Suna - Nameless

[Tiberis79]

"Please!" The desperate young woman clutched the skirts of the elder healer.

And this is were the story really begins. Countless moments make a lifetime, but there are always these that truly define us. Those experiences in which a piece of our soul cements itself firmly in place.

A girl, not quite 13, tugs at the skirt of the old woman. Tears run down her face as she shouts, "If you let my mother die, Hala will die too! She's just a baby! Two deaths will be on your hands!"

Then. . . The impact and the girl is hurled back, hitting the ground with a hard thud. She presses up on her hands and knees, the world spins and she sees her blood hit the ground. Warm red rolls over her forehead. She remembered a sound, a crack. She looks up and the old woman is pointing a club at her and growling out, "Filthy nameless! Remember your place. You do not remember your dishonor but I was there! You and your line deserved banishment. They deserved death! I hope I hear your sisters starving wails like I heard my daughter. . . Beg. . ."

The old woman trailed off and her club began to lower. The young girl, dizzy and bleeding, crawled.

"Please," She begged, "Please... I know I've no right to demand. Please..."

She slumped by the woman's feet and kissed them, and the world went black.

"She demanded I use my precious supplies to heal -Nameless-," She heard the woman saying as she opened her eyes, "And not just any nameless... One of -that- line."

"I understand," The tall, thin man started, "I am very sorry. The nameless know we much fend for ourselves. I promise she will not bother you again."

She was out again. She woke to the sound of an angry, hungry infant. She scrambled to her feet and collected her sister, not even a year old, and wobbled towards her mother's sickbed. She knew her mother was too sick to come to Hala, so she brought Hala to her mother.

She grasped her mother's shoulder beneath the fur and froze. Her mother was stiff. Gods... She was so stiff.

Slowly she drew her hand back but the girl did not cry. She put Hala in her mother's papoose and adjusted it on her back. She went to the chief, blood still crusted in her thick red hair. The next moments seemed to swim by. Eventually Hala exhausted herself with hungry crying and fell asleep. No wet nurse would take her in the tribe; she was nameless. They told Suna to offer her to the gods; Take her into the woods, and leave her there.

So a young girl trudged into the woods with a dagger and a small staff. The high forest was not traveled lightly, and she was easy food. She would remember well the abject terror she felt, moving through the darkness. Any moment Hala could wake. Any moment she could cry.

She reached a peek between her tribe's camp and a wood elf settlement and put the papoose down. She was so tired. She opened the furs and looked at Hala. The biting cold must have been horrid against Hala's skin, and yet the infant only looked up at Suna placidly. Hala was a pink, wrinkled thing. Suna didn't know why people thought babies were so cute.

The infant reached a tiny hand into the air and impulsively Suna place a finger in her palm. Tiny fingers closed and Hala gave Suna her first ever smile. Suddenly, Hala was the most beautiful thing Suna had ever seen, and she wept.

She looked on to the elven settlement and back toward her camp. It was about the same distance, but she had encountered no predators this far and nameless were not allowed to have interactions with the trading partners of the tribe.

She looked at Hala, and there really wasn't a choice to be made. She wrapped Hala up. Suna slung the papoose onto her back and made her way to the settlement. A bit of desperate pleading, and she found an elven wet nurse that took pity on them. The elven milk might make her sick. . . But without it she would die for sure.

Suna returned to the tribe with an empty papoose. When the Chief found out nameless had been to the elven village and that an elven woman was caring for a nameless infant, the beatings were merciless. Some of it, Suna cannot even remember.

A few months passed and the elven woman arrived with a small, happy, squalling bundle. She delivered it to the Chief. The chief pretended a great service had been done to the tribe. He compensated her as best he could with fine furs and goods. As soon as she left. . . Suna paid for the goods given in more beatings.

Ultimately, she held Hala in her arms and none of it mattered.

[Tiberis79]

Suna grew up hard and she grew up fast. Not even nameless looked after nameless without a price, so she was alone to provide a sister and mother to Hala. Many times this meant Hala ate and she did not, but this was a happy price for her beloved Hala.



Times were hard, they were easy targets. Suna was beginning to develop a woman's body, and she was not unaware of the leering. Had any man had the mind, she knew no one would come when she screamed. Much of the time, they chose to sleep out of the camp and hidden in the underbrush. She called it an adventure and rewarded Hala for keeping quiet.

