Legend of Ransera

Tick...tick...tick...tick

The sound was maddening. It was a hollow sound, somehow heavy and jarring with each iteration. As it counted down the seconds each and every tick was like a hammer into Milana's brain, threatening to dislodge her sanity. The small workshop used to be a sanctuary of sorts. Milana would often come here for solace, to get away from the stress and burdens of her normal life of nobility. Here her father could not reach her, the burning eyes of her brother didn't' judge her, and the memory of her mother didn't sit like a hole in her heart. Today, however...

Milana stared blankly at the workbench in front of her. It was covered in a number of metal pieces, leather straps, small hammers, and half-finished projects. In the corner a few poorly drawn circles were visible, their ink smudged and flaking in places. Everything was cluttered, and normally Milana didn't mind it. That was how Master Dillinger kept his own workspace, and as was so often the case the pupil took after the master in some respects.

The clocks and moving gears on the wall continued their symphony of madness, on and on and to Milana's ears, they seemed to grow louder. Squeezing her eyes shut she clapped her hands over her ears and leaned forward, putting her head on the table as she hummed softly to herself. That of course was a mistake. She knew that. When she closed her eyes she saw things. She saw David's eyes wide and blank, blood spilling from his mangled head and jaw. She saw the wandering spirits in anguish in the Storehouse and smelled the stench of blood that had soaked into the wood of the shipping crates. She saw claws elongate, eyes turning into those of a monster. She saw her, giving the order to root out an infestation, some her own people. She saw HIS face.

Knocking her forehead on the table Milana groaned, gritting her teeth as she shook her head. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. So how had it gotten so bad? Where did she go wrong? Her eyes opened and she stared down at her useless legs, and a pit opened in her stomach. It was then... no, even before that. When her mother died. Before that? Had Loras always been this way? Had she always been so blind? So helpless?

I will have what I want. His face bubbled into Milana's mind as she heard his voice, and she nearly screamed in frustration. He ripped her world apart. He took from her that very fragile, tenuous sense of contentment she had not realized she had started to rely on. He could kill her with a thought, no... less than a thought. She was so small in his eyes that killing her would be like stepping on an ant.

"I hate it..." the whisper hadn't been intentional, but the words choked out anyway, "I hate who I am. I hate it..."

She couldn't keep going like this. Raising her head slightly, Milana stared at the sharp edge of a carving knife just a breath away from her right hand. Its blade glittered dully in the flickering light of the lantern in the corner. Milana stared at that knife, at the flame, and after some hesitation, she reached for the handle.

Milana eyed the blade in her hands, one elbow resting on the table as she turned the knife over in her hands. As she looked at it her mind drifted to the clinic, to the sick there. All of her life she and her father and brothers had worked to keep those people alive. She was used to blood, even violence, and gore. She had set broken bones herself and held the knife to make a life-saving incision. Blood was crimson life, warm and slightly sticky when fresh and something closer to paste when the body had cooled. She'd worked with both, so why... Why did her memories of a few days before haunt her.

The knife flashed in the lantern light as Milana made a small cut on her thumb, frowning as her fingers were unpracticed and she had cut just a bit too deep. She had intended to make just a drop of blood flow from her, but now a thin line of red twisted down her palm and wound down her forearm to pull on the workbench. It wasn't a heavy flow, and Milana knew it would be easy to stop. She didn't, however, instead of watching the liquid in its path down her arm. Right now looking at her blood she felt... detached somehow. Similar to how she felt when in the clinic. So why... why did seeing those dried remains make her heart shudder, and her stomach lurch.

Monsters. her eyes closed, Those stains were not from healing. They were made by monsters. Monsters in my town, monsters that I... She couldn't finish the thought.

The wound still bled, but with a casual motion, Milana cut a strip of cloth from the hem of her dress and wrapped the wound. It quickly soaked red, but at least she wouldn't get blood on her tools anymore. Again she thought about that day, and feelings of helplessness and inferiority washed over her. A hand clutched at her chest and Milana slammed the knife into the workbench, leaving it standing and quivering where it stuck.

"What could I have done?" She almost shouted at the wall, hands gripping her hair and pulling, "I didn't know! It wasn't my fault, I could do nothing." her breathing became ragged as she lowered her head, still holding her head, "I couldn't... do anything."

That man's face came to her mind again, and this time she did scream. Once more Milana snatched the knife and threw it against the wall. It clattered to the floor with a loud thud, knocking a few pieces of equipment down as well. Breaths ragged she looked at the cluttered table, suddenly unable to stand the sight of the mess and in one motion she swept her arms across the table and sent everything clattering to the floor.

