Fayetta posts a Story! Thief of Fire(WIP)

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Fayetta posts a Story! Thief of Fire(WIP)

Postby Fayetta on Sat Sep 24, 2016 3:05 pm

Alright keep in mind that this story is a work in progress and it's being told from the perspective of a much older version of everyone's favorite lovable scamp of a fae, Fayetta. It's the story of how she will eventually come to be the wee assassin I envision her becoming through what will be a series of flashbacks pertaining to IC events as they unfold in the chat proper. I will, of course, secure permission from any players whose characters appear in the story at plot relevant times and feedback and criticism is not only welcome, but encouraged!

And now without further ado, Page one of the prologue!

Thief of Fire {WIP}
Prologue:
A lone figure, small in stature and slight of frame, crouched silently among the shadows atop the steep crest of a popular tavern. The Lonely Inn. A refuge of debauchery and depravity, where the drinks are cheap and the company is plentiful. Though today this figure is not among the patrons, rather, rests far above them. Bright eyes, with iris' the hue of glittering emeralds, survey the landscape in secret. Watching. Waiting. Her target numbers among the many faces present. It is only a matter of time before they wander out, stumbling and blind with drink. But the night is still young, patience will win today's battle.

A soft evening breeze, chill with the coming of winter, cascades over the landscape. The chill wind scattering the leaves of trees in autumn hues. Her eyes shift briefly to the natural beauty of the leaves caught in the air, locks of bright and firey hair dulled by the surround darkness, tied back with a simple tie, flutter in the breeze, exposing the bare back of the small framed woman. Briefly exposing the long jagged scars running parallel down her back in the pale blood tinted moonlight.

Idly her slender hand grips the hilt of a dagger, sheathed at her hip, one of a paired set, the other stowed across the small of her back. Serrated and styled like dancing flames, these daggers are not the tools of a clean and efficient assassin. Nay, these tools are meant to bring pain to their victims. Pain and agony, the kind she knows all too well. These blades will taste blood tonight, bring agony and despair. Tonight thier victim will know fear. The fear of powerlessness. The fear they had so oft inflicted on others of her kind. Many who do not still draw breath and cannot revel in the mockery of justice she so carefully planned. There has been no public trial. No decision of guilt by those with authority.

A cruel smile etches it's way across her face, her victim tonight has truely done naught, naught but be loved. Loved by one who possessed a streak of cruelty. A streak fo cruelty that had robbed her of her most treasured possession; Her wings. One who had, in moments of callous whimsy, stolen all the joy in her life, and she would see them robbed of thiers. She'll take, and take, and take. All that the love. Bit by bit. One peice at a time. And when they've naught but thier miserable life left to lose... She'll take that too.

So time passes, slowly, achingly. Anticipation can be ones worst enemy. The figure watches, waits, each passerby carefully considered. Each face, full of mirth and drink, conjures memories of times long since passed. Ones of simpler times, of joy and sorrow in equal measure, of friends and enemies lost to time. . Tonights confrontation is likely still hours away. Wistfully she thinks back.. back to a time before the scars, before the pain, before the hunts. To when time had no meaning. To when life was full of new experiences. Back to a simpler time of whimsy and joy....
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Fayetta
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