Calling

Character: 
Other characters: 
A squelch resonated as the blade cut deep into the corrupted creatures head... or at least Trayle suspected it was it's head. With a grunt she stomped on a reaching tentacle, attempting to grasp for her wrist. She couldn't blame it for it's last ditch effort at survival, the being couldn't have know it had decided today would be the end of it's existence when it chose her to be it's next meal. Her silver gaze narrowed as she watched it jerk and convulse, spasming it's last bit of energy before it's life was extinguished. Once it was still, she fell back, pulling her blade with her as she forced the thick air from her lungs, kicking the corpse from her with a hiss.
 
The wound from days before had reopened in the brawl, and though she knew her blood was violet, it looked black as oil in darkness of this land. The body rolled down a ledge and Trayle collapsed onto her back gritting her teeth, draping a lithe arm across her eyes. Shaking her head she tried to steady her breathe, though today the air was so dense it was like breathing in a near liquid, every deep inhale burned and felt like she was gasping before drowning. But as a druid, she had learned a patience she never bore as a warden. Steadying her breath she felt the thick atmosphere around her pull and draw, she listened as in the distance a rip tore into the sky and felt the tremors of the shock wave.
 
Hours passed as she found peace in silencing her thoughts, fluidly she sat up with a grace only those of her kind truly possessed. Rolling her head from side to side feeling the thick drape of her purple tresses brushing back and forth across her back and shoulders. There was a stillness about her she had not felt since before her capture. And Trayle knew, she was more then certain that she was ready to try and this time she would succeed. Gingerly, her palms pressed to the sides of her calves, casting down to gently cast the soaked bandage to her ankle. Cocking her head to the side she examined the split in her calf, cautiously tracing a slender digit around the disfigured flesh. A curve of her mouth brought on a half smile as she felt sure and strong. With valid certainty that she was ready.
 
Relaxing every muscle in her body she closed her eyes, her head almost lolling as she focused on mending, on purity of everything she knew was true and good in the world. She imagined the cleansing and soothing energy flowing through her like a steady stream flowing over smooth stones, collecting into the wound bringing the jagged flesh to reconnect seamlessly. The meditation was rich with all the positive aspects that had shined down on the elven woman through her long life. With a slow still exhale she opened her eyes and straighten her posture assured in how well she had channeled her craft.
 
But to her dismay the wound was gaping open, dribbling thick droplets of clotting blood. Snarling Trayle reached for a rock and threw it with every once of venom she could draw upon in her devastated anger. Slamming her body back down she growled in frustration. It was gone, each gift she had was gone. No longer was she a druid, she felt as if she was less then nothing, a carcass waiting to rot. A snear curled her lips over her teeth, turning her head she could see several yards away another imp had come to her camp to rummage through their belongings. Trayle coiled her fingers around the hilt of her blade, an inward boiling rage seethe yearned to erupt from every inch of her.
 
Everything hit her at once, a vision of Ovan in the cell, him sharing his sorrowful story with her, Trayle dressed in her Warden's regalia, finding him, falling for him. She saw the moment he dismissed her, how they came to find each other again. Memories of the complications, such as the endless huntsmen who sought them out, he hiding, the knowing they were never safe, Lauren, and the capture by the wardens. She had given up her whole world for this mission, and a lung too! And here she laid, wounded powerless, alone in the fel infested Goddess damned twisting nether watching an imp eat her last apple, NO! She was done being accepting what had to come. It seared through her like a white hot streak of lightening.
 
It happened so fast it took her a second to realize the pain she felt was. It was familiar, and though it was not true pain, it was an odd momentary discomfort. As if a rubber band had snapped all around her, with a gasp it dawned on her, she had blinked, standing over he gawking imp she panted, ignoring the weight of the air, forgetting the scathing pain that wafted from her gashed calf. The predator that had laid dormant since their arrival surged forward, clashing with the small demon, her fingers clamping around it's neck as she fell to her knees crouching over it's form, bringing down the blade over and over. Her knuckles tighten with each plummet of the knife, shrieking a cry of fury's release, revering how free she felt. Flinging emerald blood, and chunks of mangled flesh and entrails in a mural on the ground, abstractly depicting the break in Trayle's control.
 
Her pulse was felt all over, as she stood revealing that she was splattered from head to toe, green thick blood drizzled across her face, smearing it as she wiped across her forehead with the back of her hand. A huffing chuckled rattled her throat before she spat down on the shreds of what remained. A slam brought the blade back to it's sheath, while the normally elegant woman limped to her bag. With a grimace of pain she bent down shoving clothing and supplies around till she found it her scythe.

Ovan had his path, and so did she.