elwyn
Adventurer
Offline
A wandering monster attacked me.
Posts: 161
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This is all a little too much for Luke to deal with.
He drags himself to his feet in the clearing, feeling sick all over, and stumbles into the forest before tripping over a root and falling on his face. Nothing around him seems real. He tastes blood from a cut in his lip, and somehow it vividly reminds him of the last time he kissed Roxanna goodbye. Now he's running away through the forest again, a fugitive and a murderer, looking over his shoulder for pursuers as the walls of Shattered Bridge get smaller in the distance. Did anything after that really happen at all?
The caravan, the wolves, Nadarresh, Dayereth, Aerandis, flocks of crows, a tiny black dragon. Pumpkins, halflings, murderers, starvation, more wolves, a tomb. Elven swords. Arageth, a hundred platinum pieces, the amulet of Hextor. A secret mission, a new purpose in life. Brent. An army of bugbears, a pit of bones, laughter, disaster, shame. Rats, filth, sickness, cold, death. Aaron. Vines dragging him down.
He thinks: Have I woken up from that dream yet? Can I wake up? Am I still in my cell, waiting to be executed? Or is this what really happens after you die?
Luke takes out an arrow and jams the point into his thigh, but can barely feel it. He twists it and the pain wakes him up a little, gives him some focus.
No, it all really happened. I ran away from my fate, tried to do some good and made everything worse. Four dead brave men I couldn't save. A terrible monster destroying my hometown. I should just go back there and put my head on the chopping block.
But no, that's not what Heironeous asked of me. That would be too easy. Have to go to the great northern marsh, then. Find a sunken kingdom and a sword. Better start walking.
Luke loses his way in the forest for several hours but eventually makes it back to the village, covered in dirt and scratches and sweat. He ends up spending the next few days in the healer's house, sleeping off the madness.
When he regains his wits, he begins writing down all his best memories of his dead companions.
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