#rel. morren

[dicethrow]

@wolf-eyes-wolf-soul | CONT.

The laugh that echoed along the roadside cliffs made the rogue pause. Whatever caused it, he doubted it came from anything friendly, especially given the viscera scattered around them. It reminded him of the harpies' nest they’d come across back in the Grove. But at least that nest had been a somewhat contained mess of bone and the like; this was more of a bloodbath.

He had frozen in place, while Morren stood before him like a deer in front of a cart... stunned by fear. Unsure what her instincts might scream at her to do, he made the best decision he could think of: he reached forward, clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the yelp, and tugged her into a nearby crevice, using his own body as a shield to protect her from whatever in the Hells those creatures were.

They'd need to head back once they could, warn the others, maybe rally the routes and fight them? He wasn't entirely confident on that front. But plans beyond the moment were futile if they didn't survive, and so Finn held his breath and strained his ears, listening for the scampering steps of the creatures and the continued snap of bone.

His biggest hope was that the flowers on the shrub would mask their scent long enough to wait out the passing of the creatures. That was – unless Morren had a better plan. He tried to ask, raising a brow and jerking his head slightly in the direction of the monsters.

[wolf-eyes-wolf-soul]

[ DODGE ]: sender tackles the receiver out of the way of an attack.

Reasons to Tackle @nekrotisch

It was an inevitability that the camp would turn on them. The question was when and what would cause it.

Glut had been taken out relatively quietly with a knife to the back she had never seen coming. Then they had turned their attention to this Dror Ragzlin, desperately failing to use some sort of scroll to communicate with a dead Mind Flayer. Cut the head of and the underlings would scatter was the idea.

Unfortunately that had quickly turned into an all-out brawl.

Morren had chosen a spot and kept firing at any goblin that got in her sight. A part of her had considered climbing up into the exposed wooden rafters and using that to rain down arrows but the height and the thought of what would happen should she lose her footing had killed that idea. Instead, she was providing as much covering fire as she could manage and targeting those goblins who had bows or, worse, magic.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around her middle and the air was slammed out of her lungs as she was knocked to the ground. Instinct told her to fight back, to claw, and bite, and try to flip her assailant so she could rip their throat out before they could in turn tear into her belly. She tucked her shoulder as they hit the ground, kicking out so she could roll, flip position, and straddle their hips. The dim light made her yellow-gold eyes flash and a deep non-human growl rumbled in the back of her throat as she flashed her teeth.

But it was Cassandra who was under her, not a goblin or hobgoblin like she had expected, and her growl faded as confusion took over. Then the dull thunk of an arrow hitting stone where she had just been standing.

Oh.

Cassandra had just saved her life.

[morren-of-the-underdark]

Lieutenant Morren’s Introductory Letter

From: Lieutenant Morren Ardithsdottir just Morren, thank you. If you must, Morren of the Underdark. On the nose, I know.

If you’re reading this, I’ll assume you’re new to my camp. That, or you’ve suddenly developed amnesia. (I’m relatively sure that’s possible? If that is the case, report to the infirmary and read this later)

To all newcomers: I hear annd understand your concerns. A noble-speaking, likely pureblooded, female drow leading the camp? My, you may exclaim, I came to the Seldarine to escape these people, as did. I understand this and will never hold it against you if you wish to never meet with me alone or hold me in some measure of distrust. Quite bluntly, Lolthite society is pure shit. There is nothing redeemable or excusable about weak-culling, about blood purity, or about one sex reigning dominant over the other.

Having said that, you are welcome in our camp. I am (unless on an excursion to the battlefield of a border) always available if you need me, and if you’d rather not meet with me for reasons above of other, my second-in-command, Malcolm, should be happy to help you.

You will be safe here.

My regards,

Morren.

PS- if you have recently come from the Capital and have any knowledge on a drow man named Sorn Ardithson of House Duskryn or Baenre, please send this to me, directly, in person, via Malcom, I do not mind, but please make me aware of his well-being.

Mod: hello everyone! Asks and interaction is absolutely welcome, I was just having fun with my character in my head and I thought why not make one?

Tags- ask morren is for any asks that have been sent in, house duskryn is for any posts about pre-canon, and archives for any posts about post-canon.

