Post by LLYENAL on Feb 19, 2012 7:48:26 GMT 8
[style=width: 500px; text-align: justify; line-height:95%; font-size: 11.5px; font-family: arial;]She had thought, in the beginning, that, despite the unfailing warning of the others soldiers around, that her workload wouldn't be heavy. Ever the optimist (well, not really), Llyenal had promptly decided that it wasn't even possible for more than a few people to be hurt beyond a few bruises or scratches, which she often refused to heal. No, she was not a lazy person, and she did do her fair share of work aside from the healing, but she had joined the Stormcloaks with that expectation in mind. For the first few weeks, it hadn't been that bad.
Then the violence began to escalate, with more and more troops heading out on pursuits to liberate cities under the control of the Imperial Legion. Often, she went right along with them, using her meager fighting skills when it helped and doing her best to heal any wound that popped up. If not that, the nord was in the closest camp, or in Windhelm, waiting anxiously for the soldiers could come back so she could either heal them or dispassionately inform the others that there was nothing she could do.
It was exhausting, really and it was hard on her soul. Now that there were rumors of dragons returning, her already frayed nerves were often in tatters, expecting groups of people whom she considered friends to leave and not come back; or at the very least, return with horrible burns.
Suffice to say, when one of the captains cheerfully informed her that they were currently trying to recover men, no troops had been sent out and she might as well take a day off, Llyenal jumped at the chance. Windhelm wasn't normally a cheerful place, but what with the current affairs, even the Palace of the Kings was a gloomy place. While she wasn't the most exponentially cheerful person around, even she had her limits. For the first time in quite a while, she deliberately found herself in garb other than the blue of the Stormcloaks, lute in hand. It had been so long since the bard felt its reassuring weight in her hands that she, for a second, could almost believe she'd forgotten the songs.
But that was idiotic. Easily ignoring the cold, especially with such a heavy cloak around her shoulders, Llyenal made herself comfortable on the stone steps that lead into the entrance of the Jarl's home. Her fingers finding their positions easily, the redhead began fluidly playing out a tune that was neither cheerful nor somber, but rather a melody that one would expect from a bustling town. She did not sing.
[/quote][/center]Then the violence began to escalate, with more and more troops heading out on pursuits to liberate cities under the control of the Imperial Legion. Often, she went right along with them, using her meager fighting skills when it helped and doing her best to heal any wound that popped up. If not that, the nord was in the closest camp, or in Windhelm, waiting anxiously for the soldiers could come back so she could either heal them or dispassionately inform the others that there was nothing she could do.
It was exhausting, really and it was hard on her soul. Now that there were rumors of dragons returning, her already frayed nerves were often in tatters, expecting groups of people whom she considered friends to leave and not come back; or at the very least, return with horrible burns.
Suffice to say, when one of the captains cheerfully informed her that they were currently trying to recover men, no troops had been sent out and she might as well take a day off, Llyenal jumped at the chance. Windhelm wasn't normally a cheerful place, but what with the current affairs, even the Palace of the Kings was a gloomy place. While she wasn't the most exponentially cheerful person around, even she had her limits. For the first time in quite a while, she deliberately found herself in garb other than the blue of the Stormcloaks, lute in hand. It had been so long since the bard felt its reassuring weight in her hands that she, for a second, could almost believe she'd forgotten the songs.
But that was idiotic. Easily ignoring the cold, especially with such a heavy cloak around her shoulders, Llyenal made herself comfortable on the stone steps that lead into the entrance of the Jarl's home. Her fingers finding their positions easily, the redhead began fluidly playing out a tune that was neither cheerful nor somber, but rather a melody that one would expect from a bustling town. She did not sing.
