[It's like a pulse, now, the rhythm of the whispers sounding in time like the beat of a heart-- they're in a language no one but Rynlan seems to understand, hissed out in unpleasant syllables as his ears pin back. 'Iilth ma paf'qi'ag sk'halahs. Gaz skshgn. Iilth sythn aqev... aqev... aqev.'
The void stretches wider, indistinct shapes within it shifting that almost hurt the eyes to look at, and the shadows around his body distort its shape. But-
There are one or two voices that stand out as different as he limps forward and looks down at Filbo, somewhat battered from the strikes of his shadow, one arm wrapped around himself.
'You'll have to learn, Dawnslight,' says a more normal-sounding voice, 'who is going to live and who isn't. You'll be able to do the math on it fast enough that it makes you a little sick to think about, but you're going to learn how not to think about it.'
'But-- we're meant to learn how to save people.'
'This is saving people.'
Sometimes mercy can only come in one form, but it still weighs heavy, every time. There are more voices in the background of the whispers-- crying, pleading, pained.
His form stabilizes a little, despite the ugly chanting ringing in his ears, as with a gesture of his hands he gathers what control over the shadows he's managed. This is his. It killed him once, and it might again, but it is his.]
...Elor bindel felallan morin'aminor, Filbo. I'm sorry it had to be this way.
[It isn't a weapon that can be sharpened. That isn't suited to the shadow. But it can be used with force, at least, and if Filbo isn't easy to kill... he saw how this was done last week.
His shadow's tendrils constrict and crush Filbo's shadow with all the strength that he can put behind them.]
no subject
The void stretches wider, indistinct shapes within it shifting that almost hurt the eyes to look at, and the shadows around his body distort its shape. But-
There are one or two voices that stand out as different as he limps forward and looks down at Filbo, somewhat battered from the strikes of his shadow, one arm wrapped around himself.
'You'll have to learn, Dawnslight,' says a more normal-sounding voice, 'who is going to live and who isn't. You'll be able to do the math on it fast enough that it makes you a little sick to think about, but you're going to learn how not to think about it.'
'But-- we're meant to learn how to save people.'
'This is saving people.'
Sometimes mercy can only come in one form, but it still weighs heavy, every time. There are more voices in the background of the whispers-- crying, pleading, pained.
His form stabilizes a little, despite the ugly chanting ringing in his ears, as with a gesture of his hands he gathers what control over the shadows he's managed. This is his. It killed him once, and it might again, but it is his.]
...Elor bindel felallan morin'aminor, Filbo. I'm sorry it had to be this way.
[It isn't a weapon that can be sharpened. That isn't suited to the shadow. But it can be used with force, at least, and if Filbo isn't easy to kill... he saw how this was done last week.
His shadow's tendrils constrict and crush Filbo's shadow with all the strength that he can put behind them.]