"What?! I refuse." Said Odessya. "You will not bring shame to our family name." Replied her father. "We have always been fighters and we will
always be fighters, do you understand me?" Odessya gave it some thought. The act of swinging a chunk of metal on the battlefield and running
through mud did not appeal to her. She wanted to cast magic and plague the world. Not shoot arrows into the eyes of scoundrels. Her father had pushed
and argued with her about it for the last year. She didn't know how to get out of it, until she had a bright idea. "Fine, I will be a fighter, but do
not think I am pleased." She lied. Immediately her father smiled at her. "You've come around! In time, my child, you will come to love the sound of
battle, first hand. Being on the front lines is the only way to fight. Not cowardly hiding in the back communing incantations and magics from a safe
distance. The sound of metal clashing upon metal, the sound of your enemy fleeing from the sight of you, That is the way to fight! Why when I...."
her father trailed on. Odessya tuned him out. She didn't like lying to her father this way, but it was the only way she would live her life with her
own goals in mind. It was one of the first times she lied in her life, but she recognized it as a social skill. It was one that worked. And it wasn't
that big of a lie was it? The gods would forgive her, she would still fight for them and that's all they cared about. Fighting. In the morning
she rose early, ate her breakfast, slung her backpack over her shoulder and left the home after telling her goodbyes to the family. It was a good
day for starting out, she thought. A cool crisp morning with a bright sun. The trail to the university did not need a walking stick, yet she carried
one. And a lie that echoed in her mind for some time...
Description:
A woman appears before you and your heart is encased in ice. Your eyes,
your soul, your very essence is paralyzed with fear. You cannot hold your
gaze for long, but what you see rivals any creation on Thera. You see long
black hair ever still even in the strongest winds. A deep silver streak
starts at the roots ends to the tip. Her forehead is lined with wrinkles as
if she has been concentrating on the dark arts since time began. Her eyes
are as black as her soul and her left eye is strangely red, perhaps due to a
ruptured blood vessel. Her nose is sharp with a small diamond ring in her
left nostril, her lips are thin and tightly pursed. A dark mithril bangle
is lodged in her shoulder actively bleeding and festering with pus. You
cannot hold your gaze any longer as her eyes roll back into her head,
nothing can be seen.
