You walk behind the last wagon, the one containing the weapons. You look to the weapons and then t the people further down the road. You dont think they have noticed you yet. Trying to stay out of sight, you reach into the wagon.
When you grasped the hilt, your eyes once again rolled back into their sockets as they did earlier. This time, it was accompanied by fragmented memories, mostly of your childhood and, yes, huntress training in the religious order of Calithari, the patron goddess of the Drow who denounce the Drow Houses and guilds that joined the evil Atlovans and their allies.
You remember your childhood friends, your mother and your family. Much, if not most, is still missing, but you can remember who you called family and comrade and where you call home.
One memory comes through strongest though. From what you can make out, it is one part of your Huntress acknowledgement ceremony. The vision comes through strong.
*
‘Rise, my daughter’ Said the woman standing before you, who you recognise as your mother from the previous vision. ‘You have proven yourself a clever and resourceful Calathari Huntress and have therefore earned the respect of the Goddess and your sisters in arms. Take your bow and sword, your huntress garb and Sisterhood knives. Keep them safe, and go forth! Drive your blades into the hearts of our enemies!’
*
You only get small, scattered memories after that, although the feelings of great sorrow, great joy and love shine through. They are, unfortunately, out of reach at this time.
You come back to your senses and steady yourself by reaching out and grasping the side of the wagon. "That....that was intense" you mutter to yourself. Shaking your head, you grab what you now recognise as your weapons. You sheath the sword. You grab the daggers by their blades and, whilst you withdraw them from the wagon, you see their hilts, inscribed with your last name,
Winterlocks.
'Yes, definitely mine' You smile at the though. You quickly sheath them, shoulder the quiver and grasp your bow.
You have barely taken a single step away from the wagon when you are hit with realization.
Those people...
Drow....in robes belong to one of the many houses who betrayed the Adavta Elven nation and joined the Atlovans in their brutal wars against the Coalition. But they aren't any old members. They aren't your standard foot soldiers or supply runners. The ones in plain robes are trainee magic users but the ones with designs.....
You turn around, and you take a closer look at the intricate patterns on the robes.
Yes, you realise each is subtly different, representing different spheres of magic. They are extraordinarily powerful magic users, the various markings aside from the magic discipline markers on their robes denoting veterancy and power. Your eyes widen and you gulp involuntarily as you realise they specialise in at least half a dozen magic spheres each. From what memories you have, you cant seem to remember meeting any Drow with such magical capabilities.
There is one thing common to all, though, that intrudes upon your observation. Necromancy, the most vile of magical disciplines, hated but never truly banned. It makes your blood run cold, although you do not know why...yet. You can, now that you are more in tune with your senses, even smell the faint odor necrotic magic gives its practitioners. Disgust fills your emotions.
You feel a compulsion, an urge to charge forward and rend them asunder with your blades. You try to force it down. You cant help but shout out towards the guards...
"THEY ARE NECROMANCERS! THE WHOLE GROUP!"
The heads of all ten hooded Drow snap round. The one who was arguing with the guard captain spins completely around, startling the Guards he was standing in front of. He points at you and yells back. "YOU! You TRAITOROUS
BITCH".
Well, that escalated quickly.
What do you do? Arin's anger got the better of her, you are now the focus of ten pissed of magic users and the Yellow Banner Guards are confused.