The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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Regas
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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Well Done :)
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by CloudDancing »

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIghrxxh ... re=related

"Trapper Wind? Trapper Wind are ya in there?" A voice, loud and unruly, drifted hollowly.
It faded with a clop of wood-heeled clogs, a shy shuffle as the girl came down the stairs with a load of dirty glasses and mugs, her eyes big and hooded, looking around to make sure she wasn't disturbing the family that lived down below.

Our Inn, our home.

"Just comin' down to do tha' dishes Missus Trapper." The girl, the serving girl, smiled her face, warmly filled out from the leftover fare and the warmth good solid work provided her. Trapper squinted dazedly up from her fletching and shook her head with a curt nod. Trap could'nt remember the girls name again. Her catlike gaze swerved to Windsun, playing with bits of feathers and some badly crooked shafts.

Love welled in her heart watching those baby-hands clench and curve much like hers did once over Jira's tools of the trade. Jira One-Eye, far far away in the Marches, who would not come along, stayed to keep his watch over whatever he winked on secret about with her Auntie Mee-Maw.

Trap extended the tip of her tongue and licked a sinew, twisting it to a point and tying a layed knot to shrink and bind her arrowpoint in the shaft notch. "''Course Windsun, we ain't ever gonna know the real story behind your Grampy and Grand-Grandma eh?" Her eyes twinkled, but oddly it was with a trickle of melancholy. With a twist and a tug she hid the loose ends inside the bindings and scooped up Windsun, to cuddle him in her arms.

His bright baby green-eyes glittered, she smiled, seeing a bit of his papa there, a catch of sadness in her throat. She coughed back tears again, a sooty shake of her hair, long and raggedy.

My son, blessed of the Earthmother. MY son.

The girl scrubbed industriously at Trapper's hated task of dishwashing,"did that Elf come back Missus Trapper?"
Her stormy eyes narrowed, "No, he don't come by here no more as far as I can tell. Jus' a misunderstanding, no more no less. I wish...I wish..I wish"
Trapper paused, her dark face shadowing.
"Wish what Missus?"

Trapper looked around the room, cozy and tight from the rain. The heat from the oven keeping back the mold, the sound of the waves batting the shore, and the calls of the longshoremen towing up the line. She looked to Windsun who had quickly popped the end of her ponytail in his mouth and was chewing on with a apprasing look on his toasty-brown face. She looked to the bed, where it lay, slighty mussed, a vauge imprint of large head on one pillow, a curly beard hair, clung to the wool coverlet.

He HAD been there last night, she was sure of it.

"I wish bad things never happened. I wish every morning I could wake up like this, with the knowin' that he would be right there. Or tha' Windsun would always be safe and grow up to be a strong good man in the grace of Chauntea. I wish I didn't have to live in fear that one day, i'd look up and everything I held dear in my life would suddenly be gone. But ya know what that is like dontcha?"

Tears swam in her eyes. her soft grey eyes, and Windsun started to look a bit upset to at his Mama's dire emotion. The farm girl, she walked over and squeezed Trapper's arm.

"Missus Trapper? Trapper Wind! Ma'm!." she shook her as Trapper's eyes glazed over, staring into the distance.

"All that bad stuff is over Missus. Ya got friends here. Nothing bad is gonna happen, all that stuff with the zombies is over..you said yourself..and me family, we have a nice place in town now, nice and safe. And the pay I make is plenty to take care of us. It might not be the farm Missus Trapper but it's hard times. But we got a roof over our head, good food, friends, and well I got this job! Tha's pretty lucky. We all been blessed."

Trapper Wind, stood up a little taller, looked at the scrappy girl. "I suppose so girlie. I feel pretty lonesome tho' Ever since tha' incident..with the Elf, I felt pretty much like dirt-trash. Lett ain't here, my Elf friend Zalanthe ain't here, and I don't wanna burden Madeline thinkin' i've gone weak. But,well, I been drinkin' without him. The silence is deafenin' Where could he be? It's been, well,you know how long it has been. I can't even remember..." Her voice was punctuated by stifled emotion.

"Can I make you a bowl of stew? Or some nice hot tea?' The girl looked for some simple cure for the big lot of empty weighing on Trapper's shoulders.

