Okay, I did this piece for practice for a short vignette I must do in a creative writing class. There is nothing that needs a warning in this story as far as I know...not unless you don't want angst.
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I stir uneasily in my sleep, feeling a painful twinge flare through my back, driving me awake. Groggily, I wake, only to feel a small trickle of cool water touch my warm head, bringing me slight relief from the thick air in the tent. I resist the urge to wipe it away, as it courses down my face, before being absorbed by the blanket.
Outside, the soft patter of rain almost lulls me back to sleep, before another droplet of water ran down my face. This time, I wipe the offending drip away, and glance overhead, noticing the rent in the fabric of my tent, exposing the clouded heavens.
Another jolt of pain shoots through my back, and my hand drops to caress one of the several scars that criss-cross my back. My fingertips trace the puckered skin, a final remembrance of the beautiful white wings that once adorned my back, that carried me high into the heavens, that folded around me as gently as my mother's arms.
"I'm sorry mother..." I say softly, and give a slight, bitter chuckle, "You warned me, but what did you know? You too hidebound, too fearful...you didn't know anything. Hiding up there in the clouds, like a bird in a cage. But I was going to be different, I was going to change the world. But no one ever told me that the world would changes me too..."
I close my eyes, a small tear snakes its way down my face, becoming one with the accumulating moisture. I sit there in the silence once more, when I feel another twinge in my body, this one much more gentle, but just as urgent. Shifting my position slightly, I lay my hand on the slight curve of bulging belly, and feel another kick. I smile, the bitterness lifting slightly, until I think of him...
"I will love you forever," I said, as I remember that fateful night, "I...I never felt this way about anyone before. It...is like I'm free again, that I'm soaring the skies...without leaving the ground..."
"You laughed at how cliché it sounded, and I laughed with you..." I whisper, "You were right to laugh...I should have known...I should have known better. I learned the lesson the first time all to well...and in my happiness...in my arrogance...I forgot all about it...what goes up, must come down. By Baervar, I hate that phrase..."
I press my head against the tent pole, using it to support my weary brow, fingering the small gold ring on my hand, when I notice that a small shaft of moonlight is now peaking through the hole in the roof, illuminating the swell of my abdomen.
I glance accusingly at the pregnant moon above. Then, my frown disappears, as even the effort of being angry taxes me.
"I would have done the same thing. You said that there were wonders on the earth, and I dared you to show me...and yet, when you beheld the marvels of the skies, and the promise of even greater spectacles to come, you went forward without a second glance...much as I would have done, I suppose..." I say, raising the ring to catch the light of the moon on its shiny surface, recalling the promises, the dreams it held.
"But even a dreamer must awaken sometime..." I whisper, twisting the ring off my finger, laying it on the ground, the darkness enveloping it...
Allure of Heaven (and other assorted small pieces)
Started by
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, Apr 02 2004 03:35 AM
10 replies to this topic
#2
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Posted 02 April 2004 - 03:36 AM
A woman's loss
This was put here to reflect the new rules on consolidating short works.
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Delainy leaned back in her seat, laying her spear across the flat of her lap, and she closed her eyes and said, "There once lived an old couple who had an only daughter. She was a beautiful girl, and was very much courted by the young men of the village, but she said that she preferred single life, and to all their heart-touching tales of deep affection for her she always had one answer. That was "No."
One day this maiden fell ill and day after day grew worse. All the best clerics were called in, but their medicines were of no avail, and in two weeks from the day that she was taken ill she lay a corpse. Of course there was great mourning in the camp. They took her body several miles from camp and rolled it in fine robes and blankets, then they laid her on a scaffold which they had erected. They placed four forked posts into the ground and then lashed strong poles lengthwise and across the ends and made a bed of willows and stout ash brush. This scaffold was from five to seven feet from the ground. After the funeral the parents gave away all of their horses, fine robes and blankets and all of the belongings of the dead girl. Then they cut their hair off close to their heads, and attired themselves in the poorest apparel they could secure.
When a year had passed the friends and relatives of the old couple tried in vain to have them set aside their mourning. "You have mourned long enough," they would say. "Put aside your mourning and try and enjoy a few more pleasures of this life while you live. You are both growing old and can't live very many more years, so make the best of your time." The old couple would listen to their advice and then shake their heads and answer: "We have nothing to live for. Nothing we could join in would be any amusement to us, since we have lost the light of our lives."
So the old couple continued their mourning for their lost idol. Two years had passed since the death of the beautiful girl, when one evening a huntress and a friend passed by the scaffold which held the dead girl. They were on their return trip and were heavily loaded down with game, and therefore could not travel very fast. About half a mile from the scaffold a clear spring burst forth from the side of a bank, and from this trickled a small stream of water, moistening the roots of the vegetation bordering its banks, and causing a growth of sweet green grass. At this spring the hunter camped and tethering his horses, at once set about to erect the small tent which he carried for convenience in traveling.
When it became quite dark, the hunter's dogs set up a great barking and growling. "Look out and see what the dogs are barking at," said the huntress to her friend. The friend looked out through the door and then drew back saying: "There is the figure of a woman advancing from the direction of the girl's scaffold."
"I expect it is the dead girl; let her come, and don't act as if you were afraid," said the huntress. Soon they heard footsteps advancing and the steps ceased at the door. Looking down at the lower part of the door the hunter noticed a pair of small moccasins, and knowing that it was the visitor, said: "Whoever you are, come in and have something to eat."
At this invitation the figure came slowly in and sat down by the door with head covered and with a fine robe drawn tightly over the face. The friend dished up a fine supper and placing it before the visitor, said: "Eat, my friend, you must be hungry." The figure never moved, nor would it uncover to eat. "Let us turn our back towards the door and our visitor may eat the food," said the huntress. So her friend turned his back towards the visitor and made himselflf very busy cleaning the small pieces of meat that were hanging to the back sinews of the deer which had been killed. Finally the dish was pushed back to the friend, who took it and after washing it, put it away. The figure still sat at the door, not a sound coming from it, neither was it breathing. The huntress at last said: "Are you the girl that was placed upon that scaffold two years ago?" It bowed its head two or three times in assent. "Are you going to sleep here tonight; if you are, my friend will make down a bed for you." The figure shook its head.
"Are you going to come again tomorrow night to us?" It nodded assent.
For three nights in succession the figure visited the huntress' camp. The third night the hunter noticed that the figure was breathing. He saw one of the hands protruding from the robe. The skin was perfectly black and was stuck fast to the bones of the hand. On seeing this the friend arose and going over to his medicine sack which hung on a pole, took down the sack and, opening it, took out some roots and mixing them with skunk oil and vermillion, said to the figure:
"If you will let us rub your face and hands with this medicine it will put new life into the skin and you will assume your complexion again and it will put flesh on you." The figure assented and the friend rubbed the medicine on her hands and face. Then she arose and walked back to the scaffold. The next day the huntress moved camp towards the home village. That night she camped within a few miles of the village. When night came, the dogs, as usual, set up a great barking, and looking out, the friend saw the girl approaching.
When the girl had entered and sat down, the huntress noticed that the girl did not keep her robe so closely together over her face. When the friend gave her something to eat, the girl reached out and took the dish, thus exposing her hands, which they at once noticed were again natural. After she had finished her meal, the friend said: "Did my medicine help you?"
She nodded assent. "Do you want my medicine rubbed all over your body?" Again she nodded. "I will mix enough to rub your entire body, and I will go outside and let my wife rub it on for you." He mixed a good supply and going out left the huntress to rub the girl. When she completed the task she called to her friend to come in, and when he came in he sat down and said to the girl: "Tomorrow we will reach the village. Do you want to go with us?" She shook her head. "Will you come again to our camp tomorrow night after we have camped in the village?" She nodded her head in assent. "Then do you want to see your parents?" She nodded again, and arose and disappeared into the darkness.
Early the next morning the huntress broke camp and traveled far into the afternoon, when she arrived at the village. She instructed his friend to go at once and inform the old couple of what had happened. The friend did so and at sunset the old couple came to the huntress' tent. They were invited to enter and a fine supper was served them. Soon after they had finished their supper the dogs of the camp set up a great barking. "Now she is coming, so be brave and you will soon see your lost daughter," said the huntress. Hardly had she finished speaking when the daughter entered the tent as natural as ever she was in life. Her parents clung to her and smothered her with kisses..."
Delainy sighed, and said, "So how was the girl cursed? The reason the girl sickened, and then died was that of the numerous suitors, she rejected one who was strong in the ways of magic..."
Delainy's eyes scan the room, and she said, "And in his vengeance, he stole her name. Think about the magic inherent in a name. By saying a simple word, one can share an ephemeral thought with another, though it needn't exist in real life. By knowing the true name of someone, one gains power over it..."
Delainy pauses, her eyes looking a bit haunted, "And without one's name...one is adrift in death as in life. So, to finish the daughter's resurrection? Her name must be found...her true name, not that which she is called...or else it must be given willingly..."
She laughs, "Of course, the Huntress that gave of her name...she had something the curser didn't know...she had two names...so she gave one to the girl, and kept one for herself..."
There is another pause, before she finishes, "But without her name, there is a hole in one's very soul...a hole that must be filled. And there is only one way to do that...to free the name that was taken..."
She shrugs, "As for the friend? He and the daughter of the old couple wedded..."
This was put here to reflect the new rules on consolidating short works.
--------------------------
Delainy leaned back in her seat, laying her spear across the flat of her lap, and she closed her eyes and said, "There once lived an old couple who had an only daughter. She was a beautiful girl, and was very much courted by the young men of the village, but she said that she preferred single life, and to all their heart-touching tales of deep affection for her she always had one answer. That was "No."
One day this maiden fell ill and day after day grew worse. All the best clerics were called in, but their medicines were of no avail, and in two weeks from the day that she was taken ill she lay a corpse. Of course there was great mourning in the camp. They took her body several miles from camp and rolled it in fine robes and blankets, then they laid her on a scaffold which they had erected. They placed four forked posts into the ground and then lashed strong poles lengthwise and across the ends and made a bed of willows and stout ash brush. This scaffold was from five to seven feet from the ground. After the funeral the parents gave away all of their horses, fine robes and blankets and all of the belongings of the dead girl. Then they cut their hair off close to their heads, and attired themselves in the poorest apparel they could secure.
When a year had passed the friends and relatives of the old couple tried in vain to have them set aside their mourning. "You have mourned long enough," they would say. "Put aside your mourning and try and enjoy a few more pleasures of this life while you live. You are both growing old and can't live very many more years, so make the best of your time." The old couple would listen to their advice and then shake their heads and answer: "We have nothing to live for. Nothing we could join in would be any amusement to us, since we have lost the light of our lives."
So the old couple continued their mourning for their lost idol. Two years had passed since the death of the beautiful girl, when one evening a huntress and a friend passed by the scaffold which held the dead girl. They were on their return trip and were heavily loaded down with game, and therefore could not travel very fast. About half a mile from the scaffold a clear spring burst forth from the side of a bank, and from this trickled a small stream of water, moistening the roots of the vegetation bordering its banks, and causing a growth of sweet green grass. At this spring the hunter camped and tethering his horses, at once set about to erect the small tent which he carried for convenience in traveling.
When it became quite dark, the hunter's dogs set up a great barking and growling. "Look out and see what the dogs are barking at," said the huntress to her friend. The friend looked out through the door and then drew back saying: "There is the figure of a woman advancing from the direction of the girl's scaffold."
"I expect it is the dead girl; let her come, and don't act as if you were afraid," said the huntress. Soon they heard footsteps advancing and the steps ceased at the door. Looking down at the lower part of the door the hunter noticed a pair of small moccasins, and knowing that it was the visitor, said: "Whoever you are, come in and have something to eat."
At this invitation the figure came slowly in and sat down by the door with head covered and with a fine robe drawn tightly over the face. The friend dished up a fine supper and placing it before the visitor, said: "Eat, my friend, you must be hungry." The figure never moved, nor would it uncover to eat. "Let us turn our back towards the door and our visitor may eat the food," said the huntress. So her friend turned his back towards the visitor and made himselflf very busy cleaning the small pieces of meat that were hanging to the back sinews of the deer which had been killed. Finally the dish was pushed back to the friend, who took it and after washing it, put it away. The figure still sat at the door, not a sound coming from it, neither was it breathing. The huntress at last said: "Are you the girl that was placed upon that scaffold two years ago?" It bowed its head two or three times in assent. "Are you going to sleep here tonight; if you are, my friend will make down a bed for you." The figure shook its head.
"Are you going to come again tomorrow night to us?" It nodded assent.
For three nights in succession the figure visited the huntress' camp. The third night the hunter noticed that the figure was breathing. He saw one of the hands protruding from the robe. The skin was perfectly black and was stuck fast to the bones of the hand. On seeing this the friend arose and going over to his medicine sack which hung on a pole, took down the sack and, opening it, took out some roots and mixing them with skunk oil and vermillion, said to the figure:
"If you will let us rub your face and hands with this medicine it will put new life into the skin and you will assume your complexion again and it will put flesh on you." The figure assented and the friend rubbed the medicine on her hands and face. Then she arose and walked back to the scaffold. The next day the huntress moved camp towards the home village. That night she camped within a few miles of the village. When night came, the dogs, as usual, set up a great barking, and looking out, the friend saw the girl approaching.
When the girl had entered and sat down, the huntress noticed that the girl did not keep her robe so closely together over her face. When the friend gave her something to eat, the girl reached out and took the dish, thus exposing her hands, which they at once noticed were again natural. After she had finished her meal, the friend said: "Did my medicine help you?"
She nodded assent. "Do you want my medicine rubbed all over your body?" Again she nodded. "I will mix enough to rub your entire body, and I will go outside and let my wife rub it on for you." He mixed a good supply and going out left the huntress to rub the girl. When she completed the task she called to her friend to come in, and when he came in he sat down and said to the girl: "Tomorrow we will reach the village. Do you want to go with us?" She shook her head. "Will you come again to our camp tomorrow night after we have camped in the village?" She nodded her head in assent. "Then do you want to see your parents?" She nodded again, and arose and disappeared into the darkness.
Early the next morning the huntress broke camp and traveled far into the afternoon, when she arrived at the village. She instructed his friend to go at once and inform the old couple of what had happened. The friend did so and at sunset the old couple came to the huntress' tent. They were invited to enter and a fine supper was served them. Soon after they had finished their supper the dogs of the camp set up a great barking. "Now she is coming, so be brave and you will soon see your lost daughter," said the huntress. Hardly had she finished speaking when the daughter entered the tent as natural as ever she was in life. Her parents clung to her and smothered her with kisses..."
Delainy sighed, and said, "So how was the girl cursed? The reason the girl sickened, and then died was that of the numerous suitors, she rejected one who was strong in the ways of magic..."
Delainy's eyes scan the room, and she said, "And in his vengeance, he stole her name. Think about the magic inherent in a name. By saying a simple word, one can share an ephemeral thought with another, though it needn't exist in real life. By knowing the true name of someone, one gains power over it..."
Delainy pauses, her eyes looking a bit haunted, "And without one's name...one is adrift in death as in life. So, to finish the daughter's resurrection? Her name must be found...her true name, not that which she is called...or else it must be given willingly..."
She laughs, "Of course, the Huntress that gave of her name...she had something the curser didn't know...she had two names...so she gave one to the girl, and kept one for herself..."
There is another pause, before she finishes, "But without her name, there is a hole in one's very soul...a hole that must be filled. And there is only one way to do that...to free the name that was taken..."
She shrugs, "As for the friend? He and the daughter of the old couple wedded..."
#3
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Posted 02 April 2004 - 03:36 AM
My Brother's Keeper
Yes, this is a new short story bit I had whirring around my head, and as per the new rules, is collected here.
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"Let me get this straight," Imoen said sharply, her hazel-green eyes focused on the angelic shaped, incandescent blue form before her, that entity known only as the Solar, "You are giving me the choice to become a goddess, is that it, or to stay as a human?"
"INDEED," the Solar stated, "YOU AND ONE OTHER ARE ALL THE BHAALSPAWN TO SURVIVE. HOWEVER, THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE."
Imoen closed her eyes, "How can there be one more? Daxon died in the battle with Melissan."
The pink-haired thief shivered as she recalled Daxon's sword thrust deeply into Melissan's body, the savage grin on her brother's face. Suddenly his mouth turned into a great O of surprise for a mint green light blazed in Melissan's form, some of it leaking and moving back to the well behind her, the source of her power. However, and traveled along the length of the blade into her brother's body. Daxon's body began to jerk, vibrate, a loud wail escaping her brother's lips before he disappeared in a spray of blood and flesh, his body unable to contain the great essence of Bhaal.
"Wait a just a minute," Imoen growled, "I saw what happened when my brother took on just a fragment of the essence that left Melissan's body. I don't know what you are trying to pull here, but I'm not going to be some exploding party favor just because I said yes."
The look on the Solar's face temporarily quelled Imoen's rebellious attitude, "YOUR BROTHER'S BODY, THOUGH IT CONTAINED THE ESSENCE OF BHAAL, WAS STILL ULTIMATELY EARTHLY FLESH. MELISSAN PARTICIPATED IN ANY NUMBER OF RITUALS TO PARTAKE OF HER FORMER MASTER'S CORE. DAXON WAS...UNPREPARED...FOR WHAT WAS TO COME. IF YOU DECIDE TO WALK AMONGST THE GODS, YOUR MORTALITY WILL BE BURNT FROM YOU, AND YOUR ENTIRE BEING CHANGED TO SPIRIT."
Imoen's incredulity rose, as she added, "Then why are gods able to manifest at all if they are only made of spirit?"
"CHILD OF BHAAL," the Solar replied, "THE POWER OF THE GODS IS MUCH MORE POTENT THAN THE MERE PHYSICALITY OF MORTALITY. DONNING THE BODY OF A MORTAL IS CHILD'S PLAY FOR A GOD. COME, TIME GROWS SHORT, WILL YOU ASCEND OR NOT? YOU MUST SLAY THE LAST VESSEL OF BHAAL'S ESSENCE TO SECURE YOUR POSITION, OTHERWISE, THIS HOLOCAUST WILL BE REPEATED ANON..."
