| History:
Past Life: Muireall
was a Pictish wizard from the northern islands who joined the Order of
Hermes Mage, Pralix bani Tytalus in her war against the rogue wizard Damhan-allaidh.
Paradigm:
The world is dark, filled with shadows, which are the drewllings of
unseelie faeries and monsters. A good sword, and an amulet or whispered
curse from the long ago people is the only defense. Magic use is
a mark of an old strong spirit which is a fragment of that force which
threw the monsters into the shadows before the beginning of history.
Awakening:
All Lisa Campbell could hear was the shattering
of the canopy as her ejection seat threw her into the cold rainy
air above her cockpit filled with the noises of sirens and browns as her
several million dollar air plane broke up over angry waters of the Atlantic.
Iin the stormy waves Lisa was cursing, having lost half her survival gear
in the landing, including her two radios. Clinging desperately in
her life raft, she held desperately to the pistol flares that were the
only communications gear she had gotten out of the vest.
Tee visibility was so low that she was sure that
even if the search and rescue choppers were overhead, Lisa wasn't sure
if she would hear them. The first few minutes turned swiftly, and
than slowly into hours in the cold wintery waters. Her training dictated
most of her actions in the little raft. Rationing herself and trying
to stay mentally alert, and warm. As the night went on, she thought she
could see a bird flying, which was silly, because it wasn't even a sea
bird, but a big ugly Raven.
She'd always thought they were, it was not something
she told people, but scavenger birds always were, but turned gracefully
into a woman who stood on the water looking amused, and sat down on the
waves facing lisa several meters away. The two woman simply sat and
watched each other for a long while, one being tossed about the small raft
by the storm, and one sitting on the water. Lisa was playing with
a strobe light ideally, hoping to signal something, and just as that started,
the other woman called up small ball of fire and played with it between
her two hands.
The light from the strobe and the light from the
fireball joined and went up into the stormy sky like a search light.
The raven woman spoke to her in a language that she didn't know.
Or didn't think she knew, but it came easily to her lips in reply.
A give and take. As the two spoke in hushed forgotten words, which
had no business being heard over the angry storm, she heard the beating
of helicopter blades. Choppers aren't graceful things, they are bugs,
not birds, which fly only by beating the air into submission. Looking
down from the sea hawk she saw her strange partner was gone, and all she
had in her hand was the strobe... |
