The draenei sat at a table away from the tavern’s bar. His breath was labored and his chest hurt. His heartbeat was slow but beat hard against his chest causing discomfort. The world appeared in a haze, almost surreal, and his eyes were dry and scratchy. He propped his elbow on the table and leaned his forehead into his hand covering his eyes and shielding them from the light of the tavern. His mouth gaped open a little till recognition brought it to his attention and he promptly closed it. After a moment’s time he was forced to opened it again. Apparently he needed to breath through his mouth to keep up with the deep breaths he only just realized he was taking.
He shifted to lean over the table more and raised his other hand to his face as well. He now rested his face in both hands and let his cheekbones rest on the butt of each palm. His palms...his left hand was still wrapped loosely, but now the bandages were just to keep the fresh skin clean, in fact they wouldn’t be needed in a few days time. It had been nearly six weeks. Six long weeks. There had been children’s week, arguably one of the best weeks in his last few years and...that was it really. What had he been doing for the other five weeks?
His head hurt. It was a dull pain between his eyes, but at least it had nothing to do with that ‘taint’. As he sat in the surprisingly quiet taven his mind spun in thought about the past, the future, and nothing at all. His mind slowly slipped into evaluating himself sitting there as he was, bent over the table, face buried in his hands. He lowered his hands to the table and stared at them both palm up as he continued to judge his own appearance sitting there alone. He still leaned over the table and breathed in and out through his mouth. He was certain he looked like some sort of slack-jawed buffon; someone too drunk too early.
He sat up adjusting his posture and leaned back a little till he heard a small pop in his back. Mosur could see his hair hanging over his shoulders in his peripheral. It had a slight wave to it and was a bit frazzled, unkempt. He frowned at that but made no move to otherwise change it aside from taking a moment to brush it out of sight behind his ears and shoulders.
He raised his hand to his face again to rest it against and closed his eyes taking just a moment to enjoy the stillness, the dark, and relaxing for a moment. His eyes flickered back open. He didn’t want to doze off even if he was that tired. He stood up and his heart felt like it strained under the movement and stayed standing till the beating slowed again.
At least this annoyance was brought on by himself, and not the creation of whatever entity Shrewsbury claimed tried to control him. Control was a strong word, sway perhaps was a better choice. He had little to do in these past weeks and had taken to trying experiments. This was just another one, aside from the obvious side effects it seemed to be working.
He glanced back at the table where his journal lay open, he’d been in thought since he forced himself awake trying to answer questions that had recently presented themselves to him. The page was blank, however, save the line of script that stood as his...writing prompt, for lack of a better phrasing.
Never change. Who are you now? Who did you used to be? Never change.