October Vignette

[Simon]

"She is evil, I know it! I've seen her change form in the night. She takes on the wings of a bat, and a forked tongue that has surely known the taste of the devil himself! She... She-"

"Enough initiate. That's just the fever talking. The Radasanthian flu only lasts a few short days, and the hallucinations are passing. Rest now, and you'll return to your training within the week. Just do what the nurse tells you and your healing shall be swift. Rest now, initiate Simon. I'll hear no more from you," the Knight-Commander spoke with compassion and a stern tone. Even in his current state, Simon knew better than to argue. He laid his head back heavily upon his lumpy infirmary pillow and sighed louder than he intended to. His superior only smirked knowingly, and left the room without another word.

Simon could barely move, his strength sapped. It was all he could do to roll his head left, to gaze at the clock that for two days had been his only real company.

Eleven-thirty...

Some of the other initiates had come to visit in recent days, but left as quickly as they came, fearing exposure to the incapacitating sickness. At times it seemed as if the white-faced wall clock of the infirmary were singing to him, a monotonous and dreary tune. Other times, it outright mocked him. Once, he had crawled from his cot and slid along the floor with intentions of reaching the vile device and smashing it into oblivion, but Nurse Helga had caught him only a few feet from his starting spot and scolded him.

"Think of it as a metronome, and try to meditate upon your faith. It will make the time go by faster," she later told him wisely.

When she caught him doing it a second time, she only dragged him by the ear back to his bed.

Thou must think thyself oh so funny, he thought, gazing at the device with loathing. Mock me then, and I shall count thy wretched clicks. Just know that you only stoke the flames of my vengeance, and when my strength returns to me, I shall smite thee!

The clock continued to tick and Simon clutched his pillow tight about his ears which did little to drown out the din. Frustrated and exhausted, he beat his head back into the cot, half-hoping to knock himself unconscious, but he knew that he would not.

Eleven-forty-five...

He mused to himself about how he came to be sick in the first place. The bag-lady with the hacking cough he had carried grocery bags for... The local urchins who gathered around him as he publicly read the scriptures of the faith. It was probably them. Their leaking noses, to which fingers frequently found themselves, and later delivered the cocktail of germs to their own mouths. He loved children and thought them full of wonder, but now, he delusionally cursed them for the little disease carriers they were.

Eleven-fifty.

Nurse Helga learned at the start to keep the infirmary door locked from the outside. Escape by that route was not an option. Perhaps at his full strength he might have broken it down, but currently he stood the same chances of success as a kitten. Simon groaned miserably, and for a moment he looked to the infirmary's second-story window some thirty feet above the ground, weighing his options. He shifted his bleary eyes back to the clock.

"Eleven... Fifty... Five," he said aloud, coughing wetly in between numbers.

The cotton hospital gown he wore felt embarrassing, only loosely tied in the back and often riding up above his hips when he wiggled uncomfortably. It was only the scratchy, maroon wool blanket that provided him any measure of dignity, and he had long since cast it to the ground when the fever made him feel as if he were on fire. He desperately wanted it back now, but the paladin did not have the energy to reach for it.

"Ding-dang-ding-dong... Dong-dang-ding-dong!" the chapel bells chimed, and Simon did not need to look at his new-found enemy to know what time it was. There came a jingle of iron on iron, and a grinding sound as fingers with skin stretched tight turned the key in the infirmary door's lock. Simon straightened his gown and tried to quell the panic raging inside him. The door creaked open, and an elderly woman with a hard face pushed through the door, closing it behind her for privacy.

"I am pleased to find you still in your bed, my strong-willed initiate. Have you and the clock made your peace, I wonder?" she asked the paladin with a chuckle. Her words rang cruel on the young-man's feverish ears. His mouth drew to a tight line as the nurse fumbled in the right pocket of her nurse's apron. Simon paled.

"Right then, lets check and see if that fever has gone down at all, shall we?" The nurse asked rhetorically. She was going to check. She wasn't presenting an option.

Simon's lips slowly parted. They were dry and cracked. He swallowed noisily and raised his tongue to the roof of his mouth to allow access for Nurse Helga's thermometer.

"Nice try deary. Now flip over."

