my touch is power
Thaeron had left the desert lands of Solterra behind, craving an escape from the events that occurred among the sand, sand and endless sand. That had been over a month ago.
Now his leg ached like crazy, a phantom limb stuffed into a makeshift prosthetic that itched and itched and itched. It was unbearable. And it was gone.
A shot glass filled with amber whiskey sat before him, calling him, taunting him. Was it his third? Or his fourth? Thaeron didn’t know, he wasn’t counting. All he could think about was his missing limb, the teeth of the dragon and the bite of magic as the healer severed it. Apparently it had been beyond saving. Beyond saving! Bah! Were he still in Alanaris, were his powers still roiled beneath his skin, he would have been able to save it. But no! He was in this accursed land, with only three legs and no magic to speak of.
He raised the shot to his lips, downing it with little aplomb and letting it rest on the table with the others. There was no other way to drown out his misery than, well, drown it. But it wasn’t working. No tonight. Instead he was simply soaking in his melancholy, lamenting his lost leg and feeling like an invalid. Oh how far he had fallen. Oh how very far indeed.
He lost a leg in a plot so now he's dealing with that and I forgot when I suggested we thread so I am so sorry but here is a very miserable man lol @
