The Forsaken Hero
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
Lord Byron
The town of High Valley was laced with rivers and canals, weaving a web of waterways adorned with as many bridges as roads. The sprawling Norns River bisected the town in two even halves, its course graced with an elongated stretch of land rising out in the middle. The island was home to both the wharves and the merchants, as well as the seat of the government. An arched bridge connected the riverbanks, stretching for nearly a quarter mile to reach the island before bounding across to connect the opposite bank, its majestic arc soaring fifty feet above the bustling barges traversing the waterways below.
As we crossed over, I couldn't help but lean over the raised stone railing and peer at the river as a long barge crossed beneath us. A surge of dizziness caught me off balance, tugging me forward as though compelled by one of the passing barges below. Soltair pivoted as my forearms grazed his, face going pale.