Rise Of Pandora

Rise Of Pandora : XXXIV. The Cold Touch of His Swords

"You're a virus who pretends he's the cure."

-Baccus

XVI. Poet

A subtle wind masquerading as a divine melody stole its way inside of Baccus's insensible body, causing him to become reanimated with consciousness and movement. He began to come to after hours of lying insentient on the bitter winter surface. Maneuvering his battered body, he lifted his chilled head from the blood-soaked snow around him. His lips were cracked and blue, matching the gelid texture of his clothes and hair. His heart's pulse was slow and his movements were slowed to a crawl. He groaned as he felt the pain again throughout his wounds and sore muscles. So sore and numb, he could hardly acknowledge the gelid touch of the snowflakes that cascaded down to grace the earth below. He felt like his body was slowly shutting down.

His facial expression became vexed as he became cognizant of his surroundings. Images of the man suddenly rushed into his mind but the feeling of enervation prevented him from moving around too quickly. So he remained calm, relying on the last memory he had of that miserable man leaving to placate his troubled mind. As he looked around the dense forest, he noticed that there was a shift in the day. No longer was it the morning. The day had metamorphosed into the silent being that was the night during his blissful state of comatose. Him being alive was something that could not be explained.

He glared at the stars past the several trees as he felt around the ground with his hands. The palms of his hands abruptly felt the cold touch of his swords' handles. He looked down at where the swords were, without actually being able to view it due to the shroud of darkness. Nearby, was his mask. He could not very well make it out through the dense darkness; he did not currently think of it. However, he could effortlessly discern the various, and to him, annoying sounds produced by the many critters which inhabited the Colossal Snowpeak Woods. He felt helpless. He did not hope to awake to the cool night. He did not expect to wake up at all.

The only sources of light were provided by the few areas that still burned with vicious fire. He had not recalled them being there since he last held consciousness. This did not stop him from seeking the warmth they provided. However, he was still deeply in pain and there was one concern that kept him from going to the flames which were some yards away. It was the concern of leaving his mask behind, though damaged beyond repair. He knew not to leave such an intimate possession of his behind.

He groaned as he forced his hands, with his swords still in them, around the snowy floor around him. The thought of his dagger appeared into his frantic mind. He groaned as he thought of leaving it behind as well. He ceased his search and quickly tasked his hands to feel around his back in search of the open slots of his swords' sheaths. He placed one sword away. The light of the fires he saw through his peripheral vision vexed him more. The beauteous warmth they would provide him tempted his beaten spirit. He was not sure if his legs still had strength enough to carry him to them, however.

After almost five minutes of spreading his hands around the forest floor aimlessly, and collecting nothing of his intention, he decided to give up. His fingers were gruelingly numb. He instantly thought to work his way to the light which, at this moment, he romanticized deeply. Struggling to his feet, he felt every sensation of pain stab into his lower body with such aggression. Instead of walking as he envisioned hopefully, he collapsed back down and from there he proceeded to crawl for the light.

Seething, he endured the pain. He was concerned that once he got to the fire that he would be easier to spot for any Deathknight or any predator of the forest. But, he concluded there was no other alternative for him. The cold was much too bitter and aggressive than any predator. He could not fight the cold nor could he appease it. It was a force that reminded him of his own frailty; a force that augmented his humility.