No, it's over. Let it go.
She traced her finger in the dirt on a rise above the rothé field, reflecting over the past few days. This Andunor was something else. Drow and the other races living together in one city. She would have to find someone and ask about the story there. She was certain it would be fascinating. And that her mother would have tried to beat her interest in the tale out of her.
She sighed, briefly, hearing her mother's scathing words in her mind. "You disappoint me, Jyriisa. My death should have been enough to show you that only with power can you even hope to survive, and you have none. My youngest daughter, incapable of becoming a priestess. Pfagh." Jyriisa, angered by her own mind, bit her lip until she drew blood. This action calmed her, as it always did, bringing her back to the present.
She had become a bard, of sorts, rather than a priestess. A fact which her sisters never let her forget. She was family, but she was less than them. As it would always be. But now, in this new home, she saw a different path.
She had stumbled into the guild of assassins on accident one cycle. The haughty guild master had told her that she was not fit for the guild....and that was when she made a decision. She vowed to learn what she needed to become an assassin. She would send souls to Lolth via guile, deceit, and murder, rather than the sacrifice of slaves or other creatures. Her finger traced in the dirt again.
And when she was well-established, all would know her by the calling card she would leave behind...
