Y
Ysala
Myrra
It was quiet, far more so than it usually was.
The silence had been wrought by fear and violence, by events over the last few weeks. The Undercity had been shaken, a relative calm broken into a thousand pieces by one single act. The burning of a temple, the murder of a priest, the slaughter of a Noble.
No one knew for sure who had done it. Information had been blocked and suppressed by the Priesthood, three people who had been there slaughtered in their own homes just days after the event. Many thought it was the same culprit as had been at the temple, but Ysala knew better. The Priests had silenced those who would not be silenced.
Things were changing.
It was a shift, the change that her mother had whispered of.
Like others Ysala did not know what happened, but the rumors flooded like a river. Talk of revolution, of someone long forgotten, of those left behind and coming again. She did not know the truth of this, not yet, but she would. Her mother had given her a command, and as always Ysala would follow it. Fingers danced slowly over the hilt of her long-knife.
The slums of the Undercity were the only part of the whole metropolis not silent, and as she swept into it's streets she found the people there still wandering the streets as though nothing had happened. These people did not care, they had been dispossessed by both Priests and Gods centuries ago. They were the foul, the dirt.
Those who it was easiest to hide among.
Ysala knew this, and that was why her mother had lead her here.
A vision of eyes like mirrors.
It was quiet, far more so than it usually was.
The silence had been wrought by fear and violence, by events over the last few weeks. The Undercity had been shaken, a relative calm broken into a thousand pieces by one single act. The burning of a temple, the murder of a priest, the slaughter of a Noble.
No one knew for sure who had done it. Information had been blocked and suppressed by the Priesthood, three people who had been there slaughtered in their own homes just days after the event. Many thought it was the same culprit as had been at the temple, but Ysala knew better. The Priests had silenced those who would not be silenced.
Things were changing.
It was a shift, the change that her mother had whispered of.
Like others Ysala did not know what happened, but the rumors flooded like a river. Talk of revolution, of someone long forgotten, of those left behind and coming again. She did not know the truth of this, not yet, but she would. Her mother had given her a command, and as always Ysala would follow it. Fingers danced slowly over the hilt of her long-knife.
The slums of the Undercity were the only part of the whole metropolis not silent, and as she swept into it's streets she found the people there still wandering the streets as though nothing had happened. These people did not care, they had been dispossessed by both Priests and Gods centuries ago. They were the foul, the dirt.
Those who it was easiest to hide among.
Ysala knew this, and that was why her mother had lead her here.
A vision of eyes like mirrors.