Sa’er

I kill. And Sa’er thirsts, ever for more.

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They call me Blood Mistress.

Those who’s relatives and friends died by my blade. Those who have seen me in battle. Those who have merely heard tales of me.

They call me Blood Mistress. The Wielder of Sa’er. The Heartless.

Once I was not her. She was not me. Once. I was a foolish girl. A bumbling villager. Not yet a woman. Not still a child. I was merely Kri’na.

I am no longer her now.

And the memories fade.

But never leave.

My country; no, it was only borders and fields, nothing more. Fields that I later ravaged. Borders that later were useless to me. Every country was a new battlefield. A new place to fight. To kill. To spill blood.

But it was my country, a time ago, and it was at war. I no longer fear war. It is my life’s blood. But I did fear it.

Soldiers came to my village. They chased me to the forest. I felt fear.

I ran to a riverbed. I buried my hands in the earth, and raised them to the sky. My prayer was for courage. And power. It was answered.

Under my palms came a hilt. I took it. The legendary sword of Sa’er. I took it. And slew my pursuers. Blood ran down the hilt of my blade. Even then, I called it my blade.

It answered my prayer. It gave me power, and no fear. I became Blood Mistress. That is the only name suitable for her.

She and I are fearless now. My blade gave me that trait for a sole purpose. To provide blood. Every night blood stains my armor. And I do nothing. My shield grows rusted red. I do nothing. Merely wait for dawn’s light. For the killing to begin anew.

I sit here in the warrior’s tent writing this. Waiting for battle to begin again.

My employer, Prince Aranor, passes. He smirks. The sign of a battle being won adorns his face. There are no winners in war. Only those killed. And me.

He does not know that I shall kill him next month. And my blade shall taste royal blood.

The other knights congratulate me on my fighting. I am the sole woman among them. My blade thirsts for their blood as well. It shall be fulfilled eventually. They pass wine to me. They do not know. I drink. I have no need. My blade bestowed that upon me as well. But I drink. The wine is red. Red like the blood I see every day.

My blade feels tired at my side.

It shall sing soon.

The horns blow. A signal to prepare for battle. The other knights assemble their shields and axes, swords and bows.

I merely hold my blade.

The trumpets blare.

The battlefield awaits.

Sa’er thirsts.

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Toodles!

-rif4ever