IMPORTANT NOTES: when interacting with Morren, you can specify if you want to interact pre-canon or post-canon, if not I’ll assume canon by default. Pre-canon era is her adulthood/teenage up to becoming a Lieutenant, Post-Canon is in the final negotiations of the war or after. Check tags for non-ask posts, remember if not specified, canon era!

For RP purposes: the only plot set in stone is that Sorn has to be alive somewhere, Morren's family are Lolth-sworn and highborn, and the seldarine will win eventually (we need a happy ending) (anything else will be added as needed)

[wolf-eyes-wolf-soul]

"That was the reasoning, yes." She nodded. It was a simplistic view of their religion but she hadn't expected any more. She had expected condemnation and scoffing at their "primitive" ways as so many lowlanders seemed to do. "Even if the lowlanders didn't worship as we do, it was a chance that couldn't be ignored for one such as Movran."

His question earned a flinch, he had unknowningly struck at a raw wound. Morren turned away, her gaze focused on the ground as she chewed how to explain herself. How to describe that she had never been wanted in the one place that was supposed to be her home? Some even whispered that she was cursed. It seemed a heavy burden to place on the shoulders of a relative stranger.

"I would but I have nothing to go back to. I have no blood kin and I was considered a burden on my clan as it was. Add to that how I dishonored myself by being caught by the enemy and hadn't even the strength to die fighting to make up for it."

It was the first time she had admitted it aloud and yet that didn't seem to ease the pain. She had her suspicions the moment she was included in the party sent to the Mire. This would be no mission to win glory, to win the recognition she'd always craved. No, this was intended to be a suicidal charge and nothing more. A way to rid the clan of those Movran thought useless without having to outright exile them.

"I might as you something similar." Morren noted, though her knowledge was limited she had heard of the elves and how they lived nomadic lives in clans similar to their own "Do elves not have clans which keep away from humans?"

Solas listened to the whole of her tale without interrupting, despite the myriad questions it raised. He knew very little about this society, such as it was. He hadn’t even known they existed before the unfortunate events of the Mire. He had assumed, incorrectly, that the humans were more or less a conglomerate of similar ideas and beliefs. It wasn’t the first time he’d been wrong since awakening. He doubted it would be the last.

When she finished, he took a moment to consider what she’d said, idly resting his hand on the nose of the stabled mare. In the past, animals had sensed the dormant predator within him, but without the fullness of his power, he seemed to them just another elf.

“I see,” he said at last. “I had not considered what the Breach might be like for those who revere the sky, if I understand your beliefs correctly. I suppose it natural to seize the opportunity of chaos to reclaim something you’ve lost.”

But it did not answer the burning question as to why she was here, when she could be anywhere, unless she were a prisoner of the Inquisition. He hadn’t spent enough time with the advisors to learn the truth of her circumstances, and what tales he had heard spoke more of Avvar chaos and aggression than anything else. 

“A prudent choice, albeit not an easy one,” he allowed. “Why, though, do you stay at Skyhold? Would you not prefer to return to the lands of your people?”

[zmwrites]

Tag: ROYGBIV

This one is from the wonderful @vellichor-virgo!! Thank you very much!

Rules: find all seven colours of the rainbow in your wip(s)

I’ll be searching Indigo Wars, since it’s my longest project and has the best chance of having them all:

RED [Maisy]

“Lovely,” Lidiya signed when she finally set down her powder brush.

Maisy looked in the mirror. The gold details in the dress and veil had been the basis for Lidiya’s work. Her eyelids were gold, the lashes lined with black kohl. Her cheekbones were highlighted with more gold powder and her lips were a dark red. When combined with her golden eyes, it had a borderline unsettling effect.

“They’ll definitely notice me,” she agreed.

ORANGE [Maisy]

“One, Morren Carr, is leading an excavation at an old mine somewhere in Draiobia. He’s apparently here to request more labourers as they aren’t making enough progress for her liking even though they’ve only been working for a month,” she replied. “And the other is some sort of fae lord.”

Henry looked at her sharply, facial features exaggerated by the harsh orange light from the sconces along the hall. “Where did you hear that?”

“Lidiya. I guess the porters were talkative while they were helping her.”

YELLOW [Violet]

“Thank you so much, Pina. Really. I would never have figured out where to start without you.”

“I’m sure you would’ve figured it out eventually. You seem relatively bright. I hope to see you both again tomorrow!” Without another word, Pina twirled with her deep yellow robe fanning out behind her and disappeared into the dark rows of books.

