Of fishes and fog

I’ve always loved reading Anna’s friday 5 and the responses people give. So after weeks of procrastinating, here is my first attempt that I’ve got around to posting somewhere. Ok, I rather failed at the first hurdle (500 words was way to short once I started to write), but I really enjoyed doing it.

The fog was encroaching faster now, half the dock was already shrouded in its damp embrace. The young priestess sighed and pulled her cloak tighter, whoever named Mist’s edge had certainly been accurate. How naive she had been when her instructor’s at the temple had told her, “its time to move on”, dreaming of Stormwind’s golden spires or Ironforge’s dark caverns. Instead of an exciting metropolis, they sent her to Darkshore…. “to learn” they said. What could she possibly learn here, there wasn’t even books, just picking mushrooms in the woods and fishing. That was obviously no job for a Priestess of Elune, she wasn’t a peasant, a cook or a fisherman. Everything was so sleepy, the worse injury seen in the days since she arrived was a tiny scratch a sentinel had received whilst out bear hunting, there wasn’t even any blood. Dinner, every night was exactly the same, bread and fresh fish… hence the reason she was out in the freezing cold about to be swallowed whole by the fog.
She fished for another 5 minutes but the weather worsened, Auberdine was completely veiled from her and all noise even the sea was muffled, but faintly, carried by the salty air a sound caught her attention. It sounded like screaming. Grabbing her bucket, she picked up the hem of her gown and ran for the town. Storm lanterns were burning bright and the sentinels were running around, orders being yelled and obeyed. Watching from the misty shadows, she watched one of the younger sentinels lead three horses from the docks, sweat was pouring from their flanks as they rolled their red eyes in panic.
Her sharp intake of breath revealed her position to one of the sentinel commander’s, “Priestess come”, the urgency left no room for argument. She was lead to the Inn where a sailor was lying on the bed, his shirt soaked with dark blood. He was human, young but his skin was clammy like the fog. There were two other humans in the room, an older woman, veiled and another man, a warrior who raised a thick black eyebrow when he saw the priestess. “No disrespect but is the best you can do?”, he turned to the Sentinel “she’s a slip of girl, I doubt she could cope with a nosebleed”. “Perhaps”, the Sentinel replied “but she’s the only healer within a days travel and you don’t need to be a priestess to know he needs help now”. “What happened”, the words slipped from the Priestess’s lips without thinking, as she stared down at the injured boy. “Shipwreck”, the warrior grunted, “can you help him?”, “I don’t know”, her honesty surprised her, earlier on the beach had someone provided this scenario to her whilst she dreamed her way through the fishing, the answer would be have been a fast, aggressive yes, but now, with the smell of blood hanging thick in the cramped room, the two humans and the sentinel all watching her and the boy, the dying boy staring up at her silently begging for help, her mind was empty of spells. She wanted to run back into the fog, perhaps she was destined to be a fisherwoman after all.
Then the woman, silent for so long spoke, her Darnassian was poor but the emotion in words as she pleaded for someone to save her son, brought tears to priestess’s eyes. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to block everything out, focusing just on the light, imagining it rising inside her, filling her with its power. Nothing, she tried again, still nothing. Just when she was about tell them all what a fraud she was, that there was nothing she could do, she heard a faint intake of breath and opening her eyes, to her own amazement her hands were encased in golden light. Power was streaming between her and the boy, the ragged edges of his wound were closing up in front of her eyes. Tired, she sank to the floor, only to be enveloped in the elder woman’s gown, kisses reigning down on her cheeks.
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