a ruler of steel leads their people with strength and determination. they are renowned throughout the lands for their dedication to their people and their high levels of ambition. they have opponents, and many whisper about their ruthlessness. however, it cannot be denied that a ruler of steel cares for their people and their kingdom, and aims to always rule them with strength and with success.
Mahji: “I really wish she’d see herself as beautifully as I do.”
Danya: “Godsdamned she has a great rack.”
But in seriousness from Danya: “She has so much potential - she could do literally anything if she just believed in herself.”
A tale to flesh out some backstory for Danya, but moreso for her and Mahji’s sister, Tensa. I have a whole plot rolling around in my head that I need to trya nd launch.
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She shouldn’t have helped him. It had always been too risky. She’d put his life and the life of that godsdamned Wolf ahead of her own. C’ndanya balled her hands into fists at the thought of it. The idiot had come back to the very jungle he’d been banished from! To hunt! Her lip curls with disdain the longer she things about it - but nothing could be done now. The pair had escaped, and she hadn’t been found out.
For a few weeks, at least.
Then the whispers began. Danya led the hunting party the wrong way. There were no tracks found the way we went - only the way we looped back. By the time we found the tracks, they were days old. She supported a traitor and his whore over her own flesh and blood.
Which is why she’d made preparations to leave and then had followed through. She’d find Mahji and drag him back by his tail if she had to. She understood why he had acted the way he had, had done the things he’d done, but he’d made her life a living hell for it. He’d stand for his judgment and she’d clear her own name… theoretically.
She was picking her way through the forest as silently as she could, carrying only the bare minimums - her spear and some supplies to make camp.
A snapping branch in the near distance made her stop in her tracks. She perked her ears forward and stared hard in the direction that the snap had come from. She’d left at dusk, just as the guards and scouts had changed rotations - she shouldn’t be encountering anyone at all. Seconds stretched to a full minute until she heard something else - something too close to avoid, a crashing that signified someone running through the underbrush.
She turned to face the sound but was too late. Qiri burst from the underbrush and had her by the throat with one hand before she could react in any way that mattered. She grabbed at his wrist as he drove her back against a tree with a feral growl, full of violence and intent. She tried to kick him, but he positioned himself just so her flailing did nothing more than annoy him.
“I shouldn’t be surprised that the second twin is as traitorous as the first. You spit upon the gifts bestowed to you, the generosity of the tribe! You were to be High Priestess, a beacon to guide them. Your morals are lacking.” He squeezed her throat slowly and she grunted and gasped in pain and surprise. “You will not escape your judgment like he did.”
She dug her nails into his forearm as hard as she could. It was all she could do. She’s tall and fit - but he was taller and fitter, a mountain compared to her. Already she was unable to draw enough of a breath in.. The worst part was the smile - he looked satisfied with her suffering.
Then, Danya saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Desperate, she snapped her gaze to it immediately, which tipped Qiri as well. He threw her to the side and whirled, just in time to see C’bharra lunge at him with a long, wicked knife extended. The nunh avoided the worst of the blow, knocking the blade to the side. He earned a deep laceration into his flank for his trouble, but avoided a stabbing.
“How dare you,” he snarled, before reaching out to try to grab Bharra by the arm. She slipped away from him and paced just out of reach, lowering herself down, ready to pounce, “I should have made an example of you when you stepped in to save the boy. He didn’t deserve the mercy.”
“He is my son, Qiri, and Danya is my daughter. They are yours as well.”
“I’ve sired many children,” he snapped back, slipping his spear off his back and stalking toward her. “But only two of them were traitors.”
“The only traitor is --” Bharra’s comeback is cut short as she is forced to parry away a forward thrust from the nunh’s spear. Danya remained crumbled on her side near the edge of the clearing. She held her throat and gasped for breath desperately.
The nunh and her mother perform their dangerous dance in front of her. Bharra was small and lithe, but Qiri had reach and strength. Each thrust and swing of Qiri’s lance gained him ground, and the tide appeared to steadily turn to Qiri’s favor.
Then, he made a mistake. He took too much of a step forward, over extended on one of his swings. Bharra ducked under it and lunged forward, knife held low and ready. She thrust it forward and it looked like it would land cleanly in his belly.
