Wykkyd by now knows for certain that there is a presence here, far beyond the sense of something else being in the room with him. He would call it a haunting, but generally hauntings aren't so polite. Nothing leaps out at him; nothing tries to seize him and crawl inside of him; nothing breaks, and nothing is destroyed. The drum vibrates, a deep thrum, the sense of something much bigger straining against its container. Wykkyd has experience communicating without sound. He walks over to the thing that made noise last, the drum, and taps it. Lays his hand flat against it, traces nonsense with his pointer finger. His wings ruffle and shake, top pair opening and closing unconsciously as he plays with the drum.
he Tries
He would call it a haunting, but generally hauntings aren't so polite. Nothing leaps out at him; nothing tries to seize him and crawl inside of him; nothing breaks, and nothing is destroyed. The drum vibrates, a deep thrum, the sense of something much bigger straining against its container.
Wykkyd has experience communicating without sound. He walks over to the thing that made noise last, the drum, and taps it. Lays his hand flat against it, traces nonsense with his pointer finger. His wings ruffle and shake, top pair opening and closing unconsciously as he plays with the drum.