Solo, unless you have a good reason for being part of the thread.

Getting out of Raiarae was the hard part. After having lived there for almost the entirety of Xem’zund’s campaign against the living, she had decided she could stand being there no longer. Godhand’s death weighed heavily on her mind, as did the near death experience of her own, both at the hands of the infernal necromancer. There were countless casualties at the hand of the necromancer, and she had seen firsthand what could happen when his advances were unimpeded. Every time she turned around and saw an elf however, her anger towards them only grew more bitter, no longer the hatred of a bigot, but hatred at the survivors.

They did nothing, while three humans and two Drow took on their nightmare. They patted them on the back and gave them accolades. Meanwhile, they hid in their fucking elf cities, doing fucking elf things, for fucked reasons. Even now, sitting her cabin on the ship that had taken her from the accursed place she felt the heat rise up in her chest. It was an irrational hatred; she knew this in the calm, logical part of her mind. Yet, the hatred at the elves lingered on at their incompetence, and inability to solve their own problems. Drusilia knew this wasn’t the truth, and that’s why she left, before she once again bitched at the wrong elf and got herself thrown in prison.

She looked up at the ceiling from the small hammock she had been given for her bed. The wood smelled damp and the salty brine of the sea had shriveled it through the years, giving it a weathered look that belied its true age. This was the effects of nature on the world, what she had fought to protect in a way. Yet, much like the wood she gazed upon, she too had been weathered and frazzled by that year she would invariably call the year in hell.

Her pack lay on the deck beside her, well within reach. Her long swords rested carefully against the wall beside the door, ready in a moments notice. Her armor was resting within her pack, resting from the constant protection of her toned body. The bow rested in the corner, unstrung and ill prepared for battle. To the casual observer, Drusilia was being lax on the ship. This was a lazy day for Drusilia, who sought to put herself back together after living behind enemy lines for the better part of a year.

They said that the true meaning of happiness was in getting enough sleep. After the first week, where she had woken only to eat, she found herself agreeing with that statement. Rest had come in small spurts, and seldom did she get enough hours to trance the proper amount of time. The result was short bursts of energy that allowed her to continue on for a few hours, before trancing a little more. Trancing for more than the four hours required had given her deep refreshment she had seldom enjoyed. She knew others would see her method of rest as odd, having accustomed themselves to sleep.

She just didn’t give a damn.

A latern swung lazily above the hammock letting her know the ship was still moving about the waves of the ocean. It was a soothing rhythm that threatened to carry Drusilia off into the realm of true sleep, something she almost gave into, but resisted only on the demands of her teachers back in Alerar. They had told her that since she had cut herself off from the winds of magic, that forces would seek her through her dreams. The only answer she could then respond with was to never sleep, so that her enemies could never reach her. And so, the art of trancing was taught to her, in order to prevent an untimely death through her enemy’s attacks.

A knock came at the door, causing her head to tilt towards the entrance before she shouted out, “Yes?”

“Land’s in sight, we’ll be in Radasanth by nightfall. Prepare your gear for shore,” One of the many Sailors on the ship responded gruffly, turning to go without listening for any acknowledgement from her. She knew this was more that he had better things to do than mess around with a “landlubber”, but it still stung her pride to be dismissed so easily. Carefully putting her gear together, she remembered a promise she had made during the war. It was odd that she would remember such a thing now of all times, but she knew she would have to follow through with it someday.

It just struck her as odd, how subconsciously she had done so.

Shaking her head she looked at the bow resting in the corner, before she spoke softly, “Well Baruk, looks like it's time to begin my training…”