His senses overwhelmed him, his head pounding whilst his entire body ached from soreness and overexertion.
A soft pillow sat beneath his aching head, retaining its comfortable nature despite being soaked to the brim with sweat that undoubtedly belonged to him. The blanket draped across his stirring body and the sheets beneath fared no better, though it was much more desirable compared to trekking through endless corridors of filth. The only problem was it made the will to wake up all the more difficult.
How he had managed to actually survive was something that eluded him. Not that he was any less thankful, or was going to bother wasting time questioning it.
His efforts were rewarded with a blast of merciless sunlight, the likes of which proceeded to pour through the lids of his eyes to set his retinas ablaze and render him a blind, teary-eyed mess.
After the few eternity-spanning seconds of blinking away both pain and tears had become but a distant memory, Veikh forced a grunt as he dragged himself into a sitting position; stifling the groans that threatened to slip from his lips and give voice to the aching muscles which protested his movements.
Every inch of his skin itched. His thoughts swam through an ocean of conflicting emotions and obscure memories, struggling to remain coherent in this sea of disarray. The stale air which filled his lungs felt serene against his aching ribs as he inhaled deeply in an attempt to quell all urges to cough, though the action only resulted in the faint taste of copper that had lingered in his mouth to intensify.
His head pounded as he struggled to remain upright, the tips of his fingers pressed tight against his temples. It felt as though his skull was about to split open, every artery, nerve, and vein threatening to burst from mere stress as the blood refracted within his head, pulsing in sync with the throbbing that reverberated throughout his mind. His stomach grumbled, growling inaudibly as a wave of nausea welled up and washed through him.
He'd almost compare the feeling to the aftermath of being run over by a carriage, horses and all. Which said a lot about whoever took the time to heal him. Damned Ithulmians.
Gazing around to fully take in his surroundings at last, Veikh's attention drifted to the small desk at his side, the small candle set atop having gone out long ago. And redundant, as sunlight poured onto him from the small stained-glass window not far above it. Another bed of similar design to the one he rested on lay adjacent on the opposite side of the desk, a pack of nondescript origin resting atop. While he didn't recognize the room at a glance, it wouldn't take a genius to deduce he was in a church.
His surroundings established, the young man's eyes fixed to his body; the crimson tunic, chain shirt, and other articles having once clothed his form stripped clean from his body, safe a pair of less than fashionable trousers and a hasty wrapping of bandages around his waist. He couldn't withhold a grimace as his gaze trailed down to settle upon the accursed black scales having coated his left leg, the four claw-tipped digits clenching as he willed them communicating to him that it was far from a trick of his weary mind.
After a few brief moments of unsteady breaths, he found that he had already set himself in motion, prying the blanket from his legs fully to reveal the glossy scales of the Corrupted appendage had encroached as he had slept, now ending just above his knee.
He felt no peace, only a tinge of dread and pang of guilt clawing at his core which threatened to overwhelm him despite his iron will.
After all, it was said the effects of Corruption were all but irreversible once it had taken its hold upon the unfortunate. And he had no wish to become some mindless abomination.
...Some fortune he had.
Taking a deep breath, Veikh pried himself from the comfort of the sweat-tinged bed, the tingling of his nerves awakening felt as his mismatched feet met the cold stone tile of the floor; flesh and scales alike tensing instinctively, though not from sensation alone.
"Sir Dalgidred…?"
Addressed by his surname out of the blue, Veikh's gaze shot to the now-open door serving as the room's entrance, where a woman clad in a simplistic black robe decorated with white accents stood, the wimple atop her head alongside the robe indicating she was a nun.
"Ahem… erm… I see you're awake, Sir Dalgidred." The nun gave a quick bow, her abrupt pauses and clear expression of relief contrasting her attempts to maintain an air of seriousness. "It does our hearts well to know you have awoken." She straightened, a smile gracing her lips. "You may call me Cesillia."
The platinum-haired man sighed upon wresting himself from his bout of silence. "...Were I to call you a hapless ghoul like I originally held the intention to do, sister, you would most certainly smash my head in."
"Perhaps, were I not a holy woman, of course." She giggled, the amused smile never leaving her face. "Your manners certainly aren't much different from the man who carried you here."
"Guess us foreigners aren't too different in the eyes of a native." Veikh gave a wry smile in response. "Sorry you had to deal with that manwhore--and my humor. Though, Deighe's not so bad after you spend a year with him abroad."
"No need to apologize. I'm more than used to it at this point." Cesillia answered sternly, her gaze falling to the floor. "Regardless, he's been worrying himself sick over your well-being these past few hours. As has that one-eyed kobold since his own awakening."
"O-Oh… I see." He nodded in subdued shock, mostly towards the latter granted how they'd known each other for less than a day. "...How long was I out?"
"Since midnight, all throughout the morning. We're hours 'till noon." The nun answered, gesturing to the window and rays of light shimmering through it at his bedside. "I'll make sure to notify the rest of the nuns and those of the White Hawks that you're awake, alongside your friend." She turned to the doorway to leave him, though she craned her neck to spare him a glance and gesture to the bag atop the unoccupied bed. "If I recall, your friend had actually left you some spare garments in that pack right there. Take all the time you need in getting dressed."
"Right. And thanks." He nodded as Cesillia departed, the wooden door closing with a click and leaving him alone to his thoughts.
With the value of privacy respected, he deftly scrambled over to the bag she had mentioned, opening it and rummaging through the abundance of textiles until a crimson garment indistinguishable from the tunic he'd worn the day previous rested proudly atop the sheets of the bed. A few more precious moments of searching and a grey long-sleeved collared shirt, pair of black trousers, white leather boots and gauntlets, and chain shirt rested alongside it.
Dressed in a moments notice and without much delay upon adjusting the belt around his waist and baldric across his shoulder, Veikh made a mental note to request a custom boot at the nearest tailor as to accommodate for the differing size and stature of his left leg. Or, gods forbid it spread to his other, a pair.
A mirror at the far end of the room attracted the crimson-clad man's gaze; revealing he practically looked the same as ever due to his incredibly limited style. He declined to examine anything past the waist of his reflection, however, as he didn't want to glimpse the sight of his left leg deteriorating into a primal state better suited to some reptilian brute. Simply gazing at it with his own two eyes was already enough of a reminder.
He felt a small amount of guilt at the fresh pain he had brought himself to experience, but it was quickly overtaken by anger at what his fate had become.
...He didn't want to become like them.
Running his gauntlet-clad fingers through his platinum locks of hair upon haphazardly adjusting them, Veikh slung the now mostly-empty pack over his shoulders and turned to the doorway; ignoring the feeling of stone against scales and clicking of claws as he stepped out into the proceeding hall.