Post by Yva on Nov 11, 2008 21:23:29 GMT -5
Eleven thousand years of memories, back in one instant. As soon as her sister touched her, Grizelle Indarra Leafwhisper remembered.
She remembered everything.
She remembered her mother and sisters. She remembered being a student in a classroom, under the tutelage of her mother the Great Priestess. She remembered the holy being boring, but the shadows calling her. They loved her then, they slithered over her and caressed her and made her feel whole.
Her mother wanted to harness the natural talent, to use it for Elune’s graces. Grizelle wouldn’t have that. No, she didn’t like the pious nature of the priestesses. She would be a practitioner like no other. She dropped out of school, out of classes. She pursued her studies. She found high ritual and arcane magics. She hung on the words of Illidan Stormrage, finding his path intriguing and wanting him. Wanting him so much it hurt, until she met Fedwyn.
Fate. Instant fate. They’d fallen into each other, understood the other’s goals, and realized their ambitions were symbiotic.
He politicked, she killed.
So many dead. Subtle deaths at first, of course, nothing overt. Kaldorei suicide? Rare but not impossible. Compel someone to cut, to throw themselves into the sea, to swallow the poisoned roots of liferoot. It was easy, child’s play. Their minds were hers. If Fedwyn found a political opponent he didn’t want around, they simply weren’t around anymore. Or, if it couldn’t be that blatant, the individual acted so odd, so out of character, people begun to think they’d gone mad . . . then she proceeded to toy with them until they DID go mad.
Grizelle poked and prodded at their minds until they were piles of fathomless mush.
She was good at it. The best, at one point, though others had come later that could equal her. Fedwyn made sure they didn’t last long, though. “Dangers to all of us” he said, and they were pulled from polite society, tucked away like dirty little secrets so his jewel, his gem would never be paralleled. Fedwyn did his job so well, in fact, the precedent was hard to break once set.
So hard it bit them in the end.
The rumors started shortly thereafter, the suspicions. Grizelle's own mother fronted the first examination committee. She'd gone to her daughter, pleaded with her to tell her what had been going on, but she wouldn't say a word. The sentinels were sent a month later to force her into custody - she was under tribunal and would have to answer the temple's questions. She made them slaughter one another in front of her. A dozen dead, at least, and now the evidence was damning indeed.
Her mother returned, but this time as the accuser. She stood alone on Grizelle's front step and called her daughter down to face the penalties of her crimes. Three hours later she was dead. No one would ever find out what transpired: no one would know that Grizelle made her own mother slit her throat. There was speculation of what occurred, of course, but with no body, it was hard to say what had come to pass.
The Great Priestess's unusual death forced Fedwyn into a hard choice. His reputation was beginning to suffer thanks to his lover's indiscretions. He started to separate himself from her, explaining that he loved her still, but she was bad for business. He couldn't control the subtle flows of the Circle if she was tracking a bloody mess behind her. Her name was a poison he couldn't afford to keep close.
Their fight was terrible. Fedwyn was nearly dead, a knife sticking from his chest and covering his lovely form in blood. She was a sobbing wreck at the destruction their squabble had left behind. That was when the Temple took its due – when she was vulnerable, distracted by Fedwyn's dying body. Into custody she went, taken deep below the temple where only the darkest secrets were kept.
And then the rituals started.
The details were too foggy, still shrouded from too much mind manipulation, but Indarra had an idea of what it took to break her psyche down. They'd had to remove it, nearly making her a vegetable before they could implant their own morality, their own personality into her skull. They rebuilt the priestess in their own image. They made her proper, and rigid, and unable to touch the shadow at all.
They made her what they needed her to be.
She was sent to Azshara, believing she'd killed a man and was left on the cliffs to rot. She believed Fedwyn dead. She wept bitter tears at the cruelty of her murder. Even if she believed the man an abuser, a terrible person, it was no reason to take a life. There was no justification for wanton violence.
Life was precious, after all.
And now she knew that Fedwyn lived. He lived and didn't tell her. He watched her from his dreams, waited until she was vulnerable again, and pronounced himself alive and well and waiting for her. He wanted the old her back, not this half crippled priestess with her unyielding faith. He wanted the murderess back with her shadows and manipulations.
And for it he would die.
Indarra lifted her face to look at her sister, her great eyes brimming with tears.
“I'm sorry,” she said.
Evanaya notched the bow, her lips tight and white at the edges. There was no pity in her face, no understanding, and Indarra knew why. Grizelle didn't deserve kindness. She didn't deserve anything but a fast, cold death.
But there are things left to do. Now is not the time.
Indi wiped at her cheeks, and with a soft sigh and a voice that already sounded different than it had, she said “Go.”
Evanaya winced, her arms beginning to shake with exertion. “No, you will not do this to me. Not NOW. I've waited too long.”
“No Evanaya. You will go. You will leave this cathedral and you will not come back. Go home to the wilds and stay there. Live long and well, and never see me again.”
The words sounded like sisterly advice, like just a quiet directive. Why then did the shadows swirl up her arms and over her form? Why did they cover her in a dusky hew? Why did her sister suddenly drop her bow, her mouth going slack as she headed for the front door without ever looking back.
I willed it, and she is gone. This is how it was. It is how it will be.
