So, it's been quite a while since I've role played, and this is the first introduction I've done in a long time. Its kind of complex, and what I'm most worried about it the confusion factor. So, the character is a member of a race of my creation, the Branwen, which are kind of like Half-Elves, only a bit more human, and live to be about 300 or so. Some of them have the ability to control fire similar to how a fire elemental would. Essentially the first part is kind of a dream sequence, where she remembers how she accidentally played a part in the ruin of humanity, and has since been hiding with a secret religious order who are starting a rebellion against the Dark King. The weapon she accidentally hands over is the Box of Chaos, which has been guarded by the Branwen forever, and was stolen from my character, who then retrieved it, only to have it be used despite her protection.

After traveling for so long it felt very strange to finally be getting rid of this thing. For almost two years it had tortured me. I had seen my people destroyed for this weapon, I had been trapped as the giants stormed through my village, slaughtering every Branwen that stood in their way.

And it was I who led them right to the Box of Chaos. With my family and people destroyed I knew taking the Box to the High King in Etroka was the only way to ensure its safety. I was distraught, and they ambushed me...

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. That wasn't important just now. The Box of Chaos rest safely in my arms once again. For two years I had chased the wretched weapon, under the High King's orders. He had called together his counsel, so that they all might witness the return of this feared weapon. King Ekim had asked that I wear the traditional regalia of the Branwen Guard. It felt strange to don my leathers, which used to be my only clothing, knowing that there was no more Branwen Guard, no one was left to protect my snowy home.

I shook my head again, reminding myself that the King and I were enemies, not friends, and I must keep my composure. I caught a glance of myself in the mirror, My gold hair had been tamed and braided by one of the maids, who did not relish the task. I sighed, as comfortable as the regalia was it was more a scare tactic than clothing. In the tundra of Baktal the Branwen Guard wore only a leather band across the chest, and a leather belt to cover the waist. Female members had two strips of crimson cloth attached to the belt in the front and back, making a sort of skirt. The cloth was dead useful, as it could be fashioned in to a tent, bandages, and was fire resistant. My soft soled knee high boots held no weapons, as I had been stripped of all of them, including my long sword, Savaria. I scratched the phoenix tattoo on my right forearm, I had been branded with this mark almost a hundred years ago, as all young Branwen were, to show our love for the great phoenix, Garuda. I glanced once more at myself, grabbed the Box of Chaos and walked to the throne room.

–

The High King sat on his extravagant throne, flanked on one side by his Queen, Ayre and his own royal guards. He was speaking, but I wasn't listening. My skin pressed against the rough wood of the Box felt ice cold. A feeling of dread slowly crept through my body. King Ekim motioned me to walk forward. I kept the burn of embarrassment from my cheeks as I approached the throne, feeling eyes bore in to my exposed skin. But, I am not a blushing Southern woman, I am a Branwen warrior. The King stood, though I did not kneel. I had made a promise to myself years ago to never kneel before another man. Controlled anger flashed across his face for a moment, though he knew me well enough. Instead of throwing a fit he just extended his hands towards me. I hadn't realized I was clutching the Box to my chest, my knuckles showing white. I shook my head yet again, and slowly handed the Box to King Ekim.

He held it in his hands like a child, and delicately stroked the golden clasp. Tenderly his fingers worked, and with a small gesture he flipped the lip open. My jaw dropped. From behind Ekim's twisted face I could see the Queen, her eyes wide.

The events around me happened so slowly, it was as if no sound existed in the world. Small flames could be seen dancing in the mouth of the Box. They were mesmerizing, I knew I should do something to stop this impending disaster, but I couldn't look away from the Box. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, growing brighter. As I tried to command my feet to move forward my eyes began to water. The light from outside grew even brighter, in tendrils, slowly groping for the enchanted flames of the Box. I could feel sweat beginning to drip down my back, as the tentacles of sunlight grew white hot, slithering and snaking their way around King Ekim. His hair streamed back as if blown by an invisible wind, the sun began to show out of his eyes, out of his mouth.

I finally knocked in to him, the spell finally broke upon me, I wrenched the Box from his hands, and wrestled the lid shut.

And all was silent. All was cold. All was still.

–

Meren Arnen woke in a cold sweat, dreaming of the same event almost twenty years after the fact. The cold, the darkness, was just as real as in her dream. Since that day she had sought refuge with the Dragonics, a group of dragon worshipers that she had long been acquainted with.

“Catsfoot,” a voice whispered in her ear. She shot up, covered in hay. “You've been sleeping in the stables again?”

Meren sighed, “I've been dreaming again.” she whispered to her long time friend, Quickfeet, who had long ago bonded over their similar nicknames in a tavern. “The smell of horses reminds me of home.”

Concern crossed Quickfeet's face, the extravagant black tattoos lining her facial features sagged as she frowned. “The time to dwell on the past is not now, Catsfoot. Elder Talan has asked to speak with you immediately,” she smiled, “Though you might want to bathe.”

Meren hurried and did as her friend instructed, carefully scrubbing her most recent tattoo, a black dragon wrapping around her left bicep. She had been inducted in to the order of the Dragonics two nights ago, and the ink was still fresh, stinging as the water passed over it. She braided her wet hair, and dressed simply, dark cotton leggings, soft soled boots, linen shirt and the bodice Quickfeet had made for her. It housed six daggers that could be reached quickly, and had saved her life numerous times. The Branwen looked at her sword for a few moments, and decided to strap it to her waist. The Elder would not be offended that she was armed to the teeth.

Elder Talan was housed in the middle of the network of shabby houses where the order lived. His small frame illuminated by a roaring red fire. The fire spoke to the own flame in Meren's soul. It called back memories of sunshine and warmth. She sighed.

“Lady Meren,” he said, the name sounded foreign on her ears, after being addressed by her nickname for so long. “It is time.”

He did not need to explain.

“What is it that you require, my Lady?”

She had thought about this for years. “The Prince.”

Elder Talan smiled, and dismissed me with a wave of his tattooed hand.