Rahve Siegersson - Hell Hath No Fury

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Nereida
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Joined: Tue Nov 01, 2016 1:28 pm

Rahve Siegersson - Hell Hath No Fury

Postby Nereida » Wed Nov 02, 2016 2:11 pm

Lessons of Life

The little girl had proven to be resilient to the environmental hazards of life in the cold vales, surely aided by the barbarian blood in her veins. Almost with ease, she made it past her early years. But the over-protection of the young ones in the Craglight tribe always ended as soon as they were able to hold and use tools, and think reasonably for themselves. The Craglights had to be shown what life is like too early, because the setting in which they grew would not forgive anyone out of compassion, not even a child like Rahve.

Rahve seemed to have been graced with a fast metabolism, and even at the earliest ages she looked already athletic and developed, not only in shape and size, but also in her precocious ability to coordinate her movements in stressful situations. At five years old she learned to arm and spot simple traps, to hunt snow rabbits and small birds, and make campfires by herself to cook them. At six years old, she held her first weapon, a small hand axe.

While she didn't really swing the axe against anything alive for a few years more, she was instructed to always carry it with her, get used to its weight and make it a constant partner of her life. With time, she proved very proficient and efficient with her weapon under the teachings of Koaresh, the tribe's war chief. Rahve grew ambitious and curious on her choice for preys to hunt. At first, she dared to try skitterish, young deers. In time she went for young stags. As the months passed, she steadily began to try hunting adult animals. Attempts not always met with success, but that always taught her something new.

Rahve made of it a sport, a game of self-improvement which she found addictive. Her desire to challenge herself, to do better every time, to plan and anticipate her prey's movements grew in her. As her practice grew, she began to identify every element in the environment, and how would affect her prey, calculating in which direction the prey wold flee, and at which point she would have captured it. And she did so almost intuitively, seeming to have been gifted with that forward thinking and anticipating mind.

At her age of fourteen, Rahve, as all Craglights, was considered an adult, and so, she was to pass her rite to become adult. Not violent or dangerous in nature, this rite was more of an intellectual challenge. As the tribes gathered in the Nars up north, every time of the year, and the Craglights bartered and shared mead and tents with other tribes such as the Redhorns or the Featherlights, the young aspirant to adult, Rahve, was secluded into a tent for ten days of meditation. A hand-written book was given to her, in which a number of faiths were represented. Every god, described only by deed and dogma, not a name and not a symbol mentioned, as to not incur bias in the young one's choice. Ten days and ten nights did Rahve have to read, absorb the knowledge and understand it, and then emerge from her tent with a decision, one which would decide her status within the tribe. Warrior, hunter, forager, spiritual adviser, or anything in between.

When Rahve emerged from her tent and was asked for her choice, she named the page in which the god of her choice was described. The Red Knight. The choice, although a rare one for a tribeswoman, did not appear extremely surprising to the War-chief Koaresh. In fact, it quite pleased him as he took Rahve directly under his tutelage with the intention of honing her into a fine warrior. To Koaresh, more than the fact that Rahve wished to be a warrior, is what she did not wish to be. By choosing the Red Knight she had opted out of bloodlust and savagery, of battle-lust and rage. Rahve's choice was to respect prey and rival in armed conflicts both in life and death, to understand that violence is not a means to achieve what you want, but an unavoidable consequence of the the way life iworks, and the choices made by those involved.



Lessons of Battle


"Discipline and Concentration, Rahve.

Focus on your target, be aware of the battlefield and its elements, analyse your targets. Identify your objectives and do not be drawn away from them. Flow with battle, adapt to battle. Do not be predictable. Exclude everything that does not help you in victory, focus on the battle and its elements. Every situation can be improved with a clear, clever mind. Pain is an illusion of the senses, despair is an illusion of the mind. So disbelieve them."



The young warrior brushed some snow off her hair, as she took another swing against the tree trunk in another lengthy training session in the snowy Rawlinswoods as those words repeated themselves in her head. She had lost track of time, as the Sun began to set in the distant mountaintops.

"Discipline and Concentration."


Another swing, another sidestep, another spin. She practised every move she had been taught, but she was swinging at air and trunks. This was no real battle, it was hard to find motivation. Her body was aching, her muscles, numb. Weary and bruised, she struggled to take the next swing. Her mind asked her to stop, to take a rest.

