[DnD] Thorn

Under the influence of smuggled Ambrosia, a human and elf conceived a daughter in the heart of Avalon. The young and callow couple, hardly in love, separated and went about their menial, middle-class lives. The human, unaware of her pregnancy, continued to work and partake in life's pleasures, until the human couldn't ignore her natural processes. Too early, she delivered a daughter.

A half-breed.

The human panicked. Her unexpected baby was weak, frail, abnormally quiet, and seemed to linger on death's door every minute. But she couldn't bring herself to give up and let her die, putting everything aside to care for her until she was stronger. Days turned into weeks and then into months, and with little money and support, the human faltered. Saddled with a fatherless baby, already socially disparaged, she quietly left her daughter in the care of Heathermill's orphanage without a trace, never to see her again.

"Stay strong, my princess."

The orphanage was all Thorn knew. A modest, busy home with a social heirarchy to rival the royals. As the smallest and weakest child, and a half-elf to boot, Thorn found herself near the bottom of the pecking order, second only to those younger than her. But no matter how hard she was pushed down, she kept getting back up. She was smaller and weaker than the others, but she was twice as loud and spirited. Not wanting the even smaller children to suffer her same fate, she would stand up to bullies to take their punishment instead. She just kept getting back up.

"Just a thorn in my side."

This continued until she was eight, when visitors from Rosenheim came to observe the children. And not just any visitors--the Knight-Paladin's Grand Commander and his officers. Some children questioned them incessantly about the military and police force, begging to borrow their swords, complimenting their armor. Thorn just watched. They privately talked with the matron of the orphanage, and though Thorn listened in hiding, she didn't understand what they meant. Discovered hiding before she could run, instead of disciplining her, the officers seemed to think she was resourceful. Soon, she and a handful of others older than her were being escorted in a carriage--a real carriage--all the way to Rosenheim to live with the Rosen Guardians. And one officer, taking her under his wing, began to teach her how to fight.

While not exactly what she'd been expecting, Thorn easily fell into a regular routine rigorously training with children her age from all over the country and trying to keep up with the adult soldiers in the group. She could parry a sword by the time she was nine, but her frailty and weakness held her progress back, once again making her the target of ridicule among the children and even some of the adults. As she learned to live with this and grew into her teens, she fell further and further behind the others as they began dispersing among the other branches of the military, some leaving altogether for schooling and outside work. Desperate for the approval of her commanding officer, who had taken on an uneasy fatherly role in her life, she was pushed to the breaking point and worked herself to sickness, falling into a cycle of overexerting herself followed by fruitless recovery at the hand of the officer, forcing herself through the punishments and discipline. Though she wasn't the only orphan left training there, she was the only one struggling.

"She wanted a father. I wanted a soldier."

By the time she was sixteen, her officer brought her aside to an empty room. Fearing the worst--exile and abandonment--she begged him to let her continue training. But what she faced was instead much worse. At the peak of the full moon, a weretiger was freed and locked in the room with her. Defenseless and terrified, Thorn was bitten and mauled to the brink of death, suffering deep slashes on her back, spared only when the officer subdued the weretiger. She bled in and out of consciousness for days after, thrashing with nightmares of the tiger's savage spirit, but she eventually awoke, only surviving her wounds after the lycanthropy took root and accelerated her healing. The officers explained it was a test--a means of creating a better, stronger warrior--and she was only so lucky to be the first, meant to be hidden from the Knight-Paladin until the right time. She was awash with new senses, lingering pain, whitened hair, and extreme hunger, but more than anything, betrayal.

"Now you've earned your stripes."

Thorn was locked in solitude until she could tame the werebeast. Slowly she adjusted to the raging tiger occupying half her mind. Enduring more rigorous training and punishments than ever, she became subdued and eventually learned to control the beast, using it in battle and embracing her anger. She unquestionably followed orders, enforced by silver, and quickly grew to become the strongest soldier in the group, a lifetime away from the frail child she once was. Terrified of being exposed as a monster, she'd only bare her fangs for her fellow soldiers and those most unfortunate to meet her claws in battle. Aging and training among the guardsmen, she quietly forgave the officers and commander who'd subjected her to so much pain, for without it, she wouldn't have become the warrior she was always meant to be.

Thorn earned her autonomy in adulthood, still wholeheartedly devoting herself to the military but allowing herself rest to venture into everyday life throughout the country. Sheltered in the orphanage and then the barracks throughout her life, she was rushed with a culture shock of life's simple pleasures and living life beyond the military.

Battle is all she knows. But she holds onto the hope that someday she'll find something more to life than death.