[He can tell that he will be covered in bruises the next morning, no matter how much of his minor healing spell he cast. The worst is on his front, but his forearms have gotten a terrible beating, and the gang of muggers had taken a pipe to his legs a few times in case he tried to attack with those. Not that he could have done much good — he's reminded of the cruel that at his core, he's useless in a one-on-one fight. It's a bitter comfort that his face will look the best after this; the plugsuit can cover everything else and salvage whatever dignity he has after this.
He has to use his best arm to support himself against the gritty concrete wall instead of reaching out to the retreating hoodlum to retrieve his tokens. With the pain searing through his muscles, he stays on shaking legs, wishing they would all leave instead of loitering and counting their spoils, adding insult to injury with each passing second.
That relief won't come anytime soon, he realizes when he hears another set of casual footsteps approaching the scene. Another guy. How Taryon wishes he could reach into his pocket, pluck an enchanted diamond, and cast Prismatic Spray on the entire group. Wouldn't it be so easy to create one in his room without the money, time, and resources necessary? Wouldn't it be wonderful if his powers didn't rely on having tools?
The light of the street lamp doesn't reach this far into the alley, which means Taryon cannot discern the face of the approaching man nor properly shoot a defiant glare at him. The pathetic, bruised look adds a unique flair to the fancy man's glamorous fashion but is at odds at the outgoing personality he displays to others.
Just as he clenches his abs to keep himself from collapsing, one of his assailants makes a confused noise just before he flies backwards and strikes the asphalt. Then another. And the fourth man gears up for another attack, which is when it finally registers that this isn't Taryon's enemy. This is his savior.
And that odd hairstyle reminds him of the Blood Guy. No...it is Blood Guy! Doing non-blood things! Taryon could leap and cheer if he wasn't in incredible pain. Instead, his widened and shining eyes express all the gratitude he feels when he answers:]
...Yes. Please.
[He can't find the energy to shout or muster up vengeance.]
no subject
He has to use his best arm to support himself against the gritty concrete wall instead of reaching out to the retreating hoodlum to retrieve his tokens. With the pain searing through his muscles, he stays on shaking legs, wishing they would all leave instead of loitering and counting their spoils, adding insult to injury with each passing second.
That relief won't come anytime soon, he realizes when he hears another set of casual footsteps approaching the scene. Another guy. How Taryon wishes he could reach into his pocket, pluck an enchanted diamond, and cast Prismatic Spray on the entire group. Wouldn't it be so easy to create one in his room without the money, time, and resources necessary? Wouldn't it be wonderful if his powers didn't rely on having tools?
The light of the street lamp doesn't reach this far into the alley, which means Taryon cannot discern the face of the approaching man nor properly shoot a defiant glare at him. The pathetic, bruised look adds a unique flair to the fancy man's glamorous fashion but is at odds at the outgoing personality he displays to others.
Just as he clenches his abs to keep himself from collapsing, one of his assailants makes a confused noise just before he flies backwards and strikes the asphalt. Then another. And the fourth man gears up for another attack, which is when it finally registers that this isn't Taryon's enemy. This is his savior.
And that odd hairstyle reminds him of the Blood Guy. No...it is Blood Guy! Doing non-blood things! Taryon could leap and cheer if he wasn't in incredible pain. Instead, his widened and shining eyes express all the gratitude he feels when he answers:]
...Yes. Please.
[He can't find the energy to shout or muster up vengeance.]