For the most part, Mithrun has proven difficult prey for the Intellect Devourers. He's alert, practiced at navigating monster-infested surroundings - and his magic is well-suited to either killing the monsters quickly or dodging the moment one tries to strike.
But, of course, he isn't infallible - especially as the ongoing mana expenditure takes its toll. It only takes a moment's slip-up, the strain of drawing on reserves already drained nearly dry, for a Devourer to take its chance.
The monster's fate, when Elidibus finds it affixed to the elf, is no mystery - nor is the aftermath of its death, memories bursting forth.
Mithrun's eye slips open, dim light doing little for the dull ache in the back of his skull, barely noticeable in the memory - a minor pain, easily ignored, just like the chill in his muscles and tightness in his lungs.
He sits up, taking the blanket wrapped tightly around his body (as if it had been rolled around him, rather than him having pulled it up over himself) with him. He hears a soft voice before he sees its source.
"Good morning."
Mithrun looks up, and a young tall-man looks back at him, his smile at odds with the blood coating his hands and splattered on his face.
...He seems to realize how he looks as Mithrun stares. He withdraws his hands, almost embarrassed, to scratch at his cheek - which doesn't do much for the blood already smeared on him.
"I tried to butcher the sheep we got by relying on my memories from when I was a kid, but... well. The internal structure of this thing is kind of different from a sheep... I had a hell of a time removing the internal organs, and the bones were strangely soft." He directs Mithrun to a pot, bubbling away on a makeshift cooking fire, held up by a pair of bricks that match the dull grey stone surrounding them. "...So it was hard to tell what I should remove and what I should keep."
Mithrun leans over to look at the contents. There's not much there - just chunks of meat in boiling water, discolored from its meager contents.
"Lamb stew, huh?" It's a stretch, calling it that - but it seems that his guess at what his companion was trying for was right. The young man's smile relaxes incrementally.
"My mother always used to make this for me." He picks up the wooden spoon with a bloodied hand, giving the "stew" a final stir - and he adds a quiet admission. "We don't have nearly all the ingredients we need, though..."
Nevertheless, he goes to wash his hands at the one water source in the room (a small fountain set in the wall, clear water pouring from the mouth of a stone lion head), and returns to divide the contents of the pot between two wooden bowls.
He speaks again, as he passes a bowl to Mithrun. "I haven't had this for a while, so I'm looking forward to it, too. I hope you like how it tastes, though."
Mithrun stares back at the young man. It's a ridiculous comment - Elidibus knows Mithrun well enough to know it is.
The man's blue eyes are bright and hopeful, and Mithrun takes the bowl. "I'll give it a try."
mercy mirror
But, of course, he isn't infallible - especially as the ongoing mana expenditure takes its toll. It only takes a moment's slip-up, the strain of drawing on reserves already drained nearly dry, for a Devourer to take its chance.
The monster's fate, when Elidibus finds it affixed to the elf, is no mystery - nor is the aftermath of its death, memories bursting forth.
Mithrun's eye slips open, dim light doing little for the dull ache in the back of his skull, barely noticeable in the memory - a minor pain, easily ignored, just like the chill in his muscles and tightness in his lungs.
He sits up, taking the blanket wrapped tightly around his body (as if it had been rolled around him, rather than him having pulled it up over himself) with him. He hears a soft voice before he sees its source.
"Good morning."
Mithrun looks up, and a young tall-man looks back at him, his smile at odds with the blood coating his hands and splattered on his face.
...He seems to realize how he looks as Mithrun stares. He withdraws his hands, almost embarrassed, to scratch at his cheek - which doesn't do much for the blood already smeared on him.
"I tried to butcher the sheep we got by relying on my memories from when I was a kid, but... well. The internal structure of this thing is kind of different from a sheep... I had a hell of a time removing the internal organs, and the bones were strangely soft." He directs Mithrun to a pot, bubbling away on a makeshift cooking fire, held up by a pair of bricks that match the dull grey stone surrounding them. "...So it was hard to tell what I should remove and what I should keep."
Mithrun leans over to look at the contents. There's not much there - just chunks of meat in boiling water, discolored from its meager contents.
"Lamb stew, huh?" It's a stretch, calling it that - but it seems that his guess at what his companion was trying for was right. The young man's smile relaxes incrementally.
"My mother always used to make this for me." He picks up the wooden spoon with a bloodied hand, giving the "stew" a final stir - and he adds a quiet admission. "We don't have nearly all the ingredients we need, though..."
Nevertheless, he goes to wash his hands at the one water source in the room (a small fountain set in the wall, clear water pouring from the mouth of a stone lion head), and returns to divide the contents of the pot between two wooden bowls.
He speaks again, as he passes a bowl to Mithrun. "I haven't had this for a while, so I'm looking forward to it, too. I hope you like how it tastes, though."
Mithrun stares back at the young man. It's a ridiculous comment - Elidibus knows Mithrun well enough to know it is.
The man's blue eyes are bright and hopeful, and Mithrun takes the bowl. "I'll give it a try."
In the present, Mithrun stirs.