"A Warrior is Honesty.
A Warrior is Respect.
A Warrior is Honor.
A Warrior is Loyalty.
A Warrior is Benevolence.
A Warrior is Courage.
A Warrior is Rectitude.

A true warrior is the master of her senses and her mind and knows how to wield them to her convenience, just like her weapon.



She focused, took another swing. Despite the weariness, her strikes were finely aimed and sought more precision and technique than brute force. The effort was unbearable. The young blonde girl dropped to her knees, panting heavily. She allowed herself to shut her eyes for a moment.

"Pain is an illusion of the senses. Despair is an illusion of the mind."

Rahve gritted her teeth and rose to her feet. She took another swing.


Lessons of Loss

Another year, another cold season began to blanket upon the Nars, and the Craglights, as every year, began to migrate southwards, towards Impiltur, where they'd spend a less frigid winter, with better hunt and more welcoming trade, as they carried furs and herbs from the north. Not the biggest of tribes, rounding around fifty members, most of them had undergone some manner of martial training. While protecting the tribe was not the main role of many of them, about any of the Craglights was capable of picking up a weapon at any time, and giving a hobgoblin a run for their keep.

They moved swiftly and aptly as they knew well the routes and the stops. And for the night in question, the stop was a placid, flat terrain by the Sidewinder River, just past the Rawlins, already into Impiltur's soil. The camp was set-up as usual, forming a semi-circle around the shore, effectively booking a length of the river for the encampment's needs, as three sentinels were set up in shifts to keep watch through the night.

Mostly uneventful night at that, until a weakly, old man, approached one of the guards. While the guard was wary at first, the old man asked no more than being allowed to sit near the camp's bonfire for a little while to warm up in the chilling night before he continued his trek. Softened by the lame estate in which the old man was, and the moving, pleading words, the guard agreed to escort the man to the bonfire, at the heart of the camp. What harm could he do, even if he wanted to?

As the Craglight guard set the old man near the bonfire, he provided an old cloak and bowl of excess soup from the night's meal, and turned towards another of the sentinels, to note the old man's presence. Surprise struck then the young warrior, as a sharp, large object erupted from his chest, leaving him breathless. He could but catch the glimpse of what was behind him before his life-force abandoned him.

The old man progressively reshaped, bent and bulged into a different, terrible being. Somewhat shaped as hulking, muscular humanoid toad with large claws, as one of them had pierced right through the now dying warrior's chest. The kill was swift and silent, and the hole in the perimeter was swiftly exploited a dozen other creatures that entered the camp, of which one stood out, shaped as a giant humanoid vulture, with sharp beak and a disgusting stench surrounding it. Many smaller, putrid-looking creatures followed, and began to enter the tents of the sleeping Craglights.

There were no shrieks of horror, although there were groans of agony as the creatures were methodically and savagely murdering the Craglights in their tents. By the time some sort of voice of alarm was raised, half the tribesmen were dead or agonising beyond fighting condition. Only a handful of the Craglights managed to group up and mount somewhat of a defence, cornered against the river, with nowhere to go as the malevolent creatures encircled them, ever encroaching with repulsive grins in their faces.

Amongst the survivors, Koaresh, the War-chief, who had managed to cut a couple of the smaller demons, and Rahve, the young warrior, now at her age of nineteen. The toad-like, hulking creature took as step ahead then, speaking in perfect, if guttural common:

"Lay down your weapons. We will make this swift. Or fight... it makes your souls all the more delicious."

The creature laughed as Rahve, boldly leaped forth, taking a swing of her axe. A powerful, well squared hit directed right to the chest section of the toad-like creature, a glint of victory visited Rahve's eyes, that saw a moment of lucidness in such a dark, terrible night. But that moment was swiftly extinguished as the young brave's axe bounced off the creature's skin, much as if she had attempted to strike against a granite rock.

A perplexed look in her blue eyes was met with another laugh from the large creature that raised its claw decisively to strike her down. Rahve shut her eyes, feeling herself defenceless against what was to come, when her arm was pulled harshly. She saw herself flying headfirst into the river, propelled by Koaresh, and while she did not understand this at first, she caught a glimpse of Koaresh and the couple of other remaining warriors making their last stand on the shore. The strong current inevitably dragged Rahve downriver, which might still crush her body, but Koaresh thought, at least would save her soul.


