War.
She remembered nothing but the never ending theatres of War. Fist the wars of home, fighting for food against her siblings, each meal a battle. Then, as years progressed, the fight against her hair, the unruly flaming tendrils getting caught even amongst themselves. Yet nothing of her younger life could have prepared her for the fight against her obsession.
She always remembers when she first experienced it. The deafening growling silence, followed by the roaring fracturing of everything. The elegant weightlessness of the initial spark, followed by the opressive force that flung you like a scrap doll. The quickest, sharp cool intake of breath, followed by the furnace blast of flames. Yes, her war fighting her own obsession of blowing thins up was the hardest. Especially since she was so terrified after losing her family.
The prefect of her dorm at the School always fetched the astropaths when she was younger and screaming in her fevered sleep. Three weeks the tried getting her to spend time with the other orphans. It wasn't until one of the older teens sparked a flint switch, to light a tabhack, the she even reacted to anyone.
They had to scrape the remains of his skull off the dataslate she beat him with. The didn't even try to get the flint switch from her, as she had already gotten rid of the fuel canister. Complete entranced with the tiny spark.
In iso, is where she spent three years, no human interaction, except the abusive guards. Not that any of them tried anything after she turned Ja'ralee, into a fireplace for grabbing her breasts. They had forgotten about the flint switch, and never noticed she had discovered the promethiean pipes.
That's when the Guild got involved. That's when she was no longer afraid. That's when the explosives were no longer her enemies.
From beneath the unkempt mass of ruddy mud smeared curls, that she used as a blanket on extremely cold nights. Fredia learned from the Promethiean guild. As they thought they were preparing her for a life of a guilder, they sew the seeds of their own demise. Thankfully, the Guard, and the Adepta Sororitas stepped in before anyone was the wiser.
At the tender age of 16 Fredia was shipped off to Armageddon, training as an explosives expert. Even the Commisar of her unit was scared of the level of damage she would do, if given enough ammunition.
They were right to fear her, and her obsession.
She remembered nothing but the never ending theatres of War. Fist the wars of home, fighting for food against her siblings, each meal a battle. Then, as years progressed, the fight against her hair, the unruly flaming tendrils getting caught even amongst themselves. Yet nothing of her younger life could have prepared her for the fight against her obsession.
She always remembers when she first experienced it. The deafening growling silence, followed by the roaring fracturing of everything. The elegant weightlessness of the initial spark, followed by the opressive force that flung you like a scrap doll. The quickest, sharp cool intake of breath, followed by the furnace blast of flames. Yes, her war fighting her own obsession of blowing thins up was the hardest. Especially since she was so terrified after losing her family.
The prefect of her dorm at the School always fetched the astropaths when she was younger and screaming in her fevered sleep. Three weeks the tried getting her to spend time with the other orphans. It wasn't until one of the older teens sparked a flint switch, to light a tabhack, the she even reacted to anyone.
They had to scrape the remains of his skull off the dataslate she beat him with. The didn't even try to get the flint switch from her, as she had already gotten rid of the fuel canister. Complete entranced with the tiny spark.
In iso, is where she spent three years, no human interaction, except the abusive guards. Not that any of them tried anything after she turned Ja'ralee, into a fireplace for grabbing her breasts. They had forgotten about the flint switch, and never noticed she had discovered the promethiean pipes.
That's when the Guild got involved. That's when she was no longer afraid. That's when the explosives were no longer her enemies.
From beneath the unkempt mass of ruddy mud smeared curls, that she used as a blanket on extremely cold nights. Fredia learned from the Promethiean guild. As they thought they were preparing her for a life of a guilder, they sew the seeds of their own demise. Thankfully, the Guard, and the Adepta Sororitas stepped in before anyone was the wiser.
At the tender age of 16 Fredia was shipped off to Armageddon, training as an explosives expert. Even the Commisar of her unit was scared of the level of damage she would do, if given enough ammunition.
They were right to fear her, and her obsession.
