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FL PC Sallie Meep [Band Stemp]


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Handle: Lih-Lyh

Character Name: Sallie Meep

Email address: Freemantle04@gmail.com

Division: Freelanders

Age: 47

Gender: Female

Physical Description: Premature grey hair, average height, suffers from rheumatism. Sallie uses no weapons.


Place of Birth/Raising: Saldaea

Character History:


In the between time, after dusk yet ere dawn, the noisy chirping of birds woke up the courier.


Groggily, she wiped at bleary eyes and tried to clear her sluggish state of mind. With a full night's sleep under her belt, she wondered at the subjugating haze of fatigue known to her weak flesh.


Getting up became a teeth gritting effort. How dare her creaking body demand to laze about, when there were toils awaiting these work-hardened hands?


Every sunset brought her a sense of futility, as her accomplishments that day blended into the harassed past to bring more tasks accumulated for the morrow. When her time runs out, she would doubtlessly share a burden-free plot with the worms. Not now, though. This bout of panic harangued her constantly.


One could read the evidence by the crowfeet that lined her lean face when she smiled, a rare event even before that companion of a mongrel, a perpetually slobbery and hungry parasite who in no way was a threat to capture anyone else's vulnerable heart, tottered and bit the dust quite literally several years back.


The numerous wrinkles were mostly derived from worry, as were the sly grey strands in her chestnut hair. Her sun-browned face bunched up impressively in a grimace at her faintly throbbing joints.


Little Lois warned that the swelling would get worse and it had been so painful on some days that agonized tears leaked involuntarily akin to the hissing heat escaping from shoddy shed.


The healer meant well but she could hardly heed nor sit idle to witness a growing collection invade the heavens. She ignored the pain.


The semi-dark room spun slightly with the act of sitting up. She squinted and fumbled for her glasses. Along her once nimble fingers, pain seared tenaciously, blossoms flourished and proliferated rapidly and lances and sharp digging thorns and pricks plowed her dried up but fertile body mercilessly. She managed to hook her rim-wired glasses. It was a bit skewed, but her vision improved considerably and she drew a shaky breath to fortify herself for the long day.


Shivering, she shucked off her gown and changed into a worn tunic matched by the tattered hoses that followed. In the process, goose pimples covered her shaking limbs. She tossed her blanket unto the back of the chair where the faded-gray tunic had been hanging, in exchange for her woollen cloak.


As she clasped the long warm material tightly around her, she blessed the sacrifice of the Shepard and the sheep (mostly the sheep, since they went without) in her immense gratefulness. With her other hand, she grabbed the quarterstaff propped by the bed.


She stood up, barely. And sucked in a deeper breath. The courier shuffled across the compact dirt floor, leaning quite heavily on her quarterstaff.


In the kitchen she lit a candle, for there was neither window nor slit for the light to shine through. Her stay was brief, just long enough to press some old cheese and rolls in the saddlebag on the rickety table. Fat was expensive and bee wax even more costly, so the courier extinguished the flickering light swiftly. Heaving with tremendous effort, she squared her shoulder and went outside.


The heavy oak door battled a sudden gale and then slammed shut. The loud crack created an ominous silence. All was still. Slowly, sound broke over the early dawn again.


The cool and fresh breeze did for her what could have never happened inside. The earthy scent mingled with mint wafted from the pines and intoxicated her senses. The serene acceptance of oneness that she welcomed embraced and lifted her spirits. The kin, that attuning to natural law, not only banned the fatigue but also stirred a newfound humour. She grinned bemusedly at the chirping sparrows overhead that woke her up.


A saddlebag armed in hand and staff in the other, she traversed the path to stables. Her now bouncy steps propelled her through the crackling leaves. She hardly leaned on the sturdy quarterstaff. She felt more prepared now. A whinny, nervous with eager anticipation greeted her.


Big caramel eyes softly smothered her. Her beloved gelding was soothed when her hand reached his chocolate flank bursting with excited energy.


"Be still" she murmured into the silken mass scented of fresh hay as she saddled him. She mounted with the fluent launch of familiarity after checking that all straps were properly tightened and that the bite was not too hard for his tender mouth.


His powerful muscles shifted in wild uncomfortable ripples and her world lurched into a different perspective. The weight of all her years was shed and fell away. This creature, still in the peaks of his prime, shared the immense burden upon her shoulders.


O, she yearned for the old days of carefree pranks and hooligans and the charming babble of senseless conversations. With determined conviction, the Courier set forth the bright ribbons she must meander.

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