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
Soul Casting
Lord Griffon held for several hours, granting the army a chance to recover from the battle. I seized the opportunity to cast several healing spells, recovering enough of my mana by the time we broke camp to completely restore even the worst burns.
As I traced my fingers over the soft, new skin of my shoulder, I couldn't help but sigh. As predicted, the Sunpurge refused to respond to magic, its surface glowing gently and throbbing at the softest touch. Unlike traditional scars, it left my skin perfectly smooth and whole, yet laced with a series of golden lines and markings. It was similar to a tattoo, or the slave crest for that matter.