A typical adventurer's satchel, he thought as he glanced through the contents. He had half a mind to hand it back to the Scions as a gesture of good faith so that they had something to mourn. 'Twas not like they could do anything with their friend now that he was a mindless beast.
Out of idle interest, he took out the journal and flipped through its pages. Nothing of much note - although he did pause to admire the detail in the drawings. He spotted a few familiar sketches and thought nothing of it until his eye caught upon a note scrawled in the margins about seeing such things in their dreams. Only then did he pause and flip back, scrutinising everything anew. The dates meant very little to one such as him, but even he could piece together events and see that they occurred far too early to be attributed to their travel to the First. His heart beat a nervous tattoo against his ribs as he came to the later entries, and then fair stopped at the final sketch.
"...Impossible," he muttered, hands trembling. All this would mean... It would imply--
They were right, he wouldn't have thanked them for dragging up old memories. Dreams were dreams after all. It meant nothing. Nothing, except to imply that Azem yet remained somewhere in their subconscious, buried deep. Perhaps with one more shard...
Clenching his jaw, he snapped the journal closed. Looking towards the trail of golden blooms left behind by the Warrior of Light, he felt a sickening sense of uneasiness. Why didn't you bring this up earlier, he wanted to shout. Why leave it until it was too late?
He had never been one to doubt his course once decided, but he found himself doubting it now.
Though he knew the Light must have returned full force to Norvrandt's skies, he took himself away from the Tempest's gloom and left the Warrior's satchel in their room at the Pendants. The journal, though - the journal he kept for himself. And then he hung back and waited, to see how events would unfold.
no subject
Out of idle interest, he took out the journal and flipped through its pages. Nothing of much note - although he did pause to admire the detail in the drawings. He spotted a few familiar sketches and thought nothing of it until his eye caught upon a note scrawled in the margins about seeing such things in their dreams. Only then did he pause and flip back, scrutinising everything anew. The dates meant very little to one such as him, but even he could piece together events and see that they occurred far too early to be attributed to their travel to the First. His heart beat a nervous tattoo against his ribs as he came to the later entries, and then fair stopped at the final sketch.
"...Impossible," he muttered, hands trembling. All this would mean... It would imply--
They were right, he wouldn't have thanked them for dragging up old memories. Dreams were dreams after all. It meant nothing. Nothing, except to imply that Azem yet remained somewhere in their subconscious, buried deep. Perhaps with one more shard...
Clenching his jaw, he snapped the journal closed. Looking towards the trail of golden blooms left behind by the Warrior of Light, he felt a sickening sense of uneasiness. Why didn't you bring this up earlier, he wanted to shout. Why leave it until it was too late?
He had never been one to doubt his course once decided, but he found himself doubting it now.
Though he knew the Light must have returned full force to Norvrandt's skies, he took himself away from the Tempest's gloom and left the Warrior's satchel in their room at the Pendants. The journal, though - the journal he kept for himself. And then he hung back and waited, to see how events would unfold.