[Flashback] Catching Fire (Solo)

[Aello]

Timestamp: Summer 63, 507 AV As Nysel's web crept over her, Aello pulled her blanket up a little higher, tucking it just under her chin. The worn cotton fabric tickling her flesh as she shifted, brushing her cheek across her pillow in an attempt to get her body more comfortable. Prepared for the stories Nysel felt in the mood to tell. To share with a person of so few years. So few moons. Aello's chest rose and fell slowly but steadily. Pushing up against the blankets which encased her in a warm cocoon. An oven, which seemed to bake the girl to her very soul. But Aello could feel none of this, having been in Nysel's realm a time, although, she could not remember ever having ventured there. Not until now, not until this very moment, when the god seemed to shift tones. Alter his mood, and display something else across the recesses of her mind. Her subconscious. A wave seemed to wash over her, as the colors of old were swept away. Another wave, as more were brought in to replace the old, and form a fresh picture. A vibrant canvas. A vibrant world, whose edges seemed to waver slightly. Like grass swaying in a breeze; the only indication she would receive that this world was not quite real. As Aello studied the changing of the colors, she came to realize that several of the paint splatters upon Nysel's canvas were beginning to drip. Pouring into the lower reaches, the emptiness, until they formed several slender lines with a wispy tuft at the top. At first, they seemed a deep brown, similar to the bark on the trees she so often found bordering her homeland. The endless expanse that loomed upwards, and into the Wildlands. But as she squinted, and observed, she came to realize that a light was beginning to shine upon them, casting the paint in a golden-yellow glow. More of it seemed to splatter across the canvas, causing the lines to multiply until they had become a field of wheat plants. Around the edges of her field, Aello could see numerous chunky, dark brown lines sprouting out of the ground. Similar to the color of her hair; but different in its texture. It was rougher, strong and firm beneath one's touch. Not at all smooth or silky, like her long brown lockes. As the brown lines continued to grow, reaching for the sky, several scattered lines began to pour out of the original. Forking, splitting into several smaller branches, which were covered in sharp, pointy, green leaves. The field then, was surrounded by a ring of evergreen trees. As Aello tilted her chin up, and sniffed the air, she could vaguely make out the scent of them carried to her by the winds, as she set herself towards the northern edge of the field. Flattening several long fronds beneath her slender form. The rest swaying gently in the breeze; dancing, as her hair splayed out against the earth. Sinking into it, becoming one with it. At first, Aello trained her eyes on the wheat. She ran her hands over the ground, allowing the fronds to tickle her pale flesh much as the wispy hairs that lined their tops did. Slowly, after several chimes had passed, Aello raised her hands. She ran the tips of her fingers over the wheat that had been left standing. Strumming them, as one would a harp or a guitar. As they vibrated beneath her delicate touch, Aello imagined them producing a low hum, similar to a bowstring after she had released an arrow. She visualized them altogether, producing a beautiful melody to accompany the dancing of the wheat. Something that moved in time to their quivering bodies. She could feel the tune relaxing her, washing away her memory. Her ability to differentiate between reality and fantasy. Finally, Aello closed her eyes, and rested her hands upon her stomach. Just above her belly button. Her fingers wove together, like the finest-crafted tapestry, as they fell with her chest; rose with it. Aello sighed as she pictured the world around her; listened to its song in silence for several moments, as the wheat cast several dark shadows over her eyes. Even though the shadows unnerved her somewhat, Aello kept her eyes shut for what felt like ages, before opening them again, and glancing up at the sky. The sky was a light blue shade, similar to a baby's blanket. Scattered here and there was the occasional fluffy white cloud, which reminded Aello of a sheep who had lost sight of the rest of its body. Her lips curled into a delicate smile, as she gazed directly at the brightly-colored sun. Causing her eyes to sting as she traced a bright purple dot across her field of vision. She could feel its warm, golden rays reaching for her. Enveloping her, and shrouding her in a cloak of light; of intense heat that made her feel both safe, and rather loved, if not a little sweaty. She loved that feeling- the way the sun sent a soft, tingling sensation to each limb it touched. The way it caused several beads of clear, salty sweat to appear upon her brow. The way each droplet seemed to reflect a small portion of the sun's radiance. Aello sighed. If only she was aware of the fact that this was all a dream, she'd realize how much she never wanted to wake up. To experience reality. For this place, this picture-perfect world, was all the more grand than anything she had ever seen before. Aello sighed as she closed her eyes again, and simply allowed the world's scents to fill her. To ease her tired soul. To wash away her aches and pains. Her worries. She loved the scent of the wheat, the feel of it beneath her fingers. Knowing what it was before it became something else. "This is wonderful," she whispered, as she opened her eyes, and glanced up at the sky, only to find that the sky wasn't there. Instead, there was a book, which stretched across the space where it had once been. A book which had been turned to its middle. Its pages, surprisingly, managing to cling to its ends, for the most part, although, if she really looked, the yellowed edges seemed to furl, as though preparing to turn. At first, when Aello studied the inner reaches, she saw nothing. The middle crease, the dividing line, seemed to be the only portion not left in the light. Empty. For the expanse was dark, like sinking into a cave imbedded in the side of a mountain. Confused by why it would be there, devoid of its own story, Aello's brow furrowed. "Don't you have something to share?" Aello whispered, as the book's crease started to waver. Its edges flowing like the waves of the sea, a shadow being taken in and out of of light. That's strange, Aello thought, as she followed the darkness with her finger. Pushing it from one end of the book, to the other, and back again, circling it over and over until the line seemed to widen, to trail left and to the right. Splitting, dividing, dancing across the emptiness. Startled, Aello returned her hand to her side as the ink glided along, circling, until it formed a series of words. Bold, ominous sounding words, scrawled in the neatest script she had ever seen: This isn't the end, nor is it truly the beginning, it is a time without a name, a time that only shapes, and molds, those with the coldest of hearts, and the simplest of minds. OOCIf this looks familiar, it's because aspects of this dream have been incorporated into Aello's favorite meditation. Just so you know. >.<

