Refuge at the Grey Lady

Come, brothers and sisters, share with us your tales, from before your joined to today! Tell us of yourself and your travels and travails! (IC Please, OOC labeled!)

Refuge at the Grey Lady

Postby Madiera » Sun Nov 09, 2008 8:56 am

Firelight glinted in the deep black ink as Madiera guided the quill carefully across the page. For a moment as she concentrated, she imagined that the reddish hue was not a trick of the eye, but a thin line of crimson blood. Her eyes lost their focus as she relinquished herself to the fantasy, and then she blinked rapidly to bring herself back to the task at hand. She was grateful for the quiet of the inn as she continued her work; it was amazing how quickly the presence of a Witch Hunter could clear an otherwise bustling country tavern. The Innkeep, however, did not seem as pleased with the result of her presence as he set down her stew and ale with a loud thud, causing her quill to skip on the page.

Madiera tipped the wide brim of her hat back as she glared icily at him with deep blue eyes. She plunged her hand deep into the pocket of her oversized coat and watched with satisfaction as he stepped back into a slight cower. She paused for a moment with a wry smirk before producing a handful of brass coins. "Take these, and be sure that the next time you interrupt my work so rudely, I'll be rewarding you with lead rather than brass." She nodded to the pistol at her side as he took the coin with a shaking hand and bowed silently away.

The back of her chair rested against the wall as she leaned back to sip at her ale and scrutinized the writing on the half-burnt page originally penned by the mother of the temple. The task she had set before herself was proving much more difficult than she had originally intended. Growing up behind temple walls, it was surprising that she had never laid eyes on a reference letter for a Witch Hunter. That small fact was making it nearly impossible to complete the forgery of one. She scowled and drunk more deeply as her thoughts shifted to the events of the past week.

A normal girl would have been devastated to realize that everyone she knew for most of her life was now gone; victims of the horrible plague that was sweeping through the Empire. A normal girl would have cried on the shoulder of the Witch Hunter who came to her aid to set cleansing fire to the chaos-ridden temple, knowing that the screams she heard came from the now-twisted mouths of the women who raised her, or grew up along side of her.

Madiera was not a normal temple girl.

The plan unfurled slowly in her mind as she and the Witch Hunter fled from the smell of burning flesh and wood. A temple girl would have been pious and meek and felt blessed by her rescuer's well-timed presence as he guided her gently and swiftly away from the horrible scene. Not Madiera. She slipped her hand into his and began the game she had perfected so well during secret moments within the temple walls. He was easily willing, for whatever reason, and while she should have been mourning her sisters and he should have been praying for the cleansing of their souls, instead they indulged in forbidden pleasures on a blanket of nearby leaves while the smoke wafted over them.

They stayed together for three days, her shoulders draped with his coat as they trudged the muddied road hoping to find some semblance of civilization. The pair passed three villages, all of which had succumbed to the Chaos plague. Finally they found an inn in Ostmark and stayed the night, and in the early hours of the morning after yet another indulgence in her rescuer, she tucked his pistol into the pocket of his coat, slipped his wide-brimmed hat on her her head, and crept silently from the room.

It was amazing, she thought as she tipped forward again to the table and set down her empty mug, that so much could happen in a week. She had acquired a proper outfit and sword since then, and managed to convince those in the little camp at Nordland that she was indeed a true Witch Hunter. She'd found that a small pin fastened to the lapel of his coat proclaimed her a member of some guild called St. Crispin's League, and she nodded cordially to any she met who bore the same emblem. She had even managed to be granted access to their halls simply on word alone. She smiled as she took up her quill again and began carefully mimicking the letters originally written by the temple mother. She was finally free of the temple walls that she'd hated for so long, and now she could do whatever she liked and be whomever she cared to be. Things were shaping up nicely, after all.
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