Musings

[DoS Archive]

From: ellisamrgn@aol.com (EllisaMrgn)
Date: 26 Mar 1998 16:27:40 EST


She snuck into the deeper caverns below the Inn late that previous night. Her steps falling with a wary caution; she was tired, moreso emotionally than otherwise.

It is done and over with, no sense in fretting over it now. Somehow her thoughts brought her no lessening of the burden that weighted down her heart; the lie too transparent.

She rounded the corner and skirted the area named the "Arena", passing through the less known caverns she learned of when she worked for the place. Even in the dim passageway she could see the outline of the corridor she travelled; a trait she never paused to consider the whys or hows about.

Her path bringing her to a little used room that held but a single ring, a few dusty chairs and an bar in ill repair. She removed her cape and folded it over the back of the only chair devoid of dust, for this was not the first time in the past few weeks she had ventured to this place. The garment looked like a pool of midnight spilling over the gaudy green of the furniture, whomever had decorated the place had an odd sense of style.

She withdrew her flint and tinderbox, striking and creating a spark above a torch; it responding in kind by reacting and burning brightly to light the area.

Her gaze pulled to the ornaments that remained upon the walls of the place, they were of a personal nature and lacked the air of superiority that sometimes predominanted the Arena. The ornaments were for the sake of sentimentality rather than snobbery or one- ups-manship. They were simple and pleasing because that was their nature.

The whole of the room reminds you of him. Bloodly hell, nearly everything does. Will you avoid this place, the Arena, watching the sun rise and set to keep the image of his face from your thoughts? Her thoughts edged with bitterness and rage, not at him, such emotions were incongruous with how she felt of him.

She did the only thing she could do, she drew her blade from it's sheath; the hiss of steel on leather igniting in her thoughts a different train of memories. Shane. She needed to practice, but not for the rings of the Duel of Swords, rather for the decks of ships unknown. There would be no healing magics to save her target from the death that stalked him.

Thoughts of unrequitted love for her future set aside and replaced, if temporarily, by the flames of vengence.