The Girl of the Sun

OOC: RP info here

IC:

Arbia had never met Salroth. As a child she wanted to until she met the vampires in her family's hut one night and felt a primal fear deeper than any she'd ever known.
The Prophet of Salroth who tasked her with killing Arlowyn had merely reaffirmed Arbia's fear of him.

That was why she didn't turn to fight her brother. Even if she did kill Cail she'd fight Salroth and...could she kill him? Even with the power she now felt flowing through her she didn't know. And she would be condemning her people to extinction if she fought Salroth alone and failed. It was better to seek allies. Now that she was committed to this reckless course of action.

But though she'd never met Salroth... he came to her in her dream. She was running. Through the rain and mud. Terrified. The golden aura she'd mastered flickering away ash he moved with steady, heavy steps through the rain and caught up to Arbia as she tripped over a rock. He grabbed her by her hair and yanked her limp body up.

Arbia felt utterly terrified as he held her, sure she could never defeat him. But...

but

She felt something. It was a dream... it just came from her...

"Everything is fixed," she said defiantly.
"And you can't change it."

She shot up in a cold sweat next to the low embers of her fire... alone in her tent...

"Why did I say that?" she asked softly.

---

Arlowyn tossed in her sleep. Her body was sore. Being well used to the hard work of a farm was nothing compared to the training of a knight. Her body just felt nothing but relief to rest without the weight of armour.

But as he mind drifted from relief to deep sleep...

"Arlowyn..."

"Arlowyn..."

She tossed as if she was waking up but gasped as she sat up in a void.

"Arlowyn..." she heard the voice again. She seemed to move... slowly in this void.

"You can hear me..."

It was to her left.

"...because you are the harbinger of death. You will lead them to their destruction."

She turned and fell, jolted awake when she hit the wooden floor, crying out in shock.

The door opened and Arlowyn, dazed at first, took a moment to realize it was Geoffrey. And promptly blushed pulling some blankets from the bed to cover herself.

Geoffrey, blushing too, looked up and way.

"Are you ok?"

"I... yes... I was just startled. I fell out of bed."

"Well the Chaplain wants to see you. So... wash up and get dressed."

"It's the middle of the night."

"Girl, it's sunup. You've been asleep for eight hours."

Arlowyn collapsed back on the floor, pulling the blanket over her. The dream from last night still hung in the back of her head. And she definitely didn't feel like she'd slept for eight hours.

---

She marched down the central path of the monastery, glancing out to the other walls. The refugee camp was growing bigger with knights barely able to keep law and order. She stopped and watched, her heart going out to them. She was, after all, one of them. Or would be if it wasn't for the sword...
She continued on her way though. She had a summons to answer.

"Chaplain?" she asked as she opened the heavy oaken door.

"Aye, Arlowyn," he waved her in. She entered, slowly. She was always in awe of his office. Bookshelves lining almost every wall, holding tomes upon tomes. And as she entered the Chaplain stood slowly. He was old but he didn't seem frail. Still he moved like a man whose faster years were behind him.

"I've heard that you're doing well. Sir Geoffrey and Abbo tell me you've adapted well to soldier life."

"It's... I suppose... I don't have much choice."

"Is that so?"

"My home's gone, I have no one left..." she said softly, looking down.

"I suppose it's good motivation."

"And the sword, the summons from the Sun God, these aren't?" he asked.

Arlowyn looked up, worried she'd perhaps offended him, only to him smiling slightly. And she broke into a slight grin herself.

"I still don't know why me..." she said softly.
"I'd never picked up a weapon before that sword. Arno could have picked one of your knights."

"No doubt they'd have preferred that..." the
Chaplain remarked as he sat on the edge of his desk.
"People assume because of who I am I must know his will... but... all I know really is not to question it. You were chosen, my little peasant girl."

"But I'm still learning how to fight. The refugees... more arrive daily. Salroth's armies are..."

"Do you know what happened the last time Salroth's armies marched south?" he asked.

"He smashed the Empire. The Thirteen Realms were broken."

"Yes, and Arkian warriors tour through knights like a knife through fresh bread. You're the first human to fight an Arkian in three centuries. And you let it helpless at your mercy. I can think of worse people the Sun God could have put faith in."

