Shed Skin of Il'sha-ah
Adra-sun-Ramun had fled the palace. Her father, Phaoris Hatfet II, had been killed by the High Priest of the Serpent, and now the High Priest would see her killed to end the line of Hatfet.In her haste to flee the temple, Adra-sun-Ramun had taken a heavy cloak from one of the Phaori-Kha, the private guards of the Phaoris. She could feel the blood upon it cooling in the night air as she hurried through the streets.
Looking down at her shaking hands, Adra-sun-Ramun saw the smudged gold paint still on her skin, some hand rubbed off on the cloak she wore, from her holding it shut. Her back likely smeared the inside of the rough-spun fabric as well. To hide, she would have to shed her skin, as the Serpent teaches.
In the distance she could hear the Temple Guard searching, so she would not have a great deal of time. Knowing this, she fled toward the fields of the great city of Il'sha-ah, toward the irrigation ditches, lined with limestone, to fling herself into the shallow water which swiftly shone gold as the paint washed clear.
The cloak discarded upon a low hedge of Papyri bushes, she rolled in the water, scrubbing her scales against the limestone bottom, hands frantically scrubbing over her arms, before she rose, dripping wet, and slithered through the hedgerows, bracelets cast aside, rings following suit. The farmer would find quite the harvest from this field, she thought to herself sullenly.
But when the time came to discard the armband her mother had given her, with the pearl inlay, Adra-sun-Ramun hesitated. She remembered her mother's kindness even up to her end. The care she showed in all of her actions. The love which welled up inside of her heart. And disobeyed the Serpent's edict. Not all scales would be shed, this night.
And in time, she would have her vengeance. The crackling power within her veins arced lightly between her fingertips before she clenched her fists to stop it. No. Her vengeance would be delayed. For now, she had only to escape the city.
Through the hedgerows she moved, low to the ground, darting from shadow to shadow as the twin moons shone down upon the world, bathing it in the blue glow of the season. Nearer, now, she heard the din of the priests in their search, saw the garish glow of their torches upon the dun-grey walls of huts and homes. Their voices were raised, calling the city to waken, to rouse, to the hunt for her.
They would. She knew this. For while her mother was kind, her father had been cruel to all around himself. And if the High Priest had felt he had authority, backing, to strike so boldly, the generals had joined his cause. Adra-sun-Ramun slipped down an alleyway, hoping to double back behind her pursuers, to hide among the dazed and confused populace following timidly in their wake.
For a time it worked. For her scales shone no more brightly than any others, what clothes she wore were fine, but without gilded adornment seemed no more wealthy than any merchant. But as the search neared the western wall, as she climbed around a pole near to the wall, a shout rose.
"The Sorcerer's Daughter! The Sorcerer's Daughter!" a young man's voice, soon joined in a cacophany of others crying for the guard. As archers took aim, lightning, green-gold, lanced through the air into their midst, and the Sorcerer's Daughter fled over the wall, her fingers still crackling.
