Valannor 6345 Share Posted April 4, 2021 Spoiler [!] This is just a post to put some of the mental struggle my persona has been going through down onto paper, pls no meta <3 “My daughter once told me a story…” Duck, dodge, swing. Duck, dodge, swing. This was the pattern of that Elfess’ movements within her basement, the bag of sand hung from one of the supports hanging and swaying with every heavy impact it endured. Sweat rolled from her face, exhausted breaths emergent from chapped lips with every shuffle of her training clothes, tattered and frayed from years of use without care. The majority of her dining room had been brushed aside, tables and chairs stacked against the wall to make way for her bouts with the inanimate sack. Duck, dodge, strike. Anything to keep her mind off of what had become of her left arm, and of her leg. Anything to keep her awake and safe from the nightmares. A metal fist collided with the sack, then one of flesh and bone; the latter of which was bloodied, the flesh raw and bruised from hours of this, aching from the exertion. Thick bags hung ‘neath her eyes, bright and shining gold now left to a dull marigold hue, to say nothing of her countenance as a whole… Panic. Dread. That slow sinking feeling crept into her stomach, even despite the intrinsic warmth and comfort she often felt due to her condition. Her eyes fluttered shut as a pained exhale left her mouth, attempting to simply relax her muscles as she was entombed within the remnant frost of the Rimetroll village. A tear, then, streaked down her cheek… “Revas, darling, I’m not coming home…” A whisper, as the cold began to set in, deadening her nerves as the air thinned. A husk of a woman. That’s what she was these days. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the howling wind bite her to the bone, the deep frost creeping across her skin as she lay in a tomb of the Wick’s making. She threw herself leftwards, a haymaker sent unto the cloth from a blackened steel fist. The blow was slow, sloppy; her footwork needed work, the adjustment to a steel replacement being no easy feat in the least… Duck, weave, strike. The impact was solid, however, owing to the limb’s sturdy and metallic construction. Strands of burlap untangled ‘twixt the other, weakening the sack as it swung backwards from the impact. She paused, taking a breath and allowing her eyes to close; yet, suddenly, she heard a gentle whoosh of air, as she was reminded of the sack’s continued existence. Panic filled her heart, her breath hitching in her throat as memories flooded into her mind’s eye, like the angered tides of a broken dam. She had been sitting near the fire, enjoying some of the ‘Special Soup’ that had been offered to her by the troll-kin. A thin broth, water mostly, flavored with various herbs and aromatics the trolls had been able to scavenge for themselves. And then she’d heard it; a shout, from where the other half of her party had taken residence… the exit. “Magic!” Suddenly, a massive fireball was flung from where Corbin Wick and the others had been, the shout of that deranged professor signaling its advent as it soared towards the ceiling of the cave, the Elfess’ gaze snapping upwards as she began to enact borrowed sorceries. A rain of ice and hail came down upon them all, she’d barely had time to raise her shield in attempt to protect her compatriots before the troll ‘Jub’ leapt on top of them all, protecting them from what would have otherwise been certain death. She could still remember the spike of ice sailing towards her, such that it would have perforated her skull were it not for that fe-troll’s sacrifice. Suddenly, pivoting on that steel foot, she threw herself leftwards, growling ‘neath a forlorn, wheezed breath as that medical corset squeezed her chest. Her left arm, that of steel and silver, would rise, sending a second punch into the bag in a brutal uppercut, the ‘Ame utilizing her weight to execute the blow in a swift manner. The bag tore, sending crimson sands to the wooden floor below. It’d be a ***** to clean, but it was worth it. Anything to stave off the nightmares. Anything. A gasp, then, would be taken, pained and rasped as her lungs cried out in protest. A month in a coma had done her once-toned and lean form no small amount of disservice, for it would take her some time to build up what muscle mass and stamina she had lost. She fell to the floor, clutching her chest as she took greedy breaths of precious, precious oxygen. Her vision temporarily went black, sending pangs of fear racing through her brain as, with another flutter of her eyelashes… She remembered what it was like to die. She lay there, collapsed and pinned beneath the skewered carcass of that Rimetroll. She couldn’t feel her arm, nor her leg, her armor concave and dented beyond repair. Her breath was faint, even within her helmet, as she stared up at the now-exposed sky, the howling winds of the Rimeveld muffled and deafened by the frostborne sarcophagus she found herself in. Her heartbeat slowed. Her form lost feeling. Her breath, slowly, faded to a rhythmic pattern of inhalation and exhalation. Then, she saw a light, a hand and vague shapes reaching out to her likeness in offer of salvation. Radiant, divine… “At last… I see the Stag.” A forlorn whisper, 'afore she was no more. She sat in front of the fire in her home, a shattered glass held in her metal hand. How long had it been since she’d seen Revas? Months? Weeks? She couldn’t tell anymore. Not even the whiskey spilling between her fingers could tell her that much. She’d not seen any of her family while she had recovered, whether that was due to them not bothering to visit her or that they were simply busy, she could not say. Her bed was colder than normal these days, empty of even the small respite she’d afforded herself in these troubled times. Faces of those long since gone stared back at her, their likeness captured in shrines and sketches so that she may never forget. Not like she could, if she wanted to. Across her skin ran intricate, labyrinthian networks of Elven script, detailing every day of her life thus far. Her body was a canvas, in this way. And with the loss of her limbs, she’d lost more than flesh and bone. She’d lost spirit, as well. Yet, in this sorrow, an anger gripped her heart. Her loyalty, her contributions to the Kongzem, had been challenged; As if she were still that simple bar maid she had been decades ago. As if she hadn’t spent hours in the clinic, in the institutions of Duma, or upon the battlefield with her fellow Haeseni… Her gaze trailed, then, to the ashen steel of her new limb. She had given up much for the Kongzem; family, friends, love… And now, half of herself. In an attempt to save the life of the child of Ludovar, and her companions, she had been made bereft of an arm and a leg. A cruel irony, to be certain. Truly, though, ‘twas no matter, she thought. She worked, and worked… and would continue to work, for God, and her people. After all... What was one human lifetime to one who had a millennia to live? 13 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
rukio 8910 Share Posted April 5, 2021 Spoiler An 'aheral medic weeps for those whose lives were forever changed on that fateful day. "What point is there to defending a world full of cruel and unjust people?" She would ask to no one. Another day, another person wounded by someone else who had no regard for descendant life. Her gaze goes to the 'ame who walks once more, aided by mechanical limbs. Because some are still worth saving. 1 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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