[@timelord1101]

Zyrid was once again in a lucid dream, for that was the curse of his existence, a constant awareness of things. In this dream there was a constant darkness and eerie silence. From the darkness - which you must understand was not black nor was it a deep grey, simple colorless - came tendrils that wrapped around Zyrid's hands tightly, round orifices clasping at his skin with a grasp of suction. They raked at his flesh and tore away his muscle until only his bones were left and his arm felt cold after the wrist.

A bright light, appearing in the distance or perhaps straight before him, broke this torture and begin to pull him in towards it, his hands now before him untouched and full functional. Each ray wrapping itself around his body one by one until he felt his chest being lurched forward. A rush of mild air and the faint aroma of old wood filled his sense, a clank of metal on glass and the faintest of crackles from a distant fire. A softness lay beneath him, warped around his shape as if built to hold him, a welcome contrast to the emptiness of the darkness.

Something plump held Zyrid's head a loft as his eyes opened, a warmth waving over his entire body as he felt the nerves and transmitters reboot in sequence. The female still sat in the chair beside him, a contemplative look upon her face, confusion also. Were Zyrid a mere mortal he would have felt like both fearing and admiring her, though he now looked upon her gently with a hint of gratitude. He brought his hands to his side and pushed on his lean arm, edging himself upright in the bed.

He instinctively fired his eyes toward his upper thigh, only to see the females hand upon it, he had thought it something more threatening. He realized then that he had knocked it aside as he had swiftly reached back to support himself, carelessly pushing the hand aside. With a quick movement of his arm he brought a thick skinned and yet soft hand on top of the females.

"Sorry, and thank you," Zyrid's voice was thick with inflection and deep tone, a life of experimenting and he had still not settled for a particular accent. If anything he had made his own - vowels slightly elongate in the center of words and in those sentences with consecutive sharp endings, an almost music melody runs between the syllables. He had not needed to speak nor interact with anyone on the material plane for some time now, he would need to rid himself of the so called 'rust'.

Zyrid rested back on the head board of the bed and smiled gratefully with his charming lips, forcing his free hand into his thick black mane to rearrange his wild hair into the pushed back way he liked it. He realized that he had been holding the females eye and hand for a while too long, so looked down to the covers of the bed half mindlessly, shifting his hand to his lap too. His body settled there for a brief moment and his muscles ceased to tense for the first time since he woke up. He retracted the hand from his hair and took a deep breath in, there would hopefully be no more of this passing out business for a while yet.

[i]Zyrid then heard a voice at the door, and saw the glint of metal at someones hips.[/i]