Thursday, August 16, 2012
It’s only about three feet deep, so how can it hold everything? Canna stared at her backpack curiously as everything she would possess in the next stage of her life was so carefully arranged inside. There were few spare sets of clothes, several sunrods to help pierce the undoubtedly hideous, dark lairs of the Drow, a month’s worth of banausic trail rations, a length of rope coiled tightly, a filled waterskin, and an inconspicuous black coin purse filled with a meager salary of gold pieces tucked tightly into the corner. She was preparing to combat the strongest army the world has ever known, and yet there was still room left in her backpack? She sneered as she thought how easy it was to obtain this equipment; proving the only thing stopping someone from taking up the fight was cowardice or complacency in the face of oppression. With a sigh she sealed her pack and tied her bedroll to the top before looking over to the enormous axe which rested on her bed. She bent over and slid her hands underneath the weapon’s handle just to feel the weight of cold steel in her hands. Instinctively her fingers tightened into a grip and her muscles tensed in preparation of an attack. There was nothing to fight inside of the humble Corbett home, but it didn’t keep Canna from swinging her devastating weapon about. Each movement stretched a muscle aching to engage, and the weapon now felt like a comfortable extension of herself as she arched it down with a restrained grunt. The blade hovered just inches above the ground when a sarcastic tone interrupted Canna’s trance.
“You’re expecting to do a lot of fighting during your pilgrimage?” Jude Corbett stood at the doorway of her daughter’s room, and her glower was enough to set another miserable tone to this exchange between mother and child.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Canna sat quietly in her room immersed in a deep meditation. She rested on her heels; her eyes sealed as she focused on maintaining a steady breathing pattern while going over her tenets once again. Years had passed since the violent vixen first learned of her destiny with the Unfettered Queen, and the angry teen was now an adult preparing for the greatest challenge in her life. In a week’s time she would be heading north to meet with Bryth Wyrmslayer about a scouting mission over the wall, although the lie she told her family was that in a week’s time she would be embarking on a pilgrimage to visit various shrines to Avandra all across the world. In the eyes of the inconsiderate avenger, she felt everyone bought the story. Now she would enjoy her last week at home mentally preparing for this daunting task while trying to spend a few precious moments with her family as she knew they could very well be her last.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Several weeks had passed since Canna first learned of her divine patron, and the violent vixen had exhausted her miniscule resources pulling together any material on Avandra she could. The Unfettered Queen was not one of the more pronounced deities however, and her order’s nature to refrain from a uniform Church made it nearly impossible for her to find detailed recordings of Avandra’s tenants. She found several old texts that explained what any novice student of religion would know of Avandra, but the wisdom behind it was decisively missing. Canna had taken to a more peculiar method of investigation; she started asking around for a follower.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Canna’s hands hovered over the collection of holy symbols with a growing hesitation causing her hands to quiver as it floated just above the relics. The symbols of every good or neutral aligned god rested casually on her bedroom floor as the red-haired teen sat pressed up against her bed. She withdrew her hand as she waited for her nerves to settle, but even as she held her hand up to her mouth she felt her skin tingle in fear. For the fifth time since she arranged this set up, Canna took in a deep breath with the expectation being that she’d initiate this test as soon as she finished exhaling. However, once her breath left her she found herself rushing to get it back again, and the paralysis continued.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Canna rested with her back pressed up against the massive oak frame that outlined the silk sheathed mattress behind her. It was but one luxury inside the lavish chamber known as the Gilded Scale Inn that Canna had called home for the past week as she recovered from her injury at the hands of her once infallible idol. Cormag had so easily shattered the bone in her leg into two, but a short prayer had enabled a cleric of Bahamut to undo the damages in mere moments. Despite the lack of pain, Canna still kept her leg tightly wrapped by bandages visible beneath clothes that had become tattered and shredded due to the teen’s frequent irrational outbursts. Her quarters bore the similar wounds as elaborate wall decorations could be found bent, shattered, or torn from their place and strewn about the floor amongst a disorganized collection of books.
Friday, July 13, 2012
One, two, three, four. Canna proudly counted her earnings while wiping the sweat from her brow and stuffing the handful of coins into her pocket. The day’s work was over, and for the violent vixen it was time to piss part of her salary away at her daily sanctuary. She pulled her hand out from her pocket and caught sight of her palms for what felt like the first time in ages. Her skin was rough and defined alongside the slender contours of her fingers, and calluses armored her palm against the strains of her daily chores. She clenched her hand into a fist and smiled delightfully as she felt each muscle tense with power at her command. Her hands were still small and delicate as was Jude’s, but there would be no doubt that these were not the hands of a satisfied individual.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Evenings in Arkhosia were said to have been beautiful in the years before the Drow Curfew. The torches that hung on the outside of Arkhosia’s most noble structures mixed a warm orange glow into the dusky night sky as the streets were warmed with an ubiquitous comforting heat as though the city itself were one large fireplace for the citizens to lounge in and gaze up into the gallery of lights that painted the heavens. The legendary evenings of Arkhosia’s past were now a myth, passed down by elders who can still remember those carefree days as the connotation of sundown in Arkhosia had become one of fear and panic. Only the cruelest of criminals haunted the alleys of Arkhosia in the pitch black night waiting for those who haughtily thought themselves exempt from the dangers of these hours. No victim would be ignored—with the exception of one fiery haired teen who had proven time and time again that she was not the vulnerable fool that these vultures preyed on.