Arlowyn nodded. Before she'd have lashed out that this choice meant the Arkian had killed her family and town. But she'd come to terms with that with the Chaplain. Good was not responsible for evil being evil.
Still, she had some remaining qualms with the Chaplain.

"I only defeated the Arkian huntress because of the sword. She was... like a wild animal. I felt like prey. If it wasn't for the sword..."

"The sword Arno chose you to carry. Not even my bravest knight can hold the thing wearing the thickest gauntlet without feeling scorching pain. It falls to you. So your skills, your favour... they're all parts of you Arlowyn. It seems academic to argue over the difference."

Arlowyn nodded as the Chaplain sat back down behind his desk.
"As for the Arkian, she was a wild animal. You bested her. And now you're being trained as a warrior. Honed into a Knight with holy purpose. You'll best her and the rest of that feral pack."

"I hope I can be worthy of your expectations, Chaplain."

"We'll be meeting with the Imperial City in a month's time. We hope that news of your discovery and training, a gift of the Sun God himself, can rally our disparate forces.

"Be mindful of the fact that even now as Salroth marches on our realms there are dark whispers coming from our most vulnerable spaces."

"My dream," Arlowyn thought to herself.

"Just... be aware," the Chaplain continued, "that the Imperial City is a den of wolves in more ways than one. You may return to your teachings and training."

"Chaplain?"

"Yes?"

"The refugees..."

"We're doing what we can, Arowyn. But the more arrive... I fear what will happen when we no longer have enough Knights to keep order."

"May I suggest... not being afraid?"

The Chaplain looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"They're afraid... and they have every right to be. They're here looking for your kindness, for charity. Don't be afraid... be charitable."

The Chaplain smiled and shrugged.
"I can't argue with that, lass. But sooner or later..."

"I'd like permission to help feed them."

Arlowyn didn't know why she blurted it out. It was more a notion than a thought.

The Chaplain cocked his head.
"I'm afraid you need to focus on your studies and combat training and..."

"I'm not going to abandon either but... my studies say that charity is a holy virtue."

The Chaplain smirked and nodded.
"Ah yes. Yes it is," he said knowing what was coming.

"So if I..."

"You can cook?"

"My mother taught me how."

"During your hours designated for free study you maybe aid the kitchens in making and providing food for the refugee camp. If you wish."

Arlowyn smiled, and bowed her head.
"Thank you, Chaplain."

"Now be on your way, and may you have a long life and good health."

"And to you," she answered back before leaving. She felt good... it felt... right, finally getting the idea that had been dwelling with her for weeks off her chest. And yet as she was preparing to begin the day's training...

"You will lead them to destruction."

The whisper from her dream. Faint. It barely registered as she put on her plate armour.

But it lingered on her consciousness.

Von Rammstein and the other Vampires were on the hunt. They had been on the tail of the Human girl for weeks. She had joined a group of wandering knights, and she was learning.

A twig snapped somewhere in the woods around them. The Vampires quickly took cover. One of these wandering knights was on lookout. The knight kept walking, his torch illuminating the forest in the night.

The other two vampires looked at Von Rammstein, they pleaded with their eyes. They wanted this kill. Von Rammstein simply shot a look back. The others backed down. Von Rammstein was the Lord of the Hunt to Von Der Drache, his expertise in the matter was not to be questioned.

As the sentry walked off, Von Rammstein saw his opportunity. He motioned for the other vampires to follow him. The trio made for the city that the wandering knights were camped in and jumped onto the rooftops. The trio could sense where the girl was, her blood's smell had a uniqueness to it.

“Rammstein!” Von Morrison said.

“Yes, Von Morrison?” The Lord of the Hunt responded.

“I know the girl has the sword, and she is clearly special. But don’t you think our talents are wasted on someone who will likely die in the fighting? The girl is unremarkable. Would our skills not be best used to kill the leader of these knights? A true warrior!” Von Morrison protested to his commander.

“We will do as our lord has commanded. Salroth is not one to be toyed with, you know this.” Von Rammstein replied.

“Very well.” Von Morrison had a glare in his eyes.

The trio moved across the roofs of the town until they arrived at an inn. The knights stayed there, and men were enjoying life as they are known to. The knights were drinking heavily. The vampires could sense their opportunity. A group of knights stumbled out of the inn. They made their way down an alley to relieve themselves. The group was laughing and talking to each other, it was too easy.