[Ashla]

OOC: My cat catches rodents all the time, the last one was a very big mouse, that kind of was an inspiration for this. Ashla's sickness/ injury was something I came up with off the bat.

Ashla was bored out of her mind... And hungry too.

Camping out in a cave due to a leg injury; the girl was beginning to feel sick too. She was also fighting some kind of flu, and she felt miserable. She had a small bed of a couple dusty blankets and a pillow that was a poorly sewed cloth bag stuffed with feathers from a bird she had caught an eaten a week before, Ashla was at home... but still bored, and still feeling sorry for herself.

Ashla groaned as she laid on her hands and knees, her mouth open hanging over the bare, cold, cavern floor. The cave was still lit with sunlight from the world outside. To Ashla, the beautiful landscape of the bright forest of Corone was all a blur due to the vast sunlight coming in on her. For once, Ashla had her hair pulled back in a (sloppy) pony tail in case she would barf. Ashla had her head hanging as the side of her make-shift bed; she just knew she would be nauseating soon enough, but it just wouldn't come up from her stomach and she was feeling even worse! What I need is something to gross me out!

Then Fireleaf bounded into the cave with something in his mouth. He stopped right in front of her and dropped a dead animal right in front of her. Ashla's loyal cat was obviously trying to get his mistress to eat something since she hadn't eaten in three days, however, the meal he had chosen for her was a black-haired rodent, (whether it was a mouse, a rat, or something else, Ashla couldn't tell) that was half as big as Fireleaf was.

That was all Ashla needed to trigger the vomit to finally come up.

...

In a few days, Ashla had gotten over her stomach bug, but found she had an infection growing in her wound. She sighed and dragged herself out of the cave into the bright and sunny forest to get a remedy for her leg. Fireleaf trailed behind with his now half-decayed rodent still in his mouth; the dumb feline was still trying to get his mistress to eat up... The whole thing simply made Ashla feel sick all over again!

[Skie and Avery]

He had left her in the cabin in the woods. Skie's recovery from her brother's brutalization was moving more slowly than she would have liked. The sunshine that seeped through the lace-swathed window, golden and warm, was the same that woke her day after day now. Leaning forward, she strained against the ache in her abdomen and the feeling of rock and fire along her back where bruises were fading and skin knitting itself back together. A wave of exhaustion overcame her, blanketing her vision so that she only saw spots and flashes. It wasn't time to stand just yet, then. She let herself sink back down against the mattress, stuffed with straw and fragrant grasses. Her eyes closed, and after a moment opened again. The warmth of the bed, her aching limbs soothed by the blue quilt and the soft bed, wasn't enough to send her back to sleep.

Her hosts were gone, the elf and the boy out scavenging for fruits and nuts in the forest likely. If they'd been in the garden tending to the vegetables, she would have heard them, voices cutting in through the background of birdsong and the rattling of leaves in the trees. Instead, she was alone. Was it the first time? While she never thought of someone who depended on the company of others to amuse herself, now she was bored. The light swish of curtains from the breeze through the open window was almost as maddening as the scratch of mice in the cupboards.

She felt full of energy, but with no release. If only there was a way to soothe her tortured soul so that she could sleep, she thought. If only there was a way to exhaust herself without leaving the confines of her bed. A brow cocked, her eyes staring at the door. If the man and his son were on their way back to the little cottage, she would hear the crunch of boots against the stone path, laughter as they joked under the speckled light through the canopies of the trees. The silence told her she had plenty of time.

Her lips tugging up at the corners, Skie closed her eyes as her hand, resting on her stomach began to travel south along her anatomy. Under the shirt, the skin of her tummy was warm. But as her fingertips delved under the waistline of the thick cotton pants she'd been given to wear as she recovered, she found a place even hotter. Her teeth gripped her bottom lip as a small mutter of pleasure escaped, her toes curling and hips rolling. Above, the rafters shuddered from the wind as if in time with her hurried breaths.

[Dionaea]

Deep in the woods, far from prying eyes of the noisy two legged creatures that crowded the stone paths and structures of cities, I lay on the forest floor. I breathed in the heavy moist sent of freshly disturbed earth and slowly wriggled my body deeper into the rich black soil. Pain and comfort mixed sweetly as trickles of dirt cascaded down my torn, crystallized-sap-encased flesh. Gradually, it settled in around my body once more.

