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
Whiteriver Village
Whiteriver Village was a small mining community nestled in the roots of the Solori Peaks, the range that wrapped around the eastern border of the Kingdom of Radia. We traveled along its namesake, the White River, winding along beaten paths just large enough for a wagon and passing through farms carved from the heavy pine foresting the region. As the sun began to drop beneath the towering peaks, several narrow plumes of smoke dwindled into the air, clustered together just a few miles away.
"Finally!" Trithe complained, "When he said 'just over the hill,' I thought he meant it."
Soltair nodded, squinting his eyes at the pillars of smoke. "At least they're alive still. A basilisk is no laughing matter and is more than capable of wiping the small towns here off the map.