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

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

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I lost the logs on this, the dialog was precious but this is all I can say

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QqCq0eGFW5w

The lily flower, delicate, and forbidden, bloomed in unrepentant and unexpected promise. A roll of the old familiar die, the confirmation to proceed with the seduction.

Trickster eyes, reddened, she peeled off her leathers upon the bed, the shadows on deer-lanky naked limbs, blue tinged ivory. The door hung open, long legs splayed for all to see, a lank shadow, wolf-grin, pack-mate lingering there, eye shine glittering.

Terrible music; the bard kissed his flute violently, wildly trilling, his breath tinged with drink. Music conjured visions, visions of wild satyric dances gone frantically awry to desperate bacchanalia. The lips shimmered mere hairs away, hovering, a honeyed voice drifting over the frantic fluting.

“I can help you forget, but you have to beg.”

The shadow behind her grinned, and waited breath held. But the blue-skinned girl shivered up and stared bravely into the wolf-bitches eyes.

“I don't beg.”
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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Pa

The wayward ranger ,Jira One-eye, wandered along down to Queavar with two things on his mind, gold and how he would spend it on his favorite girl there and a bit of fine Luskan Brandy. Standing shorter than most men, he was wiry, wearing patched leathers of green and grey with a faint sign of Elven make despite their shabbiness.

His slightly-slanted dark brown eye twinkled warmly next to his brown leather eyepatch as he strode widely along the wide wagon path favored by the costers and caravans. His bow swung back in forth in his lean hands but then his rakish grin faded to an odd frown as he froze at a strange sound to the left of him, just off the road. The wind shivered suddenly like a waterfall through the trees rifling his spiked dirty blonde locks and he heard it again.

He whistled to his hulking wolf-bitch Daisy, he set her to search the bushes and stayed still on the watch for danger. He noted as Daisy leaped into the brush, several Ravens burst from the copse of bushes. He leered greedily and headed into the deep ditch. He spoke roughly in his dry tenor, “Daisy-darhlin' tell Daddah ya' foun' a nice rich dead man no one else got ta' eh?” Instead he came up upon a pile of rags, caravan trash, and a recently used campsite beyond the ditch.

However, nearby this, his Daisy was nosing at something brown and oddly sausage shaped, digging around it with her paws furtively and whining. Then the sausage moved with a ripple and Jira leapt forward and dug madly at what he now recognized as a twitching child's arm, the small brown hand sporting bloody torn nails. He suddenly reached cloth and with a yank pulled up a burlap sack, half-wrapped around a brown-skinned little child, naked and bruised, where some one had attempted to bury her in a shallow grave.

A huge purple bruise swelled on the child's dark face and distorted her thick black braids, carefully oiled and beaded, that covered her small head. Jira examined her, quickly frowned in disgust as he noted the damages, the torn edges of her mouth, the bruises, and the worst of it, too horrible to block from his mind for the rest of his life. Strangely, he noted, the violations and burns were caused by magical means. He gulped back a rise of bile in his throat and lifted her light body into his arms cradling her tenderly.

“Oh Daisy my girl, this one is so ill-used. What kina monstah col' do this a lil' girl?”
Jira reached down, put his hand to his heart, and his other hand to the child whispering a desperate prayer. Blue light covered her and Jira, as the power of his God, the forest Lord, filled them both. Suddenly the child shrieked, her strangled scream roughly echoing into the forest, she nearly jumped from his arms if he had not held her tightly by instinct. She jabbered away frantically in some strange dialect he had never heard and flailed at him, trying to kick his shins with her tiny feet, and claw at him with her ruined fingernails.

Jira shook his tow-head, his one eye observed her clear gray eyes. He tried to gentle the wildly flailing kit in his arms with soothing words offering her a drink if water from his skin, “Hold on ya little girl, gonna take ya to my great-great-Mee-Maw post haste.” He grabbed his pack, wrapped her in a wolf fur and tied her to his front where, as she drank, she quieted, then clung to his chest. With a careful eye he measured the weave of the branches above him, he whispered a prayer to Silvanus, then he leaped up and began a harrowing dash across branch to branch to reach his destination.


Months later, little Peanut shrieked in utter glee as her cropped inky hair blew up in the breeze and she fell through the air, the funny feeling in her stomach rising up at the descent, and then shrieking again as she was caught and lifted up again, the green leaves and dark trunks whizzing by her. Her bare feet were tucked into his belt-straps and her hands clung to a quiver strap and a sword strap as she rode posting on her father's lean back, tucking her body close to him as the situation demanded.

A treewalk with Jira was about her most favorite thing in the world, so she thought. It was about as fun as playing Dire-Bear hunt around the fire in her mother' Inn, him and his drunken friends growling and slavering after her, her throwing used trenchers and mugs at them in pursuit, or nearly as much fun as heading to the swimming hole to tickle fish from the water or for him to happily toss her diving into the pool. As Jira turned back to her with a delighted smirk he was thankful his Peanut-girl, child of the woods, had forgotten quickly that day and never mentioned it again.
Last edited by CloudDancing on Fri Mar 19, 2010 9:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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Full Circle

It had been a cranky trip for one so successful in all aspects in contrast to other trips of the past gone awry. Seven people, six barrels, a promise of getting in good with the Sheik she so sought to learn more of, lots of Gold, and a chance to help the starving people of Settlestone all dangled in front of her like a a carrot for a mule.

But nonetheless, the crankiness had started early on, she had noted, the twins, Myo and Kyo were heavy with sighs and sullen expressions. Daertho wore an expression that could only be interpreted as a priestly resolution to remain perfectly calm despite the arrow-like glances of his precious Kyo. Corio sneered at Louen. Louen looked boredly around and lifted his barrel of provisions daintily as a princess sipping her tea, huffing at the effort.