Looking at the branches high overhead, I watched the leaves of the trees glow emerald as sunlight spilled through. A light breeze tossed the branches, creating momentary dancing shafts of light that speared down to where I lay. For a small time, I lost myself to the light and the comfort of nutrients that slowly trickled into to me from the giving earth. Almost, I could reach out and touch the little cousins all around me that waited with a patience only outdone by the earth itself. Waiting for the sun to fall upon them, waiting for the skies to darken and release its water. Waiting for the warmth to return during the long winter sleep. Almost, I could become one with them as I lay there. I listened to their whispers and mummers of long sleepy days of good soil, the bountifulness of animals and insects that spread their seed wide.

A quiet rustling nearby pulled me from the warm drowse I had fallen into. Turning my head slowly, I spotted a doe wander out from the underbrush. Her velvety brown muzzle rose into the soft breeze, scenting the disturbed ground, the little cousins all around, and the sweet scent of my flesh that undoubtedly had first caught her attention. Unlike the lesser kin, hunger bloomed through me at the sight of her. A vicious satisfaction coursed through me at the fluttery sensation of my body opening just a bit. The nectar scent of my body grew a bit heavier on the air, tempting and teasing the simple creatures that could and would become my source of strength. Red eyes bright, I watched the doe. I would wait, as patient as my lesser cousins around me did season after season, soon enough my need would be met.

The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of my lips, soon enough indeed.

[Flames of Hyperion]

“I wouldn’t try that, if I were you.”

The voice came from nowhere, startling him so badly he pulled a muscle in his neck. Involuntarily his gaze snapped upwards above the fireplace. Coarse coal-like eyes glared at him via the broken glass, sheltering beneath a brow stern enough to command respect from any truculent soldier. He immediately noted two things about his host: straight dark hair and accented Tradespeak indicating an eastern heritage, and the vicious overgrown scar stretching from chin to temple left behind by a life of violence.

The same motion gave him the first good look at himself for months. He didn't know what he expected to see. A gaunt skeletal caricature of what had once been his face, perhaps, a stranger reflected in the mirror before him. Instead he found himself, hair bleached copper and skin slightly tanned from the wintry sun, but not completely unrecognisable. Surprised, he reached up to touch his face… and then realised in wonder that even his fingers showed no sign of frostbite.

It should not have been possible. He’d spent far too long in the unrelenting blizzards…

“… a… ai…”

His throat refused to unclench. What shreds of voice that forced their way through emerged as a barely cognisable croak. He choked, breaking down into hacking blood-stained coughs.

“You’re nowhere near strong enough,” his host’s gruff voice continued, turning away from the mirror. The movement emphasised signs of life in the room through the open door: a portly woman doling broth into an earthenware bowl while rocking a baby cradle with her foot, and a young girl doing her best to conceal her curiosity as to the strange man currently inhabiting the bedchamber. “I don’t know what you survived on out there.”

I'd like to know myself, he realised, sinking weakly down upon the duvet. It made no sense that he could survive for so long in such a hostile environment. He might not have been in his right mind when he began the journey, but he certainly had been prepared for death. So why…

Magic, came the unexpected response in his mind. Pure, undiluted magic. This northern tundra is raw with the stuff.

He recoiled, blanching. Bruised sprained muscles gave way beneath the reflex, and he fell back upon the scratchy straw rushes with another faint croak. Rising dust mingled with the earthy herb-rich warmth of the stew on the main hearth, causing him to break out in a second bout of blood-tinged coughing.

You’ve metabolised so much of it, in fact, that I’m now able to speak to you directly. Like so. For the first time in thirteen years. But you’ve been rather out of it for the past couple of weeks. Only now are you in any condition to actually hear me.

Thirteen years? First time?

Somebody willing to speak to him…?

Hayate?

A dignified knock at the frozen window. The faintest hint of white feathers in the frozen night. The presence of the snowy gyrfalcon in his mind faded almost as suddenly as it had appeared. But it left behind a subtle touch, a warmth telling him that for the first time in long months, in long years even, he was truly not alone.

Not alone.

