Several times in his life, Wrathion has been afraid.
He'd felt fear, and he'd even felt helpless. Xanesh in particular had made him feel helpless quite recently, her dark magic trapping him as part of her unpleasant ritual.
Wrathion wakes up sharply, and instantly several things become apparent. One, he's in an unfamiliar place. Two, his senses are being blocked -- somehow? He cannot sense anything at all? They must be blocked. Three, he --
The slow, curling sense of panic as he rips himself out of bed escalates as he walks past a mirrored surface. Pauses. Backs up, and stares at his reflection.
His eyes no longer their distinctive glowing red, instead he thinks what the mortals call... hazel, with odd little flecks of gold. Why? His eyes are a distinctive show of his flight! With a sense of dread hollowing out his stomach, Wrathion lifts a hand and tries to pool fire into it.
Nothing happens.
He's been bound. Bound, presumably, by some of N'Zoth's agents. How could he be so careless? He paces onward through the peculiar house, only half paying attention to the array of personal items and photographs. Whatever games are being played with him, he refuses to submit! The sound of a voice (calling... names? For someone else? Irrelevant, he won't be tricked!) draws his attention sharply, and he stands braced for a fight in the living room.
It might be a more intimidating presence if he weren't reduced to a human form, in striped pyjamas. ]
Cease these games!
[ He tries for full confidence, head held high, as if he could actually do anything about this. Perhaps he could. An improvised weapon, since he cannot cast? ]
I will not be enslaved again for your master's dark purpose. Release me!
Awaken!
Several times in his life, Wrathion has been afraid.
He'd felt fear, and he'd even felt helpless. Xanesh in particular had made him feel helpless quite recently, her dark magic trapping him as part of her unpleasant ritual.
Wrathion wakes up sharply, and instantly several things become apparent. One, he's in an unfamiliar place. Two, his senses are being blocked -- somehow? He cannot sense anything at all? They must be blocked. Three, he --
The slow, curling sense of panic as he rips himself out of bed escalates as he walks past a mirrored surface. Pauses. Backs up, and stares at his reflection.
His eyes no longer their distinctive glowing red, instead he thinks what the mortals call... hazel, with odd little flecks of gold. Why? His eyes are a distinctive show of his flight! With a sense of dread hollowing out his stomach, Wrathion lifts a hand and tries to pool fire into it.
Nothing happens.
He's been bound. Bound, presumably, by some of N'Zoth's agents. How could he be so careless? He paces onward through the peculiar house, only half paying attention to the array of personal items and photographs. Whatever games are being played with him, he refuses to submit! The sound of a voice (calling... names? For someone else? Irrelevant, he won't be tricked!) draws his attention sharply, and he stands braced for a fight in the living room.
It might be a more intimidating presence if he weren't reduced to a human form, in striped pyjamas. ]
Cease these games!
[ He tries for full confidence, head held high, as if he could actually do anything about this. Perhaps he could. An improvised weapon, since he cannot cast? ]
I will not be enslaved again for your master's dark purpose. Release me!