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Unread 17th of August, 2008, 03:25
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-J-
Dread Lord on High [Epic GM]

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Join Date: Nov 2004
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Aswad

Damn Fell…can’t do anything right…

Heulwen’s tone stings more than her hand as she reprimands him. She is right, of course. He shouldn’t have gone off alone. He should have waited for the others. He struggles to his knees, his bruised and burned body a mutiny of pain. Bits and pieces of the last few minutes begin to filter their way back into his mind - the hot panic of melee, the searing agony of the Fell’s grip...

…the peace of release.

Half kneeling, half sitting, he tries to thank his savior, but the cooked meat of his throat could manage nothing more than a ragged, guttural cough. Tears burn down the ravaged flesh of his cheek.

I’m…mute!?

Despair washes over him. He spies the broken splinters of his staff lying in the still steaming grass. Fayed had carved that staff for him from the when he turned 13. In the dim light of forest undergrowth he can still make out the faint tick marks he had carved into it denoting his victories. He wanted to take them in his hand again. He wanted to bear his proud badges of honor into the field one more time and die with them, as he should have moments ago.

But such fantasies were no longer possible.

Struggling to compose himself, he lowers his head until it touches Heulwen’s feet, trying to explain to her with a simple gesture what he could not with his broken throat.

She had saved him.

She was a child in a world of giants, and still she had thrown herself against a foe that would freeze the blood of men ten times her size.

What ever he was, what ever he would have been was meaningless.

His life belonged to her now.
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