Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-19164168-20161229041106/@comment-19164168-20170110155138

Tristan felt so overwhelmed that he found it hard to think straight. He felt like he was going to die as the useless mage he was.

No, he couldn't give in. He couldn't. If he did, what would Eveline think of him? Moreso the others? They would mourn for him, but eventually forget about him. There was no place for the weak. Only the strong. This is the reality of all things. It was fight, or die.

Gritting his teeth so hard, he began to heal himself with everything he had. He slowly forced his hands to move despite his limbs mentally telling him 'no more'.

He began to glow gold very slightly as he forced one spear at a time out of his body, his wounds closing. The one so close to his heart was the hardest to remove, as he let out a roaring cry and removed it in one forced swing, causing blood to spray around. Even so, he had no intention of bleeding to death.

Finally removing the icy spears stuck in his torso, he moved in to his left arm, grabbing one spear at a time and pulling them out with force, and followed with his legs.

When he was finally finished, he layed on the ground, and focused very hard to keep himself alive. Eventually, his own body began to repair itself, albeit at a slow but certain rate.

"Th-The strong... d-do not beg... f-for ... r-rescue..." He gritted to himself.

"There... is no place... for the weak."