Syntra
Baba Yaga
Life, Iskra had read in some ancient scroll, was about change-- an endless metamorphosis, really, with no way to tell what your final evolution would look like. And, traditionally? Traditionally, the pirate had disagreed with the notion. (Her own path, you see, had been carved for her long before she'd been born. ...Iskra, they'd called her, and from that label, everything sprang. A 'spark' may have sounded pretty, poetic, even, but where did fire arise from, if not from sparks? From those fiery embryos, so deceptive in their beauty? And, oh, had she done that name justice! Everything, everything the captain had burned, and then danced on the ashes. ...even now they clung to her shoes, no matter how many times she cleaned them. The footsteps she left behind pointed to her as a culprit-- marked her as the filthy one, as the spreader of death and decay. A queenkiller, the one who had turned her sword against the very person she was meant to protect! How did you commit such an act, without staining your own soul in return? ...you didn't, plain and simple. Didn't, didn't, didn't!)
The will of the stars, however, was a mysterious thing, and so Iskra had found herself swept up in a whirlwind of change-- one after another, really, powerful enough that she could barely stand. (For years, she had kinda felt like a toddler, you know? A toddler who could kill you in ninety different ways, perhaps, but whose steps were no less shaky, no less unstable, than those of her peers. Where was she heading? How to reach that goal? And, most importantly, why was she doing this at all? Behind her facade of a fearless leader, crafted specifically to seem trustworthy, the pirate had had no idea. Lost and blind she'd been, like a fool who stared into the sun! As the time marched on, however, she had gotten wiser-- well, that, or at least better at pretending. Simply put, few things surprised her anymore. ...aside from, you see, most words that fell from the princess's lips, and by 'most', Iskra meant 'all of them'.)
Aren't weddings supposed to be fun? she thought, bitterly, upon being dragged to yet another pointless shopping trip. And why is wine needed to convince the stars of their love, anyway? Had Iskra been a bit more distrustful in nature, she would have come to the conclusion that Verity had fed her a bunch of pretty phrases-- that the real purpose behind this celebration, in fact, was to get everyone drunk under a pretext more noble than the usual 'hey man, my throat is parched.' But, of course, the pirate would never suspect Verity of such a thing! ...and her desire to avoid yet another pointless conversation in which the princess would try to convince her why this was essential, actually, was only about 30% of why she thought so. It'll be fine, Iskra told herself. Just smile and nod, and go with whatever she chooses. The princess, after all, understood the intricacies of wedding planning on a level so deep she could only dream about it-- arguing with her would have been as silly as trying to teach a fish how to swim, really. No, instead of indulging in such foolishness, Iskra would enjoy the beautiful day! The sun was shining, the air carried the smells of various spices, and if she listened hard enough, the pirate could hear...
...Verity threatening someone? Wait, what?! And, if Iskra heard correctly, then the context was... Oh, by the Shade. All the color drained from her face, indeed, when she realized the implications! You know, the implications of the princess losing her sword in a bet. (Would she gamble with her child's life, too? Because risking the loss of your weapon, the one thing that stood between you and your death, was just about as wise! On some level, the relationship was even more sacred, perhaps, and-- and--)
Iskra could have written a book or two about the true extent of Verity's treachery, but time didn't stop to accommodate her ruminations, and the situation quickly evolved into something that, uh... demanded her intervention, let's say. Oh no, you don't. Nobody touches Verity and lives! From behind, the pirate grabbed Cressida's hand, and twisted it. (The sound it made? A satisfying crack, which was a symphony to her ears!)
Needless to say, Cressida dropped her dagger. "Aaah! You-- you crazy bitch,"
"The name's Iskra," the captain supplied, oh so helpfully. With her free hand, she helped Verity stand up, and with the other? Well, she used it to bend the broken bone some more. "Now, will you be so kind as to give Verity her sword? I am sentimental, I admit, but I simply hate the idea of a weapon being separated from her wielder. It is a cruel, cruel thing to do."
"I-- I don't have it, I swear!" Cressida cried. "Like, you can't expect me to just carry it around in my pocket, especially after all those months. Let go of me, you brute!"
Hmm. Could she be lying? Pain was a powerful truth serum, so probably not, but even so-- this information was hardly helpful. "Where is it, then? Speak. Speak, and I shall let you go."
"...even if you don't like the answer?"
"Try and see."
