there is always hope
Ronin probably should have gone to the Infirmary after he'd reached the top of the steps out of the Spire, coughing and spluttering and feeling altogether pretty wretched. The tumble down the steps and the poisonous gas had combined into an unpleasant miasma of hurts, and Ronin probably couldn't have said which was giving him more grief at any given moment.
Was it the burning in his lungs? The stinging of his eyes? The metallic taste in his mouth or his pounding head? Granted, the rest of him felt like it had been beaten by something twice his size too, and he was covered in a fine layer of dust and blood as he clicked open the guildhall doors. No, not the Infirmary. He wanted something else.
"Honey, I'm home," he called in a rasp, the hunter shuffling into the great hall and finding a wall to prop himself against. Sugar, still draped about his shoulders, trilled a note of worry up the stairs, hopeful that someone would be home.
Was it the burning in his lungs? The stinging of his eyes? The metallic taste in his mouth or his pounding head? Granted, the rest of him felt like it had been beaten by something twice his size too, and he was covered in a fine layer of dust and blood as he clicked open the guildhall doors. No, not the Infirmary. He wanted something else.
"Honey, I'm home," he called in a rasp, the hunter shuffling into the great hall and finding a wall to prop himself against. Sugar, still draped about his shoulders, trilled a note of worry up the stairs, hopeful that someone would be home.