Until Qiri dropped his elbow down hard against her temple and she dropped to the ground with a cry of pain. The blade still connected with his belly, but without the force behind it to actually bury into him. He was wounded, but not critically. With a growl, he pulled his lance back and raised it up before slamming the butt of it into Bharra’s gut, forcing her breath out of her.
“Mama!” Danya managed to gasp, trying to get to her feet. She froze when Qiri turned the spear around and pointed the bladed end against Bharra’s belly.
“How did you know where to find me?” He inquired, voice unnaturally calm. His eyes never left Danya.
“Tensa is not a subtle child,” Bharra managed to say through gasps for breath. “Less so when you are spotted carrying her away to help you with your twisted mission. Isn’t that right, dear?”
Bharra turned to look to the edge of the clearing and Danya followed her gaze. Tucked away against a tree was her younger sister, leaning heavily on her staff as she always did. She was smaller than the rest of the women her age, frail and weak, constantly short of breath. She earned her keep - and Qiri’s grace - by being a wealth of information and a skilled, albeit slow, healer.
“Tensa,” the heartbreak in Danya’s voice was too much for the younger woman to handle, and she looked away.
“Mm.” Was the only response from the nunh. He finally tore his eyes away from Danya, focused them back on Bharra. “You always were more trouble than you were worth, High Priestess. A shame you were gored by a boar this eve.”
Without another word he drove the spear head into the downed woman’s belly and twisted. In unison Bharra and Danya screamed, both a wail of pain - one physical, one emotional. Danya finally forced herself to her feet.
“Mama..!”
“Run, Danya..!” Came Bharra’s response, forced through gritted teeth and tears.
There was a moment where time slowed down. Tears freely welled in Danya’s eyes and she felt frozen in place - until she felt Qiri’s gaze on her. Then the words registered, and the fear outweighed the grief, and she turned and ran. She crashed through the underbrush with abandon. She didn’t stop to think or to plot a course - she ran. She ran for what felt like hours, as many miles are her legs could carry her.
She only stopped when she literally collapsed. She was well out of the territory of the Coeurls, nearly out of the main part of the jungle itself. She laid where she fell and made no attempt to move, and there she grieved for hours.
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Qiri had made no attempt to follow Danya. He chose to let her flee, though he stood stock still, radiating rage and frustration. Tensa was keenly aware of it and did her best to stay quiet and still at the tree line. The nunh continued to stare into the forest for long moments before Tensa couldn’t help herself and coughed quietly, covering her mouth with one hand.
His gaze flicked to her immediately and her ears wilted back. He looked down to Bharra next, but she had lost consciousness - and would soon perish - from the wound to her belly. He sighed sharply through his nose and approached her, kneeling down beside her, holding one arm out to her. He seemed unconcerned with his wounds, and she dared not mention them.
“Come. We return home. She escaped, but now none of them will be a thorn in our sides.” His voice was eerily calm, in stark contrast to the fire she saw still burning in his eyes. Tensa simply nodded to him and stepped forward into his waiting embrace. He scooped her up, cradled her against his chest, and then turned to walk back to the village.
She shifted the staff around to her back and let it dangle there from the belt that held it in place. She wrapped her arms around Qiri’s neck and they traveled in silence. The resolution of the conflict tonight was bittersweet. Danya escaped, but Bharra was dead - but there was a great pit of guilt that had formed in her belly for celebrating such a fact. Bharra had favored her siblings, but had loved her all the same.
Danya and Mahji, too, had loved her.
But they had left her behind. Left her to the devices and the cruelties of the other younglings. The priestesses who mocked her and laughed at her, and the Tias who insulted her and spurned her. None would help her when she struggled, not even with things that were normally done in groups.
Except for Qiri. He had always had a soft spot for her. Cared for her and encouraged her. Gave her opportunities that she otherwise wouldn’t have had.
And yet…
Her reverie was snapped when she found herself being put down gently outside the tribe’s shrine to Azeyma, which was inside a small but well-kept building in the center of the village. She smiled tentatively at Qiri, who smiled back.
“You did well, Tensa,” he says, reaching up to gently tussle her hair. “Your faith and loyalty to the Coeurls will be rewarded. This, I assure you.”
Tensa nodded to him and he turned to leave. She watched him make his way over to a pair of scouts, heard him speak with convincing concern about Bharra - at which point, she turned away and made her way into the shrine building. She couldn’t bear to listen to him.
