2024-07-06 - [4.5] Command Terminal

A hiss of static; a sharp spark; an electric storm; the shuttling backwards and forwards of sibilant atoms and packets of information; the chlorine of ozone in your nose, sharp and unpleasant; the bite of metal on the back of your tongue.

Courth is electricity in all its forms, be it the storm of the shock, and all of the unpleasantness that comes with it. He can hurt to talk to and listen to, unafraid of lashing out and making ‘contact’ with his mind and presence if he finds the words don’t do the job right. He demands attention and focus, and even at his most passive the touch of his mind to yours has the echo of unpleasant pinpricks across your skin. A conversation that goes badly might leave ozone in your nose or an intense one the taste of pennies in your mouth for candlemarks.

But the same thing that can be unpleasant can be relaxing. The hush and whisper of his words to lull you, repetitive and monotonous. The feel of hair rising on the backs of your arms to leave you alert. The soft press of static to drown out the things you do not want to focus on. Just don’t ignore him.

Despite everything, Courth's is not a heavy or loud voice for all its sharpness, just a storm cloud hovering above, not wanting to touch too heavily for fear of influencing those thoughts unduly. He sits apart, even when he wants to engage.