The natural glow of Emet-Selch's golden eyes is as sharp as ever as they slowly blink open, yet beneath his heavy, pained brow and the effects of the Intellect Devourer's feast, he appears confused and unfocused. Wrung-out. He hazards a slow, cautious glance around, but soon after tilts his head back into the pillow. His skull starts with its incessant pounding again - keen enough to elicit a low and weary groan. Sensations and stray thoughts encroach in their attempt to fill the haphazard gaps within his mind.
What's all this? Where is he? How did he come to be here?
That he's laid up in bed is all but obvious, yet he doesn't know this room nor remember anything of what led up to this point. The man leant over him, too, is unfamiliar, though the voice itself strikes a cord with him. Indeed, the voice he knows, and yet... had it not been passing from his own lips just moments before?
Moments? Days? 'Tis all a blur.
How can that be? How could he be so careless? Did any of it truly happen?
"The garden..." he manages in a rough whisper.
He doesn't deign move again lest he finds himself within the careless embrace of yet another wave of vertigo.
Emet will be feeling that 2 for awhile yet.
What's all this? Where is he? How did he come to be here?
That he's laid up in bed is all but obvious, yet he doesn't know this room nor remember anything of what led up to this point. The man leant over him, too, is unfamiliar, though the voice itself strikes a cord with him. Indeed, the voice he knows, and yet... had it not been passing from his own lips just moments before?
Moments? Days? 'Tis all a blur.
How can that be?
How could he be so careless?
Did any of it truly happen?
"The garden..." he manages in a rough whisper.
He doesn't deign move again lest he finds himself within the careless embrace of yet another wave of vertigo.