The sounds from the village below could be heard, a middle aged human monk , Givo, looked out, wondering what the sounds were there. Looking below he saw a hooded figure stumbling down, toward the monastery, grabbing onto anything they could to steady them. Unable to see what it was, he started to quickly go down the steps, wondering just who it was as the fellow priests asked what was happening. The monk said nothing, just a look of worry on his face as he opened the door. The cloak figure was on the stone steps, the pool of blood was below the figure as he rushed in and removed the hood. There was a tiefling, one of her horns ripped off, bleeding from her hair, staining her hair to almost a black color as she held onto the monk.
In her arms the sound of a child could be heard, crying loudly. “Please…take care of her….” she whispered to Givo, her breathing labored. “Don’t let them take her, and judge her before her life has even started” The monk tried to pull her up, as she shook her head, revealing her torn clothing, her breast out and the cuts on her chest. Below that was wound where she would not survive as she showed where a dagger had been pushed into her flesh. The sounds were getting louder, her arms pushed the child up. “Criella…her name is Criella Ea Kanos.”
“I promise you Criella will be alright” He said softly, as she gave a tired smile to him, mouthing the word thank you. With the last bit of her strength, she struggled on as the sounds of the group was coming closer. The monk held this child in his arms, quickly taking her inside as the woman ran off. The sounds of people yelling out “Demon”, “Whore” and so on as he couldn’t believe it. The other priests came by, as did the head priest seeing the child.
That night, the monk who took Criella, and himself, left the monstary, knowing that they could not live there, not in peace. He looked out into the darkness, knowing her mother was murdered in cold blood, as he looked to this child, sleeping softly, her white hair soft, along with gentle pokes of her horns, tail flicking about.
Years would pass, Givo and Criella found a new place to live and study together. Though Givo was a monk still, she would call him dad, as he raised her like he would his own, though she was a bit of a handful. The worst worry of it was when she was merely six years old, the local children were cruel, they beat her, torn her clothes, cut off her hair that she enjoyed braiding. She came to him, limping, crying and falling into his arms. As he was washing her and applying ointment, he saw that her back had been whipped. Something he felt in years, that he had not felt in a long time came back up, from the days of him training…anger.
That morning Criella woke up, finding Givo looking outside, his fists looking red and bloody as well. He was drinking, he never drank as she slowly crawled up to him. Putting a hand on his arm, he gently pulled her in. “I will teach you something…something so that this will never happen to you ever again.” Givo said as he hugged her.
Years would pass, the monk slowly became head priest, despite his connection to his tiefling daughter. She passed the trials, year after year, getting more and more skilled with her ability to fight. Divo showed how proud he was of her, though he tried not to show any favoritism, yet some of the younger warrior monks seemed to think so. Sadly her life was not meant to be so easy, as she found Divo stabbed in the back, in his chambers. It looked as if he been working on for the ceremony that was to promote Criella, to become an official and lead warrior monk, a position that had been left vacant for some time.
Clutched to his hand was a note, quickly written down, as drops of his blood were printed onto it. It explained of something, a weapon that he felt was hers, something he wanted to pass onto her. Criella would leave the monastery, especially after hearing several younger monks left suddenly, without word. Of course for her, she left for a reason, and this was going to help her do what was needed.
Time had passed, she succeed giving into the trials for the weapons. On her body, the elements she had control over had been tattooed on her back now. Under the skin of her arms, the weapons move, shooting out from her hand and connection together to give her what she wants. The line of justice and revenge for Divo, the man whom she affectionately called father, blurred; she wanders looking for the men, whom she had suspicions about, and would do what is needed, without dishonoring her father’s memory…though as days went on, it got harder.