Gift from the Mountain

JP with Winteroak and White_Caribou

- Three Years Ago - Fang

Koshnem stood looking at the valley below wrapped in his bear pelt. His men had made short work of the enemies. Their hearthstone had been uprooted and cracked. Their cattle, women and children now belonged to the Aghul. The Ashkil were no more. Their name would soon disappear from the oral traditions of the clansmen.
The Ashkil had been the third largest clan in the northern reaches of Fang. With this victory, many of the smaller clans would have no choice but to bend the knee to the War Chieftain.

Although using the title for the last year, many still refused to recognise his claim. But at the current rate, his successes would soon enforce his claim upon the blood being spilled.

And it was all because of her. Shalia Nix. A gift from Noraura, the spirit of the mountains made flesh. A boon from the Goddess herself so that he could unify the Odonine under one banner for the first time in centuries.

He felt her presence behind him. He felt her accelerated breath and tension as always after battle.
Her control over her powers was increasing. He had given her a new lease of life, a new role and she had thrown herself at it with an eagerness that made Koshnem sure this was all meant to be. "You did well." He said. "Their Bonecaster stood no chance against you."

Shalia stood with shaky hands as the War Chieftain spoke.

The brutal deconstruction of the clan weighed heavy on her and though their names would fade out of the land's history, she could never forget the deed. The bloodied native bodies she had to step over to return to what felt like her owner. Come back like a dog to him. Atrocities she’d have to one day accept occurred around her as women were herded like the very cattle they claimed. Children weeping for dead fathers and brothers.

The Bonecaster's corpse had jagged pieces of ice protruding like porcupine quills, one fatally wedged between his jaw and neck. Though she had focused much better this time in comparison to the first man she killed, the execution was messy, she found herself noting. Messy, but effective.
Shards that missed had littered the ground in a barrage of icy wrath. Across the face was a diagonal mark that had burned through flesh in a bluish-white light beam, leaving the skin around blackened with frostbite. The sight made her skin crawl.

Offering him a hesitant head bow, she refrained from talking in her stillness. One, she was still trying to speak their tongue better, but could understand enough after constant teaching from Balt. Two, she was choked up after the massacre of both these people and her morals. And three...she was plain terrified of the man before her. Still looked at him like a deer in headlights when she forced herself to make eye contact.

It had only been a year since what Shalia then deemed her capture.

The overwhelming nature of killing had her walking the line once again, and the power she had unleashed on the fated Bonecaster was slightly more than she felt ready for. Her stomach tied itself into a knot, breathing rapidly, and she withheld the urge to cry when she realized what she had done. That searing cold had creeped up her arms again after watching him fall, telling her to stop while she was ahead. She looked down and flexed her fingers to reassure herself that it had faded away now. That maybe one day this sinking feeling would do the same. Exhaustion had settled in. She wiped the blood that had begun to drip from her nose with the back of her hand, smearing it.