Just nearly into Rivermoot, a strap broke and they paused in front of Marcus's house. Louen glanced toward the old orphanage, sighing heavily, “Of all the destinations to stand by. Can we no longer idle here?”
Corio growled, “Does the memory of the slain children haunt you still? Dawn was haunted by it as well and why Lathander refused her prayer to aid them.”
Trapper's temper snapped beyond good reason and she growled softly, “Shut it, Corio.”
Louen narrowed his eyes, “I raised them and watched them all die one by one.”
Lett, turned his burly frame toward the building, “I thought it was a Dragonslayer that ran the orphanage?”
“That would be my father, Lettinius. Now let us be done with that subject”
Trap spoke hurriedly and headed out, “Yes, let us just focus on the task at hand, good folk, task at hand.”

Before reaching Fourthpeak, Bud's wolfish hackles had gone up and Trapper got wind of Ogres waiting in ambush just yards in front of their party. She motioned to the warriors and strafed over till she got a clear shot at the bumbling creatures. Between the rain of arrows and stones and the skill of Daertho and Corio, the first three went down quickly and all were unharmed. As Trapper drew forward toward the tower watch, she looked to the side absently at a slight sound. There below was a Buck Ogre, nearly a giant. Observing her above it charged, unable to climb the cliff, it tore around toward the back and toward the twins.

Bud growled and shot down the cliff sideways and intercepted the Ogre, then leapt for it's throat, making contact, biting deeply, blood squirting. The Ogre roared and batted him away but critical damage was done. Charging backward, Corio and Daertho hacked it down as Trapper finished the job with a few carefully placed arrows. Bud limped back to her, his tail broken, his back leg crumpled, and she fell to him nearly weeping and laid her hands upon him with a prayer summoning up the power of the wind rider. Corio and Lett followed to heal the poor wounded animal as well and soon he was preening proudly around, his silver fur shimmering, clotted with blood.

The miserable mood did not decrease from that point oddly. You would think they would have proudly strode forth from Fourthpeak, Louen's gift of food to the poor traveller's heartening them to their cause, but the sullen looks remained and everyone stayed on edge. They approached the cobbled path to Settlestone, a large group of Black Raven's stood blocking the path, unaware of their presence. Trapper glowered miserably. The Tribesmen were no doubt hungry too. Yet they were undoubtedly enemies of Settlestone and the Knights of the Silverguard. She hurriedly took command, reluctantly used a scroll she had been saving for such an ambush, greased the road, and took the poor bastards out with a quick surprise attack as Corio came down hard from his high vantage to stand off with a Shaman who shifted into a bear.

It was over in less than a minute. The tribesmen all lay dead many arrows sticking accurately from their necks. Trapper strode past the massacre frowning and walked toward the city, the complaints of the twins and Corio echoing behind her over the killing of defenseless humans. Her face tightened. In Settlestone gold was handed around. Debts were paid. Rested, she looked back at the few that would be taken back to the Gem. “Look, rest of the trip through the wilds, please, no more talkin' I can't bear it.”

Upon arrival to the Gem, she threw herself angrily into the Golden Oak and into favored room of her finest companion though the lank Wolf himself had been absent for days. Forehead to forehead, dark skin to light, she and Zala sat in the hot bath, the moon-elf scrubbing the road dust from her hair. Zala reached around her neck and stroked the elegantly-crafted pure silver gorget that encased Trapper's neck and the fire-agate cabachon that adorned the front admiringly then unlatched it from the back laying it gently near-by. “Garlus finished it. Aniall's gift to me. You know that is the first real jewelry I evah got from any male?”


The sunlight through the stained glass colored her white skin, her elegant pale ears sweeping up to delicate points, and yet contrasted with the tense woman before her sienna skin, her round ears adorned by thick gold rings, her lean figure ripened even more full-blown and soft by good living and her features very much that like the illustrations of the silk-veiled women of the East, yet utterly not of the east in any other way. “How many moons have shown on ya face since I met ya Zalanthe?” The inky-haired ranger's drifted in the oiled water, as incense steamed up in a curled plume, her words sung in a whiskey-rough voice.

Zala's sparkling green-eyes rolled up and then back down to catch her clear gray eyes gently, the soft music, the Elven lilt still clear in her accent, Zalanthe spoke, “Six moons I think? Seven at most. I can not remember what the sky was like when I first came to Silverymoon, everything was so new.” As Zalanthe said this, a very warm smile spread across the ranger's lean face, and to Zalanthe's vision it seemed like a smile of relief even as Trapper Wind spoke again, “How long since Celendur died?”

“A year and a half now.”

Her brow furrowed denoting her thoughtfulness, “And Anial lef' us nearly a week afta' we met you. And it has barely been four weeks since Rhothomir lef' you.” Zalanthe nodded, her gentle smile fading, then rising again to speak, “We have known Lettinus for nearly a five month and Laque for a little less. And the twins for nearly the same time. And Daertho...”

Trapper interrupted her gently, “I knew Daertho since before even Aniall and I were close. Some times I forget that the Feywarden helped me a great deal in the before times, which is rather ungrateful of me if I think on recent events. He has a great patience. little pride beyond his work, and a dedication to his teachings. I think that Laque never has seen that and maybe some people don't quite see not havin' seen that constancy as long as I. Thankfully, I think we made our peace, now tha' all them lies are cleared for now.” Trapper thought back, the many faces living and dead, swirling in her head, the people she now knew deeply and others had no idea what truly lay within in them, the misunderstandings, and the great moments of glory

