[center][sup][h1][color=black]Jordan[/color]
[color=EEE8AA]Jordan[/color][/h1][/sup][/center][right][indent][i]The Divine[/i]
Harm: 0
Luck: 0[/indent][/right][hr]
[center][sup][h2]Stone's Throw Outskirts, Southern Road[/h2][/sup][/center]

The words she heard were impossible, rooting her bare feet to the half-frozen road as she listened, struggling to understand. So many voices. Tongues all at once familiar, and yet beyond her comprehension, shifted until at last she understood. The fading light grew brighter, touching her skin with a warmth that drove away the weariness that she had long ignored. Her tattered shoes lay neatly beside her, pitiable companions that could go no further, and do nothing more than bear silent witness.

Stone’s Throw loomed before her. 

She knew nothing of it, save that she saw a place shrouded in strange shadows, mournful shapes that she couldn’t explain, but saw, even in the twilight. The forest shrouded with dying leaves seemed an ill omen, accompanied by warnings whispered on each cold gust of wind. The autumn morning, aglow with the light of the rising sun, met her much diminished, stripped of all warmth and welcome. Driven by her purpose, time faded from her thoughts, the ever-changing voices guided her, beseeching her to continue onwards. Nourished her beyond hunger and the many other pitiful, insistent demands made by her flesh. It was always there. Always with her. With each breath that she took. It was real, more real than world around her. Her own personal kismit.

A name, just a name, but a name was a start. 

Marion.

The name meant nothing to her. No memories sprung up from the depths of her awareness and she felt no pang of emotion. But there was power in a name. Power that most had long since forgotten.

No one had said her job would be easy. She knew this and she accepted it.

The ethereal voice comforted her, by word and presence. She believed, but it was a relief to know that she had not lost her way along the journey. Boston was just another memory now, a brief moment of respite before duty roused her. They’d soon forget her. The case had fallen apart without the bodies. No one had any desire to remember. She was a problem, an inconvenience that all desired to bury before the flurries of the first winter snow arrived. To do anything else, meant that they might stumble upon the truth, the truth that horrors resided amongst them, that the world was not, and had never been, as they perceived it. 

She forgave them. The truth of their own inadequacies, the weakness that adorned them, basking them in the soft glow of mundane sin, would permit them little else. 

Jordan closed her eyes, her arms falling to her sides, palms open to the sky. The voice overwhelmed her, hidden meaning ringing like a great bell, booming louder than any noise around her, each thundering strike so perfect, so pure that it pained her to hear them.

She was ready, and she listened.

[hr]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/29728]Boss from Beyond roll --> 9 (4, 4, +1)[/url]