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You were created to be fearless. There is a difference between courage and fearlessness. Courage requires the remote chance of fear to take hold. A man can only be courageous when fear is present. You are different however, fear will not, and cannot affect you. Your soul, body, heart, and minds has been through the worst hell a person can imagine. Fear is the least of your concern; you will strive for violence, chaos, and in the end order. You will destroy, rebuild, and reshape this world to a better image. You are the Ebon Blades, the King’s chosen, and you know no fear. Lord Fredric Raddox. High Reaper of the Ebon Blade.
From Dusk Rose Tower - A Blog of Stories and Journals for Elves Tied to House Blackwood.
The quill came to a sudden halt as the sound of a near silent footstep snared Cere’thien’s attention. Without hesitation, three blades were withdrawn from a sheathe from her wrist – and hurled to the edge of the space that she kept as her small retreat. A hiss followed the rather stoic action from the priestess. “… Well. Someone is rather violent,” called the gravelly baritone. The fair haired man pulled two of the blades from the armour covering his boot – and caught the third before it hit him in the eye.
A chuckle followed. “You’ve still got to work on that aim, and your speed is a trifle–”
Cere’thien simply threw four more such small, thin blades in response – each landing so that they formed a square shape around the man. “What is it y-you want, and why are y-you here, M-master Ruaelin? I s-said I wished no one t-to disturb m-me.” There was a wildness to her voice that gave the ranger a brief pause as he raised his brows, the action tugging slightly on the scarring upon his face. Bending down through the foliage – he collected the blades she’d thrown at him, looking at the make.
“Simple, lady. You’re being ridiculous over something so small.” Ruaelin folded his arms, and peered at Cere’thien as she sat next to her tent, working on the fletching of several rather fine, black arrows. “You’ve duties, and we need you,” he said bluntly, and rather curtly. “The Magisters have been asking questions, and do not feel you’re fit to demand the change regarding the position of our people,” he continued, moving closer and setting the weapons down at her side. “At least one aide of the Ranger-General is … uncertain that the Sunguard is the right idea for House Blackwood to follow completely.”
Cere’thien snorted. “S-since when do I c-care what those f-fools think I s-should and s-should not do?” She ran her fingers along the shaft of the living wood comprised arrow, revealing the sigils hidden there. This one would cause the person it hit to catch fire without burning the arrow itself. “The only ones that interest m-me are the aides c-closest to Halduron Brightwing. The r-rest can go choke on their own s-sense of s-superiority. S-sun knows they’ve enough of it,” she said plainly, brushing a hand through her hair.
That he’d deliberately disregarded her orders was both bad, and good at once, the Confessor was aware. Her pale brows knit thoughtfully.“For your d-disregard of a d-direct order – you may spend the n-next week c-cleaning bedding … of the entire Lair. You’ll be assigned t-to undermaid Celenias.” she said in airy tones while Ruaelin’s expression shifted to a blend of horror and considerable rage. It took considerable effort not to laugh at that point. “B-be thankful that I am n-not assigning you to k-kitchen duties in addition to what you have already,” she said quietly. Cere’thien was always a fan of granting the most annoying tasks to those that seemed to be hard of hearing in her presence.
A faint snarl issued from the elder ranger, but he slowly managed to bow his head. It was in fact, true that he believed a woman had no business leading House Blackwood, and Cere’thien was painfully aware of the divisions among her own. It had in part been her plan in shifting a thousand of her best to the guard and as a result, to Vaelrin’s very capable hands – it would defray the noise from the naysayers she had to deal with. One that Ruaelin surprisingly agreed with. Of course, when one’s mother was the daughter of a pirate, and the sister of a “legal” smuggler – and one’s father was a bastard of House Blackwood – the views on the actions of many a noble was … perhaps less than perfectly traditional.
“Yes … my lady,” he ground out after several moments of silence.
Unbending and Unbreaking, we stand in the shadows of the trees and touch the sea with roots as old memory. Leaves of silver, and wood gone black, thorns as grey morning light. We answer to the wild, forever and always - Blackwood Oath.
Edited by Cerethien on 2/2/2013 1:16 PM PST
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