They travel to Marrohaven, Lloyd’s hometown, in silence. For the next ten years, fitful images of impish serpents and the screams of the damned would fill her dreams. Four years pass, and they meet a 13 year old named Derrik Chiptree, a vibrant young lad who aspires to follow in is father’s footsteps and become a Priest serving Pelor. Erianne silently darkens within herself, but remembers it is not what one is, but who one is. She allows for the next six years to pass, and Derrik discovers he has an uncontrollable alcohol addiction.
Now, Erianne is seventeen, proficient with her mother’s old bow, and a deadly, deadly young woman. She has been trained in two-arrow shots, properly firing an arrow at point blank range, and how to safely use an arrow as a melee weapon without damaging the projectile. She has also learnt the precise technique of swordplay, preferring the longsword in melee combat.
On one of the darker of clouded days, Lloyd found Erianne twiddling with one of her arrows in the middle of one of the many cobbled alleys of Marrohaven.
“The pastry guy’s got his booth back up now. I’m gonna run some errands, and was hoping you might want to join me?” She looked up at him scornfully.
“His biscuits yield no flavor, artistically nor literally.” She stood, sliding her arrow back into her quiver. “But, I suppose bland beats hunger. Sure.”
Lloyd smiled, and held up a small pouch. It honestly smelled like death.
“Oh, believe me, this time,” he tossed the disgusting bundle of rot to her, “it’ll be entertaining.” Erianne held the pouch by its string and sniffed it.
“Is that a raccoon?” She handed it back to him with a crack in her composure. He cocked an eyebrow.
“Actually, yeah. I was planning on slinging it into the merchant’s face and shoving as many pastries as I could into various pockets and bags while he was doubled over vomiting.”
“I figured. You should still do it, despite the fact that it won’t be a surprise to me anymore.” They stepped into the street, and began to walk towards the marketplace.
“Of course I am. I wouldn’t waste a dead ‘coon when there’s pastry guys to throw them at.”
