Arrath Duskdane - Inner demons

  • She woke up covered in sweat, uneasy, with blurry memories of what is what she had been dreaming for the past hours. She'd wish it'd remained that way, but it didn't. The blurry memories started to take shape, getting clearer by the second, and her agony would increase along with it. She soon was able to picture everything clearly in her head. All the undead around her, all the ghouls, skeletons, wights. All trying to take a piece of her flesh, of her body, attempting to gnaw whatever part of her they could reach. She could clearly see all the darkness around her, all the macabre statues; she could feel all the hatred of that place, smell all the nauseating decay around her. She could clearly feel again the horror of the tomb she was trapped in.
    It had been 4 years since that, and the nightmares were still recurring and vivid, it had been 4 years, and she still didn't know why did they do that to her, if there was a reason at all, or how is that she actually came out alive of this experience. Her skin paler, her strength greater, her body more resistant... just what is happening to her?

    She has arrived now to Narfell, from a long journey, and she's looking for information and lore that might shed some light about her past

  • Arrath had spent the last day in bed, feverish and not feeling well. The itching had been worse, or so she thought, and she had spent all night trying to ignore it out of sheer will alone. Not very succesfully. At some point during the night, the itching stopped, and she fell asleep.
    She woke up, freshly, and dressed herself in some comfortable robes. While she was doing that, she looked at her arm, hesitantly. Nothing different. She looked at her other arm, to compare. Nothing strange. Wait... She flexed her "healthy" arm. Arched a brow in surprise for a moment, but shruggd, finishing dressing up and just heading down to get some food from the innkeeper.

    Once she arrived to a table, she tried to call the waitress attention by waving her hand. It was too crowded, however, and she wasn't noticed. She tried again, this time with a potent voice "Ey, Waitress, here". But the Inn was too noisy too, and her words were buried by the laughter and shouts of adventurers and drunk workers.
    Annoyed, she slammed her hand against the table. It broke apart.
    She startled, as if that result was unexpected. She definitely didn't hit it that strong, did she?...

  • She entered the inn late at night. Shivering and covered in dirt. She rented a private room and asked for a blank notebook and some charcoal to be brought to her in that room. She dropped on the table a small coinpurse with several gold pieces. The innkeeper took the money, nodding, and called over one of the errand boys. "Ey, Tomm, some work for you" and then threw to the kid a shinny coin from the leatherbag Arrath had given him.

    When the kid brought her the notebook and the charcoal, she was impatiently taping her foot on the floor. She waved the kid away once he delivered, closed the door locked, and quickly begun to write:

    "I must write this down before I forget, or before it's too late, or both. The arm's itches seem to get worse whenever undead are near. And then it even pinches. It's as if something was crawling inside of my arm and was trying to get out and reach over at them. It's a very unsettling feeling. I'm afraid to show my arm to anybody. What if they shun me because of it? whatever it is, it doesn't seem natural, nor good, since it seems to be attracted to undeath.
    I had not realized until recently as well, that I'm fairly more muscled than before. I can carry my pack without barely any effort, and is not how it felt not long ago.
    Is this strength related to the arm itches? I have no idea. I have too many questions, and too few answers, but I hope that by writing this journal I'll be able to keep track of things, so that I can explain myself better if I find someone able to help.
    I'm scared, Rird. I'd wish you were here with me, brother. I really would...."

    She couldn't bring herself to write anything else. The sudden realisation that she was alone and that she'd probably never see his brother again struck her hard and all of the sudden. It felt like being hammered by one of those orcs by the southern woods near peltarch. All she wanted to do was to cry. And that, is what she did... until she fell asleep.

  • The itch on her skin wouldn't fade away sometimes. It would come all of the sudden, and no amount of bathing, scratching or even self-wounding would get rid of it. Sometimes it lasted no more than a few minutes, but it had been cases in which it lasted for days.
    When she could not stand these itches anymore, Arrath would try to get it off her mind by going out to dangerous places to slay creatures and monsters, and let the adrenaline within her body disipate the itching, or at least override the feeling for as long as possible. This didn't always go well, as pushing it too much, would often put her in situations that were beyond her skills.
    This was already a common thing for her, but in her last trip, she noticed something different, something that she had not seen before.

    "Are you alright? You're scratching that arm way too much" Ture said, as he noticed she had been at it for a while now.

    Arrath glanced at him briefly, then at her arm, and instintively reached over for her cloak to cover it.

    "Yes, I'm fine, is just something that happens sometimes" she answered. But with the corner of her eye, as she was covering the arm, she noticed that the skin, in some spots, was starting to die. She tried her best to remain calm, and quickly found a distraction.

    "Let's go see if they sell horses here, too. I've been wanting to buy one for a while now" she said, without waiting for a response, turning on her heels and marching towards the stables. She was curious, but she feared to take another look at her arm. She wanted to know what was going on, but she didn't want to learn something bad in doing so... the only thing she knew, is that something was not right.