Dead. He'd been dead or, at least, he'd thought he had been.
All he remembered was cold water engulfing him whole, washing over him, his head slamming against rocks under a crumbling cliff. He had been knocked out cold, darkness invading his sight and then there was nothing. He had been quite certain that he had died— and maybe he had, who knew? —but seemingly, he had not. He wakes up in the middle of no where, for a start, in a place where he did not recognize. There is an overwhelming feeling of dread looming over his shoulders the moment he wakes up and he groans in distress as he rolls over onto his stomach, feeling bones pop and snap as he subconsciously shifts. He shifts and shifts until he becomes nothing of who he had been before. He sheds his skin and he sheds his identity along with it, becoming a husk of his former self. Cold, cold ice settles around his figure that now stands tall with long legs and slim muscle. Frost falls from his parted mouth which drips with saliva and dark, black blood.
"Fuck." He heaves hoarsely, struggling to stand on his thin legs that threatened to snap at any moment. Wounds lace his frame, carving into his skin, the side of his face— how ironic that was —and he winces as the stinging sensation grows tenfold. Pale blue eyes narrow at the ground before they lift, hazy, towards nothing in particular. Where was he, he wondered? There was no indication of where he was with the exception of a smell he does not quite remember for the moment. So he stumbles forward, black blood rolling like thick oil down his sides. Tendrils of ice coil protectively over himself overhead, poised and ready to strike if he needed to defend himself but it was clear he was tired. So, so tired. He looked like a single gust of wind might just make him topple but he struggles on despite that, his expression defiant of everything that was working against him in that current moment before he comes across a prominent scent stretching far to his left and right.
A border. A clan lived in this desolate place? He grunts, allowing himself to slide into a sitting position. "H-hello? Fuck, I need some help here." His mind was running a thousand miles a minute, focused solely on surviving. He has hardly the time to ponder on his loss, his failure. He shoves it to the back of his mind for now, his jaw set as pain racks through his body.