A/N- I am so sorry I am so terrible at keeping this account up to date with what I write...but here you go! Some Conor stuff. Remember, I am always open to request! Just review with them or even better, PM me! Either way, enjoy this.
The skin on his arms begins to turn darker quicker as it ascends up his limbs. The once pale flesh is now looking black and molted. Cold and dead on his bones. At the head of the rot in his skin is a pink, wriggling Wyrm just under his skin. Out of impulse, he lifts his hands and begins to tear at it. Instead of removing the insect-like creature, it tears open his skin. Turning wholly black and falling away like paper. It horrifies him, but he keeps tearing and ripping and tearing until he sees bone. White and almost glowing back at him. Blood finally flows, and he screams. The sound echoes off of something in the distant as the world goes black.
Conor wakes up, breathing hard and deeply. Quickly, he sits up thrashing and scans his surrounding. Pulling up his arms, only to see them the same color; pale, speckled with the odd hair and freckles. And of course, the scars. As always. Those never do more than fade.
Looking around, he reminds himself he's in Greenhaven. It had taken years, but the fortress had been rebuilt again, and the majority of Greencloaks returned home. Including him and the other three. One of whom slept his bed. Though, she now sat up, waiting patiently for him to regain himself. Briggan and Uraza rest on the chair by the fireplace, which is only glowing embers now. Urazas paw is hanging over Briggans back.
Olvans old Greencloak is hung on the hook by the door, along with a silky pinkish-purple one that belonged to his wife. When it was time for a successor, a new leader for the Greencloaks, the older man had said there was no better replacement then Conor, even admitting to having groomed him for quite a while for the job. Olvan put his faith in him, to make the Greencloaks better than ever. Something he continually held himself too.
He wasn't the little boy who was sick anymore. Today, Conor was the leader of the Greencloaks.
So much had happened since the Wyrm had its hold on him. Or, at least a physical one. He had the Wyrm crawling through his body when he was twelve. At 20, he still regularly suffers nightmare.
The relaxation dawned on his body that he was okay, that there was no danger here. Finally, his breathing slowed, as did his heart He thought about Rollan and Meilin, likely sleeping in their own bed. It was no secret that they had issues of their own- they probably were wrapped around each other like a lifeline. But like everyone, they moved on.
Meilin had just graduated some of their best Greencloaks. Rollan continued to improve help for those marked unable to bond closely with their Spirit Animal. Since being under Abeke and his stewardship, Greenhaven had been safer than ever before. Finn, Maya, Lenori, Lishay and her son, all the rest of the Greencloaks. Asleep in their beds, too. Continuing despite what they had endured. Without warning, he eases into the mattress. Sighing in relief stretching into the sheets. It was in the past.
Abeke finally speaks, laying down with her head on his chest. "Are you alright?"
"I'm great" He replies, a grin slowly etching onto his face. "It was only a dream."
