Elara stumbles, falling to her knees as the blade strikes her side. Already weakened from the shock of seeing Merrelis, unmoving in a pool of her own blood, the impact drives her forward and she barely catches herself, hands pale and shaking as she stares at them. Forced out of her almost trance-like state, Elara turns to look at the scroll, shivering as she sees her own blood seep into the parchment. Shifting, sitting on her knees, she pushes it away from the crimson pool with one shaking hand, barely registering what her assailant was doing or saying. Closing her eyes, her hands curl up into fists and the mage grits her teeth as she forces herself up from the floor, an odd feeling filling her limbs that makes it difficult to stand. Something inside her says that it's more than shock, that this woman's blade had to be poisoned or this gnome used some kind of magic to keep her from moving.

Standing, Elara looks once at Annas, tears already rolling down her face, a grim mask of concentration. Not sparing her more than a glance, the mage moves to the bed - her walk growing more smooth and even as she shakes off the lead in her legs. Internally, the attentive part of her mind realizes that the soft noises that should be coming to her ears aren't. The sound of her boots on the wood, the sounds of pain and exertion that should be passing her lips with each pulse of pain that comes from her wound. Elara doesn't notice it enough to devote any of her attention to the lack of sound, though, her focus entirely on the unmoving Merrelis. How did things take this kind of turn? Why had this happened to her and not to someone else, who she'd just met?

Standing above Merrelis, Elara softly touches her cheek, a mad hope filling her; that she had somehow survived, clinging to life, despite her wound. But as she feels the merchant's skin, that last hope is shattered. Looking again to Annas, just enough to be sure that the pale gnome isn't going to attack her again, she lowers herself to her knees beside the bed, resting her head on the mattress. Although she can't hear her own words, Elara begins to recite a prayer she knows all too well.


Necrovian, greatest of arbiters, Final Judge of all life,
grant this most worthy of souls a merciful trial,
bring her to the reward after a life of great virtue,
and aid her passing, come too soon and too sudden.


If her voice could be heard, it would have shaken during the last few words. As it always did. Elara spends another moment in silence at the side of the bed, before standing and going to the scroll on the floor. It feels sick to attend to a piece of writing when the body of her friend lies just feet from her, but the mage is possessed by a worry that reading it later could bring even more pain. What if Annas decided to kill Merrelis' family, as well, if Elara didn't do something? Gritting her teeth against the pain of her wound, the sick feeling surging in her stomach and the dizziness that assails her after standing, she opens the scroll with still-shaking hands and reads.