As in life, as in death
Posted: Wed Jan 11, 2006 2:37 am
She was shattered. Both in spirit and in body. Every breath was torture, every moment still living an agony of broken bones, missing teeth, and bizzare angles. The ettins toyed with her, six heads taunting her last gasps through broken rips and bloodied lips.
Ah a new game now, the sky and earth became as one. She was tossed from ettin to ettin. And then dropped as they lost interest. One siezed her arms, another two on each of her legs. They began to pull. And greoa began to be torn assunder.
Ffff...fff..ff
She tried but could not call out the name of Fenmarel. Her one true companion.
Her shoulder came out of its socket, then was torn from her. The ettins dropped her and began to play with the new toy, flicking blood her own blood at her. She could not move and all now, her breathing had stopped and yet her mind continued to work.
She was dying alone.
Fenmarel would embrace her, yet her heart cried out for what companionship she had known in her all to brief centuries of life. Her would be lover Dorn, the strongest and most vital of all males she had met. How she had longed to father his child. Yet forced to sunder their friendship to placacate almost sentinent armor of Fenmarel. Now she was dying in it.
She willed herself to change into wolf form. But could not. Her spirit and will to weak from shock. Never again would she run with the pack, feel the thrill of the hunt, and the companionship of her wolf companion.
She realised her eyes were closed and something was touching her face. With an immense force of will born of hope she opened her eyes, seeing her own hand now detached from her body poking her. Six heads laughed.
Acceptance came to her, and she closed her eyes again, embracing darkness, and and saying farewell to those she had known in her mortal life.
Her companions in silverymoon, especially Soppi, would she ever find a mate? and her kindred spirit Fangtooth, with whom she had shared rats and worms
Some few from the wayfarers who had seen past her wildness and had shown her how to accept friendship. Some fallen now, some far away
The grove with which she had protected, nourished, and ultimatly failed when it was desecrated by the cult of the dragon.
Her wolf companion who bore no name, but a scent, with whom she had roamed the forest in communion with it.
Dorn... with whom she thought she loved, and perhaps did. Ale, lips, and a badger....
She moved no more. Thought no more. Lived no more.
In time her body would be recovered by Dorn and others, and taken back to the grove. It would not have life restored to it, but would for a time nourish the worms, and the land as it had nourished her. Her rest would briefly be interupted by evil necromancy, but swiftly restored by the magic and tiny mace of Soppi one of the closest friends she had during life.
She was granted one gift. She was able to guide some few animals from the afterlife once, and she did so to help Soppi save her new community from the ravages of a magical poison.
Beyond that, who can say what really happens to the dead, to the faithful, to those that breathed, but never really lived?
Ah a new game now, the sky and earth became as one. She was tossed from ettin to ettin. And then dropped as they lost interest. One siezed her arms, another two on each of her legs. They began to pull. And greoa began to be torn assunder.
Ffff...fff..ff
She tried but could not call out the name of Fenmarel. Her one true companion.
Her shoulder came out of its socket, then was torn from her. The ettins dropped her and began to play with the new toy, flicking blood her own blood at her. She could not move and all now, her breathing had stopped and yet her mind continued to work.
She was dying alone.
Fenmarel would embrace her, yet her heart cried out for what companionship she had known in her all to brief centuries of life. Her would be lover Dorn, the strongest and most vital of all males she had met. How she had longed to father his child. Yet forced to sunder their friendship to placacate almost sentinent armor of Fenmarel. Now she was dying in it.
She willed herself to change into wolf form. But could not. Her spirit and will to weak from shock. Never again would she run with the pack, feel the thrill of the hunt, and the companionship of her wolf companion.
She realised her eyes were closed and something was touching her face. With an immense force of will born of hope she opened her eyes, seeing her own hand now detached from her body poking her. Six heads laughed.
Acceptance came to her, and she closed her eyes again, embracing darkness, and and saying farewell to those she had known in her mortal life.
Her companions in silverymoon, especially Soppi, would she ever find a mate? and her kindred spirit Fangtooth, with whom she had shared rats and worms
Some few from the wayfarers who had seen past her wildness and had shown her how to accept friendship. Some fallen now, some far away
The grove with which she had protected, nourished, and ultimatly failed when it was desecrated by the cult of the dragon.
Her wolf companion who bore no name, but a scent, with whom she had roamed the forest in communion with it.
Dorn... with whom she thought she loved, and perhaps did. Ale, lips, and a badger....
She moved no more. Thought no more. Lived no more.
In time her body would be recovered by Dorn and others, and taken back to the grove. It would not have life restored to it, but would for a time nourish the worms, and the land as it had nourished her. Her rest would briefly be interupted by evil necromancy, but swiftly restored by the magic and tiny mace of Soppi one of the closest friends she had during life.
She was granted one gift. She was able to guide some few animals from the afterlife once, and she did so to help Soppi save her new community from the ravages of a magical poison.
Beyond that, who can say what really happens to the dead, to the faithful, to those that breathed, but never really lived?
nice mate.....in a not nice kinda way.