The Little General Who Could

[Flamebird]

The mind is a wicked place.

What twisted thoughts and horrid memories could be brought up to the soul who wanted to forget? Oh, what agony awaited the one who's head was sick like a black lung. Sleep was never peaceful, sleep was never restful. Physically, the body was well, but every day she awoke with tormented thoughts dancing around the fire of her psyche, dancing in the ashes of her joy.

Deadly, deadly were the dreams that made her toss and turn every night. She slept with reluctance, knowing at least her body needed to be ready for the days ahead. The town of Whitevale vanquished their foe, Arius the Wizard, but at a terrible cost. Now, she was mandatory in the stabilization of the Brotherhood's realm. It was ironic that inside, she was being torn apart all the same. Her mentor, her leader, the person she looked up to, was gone. It was not the first time. Vile memories churned into nightmares even more vile sieged her senses in her sleep. Torment... torment...

Her uncle, her cousin... both died out of her control. She survived, they did not. Her first teacher, Ashla, turned from a distant but kind woman into a murderous monster. Out of her control. She could do nothing... This loss of control, these events from her past, screamed at her every day with the loud clanging of broken symbols. Her dreams were a blur of memories, nightmares, and a mix of both. Eventually, within the echoes and labyrinths of her torture, she finally opened her eye.

In a sharp instant, she flung herself out of bed. As some sort of sound echoed in the background, the girl panted as sweat dripped down her frame. As her heavy breaths began to slow, she steadily came to. This place was familiar. In the darkness of what appeared to be night, several weapons were neatly hung on one end of the wooden wall. Turn around, there were a bookshelf and a wardrobe standing side by side. The bed, she turned to see again, was soaked wet from her sweat, tears, and spit. It stunk too. The sheets were knotted, tossed, and torn. The pillow had been flung across the room, no atop the wardrobe. At last, the girl turned to where she finally became more aware of the repeating ding in her ears. The rich, redwood grandfather clock had struck four in the morning, just as always.

Oh. The girl walked towards the mirror next to the clock. Time to get up.

She wore a loose, white nightgown which was soaked now, hung to her muscular frame. The girl sighed as she pushed her red hair, wet as a mop, behind her ears. Green eyes glared into the mirror. The look reflected was filled with sorrow, dread, and self loathing.

"Felicity," She spat at herself, "Wake up."

[Flamebird]

Eventually, she returned inside. Now that the light was in, the house was more visible. The simplistic design could stand to be decorated - if Felicity cared. No, the furniture was plain, unpainted and without design - save one or two pieces bought from sets or collections that she needed, like the clock in her room. She briefly peaked into her room again. Adjacent to the wall with her tossed up bed, the clock stood in its usual place. The hand was indeed on six o'clock now. She had an hour.

She leapt into the tiny bathing room and filled the tub with cold water. She hastily bathed, cold and without comfort. Still, she made sure she was clean before drying off and returning to her room just across the hall.

The drapes were closed, they always were. Felicity pulled out black pants and a dark grey, double button top that reached to just above the knees. After placing them on and smoothing her hair our, she turned to face the clock again. It had been about twenty minutes. With a sigh, she pulled a strong from the top of her bookshelf and started to work at her hair. Now, now the time clicked on and on. She desperately tried to work her hair in a way that her massive forehead did not appear too, well, massive. The half-neanderthal growled as she tied and untied her hair over and over. As the clock hit six forty, she forced herself with stick with most of her hair being tied in a tight bun, save the front locks which were left down. It still felt ugly, but it had to do. She then grabbed a single weapon, her prevalida arming sword, off the shelf and tied it to her waistline.

Now, she was ready to go.

Her heart still pounded inside her chest. She was never at ease...

Stepping outside, she was greeted with Whiterun's increasingly familiar scenery. The stone buildings, all appearing the same, were spaced out evenly in a series of cobblestone streets. The scents of business filled the air. Feicity could smell pies cooking from a bakery down the street. She also heard the loud clanging of a metalsmith's hammer against the force. All the murmuring of people walking around, talking daily news, resounded, Felicity felt strangely optimistic. These people were still getting out, despite all that had transpired. So, Felicity walked down the street. As her boots thudded against the hard ground, she walked through the hazy streets as a street cleaner swept up stray ash still laden upon the ground. As Felicity walked, however, she heard the whispers and chattering of those talking amongst themselves.

