[ An unsettling, bassy pulse throbs throughout the Hold, stifled only by the canvas of Leon's portrait. Meaty droppings, squelching, rattling... the sharp snap of an all too well-known whip. Whatever's happening behind the painting sounds utterly nightmarish, and after one heavy crunch, Leon himself (quite literally out of his own portrait) comes spiraling through the air, his back hitting one of the book shelves and causing its contents to tumble down atop him. He's coated in snot green fluid and the ribbons of the Forgotten One's entrails that he'd managed to lash off. The smell is absolutely putrid, enough to make a man vomit the moment a twinge of it catches a nostril. ]
[ He's coughing, can't feel anything after the impact of the monster one way and the wood breaking his trajectory the other. Curling up like a dying insect, Leon drops the Vampire Killer and clutches his sides, unable to emerge from the clutter of now slimy and bloody books that have collected upon him. ]
no subject
[ He's coughing, can't feel anything after the impact of the monster one way and the wood breaking his trajectory the other. Curling up like a dying insect, Leon drops the Vampire Killer and clutches his sides, unable to emerge from the clutter of now slimy and bloody books that have collected upon him. ]