When Valtharn was born there had been two children one vibrant and full of life the other still born, all Lavana received from her mother was a kiss hello and good bye she was held and cradled with love. But swept away by her father, as Valtharn the living child was more deserving of Raskalarns attention. It was best to keep this a secret amongst themselves, no one wants to talk about such things as the empress said sometimes things are better left forgotten.
Wisked away by her father to his modest home to make preperations for a lost loved one, he made his way stricken with grief as he lay the dead child on his bed. It hadn't been long since his arrival when one of Sintras assassins had kicked the door into his home, a fight broke out in the living room and her fathers steel the better of the two that evening. The assassin was felled cleaved from shoulder to heart by his claymore. It was as if the death had been a sacrifice and the cries of a newborn baby echoed in the next room, her spark jumpstarted from the calamity and bloodshed somehow her unique spark drank the brutality, the butchery and slaughter and gave her mortal coil restoration.
Taking his now living daughter as a gift, the child was kept as a secret. Her father a general understood the importance of keeping the child hidden from Sintra, and thus a princess was secured in case tragedy should befall Valtharn and they could still conquer lands they could not by force, through wedding bands.
A ceremonial burning took place. A celebration of a princess born and a funeral pyre set ablaze in an elaborate celebration of gain and loss. There was tension in the relationship as the pyre had been set ablaze early, concealing the truth; there was no baby. This had created considerable tension, Raskalarn was furious but preoccupied with her daughter.
When Valtharn was almost murdered in her crib in her palace home, it only cemented his certainty that this secret had to stay. As Sintra was shamelessly after Raskalarns daughters, that spidery immortal must have gleaned this information from there very own inner circle that one of the children was a still born and thus targeted the living Valtharn.
He grew distant from both as he harbored a secret from the empress and the princess and it ate away at him. He knew the penalty, but he carried on with honor as he believed firmly in his heart that he was doing the right thing for there nation and for his beloved empress.
The baby had been placed in an orphanage where she was harbored narrowly missing the upheaval of the legions doing a door to door search for betrayals in connection to Sintra. Raskalarns fury was unmatched that day any involvement with Sintra was met by death.
During the time of peace when Lavana Tharn had reached the right age she had become a squire of sorts, always tagging along side her fathers friend who adopted her from the orphanage he was a master of arms kind of guy and spent alot of time teaching her battlefield strategy and leadership which unsurprisingly fell on deaf ears. Lavana never understood why she was always forced to where great helms with a slit visor for visibility. Said it built character, and battle readiness for the field when she was to be out in public it seemed reasonable considering she was wearing armor and took it as a serious responsibility. Most people didnt bat a second glance at a squire, much less one in full gear. Although those that had had spoken to her did get a surprise when they got a womans voice as her armor had no curves and people assumed her a young man. She always had the same story, she was building situational awareness and that she was adapting to the limited vision during her excursions to better serve her in combat. Helmets were tricky the safest ones had little vision and stifled breathing.
She never realized the old man was her father that came to visit time and time again. All Lavana knew is she just had been picked up at an orphanage and had become lucky enough to be adopted by a man of some status. Her real passion was the combat, and she trained relentlessly using the swords heft which would be burdensome to most as a boon as she targeted muscle groups realizing early on her sword was simply an extension of herself. It was a blessing, her body could train and grow stronger in ways that most couldnt fathom.
However the golden age was soon drawing to a close and Valtharn had begun showing signs of instability her father believed that she was jealous that hed neglected her further as Lavana appeared exactly like Valtharn and hed grown concerned and restless and anxious that hed be sniffed out. Even Lavana was beginning to have questions she was nearly fifty five years old and didnt look or feel a day over twenty.
Raskalarn had seemed to withdraw from Valtharn, investigating rumors that were starting to circulate that there was a Valtharn look alike and that the woman was allegedly about the same age, but it was dismissed as wives tales just some tavern wench telling tall tales to catch the fancy of some noble lad. It tugged at her heart strings as she mourned the loss of her baby, and made her aloof and melancholy for years.
When Valtharns emotional upheaval had reached its peak, he was by now an old man and was realizing this charade would outlast him and fall apart that it was creating a rift in the family. He was starting to think that maybe what he did that felt right at that moment in time was no longer the case.
Her fathers friend had been given permission and he told Lavana she would have her answers when they returned. And he rode out with her real father to find Valtharn.
When he reached Valtharn he told her he was sorry that he wasnt there for her and that the reason was that her dead twin had actually survived and they could go back from this as a family that she was pushing herself to hard for approval and her mother would understand that hed take the blame there was still time. Valtharn felt betrayed, her military blunder she took as grounds for replacement by her surprise twin sister and she clashed with her father then and there.
He may have been a man long past his prime but he had skill with a blade, maybe enough to get the job done. But he had come to a realization as the song of swords clanged in clashes the old man didnt have it in him to cut his daughter down one whom felt he betrayed her. He decided to atone for his digressions and to die instead. He made an opening and cut her face to mark her, leaving himself exposed for Valtharn to cut him down and she obliged by severing his head from his shoulders in a fit of rage, before the story reached her mother from his lips.
It was then her rebellion blossomed, and it was squelched just as quickly by Raskalarn. The story became a catalyst for survival when Valtharn tried to excuse herself of fault by declaring her father had secretly witheld her sister from them and that he planned to replace her after the military catastrophe had unfurled. This simply was not true, Lavana didnt have those skills she just trained with her sword.
