All of these are floating at the tips of the Dreamthief's fingers, today, or from the base of his palm. Soldiers are shocked at their new-found gifts. The energy flowing withing them, and out of them... one poor man falls straight into shock. He is the lucky one.
When the winds change, he just may take back what he lent out. Unless he enjoys what he took in return.
As for today, it was more enjoyable to challenge himself. Just a simple gun and bravery. Things were no fun even against these Benefactors when you had so much power. The only one who puts up a good fight is Leah. Ouch, that thought hits a sore note. Why the hell did he give that gift to her for free? It was a damn good one, at that, for what? So some old turncoat friends could--
PaiN SurGEs THRough The DReamthIef's BOdy anD for a MOmenT evERYthing aRound HIm sEEms to FALL aPart.
...
His eyes squint open on an infirmary bed. "oooh..." He feels pain. And an upsetting absence of pain. A nurse rushes nearby, boots click, shoes shuffle, and a crowd of medics and makeshift nurses fill his field of vision. Lots of words and questions. He looks around. Damn, his arm's in pretty bad shape. The other one isn't even there... They're running through files to identify him. What a headache...
The infirmary is a very sterile green, and leaves lots of room for aesthetic touch. Just a narrow corridor of thin paper curtains filled with metal beds... Dreamthief concentrates. Channels one of his gifts... A translucent, dirtied window starts to crack. The curtains' gentle swaying stops completely... a few noses start to bleed. Pressure is rising... good, good... almost... A few other patients heads crack open and cave in... medics flee, clutching bleeding ears, and the crowd is gone. He lets go and lightens the Pressure Field, sitting up in bed. The room looks a lot nicer when it's in ruins.
Now to take care of these limbs. Must have been that shock of pain, making me let my guard down and then I was snagged by some crossfire, perhaps? Maybe a Benefactor took my limb to offer another wounded soldier? Who knows... war is an weird thing to be in. Twilit sparks flashing in his remaining hand, as he recrafts himself an arm. This time he'll build it to last... there. The scars fade away, and, brushing a pressure-crushed remain of an employee aside with his foot, looks in the mirror. Good as new. Now what next...
Realizing he'd left all of his recipients on the field of battle, the same way one realizes they're naked, he walks briskly out back into the salvo of good and evil to take back all his gifts he'd thrown among the Patians. A wandering shade of grey amongst the harsh black and white battlefield of the soul.
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