Terra X Oc

P1: To the waters and the wild

Please don't feel like u need to use these pictures if u want to imagine something else this is just what I picture for y/n.

But with brown hair ^

Kinda her armour^

Her hair^v

As a child I grew up with a specialist father and human mother, despite the differences in the world's they lived in their love for each other made it work. Some of my earliest memories are an idealic depiction of a happy family as mother braided my hair whilst telling stories of Alfea's turbulent history before daily horse riding and sword fighting with my father, wooden of course. Yet today I stand, my father's heavy black steel sword grasped firmly in my hands and a bloody recollection of his death staining my childhood, parrying off my uncle's attempt to catch me out. You see he took me in after the burned ones cruelly executed my mother and father. He managed to bring me back from the liminal boundary of death I was teetering off of, now what remains is a light pink shiny stretched scar running down the side of my face and the memory of the searing pain that almost took me that day. You would think he was nurturing and so did I until I came to and was quickly taught that he was not a nice man. Since then, he has been ruthlessly training me to be the best specialist I can; with none stop physical and mental strain on my mind and body in an attempt to mold me into an impenetrable line of defense against the very things that I failed to protect my parents from.

I am jolted from my depressing thoughts as my uncle jabs the sharp edge of his sword into the soft leather padding of my  armour. "That's enough, you clearly are not even trying to defend your life. Go train with the bo staffs 'till you can get your head straight!" he gritted out of his sweaty red face, oh how I hated that face, before stomping off and out of the courtyard. His frustration fails to faze me anymore as I have faced his anger with much less than armour many times before; leaving my skin littered with varying white and pink scars and the bones underneath jagged once healed. Now in the silent stretch of dusty rubble I walked to the bo staff rack with a small smile of my face; these were always one of my favourites, second only to my father's sword. As I picked of the smooth and perfectly balanced weapon I pictured the smooth motions I would take to bruise and bludgeon my opponents before swiftly manipulating the staff and my body to provide calculated movements with intended force.

After a long day of preparing for a fight I'm not sure is ever coming, I made my way back to my quarters whilst cradeling my bruised side. Uncle was harsh today, worse than usually, yet his body seemed weaker. Guess karma was finally getting to him. Even though I went to bed with these thoughts I imagined a couple of sleepless nights or annoying back pain would give me enough satisfaction in watching him struggle, nothing could have prepared me for the rude awakening from one of the Knights my uncle regularly has meetings with. And I certainly didn't expect him to tell me the old rat was finally dead. He said death had gracefully taken him in the night and claimed it was an unexpected but painless experience. It was strange to me to suddenly come to all this freedom as my oppressor was lifted just like that from something so out of human (or fairy) control, no honourable death amidst a battle over existential change, no viking-esque final farewell. How fitting.

Not long after the news of my uncle's death spread, people seemed to realise he had left me; the daughter of a well respected and feared specialist that once fought alongside the great Andreas. This news stirred up some excitement and confusion at how I managed to escape the battle that claimed my mother and father, yet I was solely focused on fleeing the confines of the training yard I had put blood, sweat and tears into. Well, that was until I got a letter from none other than Farah Dowling.

The glint of the metallic foiling around the edges of her letter is what caught my eye but the sincere anecdote about her time with my father is what kept me reading. Her letter was a rather persuasive piece trying to coerce me into attending her school for fairies and specialists alike. She must have anticipated my reluctance to relinquish my new found freedom as she claims that I shall only be tethered to Alfea for a single term then it is up to me whether I wish to remain or flee. Against my better judgement I thought I would give her a chance seeing as despite my hatred for where I live now, I don't really have any experience going out into the world all alone and without any idea of what I really want in life; now that it is fully mine.

What I wish I had known before I had a knight drive me and my underwhelming amount of luggage to the school gates, was that people, with their over active imaginations, had already twisted a story out of my situation to keep themselves entertained. The story going something like: once upon a time a young specialist fought against an army of burned ones but was scratched right across her eye, the infection took over her small body and despite her heroic uncle's attempts to slow the infection she finally lost control and slit his throat while he slept. I know, very creative. Although the adults know how impossible the rumours sound and show no signs that I am dangerous or an uncontrollable burned beast, the whole student body seemed terrified of some shadowy persona they created for me; someone they had never met.