She shut and latched the door behind her and leaned her staff against the wall near it. She then turned and limped her way around the small room, lighting the candles one by one. Even such basic movements took her time and caused her to breathe just a little more labored. A task that should take but a few minutes took her nearly fifteen. When she finished, she lowered herself to kneel in front of the hand-crafted statuette of Azeyma that acted as the shrine’s centerpiece.
She was quiet for a few long moments, eyes fixated on the ground and ears wilted back against her hair.
“Azeyma,” she finally said, her voice quiet and respectful, “One of Your daughters is lost and afraid. I fear I am full of hate and anger. I celebrated as my siblings were hunted. I do not mourn for my now-dead mother. I feel no regret.”
She fell silent then, and her ears wilted back further against her hair. Saying it out loud made it so much worse. She waited for a response. A stirring of the wind. A whisper of advice. Anything.
“Please,” she pleaded, voice wavering, “Please, I need Your guidance. I have been alone for so long. Have I not been a dedicated daughter? Have I not prayed enough? Followed Your word..?”
She fell silent again. She waited. She waited, and she grew more stricken. Tears welled up in her eyes and flowed freely down her cheeks.
“Why won’t You answer..? How am I to know the way if --”
“Has that selfish witch ever answered you? Or any of the rest of your tribe, for that matter?” The voice was smooth and gentle and came from behind. Tensa turned to look. She knew she had locked the door behind her, and it hadn’t been opened.
The voice belonged to a woman - she was tall and strikingly beautiful. Her hair was a fiery red and her eyes brilliant gold. She positively glowed there by the door - but every now and again, it was like her form flickered, and there was darkness around the edges. Tensa watched her warily, but didn’t feel particularly threatened.
“No, I mean it,” the woman continued, striding closer to the shrine and to Tensa, “Not disrespectfully, mind you. Factually. Has she ever answered you or yours? I don’t believe so, and -”
“Who are you?” Tensa asked as firmly as she could manage.
“Hmm? Oh, oh, of course. Well, my name isn’t important - not right now. What is important, though, is that I am the guardian spirit and local deity that does care about you and yours. I bless your hunts and your raiding parties. I help your Nunhs stay strong. I guide your shaman and your priestesses.” She ticked off all her duties on her fingers as she spoke, though Tensa looked skeptical.
“You do not give your name, and I do not know it. How am I to believe your word?”
The entity is silent after Tensa’s question. She hummed to herself, pondered it. “Do you recall,” she began, with a gentle affection in her voice and a smile to match, “When you were young, and you were picking herbs in the forest alone? They had sent you with a guard, but he’d wandered off to do whatever it is he did. You were cornered by an angry boar, yes?”
The young Coeurl stared at the woman a moment before she nodded. She was clearly unnerved.
“None came to save you. You couldn’t run fast enough or shout loud enough. But the boar was deterred either way. Charged you and then stopped. Squealed and ran off into the woods again.” She nodded as she spoke, and Tensa nodded along. The woman smiled brightly and motioned at herself. “That is thanks to me. And do you know why I chose to save you?”
Tensa shook her head meekly. The woman’s smile only broadened and she approached the frail young woman again, now right next to her. She knelt down beside her. “Because your faith is pure in a setting where you would be forgiven to lose it. Because you are strong in the face of frailty. Because you do not stop fighting. A shame that Azeyma has not seen fit to reward you for that.”
The Coeurl’s ears wilted back at that and she looked back to the statuette of Azeyma that she had prayed at every day since she was old enough to do so. Her faith had been unbroken and unwavering. She finally cleared her throat. “We were all born with challenges laid out before us. We must navigate the path that She set before us and --”
“What challenges did your siblings have?” The woman asked firmly but not unkindly. “What true challenges did Mahji face? Danya? The wrath and anger of the Nunhs? Have you not suffered the same, mm? But therein lies the difference. Mahji was blessed with strength and athleticism. Danya was blessed with powerful aether and the mind and imagination to use it to her fullest potential. There is a reason they were feared and loathed.”
The woman fell silent and let her words settle. She saw the tears begin to shine in Tensa’s eyes again, but didn’t push. Not yet. The Coeurl sniffled but sat up straight. She did not speak. The woman tried not to smile.
