[center][h2]Flashback 1719, Spring or Summer, Rural Vermilion [color=peru]Little Sunny Gwendolyn[/color][/h2] [YouTube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSgKStudnbw[/YouTube][/center] Dohmnall Durmand sat outside his home in the rural reaches of Vermilion, the prized family dirk lying in his lap as he sat on the lush grass, facing where the horizon prepared for the sun. Soft rays of light just kissed the undersides of the clouds that dotted the sky above. Behind him, behind his home, the forest shrouded the lake and horizon beyond, but before him, meadows and plains swayed beneath the winds. Worked fields dotted the sight on gentle, wide hills rolling into the distance. For a little while now, he’d been telling his daughter to rise before the sun. It was important that she bring herself out of bed. As he was beginning to wonder if he would have to send someone in to help him in this matter, he heard the door behind him. That must be her. The little girl yawned as she stepped from the house, rubbing her eyes at the horizon that hadn’t even revealed the sun yet. She approached her father, grumbling softly,[color=peru] “[abbr=y’ wan’ed me ou’ this earrly..?]Ye wanted me out this earrly?[/abbr]”[/color] “Therre y’ arre, Gwen.” He couldn’t help but smile about this precious girl of his. She could hear him trying to be stern and failing. She gave a sheepish giggle, [color=peru]“hehe, sorry. [abbr=’s been abou’ a week err so, ‘asn’ i’?..]it’s been about a week or so, hasn’t it?,[/abbr]”[/color] since he started asking her to get up early. When he pat the ground next to him, she stared for just a moment before approaching with sleepy steps to have a seat next to him. “Isn’ i’ beau’iful?” Dohmnall breathed deeply of the crisp, morning air, gazing out at the sprawling landscape, yet dim before the sun would rise. Then, the warmth of the Sun kissed his forehead, “ah. Be sure tae close y’rr eyes, as y’ feel th’ warrmth,” and he did so. Gwen – Little Stratya, age 6, not even halfway to her nameday yet – watched him for a moment, watched her father as the light crept down over his forehead, his face, down his neck. Groggily, she remembered she was supposed to do the same thing, and the little girl turned toward the sun. She settled in like he was, closing her eyes when she felt toasty warmth like fresh bread creeping down from the top of her head. Together they sat as light spread over them from head to toe. From the front, at least. After a moment or two of sitting facing the sun, the lass pitched back and rolled across her hips to turn around and have the sun warm her back, too. Her father looked when he heard the movement, and had himself a laugh. Yes, she had a point, didn’t she. Your back could get cold, if you did it improperly. “[abbr=We’ll ‘ave anotherr go at i’ t’mahrrow. When ye no longer ‘ave tae turrn ‘rround, it’s well in yerr ken.]We’ll have another go at it tomorrow. When ye no longer have tae turn around, it’s well in your ken.[/abbr]” A few chores and a meal later and that was, apparently, the day’s training. She’d spend the rest of the early morning with her mother before going off to either dabble in another trade or find where the other kids were going for the day. The next day, when she joined him, he spoke as the light traveled across him, “Zivitas, The Life-Fatherr, gave us the Sun that life migh’ grrow, that we migh’ see and be warrmed. The ligh’ he gave us was sae [i]powerrful[/i] that Zivitas had tae send the grreat spherre o’ light and firre he made farr away, ferr it would blind and burrn us if nae.” Dohmnall was not doing the meditation, despite sitting with her. [color=peru]“Is tha’ why we need such carre, Pa?”[/color] Dohmnall smiled for how clever his first-born was, “[abbr=aye, jus’ sae. We si’ ‘erre sae, in t’ earrlies’ ligh’, thah’ we migh’ sup e’err sae gen’ly frrom t’ grrea’ powerr ‘e made ferr us. Y’ feel i’, doan ya?]aye, just so. We sit here so, in the earrliest light, that we might sup ever so gently frrom the grreat power he made for us. You feel it, don’t you?[/abbr]” Little Gwen thought for a moment, looking down at her wiggling toes,[color=peru] “a wee bit.”[/color] “[abbr=Ye’ll ge’ i’. Nowt’s b’yond yerr ken, m’ darrlin’ lass.]Ye’ll get it. Nowt’s beyond yerr ken, my darling lass.