06-29-2015, 11:24 AM
It is not, truthfully, a question that Straia had currently asked. She is less curious in the past, in stories, than Erebor is, though she knows how useful information as a whole can be. Currently, she is interested only in what the newcomers think of the Chamber, what they can offer, and what she can do to make them stay. The Chamber needs recruits. It’s simply a fact. Not a reflection on those that already call it home – they were loyal and determined, certainly – simply an understanding that the Chamber was weak. Particularly against the Deserts and the Amazons, and should the Valley turn, against them as well. They were already at a disadvantage in terms of magical traits (that being, the Chamber had none). They didn’t need to be lacking in numbers as well.
But when Erebor asks, and Killdare answers, she listens intently. He spills his life before them, and for this, she is appreciative. After all, she’s never talked all that much about her own life. Not that she won’t, if asked, but simply that she doesn’t tend to offer it. And certainly, she doesn’t give any of the emptions that come with her story, just the story. But something in Killdare seems to trust them, or maybe he just trusts the trees that surround them. She has always trusted the trees. They know her inside and out, the way no other living soul does. The trees are everything she loves, and everything she works for. Them, and the heart beneath their feet.
She had never killed, truthfully, though she knew she was capable of it. Not without reason, because in the end, she was not her father. She would kill for the Chamber, for her son, but not simply because it suited her mood. He was devil trapped in rotten flesh. Straia was simply Straia, and she lived for the Chamber, not for herself. She understands what Killdare means though, no honor in the killing. There was no honor in killing her mother – helpless and mourning the loss of her father on the beach.
That would be the only horse she’d kill for her own gain, her own peace of mind. Whoever murdered her mother didn’t deserve to live.
“Where did you sister end up, if you don’t mind my asking?” The Valley would be Straia’s guess, but she is curious. She’s also interested in showing that she hears, though she’s never been one for a pat on the back or saying everything will be alright. She doubts that Killdare expects or wants such attention either, or he wouldn’t have chosen the Chamber. But still, she does hear. She does listen.
But when Erebor asks, and Killdare answers, she listens intently. He spills his life before them, and for this, she is appreciative. After all, she’s never talked all that much about her own life. Not that she won’t, if asked, but simply that she doesn’t tend to offer it. And certainly, she doesn’t give any of the emptions that come with her story, just the story. But something in Killdare seems to trust them, or maybe he just trusts the trees that surround them. She has always trusted the trees. They know her inside and out, the way no other living soul does. The trees are everything she loves, and everything she works for. Them, and the heart beneath their feet.
She had never killed, truthfully, though she knew she was capable of it. Not without reason, because in the end, she was not her father. She would kill for the Chamber, for her son, but not simply because it suited her mood. He was devil trapped in rotten flesh. Straia was simply Straia, and she lived for the Chamber, not for herself. She understands what Killdare means though, no honor in the killing. There was no honor in killing her mother – helpless and mourning the loss of her father on the beach.
That would be the only horse she’d kill for her own gain, her own peace of mind. Whoever murdered her mother didn’t deserve to live.
“Where did you sister end up, if you don’t mind my asking?” The Valley would be Straia’s guess, but she is curious. She’s also interested in showing that she hears, though she’s never been one for a pat on the back or saying everything will be alright. She doubts that Killdare expects or wants such attention either, or he wouldn’t have chosen the Chamber. But still, she does hear. She does listen.
straia
queen of the chamber