From his fallen vantage, the angle of the mirror prevented him from keeping an eye on his host. But he could still catch glimpses of the young girl as she worked to set the table for her parents, one arm wrapped tightly around a floppy doll stuffed with spare rags. She could not have been more than ten years of age… the same age his sister had been when he left Nippon. Only a couple of years younger than he himself had been on the Night of Nefarious Flame, or on the day not so long afterwards that he’d began his path of lonely exile. All so long ago now.

So long…

His eyes grew wide. Adrenaline flooded his veins. The festering scar on his chest, inflicted by Xem’zund during his final confrontation of the Corpse War, throbbed anew in pulsating agony.

Hayate. I have to leave now. We have to get out of here. Before… before… Natosatael!

Relax! the gyrfalcon retorted calmly, and he could almost imagine the bird preening itself comfortably amidst the thatched rooftop. You’re in no condition to travel. They’re not here yet. You have to…

I can’t bring any harm on them, Hayate! That man’s a former wako, a pirate who’s given up his previous life. He’s settled down with a family now. This is his home, his life. I can’t repay his kindness with…

Small hands tugged insistently at his feet, returning him to the present. His eyes fluttered open from the despairing darkness, drawn unerringly to the innocent face of his host’s daughter. She flinched at the panic and the terror written within his pupils, her fingers trembling upon the clay tray that held precious portions of food and drink. But she did not turn away.

He might have been saved, there and then, by the youthful trust in her face.

“Eat up, if you can,” the gruff voice called from outwith his vision. “It’s not much, but it’ll warm your stomach.”

The ambrosial aroma did the rest. For the first time in long months, in long years even, he savoured before him a warm dinner. Was it condensation or perspiration that formed on his cheeks… or simply tears?

He ate, a little.

He drank, a bit more.

He slept, fitfully.

Then in the dead of night when nothing but the wind stirred, he slipped back out into the frigid wilderness, leaving behind only a grateful handwritten note and a hefty pouch of gold as thanks.

[Brand]

Insanity… That was all that was left for him in that cage that was existence… He had shed horrible century after century, imprisoned under the shackles of a man known only as the Battlemaster. He knew only a life of fighting and riddled his “Men” with everything he had. All had died. Except for one, who had stood, he eyes flickering, dancing in the firelight of the large chamber. The one who had not cracked, he had known only one thing in his life, which was a few words from the men who sculpted him into the being he was.

“Know nothing but the rock in the sea. Stand in the storm…”

This echoed in his head a blade flew into his hands. Breaking his skin, and letting his odd silver blood flow out. He smiled as he went in with a return stroke of his own dancing blades, slicing the neck of his foe, who fell to the ground with quite a thump, which directly after, Brand fell down too. He coughed, and looked at his hand, where speckles of silver were dotted around. He grimaced and got to his feet, walking out of the puny chamber, laced with little bars and chains, otherwise known as his personal training room at the Citadel.

“You seem hurt”

Was all he heard before the world spun and he collapsed to the ground, and was dragged to a small house, where he lay, aching. When he woke, it was to a little girl, who the promptly proceeded to question him.

"Who are you? Where did you come from? What happened?" This went on for a few minutes. She then got to a point which was, more interesting.

"Did you know you talk in your sleep? You did, and then moved, and Mama's nice clock shattered, and her dress got cut somehow!"

At this, his eyes widened and he tried to get to his feet to find that when he moved anything, extreme pain shot up like a blazing fire. He smiled at the pain, and then lapsed back into his corrupted sleep. He tossed turned and then smiled as the pain dissipated, and he was left with only a dull ache, as the eighth hour passed and he was left with his slow repair of the body. The pain nulling herbs kicked in and he smiled in his bliss. The kind woman walked in, wrapped new bandages around his chest and arms, then gave him a bowl of soup, he nodded his silent thanks then ate, before pulling various increasingly large objects out of nowhere before settling on his book, and laid back to read his newest edition of Encyclopedia Insanity-The Newest Guide to Living in this Cursed World of Pain and Horrid Souls.-By Laku-Laku Silvertongue (Warning-Anything is this book is not to be held upon the responsibility of the author or the printing company. That is only your fault...)

