St. Ronika Sample #1

The rain was harsh.

The light was bright.

I wondered... was I going to die here? Without anyone so much as batting an eyelash? Is no one really going to come to help me?

It's at this point I realize, I've been relying on people all my life. I've always let others do everything that needed to be done in the world. There are millions, billions, possibly more then that, of people in this world, and they're all doing something. So with so many people doing things, why should I do anything? What difference could I make in this world where such a massive amount of people are already making that difference? That was how I went through life, and it continues being a way of life for me. Up until this very moment. Where I lay here, beaten, mangled, wondering where I went wrong on this stone laden road.

What choice do I have though? What could I possibly do? They say that there will always be someone better then you, so why bother? Let the person that's better then you do it. They're the ones that will ultimately make that difference, not you. It doesn't matter how much you strive for it, work for it, or do for it, someone will just achieve what you're trying to achieve, but better. More efficiently. More beautifully. So I just sat back, watched as the world continued to improve, while I never did. There wasn't any point in improving myself if it didn't make a lick of difference. Yet, here I am, waiting for someone to help me. Someone to come to me aid. Someone to do what I can't do, as usual. That is, standing up. Helping me stand. Trying to make a difference in the world. Why is it that after so long of not wanting to make a difference, waiting for someone else to make that difference, that I'm still here... waiting for that difference to happen?

Will that difference ever come? What if no one makes that difference? That difference that not just the world needs, but the difference that I need as well. The world is full of possibilities but that just means that there just as many fulfilled differences and dreams as there are unfulfilled ones. No, rather, what that truly means is that there are infinitely more possibilities that are untaken, then there are possibilities that are. Because when you're presented with a choice, you can only take that one possibility, and the choices and possibilities down the ones you never took, are all lost. What this just means is that not every difference in the world is made. Not every dream is realized. Such a world would be too perfect. Does that mean then, that the differences I want to see happen, are doomed from the start?

All it really means is that if no one chases those differences, those dreams, then nothing will come of it. So maybe, I should make that difference myself... maybe it's time I stopped thinking that everyone will do everything for me. If there are certain differences that no one is willing to make, then I will be the one that makes those differences. Those differences that I feel the world needs...

Those differences that will change everything.

I was a simple child, that didn't really do anything. I never felt the need to do anything. I always felt that anything I could do, someone else would just do better. So why bother? Someone else will do it, someone else will get that recognition, so I'd be better off just doing what I have to and going about my life the way I want to. School was never fun for me as a result. I never tried very hard, I only did what I needed to do to get by. I let everyone else take all the pride, take all the blame, take everything that wasn't necessary, so that I could get out having put the least amount of effort into school as possible. My parents didn't mind. I'm not sure if they were really expecting anything of me or not. They were happy. They had what they wanted. They had what they needed. They didn't need anything else. They didn't have big dreams, big aspirations, no real drive to make a difference in the world. They were happy as they were, so what was the point in doing anything more? I agreed with that logic. That alone made me happy.

My father was a wise man. He knew how the world worked. He taught me everything I know. Not just material things, but of life, social skills, pretty much anything that didn't specifically have to do about my gender. I looked up to him. I wanted him to be happy. He was, too. He was very happy. He was satisfied with what he had and lived life in a laid back manner that I could only dream of. His life was a peaceful one. One that I envy now. But I envy him more then just for that. As I said, he was wise, and rather smart too I feel. One day, I had the misfortune of mishandling what I thought was a strangely colored rock, and ended up burning myself. I never looked back on it and thought, "I guess I must have some talent after all." It never occured to me that one event would be a sign, a foreshadowing of what was to come.

"Ah, it's not a bad burn so you'll be okay," my father said, while I sat there on the floor crying like a little baby. I was only seven at the time, so an unusual pain like that hit me hard. Still though, he tended to my wounds, and felt... maybe I had some sort of attachment to it. Maybe I held some sort of interest in it. A day later, he would come to me and say, "Here, it's a ring with the magic ore you touched yesterday. Fashioned like this, it won't burn you, and you can stare at and touch it as much as you like and it won't hurt you. Do you like it?" Being a personal gift from my father, of course I was estatic to recieve it. I loved him, and my mother. Anything they gave me out of sheer love I would return in kind with the same amount of cherishment.

