Determined Course

Quote:

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OOC: Solo.

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She held the piece of art in her hands.

A beautiful, sturdy bow. Made of talymer, this war bow was incredibly thick and long. On their own, meager yew war bows had a humongous drawback weight. Even as she held it casually, however, Felicity knew the talymer powerhouse would be hefty.

The wide eyed teen merely observed the bow as wind blew in her face. She looked up. She was sailing at sea. The smell of salt water was simultaneously refreshing and odd. Felicity had sailed so many times before. Her first experience at sea was when she was nine. It was her first taste of freedom from the dung pile that was Eiskalt. It was also her first sense of adventure. She remembered glaciers, mountains of raw ice in the ocean, floating slowly by in crisp, cold air. She had many furs pilled on top to keep the plummeting temperatures from killing her. The little girl generated her own heat by running up and down the ramps, watching with innocent eyes upon the new, blue world. She had asked the captain and crew every tedious question she could over what this rope or this lever did.

Felicity blinked, bringing her back to the present.

She was seventeen now, soon to turn eighteen. The redhead was currently on a boat which sailed from Scara Brae to Corone. It was where her big brother primarily lived, and she wanted to get as far away from the Toivonen family as possible…

Corone was her home since she was nine. Although a shy little girl, the previously traumatized child learned to warm up to the rolling grasslands in time. She remembered even her first glimpse of the island nation from afar. She had been astonished to see so much green! Eiskalt was a frigid, mountain land of snow. Mostly shades of browns and white, endless white, had been the only bland image she saw her whole life. For Corone, however, it blew her away. Green. She had seen the dark evergreens of Eiskalt in the past, but it was mostly the same old shade. In Corone however, there were varieties of different plants, grasses, trees with multitudes of different colors. Even amongst the purple lavender and yellow tulips, however, the simple green of grasses impacted her the most. To this day, green was her favorite color.

And now, she was sailing to Corone again. Once again, the sounds of sailors shouting and equipment clamoring dominated her senses. The smooth currents and gentle tossing of soothing waves was barely audible. Thus far, travel faired well. Felicity currently leaned against a white beam, observing her new weapon in her hand.

She had just gotten this, plus the black clothes on her body, as parting gifts from the younger Toivonens. Max never liked her, for some reason, but he and Angela were still attached enough to join forces and craft a nuclear resistant cloth, which was sown into a simple blouse and shorts. It was lovely. Having clothes immune to her own, burning powers was more than enough of a gift.

Yet they had given her one more good luck charm. This bow. Felicity was concerned with having such a good quality, high tier bow when her powers could roast it like marshmallow. With how remarkably beautiful this fine craftsmanship was, Felicity was sure to use such a remarkable thing wisely. She held the bow with one hand, moving her left hand up and down the smooth dark shaft.

Her crooked, dead pinky caught her eyes. Distant memories of the misery she endured in Eiskalt replayed faintly.

She hissed, her hand slowed to a standstill. She struggled to grip and hold with this hand when this dead finger was in the way. She gazed upon the permanently twisted finger with a cold gaze. When she first moved to Corone, she was too chicken to let her uncle take an axe to the unfeeling pinky. Pale, white as Eiskalt’s snow, the cursed thing remained into her apprenticeship under Ashla Icebreaker. With het newfound, bleed based powers, Felicity had grown afraid to cut it off for a whole new reason.

Yet, here she was, sailing the ocean waves to her adopted homeland again.

Maybe it was finally time to do away with this dead weight?

She lazily pushed herself up from the beam. Delyn sword dangling at her waistline, she held her bow in her good hand as she retreated below deck. It was time.

Below deck, shadows primarily reigned. Between the golden rays of dim sunlight sneaking between the cracks, the musty smell of untouched supply boxes was quite potent. The green eyed teen pushed open a small door, which led to a tiny room. A potty bucket, tiny desk, and plank board bed was within the miniscule, cramped space. Felicity took a moment to shove the revolting smelling bucket beneath the bed before shutting the door behind her with a creak.

She heard every small moan of the boat from within here. There was little noise insulation, although that was expected. This was far from a first class cruise. The girl carefully put the bow on the bed, which had three quilts and a single, stained pillow on it. She had no place to put her larger possessions. Most of it was stored amongst the countless boxes in the back. However, Felicity had a rule of keeping two things with her at all times.

Her weapons. Her alchemy kit.

On the puny stand, attached to the wall, her bag was all tied up. Various small tools and trinkets needed for the art of botany was stored in the animal skin bag. She opened it was caution, in case the ship suddenly made a sharp dip or turn, and pulled out a single object.

A knife.