GREEN [Maisy]

Her lady’s maid, a young woman named Lidiya Hu, laced her into a dress of green velvet and metallic gold brocade with flared sleeves and gold trim. The square neckline framed the emerald and pearl necklace she selected from her collection of jewellery. Her long, dark hair was brushed out and left to fall in loose waves down her back.

The maid held up two options for a veil but Maisy waved them both away. “I’m not planning on going out again, and if my mother wants me to start wearing one among my own family then she’ll have to issue me a direct order herself.”

BLUE [Violet]

“Why are you lurking?” a disdainful voice asked from behind her.

She twisted. A few steps up from the landing stood Victoria Sezgin, wearing a blue dress that clung to her body and featured a leg slit that almost reached her hip. What was she doing in the stairs? Her long dark hair was loose around her mostly-bare shoulders, a gold choker was fastened around her throat, and a haughty expression twisted her face.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked why you’re lurking,” she repeated, patronizingly slow.

INDIGO [Violet]

Her magic unfurled within her. The world switched perspectives. Instead of seeing the alley below, she was behind herself, watching from the man’s eyes as he hauled her back from the ledge. She watched as she spun to face him, landing against his chest, and felt the curiosity blooming in him as he saw the ring of indigo at the edge of her irises.

“You're Vario,” he said, startled. There was no fear, no disgust, just curiosity and relief that she hadn’t fallen off the roof.

VIOLET [Violet....the character]

She allowed Twila to lead her into an area separated from the rest of the room by a paper screen in a wood frame. There was a dressing table with a mirror and drawers, but almost nothing left out on top of the table except for a soft-bristled hair brush and a jewellery box she didn’t recognize. It was made of dark lacquered wood and had a light purple stone set in the lid. As she got closer, she saw it had a collection of complex floral etchings in the wood—not just any flowers, but violets. They curled and bloomed around a small metal plaque with her name engraved on it.

“A gift from Queen Isabel to welcome you to your new home,” Twila explained.

“I don’t really have any jewellery,” Violet said.

“I’m sure you’ll get some as time goes on. Small pieces are fairly common signs of favour around here,” Twila replied.

I realized my error only when I reached the last colour.... whoops.

I tag @dgwriteblr​, @rhikasa​, and @wannabeauthorzofija​! As always, no pressure!

[rhianna]

Indoustan \ɛ̃.dus.tɑ̃\ masculin singulier    Variante de Hindoustan.

Le coq de Sonnerat est plein de courage et de résolution; aussi est-il très estimé dans l’Indoustan comme oiseau de combat. Les vrais amateurs indiens ne se servent pas de coqs élevés à l'état domestique, mais bien de sujets sauvages, que du reste ils apprivoisent en assez peu de temps; […]. — (Charles & Édouard Morren, Journal de l'agriculture pratique, […], du Royaume de Belgique, Bruxelles & Liège, 1857, vol.9, p.4) 

The Sonnerat cock is full of courage and resolution; it is also highly esteemed in India as a fighting bird. True Indian enthusiasts do not use domestically bred roosters, but wild ones, which they tame in a relatively short time [...]. - (Charles & Édouard Morren, Journal de l'agriculture pratique, [...], du Royaume de Belgique, Bruxelles & Liège, 1857, vol.9, p.4) 

source:  https://fr.wiktionary.org/wiki/Indoustan

Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)

[dicethrow]

@wolf-eyes-wolf-soul | Finn Starter Call

Finn sat on the rickety wooden beams of what remained of a broken fishing dock, dangling precariously over the slow-moving river. What river? He hadn’t a clue, but it wasn’t the sea—that much was certain. The calm flow of the water brought a meager sense of peace, though the air stank of rotten flesh and damp wood. At least it was something familiar, something he could work with.

He needed a plan. His head throbbed with the weight of exhaustion, his thoughts circling back to the worm writhing in his skull. A healer—that’s what he needed. Someone who could yank the damn thing out before it drove him mad. He exhaled sharply, his eyes scanning the horizon, the soft ripple of the water helping to steady his nerves. Rivers led somewhere—villages, towns, and if he was lucky, the sea. And the sea meant the Dúncannon. He’d find it. He always did.

The sand shifted behind him, faint but unmistakable, followed by the groan of cracked wood beneath the weight of an unfamiliar footstep. Finn’s shoulders tensed. One hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his dagger, his fingers curling around it with practiced ease. But he didn’t draw—not yet.

