inherit
56
0
0
WingDing Gaster
DARK DARKER YET DARKER
9
June 2016
shyleviathan
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Post by WingDing Gaster on Jul 7, 2016 12:48:34 GMT
Though the night was young, the streets of the common man’s district of Etirath were empty. Every light from the oil lamps in the street were out, their wicks gone cold. By Noc’s grace the stars were generous with their light, and the moon, full on this particular autumn’s evening, was plentiful with its glow. Had anyone been wandering the empty roads alone, perhaps the moon’s glow might have offered them comfort, in the absence of man’s artificial light. But Grey did not even need the comfort. Although, suffice to say, the streets were much easier to navigate when one could see thirty feet ahead of themself.
This particular evening was cold, and the small shivers that escaped Grey were very quickly soothed with the shawl that she had been gifted with from a trader, in exchange for helping him locate his dog. The task of which had gone on much longer than Grey had anticipated, and it stretched long into the night. By the time the dog was finally returned, the sun had met the horizon and the once sunny day had turned to twilight. She had considered simply staying at the Inn for the night, but Grey never could catch any sleep when she took residence there. And so Grey walked, travelling further and further from the light and comfort of the Inn and into the dark empty streets that man had abandoned for the night. A chilled breeze howled through the narrow streets, and Grey pulled her shawl closer to her chest, the goosebumps on her body forcing the hairs on her arms and on the back of her neck to stand. In her mind, Grey imagined the temple. How her body ached to return to her cozy home, where the stone walls of the temple would protect her as she would slip under the warm covers of her bedspread, before falling asleep and dreaming of the sunlight. The priestess soon began to feel better simply thinking about it.
Distracted from the road in front of her from her daydreaming, Grey had not noticed the discarded wagon wheel in her path. As she approached, her foot caught onto the wheel, and Grey soon followed suit, slipping and falling to the ground with a crashing whump. Startled, she gasped, her already cold skin now pressed hard against the stony floor.
Taking a moment to recollect herself and register what had just happened, Grey sat up and chuckled. “Oh dear,” she giggled, before standing up and brushing herself off. “Silly, clumsy little me…”
Just as she was about to continue on her way home, however, a bright spot of red in the hushed blue tones of darkness caught her eye. There, a few paces in front of her, glistening in the moonlight, was a small pool of blood. Upon seeing it, Grey’s throat tightened, and a sick feeling stirred in her stomach. Instinctively she covered her mouth as to keep from making another noise. For a moment she couldn’t remove her gaze from the puddle. Concerned, she quickly checked herself for any injuries. Surely it wasn’t her blood. She felt no pain.
If it was not her blood, then whose was it?
Had there been some kind of fight? Grey wondered, grimacing at the idea of a brawl breaking out in such a heavily populated area like the Middle Ground. There were children at all hours of the day playing in these streets, for the gods’ sakes. But booze did have its way of fogging the mind’s common senses.
But even so, Grey could not leave without determining if that was, in fact, the result of a controlled fight. If she chose to leave now and later discover that it was the blood of someone or something that needed help, she would not be able to live with herself.
Kneeling down to closer examine the blood, Grey swallowed back her abhorrence. She needed to determine the source of it. Biting her lip, the she-dwarf forced two fingers to reach into the puddle. Her heart slammed into her chest upon feeling the wetness that now stained her fingers.
Still warm.
Leaping to her feet, Grey searched for any signs of where the source of the blood had gone. Please just be an animal, she thought, knowing that if any life-saving healing were required and it was a human or otherwise humanoid species, she would not have the ability to help them.
There, she thought, spotting a second patch of red on the cold stone. Stepping toward it, she spotted yet another. Hastily following the trail of blood, Grey was led to a darkened alleyway. Her untrained eyes were unable to see where the alleyway led, and so she had no choice but to blindly step into the darkness.
Sliding her hands against the brick walls that were on either side of the narrow alley to feel for her surroundings, Grey came to a slow stop. Obviously she would have no way of knowing now if the injured being was still in this alleyway, or if they had gone where she could not go. There was no way for her to see the trail. What if she were walking straight into some kind of trap? There was just no way of telling if she were going in blindly. Grey called softly into the darkness before her. “Hello?” she whispered, before trying once more, only slightly louder. “Hello!”
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inherit
37
0
2
Maur
113
October 2015
maur
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Post by Maur on Jul 7, 2016 17:34:13 GMT
Boy had he gone through a rough couple of days. Nafagonn the tall, that's what they called him back home, strong, loyal, and noble. If only they could see him now, wounded and limping, searching for a place to die.
A thick trail of blood followed him as he stumbled through the middle district, remembering how he had nearly cut the leg off of a beast that was at least ten feet tall, just before being knocked to the side with its meaty backhand, where he then hung over a ravine for a moment scrambling for purchase on the muddly slope. The memories were vivid of when he fell, he careened off a protrusion in the ravine wall, and was followed to the stony ground by a shower of wet dirt. There he had lain, unconscious, a gash running the length of his calf, thankfully no permanent damage had been done to his skull.
Although right about the time he tripped and landed hard on the grey cobble stone streets, the Goblin wished he had died in that ravine, instead of crawling out of the blasted abyss and limping, sometimes crawling, his way back to the city of Etirath.
