Efette

Mercenary and the King's Dog

It's only natural for the weak to perish.

She was always a fighter, even from birth; after all, in the Southern Icefields, you either fought for your life and won, or you died. What became of her worthless siblings, she has no idea, and she doesn't care to find out. If they failed to survive, then they were weak, and if there is one thing she absolutely cannot stand, it's the thought of being related to those that would be so utterly useless.

The only Law of the World is survival of the fittest.

She left home as soon as she could, unwilling to stay with those too deluded to see the truth in her beliefs. Some had called it a harsh existence, but she called it the best--natural, really, that she should have to fight for everything she got in life. Her will to live and do whatever it took to get whatever she wanted was strong...even when it came to bringing down Imperials or Guardians with utterly berserk force, to steal food or materials or whatever she pleased from them. She would appear seemingly from nowhere on red wings with the bloody pelt of some great predator covering her hide, she would strike furiously, and then she would just disappear back into the frigid tundra with her spoils, victorious.

It was a good existence...a righteous one, where she had to prove her worthiness to survive to the world. Those dragons too abominably pathetic to fight for themselves feared her, and those like her fought her all the harder as worthy opponents, and she gloried in it.

The weak are destined to lie beneath the boots of the strong.

She had wandered further north, as an adult, bored by the now-familiar challenges of the frozen wasteland in the south of the world. She never stayed in one place for long; the Starfall Isles, the Windswept Plateau, the Ashfall Waste, and even the Scarred Wasteland itself offered such interesting challenges and entire new worlds to pit herself against, and she proved herself one of the strong in every one, shifting from cold and calculating to gleefully, mindlessly ferocious and back again at the slightest provocation, and sometimes with no provocation at all, in a fit of mercurial temper.

I don't understand the feelings of the weak.

But it was her stay in the Shifting Expanse that finally convinced her to settle. They questioned nothing of her beliefs, they questioned nothing of her comings and goings, and they so freely gave her precisely what she pleased...even when what she pleased was a chance to prove herself superior to their paltry fighters, or to pit her skills and wits against the weak of other clans. And she supposed if they insisted on such specific generosities, it would be a shame to not take advantage of them.

Those that die are too weak.

She is not weak. And never will be, if she has anything to say about it.

You can come after me as many times as you want. I'll cut you down every time.