But Rahve's story would not end that night. By the vicissitudes of fate, the young warrior washed up ashore, somewhere down river. She had no idea how long had it been since she had passed out, what distance she had travelled, or where she was. She felt extremely thirsty, and very hungry and so after drinking from the river itself, she managed to stand up on weak knees, walking inland in search for wood to at least find some warmth.

As luck would have it, the first thing she came across was some cartwheel tracks across the grassy plains, and a signpost, pointing south. SARSHEL.

Rahve stared at it for a few moments, and nodded to herself. Sarshel would be the place where she'd recover from her wounds, and train her abilities to, one day, avenge her tribe. Her rare determination seemed firm, even though she had no food, no coin and nowhere to go. She had no clues of how to find those who took all she had. She had no friends. No family. Fueled by the strongest of furies, she had nothing.

Nothing to lose.
Playing:

Rahve Siegersson, Nars Tribeswoman and Shieldmaiden.
Alannia Phoenix, Battlepriestess of Torm.

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Nereida
Posts: 19
Joined: Tue Nov 01, 2016 1:28 pm

Re: Rahve Siegersson - Hell Hath No Fury

Postby Nereida » Thu Nov 03, 2016 3:35 pm

This Ailed City


Severely wounded and bruised, Rahve saw fortune's smile on her for the first time ever since that tragic night, when a merchant caravan picked her up to ease the last half of her Sarshel-bound trek. Albeit part of a partially nomadic tribe, Rahve had always seen favourably the idea of settling down, finding a stable, defensible place, where freedom was respected, and winters were endurable. For a brief moment she imagined Sarshel's magnificent architecture, lively, vibrant streets, full of life and opportunities.

With this notion in her mind, she looked forward to finally reach the city so that she could begin to build on the foundations she had set towards her goals. But as if to crush her hopes all too early, the visage of Sarshel in the distance showed her a different image. Submerged in a dusky fog, and submerged in an unnaturally cold, deep winter, the dim lights of Sarshel's inns flicked in the distance, as a mournful, almost ghostly atmosphere appeared to embrace the coastal city.

The cartwheels shrieked painfully upon the uneven cobblestone as the caravan slowed to a stop, the caravan master signalling Rahve - This be Sarshel, miss. Good luck to ye!. The young woman bowed her head thankfully as the caravan went on, skipping Sarshel in their trade route.

Rahve paid not excessive mind to this at the time as she noticed that walking was still a struggle. A proud Craglight, Rahve allowed herself not to succumb to this weakness, and walked towards the ample city square. A few people huddled in corners, hugging their coats against the walls in a futile attempt to find the unexistant warmth as the blonde brave's eyes were set on the mounted statue in front of her. A knight, tall and dignified held his lance skywards in an apparent triumphant gesture, an inscription below told its tale.
"For under his reign
we have been brought
out of darkness into light"

Sarshel Elethlim, 732 DR.

Rahve saw certain hope in that. She may have arrived in cold, dark, foggy, uncharacteristic night, and, come the morning, the city would show her the splendour and opportunities she sought. The night would be long and harsh, however, without a roof or the coin to afford one. She thought that perhaps the local temple might offer her the opportunity to find momentary respite within its halls, at least until the next morning lights, when the warmth of the Sun and the sight it provided could aid her in hunting some game, to eat, and to barter the furs for some basic services.

The signposts led her southwards through the city. Across narrow alleys and even narrower archways that appeared to have been recently reconstructed, she navigated the streets. The chilling silence was deafening, more so when considering that she was supposed to be close to the temple... and yet, she heard no temple bells or chants. Even at that time of the evening she expected some activity, although at least she had managed to spot part of the temple's facade in between the roofs of a couple of buildings as she traversed the parallel alley.

What was her surprise, when she finally rounded the corner and took the temple's view, head on. The visage of destruction took her completely off-guard. Unexpected, but also hope-crushing, to see the house of the Triad lay in such state. It caught her eye, however, that the main gates were mostly untouched. And so, bold in her spirit, Rahve decided to push them open, to have a look for herself.