[Aello]

Leon stood on the hardwood floor, the dagger his father had gifted him held in his hot little hand. The Summer heat wafted into the square expanse through the slightly parted window by his bed. It lips open to the air, the outside world, trying to suck in the dry emptiness, but finding that nothing came. Had it been cooler, with more of a breeze, perhaps Leon would have asked his father to open it a little wider, but with the weather, it seemed so unnecessary. The gateway to the outside world providing nothing. The wood, which seemed to stick to the metal slidings, always getting caught with the weather. The crickets and cicadas chirping in the hopes to will it to pass. But it never did. Not if only they, or perhaps Leon himself, tried to give it a push. The dark hilt of Leon's dagger slid across his sweaty palm as he stepped over to the far end of his room. The edge devoid of the majority of his furniture. He spaced his legs apart again, the left before the right. The right turned towards his right side, the left directed ahead of his step. Today, he held the blade outwards, towards his imaginary opponent. Today, he held it in the fashion his father always told him wasn't as good. As strong. The sign of the novice and the weak. But Leon didn't really care what his father said in this instance. He felt a need to practice everything. A need to imagine that the dagger was more that it was. That it was a real sword. The sword he always wanted, one he'd have to hold with two of his hands. His father had always said that when he grew up big and strong like him, he could have a sword, and he'd teach him how to use it. Leon hoped he grew up soon, he was tired of being too little for everything. At least, as far as his father was concerned. He was sick of being reminded that his reach wasn't so great. His steps were awkward, short and sloppy. He was tired of being told no. Tired of having to wield what was often considered a woman's weapon. He wanted a man's weapon. A sword. He was almost a man, he should be able to have one, and then, Aello could have his dagger. Maybe, if she begged him to teach her how to use it. At the thought, a smile crossed Leon's lips. Yes, he would give the woman's weapon to a woman, and keep the sword he got for himself, and train with it always. He would be a man. Not like a woman who carried a woman's weapon. Smiling even more widely to himself, Leon tilted his left foot, bringing his toes up, and leaving only his heel on the ground. As he did, he lifted his dagger wielding arm, and held it across his body, bent at the elbow, within a fraction of a second he had shot his left leg forward, and allowed the right to trail behind. Leon leaned into his leading leg, bending it at the knee as the right stretched behind, as he extended his left arm, with the dagger towards the space in front of him, as far as it would go. Cutting the point through the air, lunging at his foe. Imagining his dagger was a mighty sword, he drew his right leg in, and stood a little, before sweeping his dagger up and down. Across and sideways. "Take that!" Leon roared as he cut down an evil doer. As he saved himself. As he saved the day. The thought of having to spill someone else's blood didn't so much as occur to him.

