Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-28358106-20180712015446

Tirush's hackles begin to rise as Barnabus tells them that they can't leave. His words fall on a fiery soul that has seen too much death and has been away from family for too long. A black anger swells in her breast, as this undead creature tells her that she is not allowed to leave. In an instant, what remained of her goodwill is wiped away, replacing reason and restraint with indignant, trembling fury, held in check only by a few seconds and her proximity to Jorge.

Now, she hated the undead. She didn't understand them. It wasn't that she didn't understand what was happening; she had full comprehension. It was that now, having been told that she couldn't go home and had to fight someone else's battle, she stopped caring. Why should she?

Who had helped her when she was driven from her home, her people enslaved and slaughtered, driven to near extinction? Who had helped her when, her daughter newly hatched, her husband was killed in war and she was forced to flee? Had anyone helped her when, alone and starving, she had to leave her tiny child alone in the freezing rain, to hunt that they would live for another day or two? Who helped her when her baby cried in the cold, for having nothing to eat, because they had no food and her breast was dry? Was anyone there to comfort her shattering loneliness, having lost her husband, raising her daughter alone in the vast wasteland of the north? Did anyone help them when the dragonslayers nearly caught her young daughter, separating them from each other, nearly killing her? Did anyone help her reunite with her daughter?

One man did. The man who would become her Danthe.

But she was here, and not with him. She was forced to stay. And now, the one who her Danthe once called friend was swathed in evil, intending on killing her, betraying her husband as well. This man was going to try to lay her low in a cold and desolate place, far from her family, where she had no choice but to ally herself with one she hated more than any other.

She watched Marcus rise again, and her rage came full circle, compressing into an inward, seething fury. The only thing that prevented her from turning primal was the fact that she was so close to Jorge. It would have killed him instantly, and obliterated the others.

Like the rattling of the bones of the deep earth, the Miiraad swelled inside her, the rhythmic voice of the First Flame speaking its words in her soul, burning like the heart of the sun. Her fists clench as her mantle rises like a bonfire.

"...Let him come and take it, then."