Post by gladriel on Dec 20, 2006 8:46:41 GMT -7
Death of an Angel
Through pain-filled dreams, images float by. Some seem to almost make sense, most chaotically random. She lets the images run their own course while she tries to figure out where she is. She knows she is on a bed, can feel the rushes poking through the sheets. She also knows she is injured, the pain coursing through her body; she can feel the bandages pulling against her skin. But there is a pain consuming her, greater than any of the physical wounds that had been inflicted upon her. As she tries to trace the source of the pain, images cascade upon her, one face seeming consistent. She attempts to put a name to the face and the blackness rolls over her, losing consciousness...
She opens her eyes. Her sight is still unclear, but she can see someone in the room with her. Sense, rather than sight, tells her that this 'person' is from the other side, but that's ok, she has always had allies on both sides of the light, and she senses no ill wishes from him.
"I have healed your physical wounds to the best of my abilities, most will heal with no scar. I can do nothing for the wounds in your mind, your soul. Only yourself and time can heal those wounds. But I can tell you, no matter how hard you try, there is almost always a scar left behind. You have walked long in the light, and yet your mind walks so completely the path of darkness right now... Find your way back, and I will help you when you need it."
She knew the voice, but was unable to place it. As he left the room, her mind began to swim again, that haunting face flashing by over and over again. With each pass of that face, she could feel her body twisting in agony. The healers words haunted her, "walks so completely the path of darkness..." Her body wracked with shudders at the thought of joining the forces of Chaos. No, that path would never be hers, and yet, would she be able to rejoin the forces of light? She had to figure out what happened.
Once again, she loses consciousness, the darkness enfolding her mind in its arms, bringing momentary peace.
She was not alone...
.... And I watch and listen silently in the Shadows. Only seen by the pale glow that emanates from the walls of this unholy sepulcher. Forever cursing myself for the beast I have become and the wounds I have afflicted on this angel. My angel. And I watch as she lays there in agony, me just standing there. Then I see the other approach and know he is of the "Breed of the False Prophet", and watch him heal her mildly and enchant his spell upon her mind twisting it in confusion to his gospel. I know she is weak to these words and all I can do is hope she thinks with her heart and not with her ears. I have made and destroyed an empire for her love and now seemingly it has destroyed the both of us. Not even me is immune to the poison. And the poison was love. I stare unseen at her tattered unconscious body waiting for her to awake.... hoping....
She wakes up screaming, reaching for a sword that isn't there. Blood seeps through the remaining bandage across her chest, the wound re-opened from her thrashing. In a blinding flash of pain, the memories coalesce into a cohesive form. She sees him, knows him. As she watches the story unfold, tears stream unmercifully down her face.
She remembers the thrill as an early cadet hunting goblins. Her tutor had brought her straight to Cloven Pine, knowing her enthusiasm was dangerous, but trusting her natural prowess to get her through. By the time she learned of the catacombs, she could not enter them. On occasion, bandit followers of Chaos would try to attack her, but she was quick and nimble and her tutor was never far, though she rarely needed him. As she earned her honors and gained confidence, her tutor would take her to a new town, always with her current status in mind. They laughed at her. She was eager to explore but was terrified of dying. She would move cautiously out of the castle, exploring only a few steps at a time, never moving on until she was sure she could find her way back.
She began to get to know the other warriors. She was always willing to lend a hand. People knew that if she could not help, she would find someone who could. Before beginning her career, she had chosen the path of light. Obvious to any who saw her, she belonged to the light. As her prowess and confidence grew, she was constantly rescuing friends and strangers alike. She was known to appear in town, a pack full of gear, searching for the fallen warrior who had resurrected before help could come (having died and lost gear, she tried to spare those the anguish of starting over).
News traveled fast. Frequently clan leaders who could not reach their fallen warriors in time would call upon her to stand in where they could not. She would always say yes, unable to resist a cry for help. Everyone believed her to be touched by the light. Bandits intent on a kill would retreat if she were present, out of respect for her complete goodness. Her wordsmith skills, backed by her goodness had retrieved gear from many a bandit, where others would have been scorned. It was rumored that the light would glow from within her, lighting the path before her, driving away the darkness and it’s followers.