Trapper Wind, Ranger, Inn-keeper, and Mother, shook her head. She patted the girls cheek and slid upstairs, popping Windsun into her Mother's strong stout arms, gave her a kiss, and slid out into the night.

The cliff, that evening had sung out to her. A few weeks earilier she had discovered it with friends,and simply thought she had not seen a grander place in the Isles. But that night the stars curved around in a shimmering bowl, whipping wind tore at her hair and tugged at her cloak. Stars, the sparkling of Anial's eyes. She stared up wondering what bit of the Windrider's power could wrap her up and blow her back to him. She leaned on her bow, the gorse-covered outcropping rippled with wind.

"Windy nights, are His glory.." and so the prayer of the Windwalker intoned on the rare occasion they found one another.

Poised there she watched the sea crashing in plumy sprays, forceful, demanding, and unrelenting, turning stone to sand. The distance, a deadly fall among jagged rocks. She perched there her grey eyes flashing up, down to the moon-illuminated waters, and up to the crisply trimmed sky, it's frosting of white lights. Trapper closed her eyes and remebered the feeling of falling backwards, how she crossed her arms tight to her sides, and simply rotated her body through the air, to land on to her feet.

How good it felt to be in control then. His green eyes glittering on her body, watching her as she fell and sprung to race along the rooftops. To be one with him. To pretend she was special.

Oh how I loved you in that moment. And my soul, sang for utter joy, to the seven winds and we were an affront to everything you claimed to hold sacred.

Her eyes snapped open as a playful breeze shifted around her.

Silence of course. The Gods never spoke to her.

And through her mind scrolled ghost after ghost after ghost, people she had loved who left her behind, and times lost for simply the loss of time.

"Why am I not dead?"
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by CloudDancing »

EDIT: I thought I was retiring her...but then things happened..which I will detail later.

((It is over. A year spent as Trapper. A dream that ended three months ago and I just haven't had the ability to let go of her. A lot of people claim to not make characters like themselves but I fear my subconscious is not so steel-belted. I wanted to make a female version of a under-dog hero, a scoundrel, and a fighter. Some people thought that she only had one function, even after that aspect of her personality had been cemented to the love of her life.

What defined Trapper was her relationships with her friends and when this in-game relationships because impossible to maintain in real life due to time constraints, well I could not continue without them and maybe them w/o me. Trapper is a victim of the happy ending she could not accept WAS a happy ending. But she lived while others faded and fell, because of her friends, faith, and her love of life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uiCRZLr9oRw))


Finding Home
Thick scarves wrapped Windsun the baby, brown and fretful in his swaddled bundle as Trapper Wind held him in her arms under her coat. The ship rolled and bucked through the frigid seas. Lettinus the massive bard, dwarfed his woman's light frame holding both of them steady.

The hooded dark-haired wench clenched her eyes, rubbing her face into his chest as he covered them in his cloak and lowered his head to sleep on a sack of beans. Windsun wailed a bit, and then silenced as exhaustion rolled over him and he clenched his little eyes shut to sleep.

Trapper's mind rolled back that ill-fated piece of paper. It was an ad she had read, the brother of the brother of a friend of the Elf Song bartender had passed it on to Lett during a raucous drinking session. He had passed it to her, as they lingered in Bergerost.

Excitedly Trapper and Lett had looked to Windsun and then to each other. It was decided that yet another long journey was in order. It was early Fall and Trapper could not think of a better way to travel. So without a note to the last of her companions, as she had told them it was her intent long ago to buy their own place, they packed up their meager things and headed out.

So bedraggled and be-drearied the Hold family arrived on the docks. Lett roped up a chest on his to his burly back. The baby howled as Trapper squinted and led them to a mossy building made of rough hewn logs. “Right here Lett,” and she plucked the sign from the door that said “FOR SALE.”

****
A month later, as ranger-turned-innkeeper swept dust out the front door, her hair caught up in a bandana, she looked up into a wide expanse of dusty wool skirt with a salt-crusted hem and starched patched apron.

“Well ya jus' gonna stand there are stare like a gogglin' fishwife Peanut-girl?”
A deep-woods drawl curled familiarly and she bounded up to hug her well-padded Mama.

