There was fortune if sleep could be found. With pain stinging, throbbing and aching throughout his body, Thaeldren only knew discomfort and fear. Not to mention the agony that he felt in his head, at least where the nerves that threaded to his eyes were severed. To think he called the wretch ‘Mother’ in the past, yet the woman so wickedly pried his eyes from his sockets and sliced the flesh that bound them to him, that granted him his vision, now punished with darkness and the pain that lingered. She sought to mock him and in some sick, twisted fix, kept the eyes in a preserving fluid in a glass container so that she could admire her trophy and victory. A bloodied blindfold was the only sliver of dignity Thaeldren could find behind it to keep the damage she had done concealed.
It was one of many injuries she had inflicted to her own son, all in spite of the fact that she detested men to a bitter hatred, that even her own spawn was just repulsive to her as the rest of them. There had been moments and experiences in his life where he felt helplessness, but it was when he was subjected to his mother’s whim was when he felt it the most. With runic shackles that braced his wrists and neck firmly, Thaeldren’s connection to the arcane had been temporarily severed. The glamour at his throat was dispelled because of it, a scar that was new to his mother’s eyes and of course saw to mock him as well, anything to demean and degrade a disgusting man. Though it may look like there were no chains that bound Thaeldren, that it looked like he could leave if he wished to, but in truth the chain-less and spellbinding shackles were indeed tethered by an unseen and magnetic force. Were he to try and surpass his limit, he’d simply be pulled to a dead stop.
When he could find rest, he’d lull into a meditative state, much like how he had been since his capture, a passivity that was an instinctive and familiar defense mechanism of his since experiencing his mother’s abuse in the past. In a way it helped shun out reality and somewhat ignore the sting of the bruises and fractures that ached in his body, and succumbing to a dreamlike phase. There he found refuge, and quietly hoped and prayed that someone noticed he was gone. But there was also the nagging fear that he wouldn’t be missed, that his absence would be preferred and that they’d not bother to see where he had gone.
Then there was Baxter. Was he alright? He worried for his companion’s well being. No doubt the dog wandering the city, scared and alone. If he is to be found, let it be a kind passerby to take care of his best friend for him. His thoughts found those he had built a familiarity to as well. Thaeldren missed them... He missed his ~friends~. He would keep telling himself that they were acquaintances, but now being away from them, he realized how fond he actually was of them. It made Thaeldren wonder if he was missed too... He knew how terrible he could be to them. But now he knew that there could not possibly be another as cruel as his mother was. Not those he was close to anyway.
Just keep hoping... It was all he had that kept him going in the past, he prayed it not to falter now.
