[ The helm, in many ways, is a mercy, shielding much of Estinien's distorted visage from the rest of the world. Aymeric is not sure if it's better or worse that despite the wyrm's influence, so much of him appears so painfully Estinien. The expressions are wrong, the skin is marred in ways it ought not, too sharp and too many angles, but still sees a man he knows oh so well in it. Pain does not do the feeling justice.
Aymeric can feel those claws break through the thick fabric of his long gloves, some of the spindling and decorative metal that winds around them bending to the force of Nidhogg's grip. His heels dig into the ground, standing opposed and trying to employ some resistance as he's dragged forward, his own grip on the pummel of his blade tightening despite the fact he can feel claw reach his flesh.
Then his request is answered. In that moment, the other knights are forgotten.
It is as if the sickness itself pulls away, revealing bits and pieces of the man that once was. The sigh alone is enough to both break Aymeric's heart and make it beat anew with hope. He sucks in a sharp breath of his own, muscles tensing as he resolves to hold firm in case this is a trick, and yet... ]
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Aymeric can feel those claws break through the thick fabric of his long gloves, some of the spindling and decorative metal that winds around them bending to the force of Nidhogg's grip. His heels dig into the ground, standing opposed and trying to employ some resistance as he's dragged forward, his own grip on the pummel of his blade tightening despite the fact he can feel claw reach his flesh.
Then his request is answered. In that moment, the other knights are forgotten.
It is as if the sickness itself pulls away, revealing bits and pieces of the man that once was. The sigh alone is enough to both break Aymeric's heart and make it beat anew with hope. He sucks in a sharp breath of his own, muscles tensing as he resolves to hold firm in case this is a trick, and yet... ]
Estinien? Pray speak to me...