It was getting dark, and cold. "A peaceful place to die," He laughed as he lay there on the side of the street, "Good luck finding that here." Nafagonn turned his head and saw an alleyway, it was dark, and seemed like a calm, quiet place, he crawled to it, stopping every now and then to regain his composure, or what little he had managed to retain, as he did pools of crimson liquid began to form under him. When the night grew colder so would his blood soaked form, maybe that would take him before his injuries, the Goblin looked forward to seeing which one would end his sorrow first.
He finally crawled a few yards into the alley, and pushed himself upright against a wall, he was panting from the exertion. "Maybe," He squeezed out in a raspy breath between gasps, "I'll be allowed..to...to lay in the ground, and not become a puppet for one of these Necromancers I've heard about. That is if they actually do bury me, I pity the poor creature who finds my corpse." He nearly choked on his own blood as he attempted to laugh. "Can't even have a sense of humor without being punished for it." Punished by who? He didn't know, he was dying.
The time ticked by, the process was agonizingly slow, he thought hours had passed when in reality it was just over a minute. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
He barely heard the voice call through weakened ears. "Why?" He asked as he looked toward the sky, mistaking the woman for some apparition of the mind, "Why must you torment me with hallucinations?" No one was out at that hour anyway, the Goblin rolled himself into his robes, not even seeing the Dwarf that stood a few feet away from him, at his back.
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inherit
56
0
0
WingDing Gaster
DARK DARKER YET DARKER
9
June 2016
shyleviathan
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Post by WingDing Gaster on Jul 9, 2016 4:17:40 GMT
Through the worried, desperate pounding in her ears as blood rushed behind them, she could not hear a response to her call. She was starting to lose hope that anything would even be there.
When her eyes finally adjusted to the inky darkness that flooded the alleyway, Grey finally spotted the source. There, some few paces ahead of her, collapsed at the end of the alley, was a figure slightly taller than she. The figure’s silhouette was still too fuzzy for Grey to determine exactly what species, sex or age the person was, but it did not matter to her either way.
At first, her heart spiked upon recognizing the shape of a body, and she instinctively covered her mouth to prevent gasping or screaming aloud. But, as she took another step closer to the person, her heart sank. Had she been too late? For how long have they suffered? The lump in her throat swelled as she steadily approached the person from behind. Alive or not, it was clear that they had been in pain. Her bleeding heart ached for their suffering.
Upon closer examination, Grey realized that the figure before her was a goblin. Though taller than any she had ever met, his features stuck out to her, and she nodded sadly upon realizing. Maybe this was the result of a hate crime of sorts? The idea didn’t surprise her.
And then he stirred.
It was subtle, and, had Grey not been paying attention, she would have never realized. But his weakened movement snapped her focus onto his life force. Kneeling down beside him, Grey focused all of her energy into her Restoration magic. Her warm hands very gently caressed his side, slowly as not startle him, searching for signs of life.
A heartbeat. Weak, and rapidly slowing, but she had found it.
She could not admit it now, but she was scared. She was scared for this stranger, for she knew that she lacked the capabilities to heal him completely. She knew it would take a miracle, perhaps a blessing from Milova herself, to save the goblin’s life and stop his suffering. But the she-dwarf had already received her blessing long ago. Why couldn’t it have been someone else to discover him? For his sake, why couldn’t it have been someone else? With shaking hands, a tear slid down her cheek and fell from her chin. Grey was furious with herself. Or perhaps at circumstance. Regardless, someone was nearing death, someone who had no choice but to rely on her alone, and there was very little she could do for him. Why did she have to be so weak? Why hadn’t she practiced with Restoration more? This was her fault; she deserved to watch him die.
This isn’t the time, she thought, lifting her arm to her eyes to wipe away her tears of cowardice and remorse. Have faith. For his sake. You cannot do anything without first believing that you can do it.
Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, Grey removed her shawl and tenderly wrapped it around the goblin’s cold body. His skin was already cold from the weather, but even a novice at Restoration could recognize when a body has gone truly cold. The opposing howls of Death travelled with the wind; Grey could feel its presence as it breathed an icy chill down her neck, looming over her shoulder. Watching. Waiting.
“You will live,” Grey whispered, a consoling smile replacing her quivering fear. “You will live. I swear it on my life.”
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inherit
37
0
2
Maur
113
October 2015
maur
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Post by Maur on Jul 15, 2016 3:44:40 GMT
He expected death, he truly did, and was slightly disappointed when his suffering was extended. Just before the small green creature slipped into unconsciousness, some Dwarf lady had come up and started to whisper frantically to him, and tried to heal him without his permission!
The dying Goblin had too little strength to end himself outright with the blade in his pocket, although he would have loved to disappoint whoever was trying to keep him on this infernal plane of existence. He could feel something that she was doing, his skin began to warm slightly, and the night did not feel as cold. The blood seeping from the wound in his leg reduced itself to a trickle. Apparently this woman was a mage of some sort, mages... He had practiced some manner of magic once, he remembered, but he also remembered his father forbidding the practice, which had upset the Goblin in many ways at the time, he had not tapped into his gift in quite some time, from what he could remember... The magic he had practiced was tribal, and dark... if he could remember....remember....
His mind was clouded, the Goblin began to slip into unconsciousness as his eyelids slowly drifted closed. Then his eyes sprang open wide, but they were different, redder than blood. "Nafagonn..." He said, stronger than one in his position should have been able to, "Pathetic."
It was with these words that the Goblin's world became black.
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