She grew tall and that is when they took note of her. She managed to stay out of trouble since her transgression to save her sister, and so she was one of three nameless her age chosen to be spearmaidens. They were trained with the named, but always last, and always chosen for the instructor to demonstrate techniques on. She remembered propping the spear between two trees and hanging by one arm on it, then holding it out and paying other nameless with the food she had not set aside for Hala to attempt to knock it from her small hands. She went hungry a lot, until they could no longer disarm her.

Her training paid off. Steady whispers spread in the tribe of the impressive nameless spearmaiden, as tall any man, and able to loft a spear and shield simultaneously. Hala began sneaking to the practices to watch Suna battle the named, and win.

[Tiberis79]

"Come quick! It's Hala!" Alfwin cried.

Alfwin was a fellow nameless spearmaiden. She had glommed on to Suna early.



Suna ran toward the commotion where Hala was being beaten by two young boys in their teens. Suna launched into the fray. Two boys hit the ground in dull thuds and one spearmaiden, now almost 21, stood before a shocked crowd.

"Go," She said to Hala and Hala disappeared into the forest.

Not that anyone would have cared that she was defending her sister, only 8 years old, but the boys said she attacked then without provocation. She held her tongue, as it simply didn't matter. They were named, and she and her sister were nameless. She was bound at the center of the camp for three days, where she was beaten at will by any who passed.

The first night, Hala slipped up to her in the darkness. Her little face bruised and one eye swollen shut. Suna looked into her eyes and said, "When they cut me down, they may banish me."

Hala shook her head, "That cannot be. The spirits say you will be named."

She had begun speaking that way a year back. She spoke of spirits and dreams, and it made her life bearable some how. Suna chuckled and groaned at her sore ribs.

"I do not want their names," Suna spat, "When they cut me down, let us leave. Let us take whatever nameless will go with us and start a new tribe."

Hala's ancient looking gaze bore into her. Suna cursed inwardly. Shaman or no, Hala was too young to look that way.

"The tribe of the dishonored?" Hala shook her head, "Many of them are too far gone. They will either betray us to the tribe or kill us at the first hard season so that they might eat."

"While here the named would just passively let us starve," Suna growled.

"You are angry," Hala said and sat before her, "You sound like you don't care, but you always care. This is where the spirits have told me I must be. I am needed here."

Hala drew some of the runes Suna had taught her and then Hala prayed. A subtle warmth hit Suna and she felt slightly more comfortable. Neither should have known the runes, but the spearmaiden's sparring yard was right beside where the shaman practiced and performed her rights. Suna watched, thought the rituals never gave her any power, she taught them to Hala.

"It's my purpose," Hala said, "I must stay. Our people have strayed, and I will be needed to help lead them some day."

Suna looked into the tiny, resolute face of her sister/daughter. She nodded once, "Then I shall make it my purpose to make the way for you."

Hala nodded and smiled, "I know you will. You must talk to the chief. You must choose your trials Suna. Do not let the chief choose. You must. The spirits will guide you."

Suna smiled in spite of herself. She thought a moment and asked, "Hey twerp... What did that fight start over anyway?"

"I told the truth," Hala responded, "My sister is the strongest spearmaiden in her group, perhaps the whole tribe!"

Of those that stopped to rough her up over those three days, not one wielder of spear was seen.

[Tiberis79]

She was cut down on the third day, hitting the ground with a dull thump. She was drug before the chief where, to her surprise, she was not banished. She was too great an asset in defense of the tribe. Countless were the numbers she had saved in combat. Even as nameless, they could not deny her this.

They did, however, wish to speak to her on her trails.

Suna's heart ran away with her. If she had some favor to spend with them, she wanted to spend it on Hala. She told them of Hala's gift and that Hala could not wait until her trials to be trained. Her pleas fell on deaf ears. The scoffed openly at Suna's claim that Hala should be the head shaman of the tribe some day.

The chief reminded her she was there to discuss her trails not her sister. The best her sister could hope for was to not be nameless. They wouldn't even consider her for head shaman unless she was the second in her line. Suna saw red.

"Fine," Suna sneered, "Then I wish to declare my own trials. I will embark on a spirit journey. I will return a shaman or not at all."

"You realize you will be leaving Hala here alone if that happens."