Not a sight for the faint of heart, the temple interiors were even more devastating. Benches, statues, tapestries, all torn and thrashed. The signs of a fight and a massacre were present in every inch of the area. Blood trails tainted the rugs and the walls, and even the ceiling seemed to have collapsed onto the main hall. Rahve took the side stairway to reach the upper level. From here, the picture was even more breath-taking.

Image


She contemplated the scene when she heard some steps behind her. Quickly, her hand to her axe's handle, a swift pivot over her heels to face the approaching stalker. But there was nothing, nobody. Her senses had been usually sharp enough to not deceive her, but either her mind was playing tricks to her, or the place was haunted. She could not tell.

What she could tell is that Sarshel suffered an ailment, one that would not be easily healed. On top of that, the markings on the walls and benches, the patterns in which wood and stone were scrapped, indicated that the assault had been perpetrated by creatures possibly similar in nature to those that ended her people.

She would have to find allies, get in touch with the locals that would stand up and fight against the atrocities she had witnessed. She would help them get to the bottom of what was going on in there, if they would have her aid. Having been left with nothing, she needed purpose - and she was standing right in front of it. She felt that this could also get her closer to learn what took her people and all she had. And most importantly, she felt it was her duty to do her best to heal this ailed city.
Playing:

Rahve Siegersson, Nars Tribeswoman and Shieldmaiden.
Alannia Phoenix, Battlepriestess of Torm.

User avatar
Nereida
Posts: 19
Joined: Tue Nov 01, 2016 1:28 pm

Re: Rahve Siegersson - Hell Hath No Fury

Postby Nereida » Sun Nov 06, 2016 3:26 pm

A Need to Belong


That night by the northern shore of the Sidewinder River burned bright in Rahve's mind. Impossible not to. That wound would never stop bleeding, she had come to accept, a wound that had changed her.

As she walked out of the broken temple, she promised herself to not become an instrument of hatred. But it was still so difficult for her to accept the cruelty that had been inflicted upon her. With the morning lights, the city became more lively. Rahve's pale blue eyes glanced about as the citizens of Sarshel went on with their lives. Someones that had married their everythings, laughed their joys and cried their grieves, said their nevers and slept their dreams, reaped their sowing and went their came; all in their commonplace, but remarkable lives. A part of Rahve envied them.

Demons showed her that she could not take anything for granted. They showed it to Sarshel, too. Gazing at the stars or walking by the docks was a luxury. Thinking of the beloved one while the work shift crawled away, in any moment of peace. The smile of any one familiar face, the thankful handshake, the friendly pat on the back; from Rahve's perspective those were privileges that had to be fought for. Privileges that had been taken from her.

And she could not accept that others would have to go through her suffering. That deep, ever present pain in her chest and stomach that mirrored in her face. Like Rahve's, Sarshel's face could not smile because it remembers. It knows it cried, it took the blows and bled. It is a face that wears some make-up, but the scars show. Oh yes, they show. Rahve had already decided to make her own the goal of finding out what made Sarshel bleed, to help healing it.

In that, the young warrior had been fortunate to meet a few individuals in the following days which truly helped her veer off her descent to hatred. Individuals, some considered heroes of the land, who had offered her kindness, and a helping hand. They accepted her so that she could feel welcome, belonging - a feeling that Rahve had needed so badly. Merney, Wynna, Aleira, the two Cassandras, Elhokar, Allie, Kelda, Gwendolynn, Rannie... those who, she knew, could not replace her family, her lifetime friends. No, at least not yet. But they were the first ones to show Rahve that she had a place still in the world. That she was not broken and alone. That she could still be respected, and cared for.

As the days passed, the young blonde warrior became involved and closer to some of those who she could call allies and trust. She was invited along to join expeditions towards dangerous areas of Impiltur, and she found herself eager to join those expeditions. Not only because she found the adrenaline rush distracted her and kept her busy. She could also learn the lay of the land, hone her martial skills, and create bonds with those that shared battle with her.

Rahve began to see a glitter, the hint of a light at the end of the tunnel. And she found herself all too willing to run towards it.
Playing:

Rahve Siegersson, Nars Tribeswoman and Shieldmaiden.
Alannia Phoenix, Battlepriestess of Torm.


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