5th Trial of Ashan, Arc 719
Etzos
Neronin rarely felt his stomach protest its lack of sustenance, but he felt this trial. He had spent nearly four days without food, searching for the damnable hunters who had made him their sport. It was rarely an issue anymore. He lived in a state of lack of food and sleep. It was the price of having such a strong necrotic spark. The dark presence in him hated the necessities of life and protested violently whenever he indulged, the result being intense abdominal pain usually. So Neronin had learned to exist on very little in a state of almost perpetual lethargy.
Neronin had finally caved and pursued a meal. Finding a likely source in the saddlebags of a recently arrived traveler to the Shaded Crow Inn in Etzos. The man had hurried inside to secure a room for the night, leaving his horse tethered in front for the time it took to secure a room. It had been enough. Neronin, being the master mage he was, ran forward and pilfered through his saddlebags looking for any food he could find. He came away with a few strips of dried meat and a stale loaf of bread, small and hard. Neronin tore open a portal and stepped through it with a resounding crack. He appeared again on the other side of the tavern, in the shadows behind a stack of crates and spare stable tools. He greedily tore at the bread with his mouth, doing nothing but savoring the food. Then he noticed that the courtyard of the tavern had a low, simple well with a bucket next to it.
Neronin could feel the spark in him violently swirling about in his soul, discontent with the food. He ignored that pain for the moment, knowing he needed the nourishment. Neronin dipped the bucket and then pushed his face into the dark water to drink. He was messy and noisy, gasping for air as he drank deeply. The cold water coursed down into his gullet and he felt the relief he needed shortly before the spark roiled again with anger.
After staggering next to the well in a state of bliss Neronin felt as though he was rejuvenated, or had slept for many breaks. He sighed contentedly and peeled back the packaging on the dried meat. He bit into it savagely, relishing the flavor as he munched. But voices brought him back to a state of panic. He sprinted from the small courtyard between the L shaped tavern, the stables, and the back wall towards the stack of crates and spare tools he had been lurking in.
Neronin peered out suspiciously, hunched over and still chewing on the meat. The voices resolved into a young woman and a heated man. The woman walked out into the courtyard from the inn’s kitchen and the man followed and slammed the door.
“Don’t talk to me like that in front of your father!” He said, and Neronin got the distinct impression this was a more private continuation of a previous conversation. She glared at him. She had the look of a distinctly rangy youth. Her beauty was of the warm and plain variety, and her thin frame meant she had spent at least some of her life without steady meals. The young man, on the other hand was round faced and carried more than a few extra pounds in his midriff, though his arms seemed strong enough. He was pacing in front of her as she gazed reproachfully at him.
“Don’t tell me how t’act in my father’s tavern, Crav.” She said, and Neronin was impressed to find more defiance than fear in her voice.
Etzos
Neronin rarely felt his stomach protest its lack of sustenance, but he felt this trial. He had spent nearly four days without food, searching for the damnable hunters who had made him their sport. It was rarely an issue anymore. He lived in a state of lack of food and sleep. It was the price of having such a strong necrotic spark. The dark presence in him hated the necessities of life and protested violently whenever he indulged, the result being intense abdominal pain usually. So Neronin had learned to exist on very little in a state of almost perpetual lethargy.
Neronin had finally caved and pursued a meal. Finding a likely source in the saddlebags of a recently arrived traveler to the Shaded Crow Inn in Etzos. The man had hurried inside to secure a room for the night, leaving his horse tethered in front for the time it took to secure a room. It had been enough. Neronin, being the master mage he was, ran forward and pilfered through his saddlebags looking for any food he could find. He came away with a few strips of dried meat and a stale loaf of bread, small and hard. Neronin tore open a portal and stepped through it with a resounding crack. He appeared again on the other side of the tavern, in the shadows behind a stack of crates and spare stable tools. He greedily tore at the bread with his mouth, doing nothing but savoring the food. Then he noticed that the courtyard of the tavern had a low, simple well with a bucket next to it.
Neronin could feel the spark in him violently swirling about in his soul, discontent with the food. He ignored that pain for the moment, knowing he needed the nourishment. Neronin dipped the bucket and then pushed his face into the dark water to drink. He was messy and noisy, gasping for air as he drank deeply. The cold water coursed down into his gullet and he felt the relief he needed shortly before the spark roiled again with anger.
After staggering next to the well in a state of bliss Neronin felt as though he was rejuvenated, or had slept for many breaks. He sighed contentedly and peeled back the packaging on the dried meat. He bit into it savagely, relishing the flavor as he munched. But voices brought him back to a state of panic. He sprinted from the small courtyard between the L shaped tavern, the stables, and the back wall towards the stack of crates and spare tools he had been lurking in.
Neronin peered out suspiciously, hunched over and still chewing on the meat. The voices resolved into a young woman and a heated man. The woman walked out into the courtyard from the inn’s kitchen and the man followed and slammed the door.
“Don’t talk to me like that in front of your father!” He said, and Neronin got the distinct impression this was a more private continuation of a previous conversation. She glared at him. She had the look of a distinctly rangy youth. Her beauty was of the warm and plain variety, and her thin frame meant she had spent at least some of her life without steady meals. The young man, on the other hand was round faced and carried more than a few extra pounds in his midriff, though his arms seemed strong enough. He was pacing in front of her as she gazed reproachfully at him.
“Don’t tell me how t’act in my father’s tavern, Crav.” She said, and Neronin was impressed to find more defiance than fear in her voice.
