Sazven the Weaver of the Elements

Role

Chapter 9

Sazven stared at the painting in her clawed hands.

She'd been given gifts once or twice before, but they'd always been
transactional. This was different somehow.

The painting was useless. It didn't have any magical properties. It would
not let her spread Weh more. Would not let her kill mighty Fang, that
elusive and most formidable of her foes. It would not let her do anything.
She should just burn it, make the image of her crisp and drift away in the
wind.

All of her friends had left. Odren just looked sad when she saw him now,
like she'd let him down without even knowing the rules. Stupid Riazle had
gone and died or something without even saying goodbye or letting her be
there to take his Weh. Beaulah was hiding from her, probably because of the
Accident in Yzekon's domain. That one had been an actual mistake, and not
even her's!

She'd expected Kytria to leave too. Then she'd be on her own again, like it
was meant to be. Things would be simple like before. Just her, and the Weh,
and the victims, and the Accidents. She didn't need friends. She'd never
needed friends.

But.

She stared at the painting, and felt strange.

Kytria didn't judge her. Didn't look at her with those stupid disappointed
eyes. Didn't tell her what she was doing was wrong.

And as she stood there she realised with the clinical certainty of an
unrepentant killer: she didn't want her last friend to die.

How strange was that? She couldn't remember the last time she'd decided
someone dying would make her sad. Them dying brought the Weh, and the Weh
made her happy.

Was she going soft?

She didn't think so. She felt stronger than she'd ever been when not
filled with the Weh.

Was she being stupid?

She was never stupid. That couldn't be it.

Maybe... it was okay to have a friend she didn't need?

Maybe?

She kept the painting.

Role

Chapter 8

It had been going so well.

Sazven had made a new friend! They'd got off to a rocky start (quite
literally - she'd dropped a lot of boulders on him while she'd been trying
to take the Weh of a bunch of marans), but that was all water under the
reeds. They'd been talking a lot about stuff, and had somehow got onto the
subject of magic. Odren had wanted to learn to channel heat, so she'd
started teaching him that. He was really pretty hopeless and couldn't even
say the incantations properly, but they'd get there.

Then she'd mentioned how she'd tried to burn Oboboa's skin off so she could
take his Weh to give him motivation, and Odren had got all strange, telling
her how she had to stop killing people just for their Weh. He'd given her a
book with an eclipse on it about vows and the Light, and she'd not liked it
at all. Stop seeking the Weh? Live for others? -PRESERVE- people? Odren
just didn't understand.

She'd given him his stupid book back and left, and burned Eilela to death
to make herself feel better about the whole thing. Take that Odren!

She'd come to realise something though. Meditating on Weh had once more
shown her the truth of things, as only it seemed able to.

Most of these people all wanted her to change. They all wanted something,
and in their own ways it was all the same. They wanted Sazven not to be
Sazven, though they all dressed it up differently.

Why though?

Were they that afraid of Weh? One thing Odren had said did give her pause.

Immortals didn't need to fear Weh.

Sazven didn't know if that was true. Weh took everything in the end, but
maybe Immortals just understood that better than everyone else she'd met?

It was worth a try, she supposed. She would read!

But not stupid Odren's stupid books. She'd find better ones.

Summary: more friend woes. Odren tried to get her to change her wicked ways
and be less of a murderous nutcase, and she didn't like it at all.
Contemplating religion as somewhere to be accepted for who she is.

Role

Chapter 7

Friends were hard work, Sazven has decided.
Riazle was sulking about her wandering off when they'd been chasing the
marans. His way had been so boring though! She'd gathered up all the
nightwalkers for him and had been waiting for the accident, but he'd said
that they should leave Maethian and then said she was being a menace or
something before storming off in a huff. He was being a little bit
unreasonable, but she was sure he'd come around eventually.

Then she'd tried to make friends with a thief named Bartimus since Riazle
wasn't talking to her at the moment, and it had been going well - then he
strangled her on the east road with a wire and called the Marans to come
and kill her. She'd resolved that Bartimus would not be having an accident.
He'd be having a very messy and painful death, and there would be nothing
accidental about it. Sometimes meditating on Weh made her strong and
sometimes fast, but she had a feeling this would be one of the times it
just made her feel great.

