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Arctic wind: Part IIZanxa ran a gauntleted finger around the rim of her pewter tankard. She would stare blankly at the amber liquid contained within before lifting the mug and taking a deep swig. The liquid was bitter and tasteless. It would not satisfy her thirst, her hunger, or her lust for peace and quiet. Her mind was a constant storm of thoughts, memories and emotions, but it felt like she was the lone spectator in the middle of a raging hurricane, as if the thoughts were not her own. And she could not reach them. She kept her head down and her eyes averted from the other patrons of the inn, but she never the less drew attention. Barely concealed whispers and glares found her in her dark lonely corner, but they were ignored for the most part by the surly orc.
You call me monster, murderer, tell me your family was murdered by the scourge? Well so was mine. And yes, I am all of those things.
Arctic wind: Part ISergeant Zanxa wiped her forearm over her brow. Even in this frigid climate, sweat and blood and mud shone on her face. Countless corpses littered the ground around the small warband, both friend and foe. They had been sent here to the frozen wastes five months prior, to scout out the region and oversee the construction of the new horde outpost on the coastline. To guard and protect it with their lives.
For five months they had battled the endless waves of scourge.
For five months they had sat in this hellhole, having nothing to eat but pungent seaweed and rotten fish. The chill had crept so deeply into their bones that Zanxa could not remember when last she had felt warm. And as always, wave after wave after wave of scourge was always there to greet them.
Months of this endless torment had weakened the bands resolve. She noticed that her comrades fought with less vigour each day, donned their armour an
On preparing to never let goWalking slowly down the hall, arms filled with the day's mail, we spoke of morbid things.
She wants to be reduced to ash and I want to know if I can keep her on my mantle.
She looks at me sideways with a curious face and forgets her footsteps.
It's a little bit morbid, she tells me, deciding it's time to continue shuffling along,
but I think the way I'm trying to picture her perfect urn is probably worse.
There's nothing that I can think of that suits her, though,
and I wonder if I even know her.
Do I scatter you somewhere? You can't visit scatter.
(I think good daughters plant guilt in the carpet pile to trip upon.)
But she doesn't trip, instead she ruminates on how appalling it'd be to divide her in fourths:
she laughs as she's divvying up her body parts for our mantles.
I tell her we'll set up a custody schedule, but only between my closest sister and me;
we're the ones that take care of her. But in reality, I'm not planning on sharing.
She tells me she wants to be in the n
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More