[hider= Naomi's Wrath: Part One]
"Brother. Please explain yourself once more." Naomi's tone was that of severity and harshness, and she gazed upon Eli with a look she had, until now, spared him of; the look that Lana had received; the look that said 'You betrayed me' in some way, the look that said 'You lied to me' in some way.

Now only Beatrice and her father had been spared from that look. Not even the Dragonguard who accompanied her at times were spared from her judgement. People who had claimed to 'always be there to protect her' had failed. People who claimed 'the gods are merciful to the innocent' had failed. Those who spoke of life being better than death had even failed her, as the girl, now tasting life after a situation she considered her death, found that oblivion was a far better option than the sustained suffering of this world.

But suicide was not an option for her, no. The man standing before her, explaining his heinous crime to her, had taught her far better than that. He had taught her that failure was inexcusable, that giving up was unforgivable, and that hardship only made you stronger.

So Naomi had immediately ruled out killing herself, but had become increasingly harsh and brutal as the days wore on. She shifted Hoppers in her arms, gently making sure the bunny's comfort was as great as possible, as she settled herself in to hear her brother's words a second time.

Eli, being fortunate enough to be graced with a high level of intellect and social graces, knew his sister did not wish to hear the details of the economic agreement, and made haste in his explanation;

"You are to be married. That is all." He said the words clearly, with no anger or sympathy. It was her duty. He hated it as much as she did, but he understood its necessity. She did not grasp that concept- necessity- and he was keenly aware of it, and thusly had taken her aside like this to tell her himself.

"It will secure the alliance. Allow us to avenge you with the comfort of allies. Allow us to consolidate and grow our own power, so that no one dare to harm us like this again." His voice, much to his satisfaction, maintained its neutrality.

"I see. You married me off without my consent, or so much as asking me how I felt. Even Drevala would have done that much for me." She said critically, a scowl forming on her face. "Well, I'll have none of it!" She hissed at him. "I refuse! I'd rather we all burn than marry-"

Her tirade, only in its fledgling stages, was cut short by a simple gesture. Something that had never been done to her before. Eli had slapped her.

"Listen here, flower." Eli began, his own gaze hardening. "We all do things we don't like. We all have to suffer. Your pain, your anger, your hate? It is unrefined and crude." The man knelt down to be at eye level with Naomi. "Look into my eyes. Do it." He grabbed her face and forced the girl, startled by the pain and suddenness, to stare into his eyes as he let the calm demeanor he maintained so painstakingly to drop.

Naomi's own critical, hard, eyes, softened and widened in the weight of Eli's own powerful gaze, and she numbly reached a hand up, balancing Hoppers carefully, to rub her cheek.

"Naomi. You're not the only one who's angry. I will flay that man alive for what he's done to you, but we can't just let our emotions take control of us." He said evenly, keeping her eyes focused on his. Eli was a man full of anger and hate in his own right, and seeing these things he had crushed and condensed and refined within himself from his childhood reflected in his younger sister pained him. So he had to make this clear. As clear as he could.

"Take that anger. Take it deep inside you. Let it hide. Let it broil. Let it cool, become an edge as hard as steel rather than a fire. Then use that edge against your enemies. If you let this rage inside you, let it take control, you'll become nothing but ashes before long. Do you understand me? You have to be the one in control. I don't care if you're angry, I'm not going to do Drevala's bit and try and calm you down, I just don't want you being a stupid little girl. You're not a stupid little girl, now are you Naomi?"

She shook her head, mesmerized by his words as she often was. No, she wasn't stupid. Yes, she did understand. But he clearly didn't- and that worm of anger manifested in her mind. He couldn't be trusted. Not after this. But his lessons could be trusted. She could learn from him still. She could harbor this anger, turn it against those who betrayed her, who caused her harm. But he still couldn't be trusted. Not anymore. That worm of paranoia and anger whispered such things to her, but in the moment Eli's presence was overbearing, and she felt nothing but the respect, if diluted by her raging anger, she had always felt for her brother and his lessons.

"I understand brother. I understand." She said quietly. "I wish to go now."

"Alright." Eli said after a sigh, pulling away and putting his neutrality back up. "If you wish to discuss anything, I will always be ready to assist you."

"Of course, brother." she said, curtsying, and carrying Hoppers out of his room.