"But there is no other Bhaalspawn!" Imoen shrieked, "All of them are dead, all but me!"
Imoen's tirade interrupted as an ear-piercing wail resounded in Imoen's ears. The pink-tressed woman turned her head and saw her companion, her friend Aerie holding a bundle close to her breast, a singular silvery tear.
Daxon's son...my brother's son...she means Quayle... Imoen thought, and shivered, No, I can't...
But a deep whisper rose in the back of her mind, Think of all the power. No one could hurt you again. You can protect all those like you from the Irencuses and Melissans of Faerun. All it takes is one more life. You have slain many as it is, getting to this point. Some young, some old, human and not. What is one more life to take?
"THE TIME DRAWS NIGH, DAUGHTER OF BHAAL. MAKE YOUR DECISION..." the Solar said forcefully.
Yes, this is a new short story bit I had whirring around my head, and as per the new rules, is collected here.
-------------------------
"Let me get this straight," Imoen said sharply, her hazel-green eyes focused on the angelic shaped, incandescent blue form before her, that entity known only as the Solar, "You are giving me the choice to become a goddess, is that it, or to stay as a human?"
"INDEED," the Solar stated, "YOU AND ONE OTHER ARE ALL THE BHAALSPAWN TO SURVIVE. HOWEVER, THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE."
Imoen closed her eyes, "How can there be one more? Daxon died in the battle with Melissan."
The pink-haired thief shivered as she recalled Daxon's sword thrust deeply into Melissan's body, the savage grin on her brother's face. Suddenly his mouth turned into a great O of surprise for a mint green light blazed in Melissan's form, some of it leaking and moving back to the well behind her, the source of her power. However, and traveled along the length of the blade into her brother's body. Daxon's body began to jerk, vibrate, a loud wail escaping her brother's lips before he disappeared in a spray of blood and flesh, his body unable to contain the great essence of Bhaal.
"Wait a just a minute," Imoen growled, "I saw what happened when my brother took on just a fragment of the essence that left Melissan's body. I don't know what you are trying to pull here, but I'm not going to be some exploding party favor just because I said yes."
The look on the Solar's face temporarily quelled Imoen's rebellious attitude, "YOUR BROTHER'S BODY, THOUGH IT CONTAINED THE ESSENCE OF BHAAL, WAS STILL ULTIMATELY EARTHLY FLESH. MELISSAN PARTICIPATED IN ANY NUMBER OF RITUALS TO PARTAKE OF HER FORMER MASTER'S CORE. DAXON WAS...UNPREPARED...FOR WHAT WAS TO COME. IF YOU DECIDE TO WALK AMONGST THE GODS, YOUR MORTALITY WILL BE BURNT FROM YOU, AND YOUR ENTIRE BEING CHANGED TO SPIRIT."
Imoen's incredulity rose, as she added, "Then why are gods able to manifest at all if they are only made of spirit?"
"CHILD OF BHAAL," the Solar replied, "THE POWER OF THE GODS IS MUCH MORE POTENT THAN THE MERE PHYSICALITY OF MORTALITY. DONNING THE BODY OF A MORTAL IS CHILD'S PLAY FOR A GOD. COME, TIME GROWS SHORT, WILL YOU ASCEND OR NOT? YOU MUST SLAY THE LAST VESSEL OF BHAAL'S ESSENCE TO SECURE YOUR POSITION, OTHERWISE, THIS HOLOCAUST WILL BE REPEATED ANON..."
"But there is no other Bhaalspawn!" Imoen shrieked, "All of them are dead, all but me!"
Imoen's tirade interrupted as an ear-piercing wail resounded in Imoen's ears. The pink-tressed woman turned her head and saw her companion, her friend Aerie holding a bundle close to her breast, a singular silvery tear.
Daxon's son...my brother's son...she means Quayle... Imoen thought, and shivered, No, I can't...
But a deep whisper rose in the back of her mind, Think of all the power. No one could hurt you again. You can protect all those like you from the Irencuses and Melissans of Faerun. All it takes is one more life. You have slain many as it is, getting to this point. Some young, some old, human and not. What is one more life to take?
"THE TIME DRAWS NIGH, DAUGHTER OF BHAAL. MAKE YOUR DECISION..." the Solar said forcefully.
#4
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Posted 02 April 2004 - 03:37 AM
Late to Class
Arabella shifted her head as a slight golden, yellow grew beyond her eyelids. She exhaled softly, her coppery-curls cascading down, momentarily enshrouding Arabella in darkness. However, this brief respite wasn't to last as a glass-shattering squeal pierced Arabella's ears, a lancet of electrical pain drilling deep into her head.
"I'm awake, I'm awake!" Arabella shouted as she quickly stood up, banging her knees on the bottom side of the desk, her mist-grey eyes widening at the sudden pain that shot through her legs.
The ear piercing squeal continued unabated, and Arabella growled, one hand still rubbing her newly bruised knee, and cast a murderous glare at the source of the noise. No wider than the palm of her hand, there was a circular object, made from solid oak. Numbers were carefully engraved on the surface, filigreed with silver leaf telling the hour of the day, though the source of the scream was a small, manlike figure, spellbound to the wooden block, his upper arms pointing sky-high for the minute hand, while his legs pointed down at the six for the hour hand. The reason for his scream was from the tiny spear that was pricking his left buttock, set to break the surface of his skin as soon desired time was reached.
Arabella removed the small spear, and the bound imp immediately quieted down, and she grumbled "Gods, six in the morning, whatever possessed me to get a class first thing in the morning."
Arabella stiffened and muttered, "Oh yes, that's right. Grandmother, that's who. Said I wouldn't get my inheritance unless I went on to university."
Twining her fingers and raising her hands overhead, Arabella stretched and snarled, "It took a week for me to wash off that mothball smell..."
Arabella stiffened as she slowly became aware of an acrid, if pungent odor. Her gaze dropped back down to the clock, and she saw a small, brown pile underneath the imp.
"Oh no!" she swore, "the clock's running behind..."
The young woman darted into her closet, and she pulled out several garments, muttering as a small pile slowly grew, "No, can't wear this, I still haven't got the blood stains out...and this smells like fetid ilithid...bright pink with chartreuse stripes?"
Finally, though, the woman put together an ensemble that while it was far from the height of fashion at least wouldn't drive one blind. Arabella moved back to her desk, the long purple robes trimmed with silver at least giving her ease of movement than the more traditional corset, blouse and skirt gave.
Arabella sighed as she looked down at the assembled papers, and thought, Damn it, fell asleep again. I'm going to have to ask Professor Edwin for an extension on this assignment. Ever since that incident with the Bare-Skin Rug, I would probably have an easier time asking a baatezu if he would be willing to part with his fingernails.
Arabella shook her head, and thought, Wake up girl, your going to be late as it is. You can grab something to pick you up as you go to class.
The young woman searched the room until she saw a large, brown canvas bag in the corner and picked it up, stuffing her papers into it. Arabella moved toward the door of her room, and stopped to cast a final glance at her room.
"Nope, that's everything. At least I finished that paper on Ethics of Love Potions last week..." Arabella said to herself, and exited the room.
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Arabella slid into a chair at the back of the small classroom, hoping her instructor hadn't seen her. Taking a quick glance, the young woman saw that there was a small box already on her desk, and a deep croak reverberated from inside it. Looking closer, Arabella saw two bulbous brown eyes staring back at her.
Oh no, I forgot today was the quiz! Arabella thought mournfully before a voice broke her concentration.
"Um, present ma'am?" Arabella said automatically.
A laugh swept through the class, and a stern, contralto voice said, "Behave class. Mrs. Wycliffe, do you realize that this makes it the fifth time this semester you were late to my class? One more absence, and I will be forced to drop your final grade by one full letter grade."
Arabella felt a bright warmth flush her cheeks, and she quietly said, "I'm sorry Professor de'Arnise. I won't let it happen again, I promise."
"See that you don't," said the stern voice, and this time Arabella lifted her head to stare at her professor. She took in the page-boy cut of the woman's vibrant red hair--Reduces risks of it catching fire a past lesson supplemented--and the soft, intelligent doe-brown eyes of the woman as she glanced at the class, the hourglass-shaped figure hardly hidden by Professor de'Arnise's voluminous robes.
Arabella had to suppress a chuckle as she saw that once more a large portion of the boys were staring raptly at the instructor, while a sizable portion of the females glared daggers at her.
Well, that's what you get for picking the youngest teacher to lead the Equinox rite, Arabella thought, Druids and their sky-clad rites. I still think it was Dr. Cernd's way of staring at the co-eds.
"What we call magic is an energy that pervades everything. Every rock, every plant, every animal..." Professor de'Arnise's words echoed in Arabella's mind, bringing her attention back to the present once more.
"As such, magic can be controlled, channeled, much like wind may be harnessed by the sails on a windmill to drive the large grindstones," Professor de'Arnise said, "Yes Dylan, you had a question?"
A young man rose, running a hand through his thick black hair, "Um, yes, Professor de'Arnise. No offense, but we already had this in Remedial Spell-Crafting. This is nothing new. What, if anything, does this have with these frogs on our desk?"
Nalia arched an eyebrow, and replied, "Yes, Dylan, you have heard this several times before, but it is worth repeating until you can say it in your sleep. Magic, when improperly used, can cause great havoc. Now, you have had it reinforced time and again about how necessary it is to properly phrase your spells, to rigorously follow through the same ritualistic motions, to have the proper ingredients for one's spell."
Arabella nodded, remembering the endless strings of words, the never-ending lists of ingredients, and the seeming haphazard gestures required to cast her spells, each one different from the last.
Nalia continued, "What you will learn, though, is that all of these are just crutches, unnecessary in its own way."
A stunned whisper rippled through the crowd, and Dylan raised his hand once more, and stated, not waiting for Nalia to call on him, "Um, Professor de'Arnise, what do you mean unnecessary?"
Nalia grinned at the stunned reaction, as she proceeded with the lecture, "Consider, if you will, various spell-casters. From the orc shaman waving is bone-rattle, grunting and swearing in his porcine tongue to the stately, formal affairs of the elf, speaking in tongues older than the rise of man, from the hedge-wizard needing eye of newt, and wing of bat to the capering gnomish prankster, speaking in endless babble. All work magic, all can cast similar spells, and yet the end result is the only commonality among them. The gestures, the words, the ingredients, all are focuses for your concentration. Given enough strength of will, you can surpass the...limitations...commonly associated with spells. Mix and match methods if you will, and theoretically, cast spells by will alone."
Nalia's lips quirked in a smile, "That is where the frogs come in. By this point in your education, all of you have successfully passed the "Turning a Frog into Prince" spell. Today, you shall re-cast that spell, but with one major difference. You will not be using any magical reagents. You are limited to gesture and word alone."
A hushed silence fell throughout the crowd at Nalia's pronouncement. She chuckled, "It isn't as hard as it sounds. Mrs. Wycliffe, since you were the last one to class, you will have the honors of first try."
Arabella blushed once more, but she responded, "Yes, Professor de'Arnise. Um, what am I supposed to do without any reagents, though?"
Nalia smiled, "Very good question. What you do, as hard as it may seem, is proceed through the spell as you normally would. Remember those endless classes where we required to be able to tell various items by their texture, their smell, even their taste?"
Arabella grimaced, "Yes, sometimes I still wake up with the taste of gnoll bile on my lips."
"Very good," Nalia stated encouragingly, "Just let the memory rise to the fore in your mind, and grasp it as you normally would. However, don't think twice about the fact you don't have the 'proper' ingredients. Just imagine you do so. Once you successfully grasp this fact, then you will find yourself able to substitute ingredients as you will, and if you are potent enough, not even needing them in hand to enact your magic. So, Mrs. Wycliffe, show us how its done."
Nalia's lips quirked, "Or how its not done."
Arabella bit her tongue, not allowing Nalia's playful words to distract her as she stood up from her desk. Hesitantly, the young woman reached in and grasped her frog, almost recoiling at the touch of its slimy skin on her hands.
Stop that, its just a frog... Arabella chided herself, putting the frog on the top of her desk.
Taking a deep breath, Arabella closed her eyes, her hands starting to weave before her, an eldritch utterance escaping her lips. Her left hand dropped to where her ingredient satchel normally would be, but bearing Nalia's statement in the back of her mind, Arabella imagined the flake of human skin, the long thread of hair that would be needed to give structure to the final shape, and the silk cocoon symbolic of change itself.
Arabella slowly felt the magic take hold, and she exhaled as she was about ready to release the mystic forces under her control. As Arabella felt the final flare of growing magic, she suddenly let out a loud yelp of pain when her leg suddenly cramped.
Reaching down to rub the tight muscle, a bright, white light momentarily filled the class, then disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Arabella stumbled backward as the sound of splintering wood filled her ears, and a dull gray shape rose from the top of her desk to the top of the roof.
Once the last rippling black dots left her eyeballs, Arabella groaned as she saw a large, granite-grey column in the place where her desk formerly was.
"I believe the spell called for a handsome prince," Nalia's humor-laden voice said, 'Not a handsome plinth."
Arabella then felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and saw her instructor gazing reassuringly into her eyes.
"Don't worry about it," Nalia whispered, "I did the exact same thing my first time as well. Heh, except earlier that day I had bit my tongue...don't try spell casting with a lisp..."
OOC:
Written due to a quiz idea at the Attic
Arabella shifted her head as a slight golden, yellow grew beyond her eyelids. She exhaled softly, her coppery-curls cascading down, momentarily enshrouding Arabella in darkness. However, this brief respite wasn't to last as a glass-shattering squeal pierced Arabella's ears, a lancet of electrical pain drilling deep into her head.
"I'm awake, I'm awake!" Arabella shouted as she quickly stood up, banging her knees on the bottom side of the desk, her mist-grey eyes widening at the sudden pain that shot through her legs.
The ear piercing squeal continued unabated, and Arabella growled, one hand still rubbing her newly bruised knee, and cast a murderous glare at the source of the noise. No wider than the palm of her hand, there was a circular object, made from solid oak. Numbers were carefully engraved on the surface, filigreed with silver leaf telling the hour of the day, though the source of the scream was a small, manlike figure, spellbound to the wooden block, his upper arms pointing sky-high for the minute hand, while his legs pointed down at the six for the hour hand. The reason for his scream was from the tiny spear that was pricking his left buttock, set to break the surface of his skin as soon desired time was reached.
Arabella removed the small spear, and the bound imp immediately quieted down, and she grumbled "Gods, six in the morning, whatever possessed me to get a class first thing in the morning."
Arabella stiffened and muttered, "Oh yes, that's right. Grandmother, that's who. Said I wouldn't get my inheritance unless I went on to university."
Twining her fingers and raising her hands overhead, Arabella stretched and snarled, "It took a week for me to wash off that mothball smell..."
Arabella stiffened as she slowly became aware of an acrid, if pungent odor. Her gaze dropped back down to the clock, and she saw a small, brown pile underneath the imp.
"Oh no!" she swore, "the clock's running behind..."
The young woman darted into her closet, and she pulled out several garments, muttering as a small pile slowly grew, "No, can't wear this, I still haven't got the blood stains out...and this smells like fetid ilithid...bright pink with chartreuse stripes?"
Finally, though, the woman put together an ensemble that while it was far from the height of fashion at least wouldn't drive one blind. Arabella moved back to her desk, the long purple robes trimmed with silver at least giving her ease of movement than the more traditional corset, blouse and skirt gave.
Arabella sighed as she looked down at the assembled papers, and thought, Damn it, fell asleep again. I'm going to have to ask Professor Edwin for an extension on this assignment. Ever since that incident with the Bare-Skin Rug, I would probably have an easier time asking a baatezu if he would be willing to part with his fingernails.
Arabella shook her head, and thought, Wake up girl, your going to be late as it is. You can grab something to pick you up as you go to class.
The young woman searched the room until she saw a large, brown canvas bag in the corner and picked it up, stuffing her papers into it. Arabella moved toward the door of her room, and stopped to cast a final glance at her room.
"Nope, that's everything. At least I finished that paper on Ethics of Love Potions last week..." Arabella said to herself, and exited the room.
------------------------------------
Arabella slid into a chair at the back of the small classroom, hoping her instructor hadn't seen her. Taking a quick glance, the young woman saw that there was a small box already on her desk, and a deep croak reverberated from inside it. Looking closer, Arabella saw two bulbous brown eyes staring back at her.
Oh no, I forgot today was the quiz! Arabella thought mournfully before a voice broke her concentration.
"Um, present ma'am?" Arabella said automatically.
A laugh swept through the class, and a stern, contralto voice said, "Behave class. Mrs. Wycliffe, do you realize that this makes it the fifth time this semester you were late to my class? One more absence, and I will be forced to drop your final grade by one full letter grade."
Arabella felt a bright warmth flush her cheeks, and she quietly said, "I'm sorry Professor de'Arnise. I won't let it happen again, I promise."
"See that you don't," said the stern voice, and this time Arabella lifted her head to stare at her professor. She took in the page-boy cut of the woman's vibrant red hair--Reduces risks of it catching fire a past lesson supplemented--and the soft, intelligent doe-brown eyes of the woman as she glanced at the class, the hourglass-shaped figure hardly hidden by Professor de'Arnise's voluminous robes.
Arabella had to suppress a chuckle as she saw that once more a large portion of the boys were staring raptly at the instructor, while a sizable portion of the females glared daggers at her.
Well, that's what you get for picking the youngest teacher to lead the Equinox rite, Arabella thought, Druids and their sky-clad rites. I still think it was Dr. Cernd's way of staring at the co-eds.
"What we call magic is an energy that pervades everything. Every rock, every plant, every animal..." Professor de'Arnise's words echoed in Arabella's mind, bringing her attention back to the present once more.