“Ya came Maw-maw..! So good to see you!”

“Ya working hard me' girlie?”

She bustled in, swinging up her wee-grandchild in a circle and sliding a be-ringed hand to pinch Lettinus's broad rear. He yelped and blushed, dancing away from her chubby fingers beringed with cheap gemstones.

“There ma' dearies, we are a family again. Let's fire up tha' oven and get some good victuals cookin! This it gonna be a real good place, I knows it.”

****
Deep in the dream-shadows, a rough voice growled out an order as ship rocked two and fro. The sounds of seamen rang through the air.

“Land Ho!”

“Skaug Ho, ya mean,” as raucous laughter filled the air and the salty sea dogs cheer increased tenfold.

The pain swirled, darkly now, that voice, so rough, so intimate.

“She's no good ta me now like this, there, take her to the Cantrev Corwell and drop her. Right outside the old mossy Tavern. Do it fast. Don't leave a trace.”

The door blew open, just as the sun was setting, a stormy tempest simmering down over the ocean and whisking leaves and trash in whirlwinds over the docks as sailors struggled to tie up their sails. The shadow spread down the doorstep and the light flooded over the smooth polished bar.

Trapper looked up from pouring a beer and left the tap on to overfill, her mouth dropped open.

“Zala?”

****
“Deep in the cozy basement of Trapper's Hold, the strange flaxen-haired human priestess scrubbed her hands up and dried them on a clean towel.

"You can sit up now, Trapper."

Trapper rolled up out of the bed and pulled her dress straight, her cheeks burning pink over the rich tan of her skin.

"So what is the verdict Miss Persey," she smiled sheepishly and made them a cup of tea over the hearth, then pulled out the honey jar.

The girl smiled softly, "Well it is as you suspected but there is something more." The young pale creature smiled softly and whispered to Trapper lowly.

Trapper blinking rapidly, then sedately went upstairs and hung her sword up on two nails over the fireplace. She attached a small note to it saying, “This Sword is For Tahir Whence he Returns”

******

A haunting voice called from the Mists, the echo if a strange mournful bird. She had heard it before and gently she took her friends pale elegant hand and led her to the edge of the opalescent lake, hemmed by thick dark reeds and heavy nodding cattails.

The dark maiden clothed, her leathers, the shimmer of thin mithril chain over her belly, motioned to her friends to come forward, and then her companion began to sing. Lettinus's deep voice rang out through the marsh, faithful and true, better than Trapper ever remembered in an ancient tune created before either of them.

A soft male tenor answered floating around the water in a way no human voice could rise and echoed through the thick mists as the shaded dawn barely breaking over the most secret glade of the main island. His words tangled with Zalanthe's, one answering, one calling out, lonesome and seductive, as Lett's signaling verse faded in awe.

The heavy thud of water to slim ashen oar became louder as a boat, ashen white, the hull curled to a swan's head, appeared, trimmed by Elven archers in greenwood livery, bows aimed at the two hooded figures.

Trapper spoke softly, her eyes welling with tears as a priest, clothed in immaculate white silks, scrolled in golden embroidery spoke softly in Elven. In his hand, a staff of the golden sun, steadied him as he reached for the white clad priestess.

The pale elf, smiled vaugely, taking time to hug Trapper. "I..I...I..will always love ya Zalanthe. And if you ever have need, my home will always be yours. The road has been long and the way..never clear..but you belong safe with your people..forever and a day."

Out of her earshot, Lettinus too whispered his farewell, his blue eyes sparkling in the rising dawn sunshine. Trapper sobbed a bit more. She cried for all the times she had made mistakes and was unkind, she cried for loves lost, and she cried for the loss of so much time in her life and the fading memories

As the boat drifted off obscuring Zalanthe, the chosen of Corelleon, to the sacred mists and what lay beyond. Trapper sniffed deeply and faded into the woods, a piece of her heart, forever held in another hands. She took up Lettinus's wide hand in hers and walked south toward home.

"So, I think it is about time, I hung up my bow, and started getting involved in some business. It's time I took advantage of our sit-tu-ation here. I been formulating a big project right under your nose Lett."

"What sort of business Trap?"

"I suspect the business of that promise I made you undah that tree waaaay back in the Silver Marches?"

