Unfortunate Circumstances
Trancing has so far done Vaarsuvius no good. The elf’s head remains clouded, spells for the most part still out of their reach. ‘Fresh air, perhaps,’ they thought to themselves, which brought them out here to the edge of the forest. They walk along the treeline, instinctively watching for movement between the branches. The trees keep unnaturally silent watch over the forest, their branches outstretched as if warding off intruders.
Vaarsuvius comes to a path weaving through the foliage and wanders down, now curious about what may lie within. The path cuts a winding trail through the trees, far enough that the elf considers turning back—yet when they turn around, they find no path behind them. Forward it is, then.
The path opens up on a sun-drenched clearing—Vaarsuvius’ attention is drawn away from the beauty of the meadow by a towering figure that takes their breath away.
Vaarsuvius is familiar with dragons, as much as any experienced adventurer is. They’re large, powerful, and a good source of experience and treasure if you don’t end up dead. Deprived of their most powerful spells and a balanced adventuring party, the thought of fighting such a beast doesn’t even cross Vaarsuvius’ mind.
That would be the logical explanation for the creeping dread that overtakes the elf’s thoughts and drives all others out. They wish it was so logical, but with all their intellect they can’t find a reason for this absolute and all-encompassing agony that eclipses all thought in their head and all power in their body. Even the idea of escaping is outside their grasp. Vaarsuvius can barely keep themselves standing, entirely paralyzed by…
'Guilt' is the word that comes to V’s mind. It makes no sense, and their immediate instinct is to dismiss the thought out of hand, but the feeling is so strong it seems imprudent to discard it so carelessly. Words press at the back of their mind, words the elf has no strength to say and that they cannot begin to comprehend. 'Forgive me.'
He plans to move, to perhaps engage in battle but this world is different than the Middle Plane. He’s weakened here in this world and even if he could overwhelm the other with just sheer strength, his firepower would keep them locked until one or the other called it quits. Yet, the elf doesn’t move so to follow in suit, neither does Phyr. He watches with full attention on the being standing some distance from him. Huh, what an interesting expression he wears. To his dragonkin, guilt and pity were two in the same. His nostrils flare, small flames appeared, and he lazily turns his attention away, closing his eyes again.
“You are mistaken elf. I won’t waste forgiveness on someone who has done no malice against me.”
