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| − | '''Roleplay from Sorsha McDowell'''
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| − | When morning came, she ordered an early march by her men. Despite her Captain’s warning, she had them leave before something else occurred, something she would again have no control over.
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| − | They marched for some time, until one of her scouts approached her. “We’re too close Milady, I fear they know we’re here. We will have to double back and wait.”
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| − | Her blue violet eyes looked over the horizon to the danger she knew lay ahead. She could already hear the peasant’s screams among the growls of the monsters and her gaze hardened. She looked back, knowing the rest of the armies would not be on time, her inattention had cost her and by sheer dumb luck they had arrived too early.
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| − | She couldn’t very well sit there and watch. She knew she had made a foolish decision, if only by trying to escape, she rushed headlong into the waiting grasps of death. Deep down she wondered if she had done so purposely…
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| − | “Get the men ready,” she said quietly, her face resolved.
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| − | “But Milady, it is madness,” he insisted but she ignored his plea. “Are we D’Harans or are we Cowards?” She yelled to her men, she didn’t look at them. She knew their faces reflected fear and panic but they yelled back, “D’Harans!”
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| − | She slipped off her horse, and pulled out the curved daggers at her belt. “Not only are we D’Harans, but we are The Black Lions! You are the elite, make THEM fear you.” She shouted above the growling that was fast approaching, knowing damn well her words as grand as they were meant nothing against something she knew they couldn’t win.
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| − | She would not stay back with a bow to watch from a distance, she needed the battle, she needed to let go this time. She could see the threat approaching and closed her eyes. “Dance with me Death, I welcome your cold embrace,” she whispered.
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| − | They were overrun quickly barely managing to make a difference with their attack, Sorsha slashed through what she could, digging her daggers deeply into their hardened flesh, managing to anger some only making them go after them with more zeal. Her men quickly dropped their bows, and opted for swords but it was useless, they simply just kept coming.
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| − | She screamed for them to change positions, but her voice was lost through the din and she grunted. She looked down to see her leathers had been ripped through, blood gushing forth over the claws digging into her. Her body burned, and then grew cold, everything moved slowly. When she looked up again, it all caught up to her, as if it all happened in the blink of an eye. She came face to face with a horrendous nightmare of evil, with a dripping maw of gore and fangs.
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| − | Out of reflex, she slammed both long daggers out at its neck with as much strength as she could, barely managing to cut its head off, and its guttural growl died in its throat. It fell limply to the ground and she fell to her knees, dropping her daggers. Her hand reached to her stomach and she coughed. Her vision blurred and she fell to her side, rolling to her back. She looked up to the sky, the screams around her, no longer heard. For that moment she just wished, she could look up at the stars again.
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| − | She faintly heard the call of horns as the armies arrived…but it was too late for her and she lost consciousness.
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| − | '''Roleplay from Sorsha McDowell'''
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| − | When Sorsha opened her eyes, she moved her head slowly to the side wondering where she was. She tried to move but the pain in her stomach cut her breath short and she fell back. Now she recalled what had happened, but she couldn’t remember how she had gotten there at all.
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| − | Closing her eyes, she tried to think back. Through the murkiness that was her memory she remembered the faint sounds of horns, and then the Western Guard’s call to arms. Orders being shouted followed with the sounds of battle. The yelling and screaming around her, made her close her eyes tightly, so much death….
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| − | Someone had called her name…She was sure she heard someone call her name. Had someone been there? She opened her eyes again and her hand slowly felt the bandage around her torso. There had to have been someone, how else would she have gotten back.
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| − | She turned to the healer beside her. “How long have I been here? Where are the others? The battle?” she questioned with a soft voice and he turned to look at her. “My lady, you have been in and out of consciousness for a day now. The rest…” he sighed and sat beside her. “There were too many. Impossible odds, I’m afraid it was but a slaughter, many were lost. The rest have all been through here as well, I’m sorry to inform you, they’ve all been wounded.”
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| − | At his words she sat up in shock and groaned. “What?” her face paled. She grit her teeth, ignoring the pain, she was good at that. “Well, what news of our allies?” He shook his head as if he didn’t know and then motioned beside her to the small makeshift table, where sat several letters.
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| − | She quickly reached over and started to leaf through them. She had the healer bring in one of her men. After ordering him to rally the rest of their unit, she slowly got out her cot. She called for a scribe and had letters of her own sent out.
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| − | When she stepped out, the smell was atrocious. She walked a distance, and could no longer stand it and covered her mouth and nose. Well enough it was winter, in the dead of summer heat the bodies the carnage would have been impossible to endure, causing maladies and sickness all around. Closing her eyes, she turned around, she recognized faces of men she had only seen the night before. She looked with dread, but did not see the ones she was looking for. She breathed a prayer to the spirits and walked away without looking back.
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| − | '''Roleplay from Sorsha McDowell'''
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| − | Sorsha had told them men to move ahead toward Rettlewood without her, telling them she would catch up. One had regarded her skeptically, almost defiantly until she ordered him with a dangerous hiss and he complied.
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| − | She could hear them in the distance and counted the seconds until she couldn’t hear them anymore.
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| − | Finding a small area of clustered trees, Sorsha made sure she was out of sight before she leaned against the nearest tree and softly moaned in pain. With trembling hands, she fumbled as quickly as she could trying to undo several belts at her chest and waist that kept her leathers in place and closed her eyes tightly.
