Role

Chapter 17

The faint light of the setting sun cast an amber glow upon the aged elf that
rested against a tree likely a tenth her age. A growing pool of blood had
formed near the base of the tree from a deep wound in her shoulder, and
another one across her thigh. The blood loss had slowed nearly to a halt now
and the pain had settled into a dull throbbing, but she was not in condition
to fight, or to move. She knew they were near, maybe in fifteen minutes they
would be upon her, the allies of the now deceased mage that lay not more than
a few hundred yards away.

She ripped off a piece of torn cloth from her sleeve, dipped her finger in
her own blood, and began to scrawl out something on the cloth. She took out a
small utility knife, and drove it through the scrap of cloth and staked it
against the trunk. Rising to her feet against the protests of her aching
body, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply to steady herself, and drew upon
her experience and training. She thought of the daughter she had never known,
the Battleragers she had lived for, and how far she had come in her long
life, all flooding into her.

She opened with the eyes of a much younger woman, ones filled with clarity
and focus. And she then set out to meet her foes.

In the final moments of light the writing could still be seen.

I fear not the setting sun,
I fear not the abyss that is to come.
None may strip me of what I am,
For I am ever the master of my soul.

-Salyeris, the Free.

And as darkness blanketed the forest sounds of battle erupted nearby.