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#12982000 Jan 11, 2017 at 06:17 PM
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2 Posts
[Forward Note: I don't exactly write journal entries, but rather enjoy writing stories/aftermath of events about what my character does after events or daily happenings with their state of mind. Rarely will their be a first person perspective or a journal entry here, unless the bug bites me to write one.

However, enjoy!]

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1/11/17
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Sarra's head snapped up and she sharply inhaled, jerking upright from the position that she had dozed off in. She could hear the Cathedral's bells from her small room at the Golden Keg, her shutters still open to the cold night air. She had been up late, studying the Field Manual and making notes in her tiny notebook about things that she truly needed to remember, drilling into her head.

In the small groups that she had enlisted in before, never had she worked with groups this disciplined and on point with formations, commands, and such. Her interview with Lieutenant Muriah had left her off-kilter, utterly nervous and stumbling over her own tongue. To follow up with an immediate call to action, screwing up royally in front of so many and barely able to squeak out words.

Light above, she wanted to sink down and vanish into the ground in shame and embarrassment. All because she didn't get a chance to read the manual handed to her to request permission to join the formation. She groaned aloud, burying her face into her palms and her face burned red from just the memory alone.

Too long. It had been entirely too long that she had lived on her own in the woods, taking contracts to escort people safely from one place to another in the forest or elsewhere. Seeing so many people had her freezing in place and her throat tightening; she was fine in Stormwind, rarely did anyone approach her -- but a group of people?

She pushed her hands through her hand, her forehead moving to press down on the field manual again. If she could just absorb it through contact, she would be golden. She had been reading it before she dozed off, to the point where her eyes were starting to burn. Sarra had only closed them for just but a moment -- now she was behind. Or felt like she was...and she had barely even begun.

Nimble fingers tucked a feather into the manual, marking her page and closing it. She blew out the candle and closed the shudders, knowing that dawn was just beginning. A cat nap, just a few hours, and she would be back at it again while checking her armor, pressing her tabard, and making sure everything was in shape. She needed to get a handle on that crossbow; she had said she was proficient in it, but she was slightly out of practice. A trip to the range would help get her back to performing well and find a groove for loading, as well as firing.

The archer crawled into the small bed, curling up on her side and tucked her face into her pillow. She just prayed that tomorrow she wouldn't screw up and make herself out to be a fool again.
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