Praise Sehanine for mysteries new,
For wards ‘gainst boredom, we thank you!
Bid by the captain to silent scout
The camp once full of roustabouts,
By light of moon did we see,
Trail of blood to the hanging tree.
Past the tree the trail did go,
‘Gainst the rocks they did throw
No hunted meal of boar nor deer,
But luckless cousin of pointed ear.
Black chain he wore, I saw no bow,
Nor blade nor bag to better know,
Where he lived or whence he came
I could not even find his name.
Light of Sehanine shines just now,
Showing what She does allow:
Bloodied paper stuffed in the rocks,
The only key for this odd lock.
We slip away most silently,
To home, and our favorite tree,
Ponder the lock, study the key,
Aid this lost kin’s family.
We’ve now several riddles to tease
This only the most recent of mysteries.
Several ruins and oddities I did find,
All with guardians foul and unkind.
Take our hand, let’s go see,
Every one of these mysteries.
Dancer Between
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Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
All we can do is laugh.
---------------------------------
“Well, while we're in the realm of the fanciful and hypothetical, I really wish to see...” his voice drifted to name his greatest dream. “That is my vision of the world as it should be. If I had the chance to see that realized,” he sighed. “But such is fantasy. The daydreams of a bored and wandering mind.”
“What powerful daydreams,” she whispers to no one in particular, dancing from tree to shadowed tree. A soft breezy sound follows her, the laugh only she hears. Sehanine with her slim smile shed little light this night, Laurelin whispers her thanks. She learned to adjust to the bright light of day, but it still pained her. Some people fretted and fussed when she took to hiding her eyes all day. They meant well, but it was more attention over something unimportant. She had to change as the Chameleon shifts his colors. Just a little, just enough to stop the fussing. Stalking forest night made her happiest.
Outside the Springs, she walks her own patrol route, the odd shadow following her. It did not have to make itself known, it was always there, waiting outside the Springs for her to leave, then following. Still unnerved by its nature, for no undead was ever kind to her in the past, she accepted its presence. It spoke not, only laughed from time to time, its movement a constant dance. She imagined it being a he, assuming if she was wrong, it would correct her.
”Why is an undead shade following you around?” he continued to frown at her. She had hoped it was an outsider and not undead, but his spells do not lie.
She sighed. “I don’t know.”
Eyes search out herbs in the wood while her ears listen. The forest by night sounds different, but hardly quieter. Animals still seek food. Sometimes she smells the herbs ripe for harvesting, sometimes sees the tall flowers waving. Ten herbs in her bag bring her to the large shallow lake, but she will not swim. Hulking green guardians walk the shore, the moon glinting off their huge pointed noses. Great gated ruins rise from the island. And no way, day or night, for her to sneak to them unnoticed. They do not expand their reach, she turns away.
Another puzzle among the herbs now. A nest of them here, making the most beautiful of statuary. Is that another? Nay, her shadow teases by looking as another stone form. The stone bones lay in the same pile, she ponders them for a moment. Would walking dead turned to stone remain erect, or fall over? The nest, though fearsome, also keep to their place, she turns away. Herbs will buy her traps to remove the nest. She prays they are not pets to another, then considers how one might hold one as a pet without falling victim to their gaze. Perhaps the dhearow knew how, for it was in their domain she last saw these creatures.
“Where are the others?” he asked, palm still facing her in polite refusal to wine offered.
She drank deep, then watched the wine spill from bottle to ground with a prayer. When the pour became a trickle, she answered, “No idea.”
“Perhaps they consider it a fool’s errand?” he smirked.
She laughed. “It is. Why else ask a Fool to do it?” It was not an insecurity, but a simple fact. She is the Fool, he is the High Priest.
He was equal to her amusement. “Because the fool is perhaps the only one who sees that it can be done.”
Broken doors remain unchanged, in tree and tomb, but no new residents. Her shadow mimics an orc shape against the walls, laughing and stalking her. The first puzzle lock is reset, so they might all be. She cannot unlock all the gates by herself, so visiting the one buried below is not possible. Her shadow wraps around her, comforting in his cold way. She considers sending him to speak to the one below, but what would she say? ‘Hello, I’d love to visit but I cannot get past the doors. How are you?’ She snorts, the shadow snickers, both turn away.
The bog sits unchanged, the other ruins remain. Euphorisium here, and allcure. She turns toward home, dancing in a wide circle to visit the north neighbors. Only a few remain. Her shadow shapes himself into a giant goblinoid, staggering with an arrow in its throat. He is restless, but she will not provoke them this night. He wraps around her while she skips to the hollow tree, finding no new messages. She turns home. He reluctantly stays behind, watching her climb the wall. She does not go far, but sits at the top with feet dangling over the edge. A quiet night’s patrol, bag full of herbs, a sing-song whisper on the morningdawn wind-
Long ago, a night such as this,
We spoke of wishes under Sehanine.
Your face shone as you reminisced,
On such impossible, lofty dreams!
---------------------------------
“Well, while we're in the realm of the fanciful and hypothetical, I really wish to see...” his voice drifted to name his greatest dream. “That is my vision of the world as it should be. If I had the chance to see that realized,” he sighed. “But such is fantasy. The daydreams of a bored and wandering mind.”
“What powerful daydreams,” she whispers to no one in particular, dancing from tree to shadowed tree. A soft breezy sound follows her, the laugh only she hears. Sehanine with her slim smile shed little light this night, Laurelin whispers her thanks. She learned to adjust to the bright light of day, but it still pained her. Some people fretted and fussed when she took to hiding her eyes all day. They meant well, but it was more attention over something unimportant. She had to change as the Chameleon shifts his colors. Just a little, just enough to stop the fussing. Stalking forest night made her happiest.
Outside the Springs, she walks her own patrol route, the odd shadow following her. It did not have to make itself known, it was always there, waiting outside the Springs for her to leave, then following. Still unnerved by its nature, for no undead was ever kind to her in the past, she accepted its presence. It spoke not, only laughed from time to time, its movement a constant dance. She imagined it being a he, assuming if she was wrong, it would correct her.
