Legends of Endrian: The Rebirth
Origins: Sumiré
She was no battle maiden- no valkyrie to chase the souls of her enemies, but nor was she a helpless child. Ashes surrounded the charred streets of her former home. There was little left: only a shell of a city with burnt, defaced buildings and a thick layer of ash coating everything. The dense forest that once offered protection and solace was scorched, burnt to nothing. Sumiré walked the familiar streets, hollowed-out buildings looming overhead like giant skeletons. Statues and fountains had been broken and toppled over, and everything of worth had been decimated or stolen.
She came upon her former home, its windows shattered and shutters thrown open to reveal the chaos inside. Like most Aetherians, her family had little in the way of material possessions to destroy or steal, but what they did have was broken, burnt, or gone. Jewelry was stolen and her ornamental, heavily-enchanted armor had been taken as well. It was not the loss of her armor that was distressing, however.
Like all Aetherian priestesses, Sumiré had had a special article of jewelry made from the goddess Kidane's own armaments. Hers happened to be in the form of a pair of earrings, two simple hoops with a sparkling emerald in each. Rather simple, but they denoted her status as an Aetherian priestess venerating Kidane. Without them, she was merely a woman in the robes of the goddess, merely a monk, although, perhaps, slightly favored. She could not claim the title of priestess without Kidane's gift, and so, she was a priestess no longer.
Like the rest of her life, her earrings had been stolen by the horde.
She did not remain long at her former home. The wound was too fresh, too painful to endure longer than a moment at that shell of a place. Instead, she wound her way through the empty city and toward the temple, the place that she could call home even more than her actual one.
It appeared, at a glance, that a storm could have torn it apart. More than the other buildings, it was charred and in shambles. The ornamental statues of Kidane's faithful familiars- ocean dwelling dragons and majestic owls- that jutted out from the sides of the building, curling up ornate columns, were chipped and flame blackened. The blood of Kidane's faithful was sprayed across the walls, remaining bright even after a week, like a horrible memory belonging to the city itself.
Sumiré ducked in, nearly reaching back to close the Sylvanwood doors out of habit, before realizing that the doors were no longer on their hinges. Inside, the temple had been desecrated. Kidane's statue had been left well enough alone, but Sumiré could not begin to guess why. Everything else had been pilfered or crushed with blunt weapons and behind the altar, Kidane's statue watched over the ruins, her unfocused eyes swimming with impossibly real melancholy. Sumiré hadn't noticed the slightly-distracted, sorrowful expression that her deity's likeness wore until that moment.
And in her eyes... there was something else? Sumiré looked closer. Yes! There was certainly a flash of life behind those eyes!
She reached out to touch the statue with her fingertips, merely pressing them to the palm of Kidane's statue. The eyes seemed to come alive then, and images flashed through her mind. Death and war painted her eyelids, making vivid pictures of the deaths of Her faithful. And something more began to pull at her, the nagging becoming more and more urgent until at last she tore away from the statue, her breath little more than tight, uncontrollable gasps.
She leaned onto the altar, resting her forehead on her hands for some respite, but even the altar carried the memories of the dead. Horror, fear, and sadness seeped up into her from its surface. One did not need her power, she thought, to know that a tragedy had occurred in Kidane's temple. Before the faces of the dead became clear, she moved herself away from the altar and the green ceremonial cloth covering its surface. Like everything else, it was tattered.
"I knew I would find you here," a voice called from the temple's doorway. Sumiré turned, but was not at all surprised.
"Kain," she greeted. "I am- was a priestess. Of course I would return."
He let his tense shoulders relax as he neared her, but his eyes were not at peace. "There is nothing left here, Sumiré. I know what this place means to you, but we risk being attacked in such a time."
"No more so than on the road," she said, tracing the handle of a ceremonial lamp. One of the panes of stained glass was shattered. Even it hadn't made it through the raid unscathed.
"That may be true, but if we simply linger here, there will be no vengeance. And there is no point. We must move on and seek those who destroyed our city."
"You are right, of course, Kain," she said idly, noticing a large, flat box that looked untouched. She knelt, not caring that her robes would be covered in ash. "But I had to have closure. You must understand that, surely." He nodded, turning and stalking off into a lighter corner of the church. Sumiré opened the strange box to find a harp made of some kind of ivory. Several jewels embellished the ornate design, each of varying shades of green. The strings appeared to be made of finely-shaved sinews. She had never seen the box or that particular harp, but she could not allow the only intact piece of Aetherian culture to be abandoned. She replaced the harp in its box and closed it, tucking it under her arm as she followed Kain into the gloomy daylight.