Yea, this is a tribute to a friend, the infamously epic, bags in video games, which can hold pretty much anything, from spears and the such, to sniper rifles. From the Staff of Herding, to some dudes stash of 200 books, 19 swords, 13 maces, and various spell tomes, not to mention a few dragon scales, and the couple warhammers in there

[Hysteria]

I cannot lie here,
Among the fallen leaves.
The sea calls me back.

~ ~ db ~ ~

Wisps of smoke. Tendrils of darkness lifting skyward. The moon rises and the sea roars in the night air. There is light, a soft flicking flame dancing for the enjoyment of vacant eyes. Sadness sits in the air, thicker than the smoke, thicker than the last thoughts of the children. Moments play by, falling as they would to the ground without deserved remembrance. Panic. Sullen madness held back by a parents protective desire. The last of the thoughts spared are insignificant, carried as they were down the river of fate towards the endless sea of death. There was little then but the cold hope that settled against the harrowing truth that ran across the logical mind like a scared mouse.

Knock knock

“Answer the door woman!” A gruff voice and a man stood suddenly from his chair. His face was drawn, dark patches under his eyes and a haggard drawn out expression on his face.

A priest stepped through the door, removing his hat and nodding to the man and woman without a word. His face was tight, his attitude serious and tense. They didn't speak as the three of them moved through the house and up the stairs. The man gestured towards the door, his hand shaking. He noticed, bring it back quickly to his side.

“Do not enter.”

The priest's hand gripped his hat to his chest a little tighter, the look on his eyes cold, scared. He reached for the latch and pushed open the door. A wave of cold air rushing past him, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He entered, his breath visible in the air in cold. The room was sparse, a chair, a small desk and a bed. The priest's eyes were focused on the bed, upon the sheets, tired to all four posts was a child. His eyes were closed, the soft sound of breathing coming from his mouth. The priest walked forwards. His hand was shaking as he lifted it up and touched the boy's forehead. It was icy cold.

The boy's eyes flicked open, green piercing eyes. The priest stumbled backwards, the boy screamed. A long harrowing siren call, reaching a final fever pitch. The priest regained himself, reaching into a pocket he pulled out a small bible. Like a shield he lifted it in front of himself and started chanting. His voice bounced through the howling child, doing as best he could to force his will upon him.

The child's voice cut short, the priest stepping forwards and placing the book on the boy's head, continuing his fevered chant. The child convulsed on the bed, shifting and squirming under the weight of the chant. The ties holding down the boy strained with each movement, slight tears appearing along the length. The priest reached behind his back with his free hand, still chanting as he pulled a dagger from his belt. As if on cue the binds broke and the kid launched himself at the priest, knocking them to the ground with his hands wrapped around the priest’s throat.

Forced to the end of desperation the man thrust the dagger into the child’s side. The kid screamed, with a final inhuman squeeze he snapped the priest's neck before rolling off. A surge of darkness erupted from the boy's mouth, twisting and taking shape.

“Father! Father! What is going on?” The words punctuated with pounding on the door.

The darkness took form, leaving a slightly bewildered looking Talen.

“What the f--” The youth looked down at the two dead bodies, “Awkward.”

With a puff of smoke he disappeared, reminding himself that next time he used his teleport to travel long distances he needs to make sure he doesn't accidentally enter someone.

[Robin]

Her head hurt. Scratch that, her whole body hurt. An aching, hot pain that streamed through her veins. With an effort of will she cranked open her eyes. She was in an unfamiliar rom, how had she come her? She remembered walking down the road feeling somewhat dizzy and then…
“Ah you’re awake” an unfamiliar feminine voice said.
“Where am I?” she muttered and tried to get up. A young woman in simple farmer clothes rushed to her side and pushed her down
“No no, you are in no shape to get up” she said with finality.
Robin just stared bleary at her, her head really hurt.
“You seems to have cached a rather nasty infection, nothing life-threatening as far as I can tell but you were lucky my father found you, passed out along the road as you were. Why in the world were you traveling alone?”
“Um” normally words flew past her lips in a far too great speed but her tongue seemed as infected as the rest of her body at the moment.
“Oh I am so sorry, you are probably dreadfully tired. Just go back to sleep. No need to worry, I am a healer and you should be fine with a couple more days rest”
Thankfully she sank back into the bed, soon fast asleep. She could use some days off anyway.

