Drulissa's Domain

 Burning embers hung in the air as she walked toward her father. She carried her spear in her hand. "What are you doing, Amelia?" Her father asked, holding his sword in his hand, the blade pointed to the ground. " What a re you no w, some primitive savage? Look at you! You look stupid, dressed like some slutty warrior whore! " She s wal lowed. He jumped off the platform. "You are not even my daughter anymore, are you? You have probably let those filthy heathens touch you! You should know it stains your skin if you lie in the dirt . " Amelia kept silent, feeling the magic flow through her, and knowing what needed to be done. "Do you see this?" he asked, holding his sword. "This is the blade that took a dragon's life! And one day, it will take another's. I am the one who will destroy the Mal'a'kai tribe. And since you did the job of killing the death cult, I will take over this miserable country. Perhaps once the

 She didn't even feel like herself anymore. Was this what it felt like to go to war? To turn into a killer? To step onto a battlefield with a weapon, knowing you will not step off unless carried, or the last enemy breathes their last breath? She ran her hand along the scales of Sapphire, her love Fayla following close behind. The Goddess Kayala blessed her with a warrior's spirit, and she felt the power surge within her. For a moment, she felt she did nothing to deserve such power, but a gentle touch of the Goddess' grace told her all she needed to know. Every sacrifice she made built to this point. He r finding the Genie, running from the Death Cult, meeting the tribe, choosing her new life, and rejecting her father were all footsteps laid for her in this path walked by the Goddess. One she was meant to follow. She saw the entire war in her mind's eye, and her heart raced at the thought of battle. Her mind whirled with visions of all she would do to her fa

“I hate Frostfell!” my father would say when the season arrived. “I hate it! I loathe it! I wish it never existed!” This was back when I was a little tyke, barely above the knee, and I would run to the railing in my jammies to peek through, wondering what he was so angry about. At that time, I never knew what Frostfell was, it was something outsiders celebrated, and I knew it came when the caves turned cold, and ice formed on the water. It was hard for me to imagine when my father was happy. A time before he became the devil in hi s h ea rt. “All this Frostfell, with the songs, the merriment, and the giving!” He would rant, and I would peer down at the foyer as he raged at the servants and his wives . The serving maids would have their heads bowed low, afraid of what might happen if they glanced up at him. Some of his other wives, who had not yet had children, would flee to the kitchens to avoid his wrath. He would lock himself in his den , sometimes for days . This time, he s