Ok, you left this one on a cliff hanger. Please, PLEASE let Ardin see a mirror, or still pond, or SOMETHING that forces him to see himself as everyone else is seeing him? Pretty, pretty please with sugar on top?? PLEASE??
[AN: You are petty and vicious and I love it]
Ardin had spent a solid minute scouring his body free of the offal he had seen himself as wearing. To his eyes and ears, it splattered messily on the floor. His hands were stained with rotting blood. His clothing was similarly besmirched, but more so with the ichor of evil. Now, more than ever, he had an overwhelming desire to find his reflection.
He had dropped his sword, which seemed nothing more than rotten intestines, mixed with putrid effluvium. His armour was covered with pieces of rotted flesh where it was not sprayed with anything else disgusting. Ardin wanted to strip nude and bathe, scrubbing himself raw... but he noticed his hands. They were no longer human hands, but a demon's claws...
The Clerics of Lathander shone gloriously inside an aura of blessed flames. They were as close to angels as mortal flesh could reach. The Elven wizard Wraithvine was unchanged, though the sense of their years weighed heavily in the air. The monster Wraithvine had with them was a monster no more, but a young individual of a small race. He couldn't quite tell if they were Gnome or Halfling... yet he swore it had been a Kobold mere moments ago.