Role

Chapter 7

Apsalareia gasped for breath, her knees protesting where they met the unforgiving ice of the mountaintop.
She could feel the slow trickle of blood from her myriad wounds, but she did not move to tend them. Not yet.
Before her lay the corpse of the ancient white dragon, a malign reptile of enormous size, now dead by her hand. A hard fought battle, and a nailbiting victory.
Now as with each battle, she prayed. Head bowed and pale locks hanging in sheets about her downturned visage, she spoke soft and true to her truest companion.
"Lady Jaguar, grant me insight. Lady Jaguar, grant me strength. Lady Jaguar, let this battle and the insight to follow be worthy of Your holy name."

Lips stilled, but blood did not. Crimson continued to fall hissing into the snow as she remained unmoved, mind adrift to the fight which transpired.
Sweeping arcs and gnashing fangs filled her head and danced before her eyes, each and every blow painted in unrelenting strokes. Each wound taken in her memory was a mistake measured, each blow dealt by her hand a point for improvement.
At last she came to the part she cherished and dreaded most. She had felt the thrill of the hunt, the exhiliration of a battle given and a victory seized. She loved the hunt. But was it righteous?
With this situation it was simple, yes. She had slain this evil beast which terrorized and plundered. It was not always so easy to answer, nor would it be in the future, she suspected.

It frightened her how much she enjoyed the means as well as the end. The testing of her body, her mind and her soul. Her faith in herself and in the Lady against the wicked dark.
She loved these things just as much as the wrong righted, as the rot excised. She always took the time to consider this, after every battle. When she could no longer answer, she knew she would be beyond redemption.
Alongside this came her greatest fear of all. She had heard many speak of peace, the euphoric paradise of Light's victory. Where they smiled, she quailed. Was there a place for her in such a world?
More frightening perhaps, what would someone like her do, if there were no more hunts, no more wars, no more... Struggle. Her heart clenched in her breast as the thought niggled at her, unrelenting.
The feeling did not abate as she stood and offered the corpse of the ancient white to her Lady. It did not falter as she trudged back down the mountainside. It ate at her like a worm in the heart.
What sort of Maran was she, to fear paradise? She suspected, not a very good one.