She had been spending a lot of time in Slyythra, raiding the tree for riches. She was trying to earn enough gold to buy the precious armor and weapons of Bal’Tor. She knew that she could survive without them, but the Devine gear of the Healer and the Sorcerer’s gear would help her advance those levels much more quickly. The thought of the mana boost alone could set her drooling. She remembered the times she had died because her mana had run out and was unable to heal herself. The deaths had been traumatizing, the loss of gear, experience, she wanted all the help she could get.
It was during this time that she met him. After selling her wares from a successful hunt to the shop, she settled in for a drink at the pub. It was always good to rest and talk to people a bit before continuing her genocidal assault on the elves. A warrior walked over to her table. She knew him; she had been aspiring to join him one day. She could see the excitement crackling along his skin and she was puzzled.
“Lady Gladriel, it is my honor to meet such an exceptional warrior.”
Stunned, she tried to pick her jaw up from the floor. “Me?! Why would you say that?”
“I have watched you dance with the elves. It is fascinating to watch you hunt.”
He, a seasoned warrior, and she, just starting to come into her own, began their friendship. They did not go out of the way to find each other, but when passing through the same town, always shared a drink. He was in awe of her zest for the hunt, how she relished in successfully leading the monsters around, minimizing her own damage before closing in for the kill, and was constantly amusing him with her version on life. She was in awe of his honors and delighted in hearing him relay history, hearing tidbits and gossip of the mightiest warriors known to the world. Having personal knowledge of some of these warriors, she knew that some of the stories were biased, but she still loved hearing them, knowing that there are multiple facets to every story.
People tried to warn her off of him. “Don’t trust him,” they would say, “He’s in the SiN clan!” It was never said, but she knew, he would never harm her, never betray her. Somehow she also knew, Grimm help the person who tried and succeeded in hurting her. That person would feel his wrath emblazoned upon their flesh.
She could feel her body giving out, almost completely healed, but her energy spent. The memories were draining her. The image of them laughing and sharing pints flickered across her mind as the darkness took her, embracing her gently in its arms once more.
She began tossing fitfully in her sleep.
"Don't call on me anymore!"
She was stunned, frozen in agony. How did this happen? Why did he think she didn't trust him? She had asked for help! He wasn't listening. She tried to explain that she trusted him implicitly, but he wouldn't hear. His words were final.
She shape-shifted, showing her anger and pain. Weeks later, he sent her a message...
"You make no sense. You have a name of joy in a body of anger."
She was still hurting, but the anger melted away. "It is because of you."
She had found an angel fallen from the sky and had been determined to help. After taking her to Nachtburg, she was inundated with messages warning of bandits running rampant. Worried about her fledgling, she had appealed to him, asking about his knowledge of those there. The only person she had seen had been from his clan. She had not known that he had given a warning shot to someone in the mountains and it had ended in their death. He had thought she was asking about him and had felt betrayed. They talked for hours, each asking the other to understand, both having missed their talks. She begged him to actually listen to the words she was saying in the future, secure in the knowledge that she trusted and respected him. Their friendship was re-forged.
Slowly, her movements stopped and her breathing calmed, returning to the deep breaths of sleep. The dream had moved on.
She could feel the grief mounting, threatening to consumer her again, just as she was beginning to get close to the source of the pain. She tried to think clearly, pushing her way through the clouds in her mind. Some things are just too painful, your mind and body will do amazing things to prevent you from re-living them, but she had to know, had to remember. She relaxed, concentrating on the feel of the rushes poking into her skin, tracing the point of each along every inch of her body. A breeze came through the window cooling the sheen of sweat that had broken out over her. She relaxed more thoroughly, concentrating on the chill of that autumn wind. The clouds began to lift as her mind became convinced that she would not try to remember. She could hear the dragons calling, could hear the glorious power in the beat of their wings as they flew close by. She imagined the sun glistening off of their scales, their glinting iridescence as they pumped, moving the dragon swiftly through the skies, flattening the grasses as they passed. The memories came…
They mainly hunted alone, but they had to admit, their greatest joy came in hunting together. They were a fierce team. He was with her on every honors hunt; there was no one else she would rather be there. He was honored that she wanted to share this with him, and usually ended up rolling on the floor, hysterical at the glee when she made the kill that earned her next honor level.