The sentence cut right through her, yet she felt this was the only way. She nodded slowly, and they openly laughed at her.

"She's lost her mind," One elder chuckled, "Too many blows to the head. If that is her response to our kindness in not banishing her to essentially banish herself. Let it be so."

And so it was agreed. Suna packed her bags. Hala did not seem surprised or scared. Alfwin scraped around the two promising to look after Hala. Suna knew that Alfwin had her own motivations, but it was still better than no one.

She stood at the town circle, she closed her eyes and centered herself. A shaman on journey would be sent off with the sound of drums. Those drums were meant to be the heartbeat of the world, but Suna was not accepted by the Shaman, and she expected no drums.

Thrap... Thrap... Thrap....

A single steady rythmn. The sound of spear rapping against shield. She opened her eyes and saw Alfwin tapping her shield somewhat meekly at first. Every spearmaiden and spearman was present, named and otherwise. Eyes fell to Alfwin and her rythmn stopped.

Another warrior looked at those present. He was no spear wiedler, but he'd fought at their side. He took it up, rapping his club agaist a stump.

thump... thump... thump...

Spear against shield, staff butt against ground, club against stump, fist against chest, and a heartbeat was formed. Suna walked slowly to the edge of town where Hala sat smiling.

"You see," Hala said, "Your tribesmen want something new to believe in. We are where we must be. Come home soon."

[Tiberis79]

First Name: Suna
Last Name:

Appearance:
Race: The Ghost Tree Tribe is an offshoot of the Uthgardt, separating from the Blue Bear Tribe in 1313. The Uthgardt were originally Rauthym refugees. The Blue Bear and the Ghost tree have generations of inter-mingling with the Netherese and robust trade with the wood elves of the high forest where they are semi-nomadic, errecting large camps, small villages and moving at least yearly.

Age: 20, almost 21.
Height: 6'3"
Eyes: wolfish silver blue
Hair: Thick, textured, and deep auburn.

Personality Profile:
General Health: Robust
Deity: Tempus
Initial Alignment: Choatic Good, ebbing into Nuetral Good over time.
Profession: Spearmaiden
Base Class & Proposed Development: Fighter/Shaman
Habits/Hobbies: Suna survives, she has no time for hobbies... Unless you count drinking.
Languages: Netherese, Elven, Common, Animal
Weapon of Choice: Spear

[Tiberis79]

The ground rushed up to meet her, and the air was forced from her lungs. She had been fighting non-stop for what seemed like hours. Still she knew time was distorted in battle. Disgruntled at her progress over them, tensions had run high at practice. She let her temper fly and shot back a snide remark to the spear master. His answer was to set her in a sparring match against the whole class. At least he only let them come one at a time.

She stood and forced air into her lungs. This was the seventh opponent, she had passed 17 winters. The spear man before her now was 6 winters her senior and he was making use of that experience against an exhausted girl. No... Against a woman, a mother, a sister. Against Suna, the strongest spear the tribe had seen in generations.

He was giving her a smug smile as he advanced. He was the first to knock her down. Suna made up in her mind that he would be the last. His advance faltered as his eyes met hers and she licked the blood from her lips. She was about to make use of the hesitation when the battle horn sounded in the thick of the woods.

She wasn't sure why she was remembering that at this moment. She went out into the woods to meet Magnussen, and her heart raced. She would normally have been relieved to leave the city. Tonight there was a not insignificant part of her that wished to run back to it.

Dating did not happen for nameless. Nameless coupled, because they were adults with needs, but they were not allowed to be married. The lines not able to prove themselves and return to full membership would die off in time. Yet, here she was, a fourth generation nameless. Her grandmother was not young when she became nameless thanks to the actions of her father. A pretty thing, and spite being the ugly creature it was, it was not long after that she turned up pregnant with Suna's mother. No father to claim her.

Her mother was also beautiful, and that beauty was a means to secure more food and better clothing. In spite of her best efforts to avoid it, she ended up pregnant with Suna, and then with Hala. Her mother was cold at best. Neither Suna nor Hala would ever know their fathers.


Suna's Mother

Suna vowed to herself not to fall in love, and to die before she allowed a man to take her forcibly. She would not bring more nameless into the tribe. Attraction was snuffed out, and she made herself distant and untouchable. Things... Change on the coast it seemed.

