The Shadow and The Huntress

The audacity lingering in the room was palpable. And The Huntress wanted to do nothing more than remove the threat. The threat that should have been dead. A ghost of the past that should not have been standing before them now. One that she never hoped to deal with again.

Each twist of words that followed the polite flowery language directed at Faelyn made her blood boil. She did not answer the question posed. For she was not Qunari, she was Tal-Vashoth. And she owed no explanation to an outsider. A bas saarebas at that.

The Huntress did not return the glare as words flowed in Qunlat. This one spoke too much. She blinked at the woman, curious what she thought gave her the right to use a dead name, to question her presence in Arlathan. She was a Marshall and she'd earned her right to call this place home. A right this one did not possess.

Parshaara, she quipped, just as Faelyn stepped in. Bless his level head and sense. And extensive knowledge of language, it seemed. Curiosity was piqued at the man as he dragged the girl away to sit in a corner. The Huntress couldn't help but let her lip twitch just slightly in amusement. A fleeting and uncommon look upon her features. And one likely only a few would recognize for what it was.

Only when Faelyn returned did The Huntress say more than a single word. He didn't even need to ask, as she began to explain her side of the matter in a lowered voice; for his ears only. I am unaware what you know of me, but I am Tal-Vashoth. Many years ago, before I left the Qun, I'd been tasked to hunt this one down. She was a danger to many, destroyed an entire village in a fit of rage. I was lead to believe the destruction claimed her life, it seems it did not. She let out an almost indiscernable sigh. And I fear what danger she poses to Arlathan now.