The bard paused and thought, reaching to stroke her hood back and look deep into her smoke-gray eyes. The ranger smiled; still a half-smile as he bent her back for a deep kiss; one that was a long time coming. Trapper admired his handsome steadfast grin beneath his rugged beard, Lettinus's eyes twinkling with the persistent span of his love despite all the troubles she had put him through and whispered, “Twins.”


The End

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Last edited by CloudDancing on Sun Aug 28, 2011 8:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by NESchampion »

((Wish I would've had more time to interact with this character. Good luck on your next!))
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Uniskorne »

*wipes tear* Gods, I'm gonna miss those three!
As someone who has told multiple people that we never play far from ourselves, let me say that I'm glad you didn't go far. Trapper was rough, Trapper could be crude, but, deep down, as she showed a few times to my multiple PCs, Trapper was real and warm. If that's any indication of the soul behind the pixels...
*sobers* Now what is Auntie Fox gonna do? :P
Great story, from start to finish, Cloud. *applauds*
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Hawke's Portrait: https://sta.sh/06i8l21ndu8 (open in new window)
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Adanu »

I liked Trapper, it's too bad I only saw her twice in my time here. Ah well, I look forward to your next PC :D
First Character: Zyrus Meynolt, the serene Water Genasi berserker. "I am the embodiment of the oceans; serene until you summon the storm." Zyrus: http://tinyurl.com/9emdbnd

Second Character: Damien Collins, the atypical druid. "What? Being a stick in the mud is boring. No pun intended grins"

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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by dergon darkhelm »

Well played. Trapper was one of those PCs that you really felt the "humanity" of. Take a bow before you exit stage left, Cloud.



And please enter stage right soon. :)
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NWN2: ??

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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Swift »

And thus more of what Zalanthe could consider normal fades into the mists of time.

Farewell my friend. Farewell.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Burt »

Bumped into Trapper once or twice and was pleasantly surprised that a 'legendary' PC was so unique and unexpectedly interesting. Look forward to your next jagoff.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by CloudDancing »

http://youtu.be/qoYbVosc93U

I Wish You Were Here

“I hate ya! I simply hate ya! You bloody left me alone when you said we ALWAYS be together. Love forever, love for all time. Always dammit. AND I STAYED TRUE! Where are ya now huh? I don't SEE yah?"

The industrial sized mug went up with a huge schurlp and thudded down the to the oakwood table with a angry thunk. A yell went up from the drunk women at the table. Farmwives, caravan guards, passer's by, and even drunk waitresses had paused at the Friendly Arm with Trapper that evening. The sooty-haired woman reigned them all in with a friendly cheer and then made sure they got with the drinking and with the bitching.

"And then I loose tha' babies. Bad blood the healer says. Too much being in the presence of the holy powers when I was fighting undead or sumthin'.” There was hums of sadness and consolations. The bar woman hugged her and then others spoke of their own losses.

One lost a child through the winter ice. Another child lost to Hobgoblins during that horrible winter that lost so many loved ones. And then there was another's husband had one wife in Baldur's Gate and another in Nashkel and being that both were the hardworking types never traveled.

“Men,” she howled in a slurred exaggerated pronouncement. “are scum! We best just just forget about em. Tha's right forget-about-em all!”

To which, Trapper Wind, who had fallen off the proverbial charred and aged whiskey barrel then unceremoniously fell on to the table face first in her bowl of stew and passed out.

The kindly farm ladies and so forth drug her down to the baths of the Friendly Arm and stewed her properly down the resultant juices. Then ceremoniously someone poured her sober remains into a purple velvet bed and tucked her in with a kiss on the forehead.

The sunlight blared through the diamond panes as Trapper groaned.

“You know you really should be at home taking care of your son.”

She groaned again rubbing her eyes at the voice and then looking up blearily at the strange new face making loud unpleasant sounds.

She stammered, “Druids at Corwell are bettah parents than i'd ever be. He's special and i'd just mess em up. Plus Mama is watchin' him.”

Armor creaked, “you'd think, with your skill, if Lettinus was to be found he'd be found by now. And what do you plan to do if you do find him hmm?”