There she was, minding her own business, attempting to find a good spear and enjoy some ale. Magnussen approached her, recognizing her northern decent. Probably happy to see someone with some remote kinship to him, he offered to escort her to Beregost to look for better spears. He was a few times her superior in combat. She'd met a number like that since her arrival and it was humbling. Still she used it to drive her to train harder. Soon she found herself approaching him in level.

Old habits die hard. She used her wit and lashing tongue to push him back. Yet, as they spent more time in battle together, there was a way he would respond to her that made her think he wouldn't care that she she was nameless. There was a respect he afforded her that had her believing she was Suna to him, and that was what mattered. She found herself asking for his company on the road, and he asked hers. Subtle innuendos gave way to not so subtle ones. Still she did not let herself believe his interest.

Then it happened. She was hunting in the dark with a girl named Sally. It was just Gnolls and Suna was stout. However, a group of far more powerful than normal Gnoll Shamans descended on them and a losing battle began. She held them as long as she could, she vaguely remembered yelling to Sally to run, and then darkness.

She awoke surrounded by powerful adventurers that were investigating a disturbance in the caves. One of them had raised her, and another was tending Sally's injuries. Suna shoved to her feet and addressed her own wounds. Suna had trouble hitting the waves of foes to follow. Still she could take a hit; the few that the Gnolls could land on her. She made herself useful holding the line so that the casters could pelt them with spells.

Then the waves of undead began, with incorporeal spirits. This is where, if her shaman training had been yielding an fruit, she should have been of use. She knew of one powerful shaman on the coast. She had been seeking the shaman for training. That shaman was not here, and though she muttered the rights almost instinctively now, nothing happened. She continued to be a blunt instrument, until a banshee rose in her sights and killed her again with its wailing.

She would die again before the night was out. She was less and less effective as the night continued. She could live with falling in battle. She never shied from holding the line as long as she could. Failing in her true mission, her whole reason for being on the coast, was what dug at her.

She found herself telling the story to Magnussen. Why was she suddenly so willing to confide in him? This was dangerous... She'd taken to calling him "trouble" and he was. Trouble for her heart and a distraction on her mission. There she was... Telling him everything. It started with a talk on the events of the night before, and falling in battle so many times. It evolved into trading life stories. Soon he knew she was nameless, and exactly what that meant. Rauthym tribes had a similar custom, so he knew rather distinctly and better than most, what she was.

This is where he should have turned away. This is where he should have shown disgust. This is not where she expect him to pledge his aid to her. Still she jeered him. A fact she found herself apologizing for and explaining. Why was her tongue running away with her in his presence?

And then he kissed her and the world was warmer than it had ever been. She didn't have it in her to admit it was the first time someone had kissed her. Two had tried, and she had laid them flat for the trouble. She was beautiful, if intimidating, and tall, but not used to honest male attention. A kiss was as far as it went, and she made sure to be gone from the campsite before he rose.

That was near a week ago... His attention on her did not waver, and found herself leaning into his side. She enjoyed his company and now was enjoying his closeness. She found herself wanting more and yet... Dreading it.

Now they camped together, and still nothing further had happened in spite of the flirting. All they ever did was kiss, his continued respect for her anxiety was shown. Did she dare to tell him why she was so afraid? She did dare to admit she was afraid? Did she even understand what they were to each other? Many nameless had secret relationships. Named lovers might steal their kisses and never openly claim them.

Whatever they were, she wasn't ruining it. It was what it was for now, and until he grew impatient with her unwillingness to let it go further, she would steal as many affectionate kisses as she could have. She found herself starved for them. Starved for the closeness she felt in his arms.

Back in her memories the battle was won. She'd saved many of the people who had just taken turns beating her. That named spear man approach and dressed her wounds. He never spoke, but gratitude and shame graced his feature. In Netherese he later said she had more valor than half of tribe combined. Were she name, he might have considered her a fine wife for his younger brother... Were she named.

He'd then later tried to steal her first kiss. She dodged and her fist came up into his nose. For weeks he claimed the injury came from sparring, but he went back to insulting her and spitting in her direction. She would save his life at least twice more before leaving, but finding her un-receptive to being his secret mistress, he never again treated her as anything but nameless.

