0 aquapower12Haelyn;
In the barren desert, any day that the sun was not covered by wispy clouds was another day of living Hell.
The small knight crouched in the withered undergrowth just outside of the armory, her bow and arrow in her hands, drawn and ready to release the deadly arrow. She had been stuck in the same position for hours, it seemed, so her muscles ached faintly from cramps and dehydration. But the knight had learned to ignore the pain long ago; it was the thirst burning at her throat that occupied her time.
The inside of her mouth was completely devoid of any moisture. Despite her obvious need for water, her body stubbornly perspired in the hot sun, determined to cool her off even if it meant wasting precious droplets of the liquid. Sweat dripped from her nose, soaked the thin clothing that she wore beneath her armor, plastered her silvery hair to her forehead.
No, today was not the best day she had ever had.
/Focus, Haeylen,/ the girl told herself. /Focus, for soon it shall be time to carry out what you came here for???/
But still dehydration and exhaustion plagued Haelyn???s mind. If only she had forced herself to sleep for another hour last night! If only she had not dropped her water gourd back at the camp! But it was too late now, too late for everything.
Pale lids closed over golden eyes. /Soon,/ the knight told herself. Soon she would have the opportunity to give the king a taste of his own medicine! Oh, how she loathed him now. Only a month ago she would have laughed at the notion of hatred, having served him loyally for years. But now, there was only room in her heart for hatred. After all, when the king had burned down her village, he had burned down any sense of patriotism in her heart.
Haelyn licked her chapped lips, praying to the gods above that the mission would be a success. Just in case her arrows ran out (she had time to make only fifteen) then she had the narrow sword at her hip and several daggers concealed upon her person. If she was captured, then she would go down fighting.
A faint smile flickered on her pale lips before her face lapsed back into the emotionless state it usually was in.
Revenge was a prospect that was desirable for her, after all. 0 aquapower12+all info from this point forth is about FIF+ 0 aquapower12http://storywrite.com/story/369588
plot, setting, etc. 0 aquapower12Lyresyn's intro;
/A white mist appears at the field of his vision. The fog's tendrils uncurl from the weightless mass and stretch towards him, threatening to ensnare him. The mist forms a figure - one he knows well.
//Father,// he thinks, simply, unquestioning. Not mad. Just resigned.
He notices that there are others around him.
The other warriors.
He ignores them as he listens to the words that roll off his father's tongue, listens to the words that bind him in a contract that leaves no escape.
Soon he knows what to do.
If he were anyone else, anyone with lesser love, he would not do it.
But he is who he is.
And so he comes.../
Lyresyn woke up with a gasp, sweat trickling down his forehead. The ghastly fluid soaked his tunic so that it clung to his skin and plastered his dark hair to his scalp.
An emotion that hadn't pierced his heart in over twenty years rang through his limbs now.
/A compulsion to carry out his father's duties./
As Lyresyn looked over at the twitching hybrid figure of Ezlaide, it occurred to him that she might be having the same dream that he had just woken up from. Turning away from the only warrior that he regarded as a true sister, the nebulan opened up his large crimson wings and beat them once, twice - and soon he was in the sky.
Flying was an indescribable joy that was a large part of his life. If his wings were taken away, Lyresyn would probably sink into a depression unlike any other. More than just a way of exercising, though, it was a way for his imagination to run wild and for his body to be free from the toll that everyday life took on him.
The wind whipped his still-damp hair around his pale face, and if he could whoop in excitement, he would have, right there and then.
The truth was, though, that Lyresyn was a mute.
And his tongue was rotting - or had decomposed long ago - somewhere in this world. 0 aquapower12Last reply;
Lyresyn touched Ezlaide's hand once more.
/So shall I carry you to the Tower?/
"Are we really leaving so soon?" Ezlaide asked, though she knew it was inevitable. Once Father called them the pull was irresistible until he was satisfied.
/Of course./
"How long do you think you could carry me? I /am/ pretty heavy."
/Possibly eight hours before I must take a break. I consider myself strong. But the Tower is only a few hours away from here. It will possibly only take six hours./
"Very well," Ezlaide sighed, flinching slightly as Lyresyn's cold, strong arms wrapped around her waist. He straddled her spider-half as if he was riding a horse, for there was nowhere else for his legs to go. The racna felt the flow of air against her body shift as she was lifted into the air.
An involuntary grunt left Lyresyn's lips, but soon he was silent. There was nothing to say, after all. 0 aquapower12+This isn't for the club but w/e+
http://www.marapets.com/topics.php?id=2318646&fid=30&page=0 0 aquapower12When Lyresyn awoke, it was night time.
Ezlaide had apparently left him, probably to scavenge for food; it wasn't the first time she had done so. For a while he was content enough to lay on the dusty ground on his back, admiring the stars.
Finally she returned. Her arms were full with roots she had found; it was amazing how she could still do so without her sight available. The Nebulan arose from where he had been sleeping and touched her pale hand.
/Shall I make a fire?/
"If you wish," she replied. "But perhaps we should go to the Fairy Forest. The trees will give us more protection than out here, where it is flat, and it is nearby. Within walking distance, actually."
/Of course./
Lyresyn took Ezlaide's hand in his own and together they made their way to Fairy Forest, where, unknown to them, Ranaag was located.
0 diffyFOUND YOU AGAIN
