5th of Summer, 515 A.V.
A hatchet had struck wood. A war had been declared. A hunt had begun. Once pacing without direction upon the deck of the very ship she returned upon, the mysterious character leaving literal messages in blood had finally caught the scent of her quarry. One death had led to another, and though it seemed there was always another trail to follow, the Tigress could feel everything coming together. That, or it was all about to come apart. Keeping her true identity and her presence low-key had been pretty much impossible. No matter where she went, sooner or later she'd run into a familiar face she'd all but have to hide from. The Scars had been vanquished from Sunberth two seasons ago, but the tales of their ranks and exaggerations of their magic-users and "crimes" were very much alive in the tavern tales.
The story of the Myrian in their league always perished the same each time she overheard a drunk playing storyteller of the day the mob chased them bloody to their ship. Each time the bloodthirsty savage was slain by the barbarian horde. Some swore her companions abandoned her to die on that dock, to buy them time with her own life while they got the ship moving to escape. In others, it was a last stand that characterized the fearless man-eater's courage and loyalty. The rape and mutilation of her body usually followed in either version, and no matter how intoxicated Kaie managed to find herself, the visions of Zedra's face never left her when she heard such stories. The twist of guilt in her chest was sharper than any dagger that had pierced her skin. The burn of hatred that heated her fists and clouded her head, was hotter than the burn of any fire that warmed her.
The tavern-goer at the Drunken Fish was the first to die in her vendetta, slain by the surviving Scars' Myrian with none other than Zedra's cleaver. His information had been invaluable, and the name Tua Scully was the first to haunt her thoughts and dreams until she found the Establishment crier. He'd been the one that had called Sunberth's angry mob into the streets in search of her allies with murderous intentions. Before long the Tigress had trapped him between her claws, too. Then she was given another name, the alias of another responsible for her wounds and the death of her racial sister on that bloody day two seasons ago: Mr. Silver. At first she doubted his existence. A generic identity like his had almost left Tua Scully beaten brutally to death until his blubbering pleads finally convinced her otherwise. Alas, she'd scored the intelligence she'd come for. Now she just had to find the bastard.
Days passed and no side conversation at any tavern had given her any leads as to where to find the mysterious stranger. Not even pacing through dangerous Daggerhand territory yielded her any results, and her time wandering through the Dragoons' haunt prior never acquainted them. Thus, she was back to square one: back to the seaside. Bladed boots walked at a leisurely pace down the street that bordered the bay. Her affinity for returning to the vicinity in which her "family's" blood was spilled at the docks was morbidly ironic. Even she could admit that. Yet there she was, prowling the Seaside Market with her cloak tied firmly about her and hood thrown up to conceal her foreign features. There was no method to her madness this time. Her walk was more likened to a pace. As determined and focused as she was, Kaie had no plan and no direction. Her ears and eyes were peeled, and the Myrian prayed to none but Myri that that would be enough to reward her with some sort of advantage in finding her target.
A hatchet had struck wood. A war had been declared. A hunt had begun. Once pacing without direction upon the deck of the very ship she returned upon, the mysterious character leaving literal messages in blood had finally caught the scent of her quarry. One death had led to another, and though it seemed there was always another trail to follow, the Tigress could feel everything coming together. That, or it was all about to come apart. Keeping her true identity and her presence low-key had been pretty much impossible. No matter where she went, sooner or later she'd run into a familiar face she'd all but have to hide from. The Scars had been vanquished from Sunberth two seasons ago, but the tales of their ranks and exaggerations of their magic-users and "crimes" were very much alive in the tavern tales.
The story of the Myrian in their league always perished the same each time she overheard a drunk playing storyteller of the day the mob chased them bloody to their ship. Each time the bloodthirsty savage was slain by the barbarian horde. Some swore her companions abandoned her to die on that dock, to buy them time with her own life while they got the ship moving to escape. In others, it was a last stand that characterized the fearless man-eater's courage and loyalty. The rape and mutilation of her body usually followed in either version, and no matter how intoxicated Kaie managed to find herself, the visions of Zedra's face never left her when she heard such stories. The twist of guilt in her chest was sharper than any dagger that had pierced her skin. The burn of hatred that heated her fists and clouded her head, was hotter than the burn of any fire that warmed her.
The tavern-goer at the Drunken Fish was the first to die in her vendetta, slain by the surviving Scars' Myrian with none other than Zedra's cleaver. His information had been invaluable, and the name Tua Scully was the first to haunt her thoughts and dreams until she found the Establishment crier. He'd been the one that had called Sunberth's angry mob into the streets in search of her allies with murderous intentions. Before long the Tigress had trapped him between her claws, too. Then she was given another name, the alias of another responsible for her wounds and the death of her racial sister on that bloody day two seasons ago: Mr. Silver. At first she doubted his existence. A generic identity like his had almost left Tua Scully beaten brutally to death until his blubbering pleads finally convinced her otherwise. Alas, she'd scored the intelligence she'd come for. Now she just had to find the bastard.
Days passed and no side conversation at any tavern had given her any leads as to where to find the mysterious stranger. Not even pacing through dangerous Daggerhand territory yielded her any results, and her time wandering through the Dragoons' haunt prior never acquainted them. Thus, she was back to square one: back to the seaside. Bladed boots walked at a leisurely pace down the street that bordered the bay. Her affinity for returning to the vicinity in which her "family's" blood was spilled at the docks was morbidly ironic. Even she could admit that. Yet there she was, prowling the Seaside Market with her cloak tied firmly about her and hood thrown up to conceal her foreign features. There was no method to her madness this time. Her walk was more likened to a pace. As determined and focused as she was, Kaie had no plan and no direction. Her ears and eyes were peeled, and the Myrian prayed to none but Myri that that would be enough to reward her with some sort of advantage in finding her target.
