The Sellsword & The Sharisad - A Very Real Imagining [Part2]



A hundred years, for one hundred years the maiden had been wandering these desert wastes, moving from town to town, selling her services as a warrior to anyone whom would throw a coin or two her way.

Now, as though a ghost from the past, the elf Minyelaire stands before her- she knows this creature to be no mirage or imagining.

‘Minyelaire…’ She hisses. Vardarianna’s hands instantly move to the hilts of her daggers. ‘So finally you have returned to me?’

She smiles, not warm but a cold and hungry smile. She moves her eyes over the figure of the maiden, longing for take her daggers and to have them bite into the flesh of the foul elf creature.

‘So… Have you come to talk?’ Vardarianna scowls. ‘You took your time…’ She hisses.

Her knuckles whiten over the hilts of her daggers.

‘But then… What could be expected from a foul stinking elf such as yourself…’ She scoffs. ‘All elves are the same… Self centred, self loving…’ She stops, blood lust grows within her.

‘Die!’ She screams. Then with speed and an uncanny grace for a mortal maiden, she draws her daggers and dances toward the elf. Her features are grim, her teeth bared.