Thread: Light and Death ((MacaronMaven and EvelynWillows))

Norisel Duskweaver was born into the Light. Literally, in fact. Neither of her parents had been particularly religious, but Madam Duskweaver had a compulsion to visit the great cathedrals and see the beautiful stained glass. Norisel was born, quickly and without much fuss, before the tour was half done. It seemed an omen, particularly after decades of unsuccessful pregnancies, that this little child should come so joyfully into the Church. The Duskweavers were exceedingly wealthy. A family of silk merchants and tailors, Norisel was raised surrounded by beauty and light and trained under the best tutors that money brought. She showed an early affinity for dance but the Light held her love. Her money and her time went to the church. It seemed a foregone conclusion that she would eventually take the cloth as a priestess... Then came the war. The dead came bursting from their graves like maggots from a corpse and the world shook. Though at first the battles were far from her sheltered life, Norisel knew that she needed to fight the creeping plague. Her dancer's grace and healing talents were enough for a desperate recruiter. Though her elderly parents wept, they knew better than to stand in the way of a paladin's holy wrath. The training was swift, and she was on the battlefield before she had time to become appropriately comfortable in her heavy armor. That first battle was a hell that would haunt her for life. At some point in the screaming confusion, the legion general was beside her. They pushed forward was best they could and hacked through reeking columns of the dead. A great chitin-armored beast lumbered along with the enemy forces, flinging balls of some strange acid-green fire. The orders were to stop the creature but when one of the fireballs landed too close, Norisel was thrown from her General. Her own weapon and simple recruit's shield were lost in the explosion, but she found the General's ceremonial shield in the wreckage. Scrambling over smoldering bodies some that grasped her ankles, she found the dazed and bleeding General standing directly in front of the flame-thrower beast. The beast lifted a scything claw to kill her commander and all Norisel could do was to take the blow herself. She prayed to the Light for speed and received it. She prayed for strength and it was granted. She begged for protection and when the monster's claw came down, the white enamel of the shield exploded in green and violet light. Later, after wounds were healed and the dead were counted, Norisel was presented with the shield to use as her own. The center of the white enamel was scarred deeply in a violet sunburst surrounding a space of gleaming metal where the claw had punctured the enamel. She was still using that same shield a year later, when the army made camp by the Farfalen river and the new recruits were arriving. The young woman was eager for the help. Waves were coming more frequently at the front lines, and they had retreated four times in as many months. She hurried out, in her now-dented armor with it's fresh lieutenant's insignia, to meet them. With her helmet on as well as her armor, Norisel could have been any soldier. She was shorter by several inches than the men and generally smaller-framed, but there was no way for a casual observer to tell if she was a small woman or a young boy. Given the desperate nature of recent recruitment, either was likely. Click to expand... Life should have been simple for a boy born into a farming family. There were the cycles of the seasons, of planting and harvesting, and the daily, almost religious, tending to the animals and the earth. These were things that Darian Greyhe loved, and when he became a young man he fully expected his life to be the fulfilling life of a farmer. He had even begun entertaining the idea of courting the bakers daughter, a comely and pleasant young woman several years his junior. He never expected that the horror of the dead would come upon them, or wipe out his family and the small community they lived near in just two days. Since then his strength and the pure desire to survive had served him well, eventually leading him to Farfalen, where he banded with a small group of resilient men and women. It was during this time that he discovered that he was able to heal. It was a small thing he could keep someone from bleeding out or from being poisoned by dirty water, but he found that he was only useful in defending those around him. He had no skills when it came to beating back the rotting hoards of their nefarious enemy. Darian raised his sullen brown eyes to look at the soldiers gathered at the river to survey the rag-tag recruits who gathered there. He was slightly taller than most, though lean and hard from years working the land from dusk to dawn. He noted that the armored men moved with a determined weariness, almost like they knew that the enemy was tireless and would never need to rest or eat like the living did. It was almost like they knew that they were fighting a losing battle. He set his jaw determinedly. His family was not known for being quitters. He was the last of them the Greyhes had been one of the founding families in the Greywoods and had carved a life out of the wild territory there generations ago. Darian might have had to leave the overthrown town that he was born in, but he would carry with him his familys stubborn hope and persistence until it was ripped from his chest. His eyes rested on a small knight practically a child. It was difficult to judge, because the helms hid the mens faces, but the slight build and shorter stature were undoubtedly not the form of a full-grown man. It saddened him to see the boy out there among men the youth must have had the courage of a lion to be there. Darian had seen hardened men freeze at the sight of the dead rising up and eating the living. He wondered what horrors the child had seen, and he felt a surge of sadness and compassion for the youth. Click to expand... There were fewer newcomers than she had hoped. Still, Norisel was confident that the Light would provide what they so desperately needed. The officer in charge of the new arrivals glanced wearily over his ledger and did not seem to approve of what he saw. I don't have much for you this week, Lieutenant. He sighed as the recruits lined up before the officers. Norisel felt sorry for the man. Not yet to middle age and already his face was lined and his beard laced with silver. She thought a wordless prayer for him and the man straightened a little. It's enough, sir. Her voice was clear and confident, piping out of her helmet. The Light gives us all we need to thrive, asking for more only spoils the challenge. A few of the veteran soldiers chuckled at her bravado, but the laughs were exhausted, stillborn sounds. The small paladin took notice and rested her hand on the handle of her weighted mace. Bits of sunlight glinted off the weapon and her armor in an oddly steady rhythm, like a heartbeat or the breathing of a sleeping child. At first the new soldiers regarded it as nothing more than a trick of the light... Then one gruff older man suddenly jerked his glove off and stared at his hand. T'was a cut, just 'ere, on me thumb. Infected, it was. T'ain't there no mo'! Other recruits shuffled to look for any other missing injuries there were several, all minor and all seamlessly healed, until the logistics officer cleared his throat and thumped his ledger. Norisel kept swaying slowly to music only she could hear, but the strange pulse of light stopped. Mostly, anyway. Greyhe. You were the only one to report any healing, so you go with Lieutenant Duskweaver. He gestured to the small armored form before brusquely moving through the list of names and the other assignments.