First - Ruthenia Truelove - 07/09/22
Sept 20, 2022 14:04:06 GMT
Jaezred Vandree, Andy D, and 1 more like this
Post by Ruthenia Truelove on Sept 20, 2022 14:04:06 GMT
As dawn broke across Daring Heights, the muted canter of the phantom horse Belladonna was heard in a clearing of some woodlands nearby. Its ever-present rider bore a dark scowl on her face, even more so than she normally did. As she gingerly dismounted, she unceremoniously tossed her journal to the ground, before striking the ground with her rod.
"Scribe, Myrtle. Now."
I do not appreciate being watched.
I do not appreciate being spied on.
I do not appreciate being monitored.
Lady Jeziah Miller. She spied on us. She spied with her insipid manservant on us while we were assisting Goran Voss. Why? Goran is already in league with her, no? Then what was the purpose? To retrieve something? A page from a book, perhaps? A book that just so happens to pertain to the Loviatan cultists?
Now, I know that is conjecture. But still, a cleric in direct commune with her deity told us that the people in the shack i.e. us and the very people Lady Jeziah Miller claims to be aiding were in danger from her manservant. She obviously denies this. She calls it baseless accusation. I have the missive. Of course, that was not the purpose of the accusation. The purpose is to let her know that we know. That I know. To think twice before she attempts such stunts again, and if we truly are in danger, to focus first on me.
I am aged. Jeziah Miller is old, far older than I, but she is not aged. She couldn't possibly understand what it means to be.
It means she cannot harm me in a way that matters.
I know who I am. I have no friends. Barely any allies. My body aches with each move I make. I have ambitions, yes, but as long as there are necromancers in this world someone will take up the call. I do not welcome death with open arms but if I am to die, I die knowing that I lived. But those refugees, they cannot say that in the slightest.
I do not know what your designs are, Jeziah Miller, but you have made an enemy of me. They are civilians. Harmless. Defenceless. They do not need this.
Compassion helps, but if I am to be honest, that is not my main driving factor. I have watched enough communities live and die, and frankly, I don't have it in me to care beyond wishing them the best. But it is the fact that I know now they cannot have the best, not as long as you are in their shadow, that drives me.
55 long years have I spent as a marked woman. I can deal with this a bit more. I was tired, and now I am enraged.
As Myrtle finished writing, Ruthenia pondered the gilded skull that lay in her hand. Gripping it tightly, she tapped the ground with her rod once more.
"Come, Nightshade!"
Ruthenia's shadow grew unnaturally long and thin, and from it arose a dark, almost imperceptible specter, almost formless except for two appendages that could be arms. It immediately dashed for the nearest tree, and with two swipes put two giant gouges into the trunk, before dissolving into the aether.
"Come, Sundew!"
From the ground beneath her shadow erupted a putrid mass of muscle, sinew and organs, that eventually formed itself into something almost resembling a human body. With a howl that couldn't be mistaken for any living beast it tore huge chunks out of the same tree before dissapating into the ground again.
"Come, Witch-hazel!"
An apparition of a skeleton now appeared, complete with a bow made of humeri and femurs. It nocked two arrows and drove them deep into the exposed heartwood, and with a loud creak, the tree crashed to the ground. As her shadow returned to her, Ruthenia examined the wreckage.
"Good, but I believe I need more bodies still..."
"Scribe, Myrtle. Now."
I do not appreciate being watched.
I do not appreciate being spied on.
I do not appreciate being monitored.
Lady Jeziah Miller. She spied on us. She spied with her insipid manservant on us while we were assisting Goran Voss. Why? Goran is already in league with her, no? Then what was the purpose? To retrieve something? A page from a book, perhaps? A book that just so happens to pertain to the Loviatan cultists?
Now, I know that is conjecture. But still, a cleric in direct commune with her deity told us that the people in the shack i.e. us and the very people Lady Jeziah Miller claims to be aiding were in danger from her manservant. She obviously denies this. She calls it baseless accusation. I have the missive. Of course, that was not the purpose of the accusation. The purpose is to let her know that we know. That I know. To think twice before she attempts such stunts again, and if we truly are in danger, to focus first on me.
I am aged. Jeziah Miller is old, far older than I, but she is not aged. She couldn't possibly understand what it means to be.
It means she cannot harm me in a way that matters.
I know who I am. I have no friends. Barely any allies. My body aches with each move I make. I have ambitions, yes, but as long as there are necromancers in this world someone will take up the call. I do not welcome death with open arms but if I am to die, I die knowing that I lived. But those refugees, they cannot say that in the slightest.
I do not know what your designs are, Jeziah Miller, but you have made an enemy of me. They are civilians. Harmless. Defenceless. They do not need this.
Compassion helps, but if I am to be honest, that is not my main driving factor. I have watched enough communities live and die, and frankly, I don't have it in me to care beyond wishing them the best. But it is the fact that I know now they cannot have the best, not as long as you are in their shadow, that drives me.
55 long years have I spent as a marked woman. I can deal with this a bit more. I was tired, and now I am enraged.
As Myrtle finished writing, Ruthenia pondered the gilded skull that lay in her hand. Gripping it tightly, she tapped the ground with her rod once more.
"Come, Nightshade!"
Ruthenia's shadow grew unnaturally long and thin, and from it arose a dark, almost imperceptible specter, almost formless except for two appendages that could be arms. It immediately dashed for the nearest tree, and with two swipes put two giant gouges into the trunk, before dissolving into the aether.
"Come, Sundew!"
From the ground beneath her shadow erupted a putrid mass of muscle, sinew and organs, that eventually formed itself into something almost resembling a human body. With a howl that couldn't be mistaken for any living beast it tore huge chunks out of the same tree before dissapating into the ground again.
"Come, Witch-hazel!"
An apparition of a skeleton now appeared, complete with a bow made of humeri and femurs. It nocked two arrows and drove them deep into the exposed heartwood, and with a loud creak, the tree crashed to the ground. As her shadow returned to her, Ruthenia examined the wreckage.
"Good, but I believe I need more bodies still..."
