[it's quiet, at first. Dohalim's heartbeat and his own footsteps are most of the noise inside, and his words echo less when he speaks them.
It brings the first truthful stirrings in the room, and the first shallow, nigh inaudible breaths to him. Though really, this body has always done so - it's more that he can finally feel it, just a little bit. Just a tiny bit.
A spark, brightly yellow and fleeting as it scatters forward and over the ground, heralds a little more light at a time. Glimmering gold lights up between black rock, whimsical and light near Dohalim's feet and growing ever more structured, geometric as it approaches the center of the room.
There, as dim light becomes brighter, sits a raised stone dais. The words carved in it are worn, even if he could still read them, but they feel just the same as everything else here. And, should he try, he'll find himself somehow sure that it speaks of a barrier that will weaken 'when the rage is subdued'.
A shimmering barrier, like a thin membrane stretched taut over space, glimmers weakly. A seal, barely still in place. And beyond it? A body, curled in on itself, perched in the center of the dais. It is beautiful, in its way, as though carved from a plethora of varied rocks. Dark near the extremities, fingers disappearing from view in the dim, with ever more golden shapes cutting in to that darkness; a thick tail curls around the figure too, as if for self-comfort. Intricate horns crown his head and brown hair tipped with dark gold highlights pools out of view over one shoulder and behind his tail.
He can sense it now. That soul. After all this time, he's finally-- but he can't move yet. The seal is thin, but it isn't broken, and his body still resists instruction as a result. The most he can do is try to draw him closer, the soft call more hopeful than mournful compared to his spectre. Just a little more, and he can finally reach out. A little more, and he can see him again. How long has it been? How many centuries? Millenia? It's so hard to keep track...]
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It brings the first truthful stirrings in the room, and the first shallow, nigh inaudible breaths to him. Though really, this body has always done so - it's more that he can finally feel it, just a little bit. Just a tiny bit.
A spark, brightly yellow and fleeting as it scatters forward and over the ground, heralds a little more light at a time. Glimmering gold lights up between black rock, whimsical and light near Dohalim's feet and growing ever more structured, geometric as it approaches the center of the room.
There, as dim light becomes brighter, sits a raised stone dais. The words carved in it are worn, even if he could still read them, but they feel just the same as everything else here. And, should he try, he'll find himself somehow sure that it speaks of a barrier that will weaken 'when the rage is subdued'.
A shimmering barrier, like a thin membrane stretched taut over space, glimmers weakly. A seal, barely still in place. And beyond it? A body, curled in on itself, perched in the center of the dais. It is beautiful, in its way, as though carved from a plethora of varied rocks. Dark near the extremities, fingers disappearing from view in the dim, with ever more golden shapes cutting in to that darkness; a thick tail curls around the figure too, as if for self-comfort. Intricate horns crown his head and brown hair tipped with dark gold highlights pools out of view over one shoulder and behind his tail.
He can sense it now. That soul. After all this time, he's finally-- but he can't move yet. The seal is thin, but it isn't broken, and his body still resists instruction as a result. The most he can do is try to draw him closer, the soft call more hopeful than mournful compared to his spectre. Just a little more, and he can finally reach out. A little more, and he can see him again. How long has it been? How many centuries? Millenia? It's so hard to keep track...]