04-02-2009, 11:56 PM
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Halifax, Backdated to January 25 or 26?
Oh, and the big wounds are on her right shoulder and hip, which are torn and a long scar thingy that goes down her back. She also is starting to feel some hyperthermia... ^=^;;
500+
There was darkness. It surrounded her, enveloped her, smothered her. Where darkness had given her cover and protection, now it was a heavy weight upon her chest. The darkness choked her, and she struggled against it—but in vain. The tendrils of shadow wrapped about her limbs, found her eyes and ears and mouth. They made her blind and deaf and incapable of speech. She felt violated and helpless, and then she felt the cold grip of Death wrap about her heart. She shuddered at its touch, but not with fear. It was the shudder of all things near Death. But the warrior lived with Death at her heals, so when she felt its bite, she relaxed, resolved to meet her end. But that moment in which she lay with Death drew out, as if time and stopped, and she wondered faintly if death were normally so long. And even as she thought, her mind slipped into the darkness and she was fallen in Limbo and in a deep unconsciousness.
And suddenly, she knew that she had not died. Vaguely, she was aware that she was being carried, the arms sure and strong. But she had not the strength to lift her gaze or even to speak, and as she scented that familiar scent, she had slipped back into the darkness. And, while the darkness did not smother her any longer, she felt pain. It was all over her, as if up taking the task that the darkness had been occupied with. But she did not cry out as she lay in the darkness, slipping in and out of consciousness but recognizing nothing. Her Dreams were shadowed by the wings of Ravens, their feathers sharp as blades as they flickered about her like the wings of bats. And she could not lift her arms to move them away or to resist, but all at once it was as if the did not cut her. She thought perhaps they cut her soul, but she felt nothing—nothing but that constant pain raging through her like a wild fire. And then—darkness.
Cwmfen breathed softly, a sigh, as if expelling those shadows that had found their way into her soul. But the blackness still surrounded her. Yet, she thought that she could hear now, and she could smell. But there was nothing that was immediately recognizable. Gradually, the wounded warrior was able to lift her eyelids, and her white orbs looked up at the darkness, for a moment seeing nothing. But as her eyes adjusted, she could see now where she was. It was some strange place, someplace vaguely familiar. Her mind was too tired, exhausted to the point of slipping back into the darkness, and she closed her eyes, as if she had returned to that limbo. But she resisted its pull, find renewed strength as the scent of another reached her. And then it all came back to her in a flash—the red eyes, the crazed smile, and her defeat. The warrior was alert now and she tried to rise, only to be greeted by a sharp pain that shot through her. She tensed up against it, a small grunt sounding by her efforts, and she fell back, shutting her eyes against the pain. “Wh... Who are you....?” The alto melody was marred by her weakness, but she had found enough strength to ask who, not where.
Halifax, Backdated to January 25 or 26?
Oh, and the big wounds are on her right shoulder and hip, which are torn and a long scar thingy that goes down her back. She also is starting to feel some hyperthermia... ^=^;;
500+
There was darkness. It surrounded her, enveloped her, smothered her. Where darkness had given her cover and protection, now it was a heavy weight upon her chest. The darkness choked her, and she struggled against it—but in vain. The tendrils of shadow wrapped about her limbs, found her eyes and ears and mouth. They made her blind and deaf and incapable of speech. She felt violated and helpless, and then she felt the cold grip of Death wrap about her heart. She shuddered at its touch, but not with fear. It was the shudder of all things near Death. But the warrior lived with Death at her heals, so when she felt its bite, she relaxed, resolved to meet her end. But that moment in which she lay with Death drew out, as if time and stopped, and she wondered faintly if death were normally so long. And even as she thought, her mind slipped into the darkness and she was fallen in Limbo and in a deep unconsciousness.
And suddenly, she knew that she had not died. Vaguely, she was aware that she was being carried, the arms sure and strong. But she had not the strength to lift her gaze or even to speak, and as she scented that familiar scent, she had slipped back into the darkness. And, while the darkness did not smother her any longer, she felt pain. It was all over her, as if up taking the task that the darkness had been occupied with. But she did not cry out as she lay in the darkness, slipping in and out of consciousness but recognizing nothing. Her Dreams were shadowed by the wings of Ravens, their feathers sharp as blades as they flickered about her like the wings of bats. And she could not lift her arms to move them away or to resist, but all at once it was as if the did not cut her. She thought perhaps they cut her soul, but she felt nothing—nothing but that constant pain raging through her like a wild fire. And then—darkness.
Cwmfen breathed softly, a sigh, as if expelling those shadows that had found their way into her soul. But the blackness still surrounded her. Yet, she thought that she could hear now, and she could smell. But there was nothing that was immediately recognizable. Gradually, the wounded warrior was able to lift her eyelids, and her white orbs looked up at the darkness, for a moment seeing nothing. But as her eyes adjusted, she could see now where she was. It was some strange place, someplace vaguely familiar. Her mind was too tired, exhausted to the point of slipping back into the darkness, and she closed her eyes, as if she had returned to that limbo. But she resisted its pull, find renewed strength as the scent of another reached her. And then it all came back to her in a flash—the red eyes, the crazed smile, and her defeat. The warrior was alert now and she tried to rise, only to be greeted by a sharp pain that shot through her. She tensed up against it, a small grunt sounding by her efforts, and she fell back, shutting her eyes against the pain. “Wh... Who are you....?” The alto melody was marred by her weakness, but she had found enough strength to ask who, not where.