[Aello]

Myrrh's hands lifted the fabric higher, easing the loop onto her head, before they sank behind her back, to tie a knot in the string. A drooping bow, like a wilting white rose, whose petals were beginning to fall. "There," she whispered to herself, as she patted the creases out of her apron. "Time to get cooking!" The woman's eyes sparkled as she swirled across the kitchen, humming a merry tune to herself as she pulled pots and pans, mixing bowls, measuring cups and spoons out of drawers. Wooden spoons off drying racks, and ingredients out of the cupboard. Flour, sugar, dry yeast, salt and some oil. "All here," she whispered, as she piled everything on the table and clapped her hands together. Surveying her captive audience, as though wondering whom to address first. Shrugging at her decision, Myrrh reached for the sack of flour and a measuring cup. The smallest one, which only held two. When they had drawn close, Myrrh unfurled the tough paper bag, releasing a light crinkling sound into the still air, sending puffs of wispy white snow into the emptiness, which slowly, rained down onto her hands. Dusting them. The soft hum rose over the silence, dancing across the air, as Myrrh picked up the measuring cup and dumped it into the flour, scooping up as much as she could. Shaking the excess off as she lifted it up. Allowing the white powder to cascade over the length of the glass brim. "There," she commented, as it leveled out, and she dumped it into a mixing bowl, before going off to collect two more scoops. Now for that, Myrrh thought, as she eyed a few more things at her table, and skipped over to the pail of water her husband had brought up from the well earlier in the day. She hurried back to the table with it, measured out a few cups, and poured it into another bowl before adding sugar and some yeast, and letting it sit. As Myrrh rattled off the rest of the recipe in her head, and waited for the yeast to foam, there was a knock at the door. "Is that you Lucien?" Myrrh called, as she strained her head to see who was there. There was no answer, only the scrape of the door as it slid open, and her husband walked in. Instantly, the woman's eyes lit up as she saw her best friend and mate kick the door behind him. As she listened to the sloshing of some sort of liquid in a large glass jar. A jar he held in each of his hands. "What do you have there love?" Myrrh asked, as Lucien headed her way, and dropped the jar on the counter, to give himself a break. "A surprise for you," Lucien replied, his eyes sparkling as he crossed the room to his wife, and stopped behind her. His arms trailing about her waist. Resting on her hip bones as he drew his chest close, and let it rest against her back. Myrrh could feel his sweat against her back, its cool touch past the warmth of his body. His hot breath on her neck as he pushed her hair away with his nose, and trailed a few wet kisses down the length of her neck, to the top of her shoulder. She could feel her body scrunching as her face warmed. "Lucien!" Myrrh teased as he pulled his head away, releasing her from his hold, in part. "What is it my love?" Lucien whispered, his voice sounding nearly breathless. So very hot. "Can we continue this... a little later?" Myrrh asked, as she bit her bottom lip. "Of course," Lucien replied, as he withdrew his hands, and moved back to his jar. "I have to work on your surprise anyway." Myrrh could only nod as she listened to the beating of her own heart. The organ that moved only for him. For her children. But mainly, just for him. She thought she could hear the jar scraping against the counter and then a sudden crash. She could hear the liquid pooling, feel it speckle her feet. It made her jump. "Everything alright?" Myrrh asked, as she turned to look at her husband. Lucien nodded. "Yeah, it must have just slipped," he said with a shrug, as Myrrh began to move away from her things, and over to him. Lucien waved her away. "Don't worry about this honey, you're busy. Just finish your baking and I'll tend to this." Myrrh nodded, as Lucien grabbed a towel off the rack, and slipped it into his pocket, before picking up all the glass shards and depositing them into the bin. He then proceeded to wipe the floor, and everything else the liquid had doused, before moving off into another portion of the house, leaving Myrrh alone to bake her bread. Sighing, Myrrh half heartedly sprinkled some salt, and poured a tad of oil into her risen yeast. She shook her head lightly. Men...

