<div class="floatright">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d8/bd/dc/d8bddcf915691f1a6084e11275d75f18--mother-art-dota-.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Cassandra Blackbriar (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1252610)</strong></span><br/>Place:  The afterlife still, or back on the Prime Material Plane?<br/>Time:  Late evening last she knew<br/>Wearing:  Now wearing this (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/79/d2/d1/79d2d13df7fbfedaaf75bb8146122709.jpg) plus red lacy undergarments and medium height dark brown leather traveler's boots.<br/>Inventory:  Belt with pouches, 2 sets of fine clothing plus undergarments<br/>Tagging:  New friends, and Lady Adelaide Meeks<br/><br/>Crossing her arms under her chest as Sena addressed her and the rest of the group, Cassandra shook her head and closed her right hand when it became apparent they weren't about to be attacked yet.  Ignoring the sight of the young woman kneeling at the feet of her much older, if very beautiful, companion, the sorceress stayed behind by the door for a few moments to growl out,<strong>"I am nobody's slave, and neither will I ever be again."</strong>Having been a pawn to her own mother for far too long, she had no intention whatsoever of being bound like that again for as long as she had her free will and mind intact.  Malcanthet was at least a Mistress she could willingly submit to, because it had been as a result of her own actions, misguided as they might have been.  But she would never have called herself a slave, because her newly awakened pride wouldn't allow it.  Still, Cassandra's temper cooled somewhat as she let her arms fall to her sides.<strong>"As for the deaths of my family, there was no demonic summonings, but to compare me to a demon during the slaughter wouldn't have been a far off comparison.  I....don't know what it was I did, only that I was covered in the blood of those I had grown to loathe with every breath, my future husband included.  I have no memory of it, I just know I was the one that burned everything to the ground."</strong>While her voice had dropped considerably during her admission, the certainty in her voice left little doubt that she had indeed been solely responsible for it all.  While she indeed had no idea as to what she'd done, Cassandra knew she'd been responsible.  She had known since she woke up well outside the village, shivering uncontrollably, her heart hammering in her chest.  She'd been scared senseless, but not of the destruction she had left behind.  She'd been scared of the utter exhilaration she had felt from unleashing her rage and her magic for the first time.  She had never felt anything so strongly before in her life, and it had felt amazing.  That, strangely, was why it had felt so terrifying to her, but she had been able to push past it to be where she was now, with the realization she was now free to do as she wished.<br/><br/>Which led to where she was now as she rejoined Adelaide, her arms hung loosely at her side as she relaxed next to the murderous bard.  Walking past the table, Cassandra helps herself to another of the wine glasses and a glass full of the liquid itself, but unlike Lady Meeks, she takes a measured sip of the contents, moaning low in approval as she peers intently at their strange hostess.  Try as she might, she can't help but lick her lips at the dark leather clad woman in front of her, before she tears her eyes away from the woman's body and focuses more intently on her face, but not before giving Adelaide a quick, sidelong glance of amusement for her efforts in covering up what had really happened to the glassware in the other room.<strong>"Yes, I quite agree with Lady Meek and Maldred's respective assessments, our rest was good, thank you.  But I'm also curious to know your name and your purpose here.  I'm also curious to know if we're still in Malcanthet's realm, or if we've indeed been returned to the Prime Material Plane.  If we have, where have we been returned to, somewhere near Neverwinter perhaps?"</strong>She sincerely hoped that wasn't the case, although her trepidation was more personal than anything.  She simply didn't wish to be forced to look upon the ruins of her home in the village she had long since left behind.  Whatever the woman's response, she'd take another sip of the glass, drawing a measure of comfort of her own from the familiarity of holding a wine glass.  At least now, she didn't want to drink until she couldn't remember her own name, and the thought had certainly crossed her mind before her awakening.