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Post by Droiture on Jul 9, 2008 16:55:22 GMT -5
"Damn.... Am I to die here? Is this my final resting place? In this horrid forest where the evil my grandfather commited cannot be put to rest? No... I... I can't die here! Please, someone, anyone, help me...."
Droiture choked out his words as he held the wound in his side tight, blood leaking out over his white clothes.
Droiture was a Branded, one shunned by both races of beorc and laguz. He was born of a Raven and a human. Both were dead now, of little concern. He wore white healer's robes, though healer he was not. He weilded a scythe of epic proportions seemingly too large for his fragile three-fingered grip to carry. Unfortunately, his scythe now lay useless beside him as he laid in the swampy mud.
Droiture was waylaid and ambushed in a Gallian town, where a band of angry cats decended upon him and decided to find out what color the guts of a filthy Branded happened to be. Droiture fought most of them off, but was struck in the side with a near fatal blow, allowing him to crawl off while the cats laughed at his torment. ....
"Is... no one out there...?"
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