Mwarrim Mieu the Uki Goshi

Role

Chapter 8

That was her there, in the mirror. About the only person she could look in
the eye for more than a moment without getting jumpy about it. She studied
herself carefully, from head to toe... she wasn't really any different from
most other felar, even if short for one. She had no litter to be a runt of,
but malnourishment was still more than a likely cause. All in all, very
much an ordinary woman... then why was it always so hard to stay calm and
collected when around other people? They were ordinary people too.

In battle it was much easier to focus, and she wasn't really sure why.
Maybe it was some kind of an instinct, throwing her into a trance of sorts,
and she just felt... at home in that situation. Unfortunately it didn't
really help to try to visualize a battle while holding a conversation.

She picked up a dangerously sharp, simple razor blade and brandished it at
her mirror image, going through a few stances in slow-motion, like carving
something in mid-air. Carving she might have to do, and that was making her
nervous... since it wasn't to take a life but to rescue one.

She didn't know Homard very well yet, but she knew that he was ill. He was
afflicted with some kind of a nasty, and most probably not natural malady.
And by chance - or maybe fate - she had stumbled into the great dwarven
smith, Thror, at his forge as he was guiding the svirfnebli and his giant
companion, Puldun, on a quest for a cure... and she, too, ended up tangled
in it. The dwarf lord said she would play a role of what sounded like a
surgeon. And that would really take steady paws, since it wasn't about
cutting his veins and bleeding him out...

Both were still somewhat strangers to her, but comrades in arms... and
maybe even more beyond that, brothers in destiny. Nothing short of her best
try would be enough.

Role

Chapter 7

Only a single lantern brought any light to the darkened guildhall of the
assassins of Blackclaw, as evening had turned to night. No one was up for
late training, and only the guildmistress Sryelle was meditating in a
corner, seeming to pay little attention. The perfect time for a moment of
quiet for Mwarrim, then.

She settled in a corner, unconsciously mimicing the guildmistress in a
cross-legged pose; she was a harsh teacher, but she was the one who had
given Mwarrim a chance to get started on this trade, and there was no
denying there was a hint of Sryelle's style in Mwarrim's stance. It had
been a long journey this far in the guild, to the rank of Ippon Seinage -
shamefully the exact meaning escaped her for the moment - but plenty was
yet ahead. And all this way she had come on her own, without asking for the
help of others in the training and battles.

And it felt like a point of no return. She felt she could - or no, that she
SHOULD continue on that track to the very end. No one asked it of her, no
one demanded it as some kind of a show of dedication, except herself. She
would prove herself that she could.

Her eyes closed, she mouthed the words voicelessly, to keep herself from
stuttering on an oath even if it was only to herself. "I swear... I swear
that I will finish my training as I started it, by myself. It's a battle to
improve myself, so... it's a battle I'm fighting on my own. I swear it
by... by my claws, and my name."

She sat in silence for a while longer, contemplating the weight of her
words, before looking up again. The dim light gleamed from Sryelle's eyes;
she was watching her, with a strange expression on her face Mwarrim
couldn't quite figure out. Was it an approving smile, or a disdainful
smirk? She realized that one as learned as her wouldn't probably have
trouble reading lips even if there was no sound to hear.

She felt the usual burning of a blush on her face and ears as she silently
made her way past the guildmistress who had again turned her attention
inward. Yet the expression on her face remained, and from up close, it did
seem more like a smile. Maybe there was some pride in a student in it.

(And on an completely OOC note to make things clear, this isn't an honor or
no-grouping thing, so don't be surprised if I team up with someone for a
raid or somesuch, Mwarrim just won't be even considering others' help for
leveling anymore, that's personal.)

Role

Chapter 6

Kaelph, too, was definitely scary, but in a very different sense to the
dwarves and giants. Something about him reminded her of a snake, quiet and
sneaky, and deadly when sprung to action. And coming from someone like him,
a compliment on a battle well fought really made her ears burn.

There was one thing he often spoke of, too, honoring one's ancestors. There
really was a lot of history to the Village, but what about her own history?
That was a really hard question. She couldn't remember her mother bearing
the name of any clan or tribe, and she had been too young to even ask or
understand back then. That actually felt like a real loss now, if only she
had had a chance...

But there really was no finding out anymore. What she knew of her mother
was about all she had for ancestors and history, and she did want to honor
it, no matter how meager. The only way of doing that she could think of was
to never forget her name and speak it with pride.

