First, the body stops. That in itself is a slow process due to the stasis of the realm. What should be instant and relatively painless is excruciating. Dustin holds him as the shock sets in, goes running for help when Eddie goes still in his arms - but a return to the present would do nothing but kill him. The party's merry bard was half-eaten, hovering on a knife's edge - trying to bring him into the real world without immediate medical attention would simply kill him faster. A mercy, perhaps, but not one the world sees fit to give him.
When Dustin returns, there's just a pool of blood where he'd lain. They have no answers as to where he'd gone - hoping perhaps that he'd survived, but near certain that something else had just come along and taken it.
The corpses of the monsters hide the footsteps of the thief.
The second death is different. A slow decay of the mind and soul, twisting in the loneliness and terror of this realm. Few retain enough of themselves to truly survive it, most devolving into the mindless flesh beasts that exist as a small part of Vecna's great whole. One was not truly dead until they couldn't differentiate themself from Henry Creel. The last echoing notes of his solo serve as salvation for one such unfortunate creature. One who seeks him out, finding him cold, alone, and afraid on a battlefield he had no place in.
He doesn't remember much of the journey. Just his fingers fisting in a bloody jacket, tears running down his face, pleading to be saved because he wasn't ready yet and this was meant to be his year. A different conversation than with the boy he'd put a brave face on for, what use did the dying have for dignity when faced with a stranger?
Eddie awakens in the bed of an unfamiliar house. Remembers little of whatever occurred before. His wounds are bandaged - not that it will do the leg much good, it's more meat than limb - and the blanket over him does little to stem the shivering. ]
Henderson? [ there's a wracking cough. The air is thick here, tinged with dust. The windows are boarded up, but he can tell the world outside is dark, dark, dark.] ... Anyone?
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First, the body stops. That in itself is a slow process due to the stasis of the realm. What should be instant and relatively painless is excruciating. Dustin holds him as the shock sets in, goes running for help when Eddie goes still in his arms - but a return to the present would do nothing but kill him. The party's merry bard was half-eaten, hovering on a knife's edge - trying to bring him into the real world without immediate medical attention would simply kill him faster. A mercy, perhaps, but not one the world sees fit to give him.
When Dustin returns, there's just a pool of blood where he'd lain. They have no answers as to where he'd gone - hoping perhaps that he'd survived, but near certain that something else had just come along and taken it.
The corpses of the monsters hide the footsteps of the thief.
The second death is different. A slow decay of the mind and soul, twisting in the loneliness and terror of this realm. Few retain enough of themselves to truly survive it, most devolving into the mindless flesh beasts that exist as a small part of Vecna's great whole. One was not truly dead until they couldn't differentiate themself from Henry Creel. The last echoing notes of his solo serve as salvation for one such unfortunate creature. One who seeks him out, finding him cold, alone, and afraid on a battlefield he had no place in.
He doesn't remember much of the journey. Just his fingers fisting in a bloody jacket, tears running down his face, pleading to be saved because he wasn't ready yet and this was meant to be his year. A different conversation than with the boy he'd put a brave face on for, what use did the dying have for dignity when faced with a stranger?
Eddie awakens in the bed of an unfamiliar house. Remembers little of whatever occurred before. His wounds are bandaged - not that it will do the leg much good, it's more meat than limb - and the blanket over him does little to stem the shivering. ]
Henderson? [ there's a wracking cough. The air is thick here, tinged with dust. The windows are boarded up, but he can tell the world outside is dark, dark, dark.] ... Anyone?