Post by Lainelru Mistwielder on Feb 4, 2005 5:51:28 GMT -5
A slow buzz of whispers went through the town as the people stared in shock at the shamaness that walked before them. Most had seen her before when they had been younger, for she had almost always stayed in Freeport. One particularly could not believe his eyes. The human necromancer known as the Blood Raven stared in shock, his dark brown eyes wide as he watched her. He had least seen her when he was just a boy of fifteen seasons. Then one day she had simply disappeared. No one had known where she went, and he had often thought of his old friend. Ten seasons had passed since that time, and now she seemed to appear out of no where: and she had not aged a bit.
She was different, though. Her red hair, which had once been long with a portion kept pulled up on either side of her hair, was now short, just barely reaching to the back of her neck. Her expression, which had once been kind and normally smiling despite the sadness in her green eyes now held a blankness to them that made him visibly uncomfortable. The scar that ran in the shape of an X on her right cheek made him wince. He did not even want to know how she'd gotten it. He was about to approach her to speak with her, but just before he got into ear shot, she took off like a bullet, leaving him standing there with a dumbfounded look on his face.
Ahamae ran with all her speed toward the city of Highpass Hold, where her adventures had first begun. She had gotten out of Darvor Manor as quickly as she could because she had recognized some of the people from her past. One of which would have ended up asking too many questions for his own good. She had not wanted to risk the chance of harming him as she had others. Finally, she slowed until it was just a mindless walk.
She had changed. She knew that. As she walked she began to think on her past. Many things had happened since the day she left her sister, Chevonne, in Tethelin with the Elves. She had traveled to Highpass where she had come across the same dark elf that had spoken to her in Darvar Manor before. She had been afraid of him at first, but he had showed her a kindness she had never felt before, and in her nievate of young age, she had believed all his lies to her.
The traitor, Razlin, had taken her for an emotion and physical rollercoaster ride that she had enjoyed at first. Mentally she cursed herself, for she had fallen in love with him, and he had claimed to return her feelings. Yet at the earliest possible moment he had betrayed her. She had been captured by his own brother, and he had helped him to torment her. She could not remember how long she had been in the dark prison within a nameless place of the wilds before she had some how managed to exact revenge.
Gingerly her gloved fingers came up to touch the scar on her cheek; a constant reminder of her foolishness. For him, she had killed, stolen, murdered, and sacrificed. Yet she had not been able to see the evil in it until it was too late. Razlin and his brother had died by her hands. After her revenge, though, she had not felt the same as she once had. She cut her hair in her sorrow over the innocent lives she had taken. So much blood had been spilled in her blindness. So many families torn apart. She no longer allowed herself to feel or show emotion because of this. Her voice no longer held warmth, but emptiness. Her eyes no longer held sadness, but shadow.
She walked into the Inn of Highpass hold and sat at a table, ignoring the whispers and stares she was recieving. She stared at her hands blankly. She had become what she had set out to destroy. She had become her mother's murderer, had become evil in her own way. If anyone she knew ever found out the truth, she would be hunted to the ends of the world. That was why she had stayed in the wilds until then, to give herself a chance to think things over as she had once told her sister she had needed to do. She could not even remember how long ago that was. She did not remember many things about her life before Razlin.
Chevonne's face and voice were lost to her, fleeting memories she could no longer grasp. She no longer remembered the tast of prepared and cooked food, for it had been replaced by whatever she had been able to find. Ale, cider...that memory, too, was lost to her, replaced by the blandness of fresh water and the stench of bogs. Family no longer existed. Friends were dead to her. Emotions were something she had forgotten entirely, no longer able to feel much more than a flick of anger just strong enough to allow her to glare. Nothing about her was the same. Nothing in her life was the same. She was not the same. She was the Dark Priestess, as she had once been called.
She was different, though. Her red hair, which had once been long with a portion kept pulled up on either side of her hair, was now short, just barely reaching to the back of her neck. Her expression, which had once been kind and normally smiling despite the sadness in her green eyes now held a blankness to them that made him visibly uncomfortable. The scar that ran in the shape of an X on her right cheek made him wince. He did not even want to know how she'd gotten it. He was about to approach her to speak with her, but just before he got into ear shot, she took off like a bullet, leaving him standing there with a dumbfounded look on his face.
Ahamae ran with all her speed toward the city of Highpass Hold, where her adventures had first begun. She had gotten out of Darvor Manor as quickly as she could because she had recognized some of the people from her past. One of which would have ended up asking too many questions for his own good. She had not wanted to risk the chance of harming him as she had others. Finally, she slowed until it was just a mindless walk.
She had changed. She knew that. As she walked she began to think on her past. Many things had happened since the day she left her sister, Chevonne, in Tethelin with the Elves. She had traveled to Highpass where she had come across the same dark elf that had spoken to her in Darvar Manor before. She had been afraid of him at first, but he had showed her a kindness she had never felt before, and in her nievate of young age, she had believed all his lies to her.
The traitor, Razlin, had taken her for an emotion and physical rollercoaster ride that she had enjoyed at first. Mentally she cursed herself, for she had fallen in love with him, and he had claimed to return her feelings. Yet at the earliest possible moment he had betrayed her. She had been captured by his own brother, and he had helped him to torment her. She could not remember how long she had been in the dark prison within a nameless place of the wilds before she had some how managed to exact revenge.
Gingerly her gloved fingers came up to touch the scar on her cheek; a constant reminder of her foolishness. For him, she had killed, stolen, murdered, and sacrificed. Yet she had not been able to see the evil in it until it was too late. Razlin and his brother had died by her hands. After her revenge, though, she had not felt the same as she once had. She cut her hair in her sorrow over the innocent lives she had taken. So much blood had been spilled in her blindness. So many families torn apart. She no longer allowed herself to feel or show emotion because of this. Her voice no longer held warmth, but emptiness. Her eyes no longer held sadness, but shadow.
She walked into the Inn of Highpass hold and sat at a table, ignoring the whispers and stares she was recieving. She stared at her hands blankly. She had become what she had set out to destroy. She had become her mother's murderer, had become evil in her own way. If anyone she knew ever found out the truth, she would be hunted to the ends of the world. That was why she had stayed in the wilds until then, to give herself a chance to think things over as she had once told her sister she had needed to do. She could not even remember how long ago that was. She did not remember many things about her life before Razlin.
Chevonne's face and voice were lost to her, fleeting memories she could no longer grasp. She no longer remembered the tast of prepared and cooked food, for it had been replaced by whatever she had been able to find. Ale, cider...that memory, too, was lost to her, replaced by the blandness of fresh water and the stench of bogs. Family no longer existed. Friends were dead to her. Emotions were something she had forgotten entirely, no longer able to feel much more than a flick of anger just strong enough to allow her to glare. Nothing about her was the same. Nothing in her life was the same. She was not the same. She was the Dark Priestess, as she had once been called.