The healers came and went, and while he could feel the poison he had unknowingly ingested gnawing away at his gut like acid while his head swam and his limbs felt heavy, Zuko refused to let it win.
He stood. He was using the wall behind him to brace some of his weight, sure, but he kept his back straight and his shoulders tense, closing his eyes and breathing. His mind fixated on the feel of energy moving through his body, fueled by his breath. He tried to picture that energy fighting back against the poison - though he had no reason to think it was so - it made him feel better.
The sound of footsteps made him open his eyes once again, and he turned his head slowly, his vision clearing some as he watched the individual approach.
“Those healers don’t have good news yet, do they?”
2. harpy pregame network, text (un: the blue spirit)
I talked to a group of necromancers who claim to be able to make a cure for the poison. They need harpy blood to do it. I’ll be at the eastern edge of the city at sundown, I’ll start my hunt from there.
3. waiting for dusk
After being the poison’s victim for the last few days he’s weak but undaunted. Zuko was used to doing things by himself and while in his own time and place he had been under the impression that he could learn to change that and make room for other people, in this strange where and when he fell back on finding stability in solitude.
Besides, if the harpies didn’t like fire (and he really hoped they didn’t) he liked to think he stood a pretty good chance of taking a few down.
He had sent out his message through the pendant, simple and to the point, and while he had not directly asked for aid (because some things he just didn’t know how to do), he wouldn’t refuse it should it come. He was still upright, but the ravages of poison had left him weak. Were this a challenge reserved for his swords alone, he might consider himself not up for the task, but he was done with not using his bending and tired of concerning himself with being met with reproach at the sight of what he could do. He was sick, he was weak, and he intended to use whatever he had at his disposal once the sun finally set and it was time to begin the hunt.
no subject
The healers came and went, and while he could feel the poison he had unknowingly ingested gnawing away at his gut like acid while his head swam and his limbs felt heavy, Zuko refused to let it win.
He stood. He was using the wall behind him to brace some of his weight, sure, but he kept his back straight and his shoulders tense, closing his eyes and breathing. His mind fixated on the feel of energy moving through his body, fueled by his breath. He tried to picture that energy fighting back against the poison - though he had no reason to think it was so - it made him feel better.
The sound of footsteps made him open his eyes once again, and he turned his head slowly, his vision clearing some as he watched the individual approach.
“Those healers don’t have good news yet, do they?”
2. harpy pregame network, text (un: the blue spirit)
I talked to a group of necromancers who claim to be able to make a cure for the poison. They need harpy blood to do it. I’ll be at the eastern edge of the city at sundown, I’ll start my hunt from there.
3. waiting for dusk
After being the poison’s victim for the last few days he’s weak but undaunted. Zuko was used to doing things by himself and while in his own time and place he had been under the impression that he could learn to change that and make room for other people, in this strange where and when he fell back on finding stability in solitude.
Besides, if the harpies didn’t like fire (and he really hoped they didn’t) he liked to think he stood a pretty good chance of taking a few down.
He had sent out his message through the pendant, simple and to the point, and while he had not directly asked for aid (because some things he just didn’t know how to do), he wouldn’t refuse it should it come. He was still upright, but the ravages of poison had left him weak. Were this a challenge reserved for his swords alone, he might consider himself not up for the task, but he was done with not using his bending and tired of concerning himself with being met with reproach at the sight of what he could do. He was sick, he was weak, and he intended to use whatever he had at his disposal once the sun finally set and it was time to begin the hunt.