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Moon
- Joined
- Apr 14, 2013
What she remembered distinctly was the smell.
It rose in visible fumes-- the smell of rotting flesh. Decay, disease, and war had stripped this land clean. What it left behind was an overwhelming sense of dread and unbearable smell.
She didn't bother to cover her nose. She was coated in the smell. Disguised as a refugee from her enemy's country, her mission was to infiltrate the army's camp and do as much damage as possible. She had several targets-- men whose names she'd never forget.
She trailed through a battlefield, feigning desperation and pain. The wounds on her body were real-- she and her fellow soldiers made certain her appearance was convincing. Gashes covered her from head to toe, blood trickled from her nose and mouth, and her left shoulder was dislocated. She was also limping from a broken leg.
Nothing was too much a price to help her country. There would be no doubt that she had been caught in the heat of battle and overwhelmed with pain. She can easily pretend to have amnesia and not remember who she is or even when she's from. She'd perfected the story and knew she could pull it off.
Someone called to her and she lifted her head. Sporting a black eye, her gaze was heart wrenching. A man ran to her as she stumbled to her knees. "Please," she wheezed between heavy breathes, "get me a medic."
"Hold on, miss, I'll get help," the man said and sped off toward the camp.
Ishtar fell to the ground. The pain was there, but she did not let it overwhelm her. Instead, she focused on her mission and the men she was going to kill.
It rose in visible fumes-- the smell of rotting flesh. Decay, disease, and war had stripped this land clean. What it left behind was an overwhelming sense of dread and unbearable smell.
She didn't bother to cover her nose. She was coated in the smell. Disguised as a refugee from her enemy's country, her mission was to infiltrate the army's camp and do as much damage as possible. She had several targets-- men whose names she'd never forget.
She trailed through a battlefield, feigning desperation and pain. The wounds on her body were real-- she and her fellow soldiers made certain her appearance was convincing. Gashes covered her from head to toe, blood trickled from her nose and mouth, and her left shoulder was dislocated. She was also limping from a broken leg.
Nothing was too much a price to help her country. There would be no doubt that she had been caught in the heat of battle and overwhelmed with pain. She can easily pretend to have amnesia and not remember who she is or even when she's from. She'd perfected the story and knew she could pull it off.
Someone called to her and she lifted her head. Sporting a black eye, her gaze was heart wrenching. A man ran to her as she stumbled to her knees. "Please," she wheezed between heavy breathes, "get me a medic."
"Hold on, miss, I'll get help," the man said and sped off toward the camp.
Ishtar fell to the ground. The pain was there, but she did not let it overwhelm her. Instead, she focused on her mission and the men she was going to kill.