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- Character Biography
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A flare of red-hot pain in her chest and stomach reminded Everleigh that she couldn’t over exert herself. Only hours later from her brief brawl with the letai she had encountered on the Lucky Star, her broken rib (or two, she had little time to assess the damage) was screaming to make itself known. Her body ached, every tight sinew of muscle beneath grubby skin and even dirtier clothing.
In this moment, she didn’t look like a dreadlord. A vagabond at best, a slum dweller at worst. Her violet hair was held back with the damp cloak that carried the dank smell of stale water and mold, a hint of tangy brine adding to the unpleasantness.
She wondered if Erland could smell her. She assumed he could, but if he smelled her than he must assume it came from a sickly rat from the docks. She felt more like a wet rat than a dreadlord. A wet, injured, and irritated rat. Everleigh’s violet eyes narrowed, watching another happy customer leave through the front doors.
Unable to confirm whether or not Erland was inside the building that preferred to have less windows than the average establishment, Everleigh had to wonder if waiting around was worth it. She was months late from when she told him she’d be here to get him out of the servitude he was forced into. Worse yet, sneaking around at night was now an unlikely option. She had to make sure that Miklan, now a stowaway, got to Alliria safely. Causing a scene was needed, she needed to create a fake trail to draw all eyes on her.
None of this could be relayed back to Erland, a last minute plan that was still being loosely formed in her head. She could only hope that Erland trusted her enough to leave with her. Especially after what she had to do.
Like the many times before, Everleigh crossed the street, quick for most but slow for her. She went through the doors and the moment she was greeted, the knife in her hand flashed beneath the candle light to slash a throat. The sight of dark red blood helped to get her mind off of the red heat in her ribcage that begged her to stop moving.
But Everleigh Ebersol was a dreadlord, and if there was one thing that the Academy had taught her was to never stop. If she couldn’t run then she’d walk, if she couldn’t walk then she’d crawl, even if it meant it put her in an early grave.
In this moment, she didn’t look like a dreadlord. A vagabond at best, a slum dweller at worst. Her violet hair was held back with the damp cloak that carried the dank smell of stale water and mold, a hint of tangy brine adding to the unpleasantness.
She wondered if Erland could smell her. She assumed he could, but if he smelled her than he must assume it came from a sickly rat from the docks. She felt more like a wet rat than a dreadlord. A wet, injured, and irritated rat. Everleigh’s violet eyes narrowed, watching another happy customer leave through the front doors.
Unable to confirm whether or not Erland was inside the building that preferred to have less windows than the average establishment, Everleigh had to wonder if waiting around was worth it. She was months late from when she told him she’d be here to get him out of the servitude he was forced into. Worse yet, sneaking around at night was now an unlikely option. She had to make sure that Miklan, now a stowaway, got to Alliria safely. Causing a scene was needed, she needed to create a fake trail to draw all eyes on her.
None of this could be relayed back to Erland, a last minute plan that was still being loosely formed in her head. She could only hope that Erland trusted her enough to leave with her. Especially after what she had to do.
Like the many times before, Everleigh crossed the street, quick for most but slow for her. She went through the doors and the moment she was greeted, the knife in her hand flashed beneath the candle light to slash a throat. The sight of dark red blood helped to get her mind off of the red heat in her ribcage that begged her to stop moving.
But Everleigh Ebersol was a dreadlord, and if there was one thing that the Academy had taught her was to never stop. If she couldn’t run then she’d walk, if she couldn’t walk then she’d crawl, even if it meant it put her in an early grave.