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Ortlindegal Profile
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Registered: 11-2007
Location: Where weak are killed & eaten.
Posts: 327
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No one mourns the wicked.


"No!" Rhiannon screamed as she looked into the mirror. Her face was greatly changed, just as she had asked for, and just as the shaman had warned.

There had been many warnings accompanying that sachet of powders sold to her by the erawynian soothsayer, but Rhiannon had no desire to burn at the stake as her previous master had. She wanted to hide in plain sight as the spellsword had suggested, and long lasting trasfigurative magic was beyond her skill. Remembering that the erawynians could take shapes, she sought out the shaman who reluctantly granted her the paste ingrediants.

In her mortar and pestle Rhiannon had ground the powders along with hairs of another woman, a snakes egg, and the wings of a moth. She gagged at the smell of the mixture, and though not indicated by the shaman, thought it best to add thyme and mint for palatability. She ingested the bowl of sludge and waited. Dozing off she dreamed of endless fields of poppies...
  

Last edited by Ortlindegal, 7/11/2010, 7:40 pm


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"Opiferque Per Orbem Dicor"
7/11/2010, 7:39 pm Link to this post Send Email to Ortlindegal   Send PM to Ortlindegal
 


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