I loved my mother just as much. She was kind, sweet, gentle, and most of all, stunningly beautiful. My father always said, "The longer your hair is, the more pretty you will look." Although my mother never had hair as long as mine, every time I looked at her visage, I couldn't help but agree with my father. It was for that reason that I grew my hair out to be as long as it is now. I spent my entire life making it this long. But now that I'm an adult, I can feel that's not all it takes. My mother's hair was something else. It shined beautifully in the light, a sheen that would make pristine metal look dirty. It flowed more smoothly then a river down a gentle incline. It was softer to the touch then what I imagine most clouds would feel like. She also had the face to match that astoundingly pretty hair. It was a face I'll never forget. A face that always greeted me with a smile, and asked me, "Did you have a good day at school?" I never answered honestly, but I never cared about how I felt about what happened to me. All I ever cared about was how my parents felt.

It was around the time I was turning nine years old that my mother fell gravely ill. None of the doctors could tell what was going on, why she got sick, or what was even happening to her body. It was sudden, and abrupt, but my mother succumbed to that mystery illness, and that's when everything went downhill. My father was absolutely mortified by it. All his happiness... just gone, swept away from him by a cold, cruel wind. It would never come back. Still though, he tried. He tried his hardest to persevere. That shop he set up in the capital never went away, despite the fact that the owner's wife had passed away suddenly. He never felt the need to take a break, to close up and go somewhere else. He adamantly stuck with the shop that he set up with his beloved spouse and vowed that until the end of his time, that it would stay just the way it was.

But still, he faltered. He grew weak. The numerous friends he had made over the years of owning that shop in the capital did nothing but harm him near the end. Until he couldn't take it anymore. That's what I had assumed, anyways. Sometime after I turned sixteen, my father left a note for me saying, "I'll be back sometime later. I'm sorry." Of course, he never returned. He never came back. I had known enough at that point to be able to keep the shop afloat without his presence, he taught me well enough on how to manage it while he was gone, and he trusted me with it frequently enough to give me enough experience to do it by second nature. So when he left, I thought nothing of it at first... I continued on as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Time passed me by, and before I knew it, I was turning nineteen, without the presence of my father, or my mother. I never thought about it. I never gave it a passing thought.

Why, I wonder... how did I come to the point of not ever questioning what had happened, despite loving them so much? Why did they just leave me, without a passing glance, and why did I did not so much as bat an eyelash to it?

It was a rainy day, much like this one. Sorting through my paperwork, kind of unlike me at the time, as I detested doing it. Not because I found it boring, but because it would always lead to depressing results, and this time wasn't any different. I was behind on my rent, yet again. Being constantly threatened to be kicked out of my own home wasn't a very pleasant thought. I never questioned it before but as I grew older and started managing the shop myself, I wondered how my father was able to pull it off with the low amount of sales he typically got. Maybe this was one of the reasons why he fled. The rent isn't hideously expensive, despite it's position in the capital. Being right next to the front gates readily available from the road is a very convenient place for a general store, especially one tourists might find interesting. Even so, though, I can't seem to get enough sales to keep enough money rolling in to safely keep this place. I eat a little lightly, so that certainly helps, but it's clear that at this rate, I might have to starve entirely. It's no option to really negotiate either, not when your landlord is the royalty governing this country. It's a wonder how they've tolerated me this long already.

I needed to find something that could keep me afloat. At least until my father returns. I had faith, even after several years, that he would come back to me someday. I still do, in fact. It was my current goal in life, at the time, to keep the shop running until he did, so that he would come back proud of his precious daughter. I did sometimes wonder if there was a point. What if everything changed when he came back? What if it wouldn't matter in the slightest? I didn't know what he was doing, so I had no idea whether or not anything I myself did mattered. Something like that was a thing that only time could tell me, and unfortunately, I was running out of that time. Disregarding the fact that I want to keep the store alive when my father came back, I still needed a place to live. That store was my home, my childhood, my life. If I couldn't keep it, if I couldn't go back to it, where would I go? What would I do? I'd truly have nothing left then, not even my parents...

I have a few good friends I know of in this city. It's not that I'm alone. I just could never ask for their help. They've done nothing but be good to me, but I've done nothing in exchange, so what right do I have to ask them of anything? Should worse come to worse, I can't imagine myself asking any of them for shelter. I'd be better off seeking a damaged roof in the slums from an abandoned house. I'd never want it to come to that though, because that would definitely make my father sad. I pondered what to do and what my possibilities are at the time for a while, even getting out of my chair as I tired of all the paperwork and heading to the window, looking out into the blackest night. Even as I realized I had stayed up too late sorting through all the papers, I couldn't tear myself away from that window because my mind was murky and polluted with all these bad thoughts. Bad thoughts about my uncertain future. It was then and there that I made a decision, a decision that would probably set things in motion. I expected things to change, but I never expected just how much they would.

