Melting snowdrifts made a patchwork of the lands to the north of the capital, green tufts of evergrass and weeds stubbornly stretching their way out from under  blankets of white as another mild winter gave way to spring. Carrying half-melted icicles along, a chuckling, tinkling stream bounded over the rocky cliffs and wound it's insistent way forward, seeking the babbling rivers and greater oceans far to the south. A warm, gentle sun shed steady light through islands of breeze-chased clouds over the rolling hills and endless plains of Gransys, seeped slowly through the dense foliage of her scattered forests. Winter was finally over, and it promised to be a fair season.

A certain madness, it is said, comes upon the inhabitants of Gransys come springtime, when the people in the capital fling open dusty shutters, hang up their heavy coats, and turn their feet once more to the well trodden roads, the long hours of daylight beckoning adventure and excitement to both the bold and the opportunistic. Surely, anyone witnessing the preformance of one such woman, perched upon a rocky ledge and screaming her challenge, would have had their fears of madness confirmed.

Gertrude, to give this young woman her name, was doing battle with imaginary enemies. Armed with a heavy, rough sword clearly too large for her slight frame, she flung herself from the rock's ledge, her breath coming in wild pants of steam in the morning air.

"Take that, and that! Come on, you stinking goblins! Is that all you have for me? No one told you about this Arisen, did they? Try this on for size!"

Weaving and staggering under the weight of her rough, iron sword, Gertrude lashed out powerfully left and right, tearing up unassuming clumps of grass and dirt and flinging them carelessly across the countryside. Satisfied that she had slain at least half a thousand ficticious foes, Gertrude plopped heavily onto the grassy knoll, scooping up handfuls of snow abd gulping them down to cool off after her strenuous exercise, all the while muttering taunts and jeers to her defeated foes.

In the quiet morning hush, Gertrude breathed deeply of the frostbitten air abd turned her sights southward. Gran Soren,  the beating heart and capital of Gransys, shone in the sun's rays, it's white stone walls beckoning safety and prosperity. Gertrude slowly removed her gloves, rubbing sore, rough hands that cracked and sometimes even bled from the weight of her trusted sword. Sighing, Gertrude rocked back onto her palms and let her mind wander, enjoying the warm rays on sunlight on her face. After a moment's thought, one hand almost subconsciously reached for the rugged eyepatch covering her left eye, scratching lazily at the old wound. Surely, she would be stronger. Never again would she have to stand by helpless. All she had to do was practice. Yes, that was it. Just trust in her sword and herself. That way, she would never again have another sleepless night, tossing and turning while the smell of smoke haunted her dreams. Smoke, and screaming, and fire...

A small bird startled Gertrude away from her morose turn of thoughts, squawking and clamoring towards the sky with harsh, frantic wingbeats. Gertrude stood slowly, her hand creeping for her weapon, eye scanning the horizon for movement. Her heart began to beat faster, and she took deep, steadying breaths, willing herself to complete silence. All around her, the world seemed to narrow and still, waiting.

A low growl, clear and unmistakable in the silence, sounded from the brush.

Gertrude swiftly took her sword in hand, trying to ignore the rattling of her hummingbird heart and the way her pulse leapt to her throat. She grabbed the hilt of her sword tightly, pointing it toward the noise and begging her chattering teeth to still. What manner of beast could it be? Her mind raced, conjuring creatures of deepest nightmare to be hidden in the low brush, and so great was her concentration she almost missed a tuneless and atonal humming that wound it's way to her ears.

Finally showing itself, a great white wolf peered from under the brush, it's ribs lean and eyes hungry from lack of a good meal. Snarling lips pushed back from yellowed fangs, the wolf locked it's intense blue gaze squarely on Gertrude. Great paws the size of dinner plates thudded lowly as it stepped forward, hunger and pain driving the animal towards a meal, regardless of the shining sword pointed at it's snowy breast. Gertrude gulped, spreading her feet and biting her lip in anticipation and fear, her hands shaking as she silently willed her muscles into action. Just swing, she thought. Just swing the sword. You're a warrior. You can do this.

From behind, the infernal humming grew louder, and unless Gertrude was mistaken, was that...footsteps? Confused, Gertrude jerked her head towards the sound, debating swiftly. Bandits roamed these parts. If she called for help, she might be in more trouble than she thought. If it was a friend, would her pride allow her to be seen bested by a single-

That moment of hesitation was all the wolf needed, and with a rough, gasping howl dragged from it's splintering and dry throat, the wolf gathered it's haunches and sprung at the young warrior, fangs bared. Gertrude screamed aloud as she felt the creature's paws thud against her chest, and her sword was knocked from her grasp and sent spinning across the rocks as the wolf bore it's full weight on her, snapping and snarling, it's teeth seeking her vulnerable throat. Gertrude felt her back slam against the stone, tiny rocks jabbing into her back and shoulders. A sudden, insane thought- I wonder if that will bruise?