"As such, magic can be controlled, channeled, much like wind may be harnessed by the sails on a windmill to drive the large grindstones," Professor de'Arnise said, "Yes Dylan, you had a question?"
A young man rose, running a hand through his thick black hair, "Um, yes, Professor de'Arnise. No offense, but we already had this in Remedial Spell-Crafting. This is nothing new. What, if anything, does this have with these frogs on our desk?"
Nalia arched an eyebrow, and replied, "Yes, Dylan, you have heard this several times before, but it is worth repeating until you can say it in your sleep. Magic, when improperly used, can cause great havoc. Now, you have had it reinforced time and again about how necessary it is to properly phrase your spells, to rigorously follow through the same ritualistic motions, to have the proper ingredients for one's spell."
Arabella nodded, remembering the endless strings of words, the never-ending lists of ingredients, and the seeming haphazard gestures required to cast her spells, each one different from the last.
Nalia continued, "What you will learn, though, is that all of these are just crutches, unnecessary in its own way."
A stunned whisper rippled through the crowd, and Dylan raised his hand once more, and stated, not waiting for Nalia to call on him, "Um, Professor de'Arnise, what do you mean unnecessary?"
Nalia grinned at the stunned reaction, as she proceeded with the lecture, "Consider, if you will, various spell-casters. From the orc shaman waving is bone-rattle, grunting and swearing in his porcine tongue to the stately, formal affairs of the elf, speaking in tongues older than the rise of man, from the hedge-wizard needing eye of newt, and wing of bat to the capering gnomish prankster, speaking in endless babble. All work magic, all can cast similar spells, and yet the end result is the only commonality among them. The gestures, the words, the ingredients, all are focuses for your concentration. Given enough strength of will, you can surpass the...limitations...commonly associated with spells. Mix and match methods if you will, and theoretically, cast spells by will alone."
Nalia's lips quirked in a smile, "That is where the frogs come in. By this point in your education, all of you have successfully passed the "Turning a Frog into Prince" spell. Today, you shall re-cast that spell, but with one major difference. You will not be using any magical reagents. You are limited to gesture and word alone."
A hushed silence fell throughout the crowd at Nalia's pronouncement. She chuckled, "It isn't as hard as it sounds. Mrs. Wycliffe, since you were the last one to class, you will have the honors of first try."
Arabella blushed once more, but she responded, "Yes, Professor de'Arnise. Um, what am I supposed to do without any reagents, though?"
Nalia smiled, "Very good question. What you do, as hard as it may seem, is proceed through the spell as you normally would. Remember those endless classes where we required to be able to tell various items by their texture, their smell, even their taste?"
Arabella grimaced, "Yes, sometimes I still wake up with the taste of gnoll bile on my lips."
"Very good," Nalia stated encouragingly, "Just let the memory rise to the fore in your mind, and grasp it as you normally would. However, don't think twice about the fact you don't have the 'proper' ingredients. Just imagine you do so. Once you successfully grasp this fact, then you will find yourself able to substitute ingredients as you will, and if you are potent enough, not even needing them in hand to enact your magic. So, Mrs. Wycliffe, show us how its done."
Nalia's lips quirked, "Or how its not done."
Arabella bit her tongue, not allowing Nalia's playful words to distract her as she stood up from her desk. Hesitantly, the young woman reached in and grasped her frog, almost recoiling at the touch of its slimy skin on her hands.
Stop that, its just a frog... Arabella chided herself, putting the frog on the top of her desk.
Taking a deep breath, Arabella closed her eyes, her hands starting to weave before her, an eldritch utterance escaping her lips. Her left hand dropped to where her ingredient satchel normally would be, but bearing Nalia's statement in the back of her mind, Arabella imagined the flake of human skin, the long thread of hair that would be needed to give structure to the final shape, and the silk cocoon symbolic of change itself.
Arabella slowly felt the magic take hold, and she exhaled as she was about ready to release the mystic forces under her control. As Arabella felt the final flare of growing magic, she suddenly let out a loud yelp of pain when her leg suddenly cramped.
Reaching down to rub the tight muscle, a bright, white light momentarily filled the class, then disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Arabella stumbled backward as the sound of splintering wood filled her ears, and a dull gray shape rose from the top of her desk to the top of the roof.
Once the last rippling black dots left her eyeballs, Arabella groaned as she saw a large, granite-grey column in the place where her desk formerly was.
"I believe the spell called for a handsome prince," Nalia's humor-laden voice said, 'Not a handsome plinth."
Arabella then felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and saw her instructor gazing reassuringly into her eyes.
"Don't worry about it," Nalia whispered, "I did the exact same thing my first time as well. Heh, except earlier that day I had bit my tongue...don't try spell casting with a lisp..."
OOC:
Written due to a quiz idea at the Attic
#5
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-Guest-
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- Guest
Posted 02 April 2004 - 03:37 AM
Another piece for the Attic...
Another piece written for an Attic quiz. Nothing serious, just fluff.
As The Wheel Turns
--------------------
And now, back to the further adventures of everyone's favorite Casanova...
Jaheira stirred on the bed, pulling the crimson covers close to her chest. She felt a warm, protective warmth behind her, a strong muscular arm sliding over her silky skin. The druid murmured with pleasure, pushing further into the encompassing embrace.
"Hmm" she murmured dreamily, "You smell nice. Just like lettuce and wood-chips."
Jaheira sighed pleasantly, as she felt a soft pair of lips brush along the back of her neck.
*Just like lettuce and woodchips* echoed through her mind.
Jaheira sat straight up in bed, her hands clutching desperately at the red blanket covering and a desperate gasp escaped her lips, "Calm down, calm down, it was just a dream."
As her ragged breathing slowly turned to normal, Jaheira felt a reassuring hand grasp hers. Jaheira's head twisted, and she looked down into the soft brown eyes of her husband, his black hair looking as unrumpled as his earnest face. His body unmarred except for a brace of scars along his muscular, lithe chest.
Jaheira's eyes glowed delight as she picked up the man's hand, pressing it to her cheek, losing herself in its soft touch.
Khalid sat up in bed then, and pressed his forehead close to Jaheira's, and nibbled at her lips.
"Hmm, your so warm," Jaheira murmured, pressing in close, when she felt Khalid nuzzle the based of her neck.
A low moan escaped her lips, "Ooh, you never did that before Khalid..."
Jaheira closed her eyes, the warmth growing, Khalid's hairy palm catching her growing heat.
*Hairy palm?!?* Jaheira thought, and pushed away from her husband. Her eyes narrowed in surprise and anger, and she snagged Khalid's hand by the wrist, twisting it and causing a notable expression of pain on his face.
"Who are you?!?" Jaheira screamed.
Khalid looked up with pleading eyes, opened his mouth, and answered with a pain-wracked, "Squeak?"
"Squeak!?!" Jaheira growled, putting a little more pressure on the appendage, and then she found herself grasping air as Khalid's form seemed to melt upon itself, oozing into a much smaller figure, until a brown and white figure, no larger than the span of Jaheira's palm lay on the bed.
A large, thunderous crack caught Jaheira's attention. The druid raised an arm to protect her from flying pieces of wood, and there stood a petite elf, her blonde hair swirling around her face like a whirlwind, the spiral-like tattoo glowing a malevolent red, while a nimbus of blue-energy surrounded her fists.
"So, this is where you have been hiding yourself Boo. Visiting your sister, my ass?" shouted the elf, and she slammed a fist into the side of the wall, and the whole room shook.
The elf then looked at Jaheira, and growled, "And you...you encouraged him all along, didn't you!"
Jaheira rolled from the bed, and rose from the knees, shouting, "No Aerie, it's not what you think! He...he was Khalid, I swear it..."
Aerie took a deep breath, and she moved toward the bed, thumping it hard with her fist, and one leg of the frame buckled.
"Boo, you said I was the only one for you," she shouted, "You said the Polymorph Potion was for Jan!"
Meanwhile, a loud, defiant squeal sounded from beneath the covers of the bed, and there was a loud thud as Boo emerged from the other end, and he scampered along the floor, making his escape.
Another piece written for an Attic quiz. Nothing serious, just fluff.
As The Wheel Turns
--------------------
And now, back to the further adventures of everyone's favorite Casanova...
Jaheira stirred on the bed, pulling the crimson covers close to her chest. She felt a warm, protective warmth behind her, a strong muscular arm sliding over her silky skin. The druid murmured with pleasure, pushing further into the encompassing embrace.
"Hmm" she murmured dreamily, "You smell nice. Just like lettuce and wood-chips."
Jaheira sighed pleasantly, as she felt a soft pair of lips brush along the back of her neck.
*Just like lettuce and woodchips* echoed through her mind.
Jaheira sat straight up in bed, her hands clutching desperately at the red blanket covering and a desperate gasp escaped her lips, "Calm down, calm down, it was just a dream."
As her ragged breathing slowly turned to normal, Jaheira felt a reassuring hand grasp hers. Jaheira's head twisted, and she looked down into the soft brown eyes of her husband, his black hair looking as unrumpled as his earnest face. His body unmarred except for a brace of scars along his muscular, lithe chest.
Jaheira's eyes glowed delight as she picked up the man's hand, pressing it to her cheek, losing herself in its soft touch.
Khalid sat up in bed then, and pressed his forehead close to Jaheira's, and nibbled at her lips.
"Hmm, your so warm," Jaheira murmured, pressing in close, when she felt Khalid nuzzle the based of her neck.
A low moan escaped her lips, "Ooh, you never did that before Khalid..."
Jaheira closed her eyes, the warmth growing, Khalid's hairy palm catching her growing heat.
*Hairy palm?!?* Jaheira thought, and pushed away from her husband. Her eyes narrowed in surprise and anger, and she snagged Khalid's hand by the wrist, twisting it and causing a notable expression of pain on his face.
"Who are you?!?" Jaheira screamed.
Khalid looked up with pleading eyes, opened his mouth, and answered with a pain-wracked, "Squeak?"
"Squeak!?!" Jaheira growled, putting a little more pressure on the appendage, and then she found herself grasping air as Khalid's form seemed to melt upon itself, oozing into a much smaller figure, until a brown and white figure, no larger than the span of Jaheira's palm lay on the bed.
A large, thunderous crack caught Jaheira's attention. The druid raised an arm to protect her from flying pieces of wood, and there stood a petite elf, her blonde hair swirling around her face like a whirlwind, the spiral-like tattoo glowing a malevolent red, while a nimbus of blue-energy surrounded her fists.
"So, this is where you have been hiding yourself Boo. Visiting your sister, my ass?" shouted the elf, and she slammed a fist into the side of the wall, and the whole room shook.
The elf then looked at Jaheira, and growled, "And you...you encouraged him all along, didn't you!"
Jaheira rolled from the bed, and rose from the knees, shouting, "No Aerie, it's not what you think! He...he was Khalid, I swear it..."
Aerie took a deep breath, and she moved toward the bed, thumping it hard with her fist, and one leg of the frame buckled.
"Boo, you said I was the only one for you," she shouted, "You said the Polymorph Potion was for Jan!"
Meanwhile, a loud, defiant squeal sounded from beneath the covers of the bed, and there was a loud thud as Boo emerged from the other end, and he scampered along the floor, making his escape.
#6
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- Guest
Posted 02 April 2004 - 03:38 AM
Ties That Bind
Another piece for an Attic Quiz:
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Lyla hurried down the length of the alley, her feet barely making a sound as she padded down the cobblestones street. Heavy foot-falls followed her retreat in a heavy, rhythmic advance. Desperately, she looked behind her, but the only thing she saw was flickering shadows in the dim, lighted streets. She danced back as the dark
Who are you looking at?
"Get away from me!" she screamed, pulling a gleaming rapier from under the folds of her cloak, "Leave me alone."
But you are alone never alone
"Just leave me alone," Lyla shrieked.
"Miss" issued a voice from deep within the alley.
Lyla whirled on her heels, keeping her rapier extended before her, and she saw an earnest young man in a clean, if simple white robe.
He looked down at her in concern, and stated, "Miss, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Lyla's blue eyes fluttered and she said, "Ghost...how...how would...no, no you wouldn't know, would you. You...are you real? Of course, you are real. You can't see them...but they can see you."
The young man drew himself up, and laid a gentle soothing hand on her shoulder, "Miss, please, come back with me to the temple. The Reverend Father can help you, I promise it."
For a brief moment, Lyla looked into the man's earnest eyes, and felt some of the anxiety leave her.
"Oh...oh...okay..." she started to say, then screamed, "Look out, behind you!"
The young man turned around, and saw nothing, only feeling air where Lyla had been.
"Miss, come back!" he shouted after the fleeing woman, his words dying on the cobblestones with her passage.
Now, that wasn't very polite sister
"Imoen, just...just leave me alone, please." Lyla begged, pressing up against a wall, trying to catch her breath.
Bah, I don't know why you waste your time with this puling weakling
"Sarevok..." shuddered Lyla, "You...you are dead. Just like Imoen."
Oh, how perceptive of you dear sister. Of course I am dead. But I am not at peace. None of us are at peace as long as you live.
Lyla shivered, "What do you mean at peace?"
The time of Bhaal is finished, sister. The cycle is complete, but for one loose end. The last of his brood to live.
"Leave me alone!" Lyla shouted out, "I already gave up the essence! What more is there?!?"
The memories
"The...the what?" Lyla asked in confusion.
What our dear brother said in his own lengthy fashion is just that. As long as the memory of the Bhaalspawn remains, so do we. We can never rest.
"And...and what am I supposed to do about that?" Lyla.
End the memories.
"End...end the memories?" Lyla asked, "But that would mean..."
Yes, sister, it would be what you think. Come, join us. You will never be alone, I swear it. It is so easy, just...let...go...
"No!" Lyla shouted hoarsely, taking to her heels once more, and started to run...
Another piece for an Attic Quiz:
--------------------
Lyla hurried down the length of the alley, her feet barely making a sound as she padded down the cobblestones street. Heavy foot-falls followed her retreat in a heavy, rhythmic advance. Desperately, she looked behind her, but the only thing she saw was flickering shadows in the dim, lighted streets. She danced back as the dark
Who are you looking at?
"Get away from me!" she screamed, pulling a gleaming rapier from under the folds of her cloak, "Leave me alone."
But you are alone never alone
"Just leave me alone," Lyla shrieked.
"Miss" issued a voice from deep within the alley.
Lyla whirled on her heels, keeping her rapier extended before her, and she saw an earnest young man in a clean, if simple white robe.
He looked down at her in concern, and stated, "Miss, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Lyla's blue eyes fluttered and she said, "Ghost...how...how would...no, no you wouldn't know, would you. You...are you real? Of course, you are real. You can't see them...but they can see you."
The young man drew himself up, and laid a gentle soothing hand on her shoulder, "Miss, please, come back with me to the temple. The Reverend Father can help you, I promise it."
For a brief moment, Lyla looked into the man's earnest eyes, and felt some of the anxiety leave her.
"Oh...oh...okay..." she started to say, then screamed, "Look out, behind you!"
The young man turned around, and saw nothing, only feeling air where Lyla had been.
"Miss, come back!" he shouted after the fleeing woman, his words dying on the cobblestones with her passage.
Now, that wasn't very polite sister
"Imoen, just...just leave me alone, please." Lyla begged, pressing up against a wall, trying to catch her breath.
Bah, I don't know why you waste your time with this puling weakling
"Sarevok..." shuddered Lyla, "You...you are dead. Just like Imoen."
Oh, how perceptive of you dear sister. Of course I am dead. But I am not at peace. None of us are at peace as long as you live.
Lyla shivered, "What do you mean at peace?"
The time of Bhaal is finished, sister. The cycle is complete, but for one loose end. The last of his brood to live.
"Leave me alone!" Lyla shouted out, "I already gave up the essence! What more is there?!?"
The memories
"The...the what?" Lyla asked in confusion.
What our dear brother said in his own lengthy fashion is just that. As long as the memory of the Bhaalspawn remains, so do we. We can never rest.
"And...and what am I supposed to do about that?" Lyla.
End the memories.
"End...end the memories?" Lyla asked, "But that would mean..."
Yes, sister, it would be what you think. Come, join us. You will never be alone, I swear it. It is so easy, just...let...go...
"No!" Lyla shouted hoarsely, taking to her heels once more, and started to run...
#7
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-Guest-
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- Guest
Posted 02 April 2004 - 03:38 AM
Harvest's End...
Caliban tasted salt on his tongue, and grimaced. He ran his left hand through his thick tangle of hair, pushing a stray, raven-colored lock out of his hazel green eyes. Caliban couldn?t help but notice the single gray streak among his hair.
He sighed as he looked at this sign of aging, and mumbled, ?Age comes for us all, doesn?t it??
Looking at his left hand, he noticed the deep grooves along the skin, the thick calluses that years of farm work left behind, and the still powerful grip it held. He then looked at his right hand, grasping the large, thick handle of his scythe. It was a mirror image of his left except for the missing ring finger. Every now and then he would still swear he could feel the finger, especially when he clenched something in his hands, or balled his hand into a fist.
Caliban shrugged, and straightened up, feeling small aches shoot through his body from his slightly hunched position, and decided that now was as good a time for a break as anything else.
With practiced ease, Caliban hoisted the scythe upon his shoulder, and gave one quick glance at his progress. His gaze focused on the field of gold before him, wheat that he was cutting before the end of autumn. He took in a deep breath, the rich aroma of freshly cut wheat filled his nostrils, and he could almost taste the bread that would be made from the efforts of his labor. Then he sighed as he realized that even when the cutting was done, there would come the gathering, the bundling, the threshing, and other activities with it.
?And if the ache in my right knee is any indication,? he murmured quietly, ?It is going to be a long winter.?
Caliban put his fingers to his lips, and gave out a loud whistle. A few seconds later, the enthusiastic sound of barking issued from the small copse of trees that marked the boundaries of his farm. A large, brown shape came running enthusiastically from the trees, and bounded toward the farmer.
Grinning, Caliban yelled, ?That?s it Dummy. That?s it?come here boy, come on.?