Out of the five, only one was able to turn to see the attackers before it was over. The vampires quickly took the knight's gear, and hid the bodies. Despite the Knights not being a massive threat, it's still best to not piss off a hive of bees.

The Vampires entered the inn and the knights were everywhere, as were women. The Vampires split up in an effort to try and find the girl. The scent was off in the confined area. The farmer was close yet they could not pin down exactly where she was. Knights tried to get their three new comrades to drink with them, but the Vampires remained resolute. That was until Jager heard a group of knights talking about a new find.

“I don’t get it, what does the grand master see in this girl?” One of the knights said.

“As if you’re complaining about more women being here!” His partner responded.

Jager sat down next to the men.

“I haven’t heard about this girl. Tell me about her.” Jager responded, mimicking their accent perfectly.

“Well she’s this peasant, I heard she had a special sword.” The knight said.

“Where is she? I’d like to see this special sword.” Jager was nearly on the edge of his seat.

“I think shes in her room.”

“Thank you sir.” Jager got up from the table.

Jager motioned for his allies to follow him up the stairs. As the trio got to the second floor, they could smell the girl's blood clearly again. They followed the smell and got to her door.

The trio broke in and the girl screamed. She reached for her sword, but before she could grab it Von Morrison kicked it away. The sound of the sword clamoring to the ground created a beat of silence.

“It is about time girl.” Von Rammstein smiled as he reached for Arloywn.

The vampire grabbed the girl, he pulled her close enough to smell his breath.

“You are nothing. To think that you could challenge a god is an insult.”

The Vampire opened his mouth and started to go for a bite on the throat. A blast of light smacked into the Vampire and he dropped the girl.

The Grand Master stood in the doorway. The Vampires turned to look at their assailant. The Vampires lunged at the knight. Arlowyn, seeing her chance, reached for her sword. A blast of light caused the Vampires to jump out of the window into the night.

“That damned Sun Magic is a problem Von Rammstein!” Von Morrison yelled at his commander.

“I am aware.” I just need to think.

As the trio was arguing a fourth figure walked out of the shadows.

“I see that your mission goes poorly.” The figure said.

“Mistress Ember, I see Lord Salroth let you off of your leash for a moment.” Von Rammstein responded.

“You’ve always been such a charmer, Wilhelm.” But I have a mission for you strapping young men.” Ember said, putting her hand on the Vampires chest plate.

“I want you to kill the Arkian who is leading the rebellious monkeys. I have taken the liberty of sending some of my own assassins after the Girl in this town. After all sun magic complicates this for you.” Ember flicked the Vampires long hair.

“What of Von Der Drache and Lord Salroths orders?” Von Rammstein asked.

“Drache will obey me, and I have… ways to convince lord Salroth.” Ember smirked.

As he ascended from the interior of the galley, Marek could hear the seagulls chirping overhead and the light waves slapping against the side of the hull. As he emerged onto the deck of the ship, he glanced around. Sailors and soldiers on the galley barked orders at each other back and forth, as they hauled sacks of supplies into rowboats. Other soldiers, adorned in their armor, made their way into the small boats with the sacks, the crew hoisting them down off the edge and into the water below out of sight.

Marek himself walked across the deck and over to the railing, leaning onto it as he looked outward to their surroundings. The nearby beachhead was filled with soldiers, the incoming rowboats coming ashore, with some footmen disappearing into the treeline in the distance to scout ahead. He could see their chainmail and helmets glinting in the dappled sunlight, brief flashes before they vanished into the shadows of the forest.

He turned his head towards the ocean, feeling a slight gust of wind from the water onto his face, as he saw their armada of ships dotting the bay and the increasing number of them approaching from further out at sea. Each one in the bay was like his, soldiers disembarking with their supplies and making their way towards the mainland. He tried to count them but lost track as his eyes wandered along the horizon; there had to be at least seventy, if not a hundred. Their sails colored white with the display of a dragon coiling with a lion, the sigil of their mercenary company, Erdan’s Raiders. An army of misfits, he thought to himself, full of humans, elves, goblins, and whatever else had the stomach to fight under this banner.

