Tragic, yet still alive. That is what's going on. Please, I need some help for this one! Add yourself in when able! (And no, he's not an angel. He's what I'd like to call a 'Xa'Thian'). Make yourself a friend or enemy, I'll manipulate the story for a good outcome. :vicky:
-Es

His dull golden eyes flickered open slowly, and a ragged breath entered his bruised lungs. Pain shot through him as he tried to breathe, making him attempt to curl up. This was the worst idea imaginable. An agonized cry rang about the clearing he was in as he forced himself to lay still. With his golden wings stretched out and staked to the ground, Marr was held helpless. He couldn't withdraw his wounded wings, and couldn't reach the crude wooden stakes that were jammed into his sensitive and delicate flesh. The Xa'Thian was held to the ground where his captors had nailed him, his body racked with gashes and old wounds. If he were to lay there much longer he would die of blood loss. Marr hoped that he WOULD die... anything to ease the pain that continually assaulted him. After all, there was no longer any hope. He had been taken from his home and tortured by the enemy - who now had him in the middle of their camp, which was far across the world from home. Marr's long golden hair was splayed out beneath him, most of it coated in dried blood. How long had he been there? Hours? Days?
His cracked lips and bruised, broken body told him it had been days. His captors hadn't fed him, given him water, or even allowed him to move from his outstretched position. His arms and legs were tied down, his wings staked - there was no greater torture than to demean someone like this. There was no purpose for this sort of evil. Marr closed his gold eyes, forcing himself to try and sleep - it was the only amount of comfort he still had.