[Was this hell? Certainly it must be. Part of him had hoped (hoped? Was he still capable of such a thing? He's not sure) that he would simple stop existing when the heroes spared him. Instead he's here, in this quiet looming place.
It never occurs to him that he's dreaming- not because it is unlike a dream, but because he hasn't dreamed in so long he forgot, fully, what it was like. The fluttering images of people he knew out of the corners of his eyes are familiar to his waking life already. Many half formed people and shapes come and go- but two forms seem the most clear: a handsome young man dressed like a spell caster and a beautiful woman with lavender hair.
Everytime they show up Oersted snarls, dashing after the man with inhuman speed and bringing his sword down on him. If he's too far away red wings might burst from the knight's back to give him the boost needed to kill him. And kill him he does, over and over. There are silvery puddles dotting his path. And if someone manages to catch the death in progress they might see the woman wailing... and bringing a dagger down on her breast over and over before vanishing.
This plays out over and over... though maybe be careful calling out to him, as even after killing the spellcaster, he seems ready and eager to lash out at anyone and anything]
What Now is Found?
[Killing his friends in his dreams was... satisfying? Horrific? He's not sure what feelings he's feeling when he plays out that memorydream. But while his hate is not sated, he eventually just.... sits down in this puddle of autumn. Images of his lost ones gather round- the man and woman of course. But a large warrior, an old man, a king... and one by one more and more people. Men, women, children. Dozens of them peeking before trees, trying to lure him out to them.
Oersted just sits, head resting on his knees, and watches them dully]
If I knew this was what waited me... perhaps I should have used that power and wiped everything after all?
[His voice is tired. Exhausted after all. And almost emotionless. But anyone that can read minds or sense emotions would find that under his skin is an impossible boiling hate, unwavering]
Oersted | Live a Live | OU
[Was this hell? Certainly it must be. Part of him had hoped (hoped? Was he still capable of such a thing? He's not sure) that he would simple stop existing when the heroes spared him. Instead he's here, in this quiet looming place.
It never occurs to him that he's dreaming- not because it is unlike a dream, but because he hasn't dreamed in so long he forgot, fully, what it was like. The fluttering images of people he knew out of the corners of his eyes are familiar to his waking life already. Many half formed people and shapes come and go- but two forms seem the most clear: a handsome young man dressed like a spell caster and a beautiful woman with lavender hair.
Everytime they show up Oersted snarls, dashing after the man with inhuman speed and bringing his sword down on him. If he's too far away red wings might burst from the knight's back to give him the boost needed to kill him. And kill him he does, over and over. There are silvery puddles dotting his path. And if someone manages to catch the death in progress they might see the woman wailing... and bringing a dagger down on her breast over and over before vanishing.
This plays out over and over... though maybe be careful calling out to him, as even after killing the spellcaster, he seems ready and eager to lash out at anyone and anything]
What Now is Found?
[Killing his friends in his dreams was... satisfying? Horrific? He's not sure what feelings he's feeling when he plays out that memorydream. But while his hate is not sated, he eventually just.... sits down in this puddle of autumn. Images of his lost ones gather round- the man and woman of course. But a large warrior, an old man, a king... and one by one more and more people. Men, women, children. Dozens of them peeking before trees, trying to lure him out to them.
Oersted just sits, head resting on his knees, and watches them dully]
If I knew this was what waited me... perhaps I should have used that power and wiped everything after all?
[His voice is tired. Exhausted after all. And almost emotionless. But anyone that can read minds or sense emotions would find that under his skin is an impossible boiling hate, unwavering]