"Fine," Cressida huffed, tears of pain in her eyes, "I buried it, okay? To please Neareida, the great water goddess. She asked for a sacrifice, so I provided it. Never, ever will you retrieve it! Powerful spirits guard it now, oh, they do, and they won't let you steal it. Oh no, no, no. If you know what's good for you," she spat out, "you'll let it go. You weren't worthy of such a weapon, anyway, now were you, princess? 'Cause if you had deserved it, you wouldn't have lost it in such a way. It was fate itself that declared you unfit! A pattern you must be very familiar with, considering... well, pretty much every major event in your life. No offense, though."
The will of the stars, however, was a mysterious thing, and so Iskra had found herself swept up in a whirlwind of change-- one after another, really, powerful enough that she could barely stand. (For years, she had kinda felt like a toddler, you know? A toddler who could kill you in ninety different ways, perhaps, but whose steps were no less shaky, no less unstable, than those of her peers. Where was she heading? How to reach that goal? And, most importantly, why was she doing this at all? Behind her facade of a fearless leader, crafted specifically to seem trustworthy, the pirate had had no idea. Lost and blind she'd been, like a fool who stared into the sun! As the time marched on, however, she had gotten wiser-- well, that, or at least better at pretending. Simply put, few things surprised her anymore. ...aside from, you see, most words that fell from the princess's lips, and by 'most', Iskra meant 'all of them'.)
Aren't weddings supposed to be fun? she thought, bitterly, upon being dragged to yet another pointless shopping trip. And why is wine needed to convince the stars of their love, anyway? Had Iskra been a bit more distrustful in nature, she would have come to the conclusion that Verity had fed her a bunch of pretty phrases-- that the real purpose behind this celebration, in fact, was to get everyone drunk under a pretext more noble than the usual 'hey man, my throat is parched.' But, of course, the pirate would never suspect Verity of such a thing! ...and her desire to avoid yet another pointless conversation in which the princess would try to convince her why this was essential, actually, was only about 30% of why she thought so. It'll be fine, Iskra told herself. Just smile and nod, and go with whatever she chooses. The princess, after all, understood the intricacies of wedding planning on a level so deep she could only dream about it-- arguing with her would have been as silly as trying to teach a fish how to swim, really. No, instead of indulging in such foolishness, Iskra would enjoy the beautiful day! The sun was shining, the air carried the smells of various spices, and if she listened hard enough, the pirate could hear...
...Verity threatening someone? Wait, what?! And, if Iskra heard correctly, then the context was... Oh, by the Shade. All the color drained from her face, indeed, when she realized the implications! You know, the implications of the princess losing her sword in a bet. (Would she gamble with her child's life, too? Because risking the loss of your weapon, the one thing that stood between you and your death, was just about as wise! On some level, the relationship was even more sacred, perhaps, and-- and--)
Iskra could have written a book or two about the true extent of Verity's treachery, but time didn't stop to accommodate her ruminations, and the situation quickly evolved into something that, uh... demanded her intervention, let's say. Oh no, you don't. Nobody touches Verity and lives! From behind, the pirate grabbed Cressida's hand, and twisted it. (The sound it made? A satisfying crack, which was a symphony to her ears!)
Needless to say, Cressida dropped her dagger. "Aaah! You-- you crazy bitch,"
"The name's Iskra," the captain supplied, oh so helpfully. With her free hand, she helped Verity stand up, and with the other? Well, she used it to bend the broken bone some more. "Now, will you be so kind as to give Verity her sword? I am sentimental, I admit, but I simply hate the idea of a weapon being separated from her wielder. It is a cruel, cruel thing to do."
"I-- I don't have it, I swear!" Cressida cried. "Like, you can't expect me to just carry it around in my pocket, especially after all those months. Let go of me, you brute!"
Hmm. Could she be lying? Pain was a powerful truth serum, so probably not, but even so-- this information was hardly helpful. "Where is it, then? Speak. Speak, and I shall let you go."
"...even if you don't like the answer?"
"Try and see."
"Fine," Cressida huffed, tears of pain in her eyes, "I buried it, okay? To please Neareida, the great water goddess. She asked for a sacrifice, so I provided it. Never, ever will you retrieve it! Powerful spirits guard it now, oh, they do, and they won't let you steal it. Oh no, no, no. If you know what's good for you," she spat out, "you'll let it go. You weren't worthy of such a weapon, anyway, now were you, princess? 'Cause if you had deserved it, you wouldn't have lost it in such a way. It was fate itself that declared you unfit! A pattern you must be very familiar with, considering... well, pretty much every major event in your life. No offense, though."