Trapper rubbed at her crusted lips, “Gonna punch him REAL hard, Jendari. Then he'll come home to me. Right? He'll come. I know it.”

Jendari, the warrior priestess, pulled up Trapper's bangs to stare her in the eyes. Her lighter skin and Uthgardt features sparkled a bit in the morning light. It was a reminder to the shabby ranger with her dark muddy skin that under all that metal was a woman whose looks rivaled most fancy princesses.

“He won't come back. I know. I've tried. He is not coming back Trapper Wind. Now you can keep getting drunk and making the gnomes richer, or you can start working with me and help me build something that will make a difference. What is it going to be?”
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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"The Rashemi view life as an unending series of challenges to be faced and overcome. They place a strong emphasis on strength, whether it is physical strength among the folk of Rashemen or magical prowess among the Thayan Rashemi. Respect and status must be earned, and a great deal of emphasis is placed on individual accomplishment. Childhood among the Rashemi reflects this cultural outlook, as youths are subjected to greater and greater tests as they mature. Admittance into the ranks of their elders must be earned.

The most common reason for adventuring among the Rashemi is the coming-of-age ritual known as the dajemma. Rashemi youth are encouraged (required, in the case of males in Rashemen itself) to go on a yearlong journey to see the world, after which they are accorded the status of adults. Naturally, some fall into a life of adventuring during such a trip, although most eventually return home and settle down. The Witches of Rashemen have their own reasons for setting out into the world, including the recovery of ancient magics hidden across Faerûn and the effort to oppose the machinations of the Red Wizards of Thay."

http://arelith.wikia.com/wiki/Rashemi
The Rashemi Way

The glittering gold beads danced as Sweet-bean reached up with her chubby brown hand. “Mamama..dada..baba!” the small brown toddler gurgled from the her perch tied to the shelf of her mother's bottom. The ground was hard and the tribe trudged along the unforgiving trail to their new hunting ground and their summer village.

Tall black horses of burly shoulders made their way delicately through the chaparral, their hooves stirring up dust in soft puffs. “Yes my little one, be good, be calm,” a rich soft voice purred to her and patted her as their horse moved along underneath them.

Her eyes rolled and she exclaimed “Dada!” as he rode, shirtless, his black beard thick and beaded and his long hair braided down his back.

His skin was dark as the shadows of the forest and his eyes, like Sweet-bean were a pale gray. The wise women called them “spirit eyes” and for the warrior prince, the last of the line of the Rashemi nobility, he was held in great renown.

The horseman, grim in the saddle, faltered for a moment at the exclamation and looked to the child winking softly at her then back to firmly scanning the horizon for danger. Though little Sweet-Bean had not been a boy, the Rider had accepted the child with a great howling even then and his pride warmed Navarra back to life in her birthing sweat.

The small toddler kicked her legs with the equine sway and yawned sleepily. Her small head fell forward to her mother's brown back covered in a veil of black softness and all was dark. Her mother smiled softly, the strength and resilience of her body bending lushly with the gold tipped braids she wore.

She was Navarra after all, his desert rose and chosen from all the tribes for his mate. Her light eyes too caught her master's and she was rewarded with a heart-pounding grin of confidence that reminded her again that she was the first wife despite her mixed blood with the Mulani and the soft fierce whisper behind his storm.

The other two wives and the three concubines of the household had not been so impressed with the Rider or his wayward travels. Their citified presence was a new arrangement as they had been won in a duel at the death of their last master, a merchant prince of the Thay.

Navarra had tried to impress them that her love was a kind Master and would never force himself on them. She firmly told me they just needed to do their daily work and all would be well. Yet still the wives idled and forced the concubines to wait on them which made her life all the more troublesome in a working caravans.

Navarra's dark fingers and breasts ached as the horse navigated the rocky soil. “Why can't they just make the best of it?” she wondered miserably. The young head woman sighed and she bravely tried to pay more attention to the trail and kept one kohled eye on her Rashemi mate.

In a rough cart drawn by tough mules, the more delicate cadre of wives rode under a black cotton awning, their faces swathed in the same. They rode behind the tougher tribesmen and women among chests and tent poles. The fact they could not ride caused some disdain, even in the slaves. By not working hand to hand with all the camp they also became a source of frustration. The mood of the clan was not pleasant on either side with their sobbing, turning away of goodly foods, and general shoving scented hankies against their faces when they spoke to any one.