He had been asking her to join his clan, and she had been hesitant, he never managed to keep his clans together long, always disbanding. She wanted a home, a place that would be there forever. She needed to move on from where she was, but despised the thought of being a drifter. She had begun to have knee trouble, her ability to hunt or rescue was not always a guarantee, and she needed a home where that was not needed. He assured her that as long as she wanted to stay, the clan would be there. She shape-shifted, needing her solitude for the few times she could hunt, ever-changing lest she be found and called on to help and have to say no, she couldn’t bear that. She also had her own internal demons to slay, and wanted no distractions, she just wanted to hunt.
Their friendship grew stronger. She had begun to rely on him more and more, even growing to love him, as much as one could in this world.
Then it happened. She woke one morning and the clan insignia on her arm had vanished. She flew to him, needing to know what happened. “It was many things,” he said. “You promised,” she accused. They talked long into the night. Resolving to go about things differently, he re-formed the clan, building it slowly. The goal was a close-knit small family of the elite. Her trust had been shaken, but he had given her the task of helping him keep the end result in mind. It was enough.
It was the hardest thing she had ever done. They argued constantly. He couldn’t resist tagging just about everyone he saw. She implored him to remember, she feared for him, for the clan. The threat of “fed-up” loomed over her head, of becoming homeless again. She danced intricately around the subject; furious at him for forgetting it was the task he himself had set for her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like or respect the warriors he was bringing into the family, she just knew that with every one the chance of drama increased; his ability to hunt without being inundated with messages decreased.
She gave up. The arguments were more than she could bear. She returned to her hunt, her quest for honors, but fate had something else in mind for her.
They were sitting in the pub again. It started so simple, and over nothing. They had disagreed before, but he was becoming more and more rigid. It was becoming more and more a world of absolutes. Where they once were able to disagree and still move on, it was now a matter of either being with him or against him. She was a firm believer of loyalty and honor above all. If you disagreed with your leader, you presented your arguments, then followed orders, whether you agreed with them or not. For some reason, he had no faith in her; he didn’t believe she would follow. The argument had progressed to shouting. Once again, he wasn’t listening to what she was saying. The law of absolutes was settling in and his lack of faith burned her to the core.
“Go away,” she said, standing up. She couldn’t take it anymore, just wanted him to stop throwing his anger at her. As she turned to leave, he leaped to his feet with a growl. She heard the rasp of his screamer being drawn from the scabbard at his side. As she turned, startled at the gesture, he swung. Staring in disbelief at the gaping wound that stretched from her pelvis to her neck, she fell to the floor. Just before the darkness turned her vision to black, she saw him stepping over her on the way to the door. “Fine,” he said.
When she came to, she had found herself dumped in the dirt outside the back door of the pub. Spitting dirt and pine needles out of her mouth, she feebly removed her shirt, tearing it into shreds to bind the wound as best as she could in her weakened state. She healed herself to the best of her ability, but the wound was too great and she was too weak. She began crawling, dragging herself, more accurately, into the wood. She was desperate for a healer, but did not waste her time in the pub, her disposal in the dirt told her the futility of that. Her progress was slow. She frequently blacked out, the strain on her body great, until at last she regained consciousness no more.
The healer had found her lying in the woods, unconscious, desperately clinging to life. He sensed her hovering around her body, refusing to move on. As he fashioned a litter from the branches on the ground, he called to her. “I know you,” he said, “and I will do what I can.” He picked her up gingerly and laid her on the litter. He had attached the litter to his horse using vines. “I apologize in advance for the brutality of the trip, but I must make haste if I am to save you.”
And this is where she found herself, as the horror of it threatened to obliterate her mind. She was crying uncontrollably now. The healer had been right. Her body had completely healed, only a small white scar across her chest remained. But her mind, her soul, those intangible wounds were still bleeding. She looked, and sure enough, the clan insignia was gone. She howled, a heart-wrenching sound that shook the very walls. Everything that she had dreamed of, longed for, was gone. In two fell swoops she had lost her best friend and been left homeless. He had left her for dead.
She felt the healer put his hand on her head. “The whole clan is gone, it was not just you.” The comfort he offered did not help much. So he had abandoned them all, the clan, once again, was gone.
