[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Khasia sat near the edge of camp, holding a Haradrim short sword in her right hand. She looked at the weapon with pleasure. One of the Corsair soldiers had given it to her that afternoon, and after a few test swings, Khasia had found it much to her liking. She ran her fingertips over the curved and sharpened blade, pressing almost hard enough to draw blood, but not quite. The broadswords of the Baobab tribe had always been too heavy for her, and she hefted this one carefully, finding its balance just right for her slender arm. Oh, this blade would taste blood, and soon. Khasia smiled in the darkness.

The sun had fallen behind the horizon several hours ago, and the camp had stilled. Khasia sat alert on the side watching it settle into a vigilant calm. The red moon spoke of the blood the rising sun would bring, and Khasia was exhilarated. So much opportunity, so close she could nearly taste it, and the priestesses would lead them. Khasia closed her eyes reverently, picturing Dristi in her red and black robes, with the dramatic thorns slashing across her forehead. How would it feel to place those thorns on her own head? To feel that authority? To be touched by a dark god... Khasia shivered all over. She would follow those priestesses, follow them to their citadel and further, and then scratch and claw her way over them until she alone stood at the top, crowned with blood and wire. Power had come to her, and Khasia knew she would take it.

"Khasia..." Narisa's timid voice spoke from beside her. The girl's brown eyes snapped open, resting on the herbalist's face. Narisa pulled two long knives from a sheath at her side. Clumsy, the girl handed them to Khasia, an apologetic look on her face. "They need sharpening," she explained, holding the notched edge up to a patch of bronze moonlight for Khasia's inspection. Khasia accepted them resignedly, placing them on the ground beside her, a look of disgust twisting her features. This girl was hopeless.

"Why didn't you bring them before?" She questioned, her voice businesslike and angry. "The timid will die, Narisa." She could see the other girl's silhouette shaking. "I will sharpen them for you in the morning." She said, the edge in her voice growing more distinct. Her own long knife flashed out of its sheath and came to rest with the point an inch below Narisa's chin. "Go sleep now." She ordered. "You will need your full strength tomorrow, if you are to provide a proper distraction for the elders." Narisa blanched and turned away, her head hanging between her shoulder blades. She knew. Knew her life was over. All Khasia cared about was that she lived long enough to occupy some warrior's time so she, Khasia, could do her own work.

She gave her new sword another twirl, her white teeth sparkling in the greyness of the desert air. Who needed sleep when they had destiny? Who needed luck when they had strength? Her grin widened, but her eyes remained flat, emotionless. It had begun.

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]