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The Dream - The Nameless
The Underworld - During the Apocalypse

She slowly reached out with Her hands and tore the evil creature in Her grasp asunder, taking delight in its last pained shrieks and spasms before She consumed its corpse. Its numerous companions were gnawing and biting at Her legs and stomach, but She ignored them as the delicious taste of abyssal ichor and fiendish flesh flooded Her mouth and filled Her with insidious joy.

She languidly swallowed Her small meal before She shifted and reared in an attempt to violently shake the demons off of Her. A few had fallen, and She quickly stomped upon their smaller forms, extinguishing them beneath Her huge hooves and heavy roots or strange protrusions that served as feet.

The creatures were weak and little compared to Her, but they were also countless, and She was becoming exhausted... which would eventually inevitably result in Her demise. This was not a fight She could endure much longer, as She had not rested since Her awakening and the hordes of the abyss were relentless in their war with Her.

She suddenly leapt from the Path of the Dead up into the nothingness where one would drift aimlessly as the concepts of gravity and electromagnetism cease to exist, then She called upon Her power which pulled Her back. She crashed down upon the path like a meteor, pulverizing the remaining creatures that foolishly held onto Her. The few that survived disappeared into the endless abyss, cast aside by the vast explosion from Her impact.

Afterwards... Preparing Herself for the next onslaught, She was surprised by the silence broken only by Herself as the squelching sounds of black blood poured forth from Her many wounds. With the unexpected moment of calm, the constant diversion of fighting now gone, and the subtle sensations of pain becoming profuse, Her physical trauma overwhelmed Her in a dizzying rush.

Was She dying now? She could still sense the nearby grotesque oily presence of the void-spawn, but they did not approach Her. They seemed to be distracted as well, hunting other prey that was wandering lost in the darkness. The cries of souls consumed echoed from afar, such a sorrowful song that hurt Her more than any cut or bruise She had sustained. She did not know whether to be grateful for the reprieve, or enraged that She had no enemies to fight, to slay, to aid Her in forgetting Her current suffering. She hated Herself.

The Path of the Dead was without end and incredibly difficult to navigate, not entirely solidified in a few sections, and many paths often leading to nothing. The longer you traversed its lonely length, the greater the risk of being attacked or becoming lost, but She was never concerned by such things, and began walking onward as She sought more foes to slay.


The fighting was always vicious, but the denizens of the void were becoming familiar with how She fought, and discerned Her greatest weakness. A lack of agility, accuracy, and ranged capabilities. They began to utilize skirmishing tactics, relying upon Her inability to reach them as they hurled spears and sharp poisonous projectiles at Her, weakening Her and providing an opportunity to strike without retribution.

She had slain many even at such a disadvantage, blindly retaliating with Her multitude of limbs, striking and strangling the unfortunate fiend that was not fast enough to escape Her wrath. When they tossed their spears at Her, She would pull them from Her body and hurl them back.

Then they began mocking and attempting to speak with Her. She had yet to discover how cunning Her enemy could become.

They kept their distance, but assailed Her with words, disturbing insinuations and horrifying insults. They asked unsettling questions that She could not answer, or shared terrible knowledge that She wished She could forget but feared it would stain Her mind for the rest of eternity.

They said She was death incarnate, that She must be slain or else the cycle will never be broken. She did not know how to speak, how to curse them and demand their silence. She had not needed to communicate before, and never bothered to regenerate her eyes or throat after having such torn apart in a previous encounter. She could only let Her anger continue to accumulate as She wandered and built upon the Path of the Dead.

"We are Nameless." They claimed, those that spoke to Her from the darkness.


She could not find shelter, and She could not uncover Her tormentors, it seemed She would fall soon. They whispered to Her while She rested, as if corrupting Her mind and pervading Her thoughts were more enjoyable than killing her now. They laughed and leered now while unseen, as Her attempts to find them failed again and again. Exhausted, sleep beckoned to Her, calling for Her to meet its sweet embrace.