”Why is an undead shade following you around?” he continued to frown at her. She had hoped it was an outsider and not undead, but his spells do not lie.
She sighed. “I don’t know.”
Eyes search out herbs in the wood while her ears listen. The forest by night sounds different, but hardly quieter. Animals still seek food. Sometimes she smells the herbs ripe for harvesting, sometimes sees the tall flowers waving. Ten herbs in her bag bring her to the large shallow lake, but she will not swim. Hulking green guardians walk the shore, the moon glinting off their huge pointed noses. Great gated ruins rise from the island. And no way, day or night, for her to sneak to them unnoticed. They do not expand their reach, she turns away.
Another puzzle among the herbs now. A nest of them here, making the most beautiful of statuary. Is that another? Nay, her shadow teases by looking as another stone form. The stone bones lay in the same pile, she ponders them for a moment. Would walking dead turned to stone remain erect, or fall over? The nest, though fearsome, also keep to their place, she turns away. Herbs will buy her traps to remove the nest. She prays they are not pets to another, then considers how one might hold one as a pet without falling victim to their gaze. Perhaps the dhearow knew how, for it was in their domain she last saw these creatures.
“Where are the others?” he asked, palm still facing her in polite refusal to wine offered.
She drank deep, then watched the wine spill from bottle to ground with a prayer. When the pour became a trickle, she answered, “No idea.”
“Perhaps they consider it a fool’s errand?” he smirked.
She laughed. “It is. Why else ask a Fool to do it?” It was not an insecurity, but a simple fact. She is the Fool, he is the High Priest.
He was equal to her amusement. “Because the fool is perhaps the only one who sees that it can be done.”
Broken doors remain unchanged, in tree and tomb, but no new residents. Her shadow mimics an orc shape against the walls, laughing and stalking her. The first puzzle lock is reset, so they might all be. She cannot unlock all the gates by herself, so visiting the one buried below is not possible. Her shadow wraps around her, comforting in his cold way. She considers sending him to speak to the one below, but what would she say? ‘Hello, I’d love to visit but I cannot get past the doors. How are you?’ She snorts, the shadow snickers, both turn away.
The bog sits unchanged, the other ruins remain. Euphorisium here, and allcure. She turns toward home, dancing in a wide circle to visit the north neighbors. Only a few remain. Her shadow shapes himself into a giant goblinoid, staggering with an arrow in its throat. He is restless, but she will not provoke them this night. He wraps around her while she skips to the hollow tree, finding no new messages. She turns home. He reluctantly stays behind, watching her climb the wall. She does not go far, but sits at the top with feet dangling over the edge. A quiet night’s patrol, bag full of herbs, a sing-song whisper on the morningdawn wind-
Long ago, a night such as this,
We spoke of wishes under Sehanine.
Your face shone as you reminisced,
On such impossible, lofty dreams!
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
Where were the others? she wondered to herself for the hundredth time.
Locked in towers, lost in pages,
Boredom stalks the wives of mages.
She pushed the bitter thoughts away. It was not fair to be cross with only him, for so many others left, too. The other mage and all the priestesses also disappeared. Once it might have been the premise for a funny rumor, as when she made up the silliest stories in Waterdeep. Too bad the paladin couldn’t laugh. But now, her sense of humor suffered. There was so much to do, and she felt alone in it all.
She set out on her patrol, making work to keep herself busy. Boredom led to the blackest depressions, the darkest speculations. Angry recriminations against herself and everyone else welled in her throat. She should not have done this, should have done that. The scent of fragrant, ripe poppies intruded upon the welling fury, a calm breeze blowing apart the gathering stormclouds of insanity. Yes, harvest the seeds, think not of the past. Look, the katakuda is ripe, too.
Idly she wondered how long it would take for people to notice her absence. Duty and Responsibility argued with the increasing sense of futility. She knew she was not irreplaceable. But if she stopped caring about the Springs, what would happen? Part of her thought it would fall into neglect, and another part argued that her presence or absence made little impact. She could not discuss these thoughts with another, for the answer hardly wavers, even when untrue: please stay, you are important to us. Bitterly she remembered the last time she announced her leaving. Again, she forced herself to focus on herbs.
Her feet stopped at a distance from the statues: two ladies, one elven and the other human, both poised to fight. Broken pieces of slim wood lay at the feet of the archer. The great basilisk lazily wandered his statue garden, looking for another addition, no doubt. She desperately wished she could return the statues to their true forms, and sighed again. Maybe with enough traps, and invisibility trinkets. Would a mirror work, or are they immune to their own gaze? Probably immune, one never seemed to see a basilisk statue. Even if she could slay the great lizards, she possessed no means of helping them further. Unable to cast spells or move statuary, there was little she could do.
She wandered back to her spot just outside the wall of the Springs. Wrapping the wool cloak about her and covering her face, safely tucked away from everyone else. The stormclouds waited at the edge of her consciousness. Like many a storm, it was better to let this one pass instead of linger and fester. Willing her limbs still in the darkness, she let them come together. Fury and rage exploded in her mind, railing against every wrong done to her, real or imagined. Fresh rain hid the tears. Even the shadows kept their distance.
Locked in towers, lost in pages,
Boredom stalks the wives of mages.
She pushed the bitter thoughts away. It was not fair to be cross with only him, for so many others left, too. The other mage and all the priestesses also disappeared. Once it might have been the premise for a funny rumor, as when she made up the silliest stories in Waterdeep. Too bad the paladin couldn’t laugh. But now, her sense of humor suffered. There was so much to do, and she felt alone in it all.
She set out on her patrol, making work to keep herself busy. Boredom led to the blackest depressions, the darkest speculations. Angry recriminations against herself and everyone else welled in her throat. She should not have done this, should have done that. The scent of fragrant, ripe poppies intruded upon the welling fury, a calm breeze blowing apart the gathering stormclouds of insanity. Yes, harvest the seeds, think not of the past. Look, the katakuda is ripe, too.
