Disclaimer: I do not own Devya Rahl - she is the creation of my friend Amber. D'Hara, Confessors, and the Con Dar/Blood Rage are the creation of Mr. Terry Goodkind. I take absolutely NO credit for these things. I DO however own Oran Rahl, and the Witch Woman Zorya.
Opening: The Last Battle
A Time Beyond History's Reckoning.
Her whole body started to tremble. The quivering quickly progressed into full shudders, which swiftly advanced to near convulsions as it took hold of her. The Con Dar. The Blood Rage. It was brought on by the anger, and the worry for her fallen mate. Her sea blue-green eyes quickly filled with blood, turning her cat-like irises scarlet as her power stormed.
The Mother Confessor, a warrior woman sworn to the task of finding the truth, no matter how hard it had been concealed, had taken on her last mission . Her suicide. To protect the one she love above all else. Her husband, her mate, the father of her newborn child. Oran Rahl. The young King of D'Hara.
Oran laid unconscious nearby upon the battlefield. Forgotten for now by the enemy. His armour was filthy, heavy with mud, and drenched with the life blood of the Sorceress' forces. The leather and chain mail had protected him, but now it lay in cracked tatters and broken rings. The red and black leathers had been hacked at by enemy swords. Though for the most part it had done it's duty to protect the monarch. The leather collar he wore to shield his throat, neck, and clavicle, was deeply rutted where the enemy had tried unsuccessfully to slit his throat. The thick Mord'Sith collar had protected him. Given to him by the highest ranking woman of the Temple which shared it's roof with the Peoples Palace. The Mistress Neilina. His face was injured; a black eye quickly forming, which would mar his handsome face. About his head, like a dark halo, laid his hair upon the muddy ground. Strangely coloured for one of his nationality and his blood line, but still fitting of his visage. But his dignified nose was broken; knocked from it's place and disjointed. Yet if he had noticed it, he had paid it no attention. But than again, the Mother Confessor had been his concern.
But the Mother Confessor was pulsating with the flow of the Con Dar through her blood. It started in her heart where the love of her husband metaphorically resided. From her heart the ire rushed along her arteries with her blood; the Blood Rage. The Con Dar had taken hold of her body, mind, heart, soul, and power. Her han had reached it's peak.
The sky, already dark with the smoke and gore of the battlefield, had lost further radiance. It had darkened. Taking on the essence of the eve at midnight. Only around the young woman, Devya, was an orb of illumination. Bluish light encasing her; a pocket of daylight amongst the shadows.
The enemy, the soldiers in the service of the Witch Woman Zorya, were still approaching. The fury of the Confessor Queen did not quench their desire to destroy the fallen D'Haran Lord and amalgamate his kingdom into that of their Queen. But the Confessor would not allow it. As the soldiers advanced, she finally screamed out. Her wrath ringing out like the rebound of a rifle. The atmosphere tore open; thunder without a sound. From Devya was sent out a shock wave of magic that struck at the soldiers. Bringing all the fifteen, that sought to circle the woman, to their knees. All uttering the same phrase at once, "Command us, Mother Confessor."
Devya cried out once again, trying to release some of the power and her anger. The sound once again echoing out through the air. She turned her wild eyes upon each man in the semi-circle around her as she bared her teeth; breathing heavy snorts through her flared nostrils. "I command you to fight to the death in service of your King Oran Rahl!"
The confessed soldiers each drew their weapons once more from the earth around them where they had fallen from their hands in the rapture of confession. Each growled, desperate to protect their Mistress and the object of her affections. The reason for her entrance into the Con Dar. They made it known to their former allies that they were in the service of D'Hara and not Zorya.
The blood soon stained the battle-torn earth. Running in red rivulets towards the greater rivers and seeping seas of red.
Devya was lost in her power; turning to look all around her. Still she panted and snorted, unable to lower to heart rate. Though, until she killed the one responsible for Oran's injuries (and this was not the soldier that had knocked him unconscious, but the Witch, Zorya, herself) she did not wish to leave her state of rushing strength. Finally her eyes fell upon her mate; Oran lay nearly dead. Pale and sweating profusely, his black eye was the least of his wounds. The sweat drenched his hair and cause the dark wisps around his face to cling to his high, proud, cheekbones. His cupid's bow lips were split from a blow that he had sustained while trying to protect the very woman who was now desperate to avenge him. She cried out at the mere sight of the Father Rahl as he lay on Death's doorstep. The wind whipped through her long hair, and tugged at her bloodied and dirtied white gown. Blowing her hair around her like a dark war banner as she pulled her shoulders back, holding her hands out to the side, and threw her head back. Crying to the heavens, where even the Creator should have been able to hear the anguish in her voice.
Zorya was going to die. Even if was the last task that the Mother Confessor ever performed.