I normally post these little snapshots of Ry here:
http://heritageofzandalar.forumotion.com/troll-tales-f6/ryleen-s-stories-t417.htmBut I've been told there will be a continuation of this one, not written by me, so I felt it more suitable to post it here instead. Feel free to go read the other little stories too, of course. Most aren't as long as this one
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The rain was coming down in a light drizzle, hardly enough to obscure vision but plenty enough to get one dripping wet. Ryleen walked along a scarcely visible path through the golden forest of the Eversong Woods. She knew the shortcut well, having traveled it many times in the past.
The weather annoyed her. She hated being cold and wet, and the mud on the ground clinged to the hem of her dress as well as the soft fur on her feet and legs. An unsuspecting and probably totally innocent mushroom growing in her path recieved an angry kick, reducing it to mush. Mush that also stuck to her fur. With a muttered oath in zandali, she tried to stamp her foot to the ground to get it off, and she of course managed to hit a hidden puddle in the moss and ended up wetter than ever.
This really wasn't her day.
Not that it was the weather alone causing her foul mood. Actually, it was only the last drop. The recent events had much more to do with it. The murder of her little sister filled her with an anger like she'd never felt before, and she was almost surprised she hadn't destroyed anything major yet. And to add to that, the others foolish prejudices and superstitions, causing them to say such mean things to the now undead sister. Causing them to want to kill her. When one of them had refused to admit it was really Lyranne, and referred to her as "it", she had nearly slapped him in the face on the spot. But she couldn't do that. She had to be calm, handle this well.. Rage, no matter how overwhelming, wouldn't help her with protecting Lyranne.
And there were others more deserving to be the targets of her wrath. The image of Archnazg appeared in her mind, that foul rotting corpse with his fancy words and superiour attitude, and about as trustworthy as Dambala himself. Him, and all the others.. Corpses and elves, lined up in pretty straight lines, all of the convinced of their own invincibility, their right to do whatever they felt like with no retribution. They would learn...
Her feet stepped on dryer ground now, though not cleaner. She had reached the Dead Scar. The ground was black, burned and diseased. She barely looked where she was walking, her feet knew the way and her mind was filled with thoughts. She snapped out of that though, when a groaning sound was heard just a few feet behind her. She spun around, flames whirling around her hands almost before she had realised that she was reacting.
The now badly burnt corpse of a zombie of some sort slumped to the ground, now completely dead as opposed to the undeath that had driven it to attack her moments before. She stood over it for a moment, looking down at it's once human.. or elven.. face. Then she smiled. It did bring a certain satisfaction, though it wasn't the undead she really wanted. She turned around, looking for more movements across the scar. There were plenty. Some of the shuffling around aimlessly, and some moving in her direction.
With a chilling grin she uttered a short word, causing her hands to be enveloped in fire once more, and started a slow walk down along the scar. Anything in her path found itself obliterated. Burnt to cinders, exploded from the inside or simply set to flame to slowly burn to ashes. The fire around her resonated with something inside her. It felt right. The heat of the flames, enough for both her fur and robe to by now be almost completely dry, felt familiar, homely. She knew very well that most of her victims were completely mindless, capable only of trying to kill any living thing getting too close to them. But it was a start. It was something. Better this, than lashing out at her own people.
Soon, there was a trail of charred and smoking corpses behind her, but she didn't slow down. Far away, she had seen a better target. He.. or it.. loomed high over all the skeletons and zombies of the scar. It was huge, built out of the pieces of who knew how many creatures. It's multiple arms all held weapons. There was a gash across it's belly, no doubt the traces of a past effort to kill it. It didn't seem to mind or even notice the fact that it's entrails hung out almost dragging on the ground though. She remembered hearing whispered talk about this one from back when she was just a student. Warnings to watch out, to run for your life if you ever saw it. But that was back then.
She moved closer, weaving a more complicated spell as she walked. Multicoloured flares of energy burst forth from her fingertips, flying in a high arc and descending on the huge beast. They scorched it's skin, making numerous new wounds all over it. But it didn't slow down. It did however notice her presence. It slowly turned and started at her, moving fast for it's size. That was quickly changed though, with yet another spell. It soon looked like it was trying to make it's way through syrup, and she had plenty of time to prepare her next spell.
Her fingertips left faintly glowing lines in the air as she weaved the spell. She could feel a tingle in her fur, as if the very air around her was charged with the magic she gathered. She held it like that for a long second, right at the very edge of how much power she could hold without losing control. Then she released it.
No flames or sparks came flying through the air this time. At first nothing seemed to have happened at all. Then the gigantic monster halted, and stumbled. With what would probably have been a cry of anguish, had it's vocal cords not rotted off, it toppled over and fell to the ground.
It didn't move again.
She walked a few steps closer, intending to make sure it was dead. But then she changed her mind. She knew it was, she didn't have to look to make sure. Instead she turned around, heading back towards the path she had left. She felt better now. Not happier, not at all. But not as frustrated. She was in control again. She was a firm believer that violence wasn't a solution in itself. But... perhaps pointless killing could have it's uses... Some times.
But she'd never admit that to anyone, of course.
Subject: Down the dead scar 
I'm really happy to hear that. I'm usually afraid my english isn't strong enough for stories.