"Death, why do you sleep now?" They asked.

"Death, why do you cry now?" They asked.

She could not answer, She was too tired and could not be bothered. Their voices merged together and became gentle, lulling Her to sleep. She heard a few kind words among the insidious choir filled with contempt. Their honeyed lies hurt more than violent truth.

While She slept, She dreamed of a strange creature approaching her and offering something in its outstretched limbs... in its hands. The creature seemed to lack legs, its lower half consisting of only a shiny scaled tail that ended in wide fins that it used to propel itself forward. Its upper half was weirder, only two arms attached to a naked torso, and a small head with long strands of silvery hair framing the creature's face.

"Will you take this? Will you forgive me?" The creature said and held out the intriguing object, persistently trying to give it to Her. With great hesitation, and only after the creature seemed unable to accept Her refusal, She took what seemed nothing more than a oddly carved horn or claw. Upon touching it, knowledge filled Her.

While She slept, She saw a tall and terrible tower, sundered by a beautiful silvery sword adorned with roses and thorny vines... a silvery sword now wielded by Herself, as She was soaring in the sky above and watching the stygian land beneath Her begin to crack apart. Holding onto Her and clinging to her neck, the creature from before watched with wonder as the tower crumbled and a beautiful sea emerged from the broken earth.

While She slept, She did not feel the teeth that bit Her, or the claws that cut Her, or the stingers that stabbed Her.

She awoke with a burning fire in Her heart, finding Herself encircled by demons and devils tearing away at Her flesh. Dazed after Her slumber, She did not understand what was happening as She suddenly beget forth a bloody blade from Her form and grasped it in Her hands. It was the silvery sword from Her dream, still decorated with briar and roses even now.

The weapon extended Her reach allowing Her to fight the skirmishers, and also summoned entangling vines that restrained Her enemies making it easier to grind them with Her feet into dust and blood. Newfound power filled Her as She wielded the blade, and She slaughtered all of the fiends with no mercy in Her heart.

"Death, why do you fight now?" They asked after, the unseen demons were still lingering beyond Her sense of sight. She screamed in frustration, swinging the massive sword around aimlessly, before She continues walking along the Path of the Dead. A sound from the carnage left in Her wake causes Her to halt.

"Forgive me."

She remembered the voice from Her dream, and turn to see amidst the many mutilated corpses a familiar form. It was the strange creature, with terrible wounds inflicted upon it... by Herself. She did not know how to react at the sight, slowly stumbling back to where the dying demon lay.

She had not feasted upon the fallen this fight, Her hunger had vanished after witnessing the denizens of the abyss consume the souls of the living. She had found Herself retching and disgorging fiends she had previously eaten.

"I wished to be with you." The creature contorted its face, twisting the muscles of its mouth as it cried. She did not understand why this monster was saying such as it was dying. She screamed in sorrow and doubt, wanting to know why She was in pain when She was the one that had survived and had become more powerful while this creature like its kindred would no longer hurt Her.

"Thank you." Were the last words the creature said before it died.


She walked along the Path of the Dead, Her silvery sword summoning forth thorny tendrils that would restrain the demon, and let Her easily kill them. The weapon was imbued with a powerful enchantment, growing more powerful as it consumed the blood of those that it felled. More and more beautiful vines sprouted from the weapon and nearby path to feast upon the helpless fiends.

She could not count how many She had slain, though there were always more it seemed. She enjoyed fighting them. She hated fighting them. Why did She continue to fight, She had been asked now, and She did not know. But...

"Endless. Undying. Nameless." The voices whispered from the dark and fathomless void. They continued to haunt Her.


"Mother, why walk when you could soar in the sea of shadows?" A childish voice called out.

So small, that it could easily rest upon Her neck, the serpentine half-humanoid creature flew through the abyss around Her, dancing like the streams of blood that flowed freely through the abyss akin to the rivers appearing in the world above. Umat, whom insisted She should give it a name. Umat, whom called itself Her first daughter. Umat whom She had healed.

