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10-27-2015, 05:23 AM
Pain. It is the first thing that registers within the darkness. You try to pull from it, try to remove yourself from the burning substance that seems to just stick, your mass too heavy to budge anyways. There is screaming, though you do not know where it comes from, if it is you or someone else, real or something spawned within this abyss. You can feel something near, something substantial linger near you, a voice cutting through the screams that is all too loud, all too sharp. Quiet, you try to say but you know nothing fumbles from your lips, your body numb save for the agony that has consumed much of your left side as well as your head. The presence is followed by a second one, a silent one, and a third that as its voice reaches you it is familiar. ‘Enna,’ she says, and something inside you stirs, a flicker of light visible from behind the curtain of your eyelids. It stings, whatever she does next, the smell not altogether unpleasant though certainly strange, something that sticks out amongst the throng of sweat and blood and fear. Another stumbles about, thankfully wordlessly, before his movement becomes silenced as well. It sends a spark of panic through you, your body feeling nothing beneath it or above it in any direction, save for the aching. Besides their movement you had nothing tying you to the earth, and this feeling of weightlessness is enough to make you sick. It is almost too much to bear, the heat of tears filling the space between eyelid and eye uncomfortably as you try once more to move, to break from whatever this prison you have found yourself in is. ‘Enna!’ But this one, this is not only familiar; it pulls at you, quells your panic if only for a fraction of a second, brings the world into your grasp again. ‘Enna,’ Quiet this time, and yet it forces you awake, his name on your lips as you stir against the ground, his breath hot and oddly comforting against your cheek, his touch enough to make you forget everything else. ‘Will she be all right?’ “I’m—“ hurting, I’m hurting, it fucking burns. But it does not matter. “okay, I’m okay.” He matters. The seemingly distant images of him too close to jaws that would bring death sending your heart into a fit as it spirals down, down, down, to the floor of your stomach, and too heavy to hold, matters. You swing your head around, eyes blinking against the brightness as you struggle to find him despite knowing exactly where he stands, too entirely far although he is physically close, too far when you only want to feel him, touch him, breathe him. And so you fight against the weight of your limbs, your mind swimming within your head, too disconnected from your body for your movements to be anything short of pitiful as you try once, twice, thrice, before finally lurching from the ground on shaky legs, stumbling just far enough to find your chest colliding as gently as possible with his side, his scabs rough against your flesh, causing a grimace, but the wounds are healing, so your lips trace nimbly over every possible inch to make sure that he is whole instead of fretting over something old in this moment. It is only as they move up his neck, pass under the thick curls of hair, to the defined line of his jaw that you freeze, the acrid stench of blood fresh and wet as it permeates your skin, sends your nostrils flaring, your eyes shooting open once more in to the blinding light and the darkness of the shadows in the trees, the contrast too much and not enough all at once. “Rohan,” what is enough is the dark stain trickling down against his sand-carved face, angry and red and too out of place to ever be anything but alarming. “Please, don’t stay here.” A mumble against his cheek, your eyes desperately searching through heavy, elongated blinks for his gaze, for a reason to the stream of blood seemingly pouring from his ear. “Let me—” you inhale sharply, your body trembling from the pain that sears your shoulder, the exposed tissue and muscle caked grotesquely with tar burning like a thousand suns, eclipsed only by your concern, your need for him, for him to be as far away from here as possible. It is only then that you call upon your magic, only then that nothing is your answer. It does not spark to life, does not swell like a current through you. It does nothing, and the emptiness is more lonely than you ever could have imagined. You try again through your hazy mind, the act of concentration enough to exhaust your already exhausted body, your eyes widening with a new sense of terror as this sole realization clutches at your heart. “L-et-let me help you, please—please.” The words barely make it out, more of a croak than anything else as the lump in your throat grows, eyes leaking a wetness that is not quite tears as your desperation settles in, the disconnect from your magic, your ability to help, opening the floodgates to the panic you had so far managed to suppress. “We can’t stay here.” But you do not wait for an answer, dreading the possibility of questions. You turn your head as quickly as you can manage to acknowledge the dappled man, your lord and your prince, to Tia, even though their attentions are focused elsewhere, before you brush tenderly past your sandstone man, slowly making your way to the fringes of the fight with the full expectation for him to follow. |
team earth god/lets gtfo
SO IM REALLY SORRY SHE KIND OF IGNORED CICERON/DEIMOS/TIA/EREBOS, SHE WAS SUPER OUT OF IT AND JUST WANTED ROHAN. BUT I PROMISE I'LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU GUYS LATER <3
first chunk is basically her still knocked out/in a semi conscious state but nothing actually happens outside of her mind as far as her actions go
she then wakes up and stumbles to rohan and notices the blood from HFH, tries to heal him but is way too mentally/physically exhausted to, then plans to rescue him from the battle to tend to him elsewhere instead
please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death