As the days progressed and she grew tired of her “chaser trick” and behaving badly for the sake she was expected to do so, she knew now it was time to fling out the cards she held for Zalanthe to see, “You know Ani' left me one more gift I have yet to receive...” As Trapper spoke haltingly, Zala's pink lips twisted, then smiled gently, her words caught in her throat, as her long pale arms slid to wrap around her belly and hips then rested her pale cheek for a moment on her chest. Zalanthe's gentle hand made an affectionate circle reverently over her heart and as she opened her mouth to speak, a knock was heard on the door and she silenced keeping things secret for yet another while.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Blindhamsterman »

Good read as always :)
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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The next installment will happen on BG. But it has not happened yet. But I am greatly excited to see how it turns out as I have left everything up to the die roll and the discretion of wise and steadfast DMs there. :D

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Luj1W7Qo ... re=related

The Fall and the Spring

Suddenly, within the humming chaos of the summoning chamber of the undead caves, Trapper Wind, stood in command of a ragamuffin bunch of irregulars and two of her closest friends as well. The rest of the fighters, unknown to her; she struggled to understand what command meant. Order them not to die? Order them not to kill the ghosts that surrounded them to no avail? Her eyes teared in the vortex of dust and wind as she watched the Feywarden, Swordsman, and twins force their way forward into the fray and disappear from their sight into the inky depths.

From that point on, she grew hoarse from her own screams. Just, as she found herself ready to nail an arrow into the back of the wise-cracking archer team, her scrolls nearly gone from saving their lives times time over and over again, as well as Zalanthe's and Lettinus's healing powers exhausted, the relief team she had sent, came running back in and slammed the exit shut. “Trapper they are outside as well!'

The gruff ranger's heart fell. They were in need of bullets, arrows, potions, water, scrolls, and supplies. In the back of her mind, a voice cried, “Where were they all? Why did they leave me to this? This is not my task! I am the arrow, not the bow!” Yet she remained steel-eyed and just as she was about to utter the retreat and leave the Elven to their fate, Daertho burst through the vortex, pale but alive. Her heart soared and she called the retreat.

Even then the dead fens, kept some from returning and she ran back dragging a Red Knight and his companion from the fen much to Zalanthe's horror. “I cannot leave a man behind,” she stammered, her eyes furtively looking to the fens, helping the wounded across on the ferry boat. She stumbled across herself exhausted more than expected and as she sat against the stone wall of the Hold, she passed into an exhausted sleep.

When she awoke a few hours later, Sir Rathlan and Sir Severan walked among them, praising them with kind word and bestowing gifts upon them all. Yet, as Trapper's eyes grazed across the huge crowd, a burly broad shouldered male, his handsome bearded face, was missing from the group. Her heart strangled in terror, her breath coming in pants. She tugged at the nearest person quietly as they chattered away, “Where is Lettinus?”

They ignored her urgency. She began to speak louder, “Where is Lettinus?” No one knew. In here mind the pictures ran over and over again. Escaping the fens, running back for Jonas and his woman, helping all across...no. Not all. She had left a man behind. Her ears screamed and her eyes swam as she scrambled back to the boat.

The goodly Elven and others followed as the ranger threw herself into a boat and ran straight into the fens. Daylight thankfully was a better guide, but she soon found her frantic behavior led her to only dead ends. A call went out, echoing through the cliffs. He was found, barely alive, and laid trampled in the mud. But alive. And the day was then truly won.

------

The hooded ranger stood overlooking the Gem just outside the Moorgate, a lone figure, tall, wrapped in cloak and cloth. She was pretending to be quite drunk in fact for the sake of the unwelcome presence of Louen Therin, the morose and stifling warrior, who stared down at her as if she was some unwanted growth upon the city he thought needed removal.

Naturally, he had come at an inopportune time. Trapper had come there as her usual signal to reconnoiter with her paramour, her prime and utter paramour, for nearly seven months, and a long waterfall of words were dammed up by her clicking tongue. The rain fell down, splashing upward in arcs in the gray night and at some point she cracked inside, staring at Louen chatting back and forth and forth and back with the patient Wolf.

His light form was loose, the tanned tight grin never showed his urgency, but his eyes flashed over to her where she stood balanced and poised on the edge of parapet often. Finally in utter frustration, she tossed the bottle down and spoke, “I am afraid I must bid ye gentleman a fare-the-well.” The lanky woman than tossed herself into a back-flip off the parapet, falling nearly 60 feet, and landed lightly as a cat, but just a little more heavily than she had planned.

Not even looking back she slipped across the roofs of various establishments till she landed on that of the Bright Blade Brandished and hunkered down for a rest her breaths coming in thick pants. Predictably, he found her as always. He reached down and took her chin in his leather gloved hand and kissed her seductively; again she forgot why she had been mad and the words she longed to say became garbled and thick on her tongue.

“You and I, we should go away from here for a week or several even. Not now though,” he spoke softly seeing the sudden urgency in her eyes, “I have business with an old friend. But soon. Be ready?”
“I am always reddah, Laque. You know tha' by now.”

Oddly that trip never came. Whether by the designs of greater forces than her own will or bare truth shifting warm semblances of love into realizations, lovemaking and her notions of love itself shifted with the turn of the season.

And it all rolled over her in waves, love was not this feeling. She had rolled in jealousy for good long time due to it, watching him dance with her white Lady, the tiny would-be pirate, and any other loveliness, no matter how exotic, that would tempt his drunken fancies. And she began to think perversely, how many women had their been? How many had he drawn into the illusion of being his closest companion? She knew the dance well enough being a practitioner of said arts and suddenly she knew, to him, this was all his truth and utterly for the rest of the world, (and Gods know a great number of intelligent, capable females of strength and prowess) a broadly-spread and self-serving lie.

And then, with the growing evidence of her own folly shading her in a aura of good-liness and life, she took him down into the wild green and told him the truth. Out in the Silverwood they lay, his hair now mussed like a young boy, his eyes glazed with playful ardor, he rolled her into the grass with a sigh of relief as always. And as they watched the sunrise over the wood and in the chorus of birdsong, his eyes twinkled in delight even though her hushed words were not exactly expected.

