fervor of contentment threaten to surface within, and there is a flicker of elation that shows in his eyes. It's something he hasn't felt in so long it scarcely seems achievable these days.
The expression is forcibly expunged as he coaches his face back to dissatisfaction.
Emet-Selch stands up and motions accusingly. "What manner of chicanery is this?" He spits out bitterly instead of any manner of pleasant greeting. "Souls are unmistakable in every way, yet it is impossible to think how you could be more than an illusion..." Such wishes are for those naive wide-eyed heroes.
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His senses began to return in bits and pieces, muddled as they are. The smothered souls of those around him were a dim glow - dimmer than usual - and he's yet to see the vibrant swirling energy of aether from the world around them. Almost if the very world itself is made of something different.
It's within that intent focus that he hears his name called.
He turns and his eyes grow wide in sheer surprise. The familiar warmth and brightness of this soul is impossible to mistake for another. This is someone he's not seen in an age. Someone he thought he'd lost so long ago. He can feel the faint fervor of contentment threaten to surface within, and there is a flicker of elation that shows in his eyes. It's something he hasn't felt in so long it scarcely seems achievable these days.
The expression is forcibly expunged as he coaches his face back to dissatisfaction.
Emet-Selch stands up and motions accusingly. "What manner of chicanery is this?" He spits out bitterly instead of any manner of pleasant greeting. "Souls are unmistakable in every way, yet it is impossible to think how you could be more than an illusion..." Such wishes are for those naive wide-eyed heroes.