The night was a glorious time in Rhy'Din. The day was for merchants plying their trade, vendors hawking their wears, beggars digging for scraps. The day dawned was for the otherwise normal citizens of Rhy'Din to move along, generally blissfully ignorant of the dark things in the world.
The night was for the rest of Rhy'Din. The thriving underbelly that refused to rest when the sun goes down, the endless quivering pulse on the heartthrob of society. It wasn't until dawn broke that the last true denizens of Rhy'Din melted away into their homes, havens, manses, castles, cottages, tombs, and caves. The dawn gave way again to the farmers, the merchants, the vendors, the judges, the juries, the jailors, and even the watchmen that diligently patrolled the city streets. Those that were....unseen.
Black upon black.
Just because one moves at night does not make one seen. Especially not when one's skin is black as pitch, with clothes to match. Only the stark glow of red eyes, the blue scales of justice and snow-white hair marked this one out at all in the deep places of the night.
That....and, of course, the polished steel of chakram, of Scathach Blades, of razor-talons, of throwing knives, of fighting daggers, of hatchet-hands, of spring-steel snap swords. Weapons of Scathachian design met with weapons of her own design.
The night, a singer of songs once wrote, is like a dagger: long, cold, and sharp.
A new Sister had come to Rhy'Din City. She was most often aloof from the rest, even within the hallowed halls of the Sanctuary, and more often than not in silent, contemplative meditation. That's what is required to keep the burning rage inside of her bottled up, turning it into quiet zeal for the Goddess of War. The training on the Island of Shadow had taught her that. It was hard, those years, as the Sisters squashed the worship and ways of the Llothian out of her. She wouldn't quit, though. She'd never quit. In devotion to Scathach, she even changed her name. No longer Born of Darkness. She was now Faithful Sister.
Umrae'diira was her name, and the night was her time to walk, and to watch. To the rest of the Sisters she was simply 'Rae.'
To the rest of the world ? Judgement, delivered hard and fast.
A Scathachian. And a Drow. The first. The only.
And she was here.
The night was for the rest of Rhy'Din. The thriving underbelly that refused to rest when the sun goes down, the endless quivering pulse on the heartthrob of society. It wasn't until dawn broke that the last true denizens of Rhy'Din melted away into their homes, havens, manses, castles, cottages, tombs, and caves. The dawn gave way again to the farmers, the merchants, the vendors, the judges, the juries, the jailors, and even the watchmen that diligently patrolled the city streets. Those that were....unseen.
Black upon black.
Just because one moves at night does not make one seen. Especially not when one's skin is black as pitch, with clothes to match. Only the stark glow of red eyes, the blue scales of justice and snow-white hair marked this one out at all in the deep places of the night.
That....and, of course, the polished steel of chakram, of Scathach Blades, of razor-talons, of throwing knives, of fighting daggers, of hatchet-hands, of spring-steel snap swords. Weapons of Scathachian design met with weapons of her own design.
The night, a singer of songs once wrote, is like a dagger: long, cold, and sharp.
A new Sister had come to Rhy'Din City. She was most often aloof from the rest, even within the hallowed halls of the Sanctuary, and more often than not in silent, contemplative meditation. That's what is required to keep the burning rage inside of her bottled up, turning it into quiet zeal for the Goddess of War. The training on the Island of Shadow had taught her that. It was hard, those years, as the Sisters squashed the worship and ways of the Llothian out of her. She wouldn't quit, though. She'd never quit. In devotion to Scathach, she even changed her name. No longer Born of Darkness. She was now Faithful Sister.
Umrae'diira was her name, and the night was her time to walk, and to watch. To the rest of the Sisters she was simply 'Rae.'
To the rest of the world ? Judgement, delivered hard and fast.
A Scathachian. And a Drow. The first. The only.
And she was here.