Letters of the Light (No Warnings Yet)

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CloudDancing
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Re: Letters of the Light (No Warnings Yet)

Post by CloudDancing »

*The young paladin leaned over her desk, the books and scrolls lifted and pushed over on to the other bed. Crumpled bits of paper covered in blots of ink littered the floor. She took a drink of wine, moistening her soft, pink lower lip, then bit against it, her face twisting with vexed concentration*

I thought I'd write you a poem since you read to me your letters and lines.
I hope this makes sense.
Because this rite, never could be explained in all the texts I have read.
Nor could the knights ever quite describe the great love Lathander had kindled up inside his vessel.
And there will never again be a time like this,
a time when we are so young and so wild.

She would gulp at it hungrily,
as if she may never again sup at this divine table.
For that threat was constant in the coming of dark times.


And then there is you. Black-lined, black-rimmed, black-furred, with scars and all.
Your hands like birds, nesting between my breasts.
Oh sacred hands, twisting there, biting and plucking.
Cruel hands, sweet hands, slipping there between them.
Your mouth sliding lower, the spirit rises, palms kissed.
Your hands, oh, dark one.

Those hands ripping off her tunic,
pulling at the downy flesh stretched across her muscled body,
Breasts rise up, high handfuls; they were shaking, skin goose pimpled in the cold.
Body; a corded lank line of muscle, bone, and sinew.
The blond unkempt bush, covered modesty, cupped in hand.
All so unabashedly human.


It seemed like the first time she had ever seen her own reflection in someone else's eyes.
Those blue eyes wide and open.
Her reflection, reflected on an oil black pinpoint on a sky of blue sapphire.

She laughed, her horse-tailed blond mane, rippling in the dawn breeze.
She laughed.
It seemed like the first time she had ever heard her own laugh.
So this was the mystery!
This is what all the fuss was about?

It is you, Layla.
It was you I was meant to find.
It was you whose name is written in this book, my book of days.
It is you, with your boldness and clever words,
that unraveled this tangled, terrible knot in my belly.
It is you who is the first step toward divinity.
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CloudDancing
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Re: Letters of the Light (No Warnings Yet)

Post by CloudDancing »

Waterdeep. The City of Splendors. The Deep.

The legendary city spread out before her from her vantage.

She posed carefully against the thick stone wall of a parapet off of one of the Spires of the Morning.

In rose, silver, and gold the towers rose above the city marking the holy temple of Lathander and the home of the Knightly Order of the Aster.

“Please hold still, Sir Kross. I can’t paint you if you keep twitching.”

Her hand perceptibly flexed slightly where it rested against the rose-red velvet swath that hung smoothly over the stone. Her brow quirked.

“This is intolerable,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

But the Most Radiant had ordered a portrait of the newest knights of the order and it was her duty to comply.

She reasserted her smile firmly as these months at the Spires had been the most grand and most enjoyable of her life so far.

There was a great deal of glamour being a Knight of Lathander in the City of Splendors. People bowed. Services were offered freely. The best of city was spread out before her.

Her lips kept their firm smile, her eyes fluttered as she thought.

Now, she had friends. She had a whole legion of Knights, like herself, who made her feel supremely comfortable in her beliefs and who always had her back. And they trained her. She was now more adept in the sword that ever before. She rode with great grace. She had been to war.

Then there were the nights off, when she was dragged, then eventually lead down the curving cobbled streets, to the domain of the Sunites, into their temples to be groomed and bathed in a manner she had never been before.

And there were lovers.

The ever attentive Sunite paladin, Sir Solace, pelt as black as a bear, eyes like obsidian fires.

The Sir Dawnbright, who's bright countenance was compared to Lathander himself.

That winter night when they had too much sweet mead and the fire was so warm.

That night she rolled into the blue-black. The night she learned to relax.

As the dawn broke, she rolled from the thickly padded pallet, uncovering herself from furs and silks. She opened the draperies and knelt to make her morning prayer to the Lightbringer.

