She sat hunched over her writing table, quill quivering in hand. The events that had taken place not an hour ago were fresh in mind—The terror, as she realized her searching mind and quick tongue had placed her into an inescapable position. The man, his endearing age cursed with a presence as chilling and dreadful as a wright...She shivered just in thought of it.
His ability, immediately the most powerful and outstanding display of arcane ability she had ever seen...First, the display was enthralling! Her stomach twisted in beautiful wonder, that the malevolent sorcerer had the kindness to share his mind and history to her.
But she should have known—he wouldn't have shown her without a price. Join his dark cause, become an ally of the dark Numinor and learn under their watch...Or death, undoubtedly horrible and painful death.
She was beginning to think that she should have chosen death.
She needed...Help. Somehow, to get out of this; there were no friends, no allies of her own, so only one option remained: The Watch! Maybe dealing with a...Beast as this, wasn't quite what they would expect, but they would not let such evil run rampant through the streets!
She dipped her quill in ink, and moved it to the paper. As it touched down, a wrenching pain shot through her digits, and she cried out—her hand began writing on it's own, daunting words in Westron dancing over the page against her will.
My lips are sealed.
The curse, the curse...The curse was not limited to just her speech, then...She could not even write the secrets that had taken place.
She tried again, in a lurch of panic.
My lips are sealed. My lips are sealed. My lips are sealed.
...It was no luck. No use.
Visp took the parchment in hand, twisting it into a ball—throwing it across the room, where it bounced against the wall.
Perhaps she could beg for death next she saw the looming man.
