Age Recommendation: 16+
Following A Fate in Eldrasa, the gods are in disarray.
Ozandius is again on the brink of war, but their chances were destroyed with Calis. War between the realms seems inevitable. Into this backdrop is thrust Shannon. A low sister of the Temple.
A nobody who is ashamed of her past.
The palace of Ozandius is a grand building, of an older time. Every window featured coloured artworks, depicting the trials and tribulations of their forebears. Ever pillar was carved, showing ornate figures from myth and mystery. Creatures that didn't exist, such as Fae and Elf, adorned every surface. It was a testament to the skill of the labourers who had been worked to death to create this monstrosity.
The woman waited quietly, silently, to be called before king. Everything in this building was insult to her, and to those that she served. That the royal family took such pride in maintaining such heresies was something of an everlasting shame for those that served the temple. It had only become worse since the death of Prince Azrael. Without him, there was no one to balance his father's hand. No one to call him to account.
Supposedly, the king had heard their complaints, and she'd been summoned as a messenger, to convey the king's intent to the other Sisters of Sarin.
Another woman sat down next to her, and she jumped in surprise. She hadn't seen her approaching. The woman was dressed in white silk, a plain sort of dress. Hanging from her ears were golden cubes, and a similar set lay across her neckline.
The woman leaned back, placing an arm around her, "Isn't it a waste, Shannon?"
She darted a nervous look at the woman side-on, and felt her heart nearly stop as she noticed the pink hair trailing down her back. "Lady -"
"Don't." The woman interrupted, "Wouldn't want everyone to notice, would we? After all, I'm just here to talk to you, today."
She swallowed nervously, "Me? My, lady?"
The woman grinned and pulled her into a sideways hug, "Of course! Everyone else in this drab kingdom is nothing. So boring. At least Azrael had a bit of spunk to him. The rest are either cowards or warmongers, your sisters included. So cowardly they sent the youngest sister to talk to the king."
Shannon felt terrified. Every inch of her was shaking. She didn't know what could have brought her to the lady's attention, but it couldn't be anything good. How had she failed so badly that it meant a visit? Was she to be tortured and then executed? Or worse? Was her place in paradise being pre-emptively denied?
"Stop fretting." The woman pouted, "That's boring. You aren't boring. Your life is just so... Interesting."
Shannon dared a glance at her face, "Interesting, my lady?"
"Of course." She replied, suddenly standing up, spinning to face her, "Come on, girl, look at me. I didn't come to be seen by anyone else. Just you."
The low sister looked up slowly, her eyes wide as she saw the woman. She was shapely, but homely. There was a softness about her that denied the wrathful stories that Shannon had been taught to memorise. Until she saw her face.
Until she saw the black eyes, an endless world of darkness that seemed to draw her in. The darkness could see into her, and Shannon felt as if she were naked. Every scar, every shame laid bare. As if the goddess was peering directly into her soul.
She looked away, trying not to burst into tears.
"Yeah." Sarin said slowly, "I think I am right about you. This is going to be fun."
Shannon swallowed nervously, "May I know your intention, my lady?"
"Sure." The woman replied, sitting down next to her again, "My intention is to change the world. And you, are going to help me do it."
She let out a timid squeak, and her face turned red. She hadn't meant to do that.
"Shannon, little sister of the temple."
She turned, looking at the woman in fear as she took her hands, "I appoint you to be my High Priestess in all of Ozandius."
She pulled back one of her hands slowly and hit her ear gently, "Apologies, my lady. Can you say that again?"
"I have appointed you as High Priestess of all of Ozandius." Sarin stated with a grin.
© Copyright 2024, James Milne