Lenus
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Several years after... or perhaps before her death -maybe not even in the same reality, a Rogue awakens.
It began as a simple journey, moving from one danger to the next, following vague requests or just destroying the monsters that attacked her, growing into valiant quests to save a town she had never heard of from destruction.
This soul, this Rogue, never felt right, heavy in a body that didn't seem right, as if something was missing. Her twin blades felt incomplete, even when she obtained a pair of Chakram from the frozen lands of the north, they didn't feel perfect in her hands.
Every pursuit would lead to the same feeling, being too heavy, being too weighed down, with the wrong weapon.
A village of shadows didn't hold the answer for the misplaced Rogue, though training did bring her a sense of joy, to slip in and out of shadows, as if she were gliding on the breeze...It was a simple joy, but it did not last.
Then, as she explored the depths of another dungeon, and traced her way through the town with an avian name, she found a portal.
Immediately she enjoyed the company of this 'Soulweaver', whom shared more than just her hair color -even if that too felt out of place, or different somehow-. The way that this young yet powerful Weaver attacked, gliding through the air, striking with his SoulLooms as he called them, as if he was weaving threads around his enemies, it was tantalizing.
She wanted to learn...
After everything, even a war with an arachnid race, she learned to weave, learned to glide with her attacks, to run as if she was weightless, it all felt right. And then, she realized, she was missing wings.
Her soul cried out to her, even louder than the pull of her ice elemental, Aegis, tethered to her, by means she did not fully understand. Her very Element... Ice.
It was a part of her too, to be able to fly, to be able to freeze her foes, while dancing around them, like the most annoying and tenacious fairy. Whatever form she was before, she was a wielder of ice, and she could fly!
Ice, indeed, was her calling, because only a short while after her revelation, delving into the arts of weaving, seeking ways to better herself, ice took her, thanks to a scared, incompetent girl, who had become a mage of ice magic.
Cruel irony is a cold mistress...
Years passed, and now the Weaver seeks wings, small enough to fit her form. The Defender's Wings felt close, they felt right, pulsing with energy, but they were a little too large and the hue was off... These wings are of the Void, a place bereft of sense. Her wings should be blue.. with the same spikes and pulses of pure energy, coming from her back, as if they were powered by her very soul, a cold, icy, glacial , frost blue.
Regardless, she'd keep searching, keep growing in strength as she cuts down the Rose like the weeds that they are. Like a bandit, robbing unsuspecting fools on the road. Yes... that felt right. As long as she can get paid, she can be the Hero for this town, for this Land...What really mattered, was what her soul was screaming for...
A man...with Platinum hair....For a while, she had entertained the idea that it was the young Weaver she'd once met. But he'd grown up, without her, older, more jaded....and then......
She felt as if she'd lost her wings all over again...
< Message edited by Lenus -- 8/25/2015 7:34:24 >
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