Maybe she should just give up on friends. She was doing pretty well on her
own after all. Each time she broke someone with her magic and meditated
over their remains she felt that little bit more. More what, she wasn't
sure - but definitely more. Like a pool ran dry with the drip of a spring
striving to once more make it full.

Role

Chapter 6

Sazven was fuming.

Another stupid giant had burst out of the trees screaming like a banshee
about chasm scum. That had been bad, but the huge axe he'd been waving
around had been even worse!

When Sazven found out who had started that rumour, there would be hell to
pay. No, two hells to pay. She'd lived in a pit long enough, thank you. Why
wouldn't they leave her alone?

At least Riazle believed her. Maybe it was because he had a frail ego
supposedly, but that was okay. It would be kind of a shame when he
eventually had to have an accident, but there would be time for that sooner
or later. She thought maybe they were friends, and that had to count for
something? She'd never had a friend, but when the accident opportunity
presented itself she'd make sure it was quick. He was a bit odd asking her
to join his tree full of insane giants, but she was sure his Weh would be
strong.

She wasn't so sure about this Frella anymore though. They'd started out so
well. Sazven had posed as an up and coming mercenary, and tried to get
Frella to hire her. Sazven would get paid, Frella would have an accident,
Sazven gets her Weh, everybody wins.

But Frella had refused, and now thought Sazven lived in Riazle's tree. What
was wrong with these people? Why couldn't they just trust Sazven at her
word? It was all so frustrating!

Life was hard, and don't even get her started on these imperials. She'd
gone to say hello to one of them and before she'd even opened her mouth he
tried to cut her head off. It was safe to say negotiations may have broken
down there, but at least they'd not accused her of being a Maran or
something ridiculous.

Role

Chapter 5

Sazven was sold to the Slave Mines of Sitran very young. Being a physically
weak race, she should not have really lasted long, but she learned that she
could make herself stronger by coalescing the Weh of the other slaves that
died. She started engineering accidents to keep a steady supply for herself.
One particularly good coalescence allowed her to push the slave overseer
watching her into the black shaft of the mines so she could escape.

She has a high affinity to the air and outdoors from her origins, and
developed a very high affinity to the earth as well from her long captivity
underground. She was originally from Ysigrath (the Sra tribe) but her
experiences of course changed that and she is not at all stable.

She has no interest in wars or causes that are not her own, or that don't
lead to her gaining access to opportunities to coalesce the Weh of the dead.
She will not pledge to a cabal for this reason - a very selfish mindset.
She'd be happy to work with just about anyone, and will find it confusing
when they inevitably get angry about her working with their enemies too
(she could quite happily work with Empire one day and Outlander the next,
and wouldn't really understand why either would not be okay with that).
Basically, she's entirely self interested and will find other people not
being the same really odd. I expect this to degenerate pretty quickly.

Role

Chapter 4

The first time was surprisingly easy. She didn't have to even do anything
except to do nothing. The dwarf was swinging his pick away at a
particularly stubborn vein of ore, and she could see the rocks above him
shifting.

She said nothing, and the rocks fell. It was a quick death.

And she was strong again.

Temporary, again. But now she had the hunger, and the knowledge of how easy
it was to snuff out a life and take it for her own.

The dwarf's replacement fell into a swift-flowing underground river and
drowned. The last member of her original group tripped from a ledge and
plunged into the shaft below.

That one had been a mistake. They never found his corpse, and it taught her
the importance of patience. Such a waste of Weh.

It was the seventeenth slave that died (he somehow managed to fall on his
own pickaxe, twice) that gave Sazven her chance.

Weh had made her strong before. It had made her fast before. This time, it
made her both.

The overseer did not expect the spindly creature to push him from the ledge
into the shaft below. He did not expect her to be so fast, or so strong -
for every one of the Overseer's knew the lizard was weak and harmless.