You are too naive. her aunt's voice was like a whisper in Milana's mind, tickling something deep in her soul as she stared at the empty workbench, But you will learn. We always learn. After it is too late.

What could she do? She was powerless. She could not see what was happening in her own town, and as a result, people were dead. She herself was powerless, helpless before the monsters that threatened Loras. That man had proven that to even the weakest creature she was useless, and if one like him decided to take everything from her...

"There would be nothing I could do..." The anger from before was gone now, and Milana was left feeling empty. She raised her injured hand in front of her face, leaning back and holding the limb high over her head. She studied the rapped thumb, a fog settling on her mind. She was so fragile. Thinking back he had swatted away her small kinetic wave with such casual ease that it would have been laughable if it hadn't been so pathetic. Afterward, she had ended up on the ground, crawling like a worm in the dirt until Strous had shown up to save her. A spark of anger appeared again in her soul, but was quickly masked by an overwhelming shame at her own powerlessness.

"I bleed so easily." She spoke softly. Her hand curled slowly into a fist which she rested against her forehead, closing her eyes with a sigh, "This body is too fragile. I'm broken, weak, useless..."

She could feel her connection to her magic even now, a slight tingling that sent a shiver up her spine if she focused on it. That magic was useless it seemed, at least at her current level. Besides, even Milana knew she would never be a front line fighter. Not with her useless body, unable to even stand or move on her own. She wasn't meant to protect other people, she was supposed to be protected...

Power in its truest form isn't force of arms, or might in the mystical arts. The cool voice of her aunt flickered through her mind, a lesson from long ago now suddenly coming to mind, If you have to resort to force then you have already lost the war.

The lecture had been about politics, specifically in negotiating favorable conditions for your own ends. It was a particularly boring lecture which Milana had only half listened to, but now suddenly she found herself picking the words apart.

Take this knife for instance. She had lifted a simple butter knife from the table where they sat, waving it in front of her face, Can I kill a man with this knife?

Of course not, Milana smiled as she remembered her answer, It isn't sharp enough. Besides if it were a knight in armor or even a general brute he would just overpower you.

True... but what if I sharpened the knife. She had then taken the life between her fingers, one nail chipping away until a slight point had begun to show at the tip, And let's say, instead of striking while this 'brute' was in front of me I waited instead until he had gotten drunk and passed out in his bed.

Well... The scenario at the time had made an odd knot form in Milana's stomach, but her aunt had continued, "Let's say, for good measure, that I owned the inn this man was staying in. I also ensured he drank from a cast tainted with a sleeping drought, and the innkeeper was in my employ and of loyal stock. When her eyes locked with Milana the look in them was hard, like steel, Could I then kill him with this knife?

Of course, but that would be--

Unair? Her aunt had finished, setting the knife down, Milana, life itself is not fair, especially to those like us... like you. If you hope to survive you have to be prepared to do whatever it takes, and more importantly, you must prepare every scenario so that you come out victorious.

Milana opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling in thought. Like her aunt had said, she wasn't suited for the traditional form of strength. She could not be the strongest or the swiftest. She wasn't a protector, as this season was quickly showing her... Yet still, she owed it to her people to be something more. How would she deal with another Taelian? What if more monsters came? Or if another authority threatened her people and their way of life? What could she do as she was now?

These thoughts and more raised through Milana's mind as she sat up straight. One hand rested on the table as she looked down at the mess she had made around the shop. With a sigh she tapped into her kinetics rune, feeling a thrum of power as she began to bring things back into their proper place. As she worked the noble began to think, to plan. The beginnings of an idea were forming. The question was... how would she pull it off?

XP Awarded - 5
Collaboration:Solo
Magic Experience: No
Injuries/Ailments: Cut on thumb (Ouch. Should be healed in about a week, I'd reckon.)
Awarded Lore:
Tactics: Weaken your opponent before striking
Tactics: Set the environment for your victory
Tactics: Strength isn't just brute force

(You can get six, and since you asked...)
Medicine - Binding a laceration
Survival - Ripping cloth for a bandage
Storytelling - Lessons through stories

Loot: N/A

Comments - The mental anguish that poor Milana was going through in this thread was almost palpable. I've not seen a character react to such sorrow by cutting themselves in a long time, but it felt very authentic. Her desire to change herself so that she can become better for Loras feels like the starting point for a fascinating quest, and I look forward to seeing how it is fulfilled. Altogether, a fantastic solo, and something I genuinely enjoyed reading through. Bravo.