Ripped from the only life I knew, I felt lost, what does one do with a second chance? I started by throwing a quick prayer to whichever gods decided to keep me alive, I've never been the religious type, but I have manners enough to be grateful of the air in my lungs. I then fully took in the shack I woke in and the area it resided. It sats on the coast, far from the bustling merchant streets that Gaedred prowled, this was another thing to thankful of, I was in no rush to let him know I had survived.
With little else to do, and a desire to feel safe, I took it upon myself to rebuild the run down shanty house, it was a simple build of only three rooms within one level. Supplies where not a problem as drift wood was always being washed ashore, but with my physical limits, my best hope lay in befriending the crews of the fishermen that beached nearby. I knew approaching the fisherman was a risk as they are a notoriously superstitious. What if they witnessed one of my spectral companions? Would they think me a witch!? But I needed help, as it turned out I need not have worried as their suspicions never left the sea. As odd noises rose from nowhere and unexplained mishaps happened around me, all were blamed on Procan - God of the seas, whom they respect yet despise in equal measure, and consider him to have a dark humor. So in exchange of mending their nets - and no doubt some pity for a lone girl - I never went hungry and repairs went quickly. The shanty was probably more stout today than when it was first cobbled together. Independence was new to me, but I liked it and for the first time in memory I had somewhere to call home.
Living so close to the shore, the evenings only distractions came with a crash of boisterous waves. As I sit by the heart, encouraging the kindling to take, the same questions roll through my thoughts - How was it that I had survived Gaedreds magic? What was that mist filled place? Who helped me get here and tended my wounds? Would my spirit companions eventually leave me? And above all else, what was I going to do with myself? - two months had passed since I arrived and with the help of the locals, I had become a part of a small community. I get by doing all kinds of chores, mainly for those that need the assistance most, as it fills me with a warmth I never got from cutting purses. Two months. Filled with so much hard work that I didn't have time to think, but now... now I wanted answers and I wasn't keen on going where I might get them.
I figured I must have come close to dying that day, and the people with the most knowledge of life and death and all that lays in between, are the clerics. I have never set a foot in temple in all my life, partly because I could never afford the coin they charged for healing, but mainly because the thought of a pompous idealists telling me how I should live my life, whilst they slept each night on a comfy bed with a full belly, vexes me so much. But I had a thirst for answers and the compulsive kneelers were my key to understanding the afterlife.