lips curled in a faint snarl, the shade observes the figure before him in utter silence, letting it stretch and settle between them like a dark omen. something terrible to behold. a blood red moon, birds rushing in the opposite direction, death tapping on your shoulder. he appears to @eiragon unchanged, like his blade had never struck true and pierced his heart, and revels in the rider's reaction. these are the final stages of sleep, caught between dream and reality, death and life woven together, and this is where durza has found their way in. little rider, did you think we would have left you alone?
shoulders to a wall, he lets out a laugh, coarse and brittle like bones rattling. a venomous kind of amusement. death is an endlessly boring affair, when he is not the one to deal it out, and if this is to be his sole pastime.. well, he better get as much fun out of it as possible. ' tell me, have we left a mark? does your back hurt each time you move? ' for what is a haunting without terror and pain? durza will live as long as eragon shadeslayer lives, festering on his very skin, burning through his senses. he has not lost at all. his enemy's torment makes for his own brand of victory.










