11-08-2021, 12:01 AM
(This post was last modified: 11-10-2021, 09:41 AM by Eirikr. Edited 2 times in total.
Edit Reason: made this a read only
)
at first, he feels like he is sinking.
and then he is flying; soaring along the glowing greens and blues of the aurora borealis. his body is feather-light, following the valkyrja, the golden and tarnished glint of their armor soothing. this following requires nothing from him and ahead he can see the gilded, golden doors of valhalla. they part for the valkrja and the other souls floating along side him; warm light spilling out from between them. his heart stutters, breath fluttering in his throat at the sounds of clashing jaws, playful and jovial snarls, the smell of warm ale wafting from within.
he hungers for it. to join those in the great hall.
and in a horrified breath, he can feel a sharp tug at his body. and he is falling away from valhalla. falling, falling, falling —
erikir awakes with a startled gasp; drawing in icy cold breaths, greedy and deep. his claws scrape against snow and ice and hard basalt beneath. the world is white, at first; a blink and then another and the shape of trees take form. at first silhouettes and then substantial things: the rough crack of bark, sharp needles of pin trees. confusion settles and then heavy, the memory of valhalla and being ripped away and barred from the doors before he could enter.
and then he is flying; soaring along the glowing greens and blues of the aurora borealis. his body is feather-light, following the valkyrja, the golden and tarnished glint of their armor soothing. this following requires nothing from him and ahead he can see the gilded, golden doors of valhalla. they part for the valkrja and the other souls floating along side him; warm light spilling out from between them. his heart stutters, breath fluttering in his throat at the sounds of clashing jaws, playful and jovial snarls, the smell of warm ale wafting from within.
he hungers for it. to join those in the great hall.
and in a horrified breath, he can feel a sharp tug at his body. and he is falling away from valhalla. falling, falling, falling —
erikir awakes with a startled gasp; drawing in icy cold breaths, greedy and deep. his claws scrape against snow and ice and hard basalt beneath. the world is white, at first; a blink and then another and the shape of trees take form. at first silhouettes and then substantial things: the rough crack of bark, sharp needles of pin trees. confusion settles and then heavy, the memory of valhalla and being ripped away and barred from the doors before he could enter.
the staff team luvs u
