Tarsa's Plea
The Never Ending Quest - Episode 61603
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Tarsa
In the far off distance, Tarsa could hear the sounds of metal clashing. There’s a war going on! she thought fearfully. Tarsa knew she should run…but she was so tired. As she continued to lie there, the battle continued; sometimes it was farther away, sometimes closer. Sometimes it was faster and sometimes slower. They rhythm it created gradually transformed into a soothing melody: a welcome visitor to her foggy head. Sleep was about to master her when she heard a faint voice in the distance. “I’ll kill you, you rotten scumbag!”Tarsa lunged upwards onto its knees. . “No swearing or threatening in the house of Granas!” she scowled like the mother who caught her son in the cookie jar. She tried to find the sinner, but everything was as black as ash in her eyes. ”I’m blind!” she panicked, turning around, in hopes of a better luck. Slowly, her vision began to clear up. Tarsa calmed herself down and examined her surroundings. In front of her was a long ghostly beach, stretching out for miles left and right. The sky was a flat sad gray, which spore only a few lame clouds. It lowered Tarsa’s spirits. In the far off distance, she could faintly make out a cloud of mist rising from a gray plunging waterfall. ”Waterfall… Why did that word seem familiar to her. Past memories flashed through her mind: she remembered waking up a mute, being transformed, becoming wild, attacking a man in the woods and Skye...but she could not remember what happened after that. She rubbed her face with her hands. “Granas, forgive me, for I have sinned.””Why won’t you just die!” the same the same voice from behind her. Tarsa spun around. Not far away, the leader of the wicked bandits and Fred were trading sword swings, as well as curses and grunts. Tarsa had never seen a sword duel before, but she had been told that, when done right, it was like a graceful dance. However, these two more resembled a pair of charging bulls. ”Fred!” Tarsa cried.“Tarsa”! Exclaimed Fred, sparing only a quick glance before returning to his fight. “Are you alright?” he called, parrying a blow. She ignored his question. ”Fred, listen to me. You must stop fighting!””Don’t worry Tarsa, we’ll be roasting his head tonight.” Fred said as he ducked. The thought of roast made Tarsa’s stomach growl. ”No! That’s exactly what he wants us to do. He’s a worshiper of Valmar.” Tarsa had and could now see, a dotted-star (***), the symbol of Valmar worship, dangling on the bandit leader’s neckchain. “If you kill him, he’ll be a sacrifice and Valmar will only become stronger.“Then what do you expect me to do?” Fred cursed, Barley dodging the bandit leader’s swipe. The impact of his fall [61314] was finally beginning to show its effect. “Withdraw your weapon, get to your knees, and pray to Granas!”Fred barely remembered to block in time. “You’re joking, right?” he said above the bandit leader’s roaring laughter. “No, I’m not! By doing this, Valmar will gain no power and you’ll join Granas in Ecstasy forever. Just trust me, Fred. Please!”Fred ”Trust you? In your dreams woman!” Fred was past the point of denying he had (Minor) feelings for Tarsa, but she might as well have been asking him to wear a frilly pink dress and to never drink again. But this still didn’t help his situation; the bandit leader took notice of his weariness and was throwing heavy swings at him one after; his chances of winning were growing slimmer by the second. He began to consider the possibility of running, but shook it off quickly. No, he couldn’t leave Tarsa, curse that woman. The least she could do is provide a distraction instead of just sitting on her arse, begging for peace.Fred straightened his sword to parry another swing, but at the last second, the bandit leader jumped forward and stabbed his left shoulder. The sword’s tip slid through the skin like butter until it grated against the bone. Fred gasped in agony; the cold blade was like a furnace in his already blazing wound. In agony, Fred pulled himself back out of sword and stumbled backwards onto to the ground. The bandit leader rushed over him swiftly, his bloodstained sword descending forward. A split-second before it struck, Fred rolled to his right, and using the last bit of his strength, hurled his sword at the leader blindly. He lied there, sweat beating down him furiously, gasping for breath, his eyes shielded. Any second he expected that cold piece of steel to pierce him. He waited for a few seconds, but nothing happen. Shaking, Fred bit his lip, and managed to peak his head upward.
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