There is a man, but he is not a man for he is an elf. He is an elf, walking down an overgrown path in a forest. And he is crying. His hat slips low on his head and his face is smeared with running mascara and lipstick that he has smudged at some point.
Forty people hang over his shoulder, blood and bile dripping from their mouths and onto their official “Sizzle It Up with Taako” t-shirts.
Tears blur his eyes. He can’t believe he just ran away.
He’s stumbling side to side, his mind drifting somewhere over the treetops. It must have been the elderberries. Did he taste test them?
He must have fucked up the transmutation- elderberries and nightshade look basically identical.
He’s such a fucking idiot. Who does he think he is, playing around with magic that he doesn’t understand? That he can only vaguely remember learning? He should have known something like this would happen sooner or later.
His foot connects with a root, throwing him off balance. He falls to the right, his ankle twisting painfully, his head cracking against a tree.
He sobs loudly, curling up on the damp forest floor.
He lays there and cries, for a while.
He’s just so useless on his own. Hadn’t he learnt by now? Shouldn’t even bother trying to start out alone, not without...
His mind fills with static, deafening him.
He is... missing...
A fresh round of sobs wrack his body- how can he sit here when in Glamour Springs, people are dead because of him?
After a while he gets up, his face dry. He knows, with his semi forgotten survival instincts, that he has to move on before he gets caught.
He feels so conflicted. He’s guilty, of course, but is that worth turning himself in?
He wishes Lup was here, she would know what to do.
He moves quickly through the forest, shoving low hanging branches out of the way angrily. He’s almost out of the forest when the thought hits him.
”Who’s Lup?” He says it aloud in shock.
The world fuzzes at the edges, the ever present static pulsating painfully.
He clutches his head, grimacing. The pain. It’s like...
Looking in a mirror.
The static that surround the name... Lup (and he struggles to remember the name) also invades any image of his face.
What on Faerun could possibly connect his face with...
Why is that so hard to remember?
As he thinks this, the static screams.
He can feel himself losing the train of thought, but as he falls into unconsciousness, his mind spits out two words: