Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-10906938-20140218020301/@comment-11457306-20140219005650

When she had drunk her fill, she returned to the bank and pulled a bag of sweet soap from her pack, then waded back into the water to wash. Feeling much refreshed, she sat on the bank and brushed out her long dark hair, letting her clothing dry in the arid desert air as she watch the sun rise behind her destination, the city of al-Gaib, high on the cliff which towered over the opposite bank. She still had some distance to go to reach it.

She wiped her longsword and shortsword, Sorrow and Grief, clean with her drying cloth and wiped the grime from her pack. Replacing the swords in their respective sheathes, her daggers in their various places upon her person and slinging pack and bow once more, she began the long walk to the city. Her stomach rumbled with hunger.

She wondered as she walked, as to what she had done to cause the gods to rain destruction down upon her tribe and make her a refugee. Perhaps, she reflected, the fault was not hers and they were rewarding her by allowing her to escape their fate. If so, it was a harsh reward.