[/hider]

[hider=Naomi's Wrath: Part Two]

After leaving her brother, Naomi made a direct path to her father. Her father, she thought, would surely understand that she couldn't be married off like this. She couldn't. It was insanity. She didn't know, let alone [b]love[/b] the man! But her own mine rebelled at that thought as quickly as she had it- love was a lie, or at least a far rarer occurrence than she had initially thought. that bitter'ed her mind, made her rationalize it as Eli would; she didn't know the man, and it could be a danger to herself.

And so, with little speaking or interruption, Naomi found her way to her father's garden. The bleak, stone, dead garden. He was meditating within it as he often did, though the stones in the garden were now splashed with blood, and a few more weeds had sprung up in the dry dirt. Perhaps this place, she imagined, did grow with death.

She approached her father from behind, then crouched down and gently set Hoppers upon the stony ground. The bunny then proceeded to hop all about, as his name implied, and explore the garden. Naomi, for her part, did what she used to do as a small girl in the castle; she moved to sit across from her father and mimic his posture and pose. She faced him, his face stoic and hard. She gazed at him for some time, studying him.

This was her father. The man she respected and, often, obeyed without question. But as she sat here, her mind, wormed with paranoia, related this same feeling to her brother- whom she had recently concluded had betrayed her in some way. She was loathe to think it, but perhaps... Perhaps even The Old Man couldn't be trusted. She would have to test this.

"Father."

"Flower."

The immediate exchange was mechanical and rehearsed. They had done this similar thing many times before. Naomi meditating before him, questioning him, and him answering without hesitation.

"I'm to be married."

"Yes."

That made Naomi sigh and wring her hands together, then anger took over her nervousness and her hands clenched into fists.

"I do not wish it."

"I know."

His immediate response and lack of sympathizing with her made her hit her legs and hiss with frustration.

"I do not know him."

"I know."

"I may not like him."

"You will not."

"Then why?"

"Because you are a woman. A woman of this household has many responsibilities. You, my flower, have managed to miss out on many of them. Too young for the war. Too young to manage the estate. Too young to fight the dragons. You are my little girl. Will always be my little girl. However you've learned the world is harsh. The world is cruel. The only thing we can trust is death. The only thing we can trust is pain. The only thing we can trust is ourselves. Even now your are likely labelling me as a traitor, or saying I've lied to you in some way, and that is true. I have lied to you your whole life, my flower. I've told you that I will always be there to protect you. I've told you that I will keep you safe. I've been made a dishonest man by my own foolishness, and because of it you're hurting far more than you would be if I had only been honest."

All this was immediate, without so much as a hesitation between her question and his answer. Naomi scowled severely, and her hand even went to the hilt of the dirk she carried. The Old Man only smiled softly at feeling her hand shift.

"I have lied to you your whole life, kept you inside walls and protected you. You must learn to do that yourself."

"Then...F-Father... W-What is it y-you desire me to do?" Her voice was shaking with audible anger.

"Marry the man."

this response only resulted in another angry growl.

"I did not, however, say you had to stay married to him. A De Reimer losing his life is no love lost between you and I. Don't be stupid, girl."

That made Naomi pause. 'Girl'. Father never called her anything but 'Flower'. She moved her hand away from the dirk and occupied them by clenching them together into a big fist, then flexing her fingers and popping them one by one, pulling them at the joint. She did this to distract herself for a moment as she deliberated on her father's words.

"I see. Thank you father. It is nice to know you are still my ally."

"You will always be my little girl."

"May I make a request?"

"Whatever it is, it is granted."

"Thank you father."

Naomi rose up from the ground, went to find Hoppers, then made her exit.

[/hider]

[hider=Naomi's Wrath: Part Three]

Naomi was wearing armor. This was something she had been steadily adapting to over the weeks, ever since she got out of bed from her near-death-experience. Unlike Beatrice however, Naomi only wore a breastplate. She took after her father in this way. She had found that her hand favored not the sword, nor did it favor the greater weapons such as Beatrice's. Rather, her hand found its greatest comfort in smaller weapons like the dirk she carried. So Beatrice had acquired an assortment of knives and daggers for the girl to carry if she intended to fight; her signature dirk she carried on the back of her hips, a heavier knife with a thicker blade meant for defending was kept close to her off-hand on the hip, and an assortment of lighter knives were placed at other places on her torso and upper legs. Naomi, after growing accustomed to carrying them, found she liked having them close, and liked having so many, and found that even just holding and gazing upon one of the weapons was a titillating experience for her.

But she was not standing in the training field with Beatrice now. No, she was not in that bright and familiar place at all. She was in a dark place, a damp place, a place deep below the castle she had come to know so well. This place was a dungeon. A secluded, horrible, place where criminals were kept. Some were forgotten on purpose, others by time, and others still deserved execution for their crimes.