Mother, mama... Mieu.

Role

Chapter 5

Nurok was scary. It was to be expected, really, a dwarf as he was, loud,
proud and quick to grumble. He reminded her a lot of old Cavebear, until
she had gotten to know him that is, after which it was easy to see his soft
side... Nurok was a warrior, not a bartender though, maybe he didn't have
one.

Though the other Villagers she had talked to (even the scary cloud giant)
had been more accepting of her quiet reasoning, the dwarf insisted that she
show more confidence in her thoughts and put some voice to them. In fact
she was almost grateful for that, there was a certain sense of
accomplishment to literally shouting how she despises mages and their
tricks - though what was shouting for her might be more akin to casual
grumbling about the lack of ale for a dwarf.

And it all had paid off! With Nurok's final approval, the Village welcomed
her and she was allowed to walk in its alleys. Those alleys really were
crawling with the air of the legends and history, the countless battles
that they've seen... you could really feel the presence of the great
warriors that had been here before, giving her a real tingle along the
spine. And most importantly, it inspired her even more and gave her faith
that she wasn't just daydreaming; she was in her way a part of those
legends already!

It made the rough road from here on seem a little less rough, a little less
scary. She wasn't alone.

Role

Chapter 4

Magic. Enigmatic, mighty, even ominous, and whether she liked it or not,
the reason she was right here, right now, able to ponder about it. Though
she didn't really understand its ways clearly, it was easy to see why some
were so drawn to it and why the Battleragers were said to seek to eradicate
it. It even crossed her mind that she could've maybe studied it herself,
and overcome her flaws with its help, but... on a second thought, there was
something so cheap about it. It was like writing yourself into a story,
giving yourself everything you could ever want without any effort at all.
Call it envy, if you will, but she was working hard not to be so puny and
useless, and meanwhile some people just tapped into a part of the world and
made it do the work for them...

It definitely didn't help either that time after time, everything that went
wrong in the course of history was because of who? Those who used magic
like a toy. Not a single story or legend told of a clever engineer who
dropped the sky, but catastrophes laid by mages were thirteen in a dozen.
She didn't really hate magic, or those who were stupid enough to think the
easy way was better, but the former was definitely something not to be
tampered with, and the latter were either even more pathetic than her, or
completely irresponsible, mad or just plain evil.

These thoughts were coursing in her head as she stood in front of Tahren,
the Battlerager smith, in fact. He had made her an offer that was about the
greatest honor she had ever received, and damned be the one who would try
to stop her from accepting it.

Her voice wavering as she spoke up far louder than her usual whisperings,
she repeated the Smith's oath after him...

"I swear by Boltthrower's axe that I will not rest until magic in Thera is
destroyed."

Role

Chapter 3

Dengsham had given Mwarrim a little extra money, and together with all she
had saved up in her years at his tavern she was feeling downright rich as
she first arrived in Blackclaw. It was a welcome change of pace compared to
Galadon, but unfortunately her talents as an exterminator weren't very
required around there... and the savings wouldn't last long if she didn't
arrange something.

The much more relaxed and "casual" atmosphere of Blackclaw, along with
being surrounded by people who looked, walked and talked like her helped
her gather her courage and find, once again, a job at the more reputable
local tavern, though rather than as a rat-catcher, a maid and general
helping pair of paws. And in the tavern, she just soaked in the thoughts
and stories of her people as she listened to them, enjoying the strange
sensation of belonging she hadn't ever found anywhere else.

Her stint of work there was cut rather short as she got restless. She
started to understand what was going on in her felar heart: what had really
kicked in and made her rise up against the baron despite well knowing it
could end badly, and what made it so oddly satisfying to stalk and pounce
the vermin around Dengsham's bar. Maybe she was weak, a little clumsy and
not very smart and maybe she deserved to be nothing but an errand girl and
a ratcatcher for all her life, but she so wanted something more. Mustering
all her willpower, she put together all her savings and enrolled for
training in the guild she found to have the best answers for her
yearnings.

But that alone wasn't just enough for her, yet. If she didn't aim just a
little higher, try a little harder, she might just end up like she had seen
a lot of mercenaries and hired thugs in Blackclaw, doing pointless jobs for
the highest bidder. There was another village not far, near the crumbling
ruins of Ostalagiah... a village often featured in the stories she'd heard
in Mree's tavern. A village of proud, courageous, unrelenting warriors
fighting to right ancient wrongs; people a lot like the opposite of
Mwarrim. Maybe it was masochism or delusion, but that was exactly the kind
of place she had to go to.