Idly she wondered how long it would take for people to notice her absence. Duty and Responsibility argued with the increasing sense of futility. She knew she was not irreplaceable. But if she stopped caring about the Springs, what would happen? Part of her thought it would fall into neglect, and another part argued that her presence or absence made little impact. She could not discuss these thoughts with another, for the answer hardly wavers, even when untrue: please stay, you are important to us. Bitterly she remembered the last time she announced her leaving. Again, she forced herself to focus on herbs.
Her feet stopped at a distance from the statues: two ladies, one elven and the other human, both poised to fight. Broken pieces of slim wood lay at the feet of the archer. The great basilisk lazily wandered his statue garden, looking for another addition, no doubt. She desperately wished she could return the statues to their true forms, and sighed again. Maybe with enough traps, and invisibility trinkets. Would a mirror work, or are they immune to their own gaze? Probably immune, one never seemed to see a basilisk statue. Even if she could slay the great lizards, she possessed no means of helping them further. Unable to cast spells or move statuary, there was little she could do.
She wandered back to her spot just outside the wall of the Springs. Wrapping the wool cloak about her and covering her face, safely tucked away from everyone else. The stormclouds waited at the edge of her consciousness. Like many a storm, it was better to let this one pass instead of linger and fester. Willing her limbs still in the darkness, she let them come together. Fury and rage exploded in her mind, railing against every wrong done to her, real or imagined. Fresh rain hid the tears. Even the shadows kept their distance.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
Another day on the wall, hoping for diversion. She did not want anyone to attack, naturally, but something else to think of would be welcome. Before the sun rose to midday, that distraction came in the form of Ilemar, one of the scouts of the Evermeet Guard. He stood silently, patient as the trees. “I see you,” she smiled to him. He smirked in return, asking if she were busy. She answered by climbing down the wall.
Pleasantries quickly dispensed, he came to the reason for seeking her out, “There is something else I need assistance with.” She waited for him to continue, but Khyssoun tumbled from the wall instead, landing in a heap nearby. “Friend?” Bare nod in answer, she introduced them. “Can he be trusted?” Ilemar whispered.
She studied Khyssoun longer than was needed, then answered, “His hatred of dhearow knows no bounds.”
Khyssoun folded his arms to his chest, pretending a pout, “That's unfair. I'm sure there are some limits, I just haven't discovered them yet.”
She suppressed a grin, turning back to Ilemar. His rich brown hair glistened in the morning sun. “The task is an assassination. The target is one of the captains of that bugbear tribe.” The three turned north, following Ilemar through the wood.
An hour after noon they stopped. Ilemar suggested they rest while he retrieve his companion. The scar across his cheek caught the shadows, teasing at them. She let her mind wander over how he received it, but also resolved to not ask. They were working, no time for idle talk. Khyssoun asked about rations. Laurelin bit off a piece of dried meat, then tossed him the rest. Ilemar placed almonds on a leaf near him. Laurelin only stared, the sounds of Khyssoun’s greedy eating fading away. He called her name.
“Yes?” she asked, shaking her head clear. He held out some almonds to her, she numbly opened her hand to receive them. Which god was laughing at her now? Erevan? Labelas? Hanali? “I thank you,” she whispered, thoughts drifting on the tides of the past.
“Wait here,” he commanded Khyssoun. “I'll be back at dusk with the other scout. Best get some rest if you can.”
Khyssoun set bow down by his side, making himself comfortable, “If you insist.”
“Tread lightly,” Laurelin whispered, watching him leave. When out of sight she turned to face Khyssoun, who gave her a knowing look with arms crossed. She knew what he was thinking, and ignored him. He would not believe her anyway.
She savored a single almond.
He places an almond to my lips, chocolate brown eyes smiling with joy.
She chewed a second sweet nut.
Our lips stained with berries, laughing freely.
She finished the snack, hiding her face with her hood. Reverie descended with a vengeance.
“Laughing?!” a tiny voice incredulously asks. “Why do you laugh?” she demands, poison arrow pointed at me. Kiksa’s arms tighten about my waist, himself calming to smile, his funny story just ended.
I find my breath to call the pixie by her new name, “Terrible Timing!” Her name is really Snapdragon, guardian of the forest, but her timing last time was, well, terrible.
As I remind her, so she reminds us, “Not rolling around this time.”
“Give us time, we will be!” exclaims Kiksa. My ears burn red, thinking she might watch us. Not that it will stop us.
“Kiksa elf thinks with his spear,” the fey announces. I giggle while he buries his head in my neck. She turns to me, “You came back. Are you not afraid?”
“Why?” I smile, far too happy.
“Not afraid of the dark, Laureeelin?” she challenges, though even she could see I was not. “What do you want here?” she demands, arrow still pointed at me.
“Dance and play,” I manage through giggles.
“And the laughing?” she checks me.
“Yes! And the laughing!”
Kiksa lifts his face to add, “Don’t forget the rolling around.” He starts unbuttoning my coat, face buried in my hair.
“You speak better,” Snapdragon approves. “You can come back, Laureeeeelin. Even without Kiksa Elf.” She speeds away before we lose ourselves in the other.
Laurelin roused from reverie, rubbing her face. No time to fall into memories or sadness, they had work to do. Good work. Night settled in the forest, bringing two pairs of soft footsteps. Ilemar introduced his friend.
“Best just get this over with,” The other growled. Another joyless elf, she sighed. Khyssoun studied the other’s twin blades with interest, Laurelin pulled her shadowcloak to her shoulders. Even through the leathers she involuntarily shivered.
The four planned the attack, Ilemar giving the most details. Once all the roles were decided, they stalked to the makeshift village. Four quessir, moving through the shadows of the trees in four different paths. They stopped to the southwest. Khyssoun followed the patrol round the west side of the village, Laurelin slipped to the east side to walk around. The largest bugbear stood outside the gates, with two guards and a roaming patrol. Axe-throwers on the walls lazily kept watch. Yes, it was boring duty, Laurelin conceded. She returned as Khyssoun finished his half of the survey.