“And then Mahji was banished after picking a fight he knew he could not win. When he returned, it was with another woman from another tribe. What a punishment! He even met with Danya - and she helped him escape. I don’t doubt he put it into her mind to leave as well. But did either of them come to rescue Tensa? They said they loved you, but where were they?”
The woman leaned forward, reaching out to stroke the back of her hand gently down Tensa’s cheek, loving and affectionate.
“They left you behind. All alone. At the mercy of the Coeurls.”
She let silence fall over them again. Only the wind blowing through the jungle and distant voices reached them for a few long moments. Eventually, Tensa spoke. Her voice was full of bitterness and anger.
“Yes. They left me behind,” she said, her words deliberate and slow as always, with generous pauses to catch her breath as needed. “I have always been an afterthought. A burden. To my mother. To them. Even if they did love me, I was weight they could not carry. What of it? What would you have me do? I walk the path Azeyma has given me.”
This time, the woman heard the cynicism in Tensa’s voice. The faith was cracked. It’s all she could do not to break into a grin, to drop the facade. “I would give you a gift. I would ease your burdens - soothe your frailty, strengthen your aether, grant you the ability to stand on your own and command respect. I ask only that you place your faith in me and I will reward you in ways you cannot yet imagine.”
Tensa studied the other woman. She was strikingly beautiful. Her aether burned bright and strong. But every now and again, there was that flicker of darkness around the edges. There was danger here - but her bitterness and hurt and anger was strong.
“And what is the name of the woman that I am to put my faith into?” She asked again.
“Azaervia,” came the immediate response, and the candles in the room flickered. Tensa felt power in that name. “You must renounce Azeyma, and claim me as your deity. You need fear nothing, little one.”
There was a beat of hesitation, a flicker of suspicion on the Coeurl’s face, before she spoke with confidence fueled by her anger and spite, “No longer shall I worship Azeyma or all that she stands for. This night, I renounce her, and swear my faith to Azaervia.”
“That was perfect, my dear,” purred the woman as she reached out to take Tensa’s hands in her own. “Now, close your eyes. Relax. Let me grant you the gift I have promised you.”
The candles flickered around them again and the air felt suddenly stale, but what was done was done. Tensa let Azaervia take her hands and nodded at her words. With a deep, steadying breath, she closed her eyes and waited.
There was another shift in the aether - one of the few things that Tensa was incredibly sensitive to. In that moment she felt a downburst of wind and knew the candles were blown out. The aether remained strong - but now it was incredibly so, and dark as night. Her eyes shot open and locked on Azaervia, who smiled wickedly back.
The woman was still strikingly beautiful - but was clearly no goddess. A pair of dangerous looking horns curled back from her forehead, settling over braided hair. Her eyes were a deep, unnatural purple. She had a pair of leathery wings folded tight to her back, and a long, whip-like tail. “I told you to keep your eyes closed, little one. Tensa of the Coeurls, you have placed your faith in me. Now, reap your rewards and accept your gift.”
Tensa was frozen in place. She couldn't scream. She felt the magic that held her in place but could do nothing to fight it. Azaervia seemed to grow blurry for a moment and then burst into a cloud of thick, dark smoke. The smoke swirled around the Coeurl for a moment before it forced its way into her open mouth and up into her nose.
She felt like she was choking but could not cough. The choking turned to suffocation as the smoke filled her lungs, and then her belly. There was a moment or two where she was sure she would die, and tears rolled freely down her face. Then she felt the smoke disperse - felt it started to spread through her body, a shock of cold that ran through her veins from the tip of her ears all the way to the tip of her tail. When it ended, she was left gasping for air and collapsed forward onto hands and knees. She shivered uncontrollably and coughed violently. She felt Azaerzia there. In her head. In her body.
The effects were felt immediately as well. Once her coughing fit ended, she could breathe easier. Her limbs did not feel as heavy or as clumsy. She felt a stronger and more open connection to her aether. She felt relief and excitement - and then felt immediate guilt for feeling it. Azaerzia chuckled, a disconnected, eerie sound that was as if it were one of her own thoughts and not a separate voice.
‘You will gain more strength in the coming days. I cannot repair all the damage, so you will never be cured - not physically. But your magical prowess will be unmatched, I assure you. I am not a woman who makes my promises lightly.’
Azaerzia hummed for a moment, and then spoke again.
‘The first order of business will be earning you the title of High Priestess, yes? Let’s get some rest, little one. I will help you realize your potential in the morning.’