As he continued watching, he saw the hull of one of the galleys open up, the large square-sized chunk of it making a loud reeling sound as it came down, barreling towards the water until it crashed on top of it, forming a platform and leaving a large, gaping visible dark hole into the interior of the galley. The noise reverberated across the bay, causing some of the rowers to glance up nervously.

Marek watched intently, seeing a massive green creature barrel out of the darkness and onto the platform, and then swiftly into the water. It had to have been at least twelve feet tall. Its skin was slick and mottled, a sickly green like the underside of rotting kelp, and it moved with a lumbering, awkward gait. It was carrying something, though, that he couldn’t quite make out; a huge black cage covered in an equally dark mesh with what appeared to be large creatures with six legs crawling around inside of it. He focused on the silhouettes of the creatures, watching their movements intently. Then, suddenly, the realization hit him. Spiders, he thought to himself with a shudder. Each one the size of a small dog, their legs bristling with thick hairs, mandibles clicking even through the mesh. But then behind him, he heard a voice.

“Marek,” the mysterious speaker called out.

“And I was just having such a good time by myself,” Marek said in response, not turning his head to meet the speaker.

“You lazy son of a bitch, you’re just standing around while everyone else does all of the work.” The man walked beside him and leaned by him on the railing.

“Well, Jorin, I figured I could save my energy for when the actual fighting happens. Not wasting it on this,” Marek responded, a stream of air blowing his brown hair into his face briefly. He glanced over at Jorin, taking in his friend's typical smirk and the unkempt beard that looked like it hadn’t seen a razor in weeks.

“So what? You think because you were assigned to the General’s guard that you’re better than the rest of us lowly sellswords?” Jorin said, looking at Marek with a grin.

Marek met his grin with a chuckle of his own. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” His eyes flicked back to the water, following the path of the ogre. Dozens more of the green beasts had followed the first, splashing through the surf like massive bulls charging through a field. The rowboats and their crews trying to row hurriedly to get out of their way as the waves from their movements threatened to capsize them. Marek couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine. He’d seen ogres in battle before, and the damage they could cause. Seeing so many at once, though, that was something else.

“Boy, those ogres sure are ugly. Reminds me of this one girl I slept with the last time we were in one of the cities. She had a real nasty mole on her face, like that one there,” Jorin said, pointing to one of the ogres wading through the water towards the beach.

“It is comforting to know that whenever I feel bad for myself, I always have you to show me that things could be far worse.” Marek said as he shook his head in disbelief. He nodded towards one of the ogres carrying the spider-cages. “How do you think they’ll react to seeing those?”

Jorin snorted. “I halfway shit myself seeing them when we’re fighting with them. These poor sods in Ollania have no idea what they’re in for.”

Marek thought about that for a moment. He knew the people of Ollania had likely never seen anything like this—a horde of ogres and cages full of monstrous spiders. What chance did they have? This was no mere raid. It was a spectacle of terror.

Then, they heard a random voice, “General on deck,” the voice shouted. In an instant, Jorin and Marek turned around to face the deck and saluted just in time as General Erdan passed in front of them. Erdan was a tall man adorned in bronze-colored plate armor, with a stern face, and while his ears would indicate that he was an elf, his silver beard would mean the opposite, for he was a half-elf. His eyes, however, were as sharp as any full-blooded elf's, glinting with intelligence and a hint of cruelty. Following him at his side was his hulking bodyguard, a nine-feet-tall snow-colored Ux with a majestic, shaggy mane, in plate armor with a large warhammer hanging off of his back that was the size of Marek.

“At ease,” Erdan said in a gruff, authoritative tone, and the crew went back to their activities. Marek felt a ripple of tension release from the men as Erdan passed, though they remained watchful. The stories of Erdan’s ruthless discipline were well known. Disobedience was not tolerated, not even a little.

Jorin looked at Marek. “I can never shake the sight of that monster beside him. You know they call him ‘the Beast’? Saw him turn a man’s head into paste with one swing of that warhammer, I did.”

Marek agreed. “I think those spiders might be the least of their worries.” His eyes followed the Ux, the creature's muscles rippling under its armor with every step. Marek had seen what those massive hands could do in battle, and it wasn’t pretty.

Another voice called out to the crew, “General’s guard to the boats.”