The farmer bent his knees slightly, and opened his arms as the large dog ran excitedly into the farmers grasp, licking eagerly at his face. As the dog?s sloppy tongue gave a rough washing, Caliban closed his eyes, and grumbled, ?You must have found a dead raccoon.?
Caliban then pulled back, patting Dummy vigorously on the head, and looked once more over his field.
?So, what do you think? Peas, or beans come spring? The field by Dobson?s Creek should be read for planting, and then we can let this one go fallow,? he asked the dog, looking down into its soft eyes.
The only response he got was the thumping of the dog?s tail, and another application of the canine?s moist tongue.
?Beans it is,? Caliban stated when he saw the dog rise and look toward the trees. Suddenly, it gave a menacing growl, and then started to bark, pacing back and forth at its master?s feet.
?What is it boy?? Caliban questioned, grasping the haft of his scythe with both hands. The dog continued to bark when Caliban heard the loud tromping of hooves break through the trees, and the muffled baying of other dogs.
?Stop her!? shouted a loud, gruff voice, ?Take out the horse.?
Several unintelligible swears rose then, which were squelched by a loud squeal. Hesitantly, Caliban moved toward the trees when there was a loud crash, and a large, white horse suddenly broke out of the copse, and raced towards him. Hunkered down close to the horse?s neck, a young woman with thick brown hair clung tightly to it, her green eyes gazing back to the trees with fear. The horse was already bloodied by several small furrows along its flanks and rump, the wounds fresh, then exaggerated as if it had escaped something that had caught the quadruped in its paws.
The air whistled softly as it was quickly filled with a flurry of bolts, the majority of them burying into the horse?s side. The horse gave a weaker screech, and then toppled onto the ground. The young tumbled to the ground, giving her own scream as she extended her right arm to slow her fall?and heard it snap with an audible crunch.
The woman stood, her arm hanging limply at her side, when she noticed Caliban.
?Please, help me!? she shouted, her voice tinged with great pain, as she edged towards him.
Caliban stared at her pleading eyes for a moment, then gave a sharp nod of his head, saying, ?Get behind me lass.?
The woman looked at him, and clarity cut through her confusion as she said, ?We?ve got to run, they?re??
Forcefully, the farmer closed the distance between both of them, and said, ?It?s too late now??
Three figures emerged from the trees, all on horseback. The lead one wore highly polished mail, and a red surcoat with the outline of a black stag?s head on it. Following close on their heels were four dogs. The leader rested a hand on a massive broadsword, while his two fellows were reloading their small crossbows with practiced ease.
The man with the red surcoat smiled grimly, and said, ?You led us on a merry chase Lady Vesper, but it ends here.?
Then the leader seemed to notice Caliban for the first time, and he spat into the farmer?s face, ?Get out of the way, peasant.?
Caliban felt the globule slide down his face, resisting the urge to wipe it away, instead keeping both hands on his scythe.
?Stranger, you are not wanted here,? he said calmly, ?I reckon you should leave while you have a chance.?
The leader?s eyes opened slightly, and a chuckle broke from one of the men behind him, while the other said, ?Looks like he isn?t afraid of you Yvan.?
Yvan?s face grew red at his companion?s digs, and the lead man said, ?You had your chance peasant?
Yvan spurred his horse forward, and the beast quickly came to a gallop as he intended to trample Caliban.
The farmer simply shook his head, and lowered the razor-sharp edge of his scythe. He ran his right palm along the edge of it, creating a small, crimson streak of blood. Caliban turned his hand over and squeezed it into a fist, allowing the scarlet fluid to drop to the ground.
?Chauntea, listen to my prayer
Let my earnest petition come to you,
for I know that you are hearing me
As surely as though I saw you with mine eyes.
Aught that is amiss for my soul
In the pulsing of my life,
May you, sweep it from me
And may you shield me in my time of need.?
Caliban's eyes widened for as soon as his blood touched the earth, the ground began to vigorously shake. Leaning on his scythe for support, the farmer heard a ruinous crack, and saw fissures open on the surface of the earth, releasing great gouts of steam. Caliban winced as anguished screams filled his ears, a cacophony of pain rising from the horses, dogs, and men. A few precious seconds passed before Caliban noticed that the edges of the fissures slowly began to fill back in, burying the Yvan's group within its earthen embrace.
Caliban gave a slight grunt, then turned on his heels as he glowered at the woman, the one that Yvan identified as Vesper.
Vesper, her good hand now clutching her broken arm, whispered, "It is you, the one I'm looking for the Bhaalspawn."
Vesper's eyes then rolled back into her head, and she slid to the ground.
-----------------------
Caliban breathed deeply, allowing himself to react automatically as he continued to milk his cow. He continued to do so even as he heard soft footfalls approach him from behind.
"Good morning Miss Vesper," he said between each stroke, occasionally moving his face when the cow swished her tail at the buzzing flies landing on her rump.
"Good morning Roald," responded the young woman, favoring her broken arm, "It is Roald, isn't it?"
Silence filled the barn, but Caliban then nodded slightly, and said, "Yes, I was called Roald a long time back anyways. I'm surprised you even remember me. It's been over fifteen years. Tell me, how is your sister, and your mother, Lady Maria, doing?"
Vesper interrupted, "My mother and sister...they are...um...they were well the last time I left. Yes, it has been a long time, but how could I forget? The last time I saw you, you were bringing my father home. How could I not remember the face of the man who brought his body back?"
A few more moments of quiet filled the barn, and Caliban nodded, "Fair enough. So, why were those men following you?"
Vesper took a deep breath, occasionally wincing with pain with some sudden, unexpected movement, when she answered, "It was because I was looking for you."
Caliban swiveled on his milking stool, disbelief growing on his face, "Me? And why were you looking for me?"
The young woman gazed evenly into Caliban's eyes, and replied, "I was looking for you Master Roald. I...we need your help."
Caliban cocked his head, then shook it, and returned to his milking, stating, "Roald was almost a lifetime ago. Just call me...Caliban. Besides, what do you need an old man like me for anyways?"
Vesper grew quiet, then inclined her head, "Very well...Master Caliban. But there is much you can do. I saw your power yesterday when you took down Lord Yvan's men. Why, with you, we could win."
Caliban sighed, ignoring the accusing moo that came from the cow as he pinched an udder a tad to hard, then asked, "That didn't answer my question, you know. Why do you need my help?"
Vesper ran a hand through the cow's thick hide, before replying, "I don't know how much you know, but your sister, she has gone insane."
Caliban stared at Vesper, and he said, "Imoen? What has exactly happened?"
Vesper took a deep breath, and she said, "We don't really know. All we know is that some kind of cult of personality rose up around her, celebrating her birth as a Child of Bhaal."
Caliban sputtered slight, "But she isn't divine. Me, her, we gave it up after the events of..."
Vesper interrupted, "Yes, that much I know. However, she seems to have become fixated on her lost divinity, and the only other child of Bhaal to survive."
Caliban muttered, "So what you are saying is that my sister wants to murder me?"
Vesper shook her head vigorously, "No, that's not it. She wants to exalt you. You and her."
Caliban grumbled, "Okay, fine. But why the horsemen? They were trying to kill you..."
Vesper paused, and said, "That is why I was sent to find you. Somehow, Imoen has gotten it into her head that not only are you and her worthy of worship, she's also decided that those who fought alongside both of you would make excellent high priests. Before I left, Viconia joined forces with Imoen. Those who won't go along with her, though, Imoen makes an example of. Even those closest to her. We haven't found all of the pieces of Kelsey. Those horsemen were some of her vassals. Her grasp is both in the poor and the rich, serfs and nobility..."
Caliban passively replied, "And so you want me to go back to stop her. Is that it?"
Vesper bowed her head slightly, but answered "Yes, Master Caliban."
Caliban pursed his lips, then strode to the barn door. He opened it, and pointed out to the expanse of his farm, "Vesper, do you know why no one has seen me in over fifteen years? I'm tired. I got tired of adventuring, of people asking for my help."
He grimaced as he stared into her eyes, "And you know what? It all seems to come to the same thing. There is also some kind of cult to disperse, some evil wizard to defeat, some restless spirit to put down, some monster to destroy."
Vesper's eyes glistened, and she queried, "Sir, what are you getting at? Are you saying that you won't...but, it's..."
Caliban looked once more at the range of his farm, and added, "This is where I belong, Miss Vesper. I am...content...here."
Silence filled the barn for a few more minutes, when Vesper spoke up again, "Master Caliban, there is something you have to know. Jaheira..."
Caliban's eyebrows arched upward, and he interjected, "Jaheira? She told you to come find me? To ask me for aid?"
Caliban laughed bitterly, "That is rich. She now wants my help...years after she rejected me. Arrogant bitch, why..."
Vesper grasped the farmer's shoulder with a firm grip, "Master Caliban, Jaheira is dead."
Caliban's tirade stopped, and he whispered, "What?"
Vesper nodded, "She...was the first to die, though we didn't know why at the time. Her...head...was hanging from the central gate of Athkatla. Someone wrote the word traitor beneath it in blood."
Caliban's eyes blazed, "Traitor? But why? That makes no sense..."
Vesper's expression hardened, and she barked, "Don't be so naive. Sir Anomen told me how you and Jaheira were together for some time. And later..."
Caliban angrily interrupted, "And he let it be known that we broke up? What do you want me to say? It's true. Jaheira decided that her oaths as a druid took precedence over whatever we might have between us, and she acted on it."
Caliban angrily punched at the wall then, a meaty thud the answer of his strike, as he said, "So, do you think that airing all my past is going to convince me to come help?"
Vesper pulled away, "But, people are getting hurt every time..."
Caliban turned a tired, sad face into Vesper's direction, and pointed to a corner of the farm. As she focused her attention, she made out two markers, the shape reminiscent of tombstones.
"My wife. My son," Caliban said quietly.
Vesper blushed, and she said, "I'm sorry Caliban. I...I didn't know."
Caliban dipped his head, "Don't apologize. It isn't your fault, and you couldn't know."
Vesper stood there quietly for a few more minutes, then asked once more, "So, you are dead set on not coming?"
Caliban returned his gaze to the interior of the barn, and replied, "I don't know. I...this is my life. I have found peace, if not happiness. And I honestly don't know how much help I can be. I like the solitude I found, and even resent you finding me like this. I...will let you know my decision in the morning."
Vesper nodded, and left.
-----------------------
There is an isolated homestead, the buildings run to ruin. Nature has long claimed the perfectly kept fields, weeds choking out the carefully raised crops, trees sending out runners and extending the reach of the forest.
Off to one side, there are two markers. One is covered with ivy, and if the verdant cover was to be parted, the simple words "Beloved Wife and Sun" could be read. The other marker lacks even words, but the ivory white peonies form a small pool of white within the sea of forest green.
Caliban tasted salt on his tongue, and grimaced. He ran his left hand through his thick tangle of hair, pushing a stray, raven-colored lock out of his hazel green eyes. Caliban couldn?t help but notice the single gray streak among his hair.
He sighed as he looked at this sign of aging, and mumbled, ?Age comes for us all, doesn?t it??
Looking at his left hand, he noticed the deep grooves along the skin, the thick calluses that years of farm work left behind, and the still powerful grip it held. He then looked at his right hand, grasping the large, thick handle of his scythe. It was a mirror image of his left except for the missing ring finger. Every now and then he would still swear he could feel the finger, especially when he clenched something in his hands, or balled his hand into a fist.
Caliban shrugged, and straightened up, feeling small aches shoot through his body from his slightly hunched position, and decided that now was as good a time for a break as anything else.
With practiced ease, Caliban hoisted the scythe upon his shoulder, and gave one quick glance at his progress. His gaze focused on the field of gold before him, wheat that he was cutting before the end of autumn. He took in a deep breath, the rich aroma of freshly cut wheat filled his nostrils, and he could almost taste the bread that would be made from the efforts of his labor. Then he sighed as he realized that even when the cutting was done, there would come the gathering, the bundling, the threshing, and other activities with it.
?And if the ache in my right knee is any indication,? he murmured quietly, ?It is going to be a long winter.?
Caliban put his fingers to his lips, and gave out a loud whistle. A few seconds later, the enthusiastic sound of barking issued from the small copse of trees that marked the boundaries of his farm. A large, brown shape came running enthusiastically from the trees, and bounded toward the farmer.
Grinning, Caliban yelled, ?That?s it Dummy. That?s it?come here boy, come on.?
The farmer bent his knees slightly, and opened his arms as the large dog ran excitedly into the farmers grasp, licking eagerly at his face. As the dog?s sloppy tongue gave a rough washing, Caliban closed his eyes, and grumbled, ?You must have found a dead raccoon.?
Caliban then pulled back, patting Dummy vigorously on the head, and looked once more over his field.
?So, what do you think? Peas, or beans come spring? The field by Dobson?s Creek should be read for planting, and then we can let this one go fallow,? he asked the dog, looking down into its soft eyes.
The only response he got was the thumping of the dog?s tail, and another application of the canine?s moist tongue.
?Beans it is,? Caliban stated when he saw the dog rise and look toward the trees. Suddenly, it gave a menacing growl, and then started to bark, pacing back and forth at its master?s feet.
?What is it boy?? Caliban questioned, grasping the haft of his scythe with both hands. The dog continued to bark when Caliban heard the loud tromping of hooves break through the trees, and the muffled baying of other dogs.
?Stop her!? shouted a loud, gruff voice, ?Take out the horse.?
Several unintelligible swears rose then, which were squelched by a loud squeal. Hesitantly, Caliban moved toward the trees when there was a loud crash, and a large, white horse suddenly broke out of the copse, and raced towards him. Hunkered down close to the horse?s neck, a young woman with thick brown hair clung tightly to it, her green eyes gazing back to the trees with fear. The horse was already bloodied by several small furrows along its flanks and rump, the wounds fresh, then exaggerated as if it had escaped something that had caught the quadruped in its paws.
The air whistled softly as it was quickly filled with a flurry of bolts, the majority of them burying into the horse?s side. The horse gave a weaker screech, and then toppled onto the ground. The young tumbled to the ground, giving her own scream as she extended her right arm to slow her fall?and heard it snap with an audible crunch.
The woman stood, her arm hanging limply at her side, when she noticed Caliban.
?Please, help me!? she shouted, her voice tinged with great pain, as she edged towards him.
Caliban stared at her pleading eyes for a moment, then gave a sharp nod of his head, saying, ?Get behind me lass.?
The woman looked at him, and clarity cut through her confusion as she said, ?We?ve got to run, they?re??
Forcefully, the farmer closed the distance between both of them, and said, ?It?s too late now??
Three figures emerged from the trees, all on horseback. The lead one wore highly polished mail, and a red surcoat with the outline of a black stag?s head on it. Following close on their heels were four dogs. The leader rested a hand on a massive broadsword, while his two fellows were reloading their small crossbows with practiced ease.
The man with the red surcoat smiled grimly, and said, ?You led us on a merry chase Lady Vesper, but it ends here.?
Then the leader seemed to notice Caliban for the first time, and he spat into the farmer?s face, ?Get out of the way, peasant.?
Caliban felt the globule slide down his face, resisting the urge to wipe it away, instead keeping both hands on his scythe.
?Stranger, you are not wanted here,? he said calmly, ?I reckon you should leave while you have a chance.?
The leader?s eyes opened slightly, and a chuckle broke from one of the men behind him, while the other said, ?Looks like he isn?t afraid of you Yvan.?
Yvan?s face grew red at his companion?s digs, and the lead man said, ?You had your chance peasant?
Yvan spurred his horse forward, and the beast quickly came to a gallop as he intended to trample Caliban.
The farmer simply shook his head, and lowered the razor-sharp edge of his scythe. He ran his right palm along the edge of it, creating a small, crimson streak of blood. Caliban turned his hand over and squeezed it into a fist, allowing the scarlet fluid to drop to the ground.
?Chauntea, listen to my prayer
Let my earnest petition come to you,
for I know that you are hearing me
As surely as though I saw you with mine eyes.
Aught that is amiss for my soul
In the pulsing of my life,
May you, sweep it from me
And may you shield me in my time of need.?
Caliban's eyes widened for as soon as his blood touched the earth, the ground began to vigorously shake. Leaning on his scythe for support, the farmer heard a ruinous crack, and saw fissures open on the surface of the earth, releasing great gouts of steam. Caliban winced as anguished screams filled his ears, a cacophony of pain rising from the horses, dogs, and men. A few precious seconds passed before Caliban noticed that the edges of the fissures slowly began to fill back in, burying the Yvan's group within its earthen embrace.
Caliban gave a slight grunt, then turned on his heels as he glowered at the woman, the one that Yvan identified as Vesper.
Vesper, her good hand now clutching her broken arm, whispered, "It is you, the one I'm looking for the Bhaalspawn."
Vesper's eyes then rolled back into her head, and she slid to the ground.
-----------------------
Caliban breathed deeply, allowing himself to react automatically as he continued to milk his cow. He continued to do so even as he heard soft footfalls approach him from behind.
"Good morning Miss Vesper," he said between each stroke, occasionally moving his face when the cow swished her tail at the buzzing flies landing on her rump.
"Good morning Roald," responded the young woman, favoring her broken arm, "It is Roald, isn't it?"
Silence filled the barn, but Caliban then nodded slightly, and said, "Yes, I was called Roald a long time back anyways. I'm surprised you even remember me. It's been over fifteen years. Tell me, how is your sister, and your mother, Lady Maria, doing?"
Vesper interrupted, "My mother and sister...they are...um...they were well the last time I left. Yes, it has been a long time, but how could I forget? The last time I saw you, you were bringing my father home. How could I not remember the face of the man who brought his body back?"
A few more moments of quiet filled the barn, and Caliban nodded, "Fair enough. So, why were those men following you?"
Vesper took a deep breath, occasionally wincing with pain with some sudden, unexpected movement, when she answered, "It was because I was looking for you."
Caliban swiveled on his milking stool, disbelief growing on his face, "Me? And why were you looking for me?"
