Role

Chapter 7

The joyous breeze swirled through the branches of the trees tempting the leaves
the floor as the candid sky line lay adorned with shades that were the envy of
each painter's pallete.

The path was silent as the battlefield at the aftermath of war, with a random
hoot of an owl piercing the two-note symphony of the crickets, a cresendo in
a elegy of moans to the passing of the day.

Ruhktanshi, arm wrapped around her harp, strode through the trampled path with a look out for bandits and mages.

Twick. Twick. Twick. THUMP. Three steps and she fell to the floor like an empty sack: curled, heaped and planted in the very centre.

Moaning and struggling she lay on the floor her wide eyes open full, staring helplessly at the sky, desperate to remain conscious.

With spasms of energy, trembling and shaking her nervous body gave in as she arched her back one last time and gave in to the ephemeral moments of lifelessness.

Visions came to her in those hours of sleep. Nightmares colliding with tales of her past. In flashes fast forwarded.

The Mages, the vial, the strength, the betrayal, the suffering, the redemption, Lady Yean.

A whirlwind of scenes in a whirlpool of emotions. It swirled with the ferocity of a tornado, quick in arrival and quick to subside.

Darkness still pursued as he eyes blinked open, anger and revulsion laying siege
to her face as she sneer and lifted herself up, quickly as her weakened body allowed.

She crawled to the base of a tree, sitting with legs-crossed, awaiting physical strength as she contemplated the sins of her past without regret or shame.

The Narcolepsy has set it from her refusing to return to the aid of magic that
once ran like venom and parasite in her veins, its flames trading their strength
to her ephemerally while they fed on her strength eternally.

"Mage-blood they say is a good medicine" she hissed to herself, letting out a manical laugh.

"The more I suffer, the more I get to consume." he concluded.

Rising slowly, she reached out for her scattered belongings that had spilt from her saddle bag, shoving them back inside mercilessly.

Steaks, canteen, a horn, daggers, goblets of wine and a leather bound brown journal...

The gnome heaved a side of relief as she stood up and continued down the trail, frozen in his stance behind the very same tree.