Umat was beautiful and free, not bothered by her mother's silent voice, coming closer to what she had known was a great goddess. She was happy her mother let her hold Her, and hug Her. Her mother was gentle and soft, similar to what Umat imagined pillows and silk blankets to be like. Umat often wondered if her mother knew what She was...

While Her daughter cradled herself in the comfortable location where Her neck and shoulders connected, the goddess of death continued her quest to hunt all of the demons that dwelled in the Underworld (aside from Umat) while walking along the Path of the Dead, wherever it may take Her next.


The Heart of the Forest
The 13th of Gamman, 4655ia

It was strange, she vaguely recalled the withering sensation of wilting parched and alone among the trees, feeling her brittle bones and desiccated flesh crash upon the dry ground... but afterwards, it had felt as though she were sinking into dark water slowly consuming her.

Sorrow washed over Sariel as she considered how meaningless her short life had been in the end, dying in the northern forest seeking a hermit that may have passed away so ages ago. How could she believe in such a foolish tale, or that she would ever find a wise warrior that could offer her salvation.

Shame burned in her heart, but the fires of embarrassment were quickly quenched by the fact that she was drowning, or experiencing something akin to it. The dark water had swallowed her body, and she couldn't move her limbs, powerless as she plunged into the deep depths.

The passage of time seemed distorted; her thoughts were both painfully lucid and languid, but also accelerated and incomprehensible... she attempted to calm herself and embrace patience, but warred with the other half of her mind that panicked and writhed in despair.

Then Sariel surged upwards into a blinding light that blazed with radiant fury where she forgot all that had happened in the timeless abyss.


She stirred, though everything hurt and her eyes were sealed shut. The sounds of movement alerted her that she was not alone, quiet steps and the shifting of fabric. That was when she realized she could not feel the familiar sensation of her veil upon her face.

She had no magic, no strength, and could not see, but she refused to surrender while she was still alive for that would be a waste of the gift the gods and goddesses had given her. She must fight!

Her head lulled to the side...

Strong hands shook her gently, then lifted her head. She could hear his voice, but no words were spoken, only the sounds of his breath which she felt upon her skin. With what little effort she could call upon, her eyes began to open.

Sariel saw a young goblin beside her, watching her closely and attempting to help her wake. He was muscular, but with lean features and an otherworldly grace that she had not expected to see in a goblin of all things. He seemed more akin to an elf, a small and strangely green elf, which was a disturbing thought.

He had seen that she had woken, and then gave her a dried fruit from a pouch along with sharing his waterskin. Kindness from a boy in the wilderness was another surprise, but she gladly took what he offered her, the food and drink worth more than any great treasure at the moment.

He seemed hesitant to touch her further after she opened her eyes, which she was grateful, and then he spoke. He was speaking the Elvish tongue, which irked her, but either she was imagining his words, or he had lived among elves that were willing to teach him the secret arts of their language, which seemed a great crime in her mind.

He was evidently not an elf, his voice did not convey the magic of her people, but she could not understand how he knew such sacred knowledge unless... an elf in the wilderness taught him. She also noted that she spoke in a very archaic manner, as if he was older than her which she highly doubt!

He placed the sustenance in her hands, and then walked towards a corpse she had perceived through the scent of blood and beast nearby. He left her to begin scavenging, which was expected of a savage, she supposed.

Without another thought, she began trying to eat what he gave her, struggling to lift her arm to her mouth, and ignoring the voice in her mind that insisted she act with dignity, Sariel had rolled to her side and curled in herself. It wasn't much more efficient, but if her hand couldn't bring the fruits to her, then her mouth would come to the fruits.