The young woman gazed evenly into Caliban's eyes, and replied, "I was looking for you Master Roald. I...we need your help."
Caliban cocked his head, then shook it, and returned to his milking, stating, "Roald was almost a lifetime ago. Just call me...Caliban. Besides, what do you need an old man like me for anyways?"
Vesper grew quiet, then inclined her head, "Very well...Master Caliban. But there is much you can do. I saw your power yesterday when you took down Lord Yvan's men. Why, with you, we could win."
Caliban sighed, ignoring the accusing moo that came from the cow as he pinched an udder a tad to hard, then asked, "That didn't answer my question, you know. Why do you need my help?"
Vesper ran a hand through the cow's thick hide, before replying, "I don't know how much you know, but your sister, she has gone insane."
Caliban stared at Vesper, and he said, "Imoen? What has exactly happened?"
Vesper took a deep breath, and she said, "We don't really know. All we know is that some kind of cult of personality rose up around her, celebrating her birth as a Child of Bhaal."
Caliban sputtered slight, "But she isn't divine. Me, her, we gave it up after the events of..."
Vesper interrupted, "Yes, that much I know. However, she seems to have become fixated on her lost divinity, and the only other child of Bhaal to survive."
Caliban muttered, "So what you are saying is that my sister wants to murder me?"
Vesper shook her head vigorously, "No, that's not it. She wants to exalt you. You and her."
Caliban grumbled, "Okay, fine. But why the horsemen? They were trying to kill you..."
Vesper paused, and said, "That is why I was sent to find you. Somehow, Imoen has gotten it into her head that not only are you and her worthy of worship, she's also decided that those who fought alongside both of you would make excellent high priests. Before I left, Viconia joined forces with Imoen. Those who won't go along with her, though, Imoen makes an example of. Even those closest to her. We haven't found all of the pieces of Kelsey. Those horsemen were some of her vassals. Her grasp is both in the poor and the rich, serfs and nobility..."
Caliban passively replied, "And so you want me to go back to stop her. Is that it?"
Vesper bowed her head slightly, but answered "Yes, Master Caliban."
Caliban pursed his lips, then strode to the barn door. He opened it, and pointed out to the expanse of his farm, "Vesper, do you know why no one has seen me in over fifteen years? I'm tired. I got tired of adventuring, of people asking for my help."
He grimaced as he stared into her eyes, "And you know what? It all seems to come to the same thing. There is also some kind of cult to disperse, some evil wizard to defeat, some restless spirit to put down, some monster to destroy."
Vesper's eyes glistened, and she queried, "Sir, what are you getting at? Are you saying that you won't...but, it's..."
Caliban looked once more at the range of his farm, and added, "This is where I belong, Miss Vesper. I am...content...here."
Silence filled the barn for a few more minutes, when Vesper spoke up again, "Master Caliban, there is something you have to know. Jaheira..."
Caliban's eyebrows arched upward, and he interjected, "Jaheira? She told you to come find me? To ask me for aid?"
Caliban laughed bitterly, "That is rich. She now wants my help...years after she rejected me. Arrogant bitch, why..."
Vesper grasped the farmer's shoulder with a firm grip, "Master Caliban, Jaheira is dead."
Caliban's tirade stopped, and he whispered, "What?"
Vesper nodded, "She...was the first to die, though we didn't know why at the time. Her...head...was hanging from the central gate of Athkatla. Someone wrote the word traitor beneath it in blood."
Caliban's eyes blazed, "Traitor? But why? That makes no sense..."
Vesper's expression hardened, and she barked, "Don't be so naive. Sir Anomen told me how you and Jaheira were together for some time. And later..."
Caliban angrily interrupted, "And he let it be known that we broke up? What do you want me to say? It's true. Jaheira decided that her oaths as a druid took precedence over whatever we might have between us, and she acted on it."
Caliban angrily punched at the wall then, a meaty thud the answer of his strike, as he said, "So, do you think that airing all my past is going to convince me to come help?"
Vesper pulled away, "But, people are getting hurt every time..."
Caliban turned a tired, sad face into Vesper's direction, and pointed to a corner of the farm. As she focused her attention, she made out two markers, the shape reminiscent of tombstones.
"My wife. My son," Caliban said quietly.
Vesper blushed, and she said, "I'm sorry Caliban. I...I didn't know."
Caliban dipped his head, "Don't apologize. It isn't your fault, and you couldn't know."
Vesper stood there quietly for a few more minutes, then asked once more, "So, you are dead set on not coming?"
Caliban returned his gaze to the interior of the barn, and replied, "I don't know. I...this is my life. I have found peace, if not happiness. And I honestly don't know how much help I can be. I like the solitude I found, and even resent you finding me like this. I...will let you know my decision in the morning."
Vesper nodded, and left.
-----------------------
There is an isolated homestead, the buildings run to ruin. Nature has long claimed the perfectly kept fields, weeds choking out the carefully raised crops, trees sending out runners and extending the reach of the forest.
Off to one side, there are two markers. One is covered with ivy, and if the verdant cover was to be parted, the simple words "Beloved Wife and Sun" could be read. The other marker lacks even words, but the ivory white peonies form a small pool of white within the sea of forest green.
#8
Bri
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- Modder
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- 1734 posts
Posted 14 May 2004 - 02:58 PM
Okay, as anyone may figure out, this story is based on a pun that UUF gave for a quiz at the attic. It's not canon, and shouldn't be construed as such. There is some minor swearing, and definitely some violence in the story.
-------------
Phelan walked up to the dais, and saw Keldorn shackled to the floor before him. The red-headed Bhaalspawn glanced at his former traveling companion, and for a moment he felt a small bit of pity at the paladin's state, to see the once proud tied down as some rabid cur.
Stop that. Keep your emotions in check. If you don't, you won't get Branwen back. he chastised himself.
"So, old friend, it has come to this, has it?" Keldorn stammered, his voice raspy.
Phelan nodded, and then bent down to catch Keldorn's eye. He owed the man that much.
"Yes, it is," he whispered, and let just a hint of emotion etch his voice, "I've done the research, and there is no other way."
Keldorn nodded, one eye closed by dried blood, "It was an accident, you know. The illusions..." The proud paladin let the words die off as he saw Phelan start to look elsewhere, knowing that as long as he kept the former Bhaalspawn speaking, he had a chance of escaping.
Phelan shrugged nonchalantly, though the tension in his shoulder indicated he felt otherwise, "I know. However, no matter how I look at it, your blade was the one to take her life. And it shall be your life that brings her back."
Keldorn tried to rise, anger coursing his once handsome features, but he found himself bound and immobile. Then he slumped to the ground, and croaked, "Can you promise me one thing?"
Phelan cocked his head, "And what is that, old friend?"
Keldorn paused, wondering just how much his old traveling companion had changed, then answered, "My family. Will you make sure they are...cared for?"
Phelan tilted his head up and down, "Already planned for. They shall never want for money. My need was with you, not with them. And even then, if there was some other means, I would do it, but no other way opened itself to me."
Keldorn sighed, "Then do as you will."
Phelan closed his eyes, as he whispered, "I intend too."
The former Bhaalspawn stepped away from the prostrate paladin, and surveyed the area around him, the thick, rich aromas filling his head with a maelstrom of memories of his beloved, especially the time he had surprised her with some of that chocolate from Maztica, almost a hundred gold pieces per piece...and the satisfied smile that crossed her face afterward.
A small, dark spot pelted him from above, and all thoughts, pleasant and otherwise, were driven from Phelan's head with a sharp shriek of pain at hot liquid.
"Look out below..." laughed the craggy voice.
Phelan stared up into the darkness above, "Damn you Korgan. If you kill me, you won't get paid at all. Maybe greed will make you careful if nothing else can."
"Ach, you worry too much laddie buck. Hell, I still say this scheme is about the daftest thing I've ever heard, and I've come across quite a few. Still, your the boss. As long as the gold is real, and crosses my palms..." replied the dwarf's crackling voice.
"You will get your money. You know I am good for it. Hell, I gave you half up front, and showed you the rest. So, just do what I paid you for, and then we will be meet. All you have to do is pour that cauldron on my word, and that's it. Understand."
A few muttered curses wafted from above, but the dwarf finally uttered, "Aye."
Phelan looked toward the wings of the room, and he saw Jan Jansen and Edwin Odesseiron glaring daggers at each other.
Jan must have been trying to sell Edwin about the...erotic...powers of the turnip once again thought Phelan, feeling a surge of sympathy well up for the arrogant Red Wizard, Hell, I don't know how I kept from strangling the damn gnome before we stopped Melissan.
Phelan shook his head once more, and yelled to the two above, "Are you ready? We will have only one chance at it, and if you fail, you don't get paid."
Jan's voice was the first to respond, "Yes, yes, you don't need to tell me twice. Unlike my Uncle Ebhard. Poor fellow, born with two sets of ears..."
"Shut up gnome," Edwin growled, then directed his ire to Phelan, "I refuse to work under these conditions! I demand better conditions! Why, a man can barely hear himself talk under..."
Phelan interrupted, "I'll pay you double."
Silence filled the chamber, and Edwin said, "Double?"
Phelan nodded, "Yes, double. All of you. If this works..."
Another few moments of quiet filled the room, then Edwin stated, "I can work with the erudite gnome then."
Phelan smiled to himself, finding that at least with his current choice of companions, money was one sure way to cut to the heart of any argument.
"Then let us begin..." he said, making his way back over to quiet paladin.
Phelan winced as he dug into his pocket before pulling out an oddly fleshly colored pair of gloves, the smell reminding him of the butcher shop back when he stopped the Skinner Murders. He felt his stomach churn just a little as he slipped his hands into them, the insides tickling him with the few stray hairs that hadn't been removed.
You're in my hands now Xan, he thought with ill-humor as he grasped at the sword belted by his side. For a moment, there was a brief moment of resistance before the silver blade came forth, and instantly a blazing blue fiery nimbus enveloped the sword, from hilt to point.
Phelan glanced at the length of the moonsword, his eyes mesmerized by the flickering flames of Xan's sword, then he pivoted and buried the sword deep in Keldorn's chest. An anguished cry escaped the paladin's lips, but this was soon overwhelmed by the hum of the sword, and the smell of burnt blood filled Phelan's awareness. The blood untouched by the blazing moonsword flowed in rivulets off of Keldorn, and were soon caught in grooves cut in the floor. Following each stone passage, a bloody pentacle soon surrounded the paladin.
As Keldorn's dying form slumped to the floor, Phelan removed a simple, dun-colored headband from his satchel. He looked at it regretfully, remembering how it looked on Branwen's head, before putting onto Keldorn's naked brow.
Phelan stepped back, and the Bhaalspawn began to chant in a tongue which had been last heard over a thousand years before. Each syllable rolled off his tongue in quick sequence, and a shimmering of silvery light enveloped Keldorn's body, blotting it from visible sight. A few minutes passed before the glow started to die down, revealing a figure pierced by Xan's sword, this time the blade impaled through the new person's chest, stapling the individual's battered plate mail to his body, and a great, all-encompassing helm obscuring his face, the leathery bandana the only other feature left behind, pressing tightly on the helm. The figure rose, and roared as he found himself bound by chains. When he tried to step, the summoned man's foot landed on a bloody line, and he quickly pulled it back as red light flared all along the pentacle, and a lick of flame spurted up, pushing him back.
"Release me mortal!" the figure shouted, his voice reverberating throughout the room.
Phelan closed his hands together, and extended his index fingers until they met in a point, resting them on his lip.
"No," he replied quietly.
The summoned man raged in defiance, and stomped his foot on the ground. A tremor shook edifice, and the individual howled, "Do you know who I am mortal? If you release me now, I shall at least grant you a swift death."
Phelan shut his eyes, and said, "No, Tempus, I shall not free you. Not until you return that which is mine."
The armored man stopped his shaking, and said, "I know you. You are the Bhaalspawn. I have no truck with you. Why do you restrain me so...and how?"
Phelan tapped his foot on the ground, and replied, "I told you, you took that which is mine. Return Branwen. Return my love."
He grinned, "As for how? Come now, Lord of Battles. You are practically siblings with my father, the Lord of Murder...and uncle to me. We are kin, if you want, but it was your demesne which took my beloved, not my fathers."
Phelan felt a surge of confidence well up from within, and he added, "And why you can't free yourself? Please, you are not dumb. Surely you can recognize the blood of Torm's slave. I couldn't find one of yours, but Keldorn should did just as well. When you've seen one war god, you've seen them all, haven't you?"
Tempus was quiescent as he took in Phelan's statement, then whispered, "This can't be, though. Your power was taken by Ao..."
Phelan laughed, "He took the essence of Bhaal, but not my power. One IS changed when they bear the trace of a god, however faint."
Tempus grunted, "You rise above your station, mortal."
Phelan's eyes hardened, "Enough with the insults. Now, give me back Branwen, or you shall stay here forever."
Tempus laughed, "And how long do you think that will be for? Already the Tormspawn's blood dries, and clots...and soon I shall be free."
"That's what you think," Phelan chuckled, then raised his head to look at the darkness above, "Okay Korgan, Jan, Edwin, let's do it..."
Phelan darted just as a yellowish-light circled around Tempus. From the dusk, there was a loud dwarven grunt, and a cry of "Me back!" before a long, rich black liquid fell over Tempus, captured by the glowing force shield. However, a stray glob flew over the top of the golden barrier, and Phelan wiped the liquid chocolate from his face. Then a cascade of white powder fell into the sweet blend, followed by the heady aroma of fresh milk, all mixing into the brown brew.
Then a purplish light grew from Jan Jansen's position, swirling hues of reds and blues swelling until they came together as an indigo tornado. Phelan gritted his teeth as a strong breeze whipped around him. Two amber eyes looked from within the cloud of color, and it seethed with suppressed hatred, "Yes master?"
"Go," he shouted at the air elemental, "Mix that brew together, then begone."
The elemental sniffed, "Is that all?" and flitted toward the areas above Tempus, mixing the chocolate, sugar, and milk together with its winds, beating it until Phelan could see there was no lumps. The elemental gave one more glance towards Jan, then vanished in a rising of winds just as it arrive.
Then a crimson flare enveloped Edwin, and in a tone of voice similar to that used by Phelan, summoned a dancing flame, vaguely in a humanoid shape.
"For what reason do you summon me?" it crackled with great energy.
"Cook that," Edwin intoned nasily, "Then depart with harm to none."
The fiery being looked at Edwin, then the chocolaty brew down below, then back at Edwin, "You've got to be kidding me."
Edwin flicked his right hand straight up, and the fire elemental bent double, howling in pain.
"Alright, alright!" it shrieked, "I'll do it."
"Then be about it, kindling," Edwin snarled, "And no more lip."
The fire elemental's corona of flame brightened in anger, but it made its way down to the yellowish, magical wall. It placed its hands next to it, and the wall glowed orange with the combined increase in heat, and soon the scent of fresh-baked goods filled the air. Once the brown concoction gelled into a simple, wholesome whole, the elemental disappeared in a flash of light.
The bound figure of Tempus howled, "What have you done? You can't do this to me..."
-------------
Phelan walked up to the dais, and saw Keldorn shackled to the floor before him. The red-headed Bhaalspawn glanced at his former traveling companion, and for a moment he felt a small bit of pity at the paladin's state, to see the once proud tied down as some rabid cur.
Stop that. Keep your emotions in check. If you don't, you won't get Branwen back. he chastised himself.
"So, old friend, it has come to this, has it?" Keldorn stammered, his voice raspy.
Phelan nodded, and then bent down to catch Keldorn's eye. He owed the man that much.
"Yes, it is," he whispered, and let just a hint of emotion etch his voice, "I've done the research, and there is no other way."
Keldorn nodded, one eye closed by dried blood, "It was an accident, you know. The illusions..." The proud paladin let the words die off as he saw Phelan start to look elsewhere, knowing that as long as he kept the former Bhaalspawn speaking, he had a chance of escaping.
Phelan shrugged nonchalantly, though the tension in his shoulder indicated he felt otherwise, "I know. However, no matter how I look at it, your blade was the one to take her life. And it shall be your life that brings her back."
Keldorn tried to rise, anger coursing his once handsome features, but he found himself bound and immobile. Then he slumped to the ground, and croaked, "Can you promise me one thing?"
Phelan cocked his head, "And what is that, old friend?"
Keldorn paused, wondering just how much his old traveling companion had changed, then answered, "My family. Will you make sure they are...cared for?"
Phelan tilted his head up and down, "Already planned for. They shall never want for money. My need was with you, not with them. And even then, if there was some other means, I would do it, but no other way opened itself to me."
Keldorn sighed, "Then do as you will."
Phelan closed his eyes, as he whispered, "I intend too."
The former Bhaalspawn stepped away from the prostrate paladin, and surveyed the area around him, the thick, rich aromas filling his head with a maelstrom of memories of his beloved, especially the time he had surprised her with some of that chocolate from Maztica, almost a hundred gold pieces per piece...and the satisfied smile that crossed her face afterward.
A small, dark spot pelted him from above, and all thoughts, pleasant and otherwise, were driven from Phelan's head with a sharp shriek of pain at hot liquid.
"Look out below..." laughed the craggy voice.
Phelan stared up into the darkness above, "Damn you Korgan. If you kill me, you won't get paid at all. Maybe greed will make you careful if nothing else can."
"Ach, you worry too much laddie buck. Hell, I still say this scheme is about the daftest thing I've ever heard, and I've come across quite a few. Still, your the boss. As long as the gold is real, and crosses my palms..." replied the dwarf's crackling voice.
"You will get your money. You know I am good for it. Hell, I gave you half up front, and showed you the rest. So, just do what I paid you for, and then we will be meet. All you have to do is pour that cauldron on my word, and that's it. Understand."
A few muttered curses wafted from above, but the dwarf finally uttered, "Aye."
Phelan looked toward the wings of the room, and he saw Jan Jansen and Edwin Odesseiron glaring daggers at each other.
