The Search
From the Chronicles of Myra Sunveil



"Near Wrong"

The words kept running through her head. As she and Glor hunted harpies, as they spoke in the shop, and even now, sending him off for a night's rest.

"Near Wrong"

Myra smiled softly and watched Glor make his way up the stairs. She knew it was going to be a long night, if not a long next few days. She heard his door shut and she slipped her gloves back on and picked up her bow. She jogged to the rune library, and perused the books until she found the one she wanted -"Wrong". With a slight *whoosh* the ether washed over her and she appeared in a large open space before a building that reminded her of the Yew Crypts.

She began jogging, her eyes searching each house to see if it might be his. Hate, a feeling she had never known before now, drove her to new lengths of endurance she had not known.

She jogged along the mountain chain and all the way around it, completing a circuit around the entire chain. She had done a thorough search, zig-zagging her way back and forth, from shore to mountain, her eyes seeing each home. And nothing. She traveled out the many peninsulas, and further off into the woods, all the way down to the Yew-Minoc/Vesper highway.

More than once, she found herself a prisoner of a group of brigands, who took her prisoner, finding she carried no gold on her. Finally, escaping from one group, she knocked her guard unconscious and stole her clothing. Dressing like a brigand made it much easier to traverse the lands.

Her feet became sore, the night grew darker. "..roof lit with Faerie Fire..." Surely she couldn't miss that out here in the near pitch black night. She kept searching. She searched the same areas over and over. The sun began to rise.

She stumbled. She closed her eyes a moment, tempted to fall asleep where she was, until she heard footsteps approaching her, very stealthily. Myra froze, thinking perhaps she had found who she was looking for.

She felt a boot in her ribs; apparently the person thought she had passed out. She heard a rough male voice call to someone. "'ere's a livun." Closing her eyes, she thought it best for who ever this was to think she was unconscious. The man roughly picked her up and threw her over his shoulder... Myra's bow was still lying there on the forest floor.

She was carried into a camp. An all to familiar camp - brigands. Suddenly, *thud* she was dropped on her back on the ground. Letting out a gasp of pain she couldn't keep up the pretense that she was out cold.

"'Ey! Lookie that! She is alive!" a man standing over her grinned a toothy grin, minus just a few teeth.

Slowly Myra sat up, taking in her surroundings. There were four of them. All men. Two had knives, one a staff, and the other a cross bow. The odds were not good, as her bow was lying somewhere in the forest. After a moment, three of them went about other duties leaving her alone with one of the men.

"Not gunna give us no troubles, is ya gurly?"

She shook her head slowly. One of the men, carrying a knife moved over beside her. His breath reeked of bad liquor. He slowly traced the tip of his blade down over her cheek and the side of her neck.

"Purdy, ain't she? And an elf ta boot!" the man said as he flipped off her hat and pushed her hair back.

She jerked her head away from him, so he pulled her hair to keep her in her place.

"What's a purdy gurl like yous doin out here alone? Lookin fer trouble, 'ould be my guess..." He chuckled, a rattling, unattractive sound. He put the knife down on the ground next to her leg and used that hand to turn her face towards him. He pressed his lips against hers roughly, while keeping a tight grip on her hair.

Not knowing what else to do, Myra reached down and grabbed his knife... and shoved it deep into his belly. She felt the warm blood flow over her hand and she pushed him away, holding tight to the knife.

The man fell back with a shocked look on his face, and took in a breath. She was certain he was going to call the other's attention to what had happened, so she quickly lunged forward, shoving the knife into his windpipe. By pure instinct it seemed, she pulled the knife to the side, slitting his throat before pulling the knife away from him.

Not considering what she had done for a moment, she looked around the camp. Each of the other three were spread out on what looked to be guard duty. Myra silently came up behind each of them, slitting their throats and lowering them to the ground.

The last she killed was the bowman. She took his bow, and added his arrows to her own. And suddenly it seemed her senses came back to her. She gasped and looked down at herself. Her hands and clothes were covered in blood. There was even some in her hair and smeared across her face from the feel of it.

She shook her head, looked around the now massacred camp and pulled out her rune book. She didn't want to be here any more. With the power words spoken, she was whisked home. She pushed open the door to her little tower and stumbled into the foyer. She tripped over the edge of the fur there and simply fell asleep where she lay, curled up and bloody on the floor.


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