Raskalarn was torn on one hand her daughter failed miserably by killing a lot of good loyal soldiers and someone had to pay for this less she wanted descent amongst the nation she governed. On the other the thought of betrayal of her former lover, loomed leaving the shadow of doubt.
However her daughter's dubious actions had been inexcusable but the distance and apparant coldness stirred belief in this story and she sentenced her daughter to exile rather then death as she couldn't bring herself to do it the thought of foul play hung heavy in her heart.
For Lavana news of her adopted father and trusted friend being slain reached her. Distraught and upset she geared herself with what she could, old armor and took her wolf and a claymore that her adopted fathers friend gave her and set out on a path of vengeance as she deserted her station and duty and fled the imperial legion in pursuit of the royal bitch that took everything from her.
Around the same time Raskalarn withdrew from her empire having exiled what she believed her only daughter, and began investigating this wild tale. Slowly the yarn of deception began untangling, the assassination attempts the orphanage the friend that adopted the child and the whispered resemblance of Lavana and Valtharn. How her lover distanced himself further and further it all gave her the impression something was wrong something was truly hidden from her as she went over every meticulous detail.
It was not long before the Rasthical came kicking in the door to an abandoned home. A portrait hung above the mantle Lavana Tharn, Raskalarns lover and his friend, smiling during there golden years. Lavana must have been sixty given the age of the men standing beside her. However from first glance at the painting she looked twenty resting under her palms was the pommel and guard of a claymore she had gifted her former lover and she was adorned in armor from when they first met it might have been old and worn but she remembered how handsome and dashing hed been in it when there was still firey passion in there relationship. Her daughter once again eluded her unbeknownst mother.
Lavana now a deserter has fled, Raskalarns loyalist rasthical, and her most trusted scouts have been sent out to retrieve her lost daughter behind enemy lines but theyve been unsuccessful. The few times scouts and rasthical have found Lavana it has been met with resistance wagered in steel and lives. It was so wrong to feel so right felt, hacking and cleaving with wreckless abandon shed just go beserk in malicious glee maybe she didnt have to kill that scout but that talk felt like nonsense in the moment. The screams the pleas for undeserved mercies it was a titillating little delight watching the life bleed from mans eyes as she carved him like wild game in sublime slaughter she felt nothing short of jubilation as she made damn well sure her existence was kept hidden afterall dead men tell no tales.
The truth is she is terrified of Raskalarn and thinks she wished to do her ill will. That she is held responsible for Valtharns actions and that her ploys to come back are a tactic to swiftly end her existence. So she went into hiding after this exhilarating experience, betraying the spirits of her unknown domains that called for blood no demanded it.
But the spirits would have there way, one way or another. Lavana found herself making a living by scraping off the crust of society in the dirt and mud as a sales clerk to a butcher she wasnt allowed to cut and part meat off the carcass but she could fantasize and daydream of it while she packaged it and handed it out. There was a certain irony in being told by a forty year old man that flaying live stock was no place for a fragile young lady, especially when you were like three times older than the guy. She could work someplace for a time change cities, towns, provinces rinse wash repeat.
She doesnt dare tread near nobility of any kind, she knows so she keeps a low profile and her head even lower. Lavana has also learned to keep her mouth shut. She exists openly amongst the rabble blending incognito, shes just a kid that grew up in an orphanage so shes like the other poppers and urchins.
No one thinks anything of her, if they dont know. Its her secret, and she will be safe.
Lavana has come to the realization she is a mortal born or that perhaps shes been enchanted by magic another thing she knows little of except the stories meant to scare kids at night. Lavana has no clue what being a mortal born means other than she can live a really long time, she also isn't sure about her lineage if she was truly Valtharns sister or if Raskalarn was her mother like the scout said. For all Lavana knows Valtharn could be her mother. She doesnt know that the general who visited so often was the deceased lover of Raskalarn. She seems to feel that she had been selected at the orphanage because she was identified as a mortal born. But to whom did she belong to? Was she Karems child? Her adopted father was a scout. Was she the spawn of Sintra, was that why she was hidden in an orphanage for all those years? Was she a product of sorcery as a replacement strategy for Valtharn?
Why or to what end remains a mystery.
Sixty some odd years have since past since who she believed to be her father died. And she still remains as those she once knew withered away to nothingness and dust. A full generation had come and gone, the wolf she took long dead, the armor in a fashion long out of style, the only thing she has from those times that feels consistent is her sword and memories.
It was funny how time changes things trials come and go but time is always moving and she had difficulty keeping track of it. She must have been a hundred and thirty presently.
And it still calls to her when shes alone in her room hidden in her closet like a bad dream and time and time again she digs it out when she tells herself one more time but never again as she becomes reacquainted with an old friend. Something in her mortal coil makes her stare at her visage in the blades mirror finish for hours lost in something that tugs at her from within, beyond her muscles and fibers something deeper than even the marrow of her bones. As the spirits of her domains whisper inaudible lulls that bring her back to fond memories of mortal combat and that live or die struggle right down to how that sword felt when she opened a man with it such fond sugary sweet little nothings that
Make her giddy
Make her smile
Make her giggle