“Lathander, bringer of dawn, bless me this day. Grant me your favor. Let those that surround be filled with your light. Let…”

And then she thought of Aaliyah. And remembered leaving Tristan. And sighed as a wave of regret welled in her stomach.

Sir Johnathan Dawnbright knelt down by her side, one hand tenderly placed on her shoulder "He's said something to you, I felt it.

"John, it is time I go back. I must go home."

****

The road was long, but busy. Carts and caravans, soldiers, and pilgrims had been thick upon leaving the Deep. Imperator II tread lightly. Caine barely needed to guide the massive warhorse, he handled himself like quite the gentleman under her light touch.

Imperator II, the namesake of her cousin's massive mount. He was her first pick of the young warhorses, dapple grey with great, dark eyes. He was not an experienced mount though he was mild around children, but still fierce in battle. There had been a ceremony, though small, insomuch a wedding of horse and rider, a spiritual moment upon which they were linked, always aware of each other’s presence, aligning his emotions oddly in concert with his knight, and making the knight able to summon the creature from the aether.

He kept her company. He crushed goblins under his hooves like ripe melons. They were quite the match.

There were the usual inns along the way. And the inevitable beggars asking for gold. On occasion she was asked to kill a wolf, a bugbear, or a troublesome troll that was plaguing some small town. And she would pause for a few days and do so. It was her duty. She had to spread the light.

Her month long journey stretched out into three months. Her letters to the Spire were polite and reverent. Her letters home were urging of patience, that she would arrive soon.

Her pouch grew lighter. Helping peasants was not very lucrative and the type of creatures to plague peasants did not have much to offer in the way of spoils. The beef and kidney pies did last a good long time. And a bag of winter apples was a nice distraction from grass and hay.

And then in the distance, she saw a familiar glow as the sunset lingered over golden towers. She tucked in her heels and urged her mount into a trot.

Beregost!


****

The door swung open, snow swirled in, and a tall figure ducked slightly, then moved inside the Caine farmhouse. Armor clanked and then the thud of leather saddlebags hitting the floor.

Mama Caine threw her floured hands in the air then wiped them on her floury apron and moved to embrace the clothed figure with a thunk.

“Betsy Caine Kross! Where have you been?!”

<i>If only you knew mother. Your question should be where haven’t I been?</i>

And though she towered over her mother, Caine suddenly felt small-small again, whispering in her mother’s arms. “I have been away too long. I’m home now.”

“Happy Midwinter! ! Here you must be starving, have a cookie! And you must be freezing! Take off that cloak and armor, warm up by the stove. Virgil! Viiir-gil! Get up! Bet Is home!”

There was a collective rumble in the farmhouse of doors opening, yawning, excited mutterings, and drawers opening and closing. The family was afoot! And so the three brothers and the two wives of them and the one niece and two nephews, her aunt, and her grandmother came out of the woodwork and mobbed her quite thoroughly. Her armored was pulled off, a cookie placed in her mouth, and a mug of steaming tea pressed into her hand as she was shuffled over into the largest chair in the living room/kitchen/dining room and sat down.

“So what do you want to know?”

“Waterdeep! Tell us about Waterdeep!”

Caine smiled and pointed to her saddlebags, “Why tell you when I can show you?”

Her brother Kahn jumped over to grab the saddlebags. Caine then set her tea down and rummaged through the contents, pulling out a cloth wrapped orb.

“Hand this to Grandmama.”

The orb was handed to her grandmother. Then she unwrapped it to reveal a globe the size of a medium pumpkin. Her grandmother peered into it and soon it was evident there was a scale model of the city of Waterdeep within the glass and as she shifted it, a swirl of white snowflakes filled the glassy sky.

“You can see the Spires of the Dawn there, up by the foot of Mt. Waterdeep. They are just as they are. That is where I stayed.”

The family circled around it watching with wide eyes as the globe darkened, the snow swirled into clouds, and silver disk of moon rose over the miniature city.

“It is a gnomish invention. I thought you’d enjoy it. Happy Midwinter!”

Caine bit into her cookie and sipped her tea.