She had somehow brought the water to her lips and almost choked as cool liquid poured down her throat. The waterskin slipped from her grasp, and she limply retrieved that accursed vessel. More and more, she was able to devour a bit of what the goblin had given her, like she was a starved animal that had stumbled upon an untouched carcass after starving for days... that last bit actually was unfortunately true, what a fool she was in the end.

She barely listened as her company carved into the bear, hoping that he didn't look at her and see her in this disgraceful state. She would have been beaten and chastised by her family if they had seen her now. Executed or imprisoned if such was seen by the eyes of commoners, for the image of grace and beauty along with reputation was the primary concern for many among her family.

She hid her face behind her veil once more, as was proper in civilization, and she did not want to risk invoking the temptations upon her feral company. She did not know this goblin, and could not be certain he would adhere to the teachings of the Weaver.

Sariel did not track the time as it passed, but the goblin boy had hacked the slain beast and harvested from it all of the flesh from its bones. He was using the creature's pelt as a sack to hold all of his gathered meat, and bloody smiled at her! The feral child began walking away, and she remembered that he had mentioned a camp.

With weak arms and legs, she stood unsteady like a tower ready to topple at any moment. She had regained a little of her strength, but she prayed that she may finally be able to rest in peace soon when they reached wherever this she was being led to.

"What is your name, and why do you speak Elvish?" She asked with a raspy voice that hurt her to hear. She had been beautiful singer with a melodious voice back in Hiyal before her dreadful departure, but now she sounded like a old hag from the desert croaking out curses upon the innocent and unprotected.

"Ajax." One word, with little inflection, and a lack of any additional components or eponyms. It was a very rude way to introduce oneself, but Sariel did not think that proper etiquette was taught among barbarians that lived in the wilderness.

"I have always spoken Elvish." He continued, speaking in a manner that she could not ascertain whether it irked her... or merely intrigued her. Most certainly the former, she decided, however she also required his aid so she thought it would be for the best she remain reticent regarding her thoughts.

She simply needed to trance, to rest and restore her spent magical energy. The spell-marks on her body were still dull, and the dark elf could not recall a time in her life when she been without spells for such a long period. She felt more exposed and vulnerable unable to call upon her magic.

She struggled to keep pace with him, her advantage of longer legs proving to be worth little as he swiftly continued onward. He was kind enough to walk slow, but then would occasionally disappear swiftly akin to a scout, and then return after a brief absence. When he came back, she had more questions.

"You are the first goblin I have seen that speaks and understands subjective Elvish, as opposed to the abstract Elvish others learn to speak when adapting the language of my people. Only an elf could impart this knowledge, who taught you, Ajax?"

Other races would seek to impose meaning upon the world by having language that describes the first songs written by the Weaver and familiarizing themselves with patterns and cycles in a single direction, but her people had learned how to refract the nature of words and meaning and observe the world of language from a myriad of perspectives.

Sariel had hoped that perhaps it was the woman she sought that had shared the secrets of the Elvish language with the goblin. Such an act was truly absurd and possibly heretical, but if it suggested that she was on the precipice of completing her quest. She was so close, and soon she could rest.

"I have spoken Elvish for as long as he could remember speaking. I never knew there was another of speaking it." He replied, without choking on words and gasping for breath like she had when she spoke. She was not fond of the fact that she was evidently slowing him down, a burden upon him.

A moment of silence passes until she then realizes she had yet to introduce herself, and further shame began to swell within her. She was grateful that her veil hid her reddened cheeks, her head was swimming in the sweltering heat. "I am Sariel Min Selan."

She attempted to bow before him, but bent and swayed too quickly, stumbling and almost falling down on the ground. She catches herself, and internally sighs at her pathetic display. "You have my gratitude for saving my life... thank you." How lackluster her gratitude must have seemed, perhaps she could find a way to redeem herself for such dishonor.

"I am happy to help. My master taught me to help those in need." He said as they continued onward. Sariel noticed that he butchered her native tongue with the incorporation of what others had called the Common Tongue. How strange, why would he refer to his master as such, she wondered to herself.