She knew who and what she was back home... Did she dare to hope to be more here? She made her way to his side again, tender smiles and warm glances, and only kisses. She would take as much of that as he gave her until his patience ran out. She would enjoy the rush of heat to her cheeks when he looked at her. She was not prone to blushing, yet around him she did it all the time. It was nice.

They ventured forth on their missions for the day, and when it came time to take the Orc chief's head the battle was vicious. A few times she wondered if she would survive it.



She couldn't keep letting Hala down. Suna was the only one between Hala and the life Suna had. Suna was all there was to stand between Hala and more nights of terror and hiding. She wanted Hala not to have to fight to be who she was. She wanted Hala to know respect and honor, and acceptance. She wanted Hala to have warm kisses without wondering if her lover felt shame for it. She wanted Hala to have children without weeping for the life before them.

Somewhere in the battle something ignited in her. She saw red and the remaining moments blurred together. She stood over the corpse as Derik Ranloss joined them. Magnussen was staring at her. Derik came in and tapped his blade against hers. She looked down. The men could see that the blade crackled with frost, but she saw more. She saw the natural energies surrounding the blade.

"Congratulations, shamaness Suna Bladefrost," Derik said and moved on to the chests beyond the chief's chambers.

Her name would be "Spiritwalk" when she returned home, but Bladefrost worked for now. She contained the joy singing in her heart. After all, they were still two levels deep in an orc den.

This was another of those moments. A moment where something fell into place and cemented itself. Her spells were weak, and half the time they fizzled. Still, she felt invincible.

[Tiberis79]

Her progress seemed to stall since the incident... She did as Tempus would have her do. She was sure of it. Still, what she witnessed left her feeling ill, it twisted against everything she believed.

"Your honor holds the battlefield, NOT your enemies. Valor and honor and integrity are the things we suffer for in following the foehammer. We do not suffer it upon others. If you make a challenge of single combat, it shall be single combat regardless of the enemy's vileness, lest your honor means nothing. Even simple knights, even paladins of other deities recognize this fundamental truth of honor. How can we, of Tempus, do less? So I say that any 'friend' that would aid you in single combat or seek vengeance if your foe should win is no friend. They tread upon your honor and spit upon your name."

She remembered the spear master's words as they drilled. Again and again and he walked between them, preaching as to what their conduct as spears should always be. "Even simple knights, even paladins of other deities recognize this fundamental truth of honor."

Yet Kald excused... Even venerated the actions of Thedran. What was -wrong- with the peoples of the coast? More rumors since. Kald hired Drogo to spy upon the Halls, and Thedran killed Drogo... Where was the honor there? Hiring and then assassinating an Ebon Blade? It made her wonder what Drogo knew... What had he seen?

He was not a good man, Drogo. Suna rather detested him, but how was it that when a man is hired by and order and dies by that order's hands that no one asks questions? How about an obvious one? Why is a paladin order hiring an Ebon blade to spy on a temple?

They called the man in black (Corvin? She thinks they called him) a necromancer because he used a single necromantic spell in desperation toward the end. They used it to justify themselves, but one of the Shaman of her own tribe was rumored to have been able to cast the spell "Vampiric Feast". If casting a single necromantic spell, even of such power, made you a necromancer, what could be said for every caster who used deathward? It was self-justification after the fact is what it was... Excuses.

Until then he'd only cast spells she herself recognized for their natural energies. There was certainly something dark in him... But a necromancer? No. She shook her head and picked up her sending amulet. She hadn't sent to Hala in days...

Hala is the reason I am here. I have to get stronger. I can't get tangled in these things.

She'd not seen Magnussen in weeks either, Emigro and Derik had been some help to her but she still felt torn. Why? She'd seen plenty inside her own tribe with no honor. She looked down at her spear... Was it possible that now that she felt she could do something, she felt she had a duty to?

"My only duty is to my sister!" She argued, "I am no one! I am here to pave her way! She will be Hala Spiritwalk! She will be the tribe's Shaman on day! She will change everything!"

She yelled it at the air and somehow only felt colder for expending the heat in her lungs.

Enough of this. I am here for one purpose, and I will not forget it! She lifted her spear and spoke to it.

"I am Shamaness Suna Bladefrost. I am on a holy mission to make the way for Hala Spiritwalk and that is my strength of purpose. There is no other plan. No other mission."

[Tiberis79]

He stopped replying to her sendings. Were he less of a man, and she less sure of her place with him, she might have thought he was leaving her. This was not a lesser man however, this was Magnussen.

