The setting sun passed behind the ancient towering trees of the forest of echoes which seemed so near upon the horizon, yet lay three days ride to the west. Each tree silhouetted against the sun's rays like a shadowy marauder, their bare branches tortured fingers grasping at the edge of the world. The light slowly ebbed as the cold grip of night fell upon the vast desolate plain. Long waves of blood grass hissed as the winds of a brewing storm stirred and Elonie pulled her cloak tightly around her body as her sturdy mule carried her over the red sea of grass.
This was not the first time Elonie had crossed the Plain of Vision, but she knew it would be the last. The sounds of swords clashing.. of a battle raging echoed in her head. This... was not how it was meant to be. This... is not what had been promised to her so long ago. A single tear ran down her face. The wind quickly stripping it away. Stripping her of any outward sign of pain. Her face was set with a grim determination. The Oracle would pay for her lies. Her fist curled around the obsidian dagger in her cloak. Her finger tip dancing over the blade, a sudden warmth as the blade cut into her calloused flesh.. the blood trickling down as her grip continued to tighten.
The pain, the warmth of her blood, it soothed her in this harsh, cold place. Her mule stirred beneath her. Maybe he could sense her anger she pondered. There would be time for weakness, but not now. Not until those who manipulated her like a marionette for their own ambition ... her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of rythmic pattering and wet lapping, barely audible over the hissing of the grass. She looked down and saw a small twisted gnome like creature with red glowing eyes running beside the mule. The lapping sound coming from a long forked tongue dancing along the blades of grass as each drop of her blood trickled from her cloak pocket. She would have been horrified if not for the comical speed at which the small creature had to run in order to keep up with the leisurely pace of her mule. The gnome's small legs a blur among the hissing grass. She smiled despite the path before her and brought her mule to a halt, turning to face the small creature. The raw earthy smell of the blood grass was replaced by a foul musky scent as the strange creature cautiously edged closer, panting sharply to catch its breath, yet not ceasing to lick each blade of grass, now with meticulous care as the red eyes lay transfixed upon her. The smile quickly left her lips and a shiver of fear ran through her body as the coldness of the creature's eyes pierced her.