A Troubling Incident [Potential Spoilers Ahead!!]

OOC: To be clear, her signature also said ‘of Moratavia’ – but I like the interaction. She still sees herself as a Milandisian Knight after all (and, more telling, she still refers to herself as a Knight-Protector, refuses to call any ‘Almerican Prince’ by any title other than Graf – the appropriate Milandisian title for a land-holding noble whom is not necessarily a Knight, and generally cleaves to the old, Milandisian way of doing things) – perhaps she is one of the last of the “old guard val’Tensen” that does so.

Also, the use of ‘Ser’ is not just a Game of Thrones thing – modern fantasy literature and games are rife with this usage whenever there is gender equality amongst a knight-hood. My first exposure to the term was in the game Dragon-Age Origins. Given how rife literature has become with it, I felt justified in co-opting the term for my own use. It sounds much better than Lady-Knight or Dame for certain.

The young woman across the table from Haakon takes a sip from her glass of wine. Her skin is healthy and flawless – devoid of scars or callouses – and she looks like she is only barely into her 20s, save for her eyes. The eyes have always been a window to the soul, and in hers one can only see the void of something decades absent.

She smiles and says with a courtly diction a few decades removed from the current style “Well, at least you should be able to give me a chance now to earn your friendship, given that I am once again quite alive and well.” She smiles and asks “Would it surprise you to know, my friend, that I tend to agree with you when it comes to the undead?” She pours a measure of alcohol into both her own glass and Haakon’s as she continues “In my long existence, I’ve only met four undead beings whom I did not feel compelled to destroy in the name of the Church… five if you include myself, of course”

She raises her glass to her lips as she adds “As I was told long ago, its the exceptions that make the rule. I lost count of how many abominations I had put to the blade after the first battle of Seremas against the undead legion…”

She cocks her head thoughtfully after returning her glass to the table. Then she says, her diction remaining even and measured “I imagine that number would have been higher had the Legion of Unsettled Quietus survived the Battle of Empebyn, but at the time I was thankful for their destruction. They were on the wrong side of history, after all.”

She grins – though the warmth of it does not reach her eyes – it seems no emotion does – and she adds wryly “I suppose that you might find it odd that I was amongst Empebyn’s defenders. In fact, I paid a princely sum of gold for the privilege – they required all undead within their walls to make a substantial donation and undergo extensive scrutiny in order to acquire a talisman to protect them from the city’s wards against the unliving.”

She produces a time-worn scroll case marked with the sigil of the Church of Beltine as she says “I still carry it and my traveling papers just in case. I had to go through quite a few proverbial hoops to convince them that I was not a monster, and this was even after I had foiled several plots to do harm to the city’s occupants.” Still smiling, she sits the scroll case on the table.

For a moment her gaze seems distant, like she is remembering some far off event…

The memory is vivid, as if it were only moments ago. She stood in a Beltinian temple amidst the soot and cloying odor of the Empire’s eternal forges. An old priest spoke to her, his grey eyes astonished at his own words “I must thank you for your service to Empebyn, abomination… the soul you devoured in your genesis must have been a truly noble hero, and Beltine weeps for that eternal loss, but somehow the memories stolen from the dead woman’s soul must have allowed you to rise above your nature. You did honor to her this day, and so long as you continue to honor the soul you consumed, you shall be a friend to my family and church. But please, do not linger here… in spite of our debt to you, your presence sickens us and horrifies our honored ancestors. I will light a candle for the soul you murdered every night for the rest of my days.” She knew that this was the highest praise and honor that a Beltinian was capable of offering one whom was Chosen of Neroth. They truly and honestly believed that she was not herself – that she was a monster that had consumed her soul, taken her memories, and wore her skin but was not her. It concerned her that she could not truly say with any certainty that they were incorrect – only the Pantheon knew the truth of it. Even so, it was difficult to smile and bow graciously. However, she did so anyway.

Heidi smiles again and looks down into her wine as she swirls the glass, “I find myself curious if I might have known your father. There were few enough of we Milandisians at the Battle of Empebyn… and we all suffered together the shock, horror, and dismay of witnessing the actions of our Duke… the dishonor Adolphos’ hatred brought to our nation and my family that day…. Back then I used magic to conceal what I was, so your father would have only remembered me as a val’Tensen Knight of the Crown. I hope that the idea that we may have fought side by side does not disturb you, Haakon?”