The rain was harsh. It was a night like any other. Who would have known that things would have turned out the way they did?

The following day I went ahead to the capital's church to attend the weekly sermon. I used to every week, back when my father was still here. My father knew one of the very few high priests here, and my mother was very serious about religion, though I never found out why. Having gone every week of my life thus far though, I quickly grew tired of it and after my father left, my motivation for going gradually dwindled. The few friends I've met came from those visits to the sermon though, so I have no ill will against it, or this country's religion. It just bores me. I've went maybe once a month now since my father left, but this time was going to be special, because someone I wished to talk to was going to be delivering the sermon. Of course, I hadn't any real desire to talk to them until the moment I had made the decision the previous night... looking back on it, it proves how passive I am, as I never really talked to my friends unless I needed to. I would say that makes me a lone wolf, but that might be comparing myself to someone I have a strong distaste for. That comes later, though.

I quickly found a seat and tried my hardest to ignore the fact that I was in a humid, stone building full of old and uptight people. I don't do very well with large groups of people, especially those older then me. I guess that might mean I have some sort of superiority complex, but having had little social interaction with older people over the course of my life has led to something like this. My discomfort was mildly relieved when I saw the far younger high priest walk up to the podium, rather nervously at that. He has every reason to do, he's only been doing this for a few months now, even though he'd been training for it for the past decade. He's also unimaginably short, not even five feet tall, which makes me look awkward next to him as I'm over six feet. I look like quite the tree standing next to him. He also looks malnourished under those priestly robes, though don't ask how I know that. He's definitely far from built tough physically, but his heart is many times bigger then his body is, I know that for a fact.

Sousha Keikou, he has messy, short blue hair and a total body height that would make little girls have to turn their heads down. Not even five feet tall, despite his age of eightteen, being the youngest high priest in the history of this country, St. Ronika. The next youngest was a paltry thirty three, so Sousha's by far leaps and bounds ahead of most priests when it comes to doing his job. Although, I'm not entirely sure what his job is, but it's apparently very busy as he rarely ever has free time. His father is also a high priest, though I haven't seen much of him since Sousha's mother was killed, a few years ago, about a year before my father left. Sousha's family, consisting of himself and his parents, were traveling back to the capital after a short pilgrimage, when the carriage they were riding in was suddenly attacked by the wolf-like creatures inhabiting a forest in the south eastern side of the country. It was very strange, as unprovoked attacks like that were extremely rare in the past. The beasts resembling wolves, which have historically been called vulps, were very territorial and it never extended to the road cutting through their forest. I had heard that Sousha's mother was caught off guard and taken by the vulps, and her corpse was found sometime later. Sousha was extremely distraught by it, and his mother's death may be a factor in his extreme nervousness now.

The sermon finally starts, and as everyone's attention was brought to the little boy speaking his speech, I felt relieved. The discomfort brought on by being in a large group is less when there's a focus of attention. I don't like being it myself, especially when it comes to complete strangers. I tend to choke up a lot, so I never trust myself with anything that requires the attention of a lot of people I don't know. This is ultimately why sales in my shop have been so low, and what was really behind my financial problems. It's also why I wanted to talk to Sousha. As strange as it may sound to ask a nerve wracked priest for help with advertising, I really didn't have many options available to me. I was getting desperate, as being behind on my rent so much was probably not improving my relationship with the royal family. I had hesitated so long to ask for help not only because of how obviously low the chances of it succeeding were, but because no matter how many times Sousha may tell me that anything he could do to help, he would be glad to, I could never help but feel massive twinges of guilt anytime I even considered asking him. That day would be the day I would ignore that for one of the first times in my life.

