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The blood runs freely over cold dark hands… Images of a giant tree flicker in and out of view each more vivid than the last, pounding drums echo from the depths of thought, humbled only by the gentle whisper… “Home…..Home….Go home…” “Go home worm!” Dris startles as he is awoken with a blow to the back of his head, Looking up only to notice the librarian with a rather large book in her hands, looking a little angry. Gathering his books, Dris rises and silently leaves the sanctuary of the building into the cold dank streets lifting his hood wary that some might notice him. A group of youths stand cluttering the street corner, deciding it better to take the long route back to the inn, Dris turned about and walked away. Not before he was noticed, the group walked slowly at first. Dris picks up his pace walking faster taking a few extra turns. Some of the group break way down side alleys and the group starts calling, “Slow down there, just after some directions y’see!” Ignoring them, knowing they are nothing better than thieves and men at that, how he loathed human kind. Suddenly Dris halts, for dead ahead are three of the group and fast approaching behind him the rest gather… Dris mutters to himself and looks around in desperation for an escape. Turning and entering the nearest building, luckily the door is open and a rather fat man sits red cheeked at a counter…….. “You are home now” An image of an entire forest view hits you intensely “Welcome to the Militia son!” Dris is ushered into a room and handed some armour and a short sword. “Just so happens all reserves are being called up, its five days march to the fightin’ im sure you’ll givem hell, the sergeant here will be running the reserves up at first light you can sleep ‘ere for the few hours till then.” Staring at blood covered hands all pain is washed away, the pounding echo of drums gets lower, yet more rhythmic…. ”Boom…..Boom….Boom” “Left, Right, Left, Right, Come on you dogs, the enemy will be dead ‘afore we get there!” Dris marches uncomfortably in his chain armour, unused to such discomforts, the sword scabbard slapping against his leg with each step A Loud Horn sounds just over the hills to the east “There upon us lads, fight for the empire!” Darkness envelops as you climb your way up the handholds on the tree Dris wakes and cannot move, everything is black and pain sears through his entire body. Pushing the dead Orc from atop him and sitting up surveying the area… Bodies litter the ground, the whole reserve annihilated, a few orcish bodies lay among the dead. Limping as he manages to get to his feet and having lost all sence of direction, Dris staggers off into the forest leaving a trail of blood from a dagger wound in his side, and an arrow jutting from his leg. Day and night meld simply into time…not having the skills nor the stamina to kill for food, his mouth bleeding from cracked lips…walk with no direction or intention… A hand reaches down grasping him by the wrist and hauling him up to the platform, “Welcome, Ranger” the figure said loudly. Something calls out….yet there was no sound Dris looks about with weary eyes, spotting a brilliant White Stag collapsed among brambles, bleeding profusely from its wounds.. Kneeling by the magnificent beast, Dris takes out his dagger, with a hunger in his eyes like none experienced. The stag would cook well, thought Dris, yet as the Drow looked into the eyes of the creature he decides to try and cut the creature free, hacking at the brambles. To no avail the more he cut away the more tangled the stag became, with not the energy to cry out in pain. Dris whisper softly to the beast, stroking its great head as he stuck his dagger through its neck….the blood runs freely over his cold hands…. |
Date Joined: Current Status: Mentor's Name: Alyssandra Mentor Pgm. Graduate? Ironwood Ranger Bow Award: Yes Guild Team(s) Joined: Gold Leaf Patch Award: Giant Falcon Award: Ring of the Redwood Award: Taken Period of Solitude? Guild Offices Held: |