Beginnings

Posted on August 5, 2011 | Leave a comment

Every single one of them was a fucking idiot.

She’d been sitting off to the side of the main room in the inn, trying to stomach the stew. She was almost out of her favorite apples, and she needed to keep up her strength. As she ate, she listened. After 30 minutes, she was able to divide everyone into groups.

Those with delusions of grandeur.

Hard cases that would take anything that would pay.

Arseholes who wanted an excuse (and authorization) to hurt people.

And your general, run of the mill idiots that would probably get killed within a week if they got chosen for the assignment.

The biggest idiot of them all was a tree of a man who seemed to be made more of meat and bone than brain. It took her a few moments to realize that when the red-headed stepchild of an oaf was yelling “boy!”… it was at her. He didn’t take the hint when she refused to even look at him.  After failing to get a response after the fifth time, he decided to walk over to her, the entire inn rattling with each step he took. When she looked up at him with those dark eyes of hers, staring daggers, the poor sod nearly tripped over himself in embarrassment, red as a beet. The ranger at the table he left was doubled over with laughter.

Now, the ranger… he looked capable. In fact, she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t noticed him before. Of all the people packed into this inn, she figured he was the only other one that could hold his own. So, when the oaf invited her over to the table after stammering a number of half-apologies, she decided she had little to lose. If the rest of them were stupid and killed themselves, she was confident that she would not.  Finding replacements might prove to be difficult, but she was used to working on her own most of the time anyway.

Once she was certain she had no better options, she agreed to lend her skills to this group, which also included a holy man, and a traveling merchant.

No one was more surprised than she when the group was selected to carry a charter.

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History

Posted on July 28, 2011 | Leave a comment

“She went around with the attitude that she would rather be beaten to death than take any shit.” — Stieg Larsson

For as long as she could remember, her father would visit perhaps once every few months. Once the screaming stopped, she would tend to her mother’s wounds while he laughed. She came to understand that she was likely the product of one of those rapes around the same time that she realized that her mother would probably end up dead on one of those visits.

When the time came that Ambrose beat Gia so severely that she lost consciousness, Rahne smashed him over the head with a burning oil lamp.

He lit up like a torch.

She was ten.

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Posted in Main

Prologue

Posted on July 14, 2011 | Leave a comment

The long, flowing cloak that enveloped her form was spacious, as was the hood she kept pulled up over her head. It covered her from head to toe giving her the very definition of “mysterious cloaked figure.” She darted from the shadow of one building to another on soft leather boots as she made her way to the edge of town. At least the night was moonless, and the only light she had to contend with were the lanterns and torches illuminating the doorways that lined the streets.

She liked it in Ustalav. There was plenty of opportunity to follow her… calling. But, all good things must come to an end and it was time to move on… Stieg had made sure of that.  He was so arrogant that shame was completely foreign to him. It didn’t matter to her that he was a well-known noble of the land. She’d dealt with a number of his ilk before.  But, that in combination with his all-consuming sense of self-importance is what had gotten her into this predicament. He had actually had the nerve to head straight to the constable once he regained consciousness, his blood-smeared face twisted into a snarl of fury as he bellowed for justice. Most of the time, they just skulked off into the shadows, too ashamed… or afraid… to be seen.

People tended to talk and stare, and not in a good way, if you had Calistria’s holy symbol branded on your face.

Once she was a few miles outside of town, she had no trouble hitching a ride with a trade caravan. Traveling was in her blood. They were headed in the direction of Brevoy, so she supposed she was, too.  That was fine with her.  She smiled to herself as she realized she’d never been.

There’d be PLENTY for her to do there…

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Posted in Main