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"Many times had I heard how my mother rode into the small abbey at Rhystead with a babe at her back, and a dying warrior across her saddlebow. They told me how he bore the scars of many battles and that there were many fresh, grevious wounds. But of this my mother never spoke. Also, Dame Rimia, who had helped her care for him, talked of his appearance and garb, saying it was unlike that of men she had seen. Some of the Dames thought he was from the south, of which we knew very little. On that day, a part of my mother died. The remaining years granted her were spent as though she were always listening for a call that never came.

She was Lady Tirath, daughter of a house fallen to the invaders we called the Hounds of Alizon. When their strange machines of war destroyed her family's holdings, she escaped, turning north to join some kin. Once, as though speaking to herself, she told me how she met my father, Herwyrd, in the fens. She was sick nearly unto death from a fever, and he cared for her as tenderly as he would his own blood. That year they exchanged vows and rode the far Dales, seeking news of her kin and of the fighting brothers from which he had become seperated. In time, I was born, and shortly thereafter had come the battle from which they had fled to Rhystead. This was the closest I ever came to hearing of my father. She never mentioned this part of her life again.

Most of the Dames were beyond middle years, and they made much of me, undertaking my upbringing with great zeal, fussing over my mother and me. She would smile faintly and read to me many of our old tales, which was quite a relief to one as inundated with stories of the Cup and Flame as I. I remember that she always smelled of roses.

At times I walked with Dame Rimia, the still-mistress, and learned the uses of herbs and their lore. Others I spent with one or another of the Dames, learning to figure accounts, to embroider and to mend, to read, to cook and too oft times to pray. Our little abbey had so few visitors and was so far from any keep or village I wondered how it had ever come to be.

So fiercely had my mother ridden into the abbey's life, and so quietly she faded out of it. When I was there but eleven summers, she left this life...."

~Were-Flight~

The story from there of course, only grew sadder. After my mother's passing I threw myself into the life offered, never allowing myself time to truly grieve. Still working, healing, even a flicker of true power, that was my lot. As I aged to seventeen summers it came upon me to vow to Cup and Flame or move on.

A choice not aided by the new Abbess, and though the Amber lady is like to frown upon my opinion of another woman, so I say the woman was a spiteful thief and trouble maker. She fell to running the abbey like a dale lord rather than a woman of faith.

I believe that perhaps the dual stresses of the impending choice and the abbesses dislike were what first brough upon me the change, that shifting of blood and bone into an animal of no little might. And of course it was my ill luck to have the abbess send spies out after me to report such to her.

And after that...there was naught but the hunt.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ For RP ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Khemrys is "Far strange for a simple Dales lass" lacking the golden skin and hair of the general breed and instead sporting milk white skin and dark hair along a nearly triangular face. She stands about 5'4'' and is lithe, with supple curves rather than the more generous figure that Lords crave in the marriage bed. Her hair is near to her knees when loose, but she braids it tight in a manner that generally keeps it of the way.

She is a rather intelligent girl, and capable...but often quiet. Her temper is almost non-existant and she always tries to be doing something rather than sitting idle. Her true strengths lie in healing. The brewing of tisanes and draughts, the mending of torn flesh and even the gentler magic that aids in it...that she is skilled in.

And, for such a temperament as hers...her blood is almost a cruel twist of fate. For she is the daughter of a dales lady...and a were-rider lord. Those powerful men from beyond the wastes, and heir to his Pard blood (Pard being a clouded leopard in the witch world saga).

This is passing strange, as women do not inherit the shifting ability, Khemrys's being a result of her own small magics and need. It is permanent though. The shift is moon tied, pulling her into fur at the full of each moon, but she can shift back and forth at will upon any other time. She has no weaknesses to silver, though she cannot heal at a rate common to shifters of other worlds. Shifting between forms does not tire her, and does heal superficial wounds, but she is not enhanced in the true sense. She moves gracefully in human form, has heightened senses, but strength is that of her own.

~ This journal exists solely for the purpose of role playing. Khemrys belongs to Lisa Woodworth and Andre Norton, pictured in "Tales of the Witchworld 3" and no copyright infringement is intended, nor profit being made. Character is run with author permission.~

{this character is played by steahl}



[Khemrys lives with Magus on the Vazante side of Penrose. Floorplan! ]