Many days went by. The mere thought of the fight, of him, a glance at her empty arm, would send a wave of grief rolling over her body. The tears came involuntarily, she could not prevent them and she could not stop them. She would lie there while the flood of tears flowed, unable to move until they had run their course leaving her weak, her emotions spent.
As each day passed, it got easier to try and work through what happened without completely breaking down. What had happened? Where had this rigidity come from? The transformation had seemed sudden, and she tried to track down what had spurred it on. Nothing made sense. When she was finally able to think of that day without completely losing it, she re-lived it, piece by piece, examining every nuance, every glance.
It had been there all along and she had missed it! As the argument progressed, something had been flickering in the shadows of his eyes. It had not been he glaring through steely eyes when the devastating blow had come. Someone, or something, else was there.
How had it happened? She knew the demons were devious, but you could usually see them coming. This had seemingly come out of nowhere. She supposed that she actually had seen it coming. She had been becoming more and more perplexed by his actions and words. Other than that, there had been no outward sign. She had thought that he was incorruptible, she had been wrong. She had thought that she was special, that as long as she remained true to herself, she would remain unharmed. She had been a fool.
It was during this time he came to her. “Please come home. When I realized what I had done, I disbanded to protect our family.” As he looked deep into her eyes, locking her gaze he said, “I have fought the demon and I have won!”
She needed time. She still felt hollow, the wounds still felt raw. At first, she told him no flat-out. As he persisted, she could feel the loss of her home as a physical pain. Where else would she truly feel at home? However, the person she was could no longer exist. She would not be fooled so easily again.
She took a hardened look around her as she slung her pack over her shoulder. Her resolve turned to steel. If she was to figure out how the demon had entered, protect against it, she could not hide in this haven forever. As she shape-shifted she sent him a message, “Bring me home.” She would not trust so blindly this time. One thing she had learned, in this world of chaos and corruption: you could trust no one, evil was able to sneak its way into anywhere. She was filled with sorrow, waiting for the proverbial shoe to fall. She would still help where she could, but she would be a lot more selective. She would not run around trying to find ways to help.
She climbed on her horse and began to ride without a backward glance. Gladriel was dead; a new era was beginning.[/font][/font]
Through pain-filled dreams, images float by. Some seem to almost make sense, most chaotically random. She lets the images run their own course while she tries to figure out where she is. She knows she is on a bed, can feel the rushes poking through the sheets. She also knows she is injured, the pain coursing through her body; she can feel the bandages pulling against her skin. But there is a pain consuming her, greater than any of the physical wounds that had been inflicted upon her. As she tries to trace the source of the pain, images cascade upon her, one face seeming consistent. She attempts to put a name to the face and the blackness rolls over her, losing consciousness...
She opens her eyes. Her sight is still unclear, but she can see someone in the room with her. Sense, rather than sight, tells her that this 'person' is from the other side, but that's ok, she has always had allies on both sides of the light, and she senses no ill wishes from him.
"I have healed your physical wounds to the best of my abilities, most will heal with no scar. I can do nothing for the wounds in your mind, your soul. Only yourself and time can heal those wounds. But I can tell you, no matter how hard you try, there is almost always a scar left behind. You have walked long in the light, and yet your mind walks so completely the path of darkness right now... Find your way back, and I will help you when you need it."
She knew the voice, but was unable to place it. As he left the room, her mind began to swim again, that haunting face flashing by over and over again. With each pass of that face, she could feel her body twisting in agony. The healers words haunted her, "walks so completely the path of darkness..." Her body wracked with shudders at the thought of joining the forces of Chaos. No, that path would never be hers, and yet, would she be able to rejoin the forces of light? She had to figure out what happened.
Once again, she loses consciousness, the darkness enfolding her mind in its arms, bringing momentary peace.
She was not alone...
.... And I watch and listen silently in the Shadows. Only seen by the pale glow that emanates from the walls of this unholy sepulcher. Forever cursing myself for the beast I have become and the wounds I have afflicted on this angel. My angel. And I watch as she lays there in agony, me just standing there. Then I see the other approach and know he is of the "Breed of the False Prophet", and watch him heal her mildly and enchant his spell upon her mind twisting it in confusion to his gospel. I know she is weak to these words and all I can do is hope she thinks with her heart and not with her ears. I have made and destroyed an empire for her love and now seemingly it has destroyed the both of us. Not even me is immune to the poison. And the poison was love. I stare unseen at her tattered unconscious body waiting for her to awake.... hoping....
