video; un: deathweaver

[respired]

[ So, that relatively cheerful guy dancing with everybody on the beach--he's gone. He's out of here. Koltira leans forward, his expression pained, jaw clenched. There's a flat piece of wood on the ground beside him with the start of an intricate filigree carved into it, but he's set it aside. He's focused entirely on the jewelry. ]

I feel unwell.

[ His guttural, echoing voice is rougher than usual; he sounds like jagged rocks scraping against each other, and the strange ethereal reverberation does nothing to better the effect.

He's experiencing, for the first time in years, something like fatigue. It's discomfiting, impossible. His kind does not tire. And yet here he is, feeling--not exhausted, but legitimately weary. ]

The ocean is not rife with magic, but it provides some sustenance.

[ He shakes his head, as though trying to clear his vision. Some sustenance. Not enough. ]

If anyone has found other sources, I would know of them.

[ His voice drops to an almost feral growl. ]

Or a solution.

Comments

[riastraid]

[ That's rough, buddy. ]

That's a nice way to put it. [ Prettier than falling apart and dying miserably. ] So it's magic keeping you together? You could always get it from other people.

[respired]

Necromancy, specifically.

[ He makes a noise in his throat. ]

Yes, I could. If they were willing.

[riastraid]

[ Well, who's he to say anything about how other people stay undead... ]

Oh, how noble. [ Plenty of spirits don't ask nicely. ] In that case... I'm sure you could find some sap around who doesn't wanna see you go. Bum some energy off them.

[respired]

[ Mana drain is a pretty painful process! Not something to spring on a comrade.

Koltira closes his eyes, sounding exhausted. ]

Few such souls exist. But perhaps a solution will be found in time.