Jan must have been trying to sell Edwin about the...erotic...powers of the turnip once again thought Phelan, feeling a surge of sympathy well up for the arrogant Red Wizard, Hell, I don't know how I kept from strangling the damn gnome before we stopped Melissan.
Phelan shook his head once more, and yelled to the two above, "Are you ready? We will have only one chance at it, and if you fail, you don't get paid."
Jan's voice was the first to respond, "Yes, yes, you don't need to tell me twice. Unlike my Uncle Ebhard. Poor fellow, born with two sets of ears..."
"Shut up gnome," Edwin growled, then directed his ire to Phelan, "I refuse to work under these conditions! I demand better conditions! Why, a man can barely hear himself talk under..."
Phelan interrupted, "I'll pay you double."
Silence filled the chamber, and Edwin said, "Double?"
Phelan nodded, "Yes, double. All of you. If this works..."
Another few moments of quiet filled the room, then Edwin stated, "I can work with the erudite gnome then."
Phelan smiled to himself, finding that at least with his current choice of companions, money was one sure way to cut to the heart of any argument.
"Then let us begin..." he said, making his way back over to quiet paladin.
Phelan winced as he dug into his pocket before pulling out an oddly fleshly colored pair of gloves, the smell reminding him of the butcher shop back when he stopped the Skinner Murders. He felt his stomach churn just a little as he slipped his hands into them, the insides tickling him with the few stray hairs that hadn't been removed.
You're in my hands now Xan, he thought with ill-humor as he grasped at the sword belted by his side. For a moment, there was a brief moment of resistance before the silver blade came forth, and instantly a blazing blue fiery nimbus enveloped the sword, from hilt to point.
Phelan glanced at the length of the moonsword, his eyes mesmerized by the flickering flames of Xan's sword, then he pivoted and buried the sword deep in Keldorn's chest. An anguished cry escaped the paladin's lips, but this was soon overwhelmed by the hum of the sword, and the smell of burnt blood filled Phelan's awareness. The blood untouched by the blazing moonsword flowed in rivulets off of Keldorn, and were soon caught in grooves cut in the floor. Following each stone passage, a bloody pentacle soon surrounded the paladin.
As Keldorn's dying form slumped to the floor, Phelan removed a simple, dun-colored headband from his satchel. He looked at it regretfully, remembering how it looked on Branwen's head, before putting onto Keldorn's naked brow.
Phelan stepped back, and the Bhaalspawn began to chant in a tongue which had been last heard over a thousand years before. Each syllable rolled off his tongue in quick sequence, and a shimmering of silvery light enveloped Keldorn's body, blotting it from visible sight. A few minutes passed before the glow started to die down, revealing a figure pierced by Xan's sword, this time the blade impaled through the new person's chest, stapling the individual's battered plate mail to his body, and a great, all-encompassing helm obscuring his face, the leathery bandana the only other feature left behind, pressing tightly on the helm. The figure rose, and roared as he found himself bound by chains. When he tried to step, the summoned man's foot landed on a bloody line, and he quickly pulled it back as red light flared all along the pentacle, and a lick of flame spurted up, pushing him back.
"Release me mortal!" the figure shouted, his voice reverberating throughout the room.
Phelan closed his hands together, and extended his index fingers until they met in a point, resting them on his lip.
"No," he replied quietly.
The summoned man raged in defiance, and stomped his foot on the ground. A tremor shook edifice, and the individual howled, "Do you know who I am mortal? If you release me now, I shall at least grant you a swift death."
Phelan shut his eyes, and said, "No, Tempus, I shall not free you. Not until you return that which is mine."
The armored man stopped his shaking, and said, "I know you. You are the Bhaalspawn. I have no truck with you. Why do you restrain me so...and how?"
Phelan tapped his foot on the ground, and replied, "I told you, you took that which is mine. Return Branwen. Return my love."
He grinned, "As for how? Come now, Lord of Battles. You are practically siblings with my father, the Lord of Murder...and uncle to me. We are kin, if you want, but it was your demesne which took my beloved, not my fathers."
Phelan felt a surge of confidence well up from within, and he added, "And why you can't free yourself? Please, you are not dumb. Surely you can recognize the blood of Torm's slave. I couldn't find one of yours, but Keldorn should did just as well. When you've seen one war god, you've seen them all, haven't you?"
Tempus was quiescent as he took in Phelan's statement, then whispered, "This can't be, though. Your power was taken by Ao..."
Phelan laughed, "He took the essence of Bhaal, but not my power. One IS changed when they bear the trace of a god, however faint."
Tempus grunted, "You rise above your station, mortal."
Phelan's eyes hardened, "Enough with the insults. Now, give me back Branwen, or you shall stay here forever."
Tempus laughed, "And how long do you think that will be for? Already the Tormspawn's blood dries, and clots...and soon I shall be free."
"That's what you think," Phelan chuckled, then raised his head to look at the darkness above, "Okay Korgan, Jan, Edwin, let's do it..."
Phelan darted just as a yellowish-light circled around Tempus. From the dusk, there was a loud dwarven grunt, and a cry of "Me back!" before a long, rich black liquid fell over Tempus, captured by the glowing force shield. However, a stray glob flew over the top of the golden barrier, and Phelan wiped the liquid chocolate from his face. Then a cascade of white powder fell into the sweet blend, followed by the heady aroma of fresh milk, all mixing into the brown brew.
Then a purplish light grew from Jan Jansen's position, swirling hues of reds and blues swelling until they came together as an indigo tornado. Phelan gritted his teeth as a strong breeze whipped around him. Two amber eyes looked from within the cloud of color, and it seethed with suppressed hatred, "Yes master?"
"Go," he shouted at the air elemental, "Mix that brew together, then begone."
The elemental sniffed, "Is that all?" and flitted toward the areas above Tempus, mixing the chocolate, sugar, and milk together with its winds, beating it until Phelan could see there was no lumps. The elemental gave one more glance towards Jan, then vanished in a rising of winds just as it arrive.
Then a crimson flare enveloped Edwin, and in a tone of voice similar to that used by Phelan, summoned a dancing flame, vaguely in a humanoid shape.
"For what reason do you summon me?" it crackled with great energy.
"Cook that," Edwin intoned nasily, "Then depart with harm to none."
The fiery being looked at Edwin, then the chocolaty brew down below, then back at Edwin, "You've got to be kidding me."
Edwin flicked his right hand straight up, and the fire elemental bent double, howling in pain.
"Alright, alright!" it shrieked, "I'll do it."
"Then be about it, kindling," Edwin snarled, "And no more lip."
The fire elemental's corona of flame brightened in anger, but it made its way down to the yellowish, magical wall. It placed its hands next to it, and the wall glowed orange with the combined increase in heat, and soon the scent of fresh-baked goods filled the air. Once the brown concoction gelled into a simple, wholesome whole, the elemental disappeared in a flash of light.
The bound figure of Tempus howled, "What have you done? You can't do this to me..."
Edited by Bri, 14 May 2004 - 05:19 PM.
"I read about the evils of drinking, so I gave it up." "You gave up drinking?" "No, I gave up reading..."
#9
Bri
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- Modder
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- 1734 posts
Posted 19 June 2004 - 10:28 AM
Another short story posted at the attic. The idea is to build a short story around a quote (not necessarily from one in game). Not among my better works, and there is one swear word.
A Moment's Peace
Phelan slid out of the bed, taking care not to disturb the sleeping form next to him. He walked to the window, and threw open the curtains, enjoying the coolness of the morning air. Even the ache in his side seemed relatively dulled this morning.
"Probably never heal," he muttered to himself, his right hand absent-mindedly brushing the angry, red flesh.
Then he felt a great wave of shame course through him for no matter what else had happened, at least he was still alive. His mind blanched in remembrance of the final battle with Melissan, and the losses his friends sustained in her defeat.
"Minsc dead," Phelan whispered, "Jaheira slain. No one came out of it untouched."
He glanced at the bed, and smiled at the few strands of red hair that glinted like burnished copper in the morning light.
"Alright, I'm up," said an even voice from within the depths of the blankets, "But close that curtain already."
"Will do Nalia," Phelan smiled, and closed the curtains as the figure in the bed pushed the covers away, and sat up. He winced as a stray beam of light passed a hole in the curtain, and highlighted Nalia's left eye.
Nalia couldn't help but notice Phelan's brief stare, and she turned her head away from the offending light beam.
"I told you before, it's not your fault," Nalia softly said with a small timbre of anger.
Phelan sighed, "I know, but..."
Nalia rose from the bed, her foot stomping heavily on the ground, "Let's get one thing clear. I knew the risks before I went adventuring with you. And it's not like you haven't risked life and limb for me either."
Some tension slowly crept into her voice as she added, "I love you, but I won't accept someone by my side if they're only there because of an over-exaggerated sense of guilt."
Phelan stammered, "Nalia...it isn't like that...I mean..."
Nalia calmly allowed Phelan a few more minutes when she curtly said, "So what will it be, Phelan?"
Phelan took a deep breath, and replied, "Nalia, I won't lie to you. I can't help but feel responsible for your...your..."
"My blindness?" Nalia blandly offered.
"For your blindness," Phelan agreed, "But I can guarantee I'm with you because I love you, not because I feel I owe you."
"Good," Nalia firmly stated.
A few more minutes passed, when Nalia added, "So, what are you going to do now? What becomes...of us?"
Phelan limped slightly to a nearby chair, and slumped in its depths, "To be honest? I don't know. I guess I didn't expect to survive Melissan. Now that she's gone...I don't exactly have anything pressing on me. And I feel out of sorts. Whether it was back at Candlekeep, or Athkatla, I always knew what I had to do. One thing I can honestly say, having a bunch of homicidal maniacs going for your head definitely puts your choices in perspective. But now? I don't know. I wouldn't mind some peace and quiet though, that's for sure."
Phelan stared into Nalia's questioning brown eyes, losing himself in their depths momentarily, "I do know one thing. After all we've been through, I don't want us to part. But that also depends on what you want."
Nalia turned her head, and looked toward the curtains. She exhaled a couple of times before she said, "There is something I must attend to. You are more than welcome to come along, but if you don't...then this is good-bye. I have let my own selfish needs and desires take precedence for too long. I have to go back."
"Home?" Phelan asked, then clarified, "Your home I mean."
Nalia inclined her head slightly, "Yes. I've ran from my responsibilities for too long. I don't know what journey your life will take, Phelan, but if you choose to walk alongside mine, know that mine ends back at De'Arnise Keep. And you won't find the peace you necessarily crave, at least not for a while. Between the Roenalls and Cowled Wizards, and gods know who else, we've accumulated an impressive number of enemies."
Phelan's shoulders bunched, and whispered, "If you are trying to dissuade me, know that it isn't working too well. I will go where you go, if you will have me. Even if all our enemies conspire against us."
Then he sighed, "You know, it would be easier if you said 'yes'..."
Nalia's shook her head, "The answer is 'no', Phelan. No, I won't marry you. I can take you on as my leman, but I can't marry you. You aren't nobility, and the other families will look askance at our pairing anyways. If we were to formalize it, then it would just give them a chance to bring it to the courts. As long as it is kept...informal...then, though they may gossip about it, they are bound by their own traditions."
Phelan snarled then, and said, "And any children of such a pairing would be considered bastards."
Nalia closed her eyes as she nodded her head in agreement, "But the parent could at least let them inherit."
Phelan let his own surge of rage fade, as Nalia added, "It would even be different if you had some wealth to call your own. No matter what airs they put on, all the nobles of Athkatla are merchants at heart, and they wouldn't even bat an eye at such a pairing. Most of them have baser pedigrees. But what's the phrase? Blind to their own stink..."
Phelan grumbled, "For just a moment, I wish real life was like the sagas. We wouldn't have to worry about this, we could just pen, 'And they lived happily ever after.'"
Nalia looked away, as she said, "The problems of victory are more agreeable than those of defeat, but they are no less difficult."
She shook her head a final time, and burrowed back into the covers, "Whatever. The future will unfold as it will. As for me, I'm going to catch up on my sleep."
A Moment's Peace
Phelan slid out of the bed, taking care not to disturb the sleeping form next to him. He walked to the window, and threw open the curtains, enjoying the coolness of the morning air. Even the ache in his side seemed relatively dulled this morning.
"Probably never heal," he muttered to himself, his right hand absent-mindedly brushing the angry, red flesh.
Then he felt a great wave of shame course through him for no matter what else had happened, at least he was still alive. His mind blanched in remembrance of the final battle with Melissan, and the losses his friends sustained in her defeat.
"Minsc dead," Phelan whispered, "Jaheira slain. No one came out of it untouched."
He glanced at the bed, and smiled at the few strands of red hair that glinted like burnished copper in the morning light.
"Alright, I'm up," said an even voice from within the depths of the blankets, "But close that curtain already."
"Will do Nalia," Phelan smiled, and closed the curtains as the figure in the bed pushed the covers away, and sat up. He winced as a stray beam of light passed a hole in the curtain, and highlighted Nalia's left eye.
Nalia couldn't help but notice Phelan's brief stare, and she turned her head away from the offending light beam.
"I told you before, it's not your fault," Nalia softly said with a small timbre of anger.
Phelan sighed, "I know, but..."
Nalia rose from the bed, her foot stomping heavily on the ground, "Let's get one thing clear. I knew the risks before I went adventuring with you. And it's not like you haven't risked life and limb for me either."
Some tension slowly crept into her voice as she added, "I love you, but I won't accept someone by my side if they're only there because of an over-exaggerated sense of guilt."
Phelan stammered, "Nalia...it isn't like that...I mean..."
Nalia calmly allowed Phelan a few more minutes when she curtly said, "So what will it be, Phelan?"
Phelan took a deep breath, and replied, "Nalia, I won't lie to you. I can't help but feel responsible for your...your..."
"My blindness?" Nalia blandly offered.
"For your blindness," Phelan agreed, "But I can guarantee I'm with you because I love you, not because I feel I owe you."
"Good," Nalia firmly stated.
A few more minutes passed, when Nalia added, "So, what are you going to do now? What becomes...of us?"
Phelan limped slightly to a nearby chair, and slumped in its depths, "To be honest? I don't know. I guess I didn't expect to survive Melissan. Now that she's gone...I don't exactly have anything pressing on me. And I feel out of sorts. Whether it was back at Candlekeep, or Athkatla, I always knew what I had to do. One thing I can honestly say, having a bunch of homicidal maniacs going for your head definitely puts your choices in perspective. But now? I don't know. I wouldn't mind some peace and quiet though, that's for sure."
Phelan stared into Nalia's questioning brown eyes, losing himself in their depths momentarily, "I do know one thing. After all we've been through, I don't want us to part. But that also depends on what you want."
Nalia turned her head, and looked toward the curtains. She exhaled a couple of times before she said, "There is something I must attend to. You are more than welcome to come along, but if you don't...then this is good-bye. I have let my own selfish needs and desires take precedence for too long. I have to go back."
"Home?" Phelan asked, then clarified, "Your home I mean."
Nalia inclined her head slightly, "Yes. I've ran from my responsibilities for too long. I don't know what journey your life will take, Phelan, but if you choose to walk alongside mine, know that mine ends back at De'Arnise Keep. And you won't find the peace you necessarily crave, at least not for a while. Between the Roenalls and Cowled Wizards, and gods know who else, we've accumulated an impressive number of enemies."
Phelan's shoulders bunched, and whispered, "If you are trying to dissuade me, know that it isn't working too well. I will go where you go, if you will have me. Even if all our enemies conspire against us."
Then he sighed, "You know, it would be easier if you said 'yes'..."
Nalia's shook her head, "The answer is 'no', Phelan. No, I won't marry you. I can take you on as my leman, but I can't marry you. You aren't nobility, and the other families will look askance at our pairing anyways. If we were to formalize it, then it would just give them a chance to bring it to the courts. As long as it is kept...informal...then, though they may gossip about it, they are bound by their own traditions."
Phelan snarled then, and said, "And any children of such a pairing would be considered bastards."
Nalia closed her eyes as she nodded her head in agreement, "But the parent could at least let them inherit."
Phelan let his own surge of rage fade, as Nalia added, "It would even be different if you had some wealth to call your own. No matter what airs they put on, all the nobles of Athkatla are merchants at heart, and they wouldn't even bat an eye at such a pairing. Most of them have baser pedigrees. But what's the phrase? Blind to their own stink..."
Phelan grumbled, "For just a moment, I wish real life was like the sagas. We wouldn't have to worry about this, we could just pen, 'And they lived happily ever after.'"
Nalia looked away, as she said, "The problems of victory are more agreeable than those of defeat, but they are no less difficult."
She shook her head a final time, and burrowed back into the covers, "Whatever. The future will unfold as it will. As for me, I'm going to catch up on my sleep."
"I read about the evils of drinking, so I gave it up." "You gave up drinking?" "No, I gave up reading..."
#10
Bri
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- Modder
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- 1734 posts
Posted 10 July 2004 - 08:42 PM
Sleeping Beauty
-------------
The sun was just barely setting, its last flickering rays creating a blanket of shadow before the coming night. A solitary figure stumbled forward, clad in silver armor stained green and darkened with soot. The lone individual dropped to his knees, and coughed, using the massive glowing sword in his right hand to support himself.
"By Torm, that's the last time I rely on a gnome for directions," grumbled the man, and he with his left hand, pushed open his visor revealing a man's face with a full, peppery beard that did seem to remove a few years from his wrinkled face.
"'Keldorn, this is right up yer alley,'" groused the armored figure to himself, "'A princess who needs to be woken with a kiss. All who ventured there have never returned.'"
Keldorn twisted around, and gazed at where he just exited, and whispered, "But did he mention the hedge maze? Of course not. Nor did he mention the glass slope, or the guardian at the bridge. Answer these questions three, my foot."
For as Keldorn stared back, he saw a massive wall of green and yellow vines, bearing thorns as large as daggers, interlaced to make a thick wall. He did take grim delight in seeing the plumes of smoke rising into the air from where he made his passage through the spiked obstruction. He shuddered, though, when he saw the wall was already closing up from his passage, the vines growing and binding once more to block where he entered.