But even with those words, the understanding still stood. Never blinded and never jaded, she knew from time after time, his unflappable nature, his slow deliberation of every action toward the arts of his own pleasure and the sword. He swore he loved all women, but that he had never met one that had made him fall in love. And thus it made no sense to stay. He did not love her. Not as she knew love once to be, or as she desired he might feel for her their entire travels together.

And that most secret conversation was left hanging till the culmination of their creation, or so what it seemed was their creation. For the ice-maned wolf slipped away in the night, like the Fey themselves, effervescent as air itself, a child of the green on unseen feet, into the lovely arms of her most dear and beautiful friend, Zalanthe, the heart-shard of Corelleon himself.

When she arrived back at her room in the Wayward House, the warmth of the wood-fire was not even equaled by her reception there. And true love, the deep abiding love, opened it's arms to her and enveloped her. Lettinus, the faithful and true, resolute to match her chaos, held to her tightly as they set free to fly, riders on the maritime winds to a new destiny.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by johnlewismcleod »

Beautiful, Cloud...thank you :D
I seek plunder....and succulent greens


[Wynna] Chula Lysander: [Talk] *Shakes head* I've been in worse situations. He was just....unjoyful! *stomps foot*


Retired PC's: Torquil, Gwenevere
Former PC's: Rugo, Flora, Rory Mor
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

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(After all this time I feel so lucky to have a Dm spend this much time with me or Trapper's friends. People with admin priviliges, feel free to edit typos for me, I probably will be asleep for many hours soon. Mick, Dan, Swift, Kel, Jmecha all made this happen as well as everyone else who helped me Rp this journey,)

As they stepped on the nearly thick grass of their campsite by the Rauvin, the dark-skinned Wood Elf shrugged off his tunic and kissed the sparse coffee-skinned human woman, pulling her closely to his slightly taller chest. Her love, her Aniall, then started to strip off her leathers with little hesitation as Trapper slid her hands over his lean chest and around his wiry back desperately. Then he grasped her hindquarters to lift her easily off the ground and up to wrap her legs around his hips as he pushed her firmly against a thick poplar tree.

“Oh Gods,” she hissed and tangled her fingers in his smoke-dark hair, burying her face in his musky neck. He whispered hoarsely, “Nay, merely a male and all yours.” She stared deep into the Elf's glittering green eyes, the weariness of the days wander faded as passions rose, and pulled him close as she could, “I can't bear it any longer. Tear me up, tear me apart,” then buried her face in his shoulder. Fiercely the Elven ranger held her tightly as he claimed her again, his and his alone.

Later, she lay curled in front of him, sleeping soundly on thick wolf furs, their campfire in smoldering embers. The shimmering dawn barely broke the horizon in pink softness, as he stroked a leaf in her thick bangs away from her forehead, and looked to the west with a resolute frown. The ranger gathered his things, slid his twin blades into their sheathes, and he motioned to the half-grown Wolf pup to stay. The lanky pup stopped wagging his tail and settled near Trapper cocking his head to the side. Reaching the cobbled road, hAniall fell into a graceful stride heading toward High Hold and his duty.

“No! Don't go! Not again. Please.” Trapper stifled a scream in her sleeve and as her swollen belly prevented her from sitting up, she flopped back into her nest of pillows. Zalanthe shifted next to her, then opened her eyes from her reverie, and stroked her hair with a worried look,“Is it time yet?” The night before the baby had shifted down as Zalanthe massaged her expertly, a great lightness filled her, and she had felt unburdened nearly.

A slow ebbing warmth faded over her gently, easing her tension and seeping into her very core. The vision of the glowing shrine of Chauntea drifted on the inside of her eyelids and her tension melted and she looked over to Laque, who stared at her with an inquiring look, fully armored at her other side. “Just a dream,” she winced deeply as a tight cramping pain, gripped her nethers again, the even pace of every few hours, now shortening. “Fetch Father Richar and Lettinus, tell them it is soon.”

Tera Shiningeye walked through the temple and into an odd scene. She had come at the bidding of the Father, to attend yet another birth in the temple. An fine elegantly-dressed Sun Elf male, thumbs tucked casually into his belt regarded her critically and a very tall and burly human male with a short dark beard stood to the other side, a stern but nervous smile on his face. The Elf opened the door for the Father, and she saw a fantastically lovely female Moon Elf who supported a very pregnant Easternling woman while she cleaned up and around her dark legs gently as any nurse over a water filled bucket.

The midwife blinked a bit, harsh but expected scents testing her nostrils, and and the dark-skinned woman slipped on a clean robe of black silk, shedding the soiled red velvet one to the bucket as well. The Moon Elf slipped out the door and returned shortly with clean cloths, her wide eyes measured and calm. Tera smiled patiently, everything was as it should be, though the dark-skinned woman's speech quickly revealed she was not of any foreign descent, but rather possibly a dock worker.

She smiled tightly, the mother stoically pushing, her friend clasping her pale hand in hers. She watched and waited, suddenly the Elf whispered a soft but urgent chant, and the dark-skinned woman's tension, seemed to fade away even more, her pushing became firm and focused. Oddly enough her friend paled after this spell and seemed to waver with every subsequent contraction until the baby had crowned and the midwife slipped him free.

Tera stared, a deep sorrow rising in her chest, “The baby is quiet.” The dark-skinned woman struggled weakly, stammering, “No. Do something!” The midwife's brow furrowed and a panicked look washed over her face. Startled, Zalanthe looked up groaning and panting deeply. Steeling herself, Tera started rubbing the baby vigorously, “Come on little one, it is not that bad out here.”

