The corpse of a Black Numenorean lieutenant laid at her feet. Blood puddled around her, on the cold steel floor of the infirmary. Walking in for a regular inspection, she had overheard one guard speaking in disgust over her half-Nurnhoth heritage. That simply could not stand. She did not let it stand. She grinned, fire in her eyes as she looked upon to the other soldiers in the room.

Syllea sat with her back leaning against her tree of Lost Ones. She held a book from her Papa in her hands; her legs in front of her, one over the other, and her hair gently waving in the slight breeze made the teenage girl look older and oddly attractive.
 

09 – A lot of worms less, one dragon more
 

Daervunn welcomed them heartily.

“I was starting to make worries…” said he, smirking at Tarnon, “… sort of.”