Without looking back, he spoke, his voice low and sharp.

"I just came from a burning wreck. If you think I’m worth robbing, you can piss off."

[dicethrow]

all those things you’ve done - they’re in your past, right? 

@wolf-eyes-wolf-soul | Being Human Sentence Starters

“What things do you mean? Like killing?”

Finn was in the midst of tending to his gear, sitting cross legged by the campfire near his friend Morren as they chatted about their lives before the Nautiloid. Of course, Finn wasn’t shy about his past as a pirate, and until recently he was adamant on returning to his father's ship at sea. Less so as time went by.

“Well, I'm going to disappoint," he replied, raising his rapier, still speckled with blood from an earlier battle. “That part hasn't changed much, just maybe the targets.”

And the reasoning. Before this, he would have been killed as showing mercy aboard the Dúncannon was a sign of weakness. Duncan liked to purge the weak from his ship. Even so, there were the occasional acts of rebellion, refusing to kill innocents whenever he could, helping them escape or hide during a raid.

The difference now was that he didn't need to hide that part of himself anymore.

[dicethrow]

good luck sending me mixed signals; I don’t even understand normal ones. (muse of your choice)

@wolf-eyes-wolf-soul | prompt list

Finn lay sprawled over a weathered map just outside his tent, the parchment pinned down by an assortment of pebbles and twigs serving as makeshift markers. His brow furrowed in concentration as he traced his finger over faint lines and symbols, trying to make sense of the clues he’d gathered from the half-burned notes he��d found at a ravaged camp. Somewhere out there, treasure was waiting, and damned if he was going to let it slip through his fingers.

He barely glanced up when he noticed Morren standing nearby. Just a flicker of recognition before his eyes were back on the map, his mind still turning over possibilities.

"What signals?" he asked, his voice distracted, the question more of a gruff clarification than curiosity.

When he’d offered her a share of the treasure in exchange for her time, he wasn’t being poetic or clever—he meant it literally. She helped, she got a cut. Simple as that. He didn’t do empty promises, and he wasn’t one for grand speeches.

He tapped the edge of the map, finally looking up at her. "You in or not?"

[dicethrow]

"You good? You look a little pale." (Gale either normal or Dark AU)

@wolf-eyes-wolf-soul | prompt list

"Unff." Gale attempted to form a coherent word, but all that escaped was a slurred, hazy grunt. Whatever the hells Thisobald had poured into his mug—a concoction of that ominous blue liquid—had utterly dismantled his senses. Calling him drunk would have been a laughable understatement. The wizard was well and truly plastered.

Still, it was worth it. They’d gotten the information they needed, even if Gale was fairly certain he wouldn't recall a word of it come morning. At least the others had been sober enough to listen.

He squinted blearily at Morren, trying to determine which of the two (or possibly three) versions of her was the real one. With a sluggish hand, he made a vague gesture to signal one of her to wait, but the moment he moved, the world tilted violently. He buckled forward, bracing himself, desperate to stop everything from spinning.

[dicethrow]

37 (with either Gale or Finn, whoever works best)

spotify wrapped has arrived. send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song, or a lyric from it, or send a 🎁 for me to shuffle.

@wolf-eyes-wolf-soul | Old Dog by The Scratch

As the evening settled around the camp, shadows stretching long and thin through the woods, Finn wandered beneath the canopy, his steps aimless. If anyone asked, he was hunting—a shite excuse, considering how ridiculous the thought of a sea-faring man hunting game on land was. But no one pressed him on it, at least his glare didn't give them much of a chance to.

He needed space. To breath. Maybe hit a few things too.

Wyll’s talk of his father had been like salt in a wound Finn had long pretended was closed. The memories of his father, Duncan—brutal, cruel, a man of ironclad expectations—clawed their way up from the depths where he kept them buried. The weight of it made his chest tight, his fists clench.

Stopping in a small clearing, Finn’s gaze settled on a thick, gnarled piece of wood, its shape twisted just enough to resemble Duncan. Close and ugly enough for his purposes. He drew an arrow, nocking it with steady hands, his jaw clenched as he took aim.

He loosed the arrow with a sharp thwip, the satisfying thunk of wood on wood barely taking the edge off his anger. Another arrow. Another thunk. His lips curled into a bitter smirk as he began to hum an old tune, the words slipping out under his breath.

"It’s not just your fault you’re a dick, I’d say your old man was a prick."

