[His head aches something awful now, thanks for the concussion buddy]
You speak as though you intend to rip me from it all on your own... hahah.
If I had any power here, Ithaqua, this would have been over before it had started. But... sometimes we cannot fight our way out of the things we don't like.
All we can do is wait.
[Because that century drags on in the minds eye of both of them, and then another, before suddenly the bonds are loosened. Your body is slowly dragged towards the surface against your will - slowly, slowly, as though aware that the pressure difference is now agonizing to your frame. You start to see color. Blues and greys, instead of nothing but darkness. Your eyes ache. You feel disoriented. Overwhelmed.
When you finally break the water, the sun is blinding. The colors are far too much. The fresh air burns. But the spirits do not care, tossing you unceremoniously out of the surf on a beach you no longer recognize. You do not know what year it is, what day, or what time. But you feel an enormous weight suddenly fall over your entire soul - a warning, a curse, that fills you with such repulsion and eats to strongly at your magic that you cannot bear to even look in the direction of the waves. You cannot even cast a spell to help transport you away, left to stumble through the wilds until the feeling finally dies down as the rush of the ocean leaves your ears.
Never touch our lands again, sorcerer. This is our only warning.
The disconcert never lets up, and the curse settled into your soul never quite leaves you. But it is a lesson harshly learned. You do not mess with the balance of the natural world ever again.
And as the salty dampness of their clothing starts to fade back to the comforts against the icy wind, Solomon weakly attempts a healing spell against his forehead, if only to ease the ache. He wouldn't be able to keep his protections up at this rate.]
no subject
You speak as though you intend to rip me from it all on your own... hahah.
If I had any power here, Ithaqua, this would have been over before it had started. But... sometimes we cannot fight our way out of the things we don't like.
All we can do is wait.
[Because that century drags on in the minds eye of both of them, and then another, before suddenly the bonds are loosened. Your body is slowly dragged towards the surface against your will - slowly, slowly, as though aware that the pressure difference is now agonizing to your frame. You start to see color. Blues and greys, instead of nothing but darkness. Your eyes ache. You feel disoriented. Overwhelmed.
When you finally break the water, the sun is blinding. The colors are far too much. The fresh air burns. But the spirits do not care, tossing you unceremoniously out of the surf on a beach you no longer recognize. You do not know what year it is, what day, or what time. But you feel an enormous weight suddenly fall over your entire soul - a warning, a curse, that fills you with such repulsion and eats to strongly at your magic that you cannot bear to even look in the direction of the waves. You cannot even cast a spell to help transport you away, left to stumble through the wilds until the feeling finally dies down as the rush of the ocean leaves your ears.
Never touch our lands again, sorcerer. This is our only warning.
The disconcert never lets up, and the curse settled into your soul never quite leaves you. But it is a lesson harshly learned. You do not mess with the balance of the natural world ever again.
And as the salty dampness of their clothing starts to fade back to the comforts against the icy wind, Solomon weakly attempts a healing spell against his forehead, if only to ease the ache. He wouldn't be able to keep his protections up at this rate.]