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Unread 21st of February, 2008, 14:35
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Refusing to Sow [Epic GM]

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He finds her, arrow knocked, eyes sweeping the surroundings for danger. They fix on him, burning. Nerves taut, she trains the arrow point on his chest as he emerges from between the rows of corn—a Sarcosan ghost in rags. All around her the stalks have been scorched by flame, although none burn now. Scratches mar her face. Nearby, Cytaill sits on his haunches, licking his side. The Sarcosan can see patches where the wogren’s fur has been burned away and the skin is red and blistered and angry. The last woman lies unconscious next to Cytaill, her chest rising and falling.

Heulwen relaxes visibly, lowering the bow, but to Aswad her vitality seems amaranthine.
There is a perdurable strength that burns bright within her tiny frame. He wonders how she finds the will to survive in this world where her people are enslaved by cruel masters three times her size. Out in the plains of the south, Aswad and Osrick’s Riders had come across the occasional halfling settlement. Their agrarian lifestyle was peaceful and tranquil and utterly doomed to be ground beneath Jahzir’s boots, and if not the Night King himself, then one of his many generals, such as the ruthless Grial. Those that are not captured become nomads, roaming the great southern expanses in packs. Theirs is a life of ephemeral homes and constant flight. They have much in common with the freeriders.

“We need water,” she says, her voice calm.
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