“The big one that seems the captain, by your description, is outside the gates. I could close the gates, keep him outside,” she offered. Ilemar asked if she could lock the gates. “If I'm not seen, yes. If I'm seen, I might just run.” She smiled to hide her discomfort.
The patrol passed them, oblivious to the four in the dark. “Now’s your chance,” Ilemar urged.
She smiled again in the dark, blending with the treeshadows. She made her roundabout way towards the gate, walking in the darkest of dark places. Breathing a quick prayer, she froze as a patrol walked past, close enough to smell their putrid breath. They walked on, fingers stuck in their noses, she tossed a gold coin to her left. Surely the shiny will attract some attention.
She eased up to the gate, standing under the foul odor of the east guard. Too focused to wonder how they did not see her, she closed the gates. They opened right away. Biting her lip, she hid in the guard’s shadow. Another bugbear left, she darted out to close the gates again, then back to the guard’s shadow.
Carefully, impossibly she left the gates to stand at a tree ten feet away to watch. No real reaction, outside some grumbling. They really ARE stupid. She found a twig on the ground and stepped on it, showing herself for a moment.
That got their attention, backs stiffened as she spun back into the shadows. She dropped another coin, letting it catch a glint from their fires. The captain followed the shiny. She showed herself again, then spun through the shadows, luring him away. A few axes flew in her direction. She turned, the captain getting closer to her companions. Throwing a shadow to confuse him did not seem to work, perhaps he was just too dumb to notice. The four cut him down. Not close enough to see who was hurt, she thought she heard one call out to Ilemar in alarm. The three retreated, one other bugbear following them. Laurelin stayed behind, watching no others came. They did not, she turned and rejoined the group. The second creature already lay dead.
Cold and shock set in, her body violently trembling. There were warm patches in her leathers, but she did not think of them. “They’re milling around,” she reported, Ilemar lowered his bow with a hiss. Angry. Why?
“We go then,” he commanded, turning to the south.
“It dead?” the scout asked at the same time Khyssoun spoke, “Job done?” The four turned to follow the treeline south.
“What’s wrong?” Laurelin asked Ilemar, who only shook his head.
A mile closer to the Springs they relaxed without slowing. “How are the wounds?” Ilemar asked, looking to the other's bloody left side. She clenched her jaw.
Past the valley they slowed. Ilemar asked of her, “How bad is it?”
“It will hurt when I think about it,” she answered. And then it did. Shock and fear fading, the warm spot on her left shoulder ached, a few more cuts announced their presence. She pulled out one of her enchanted leeches, pressing the mouth to her shoulder. The fat arcane-filigreed thing deflated as it imbued a healing spell into her wound. Disgusting, but effective.
“We'll bring some herbs next time,” he spoke, both looking to the other quite wounded scout. He growled that he would live. Ilemar turned back to Laurelin, “We'll break off here and cover the tracks. Make sure you do so as well on your way back to the Springs.”
“Thank you, for this evening,” she bowed head to him.
“Thank you, both of you,” he nodded to her, then Khyssoun. The moon illuminated the scar across his right cheek.
“Best not linger,” she said, though her eyes lingered on him longer than was polite. Presently she and Khyssoun resumed the trek to the Springs.
“For someone so adept at hiding you're not very subtle are you?” he teased.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the way you were looking at him.”
Her steps faltered with the extra fatigue. It would take so long to explain. “He reminds me of someone.” Khyssoun watched the black bearcub root around the underbrush. “I'm not courting him, if that's your meaning.”
“Not yet, maybe.” He did not sound like he was still teasing.
“I'm too tired for another dance like that,” why she kept trying to explain she did not know.
“I see,” he chuckled. Of course this was funny to him. “I wasn't aware Hanali was benevolent enough to give us the choice.”
“She's granted me more than I deserve already.”
“You don't deserve to be happy? You don't seem so bad to me,” he was teasing again. Mostly. Sort of. Not really. “I mean, you're definitely a nuisance but...”
“Let’s talk about something else, mm?” she interrupted. He raced her to the wall, even managed to climb faster. She gave him a tired smile, then turned to the shrine while he retired to the inn.
At Erevan’s star, she spun the coin the bugbear captain picked up. A quick prayer of thanks, then she turned to the guest beds, dropping her leathers with her bags at the first bed. Fingers unclasped the pendant, carefully putting it with her other necklaces. It would be a bad night to accidentally link with the rest of the Guard in reverie. “Everyone’s wounded,” she whispered, falling into sweet dreams of a dead past.
”I am happy,” he rumbles, watching the evening sun leak through the canopy of the Rystal.
“We are happy,” I answer, ear resting in the hollow of his shoulder.
.
.
.
.
.
Pleasantries quickly dispensed, he came to the reason for seeking her out, “There is something else I need assistance with.” She waited for him to continue, but Khyssoun tumbled from the wall instead, landing in a heap nearby. “Friend?” Bare nod in answer, she introduced them. “Can he be trusted?” Ilemar whispered.
She studied Khyssoun longer than was needed, then answered, “His hatred of dhearow knows no bounds.”
Khyssoun folded his arms to his chest, pretending a pout, “That's unfair. I'm sure there are some limits, I just haven't discovered them yet.”
She suppressed a grin, turning back to Ilemar. His rich brown hair glistened in the morning sun. “The task is an assassination. The target is one of the captains of that bugbear tribe.” The three turned north, following Ilemar through the wood.
An hour after noon they stopped. Ilemar suggested they rest while he retrieve his companion. The scar across his cheek caught the shadows, teasing at them. She let her mind wander over how he received it, but also resolved to not ask. They were working, no time for idle talk. Khyssoun asked about rations. Laurelin bit off a piece of dried meat, then tossed him the rest. Ilemar placed almonds on a leaf near him. Laurelin only stared, the sounds of Khyssoun’s greedy eating fading away. He called her name.
