Everything felt heavy.
As his work was done, Varlum finally let himself fall, colliding hard into the sands below as the beast became an empty husk. With a small turn in the air then man landed with his front facing the ground below him, a loud grunt of pain leaving him as he bounced off the floor and hit his side, grinding to a halt with pain shooting through his body. Exhaustion ran through his veins as a burning feeling of emptiness sat within him, the nine-foot-tall Ithecal hissing like an injured animal as he forced himself to his knees. Whatever feeling it was he had inside, he hated it. Hated the numbness, the exhaustion. But all of his magic had stopped, which meant he must have hit a limit. A cap of his power, stopping him from going too far.
Varlum carefully gripped his axe and pushed himself to stand, the look of exhaustion being forced away in place of his pride. It was one of the man's biggest downfalls, the inability to show weakness to anyone around him. He'd been stabbed in the leg, kicked across the sand and dropped to the floor - but that didn't matter. Ivorian had taught him one thing about weakness, about the dangers of showing it. When he had let himself be weak at first it had isolated him, his own allies caring little for him in any way. Partially because he broke the uniform military, but more so because he had been a liability - an outcast. There was nothing in Idalos that would let him become that again.
When the voice spoke in his mind the Ithecal kept snarling quietly, one hand clutching his side as the other leaned on the axe. "Let them come" he growled, not phased by the death around him. It was normal for a soldier, to see so many people killed. Even if he wished he could have done better, wished he could have saved more lives, there was no point living in the past. They did their best against an enemy strong enough to wipe a small army and had come out alive. If they hadn't the pile of bodies would have been much bigger, all of Rharne eventually joining it.
Cautiously, Varlum took a small step forward towards Lucas and Lynessa, eyes meeting the two as he gave a small limp and used the axe like a walking cane. A scarred face met them both as he steadied his breath and stood himself up tall. Never before had he seen the two, but at the very least he would remember their faces. Odds were they would remember his too. Most saw the Ithecal and never forgot it, but most hadn't watched him climb atop a giant soldier and take hit after hit before ripping its chest open with brute force. Hell, most hadn't felt the magic he used working, shaking the ground around the beast and hardening it. But clearly, these two weren't most people.
Slowly, his face turned to a small smile, ever so slight but noticeable. "Drinks are on me, some time" the Ithecal growled simply, before slowly walking towards the city of Rharne, his shift thoroughly finished.
As his work was done, Varlum finally let himself fall, colliding hard into the sands below as the beast became an empty husk. With a small turn in the air then man landed with his front facing the ground below him, a loud grunt of pain leaving him as he bounced off the floor and hit his side, grinding to a halt with pain shooting through his body. Exhaustion ran through his veins as a burning feeling of emptiness sat within him, the nine-foot-tall Ithecal hissing like an injured animal as he forced himself to his knees. Whatever feeling it was he had inside, he hated it. Hated the numbness, the exhaustion. But all of his magic had stopped, which meant he must have hit a limit. A cap of his power, stopping him from going too far.
Varlum carefully gripped his axe and pushed himself to stand, the look of exhaustion being forced away in place of his pride. It was one of the man's biggest downfalls, the inability to show weakness to anyone around him. He'd been stabbed in the leg, kicked across the sand and dropped to the floor - but that didn't matter. Ivorian had taught him one thing about weakness, about the dangers of showing it. When he had let himself be weak at first it had isolated him, his own allies caring little for him in any way. Partially because he broke the uniform military, but more so because he had been a liability - an outcast. There was nothing in Idalos that would let him become that again.
When the voice spoke in his mind the Ithecal kept snarling quietly, one hand clutching his side as the other leaned on the axe. "Let them come" he growled, not phased by the death around him. It was normal for a soldier, to see so many people killed. Even if he wished he could have done better, wished he could have saved more lives, there was no point living in the past. They did their best against an enemy strong enough to wipe a small army and had come out alive. If they hadn't the pile of bodies would have been much bigger, all of Rharne eventually joining it.
Cautiously, Varlum took a small step forward towards Lucas and Lynessa, eyes meeting the two as he gave a small limp and used the axe like a walking cane. A scarred face met them both as he steadied his breath and stood himself up tall. Never before had he seen the two, but at the very least he would remember their faces. Odds were they would remember his too. Most saw the Ithecal and never forgot it, but most hadn't watched him climb atop a giant soldier and take hit after hit before ripping its chest open with brute force. Hell, most hadn't felt the magic he used working, shaking the ground around the beast and hardening it. But clearly, these two weren't most people.
Slowly, his face turned to a small smile, ever so slight but noticeable. "Drinks are on me, some time" the Ithecal growled simply, before slowly walking towards the city of Rharne, his shift thoroughly finished.
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