𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕆𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 ¦ 𝔽𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕪𝕤 𝕄𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕞

Who Runs a Pride

☽ - Eight Decades Ago, Vallen - ☾

The pounding in her head amplified with ever beating pulse of her heart, banging away at the bone of her skull.

Isleen could only focus on the pain, every inch of it, the air around her fused and fizzled with power, sealing everything else off. The throbbing extended to well... everything, rooting from her ears, her teeth and head, a throbbing so violent she struggled to stop her hands from shaking against the stone.

It was all she could focus on, laying groaning in the middle of the street of Vallen. No longer could she hear everything, in fact there wasn't much of anything left to hear, except the muffled sound of footfall, that seemed to be coming right towards her, footsteps heavy and penetrating the silence like knives as the clapped on the cobblestone,

The screaming of a thousand voices fell silent across the city, the pain seized her once more, gritting her teeth so hard they might shatter, with eyes sealed tight, Isleen griped to whatever sense she could. Trying to recall any information that could be of importance. That could help her reassemble some sense into the splintering expense of her mind.

Her head ache.

The chilling quietness.

The lords. The girl. Lord Lazarus' death. The Death. The Screaming. So many voices silences within seconds.

Her skull thumped once more, the pressure behind her eyes has grown strong enough to make the lines of the city buildings in view go so curvy they didn't look like buildings at all. Stone warped and wilted by magic, a picture portrait of destruction. Vallen had turned into a landscape of meshed colours and wavy lines and Isleen couldn't remember where she was.

The footfall was all around her now, unavoidable, unescapable.

Whatever life still thrashed in her, stirred her to move, bracing those aching muscle in every part of her body, Isleen pushed from her palms. Wincing out and favouring her right leg with a half hobble.

The jarred open door across the way would have to do, The paintwork was scratched, like a cat had a free-for-all with the once beautiful blue. The insides of her ears were burning something awful when she crashed through the door, weak legs giving way to gravity under the ache they tried to combat.

Isleen gasped out, trilling back when she landed next to the motionless body of a lower Lord. The fine clothing of greens, brass pins strapped to his chest. His eyes bloodshot and bulging from their sockets

"What happened here?"

The voices outside the door, made her scramble into moving, quietly crawling through the dusted floor Isleen dug her knees into the ground to push up towards the low hanging window to view out into the street.

Perhaps this was an attack send from Erilea. Some of the other servants had heard whispers from travelling merchants of the unrest on the land overseas. Was that female a Witch perhaps?

No, Isleen remembers the Cook telling her stories of the Ironteeth, and Crochans, the latter almost completely wiped clean by the Ironteeth clans. Cook had always been so enthralled and invested in the Crochans stories. Always telling her stories in great detail that left Isleen sitting awake all night, wondering on the magnificence of the other race. Now an uneasy feeing settled into her stomach at the memory of her only friend. What had happened to Cook? Did she get out? Was she hurt, alive?

Isleen couldn't allow herself to get too distracted, not as the people outside continued to wander on, the light noise of their chatter moving on towards the court yard.

Shivers racked her body quickly, an anticipation for what; she wanted to know,

The smart thing to do would be, get the hell out of Vallen, she knew all the back exits, but living as a slave to these lords for most of her life, Isleen had already come accustomed to the idea of her not reaching the age of settling.