"Lord Osiris has been gone for some time, will he return?"

"I hope so. Lord Veritas just came back moments prior to his disappearance! He is hardly fit to take his place!

"Do you think Veritas had something to do with it? Was he in league with the Wizard so he could take control?"

"Don't say such things! They have been good friends for ages! Besides, the reason Lord Veritas left in the first place was to track down the traitor for the good of Whiterun... right?"

Felicity reached up, feeling her pulse. Indeed, her heart was racing. Yes, people were in the streets, but they were gossiping and spreading panic. Once again, the heavy burden laying atop her heart felt even heavier. These people needed someone to keep them calm! Steady! Secure! She scowled as she realized she may have to be the one to do it... while all this time, she cried for her mentor to return in her pillow at night.

[Flamebird]

*Slam!*

Felicity's leg soundly slammed into the punching bag. Now, the sun was as bright as it could get in Corone. Under the cold day's gaze, Felicity practiced her unarmed combat and form. As she practiced, she was pulled away from the world around her and the soldiers training alongside her. Right now, apart from the wind and the voices and even the ground below her feet, was just her and her target. Her victim.

*Whack!*

Her fist landed into the thick hide of the stuffing filled bag. Felicity scowled. Her anger steadily grew as she continued to beat her arms and legs against the object. Her thoughts swirled. Am I doing the right thing? Decreasing the patrol? Maybe I'm just paranoid, of course this is for the best! If the people see us flexing our military power they will see fear! Of course, I- A single wrong hit. Felicity's balance was off and she hit off center. Felicity slowly lowered her stance, gazing upon the punching bag blankly, then...

*POW!*

Felicity slammed her body into the practice item, causing the entire stand to shake in the power of her blow. Teeth gritted, Felicity did not notice her magic affinity swell inside of her, causing her eyes to faintly tint in a dim shine. Inside, things just exploded. Her punches and kicks amplified in power and strength as her grunted in frustration. You just had to leave, Shinsou! You just had to make everything awful!

Surrounding her, the soldiers practicing in the outside world turned to watch her, faces filled with shock.

Why! Why did you leave?! The plan was perfect then everything was ruined! Why?! Why did you leave us?! Why did you-

The punching bag was now deformed. The wooden beam was bent and breaking. There were multiple holes and worn tufts across the punching bag's body.

Why did you leave me!? Why!? You know where I came from, you know what happened to me! Why?! Why would you do this to me!? Traitor! Why!?

Tears swelled in her eyes as her lips parted. Her vision was completely red.

"Why! Why! Why! You little- why-" *Shhhcrack!*

Felicity snapped out of it in the complete release of the punching bag from the earth. The flimsy, pathetic punching bag now was flying across the entire training yard. Felicity leapt back with a gasp as it landed between two men who were sparring and prior to the bag falling between them, had no idea what was going on. As they cried out in terror, they turned to see where it came from. Suddenly, Felicity was aware of many eyes on her. Turning around, she saw saw that a massive crowd of soldiers were drawn to her, saving watched her demolish the training dummy.

Hot shame flooded her chest. As a single tear slipped down her cheek, she remembered her image. She was a General! It was her job to stay strong for these people, to stay composed and mature in the face trouble. Now, the entire garrison had watched her take out some form of feeling on a practice dummy. Her knees felt weak, she struggled to stay afloat the waves of reality again. How could she let herself go in front of them? She lifted her head high, maintained a much calmer stance, and swallowed. Time to put on another mask.

"Get someone to clean that up!" She barked, wincing when she came off as much more enraged than she aimed for. Still, no one questioned her as the two sparring partners dropped their swords and picked up the punching bag and slung it over their backs. As they struggled to keep the weight of it balanced, Felicity turned to see that from the shadows, another man wearing the same badge as she was was watching from the shadows. Another general...

Felicity gauged the door next to him, which lead to a washroom, and dusted herself off. "I need to cool off."

She marched through the crowd slowly. Her heart was pounding so hard it could fly from her chest and land in Dheathian. She felt the boring through her. Through the clothes of dignity, they caught a peak at the bare weakness she carried. The anger, the shame... She needed to escape. Holding her own long enough, she ascended the hard stone steps into the shade of the building's overhangs. There, she eyed the general. And the general eyed her.