The rhythm of his shots matched the beat of the song, each arrow a little sharper, a little faster. He didn’t care it was a waste of arrows—it felt good to get that anger out on some wood rather than his friends, and in saying the lyrics, he acknowledged what he’d always known deep down. He pain was caused by his father.

So caught up was he in this ritual of release, he didn’t notice the subtle shift in the air, the faint crunch of a footstep behind him. The realisation came too late, the weight of another’s presence settling in before he could pretend otherwise.

Finn paused, his fingers still curled around the next arrow, his shoulders stiffening. He exhaled slowly through his nose, not bothering to turn around. "If you’re here to give me a lecture on me archery stance or the fact I'm hunting a piece of wood," he said, voice low and dry, "I'm well fucking aware."

Yet, as he spoke his arms lowered.

[dicethrow]

❝ i’m a nobody, really. ❞ (Gale)

@wolf-eyes-wolf-soul | skyrim sentense starters

"Wait, a nobody? That's amazing!" Gale exclaimed with mock astonishment, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I've never met someone without a body before. So, what is this form then? An illusion?"

His warm smile lingered, the jest clear in his tone, but there was a deeper purpose to his words. Gale refused to let anyone diminish themselves, least of all someone who had proven their worth time and time again. He believed firmly that everyone had a purpose—whether it was bringing joy to their friends and family, offering a helping hand, or performing great deeds. Each person was a vital stone in the wall that upheld life as they knew it in Faerûn.

Turning his full attention to Morren, he let the humour settle into sincerity. "You are anything but a nobody," he said gently. "You're part of this ragtag group, and we would be lesser without you. Know this for certain—you are valued, not just for what you can do, but for who you are."

[dicethrow]

That was his blade that she was asking for. Did she forget he was the trained swordsman of the duo? But, it was an answer to his silent question of spells and he wondered what the ranger had up her sleeve. 

So, it was either force her to stay silent by refusing to move, or take a risk and pass her the blade. Each had a risk, and he doubted the gnolls would move on so quickly. In the end, he relented and passed her the blade, spinning it slightly in his hand so it was handed over by the hilt. 

He badly wished they could speak, so he could know what to do, how to help, where to stab. But they needed the element of surprise if they planned to fight or escape, so all he could do was watch her body language and nod his head to ask if he could step back.

There was pure and utter terror in her eyes too, and he wondered if she had her nerves steeled enough to pull whatever she had planned off. Regardless, once free from the crevasse, he could unsheathe his rapier and at the very least provide a distraction for her to flee.

Then he stood a silent step back.

Morren caught Finn’s eye. The look he gave her was a pointed one, conveying an instruction. If he worried about her giving them away then he needn’t have worried. She was just as keen as he was to not be spotted, maybe more so. She knew exactly what kind of monster they had unintentionally walked into.

So when his hand fell away from her mouth, she took a shaky breath to try and steady herself. She could, and likely would, break down later. Right now they had to keep their heads lest they lose them.

A nod. In her panic her mind had gone blank, defaulting to weapons and forgetting about the magic she could command. Whilst she wasn’t anywhere near Gale or Shadowheart in weaving spells, she could do something.

Maybe she could save them both.

A finger tapped against his hand. She couldn’t contort to reach her own knife so Finn’s steel blade would have to suffice. Likely the weight and balance was different too but it was that or stay here and hope the gnolls lost interest.

“Give it to me.” Morren breathed as loudly as she dared.

She would get one literal shot at this. She had to make it count and hopefully Finn trusted her enough to let her take it.

[dicethrow]

"No, fuck off," he replied, waving her away as he tried to process what had just happened to him.

Shit. He remembered the worm the mind flayer had placed in him. A wave of nausea hit as the rest of the events came rushing back. Whatever it had done to him, it was changing him—he could feel it. And this other person? They were probably going through the same thing.

"FUCK."

In his rage, he kicked the wooden frame of the pier—the very one he had clung to earlier. Its rotten weakness gave way, splintering and snapping in two. He watched in silence as the broken pieces drifted downstream.

"What’s gonna happen to us?"

Ah, he was the same as her. Should she take comfort that she wasn’t alone?

But then it was like her world tilted suddenly left. She wasn’t on the dock with Finn any longer. No, she was back inside one of those pods. But..no, those weren’t her hands and she hadn’t tried to get out through sheer brute force. This wasn’t her memory. Where was the dragon and the githyanki warrior? And all the while she could feel the writhing of the tadpole.