[Luned]

Not exaggerating at all when I say this month had some seriously fantastic entries, you all certainly didn't make the decision very easy. This month's winners are Aurelianus Drak'shal and Flames of Hyperion, but I've thrown in a little extra GP for everyone else as thanks for making this a particularly great month!


Hoytti receives 200 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Straightforward.
Creativity: Its simplicity worked for you.
Mechanics: Proofreading would do you well, I spotted a couple errors in punctuation and capitalization.
Notes: This is a cute little glimpse at Sorish and Korra's relationship.


Opposites receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Subtly ambitious.
Creativity: Effective use of the prompt to show an aspect of Abrinano's personality.
Mechanics: There are many mistakes for such a short post, proofread carefully. Also pay attention to verb tenses.
Notes: I'm a fan of packing as much meaning into as few words as possible, I liked seeing an attempt at working concisely.


Aurelianus Drak'shal receives 700 experience and 200 gold.
Use of Topic: Fun spin on things.
Creativity: Aure's such a charmer, this sums him up perfectly.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: The alternate perspective added volumes to an already humorous situation.


Gold receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Simple and serious.
Creativity: I see an effort to build drama, some more development would give it more impact.
Mechanics: Proofreading needed.
Notes: The conciseness didn't work as well for this as it felt rather abrupt.


Amber Eyes receives 550 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Entertaining flair.
Creativity: Great glimpse of Kyla's strong personality and relationship with those around her.
Mechanics: Good, few errors.
Notes: The humor in her melodrama gives this vignette great punch.


Musashi receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Nice twist.
Creativity: Ambitious and imaginative, definitely stands out for that.
Mechanics: Needs a lot of proofreading, many errors.
Notes: Looking forward to reading more vignettes by you, sir.


Black shadow receives 200 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Simple, but with feeling.
Creativity: Interesting technique with the dream, I imagine it would mean more if I knew the character better.
Mechanics: In need of proofreading.
Notes: Good attempt at drama.


Dissinger receives 850 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Meaningful.
Creativity: There's a lot packed in there about Seth; it's a well-rounded look at an intense moment.
Mechanics: Few errors.
Notes: You ran with the prompt and gave it real impact. Nice.


Lye receives 250 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Creative.
Creativity: Nice imagery, Lye's definitely found himself in a unique situation.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: Interesting attempt at doing something a little different with the limitations of the prompt.


Simon receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Amusing melodrama.
Creativity: Nice technique with your use of time.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: You definitely encapsulated what being bedridden is like; I finished feeling for poor Simon.


BlueGhostofSeaside receives 200 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Cute!
Creativity: Somehow, you made being sick subtly adorable with the cat's attempts to help.
Mechanics: Few errors.
Notes: I look forward to reading more of Ashla and Fireleaf's adventures together.


Skie and Avery receives 500 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Simple and sweet.
Creativity: You get a lot of information in there about Skie and her predicament without weighing down how fun this vignette is; it's a nice, well-rounded glimpse of the character.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: I almost blushed!


Dionaea receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Definitely unique.
Creativity: I appreciate the creative approach with Dio's equivalence to being bedridden, it makes me want to learn more about her character.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: So saucy in such an unexpected, nontraditional way!


Flames of Hyperion receives 880 experience and 150 gold.
Use of Topic: Opens interest.
Creativity: Great impact in such a small space, wonderfully effective at engaging the senses and emotions.
Mechanics: Good.
Notes: This left me quite intrigued about the rest of the story.


Brand receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Outside the box.
Creativity: There's definitely ambition here; I see interesting pieces of potential story worked in.
Mechanics: Needs proofreading.
Notes: Clarity could use a bit of work here.


Hysteria receives 550 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Definitely creative.
Creativity: Talen's a curious sort of character and this vignette really shows it.
Mechanics: Just a couple errors.
Notes: Well-rounded little story.


Robin receives 100 experience and 50 gold.
Use of Topic: Straightforward.
Creativity: This is a straightforward scene at a sick girl's bedside; the confusion is clearly portrayed.
Mechanics: Needs proofreading.
Notes: A bit more fleshing out wouldn't hurt.

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.