[Aello]

Aello's brow furrowed in concentration as she stared up at the dark words. The way the edges of the ink seemed to ripple as she studied it. "Whatever does that mean?" Aello shouted at the book, as though it had a voice and would bother to answer her. As though simply shouting could scare everything into carrying out her will, into bringing her knowledge, and a deeper understanding of the realm Nysel had crafted for her this time around. The girl then, was caught unawares. Incapable of feeling another's eyes lingering on her flesh, as they slowly shut the door. Easing it through its softened creak. "What is the worth of those words?" Aello shouted, her eyes taking on a fearful edge. A sort of saddened gleam. The dark ring around her eyes only seemed to darken, as the iris itself came to light, and then blurred, as though she were shedding tears. Although none fell. As she simply stared, uncertain as to what else she had to do, the ink on the page wobbled. It stirred, as though awakening with a new sort of life. Aello's lips parted as she studied the lines, wondering when this world would begin to make a semblance of sense. As she waited for something, anything, the ink continued to droop. Sinking into a gentle curve much like a tear. One gone black with the darkness; the contamination cast by the world. After a time, a single droplet spilled from the larger mass, before the paper sucked the rest back up. Forming a large inkblot across the pages. Slowly the little black speck tumbled, spinning down to earth. Towards Aello, until it landed, with an inaudible thud on her right knee. The girl's gaze fell instantly from the book to it, expecting to see a splatter she'd never be able to wash out of her clothes. But there, in the ink's stead she saw nothing. No splatter; no stain. Instead, she noticed a dark spider, long, spindly legs, crawling across her flesh, towards her face. Finding the tickling sensation the arachnid sent up the length of her leg chilling, Aello instantly flicked it away, into the swaying wheat fronds. "That's better," she whispered, as she watched it disappear though a split in the plants, only to find another spider materialize on her knee. Landing in the precise location the first one had, as though the book, frustrated by her gesture, had spit out another just to spite her. "Darn it where did you come from?" Aello asked, as she tried to inch her head back, as far away from the creature as it would go. Its abdomen, dark as night. Its eight legs thick at the base, and ever growing thinner as they inched outwards. Fat at the bends, drawn to a point at the ends. Spinnerets as dark as the abdomen, as pointy looking as a Myrian who had just sharpened their teeth. Everything about the creature seemed dark and dreary, save for two markings along the back of its gently curved back. Bright red markings, in the shape of lumpy hearts. One smaller before the master, both ringed in a bright yellow, similar to the color of the sun, the strange book had blotted out. "And just what sort of creature are you?" Aello asked, as she stared at the black widow, who was slowly making its way up her form, leaving a silver tendril of sticky silver thread in its wake, as yet another spider fell, only to follow the trail the first had left behind.

[Aello]

The triumphant boy ran over to his bed, and leapt atop the mattress. Leon could feel it sinking beneath his feet. His weight forming plateaus along the length of the smooth feather bed. "I shall be the strongest fighter there ever was!" Leon shouted, as he raised his left arm above his head, and held his dagger high. A grand smile crossed his lips as he stretched his arm as far as it would go, and braced his side with his spare hand on his hips. "And all manner of men shall fear me!" Distracted by his hope for the future. By the fantasy world he had created for himself, Leon failed to hear the subtle click of his doorknob. A lock falling into place. As the words left the boy's lips, he leapt off his bed, and onto the floor. Landing with a loud thud which shook the floor boards. "They will know that to fight me means most certain death!" Leon shouted, as he swept his arm back and forth, sweeping the dagger through the thick summer air; the relentless heat. There was a soft whoosh, the hiss of the ethereal air. Hiding always, from the boy's sight. But Leon knew it was there. He could sense it, as he drew his arm down towards his hip, and then swept it back up in a diagonal line, before stepping back, as though dodging his opponent's blade. He guided it up and down then, as though blocking the blade, over and over. In his head he swore he could hear the metallic clash. The grunts of a tiring opponent, deeming him more than a worthy adversary.

[Aello]