Others, however, were more interesting to Naomi. Ones that had secrets. Ones that were to receive...secret-loosening techniques.

"It ain't erry-day we get t' princess down 'ere." The hooded man said to Naomi. "And ne'er wit such a request as yers, m'lady."

"Shut up. Stop speaking. Your idiotic speech upsets me." She said critically. The hooded man did naught but nod and move on, guiding her as she had requested. They travelled along the dark tunnels, passing cells of decrepit individuals and degraded people. Soon the hooded man stepped up to a door and, using his heavy ring of keys, opened it for her.

"'Ere you are m'lady."

"I said shut up."

And so the man did. Naomi stepped into the room. It stank of blood, piss, and defecation. It made her senses revolt, but her anger hardened. She came here for a purpose, to do as Eli said and sharpen her anger, harden it, make it into an edge. And she was also taking a lesson from her father- the only thing we can trust is death, pain, and ourselves. So she was going to learn to tell when people were lying to her. Learn to read people like Eli.

But she was going to do it her way.

There was a man, hooded- but unlike the one who had guided her here, his hood had no eyeholes. It was merely a burlap sack tied over his head. She stepped into the room.

The door behind her closed.

And she let out a sigh. The man jerked, for some reason she could not yet tell, at her simple exhalation of air- though he did not go far, due to his hands and feet being bound to the far wall with chains.

"I will be your new partner." She said softly, delicately. "I hear you were a thief. Who buried their treasures. And that the people you stole from want their things back...quite a bit."

"A girl?" He laughed, full of derision, from within his hood. "They think a girl can make me talk?"

Naomi didn't speak further, merely gazed around the room. What she saw mesmerized her. Tools. So many tools. So many things far more specific and useful than the knives she had intended to use. But one thing in particular made her stop and lick her lips. Titillation was the only word that could truly apply, the same titillation she got from gazing at her knives. She walked over and picked the tool up from the bloodied table it rested, grabbing its handle and letting it uncoil down to the floor.

A whip.

As she held it in her hand, she felt herself smile.

"Pain." She said after a while, letting the feel of the whip rest in her hand. "Is only the beginning. Death is my good friend, and he'll let me know your secrets after I'm done."

-------------

Naomi walked out of the room roughly an hour later. She had coiled the whip, now somewhat bloody, back up and hooked it onto her belt. She looked at the hooded man who had waited outside the door and had a blank visage.

"He's dead. I pushed him too hard." she said to him. He nodded, refusing to speak after her adamant declaration for him to shut up, but didn't seem upset with her. Rather, understanding. Someone new to torture often pushes people too far.

"And I'm keeping the whip."
[/hider]

[hider= Naomi's Calming]
With her newfound hobby, she had done as he father and brother have instructed. She had stopped being stupid, found a way to refine her anger and hatred, and a way to stop lashing out at others. She has unmistakably changed, but is no longer the volatile, angry, woman she has been in recent time. She harbors, and will continue to harbor, intense hatred for all that the church stands for, seeing it as the greatest lie in Formaroth, and in her practices with torture and pain she has begun to learn to tell when people are lying to her, though this is twisted in her mind by the pervasive and overbearing paranoia that has become a part of her psyche.

But she internalizes most of it. She's still angry. Still vengeful. Still full of hate, but as she found an outlet for it all, all that's left inside her has been cooling down, and she has been hardening it into steel as her brother recommended. Naomi Blackwell has a knack for torture, and a soul of fire that has been lit by powers beyond her comprehension.

Her cooling has been welcomed by Eli, who has resumed her education at her behest. She desires to learn as much of the De Reimer family as she can in as short of a time as she can, so as to learn of her future husband and his family.

Her cooling has been welcomed by Beatrice, who has noted a marked increase in her combative capabilities once she stopped being driven solely by anger.

Drevala, however, finds that this sort of sudden calming is a confusing thing. She wants the little girl she helped raise back, but all she has now is a hard and cold woman. A woman, Drevala finds, reminds her too much of her father. She only hopes that she can, with her steady and gentle hand, continue guiding Naomi back towards kindness and, in Drevala's mind, innocence. However, the rest of the world would call this 'Naiveté'.

It took but a time nearing a few months for the girl to go from being bedridden and dying, to being angry and vengeful, to steadily becoming cold and hard. A woman of iron, if unrefined and untested, in the making.

[/hider]