Badger, badger

At that moment it felt right to Rona Lona. Her spear pushing deep into the torso of the gentleman badger who was barring her from getting to the others. It was necessary, important; a duty. Her life depended on this - it was them or her, a desperate fight to the death. There was nothing else, just the simplicity of the fight, the clarity of life versus death.

Rona Lona faced the elder of the cete. Behind, a fierce badger, standing upright, armoured and brandishing a rough axe. They were at the entrance to a rough hewn chamber that had boards on the floor and some rough furnishings: a long, low table and a sideboard against one wall.

The grey whiskered badger that confronted her at the entrance to the room barked blood as Rona Lona pulled her spear free and thrust again. As the old badger fell away two others pulled him back and the younger, heavy set badger charged. Rona Lona put her foot behind the heel of her spear and caught the weight of the charge in the ground under her feet. The badger looked surprised, barely understanding that the tip of the spear had caught his shoulder. He went to swing his axe but could not lift his arm. Rona Lona slipped her sword from the scabbard and, as the portly badger pulled back, sliced across his unprotected neck and chest. Blood fountained to the ceiling as the gurgling beast fell backwards over the legs of the old dying badger. The younger badgers who had pulled their leader back gasped and looked up in horror. How could this be? Just this morning they had gathered to sleep. The sett was calm and warm. Mothers were suckling the little ones and they were sewing another pocket on Jackson’s jerkin.

Rona Lona stepped forward with sword in hand, still holding the shaft of the spear that was caught in the big one’s shoulder. This is how the world works, she thought. This is pure and perfect. There can be only one at the end of the fighting - that is the only way to keep the natural order. Knowing it was right and true, Ronal Lona brought her sword down on the head of a gawping badger, bursting the skull in a gory spray. The last young badger turned and fled across the room on all fours. Rona Lona pulled her spear and hurled it into the flank of the badger. It passed through its torso and struck the floorboards, pinning the dying beast in the doorway. That is a beautiful thing, thought Rona Lona and fell into a deep sleep.

Jihm the eagle knew of the badger sett and had accused them of thievery. Jihm despised them. Not because of what they were, but because they were clever enough not to get caught. Caught and eaten by Jihm - they were, after all, delicious. Jihm encouraged the elf, Patron, to investigate the warren. He knew the elf could hear him through the Amulet of the Jade Eagle. The elf was not his enemy. The elf was his future; things were changing at the peak, orcs were here and more were coming. Dwarves were gathering in the south. There was going to be war.

Jihm the eagle watched the adventurers enter the warren. The big one had to stay behind - too big to squeeze through the narrow tunnels. Jihm took wing and circled around to the south, looking to see if any of the thieving beasts would be flushed from one of the many tunnels leading to the sett. The little ones were the worst, sneaking out to covet his precious things, taking prize gems and jewelry back to their lair. Little bastards, this should sort them out.

Rona Lona woke as the sun set behind the mountains in the west. Horizontal shafts of light speared through the shutters of the library on the summit, turning the dust in the air into motes of golden light. The party lounged in the chairs about the room. She smelt and then felt the blood on her skin.

Rona Lona lay there, understanding that her memories were not a dream, were not someone else’s, they were hers and her’s to own. Twice now she had let the berzerker inside her take over and wreak havoc. This time there were innocents killed, now a burden to be carried, now there was a gult to live with, to atone for. Rona Lona’s heart stayed closed. To open up would be impossible, to accept what she was would overwhelm her.

I am death, she thought. Her twin brothers’ faces appeared before her. When they were kids she had tried to keep up, following them out at night, getting in the way and being told to go home or worse, get lost.

One night, after receiving a hard slap across her head and being told to go home by her brother, Rona Lona was crying, sitting on a doorway step when an old man sat next to her. He asked if she had anything to eat, she said no, thinking he was asking for himself. The old man pulled a stump of bread from his cloak and gave it to her. After a while he asked why she was in the street so late.

“Stupid brothers left me here,” she said, “They were onto something good.” and looked towards Prince street where the job was.

The man presently stood and left, telling Rona Lona to “go home, if you have one.”

The next day the news that her brothers had been arrested shocked the family. Father thought they had been ratted out. “There has to be a snitch,” he shouted, striking the rough kitchen table with his fist. “Only trust family I said. Only trust family. Oh lord, I will have to see Sir Canarvon, oh lord, oh lord.” Mother sat, small and pale, her hands working the blood away from her fingers.

Lying on the floor watching the bright dust specks winking out as the late sun left the room Rona Lona saw her mother kneeling in the mud under the hanging bodies of her sons, Rona Lona’s brothers. As she approached her mother turned and looked at her - at that moment everything was laid bare. In her mother’s eyes she saw no love, just horror and accusation. The puffed pale faces of her brothers looked down on her from impossible angles, bulging eyes asking why. Why did she do this?

I am death Rona Lona thought again. I was death to my family and now I carry the Ghost Bear’s rage on top of my own hatred for this wretched world. It isn't fair. This is not my life, not the life I want. Rona Lona’s heart closed a little tighter. A tear welled for her life lost, and for lives cut short because she couldn't control herself. Tighter, I need to lock-down if I’m to have a say in my destiny.

Something hard formed in Rona Lona’s heart. It formed around her rage, encasing it, protecting it. She constructed a key, a way of opening that hard ball of hate and rage. The key was her paladin, her protector. The key would keep her safe until she needed the power of her hidden darkness. She imagined the face of her brother’s executioner, the Master of Arms, as she opened her rage for him, she imagined the sneak who had tricked her, she imagined the man who let the bodies drop, the crowd that cheered as her brothers writhed above them. They will all know Rona Lona’s rage.