[ He awakens in the garden, blinking once, twice, thrice. Lifting his hand upward, he beholds it as if it doesn't belong to him. He turns his wrist, gazing at his palm intensely, studiously, as if to read the lines marking his hand. One by one, fingers flex, curling into a loose fist, then stretch out. A moment passes, and he blinks again. Then he inhales, slow and deep, tasting the air, feeling it pass through his lungs. He presses his palm to his tunic, spreading his fingers over the upper, left side of his chest. There, something beats steadily, thrumming beneath his fingertips.
Somehow, he has a heart. Somehow, he has a solid form. Somehow, he is more alive in this realm, neither phantom nor trapped in a purgatory within his own. Despite what the note says, this cannot be. Suddenly, his gaze sharpens and quickly flicks upward. Then, slowly, Somnus stands, correcting the drape of his garb, ready to venture elsewhere... ]
Garden
[ Sometime later, he might find you in a similar situation of just arriving. So have one (1) grim man, one who's pale as a ghost and who's dressed in robes of antiquity, address you in a voice as smooth as steel. ] Be wary, stranger. [ His dark, heavy cloak rustles as he moves his hand, gesturing to one of the plants-- either mistletoe or a poinsettia-- that decorates a hedge's arch. ] The flora are bewitched.
[ ...Which means that at one point, he had come near one and felt its effects. It seems he's taking great care to avoid them. ]
Snow Angels
➡ ➡A [ It seems you've been struck by one of the blades of these icy, angelic creatures, and it is not difficult to see how inconsolably chilled you are. So before you dive headfirst into that fire, you will find a black cloak draped over your shoulders. Although it is weighted for travel, the material itself isn't coarse but luxurious, if the golden clasp that fastens isn't indication enough.
His hand, firm upon your shoulder, holds you back from moving closer to the flames. Not helping, however, may be the cold command of his voice, which matches the severity of his expression. ] Stay yourself.
➡ ➡B [ This time, it is Somnus who has been struck by the icy touch of the angel. There he stands, shoulders hunched slightly forward, brow set low on his forehead, chin tucked downward; this, all in order to conserve warmth, or more likely, to stop himself from seeking it in some dangerous manner.
He is staring particularly intensely at that torch, however. ]
Bonfire
[ A local has seen to provide him with a goblet of wine, but he has yet to take a single sip. Somnus swirls the drink once, watching the legs of the drink flow down the crystal. A sweet blend of some sort, then.
He has been dead for far longer than he has ever been alive, and now that he's been given a solid form in this realm, this wine would be the first he's had in ages.
His pale lips press together into a thin line, contemplative. Then, his head tips slightly in your direction, acknowledging you at last. ] Do you trust what they serve?
Wildcard
[ Have an idea? PM this account or wildcard at random! ]
Somnus | FFXV
Somehow, he has a heart. Somehow, he has a solid form. Somehow, he is more alive in this realm, neither phantom nor trapped in a purgatory within his own. Despite what the note says, this cannot be. Suddenly, his gaze sharpens and quickly flicks upward. Then, slowly, Somnus stands, correcting the drape of his garb, ready to venture elsewhere... ]
Garden
Snow Angels
Bonfire
Wildcard