Now that the yeast had had the time it needed to settle and grow, Myrrh began to pour the flour into it, a bit at a time, and mix it together with a wooden spoon. Swiftly, the spoon circled in a clockwise fashion. The white powder being absorbed into the beige, doughy mass. Swiftly, ever so swiftly, she failed to make out all the components, willing her to add more, to mix it in too, and then more and more, until all the flour was gone. Until all she had left was a mass of bread dough, waiting to be kneaded into something all the more edible. Smiling down at her work as she continued to hum, Myrrh dipped her hand into the sack of flour, and pinched up a small portion. She raised her hand, and flicked it onto the table. Sprinkling a dusty blanket of powdery snow. When she was done, Myrrh tipped the bowl over, allowing the dough to cascade over the length of its side, and onto her table. She then dragged the dough closer, stretching it out, as she began to pound it with her fists. She then poured a little more oil into it, to loosen it up, as she continued to pound the dough, and beat it into itself. Fold it into itself. Make it furl as though it were a leaf which had received too much sun. As she worked, Myrrh's tune lost itself in the heat. In the noise cast by her hands. She bit her bottom lip as her gaze fixated on her hands. As it hardened. As her brow furrowed, and several beads of sweat appeared by the line of her hair. Almost there, she thought, as she kept on working for several chimes, until the bread had achieved the consistency she was looking for. There, Myrrh thought, as she surveyed the dough, and gently eased it into a more circular shape, before lifting it into a bread tin. "Now time to bake you," she whispered, as she moved over to her stove and oven, and gently eased the latter of the two open. She peered inside, and decided that there was enough wood to be lit. Smiling pleasantly, more than pleased with her progress and the fact that she didn't have to go outside to fetch more to feed the oven, the woman straightened herself out and opened a nearby drawer. She rummaged around for a few moments until she found a box of matches, and pulled one from the rest. She then scraped the match across the rough strip on the side of the box until it caught. A flickering orange flame which gave off a wisp of grey smoke. Slowly, she eased it over the oven and dropped it in. The oven seemed to roar as a large flame appeared almost instantly. A bright orange and yellow glow which seemed to give off a heat far more intense than the sun's rays. "What's this?" Myrrh wondered, as she reached for her bread, only to find the fire trailing down the outskirts of her oven, onto the floor. Onto the speckles of moisture that clung to her from before. The droplets of the strange liquid Lucien had dropped. Startled, the woman stomped her feet as her kitchen began to go up in smoke. She could hear the air crackling with the heat. Fireflies swirling through the air, dancing around her ears. Mocking her with their sudden flash, before they extinguished themselves. Myrrh tried to scream as she found herself stuck in a fiery ring. A ring with no escape. More than frightened, she backed away, right into her oven. Into the fiery embrace of the element she had just conjured. It wound around her. Circling her form. Calling her inside, into the darkness. Into the emptiness. The void. The oven door slammed shut behind Myrrh as everything grew out of her control. The match had been lit. How long before it fell?

[Aello]

Leon's sword twirled through the air, fending off several more opponents. Impossible odds, that only he had a chance at besting. He thought he could hear them all being driven back, calls for a retreat as something clanged shut, as the scent of smoke reached his nostrils. The boy, thinking it unlikely that his mother should burn something, being that she was both the experienced and talented cook, straightened up. His body went rigid. His muscles tightened; coiled, preparing to spring. He could feel them rippling beneath his flesh as he lowered his dagger, and glanced over his shoulder at the door. "Mother, is everything alright?" Leon called, as his nostrils began to flare. To redden. "I smell fire," Leon added, as he turned to face his bedroom door. He fell silent as he awaited an answer, but when a chime passed, and nothing came, he stepped forward. "Mother, can you hear me?" Leon called, his voice a bit shaky, yet, still louder than before. "Mother?" Leon asked, as smoke began to seep in from below his door. Through the narrow slit that rested above the wooden floor. "Mother, what's going on?" Leon asked, as he darted for the door, and the sound of crackling reached his ears. "There's a fire mom!" Leon shouted, as he sheathed his dagger, and reached for the knob. Turning it wildly in one direction, and then the other, only to find that it was locked. That it couldn't be budged. He jiggled it, against all hope, as sweat appeared on his brow, and tendrils of smoke wafted in through the open window. "Mom!" Leon screamed, as he pounded on the door, abandoning the metal knob. "The door is locked, please come and let me out!" Leon screamed as he pounded. "Please... there's a fire! Mom! Aello!" Leon screamed as he began to cough. "Please help! Dad!" In fright, Leon darted across the room to his window, to find several bouts of fire snaking alongside his house. Curling under it, blackening the wood. He could see smoke rising into the clear sky as he began to scream again, wondering if the others had already made it outside and couldn't hear him. "Mom! Dad! Aello! I'm stuck inside!" Leon gasped as he put his hands beneath the window and tried to push it up. He grunted with the effort as he continued to cough, as more sweat appeared on his brow, and fire licked the underside of his door. As it began to crawl inside towards him, licking the floor boards, the carpet by his bed. Causing the strings to unravel, to fray, before they turned to ash in the fire's mouth. Yet, as he pushed, the window would not budge. He was trapped, for he could see no one outside. Startled, Leon's eyes grew wide as he continued coughing, and his body curled, bringing him closer to the floor, out of range of the majority of the dark smoke clouds, which hovered just above his head. He turned his head around, to find the fire drifting closer. It guarded the door, his only real way out, unless someone came outside and saw him. Opened the window and pulled him out. "Aello!" Leon screamed through a cough. "Mom!" but it was softer. He could see the fire climbing through his window. Coming to get him. He thought he could see the glass melting. Dripping, as he backed away, more towards the center of his room. "Anybody?" he whispered, as the first of the flames licked him. Taking a taste, before it swelled up to consume him completely.

