The Living Pyre
VARIN MORTIFER
Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace
Healing came slowly. Slower than he was used to. It was…
Frustrating…
He had not kept track of how long it had been since The Box, but the toll it took on his body would have broken many, yet even though some of his bones were broken he was never shattered, never broken.
His bandaged hand gripped the cover over his legs and waist as he laid in an upright position in his recovery bed. Medical equipment beside him beeped and hummed, keeping track of vitals.
Boy…do you wish to talk?...
Ignati's voice pierced the quiet of his room, in his head. A huff escaped him.
“There is nothing to talk about, Ignati.”
He took a sharp breath then exhaled with a grunt.
“I was not strong enough, but I will be, next time we, I see him.”
The day had come to a stilled quiet as the crimson sun bled through his windows, the curtains casting a ghostly shadow across his floor. They had finally removed the bandages from his shoulders after his injuries had mostly healed and his arms were deemed strong enough to hold themselves up.
His grip tightened over the rail of the medical bed, a quiet strain in the metal as his grip warped and crushed the metal.
Memories of the weeks he had spent in The Box surfaced then digressed. The pain of needles piercing his spine and injecting substances to suppress his abilities and cause hallucinations, his body had started to reject medical attention at first once his abilities started returning, a way of catching up to purge the body of any foreign poisons.
It had almost cost him his life
You need rest, son.
Ignati spoke softly to him, almost like he cared. Varin knew better.
His hand slowly pulled him up from the bed as his legs weakly held him up beside his bed, his body leaning onto his hand that rested on the wall.
“I can't rest. I would only get weaker.”
Varin slowly walked, his hand holding him steady on the wall before his foot barely caught the bed and a loud clatter ensued.
Varin found himself on the floor. His arms shaking as he tried to push himself up. Stitches over his sides reopened lightly oozing fresh spilt crimson.
That was when he felt a presence
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