Sazven took her chance, and was free. She gave no thought to the seventeen
slaves that had died so she might live. They were gone, along with the
innocent and kind young saurian that had first come to the mines.

It was just her now.

She missed the strength already.

She set out to find number eighteen.

Role

Chapter 3

Sazven worked with three other slaves most often. Two were giants, and one
was a dwarf. They were good people, even in their torment: and did not
begrudge having to put in that bit extra work due to the young saurians
lack of physical prowess. It did mean though that when one of the giant's
fell ill, he was already more exhausted than normal.

He was made to work through it, and he died.

That first time, Sazven was devastated, even in the numbness of the
existence that was the mines. He had been her favourite of the three, and
she knew that at least in part she had contributed to his end.

But it also felt right.

Sazven had never in fact witnessed a death up close. Slaves died all the
time, but it was somewhat abstract. This was anything but: and when she
reached out and took his Weh for herself, Sazven felt strong. Stronger than
she had ever felt before. Strong enough to survive the mines. Strong enough
to survive the numbness.

And strong enough to maybe see the outside again, to make that long dulled
memory a reality.

Except come the next waking, the strength was as dead and gone as her maybe
friend: and Sazven was weak again.

She made a silent vow there, in the darkness as the Overseer's lash came
down: she would have it again.

And she knew just how to do it.

Role

Chapter 2

The slave mines of Sitran were perhaps as close as a hell in the mortal
realm as it was possible to be. A black pit plunging into the depths of the
earth, twisted tunnels sprouting out from the main shaft like the veins of
some nightmarish beast. The clang of metal on stone and whips on flesh an
unholy symphony that filled the abyss without pause. Men and women worked
until they broke or were broken by the overenthusiasm of their cruel
masters. There was no day. There was no night. Just the pit, and the work,
and the knowledge that there was only one way out.

Death.

Sazven was not a strong slave. She was not a particularly quick one either,
and she came to the mines young. Old enough to work, and young enough to
not be given work that would break her developing body. Slaves were
investments, and there was no point in wasting one that could live so long,
even if physically she was not optimal for the work.

Nevertheless, it was expected she would not last long. Even as a child,
Sazven realised the same thing. The memories of the outside world sustained
her for a time, but what is a memory beside the backbreaking work of mining
endless night after endless night?

Her scales grew dull and lusterless. Her claws broke and regrew and broke
again. As her hands grew numb from the work, so did her soul.

The young saurian should have died, and perhaps nine times out of ten she
would have.

Except someone else died first, and that changed everything.

Role

Chapter 1

(Note: somehow didn't realise I'd not put this in until going to add an
update, so sorry for massive bulk submit. Backstory is entries 1 through 4,
summary is 5, update is 6.)

"The hell is this supposed to be?"

The Jaette Kragma stared at the spindly specimen the slave trader was
presenting on a chain. The small lizardling female was spindly, with bright
scales and large fearful eyes.

She was also about as physically imposing as a one heart without its arms,
and was absolutely not the storm giant male in the prime of his life he'd
been assured he would be coming to buy.

"Hey, hey," the trader waved his hands in what was probably meant to be a
placating gesture, but only served to make Kragma want to punch the slimy
crook in the mouth. "I know it ain't what we agreed, but hear me out here.
These lizards live longer than even the elves, and these ones don't start
crispin when you give them iron pickaxes to hold."

"This one probably couldn't lift a pickaxe if you gave her all day. What is
Sitran going to use her for?"

The trader shook his head, tapping his nose with a dirt-crusted nail. "See,
she's just a kid. Give her a few years and she'll be as tough as any elf,
mark me words. Got this one right out of that Ysigrath swamp I did."

"I'd not mark your words if you told me she had claws and a bloody tail."
Kragma sighed. They were in need of hands though. They'd been losing a lot
of slaves lately. "Fine. How much?"

"Thirty gold and not a copper less!"

A few minutes later and with a great deal of threats, Kragma departed with
his new acquisition. She cost him seven silver pieces.

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