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CloudDancing
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Re: Letters of the Light (No Warnings Yet)

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The Commission

The door creaked open, the hinges were slightly rusty from the sea salt air and lack of care. Caine stuck her head inside.

"Hello? Just visiting for the Midsummer Festival. Anyone home?"

The stone chamber had been brightly painted yellow, but also there were bands of faded green to complement it. She thought it was to symbolize the connection between Lathander and Chauntea. It was not exactly pretty to look at.

The chamber echoed with her voice. The air was still and dry. Dust motes stirred and flickered in the rare sunbeam that traveled from a well placed window to shine of the altar.

She drew her finger across the wood. It made a line.

The young paladin raised a blond brow and opened a side door. There was a bed which was more of a pallet built of rough wood and straw mattress which seemed to have an abandoned rat nest burrowed into it.

"This is a shame." she thought to herself.

She took a sock from her pack and dusted off the altar, then took the altar cloth outside and gave it a good shaking.

Then she knelt and prayed.

And in the quiet hours of the morning, as she meditated on the light as it shown on her. On occasion she heard His voice, this time it just occurred to her, maybe she was needed here? Maybe there were people who needed someone to share the Light? Maybe the High Queen needed someone like her? Maybe there lands to be explored? Maybe there were friends to be helped?

Because she surely wasn't needed in Beregost. They had given her room over to the squires during her long absence. Her room in the farmhouse was in the attic to make room for the babies. She had to avoid hitting her head every time she climbed the ladder. She didn't quite fit.

The tavern in Baldur's Gate had become an old standby and she was drinking more than she should just to pass the time.

The goblins and their wargs nearly killed her twice. Travelling alone. She missed her companions.

She needed a change.
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CloudDancing
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Re: Letters of the Light (No Warnings Yet)

Post by CloudDancing »

Sir Caine Kross of Beregost stood in the market wearing a fine blue dress that matched her clear eyes. Her cornsilk hair had grown down to her chin and despite her height and rather muscled shoulders,the young paladin appeared rather comely. She looked down at the blue dress and its gold-braided trimmings curiously as if she really did not remember why she had put on a dress that morning and then wondered what sort of whimsy had come over her to not dress in her customary armor and into a tight-laced corset with ample padding..

For today she wanted to become a regular person. It was a curious thought and she walked the streets of Baldur’s Gate trying to give the impression that she was, indeed, normal. It was not long before she passed a guard who bowed his head in respect. Caine squinted at him and examined his face, but did not remember if she had saved him or a relative or someone had seen her with the famous, but now defunct, Sword’s Edge Adventuring Company.

Their faces fled across her memory. The horrors had faded to jagged little spears that still stabbed her awake in the darkness of the night with the sound of a living body torn in two. The triumphs still caused her heart to beat a little faster, driving her to train harder and harder. She knew would never stop, much like the time she jumped on the back of a Beblith and stabbed it in the back. She never stopped. She would never stop fighting.

Her breath came faster. She clutched for the comfortable hilt of her blade. It was not there. ALl she could feel was a dagger at her belt, the eating-sort-of-dagger that all folk wore. The seams at her armscyes creaked as she unconsciously flexed her back.

She had never fit quite into the mundane world either. She had been born special and given a name to match. Her parents had been extremely worried at first that she would not change. And then it was a sheer miracle that the priests of Lathander had seen it and allowed her to change like she did. She thanked Him everyday for what only her parents and Aalyiah knew.

She chuckled to herself.

“All this time.”

Returning to the barn next to the Inn, she leaned into a stall and equipped her warhorse, Imperator II. He wiggled a bit more than usual as she tied up her saddlebags and slipped on her armor pieces one by one.

Flexing again, everything fell into place and she took a deep, almost pleasurable breath then exhaled. She led her stallion out into the cobbled street, set her foot into the stirrup and launched herself up into the saddle.

With a click of her tongue, she rode out of the Gate. With a kick of her heels then turned the warhorse into a quick trot aiming on toward Beregost and home.
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