She wakes up screaming, reaching for a sword that isn't there. Blood seeps through the remaining bandage across her chest, the wound re-opened from her thrashing. In a blinding flash of pain, the memories coalesce into a cohesive form. She sees him, knows him. As she watches the story unfold, tears stream unmercifully down her face.
She remembers the thrill as an early cadet hunting goblins. Her tutor had brought her straight to Cloven Pine, knowing her enthusiasm was dangerous, but trusting her natural prowess to get her through. By the time she learned of the catacombs, she could not enter them. On occasion, bandit followers of Chaos would try to attack her, but she was quick and nimble and her tutor was never far, though she rarely needed him. As she earned her honors and gained confidence, her tutor would take her to a new town, always with her current status in mind. They laughed at her. She was eager to explore but was terrified of dying. She would move cautiously out of the castle, exploring only a few steps at a time, never moving on until she was sure she could find her way back.
She began to get to know the other warriors. She was always willing to lend a hand. People knew that if she could not help, she would find someone who could. Before beginning her career, she had chosen the path of light. Obvious to any who saw her, she belonged to the light. As her prowess and confidence grew, she was constantly rescuing friends and strangers alike. She was known to appear in town, a pack full of gear, searching for the fallen warrior who had resurrected before help could come (having died and lost gear, she tried to spare those the anguish of starting over).
News traveled fast. Frequently clan leaders who could not reach their fallen warriors in time would call upon her to stand in where they could not. She would always say yes, unable to resist a cry for help. Everyone believed her to be touched by the light. Bandits intent on a kill would retreat if she were present, out of respect for her complete goodness. Her wordsmith skills, backed by her goodness had retrieved gear from many a bandit, where others would have been scorned. It was rumored that the light would glow from within her, lighting the path before her, driving away the darkness and it’s followers.
She had been spending a lot of time in Slyythra, raiding the tree for riches. She was trying to earn enough gold to buy the precious armor and weapons of Bal’Tor. She knew that she could survive without them, but the Devine gear of the Healer and the Sorcerer’s gear would help her advance those levels much more quickly. The thought of the mana boost alone could set her drooling. She remembered the times she had died because her mana had run out and was unable to heal herself. The deaths had been traumatizing, the loss of gear, experience, she wanted all the help she could get.
It was during this time that she met him. After selling her wares from a successful hunt to the shop, she settled in for a drink at the pub. It was always good to rest and talk to people a bit before continuing her genocidal assault on the elves. A warrior walked over to her table. She knew him; she had been aspiring to join him one day. She could see the excitement crackling along his skin and she was puzzled.
“Lady Gladriel, it is my honor to meet such an exceptional warrior.”
Stunned, she tried to pick her jaw up from the floor. “Me?! Why would you say that?”
“I have watched you dance with the elves. It is fascinating to watch you hunt.”
He, a seasoned warrior, and she, just starting to come into her own, began their friendship. They did not go out of the way to find each other, but when passing through the same town, always shared a drink. He was in awe of her zest for the hunt, how she relished in successfully leading the monsters around, minimizing her own damage before closing in for the kill, and was constantly amusing him with her version on life. She was in awe of his honors and delighted in hearing him relay history, hearing tidbits and gossip of the mightiest warriors known to the world. Having personal knowledge of some of these warriors, she knew that some of the stories were biased, but she still loved hearing them, knowing that there are multiple facets to every story.
People tried to warn her off of him. “Don’t trust him,” they would say, “He’s in the SiN clan!” It was never said, but she knew, he would never harm her, never betray her. Somehow she also knew, Grimm help the person who tried and succeeded in hurting her. That person would feel his wrath emblazoned upon their flesh.
She could feel her body giving out, almost completely healed, but her energy spent. The memories were draining her. The image of them laughing and sharing pints flickered across her mind as the darkness took her, embracing her gently in its arms once more.
She began tossing fitfully in her sleep.
"Don't call on me anymore!"
