Information

Enola has a minion!

Thor's Ghost the Enola

Enola

The

Nightmare Yaherra
Owner:

Pureflower

Age: 3 years, 3 months, 3 weeks

Born: January 1st, 2021

Adopted: 3 years, 3 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: January 1st, 2021

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics

Level: 58
Strength: 110
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 106
Books Read: 91
Food Eaten: 1
Job: Babette's Babysitter

Leader of the Rebel Ghosts

Survive.

It had become the only word in her vocabulary with real meaning since fate had tied her to Voorik.

Voon's birth had been a bittersweet curse, giving Voorik the perfect leverage to stop any more escape attempts from his shadowy fortress. She'd tried to cast aside the notions of motherhood, doing her best to hate the infant with the orange eyes of a hunting cat.

His father's eyes.

A babe was still a babe and Voon stole her heart.

Only to rip it to pieces by leaving.

She'd formed the Ghosts as much for Voon's sake as to keep the last of her sanity from fleeing. Her son would cast aside any thoughts of glory under his father to become the leader of her vision. Her Ghosts were trained to be ruthless in the art of sabotaging Voorik's plans and restless for any chance to annoy those Loyalists whose political loyalties would never be swayed.

Even the thickest stone walls couldn't keep out a Ghost.

The boat settled a few inches as she carefully arranged her skirt. The servants used it to go fruit picking in the surrounding jungle. They were all asleep, helped along by an herb that would keep them dreaming until well past dawn. Her absence would not be discovered for hours.

Massive steel plates hammered thin and made to look like water lilies clacked gently together under her carefully placed oar. This was one of Voorik's many failed experiments. The open-bottomed glass bowls at the center each contained a shriveled black vine.

Had the flowers bloomed, Voorik would have been rich beyond measure...and the next best thing to immortal.

Enola spat, smiling at the muted "ping" of impact. Any failure of Voorik's was cream in her tea but this failure had been particularly delicious.

Voorik couldn't even grow his toenails straight. He had no hope of coaxing something as delicate as a flower to life.

Though if the rumors proved true, he had managed to capture Tauren.

The golden-haired boy entrusted with the secrets of an Alphan would probably be eager to trade his knowledge for his life. Tauren had been nothing more than a rich man's soft-skinned son. Fifteen years of playing mouse to Voorik's cat wouldn't magically give him a spine of steel.

Or would it?

Her people had been watching the prison where he was held. Skreev had been to see him three times, looking more flustered with each failed visit. Even Voorik's favorite henchman was made the fool.

If Voorik didn't kill the man out of sheer frustration, that task would fall to her.

Enola slipped into the costume her people had so carefully prepared. She was a tall woman but by hunching over until her breasts nearly touched her knees, she could do a passable impersonation of Skreev.

She could even imitate his voice. Two parts creaking gate hinge to one part bleating goat.

"Open this door, buffoon."

The guard on duty didn't hesitate. Skreev had been known to have bystanders beaten and worse when he was in a foul mood.

Not one single man in the lines of cells would meet her eye.

Except Tauren.

His eyebrows rose but he had sense enough not to say anything. He accepted the note and nub of charcoal she offered, scribbling his reply on the back.

She could read people at a glance. He would refuse her offer of a quick and painless death.

She'd never met anyone she was convinced couldn't be broken by Voorik.

She bowed low, tucking the paper away and leaving him to ponder his last night.

She was in the square when he was dragged on stage. She knew the secret all these fools couldn't begin to suspect.

It was all showmanship. Voorik had no real intention of slaying such a useful man. He would play the emotions of the crowd, bring the blade swinging for the "fatal" blow and then alter his strike at the last second. Whatever Voorik's real plan for Tauren, it would never come close to a mercifully swift beheading.

Voorik never showed mercy.

She had to swallow bile as Voorik lit his "magical" staff. Cheap tricks. Smoke and mirrors. He used chemicals to make that seemingly supernatural light. Not even Skreev knew that tidbit.

A racing horse, a twirling green cloak and the shocked gasps rising from a thousand throats as a woman with auburn hair snatched Tauren from the jaws of death, riding madly for the city gate.

She wished the young lovers well as she vanished into the heart of the crowd, hoping sincerely that she would never encounter them again.