Abomination

The night of the attack, Shalia was led back toward the temple by the Ebony Hand man, but he did not leave the dark alleys much or near populated areas in doing so, stopping just short of the basilica. She knew the priests had their hesitation toward these black robes. Never had she expected to meet one of them face to face so soon, but now she could put a person to the image of the group. An action. As much of the person as she could see, that is.

Upon nearing the temple, she turned to thank her escort and noticed by the dim lighting of a distant lantern and the moonlight that his eyes were unusual. A faint milky-white overcast no longer as obscured. And with that, he was gone as quickly as he had appeared, leaving her with three things: his name, allegiance, and his offer.

Shalia entering the Temple area drew attention from the priests and bystanders who still remained where the pyre was slowly burning out. Many folks left by this time, but seeing a bleeding diplomat carry a thick cloud of cold with her was cause for some concern, brandishing a dagger still nonetheless. Her empty hand clasped over the arm wound and covered the area in light frost to ease the blood flow and sting. She demanded to see Tamazzalt immediately for the woman would not rest until she did, standing in front of the flames of the dead.

Shalia told him of the encounter. Being stalked and attacked by two Helians of the Inquisition, armored with magikal protections and a hatred for heretics and the gifted. Spilling the blood of a guest in the Twins' Holy City. She described of them what she could; heights, smells, builds, hair, relative ages, clothing, where the fight took place, where the man was freshly wounded. Anything to look out for. Warning that they were still alive and would hunt her again. That all magik bearers were under threat now that the Inquisition had made it out to the desert. How one of the Ebony Hand had come in to spare her from eventual death in a fight she could not win alone. She spoke of it all with disgust and fury filling her tone. Whatever darkness came over her during the cremation ceremony was here to stay for a while.

What Tamazzalt was not told was the offer she was given. That she needed to think more about later. She left him with one final comment: "You may be right." Dangerous words, but true. It was beginning to line up in her sights.

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Her room was now guarded by the Aghul and Ozainae guards she requested prior, and two priests of water and air allocated by the Ascendant. The basilica was on guard as a whole. Patrols checked alleys and watched streets. No one would lay a hand on Shalia Nix like this.

And now that she was safe and in silence within these four walls for the night, a healer sent in to treat her wound, she had much to digest. And yet, she did not want to at all. Some parts, if left to her mental dissection, could bring her more strain than necessary. Shalia tore away her garb and smoothed back her messy hair.
She would start with the hunt.

The priests were not trusting of these black robes, but Shalia still knew little more than what she was told by Amalu and her dinner company. They had done something before the general population did not like, it was evident. But they certainly sounded efficient. A match for the Inquisiton, perhaps? That was hard to come by. And this hunt...it fell so pleasantly on her ears. She wanted their blood, their corpses to hail as a trophy. Wear their bones around her neck like she used to wear those of bears or the fearsome Naylmo in the village. The spineless bastards brought to her an unfair fight, a fight lacking any real honor. Threatening her in a way she had not been for a while. It was grounding. Foreboding. A needed push and reminder of her mortality. She refused to die in such a manner.

And if this hunt began, it felt like something Tamazzalt would approve of when he inevitably caught wind. Culling the Helian presence here, targeting the enemy. It was only a fair response to their actions, the consequences of them. People like them needed punishing, discipline. Thinking they could do whatever they pleased. Even if they weren't responsible for the killing of Penitents--which Shalia was second-guessing now-- they were responsible for an attempt on her life. That was a little more pressing in her eyes.

She walked over to the clay bowl of fresh water for her hands, looking to the mirror ahead. Staring at herself with fingers gripping the edges of the wicker stand. The water in the bowl grew colder and colder by the second.

It was not her job to keep Ozainae tradition intact or to break the wheel of the Prophetess. What happens with all of that should not be in her realm of concern. She had tripped on the path, slowed the course. Forgotten who she really was. Did everything Koshnem told her not to.

There was still time to fix it. Shalia was not here to keep their society at peace or involve herself deeply with the intricacies of the Wandering. As long as someone was going to summon the Horde, it was a job well done, and the Ascendant wished to do exactly that. But she wanted to know more about how one actually did such a thing. It was all talk thus far.
Why did she hesitate when he spoke down on the Helians? She was here to discuss exterminating them, after all. Why did she cling to making Ozainae matters her own, matters which she barely understood without any historical context? Knowing of the current events was fine, but making it her own 'savior' responsibility what happened to them in the future? A fool's gambit.

She was no fool.

"Stupid, sentimental girl," Shalia scolded her reflection. "This Helian heart of yours...it is no good for anyone here."
For a fleeting moment, she saw the image of her younger self look back frightened, the one who ran from her parents in the night with a ribbon in her hand and tears streaming. The child terrified by tales of witches and loathing of this curse, this thing she could not control or be rid of. This abomination the Pillars wished dead.

You and Tamazzalt are on the same side. Do not trouble yourself too much with sympathies and justices now--in this very moment, you have a singular purpose. Fight. Fight for yourself, the Odonine, and fight for the Sand Horde. Fight this plague on the land. You make it difficult. You wish to see these invader scum wiped off the land, uproot their city, make them wish they had never come to Arcadia, protect the gifted?

Then do not hesitate on hounding the ones who hunted you. Make a display of their death the way they do witches back in Helias. Show them how it feels to suffer in agony and silence. How it feels to be hated. Kill them all and put them in their place. They shunned you away, called your kind freakish, horrors of nature. Twisted and wrong. So you found a place to value you for what they rejected and still the distance is not enough. They brought this on themselves in driving you away. The foreigners had a hand in weaving their fate using one of their own. Dearest child, they made you. Unveil to them real horror by their design. Their creation. But you are not a monster.
Go make history. Put the treaty in motion, Voice of Winter. Koshnem's Frozen Fist and advisor of the Aghul. Noraura made flesh, Her chosen. You are so much more than those you survived, and you are so close now. By blood and winter's breath, you prevail.

It took a moment of quiet staring with a harsh gaze at her reflection to realize she spoke it all aloud. In a voice that was partially her own, backed by a hissing whisper. Words fluctuating between Odonine and something primordial, and even the latter came across clearly. Not only that, but the symbols tattooed across her chest were faintly glowing like the moon. The green of her eyes slowly fading back in from a pale blue...

For once she knew exactly what this meant. Shalia and the goddess shared a mind. A body. A soul and voice. At least in this moment. The direct guidance she sought so often brought tears to her eyes, and in the sudden joyous expression, the bowl of water froze over. Noraura was always there with her. Always. In the ways Pillars, Twins, and all the rest never tried.

Shalia decided it then with some supportive divine will. She was so sure of everything in the wake of it, a feeling that hadn't struck her since Fang. Everything here was so unsure all the time. She would find this Amalu fellow again soon. She would look at Tamazzalt’s methods in a new light that benefitted both her and the banner, and by all the gods old and new, she would bring the foreigners hell.

Suffer not a witch to live...or the witch will come back stronger.