Rhyson

                 Briannon lied on the cold dusty stones of the tomb, completely lost in half-life, while listening drops of water in distance, repeatedly reminding how her mouth are dry, as if someone filled her mouth and tongue with sand. She opens her eyes but sees nothing but darkness, relived that wights have left to to die in slow pain she smiles, tightly grabbing her belongings to her chest, shivering.

        Faintest blinks of stars in distance said farewell to the night and greeted the hot summer sun. Evaporation from ground climbed to sky, heated with first rays of sun. Everything was silent and in calm, roosters sounded in distance, a heralds of a day.

It was a chance meeting, started with lots of booze, jolly good fight with my pall Styrk (he reshaped my family jewels for good), great companion Folke that i cant match in drinking or nose longitude.

Well there was a lass, too young to wander around Inn with so many men that had no scruples in using such innocent creature. I would lie if say I am not that kind, I am, did very bad things in my life, very bad things.