Keldorn sighed, and glanced heavenward, "Forgive me Torm. I guess I'm just growing crotchety in my old age."
And just what am I doing out here anyway? Trying to find a last moment of glory? Or avoiding going back home? It's not like Maria is without blame, but somehow she still manages to turn it all back and make me think it's my fault. he thought bitterly.
Keldorn let a few more uncharitable thoughts drift through his mind before noticing a cave in the background. With the dying sun, it almost matched the rocky embankment it was part of. When he grasped his sword, though, the blade blazed with a fiery aura, revealing the entrance as plain as day.
"She must be in there," he mumbled to himself, then bit back a wry chuckle as an inner part sardonically added, Where else would she be, mulch for the plants?
Keldorn shook his head, muttering, "Even Edwin's derision is contagious."
The aged paladin squared his and entered the tunnel. Though his senses were keyed for any possible disturbance, nothing came rushing toward him. Soon, he exited the dank passage only to come upon a large, well-illuminated room.
Squinting, Keldorn scanned the room quickly, and saw that the light came from several small globes held into niches carved into solid rock, yellow flames captured within. He almost gagged as a strong floral scent filled his nose, for as he looked around, the room was filled vivid red roses and vibrant lilacs.
What drew his attention, though, was a massive oak bed in the center of the room. Upon the bed was a young woman of such heart-braking beauty that Keldorn momentarily forgot all his cares. He studied the woman carefully, carefully noting the shiny, crimson lips, the cascade of jet-black hair that framed a face of porcelain white skin. Carefully, Keldorn leaned over her, pressing an ear on the woman's bountiful bosom. He sighed with relief as he heard a very faint, very slow heartbeat within.
The aged warrior stood back up, and gazed at the woman who looked to be no older than his daughter Vesper.
"A kiss," he wondered, "To break a spell. Well, Gerhard was right about the woman, most likely he is right about how to break the spell."
Keldorn slid his sword into the scabbard, and for a moment a flush of betrayal filled him, for in all his life, he had kissed only one woman previously.
"Torm forgive me," he prayed, and pressed his lips tightly to the woman's. For a brief moment, Keldorn thought maybe his action was not doing any good. However, the courtly warrior then felt a gentle hand on the back of his skull, pressing him ever closer to the woman's yielding, tangy lips.
"My lady," Keldorn mumbled, trying to break free only to find himself firmly held in place by the single hand. That was when his mind registered the fact that the strong scent of the flowers also hid the odor of death within the room, a stench of decay whose strongest odor wafted from the woman. Finally, while he desperately sought to break the hold of the princess, his mind clued on the fact that the woman's lips had been slick with wetness, and the tang was that of fresh blood.
Then, welcoming blackness filled the paladin's mind, driving the white flare of pain from his awareness. Keldorn's body slumped to the ground, and a figure stretched languorously on the bed.
"Not a bad year," she purred to herself, running a hand through her immaculate hair, "Though not of the blood royale. I swear, there are fewer and fewer princes each year."
She poked the paladin's body with a toe, and grumbled, "And I so hate cleaning up after dinner."
-------------
The sun was just barely setting, its last flickering rays creating a blanket of shadow before the coming night. A solitary figure stumbled forward, clad in silver armor stained green and darkened with soot. The lone individual dropped to his knees, and coughed, using the massive glowing sword in his right hand to support himself.
"By Torm, that's the last time I rely on a gnome for directions," grumbled the man, and he with his left hand, pushed open his visor revealing a man's face with a full, peppery beard that did seem to remove a few years from his wrinkled face.
"'Keldorn, this is right up yer alley,'" groused the armored figure to himself, "'A princess who needs to be woken with a kiss. All who ventured there have never returned.'"
Keldorn twisted around, and gazed at where he just exited, and whispered, "But did he mention the hedge maze? Of course not. Nor did he mention the glass slope, or the guardian at the bridge. Answer these questions three, my foot."
For as Keldorn stared back, he saw a massive wall of green and yellow vines, bearing thorns as large as daggers, interlaced to make a thick wall. He did take grim delight in seeing the plumes of smoke rising into the air from where he made his passage through the spiked obstruction. He shuddered, though, when he saw the wall was already closing up from his passage, the vines growing and binding once more to block where he entered.
Keldorn sighed, and glanced heavenward, "Forgive me Torm. I guess I'm just growing crotchety in my old age."
And just what am I doing out here anyway? Trying to find a last moment of glory? Or avoiding going back home? It's not like Maria is without blame, but somehow she still manages to turn it all back and make me think it's my fault. he thought bitterly.
Keldorn let a few more uncharitable thoughts drift through his mind before noticing a cave in the background. With the dying sun, it almost matched the rocky embankment it was part of. When he grasped his sword, though, the blade blazed with a fiery aura, revealing the entrance as plain as day.
"She must be in there," he mumbled to himself, then bit back a wry chuckle as an inner part sardonically added, Where else would she be, mulch for the plants?
Keldorn shook his head, muttering, "Even Edwin's derision is contagious."
The aged paladin squared his and entered the tunnel. Though his senses were keyed for any possible disturbance, nothing came rushing toward him. Soon, he exited the dank passage only to come upon a large, well-illuminated room.
Squinting, Keldorn scanned the room quickly, and saw that the light came from several small globes held into niches carved into solid rock, yellow flames captured within. He almost gagged as a strong floral scent filled his nose, for as he looked around, the room was filled vivid red roses and vibrant lilacs.
What drew his attention, though, was a massive oak bed in the center of the room. Upon the bed was a young woman of such heart-braking beauty that Keldorn momentarily forgot all his cares. He studied the woman carefully, carefully noting the shiny, crimson lips, the cascade of jet-black hair that framed a face of porcelain white skin. Carefully, Keldorn leaned over her, pressing an ear on the woman's bountiful bosom. He sighed with relief as he heard a very faint, very slow heartbeat within.
The aged warrior stood back up, and gazed at the woman who looked to be no older than his daughter Vesper.
"A kiss," he wondered, "To break a spell. Well, Gerhard was right about the woman, most likely he is right about how to break the spell."
Keldorn slid his sword into the scabbard, and for a moment a flush of betrayal filled him, for in all his life, he had kissed only one woman previously.
"Torm forgive me," he prayed, and pressed his lips tightly to the woman's. For a brief moment, Keldorn thought maybe his action was not doing any good. However, the courtly warrior then felt a gentle hand on the back of his skull, pressing him ever closer to the woman's yielding, tangy lips.
"My lady," Keldorn mumbled, trying to break free only to find himself firmly held in place by the single hand. That was when his mind registered the fact that the strong scent of the flowers also hid the odor of death within the room, a stench of decay whose strongest odor wafted from the woman. Finally, while he desperately sought to break the hold of the princess, his mind clued on the fact that the woman's lips had been slick with wetness, and the tang was that of fresh blood.
Then, welcoming blackness filled the paladin's mind, driving the white flare of pain from his awareness. Keldorn's body slumped to the ground, and a figure stretched languorously on the bed.
"Not a bad year," she purred to herself, running a hand through her immaculate hair, "Though not of the blood royale. I swear, there are fewer and fewer princes each year."
She poked the paladin's body with a toe, and grumbled, "And I so hate cleaning up after dinner."
Edited by Bri, 11 July 2004 - 08:28 AM.
"I read about the evils of drinking, so I gave it up." "You gave up drinking?" "No, I gave up reading..."
#11
Bri
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- Modder
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- 1734 posts
Posted 04 January 2005 - 04:01 PM
DeadWinter's Tidings
This was written in response to a quiz at the Attic for a festival themed story.
Before anyone asks, the name DeadWinter was not split up in the sources I saw, so it isn't a typo.
I had wanted to finish this before Christmas, but real life definitely prevented that from happening. For those who may remember, this is a segment adapted from a section that was going to be in my story In Sheep?s Clothing. I hope I can find the creative urge to restart it.
For those who may not know or remember, Delainy is a werewolf character that the Bhaalspawn met tentatively in Baldur?s Gate: Tales of the Sword Coast (if the character was male. If female, the werewolf was Durlyle).
IC:
Nalia clung to the shadows along the edge of the escarpment, melding seamlessly with the dark shadows cast by the towers of the de Arnise fortress, producing nary a sound on the freshly falling snow. Down below, the sounds of festive music reached her ears, causing a dull ache to stir in her heart. The fleeting hurt passed, then she made her way to the edge of the parapet. Even now, several months after the troll invasion, the aftermath of their fight could be seen by the roughly filled holes within the curtain wall, as well as the thick soot that clung in reaches well beyond
?Father?is this how you felt when mother died?? whispered Nalia in the cold air, her words forming momentarily patches of silvery fog before fading away.
?Is this why you threw yourself into your work? To fill the gaping sadness within?? murmured the crimson-haired mage.
Nalia closed her eyes, inhaling deeply of the cold, invigorating air when she heard the crunch of footfalls on the undisturbed snow. Instinctively, Nalia?s hand dropped to her belt knife, and she leaned further back into the shadows to see who had trailed her.
Uncannily a figure approached her position without even trying to hide its presence. Stepping into an open space enveloped by moonlight, Nalia saw that it was only Delainy, a werewolf who was also her traveling companion. The werewolf was dressed in a light tunic and pantaloons, not much different than her summer garb, seemingly unaffected by the change in seasons.
?Is there something wrong Delainy?? Nalia asked in a neutral, strong voice as she emerged from the shadows,
Delainy stopped and frowned slightly at seeing Nalia?s annoyance.
?No, Lady Nalia, there isn?t?? hesitantly answered the werewolf, ?It?s just that you left the party so early??
Nalia impatiently tapped her foot, and she said, ?You know that you don?t lie very well Delainy. Well, you?re here, you might as well tell me why you followed me.?
Delainy hung her head slightly, exposing the small of her neck, and replied, ?I?m sorry. The majordomo saw you leave, and he was a bit worried about you. I told him I would follow you??
Nalia nodded, though her expression didn?t soften at all, ?I?needed some time alone. If it hasn?t been one thing, it?s been another. Between my father??
There was a slight pause in Nalia?s voice as another wave of sadness filled her, then she continued, ?Between my father dying, regaining the keep, defending what is mine from the Roenal?s, bringing in the harvest, repairing the damages from the flood?I could go on and on?but I just wanted some time alone.?
The werewolf shuffled her feet nervously, but she tilted her head slightly, and said, ?Forgive me for intruding??
As Delainy moved to retreat, Nalia?s arm snaked out, and grabbed the werewolf?s shoulder.
?You don?t have to go,? stated the noble, ?Just be aware I may not be good company this evening.?
Delainy smiled sanguinely, and patted Nalia?s hand, ?You need not explain. Among the pack, just being there is enough.?
The corners of Nalia?s lips lifted slightly, then she looked skyward, noticing for the first time a rainbow corona around the moon.
?It is a beautiful night, though, isn?t it?? Nalia remarked, her drawing her cloak more closely around her.
Delainy, unsure of this change in Nalia?s demeanor, said, ?That it is. And some of the lore?the songs?of the pack makes more sense now.?
?Sense?? interrupted Nalia.
Delainy shook her head affirmatively, ?Yes. Before coming to the mainland, we lived on an island. Snow was something we only heard of in stories. In fact, if you had told me water fell from the sky, and it would stay?I would have called you a liar. Sure, there was hail, but that melted almost as quickly as it arrived.?
The werewolf looked heavenward towards the moon. Adoringly, Delainy slowly started to chant in a language that Nalia could just barely make out as related to Common, but one filled with growls and whines of wolves,
?Icy fingers have traced
a circle around the moon
among the brittle stars
and the earth is rutted hard
glittering with cold.
The world holds its breath
And no exhaled clouds
Shroud Selune?s naked beauty.
Crisp shadows dance before
As one walks in her cool light.?
Delainy stopped, her voice rasping softly, ?It sounds much better in the original wolf. This human form isn?t suited for such things.?
?Still,? Nalia replied, ?You conveyed the sentiment well.?
Delainy shrugged, ?Possibly. It could be better, though, if I didn?t find your holidays and customs confusing.?
?Confusing? How so?? queried Nalia.
?Well?? Delainy started quietly, ?I heard people saying they couldn?t wait until DeadWinter, while others were looking forward to the High Festival of Winter.?
Nalia smiled, ?No big mystery there. They are one and the same. Well, there is a slight difference. For the peasantry, they call it Deadwinter. It is the halfway point of winter. Among nobles, it is called the High Festival of Winter. Both are appropriate.?
Nalia?s face darkened upon mentioning the nobles, and grew silent once more.
Delainy felt the heaviness of silence pressing down once more, and apologized, ?I?fear I said something wrong again, didn?t I??
Nalia vigorously shook her head, ?No, you didn?t. It?s just that DeadWinter is traditionally the time when vassals pledge fealty to their liege lord for one more year, and the my father?s nobles were no different.?
Nalia?s voice grew as cold as the air, as she said, ?And a good quarter of my nobles didn?t appear this High Festival. Unless they have a good excuse for not doing so, I?m afraid it means war.?
Delainy?s cheeks burned red, and cast her glance over the edge of the parapet, feeling more comfortable in the quiet at the moment.
Then, off in the distance, she made out several figures near a small, frozen pond. The distant flames made the people?s shadows dance, while the people themselves seemed to be sliding on the ice.
?What are they doing?? asked the werewolf, pointing with a sturdy arm in the direction of the pond.
?What are who doing?? answered Nalia, eager to give up the rising tides of anger.
Nalia's eyes focused on the pond in the distance, and she added, ?Oh, they are ice skating.?
?Why?? asked Delainy, her green eyes straining to follow the swift passing of bodies.
?Oh, it?s just for fun?? Nalia said, then her face flushed red as she realized that this may be the first time the werewolf had seen ice skating.
?Fun?? said the werewolf, ?Are you sure??
Nalia smiled, and said, ?Sure it is. Come on, I?ll show you?why, I remember the last time I went skating, my father??
This time Nalia solemnly accepted the grief that rose up in her breast, for it brought along a memory of a happier time.
?My father,? she said in a tone slightly more subdued, ?Declared a holiday for the castle staff.?
Nalia focused on Delainy, her eyes running down the werewolf?s lithe, muscular legs, and added, ?I think I have a pair of skates that would fit you. Meet you down at the pond.?
The red-haired mage found herself eagerly moving towards her quarters, strangely excited at this change of her evening plans. Nalia thought wryly, Well, anything is better than indulging in self-pity.
Down below, she could hear the sonorous tones of Keagan, one of the old men of the castle, who took it upon himself to tell stories to the children on DeadWinter. As Nalia rummaged through her belongings, her mind started to fill in her own remembrances of Keagan?s favorite winter tale?
Long ago there lived a mighty people who made their the home by the sunrise. One and all, they favored Mielikki the Huntress. She was kind to her people and did many great deeds for them.
One day it grew extremely cold. Snow and ice covered everything. Fires would not give enough warmth. The plants would not grow. Her people were perishing from cold and famine.
Mielikki set forth for the far north where all was ice. Here in a sparkling castle of ice, she found Lady Frostkiss, Auril, the Lady of Winter. It was Auril's icy breath that had frozen the land.
Mielikki entered the castle and approached the regal throne. Intrigued, Auril bade Mielikki to sit down, and they shared tales of olden times when Auril reigned everywhere and all the land was silent, white, and beautiful. Her frost charm fell upon Mielikki and as Auril talked on, Mielikki fell asleep. For several months she slept like a bear, then the charm left Mielikki. She was too strong for it and awoke only to find Loon, one of her talebearers, waiting for her..
Loon described a country far to the south where it was always warm. There lived Chauntea, she who could easily overcome the Auril. To save her people from cold and famine and death, Mielikki decided to find her.
Far off to the southern seashores Mielikki went. She sang a song gifted to her from Trishina, the Mother of Dolphins, a magic song which whales had to obey and up came a whale who served as her carrier.
The whale had one rule, though, She said: "You must shut your eyes while I carry you. If you do not, I am sure to go aground on a reef or sand-bar and be unable to get off. You could be drowned."
Mielikki got on the whale's back and for many days they traveled together. Each day the water grew warmer and the air softer and sweeter, for it came from spicy shores. The odors were no longer those of salt, but of fruits and flowers.
Soon they found themselves in shallow water. Down in the sand clams were singing a song of warning: "Keep out to sea, for the water here is shallow."
The whale asked Mielikki, who understood the language of all creatures: "What do they say?"
Mielikki, wishing to land at once, only replied: "They tell you to hurry, for a storm is coming."
The whale hurried on accordingly until she was close to land. Now Mielikki did the forbidden; she opened her left eye, to peep. At once the whale stuck hard on to the beach so that Mielikki, leaping from her head, was able to walk ashore on dry land.
Thinking she could never get away, the whale became angry. But Mielikki put one end of her strong bow against the whale's jaw and, taking the other end in her hands, placed her feet against the high bank. With a mighty push, she sent the whale out into the deep water.
Far inland strode Mielikki and found it warmer at every step. In the forest she came upon a beautiful woman, dancing in the center of a group of young girls. Her long brown hair was crowned with flowers and her arms filled with blossoms. She was Chauntea.
Mielikki knew that here at last was the one who by her charms could melt old Auril's hold. She leaped to catch her and would not let Chauntea go. Together they journeyed the long way back to the lodge of Auril.
Auril welcomed Mielikki but she planned to freeze the huntress to sleep again. This time, however, Mielikki did the talking. Her charm proved the stronger one and soon sweat began to run down Auril's face. Mielikki knew that Auril's power was gone and the Charm of Frost broken. The glistening castle melted away.
Chauntea now used her own special power and everything awoke. The grass grew green and the snow ran down the rivers, carrying away the dead leaves. Auril wept to see her power taken away.
