Thread Closed
Roots caressed her skin, and she reached out to touch them. The earth embraced her, cradled her, sheltered her. Here she was safe, where no one could find her. They couldn’t find her, He couldn’t find her. She rested beneath the earth as her leg healed, safe in the blessings of the Shroud.
-
Arden looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. Above were the trees. Beneath his feet was the rough ground of the Shroud. This was where he belonged. Out of the city.
-
Those people. Her leg had been broken. They’d pinned her down. They were going to kill her. She’d had to flee, and down here she had finally found some semblance of peace, for the first time since Arden arrested her.
-
Arden’s mask upon his face. It was worn smooth, and still fit him like a second skin even after so many years. It kept him hidden, in a sense, carrying the blessings of the Fane upon his work to protect him from the elementals and hiding his face from the criminals he might encounter.
-
She was whole. She was safe. She could close her eyes and rest, finally. Except that Arden Wood was still alive. She could feel his blood calling to her, deep in that cursed city.
She would need more blood.
-
There was anonymity to wearing the mask of the wailer. Hiding brought a sense of security, a detachment from the self and from the consequences of your actions. When you wore the mask, you gave up your identity and declared to the woods that you were one with them. But this was his mistake, and his responsibility.
He unhooked the mask, and lowered it from his face.
-
Jainelette tore at the cocoon around her. The Shroud strove to protect her, to keep her safe from harm deep underground, but she could not accept rest until she had found her revenge. Roots grew around, even as she tore them away. She had to make them understand, she couldn’t rest yet, so she tore open her arm and fed the roots her blood. They parted, and created a path to the surface, as the blood red spread up through the trees above. The Shroud understood wrath.
-
Arden looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. Above were the trees. Beneath his feet was the rough ground of the Shroud. This was where he belonged. Out of the city.
-
Those people. Her leg had been broken. They’d pinned her down. They were going to kill her. She’d had to flee, and down here she had finally found some semblance of peace, for the first time since Arden arrested her.
-
Arden’s mask upon his face. It was worn smooth, and still fit him like a second skin even after so many years. It kept him hidden, in a sense, carrying the blessings of the Fane upon his work to protect him from the elementals and hiding his face from the criminals he might encounter.
-
She was whole. She was safe. She could close her eyes and rest, finally. Except that Arden Wood was still alive. She could feel his blood calling to her, deep in that cursed city.
She would need more blood.
-
There was anonymity to wearing the mask of the wailer. Hiding brought a sense of security, a detachment from the self and from the consequences of your actions. When you wore the mask, you gave up your identity and declared to the woods that you were one with them. But this was his mistake, and his responsibility.
He unhooked the mask, and lowered it from his face.
-
Jainelette tore at the cocoon around her. The Shroud strove to protect her, to keep her safe from harm deep underground, but she could not accept rest until she had found her revenge. Roots grew around, even as she tore them away. She had to make them understand, she couldn’t rest yet, so she tore open her arm and fed the roots her blood. They parted, and created a path to the surface, as the blood red spread up through the trees above. The Shroud understood wrath.