It was usually made for cutting up herbs or slicing berries. Today, however, it would cut away at long dead flesh. The girl placed her left hand atop the rough oak table. She shook, barely holding onto the knife with her dominant right hand. She was unafraid of pain; she had dealt with aches millions of times worse. It was the possibility of accidentally letting blood at the border of the dead and living tissue. No, the mangled pinky had zero blood flow. Yet, in attempts at careful perfection, even the nimble dexterity of an alchemist’s hands could make a mistake.

She had to take a moment.

She half put the knife down, half tossed it atop the desktop. She took the half step back to the door, head leaning against the crude door. Could she do this? Who knew how long she just stood there, heart pounding, watching the lonely knife. She closed her eyes, remembering the reckless damage she could cause when her Berserk Rage switched on.

She bit her lip in growing worry.

Bold eyes opened.

Sudden determination.

All this dead pinky did was cause suffering. The unmovable hunk of tissue only got in the way of her duel weilding so long ago. Now, there was no doubt it would deter her use of her new ranged weapon as well. Plus, above all else, the finger reminded her of Eiskalt.

That frozen hunk of Thayne forsaken ice.

It was one of many Eiskaltians who looked down upon, loathed, even the idea of a human-neanderthal hybridization. He took her, assaulted her, beat her. He left her with a permanent injury, alone in the stinging snow, as the five year old bawled in the hazy frost.

No more.

No more!

No more would the memories of such abuse haunt her in this manner. Her right fist tightened in righteous anger. It was time to do what she should of done when she was nine.

She pushed herself off the thin door, took that half a step back to the nightstand. She took the knife, placing her left hand upon the table. Compared to her four, strong, healthy fingers, the dead one stuck out astonishingly. It never grew past the age of five, the utter ruthlessness of the attacker made sure the finger died upon a heart weakening, brutal, revolting snap! crunch! While the finger stopped growing, Felicity never stopped. She was not a weak child anymore. Just at the brink of adulthood, she was ready to cut off the insignificant finger. She was ready to finally grow out of the pains of her childhood.

She judged her angle very, very carefully. Then, with caution, she made the first cut.

One would wonder what the girl carried in the small baggie.

With a certain air, a sturdy confidence, Felicity Rhyolite marched proudly across the open deck. The bright, yellow sun beat down merrily upon the passengers as she held her head high, posture straight. Her boots thundered against the brown boards. Her right hand brushed against the side of the ship, painted white, as she ascended a small fleet of stairs. Now, she stood upon the highest part of the open poop deck. She then, to all witnesses amazement and shock, started to climb upon the fat railing. As waves and white foam roared below, she stood tall. To her, this was a momentous occasion. This was a ceremony, an event worth celebration and merriment.

Her left hand, which held the bag, had a bandage wrapped around where the pinky once laid to waste. She had, yes, cut herself upon occasion. While temporary anger had surged through her boiling veins, Nevin's soothing medications worked just enough to wait out the fifteen second storm, then calmy work again.

Yes, blood stains were seen in both the bandage and the bag. Yet, here Felicity stood. No infuriated outbursts had endured. Nothing on this ship was broken – at least by her hand. Success.

She held the bag out over the resounding waters. The shouts of the crew from afar, the babbling of seagulls above, felt alarmingly distant.

Her left hand literally never felt better, despite the throbbing pain. No more unnecessary obstacles to limit her hand’s mobility. No more shocked, judgemental stares from the average passersby over her ancient injury. No more weakness. It had been cut off. The dead branch was cut from the vine.

She smirked. It was a smile of triumph. She let go of the bag, which contained the discarded finger. In mere seconds, it disappeared into the ocean mist.

She giggled.

She felt free.

So was overjoyed that that thing was finally gone.

She unwisely jumped up and down on the railing. Arms held up, hands extended in victory, she shouted in victory and glee over this long overdue choice. As expected of this behavior, she fell and tripped, falling onto the poop deck, seconds after she started.

She could care less over barely felt pain. A free, merry smile, akin to the grin on a child, was formed. She laughed as she got up, starting to twirl in circles.

She had done it!

Satisfaction beyond words still exploded in her light chest as the day continued.

She had cleared out a large space in the storage room. A spare bag of sand was propped against a supporting beam as she eyed it from many feet away.

She held the bow in her hand.

A long time ago, back when Ashla led the now dead organization P.A.L.E., Felicity had learned the basics of archery from the late Julius Tabor. She was now determined to brush up on those skills, to learn to master this complex bow.

Yet, a war bow made of the stubborn talymer wood would be hard to master. Yew war bows were hard enough to pull back, Felicity had only used a recurve model. Now, it was advancing from newcomer to master status weapons. This would be immensely difficult to even pull back right, let alone aim.

Her own barrels and boxes were behind the beam, in case she misfired.

She looked back upon the training sessions and acted accordingly. She put one foot forward, foot pointed out. She leaned her weight into this front leg, using her back and shoulder muscles to pull back.

