What the fresh hell was she doing here? Nymeria wandered the desert lost and stung by whipping sand that shredded her clothes and cut her flesh leaving her to look like a flayed slave that had been left to die. Silver hair matted in large clumps, ivory skin cracked and bleeding, eyes dry…she looked as if she were one of the beasts summoned from this hellscape. The sun had set an hour ago, the heat bleeding from the environment leaving a blistering cold that threatened to steal the air from her lungs and leave her a frigid mummy to return to this earth as yet another incarnation.
Not today Death, No, this day would not be the day that Dalanesca laid claim to her soul, did familiars have souls? Was she a familiar anymore at all? There was so much to ask the goddesses of life and death to leave this world in this way.
Too much left unknown.
Nymeria laid in tattered clothes on the biting sand, heat being pulled from her into the earth as she waited, calmly waited for the end of the sandstorm. It had turned her around, disoriented her from the goal of finding the source of this power. Already she had sensed the beasts, defeated two in the chaos of the storm, barely escaping with body and soul intact. She had whispered a prayer to the long gone deities of the world, knowing no others, finding her heart swell with the hope of a future. The promise of more. She pawed the sand, pulling herself forward as the will to go on filled her essence and drove her to stand. What was there, what was doing this? She called to the winds “What the hell is your problem!?” She cried out, using her innate air skills to push a bubble of protection out and around her token the beating sands from lashing her further. Rhylana had not been a healer, she had not been a woman of giving- but she had been of passion and that lived on in the spirit of her familiar.
The passion to live, and to let others live in that. Whatever, whoever, was doing this was hurting the fragile world of mortals, the delicate world of men that demanded love. She could not let it stand, could not let it go forth that this person, this thing would drive such a painful wedge into this realm. No. They had to answer. As a beasts shadow came forth from the dust devils, a wall of flame pulsed out from Nymeria’s outstretched hands, willing her will to live into that fire and out into the realm of men, into that beast that dared trod here.
There was a call for justice, a call for honor and what was right. Nymeria had found her calling; she had seen that passion within her heart: To hunt those that must be hunted, to drive them out and into the clutches of the damned.