"Trouble?" Sikilkolindo asked, smiling. "Or are you afraid?"
Rysha shot him a look of utter disgust. "I serve the undead. I need not fear them." The look on Sikilkolindo's face was mocking. He bowed low.
"Yes, Lady Rysha." he said. Her whip cracked in the air beside him, her face irritated. Rising to his full height Sikilkolindo laughed. Rysha cracked her whip again, this time in earnest. The bandit looked shocked as a small tear appeared in the shoulder of his tunic, blood seeping out of a fresh welt.
"Do not mock me." She said softly, her black eyes hard under the hood of her cloak. Sikilkolindo stared back at her, one hand tightening around the hild of his sword.
The greenish blur that was Cersed cut suddenly between them. Rysha took a step back, out of the wight's cold aura, and dropped to her knees. Sikilkolindo stumbled back, shock registering in his eyes. Rysha was afraid too, but she'd learned to hide it. She smirked across the gap at the wide eyed man.
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The seasons fall like silver swords, the years rush ever onward; and soon I sail, to leave this world, these lands where I have wander'd. O Elbereth! O Queen who dwells beyond the Western Seas, spare me yet a little time 'ere white ships come for me!
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