Ms. D's Current Word Count: 12,018

I'm still not sure exactly where my tale is going. I have a tendency to write high-fantasy based on gaming experiences from college. I've always adored fantasy. I'm very very far behind where I ought to be. I suppose it happens!

Here's an excerpt:

She inhaled, but before she could speak, pain flared in her left cheek and knocked her from the table and onto her knees. Tears blurred her vision as panic and pain flooded her body, searing every nerve, coursing through her like molten steel. The burning pain was accompanied by an overwhelming sensation of fear. It was a living creature, threatening to engulf her in its cavernous maw, and consume her entirely. Her blood boiled, her joints ached as though she was being pulled apart. She was sure she would die. There was no escape from the pain, the panic, the terror. Bozena. My Bozena...

As quickly as it had begun, the pain subsided, shrinking back into a concentrated knot whose center stormed in her left cheek. Bozena panted in between choking sobs, pressing her hands to the pain in her face. Her throat was ragged from a scream she couldn't remember.

"Captain Samar?" The voice was distant. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus on the face over her. Even out of focus, the black skin was unmistakable. Unlike the creature of her nightmare, his skin held the warmth of life. His pale eyes were fixed on hers when she forced them to focus.

"Azeryn?" She breathed. She didn't like the way his brow was knit together, stained with concern. Bozena cautiously removed her hands from the burning on her face. There was no blood.

"By Tyrra..." Azeryn whispered. Tentatively, he lifted a hand to touch her face where it hurt. There must be a mark, she thought. It had hurt too terribly to not have left some kind of mark, even if the explosion of pain hadn't broken the skin. When he made contact, pain flared from the knot on her cheek, and the same intense fear washed over her. From the way Azeryn recoiled from her, she supposed he'd experienced the same. His eyes were wide with panic. They stood frozen for what seemed an eternity before he drew a deep breath and exhaled hard.

"What?"

No answer. He looked away from her quickly, shielding his eyes.

"Azeryn, what is it?"

Still, no answer. The silence in the tavern was palpable, all eyes were on Bozena. Gently, Azeryn took her shoulders and turned her around, so she could see her reflection in the window of the tavern. In the dim light, she could see the outlined face of the creature imprinted on her own; a repugnant tattoo upon her very spirit. The hot, white pain never ceased, as though a branding iron was being held against her face. She held her hand over it, trying to will away the burning, will away the very mark itself.

"Marek's sword, what have I done to deserve this?" she whispered to herself.