Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-26245872-20150123171346/@comment-5614539-20150127005226

Talion was so sick of self-pity, sorrow... Misery. Something shifted inside him, imperceptible, and yet, so great was its effect. Around his battered, destroyed fingers a gloss began to form. It didn't heal him, just preserve him. He slowly rose, savouring the pain in each step. Thriving off it. He walked towards the door, satisfied in a sick, twisted way, and he left for his humble qurters.