Snake-like the oldest muttered and showed them some coin. “It is all arranged. I know a personage of power in Pyrados and they will take her down a few notches soon enough. All as the crow files he will come and take away what is most dear to our captors. And we shall be free again.” The others nodded in resolve, faces stricken with the hard ride, the swaying, and their lack of stamina for the nomadic life.

Thus the wheels had been set in-motion for tragedy.

Yet the little Sweet-bean slept peacefully for the last time in her life wrapped in samite like the bun they nicked named her for. The child of the Desert Rose and the Plainsrider would never know their strength. She would never be taught the spear or to ride and shoot as if she and her mount were one living creature. Little Sweet-bean would not dance in the Festivals or be wooed by the awkward advances of warriors with thick black braids. And she would never learn that inside her was the potential to be the most powerful of mages or her true name or bloodline. Most of all she would never meet her brothers and sister that came after, conceived in sorrow but loved more and more for her loss.

For this moment though life was a warm happy sway of colors, good things to eat, smells of fierce strength, tears in discomfort, and that night the soft warm goatskin while cuddled against her mother's heartbeat. Behind that, the press of the muscled wall of her Father as he protectively cradled them while stars upon stars shifted through the enameled black dome of night.

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Navarra

The Plainsrider Jharsh
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Bonus picture of the ruler of Thayan Lands, Szazz Tam (how could he reproduce? eeeww)
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by CloudDancing »

*Trapper packed and checked her list. As dawn came bright and resplendant she headed over to the new Temple and let herself in the pub. She stirred a bowl of porridge and nibbled Ale-cakes while writing as, Jendari entered, her morning self brightly unblemished in the beams of new sun.*

People come to me these days with a lot of bad news. It's nothin' new. It is a rough world and we know those of us who throw ourselves into the storm might just get blown away.

But nothin' shakes my faith as the last few months did and it is all I can do to sit in my room or linger in the garden thinkin' I should be with Windsun my boy, lookin' at the white-trimmed sails of the merchant caravel that could take me home forever.

Because this world don't need people like me. And heroes don't let a wagon full of women and children get blown up. Heroes don't die up on the glaciers under the thumb of Lady Frostkiss. Heroes don't loose everthin' they love, then their mind, and turn up dead like a pile of rags in the forest picked over by goblins.

Madeline, my old roommate, the one who I went into the Underdark with, is dead too. Except she at least died a hero's death, savin' her baby. First, I don't know what seems more far-fetched her havin' a baby or her passin' on? But I figure that baby is going to need a nurse, a mama-friend, and Madeline's husband is going to need someone to cook and clean for him. I know some hearty girls that would be glad to do so. And I got a home for them too if they had need.

For some reason I gotta find meanin' in some of this. The Sword's Edge is dead to me. They lied to me and they don't want ta take the light path. Gods and Goddess help Gwen waking up in that den of macho bastards. Now that Alyra is gone with her low news and bright armor life suddenly seems meaningless.

Knight Commander Alyra, she said they call her. Each time I see her all those titles seem to move her a bit farther away from me as if that incident in the Underdark wasn’t enough.
And yet I wonder when my day will come and my number will be up.

So its natural I see those Moonshaes beckonin'; the gentle hills flecked with green and stone and the druids singing over the fields as they put them to bed for winter. I miss the sea air crisp with salt spray and rank with fish guts right outside the Hold.

And I miss Windsun, bright eyes like grass, dark hair sprinkled with leaves and moss, holdin' in his hands some little thingie for Mommy to see. And the sound of the sea pullin' up and pushin' back as you laid in bed at night curled in the arms...

Lett, wherever he is, I need him back. I need those strong arms around me, with out it, I feel like I am flying apart. I miss his grin, his ready laugh, and how he could eat and eat and still be tall but lanky rack of bones. Oh how mama worked feed him out.

And how we loved. So wild and hard I swore my back would break from it. But seems like every man I touch dies or everyone that touches me dies. And I had been wanderin' around all this time tryin' to find someone worthy of that touch. And then he died too before I could call him more than a friend. Cruel Windwalker; I keep travelin' and I see no reward but more blowin' around and being tossed into the sky.

