Everything changed the moment she finally mastered her ability to focus all of her rage and anger and hatred into a single strike of her sword. For all of the years that she had practiced and worked for it, now, suddenly, it was part of her. And with that, things began to fall into place where before they had seemed almost lost. The Lost Sister had returned, and with it she brought with her the darkness in her blood.
Blood.
She had received a message of a sword that may strike her interest, and indeed it had. The sword had unique qualities, being able to absorb the blood of her enemies as she struck them down and heal her own wounds in the process. The blood rejuvenated her with newfound energy to pursure her goals. She had hidden from the hell orb of the day long enough, and it was time for her enemies to face her own darkness.
Nym'roos had also returned from whatever he was doing in Katherian, as if he suddenly remembered the apprentice that he had failed to continue to teach. She could no longer rely on him, but in many ways, she had learned that while useful, she did not have to rely on him. Her anger at his weaknesses with his dalliances with the darthir had finally been pushed back behind a newfound purpose and an entertaining new alliance.
The Pit-spawn had made her an offer years ago, but now there was little left to stop her from pursuing new alliances. The Deep was inaccessable at the moment. If she was to return, she would need an army. And now with her new goals, one day perhaps there would be one. She was not the only one building her forces though, as she soon learned from Nym'roos. He too wanted an army, and he wanted her as his second. She had her reservations about the arrangement, but she decided to keep both of her options open and pursue her own goals with the pit-spawn as well as aid her mentor in his own. She would learn everything she could from both of them, and in the end, she knew that she could likely use whatever she needed to further herself, or against them. Whichever was necessary.
Nym, at the very least, finally seemed to have a renewed darkness about him. Perhaps he had stopped trying to go native with the weaker paleskins. His weakness, she decided, would not be her undoing.
And so, she returned to the demon-blooded monster and started furthering her training in differing techniques than those of her blademaster. And the study would be as intoxicating as the blood that her sword, and she, hungered for so constantly.
Kalandi’ira knelt down before the priestess, her head lowered and her neck bare to show her submission to the temple and to the chosen vessels of the Dark Mother’s gifts. She had been summoned in such a way that indicated that the priestess was not to be trifled with. There had been talk since she had returned many months past. There had been a grave mistake made by a powerful sorcerer and the so-called prophet of the Father of Spiders. But yet, this priestess had become known by a new name as her story was told. To’ryll Solen- The Mother of Spiders.
The priestess paced back and forth as she gave her orders to her soldier of the temple. In her words, the orders were simple. The task force was to leave the Deep in search of the surface stronghold of the sorcerer Ni’haer Helviviir and join him by any means necessary. Then, once inside, she was to send back any information to the temple by contacts at certain known entrances that she would be able to find.
She was to not reveal any knowledge of the Mother of Spiders or let her mission be known to anyone associated with Ni’haer. If she failed in her task, she would be killed or exiled.
The Mother of Spiders asked her name.
“Cal’tana Hun’sek, priestess,” she replied without lifting her face.
There was a smile in the priestess’s voice. “Noble Darkness, indeed. Go get me what I want, Cal’tana, and you’ll be rewarded.”
Kala’s eyes opened slowly as the reverie found its end for the moment. The blue-tinted chest of the Pit-blood rose and fell steadily beneath her cheek. She closed her eyes again, this time to focus her thoughts back to her recent training, forcing out the aches in her body from its recent uses to concentrate on her other senses.
Taste… The leftover taste of wine of decent vintage still lingered about the edges of her mouth as well as the slight coppery taste of blood. She smiled slightly before focusing once more and licked her lips to taste just a bit of sweat. She focused on each of the individual tastes and then savored the three together for a moment before she was satisfied enough to move on.
Smell… She took a slow deep breath in through her nose as she considered the scents around her. Him. She could certainly smell him and his own individual scent. She tried to shut him out and focus on anything else. The smell of the wine still left in the goblet beside the bed. She also could smell various scents wafting up from the tavern below- scents so different and varied from what she had known in the Deep. Her stomach twisted to let her know that she was hungry.
Sound… She could hear the Pit-blood’s heart beating in her ear, a steady constant rhythm so like her own as if reminding her that they may not be as different as it might appear. His breath joined in the chorus with its own accompaniment to the drumming of his heart in an effort to lull her back into her reverie. There was water dripping against the window panes on the other side of the room, and the wind had picked up once more with a storm from the sea. For several minutes, Kala lay very still, listening to the rhythms of heart and breath and wind and rain coming to her through the darkness. In her mind’s eye she could see exactly where each element came from inside the room in proximity to her. Laughter. There was laughter and conversation coming up from the tavern below, and just the barest thread of music.
Touch. Touch was the Pit-blood’s favorite lesson as they trained, but while it made it the most entertaining, it was also the most challenging to her focus. At least while he was still she could concentrate. She shut out the sounds and the smells and focused on what she felt. Her body ached. They had been training hard for several days, and each night they explored other aspects of their interests until every muscle in her body ached and begged for the distant recovery and reflection that reverie promised. The first thing she could feel was the warmth of his skin against hers and the hardened tone of muscle and bone beneath even in its relaxed state. The soft silk of the sheet that rested lightly over them she could feel only halfway up her back, leaving the upper portion bare enough to feel a draft coming from the northern winds beating against the window. She shivered as the cool air brushed against her and her skin prickled from the cold. A large arm raised to rest lightly against her back, holding her lazily and still protecting her from the cold.
“Protect those who are not your enemies,” he’d said was one of the tenets of his code. Apparently he did not think of her as an enemy. The feeling, she decided, was not something that was likely to ever be mutual. Everyone was an enemy to her. It was the only way to survive. Kill, or be killed. To trust was a quick way to meet a sure death.
“Go get me what I want, Cal’tana, and you’ll be rewarded,” the priestess’s voice echoed in her memory as she slipped back into her reverie. This time, though, as the pit-blood’s arm held her, her mind drifted back again to the stronghold of the sorcerer Ni’haer, and the place where her mind always tended to wander beyond pain and torment into her deepest fears, darkness, and the madness of a broken mind. She had not given her enough of what she wanted. She had not been killed, or even officially exiled. She had simply been forgotten. The Lost Sister, living up to her name once more.