Yew war bows had the power of about one hundred fifty pounds.

A war bow made of talymer? Much stronger.

Felicity was surprised when even she struggled to pull such a monstrosity back. She initially failed even to pull it all the way back. After an initial growl of frustration, she repositioned and tried again. This time, she was ready for the weight.

The very limit of her brute strength was tested, but she still managed to pull it back this time. Her left arm, which held the iron arrow, ever so slightly shook. Before she had the chance to aim, she accidentally let go.

She let out a shocked scream as the sound of the perfect *thlick!* and the crushing of wood sounded. Felicity barely maintained her balance before she looked up.

So was so glad she missed the bag and beam completely. It would of completely broken the pole and, in turn, the ship.

The arrowshaft was hard to spot, it was barely visible through the stack of multiple floorboards it crashed into. Saw dust flew as Felicity stepped forth, observing the damage.

A wide, merry smile spread across her face.

She reached into the first plank and yanked the arrow out with a grunt. She laughed, wide eyed, as she saw that all but the last plank had been punctured all the way through. She once again looked to that heavy, immersive war bow. Her grip on the shaft tightened as she smirked. This was mind blowing!

She was definitely going to master this weapon now!

Felicity ran through the door, calling out. "Uncle!"

It was a familiar wood cabin. The golden rays of the dusty windows shone into the dark room. The foyer was always quite tidy, with a velvet rug and royal furniture – yet now, it was empty. Why? That place was empty. Confusion crossed her face as she looked around. Where were the tables and chairs? The bench that had always been under the simplistic glass window? The cupboards were empty. Not even her uncle's favorite green run was laid out on the center floor. It was vacant.

The shadows seemed to shift unnaturally, into hints of terrible monsters unwilling to reveal themselves. Her heart pounded. The little drum inside was clearly audible as the scene played out. Yellow sunshine churned into red beams. Her face felt cold, body numb. Somehow, she stepped forth anyway. Against her own will.

As the floorboards groaned under her weight, she cautiously looked around. She was about to call out for him again, but then a long shadow appeared. At first, the blue monster was faceless. Unusually long, squirming limbs held a dark box. She felt like running, but her legs were glued. She yearned to scream, but her dry mouth was glued shut. Sweat dripped down her body moved with the room's twisted shadow. His voice was, however, unusually normal. It was words Felicity knee well – she had relived this exaggerated memory before. The limbs slowly decreased in size, repelling into normal limbs. The box’s color was recalled. It was brown oak wood. Only his face was hidden within the shadows, out of sight.

The unfamiliar worker came in from the equally vacant hallway. "Hey, we start auctioning off the property on Monday. Come then."

Apathy.

Dreaded, freezing apathy.

She relived this memory before. Yet, the walk through the queasynightmare was not at all easier. She knew what came next. Tears already started to fall.

“Has Jeremiah Knopsnidee moved?"

"Knopsniders?" The man asked absently, "No, the old man apparently died from a stroke. Nobody was with him, so his body was only found on the kitchen table when a neighbor stopped by to borrow eggs. Poor soul. Anyways, gotta finish packing this garbage, see 'ya on Monday!"

A waterfall fell from her eyes. Somehow, the room was filling up with water. Why water? As he left, unaffected, she stood there. Too shocked. She was too shocked for words. The only soul in this lonely cabin, she dropped to her knees in silence. She was now half drowned in the odd collection of salty sea water. It continued to grow as she vividly remembered her thoughts at the time.

The dreaded realization that she had lost her uncle too trickled into her mind.

She was alone.

Tears continued to downpour as the waters rose. Yet, steadily, the water changed color. Maybe It was the crooked lights cast from the windows, yet… It was unusually thick. Neck high, through what drastically changed from cool mist to boiling steam, she realized. This was… blood.

She choked. The sweat continued to increase as terror rose. Through the blood, she realized… someone was in her arms.

Lonely moonlight was cast dimly upon them. Felicity was holding somebody important in her arms. Covered in blood, crying as he whispered in her ear, this memory had hardly any surroundings of setting to her. She had been crazed, and the bloodied image of her injured cousin was all she had seen.

"Someday, you will have the strength to shake the entirety of Althanas. I love you, cousin."

He coughed up blood. Red blood. Crimson blood. Her own family blood.

He gave his last breathe.

She screamed.

And she screamed.

Until her eyes shot open.

She looked up, upon a bland wood ceiling.

She panted heavily, her throat burning from the caterwauls in her sleep. She was… on a cramped floor. A single leg was elevated against the bed. Her waist was twisted. She was half curled up the fetal position, a blanket wrapped awkwardly around her soaked frame. From head to toe, she appeared to have bathed in sweat. Her long, unkempt red locks were saturated. Her body was sticky, reeking in stench. Her heartbeat still pounded, her heart might as well explode or leap from her chest. Her eyed darted left in right, still in panic from the terror she dreamt.

