The Frigid & The Faint

-Four Years Ago-

The hooded woman collapsed into the snow as the sun came out of hiding. So close to the Fang mountains now…but she would never make it on her own two feet. As she lay motionless, she watched dawn crawl into view and the sky painted itself with a plethora of colors that were vibrant against the dull winter landscape. Despite her attempts to keep warm, her attire did not survive the cold. Her hide boots were soaked through and she barely felt her toes, her tunic sagged on her frame as Ostiarium was short on food for some time. Her trousers were thin and her worn cloak could only shield so much even with the deerskin she crudely sewed on. Now that she lay on the ground, her entire body was damp. It was all she had, but then again, when had that ever been enough? The last thing she remembered was the sunrise.
It was unknown how much time passed before two Aghul scouts found her. The one missing an eye lifted the strange woman onto his pony with ease, taking her back to be judged by their leader. She had crossed into native territory after all. First come, first serve. The men were certain they’d be rewarded greatly if Koshnem enjoyed her. Maybe she would be theirs to keep. And if he felt her a waste of time…

Being carried by him now through the camp, she came to consciousness upon hearing the eyeless man call out in brief dialogue to another and soon they stopped. He was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes, staring down with an expectant gaze that hoped to determine her worth right then and there.
Placed onto the snowy ground with a light thump, she was held up onto her knees by two pairs of hands, one on each bicep. Before she could groggily take in more of her surroundings, the heavy crunching of snow drew nearer to her body hanging almost limp in the grasp of the two scouting clansmen. She shakily lifted her head and would never forget what she saw.
In front of her stood a man as tall and wide as the mountain itself, a daunting build of muscularity and plumpness. He reached his large hand out and clasped it around her jaw, jerking her face up to meet his eyes. Her shaky breath fogged out around them. As he spoke to the men and looked back and forth between her and them, the stench from his mouth was foul. He had a black beard that fell halfway down his chest. The unkempt nature of it briefly reminded her of her father’s own facial hair; how her mother would gingerly tend to it because he couldn’t ever keep from looking like a wild man. Thoughts then wandered to her clean-shaven Jiyn.

Would that really be the last thing she thought of before her death? The people she abandoned?

As the War Chieftain knelt and held her face, the rough skin on his index finger traced the contours of her cheek in examination. The look in his eyes overcame her with dread like never before. In a terrorized panic, she began a hushed rambling to herself--anything to make her wishfully melt away from the moment. She could not tell what was happening around her or what they were saying. She could only look at him and in turn, took detailed note of her.
Skin cold and pale like the untouched ground in winter. Shifty eyes like bright evergreens. Muttering under her breath in a strange tongue. Messy hair the sleek black of crow feathers. The outsider’s body looked frail and weak, trembling in his palm from fear and the bitter cold. Small and unassuming. There would be no fight at all in this one--the wilderness had already broken her down for him and his men. Truthfully, he preferred something a little more challenging, more exciting to match his appetite. At least she was exotic.

The panic was welling up inside of her. ~Done it now, haven’t you? Stupid girl~, she silently scrutinized herself, wincing. ~Can’t even die right~. She began to weep and the tears streamed down her cheeks hot with anger and fright, though by the time they rolled over Koshnem’s hand they were icy from the chilled winter air. He let go sharply and stood.

Her green eyes looked frantically around her now, glancing at the faint outlines of the scouts in her peripheral. The missing eye man had his blade unsheathed at his side in a quiet bet that Koshnem would order her throat to be cut. Her heart beat faster than it ever had before. Her mind swam with a deadly mixture of anxiety and adrenaline. Suddenly, the witch lost control.
The scene unfolded at a rapid pace. With a sharp inhale, a thick blue sheen shot up the arms of those holding her. The men would immediately drop their grip as the glowing frost spread over them. The scouts began to yell wide-eyed while backing away with attempts to brush the magik off and left their skin with a numbing coldness. The War Chieftain became startled and quickly stumbled back at the sight. A few of what she presumed were children began to scream and she could not gauge the reaction of the bystander clansmen.
Koshnem watched it unfold with a look of wonder and realization.

The screams and yelling set Shalia off further. Something crystallized in her palm, and the weaver jerked around, raking her hand through the air in a slicing motion toward the eyeless man who had carried her. From her grasp came an icy, knife-like shard. It pierced the man somewhere around his neck or chest. She saw so much red in the moment that she didn’t care where it hit so long as it did. Right then she didn’t want to be the only one in pain, and she would harm every last one of them who touched her just to fulfill it. Every one of them who had kept her from a peaceful, quiet death when the sun rose. A death of her own design.
What she did recall was how after it cut into him, it seemed to erupt in smaller fragments that rippled across his chest with a crackling sound, and he fell shortly after.
The entirety of Shalia’s arms were coated in a different light blue frost that resembled a frozen pond cracking and spider-webbing under the weight of her actions. It was reaching to claim the rest, inching up her neck like deadly poison. Every part of her stung with the burning cold and she gritted her teeth in an agonized growl. She could now feel the crumbling away of herself in unthinking frustration. Her body was freezing up with the sudden chaos, too much for her to bear so suddenly, but she had no intention to stop the violent tantrum now even if she felt her magik faltering. Kill me! She wanted to scream and beg them. That was the only way this could end in her favor, surely. Death. Shalia caught a glimpse of the sword lying at her side dropped by the eyeless man who was bleeding out now, lifeless. By the stars…she really had killed him. It wasn't some fever dream.

It was her.

The frost claiming the Aghul mens’ bodies suddenly stopped moving, flaking away from their arms and vanishing into nothing. They were visibly shaken upon the numbness following it. Shalia, losing her magik’s momentum, had reached out and grabbed the sword, scrambling into a weak lunge at the War Chieftain with a last cry of anguish. She knew her moment was gone. Of course, she missed, never intending to do any damage to him even if she was familiar with swords and he hadn't shifted out of the way. Regret would soon settle in at not using the it differently.

She just wanted it to be over now.

Her legs had given out after the sudden energetic burst, crumpling Shalia to the snow once more. Right back where she began. The icy effect on her skin had stopped as it covered one side of her face and most of her body, retreating back down at a snail's pace. Her chest heaved with shallow, wheezing breaths as she waited for the sweep of a blade to answer her pleas. Her body had ached in a way that felt as if it were pulling itself apart by the tendons. Shalia whimpered softly in defeat, curling into that patch of trampled snow. ~Finally. Rest.~

Koshnem, leader of the Aghul, stood his ground as the blade sailed past him harmlessly. He raised his hand to stop the other surviving scout from delivering a death blow to the woman. He could scarcely believe his eyes at the display of power, especially in her weak condition. ~Maybe there is fight in this one after all...~ he thought, grinning. He reached out and lifted her into his huge bear-like arms and turned to take her to his tent.

Noraura herself made flesh at his feet. A premonition of things to come. A banner for the Odonine to bend the knee to his desires.