“Yes?” she asked, shaking her head clear. He held out some almonds to her, she numbly opened her hand to receive them. Which god was laughing at her now? Erevan? Labelas? Hanali? “I thank you,” she whispered, thoughts drifting on the tides of the past.
“Wait here,” he commanded Khyssoun. “I'll be back at dusk with the other scout. Best get some rest if you can.”
Khyssoun set bow down by his side, making himself comfortable, “If you insist.”
“Tread lightly,” Laurelin whispered, watching him leave. When out of sight she turned to face Khyssoun, who gave her a knowing look with arms crossed. She knew what he was thinking, and ignored him. He would not believe her anyway.
She savored a single almond.
He places an almond to my lips, chocolate brown eyes smiling with joy.
She chewed a second sweet nut.
Our lips stained with berries, laughing freely.
She finished the snack, hiding her face with her hood. Reverie descended with a vengeance.
“Laughing?!” a tiny voice incredulously asks. “Why do you laugh?” she demands, poison arrow pointed at me. Kiksa’s arms tighten about my waist, himself calming to smile, his funny story just ended.
I find my breath to call the pixie by her new name, “Terrible Timing!” Her name is really Snapdragon, guardian of the forest, but her timing last time was, well, terrible.
As I remind her, so she reminds us, “Not rolling around this time.”
“Give us time, we will be!” exclaims Kiksa. My ears burn red, thinking she might watch us. Not that it will stop us.
“Kiksa elf thinks with his spear,” the fey announces. I giggle while he buries his head in my neck. She turns to me, “You came back. Are you not afraid?”
“Why?” I smile, far too happy.
“Not afraid of the dark, Laureeelin?” she challenges, though even she could see I was not. “What do you want here?” she demands, arrow still pointed at me.
“Dance and play,” I manage through giggles.
“And the laughing?” she checks me.
“Yes! And the laughing!”
Kiksa lifts his face to add, “Don’t forget the rolling around.” He starts unbuttoning my coat, face buried in my hair.
“You speak better,” Snapdragon approves. “You can come back, Laureeeeelin. Even without Kiksa Elf.” She speeds away before we lose ourselves in the other.
Laurelin roused from reverie, rubbing her face. No time to fall into memories or sadness, they had work to do. Good work. Night settled in the forest, bringing two pairs of soft footsteps. Ilemar introduced his friend.
“Best just get this over with,” The other growled. Another joyless elf, she sighed. Khyssoun studied the other’s twin blades with interest, Laurelin pulled her shadowcloak to her shoulders. Even through the leathers she involuntarily shivered.
The four planned the attack, Ilemar giving the most details. Once all the roles were decided, they stalked to the makeshift village. Four quessir, moving through the shadows of the trees in four different paths. They stopped to the southwest. Khyssoun followed the patrol round the west side of the village, Laurelin slipped to the east side to walk around. The largest bugbear stood outside the gates, with two guards and a roaming patrol. Axe-throwers on the walls lazily kept watch. Yes, it was boring duty, Laurelin conceded. She returned as Khyssoun finished his half of the survey.
“The big one that seems the captain, by your description, is outside the gates. I could close the gates, keep him outside,” she offered. Ilemar asked if she could lock the gates. “If I'm not seen, yes. If I'm seen, I might just run.” She smiled to hide her discomfort.
The patrol passed them, oblivious to the four in the dark. “Now’s your chance,” Ilemar urged.
She smiled again in the dark, blending with the treeshadows. She made her roundabout way towards the gate, walking in the darkest of dark places. Breathing a quick prayer, she froze as a patrol walked past, close enough to smell their putrid breath. They walked on, fingers stuck in their noses, she tossed a gold coin to her left. Surely the shiny will attract some attention.
She eased up to the gate, standing under the foul odor of the east guard. Too focused to wonder how they did not see her, she closed the gates. They opened right away. Biting her lip, she hid in the guard’s shadow. Another bugbear left, she darted out to close the gates again, then back to the guard’s shadow.
Carefully, impossibly she left the gates to stand at a tree ten feet away to watch. No real reaction, outside some grumbling. They really ARE stupid. She found a twig on the ground and stepped on it, showing herself for a moment.
That got their attention, backs stiffened as she spun back into the shadows. She dropped another coin, letting it catch a glint from their fires. The captain followed the shiny. She showed herself again, then spun through the shadows, luring him away. A few axes flew in her direction. She turned, the captain getting closer to her companions. Throwing a shadow to confuse him did not seem to work, perhaps he was just too dumb to notice. The four cut him down. Not close enough to see who was hurt, she thought she heard one call out to Ilemar in alarm. The three retreated, one other bugbear following them. Laurelin stayed behind, watching no others came. They did not, she turned and rejoined the group. The second creature already lay dead.
Cold and shock set in, her body violently trembling. There were warm patches in her leathers, but she did not think of them. “They’re milling around,” she reported, Ilemar lowered his bow with a hiss. Angry. Why?
“We go then,” he commanded, turning to the south.
“It dead?” the scout asked at the same time Khyssoun spoke, “Job done?” The four turned to follow the treeline south.
“What’s wrong?” Laurelin asked Ilemar, who only shook his head.
A mile closer to the Springs they relaxed without slowing. “How are the wounds?” Ilemar asked, looking to the other's bloody left side. She clenched her jaw.
Past the valley they slowed. Ilemar asked of her, “How bad is it?”
“It will hurt when I think about it,” she answered. And then it did. Shock and fear fading, the warm spot on her left shoulder ached, a few more cuts announced their presence. She pulled out one of her enchanted leeches, pressing the mouth to her shoulder. The fat arcane-filigreed thing deflated as it imbued a healing spell into her wound. Disgusting, but effective.
