Hythlodaeus had been wandering Amaurot... the re-creation of Amaurot, everything filled with familiar colours wrapped up in the all-permeating, familiar hue of Emet-Selch's aether, and he would claim his heart was breaking at the finality of the ghostliness of it all, but he knew that his own form was ghostly, as well.
He did not have a heart. Merely the memory of it.
Still, it was sad, and sadder yet, to consider his friend, and all the pain he must have been to create all of this.
His steps paused, catching something different with his aethersight. Not Emet-Selch, but material all the same, even if with aether much thinner than he would have expected, and he directed his steps in that direction. Oh... Someone was here. And he was hurt, but alive.
Hythlodaeus stepped into the room where the person was, sitting quietly. The wound, if he looked carefully, had the barest traces of the colour of Emet-Selch's aether. The presence was not happenstance, then. He must have brought the slight, scarlet-clad figure here himself.
let's go with potentially missing scene; feel free to swap to brackets if preferable
He did not have a heart. Merely the memory of it.
Still, it was sad, and sadder yet, to consider his friend, and all the pain he must have been to create all of this.
His steps paused, catching something different with his aethersight. Not Emet-Selch, but material all the same, even if with aether much thinner than he would have expected, and he directed his steps in that direction. Oh... Someone was here. And he was hurt, but alive.
Hythlodaeus stepped into the room where the person was, sitting quietly. The wound, if he looked carefully, had the barest traces of the colour of Emet-Selch's aether. The presence was not happenstance, then. He must have brought the slight, scarlet-clad figure here himself.