Sancha

Sancha awoke as she had done many times in the last few years; Sweating, scouring every corner of her small pastel shaded room with wild animal startled eyes until her mind calmed and breath slowed. The dull blanket light oozing through the single high window above her bed banished any shadows that a horror could hide in which helped her soothe her minds tempest further. She stretched her dark chocolate shaded body with a groan and clawed vaguely at the air above her head. The sky outside was a heavy lingering grey that promised everything and gave away nothing, dulled sounds of the city outside slowly coming to life drew the girl from her sweat dampened sheets to stand on her bed and gaze through the window out into the streets of the city of Tronacs religious quarter. Far below her the rutted, cobbled alleyways and avenues were beginning to fill with the worshippers of the varied religions that were practised within the city as they headed for morning prayers. There were the priestesses of Derketo, the Stygian goddess of sex and lust. Their purple, silken, beaded form hugging wrap arounds the most colourful thing Sancha had seen since waking. Walking beside them were worshippers of Mitra in much more conservative and lightly shaded clothes. She could imagine the nervous or desiring glances towards their compatriots and the thought tugged at her lips and warmed away the last of the lingering fear from the dream.

She dropped back onto her haunches and turned to press the cool, hard stone wall into her back. Breathing deeply the girl slowly drew out the images from her dream and analysed them as the seers had taught her. It wasn't a long process, paticularly because it was the exact same dream she had experienced over and over in the past few years like an imperative. The dream started with an all encompassing darkness and silence which were as pure and impenetrable as that of a deep cave that natural light could never reach. Out of the darkness came a sudden sense of presence and power, it didn't seem malevolent but it was certainly overwhelming. A great voice then boomed from every direction at once and battered around the inside of her skull. Sancha always began to feel claustrophobic with the impenetrable darkness all around her, the great presence and walls of sound pushing against her like a physical force. The voice spoke to her directly, it spoke of the great strength in her blood and the huge potential it gave her. Then in a great whirring rush, as if time had been sped up she was dragged along a path from her bed, through the city out into the rural farmlands and beyond until she reached a shrine of dark stones that seemed to absorb any light that fell upon them. The great voice told her that her destiny lay there and she knew that she would be able to follow the path that she had been shown should she get the chance. While there was nothing directly terrifying about the dreams Sancha would always wake up in a terrorised state and it had taken awhile for her to realise that it was because the dreams carried with them a powerful sense of wrongness.

Her worried parents had called on priests from every half benevolent faith in the city when the dreams had persisted and many had come and gone perplexed or with great reams of notes to analyse and mull over. Eventually the Mitrans came forward and claimed that she was receiving visions from their god, the one true god and stated that she could be a great priestess some day. This news brought relief to her and her parents, the thought that it could be none other then one of the most benevolent gods in Hyboria rather then something altogether more fearsome or evil was a very attractive one. With her parents blessing the Mitran clergy took her into their care and began teaching her everything she would need to know. She was a willing student but as time progressed and the dreams failed to fade Sancha managed to convince them that she would need to be trained in more practical matters such as combat so that she may follow the path laid before her every night. At the time her slim, feline frame should have limited her to short swords and gladiuses. But since she had taken up a two handed training sword to the trainers condescension and promptly cracked one of his ribs with a swing he could in no way expect her training had been focused on the more powerful blades. Since then her body had densened, Months of training drills and fights drawing her build into a taut and agile athleticism. Her instructor often chided her on her lack of training scars, complaining that she was too vain to let blows hit home. Sancha knew it was his way of showing pride and also not allowing her to grow idle, over confident and careless. She had made sure to thank him whenever she managed to break through his defense while sparring.

((More to come very soon))