"Is your master back at your camp?" She refrained from speaking the Common Tongue, such a disgusting word would not pass her lips unless she had no other choice. She could not discern his reaction as he walked ahead of her, but his voice remained the same.

"My master left with the wind. Nearly seven seasons ago." Ajax said calmly.

Another quiet period passes where she could not properly articulate her thoughts, or grasp an understanding of the strange individual guiding her. His words were disheartening, especially if his master was the one she was seeking. Would this venture have been in vain, a worthless journey into the wilderness that nearly killed her?

"Do you know an elf that may have lived in this place once, a warrior monk who would have been called the Broken Blade of the Elder Wood, if you have heard of such before." Desperation wallowed in her voice, unwelcome, but she could not conceal her growing despair. All seemed to be lost at this point, and she quietly prayed while she awaited the goblin's answer.

"I have never heard that name before. My master was an elf though." The goblin replied, and Sariel wondered whether she was being taunted or if he was a fool. She then realized she was having a conversation with a goblin that lived in the wilds, and had forgotten such. His use of Elvish had distracted her, and she hadn't spoken with another person in so long that she was acting delirious.

"Was your master the only elf you know? Were there other elves in the forest?" She asked.

"You ask many questions. Have you eaten the food I gave you?" Ajax questioned back, a sharp focus in his large eyes as he gazed at her. Sariel wondered if she had misjudged the intelligence of the goblin; while he may lack etiquette (she wondered what her excuse was) he seemed wise and aware unlike any savage or barbarian she had imagined when she was told tales of the people of the wilds.

She returned the pouch of dried fruit and the empty waterskin he had provided, then watched as he ate much of the remaining contents of the pouch casually with his hands and body stained with the blood of the beast he was carrying over his shoulder.

They were near his camp now.

The End was the Beginning - The Birth of the Goddess of Death
The Underworld - During the Apocalypse

The sky was afire, the earth burning as it cracked apart and tore open. Many mortals dying before they had even realized what was happening, while others watched as a lethargic wave of destruction washed ashore and inevitably eradicated them.

Unseen and unheard an eldritch, otherworldly music wandered the devastated world, its song collecting fragments of flora, beasts, and humanity - seeds that would never sprout, the remains of animals that had died yet to be consumed, and the lost song of humanity who have all become pitiful orphans weeping in despair... such a sweet melody it had acquired, like a lullaby for the lonely.

The song then seeped through the earth and into the Darkness beneath the apocalyptic land; the chthonic colorless underworlds and deep depths where demons and devils dwelled among other incomprehensible voids, where insidious evil begets more profuse evil... here She was born.


Spasms, immense harrowing pain, twisting and turning, writhing underneath the weight of a thousand eyes, cold and fiery, burning emptiness. She was in a deep slumber before this agony and the act of awakening brought soundless screams from Her nonexistent lips.

She was blind, but the shaking and sundering of reality everywhere overwhelmed Her other senses, and She could not command Her limbs, Her shape, Her being. Despair, Fear, and Frenzy dominated Her heart and mind, and with another horrifying excruciating shriek that tore asunder the cacophony of chaos around Her, the newborn goddess had arisen.

She sank further into the empty void, and could sense the presence of diabolical entities coming closer and closer. She could not shift Her direction, or stir Her body, still and struggling to accomplish anything aside from descending towards her own annihilation.

Teeth and fangs attached to long slender limbs began to tear into Her immortal flesh, ripping apart the edges of her existence and tainting her with ebon fluids. She was drowning even though She did not require the breath of life to sustain Herself, it was despair that washed over Her and choked Her spirit.

Watching the monstrosities consume and assault Her, an understanding of how to replicate the violence, the motions and thoughts of the hunter, of the cruel and wicked. She would emulate these creatures, and inflict the suffering they had imposed upon her back at them.