The stench and fear were overpowering, and Gertrude heard herself scream as if from far away as her hands desperately clutched into the wolf's thick fur, trying to pry her attacker from it's relentless charge. She could hear herself, hear her own cries and hated herself for them, but through the panic and howling the humming came again, flat and annoying. Gathering up the last reserves of her strength, Gertude lashed out with her legs, catching the beast and flinging it away from her for a few precious moments. Ignoring the cuts and slashes on her arms, Gertrude scrambled bodily for her sword, reaching blindly for it's familiar weight as the wolf righted itself and came galloping towards her, red tongue lolling, fangs bared-

And with a high, keen whistling, was struck and exploded within in a great ball of fiery light that sent Gertrude tumbling backwards and clapping her hands to her ears. Sudden heat, as if from an oven, blanketed her face and Gertrude squeezed her eyes shut, covering her face and head with her hands. For the next several moments, Gertrude hunched over with her head in the dirt, shivering. Only an incessant, tuneless, lackadaisical humming convinced her, and Gertrude finally cracked open one eye to scan her surroundings.

What she saw defied explanation. Where the wolf once stood, there was only a smoldering black scorch upon the earth, and few tufts of white fur, some still fluttering down like bits of snow. And beside the flickering remnants, a woman stood, humming tunelessly, a grin plastered over her features.

She was a tall woman, her robes matching the dark hair that spilled over her shoulders. Her soft, unassuming features were magnified by her unassuming smile, and a black tattoo wound it's way across one eye. She carried a well worn staff marking her a sorceress, which she thumped loudly into the ground as Gertrude slowly, shakily, stood.

"Maker, what..."

"Arisen?" The young sorcerer remarked cheerfully, stopping her humming to form the words. A closer look, and the sorceress seemed to confirm her earlier statement, bounding across the few steps seperating herself from Gertrude and loudly proclaiming, with more urgency this time, "Arisen!"

"What...who are you? What is this what in the,  what in the Maker's name are you doing here?" exclaimed Gertrude, as she extended her arm to keep the young sorceress a respectable difference.
"Arisen!" the sorceress replied, excitement creeping into her voice.


"This pawn is called Beatrice. This one is happy to serve you, Arisen."

"Serve me? You will do no such thing, I haven't the faintest clue who you are or what you're about," Gertrude started, as her mind raced back to the old drunkard in her hometown of Cassardis, who spoke to her of myrmidons after that terrible day, so long away now...

The pawn called Beatrice snapped Gertrude's attention away from thoughts of the past. "This one is called Beatrice." She enunciated, laying one hand slowly on Gertrude's shoulder, as though speaking to a child. Gertrude pushed the hand away, shaking her head.

"No. Maker, no. Go back to whatever you came from. I don't need anything like this, I need to-"

"Look what this pawn can do!" Beatrice interrupted loudly, her wide grin flashing white teeth. Without warning, Beatrice shuffled backwards and flung her arms into the air. From her fingertips arced purplish streaks of lightning that arced and danced in the air and set Gertrude's hair standing on the back of her neck while the sparks sliced through the stillness and a metallic smell assaulted her nose. Dancing, Beatrice waved her lightning, sending it back and forth, splitting the sky.

"ENOUGH." Shouted Gertrude, her hands reaching towards her sword. All her training, all her trying and nights of sore muscles and tired, aching hands, and here comes a pawn who cheerfully conjured the very forces of nature without so much as breaking a sweat? It was insult to injury, and Gertride stalked away, suddenly furious. How dare she. She could have handled that wolf just fine. The last thing she needed was some dopey faced woman following her, swinging her mage arms and shouting her hocus pocus to the heavens...

From behind her, came a tuneless humming, and Gertrude sighed wearily. Turning, her eyes ascertained that the young sorceress was indeed following her.

"What do you want?" Gertrude aaked wearily, the weight of the day suddenly setting into her.

"This pawn is called Beatrice," the dark haired sorceress repeated. "This pawn is here to serve you, Arisen."

Gertrude stood, mouth hanging slightly agape. What a turn this day had taken. A weariness, and a small giggle born of exasperation pitched in the back of her throat. Suddenly, she wished for nothing more than a hot meal and a soft bed in the Gran Soren Inn, and she wearily dragged her hand across her remaining eye.

"Beatrice. I'm going back to Gran Soren. If you're coming, then get your aught in gear."

Her only reply, as her feet found the road that would lead her back to the capital, was a cheerful, tuneless humming.