Anduin Wrynn is reduced to kneeling on the stone floor, shivering like a fever has taken him.
His skin is cold, his bad knee is in pain where he stumbled to the ground as he emerged from the crystal and his head is spinning. Light, where was this place? And where are his clothes for that matter? Shakily, he pushes to his feet and braces one hand against what is left of the strange structure that he broke out of.
Is he... dead? He did not think he should be, did not think it was his time, yet all the same -- all the same he had the strangest dream.
The strangest dream, if it was a dream.
The strangest dream, which he has awoken in an unfamiliar place from.
Anduin swallows, trying to breathe through the whirling in his head and the pain in his knee. He pushes back lank strands of blond hair and closes his eyes, tries to draw on the Light enough to ease the pain in his knee, to drive back his headache and nausea.
The Light does not answer. There is no ring of it gathering around his feet, no ethereal wind to buffet his hair, no gentle warm presence reaching down to ease his wounds.
The drain on his limited energy attempting to cast hits a wall. Anduin wobbles, flails out a hand and feels himself sliding back down to the ground again regardless with much less grace than he'd like.
TO THE PLEROMA
Damp, and bundled into rough-spun clothing, Anduin wonders if even Mathias Shaw would recognise him. None of the fine clothing of Stormwind here, none of his heavy armour. Instead, Anduin thinks he looks like he belongs on a farm in Westfall.
Aside from, perhaps, his pale skin and bright blond hair.
He thinks of his mother's locket, his father's compass, and his heart clenches a little. How had he arrived with none of it? Had it been taken from him? It had felt, in his dream, like everything was... collapsing. Had that been real?
His strength is, at least, slowly beginning to return. Anduin hasn't felt this physically weak in some time. Not since, he thinks, Pandaria. Not since Garrosh Hellscream tried to kill him, not since he had nearly every bone in his body broken. It is not a sensation he ever hoped to feel again, yet life has a way of always being... unexpected.
Lifting pale blue eyes up, he stares at the watery ceiling from where he is sat -- strands of wet, blond hair drying loosely about his shoulders. The thin blanket is going some way to warm him back up, but still shivers every so often.
"This shield must be strong. I have read of things like this, but never seen one up close."
He shivers again, frowning at some fish as they flit past and tightening the thin blanket around himself.
"What powers it, I wonder?"
The carved stone, perhaps?
[ Can switch to action tags if anyone prefers, also willing to talk out a wildcard option if anyone likes! ]
Anduin Wrynn | Warcraft | Sovereign
Anduin Wrynn is reduced to kneeling on the stone floor, shivering like a fever has taken him.
His skin is cold, his bad knee is in pain where he stumbled to the ground as he emerged from the crystal and his head is spinning. Light, where was this place? And where are his clothes for that matter? Shakily, he pushes to his feet and braces one hand against what is left of the strange structure that he broke out of.
Is he... dead? He did not think he should be, did not think it was his time, yet all the same -- all the same he had the strangest dream.
The strangest dream, if it was a dream.
The strangest dream, which he has awoken in an unfamiliar place from.
Anduin swallows, trying to breathe through the whirling in his head and the pain in his knee. He pushes back lank strands of blond hair and closes his eyes, tries to draw on the Light enough to ease the pain in his knee, to drive back his headache and nausea.
The Light does not answer. There is no ring of it gathering around his feet, no ethereal wind to buffet his hair, no gentle warm presence reaching down to ease his wounds.
The drain on his limited energy attempting to cast hits a wall. Anduin wobbles, flails out a hand and feels himself sliding back down to the ground again regardless with much less grace than he'd like.
TO THE PLEROMA
Damp, and bundled into rough-spun clothing, Anduin wonders if even Mathias Shaw would recognise him. None of the fine clothing of Stormwind here, none of his heavy armour. Instead, Anduin thinks he looks like he belongs on a farm in Westfall.
Aside from, perhaps, his pale skin and bright blond hair.
He thinks of his mother's locket, his father's compass, and his heart clenches a little. How had he arrived with none of it? Had it been taken from him? It had felt, in his dream, like everything was... collapsing. Had that been real?
His strength is, at least, slowly beginning to return. Anduin hasn't felt this physically weak in some time. Not since, he thinks, Pandaria. Not since Garrosh Hellscream tried to kill him, not since he had nearly every bone in his body broken. It is not a sensation he ever hoped to feel again, yet life has a way of always being... unexpected.
Lifting pale blue eyes up, he stares at the watery ceiling from where he is sat -- strands of wet, blond hair drying loosely about his shoulders. The thin blanket is going some way to warm him back up, but still shivers every so often.
"This shield must be strong. I have read of things like this, but never seen one up close."
He shivers again, frowning at some fish as they flit past and tightening the thin blanket around himself.
"What powers it, I wonder?"
The carved stone, perhaps?
[ Can switch to action tags if anyone prefers, also willing to talk out a wildcard option if anyone likes! ]