Her limbs flailed, as She began her retaliation and sought revenge with flimsy poorly guided strikes and reality distorting howls that echoed in the darkness. The creatures She struck wailed in agony, and the sounds resonated with Her, empowering Her.

Her retribution became more vicious, as She grasped at tendrils and broke them in half, and continued breaking them into nothing but dust that drifted aimlessly in the void. She could hear the approaching void-spawn, seeking their own vengeance for their slain kindred, and with hunger for her immortal flesh, her blood now seeping into the dark abyss.

She could not articulate Her hatred it seemed, but perhaps She could convey it though amassing enough of their corpses and dancing upon their graves. She surged forward suddenly to begin ferocious battle once more... not knowing Her own name, Her purpose, or whether She would survive.

A trail of death was all that remained in Her wake, as she slaughtered more and more, all that crossed Her. Unbeknownst to Her, born from this rampage was the Path of the Dead, a literal road of corpses turned to demonic dust, immortal blood, and the tears of a goddess, all slowly fusing into a substance akin to solid stone for the otherworldly to walk upon.


So it begins...


Name: Sariel
Race: Dark Elf
Class: Grave Cleric 5

Standing at 4'7, and weighing 77 lbs., like all elves - the young dark elf is quite short compared to the average human, with long pointed ears, and fey features. Her skin is obsidian black, like the night sky, while white hair cascades down her shoulders and around her waist, pearls and crystals woven into her braids. She has large lilac colored feline eyes, and sharp teeth as well, but soft cheeks and an ever present pout often alleviate any fearsome qualities she might have.

Sariel wears fine silk sashes around her underneath a richly embroidered caftan adorned with glittering jewels, covering her face is a veil that reaches a black feathered ornate headpiece, and protecting her feet are well worn traveling boots crafted from a fine dark leather. Around her neck, she wears a simple necklace with a pendant consisting of a silver crescent moon layered atop a black moon - a symbol of the goddess she worships.
@rezay I don't really mind any changes you make, but that's me. I'll happily wait to see what the others think.

@LukasVolkov Based upon what was established earlier, the answer would be no, but there might be changes incoming as the original poster has other commitments and won't be able to facilitate this story.
@Dead Cruiser No worries, you do what you have to do. Real life and your health takes first priority of course.

That said, I feel like electing @rezay as Co-DM, if they are willing to rise to the occasion just because they are really good at keeping things updated and progressing forward, based upon what I've seen so far.

That's just my idea/suggestion.
@Dark Cloud Hope to still see you around, and that your life recovers from hitting the fan. I'm told that such shouldn't result in too great of an injury but is very much dependent on the size of the fan.
@Zeroth I have now learned about milk in a bag, and I apologize for my country. I did not know we practice such strange things, though it seems limited to the eastern portion, and that explains a lot if you're familiar with Canadian lore.
North West of Hiyal, the City of Intrigue
The 6th of Gamman, 4655ia

She had followed the river north, remaining close to the only known source of water in the nearby land for as far as the eyes could see.
She had needed to refill her canteen multiple times as the blazing heat seemed to sear her skin even beneath the protection of her flowing garb that billowed gently in the warm breeze, and she had now become drenched in her own sweat along with the dried dust that clinged to her while the wind blew blinding dust into the air all around.

She had hoped to encounter other travelers along the river, but so far she had been alone along its length for two days now.
She could survive such a trial, but loneliness and the constant struggles were wearing away at her like the mighty mountain slowly eroding with the cruel and merciless touch of time.

Traveling by night had proven impossible as well, it was simply too cold and she had needed to set camp and start a fire to prevent herself from freezing to death, so it seemed.

Edge of the Northern Forest
The 9th of Gamman, 4655ia

On the third day she had reached the forest, and found that the trials of the wilderness were truly only just beginning. The river came to an end in a way that defied logic, and brought despair crashing down on her harder than the powerful strikes of the fiery sun down upon the Great Anvil of the south.