She came upon her former home, its windows shattered and shutters thrown open to reveal the chaos inside. Like most Aetherians, her family had little in the way of material possessions to destroy or steal, but what they did have was broken, burnt, or gone. Jewelry was stolen and her ornamental, heavily-enchanted armor had been taken as well. It was not the loss of her armor that was distressing, however.
Like all Aetherian priestesses, Sumiré had had a special article of jewelry made from the goddess Kidane's own armaments. Hers happened to be in the form of a pair of earrings, two simple hoops with a sparkling emerald in each. Rather simple, but they denoted her status as an Aetherian priestess venerating Kidane. Without them, she was merely a woman in the robes of the goddess, merely a monk, although, perhaps, slightly favored. She could not claim the title of priestess without Kidane's gift, and so, she was a priestess no longer.
Like the rest of her life, her earrings had been stolen by the horde.
She did not remain long at her former home. The wound was too fresh, too painful to endure longer than a moment at that shell of a place. Instead, she wound her way through the empty city and toward the temple, the place that she could call home even more than her actual one.
It appeared, at a glance, that a storm could have torn it apart. More than the other buildings, it was charred and in shambles. The ornamental statues of Kidane's faithful familiars- ocean dwelling dragons and majestic owls- that jutted out from the sides of the building, curling up ornate columns, were chipped and flame blackened. The blood of Kidane's faithful was sprayed across the walls, remaining bright even after a week, like a horrible memory belonging to the city itself.
Sumiré ducked in, nearly reaching back to close the Sylvanwood doors out of habit, before realizing that the doors were no longer on their hinges. Inside, the temple had been desecrated. Kidane's statue had been left well enough alone, but Sumiré could not begin to guess why. Everything else had been pilfered or crushed with blunt weapons and behind the altar, Kidane's statue watched over the ruins, her unfocused eyes swimming with impossibly real melancholy. Sumiré hadn't noticed the slightly-distracted, sorrowful expression that her deity's likeness wore until that moment.
And in her eyes... there was something else? Sumiré looked closer. Yes! There was certainly a flash of life behind those eyes!
She reached out to touch the statue with her fingertips, merely pressing them to the palm of Kidane's statue. The eyes seemed to come alive then, and images flashed through her mind. Death and war painted her eyelids, making vivid pictures of the deaths of Her faithful. And something more began to pull at her, the nagging becoming more and more urgent until at last she tore away from the statue, her breath little more than tight, uncontrollable gasps.
She leaned onto the altar, resting her forehead on her hands for some respite, but even the altar carried the memories of the dead. Horror, fear, and sadness seeped up into her from its surface. One did not need her power, she thought, to know that a tragedy had occurred in Kidane's temple. Before the faces of the dead became clear, she moved herself away from the altar and the green ceremonial cloth covering its surface. Like everything else, it was tattered.
"I knew I would find you here," a voice called from the temple's doorway. Sumiré turned, but was not at all surprised.
"Kain," she greeted. "I am- was a priestess. Of course I would return."
He let his tense shoulders relax as he neared her, but his eyes were not at peace. "There is nothing left here, Sumiré. I know what this place means to you, but we risk being attacked in such a time."
"No more so than on the road," she said, tracing the handle of a ceremonial lamp. One of the panes of stained glass was shattered. Even it hadn't made it through the raid unscathed.
"That may be true, but if we simply linger here, there will be no vengeance. And there is no point. We must move on and seek those who destroyed our city."
"You are right, of course, Kain," she said idly, noticing a large, flat box that looked untouched. She knelt, not caring that her robes would be covered in ash. "But I had to have closure. You must understand that, surely." He nodded, turning and stalking off into a lighter corner of the church. Sumiré opened the strange box to find a harp made of some kind of ivory. Several jewels embellished the ornate design, each of varying shades of green. The strings appeared to be made of finely-shaved sinews. She had never seen the box or that particular harp, but she could not allow the only intact piece of Aetherian culture to be abandoned. She replaced the harp in its box and closed it, tucking it under her arm as she followed Kain into the gloomy daylight.