- Age: 19
- Species: Human
- Weapons: The Stone of Earth, a dagger or two
- Special Attack: Rewriting reality
- Hand-to-hand combat skills
- Experienced diplomat
- Shares the soul & powers of a goddess
- Using the Stone of Earth may kill her
- Age: 40+
- Species: Stained (Obsidian)
- Weapons: IonBlade
- Special Attack: Being bigger and badder than you
- Enormous & physically powerful
- Stoic and wise
- Skilled with his blades
- Devotion to his sister
By Keith Rice
Confusion weighs on Yeine as she pushes to her feet. It is no longer a common feeling, has not been for quite some time – lifetimes, perhaps – but it is there nonetheless. Had she been dreaming? Was she dreaming? Inasmuch as she was still capable of such a mortal folly, perhaps that was the case. There was a cold wind rustling around her, and something crunched beneath her feet. Was that snow? It felt like snow, but there is darkness that her eyes cannot yet penetrate. She takes a breath and feels the cool crisp air, curiously thin, fill her lungs. She takes another. There is someone else here, she can sense that much. It is then that she hears it – a terrible low, undulating chant in the distance rolling toward her like a thunderstorm. It is a dreadful sound and for just a moment she feels an inkling of fear.
He stands still for a moment, allowing his senses to return. The air around him is cold, a feeling he is well accustomed to. It is dark here and unfamiliar, he struggles to remember where he was before awaking in this moment, but his thoughts are blank. He stretches his enormous frame and rolls his massive shoulders, easing the tension gathering there. Ragnar looks around, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. There is snow at his feet, the landscape is flat and continues on for as far as he can see in the dimness. He is unsure where he is or why, but a feeling of unease works its way down his spine. His instincts tell him there is danger and hard experience has taught him to trust those instincts. Thankfully, he is wearing his armor with its comforting weight and his ionBlades are at the ready. If there is to be battle, he is well-suited. He knows of only one way, and that is forward toward whatever waits for him in the darkness. Ragnar adjust his helmet, takes a step, and begins his booming chant.
Yeine straightens, her eyes now well accustomed to the darkness, and listens. The dread sound, that chanting, grows closer, sounding all the more like waves breaking against rock. With that strand of initial fear now gone, she waits to see what creature could carry such a sound. She feels the menace of this place – wherever this place is – and she can feel that whatever is approaching is a thing born to violence and she feels a degree of pity for such an existence. That feeling, however, falls away as that chanting overtakes the very air around her and a massive figure breaks the darkness. She once again feels a tinge of fear and takes an involuntary step back. The figure now just in the distance seems to materialize as if part of the darkness. It is enormous in every sense of the word, far bigger than any mortal she has ever seen, and thickly muscled beneath dark armor. What unnerves her most, though, is the way it moves. There is an uncommon grace for something so gargantuan – a rolling predatory gait. This is a creature made for war and it is coming for her. Of that she has no doubt.
He comes to a stop, his chant ceasing as the woman starts and steps back a pace. She is incredibly small, perhaps no higher than his waist. Although she doesn’t look dangerous – she looks rather serene now that she has regained her composure – he senses the power radiating from her. It does not feel like a necessarily dangerous power, but he has the sense that this woman is key to leaving this place. The key to returning to the Sunborn. That being the case, she will not stand in his way. He releases his ionBlades and moves toward the woman, sweeping the blades down…
His speed shocks her, but only for a moment. She quickly moves to the side, avoiding the razor-sharp blades. She feels the air hissing in their wake and barely has time to duck and roll out of the way as the hulking man recovers and swings first one blade and then the other in a wide arc toward her. He is terrifyingly fast and she knows that she cannot best him in a pure physical fight. The power behind each of his movements is chilling, and the swiftness startling. She continues to roll, twist, and dodge his relentless onslaught even as that dreadful chanting begins again. Yeine concentrates, not simply on the warrior’s movements and her own survival, but on the warrior himself. He is not of this place any more than she is. She can feel the reality of this and grasp it not unlike the reality she knows. Perhaps there is a way out of this that need not end in death. Yeine steels herself while avoiding the colossal warrior’s assault and gathers the darkness, gathers the reality of whatever this place is. She feels for some indication of where this dreadful monster of a man originated if not this barren plain. There is a thread and she grasps it, all the while dancing away from his terrible blades. She grasps once more at the reality of this place and pulls it asunder allowing the dark-clad warrior to fall away – hopefully to wherever he came from – and now she is alone in this wasteland. Yeine looks around in the darkness and feels the snow crunching beneath her feet. She sits slowly and rests in the quiet. If this is a dream, perhaps now she can wake up.