Indarra cleared her throat and smoothed her robes. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and she dashed the tears away.
Everything was changed.
She remembered everything.
She remembered her mother and sisters. She remembered being a student in a classroom, under the tutelage of her mother the Great Priestess. She remembered the holy being boring, but the shadows calling her. They loved her then, they slithered over her and caressed her and made her feel whole.
Her mother wanted to harness the natural talent, to use it for Elune’s graces. Grizelle wouldn’t have that. No, she didn’t like the pious nature of the priestesses. She would be a practitioner like no other. She dropped out of school, out of classes. She pursued her studies. She found high ritual and arcane magics. She hung on the words of Illidan Stormrage, finding his path intriguing and wanting him. Wanting him so much it hurt, until she met Fedwyn.
Fate. Instant fate. They’d fallen into each other, understood the other’s goals, and realized their ambitions were symbiotic.
He politicked, she killed.
So many dead. Subtle deaths at first, of course, nothing overt. Kaldorei suicide? Rare but not impossible. Compel someone to cut, to throw themselves into the sea, to swallow the poisoned roots of liferoot. It was easy, child’s play. Their minds were hers. If Fedwyn found a political opponent he didn’t want around, they simply weren’t around anymore. Or, if it couldn’t be that blatant, the individual acted so odd, so out of character, people begun to think they’d gone mad . . . then she proceeded to toy with them until they DID go mad.
Grizelle poked and prodded at their minds until they were piles of fathomless mush.
She was good at it. The best, at one point, though others had come later that could equal her. Fedwyn made sure they didn’t last long, though. “Dangers to all of us” he said, and they were pulled from polite society, tucked away like dirty little secrets so his jewel, his gem would never be paralleled. Fedwyn did his job so well, in fact, the precedent was hard to break once set.
So hard it bit them in the end.
The rumors started shortly thereafter, the suspicions. Grizelle's own mother fronted the first examination committee. She'd gone to her daughter, pleaded with her to tell her what had been going on, but she wouldn't say a word. The sentinels were sent a month later to force her into custody - she was under tribunal and would have to answer the temple's questions. She made them slaughter one another in front of her. A dozen dead, at least, and now the evidence was damning indeed.
Her mother returned, but this time as the accuser. She stood alone on Grizelle's front step and called her daughter down to face the penalties of her crimes. Three hours later she was dead. No one would ever find out what transpired: no one would know that Grizelle made her own mother slit her throat. There was speculation of what occurred, of course, but with no body, it was hard to say what had come to pass.
The Great Priestess's unusual death forced Fedwyn into a hard choice. His reputation was beginning to suffer thanks to his lover's indiscretions. He started to separate himself from her, explaining that he loved her still, but she was bad for business. He couldn't control the subtle flows of the Circle if she was tracking a bloody mess behind her. Her name was a poison he couldn't afford to keep close.
Their fight was terrible. Fedwyn was nearly dead, a knife sticking from his chest and covering his lovely form in blood. She was a sobbing wreck at the destruction their squabble had left behind. That was when the Temple took its due – when she was vulnerable, distracted by Fedwyn's dying body. Into custody she went, taken deep below the temple where only the darkest secrets were kept.
And then the rituals started.
The details were too foggy, still shrouded from too much mind manipulation, but Indarra had an idea of what it took to break her psyche down. They'd had to remove it, nearly making her a vegetable before they could implant their own morality, their own personality into her skull. They rebuilt the priestess in their own image. They made her proper, and rigid, and unable to touch the shadow at all.
They made her what they needed her to be.
She was sent to Azshara, believing she'd killed a man and was left on the cliffs to rot. She believed Fedwyn dead. She wept bitter tears at the cruelty of her murder. Even if she believed the man an abuser, a terrible person, it was no reason to take a life. There was no justification for wanton violence.
Life was precious, after all.
And now she knew that Fedwyn lived. He lived and didn't tell her. He watched her from his dreams, waited until she was vulnerable again, and pronounced himself alive and well and waiting for her. He wanted the old her back, not this half crippled priestess with her unyielding faith. He wanted the murderess back with her shadows and manipulations.
And for it he would die.
Indarra lifted her face to look at her sister, her great eyes brimming with tears.
“I'm sorry,” she said.
Evanaya notched the bow, her lips tight and white at the edges. There was no pity in her face, no understanding, and Indarra knew why. Grizelle didn't deserve kindness. She didn't deserve anything but a fast, cold death.
But there are things left to do. Now is not the time.
Indi wiped at her cheeks, and with a soft sigh and a voice that already sounded different than it had, she said “Go.”
Evanaya winced, her arms beginning to shake with exertion. “No, you will not do this to me. Not NOW. I've waited too long.”
“No Evanaya. You will go. You will leave this cathedral and you will not come back. Go home to the wilds and stay there. Live long and well, and never see me again.”
The words sounded like sisterly advice, like just a quiet directive. Why then did the shadows swirl up her arms and over her form? Why did they cover her in a dusky hew? Why did her sister suddenly drop her bow, her mouth going slack as she headed for the front door without ever looking back.
I willed it, and she is gone. This is how it was. It is how it will be.
Indarra cleared her throat and smoothed her robes. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and she dashed the tears away.
Everything was changed.