Burday, the 23rd of Deepice

As each day passes, the Ilhar's insults grow longer and more elaborate; it is as if he means to drive me off from our House himself. Despite several flawless eliminations since the events within the Commonlands, he insists on my failure as an assassin. To further add insult to injury, he discovered that I was hunting within the Thundering Steppes and Antonica, and has begun to call me pale skin...

When I returned from my hunts within the lands of Qeynos, my uncle was waiting for me; he was angry, and when I opened the door to my chambers to his withering glare, I knew it would become deadly.

His hand caught my side, and he threw me sideways into the room, towards one of the walls. Tumbling, I landed a few inches shy of the stones and stood, my hands drifting down to my dagger. He came at me again, this time backhanding me hard across the face and knocking me a few feet in that direction; every instinct in me screamed to rip him apart in a horrible fashion, but my upbringing as a Noble reigned in my Hate - he was of greater status and it was his right...

This time his rough hand caught me across the back, and sent me sprawling on the edge of the bed. Coughing, I spit blood up onto the white sheets, watching them bloom with red. Again I felt his fist against my back, felt the scars explode in pain as though they were freshly made. He didn't stop then, and a second and third blow landed on my back bringing the same exploding pain as the pattern of scars began to burn.

I knew then he meant to beat me to my death.

Within my mind, I felt something snap; a feral growl began deep in my chest, growing with each new sensation. The sensation was so natural, and I realized that I had felt it many times but always reigned it in because of what I had been taught by my septons. Vaguely I remembered my cousin's lioness back in Lavastorm, the hunts with the creature and how it felt to let go and become a predator.

Another blossom of pain erupted, but this time as I felt the hand lift away from my back, I spun sideways and kicked out with my foot. The heavy Dreadguard boot landed in his stomach, catching him off guard and knocking the wind from him. When he stumbled backwards, I pushed myself off the edge of the bed and pounced, dagger flashing into my hand; a second later and he was dead.

He was the Ilhar's brother, and his death would be my own. Gathering up the few things that mattered to me, vanishing with the Gifts of Luclin, I left the Estate - I would camp for a time deep within the Steppes, far from the eyes of Freeport and it's masters.

In an instant, everything had been taken from me; my life had been destroyed by the Feir`Dal.

He would pay dearly for it.

So begins the Hunt...