Trapper whimpered, “Zala do something, please?” Zalanthe blinked, stared at Tera, then started to whisper in Elven. A sudden, violent cry erupted in the room. Trapper's clear eyes rolled frantically and she began to cry harshly. The midwife's look of concern melted into a tearful, relieved smile. Zalanthe rose up to stroke Trappers dark hair, her panting slowing as she continued to murmur in Elven.

Outside the room, the witty banter and the bets between the males had ceased. As the infants yowl echoed through the temple, Lett relaxed his balled up fists, grinned, then clapped Laque on the shoulder. His ears twitching, Laque lightly hopped up with his fist in the air. Cheerfully he prodded Lett, “When do I cut the cord?”

A bit later, tears dried, Lettinus gently stroked the strings of his lute as Trapper nursed a tiny brown-skinned infant, looking over him critically, her brows tightly together. Zalanthe sat near her, her hands tightly across her chest, her face serious. Laque set his wine bottle aside and he drew his sword slowly then curiously took it by the blade as he moved closer to the mother and child.

He reached carefully with his left hand for one of the little one's arms. Trapper whispered softly looking up at her friend, “There we go, he is a hungry lad.” Lett paused, “Hungry; that is well.” Laque lightly pressed the hilt of his sword to the child's hand. The newborn baby looked up sleepily with dark green eyes, his mouth tight around his mother.

“Laque, I think he's too young yet.”

He spoke gently in Elven, his eyes shining, “Get used to such boy. For it will be where you hands will be spending much of their time.” Lett laughed softly and plucked out a gentle lullaby. Laque then picked up his bow, a gift from Berendil, finely scrolled of Elven craft. He lightly reached out with a smile and touched the baby's hand with the tip of the bow.

His voice, oddly soft for the first time in weeks, whispered in the Seldarine tongue, “This will be your other best friend child, best you meet them now.” Trapper watched curiously, an odd sad smile crossing her face. “You be grateful I am not handing him wine already,” he smirked. She placed her hand over his, “No, that is one tradition I shall not pass on.”

Lett and Zala slipped out, him helping the strangely weary Elf to her well-earned rest. Laque looked up and Trapper Wind, was firmly and resolutely asleep. The words echoed softly in her mind, “I would trust her with my life” he had said to Merrin during their deliberations. As she drifted, she had echoed those words to Zala and Atalia, “I would trust him with my life.”

The Sun Elf lifted the baby from her arms, regarding the infant, dark-skinned, nearly greenish even, barely pointed round ears, and slightly slanted emerald green eyes, with a deep smile and began to speak softly in Elven, walking him slowly around the room.

“Listen to me little one for that which I tell you I tell true as I was told and all sons of Corellon are told. You are blessed by the Court of Kings and Queens, the Stars themselves will forever shine upon you as you live in their grace. You are to grow strong and swift of both mind and body, and forever live with the freedom of an indomitable spirit.”

He smiled brightly and lightly kissed the little boy on the forehead.

“What you choose to do with the good graces and blessing granted you are your own choices to make, though know that any who would seek to stop you or harm your loved ones are your foes and never should you hesitate to fight such.”

Laque spoke softly again..

“Many many moons ago, maybe even before the time of this world there were the Seldarine. Amongst them then and still to this moon Corellon was their king. Corellon loved all of his brothers and sisters more then i could ever tell you, and most of all he loved his wife. It was during these early times that the many gods off all the many races divided up all of the worlds for their people. Corellon choose for us the woods because such would be a beautiful place for us to run graceful and free between the trees.

Garl Glittergold, God of the Gnomes chose strange and eccentric places for his people because they are strange. Garl though is a great god and I will tell you of his masterful prowess and trickery latter.

The Hin Gods choose for their little people the rolling hills because such were fun to roll down and the right size for them to live in.

The Dwarves got the mountains because they are strong and stubborn enough to carve homes out of rock; silly Dwarves.

The Orc Gods though choose the Swamps and barrin place of the worlds though to make his people forced to endure horror and grow strong.

All were pleased with their place, except the orcs who wallowed in misery and grew strong with hate and rage for all of the other peoples and their homes. Their god was pleased with such and grinned as he made plans to use his people to kill all others and take their lands for his own. The orc god though is merely an imgae of his people though, which is to say not much of a planner. He thought to take the forests first though he did not know how.

That is when she came to him with a plan, the Elven King's first wife, who's name we no longer speak.
Yes, she went to the Orc God and she shared with him a plan to take the forests from Corellon. You see child, she was an evil queen and wanted all of the King's power and glory, so she shared a plan with the Orc God to see the King slain.”

He nodded to the baby who was watching him intently with unfocused eyes.

“I know I was surprised myself. Word reached our King Corellon that his beloved was captured by the Orc God Grummish Corellon set out swiftly to find her and through his own grace and the aid of the other Seldarine he found her held captive in a great fort the Orcs had built. It towered high and wide, a jagged jumbled mix of rotten trees and other foul things. From deep inside the Fort Grummish yelled out taunts that angered our King and provoked him to violence. Corellon though was no fool, he knew better then to rush the Orcish Fort. He instead reached down to the forest and found himself a strong and yielding tree, and using his long flowing locks as string. He fashioned the first Long Bow.”

The baby yawned with a soft sigh.

“Yes he did, right then and there he created a long bow. He then stood back and plucked arrow after arrow from the forrest and let them fly at the sound of the Orc God's voice. The arrows arched over walls and flew true before the poorly worked Orcish walls. From once taunts were yelled, now came the Orish howls of pain.The Orc God in his rage forgot his trap and plan to lure Corellon in and instead he charged out of his fort to face our Lord and King.

In a flash Orcish Axe and Elven Blade crashed and sang throughout all of the lands. Corellon grinned and danced as the brute howled and yelped. The orc god though was a monstrous beast though and in time managed to beat down our King, down to a knee even. It was then that it appeared all was lost, Corellon's true love, Queen Sehanine Moonbow shed a tear from the heavens. A tear that washed down over our King and washed away his pain, and renewed his strength to fight for his loves and freedoms.