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| − | Finally managing, she let out another moan of miserable relief and opened the leathers to expose her chest, her bandaged abdomen and stomach. When the pressure lessened she groaned and closed her trembling hands into fists against the tree trunk and her forehead lowered to it. She kneeled to the ground and licked her lips. Her body was so hot and the cold wind was sweet relief but a sheen of light sweat dotted her forehead and upper lip.
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| − | Opening her leathers like that, revealed an indecent amount of her, but she didn’t care of her exposure, she just wanted to breathe. The pain which had made her grit her teeth at first had slowly increased to a burning she could no longer handle. Every movement from her horse was torture, for each one seemed to rub her bandage in every direction, tearing at her wound.
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| − | Opening her eyes, she could see the fresh blood seeping through her bandages and closed them again. Well at this rate it would never heal…but she did not have with her any other loose fitting clothes to lessen the pressure. Her ripped leathers had been discarded and replaced with a different color replica; therefore she would have to continue enduring the agony.
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| − | At that moment she hated herself more than she ever had in her life. Whoever had taken her off the battlefield should have left her there…
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| − | '''Roleplay from Lycan Moreira'''
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| − | Lycan was travelling home. He remembered the events of the last couple of days and gritted his teeth. The battle had been a total waste of good men. They arrived there to realize they were outnumbered. They still saw they had a chance if they fought hard and well organized. They had beaten the odds before...
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| − | The orders to attack were given and he and his men moved forward with courage and sense of duty. The monster horde stood in a line formation a few hundred metres away growling fiercely in an attempt to intimidate their opponents.
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| − | Lycan looked left and right trying to see familiar banners and their issued positions in the battlefield. Soon enough he realized Sorsha's unit was nowhere to be seen. He frowned and thought maybe she delayed and was going to arrive late. He surely didn't want to think of the other possibility.
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| − | Horns sounded to attack and archers started shooting to weaken the enemy before infantry charged in. The monsters didn't move after taking the archer fire. Mixed infantry was ordered forward and the monsters finally moved towards them.
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| − | Somehow the monsters managed to infiltrate their ranks and infantry just kept getting hit. They were too many and the battle was poorly organized reducing their chances. Lycan fought left and right wounding a few monsters and even managed to kill a few before his men and everyone around him started dropping like flies. He noticed Marshal Carlos and Sir Marche to his left and Marquis Rathan to his right fighting fiercely too.
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| − | As he advanced on the battlefield he noticed a few dismembered bodies on the ground and realized they wore Sorsha's sigil. His heart started beating faster and he looked around trying to find her while all along fighting off the monsters. In the meanwhile their ranks were suffering a huge loss and the Ordenstaati units started panicking.
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| − | Lycan spotted Sorsha's body a few metres away to his right and screamed out her name. Rathan looked to Lycan when he heard him scream. He then looked in the same direction Lycan was looking to see the same terrible vision before him.
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| − | Lycan tried getting to her but before he could a claw cut his left arm followed by a hit to his chest that made him fly into a rock hitting his head. Last thing he remembered was seeing the allies flee and Carlos, Marche and Rathan being wounded as well. His world turned black and next day he woke up in a healer's tent.
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| − | Now returning home alone he pondered everything they did and anger filled him. He was still worried about Sorsha. He didn't know what happened to her. Was she dead? Healers have told him the Marshal and the Marquis were recovering from their wounds but they knew nothing of a woman.
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| − | His concern was growing with every minute that went by.
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| − | '''Roleplay from Sorsha McDowell'''
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| − | Sorsha had paid for the room, demanding that no one disturbed them. When everything was taken care of, she made sure his and her personal healer would be available at a moment’s notice.
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| − | The room wasn’t extravagant, but it would do. A comfortable bed leaned up against the far wall, near a window that would allow a breeze if needed. A side table held a deep bowl, in it the water had turned color until upon seeing it one could believe it was filled with blood. The white cloths within it stained red. So much blood…
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| − | As her healer was preparing to leave the room, he frowned at her state and asked her if she was well. She nodded curtly, ignoring the rest of his questions and closed the door behind him shutting out his voice.
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| − | She had lost track of time and couldn’t remember how long she had been standing there, watching. She only knew evening had fallen to complete darkness into night, she had not even bothered to light a candle.
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| − | She refused to sit and leaned by the edge of the window. Her stomach was in agony, her leathers pressing in more and more with every one of her deep sighs. Her skin was hot, feverish as if aflame but neither of those things were able to keep her attention diverted long. It was the man in the bed before her who did.
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| − | Rathan’s skin was pale complimented with a striating complex of shadow and moonlight from the window as it played over his face. In his comatose sleep his alluring dark eyes were hidden from her. There was no easy smile on his lips upon seeing her. No charming words to welcome her. Not even the ever present aura she recognized as his, the one she now knew would forever call to her whether she wanted it to or not. Instead there was emptiness, no conscious life in him but the occasional fluttering of his eyelids.
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| − | Much played over in her mind... Mostly she wondered… had she not asked him to continue with her to Rettlewood, if he’d had already decided to return home? Would he have been half way there now instead of this bed?
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| − | A terrible turmoil boiled inside her. If she couldn’t feel for him as she had told him, why was she even here? It definitely wasn’t the company of his silence she wanted. On the outside her expression was composed, cold even but on the inside she was troubled. She was responsible…
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| − | She looked out the window to the stars in the sky one last time and quietly left the room before he regained consciousness.
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