Goddamn Fucking Demons - Ruthenia Truelove - 10.11.22
Nov 11, 2022 20:54:19 GMT
Andy D, Vox Inzabash, and 1 more like this
Post by Ruthenia Truelove on Nov 11, 2022 20:54:19 GMT
Ruthenia liked to think. It was part and parcel of what she did. Who she was. Take a step back and ponder. How does this work out for me? How do I best use this to my advantage? What is the long game here?
But there were no steps left to take. There was no long game. Only the corridor, the darkness beyond, and the young girls fighting the demons in it. There was only one thought left to have.
Save them.
Instinctively reaching for her healer's kit she hobbled into the darkness, the spirit Nightshade trailing behind with the driftglobe. Ruthenia scanned around, looking for those brave daring girls filled with all the vigour that she wish she had, that she wished she ever had. She found them. But not before she found the dark, wiry form of the nabassu, its eyes ablaze and its maw poised to strike.
Ruthenia knew. This was it. She didn't want to die, of course, but had never been afraid of facing it. She hadn't expected it would be now, but she thought that in some sense, this was hubris. Some god or demon's punishment for her trying to use the honest plight of a young girl to gather test subjects for herself. And yet she stared at the nabassu, almost glad. For if it was her, then it wasn't them. Not now. Not yet. And that gave them a chance. She smiled because she knew who she was.
Necromancer. Fugitive. Mage. Physician.
She was Ruthenia Truelove.
And then she woke.
Medical tent. She knew the sort. The kind she'd worked in a lifetime ago.
Lifetime...
It didn't take Ruthenia too long to work out what had happened. Clearly she had been resurrected. Her first instinct was disappointment that she couldn't log her observations surrounding this down. A first hand account would have worked wonders in figuring out wizardly resurrection.
But her being back meant her body was back, and that meant the girls were too. Relief washed over her like a tidal wave.
"[Thank fuck.]" she sighed, before immediately freezing. Multiple things were wrong. The rasp in her voice was completely absent, the first clean tone she had made in years. That wasn't nearly as disturbing as the fact that this clearly wasn't the somewhat lyrical but mostly simple and practical tongue of the halflings. This was elegant. Musical. Elvish. Elvish she understood.
This was wrong. This was very wrong. She knew Halfling, of course she knew Halfling! She spent her best years living amongst halflings! Then why could she barely remember...
She turned, trying to take in her surroundings, trying to find some answers to questions she barely knew she was asking. To her right, tent entrance, to her left-
The figure had been crudely and horrifically bisected. Skin ashen from exsanguination. Rigor mortis setting in, mouth open. Short grey hair spread out on the pillow. Lifeless grey eyes staring at the ceiling. A sight that would have barely registered for her normally, but she started to shake uncontrollably. For those were her eyes.
She instinctively reached out as a tent worker took her body away with her hand. Her hand? This one was dextrous, lithe and slim, with none of the wrinkles or arthritic nodes she was used to. But it had to be her hand, because she controlled it. Who was this? Who was that?
Was she Ruthenia Truelove?
But there were no steps left to take. There was no long game. Only the corridor, the darkness beyond, and the young girls fighting the demons in it. There was only one thought left to have.
Save them.
Instinctively reaching for her healer's kit she hobbled into the darkness, the spirit Nightshade trailing behind with the driftglobe. Ruthenia scanned around, looking for those brave daring girls filled with all the vigour that she wish she had, that she wished she ever had. She found them. But not before she found the dark, wiry form of the nabassu, its eyes ablaze and its maw poised to strike.
Ruthenia knew. This was it. She didn't want to die, of course, but had never been afraid of facing it. She hadn't expected it would be now, but she thought that in some sense, this was hubris. Some god or demon's punishment for her trying to use the honest plight of a young girl to gather test subjects for herself. And yet she stared at the nabassu, almost glad. For if it was her, then it wasn't them. Not now. Not yet. And that gave them a chance. She smiled because she knew who she was.
Necromancer. Fugitive. Mage. Physician.
She was Ruthenia Truelove.
And then she woke.
Medical tent. She knew the sort. The kind she'd worked in a lifetime ago.
Lifetime...
It didn't take Ruthenia too long to work out what had happened. Clearly she had been resurrected. Her first instinct was disappointment that she couldn't log her observations surrounding this down. A first hand account would have worked wonders in figuring out wizardly resurrection.
But her being back meant her body was back, and that meant the girls were too. Relief washed over her like a tidal wave.
"[Thank fuck.]" she sighed, before immediately freezing. Multiple things were wrong. The rasp in her voice was completely absent, the first clean tone she had made in years. That wasn't nearly as disturbing as the fact that this clearly wasn't the somewhat lyrical but mostly simple and practical tongue of the halflings. This was elegant. Musical. Elvish. Elvish she understood.
This was wrong. This was very wrong. She knew Halfling, of course she knew Halfling! She spent her best years living amongst halflings! Then why could she barely remember...
She turned, trying to take in her surroundings, trying to find some answers to questions she barely knew she was asking. To her right, tent entrance, to her left-
The figure had been crudely and horrifically bisected. Skin ashen from exsanguination. Rigor mortis setting in, mouth open. Short grey hair spread out on the pillow. Lifeless grey eyes staring at the ceiling. A sight that would have barely registered for her normally, but she started to shake uncontrollably. For those were her eyes.
She instinctively reached out as a tent worker took her body away with her hand. Her hand? This one was dextrous, lithe and slim, with none of the wrinkles or arthritic nodes she was used to. But it had to be her hand, because she controlled it. Who was this? Who was that?
Was she Ruthenia Truelove?