• Solo • III. Dream

Etzos, ‘The City of Stones’ is a fortress against the encroachment of Immortal domination of Idalos. Founded on the backs of mortals driven to seek their own destiny independent of the Immortals, the city has carved itself out of the very rock of the land. Scourged by terrible wars of extermination, they've begun to grow again, and with an eye toward expansion, optimism is on the rise.

Moderator: Basilisk Snek

User avatar
Llyr Llywelyn
Approved Character
Posts: 1945
Joined: Sat Feb 02, 2019 12:24 am
Race: Mortal Born
Renown: 830
Character Sheet
Character Wiki
Plot Notes
Personal Journal
Templates
Letters
Point Bank Thread
Wealth Tier: Tier 8

Milestones

RP Medals

Miscellaneous

III. Dream

Image
40 Zi'da, 719
Continued from here.

Maybe it wasn't so bad here. Llyr washed the blood out from his shirt, wringing the cloth out over the basin of water. Even with... everything... it'd started to feel rather nice, not having to worry so much about handling this or that. Sure, he probably had gotten expelled from the Academy in Viden by now. Certainly, Dean Rush took his disappearance to mean that he wouldn't be returning or something of that nature. He had left that note behind for the man, but whether it would actually convince him... he doubted it.

Whether his business continued or not, he could only trust in the people he'd left to handle it: Lochlann and Miller. He found that he did trust them though. In a way he hadn't thought before.

In fact, Llyr realized a lot of things about many of the people in his life. So in that way, it was kind of like a blessing that he'd ended up here. He smiled while he hung up his shirt to dry. Hardly any of the blood could be seen on the cotton anymore. He moved to his socks next. Llyr quietly hummed to himself while he wondered what others were up to... he wondered what Doran was doing... he hadn't seen his initiate in so long. Did Doran think him dead? He likely did, he supposed. Maybe Dean Rush thought him dead as well. Maybe everyone did.

Llyr wondered if he was supposed to feel sad about that. He hung up his rinsed socks, then washed his hands in the crimson water.

word count: 276
Please — consider me a dream.

Return to “Western: Etzos”