“We'll bring some herbs next time,” he spoke, both looking to the other quite wounded scout. He growled that he would live. Ilemar turned back to Laurelin, “We'll break off here and cover the tracks. Make sure you do so as well on your way back to the Springs.”
“Thank you, for this evening,” she bowed head to him.
“Thank you, both of you,” he nodded to her, then Khyssoun. The moon illuminated the scar across his right cheek.
“Best not linger,” she said, though her eyes lingered on him longer than was polite. Presently she and Khyssoun resumed the trek to the Springs.
“For someone so adept at hiding you're not very subtle are you?” he teased.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the way you were looking at him.”
Her steps faltered with the extra fatigue. It would take so long to explain. “He reminds me of someone.” Khyssoun watched the black bearcub root around the underbrush. “I'm not courting him, if that's your meaning.”
“Not yet, maybe.” He did not sound like he was still teasing.
“I'm too tired for another dance like that,” why she kept trying to explain she did not know.
“I see,” he chuckled. Of course this was funny to him. “I wasn't aware Hanali was benevolent enough to give us the choice.”
“She's granted me more than I deserve already.”
“You don't deserve to be happy? You don't seem so bad to me,” he was teasing again. Mostly. Sort of. Not really. “I mean, you're definitely a nuisance but...”
“Let’s talk about something else, mm?” she interrupted. He raced her to the wall, even managed to climb faster. She gave him a tired smile, then turned to the shrine while he retired to the inn.
At Erevan’s star, she spun the coin the bugbear captain picked up. A quick prayer of thanks, then she turned to the guest beds, dropping her leathers with her bags at the first bed. Fingers unclasped the pendant, carefully putting it with her other necklaces. It would be a bad night to accidentally link with the rest of the Guard in reverie. “Everyone’s wounded,” she whispered, falling into sweet dreams of a dead past.
”I am happy,” he rumbles, watching the evening sun leak through the canopy of the Rystal.
“We are happy,” I answer, ear resting in the hollow of his shoulder.
.
.
.
.
.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
The familiar fountain within and waterfall just outside. Lingering incense. Itchy wrists. Cool stone under her bruised face. Her eyes open and close a few times, not yet seeing the star pattern on the floor, nor the shredded rope. Someone is close, above her, nearly holding his breath as he watches. “Laurelin?” His wary voice spurring her to focus.
“I hear you,” she answers through uncooperatively fat lips.
He lets out the breath he was holding. “Are you alright?”
I hurt, she wants to say. “We are in the shrine, yes? Safe here.”
“We are,” he nods.
She licks the sweet bruise on her lips. Her wrists still itch. She closes her eyes, seeing again the fists that hurt her. Stopped her. “Tell me it was a nightmare?” she begs.
He tells her the answer they both know, “I am afraid not.”
“Did I...” kill anyone? “Did anyone die?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “Though I think between the Archon and that enchantment on you, the others are afraid of us.”
Hot tears threatened to sting her swollen eye. “I am sorry. I am so sorry. I would never shoot you. I mean...” she bites her lip, preventing a sob.
His soft chain sighs as he shifts to sit beside her. “I know you would not, sister.”
“What happened?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You will hide.”
I finish copying the footprint. Hin, elf, or female, I do not yet know. We will tease it out later. He went inside to tell the others of the trail, they will be out soon. The strange day grows stranger by the hour. I chased a shadow, until mine leapt forward to fight it. I did not tell the others that I could feel her pains, like an echo. They look at me too strangely already.
Then there was the house that even I feared to enter. Not without Delawyn, though that surely annoyed Khyssoun. How do I explain that if my own shadow is afraid, I ought to listen? I cannot without sounding crazy. Well. Crazier. Then the climbing up the window, the sickly yellow hand trying to grab me. Watching over the pair of Sembian cows while the others investigated the house. Adellie asking me to go upstairs, where a zombie harpy awaited. It delivered a cryptic message before disappearing, only to have a swarm of undead enter the house. Delawyn told me to go search the area outside with him, telling the others to stay put. Such fleeting joy, pride.
“See anything Laurelin?” I shake my head no, not knowing where to look. “Watch your eyes.” I turn away while he lights up the dark. I see nothing in the hills. “Laurelin, can you track these?” he calls. “I'm losing the trail around the edge of my light spell.”
I turn to see him pointing to the ground before the house. I look, wishing I could track better. But there, yes, I see them. From the north, and a few turning back. Smaller boots, distinctive, and not of our own company. I tell him. He goes inside to tell the others so we may follow. I look at the print again. I will forget. I take out paper and quill. Plenty of moonlight to sketch by, so I copy it. The others must be arguing with him, for I am able to let the ink dry and put away the paper.
“You will hide.”
I hide behind the edge of the house.
“You will shoot your companions, then hide and repeat.”
I ready an arrow.
Noilir emerges first, but the arrow flies past his helm. I pirouette and hide, turning round to shoot him again. The second arrow does not miss.
Roderick the noble leaves the house next.
Shoot. Easy as a deer hunt, the arrow finds his neck. Spin. Hide.
“Aim at the doorway.”
I aim for the door, waiting for the next person. Delawyn emerges, unaware. My arrow finds his belly. Hide.
Another in his shoulder. Pirouette. Hide.
They are coming for me, they will kill me, but I can not stop. Noilir again, then Bannock.
Shoot, spin, hide. Shoot. Spin. Hide.
“Focus on the mage and cleric.”
I throw a pepperbag to slow them down. Except I sneeze. Rotten pepper. Something hits my shoulder. I turn, and something hits my face. They dare to hit me?!
Yes, they dare. I drop my precious bow, slapping Delawyn. The noble and the priest, until another fist makes it all go black. Damn them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She rubs her temple, head bowed. The voice echoes in her mind as he speaks. Feminine, sibilant, unforgiving.
“I'm sorry, but we had no other option, you are too strong,” he apologizes. She would laugh if not for the remorse. He probably would, too. Her, too strong? The blood beating in her ears sounded like laughter. “Are you alright?” concern fills the room.
