Lord of Girth
There have come many beings of power within the galaxy. The likes that men would call, Gods, Dark Lords, Sith'ari, Grandmasters, and much more. Power gained in magnificence, and awful deceit. The actions taken by this elite group of people within the Galaxy, a fragment of a percentage of people, have sent things into motion that which cannot be undone. As with all forms of an economy, or a societal structure, those upon the top of the pyramid, making choices, causes all those under them, to become afflicted by the fallout. This fallout, has brought about a chaos among the stars. Leading to unnatural birth, exponential technological growth, inflation, and o'so much more.
Within all of this chaotic stirring of nature, unnatural creations, Godhood, and Peasantry, is birthed an individual from the force of Netherworld. A mere shadow of any individuality, the mind is blank, and left barren. Only given knowledge of rudimentary tasks. The life of Tyra is that of a husk. Void of all characteristics that would proclaim her a member of a near-human species. Memories, Dreams, and Nightmares flash within and only send whatever form of a conscious she may have, into a state of disarray. A singular purpose to learn, and grow is what she is given of her own thoughts. These thoughts, may not even be of her own. As should she grab a sword, a natural flow of the weapon becomes of her. No mere extension, but the blade is she. More questions come before the answers. All without any form of training, knowledge, wisdom, or aid. She is alone, thoughtless in a wasteland of viscera, gore, and bile.
Yet, as she finds within her hands, a small sphere. Whispers of power, strength, life, grandeur, and more enter her mind. Furies of voices. Condescending, uplifting, questioning, berating, tearing her down. All echo over within her ever present ears. Within her hands, the orb and its blue flames engulfed her spirit. Torching anything that remained of a mind. Left as nothing more than a Netherworlder.
As she holds upon it, she finds images within her eyes. Ones that she may have had before. Drawing her sword, she found the smallest of cracks within the wall that stood before her and her purpose. The blade plunged within the crack. Prying, prodding, and tearing into the brick that formed the obstruction. Sharpness became dull in the attempt for time uncounted. Breaking and shattering into dust as her bloody, darkened hands pried pieces from such restriction. The formation fell away from before her. Walking into the light, and towards what may become of her life.
Tyra, a husk that carries misfortune to those she meets, the area around her, and even herself. Where the galaxy would see her returned to from behind the wall, she must overcome all to learn why she was hidden within, and what she must do to stay.
------------------------------------------
The Galaxy was unforgiving. Birthing Tyra within itself. Oppressing the Denied her just rights. She, a woman of strength, Steel blade, and power, was not to be denied such. Reaching with her hand, through the Cradle, she brought herself to the Maw. A group of individuals, akin to those who would seek power, and more over, their right.
Tyra, threw headfirst, into the battle of what would be her beginning of the end. For she festered as a wound. She would always be one, until the last.
Last edited: