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Nancy the fancy
Selona Deshret

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 The Shamaness

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Nancy the fancy

Posts : 36
Join date : 2010-02-12

PostSubject: The Shamaness   Sun Feb 21, 2010 10:50 pm

"I believe the Scholar Diodorus had a topic he wished to raise to the forum?"

An old Aquilonian man stood, clothed in light robes. A man who's hair had apparently migrated over the years, now covering his face rather than the top of his head, a bush of snow white. Cold blue eyes cautiously watched his footing as he slowly made his way from his seat, his staff guiding his way down the stairs to the middle of the room to address the group as a whole. Men and women of all ages waited contently for the man to settle and make his purpose known. And so, with careful precision, he did. His voice was strong, reverberating through the room with power.

"We have all heard the talk of the Pictish savages spreading from what is commonly considered to be their native land, yes?" There were murmurs from the crowd, acknowledging his words. "Their home has become too small! They are attacking villages, even towns, waging war against our kind and our neighbors! We rely on our soldiers to protect us, or the warriors of our neighbors to prevent this slaughter, and allow ourselves to be ravaged mercilessly until help arrives! But does assistance ever arrive? NO!" More murmurs, some angrier than others at the public acknowledgement of this. "Our soldiers are too busy fighting on other fronts! More important business, more important threats. What is more important than your people's safety? Apparently we must fight for ourselves! Men, women, children alike!" He slammed his staff into the stone floor, the clunk echoing. "Together, we can protect our home from---"

"That wouldn't be a very good idea, hmm?" A gruff female voice interrupted the man, sounding out from the door. The speaker in question looked to be of Stygian descent, perhaps 16 years of age, but certainly did not appear as one of the villagers. Rather, many rough tattoos covered the visible parts of her body, including her head, which had been shaved to a thin red mohawk and tattooed all around. Her clothes were made of crocodile scales, her staff crudely formed unlike the older man's, her form thin and frail, her eyes glowing orange as fire, and in her ears were two piercings of bone. Her appearance spoke one word.

"PICT!!" A woman shrieked from the opposite side of the room and rushed to get to the door, stumbling over other people as they fled en masse. They didn't make it very far. The girl raised her staff and slammed it into the ground, trinkets rattling as walls of flame lept up to cover the exits. The masses stopped and backed away from the doorways, the closest yelling out as they're burned by the flames. She casually began to walk down the stairs towards the old man, one of the few who hadn't moved, but was soon stopped by a much larger man rushing at her. She nimbly stepped to the side at the last moment and whacked him on the back with her staff, sending him tripping into the seats. A small laugh and a smirk later she stopped in front of the long-winded Scholar, reaching up to scratch at the fluff of a mohawk on her head.

"It's things like this that make them attack you, you know." The old man didn't seem very pleased having this savage standing before him, but he was a little surprised she spoke so well. "Where are the rest of your kind... where are they hiding. What do they want from us?" The girl moved her free hand across her chest, smiling wide. Pointed teeth were shown, probably filed down to look like fangs. "I'm the only one here, old man. I came alone."


She took a step back, cleaning out her ear with a finger. "Keep it down, will you? You've a very big mouth. Can I finish?" The elder glared at her, but let her continue.

"I've lived with them. My mother was captured many years ago, and after some... relations with the tribe's chief, pretty gruesome ones from what I hear, she had me. You people talk of war, of invasion, but it's really you who's doing all the invading. We attack-" The man glowered at the 'we'. "-because we're afraid of you. We're defending our homes, which you have repeatedly taken from us. And this isn't just my tribe. I've talked with other shamans at one point or another, the story is always the same. YOU attack. YOU slaughter. YOU take our supplies and our land. Things would be so much easier if you just left us alone. That's all we want. We'd be perfectly happy if our land was given back to us, and we could go home. You 'civilized' people have been pushing us out into the world. Aren't you happy with what you have?"

The older man had a shocked look on his face by now. "What? Didn't expect that one of those savages would be intelligent, let alone could debate in your oh-so-esteemed gatherings? I'll give you a little hint. The picts may be primitive according to your precious standards, but we aren't stupid. We aren't animals. We know what to attack, where to attack, when to attack. You call it an invasion? We call it justice."

She turned, heading back up the stairs. Halfway she stopped and turned back to address the crowd, raising her arms and lifting the staff to the sky. The flames in the doorwars burned more violently, the light dancing across the dark walls of the room. "There is a danger on the horizon! The spirits have spoken to us, a great war is coming! You 'civilized' people waste your time fighting us when you should be preparing for a much greater evil! I have left my tribe to warn the world of what your leadership already knows, but refuses to speak to their people of!" She lowered her arms, setting the staff down gently. "No one deserves the fate in store for the world. My kind understands this, despite being 'primitive'. Maybe you will too, one day."

The girl turned again and finished her journey up the stairs, walking through the flames of the doorway before her without hesitation. A few moments after her departure the flames in the doorways died down, leaving the room silent. The old scholar watched the last place he saw the girl's back for a moment, all eyes upon him in the quiet. At last he turned and began to walk up the stairs towards a different exit without a word, the only sound in the room the clicking of his staff against the cold stone.


So there's Khetka. I'm liking my demonologist enough that I figured I'd write something up for her. I didn't realize it'd end up being that long though XD

For anyone wondering, "Khetka" would be rough Egyptian for "Flame Spirit". She definitely has a fiery personality Razz
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