She was stunned, frozen in agony. How did this happen? Why did he think she didn't trust him? She had asked for help! He wasn't listening. She tried to explain that she trusted him implicitly, but he wouldn't hear. His words were final.
She shape-shifted, showing her anger and pain. Weeks later, he sent her a message...
"You make no sense. You have a name of joy in a body of anger."
She was still hurting, but the anger melted away. "It is because of you."
She had found an angel fallen from the sky and had been determined to help. After taking her to Nachtburg, she was inundated with messages warning of bandits running rampant. Worried about her fledgling, she had appealed to him, asking about his knowledge of those there. The only person she had seen had been from his clan. She had not known that he had given a warning shot to someone in the mountains and it had ended in their death. He had thought she was asking about him and had felt betrayed. They talked for hours, each asking the other to understand, both having missed their talks. She begged him to actually listen to the words she was saying in the future, secure in the knowledge that she trusted and respected him. Their friendship was re-forged.
Slowly, her movements stopped and her breathing calmed, returning to the deep breaths of sleep. The dream had moved on.
She could feel the grief mounting, threatening to consumer her again, just as she was beginning to get close to the source of the pain. She tried to think clearly, pushing her way through the clouds in her mind. Some things are just too painful, your mind and body will do amazing things to prevent you from re-living them, but she had to know, had to remember. She relaxed, concentrating on the feel of the rushes poking into her skin, tracing the point of each along every inch of her body. A breeze came through the window cooling the sheen of sweat that had broken out over her. She relaxed more thoroughly, concentrating on the chill of that autumn wind. The clouds began to lift as her mind became convinced that she would not try to remember. She could hear the dragons calling, could hear the glorious power in the beat of their wings as they flew close by. She imagined the sun glistening off of their scales, their glinting iridescence as they pumped, moving the dragon swiftly through the skies, flattening the grasses as they passed. The memories came…
They mainly hunted alone, but they had to admit, their greatest joy came in hunting together. They were a fierce team. He was with her on every honors hunt; there was no one else she would rather be there. He was honored that she wanted to share this with him, and usually ended up rolling on the floor, hysterical at the glee when she made the kill that earned her next honor level.
He had been asking her to join his clan, and she had been hesitant, he never managed to keep his clans together long, always disbanding. She wanted a home, a place that would be there forever. She needed to move on from where she was, but despised the thought of being a drifter. She had begun to have knee trouble, her ability to hunt or rescue was not always a guarantee, and she needed a home where that was not needed. He assured her that as long as she wanted to stay, the clan would be there. She shape-shifted, needing her solitude for the few times she could hunt, ever-changing lest she be found and called on to help and have to say no, she couldn’t bear that. She also had her own internal demons to slay, and wanted no distractions, she just wanted to hunt.
Their friendship grew stronger. She had begun to rely on him more and more, even growing to love him, as much as one could in this world.
Then it happened. She woke one morning and the clan insignia on her arm had vanished. She flew to him, needing to know what happened. “It was many things,” he said. “You promised,” she accused. They talked long into the night. Resolving to go about things differently, he re-formed the clan, building it slowly. The goal was a close-knit small family of the elite. Her trust had been shaken, but he had given her the task of helping him keep the end result in mind. It was enough.
It was the hardest thing she had ever done. They argued constantly. He couldn’t resist tagging just about everyone he saw. She implored him to remember, she feared for him, for the clan. The threat of “fed-up” loomed over her head, of becoming homeless again. She danced intricately around the subject; furious at him for forgetting it was the task he himself had set for her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like or respect the warriors he was bringing into the family, she just knew that with every one the chance of drama increased; his ability to hunt without being inundated with messages decreased.
She gave up. The arguments were more than she could bear. She returned to her hunt, her quest for honors, but fate had something else in mind for her.
They were sitting in the pub again. It started so simple, and over nothing. They had disagreed before, but he was becoming more and more rigid. It was becoming more and more a world of absolutes. Where they once were able to disagree and still move on, it was now a matter of either being with him or against him. She was a firm believer of loyalty and honor above all. If you disagreed with your leader, you presented your arguments, then followed orders, whether you agreed with them or not. For some reason, he had no faith in her; he didn’t believe she would follow. The argument had progressed to shouting. Once again, he wasn’t listening to what she was saying. The law of absolutes was settling in and his lack of faith burned her to the core.
