Slow Burning Rage

I slide silently through the streets feeling the rage burning within me as I consider just how close I have come to capturing Sebastion and how very bitter the failure was for being so close. Twice now, the first time stealing my armor and beating me unconscious and the second time using another smoke bomb to escape. I ran up and down that street and search it carefully but nothing. I am not on duty and so what am I to do with my time? I train, I will get stronger, faster I will do everything I can to beat him next time we meet. I want to be ready.

I feel the reassuring weight on my back as I stride through the streets considering my options and what I want. When I spoke last to the captain, her words sparked something in my mind that has only grown with my recent experiences.  I realize I have not truly had a purpose beyond a foolish little girls dream. In this world how could I ever become a knight? The men who run this city will never allow such a thing, they need to feel powerful and important which means they could never let a woman have a position to kick their asses. I snort at the thought. Oh yes, we must protect our precious egos, except I do not feel I have much of one anymore. Too much has happened for me to feel like I need their approval. I admire certain people now, like the captain, but honestly I want to become a warrior in truth. I want to serve with a purpose and I am beginning to wonder if my current career will offer that. Oh I protect the city, that is true, but I protect it from drunks and thieves. I want to be a force of good, to strive for something greater than self, how can I do that catching pickpockets and brawlers? Not that I am doing any of that right now. I kick a wayward bottle into a wall where it shatters into brightly sparking shards and I look up at the sky. What use am I now?

I try and think but am filled with self pity and doubt, feeling disgusted with myself I shake the thoughts loose and go to the graveyard to kill more undead. At least they make good vessels through which to vent my rage. I draw my sword for a moment before I enter the gates and stare at the blade a moment, enjoying the feel of the weapon in my hands and marveling at the fact that I can legally wield it, that I can learn to use something that feels so right. Something inside me surges, a focus I have never before known centers my thoughts and I feel ready to take on anything. As I enter the graveyard and begins my hunt I begin to feel the joy of the fight but honed with that intense focus into something more and I leave a trail of twice dead bodies in my wake, each wearing the face of Sebastion in my mind.

Did that hurt?

Night has covered the city and matches my mood perfectly. Dark anger seethes within me and I learn a new lesson about myself, I do have limits who would have thought? Dessic and Gorp, the two recruits who were to help me capture that bastard. I feel a need to pay them a visit and I know just where to find them off duty. I move from shadow to shadow passing many of my fellow slum residents a hooded cloak obscuring my face and form. moving towards the knave I see my prey and I move silently behind them. As I follow a ways I hear them laughing about the incident earlier, "Did you see how she went down? That bitch needed to come down a peg or two, not that we couldn't a taken him o'course" Gorp, the ever articulate grunted in what I assumed was agreement.

Thankfully at this hour the streets are quiet and my grabbing the two by the back of their collars is not observed. Moving quickly I take them to a deserted dead-end ally and block their only escape. "Who are you? What do you want? We are militia you know." Dessic says trying to look brave. Gorp attempts to look menacing putting a hand upon the pommel of his sword, this might work if I did not know how inept he was at it's use. I pull my hood down and cross my arms, "Well isn't it fortuitous for you that I am also in the militia. " I must admit that the looks on their faces was somewhat satisfying when my fist connected to them. "You could have taken them could you? I need to come down a peg or two is it? This is why you thought not to do your job?" I spend about 45 minutes working both of them over very well, feeling much better for it. "The next time you feel I need to be taken down a peg or two, do it yourself. If you can find your balls after today." With that I head out of the alley listening to the music of whimpering coming behind me and feeling somewhat satisfied.

Darkened Hearts

Striding down the streets of the slums I see familiar faces, ones I have seen all of my life. Once, they looked on with some amount of fondness when I was a child anyway, then they looked on with appraisal and consideration when I was a young adult. Now, as the see me in my militia armor, the rank of soldier newly visible, they look on with disgust. Every now an then a man will spit in the streets at the sight of me, those same men who would tell stories or give me and the other children an apple in the long hot summers. They do not understand, they do not see me as more then a brood mare or work horse meant to be broken to saddle and ridden for the rest of my days. They fear my physical strength, strength I made sure to gain when I was old enough to begin to turn male heads.

My Captain did warn me before I began. I knew what she said for truth but it still hurts. I figure I will die a spinster, and a virgin. I frown as I consider it. Not that I would want any of these sad excuses for men, as if any one of them could fulfill me. I blush thinking of it. Then again what do I know about what would fulfill me. More I want a man who accepts me, not accepts what he wants me to be then will try to force me to fill that image. I frown angrily, I don't want them anyway,  the pigs!

A man who looks like trouble catches my eye as he sidles up to a large man selling fish, as he taps the man's left shoulder he reaches around the man's other side and grabs a fish hiding it under his cloak with his other hand as the man turns to look at him. "What you want gnat?" the big man asks, "Oh terribly sorry sir, I was just brushing a fly off your back." the would be thief says smoothly. "You are the fly little man." The fish seller says turning back to his wares. I, of course, was on the move when I first saw the man, grabbing the thief by the back of his cloak I put a stop to him pulling his other arm hiding the fish from under his cloak, "This does not belong to you, I say handing the startled fish seller his property. Before the angry trader can react I haul the thief away, the man cursing the entire time. It is a short walk to the stockade and the man is quickly incarcerated and I sigh. Another day, another example of what people are willing to do in my city. Oh well, at least I have a job, more than many can say right now.