Knells and Throes
The setting sun painted the marshy plains surrounding, what was until recently, High Central with amber, gold, and pink hues. This closing of the fourth day since the fall of the Tyrant Eternal left the search and rescue teams of the rebellion to find fewer and fewer of the scattered survivors. A ragged gasp and a sputtering cough came from beneath the shelter of a lonely mangrove cluster. The body that produced it belonged to a broken, nearly spent Tezz as he awoke from a comatose state. Pain, echoing from his mind through to his very marrow, wracked his body. The effort of transporting every living person he could sense in High Central to safety caught up to him in his lucid state. He dwelled in this state for several minutes, slowly willing his aching body to move and sit up from the muck. With his hand he was able to grasp the nearby roots and pull himself mostly from the water. He heard the distant sloshing of someone in the area and looked to the encroaching darkness of dusk. Tezz attempted to summon a voice from his damaged lungs to call out, and like sparks on wet logs he could produce nothing but more coughs. Catching his breath again he sighed and leaned back against the tree, he hoped it was enough.