“Go away,” she said, standing up. She couldn’t take it anymore, just wanted him to stop throwing his anger at her. As she turned to leave, he leaped to his feet with a growl. She heard the rasp of his screamer being drawn from the scabbard at his side. As she turned, startled at the gesture, he swung. Staring in disbelief at the gaping wound that stretched from her pelvis to her neck, she fell to the floor. Just before the darkness turned her vision to black, she saw him stepping over her on the way to the door. “Fine,” he said.
When she came to, she had found herself dumped in the dirt outside the back door of the pub. Spitting dirt and pine needles out of her mouth, she feebly removed her shirt, tearing it into shreds to bind the wound as best as she could in her weakened state. She healed herself to the best of her ability, but the wound was too great and she was too weak. She began crawling, dragging herself, more accurately, into the wood. She was desperate for a healer, but did not waste her time in the pub, her disposal in the dirt told her the futility of that. Her progress was slow. She frequently blacked out, the strain on her body great, until at last she regained consciousness no more.
The healer had found her lying in the woods, unconscious, desperately clinging to life. He sensed her hovering around her body, refusing to move on. As he fashioned a litter from the branches on the ground, he called to her. “I know you,” he said, “and I will do what I can.” He picked her up gingerly and laid her on the litter. He had attached the litter to his horse using vines. “I apologize in advance for the brutality of the trip, but I must make haste if I am to save you.”
And this is where she found herself, as the horror of it threatened to obliterate her mind. She was crying uncontrollably now. The healer had been right. Her body had completely healed, only a small white scar across her chest remained. But her mind, her soul, those intangible wounds were still bleeding. She looked, and sure enough, the clan insignia was gone. She howled, a heart-wrenching sound that shook the very walls. Everything that she had dreamed of, longed for, was gone. In two fell swoops she had lost her best friend and been left homeless. He had left her for dead.
She felt the healer put his hand on her head. “The whole clan is gone, it was not just you.” The comfort he offered did not help much. So he had abandoned them all, the clan, once again, was gone.
Many days went by. The mere thought of the fight, of him, a glance at her empty arm, would send a wave of grief rolling over her body. The tears came involuntarily, she could not prevent them and she could not stop them. She would lie there while the flood of tears flowed, unable to move until they had run their course leaving her weak, her emotions spent.
As each day passed, it got easier to try and work through what happened without completely breaking down. What had happened? Where had this rigidity come from? The transformation had seemed sudden, and she tried to track down what had spurred it on. Nothing made sense. When she was finally able to think of that day without completely losing it, she re-lived it, piece by piece, examining every nuance, every glance.
It had been there all along and she had missed it! As the argument progressed, something had been flickering in the shadows of his eyes. It had not been he glaring through steely eyes when the devastating blow had come. Someone, or something, else was there.
How had it happened? She knew the demons were devious, but you could usually see them coming. This had seemingly come out of nowhere. She supposed that she actually had seen it coming. She had been becoming more and more perplexed by his actions and words. Other than that, there had been no outward sign. She had thought that he was incorruptible, she had been wrong. She had thought that she was special, that as long as she remained true to herself, she would remain unharmed. She had been a fool.
It was during this time he came to her. “Please come home. When I realized what I had done, I disbanded to protect our family.” As he looked deep into her eyes, locking her gaze he said, “I have fought the demon and I have won!”
She needed time. She still felt hollow, the wounds still felt raw. At first, she told him no flat-out. As he persisted, she could feel the loss of her home as a physical pain. Where else would she truly feel at home? However, the person she was could no longer exist. She would not be fooled so easily again.
She took a hardened look around her as she slung her pack over her shoulder. Her resolve turned to steel. If she was to figure out how the demon had entered, protect against it, she could not hide in this haven forever. As she shape-shifted she sent him a message, “Bring me home.” She would not trust so blindly this time. One thing she had learned, in this world of chaos and corruption: you could trust no one, evil was able to sneak its way into anywhere. She was filled with sorrow, waiting for the proverbial shoe to fall. She would still help where she could, but she would be a lot more selective. She would not run around trying to find ways to help.
She climbed on her horse and began to ride without a backward glance. Gladriel was dead; a new era was beginning.[/font][/font]