The wind is charged with the energy of the lustful...

[deadwesley1.livejournal.com]

~The winds in Level two sweep Severus and Wesley into the air until they are slammed momentarily against a cliff face, then whipped up again. Other shades abound here, and the first time they are struck, it surprises them to receive a jarring shock. The gale doesn't die, but it swells and heaves like waves, and once Wes has the opportunity to touch ground, he allows himself to go limp, slack on the ground, letting the gusts blow across his prone form. He screams through the din to Snape, hoping he can hear him.~

This is impossible! We're going to have to cling to one another if we hope to escape this level!

Comments

[deadwesley1.livejournal.com]

*Wesley begins to respond, but is overcome by a coughing fit. He turns to look at Snape (after wiping his mouth clean of the nastiness) and can't help but gag, and he can only assume he looks every bit as ghastly.*

I think it's quite evident we'll be doing no traveling until this sickness has run its course. I must say, it IS effectively debilitating, isn't it?

[severus-snape1.livejournal.com]

*Snape leans his head wearily against their sheltering rock, sighing. He doesn't feel like moving anytime soon and is glad Wesley doesn't, either.*

Very. But then again, so have they all, in the end.

*He sighs again, this time because he's resigning himself to Hell's latest all-round torture.*

No wonder we've met no one else wandering around. It's difficult enough to break free of your level, let alone walk around like this.

[deadwesley1.livejournal.com]

Walking around isn't really an option on this level, anyway. Once we're feeling better, I think we should find a way out of here as quickly as possible. We'll undoubtedly be shocked a bit, but it's the only way to advance. We just need to stay together and not allow any of the shades here to drag us away with them. Staying low works to avoid the shades, but it slows us down.

[severus-snape1.livejournal.com]

*Snape runs his fingers through his hair, and thick strands of it come away in his fingers. He sighs resignedly again and lifts his hand to the wind, allowing the tempest to accept the offering into itself.*

I don't remember which way came from, either. Once you get caught up in the wind, it's difficult to keep a sense of direction. Perhaps crawling would be better? At least then we might be able to keep going in a more or less straight line, and we could orient ourselves to the various rock formations.

*Snape's coversation is actually quite broken; he pauses between each sentence to either vomit bloody bile or to catch his breath, or both.*