The nightrender's able to get its glass-studded head out of the bievilerd's mouth after the memory hits Alloran and that Y-maw, drooling silvery blood, goes slack. Saturday doesn't get him with her sword when she hits it.
There are flashes of imagery and general sensation with the memories of Esplin. They're just much less relevant than his voice, saying things like I grow bored. Why don't you talk to me, pet? Don't say you're not lonely and The brain tastes best, but I know you could make a case for the spinal fluids or the intestines and Not even your own people remember you exist. Anyone who looks at your face sees only me. How does that make you feel? In some thoughts more than others, Esplin sounds a good deal like Alloran, full of sardonic detachment.
What doesn't happen is Esplin's voice doesn't continue in any one vein, doesn't gloat that Alloran believed he was free of him. These are all moments that have already happened, though some of these things have been said many times - he's been punished or teased through being forced to relive bad memories for long enough that they don't have as much power over him as they would have twenty years ago. After the first shock he starts to ripple his delta wings, heedless of the creature tearing into his flesh as it tries to get free. It's pinned such that its arms have their full range of motion, but it can't reach back here very well.
Right... yes... he's not infested. If he can remember that he can move, he can move. And Saturday was tossed like a toy a breath or two ago. <Saturday! The head just isn't vulnerable - I hope you aren't dead. This seems like- agh-> Lucky slash, sending dripping silver in an arc. The breath hissing from out of his back has more of a pained whistling tone, and now the bielevard's instincts, not much bothered by memories, are manifesting harder. It is an animal, however large, and like many predators faced with strange and difficult prey it doesn't want to double down, it wants to get out of this situation. <We should extricate and regroup. I believe I can pick you up and fly. If you're still alive.>
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There are flashes of imagery and general sensation with the memories of Esplin. They're just much less relevant than his voice, saying things like I grow bored. Why don't you talk to me, pet? Don't say you're not lonely and The brain tastes best, but I know you could make a case for the spinal fluids or the intestines and Not even your own people remember you exist. Anyone who looks at your face sees only me. How does that make you feel? In some thoughts more than others, Esplin sounds a good deal like Alloran, full of sardonic detachment.
What doesn't happen is Esplin's voice doesn't continue in any one vein, doesn't gloat that Alloran believed he was free of him. These are all moments that have already happened, though some of these things have been said many times - he's been punished or teased through being forced to relive bad memories for long enough that they don't have as much power over him as they would have twenty years ago. After the first shock he starts to ripple his delta wings, heedless of the creature tearing into his flesh as it tries to get free. It's pinned such that its arms have their full range of motion, but it can't reach back here very well.
Right... yes... he's not infested. If he can remember that he can move, he can move. And Saturday was tossed like a toy a breath or two ago. <Saturday! The head just isn't vulnerable - I hope you aren't dead. This seems like- agh-> Lucky slash, sending dripping silver in an arc. The breath hissing from out of his back has more of a pained whistling tone, and now the bielevard's instincts, not much bothered by memories, are manifesting harder. It is an animal, however large, and like many predators faced with strange and difficult prey it doesn't want to double down, it wants to get out of this situation. <We should extricate and regroup. I believe I can pick you up and fly. If you're still alive.>