Post by Blide on Apr 4, 2022 0:50:33 GMT
There was blood everywhere on the limestone tiles of the main estate's courtyard, Blide was meaning to cross to head to the kitchen. Nothing she was unaccustomed to, blood, sickness, and death played heavily in Lord Enness’ gladiator pits and her surgery. But tonight was different, the men and women who were forced into the arena were revolting, taking their lives back be it by killing or being killed. The danger was not currently present, but the dead and dying guards at her feet got her moving quicker in the opposite direction from the kitchen and back to her surgery.
“Flee, girl!” The voice was familiar, forceful, and in her head. She had come to call the male voice, ‘Damon’, after the elderly man who took her in as his apprentice liked to call it a demon. Old Greythorne, after hearing word Blide had been showing signs of healing magic took her in quickly at the young age of four, taught her as much as he could but lacked the sympathy of caring for a small child, and often go angry with her, he was the cause of the scarring on her face and the blindness in her left eye even though he didn’t do it himself. He didn’t live much longer after that, leaving her valuable as Lord Enness’ only healer at the tender age of twelve.
Though, now at 23, the voice had always been there for as long as she could remember, instructing her on how to perform surgeries, how much goes into health potions, how much hemlock in tea would ease a man into an easy and undetectable death. The voice never told her to run before, it would keep her calm in moments of doubt and pain. But now it howled for escape but reminded her to gather as many belongings she could carry.
In the bag of holding, found in the old healer’s belongings ages ago, Blide shoved her meager possessions, supplies, and food. With the smell of smoke and the screams getting closer, she needed to make her leave. With the old healer’s staff and bag of holding, both now hers, Blide slipped out into the darkness of the moonless night, unsure as to where she was going but trusting the knowledge of the second soul inside her to lead her to safety.
“Flee, girl!” The voice was familiar, forceful, and in her head. She had come to call the male voice, ‘Damon’, after the elderly man who took her in as his apprentice liked to call it a demon. Old Greythorne, after hearing word Blide had been showing signs of healing magic took her in quickly at the young age of four, taught her as much as he could but lacked the sympathy of caring for a small child, and often go angry with her, he was the cause of the scarring on her face and the blindness in her left eye even though he didn’t do it himself. He didn’t live much longer after that, leaving her valuable as Lord Enness’ only healer at the tender age of twelve.
Though, now at 23, the voice had always been there for as long as she could remember, instructing her on how to perform surgeries, how much goes into health potions, how much hemlock in tea would ease a man into an easy and undetectable death. The voice never told her to run before, it would keep her calm in moments of doubt and pain. But now it howled for escape but reminded her to gather as many belongings she could carry.
In the bag of holding, found in the old healer’s belongings ages ago, Blide shoved her meager possessions, supplies, and food. With the smell of smoke and the screams getting closer, she needed to make her leave. With the old healer’s staff and bag of holding, both now hers, Blide slipped out into the darkness of the moonless night, unsure as to where she was going but trusting the knowledge of the second soul inside her to lead her to safety.
