The battle against the Sanctifier has been going on for half an hour now. As he lands on the roof of one of the Citadel's wings, blood splatters the stone shingles. Between his bouts ferrying his allies closer to the dragon, Howl has endured attacks and distractions from other Pleroma. An arrow sticks out of his back like a toothpick skewering his flesh, but many more arrowheads are embedded in his flesh elsewhere, their shafts having been broken off in the fighting. Howl has been able to endure stabs and slashes that would have taken out regular sized combatants, the wounds being proportionally smaller on his enlarged form.
But at this point, his wounds not are not merely physical. He landed, but it isn't to rest, despite being in such dire need. It's to try to collect himself. To calm his increasingly frazzled nerves. Howl can't stop ruminating about the reality of what is happening — that all of this, all this destruction and violence, is over two people. That Estinien would turn himself into that — that abomination, obviously born from some twisted agreement with the selfish entity that had cursed him — all for two people. And for the other Pleroma to follow him, into the stronghold of their enemy, risking their lives and their Shards.
Why? He doesn't understand. This isn't right, it can't be right. Frustration swarms in his mind as he hunches his back, curls his wings, and contracts inwards, shrinking. Immediately, as his flesh constricts around the embedded arrowheads and the rest of his wounds, a horrible, disabling pain shoots through his body. A moment of respite is not possible anymore, then. Too late for him to take a break for even one minute.
His frustration spikes into anger. Why. Why are any of them doing this.
A single black arm emerges from Howl's breast, manifesting for the sole purpose of reaching back into the thick carpet of feathers covering his body to remove his Shard. Howl grits his teeth and turns his skull-like visage upwards to stare at Estinien through the curtain of feathers covering his eyes.
Estinien!! Why — why are you doing this?! You must know how foolish this is! You've damned yourself, haven't you?!
It's stupid to try to talk to that thing. He knows. He hardly expects an answer, with so many of his comrades still assaulting the Sanctifier. But the wizard isn't known for acting according to cold logic.
between round 3 and 4
But at this point, his wounds not are not merely physical. He landed, but it isn't to rest, despite being in such dire need. It's to try to collect himself. To calm his increasingly frazzled nerves. Howl can't stop ruminating about the reality of what is happening — that all of this, all this destruction and violence, is over two people. That Estinien would turn himself into that — that abomination, obviously born from some twisted agreement with the selfish entity that had cursed him — all for two people. And for the other Pleroma to follow him, into the stronghold of their enemy, risking their lives and their Shards.
Why? He doesn't understand. This isn't right, it can't be right. Frustration swarms in his mind as he hunches his back, curls his wings, and contracts inwards, shrinking. Immediately, as his flesh constricts around the embedded arrowheads and the rest of his wounds, a horrible, disabling pain shoots through his body. A moment of respite is not possible anymore, then. Too late for him to take a break for even one minute.
His frustration spikes into anger. Why. Why are any of them doing this.
A single black arm emerges from Howl's breast, manifesting for the sole purpose of reaching back into the thick carpet of feathers covering his body to remove his Shard. Howl grits his teeth and turns his skull-like visage upwards to stare at Estinien through the curtain of feathers covering his eyes.
Estinien!! Why — why are you doing this?! You must know how foolish this is! You've damned yourself, haven't you?!
It's stupid to try to talk to that thing. He knows. He hardly expects an answer, with so many of his comrades still assaulting the Sanctifier. But the wizard isn't known for acting according to cold logic.