She knew where he had been headed last, so she strapped her tower shield across her back and used her spear as a walking staff. Quite a sight she must have been; a tall, hard woman with a turtle shell of a shield on her back and a flaming staff to light her way. Her cold silver-blue eyes cleared the path for her. She had no time for nonsense and most of the brigands of the trade way seemed to cower from the energy she exuded. There were one or two that made the mistake, and she left them where she dropped them.

She found the village and asked around. No one knew the warrior, so perhaps he had never made it there. She turned to her tracking skills and head back in the direction he would have been coming from. She searched and searched, knowing that each day that passed the trail got colder. She finally found a set of 3, maybe 4, booted tracks.

There was a scene of cut trees and trampled underbrush. As she moved about it her heart grew heavier and her gut twisted. Then on the far edge she found a set of two tracks, and the skid of a third body being drug away. She followed the trail, muttering every prayer she knew.

Then a clearing... And a large... Black... Charred rectangle at the center.

She forced herself to move closer. Time seemed to slow. Silver scales from scale armor stuck up in odd, deflated directions from a mass in the center and sitting on top of them...

His mother's necklace...

She hit her knees and yanked it out of the mess. She tried frantically to clean it. It had to be made right. It was precious to him. All at once she seemed to realize what she was doing. She took a breath and she used the power that the spirits had gifted her. She reached beyond the veil and asked the question...

Does he move with you now, spirits? Does he make his way to to his final rest?

The answer was quick like the sharpest knife, but hit her like thunder. It was blunt trauma and flattened her lungs. They affirmed her fear, but in this land people do not stay dead unless they wish to. She would shed no tears... Not yet. There was hope even without a body.

For months she crawled through in dark dungeons and caves. It was battle after battle, frantically searching. When there was no evil worthy of plunder, she wielded a mining pick as if he had any clue how to mine. She was aware of how blindly she flailed at the darkness, and how ridiculous she was swinging away at what ever rock offended her today. She scoured the coast for an elusive blue diamond, to the rhythm of her mining pick. It sounded in her ears like a heartbeat... His heartbeat...

Wearily, she opened yet another chest. Behind her, a great black dragon was motionless and its corpse bore the deep gashes of her spear. The light of her spear trickled into the chest and reflected back blue. The joy that filled her in that moment could not be measured. She ran to the nearest temple and demanded the strongest priest. She had two stacks of resurrection scrolls with her as well... She left nothing to chance.

The priest said the words, the weave danced in a way that could be felt resonating off of every wall. Her eyes welled with the first tears she might had shed since she was a very small girl. Tears of happiness threatened to drown her and then...

Nothing...

The blue diamond was still there... Magnussen was not. The priest rubbed his chin and looked at her. He sadly shook his head. She roared and pulled out her scrolls, she cast every single one of them until the last one burned up in her fingertips. Then, even though far more than 24 hours had past she tried her own shamanistic ability to recall a spirit. There was no answer.

She stood over the gem. She stared into it. Then she turned and left it on the altar. It was worthless to her now.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

She remembered a sound, a crack. She looks up and the old woman is pointing a club at her and growling out, "Filthy nameless! Remember your place. You do not remember your dishonor but I was there! You and your line deserved banishment. They deserved death! I hope I hear your sisters starving wails like I heard my daughter. . . Beg. . ."

The old woman trailed off and her club began to lower. The young girl, dizzy and bleeding, crawled.

"Please," Suna begged, "Please... I know I've no right to demand. But please..."

I will never beg again...

---------------------------------------------------------------------

She woke to the sound of an angry, hungry infant. She scrambled to her feet and collected her sister, not even a year old, and wobbled towards her mother's sickbed. She knew her mother was too sick to come to Hala, so she brought Hala to her mother.

She grasped her mother's shoulder beneath the fur and froze. Her mother was stiff. Gods... She was so stiff.

Slowly she drew her hand back but the girl did not cry. She put Hala in her mother's papoose and adjusted it on her back.

I will never cry again...

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Suna grew up hard and she grew up fast. Not even nameless looked after nameless without a price, so she was alone to provide a sister and mother to Hala. Many times this meant Hala ate and she did not, but this was a happy price for her beloved Hala.