It was just that moment when axe was raised high that King Corellon's blade flashed up in a brilliant arch cutting free the Orc God's eye. Oh how he hopped and yelped in pain, dropping his axe, and running away clutching his tusked and scared face. That early day when all people were still new, and the gods themselves were not yet old, that was the day that the Orcs became our enemies.

That original battle still goes on to this moon and will continue on for as long as there are moons my friend. For the people of the gods are all created in the image of their gods and the Orcs will forever be murderously jealous of what others have. And we elves will always bravely fight to defend that which we love and cherish. What about the Fist Queen you ask?”

The newborn baby burped and closed its bright eyes.

Laque gently shook his head, “No, there was no way for our King to know of her evil heart, for her smile was the finest and her words the sweetest. The tale of her later betrayals, I will tell you another day.”


Feigning sleep, it was then that Trapper Wind decided she would tell the truth. While she had listened vague thoughts of subterfuge for the sake of the child, even for her sake, drifted though her clever mind. Her heart had warmed at the sight of her good friend, child held protectively in skilled hands. Yet with heavy sadness, she knew Laque's bright flashing eyes, were not the piercing eyes of Aniall or his newborn son, Windsun Blackbough.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by johnlewismcleod »

Wonderful stuff, Cloud...thank you :D
I seek plunder....and succulent greens


[Wynna] Chula Lysander: [Talk] *Shakes head* I've been in worse situations. He was just....unjoyful! *stomps foot*


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

Post by CloudDancing »

Actually all the stuff in italics and pretty much everything Laque said, Jmecha wrote himself as did all the other characters/Dm NPC quoted, even Aniall. I just put it all into contex.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Lucifer »

Awesomwe story..great ooportunity to RP and enjoy the brilliant RP of others.
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by Blindhamsterman »

great read, kudos to you all for it :)

and great telling of how the orcs and elves became enemies from jmecha there :D
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by CloudDancing »

(this was all my fault. we let ourselves get to overconfident. ignored past truths. ruined a lot of plotlines. yea gloat. even I get my high points capped over by the same stuff every other player does)


Oh how he kissed her. He kissed her and spun her around like a feather, light and soft.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFGGnPBRukA

Laughing she buried his face into his broad chest. He still loved her. He loved her with big belly, he rejoiced in it, and he held her closely. After so many months, he returned to her, grinning behind his dark beard, and then singing her songs as she tapped her foot nodding as she lay prone in the big brass bed in a soft deep tenor slipping to a rich base.

The smiling mouth suddenly melted away and the scent of frying flesh and hair, rending of bone, popping of flesh, panting, screaming, blue lovely eyes wild in death, blood, and then silence.

Screaming she awoke, grabbing at her sheets, tearing the thick hot blankets swaddled around her. Someone had tucked her in tightly. Someone had changed her bandages. She was in the guild hall of the Sword's Edge. She reached to her belly, but it was a bit more rounded and scarred with pale marks from the child she once carried. Her chest throbbed insistently.

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

Post by CloudDancing »

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJWurqWTeSk&NR=1
(refresh for typos)
From The Journal of Trapper Wind

<in Elven> On this day I bid faretheewell to a friend, lover, and companion, unparalelled in the world as it is.

Some people speak of love as a fierce thing or a brutal act but for him, I say nay. For he loved this woman, whether by the sweetest lies or some terrible truth. He loved in a way that broke my heart deeply when I learned I could never truly touch him as he touched me or that his loving words turned to insults just as easily as the turn of a leaf in the wind.

The dance itself was our greatest joy I think. The flight of my arrows, watching him perform his skill and finesse in ways no one ever did get to see but I. At nights, and there were as many as the stars in the sky it seemed, he would take me in his arms, bare as babes, and whisper his stories from long ago. There heart to heart, he would whisper the lore and language of the Elven into my empty brain like so much nourishing milk. And all I wanted forever was the road, the hunt, and the dance, held one to one, wolf to wolf.

In the good times, he made me believe I was strong and smart, and as he said, the finest excuse for a woman he ever knew. He revelled in my growing skills and we laughed deeply in our travels through the Marches, minds full of gold, glory, and wine. Every precious second, I revelled in the sight of this bright man child, his rare elegance, and his gentle hidden kindness.

And then one night, he disappeared. And did not return for a month with no word. When he did, he took me aside and we made love one last time in the woods, sweet, slow, and indulgent as always, spiced by his lovely stories..and then he was gone.

I'd like the tale to end there for Laque and I. For until then he was a bright jewel to me. Something that I could always find underfoot when I needed it most. For four seasons I was possessed of a most wonderous unpredictable friend I shall never have again.

For some reason, a she-elf took his body and burned it away from all of us. I don't understand the ways of Elven or the thoughtlessness of priestesses just handing bodies out to whomever says friend. But what is done is done.

All I have left of him is this deep memory of him, his green lovely robes, drink in his hand at the Golden Oak, his elegant hand extended to me. And my thought, me? Not some blushing Elven beauty? Me, here in front of all, you chose me? That hand, so many times, extended, just to me, was loved beyond words, as he invited me to each dance deadly or kindly.

And this beautiful gift I had prepared, in hopes to revive my old loving lively Laque, my pack-mate, my Alpha, is not for naught. I stand beside the head of the pack now. I like to pretend sometimes he is standing beside me, and he knows I will make good his dream.