“I feel,” she starts, stutters and stops. “I feel ashamed. And I still hurt. And a little scared.” She sighs, amending in a softer whisper, “A lot scared.”
“No one can touch you,” he promises before tending to her bruises. More apologies, more forgivenesses. Adellie arrives, giving news of the others. Though the bruises fade, the weariness grows.
“I think I am going to go lay down. I will be here for a while. Thank you both. I,” she sighs. “I do not know what else to say.”
She rises ever so slowly, walking to the common beds. His words follow, an anchor for the troubling reverie to come, “Corellon keep you until we meet again.”
Yes, please keep me.
“I hear you,” she answers through uncooperatively fat lips.
He lets out the breath he was holding. “Are you alright?”
I hurt, she wants to say. “We are in the shrine, yes? Safe here.”
“We are,” he nods.
She licks the sweet bruise on her lips. Her wrists still itch. She closes her eyes, seeing again the fists that hurt her. Stopped her. “Tell me it was a nightmare?” she begs.
He tells her the answer they both know, “I am afraid not.”
“Did I...” kill anyone? “Did anyone die?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “Though I think between the Archon and that enchantment on you, the others are afraid of us.”
Hot tears threatened to sting her swollen eye. “I am sorry. I am so sorry. I would never shoot you. I mean...” she bites her lip, preventing a sob.
His soft chain sighs as he shifts to sit beside her. “I know you would not, sister.”
“What happened?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You will hide.”
I finish copying the footprint. Hin, elf, or female, I do not yet know. We will tease it out later. He went inside to tell the others of the trail, they will be out soon. The strange day grows stranger by the hour. I chased a shadow, until mine leapt forward to fight it. I did not tell the others that I could feel her pains, like an echo. They look at me too strangely already.
Then there was the house that even I feared to enter. Not without Delawyn, though that surely annoyed Khyssoun. How do I explain that if my own shadow is afraid, I ought to listen? I cannot without sounding crazy. Well. Crazier. Then the climbing up the window, the sickly yellow hand trying to grab me. Watching over the pair of Sembian cows while the others investigated the house. Adellie asking me to go upstairs, where a zombie harpy awaited. It delivered a cryptic message before disappearing, only to have a swarm of undead enter the house. Delawyn told me to go search the area outside with him, telling the others to stay put. Such fleeting joy, pride.
“See anything Laurelin?” I shake my head no, not knowing where to look. “Watch your eyes.” I turn away while he lights up the dark. I see nothing in the hills. “Laurelin, can you track these?” he calls. “I'm losing the trail around the edge of my light spell.”
I turn to see him pointing to the ground before the house. I look, wishing I could track better. But there, yes, I see them. From the north, and a few turning back. Smaller boots, distinctive, and not of our own company. I tell him. He goes inside to tell the others so we may follow. I look at the print again. I will forget. I take out paper and quill. Plenty of moonlight to sketch by, so I copy it. The others must be arguing with him, for I am able to let the ink dry and put away the paper.
“You will hide.”
I hide behind the edge of the house.
“You will shoot your companions, then hide and repeat.”
I ready an arrow.
Noilir emerges first, but the arrow flies past his helm. I pirouette and hide, turning round to shoot him again. The second arrow does not miss.
Roderick the noble leaves the house next.
Shoot. Easy as a deer hunt, the arrow finds his neck. Spin. Hide.
“Aim at the doorway.”
I aim for the door, waiting for the next person. Delawyn emerges, unaware. My arrow finds his belly. Hide.
Another in his shoulder. Pirouette. Hide.
They are coming for me, they will kill me, but I can not stop. Noilir again, then Bannock.
Shoot, spin, hide. Shoot. Spin. Hide.
“Focus on the mage and cleric.”
I throw a pepperbag to slow them down. Except I sneeze. Rotten pepper. Something hits my shoulder. I turn, and something hits my face. They dare to hit me?!
Yes, they dare. I drop my precious bow, slapping Delawyn. The noble and the priest, until another fist makes it all go black. Damn them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She rubs her temple, head bowed. The voice echoes in her mind as he speaks. Feminine, sibilant, unforgiving.
“I'm sorry, but we had no other option, you are too strong,” he apologizes. She would laugh if not for the remorse. He probably would, too. Her, too strong? The blood beating in her ears sounded like laughter. “Are you alright?” concern fills the room.
“I feel,” she starts, stutters and stops. “I feel ashamed. And I still hurt. And a little scared.” She sighs, amending in a softer whisper, “A lot scared.”
“No one can touch you,” he promises before tending to her bruises. More apologies, more forgivenesses. Adellie arrives, giving news of the others. Though the bruises fade, the weariness grows.
“I think I am going to go lay down. I will be here for a while. Thank you both. I,” she sighs. “I do not know what else to say.”
She rises ever so slowly, walking to the common beds. His words follow, an anchor for the troubling reverie to come, “Corellon keep you until we meet again.”
Yes, please keep me.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
A foul wind blew up the river,
Bringing along a frightful shiver,
A treacherous curse did he deliver,
Before the night was done.
It began with a sniff and cough,
So very mild the healers scoff,
‘Return to home, work it off,’
So we are undone.
First the cough and the sneeze,
Fever hot and chills that freeze,
Painfully the muscles seize,
Before the night was done.
Frightful wail and deathly moan,
Loudly do we cry and groan,
Until we lie silent and prone,
So we are undone.
Get thee out while you may,
Run long, fast and far away,
Lest you stagger, trip and sway,
Before the night is done.
Did he bring this plague alone?
Did he hope for fame, renown?
Alas for all, he is Unknown,
So we are undone.
Bringing along a frightful shiver,
A treacherous curse did he deliver,
Before the night was done.
It began with a sniff and cough,
So very mild the healers scoff,
‘Return to home, work it off,’
So we are undone.
First the cough and the sneeze,
Fever hot and chills that freeze,
Painfully the muscles seize,
Before the night was done.
