Sparky
Registered User
Barbarian meta-physics:
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Under the stars:
Rousing from a deep, restful sleep, or perhaps not, Rainca cannot discern just what is odd about the owl before darkness overtakes her again.
A great white Spirit Owl takes Rainca in its talons and flies far from Bluerun, far from herself. A ruined village. A filthy woman, her face clean only where tears have carved through the grime, labors in the street. She has gray eyes and dark hair... she is familiar. So familiar. The talons open and Rainca falls, tumbling toward the earth.
The young woman awakens with a start, the scream in her throat almost given voice. She takes a shuddering breath as a single white feather drifts in a spiraling arc down, down, onto her belly. She rolls onto her side covering her face with her hands, knees drawn up to her chest and cries a low, throaty, barely audible wail.
Rainca shakes her head, "Is the rain your Master? Or the wind?" She peers at Gath, "The Blood Father does not whip or drive. He does not demand worship. He simply is." The rugged woman's brows draw down, "But Rainca would know this: If Gath hates Masters, why does he wish to become one?" She shrugs releasing the topic to debate or rest.GPEKO said:Gath drinks with Rainca and listens to what she has to say but the practical half-orc doesn't really understand the deep spirituality of the young barbarian. He offers his own view of the world, thought. "Bah, Blood Father ? Laughter ? Those be Masters ? Gath want no Master. There be slave and Master. Gath still slave but want be Master soon !"
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Under the stars:
Rousing from a deep, restful sleep, or perhaps not, Rainca cannot discern just what is odd about the owl before darkness overtakes her again.
A great white Spirit Owl takes Rainca in its talons and flies far from Bluerun, far from herself. A ruined village. A filthy woman, her face clean only where tears have carved through the grime, labors in the street. She has gray eyes and dark hair... she is familiar. So familiar. The talons open and Rainca falls, tumbling toward the earth.
The young woman awakens with a start, the scream in her throat almost given voice. She takes a shuddering breath as a single white feather drifts in a spiraling arc down, down, onto her belly. She rolls onto her side covering her face with her hands, knees drawn up to her chest and cries a low, throaty, barely audible wail.