The high cost of living...

A traveller along the roads could have made out a surprisingly rare sight, a small camp set up near Abb Neagh lake, with a swordsman sleeping in it. His dreams seemed to be troubled, though...

Johnathan, or J to those he met, stirred slightly as the images played out...An arrow, sticking out of his chest, having punched through his back...A bear, slamming him to the ground with a sickening crunch as something gave out...Intercepting a blow from a golem to try and save...someone...and getting pounded into the ground for it...Slashed to pieces by an undead swordsman...Incinerated by a skeleton ghost of Maiz...The countless ways he'd met his temporary end, each flashing before his eyes in a rather morbid parade...Eventually, he jerked awake with a gasp, covered in sweat. "...The same dream...Again..." he muttered. He didn't get much sleep these days, for that reason...He didn't have anything to fear from dying, right...? So...Why did it haunt him so...? His path should have ended so long ago, and yet he pressed on...Muttering irritably under his breath, he extinguished his campfire and picked up his equipment, starting down the road again...If he hurried, he could be in Emain before dawn...Who knew? Maybe whatever suicide mission they sent him on would be his last? ...Like that would happen...

((Not really any plottiness here, just thought I'd point out a possible psychological effect of immortality, particularly the 'die-and-get-better' kind, on the mind of someone who was mortal at some point...Think about it for a moment and then realize that, with that in mind, people NOT going completely insane is saying a lot about them...Figured I'd put it here since no real plot development is happening.

PS: I know I'm not a writer, the little snippet up there probably sucks.))

Ah, the joys of being a Milletian~

Up till now everyone said that having memory like cottage cheese was a bad thing.