Citra surveyed the club from the VIP balcony and smiled. Warrior was finally her territory officially and the rollicking party beneath her feet was simply confirmation. As she watched the dancing and sweating bodies below, she nodded. At the time she'd been hired, the club was more or less a front for moving bodies for the seedy underbelly. Once she scented the men responsible for such terrible things being done to her people, occurring in her neighborhood - she got to work hunting.
One by one, the threads to traffickers and dealers were severed. Violence rained down on the men who preyed on the barely legal girls and there was justice for mothers who prayed for their children to come home. In a final bloody event, Citra watched the man who hired her and groomed her for succession die. The rumor that she killed him was persistent, and more telling was only half right. The urban legend is good for business at least.
The truth invokes the shades of madness that her brother claimed to see when he abandoned her and sometimes Citra wonders if the fervor she feels is a sign of something wrong. She doesn't tell anyone of the dream she had, of the Knife of the Rakyat - the sacred blade responsible for creating her people. She does not tell them that she woke up on morning with the blade resting on her chest and she does not tell them she keeps it in the office of her club - the sanctum of her temple. Most just assume that the club runs on aesthetic, that she's hardcore and enjoy the debauchery they can get up to.
She's almost of a mind to join the throng of patrons when she spots a man who sets her blood on fire. It's the same surety that led her to this place and the same that led her to destroy the men who tried to control her. 'Him', her blood calls and its all she can do to lean to one of the security on staff in the lounge and tell them to invite the man at bar in the long coat up to join her.
AUing her a touch, sorry for the TEAL DEER
One by one, the threads to traffickers and dealers were severed. Violence rained down on the men who preyed on the barely legal girls and there was justice for mothers who prayed for their children to come home. In a final bloody event, Citra watched the man who hired her and groomed her for succession die. The rumor that she killed him was persistent, and more telling was only half right. The urban legend is good for business at least.
The truth invokes the shades of madness that her brother claimed to see when he abandoned her and sometimes Citra wonders if the fervor she feels is a sign of something wrong. She doesn't tell anyone of the dream she had, of the Knife of the Rakyat - the sacred blade responsible for creating her people. She does not tell them that she woke up on morning with the blade resting on her chest and she does not tell them she keeps it in the office of her club - the sanctum of her temple. Most just assume that the club runs on aesthetic, that she's hardcore and enjoy the debauchery they can get up to.
She's almost of a mind to join the throng of patrons when she spots a man who sets her blood on fire. It's the same surety that led her to this place and the same that led her to destroy the men who tried to control her. 'Him', her blood calls and its all she can do to lean to one of the security on staff in the lounge and tell them to invite the man at bar in the long coat up to join her.