04-04-2015, 11:33 PM
As a child you would wait, and watch from far away. But you always knew you'd be the one to work while they all play. They would make an interesting pair, Rodrik and Librette. Where he is devoted to the Chamber and resentful of the Valley, she has given her heart literally and figuratively to the only true home she's ever known. Where he is rediscovering his multitude of powers, she has long had command over the little thing that she has, her wings. And perhaps most interestingly, where he is the necromancer, she is the one returned from the dead. But she does not know this when she walks that night. She is simply making the rounds, doing as she always does. She knows somewhere in the back of her mind that Eight had brought the former Chamber king here, but it does not strike her as odd that she has not seen him. The Valley excels at offering little places to hide away, tiny chambers of concealment for those who don't want to be found. Turns out, evils can be a hidey bunch, and the Valley is more than happy to accommodate. She is walking the other side of the Valley from her tree when she smells it. Her nostrils flare at the scent of death, and immediately she is terrified that something has happened to the residents of the Valley. But she's smelled true, natural death before, and this isn't it – and so her fears slip into the background as she turns to face whatever it actually is. Her warrior's body naturally tenses for battle as she hears the thing approach. As adrenaline pumps through her body, she seems to kindle, to come alive in a way that she never does outside of fighting. She is beautiful now, her chestnut body a blaze against the night sky. Her brown eyes burn with intensity as every muscle in her body is taut, straining to hear, to listen, to know what approaches. Her red tail hawk wings, lifted away from her sides to make sudden flight easier if she needs an aerial advantage, shine gold-red in the moonlight. And the scar that slashes across her chest, just above her heart, is so brightly white it almost looks like it is glowing. And then, it is there. She doesn't have a damn clue that it's Rodrik, because she's never met the stallion, and even if she had, he looks nothing like his former self. To her credit, she does not startle, doesn't even more a centimeter. She's the battle-hardened warrior now, the General, the raider, the Alliance contender. And she's afraid of nothing. In the back of her mind she wonders where Eight is – there may be others in the Valley who need protection from whomever or whatever this thing is. Adrenaline still pumping, body still tense, the warrior girl speaks. "Stop where you are." she commands, her voice certain and impressive. This is the voice that means Valley business, stronger and more firm than it ever is for anything else. "Who are you?" she asks, with that same voice, her body still unflinching, unhesitating even in the face of such horror. What would he feel from her, once a corpse in a grave, and now, well, not? He couldn't harm her, although he wouldn't know that – she's under protection from her granddaughter Camrynn (although ironically, Librette does not know that). Would he smell the death? Would he smell the life? Would he obey her and stop? No matter what, she's not backing down. Don't weep for me LIBRETTEBecause this will be the labor of my love.
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