Then she was back in the current moment. Her hands were clasped around her head, afraid somehow that the parasite inside would burst out. She needed to get this thing out of her head, and sooner rather than later.

"I-I don't know!" Morren too scrambled for her feet.

An icy dread crept down her spine that Finn would turn on her now. She hadn’t meant for…whatever that just was but she knew that a cornered animal could lash out at anything close enough. She had her bow strapped to her back but that would do little good unless she could put distance between them.

“They put one of those things in your skull, didn’t they?” She tried “They put one in mine too.”

[dicethrow]

As awful as he felt for the act, he kept a firm hold over her mouth, trying to stifle the struggling whimpers until they faded away. They needed to be silent, silent as the stone itself. He racked his brain, searching for anything he could do to keep the creatures away from their crevice, or at the very least, ensure they wouldn’t be detected if they passed by.

Then, slowly, he gave her a pointed look that silently screamed stay quiet, before removing his hand from her mouth. He mouthed:

“Any spells?”

He had his dagger ready, just in case things went badly. He would dive into the fray and plunge the blade into the nearest monster if it meant giving Morren the chance to flee.

But preferably, he’d take the silent, sneaky approach. That way, he might stay alive, and relatively unscarred.

Morren was frozen. Even without Finn holding her still, she felt as if she couldn't move. Her struggling wound down until she was as still as the stone that surrounded them. Her nails dug into the leather of his armour, her eyes darting between him and the gnolls. She couldn't help the whimpers that escaped her even with Finn's hand clamped down over her mouth to muffle them.

There was no creature on the face of Faerûn that terrified her more than gnolls. Those creatures haunted her darkest nightmares. She almost swore she could also smell smoke as well.

Pressed against Finn and the wall of the crevice, Morren was acutely aware that if they were found then she would be in a bad position. Her bow was slung across her back along with her quiver. She wouldn’t be able to detangle herself to arm and fight back, at least not quickly. All that left was the knife that she kept in her boot and that too would require some contortion to draw.

Oh Gods, they were, as Finn would likely put it, completely fucked.

The snap of bones was making her anxiety wind higher and higher. Being forced to stand still was not helping. Now all her instincts screamed at her to run, run as fast as she possibly could and pray that she wasn’t caught. That was how prey got caught. The instinct to bolt overrode all other sense and in the end they only wound up in the jaws of a waiting wolf. She knew this and yet she still felt it like a burn in her limbs.

[dicethrow]

"Water? Yeah, there’s a whole river of it right there!" Finn said, waving a hand toward the Chionthar flowing before them. They were on a dock, the sandy beach stretching behind, but Finn didn’t need to see any signs to know they were nowhere near the coast. The air lacked that sharp, salty tang he knew so well, and the absence of seabirds only confirmed it. They were miles inland—fucking great.

He sniffed the breeze, lips curling into a half-grimace. "It’s fresh. Flowing, too—not a bad thing." He paused, his eyes narrowing toward the wreckage of the nautiloid that lay further downstream, half-submerged and still smoking. He jerked his chin toward it. "But best drink upstream from that mess… unless you’ve suddenly got a craving for fucked-up calamari."

Morren was frozen in place. She had thought her footsteps light enough that she could pass by unnoticed but the aged wood of the dock had betrayed her. She had only wanted to fill her waterskin and splash some water on her face, smeared as it was with ash.

She too had stumbled from a pod in the burning wreckage of the Nautloid. Dazed, confused, and frightened, she had fled for the one place that felt like safety to her: the trees. She had only managed to get clear of the wreckage when her legs had given up beneath her and the smell, so much like burning flesh, made her retch.

Only when she had grasped for some semblence of calm had she emerged from her hiding spot. The need for survival had kicked in and that meant finding fresh water first of all. It had been simple enough to follow the terrain downhill until the trees thinned and a sandy beach opened up.

Morren had not expected anyone else to be there. Well, anyone else alive, anyways.

"I-I..." Morren stammered over her words, feeling like cornered prey. Don't challenge him, don't make yourself seem like a threat. Her eyes were cast studiously at a point on the wooden dock between them, refusing to look directly at the stranger "I just wanted some water..."

The parasite in her skull writhed and she clapped a hand to her forehead, dizziness and nausea returning suddenly.