The Kingdom of Light
An anti-social female-ish druid
Yvanet grew up on the outskirts of the small village of Lily-End with her parents and her brother. It was a quiet existence spent tending their small plot of land and learning the ways of the druids from her mother. Her brother, though younger than her, was always the favourite. Always strong and capable. Yvanet was too weak to help till the field or carry much weight, but she soon found her own way to help. Already she had developed a close relationship with nature, coaxing crops to fruition even when untimely frost tried to choke them out. She developed this affinity with her mother’s help, but would sometimes make mistakes that resulted in completely different results. Her mother could never figure out how the young girl had turned barley into wheat. Yvanet found herself unable to explain or reverse the effect.
Back then she could trust her eyes, and her sanity. Everything changed, or rather didn’t, when Lily-End was attacked by bandits fifteen years ago. She was only ten at the time, and largely untrained in matters of self-defense. Hiding behind a bookshelf and being completely silent was her strategy of choice. There was a lot of noise, lots of voices, screams. Things crashing to the ground. She thought she smelled something burning. She didn’t move, except to sit down in her hiding place. After several tense hours, she fell asleep. Whether she woke up and went outside, whether she saw a man hack off her father’s arm, whether she turned and ran back inside, whether she dreamed it all, she didn’t know. But when she woke after that, all was silent.
[stuff with her brother and going crazy here… she’s not ready to talk about that stuff]
She attempted to work the field on her own, but the plough wouldn’t budge. She felt weak and abandoned. She walked through the forest, touching everything she could just to confirm that it was there. A chant rolled off her lips numbly, again and again. She stopped when she felt a presence. Twigs cracked and leaves rustled, and a young mahogany and black stallion came into view through the trees. The plough moved for him. And he did everything she asked. Sometimes she wondered if he was real or not. The falls she took, while learning to ride him, were certainly real.
She named him Victory, which he carried her to countless times while defending the village from goblins. She was feeling stronger and stronger, more like her brother. She decided that now she was capable, she would take his place and wear his clothing. Not only that, but she would wrap her breasts and try to hide any indication that she was a woman, any weakness. It wasn’t long before the village people took notice of her, giving her gifts and seeking her guidance. Half the time she doubted whether they were real also. She rarely spoke unless a question was posed of her, though she would often talk to Victory in private, just to hear her own voice and because he liked to listen. If anyone knew who she had been and what had become of her family, they were all killed by the undead attacks.