The dream had been little more than an afterthought for Kaz. An oddity until most of those things that haunted his dreams that he barely gave it any thought. It wasn't about his brother, about those dead, about those they had lost and who were supposed to return with them. No mourners, no funerals never held much weight in his dreams, no matter how much he tried.
So something about moths and flowers and feeling drawn to a symbol of such mourning and ceremony meant little to him.
Even as he finds a powdery dead moth on his windsill, then one in the library between pages of a book. It's dismissed for bigger troubles.
At first it's the taste of food on his tongue. Maybe he isn't quick enough to hide the way he gags, spitting into a napkin to try and quell the sickness. Quickly though the scent is around him, heavy and putrid. Nothing seems to cover it, though he takes to carrying a scented cloth pressed to his nose.
The lack of appetite is what he blames for how quick to anger he is, blaming the growing hunger in his stomach that is at both demanding for food and quick to turn at the thought of it. He's not kind on the street, using his cane to sweep people out of his path, given to sharp words in retort to any protests.
The first time he sees someone with a dark markings echoing the Queen's Lady plague he stumbles, losing his gait and unbalancing himself and perhaps others.
(open to anything around the city in the early days of the affliction. his own fear, cruelty towards another, issues around food and the scent of rot.)
Emergence and Affliction- open - tw for death, disease, corpses, rot, bloat, things with dead bodies
So something about moths and flowers and feeling drawn to a symbol of such mourning and ceremony meant little to him.
Even as he finds a powdery dead moth on his windsill, then one in the library between pages of a book. It's dismissed for bigger troubles.
At first it's the taste of food on his tongue. Maybe he isn't quick enough to hide the way he gags, spitting into a napkin to try and quell the sickness. Quickly though the scent is around him, heavy and putrid. Nothing seems to cover it, though he takes to carrying a scented cloth pressed to his nose.
The lack of appetite is what he blames for how quick to anger he is, blaming the growing hunger in his stomach that is at both demanding for food and quick to turn at the thought of it. He's not kind on the street, using his cane to sweep people out of his path, given to sharp words in retort to any protests.
The first time he sees someone with a dark markings echoing the Queen's Lady plague he stumbles, losing his gait and unbalancing himself and perhaps others.
(open to anything around the city in the early days of the affliction. his own fear, cruelty towards another, issues around food and the scent of rot.)