Just when she finally evaded intrusive thoughts and triggers… her own blasted dreams reminded her of her haunted past.

Cloud nine was too stormy. She regretted trying to sleep.

Even at night, she was unable to sleep soundly.

The panic attack still commenced. She could not process much, outside her own trepidation.

Every single rock in the ship, every creak upon the wood boards, every muffled voice, had her flying into hysterics. In haste, she straggled to get up. Her tangled up body took a moment to unwind before the shaking teen barely climbed to her cot. She pulled her sword down and death gripped it with trembling hands.

Blood pressure skyrocketed. Chest contractions ravaged her heart. Fight or flight. Adrenaline. Mouth gaped open. Tears. Overflowing tears. Hyperventilation. Blurred, shaky vision. Disassociation. Little perception of her surroundings.

In the fetal position, on the floor, she hugged the sheath of her blade. Panic attacks brutally slammed down, one after the other in an endless barrage. How long did this last?

Who knew?

She must of blacked out sometime in her internal hell.

The morning sky was purple.

Unable to sleep, even after the shaky recovery after so many hours, Felicity leaned against the ship, railing as she looked ahead. Folded arms propped her chin up as she gazed upon the aquamarine waters. She was completely exhausted. Peaceful sleep was a rare thing, unless she took knockout drugs. Well, she had run out of those yesterday. She would need to make more once she made it to Nevin's. The blood mage's house was still eons apart, however. The waves stretched on forever.

She sighed deeply, tears forming. She needed him. She needed him to calm her down again, soothe her, remind her she would be okay. Her older brother figure was so important to her. She needed his hand on her shoulder, his awkward but amusing smile.

Better to reflect on fond memories than bad ones, even if the bad ones were often involuntary.

She continued to look out in sorrow.

The sound of a door opening caused her to jump. Green eyes dilated as she hoisted herself up. She looked towards the entrance to below deck. A blond man, built and trim, stepped onto the dock wearing a white shirt and brown trousers. He stepped up to the edge of the boat. He took in a breath of fresh, salty sea air. As mist from the water sprayed them both, he smiled joyfully. “Am'aleh has blessed us again.”

A Thayne follower. Felicity shrugged him off, too foul of a mood to speak to anyone. Yet, he spoke to her. As she gazed upon the ocean, he chirped, “What takes you to Corone?”

She glanced briefly at the fellow passenger, only with her eyes. Without turning her head, she meagerly blinked and watched the sea again, “I have a brother in Radansanth.”

“Family reunion?” He placed his hands behind his back. Brown eyes also surveyed the waters.

“I’m moving in with him.” She shrugged, before turning her head. She inquired, “Why are you going to Corone?”

He took a moment to rub his eyes, still waking up, as he spoke with pride and duty. “Faith United is recruiting.”

Some form of odd curiosity poked at her mind. Willing to get into conversation to escape her thoughts, she stood straighter. Inquisitive pondering sparkled in her eyes as she innocently asked, “Faith United?”

Sunlight bathed the ship in warmth. Felicity sat upon the bowsprit of the ship. She was lost in thought, considering a new path. She would still reside with Nevin, but she felt another cause calling her. Her long ago dreams of joining the Coronian Rangers was dead, yet the desire to protect her homeland remained.

A certain group could give her that opportunity.

“Land ho!”

A loud bell rang as open commotion rang from the people below. Felicity took the wooden pole of the bowsprit with her hands. Climbing with her legs and arms, she pulled herself higher in anticipation.

Flashback upon flashback of her first encounter with this land crossed her mind.

She smiled, laughed. Overjoyed, she fondly watched a green island steadily grow closer. Green. Beautiful green. She never understood why so many people took the color of cool grass for granted.

Little did she know, however, how much she herself took the blue sky for granted.

An ancient monster currently grumbled in Lornius. It was ready to explode.

Little did she know the tragedy about to ensue across Althanas. How could she? Despite being mature for her age, she was still her age.

She slid down from her perch, racing through the crowds of blurred people. Through the halls of the dorms, to her room. Excitement burst through her chest as she collected her things with a much smoother moving left hand. She pulled her large bow over her back as she merrily hummed to herself.

She may had been born in Eiskalt, but Corone was her home.

[OOC: Done.]

Determined Course.
Basic Judgment

Rewards:

Flamebird receives:
1300 EXP
130 Gold

"All bowmen are caught between heaven and earth, born to discovery, choosing to love and raise their eyes high to a future that is apparent only through the strength of their hope."

David Paul Kirkpatrick, The Address Of Happiness

All rewards have been given.