She watched with fury in her heart as the water arose from a large hole in the earth, like blood pouring forth from a fatal wound. Why was water ignoring the pull of the earth and flying upward? Why was she being punished for crimes she had not committed, especially when she was trying to find the honorable path.

Even the stones near the edge of the cavity were levitating a little off the ground; undeniable evidence of the presence of magic and elementals. Perhaps she should pray to the divine, and they would intervene on her behalf...

She was a potent wielder of the sacred magic blessed by the Goddess of the Moon, Selan the Beautiful. Her deity would not abandon her now in her moment of need... ha, she would have to hold onto her faith, hence she offered a short prayer to the divine seeking their guidance and expressing her eternal gratitude, though she did not know whether or not the bells were tolling then back in the heart of civilization.

Her spell-markings, the sigils of her power, glowed softly and a strange sensation spread throughout her body, from her inner core to her outer limbs. She could not quite describe the feeling, but it reminded her that she was not weak and she could provide for herself with her magic and knowledge.

She did not wish to stray from the water, but with her spells, she could conjure more water and meals to fend off hunger and thirst. She could find what she was searching for, and overcome this crucible to prove she was worthy of being redeemed.

With one last glance down the dark pit while listening to the sweet song of the rushing river beside her, she sighs and begins walking with renewed vigor and resolve, uncertain of what may await deeper in the forest. She only hoped she found her objective soon.

Deep in the Northern Forest
The 12th of Gamman, 4655ia

Even beneath the shade of the trees, the dry wind scorched her throat and choked her mercilessly. The light of the sun only pierced the dense foliage in gentle columns that illuminated the area, but still blinded her sensitive eyes all the same.

She deeply longed for the few comforts of home; a soft bed, food and drink, and the lack of hostile threats that openly wanted to murder her. She loathed the aggressive presence of insects and beast that attacked with stinger and fang as opposed to the lies and poisons her family was so fond of.

Embarrassment began burning in her cheeks, a different heat compared to that of the environment's dangerous and temperamental temperature. A swelling of shame within her as she recalled the teasing mockery of the nomads she had encountered a week ago.

They had said she would die in the forest because she was soft and foolish, born in a city filled with self-indulgant men and women that care too much for material pleasures and nonsensical traditions. She had ironically laughed and agreed with much of what they had said, having known the truth of city life herself.

Now she was dying, lost in this accursed forest because she really was a fool who could not survive without the comforts of civilization. Each step was agonizing, as she had been walking for three days without rest.

She had not eaten, barely drank, and couldn't stop to trance lest she was attacked by horrible swarms of flesh devouring bugs, or a large creature that could impale her upon its claws or crush her with its mandibles. She barely survived the encounter with a giant stingtail after stumbling upon the small pool that she had thought was a gift from the gods, only to discover she was not alone and had to run for her life.

She couldn't even rely on her magic, her spell-marks had lost their glow and she needed to rest to recover her magic... which was easier said than done when every time she set up camp, she was attacked and forced to flee. There were even subtle attacks that claimed much of her supplies, and now she had very little of possessions... most importantly, no food or water.

She had sought aid, and perhaps death would be her way to freedom. She could see her Lady upon the moon, and enjoy peace and tranquility among the celestials. All of her strength had waned, and she was exhausted, even walking was becoming too much.

The Heart of the Forest
The 13th of Gamman, 4655ia

With a heavy thud, she collapsed onto the rough ground, that bit and burrowed into her flesh. She couldn't tell if she was bleeding, if the earth were drinking her blood desperate for any moisture. How the hells was there a forest in this blighted land? Why were they standing over her like towering monsters, leering and japing... so cruel.

She lifted her arm, attempting to push herself up, or crawl away from the trees that were tormenting her. She couldn't cry, the tears were all dried up and her eyes hurt too much to function properly it seemed... Finally darkness claimed her, and all was quiet and cold.

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