Hello. This here is my fanfiction.
Disclaimer: I own an oakleaf which technically means that I'm technically part of the Ranger Corps. which technically means that…yeah, nothing. I own nothing.
So, I am completely going out of my comfort zone by writing this story. Just for your information.
Please realize that this character of mine is NOT in any way, shape, or form a self insert. She is not a Mary-Sue. She is not a canon-wrecker. She will not interfere with any canon-relationships. This is not your typical Ranger's Apprentice female original character and story. I ask that you please do not bash it just because of that. It is merely a story I wrote with an original character (which, as previously mentioned, is out of my comfort zone.) placed into a Ranger's Apprentice setting. I've tried to keep my writing as similar to John Flanagan's as I could.
The lowdown: Normally I will update this story with one chapter every week. However, because this chapter is short, I will be publishing two chapters as a first go. Please do not give me plot suggestions.
Prologue
Ember dozed silently in a corner of the art studio. She had recently finished a large art project, received her teacher's praise, and felt content. She lay happily down and drifted off. It was only when she smelled the musky, pressing odor of smoke that she awoke.
It did not take her long to wake up, for when she opened her eyes, she rePalized she was encompassed by fire. That immediately snapped her out of her grogginess. Wait, no, not completely encompassed; there was a small opening to her right, a window!
Thinking fast, she grabbed the nearest thing to her: a jug of red paint, its color reflecting the angriness of the flames licking up around her. The heat was oppressive, and that, combined with the smoke, started smothering. Filled with adrenaline and a quickly growing panic, she desperately threw the paint jug at the window, luckily breaking it on the first throw.
Crying, covered in soot, she rubbed her eyes on the back of her grimy sleeve. She lifted her right leg through the broken glass and winced as some pieces cut her ankle and leg. But that wasn't important right now. What was important was getting out alive and as far from the burning ruins of the studio as possible. Feeling thankful that the west wing was on the first floor, she nimbly pulled her left leg through the window, letting it follow her right leg down onto the hard ground. She straightened up and coughed, the smoke from the fire already permeating her lungs. As she realized that she was alive and safe, her terror started to wane, but the horrible memory of flames licking at her remained engraved in her memory.
It was only a while later, after half staggering and half running a few kilometers and sorting through her thoughts and various emotions, that she recognized an emotion that stood out from all the rest: betrayal.
She felt betrayed that no one had woken her up once the fire had started. Perhaps they had forgotten about her, or perhaps they simply didn't care. Either way, she felt extremely, and maybe a slight bit irrationally, hurt by her fellow artists. Even her teacher had made no attempt to save her from the burning ruins. She wouldn't be going back to the castle, ever. If that was all she was worth to them, why would she want to entrust her life to them anymore? She was cut too deep to ever forgive. She would make her way south, across the Tarbus River, and from there…who knew?
Did you like it? Did you dislike it? Tell me why.