Priscilla Oresium

"... Yes, Puck, I'm aware I need supplies. Shut up."

".... Streets are too loud this morning."

-focused in her mind. That man in the dark robe should be prepared for his head to no longer be on his shoulders.

-out who betrayed her, her group. She will balance the scales and she wouldn't stop until it was done. She had heard about a man in a dark robe, wandering towards the dragon coast and so, she would follow suit. The fiend in her sword guiding her, the static in her mind echoing and a single thing-

-heavy breath. She remembered now, she had come to Baldur's Gate with her group, tracking some blood crazed cultists. They were ambushed, decimated and now only she remained, sword in hand, heavy. She took one step, then another, then another, until she put the gate behind her. She needed to find-

-holding it high above her, an energy swirling and surging through her, thoughts finally forming but the static remained, like a distance fire off in the darkened distance.

"My name is Pike. A pleasure, mortal."

She doesn't respond, she only grimaced, wounds healing, wobbling to her feet with-

-wish to stand on your own two feet... take me up." It's a blade, the handle in her grip, tightening it, trying to quiet the static. Was it this creature's doing? She'll curse it until her teeth are sanded away through her grinding but the blood was too much, she too desperate. She takes the sword-

-ears. It seems like an eternity before something breaks the static.

"Young mortal... come hither."

She tries to question but whatever sound her mouth makes, she still can't hear it. Her hands aimlessly searching until she feels something in her hand, the static quieting just a fraction.

"If you-

-through her, dirt gripped in her hand. She can't remember only seeing in a void, was she always like this? The shock made it hard to remember, even her own name. So, she crawls, no pride carried in herself, just desperation. She tries to call out but all she hears is static ringing through her-

She remembers the scream, the smell of blood exerting her nose and mouth. She can't remember if the scream is hers or her comrades, slain one by one, the hellfire entering her nostrils before the metallic taste of rust does. She's clawing, dragging herself until she can't anymore, gasps cough-