[ Sunlight has returned to the cathedral. The rays pierce through the doors of memory, insubstantial now, until each vanishes in a puff of fine dust. Just a little more rubble for the cathedral floor. These things that seemed so painful in the darkness... is this all they were?
If only all the traces of the battle could be banished so easily. The scent of blood still lingers in the air. Not all who came here to confront Gorre will walk away from this place. And at the center of the cathedral lies Gorre's discarded armor, hollow now.
Unmoving...?
A piece budges a little, a tiny scraping sound of metal against the cathedral stones. Stirring. Struggling. It moves again, just a little more. Why was it so slow to despawn like the rest? But from beneath it emerges a face mostly familiar to those here.
Michel Bollinger looks very like his avatar had, after all. His hair isn't quite so unruly. His build is slender, fragile — not as though he'd have the strength to wield a sword. And hardly strong enough to move the remnant pieces of armor... although as he gives it a more determined shove, it dissipates at last: not into dust, but into a cloud of black butterflies that rise to the cathedral ceiling and vanish. He blinks up after them, wincing behind his glasses at the brightness of the sunlight, disoriented.
FINALE
If only all the traces of the battle could be banished so easily. The scent of blood still lingers in the air. Not all who came here to confront Gorre will walk away from this place. And at the center of the cathedral lies Gorre's discarded armor, hollow now.
Unmoving...?
A piece budges a little, a tiny scraping sound of metal against the cathedral stones. Stirring. Struggling. It moves again, just a little more. Why was it so slow to despawn like the rest? But from beneath it emerges a face mostly familiar to those here.
Michel Bollinger looks very like his avatar had, after all. His hair isn't quite so unruly. His build is slender, fragile — not as though he'd have the strength to wield a sword. And hardly strong enough to move the remnant pieces of armor... although as he gives it a more determined shove, it dissipates at last: not into dust, but into a cloud of black butterflies that rise to the cathedral ceiling and vanish. He blinks up after them, wincing behind his glasses at the brightness of the sunlight, disoriented.
He truly... was never suited to the sun. ]