Post by Deleted on Nov 14, 2014 0:14:12 GMT -8
Chapter 1: Datura of Thanalan
(Trigger warning: low – middle level sexual violence and detailed violence near the end)
“Idiot… putting herself at risk like that… Why would someone risk their lives so carelessly when they have a family?” a young raven headed Hyur stares into the eternal sands just outside the forgotten springs. Violet dye tints her hair a slight accentuating her unusual naturally purple eyes. Short but athletic, her sharp intimidating features seem to soften as she sits upon a warm stone in a now cooling desert.
Her words seem to trigger a twitch of memories, as her gaze goes further out.
“Don’t worry honey, we’ll be safe here.” A grizzled yet comforting voice speaks to the 6 year old girl. “Junè, come on we have to get to Camp Drybone soon.” Junè follows her father whom is adorned with plate mail and a spear, an emblem of a scale holding a diamond and a flame adorns the father’s left gauntlet. Walking along the old Highbridge, Junè looked down at the old ruins below the structure in awe.
As far back as she could remember Junè has traveled from camp and settlement every couple months for her father’s rotations. A low class soldier for Ul`dah’s Brass Blades.
“Hey dad, what happened to mom?” a young girls curiosity shifts the normally stern expression of her father. “I already told you last week, now sleep, I need to rest. I have a long patrol tomorrow and the beast folk are more aggressive than usual.”
“No you didn’t you said the same thing when I asked then too!” The retort merely annoyed her father more, “Junè I said go to bed.”
Life wasn’t easy for them, but they scraped by. Often the local inn or barkeep would let the young girl stay at her father’s request so long as Junè helped out as well. Even at the age of 8 some men still would attempt to ‘take’ the innocent girl for themselves, though her father or the barkeep kept her from harm.
After one such attempt, Junè’s dad taught her how to use a dagger for protection. A small brass knife small enough to hide in a smock. Quick no nonsense movements, jugular vein on their left side of neck quarter an ilm to one and a quarter ilms deep depending on race and sex, palm thrust with 4-8 ponze of pressure up to the nostril, femoral vein less than a quarter ilm deep on all races on their right leg, all of which are possible variants of ending a life.
One night at the inn while her father still thought she was asleep, Junè peaked from her room and heard her father’s voice talking to the inn keep,
“I’m not good enough, Vivian was supposed to do this not me…” Junè’s father emptied his mug.
“What happened to her anyway Samuel? Where is her mother?”
“She died in child birth. Damn kid came out two months early and only three and a half ponze and she still died!” Samuel took a breath and stared into the drop of ale still in his mug, “The twelve haven’t completely forsaken me though… Three and a half ponze and she still pulled through…
Sorry for the sob story I better get to bed.”
4th moon, year 1564 of the Sixth Umbral Era, Junè’s father is out on a small patrol, Amalj’aa have been getting increasingly violent still, rumors of a primal circulated Ul`dah. Two Hyur members of the Brass Blades walk into the inn for drinks.
“Cute lil nugget ain’t cha?” As Junè served them mugs of ale. “Almost like… what’s her name, Jajamik… Yayamik, whatever ya know black haired lil gnat of Lalafell in the north.”
“Shit, ya know you’re right.” Junè went back to finish scrubbing the pots. A nasty sandstorm was blowing through that day, patrols would take longer than usual. Often times people, even soldiers don’t return.
Drybone wasn’t the worst part of the desert, but its namesake wasn’t for décor either. Junè went out near the front door, it was already past the 21rst bell but still no word from her father.
She returned to her room to wait, she kept a small journal to record the days. It was a gift from her father. Fellow soldiers taught her how to read and write over the years. She sat down and wrote for a while before the thump of leather boots came around. “Sorry the water closet is two doors down.” Said the 9 year old.
“No we have the right room.”
