[center][h3] Four-horn Culture - Inheritance [/h3][/center] 

As the eldest child of war-leader Sophia, everyone had great expectations of Isabel. Under this great amount of press, she excelled. She was proficient using either a dagger or spear, but could never master the sling. Others would comment that she could ride any horse, however she knew that there was one she never could. 

When Isabel was young, she and her brother travelled with her father's band. She was expected to train hard than everyone else, but it was rather idyllic. They rarely travelled near the contested grazing lands, and thus rarely saw their mother. Isabel remembered the first time she had visited the war camp. Her father was a noted warrior in youth, and a recent draught had embolden the Sunsworn and they launched successive preemptive attacks to help secure fresh grazing land. Apparently, they had even started to kill their livestock when they grazed in the contested lands. 

She had learned about the history of war, but the war camp was the first time it wasn't far away and ethereal. It was different watching someone use a sling to kill a bird, than watching a line of slingers practice creating a rain of stones. She looked down into the ditches dug around the encampment, and how they would throw thorny plants into them. And for what, grazing land? It did not seem to her they were lacking that, though she was only a child at the time.  

She remembered vividly that her father was taken from her during that trip, and how she would be consigned to live within that dreary camp. But he was not slain by the hatred of their mortal enemies, but stolen away to satiate the demonic hunger of intruder. She was the one to find the body. At first she thought he was sleeping. But he wouldn't wake up when she called him. When she touched him, she couldn't feel his presence but she denied what it meant. It wasn't until she flipped him over did she see the wound upon his back. It was to small, it shouldn't have killed him. 

Sophia had entered the camp next, and she was silent. But she looked, and she didn't need her touch to feel her intense rage. For the next few days, nobody was allowed to leave the encampment and anyone who tried would be struck by one of Sophia's most loyal slingers. If they survived, they would be dragged back. They didn't find the intruder this way, but one Eidolon was whipped for insubordination. Everyone was tested, Sophia even going first to ensure their would be no argument. The disgusting, small thing tried to weasel his way out, but he was found and publicly killed. There was some people more spiritual than her that told her to never take joy in the death of another, but in that moment, Isabel ignored them. 

When Isabel was on the verge of adulthood, she had heard starting hearing interesting rumors about a group of people travelling to Duskwall. But then, Sophia became gravely sick. A war-wound had reopened before it could fully heal and became infected. Salt was applied, however the particular strain had proven resilient to this treatment. Deaths of this nature were slow, as the disease slowly festered siphoning away the host's lifeforce to grow and siphon more and more. 

Isabel was called to her mother's tent. She was not surrounded by the usual gaggle of salters, but by a group of war-marshals. She had been chosen as the next war-leader. Her mother seemed rather indifferent to the entire affair, almost as if she simply wanted them all to leave so that could go ahead and die. She had been raised her entire life for the role and yet it seemed so sudden. As she prepared to give her answer, something came over her and everyone looked upon her with a shocked expression before she had a chance to say, "No." and turned around to leave. 

She had been expected to be stopped and turned around to look. Sophia stumbled upon to her feet, and signaled everyone to say. Her mother said, "Let her go. She is my daughter, she will do as she pleases." She never did understand if that last part was a command or a mere acknowledgement of fact. 

After that, she was even permitted to her horse and spear and ride out into the Dusklands with the others. She quickly learned what the others were gawking at as her life marks had changed from gold-brown to the smoky gray of her mother. She thought of this while practicing with her scythe, falling into routine motions of using it as a spear. It was only after realizing how familiar it was that she practiced using the bladed edge to slice at the air, and some of the more complex techniques. 

Looking around, she noticed people digging ditches and crafting various items including shields. It was familiar, but different. It felt meaningful. 

[hider= Story] 
We follow the story of Sophia's child, Isabel as she witnesses various societal and technological changes that have been happening in the four-horn territory. When she was really young, she had an idyllic life away from the contested region with her father. However, her father was called back to the encampment and killed by an intruder, leaving Isabel and her brother to live there instead.

One of Sophia's war-wounds reopens and gets infected with a salt-resistant disease. As she is dying, Isabel is chosen as the next war-leader but she refuses, her eyes changing from gold-brown to smoky grey in that moment. Sophia stands up, and tells everyone to let her daughter will do as she pleases. 

Isabel joined the group heading into Duskwall that became the Autumnal Order. She is practicing with her scythe while reminiscing about her past. She notices various similarities between the two encampments, such as the ditches and various war-time production like shields, but it feels different -- more meaningful. [/hider] 

[hider= Spirit]
Rider of Hevel - Vacant
Spirit: 8, 10 
+1 base, +1 length 

Autumnal Order 
Prestige: 1, 2 
+1 base 

[/hider]