But Chauntea proved merciful and she said, "Now that I have proved I am more powerful than you, I give you all the country to the far north for your own, and there I shall never disturb you. Six months of every year you may return to Mielikki's country and reign as before, but you are to be less severe with your power. During the other six months, I will come back and rule the land."
Auril do nothing but accept this. So it is that she appears in Mielikki's country each year to reign for six months, but with a softer rule. When she comes, Chauntea returns home to her land. When at the end of six months Chauntea returns to drive Auril away, she awakens the north and gives it the joys that only she can bestow?
Nalia shook her head out of her reverie, only to find herself already moving out of the castle gates, two pairs of skates firmly in hand. Upon arriving, she found the werewolf looking uncertainly at the ice.
?It doesn?t bite, you know,? Nalia chuckled, noting that though the teenagers gave her a few seconds glance, they otherwise didn?t comment on her arrival at the pond.
There were some benefits for sneaking out under Auntie?s nose, mused Nalia.
Nalia handed a pair of skates to Delainy, and instructed, ?Put these on. Make sure they are snug to the feet, but not tight.?
Delainy tapped the top of the ice, apprehension filling her face, and said, ?I don?t know if this is such a good idea.?
Nalia stood straight up, putting her hands on her hips, and much as a mother might scold a young child said, ?I won?t lie that you will fall?but like anything else, it takes practice.?
Then her voice softened, ?Did you learn to walk as a human right away? Well, this isn?t much different.?
Delainy closed her eyes, and muttered, ?Fine, have it your way. But if I?m sore all over, it?s going to be your fault.?
Nalia gave a warm, throaty laugh as she said, ?Then I will send some horse liniment to your room.?
?Thanks,? Delainy said dryly, having already known the joys of said liniment on tired muscles.
Nalia nodded approvingly as Delainy put on the ice skates, and held out her arms to help the werewolf keep balanced as they edge outward on the ice.
?It isn?t to hard, you just have to get your legs under you? Nalia quietly said, ?Keep your feet under your hips. Don?t lean over your skates; this will unbalance you. Try not to look down at your feet, but look in the direction you are going. Stand straight, and hold your head high.?
Gingerly the two moved forward, and Nalia encouragingly said, ?That is it?now, I?m going to let you go.?
And as soon as the noble let go, Delainy moved forward a few inches, a smile on her face when the werewolf?s arms started to windmill.
?Delainy, no! Keep your arms out wide?? Nalia started to say as Delainy fell with a loud crack on the ice.
Nalia winced at the sound, and she was quickly by the werewolf?s side, bending down to ascertain the condition of her friend.
?Are you alright?? Nalia asked, running a hand along Delainy?s body to make sure there were no broken bones.
?I wish,? Delainy growled, ?that I could say only my pride was hurt. I?ll be alright though. If I was in my other form, I would have a broken tail right now.?
Gingerly, the werewolf stood up, leaning on Nalia for support, and said in a tight voice that bordered on a growl, ?Try it?again.?
The werewolf pushed off, and after several more spills, though none-as jarring as the first time. Bit by bit, Nalia saw Delainy?s energy start to waver, and the noble said, ?Maybe you should take a break.?
Delainy, her chest heaving hard, ?I would?but how do I stop? Stop so that I don?t fall, I mean.?
Nalia paused to think, closing her eyes as she tried to remember her father?s directions, ?Bend your knees?turn the toes of each foot in toward your other foot?point heels out?and??
Nalia opened her eyes, shrieking, ?Watch out for that tree!?
?Too late?? howled Delainy, and Nalia shuddered at the ensuing crash. Hurriedly, the mage made her way over, and hovered protectively over the werewolf.
?I?m sorry?? Nalia whispered frantically, brushing away limbs and snow, when she felt a wet nuzzle in the side of her neck.
Pulling away, she heard Delainy groan, ?I?ve had worse?remember when you asked me about walking as a human? Imagine going from four legs to two??
This was written in response to a quiz at the Attic for a festival themed story.
Before anyone asks, the name DeadWinter was not split up in the sources I saw, so it isn't a typo.
I had wanted to finish this before Christmas, but real life definitely prevented that from happening. For those who may remember, this is a segment adapted from a section that was going to be in my story In Sheep?s Clothing. I hope I can find the creative urge to restart it.
For those who may not know or remember, Delainy is a werewolf character that the Bhaalspawn met tentatively in Baldur?s Gate: Tales of the Sword Coast (if the character was male. If female, the werewolf was Durlyle).
IC:
Nalia clung to the shadows along the edge of the escarpment, melding seamlessly with the dark shadows cast by the towers of the de Arnise fortress, producing nary a sound on the freshly falling snow. Down below, the sounds of festive music reached her ears, causing a dull ache to stir in her heart. The fleeting hurt passed, then she made her way to the edge of the parapet. Even now, several months after the troll invasion, the aftermath of their fight could be seen by the roughly filled holes within the curtain wall, as well as the thick soot that clung in reaches well beyond
?Father?is this how you felt when mother died?? whispered Nalia in the cold air, her words forming momentarily patches of silvery fog before fading away.
?Is this why you threw yourself into your work? To fill the gaping sadness within?? murmured the crimson-haired mage.
Nalia closed her eyes, inhaling deeply of the cold, invigorating air when she heard the crunch of footfalls on the undisturbed snow. Instinctively, Nalia?s hand dropped to her belt knife, and she leaned further back into the shadows to see who had trailed her.
Uncannily a figure approached her position without even trying to hide its presence. Stepping into an open space enveloped by moonlight, Nalia saw that it was only Delainy, a werewolf who was also her traveling companion. The werewolf was dressed in a light tunic and pantaloons, not much different than her summer garb, seemingly unaffected by the change in seasons.
?Is there something wrong Delainy?? Nalia asked in a neutral, strong voice as she emerged from the shadows,
Delainy stopped and frowned slightly at seeing Nalia?s annoyance.
?No, Lady Nalia, there isn?t?? hesitantly answered the werewolf, ?It?s just that you left the party so early??
Nalia impatiently tapped her foot, and she said, ?You know that you don?t lie very well Delainy. Well, you?re here, you might as well tell me why you followed me.?
Delainy hung her head slightly, exposing the small of her neck, and replied, ?I?m sorry. The majordomo saw you leave, and he was a bit worried about you. I told him I would follow you??
Nalia nodded, though her expression didn?t soften at all, ?I?needed some time alone. If it hasn?t been one thing, it?s been another. Between my father??
There was a slight pause in Nalia?s voice as another wave of sadness filled her, then she continued, ?Between my father dying, regaining the keep, defending what is mine from the Roenal?s, bringing in the harvest, repairing the damages from the flood?I could go on and on?but I just wanted some time alone.?
The werewolf shuffled her feet nervously, but she tilted her head slightly, and said, ?Forgive me for intruding??
As Delainy moved to retreat, Nalia?s arm snaked out, and grabbed the werewolf?s shoulder.
?You don?t have to go,? stated the noble, ?Just be aware I may not be good company this evening.?
Delainy smiled sanguinely, and patted Nalia?s hand, ?You need not explain. Among the pack, just being there is enough.?
The corners of Nalia?s lips lifted slightly, then she looked skyward, noticing for the first time a rainbow corona around the moon.
?It is a beautiful night, though, isn?t it?? Nalia remarked, her drawing her cloak more closely around her.
Delainy, unsure of this change in Nalia?s demeanor, said, ?That it is. And some of the lore?the songs?of the pack makes more sense now.?
?Sense?? interrupted Nalia.
Delainy shook her head affirmatively, ?Yes. Before coming to the mainland, we lived on an island. Snow was something we only heard of in stories. In fact, if you had told me water fell from the sky, and it would stay?I would have called you a liar. Sure, there was hail, but that melted almost as quickly as it arrived.?
The werewolf looked heavenward towards the moon. Adoringly, Delainy slowly started to chant in a language that Nalia could just barely make out as related to Common, but one filled with growls and whines of wolves,
?Icy fingers have traced
a circle around the moon
among the brittle stars
and the earth is rutted hard
glittering with cold.
The world holds its breath
And no exhaled clouds
Shroud Selune?s naked beauty.
Crisp shadows dance before
As one walks in her cool light.?
Delainy stopped, her voice rasping softly, ?It sounds much better in the original wolf. This human form isn?t suited for such things.?
?Still,? Nalia replied, ?You conveyed the sentiment well.?
Delainy shrugged, ?Possibly. It could be better, though, if I didn?t find your holidays and customs confusing.?
?Confusing? How so?? queried Nalia.
?Well?? Delainy started quietly, ?I heard people saying they couldn?t wait until DeadWinter, while others were looking forward to the High Festival of Winter.?
Nalia smiled, ?No big mystery there. They are one and the same. Well, there is a slight difference. For the peasantry, they call it Deadwinter. It is the halfway point of winter. Among nobles, it is called the High Festival of Winter. Both are appropriate.?
Nalia?s face darkened upon mentioning the nobles, and grew silent once more.
Delainy felt the heaviness of silence pressing down once more, and apologized, ?I?fear I said something wrong again, didn?t I??
Nalia vigorously shook her head, ?No, you didn?t. It?s just that DeadWinter is traditionally the time when vassals pledge fealty to their liege lord for one more year, and the my father?s nobles were no different.?
Nalia?s voice grew as cold as the air, as she said, ?And a good quarter of my nobles didn?t appear this High Festival. Unless they have a good excuse for not doing so, I?m afraid it means war.?
Delainy?s cheeks burned red, and cast her glance over the edge of the parapet, feeling more comfortable in the quiet at the moment.
Then, off in the distance, she made out several figures near a small, frozen pond. The distant flames made the people?s shadows dance, while the people themselves seemed to be sliding on the ice.
?What are they doing?? asked the werewolf, pointing with a sturdy arm in the direction of the pond.
?What are who doing?? answered Nalia, eager to give up the rising tides of anger.
Nalia's eyes focused on the pond in the distance, and she added, ?Oh, they are ice skating.?
?Why?? asked Delainy, her green eyes straining to follow the swift passing of bodies.
?Oh, it?s just for fun?? Nalia said, then her face flushed red as she realized that this may be the first time the werewolf had seen ice skating.
?Fun?? said the werewolf, ?Are you sure??
Nalia smiled, and said, ?Sure it is. Come on, I?ll show you?why, I remember the last time I went skating, my father??
This time Nalia solemnly accepted the grief that rose up in her breast, for it brought along a memory of a happier time.
?My father,? she said in a tone slightly more subdued, ?Declared a holiday for the castle staff.?
Nalia focused on Delainy, her eyes running down the werewolf?s lithe, muscular legs, and added, ?I think I have a pair of skates that would fit you. Meet you down at the pond.?
The red-haired mage found herself eagerly moving towards her quarters, strangely excited at this change of her evening plans. Nalia thought wryly, Well, anything is better than indulging in self-pity.
Down below, she could hear the sonorous tones of Keagan, one of the old men of the castle, who took it upon himself to tell stories to the children on DeadWinter. As Nalia rummaged through her belongings, her mind started to fill in her own remembrances of Keagan?s favorite winter tale?
Long ago there lived a mighty people who made their the home by the sunrise. One and all, they favored Mielikki the Huntress. She was kind to her people and did many great deeds for them.
One day it grew extremely cold. Snow and ice covered everything. Fires would not give enough warmth. The plants would not grow. Her people were perishing from cold and famine.
Mielikki set forth for the far north where all was ice. Here in a sparkling castle of ice, she found Lady Frostkiss, Auril, the Lady of Winter. It was Auril's icy breath that had frozen the land.
Mielikki entered the castle and approached the regal throne. Intrigued, Auril bade Mielikki to sit down, and they shared tales of olden times when Auril reigned everywhere and all the land was silent, white, and beautiful. Her frost charm fell upon Mielikki and as Auril talked on, Mielikki fell asleep. For several months she slept like a bear, then the charm left Mielikki. She was too strong for it and awoke only to find Loon, one of her talebearers, waiting for her..
Loon described a country far to the south where it was always warm. There lived Chauntea, she who could easily overcome the Auril. To save her people from cold and famine and death, Mielikki decided to find her.
Far off to the southern seashores Mielikki went. She sang a song gifted to her from Trishina, the Mother of Dolphins, a magic song which whales had to obey and up came a whale who served as her carrier.
The whale had one rule, though, She said: "You must shut your eyes while I carry you. If you do not, I am sure to go aground on a reef or sand-bar and be unable to get off. You could be drowned."
Mielikki got on the whale's back and for many days they traveled together. Each day the water grew warmer and the air softer and sweeter, for it came from spicy shores. The odors were no longer those of salt, but of fruits and flowers.
Soon they found themselves in shallow water. Down in the sand clams were singing a song of warning: "Keep out to sea, for the water here is shallow."
The whale asked Mielikki, who understood the language of all creatures: "What do they say?"
Mielikki, wishing to land at once, only replied: "They tell you to hurry, for a storm is coming."
The whale hurried on accordingly until she was close to land. Now Mielikki did the forbidden; she opened her left eye, to peep. At once the whale stuck hard on to the beach so that Mielikki, leaping from her head, was able to walk ashore on dry land.
Thinking she could never get away, the whale became angry. But Mielikki put one end of her strong bow against the whale's jaw and, taking the other end in her hands, placed her feet against the high bank. With a mighty push, she sent the whale out into the deep water.
Far inland strode Mielikki and found it warmer at every step. In the forest she came upon a beautiful woman, dancing in the center of a group of young girls. Her long brown hair was crowned with flowers and her arms filled with blossoms. She was Chauntea.
Mielikki knew that here at last was the one who by her charms could melt old Auril's hold. She leaped to catch her and would not let Chauntea go. Together they journeyed the long way back to the lodge of Auril.
Auril welcomed Mielikki but she planned to freeze the huntress to sleep again. This time, however, Mielikki did the talking. Her charm proved the stronger one and soon sweat began to run down Auril's face. Mielikki knew that Auril's power was gone and the Charm of Frost broken. The glistening castle melted away.
Chauntea now used her own special power and everything awoke. The grass grew green and the snow ran down the rivers, carrying away the dead leaves. Auril wept to see her power taken away.
But Chauntea proved merciful and she said, "Now that I have proved I am more powerful than you, I give you all the country to the far north for your own, and there I shall never disturb you. Six months of every year you may return to Mielikki's country and reign as before, but you are to be less severe with your power. During the other six months, I will come back and rule the land."
Auril do nothing but accept this. So it is that she appears in Mielikki's country each year to reign for six months, but with a softer rule. When she comes, Chauntea returns home to her land. When at the end of six months Chauntea returns to drive Auril away, she awakens the north and gives it the joys that only she can bestow?
Nalia shook her head out of her reverie, only to find herself already moving out of the castle gates, two pairs of skates firmly in hand. Upon arriving, she found the werewolf looking uncertainly at the ice.
?It doesn?t bite, you know,? Nalia chuckled, noting that though the teenagers gave her a few seconds glance, they otherwise didn?t comment on her arrival at the pond.
There were some benefits for sneaking out under Auntie?s nose, mused Nalia.
Nalia handed a pair of skates to Delainy, and instructed, ?Put these on. Make sure they are snug to the feet, but not tight.?
Delainy tapped the top of the ice, apprehension filling her face, and said, ?I don?t know if this is such a good idea.?
Nalia stood straight up, putting her hands on her hips, and much as a mother might scold a young child said, ?I won?t lie that you will fall?but like anything else, it takes practice.?
Then her voice softened, ?Did you learn to walk as a human right away? Well, this isn?t much different.?
Delainy closed her eyes, and muttered, ?Fine, have it your way. But if I?m sore all over, it?s going to be your fault.?
Nalia gave a warm, throaty laugh as she said, ?Then I will send some horse liniment to your room.?
?Thanks,? Delainy said dryly, having already known the joys of said liniment on tired muscles.
Nalia nodded approvingly as Delainy put on the ice skates, and held out her arms to help the werewolf keep balanced as they edge outward on the ice.
?It isn?t to hard, you just have to get your legs under you? Nalia quietly said, ?Keep your feet under your hips. Don?t lean over your skates; this will unbalance you. Try not to look down at your feet, but look in the direction you are going. Stand straight, and hold your head high.?
Gingerly the two moved forward, and Nalia encouragingly said, ?That is it?now, I?m going to let you go.?
And as soon as the noble let go, Delainy moved forward a few inches, a smile on her face when the werewolf?s arms started to windmill.
?Delainy, no! Keep your arms out wide?? Nalia started to say as Delainy fell with a loud crack on the ice.
Nalia winced at the sound, and she was quickly by the werewolf?s side, bending down to ascertain the condition of her friend.
?Are you alright?? Nalia asked, running a hand along Delainy?s body to make sure there were no broken bones.
?I wish,? Delainy growled, ?that I could say only my pride was hurt. I?ll be alright though. If I was in my other form, I would have a broken tail right now.?
Gingerly, the werewolf stood up, leaning on Nalia for support, and said in a tight voice that bordered on a growl, ?Try it?again.?
The werewolf pushed off, and after several more spills, though none-as jarring as the first time. Bit by bit, Nalia saw Delainy?s energy start to waver, and the noble said, ?Maybe you should take a break.?
Delainy, her chest heaving hard, ?I would?but how do I stop? Stop so that I don?t fall, I mean.?
Nalia paused to think, closing her eyes as she tried to remember her father?s directions, ?Bend your knees?turn the toes of each foot in toward your other foot?point heels out?and??
Nalia opened her eyes, shrieking, ?Watch out for that tree!?
?Too late?? howled Delainy, and Nalia shuddered at the ensuing crash. Hurriedly, the mage made her way over, and hovered protectively over the werewolf.
?I?m sorry?? Nalia whispered frantically, brushing away limbs and snow, when she felt a wet nuzzle in the side of her neck.
Pulling away, she heard Delainy groan, ?I?ve had worse?remember when you asked me about walking as a human? Imagine going from four legs to two??
Edited by Bri, 05 January 2005 - 02:45 PM.
"I read about the evils of drinking, so I gave it up." "You gave up drinking?" "No, I gave up reading..."