Role

Chapter 2

Around the village of Hytheran, life was generally easy and simple. To keep
it that way, one had only to make sure to pay the taxes and not anger the
baron; of course, forgetting about former would also lead to getting in
trouble with the latter.

That made it quite hard to get much in the sense of help from the
community. If the baron threw Mwarrim out, there definitely was a good
reason for it, and it wouldn't be a good idea to get involved. All she got
was some food, directions to a place where to try to start over and a pat
on the back for luck. Galadon they called it, and it wasn't a sleepy little
barony in the middle of nowhere, but an actual city.

The trip wasn't all too easy for someone with no practical experience of
the outside world and the attitude of a small frightened rodent, but she
made it, eventually. With no idea, skills or the personality to find some
proper work, she was stuck on the streets, scavenging around for scraps and
vermin, managing to keep herself alive but little else beyond that. For a
while, things didn't look much brighter than before, but fortunately she
had chosen a good alley as her "hunting ground"; one of the many smaller
taverns in the city's twisting alleys was along it, and the dwarven owner,
old "Cavebear" Dengsham had spotted the scraggly little fela pouncing rats
with skill close to a real alley cat, and much more effectiveness. And so
she got herself an actual job. It wasn't glamorous, nor did it pay well,
but the tavern owner, out of the goodness of his heart, provided meals and
shelter in addition to the meager wages.

This kept Mwarrim well occupied for nearly four years, in fact. And the shy
little girl grew into... well, a shy little woman, as she hadn't grown too
much taller nor confident. But she had had a lot of time to think, with her
simple work and not too many immediate concerns.

This was a lot better than the practical slavery at the baron's manor, but
her heart called to something else, something bigger and more meaningful.
Dengsham seemed to take note of it, too, catching Mwarrim daydreaming more
and more often rather than keeping the rodents at bay. What he had managed
to squeeze out from the reclusive girl had left him understanding she
hadn't ever had contact with her own kind, and it might do her good.
Blackclaw's close, maybe she should take a vacation, see the world.

Role

Chapter 1

"I ask for hot tea, and taking your sweet time you bring me this lukewarm
swill!"

Mwarrim yelped as the still more than hot enough liquid was hurled across
her face and cowered before the anger of her Master, as so often before.
She tried to fend off the blows, but it did little to deter her assailant,
more on the contrary. Granted, the fury of an overweight man who had barely
worked a day in his life wasn't physically very imposing, but the pain on
the frail body of a mere child that she was was very real, and to escape it
she had no option but to retreat in her own mind, think of something,
anything...

...she barely could remember her mother. She was maybe five, or six, when
she had died. Mother, too, had been a servant of Master, that is, baron
Gerad Garifo, a petty noble frustrated in his position and taking it out on
his servants. And to make matters worse, those who ended up serving him
were more like slaves in every sense except name, poor people with no other
place to go, nowhere to run away from his unjust anger. People like mother
and Mwarrim.

The baron seemed to have gotten angrier by the years, too. She couldn't
remember him beating mother, or at least she hadn't had to witness it. For
Mwarrim the beatings were closer to weekly, without a day passing without
some yelling and slapping around and in a very depressing way she was quite
used to it, more or less conditioned to believing she was clumsy, stupid,
slow, unreliable and a dozen other not so flattering things. She'd never
amount to a thing, doomed to toil away for all her life...

She had gone through those thoughts before, too. Something was different
about this time, though. A tiny voice deep within her heart whispered "no",
something she couldn't quite place. Where did that come from?

No, no... that's right, this isn't life. This isn't how it should be...

"No...!" she squealed meekly and summoning all her adolescent strength,
managed to stop the baron's punishing fist.

"What the... how DARE you stop me from beating sense into you?!" He yanked
his arm free and pulled back, absolutely incensed at this defiance. The
next one would really leave a mark, unless...

Trimmed they may have been, but they still were claws, and a quick slash
with them across the baron's face had the desired effect... well, sort of.
The damage wasn't too serious, missing his eyes, but it definitely was
enough to stop him in his tracks.

About five minutes later, Mwarrim was on the street, with no shelter and
nothing to her name other than the clothes on her.

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