Role

Chapter 4

Iroenyphe went through the forms again in the chill morning fog, condensation
and sweat forming rivulets into her armor's underpadding. The lightforged
weapons left glittering paths in the mist. They felt right in her hands, to be
this close to Light made physically manifest. She had made a personal vow to
only use these in battle; mundane weapons felt almost... numb, disconnected.
Impure.

The Fortress was burgeoning with new recruits, and of course a growing
population was accompanied by a few pains. She had been horrified when the
Lady Azorinne herself had to descend from the heavens to admonish her and her
Squires, for the thoughtless beguiling of two innocent Darsylon guards.
Iroenyphe had been stunned nearly silent, but the flippant attitude of the
Squires had sparked a fire in her that perhaps had been dwindling away. And
the stern admonishment she had been obligated to deliver had only stoked that
fire - not quenched it, as she may have privately feared in her darkest
thoughts.

These and other, less consequential dramas were banished when she was going
through her forms, though. A time for her.