Island of Sorrow RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

One moment Lindir lay rigid on the ground as if transfixed, his face grey and ashen, his breathing shallow, barely discernible to the outside world. As the tiny drop went into his mouth, there was one long pause when nothing happened. The Elf appeared no different than he had before. Just an instant more, and it was as if a great storm had struck out of nowhere. Lindir's legs and arms began to beat wildly at the air; his whole body flailed back and forth in waves of convulsion. This continued for some time. Still, Orëmir could see that the color was gradually seeping back into his friend's face and that his eyes were now open. Finally, the wild movements ended. Lindir lay sprawled and quiet; his breathing seemed more natural.

"What happened? Where am I? What have you done?", Lindir spoke to Orëmir, at first hesitantly and then in a stronger tone. The Elf sprang to his feet and began to pace frantically about the guard house almost as if he was again possessed.

Without waiting for an answer, Lindir plunged ahead, "I am better. Much better. I do not know what you did, but I owe you many thanks. I have not felt such strength since I came to the Isle. I believe you have cured me. I no longer have need of the Diviner." There was relief evident in Lindir's voice, but his words were coming too quickly for normal speech. He ran over to the door and retrieved his sword, then pushed the gate open with a great heave, and glanced back over his shoulder at his friend.

"Come! Why do we stay here? Let us go tell the others that I have no need of any healer, and they may stop their search. Perhaps now, we can leave this accursed place."

Without looking to see if Orëmir was following, Lindir ran down the path at breakneck speed.