Post by abby on Mar 15, 2007 13:02:42 GMT -5
Under a red sky, amid the screams, amid the flames, a young woman in simple robes that where once white walks amongst the bodies, amongst the choas and the hate. Her hood covers her face and the mobs pay her no heed as she heals those she can. She carries no weapon, nor does she wear any armor. She is just, quite simply, a healer. Long ago, she exhausted any healing magic, and she is too weak to ask for more. Her fragile flesh is too weak a vessel. She knows as the first rain begins to fall on the broken city that her lord weeps. The healer is cold, even as the buildings around her burn. A sort of numbness has fallen on her, one that she has never known before. She does not even hear the screams as she tightens the bandages which she knows will be the death shroud upon a young man's burnt and bleeding body. She does not feel the anguish that she knows she should be feeling. Even the pain of countless bruises and an eye nearly swollen shut are no more than a dull throb in her weary mind. She stands, stretching a stiff back, and tries to wipe the blood from her hands; blood that has gone cold. Her hands come away no cleaner than before, for there is no place upon her robes where blood, dirt and soot have not covered her. Most of her supplies are gone, her gifts are gone, her strength is gone... but there are no more survivers who she has not tended too... at least, not here around her. Her fingers are numb with the chill. The blood doesnt come off. She looks around her at the carnage, at the madness and desperation. She has seen the aftermath of battle... of war. She has been covered in other people's blood her whole life. Yet somehow, this is differant. It is the senselessness of it. All of this... for gold. The greed of so few has ended in so much suffering. A recent memory finds its way though the haze which clouds her. She knows that she has broken her vow of peace this night. For the first time in her life, she struck out at another. It was fear, despair... but also, it was hate. She had attacked that wretched monster of an elf and his vile axe for the slaughter that had delighted him. He was not alone in his evil, there were others slaking their bloodlust. Yet she choose him because her mind had been too fragile to contain all of the evil around her. Yet even in her fury, what possible harm could she have done him? Nothing. But she had wanted to. Her vow lay broken and she knew that to pretend remorse would be shallow. Ilmater would forgive her... but she wouldnt ask. In her exhaustion, the young healer didnt realize that she was sitting in the street, among the wounded and dying. Nor did she ever remember fading into the deep, mercifully dreamless sleep which comes from utter exhaustion. In the morning, she would begin again, but she would never be the same.