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Snippet #1905973

located in Tane, a part of Heroes of a Sundered Sky, one of the many universes on RPG.

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Caelin Skyholme


Oblivious to the internal dilemma of his companion, Caelin waited patiently, then stepped forward at Kevrilā€™s acquiescence. ā€œI certainly hope we donā€™t,ā€ he said by way of reply, then focused his attention on the wound. It was shallow, but rather nasty all the same, and heā€™d have to be sure to destroy anything that could cause infection as well. Not that he was complaining, of course; this sort of thing was his job, after a manner of speaking. Not being the kind who could simply settle in a town and take up a trade, he often healed in exchange for supplies or a nightā€™s lodging, so of all his skills, this was the most practiced.

Exhaling softly, the monk reached inside himself for the natural flow of life-energy, his chi, and grasped hold of it, redirecting the flow until it manifested as a soft blue-white glow over his hands. These, he passed over the torn flesh without touching it, channeling from himself to Kevril as easily as if it were the simple act of breathing. Once he sensed that enough had been done, he cut of the flow, manipulating the rest so that flesh and the muscle beneath knit back together seamlessly, purging the body of any infections in the process.

All told, it took perhaps thirty seconds, and then he stepped back, his trademark smile back on his face, replacing the look of distant focus that had previously overtaken it. ā€œThere we go. Good as new! Well, almost. Iā€™d give it a few hours yet before you try anything too strenuous, if I were you.ā€

There was a short pause, and then Caelin made a great show of dusting his hands off and setting his eyes back on the path before them. ā€œWell, I reckon we should keep going. Donā€™t want to still be here when those buggers wake up, and Iā€™d rather find a more secure place before nightfall and all that.ā€



Luna Nightswift


Ah, darkness. She did not seek it with the same fervor as the woman in front of her did, but that was not to say that Luna minded it in the slightest. Quite the contrary- she was almost as at home in it as a full-blooded drow would have been, though most of the rest of her habits were her fatherā€™s. Heā€™d told her once, that sheā€™d been born on the night of a blue moon, and hence been named in a way that was hardly in keeping with either lineageā€™s traditions. Over time, perhaps it had simply come to suit her, or she it.

Whatever the case, Yasryne looked more comfortable, and while this was not something she concerned herself with overmuch, she had to admit that sheā€™d hate to be blind herself, so this was probably a good situation to be in. At least as far as ā€œominous mage towers where youā€™re not exactly on the guest listā€ went, anyway. The kid seemed to have something of a sense of humor, though it wasnā€™t exactly the sharpest sheā€™d encountered. It was still a tick in the ā€œmore likely to survive thisā€ column. Most people who wanted to kill you didnā€™t bother to say much to you, in her experience, which was really just a shame. She liked to exchange witty repartee in between the kind that happened between blades.

Something was whispering in the walls, and she could make out a musical womanā€™s voice, heavily-accented elvish, if she wasnā€™t mistaken, which sounded highly out of sync with the rest.

Well, well. I wonder what the story is here?



Claenereth Dwinā€™anea


He still wasnā€™t moving, and it was beginning to alarm her. She wasnā€™t sure what the differences were between his trances and hers, but she was willing to wager that his involved a great deal more intentional suffering. Misara couldnā€™t help it; being in the divine presence was painful for imperfect creatures, but it was likely that Helkara enjoyed making people squirm. Clae had nothing against the goddess, but some of the tales she had been told as a childā€¦ well, it was best to be wary when the Dark One was involved.

A whisper murmured into her ear, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. Narisaaā€™s voice came soon afterward, and she nearly choked on her relief, hastening to reply. ā€œItā€™s Lord Damacus. Heā€™s in a trance andā€¦ it doesnā€™t look well for him.ā€ She stood abruptly, pacing back and forth and looking for something, anything to do to make it easier for him. In the end, she was able to do nothing more useful than prop a cushion behind his head. It seemed such a feeble gesture, but perhaps it was better than nothing.

ā€œPleaseā€¦ tell me what I should doā€¦ā€ she whispered into the stillness, but if Misara heard her, she made no reply, and so the elfmaiden rose again into a standing position and stood, a silent sentry, beside the unconscious necromancer, dread pooling in her stomach and rising into her throat like bile. She was just getting a feeling, a visceral instinct that she could not name, that something was going to go terribly wrong before anything went right.

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