Memories of Death

Nym stiffened and stared at the wall as though looking at it would allow her to see through it. For the first time since the adventurers met her, the smile faded from her face. Her brow furrowed and she looked thoughtful rather than childish and jumpy. After what seemed like a long pause, Nym took a stiff breath in and said, staring hard at the wall, ...There is much death in the deep forest... and much death in the dark places of the world. She paused, clearly immersed in some private memory. She suddenly turned to Beranhond and looked at him intensely. She spoke softly, clearly pained, her voice surprisingly mustering the elegance small town folk imagine elves to posses. What does it matter to me what the gods promise or command? They allow the innocent and the wicked to die alike, and play with us like toys. Death is everywhere, and it is all we can expect after the struggle of life. She looked pained, and wandered out of the room, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. It was clear that Nym, who was barely old enough to be considered a woman, had seen more in her short life than most would if they were lucky enough to live to old age.