Wisdom comes with experience though, I’d almost say with age but as I’ve noted, I’m still not that old. And somewhere there is a bloody indestructible man because sweet Zalanthe is not gonna want to visit a wrinkled bar-back in twenty-five years or so.

At least Zalanthe lived. I blame the spells she has or maybe she just gets sucked up into the sky and plopped back down wherever Corelleon suits to. I feel her I think watchin' me, remindin' me she's still there, like the moon, glowin' late into the night. And most definitely when the moon is full Bud is howlin' for her, his Elf friend who fed him puppy meat and took care of me when I mourned.

I know there are women with children, husbands, and households my age since they were 16 seasons. It makes me feel small when I think of how old Zalanthe is and the lives she's lived or even back with Lett who was a good ten years older than me.

So that is it. Whoever reads this someday will know I ended here at this date and this time my journal since I done ran out of pages to write. I learned to read and write with this journal. I recorded the deaths and now two births of our progeny.

Oh how we lived when we lived. But assuredly I plan to live a whole lot more.

Your Friend Always,

Trapper Wind
aka Peanut Alelass
aka Maeri Aelaes (which is just Peanut in Elf-talk . Mee-maw called it my true name.)
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CloudDancing
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by CloudDancing »

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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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Nice Cloud. Shaundakullians all over have a rough deal.
Jagoff.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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“The Trackless Sea is the source of a
long series of harsh storms during the
winter months. These storms generally
move out of the northwest, often pushing
waves as high as 30 or 40 feet before
them in huge, gray swells. The storms
begin in fall, often as early as late Eleint
(September), and continue through the
middle of Ches (March) or occasionally
into Tarsakh (April).

The seas are virtually unnavigable
during these seasons, so the Moonshaes
are almost completely isolated from the
rest of the realms during winter. Once
fairer weather arrives, however, the
surface becomes blue and relatively
smooth—the Moonshae’s highway to
the world.”
-The Moonshaes, TSR 9217 pg 18


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-IzVUOtMHa4
“Follow the storm, I've got to get out of here...
Follow the storm as you take to the sky...
Follow the storm now it's all so crystal clear,
Follow the storm as the storm begins to rise...

She seems to come from everywhere
Welcome to the dragon's lair
Fingers running through your hair
She asks you out to play...

In all of nature's sorcery
The most bewitching entity
Hell can have no fury
Like the rising of the storm...

Follow the storm, I've got to get out of here...
Follow the storm as you take to the sky...
Follow the storm now it's all so crystal clear,
Follow the storm as the storm begins to rise...”
- The Storm by Blackmoore's Night


A hooded woman, dressed in an overlay of expensively scrolled dark brown leathers, and discreetly trimmed in mithril chain at the seams, clung to the ropes at the Clipper's bow.

The rise and the fall of the bow as it cut rapidly through the waves really was one of the few things that kept her from being seasick. She could feel her feet leave the ground as the ship fell into the next swell and looked toward Skaug with furious sense of urgency and a twist of relief.

For weeks now as the winter chill set in and the darkness blocked out the sky with opal clouds by day and early dusk, her mother and her had been at each others throats. And a mere week ago Madeline had come to stay with them, alone, and Trapper was at her wits end.

“Maddie is behavin' like an old woman! Her man said all the healers can find nothin' wrong with her magical or in her soul and her body his whole. She wanders around the Inn playin' with Windsun's toys and picking wild flowers. If I didn't have the gate guard in the knowin' she'd wander out on the roads and get killed. Me Mama's telling me to be patient. I don't want to be patient. I want ta slap it out of her. She's a smart woman! She's the bloody wizard of Calidyrr!”

A finger was laid to her lips, a glass of wine pressed into her hand. With a nod she took it and sipped, her face red with frustration.

“That you should do. This Ffolk living is making you soft.” His finger playfully poked at the expanse of her own softness playfully. “You spend to much time worrying about what other people think of you, Trapper. Always trying to please,” his rough deep voice growled good-natured.

The ranger turned innkeeper stared at him half-annoyed, “So I should give her the rough treatment eh? Make her pull her own weight like any child old enough to stand on two feets and sweep a floor?”

