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Norum da Salaex: The Blade of Phoee
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<blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2771697" data-attributes="member: 22792"><p><strong>So...let's begin</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>DAY 7 within THE BURROWS</strong></p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=23774" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /> </p><p></p><p>Ana sighs over her breakfast. Finally, the Caeliban had shown some humanity—they had popped in apparently over night to leave some fresh game for a meal. It’s uncooked and she struggled for an hour to light a fire from the garbage strewn across the upper level—all to half-cook a bird she really didn’t want to eat anyway.</p><p></p><p>She sighs again and pushes the “meal” aside. Day seven without light. Day seven without bright sun or fresh air. Day seven in this place that saps the happiness from your soul the way Rhynos used to drink the life from a mortal’s body.</p><p></p><p><strong>Would anything ever be the same again?</strong> </p><p></p><p>Cassock had stormed in minutes before but ignored her completely. He was lost in his own thoughts now. The priest of Cael had returned to soon from his meeting; he looked the angrier for it. Now he paced in the corner farthest from Rhynos.</p><p></p><p>The wailing below had silenced not long after Cassock returned. The dining hall <em>(#20)</em> was drowning in uncomfortable silence.</p><p></p><p>Rhynos had been pacing all morning and muttering to himself. Every now and then, the warlock reached up to grab a strand of hair as if he were going to slam his face into the cool, stone walls. Soter usually hopped up at that point to whisper something but Rhynos always shook his head, let go of the hair, and resumed pacing.</p><p></p><p><strong>This must be hell.</strong> An unknowing, stagnant hell. </p><p></p><p>Would anything ever be the same again?</p><p></p><p>Suddenly, the door to the room bursts open. Rhynos and Cassock stopped their pacing—Cassock’s arm snapped toward the neglected blade at his side. Rhynos’ hands twitched out—flaring with the typical green bolt of energy. Soter’s eyes dart upward, but neither he nor Ana move to prepare for an attack.</p><p></p><p>A middle-aged man—a human not one of the Caeliban—with shoulder length, black-but-graying hair walks briskly in. His eyes are cold and exacting, examining every minute detail of the room layout and its inhabitants. His face is likewise a mask devoid of any emotion. He flattens his ruffled robes—which look unkempt despite the silver threading that accents the black and violet designs. He almost looks like Royalty.</p><p></p><p>He shifts a satchel on his shoulder, one arm delving into its interior and takes a few steps into the room…</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Funeris, post: 2771697, member: 22792"] [b]So...let's begin[/b] [b]DAY 7 within THE BURROWS[/b] [IMG]http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=23774[/IMG] Ana sighs over her breakfast. Finally, the Caeliban had shown some humanity—they had popped in apparently over night to leave some fresh game for a meal. It’s uncooked and she struggled for an hour to light a fire from the garbage strewn across the upper level—all to half-cook a bird she really didn’t want to eat anyway. She sighs again and pushes the “meal” aside. Day seven without light. Day seven without bright sun or fresh air. Day seven in this place that saps the happiness from your soul the way Rhynos used to drink the life from a mortal’s body. [b]Would anything ever be the same again?[/b] Cassock had stormed in minutes before but ignored her completely. He was lost in his own thoughts now. The priest of Cael had returned to soon from his meeting; he looked the angrier for it. Now he paced in the corner farthest from Rhynos. The wailing below had silenced not long after Cassock returned. The dining hall [I](#20)[/I] was drowning in uncomfortable silence. Rhynos had been pacing all morning and muttering to himself. Every now and then, the warlock reached up to grab a strand of hair as if he were going to slam his face into the cool, stone walls. Soter usually hopped up at that point to whisper something but Rhynos always shook his head, let go of the hair, and resumed pacing. [b]This must be hell.[/b] An unknowing, stagnant hell. Would anything ever be the same again? Suddenly, the door to the room bursts open. Rhynos and Cassock stopped their pacing—Cassock’s arm snapped toward the neglected blade at his side. Rhynos’ hands twitched out—flaring with the typical green bolt of energy. Soter’s eyes dart upward, but neither he nor Ana move to prepare for an attack. A middle-aged man—a human not one of the Caeliban—with shoulder length, black-but-graying hair walks briskly in. His eyes are cold and exacting, examining every minute detail of the room layout and its inhabitants. His face is likewise a mask devoid of any emotion. He flattens his ruffled robes—which look unkempt despite the silver threading that accents the black and violet designs. He almost looks like Royalty. He shifts a satchel on his shoulder, one arm delving into its interior and takes a few steps into the room… [/QUOTE]
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