Times were hard, they were easy targets. Suna was beginning to develop a woman's body, and she was not unaware of the leering. Had any man had the mind, she knew no one would come when she screamed. Much of the time, they chose to sleep out of the camp and hidden in the underbrush. She called it an adventure and rewarded Hala for keeping quiet.

I will be strong... For her...

--------------------------------------------------------------------

She stood at the town circle, she closed her eyes and centered herself. A shaman on journey would be sent off with the sound of drums. Those drums were meant to be the heartbeat of the world, but Suna was not accepted by the Shaman, and she expected no drums.

Thrap... Thrap... Thrap....

A single steady rythmn. The sound of spear rapping against shield. She opened her eyes and saw Alfwin tapping her shield somewhat meekly at first. Every spearmaiden and spearman was present, named and otherwise. Eyes fell to Alfwin and her rythmn stopped.

Another warrior looked at those present. He was no spear wiedler, but he'd fought at their side. He took it up, rapping his club agaist a stump.

thump... thump... thump...

Spear against shield, staff butt against ground, club against stump, fist against chest, and a heartbeat was formed. Suna walked slowly to the edge of town where Hala sat smiling.

I will return victorious...

-----------------------------------------------------------------

His heartbeat rang in her ears as she all but leveled every den of thieves, every orc stronghold, every place the gnolls and the hobgoblins thought that they could hide. She looked for the murders of her love. She pursued every lead. She scoured every dark corner at a tireless pace, and still there were no tears. Then in the rain, mud, and blood her weary legs gave way beneath her and she slid to the bottom of a slick slope. There she laid in the filth and shivered at the bitter cold soaking into her bones.

Did I really expect him to come back for me? I'm nameless...

There she laid for the night and into the next day. Her armor bore many hastey patches from her constant fighting. They were a metaphor for the threads that barely held her spirit together.

But this was Suna's strength. Just when the world might have believed her finally broken, her hand found her spear. She dug it into the slope and climbed, she roared and cursed and howled, but she did not give up no matter how many times the earth gave way. At the top she yelled at the sky. She screamed out her rage.

She needed to tell his friends he was dead. They needed to know he wasn't coming back. She needed to complete her trials and make the way for Hala. Now was not the time to submit. She marched without food or rest until she reached the last anchor. She looked into the eyes of Derik Ranloss, and she reported like any good soldier.

Magnussen is dead.

... Never did a single tear fall.

[Tiberis79]

He held her against his chest and his heartbeat rang in her ears. Only here... Only here could she cry. His voice caused his chest to rumble beneath her as she stroked her hair and asked, "Crying? I have never seen you cry."

"Because you're not here," She whimpered, turning her face into his chest and sobbing out the words, "You're gone, you're gone forever. I curse the herbs you took to keep us from conceiving. I curse that fact that I am l left with nothing of you. Nothing but your necklace... Nothing... It's not fair."

"No..." He murmured, "It's never -...."

All the sound was suddenly gone in the dream. She looked into his warm eyes and smile. SHe saw his lips move but heard nothing. He began to fade away.

"No!" She tried to howl in that noiseless vacuum, "No, don't go! Please!"

Tears rolled off her face as he faded completely, "NO! I need to tell you! I need to tell you that I-"

Silver eyes opened to her empty tent. She touched her very dry face. She'd taken to sleeping on the right side, still making room for another person who was never going to be there again. She buried her face in the furs they always slept in, seeking his scent. Months had weathered it out... There was not a trace to be found.

She sat up and went outside to watch the sunrise. Hard, cold eyes watched another endless day dawning. She had two missions in life now... She must return to Hala, and she must find the people who took him from her.

"They will see me coming," She promised to the morning air, "They will know my face as they are impaled upon my spear."

[Tiberis79]

She woke up to the dew kissed morning, still on the side of the tent. She stared blankly ahead for a moment. What had happened last night? Everything was fine and then just started to break...

Oth and Tellae... They we messing around. It was funny. It was hilarious. For a second she felt joy and fell over laughing. Once the gates had been opened, once one emotion trickled out, they all came in a flood. She trembled from the force as she tried to collect them all and tried to push them back into their cage. While she was trying to push them back Oth and Tellae were asking questions. She could not fight the battle on two fronts, so she let her mouth run away with her while she was plugging the holes. Everything felt like it was coming apart.

