Apocalypse Rising 042112



I walk away from Gloriana’s home and return to the tunnel where the battle took place. The smell of death is overwhelming, but I find comfort in its familiarity. The elves are dragging the corpses of the fallen goblins into a pile as far from the still smoldering funeral pyre of their kin as they can. Only a couple of them stop their work when I enter the tunnel, the rest continue on, lost in their labor and thoughts.

“And I thought you stood out before,” Accantha says as she walks up to me.

“I am glad you survived,” I say.

“Survival was never a question,” she says, “the only concern I had was whether or not I would walk away with some new scars.

I smile and look at her. There is blood, both black and red, on her ragged clothing, but I see no tears in the fabric or wounds in her flesh. “And did you receive any?”

She laughs and says, “no, the goblins were not skilled enough to even be lucky.” She shrugs. “I suppose it’s a good thing, but I could have stood a new mark or two. It has been a long time since I’ve had any real change.”

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