<scribbled, the page tear-mottled and waterstained> Gods, when will this madness stop? I see him everywhere in this place..the tears soak my pillow, the babe tastes it, and wails like a ghost. Why was'nt I there like last time? Why can't I stop weeping?
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Re: The Life and Times of Trapper Wind [NC-17]

Post by johnlewismcleod »

Brilliant as always, Cloud...thanks :D
I seek plunder....and succulent greens


[Wynna] Chula Lysander: [Talk] *Shakes head* I've been in worse situations. He was just....unjoyful! *stomps foot*


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

Post by CloudDancing »

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjFaenf1T-Y
“...My research on the History of the Sword's Edge Guild Hall since it's acquisition has turned up yet another strange anecdote on this landmark's thickly complex history. The figure listed as Wind the Trapper was interred with a journal which my associates acquired through a few bribes. Previous anecdotes have listed a “dark-haired woman of great beauty” being a figurehead in the guild, as well as a cause of a great conflict as it is implied she was consort to the first guild leader, Laque...

...However timelines, according to the family correspondence of two other deceased members of the guild previous to Laque's abrupt departure point, seem to not support this being the same woman. As well in one passenger manifest, found in the archives of the Gate's Quartermaster, a personage known as Wind was listed as arriving in the Gate with a bard called Lettinus Hold after said person had long left the Gate. Due to the constant influx of refugees and mercenary death, again it is hard to tell who is who for many took on false names.

…As well in the notes of Ragnus Ironlung, a ranger called Wind was listed as one of his charities and reported as “stored safely in the basement 'till she whelps.” This Dwarven vernacular demonstrates that the woman was pregnant. The subsequent finding of an antique enchanted cradle stored in one of the many secret rooms of the Hall supports that indeed a baby was raised here.

...If anything, we have found odd reports of the Guild being consistently occupied by unusual women,most of great beauty. Of those most obviously noted were swords-women, like the well documented Cautherine as well as reports of many stunning visitors, such as "glowing Moon-Elves in plate armors" and so forth. And it is recorded in city records the Hall itself was owned not only by the Dwarf, Ironlung, but owned as well by the Bardess Gwendolyn, a well know fixture of Baldur's Gate in that time period.

...Yet despite the notation here of accusations of possible harboring of criminals, kept women, and armored cut-throats by a few suspicious neighbors, the mage Merrin is definately listed as the third leader of the Sword's Edge by the city logs. I have yet to determine the fates of this generation of the guild...”

From “Notable Landmarks of Baldur's Gate”
Day 3
The old fella I talked ta, the one with the scarred face in the Blushin' Mermaid, said it was the darkness of the Underdark that would drive ye crazy in the end. Insofar, not knowin' day from night is not rella' the problem at all. It's the constant odd scents only deep old earth has, fillin' my nostrils messin' with my sense of all directions.

We had to leave all our metal armor behind. Just got it too. Gonna be real upset if some sheepherder finds my mithril, and three sets of fine plate lookin' around in that hole.

As I sit here, writin' I wonder if we ever is gonna find our way out of here. I can barely get a word in edgewise, for all the time I have spent keepin' people alive, I still got no say on where we go and what we do.

Today, we found another fae-re-zee, a green glowing crystal of the earth, just like the one in the cave back in the Gate. Mads was taken like she always is with magical things and I whispered a prayer to Chauntea near by in hopes she would caress Windsun's fuzzy black head for me.

Day 4
Today the man-boy, he suddenly announces he is a priest of Shaundakul. First time I have ever turned a priest to my path. I guess He just imbued Tahir, with all his divine powers. Now he just suddenly knows everything there is about portals now in a way no amount of my pathetic prayers can touch. I wish Zala was here. Least she could teach him how to be a proper healer..couldn't she?

Then we saved an Orog, an gray orc-like creature from death by working our way through a herd of Bapit-taurs in a warren of caverns after we hopped the red portal. They went down as easy as an Hobgoblin despite their magic. But somethin' troubled me greatly.

We took the armor and belongins' back to this Orog, avenging his General somethin-er-other. And he laughed in our faces, said we was stupid, in that weird Dark Elven dialect. He said we din' have any idea of honor. As he promised he said he would tell some leader of his of us and wandered off. Maybe he was right tho', all of us is out to save our own skins in the end. I see the signs. Just like before.

The general's sword was a fine piece of work. I took to it the minute I saw it and drew it. I actually felt like smiling for the first time in the darkness there. A fine weighted, smooth-cuttin' piece of the finest craft I had ever seen. Blade was stuffed oddly in a rough hilt, but something a good smithy could repair in a wolf lick. Now, i'd been wielding Betsie for a long time, so this new one danced in my hand. All those long training sessions with Leif and Berendil as I mastered the heft of the blade and all those sparring sessions with Laque jumped to my memory as I held this blade and let it fly light.

So while I am smiling at this fine sword, Tahir asks me for it. One day as a priest and he wants the pretty lovely sword. Well, I could not refuse him. I knew it would do us safer in his hands. I ain't no front-line fighter. And to argue in front of Alyra would be embarassin' But, like the old timer said, the darkness makes ya blind. And here I was, deep into the bowels of the Underdark, in a cloth climbing jerkin, and doin' my best to survive.

But this rage wells up inside me from all the insults he has said to me over Windsun and I want to punch his insistent arrogant smirk off his rough face. I want to punch and punch till he grovels down on his knees and shows some respect for what I am.

But that old timer, he warned me I might get sick from being down, separated from the light and winds and green goodly things. He warned me I might be tempted to do unseemly things. An though I just wanna go home to my lovely boy and Lettinus's strong arms, I know these ones would possibly die without me. Course I could be wrong.

Day 5 I don't think I can write about this, but in case this is all they drag back of me, Windsun needs to know. I nearly died today, just like that time at High Hold. First we got stuck in some ancient Dwarven trap left by Dwarves killed long long ago. This opened us up to the Dwarves throne room, an ancient place sealed in by debris and cave-ins on either side.