“If one of your crew is not pulling their weight, it is all you can do, except throw them overboard, Trap. Now if you don't mind, I have some weight that needs pulling,” his voice exuded it's usual gravelly charm.

She drained the glass quickly and her red tongue licked up to catch a drop on her nose,“It's a wonder you got so high uppy-up so fast you old scoundrel.” Her soft lips met his briefly, traced with sweet red wine. “First, I want my money for those bottle of Everquist I gotcha,” she loosed her dark hair from it's pins and let it fall past her shoulders down to her hips, a veil of ink black.

“Second...,” she moved to undo the laces of his black leather vest as her eyes traced the many white scars, his always shaved pate, and then meeting his calculating dark eyes, “I want a ship of my own. Nothin' too big, just fast enough to make the run to Baldur's Gate in little more than a week. You savvy my old friend?”

Subsequently, this query was silenced with a swift twist of the hip and then a more than gentle shove into the elegantly attributed captain's berth draped with the stolen silks and linens of unnumbered countries.

____

Trapper Wind returned home with a lazy sway to her gait and her air of confidence mysteriously returned. As she stepped off the ship and saw her supplies were ported to the Hold she turned and noticed something odd in the wee small hours of dawn.

There was a man standing outside Trapper's Hold with a crying baby. Trapper blinked. No. There was a man in stained but expensive clothes holding a squalling baby wrapped in a green silk blanket outside Trapper's Hold with a miserable expression on his handsome face. Baby spit-up covered one shoulder and he lunged forward pressing the child into her arms. It was Jonathan, Madeline’s partner in crime for producing said baby.

“Whoa whoa whoa there!” She jostled the baby around in arms and looked at it to figure out why it was crying. It had markedly pooped. And Trapper rolled her eyes taking him by the arm and guiding him off the docks and into the Hold.

“I can't take this anymore! She doesn’t even know her OWN CHILD! Dammit Trapper. I just did NOT sign up for this. Why won't she heal! It was a wish spell, sure it was minor but still! I almost had to try to kill a Dragon. I mean I did kill a Yuan-ti with Hully but still. We worked so hard to get her back so she could be Rosa's mother and so I..I..I don't know what to do, she is not the woman I love anymore.”
“Uh-huh.”

He kept venting as she flipped the baby Rosa on to the fireplace rug and changed the diaper with big clean dishcloth her Mama tossed from the bar. Trapper lifted her up and was hugged behind by Windsun. The dark-skinned half-elf four-year-old knelt down next to her and peered at Rosa, pressing his dark finger into her pale baby fist with a smile.

“I think sometimes she is just doing this because she hates me and wants me to leave. Is that it?”
Trapper looked up from the two children and sighed painfully.

“I don't know what to do about you two. I think ya reached out all you could, Jon. And if she doesn’t know her own blood and sinew and all magic hasn’t helped we are pretty much stuck with what we got. So I figure if you go away for a bit you won't cause her harm. You might do you some good even.”

Jonathan's face crossed with conflict and he spoke softly, “I never let my guard down for anyone but her. I've never loved any women like her and I fear I never will. But it hurts me to see her like this with those dead mindless eyes, ignoring that we ever loved, that we ever had Rosa. I need some time away Trapper. Can you take care of Rosa? Otherwise she will go and be the only child in that huge castle, all alone and not able to see her mother.”

Trapper looked to the rosy infant, her pale blonde peach fuzz growing in as Windsun played with her and made faces. She half-smiled in a calm sort of way.

“Of course. But I am not going to be easy on Madeline anymore. I got some thinking done and if she wants to live here, she can't go nodding around like a daft fool. I swear to you if I have tie that broom to her hands, she will learn to act like a human again. She's going to mop, scrub, and sweep till she either remembers she's a person or she gets so sick of the crap work, she remembers who she is.”

Then she hugged the man. It seemed the right thing to do at the right time. Hugged Jonathan good 'till he seemed liked he relaxed, released him, and brushed off his lapels. “You go on and take some time to walk-about like I did. We will always keep a candle in the window lit for you at the Hold. I hope the Windwalker shows you the light beyond the storm Jon, I hope he does.”

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