xVampire3go
Achronum
Scrawl Banditta
Not a Sayan
Morose
teenangstlife
Ohm
VenusSundew
Annika Falling Star
Location: Forest, Upper Canada —> Limbo
Skills:
Spells:
Time had no meaning to Annika when she was in the middle of a fight. All that registered were the sounds of her people’s war cries mingled with the sounds of death. The smell of wet earth and burning flesh was a peculiar combination but oddly reassuring. That smell brought her back to her human form and the searing pain in her shoulder.
Annika scrambled back, feeling the pain intensify with the shifting, but she was still fighting. A gunshot went off, causing Annika to flinch. The smell of gunpowder quickly filled the air. Annika glared at her assailant, snapped the arrow shaft off, and retrieved her knife.
The white man charged her, screaming his own battle cry as he pinned her to the ground, digging his thumb into the wound at her shoulder. Annika screamed and thrashed, but the man was strong.
Suddenly, Annika is yanked back. Her hands went to her throat, dropping her knife in the process. She kicked and thrashed, trying to get her attacker to let go. A brilliant white light fills the room before Annika is thrown into darkness.
Silence.
There are no screams here. No gunshots or the sound of arrows slicing through the air. She only recognizes the scent of blood in the air, thick enough to taste. Annika looks down. With her hands trembling, she assesses her body. She had seen women taken by white men and feared the worst. Blessedly, her hands are clean; Annika lets out a deep sigh of gratitude and prays to the Creator. Her hands then move to her damaged shoulder. A strange cloak now covers the wound and is accompanied by a new necklace that clashes horribly with her mothers. She shifts back onto her knees to examine the new items more properly when she feels the tugging again. Annika scrambles to her feet; hands lose by her sides as she turns in a tight circle. She has no weapon to fight with but her hands and the ability to shift form. A gift from her Creator to help combat the changes occurring in her homeland.
The cloak tightens around her, seemingly of its own free will, and Annika is stunned. She feels a shift of something within the cloak and pulls out a white paper. It reminds her of her journal, a small thing from her father that she carries with her always, even into battle.
The words on the paper reveal themselves to her but hold little meaning. She can read English well, but the name and titles are unrecognizable. Is this a friend of her father’s? The words she understands, no matter the context, are spells, protection, and death. Before Annika can process, yellow light circles around her, sparking strangely, and then she falls. And falls. And falls. Annika’s mouth is open in a silent scream until she lands on feet that instantly give out on her. She drops to her knees and hands with the letter still gripped in her hand. The cloak pulls her to her feet, but she barely registers it as she looks up and around. Birds call out to her. Vultures. She recognizes the death omen instantly and backs up. There is nothing around her — mountains in the far distance and a blood-red sky, but nothing within reach.
”Skeon?” She calls out. Annika takes a step forward and another until she is walking in an unknown direction to an unknown destination.
