The Shadow and The Huntress

Huntress. That's what she went by now? The rage was palpable. For every attempt that Avorra tried to bury it, it resurfaced. The memories kept crawling back into her skull; days and nights spent in the jungles of Seheron, fighting an irregular war. Victory was so close on the horizon, freedom from the tyranny that was the Qun. The Huntmaster had cost her everything. Friends, allies, her leaders. The closest thing she had to family. Washed away in a sea of flames and ruin, that Avorra herself had brought out in response to the unfair murders. The Breaker of Chains had failed, died in the fires that consumed the village. At least, that's what Seheron at large thought, and why the Bas Saarebas fled to Rivain. She couldn't bear the weight of her failures, and so she ran. The rebellion was over before it ever truly began. Now the island sits in a perpetual stalemate.

Calm yourself. I will not tell you again. Zazikel's words were sharp, putting an end to the memories.

A sense of calm washed over her as the rage dissipated. She listened with sincerity as the archivist introduced himself as Faelyn Korath. She ignored what she took as a very slight hint of sarcasm, opting instead to take it as a genuine offer of reprieve.

That won't be necessary, but thank you for the offer, Faelyn. Avorra declined as politely as she could. No rest for the wicked, as the old saying goes. She snickered with a light chuckle, trying to ease the tension in the atmosphere as best she could.

Though, I have to ask... She started, unsure of how to phrase these next words. The expression on her face was one of confusion. Perhaps I'm the pot calling the kettle black, here, being an outsider myself - but what is a Qunari doing here? She turned to the Huntress, the rage inside of her returning once more, but her expression transitioned from confusion to a blank slate once more.

More importantly, what does the Qun want with Arlathan? Or have the Ben-Hassrath found me after all these years? Tell me, Huntmaster, did those tyrants loosen your leash to correct their failures? Your failure? Avorra spoke in Qunlat directly to the Huntress, accompanied by an intense glare of hatred. At first, her questions were of curiosity, but they quickly became accusatory, followed by a sharp bite. She couldn't help the shift in tone with her next words, an age-old insult. Ebost issala, Vashedan! [Return to dust, Trash!]

A sharp pain jolted throughout her body, beginning in her chest and ending at the tips of her digits. She audibly grunted in discomfort, holding a hand to her chest momentarily. A gentle reminder from Zazikel that she was stepping far too out of line. He indeed kept his word - he wasn't going to tell her twice.