Island of Sorrow RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Feanor of the Peredhil · 10-27-2005, 05:29 PM

Tasa had trailed the group alertly, but with little thought on what was happening. She had held her blade at the ready, guarding their backs, as they moved toward shelter. She shuddered still at phantom pains... though she was no longer beseiged by angry fëa, she could feel the cold of the piercings still. Like the cuts that came from a careless slip of paper, her physically healed flesh stung. Her jawline ached deeply with the memory of her ancient scar. She concentrated her thought on the new white line, painfully decorating her other cheek. The same orc... she thought, the very same.

They had reached the shelter and Lindir was laid out on the floor. She left her blade unsheathed, useless though it seemed, and kept watch at the door. Though she cared deeply for her comrade's injury, she was not nearly the match as a healer as her companions. It would be more prudent for her to concentrate on what she could do: guard from orcs.

She shivered slightly... a cold wind seemed to pass her, though coming from the gatehouse. It felt vaguely of the orcs that had attacked them, but with the absence of malice. She cast it from her mind at the sound of Lindir's voice. She turned for a moment, hearing his hoarse request for water. A few moments passed, with the Elf regaining his feet and stumbling a bit. He had a look in his eye very much unlike one she had ever seen. She placed the blame on his injuries. She could see thin white scars where his beautiful flesh had been pierced. Suddenly the moment turned. Her clothes seemed almost to rustle as the wind blew angrily from the direction of the fortress. Tasa shivered at the cold, confused at the turn of events. As she looked on in shock, ghostly Elves faded into sight. The captain spoke quiet words with Malris, and within moments, the soldiers filed past her, recognizing her with nods. One, abashed and angry, was held tight in the grasp of two others.

As she moved forward to her friends, Lindir slumped once more, though not falling. "Water..." he repeated, and she gave him hers.

10-27-2005, 05:29 PM	#11
Feanor of the Peredhil La Belle Dame sans Merci Join Date: Feb 2003 Location: perpetual uncertainty Posts: 5,517	Tasa had trailed the group alertly, but with little thought on what was happening. She had held her blade at the ready, guarding their backs, as they moved toward shelter. She shuddered still at phantom pains... though she was no longer beseiged by angry fëa, she could feel the cold of the piercings still. Like the cuts that came from a careless slip of paper, her physically healed flesh stung. Her jawline ached deeply with the memory of her ancient scar. She concentrated her thought on the new white line, painfully decorating her other cheek. The same orc... she thought, the very same. They had reached the shelter and Lindir was laid out on the floor. She left her blade unsheathed, useless though it seemed, and kept watch at the door. Though she cared deeply for her comrade's injury, she was not nearly the match as a healer as her companions. It would be more prudent for her to concentrate on what she could do: guard from orcs. She shivered slightly... a cold wind seemed to pass her, though coming from the gatehouse. It felt vaguely of the orcs that had attacked them, but with the absence of malice. She cast it from her mind at the sound of Lindir's voice. She turned for a moment, hearing his hoarse request for water. A few moments passed, with the Elf regaining his feet and stumbling a bit. He had a look in his eye very much unlike one she had ever seen. She placed the blame on his injuries. She could see thin white scars where his beautiful flesh had been pierced. Suddenly the moment turned. Her clothes seemed almost to rustle as the wind blew angrily from the direction of the fortress. Tasa shivered at the cold, confused at the turn of events. As she looked on in shock, ghostly Elves faded into sight. The captain spoke quiet words with Malris, and within moments, the soldiers filed past her, recognizing her with nods. One, abashed and angry, was held tight in the grasp of two others. As she moved forward to her friends, Lindir slumped once more, though not falling. "Water..." he repeated, and she gave him hers.