more ‘last life wounds carry on to next life’ but its 100 hours of hardcore
Grian dreams of screams, of the terror of being chased through newly familiar lands. The clash of strong blades against even stronger armour echoing through his mind, along with the cries of someone that followed him into his waking hours, a ghost.
The hiss of a creeper or the shout of a night terror, either one could strike the fear of the gods through him. He deigned not to sleep, it was safer that way, he ignored the time he failed to notice a trident coming right at him while he stared into the tree line. He told himself it was the fatigue-it was-but he swore... nevermind.
He can’t sleep on his back, even when he does let himself surrender to the night’s wishes. Phantom pains laced through his muscles at the memory of... something, he doesn’t know what. He doesn’t want to know.
