Meanwhile in Sabhail - The sun sets with no hope of a new day

A tavern, silent in the late night air but for a few murmurs of patrons and glasses thudding onto tables. A small gnome bard sits in the corner, multicoloured coat splayed over his chair, staring down at his instrument. An elf quietly waits to the side of the bard’s makeshift stage, awkwardly adjusting his sleeves as the minutes ticked by. The gnome was playing earlier in the night, to much applause, but he can’t seem to bring himself to do it any more. It had been days since the loss, but the wound it left just seemed to sink deeper…

… Across the bar sat a young woman, surrounded by the liveliest of patrons tonight. They discussed quietly the journey in, how the river fairs and what little trade was left. They seemed warmer then the rest of the bar, no light existed in their corner but they seemed to all be washed golden. The woman sat quietly, her pointed ears occasionally pricked when conversation turned her way, and the man next to her was eventually game enough to even put his arm around her. She didn’t care about any of that. She only had eyes for what was hidden under the table, wrapped in cloth. That and what was pumping through all of their veins…

… Out the back, sitting with a new group of friends, was another young woman. Out here was much livelier then inside. They seemed to even manage their own fire, and bottles of wine flowed freely between them. The woman laughed seemingly carefree, but if you could see her true eyes, you would see how hollow this act was. Their was no joy to her actions, but she saw no other way to fit in here, and alcohol always made it easier. The constant niggling inside her mind always reminding here that this was not her home, that this isn’t where she belonged, that this was not what she was meant to be…

… Behind the tavern entirely, and out by the docks sat a lone man. He looked like he’d just been for a swim in the icy water but everyone knew he hadn’t moved all day. His eyes were rolled back into his head and suddenly his body shook violently. Water poured out of his mouth, nose, and ears. He gasped for air through it all. His mind willed him to enter the water. Though whether it was mind or not only he could say. A second later he regained his composure. He reached to his side for the bottle of rum he kept with him at all times, but he knocked it over empty. Just as he seemed to lose that quickly won composure a bottle is thrown into his lap. A small halfling slips next to him with two glasses in hand, and offers one up…

… Down the road sits the towns chapel, dedicated to the old gods and the new, and inside, through a warren of doors, corridors, scrolls and books, sits a dwarf who never has enough time. He endlessly reads and scrawls his findings as much as he can, and this shall continue through all hours of the night. He sighs as he looks outside and sees the moon so high in the sky. He knows that tomorrow he shall have to continue to help every one he can, especially his friends who he is well aware don’t believe they require his guidance, but he knows that without him they would fall even faster then they already are. He rubs his eyes sadly and turn back to his notes, hoping tomorrow leads to a better development then today…

… Travelling further into Sabhail, the newly erected jail sits near the newly erected walls. Outside sits a woman in full plate, sharpening her blade in the cold night air. A man comes riding up with something dragging behind him, he waves to her as he dismounts and the horse vanishes in holy light. Behind him is a man brutally bruised and beaten, hogtied and until a few moments ago attached to the horse. The rider doesn’t say a word as he lifts him off the ground, throws him in the outside holding cell and disappears into the jail. The woman stares at the door for a moment before she begins maintaining the rest of her equipment. Before she even has a chance to bring up her whetstone again, the door crashes open, with the rider quickly summoning and mounting his horse again to ride off into the dark. Because crime, crime never changes…

… Outside of the town, in Mor Foraois, deep within where most would have been lost, lies the body of woman. Clothed in the remnants of a once elegant dress, she writhes silently on the ground, her mind filled with tooth and claw, rage and thunder. Around her lay the physical remains of her inner demons. The earth was scorched and scarred, trees had been rent open and toppled over and the clouds above heaved with the weight of rain begging to fall. No one was around to help her, and her body will continue to writhe as her mind runs wild…

… Through Mor Foraois, close to the An Sleibte mountains, sits a lone mountain which many people now avoid. The reason for that is the half orc who now stands near its peak, his chest heaving and blood flowing down scratches across his body. Around him lies the corpses of the dire wolf pack that decided they owned the cave that he was meditating in, and in front of him the alpha. The alpha should already be dead by all accounts, mainly due to the large blue sword sticking out from his hide, but it continued standing it’s ground. The man laughed heartily, opened a bottle of mead with his eye sockets and drank it down in a blink before smashing the bottle on his head. He roars at the wolf and launches himself forward for another round…

… Heading back into Sabhail, on a farmstead just outside, a family sleeps quietly through the night. The quiet is so whole it’s almost deafening, so when it is broken by a shattering plate everyone is aware. In the attic upstairs a tall, thin elf begins screaming, absolute nonsense spills from his mouth between screams of pain and giggles of pure joy. His body seems to phase in and out of existence as he bounces around his small room, breaking the few pieces of furniture he had left. The family quickly gather outside the room, with the father bursting in. This isn’t the first time he has had to do this and he’s terrified that it is not going to be the last. He quickly jumps on the elf, holding him down with great difficulty until the seizures and the phasing stopped. But as soon as they did the tears and the blood flowed…

… And outside of Sabhail, outside of Mor Foraois, outside all that is known on this world there is another. And in this world a gnome stalks through the dark, trying to blend in with her surroundings. Something shuffles off to her right, and the gnome snarls viciously. She raises her axe high and launches herself towards the noise. After a short scuffle she has destroyed the threat and gained dinner. But she still needs to go home. It has been days since she was lost, and the wound it left seems to just sink deeper…

Meanwhile in Sabhail - The sun sets with no hope of a new day

Ameshirel: A World Undone BenScerri Estaban