The actual sermon was nothing special, or at least nothing I hadn't heard before. It was customary for the church to repeat the happenings of the woman that liberated this country as a means of enticing more people into it's religion, if you could truly call it that. As a religion, it always sounded a little dubious to me, but allegedly, a long time ago, an extremely powerful woman by the name of Ronika went on a pilgrimage as a nun, and many, many people admired her. This country, named after that woman, is in a rather holed off, nondescript corner of the continent of Eirea. Back during Ronika's time, no human dared brave the multitude of mountains and dangerous wildlife present just outside of where this country's borders lay now. It wasn't that way for her though, on her grand pilgrimage across Eirea, she stumbled across this outcropping of untouched land, where no human had ever set foot on it's soil. No human, but there were sure as hell a lot of demons, apparently.

Ronika's fight with the demons was long and arduous, so I'm told. A supposed 'King of Demons,' called Samtos by legend, ruled over all the land that this country now comprises of, and Ronika challenged this great tyrant. For it was her wish to find a land free from strife that her followers may settle down in. Ultimately, that was the goal of her pilgrimage, and she was apparently set on it enough to fight a towering demon over it. Ronika, though, was extremely strong. Many people likened her to a goddess. According to ancient texts, she had divine power that rivaled those of celestial blood. So she fought toe to toe with Samtos, overcoming his great size and immeasurable strength thanks to her heavenly protection. She, of course, did this mostly alone, as all of her followers and subjects were obviously too weak to be fighting demons, though, even if they weren't, they were following her in search of land that would be away from war, fighting and killing, as they were all war torn. As a result, pretty much all of the fighting on Ronika's side, came from Ronika herself. As admittedly scary though, as it was thought that if not for a specific advantage Samtos had, she would have slain him.

That advantage though, is what set him apart from her. Samtos' right hand man was an advanced, greater demon, who commanded the power of the seven elements that St. Ronika's magicians and such use today. This power allowed him to combat Ronika easily, as they powerfully resisted and countered her holy powers. It is thought that at the end of the fight, when Ronika could go on no longer, she bid farewell to her loyal subjects and used all her remaining power to seal this demon and Samtos back into hell where they belong. Such a sealing act left a huge hole directly in middle of the country, which we dubbed the Demon's Descent, as there is no obvious bottom to it. You can easily assume that it leads straight to hell, where Samtos is probably still waiting. In an effort to not let her sacrifice go in vain though, Ronika's followers named their new state after her, detached from the ongoing war that was engulfing the rest of the continent of Eirea, and went on with their lives in peace. The more devout subjects of Ronika are the people that started up this religion, believing that her deeds were the work of god and that she should be properly worshipped as a Saint. Of course, it's not a very complete religion, but as a country, we're not a very complete community, either.

"Eh, really?"

This was my first reaction to Sousha's response to my query, after the sermon ended and I somehow got time to talk to him. He's a very busy person, and as I've said, very nervous, so knowing that he was booked with a casual lunch with one of his old friends was surprising, to say the least. That was okay though, since that old friend of his is also an old friend of mine, and I had every intention on shoe horning myself into it, since I'm stubborn and I already committed to going ahead with the plan I set myself out for. "M-My apologies," Sousha started to stutter as he usually does, "i-it's rare for you to go out of way t-to talk to me, S-Samantha, but--" I stopped him midway in though. Putting on a friendly smile I always try to show to the poor guy, I made sure he wasn't out of position, though, neither was I.

"Don't sweat it. I came here with the expectation that you'd be busy more than likely anyways. But since it's that, I'll forgive you if you let me come along." My tactic was flawless, and I made sure I executed it smoothly. Basically, Sousha first adamantly refuses.

"E-Eh?! But I n-never told her to be expecting anyone e-else..." Then, I cement my position in this deal firmly so that there's no chance of breaking.

"I've known her for a long time, Sousha, just as long as you have. Considering how she is as well, do you think she'd mind?" Sousha will start having second doubts.

"I-I don't know, i-it's still rather rude..." Then, I swiftly swoop in with some friendly encouragement for the kill.

"Relax, if anything bad comes of it, I'll just say that I wedged myself in and won't take no for an answer. How's that?" Sousha then finally relents, as he's known me for too long to even fight against my stubbornness, and he's just too nice of a guy.

"Ah... a-alright. Have it your way then." Back then I never thought anything of the importance of that meeting, because I never saw these two as anything more then good friends. Not even as a brother and sister type relationship. Both of their personalities just don't mix very well. Although, it's still my fault, as this detail is what should have told me that there would have been an obviously good reason why she, of all people, would call Sousha in for lunch.

"Hello. I see you brought some baggage."