The soldiers from before came into the room, one dropped his shield and quickly moved to Junè before she could react and jolted her by the arm on the floor before she could get off her chair. He stuck his leather covered fingers in her mouth to keep her from biting or screaming, while the other helped get her onto the bed while also trying to rip off her shirt, a procedure seemingly practiced by the soldiers. Their left side, about a quarter ilm in there neck, Junè pulled the knife with her free left hand from her belt and thrust it into the soldier’s unprotected neck. Spitting out the dead man’s fingers, “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” she cried. The other soldier still in a bit of shock, snapped out of it and drew his own sword, “You tart lil bitch I’ll run you in!” He closed her in to the corner, being wary of the knife held out towards his face by the shaking teary eyed girl, “That bread knife ain’t shit for bones, you think it’ll save ya eh?”
“I’ll run you in, you bastard!” The grizzled voice of Junè’s father was more comforting than ever. Tired and covered in sand, Samuel returned just moments before and heard the shouting.
The two soldiers faced each other with swords drawn glaring, “Honey stay back.”
After an eternity of a mere few tense seconds, her father made the first move, both Brass Blades fought evenly for a few moments. Screeching sound of steel sliding against determined blades. Junè’s father had a disadvantage until he kicked his opponent’s knee down to counter a blow and he went to finalize the fight, however his opponent dropped avoiding the thrust and countered with his own into Samuel’s stomach.
The gut wrenching sound Junè’s father made stopped the world, the face of confusion, shock, horror was forever engraved into her mind that day. He coughed and blood dripped from his lips as the soldier pulled out his blade and stood up. Junè couldn’t move, she was frozen, and no sound would leave her mouth. “You said somethin ‘bout runnin in ya prick?” He mocked. Just as her father fell to his knees, the soldier felt a sharp pain in the back of his right leg, “Quarter ilm deep you fuck.”
“You right tar-…” the soldier gave his last words as he passed out from lack of blood pressure. Both the soldier and her father were slumped on the ground. Blood of two on her dagger, blood of her father on her conscious. The inn keep was petrified at the doorway, watching most of the affair. He mouthed some words but they fell on deaf ears. Junè bolted out of the room and inn.
The cold moon shone brightly now. The storm has died down and the world moves on.
Junè from reliving her past in the desert night, left the cold stone and returned to the inn at the forgotten springs.
(Trigger warning: low – middle level sexual violence and detailed violence near the end)
“Idiot… putting herself at risk like that… Why would someone risk their lives so carelessly when they have a family?” a young raven headed Hyur stares into the eternal sands just outside the forgotten springs. Violet dye tints her hair a slight accentuating her unusual naturally purple eyes. Short but athletic, her sharp intimidating features seem to soften as she sits upon a warm stone in a now cooling desert.
Her words seem to trigger a twitch of memories, as her gaze goes further out.
“Don’t worry honey, we’ll be safe here.” A grizzled yet comforting voice speaks to the 6 year old girl. “Junè, come on we have to get to Camp Drybone soon.” Junè follows her father whom is adorned with plate mail and a spear, an emblem of a scale holding a diamond and a flame adorns the father’s left gauntlet. Walking along the old Highbridge, Junè looked down at the old ruins below the structure in awe.
As far back as she could remember Junè has traveled from camp and settlement every couple months for her father’s rotations. A low class soldier for Ul`dah’s Brass Blades.
“Hey dad, what happened to mom?” a young girls curiosity shifts the normally stern expression of her father. “I already told you last week, now sleep, I need to rest. I have a long patrol tomorrow and the beast folk are more aggressive than usual.”
“No you didn’t you said the same thing when I asked then too!” The retort merely annoyed her father more, “Junè I said go to bed.”
Life wasn’t easy for them, but they scraped by. Often the local inn or barkeep would let the young girl stay at her father’s request so long as Junè helped out as well. Even at the age of 8 some men still would attempt to ‘take’ the innocent girl for themselves, though her father or the barkeep kept her from harm.
After one such attempt, Junè’s dad taught her how to use a dagger for protection. A small brass knife small enough to hide in a smock. Quick no nonsense movements, jugular vein on their left side of neck quarter an ilm to one and a quarter ilms deep depending on race and sex, palm thrust with 4-8 ponze of pressure up to the nostril, femoral vein less than a quarter ilm deep on all races on their right leg, all of which are possible variants of ending a life.
