Friday, July 27, 2012

Change Yourself, Change the World: Chosen One

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

Change Yourself, Change the World: Light

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

Change Yourself, Change the World: Crippled

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

Change Yourself, Change the World: Paternal Cycles

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.