(( A continuation of all the other Silverstep Rp notes I have on this site ))

Silverstep tried to clear her head from the fog that surrounded her, and blinked one lazy eye open. The events of the past few days drifted through her mind and she grimaced, wondering if half of it were not some sort of weird dream. Alas, she knew it was not.

Upon waking, she was briefed, that was the best word to describe it. By a prophet of Solusek Ro, the Burning Prince himself. She was told that her life was owed to him. That they had brought her back from the brink of death by whatever means they had available (on this fact it was made no clearer), and thus she was in debt. She didn’t have the energy to argue, or question it. Her thoughts seemed muddled and there were portions of her daily life that did not make sense any more. So she accepted this debt she had incurred without question. The druid who had life in South Freeport was no more, and even though one may look at these changes and see them as some sort of manipulation by the Burning Prince and his prophets, Silverstep took it in stride. She did not have many friends after all, things could be worse.

The prophet never told Silverstep what was required of her. Only that she was needed for some future plan. There had been vast rumors spreading throughout both Qeynos and Freeport, of the return of the Gods. It seemed the tremors throughout the land were proof enough of Brell’s eventual return. Each day Silverstep grew a little stronger, her recovery more apparent. With this recovery came changes though. The once tame and quiet druid explored the woods alone one day, and found herself with a branch in her hands, slowly spinning it between her fingers. She contemplated life, and what it had handed her. What she had made from it. Anger slowly fused under the surface and the branch burst into flames. She gasped and dropped it to the ground, ashamed at herself for daring to destroy something of nature’s hands. It was not the last time that the Burning Prince would exert his power over her.

She moved to Qeynos, as the prophet advised. She really had no alliance towards the city of Freeport or Qeynos, though she did miss her home quite a bit, she remained impartial in that regard at least. She tried to think back, to see if perhaps she had at one time stood up for either of the leaders in Norrath, and could simply not remember. She grew frustrated over these pockets of missing information. The prophets told her it was common, with the mind moving so close to the spiritual wall of death. It did not lessen her worries any, but she kept them to herself.

On the way home one day, the man whose voice she had heard along side the prophets stopped her at her door. His eyes gazed into hers and she shivered for no explainable reason.

“Can I help you?” She asked some what strained, she was not in the mood to be around people this evening.

He said nothing to her, but embraced her suddenly, and lowered his lips to hers. Hot fire shot through her and she tried to pull back, some what dazed.

“That,” he murmured, “is for being so beautiful.” She lost her footing, and fell to the ground, the man letting her drop and making no effort at all to stop the fall.

“That, is for being a traitor.” He turned away from her, leaving her to pick herself up from the ground, and went on his way down the street. Silverstep brushed herself off, blushing like a fool. She fumbled with the doorknob and let herself into the house, ashamed that she had let someone affect her so. She dropped a few books onto the counter tops and tried to seek some solitude in the garden. She felt enclosed, and confined, had to get away to some open space.

No one else in South Qeynos that night noticed the thunderclouds that hung low towards only one house. The low rumble of the storm reverberated between homes and scared a cat, but again, no one noticed. She was very much the nobody that she had always been.

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