Settling into her tent in the days following the disaster of a Moot Cenarae couldn’t shake the feeling of being hunted. Since those traitors had turned everything upside down she couldn’t help but continuously look over her shoulder in paranoia. She always knew fighting wasn’t her calling yet fights seems to be drawn to her. As she settled down to meditate she thought on this fact, starting her contemplations with a lighting of incense and getting comfortable on her bedroll.
First breath, it started back on Faerun, when the undead chased her family from their homes and onto the ships. She was too young to understand what that had ment then but she did now, it drove her to divine magic to cleanse the rot from the world.
Second breath, Then the raid on the tent city. What the undead hadn’t destroyed the masked men and women had. Stripping her of everything and forcing her to be forged by fire and water. She had given herself to the ocean’s mercy.
Third breath, Gaia had taken her in, pulling her from the sea to the safety of land. Providing food and drawing her adoptive father’s hunting pack to find her. Gaia gave her a new start within the clan and though she would have to fight for her place it was hers.
Fourth breath, The Great wolf baying at their backs as the clans turned to civil war. The knowledge that she could have ignored the call to arms, but that she had insisted instead. Healing is how she would find her place.
Fifth breath, Taking a place among the political leaders to ack and an intermediate. A human on behalf of the ulven, a human raised ulven for the clans. She knew her contributions did little in the long term, her voice too quiet. But she was present, and she was sturdy behind her friends and allies. A different kind of fighting.
Sixth breath, Stepping away to resume her studies with the daughter of Gaia, returning to her roots to find a new home. Joining the Einherjar and having to fight for her place amongst old friends and allies once more.
Seventh and eighth breath, the ones that shook, instead as they came out of her lungs. Her hands trembled in her lap as she went over the Moot. The way grimward so proudly went against their treaties, the way they killed the Nightriver chieftain. A chill ran down her spine remembering the sounds. The snarls and voice calling out around her before chaos erupted.
Ninth breath, “You cant flee forever my child” the soft motherly tone that was rustling leaves and the clap of a thunderstorm. She grit her teeth, she knew it. She had been running from the Great Wolf since she could fight. Now with this second war she wasn’t being given a choice to run.
Falling into the meditative state she wandered in the dark forests in her mind, the sounds of the sea rolling in the distance. This wasn’t right, these trees were normally verdant green with summer and Gaia’s grace when she communed. Realization struck as that feeling of being hunted struck a moment too late she was sent backwards into one of the trees by a mighty blow. Gaining her bearings and looking for her foe she froze and felt herself begin to freeze in utter fear. Long white fur, long yellowed teeth, Yellow eyes burning with rage. His snarl shook her and demanded all of her attention. The great god of her adoptive people towered over her staring into her soul.
“You claim to be one of mine” His voice was deep and grating, the baying of the hunt and the roar of battle. “Yet you run like prey, fighting only once you are cornered.”
She couldn’t dispute that fact, she didn’t have the ulven desire for battle in her veins.
He stalked closer till she could feel his hot breath on her. “My mate favors you child, so i will give you one more chance.” He paused to make sure she was starting him in the eye.
“If you claim to be one of my children… Show Your Fangs!”
She snapped out of her trance in a cold sweat, eyes wide staring at the walls of her tent. She felt the god’s breath on her neck and felt Gaia’s fire in her veins. Getting up she set her mind to it, Her pack needed her, her friends needed her. Not only as a spiritual guide and healer, but to not have a liability on the field. She had spoken during the moot that she wasn’t a fighter, but things had changed. Leaving her tent with a new determination she found Jarl Bryech, “Jarl Bryech, I have a request.” Giving pause for his acknowledgement she continued, “Teach me to fight”