Second, I had a mass of Githankyi come over me. We had warnings and we had a goodly amount of time to get in position. But well, we never make an an order of marchin' so I simply fell back on my training, held my ground, and fought 'em off. I found myself side by side with Louen, standing my ground, but since I fired the first true shot while the rest were scrambling, they all came at me and took me to the ground tearing out my guts.

I saw the light come over me and Alyra's beautiful face again, glowing like a beacon as I jammed a potion in my mouth and hit the ground knocked out into the black-black. Just like that first time. “Trapper Wind, get in the back like I said.” For a moment, Berendil's lean face and beaded locks blew in the wind, his face in my mind, his voice reminded me, he had my back, just like in the old days as I gazed at Alyra's flashing bright eyes.

So I lived again.

Day 6
I gotta stem this rage I feel. Time is drifting by faster than they know, I count the hours in blinks of my eyes and beats of my heart it seems. And whilst they dwell and ruminate indecisively, I want to keep moving. For whatever that Orog tells his boss, I feel it won't about how honorable we are, just that we have some prowess, are soft as children, and perhaps they should come relieve us of our lives.

Day 7
We got movin' from the portal chamber and I have seen the way home. Nonetheless we have not found the answer to our to mission. So Alyra says we gotta explore more. I get it. Tahir is nettlin' Madeline to no end. I sort of made her tell him the truth so he would get it out of his fool mind once and for all. Oddly enough I think he is shapin' up to be a fine priest. I don't feel like punchin' him so much.

Day 8
Fought a horde of undead. I made good work of it, since they happen to be somethin' I am used to. From there, we opened a door at the end of the tunnel and found ourselves in a Gnome Village. 'Course it is in a huge cavern. They have mushroom gardens and all these funny houses cut into the rocks. And they are all bald. I have thought that a person could make a fortune in hats here, or perhaps small toupees'.

Master Grimmallet, a Gray (?) Dwarf is their leader. Fella is a bit senile but I could sit and listen to his stories for hours, Seems to know everything about anything down here. Is comforting to see and talk to someone not from our group. Funny guy would only help us with we came up with an name for our party. For once we didn't argue.

(scribbled at the bottom of the entry)
They told em..he told them Zhents everythin'. Even mentioned Barid, like all of them Baneites know each other. Gods, we are in a mess of trouble. We got enemies on every side of us. And some of em even know who we are. But praise the Wind Rider, we know what is causing the troubles and we can go HOME!

Tahir started acted funny after he argued with Madeline and Alyra over going back and completing her mission. He said he was no use and wanted to go back with me. He also gave me that blasted sword. Said he wasn't worthy to carry it. He would'nt take no, so I traded him Betsie, the sword I had since I was just a half-starved urchin, bought with ill-gotten gain.

Day 9 Alyra won't go. And she won't wait one week for us to use the portals to hop back to the Dukes and Ashemmi. Just five days and we could have new orders or even be told to let the Mage handle it. I could even some new properly-trained blood to take up the infernal slack. But she won't go. And the rest just stare like farm animals and nod as if this was a Sunday trip this Drow woman is proposing. Instead of doing her duty, she wants us to go and help the Drow. And they ain't the good kind neither.

Day 10 The Dwarf says the war is on above us and we didn' stop anything. It's too late. And my Windy-sun is up there somewhere and I don't know if Lett is with him or Nanny or the whole of the Gate is still there I don't understand how she can refuse our orders and our mission. So I must do what my gut says is right. They need to know what has and is happening down here. And this place, is our last chance to get home in a timely manner. Grimallet has said going through the tomb again is folly and I will take his word for it. No use trying to scoot past all them undeads when I still need Tahir to open the portal for me.

I am curled up here in a crack beyond the mushroom gardens. I don't want to look at their faces anymore. The test is over. And I know what I must do. I think the Wolf would approve too, Gods rest his soul. We are under Souabar nearly, so if I go out on foot, I am gonna have to pay them Zhentarium for ride up to the surface and then hitch a ride back to Baldur's Gate. Still I must get this message through. Wait. Alyra is calling me again...what could she want now? I told her...
- From The Journal of Trapper Wind, Windwalker.

Trapper screamed above the clattering cacophony of battle, “Good-bye Tahir!” It was all she could think to say. If had wanted to come with her, this was his chance. She tried to throw some things back at them as they held the line, the portal opening blowing back their clothes and hair wildly, the blue mage lights illuminating the crisis around them. She caught his eyes with a bright flash of feral eye-shine for a moment and threw herself backward through the portal, firing one last arrow to whirr past them and embed itself into a leathery ghoul.

Her body soaked from the brief swim, she stumbled dazed into the portal chamber and caught her breath staring at the four possible directions, then with a tight expression leaped into the blue portal leading into the root-entangled and mushroom festooned cavern. She pushed forward, her mastered senses extending into the sounds, smells, and sighs around her. The way was clear and she walked right through the glowing green portal Tahir said would lead her home.

With a hard thump, she landed on her feet, her knees bending to take the short fall. First thing that hit her was the yellow glow of the midday sun. A deep rare smile came to her face as she raised up her arms and let the light fall over her and she threw back her hood. With a quick look about, she took off rapidly, possessed with one thought.

The ranger's soft leather boots floated over smooth gravel and then joyously to cobbled stone and finally to firmly cut stone streets. She did not relent in her speed till she at last flung open the door. Then she ran past Nanny Boothe who stood with her mouth dropped open and a pan of cookies clutched in her plump wrinkled hands.

Tossing her pack to the side, she carefully lifted the sleeping black-haired baby, from his ornately scrolled cradle, and gently took into her arms. She ignored how much he had grown and rolled onto to the great soft bed. Before he woke her again with his babbling and chubby hand on her cheek, she laid still as a corpse, her light eyes cemented on his small brown face, quietly sobbing in relief.
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