Information

xo.Princess has a minion!

Pyro the Kotte

xo.Princess
Legacy Name: xo.Princess

The Reborn Malticorn

Age: 17 years, 9 months, 4 weeks

Born: May 21st, 2008

Adopted: 17 years, 9 months, 4 weeks ago (Legacy)

Adopted: May 21st, 2008 (Legacy)

Statistics

• Level: 4
   
• Strength: 10
   
• Defense: 10
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 1
   
• Books Read: 1
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Unemployed

Name: Princess Cinta (Pronounced Chin-tah)



Story:


"Cinta," a familiar voice calls, pulling me out of the water, back to the surface of consciousness. I only stir, scrunching my eyes closed tighter in an attempt to escape reality, if only for another few minutes.

The voice gets louder, nearly yelling now, "Cinta!" The voice registers to me as my father's, despite the tinny distortion. It must be through that interesting system called an "Inter-comm" that I am hearting his voice. Still not hearing a response from me, he goes on. "Princess Cinta Amore of Hukis, you will awake and be downstairs in no less than one hour, elsewise you will not be allowed to exit the area of your room for three days this time."

I sigh, knowing he very much means to do it this time, and pull myself up so that I am sitting in a relatively upright position. Pulling the curtains back, I carefully place my feet on the ground, looking through my eyelashes at the room surrounding me. It takes but a few moments for my eyes to adjust, and I see the same sight as every morning: my room. The very same stone walls, worn but clean; the very same chair in the corner, old but strong; and the very same vanity table next to the window. The curiously open window, like in my dream.

My dream had started very much the same as it did every other slumber, with me standing in an empty street. Suddenly, my dear sister was standing there, pulling at my wrist in a direction towards a darker sky. "Come," She would say, "You must learn..."

Although she had said more, I can never quite recall what was said after that. All I know in my being is that I follow my dear sister, although my father is in the opposite direction, calling after me. That is not how the dream has gone in the past, although I can only recall that usually my father is standing at the bright end of the road, and that is where we are usually headed. The only other part I remember takes part in this very room, and it happens directly before I am awoken each morning.

I sit in the room, darkened by night and absence of candle-light, resting in the corner facing the window. The window has been left open, revealing a stormy sky beyond, rain pouring down in heavy sheets. An occasional flash of lightning would crack the sky in two, lighting the world like an instantaneous sun before fading with a rumble of thunder. Between one flash of light and another, a figure appears, crouching in the frame of the windowpane. He holds a hand out for me, and I stare at him blankly, my hands limp in my lap. Then, as I reach out to take his offered hand, and he moves just so that the next bolt would illuminate his features, I wake up.

The least absurd piece of my dream is when I wear nothing but a coating of fur, feeling bones in my body change to accomidate a new shape. This is because, if I were any other person in my kingdom, that would be a normal piece of my daily routine.

I cannot Shift, like the rest of my country can. I can only Cast, like my mother, and I am quite fair at Casting, but this is well unheard of in my country. Every-one can shift, and nobody could trust a Crown Princess who cannot. This is why I was kept from the public view for a long while, away from any reason to show my shifted form.

Although tonight would be my coming-of-age ceremony under any other circumstances, and this fact should greatly upset me, I must say that I am grateful for the absence of Shifting ability to keep me from having to dress in such a horrid ceremonial outfit as my dear sister did. The grand skirt is covered in bows and lace, and the traditional headpiece is far too heavy for my poor neck. I know, I wore it once in jest.

Dressing, I shake off my thoughts and exit my quarters, heading down the long corridor and down the stairs, towards the breakfast hall. The day is already very bright, and the house is very busy for such an early day.

In the breakfast hall, father is discussing something that sounds very strategic and battle-like with the commander of his army, so I simply walk into his line of sight, step around behind his chair, and rest my hand on his. "I am going to go out to the yard, father," I say, just loudly enough for him to hear.

I step into the bright daylight and, squinting, begin to move towards the garden area. This is my first mistake of the day.

A rough hand appears from behind me and covers my mouth and nose, smothering any screams I had meant to make. Another hand somehow finds both of my wrists and holds them behind my back, restraining my movement. A deep, gravelly growl sounds in my ear. "You'll not fight, or you'll learn th' sound of one hand clappin' firsthand." Somehow comprehending that as it was meant, that this man could and would separate one of my hands from my body, I slump, defeated, into his hold. As I am dragged into the wood surrounding the palace, I think only that some guards were most certainly bribed for this to have happened.

The man takes me to a waiting horse, blindfolds me before I see his face, and throws me rather roughly onto the creature. Before I can do anything I am tied, and the man rides off, galloping by the feel of it.

The ride lasts quite a while, but I assume that there is no one else on the path he is taking, as there is not a sound but the wind in the treetops and the horse galloping along. Of course he would take a road not often traveled. If he was seen running off with a bound and blindfolded princess--even just a plain girl--there would be much trouble for him and whoever he may be working with. I consider my options quite carefully. There seem to not be many.

I finally decide to wait. It takes time. But then, the man comes into what must be a camp of some sort, as he begins discussing "their prize" with his cohorts. As soon as he sets me down, I run. I care not that I am blindfolded, although I do listen very carefully to the sounds of the men that run after me, and the rest of the forest. I was turned around by the ride, but it felt relatively straight. All I have to do is head North-west... I hope. Suddenly, I become uncertain, and I slow. That is all it requires for my kidnappers to get hold of me. My blindfold comes loose, and I see two things:

The man holding me roughly about the waist is scarred in a crisscrossing manner along the side of his face, and has greased, short hair that sticks up towards the sky.

A person that must be a boy--no, a man, though perhaps barely one--sitting crouched in the branches of a tree. He appears not much older than I, and I feel I know him from somewhere. He places a finger to his lips, indicating a need for silence, and lets them take me back to their camp.

After a moment, back in the small clearing that I now see is, indeed, their camp, I see him, just briefly, in a tree, somehow a shadow among shadows despite his bright coloring.

The men present me to someone coming out of a tent, handling me rather roughly, and speak to him in a manner that suggests they are



All right, it's decision time!

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