Rumie the Anpan
The Reborn Lain
Age: 7 years, 1 month, 2 weeks
Born: July 8th, 2012
Adopted: 7 years, 1 month, 2 weeks ago
Adopted: July 8th, 2012
- Level: 1
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
i was made for war. the Goddess Herself came to me one night, bent from her bloodpaint horse to kiss my forehead and gave me her bow. She said i was born in war, raised for it, made for Her. i am Iram's hand, the face of war and blood and death.
"Goddess have mercy," he cries, and Starling stands waiting outside of the room, listening to Oriole break a man down into shattered glass. "Mercy is for fools," she says, as the man weeps. Starling looks down at his feet, and the wards hold. Another cry, a longer scream, a wet gurgle that dies down into nothing. Silence for a moment, then the sound of a fire being induced, and yellow light dances through the slit under the door. Heat blooms against his back. The door opens and Oriole steps out, and the smell of burning flesh wafts out with her. That can't be helped. Sight is easiest to fool, second hearing, then taste and touch, and the most difficult is smell. They need to leave now.
He spares a glance backwards into the room, the body on the floor smoking, its edges already crumbling into ash, a charred circle around it. She dusts her hands off, the blood on her fingers drying up and peeling off her skin onto the floor, and the dark ink on her arms fade into her usual glamour, leaving olive skin untouched by the marks of their trade. Starling sweeps the wards away with a wave of his arm, and she half-turns to stamp one foot hard against the threshold to the room, and the body of the man who once cried for mercy becomes a pile of black dust with nothing more than the smallest of sounds like the scattering of sand against wind. He closes the door, nose wrinkling.
By the time they exit the inn by its backdoors, neither of them look like the patrons who first stepped into the establishment. The lines of Oriole's face have become sharper, her hair blonder and straighter, her smile again like a knife that could cut if she only tilted her chin a certain way. Her preferred glamour. Inwardly Starling is relieved; the face Oriole assumed for the inn too much a reminder of someone else, with its softer curves and fuller lips.
"I much prefer this face of yours," she tells him, as they walk away. "The one back there was too old for you."
Still trying to gauge who he is. Starling doesn't reply to that remark. "What did you get out of him?"
She snorts, disdainful. "Nothing useful. A waste of time."
the sun has swallowed even the ghost in the hall.
*Azarmet the fourth-level djinn familiar.
Rumie the second-level sprite familiar.
*Starling the fellow rogue magician.
Susianna de Kartias, current ruler of the Kajahanate. "Sebastian cannot take the seat from me. I am the Kaja, I alone am the Kajahanate, blood of the first Kartiasi. I will not be the last." Oriole holds her tongue. Of course there have been non-Kartiasi rulers, but Oriole does not purport herself to be any expert in the high-stakes quarrels of the noble families, and in any case it is irrelevant. Instead she says, half-placatingly and half-mocking, "You must hear from your spies on the streets and in the markets. The common people call you the Gentle. The Pacifist. Their confidence in you is waning." "Let them call me useless, a Valmenti pushover. I will not bring them to ruin over petty insults."
Sacred Lands Mask
Discarded Saheric Pashmina
Dragon Of The Sky Perfume
Ians Laboratory Gloves
Harvester Embellished Cloak