Posted Oct 15 2011 - 03:54 PM
Vroli tried to crawl towards the Skakdi as the voices in his head spoke up again. Now that the three major ones were gone, the minor ones were free to wreak havoc on his mind as he tried to write down everything they were saying.
His mouth foamed, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he was struck by a cacophony of voices so powerful that he fell down into the snow, clutching his head in utter agony.
Must... write... down... thought Vroli, trying to say something as the raucous inmates of his mind stirred up the tsunamis of insanity once more.
Scribbling desperately onto the snow, he realized his pen was out of ink. Flinging it away in a rage, he took out one of the knives from his bandolier and slit himself in the finger. It was a deep gauge, and the pain only added to his growing loss of sanity.
Smiling now, his eyes were glazed over, unseeing. He began to scribble in the snow, using his bloody finger as a pen.
Come...back...to me!! Vroli thought in anger, calling back the four voices into his mind. Instantly, the other voices in his mind quieted, and were replaced by more defined, powerful words.
Lying on the ground, he hugged his knees, studying his bloody finger as if it were an interesting scientific specimen. Nearby, he noticed that the Skakdi seemed to be relieved of the pain. Good, he thought.
Looking down at his writings in the snow, four words were larger than the rest, even though he didn't remember writing them larger. He never remembered anything in those hopeless fits of insanity. What was strange was that the words formed a sentence. A sentence that he had shouted after he had written the words, with no recollection of thinking about it before. The words said:
Grimly, Vroli thought, I am never doing that again.