Marek looked at Jorin. “Looks like we’re on the move.” And so Marek and Jorin approached one of the boats with their comrades in arms and got into it, and they were hoisted down into the water where they made their way to land. As the boat swayed beneath them, Marek tightened his grip on the sides. He knew the real fight was about to begin.

"Did you ever learn to read?" Peirsil asked.

"No," Arbia replied matter of factly as she led the renegade Arkians south, riding at the front of the army by horse.
"Mama tried, but Cail and I were too headstrong for it. Eventually she gave up and let father train us was warriors."

"Heh..." Peirsil replied.
"I can, you know."

"How fortunate for you, cousin," Arbia chuckled.
"Any poems to read on the battlefield?"

"I'd thought you'd have a bit more of an open mind," Peirsil replied with a smile.
"Sometimes not everything fits into neat roles. Warrior, gatherer, shaman, healer, why be one thing only?"

Arbia just shrugged.
"That's fine, but I like my role."

"Warrior or War Chief?"

Arbia shot her cousin a look.
"It would have been better if this all never happened. My child would have a father. And a grandfather."

"And both of us a father..."

"Tha*..." Arbia replied, feeling the lingering guilt over killing her uncle, Peirsil's father. Maybe she should change the topic... but... her spine was tingling. She could feel the small hairs on the back of her neck, covered by her wild black mane, standing up. Even her tail wrapped around her waist was uncomfortable, stiff and nervous in its bent state. She knew what was out there. Her ability to sense souls weren't confined to hunters' game and human peasant girls.

"Did you ever question Salroth, before all of this started?" she asked.

"My clan's a bit more spiritual than yours," Peirsil replied. Arbia nodded. Indeed, her mother- Peirsil's aunt- was a spiritual sort and slightly out of place in her clan, which tended towards more practical matters.

"And," Peirsil continued, "we were taught about dualities. The ancestors and the living, nature and death. Salroth was the death. A supreme lord, and necessary to counter life."

"Well did you believe it?"

"I did, for a bit. I take it you didn't?"

"No," Arbia muttered.

"How long?"

Arbia thought... she was nineteen summers old...
"About eleven years?"

Peirsil laughed and Arbia scowled at her cousin.
"What?" she growled and Peirsil stopped with a smirk.

"I should keep my amusements to myself I think, lest I bring out the golden you that wasted father."

Arbia smirked and sighed.
"It's so strange that I'd have doubts as a small child?"

"I barely knew what or who Salroth was at that age," Peirsil replied.

"Neither did I," Arbia shot back, "until one night. Father had important guests. Salorth's delegates wished to meet with him as the chief if the westernlands. Mama had told Cail and I to stay with the other children at the communal hearth that night..."

"But I suppose childhood curiosity got the better of you?"

Arbia smirked and nodded before her smirk vanished.
"I saw them, Peirsil. I saw the Vampire Lords. Salroth's delegates. I saw them.... and I was terrified..."

"At only eight... yes that makes sense."

"You don't understand," Arbia continued.
"This wasn't childhood fear. I knew that by then. The fear that came from sparing with Cail, who even at that age was bigger and stronger, or the fear that came from exploring the woods and having to avoid falling into a stone pit. I knew fear, and I thought I was the bravest for not being intimdated by it. But I saw those vampires and....and I was afraid because they shouldn't be."

"Shouldn't be?"

"When you fight, Peirsil, you've specialized water magic tha?"

"I have."

"I'm jealous," Arbia muttered. "Too much concentration."

"Well I'm a focused sort," Peirsil said softly.
"But what does that have to..."

"Because water, fire... my focus...wind, lightning, it comes from nature. We come from nature. Like the world around us, but Salroth's Vampires were terrifying because they weren't alive."

"Well they taught us that Salroth was the embodiment of death, to counter life and..."

"Dead things rot in the ground," Arbia muttered.
"They don't walk amongst the living. Or shouldn't."

"And this bothered you at eight?" Peirsil asked.

"It bothers me know, because they're tracking us," Arbia replied.
"And unlike the girl I'm seeking, no one here has the power of sunlight."

"Except you do..." Peirsil replied.
"That power..."

"I'd rather never see a vampire again," Arbia shot back, "then fight one to find out."

---

*Tha- Arkian for "yes"