[Aello]

The spiders kept on falling from the pages of the book. Raining down upon Aello as though that was what was normal within the world. As though there was nothing out of place, or peculiar about it. Disgusted by the feel of their legs on her skin. The silk they left behind, Aello squirmed uncomfortably, her body trembling as she brushed a number of them away with her hands, only to find that more and more fell, and sprung up in their place. Startled, as they began to follow the gentle curve of her chin, to her lips, Aello looked up. What is this madness? Aello wondered, as the ink on the page spread again. As they twirled across the emptiness to form two simple words: The End. Not truly understanding their presence, Aello's head tilted to the side, as more spiders came for her. More wrapped her in their sticky silk, pinning her in place. She could feel some of their legs poking past her lips, into her mouth. Some of their silk spreading across their parted expanse, sewing them together. Aello wanted to scream as she saw the book go up in flame, but no sound came out. The black bodies continued to rain down on the field, soaking it in a deep reddish-orange. She thought she could hear them screaming in her place. She knew, at the very least, that she could hear the fire crackling as the pages furled, and began to sink towards her. Over and over, she watched the pages disintegrate against the fire's touch, until the book slammed shut, closing the world away, on her. Aello awakened from her nightmare with a start. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she tore off Nysel's cobwebs. As the misty sheen over her eyes fell away, and her nostrils began to flare as she sniffed the air. She thought she could smell smoke, which caused her eyes to flutter, trying to shake the sleep away, as she rolled off her bed, and out of the covers. As she hit her head, she rubbed it absently with her hand, soothing it in her tired state. She sniffed the air again, the scent of smoke still lingered. "It is real," Aello whispered to herself, as she forced herself up, and headed for the door, twisting the knob easily and moving out, into the line of smoke. As she turned away from it instinctually, the girl couldn't help but close her eyes, and cover her mouth with her arm as she coughed, and lowered her body, below it. As she turned back around, and looked ahead, she realized that there was fire. Several sections, dancing across the floor. Petch, Aello thought, as she darted forward, knowing that in that direction, lay the only way out. As she moved past, Aello could barely think. The remnants of her dreams, her memory of it, coupled with the smoke was making her head fuzzy. She thought she could feel her brain swimming around uselessly as she reached the stairs, and found her father's bow resting up against it, alongside his quiver filled with arrows. She grabbed it blindly, knowing she shouldn't have taken the time, and yet, knowing she'd have never forgiven herself if it had been lost. Without giving it any more thought, Aello ran forward, towards her front door. She reached for the knob as she ran the bow up the length of her arm, allowing it to rest on her elbow. It felt hot. So hot she jerked her hand away and grit her teeth. Swallowing smoke, choking in a strain to bring in clean air, Aello's eyes teared. They strung and grew red as she reached for the knob again, and swiftly jerked it open, ignoring the burn. Lines of fire swayed in the doorway as she leapt past and into the summer heat. Pillars of smoke following her as she stumbled out and onto the grass, dragging her legs after her until she fell, flat on her face. Her fingers unfurling, releasing the quiver. Her shoulder slamming the ground, the bow tumbling away, until it rested next to her. Everything still hurt, everything still stung even in the soft bed of green grass. As Aello forced herself to look back at her family's cottage, to watch the fire circle it, before it finally claimed it, blackened it to the bone, Aello could scarcely wonder if everyone else had made it out. What had become of them, before her eyes, growing heavy, sank shut, and everything went black.

[Paragon]

Aello : Aello Skill XP Reward Running +1 Lore: In Nysel's Domain, Lucid Nightmares, Calling out to the Darkness, Black Widows Other: N/A Great solo. It's nice to see players writing to flesh out their characters past, rather than just for XP. I look forward to seeing part two of this - if you have ANY questions or concerns about this grading, don't hesitate to PM me.