One war. Two Sisters. One end.
There is no running from it. Fate shall have its way as both daughters of Stormband take to the field of battle. Each with one goal - vengeance.
Approximately 130k words.
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Mastering your strengths will always be your biggest ally in times of distress.
Sayings of Getron The Wise, Dwarven Overseer of Underdeep
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Swollen to the limits of its banks with winter melt and the now warming days of approaching spring, the stream was a formidable adversary. With a full windup, Sheala let fly the flat stone across the quick running waters of the creek, sending it slapping across the surface twice with long hops before ending its journey with a solid collision into the soft mud of the opposite side. There it would remain imbedded with a plethora of others.
"Must you keep doing that?" Anthony asked, the snap of his voice weary at having watched the same monotonous recurrence over three dozen times.
Sheala retrieved another stone. "If I don't keep busy, I'll go crazy. It's just the way I am." The thief turned ambassador turned rebel hurled her new projectile. Her latest toss was not as successful as all her previous attempts, disappearing beneath the water with a plunk after only a single skip. She chalked the failure up to the stone itself rather than her own talents for such trivial things. Retrieving one more from the ground, Sheala determined to prove her worth as a stone tosser. "How come I get stuck with clean up duty?"
The traditional light plate armor Sheala now donned was functional, but its rustic demeanor spoke to it being an artifact from centuries ago and more at home in a museum than for actual battlefield use. A padded and faded blue tunic with frayed stitching was the bulk of the protection, while steel around her upper torso and breasts coupled with a pair of shoulder guards provided additional safeguards. She still hadn't quite gotten used to the weight.
The large dent in the left side of the breastplate unnerved Sheala. It was one of those blemishes that, even though it didn't show signs of the weapon that had caused it penetrating the steel, it made one wonder whether the previous wearer had survived the crushing blow.
At her side hung her elven forged sword, an accouterment providing stark contrast to the armor and with hardly a sign of wear. Other than practice, Sheala had never used the gleaming silver steel blade.
