Atzar
08-28-10, 12:10 AM
Solo.
Atzar woke up, and immediately wished he hadn’t.
His head pounded without mercy, every pulse bringing with it a new wave of pain. Crows called to each other somewhere nearby, each shrill caw exploding in his skull like black powder. His own plaintive groan rumbled like an earthquake in his ears. He tried to reach up to massage his temples, only to learn that his wrists were bound uncomfortably underneath him.
His eyes snapped open, but he only saw darkness. He felt the first twinges of fear bite at his stomach, well up in his throat. What is this? Have I gone blind? He thrashed at his binds, ignoring the lances of pain that stabbed through his brain as he did so.
The mage winced in agony as rusty hinges shrieked their protest. The sound of footsteps on stone ricocheted through his head as they made their way to him, growing louder than Atzar thought possible. Finally they stopped.
“How are you feeling?” The words carried none of the excessive cacophony around him; instead they sounded concerned, almost caring. Only then did the mage notice the burning in his throat, and he ran a parched tongue over dry, cracked lips.
“Water,” he croaked.
“Of course, hon.” That female voice came with that same kind, gentle tone. A soft hand slid beneath his neck to lift his head, and cool glass pressed to his lips. The liquid that poured down his throat was cool but cloyingly sweet, and he coughed.
“Easy, it’s okay.” The voice was low, soft, seductive even. “I’m here to help.” He drank deeply from the sweet fluid. It was so refreshing… so, so refreshing…
But he ignored the voice that nagged him from the back of his dazed mind. Something is wrong…
Atzar woke up, and immediately wished he hadn’t.
His head pounded without mercy, every pulse bringing with it a new wave of pain. Crows called to each other somewhere nearby, each shrill caw exploding in his skull like black powder. His own plaintive groan rumbled like an earthquake in his ears. He tried to reach up to massage his temples, only to learn that his wrists were bound uncomfortably underneath him.
His eyes snapped open, but he only saw darkness. He felt the first twinges of fear bite at his stomach, well up in his throat. What is this? Have I gone blind? He thrashed at his binds, ignoring the lances of pain that stabbed through his brain as he did so.
The mage winced in agony as rusty hinges shrieked their protest. The sound of footsteps on stone ricocheted through his head as they made their way to him, growing louder than Atzar thought possible. Finally they stopped.
“How are you feeling?” The words carried none of the excessive cacophony around him; instead they sounded concerned, almost caring. Only then did the mage notice the burning in his throat, and he ran a parched tongue over dry, cracked lips.
“Water,” he croaked.
“Of course, hon.” That female voice came with that same kind, gentle tone. A soft hand slid beneath his neck to lift his head, and cool glass pressed to his lips. The liquid that poured down his throat was cool but cloyingly sweet, and he coughed.
“Easy, it’s okay.” The voice was low, soft, seductive even. “I’m here to help.” He drank deeply from the sweet fluid. It was so refreshing… so, so refreshing…
But he ignored the voice that nagged him from the back of his dazed mind. Something is wrong…