[/abbr]” This day would have a little more training than the last. For the moment, however, the girl looked up at her father and smiled at the confidence he had in her, before her gaze swept out over the fields in front of them. The sunlight spread over the fields and she watched for the words her father said were true. [hr] [center][h2]1737, Rural Vermilion, Encia territory [color=red]Fury[/color][/h2] Trigger: Brutality, coercive magic, implied sexual violence[/center] Dohmnall’s eyes widened as the touch of the family dirk let him hear enough to warn his daughter before his wound took the life from him. “He will.. Command ye…” That was all he could manage, and that was all she would need. When the voice entered her mind, she knew what it was. She knew [i]who[/i] it was. [center][color=black][i][b]Obey me.[/b][/i][/color][/center] [center][YouTube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PX6fDqx4IqE[/YouTube][/center] Her body only began to turn on its own before she understood what had happened; what Maximilian had done. One step. One step was all he could take from her body before she stopped. Her muscles seized as they fought each other. The brilliant, rich [color=plum]gold[/color] shine of her eyes signaled the full maddening weight of Fury coursing through her. [color=peru][i]I will [color=red]kill you[/color].[/i][/color] The Fury lifted the foreign weight from her mind with its forceful presence. Then she was sprinting, charging the isolated manor they had planned the night around. With a great leap, Stratya Durmand kicked down the heavy oak door to the entry hall, her body like the bolt from a ballista as she drew her knives. One man lay crushed beneath the door ripped from its hinges, reduced to a red smear and a limb or two sticking out from underneath. A knife flew from her hand and embedded in the skull of an archer taking aim ahead of her. Her body chased and plucked it from the still body as she ran past. At the top of the entry stairs, her momentum carried her briefly into the air when she collided with the next archer as terror drove him back. She wrested the bow from him and tore the quiver from his body before she crushed his skull under her heel, turned, and shot another archer aiming at her. At the door, Gale and the rest of the squad were entering. She and her father had never reached them. They must have heard the door break down. One of the squad shot yet another archer on the second floor balcony, but not before he loosed an arrow into Stratya’s shoulder. A short cry of pain, and she ripped it out. Fury closed the wound and bound the muscle back together. The doors to the second-floor main hall kicked open, hinges straining to hold. Maximilian had transformed the second floor chamber for ritual. Candles flickered in steady arrangement, traitors rose from ceremonious seats around the caster in the center. Duncan Lancaster, Heir to the Barony, came forward, drawing steel. He sought to outmaneuver her, but she caught his sword in the guard of her parrying dagger and pushed the tip over his shoulder. His own blade bit into him, and was driven down until his limp body fell away from her. The traitors in the room began to attempt to flee, only for the first of them to reach the door to fall forward and die, the parrying dagger in his back. Stratya picked up the longsword Duncan had used. One of them tried to sneak up behind her, but stepped too heavily in pooling blood. She spun about and the blade she’d just retrieved carved a path up his body. The rest hid themselves in the shadows of the room, becoming as small as possible while praying she would pass. She turned, and her [color=gold]e[color=red]y[/color]es[/color] found him. Maximilian desperately plied magic from the center of the room, but without supporting casters, his attempts to control her were futile at best. She approached him slowly, family dirk in her right, longsword in her left. The blade of his son’s longsword was put to his throat,[color=peru] “there werre only men guarrding this place. What did ye do wit’ th’ women, [color=red][i]Max[/i][/color]?”[/color] If that [color=plum]golden[/color] [color=red]gaze[/color] could kill, this would have been over already. He told her. She killed him. And then she collapsed.