Morning

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

Seth had awakened in sheer agony in the shelter of the wayward pine he had taken refuge under, for the night, in the forests near Myrken. It seemed an eternity that he lay writhing on a bed of pine needles. It felt like the knife was still embedded inside his back. The knife that had, in the end, claimed his life in a realm of nightmarish, fleshy scenery.

Eventually he stilled, though took in several deep breaths. It was almost a surprise not to exhale and have blood come bubbling up out of his mouth. There was, however, the feeling of something warm, sticky and wet against his back where the knife had been. He could feel the fabric of his shirt sticking to his flesh. It was easy enough to guess it was blood.

He forced his breathing to steady and rolled onto his side, gritting his teeth as the shift caused sharp pain in his lower back. Several more minutes pass before he finally drags himself out from under the shelter of the wayward pine and into the surrounding snow.

It would be another minute or two before he managed to push himself to his feet. There is a moment, now, where he reaches slips a hand beneath the back of his shirt, beneath the folds of his traveler's cloak. Fingertips trail through the drying blood, that caused his shirt to cling to his back, and just lightly touch the area where the knife had been. It had already scabbed over, the cut that remained. It was a little alarming to find that there. However, seeing as he was not losing copious amounts of blood and dying he would not worry about it too much.

Now he would begin the journey back to Myrken and the Dagger. While he was not overly far from his destination, it would take him the better part of the day to reach it. This due to the fact he felt weak and drained from what had occured. At the very least he could assume the others were alive seeing as he was. This was a relief to the tall elf. Of course he would feel better once he had proof the others were alive. Granted there were maybe a couple he could care less about the survival of.

[Wendy]

A startled teahouse proprietress awakened to the Governor’s screams and witnessed the knock-around of furniture while the man was wrecked by agony. It was a morning she’d been looking forward to waking to, until then! Plans were that she’d be visiting with Mister Burnie (who promised to return and finish his conversation) and later she would help to put dinner together for a small gathering at Calomel’s farm.

This morning, she is forced awake by this unfamiliar noise and it scares her. At first, she thought there must be an intruder, but there was only one person thrashing around in the early light. His pale hair had her shoving the covers aside.

She leapt from her bed to administer aide, not knowing what sort was needed, but willing to - wanting to. There was no time for that. Instead, Cinn tugged on his clothes and secured his weapon while rapidly summarizing his pain. The need to leave was strong. There was so little detail for her ears that she remained stunned and silent after he hurried off, “To check on them.â€

[Raveness]

Even though there was much chaos downstairs, Lavender had crept up to her room. Once inside, she locked her bedroom door and then undressed from her usual clothes into her white chemise. The door would remain locked, in case someone needed her, before she had a chance to throw upon her cloak to cover her wings.

With a deep sigh, Lavender would pull back the thick blanket on her bed and slip inside. There was a pondering of reading, but being that she had to be awake early to help Cambree before she left, she decided against it. She hoped her mind would calm itself and turn off, as she reached out and snuffed out the candle on the small table beside her bed.

There was little tossing in the beginning, but as she began to dream, there was so much more. Her blanket would become entangled in her prone form, around her legs and across her body. She wouldn't remember to screaming out, but most assuredly did, on numerous occasions.

When the teahouse would finally awaken and Lavender was expected, there would be no trace of her downstairs. If there was a knock or even a pounding on her door, there would only be silence.

Inside, Lavender was already tangled into a deep sleep, one from which she couldn't be awakened.

[Malaroth]

The bitter winter dawn shone starkly across the snowy fields, offending eyes as to blind them, setting a hard squint onto features that merely glared onto Myrken beyond, what little he could see of it. A palm pressed tenderly against flesh worn raw with the damning memory, and identity, of his killer - his dream-killer who had at first saved and then slain him. His squire was absent for the moment, and might be for the next several hours. Somehow the pleasant train of their conversations, sitting amiably, chatting easily, melted behind a hardened veneer that stiffened upon his ashen countenance like a funerary mask.

Every breath was the pumping of a hungry billows.

Every blink was the sharpening of a guillotine.

And every moment lost was one that dragged his overworked, overwrought mind into the shadows with echoing whispers of the chemise-garbed temptress whose tendrils threatened Calomel's rising star and the peace of the citizenry beneath a gaudy guise of sweet, sweaty flesh.

"Treason," he whispered as his fingertip traced a cool caress over his memory wound.

"Sedition."