The questions... They fed the flood of emotion threatening to break her. What were they talking about? Asking me to pray? For myself? For my own stupid, selfish reasons.

It's not the God's fault I didn't tell him...

She stared at the empty space as the sun grew higher in the sky. She couldn't have told you how long. A few times the thought to get up, but didn't move. By this time of day she'd have killed breakfast, and done some training. There she was, still in bed. The world was different somehow. It was colorless, the songs from the birds were flat and lifeless. There was a near-paralyzing pain deep in her chest. So she stayed there.

An entire existence built on the purpose of protecting and making the way for her sister... She'd given up dreaming for herself, pitying herself, or caring about her own destiny long ago. Everyone had a purpose, and hers was to make the way for Hala. Was she being punished for not focusing enough on that? Had she been selfish to fall in love? To have something so precious for herself? It wasn't her place. The nameless do not get to be in love. She had a holy mission and she'd let herself have this happiness. She should have known the Gods would take it from her.

She was born bare... And ever time she thought to cover herself she'd been stripped emotionally and made to bleed while the world watched. While others crumbled and folded into themselves she found her purpose in this bleak existence. She knew her place and she found honor in it, and duty.

Hala...

She made herself into Hala's shield. When she'd fought to protect the tribe, it was really only Hala she saw. If the line broke, it would threaten Hala. When she should have been down, when she should have given up, and at the bottom of that muddy pit, it was Hala she got up for.

Get up... A snarling voice echoed in her mind. Get up Suna! Lest Shar find you in this state and claim you.

She suddenly found her reality split. She both laid in the tent and stood in a misty void before a great white wolf. The wolf growled at her.

Get up, Suna... Hala needs you to continue. Your friends need you to continue. You have more purpose than you yet know. Do not fall here. Not like this.

Get up...

Suna...

GET UP!

Her arm moved slowly and she propped herself upon it. All the while the great white wolf growled at her howling for her to get up. She rolled slowly putting her feet under her.

Suna Bladefrost does not whimper... She does not cower in bed. She has a divine purpose and strength beyond measure. She is chosen of the spirits and she will walk among them. She will take her sister's hand and lead her down that road as well. Stand, Suna, there is work to be done. It is time you began you mission in earnest. Time you bartered for your power with the great spirits of the land and sought the knowledge that has been denied you.

She found herself standing. Everything hurt... But she was standing.

You may be knocked down... But you always get up.

[Tiberis79]

She grew more in tune by the rituals every day, but she'd be lying if she did not admit the hole in her heart left by Magnussen's death did not ocassionally seep. She would not deny that she still felt the wind howl through it.

She had taken on a new love. It had been gradual, almost snuck up on her, and to those that watched it budding the reaction was mixed. They were a bit of an odd couple. She was a gruff tribeswoman, cold, hard, and distant. He was a knight of justice, battle ready but well immersed in more polite company and lofty, tactful speeches. Her towering stature added to the oddity of the pair together. He was the type you expected to pick up a small princess and lock her safely in his tower, yet there he stood with a beast of a woman beside him.

She was surprised at first to the reaction in the differences of their ages. In tribal life older warriors who had been denied the joys of family through their service were often married off to young brides. It was a way to give them the family they had not had time to pursue in honor of the protection they gave. She had not even considered his age, near double hers, until it was mentioned.

"Aren't you afraid you'll break him?" A friend had whispered.

Given the fact that this man had regularly tossed her about like she were a tiny, dainty princess... No... No, she was not afraid she would break him.

Still she wondered if he could be satisfied with a woman so out of his normal world. There had already been a major disagreement on a spirit that they encountered and how he wanted to deal with it. Would the new wear off and he find that the things that made her interesting to him would eventually become major annoyances? Was she perhaps a form of later life crisis of self for him? Was this all to soon for her tattered heart? Magnussen had gone missing, died months ago, but she had only returned from her quest to find and then to resurrect him maybe a month ago.

Life outside of the tribe was confusing. No one cared that she was a nameless here. No of then denied her the name she claimed without completing her trials. Love, as cold and agressive as she was, sought her it seemed.

Only time would tell. She took out her sending amulet and said goodnight to Hala. Suna would return soon to face the elder shaman and see Hala named. However, Suna still had to figure out how to tell Hala... Suna had no intention of staying after. This world was complex, but so much brighter.