[The pamphlets mean nothing to him: he can't read. They're just glossy collections of images and incomprehensible markings, and he shoves them away whenever a villager tries to push one into his hands. He stumbles out of the hospital in a daze, acutely aware of two things: his greatsword was missing, and his tattoos, usually a bright, shimmering white, have turned completely black.
Fenris stands in the street, running his fingers up and down his arm. He feels no pain; no sensation at all. Whatever magic once infused these tattoos is gone.
He'd be grateful, but he's not stupid. The villagers' anxiety was palpable. Something is very wrong here.
Fenris doubles back; grabs one of the pamphlets. He accosts the first person he comes across, reaching to grab this unlucky soul by the wrist.]
You. Tell me what these say. Tell me what's happening here.
two;
[Fenris is no stranger to forests, but this is some unsettling nonsense right here. He's not sure how he ended up so turned around; he'd simply been trying to explore, get a sense of the world he's woken up to and what he can expect from it.
Nonsense, clearly.
He hears the laughter, and the sound prickles along his skin. Demons, spirits--something foul and unnatural, to be sure.
Fenris scowls as he pushes through the overgrown paths, ripping down vines with his bare hands and crushing the roots and leaf beds underfoot. He must free himself from this damned maze.
And then he hears it--not the haunting giggles, though they're still coming at odd intervals--but another set of footsteps, definite, and approaching fast.
Fenris rocks back into a defensive stance. He has no sword, but he has his fists.]
fenris | DA II
[The pamphlets mean nothing to him: he can't read. They're just glossy collections of images and incomprehensible markings, and he shoves them away whenever a villager tries to push one into his hands. He stumbles out of the hospital in a daze, acutely aware of two things: his greatsword was missing, and his tattoos, usually a bright, shimmering white, have turned completely black.
Fenris stands in the street, running his fingers up and down his arm. He feels no pain; no sensation at all. Whatever magic once infused these tattoos is gone.
He'd be grateful, but he's not stupid. The villagers' anxiety was palpable. Something is very wrong here.
Fenris doubles back; grabs one of the pamphlets. He accosts the first person he comes across, reaching to grab this unlucky soul by the wrist.]
You. Tell me what these say. Tell me what's happening here.
two;
[Fenris is no stranger to forests, but this is some unsettling nonsense right here. He's not sure how he ended up so turned around; he'd simply been trying to explore, get a sense of the world he's woken up to and what he can expect from it.
Nonsense, clearly.
He hears the laughter, and the sound prickles along his skin. Demons, spirits--something foul and unnatural, to be sure.
Fenris scowls as he pushes through the overgrown paths, ripping down vines with his bare hands and crushing the roots and leaf beds underfoot. He must free himself from this damned maze.
And then he hears it--not the haunting giggles, though they're still coming at odd intervals--but another set of footsteps, definite, and approaching fast.
Fenris rocks back into a defensive stance. He has no sword, but he has his fists.]
Who's there? State your name.