This distinctly deadpan, yet cold and cruel voice, belongs to a small, frail girl wearing big, round glasses. She also has a distinctive hair style, having bangs cover one half of her forehead while the rest of her hair is tied in two girly, braided pigtails. She's the head librarian at the Royal Library, and is in fact, the only person that maintains the library at all. I don't know how she does it, as the Royal Library is absolutely massive. Bookcases that are easily several stories tall, filled to the brim with books of every shape and size. The building itself feels like a stadium from the inside. It's all kept exceedingly clean and pristine as well. Surely, one person alone cannot handle such a task, but as far as I know, she does so with a disturbing amount of efficiency. She even has time to pick out random books that she takes interest in and starts reading them, even at the library counter, like she was doing just as we were walking in. It must be painful to her, having to tear her eyes from the object of her only desire to look upon the ugly visage of other humans.

The girl in question is named Sonja Kurochi, and her last name gives away her ethnicity. She hails from a distant, northern country called Enkaku, that's protected by a massive mountain range extending across Eirea's northern coast. Enkaku has a very distinct culture, and is home to the continent's most efficient, most effective assassination techniques and masters. Many pure blooded Enkakans will train as a deadly assassin in their home country, then leave to become a mercenary or assassin for hire elsewhere in Eirea. As such, Enkakans have a very dangerous reputation, a reputation that Sonja frequently ignores. It certainly precedes her, as her facial structure tends to give away her heritage. What this does, is make anyone who walks in wary suddenly, as they don't expect the resident book keeper to be a murderous killing machine. Sonja is nothing like that, though. She actually has extremely poor stamina. I don't believe I've ever witnessed her running, or even jogging. Walking back and forth across town alone seems to run her out of breath. It's no wonder why, she sits around behind the counter and does absolutely nothing but read all day. I'm quite convinced someone else is actually tending to the library itself while she just relaxes and reads.

"Well excuse me for being dead weight," I quickly retorted. I always make it a habit of ensuring that I have the sharpest wit in the room. This never seems to sit well with Sousha.

"Ahh, d-don't start this up, please..." As much as I would have liked to show up Sonja, I have greater respect for her then that, so I relented to Sousha's calming and let him go on with the business he intended to fulfill. "S-Sam wanted t-to talk to me too, and i-insisted that she join us for lunch a-as well... is that alright?" Sonja then looked at me with her customary piercing gaze, a gaze that could turn most people to stone. I had gotten used to it by this point but it still bothers me as I tend to think she's judging the person she's looking at rather harshly, but never actually says what's on her mind. I'd say she normally never does anyways, but her occasional bursts of snark tend to prove me wrong.

"Yes, that is fine. Let us go into the back room then," she said as she puts her book away after marking the page she was on, standing up and then walking behind her chair and into the door behind the counter. This prompted me and Sousha to follow her in. The back room she referred to is actually her home, directly integrated into the library building. Back when her parents were still alive, she lived elsewhere, although still close by. But when she was forced to live alone, she gave up her previous home and fashioned this storage room in a living space with some help from the royal castle staff. Boy, what a job they did with it too. The living room is kind of small, and is directly attached to the tiny kitchen, with a simple bedroom and tiny bathroom through another door, but the fact that they were able to tie plumbing, electricity and other basic home amenities into a small space next to the library is impressive, both in it's method and in it's reason. Given how Sonja is, I doubt she had any part in the physical labor, but she must have been a great boon as a commander for the hard workers that made it like this. The way the room is styled certainly gives that away too, as well as the fact that this small, feeble girl is still quite attached to her homeland.

The living room is quite small, only really big enough to fit a couch, a recliner, two small tables and enough empty space for a rug. What this means, though, is that all the decor and taste is clumped up together and made more condensed, so it looks as if the room is rather busy with Enkakan design, though it really isn't. On what is left of the wall space after two separate windows taking up most of it are ornate paintings of Enkakan descent, displaying the unique culture that the country so proudly displays. The kitchen, visible from the living room, is just as ethnic. There are many spices in the rack that I can't even pronounce the names of, much less recognize, the counter has hard edges and is made out of a peculiar material, and there's various cutting utensils all with various different uses that could never apply to the styles of cooking I'm used to. Even the stove top seems to be transformed into an indoor grill... evidently, grilling is popular in Enkaku. There's quite a few chopsticks as well, though, thankfully, at least for me, there's more conventional silverware that Sonja is more then happy to let her guests use.