One night at the inn while her father still thought she was asleep, Junè peaked from her room and heard her father’s voice talking to the inn keep,
“I’m not good enough, Vivian was supposed to do this not me…” Junè’s father emptied his mug.
“What happened to her anyway Samuel? Where is her mother?”
“She died in child birth. Damn kid came out two months early and only three and a half ponze and she still died!” Samuel took a breath and stared into the drop of ale still in his mug, “The twelve haven’t completely forsaken me though… Three and a half ponze and she still pulled through…
Sorry for the sob story I better get to bed.”
4th moon, year 1564 of the Sixth Umbral Era, Junè’s father is out on a small patrol, Amalj’aa have been getting increasingly violent still, rumors of a primal circulated Ul`dah. Two Hyur members of the Brass Blades walk into the inn for drinks.
“Cute lil nugget ain’t cha?” As Junè served them mugs of ale. “Almost like… what’s her name, Jajamik… Yayamik, whatever ya know black haired lil gnat of Lalafell in the north.”
“Shit, ya know you’re right.” Junè went back to finish scrubbing the pots. A nasty sandstorm was blowing through that day, patrols would take longer than usual. Often times people, even soldiers don’t return.
Drybone wasn’t the worst part of the desert, but its namesake wasn’t for décor either. Junè went out near the front door, it was already past the 21rst bell but still no word from her father.
She returned to her room to wait, she kept a small journal to record the days. It was a gift from her father. Fellow soldiers taught her how to read and write over the years. She sat down and wrote for a while before the thump of leather boots came around. “Sorry the water closet is two doors down.” Said the 9 year old.
“No we have the right room.”
The soldiers from before came into the room, one dropped his shield and quickly moved to Junè before she could react and jolted her by the arm on the floor before she could get off her chair. He stuck his leather covered fingers in her mouth to keep her from biting or screaming, while the other helped get her onto the bed while also trying to rip off her shirt, a procedure seemingly practiced by the soldiers. Their left side, about a quarter ilm in there neck, Junè pulled the knife with her free left hand from her belt and thrust it into the soldier’s unprotected neck. Spitting out the dead man’s fingers, “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” she cried. The other soldier still in a bit of shock, snapped out of it and drew his own sword, “You tart lil bitch I’ll run you in!” He closed her in to the corner, being wary of the knife held out towards his face by the shaking teary eyed girl, “That bread knife ain’t shit for bones, you think it’ll save ya eh?”
“I’ll run you in, you bastard!” The grizzled voice of Junè’s father was more comforting than ever. Tired and covered in sand, Samuel returned just moments before and heard the shouting.
The two soldiers faced each other with swords drawn glaring, “Honey stay back.”
After an eternity of a mere few tense seconds, her father made the first move, both Brass Blades fought evenly for a few moments. Screeching sound of steel sliding against determined blades. Junè’s father had a disadvantage until he kicked his opponent’s knee down to counter a blow and he went to finalize the fight, however his opponent dropped avoiding the thrust and countered with his own into Samuel’s stomach.
The gut wrenching sound Junè’s father made stopped the world, the face of confusion, shock, horror was forever engraved into her mind that day. He coughed and blood dripped from his lips as the soldier pulled out his blade and stood up. Junè couldn’t move, she was frozen, and no sound would leave her mouth. “You said somethin ‘bout runnin in ya prick?” He mocked. Just as her father fell to his knees, the soldier felt a sharp pain in the back of his right leg, “Quarter ilm deep you fuck.”
“You right tar-…” the soldier gave his last words as he passed out from lack of blood pressure. Both the soldier and her father were slumped on the ground. Blood of two on her dagger, blood of her father on her conscious. The inn keep was petrified at the doorway, watching most of the affair. He mouthed some words but they fell on deaf ears. Junè bolted out of the room and inn.
The cold moon shone brightly now. The storm has died down and the world moves on.
Junè from reliving her past in the desert night, left the cold stone and returned to the inn at the forgotten springs.