Frightful wail and deathly moan,
Loudly do we cry and groan,
Until we lie silent and prone,
So we are undone.
Get thee out while you may,
Run long, fast and far away,
Lest you stagger, trip and sway,
Before the night is done.
Did he bring this plague alone?
Did he hope for fame, renown?
Alas for all, he is Unknown,
So we are undone.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
In the dens of Pestilence,
And his mistress Malevolence,
In a magic little box,
fastened with the strangest locks,
a shadow cries as she tries
to escape the land of lies.
Sometimes they let her out,
Following her joy without,
Calling to the Dancer dark,
Leading her to embark,
On a quest that will not rest,
Finding this the greatest test.
Tis a trap, we all suppose,
As surely as the Dancer knows,
That not to chase or even try
Is to submit to wither and die.
Two dark ways unfold in the maze,
Yet only one holds her gaze.
She softly sings a lilting prayer,
To Patient Time and Jester Fair,
Father High and Mother Three,
Oceans Blue and Forests Green,
Vengeance Black and Eye most Keen,
She consigns herself to the Seldarine.
And his mistress Malevolence,
In a magic little box,
fastened with the strangest locks,
a shadow cries as she tries
to escape the land of lies.
Sometimes they let her out,
Following her joy without,
Calling to the Dancer dark,
Leading her to embark,
On a quest that will not rest,
Finding this the greatest test.
Tis a trap, we all suppose,
As surely as the Dancer knows,
That not to chase or even try
Is to submit to wither and die.
Two dark ways unfold in the maze,
Yet only one holds her gaze.
She softly sings a lilting prayer,
To Patient Time and Jester Fair,
Father High and Mother Three,
Oceans Blue and Forests Green,
Vengeance Black and Eye most Keen,
She consigns herself to the Seldarine.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
You return.
I do.
Why?
Reflection.
They left.
All of them.
There are others.
And?
They offer comfort.
And pain.
They offer joy.
And tears.
They offer love.
They will leave, too.
That matters not.
Yes, it does.
No.
What matters then?
The beginning.
The joy.
Yes.
Damn you.
They offer comfort.
I do.
Why?
Reflection.
They left.
All of them.
There are others.
And?
They offer comfort.
And pain.
They offer joy.
And tears.
They offer love.
They will leave, too.
That matters not.
Yes, it does.
No.
What matters then?
The beginning.
The joy.
Yes.
Damn you.
They offer comfort.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
“You will follow, silently, or your mage friend will die.”
Bad memories make for poor rest during Reverie. It is easier to call them nightmares, as the humans do, for the effect is the same. Helplessness followed the tingly feeling, a reminder of her brother’s words: The worst feeling is surviving.
Something grabs Adellie, pulling her through the tree cover. “You will follow, silently,” the man in purple and black growls, “or your mage friend will die.” He binds Khyssoun, then commands me to follow. How can they be RIGHT THERE in the middle of town and no one notice?! I follow, what else can I do without endangering the other two?
Not far within the trees we descend stone steps into a filthy cavern, stinking of rot and disease, holding only enough light to see. The sickly warm air threatens to turn our stomachs inside out. A low fog of darkness covers the floor, for which I am grateful. I hear the insects slithering, chittering, crawling. The sound alone makes my ears itch. Ten paces I follow Khyssoun’s backside, then turn left. Twenty paces, then Khyssoun thuds to the floor. Adellie and another are already there. The other I know, and try not to vomit. It laughs.
“Watch this one, Toxi'ous.” I name him Pestilence, and he puts a blade against the back of Khyssoun’s neck.
“Weapons down, miss.” The bow drops, hissing in protest, though I still do not believe what is happening. Khyssoun, to his credit, lay stone still.
“And turn around.” Again, I obey, turning while keeping an ear to the others. A sword snicked into a sheath. “Any funny disappearing tricks will be instant death. For your friends.” Yes, I had already figured that part out. He places bags over my hands, then ties them together. Damn, damn, damn. He spins me around and shoves me to the floor. I am not strong, no matter what Delawyn said. My whimpers echo, mocking and hateful.
“Set the staff on the ground.” Her sigh and the soft clatter answer. At least she is with us, and unharmed. Her wrists soon tied, she falls to the ground as well.
“There. All cozy. You three are our guests. If you try to leave, our friends, “he points to the ceiling, where several large spiders seem comfortable, “will see to your demise.”
Pestilence leans over me with a malodorous leer. “Toxi'ous.” our captor calls. It laughs. I glare with what little pride I hold. He leans closer, I spit.
“Yore very pretti,” he licks the spit, savoring it as if a good wine. “I haven't been with a pretti in some time,” he sneers. For once, I wish I could vomit at will, all over him. The other calls from a distance, irritation loud. I cannot stop a smirk, delighting in the smallest joy that Pestilence is not in control, but on a short leash. Short-lived joy that it is, for he speaks through some drool, “Maybe later. And yore frens can watch.” He turns, and stops to add, “Oh an... I really wouldn't try moving around to much. They bite hard.” Bagged or no, my fingers curl in a rude gesture.
Khyssoun rolls over to sit up, slowly, but not swearing nearly as much as I would have thought. I scoot towards him, but do not get far. A horse-sized spider drops between us, waving its forelegs at me. I whine, though Khyssoun does not seem to mind.
“This,” Adellie grunts, also sitting up, “isn’t good.”
“May I kick it?” my foot twitches, but nothing more. I really do know better.
Khyssoun shakes his head. “I might be able to talk to it if I can loosen these bonds a little.”
Adellie freezes, staring at a spider menacing her, “You need your hands to talk to a spider?”
“It’s uuuuuugly,” I argue.
“So are yoooouuuuu,” he sticks his tongue out at me, his voice betraying worry. The spider over Adellie bites her, but she holds still. Such patience I cannot help but admire. Her spider returns to the ceiling.
“You're uglier than both of us, Khyssoun,” I probably sound just as worried, but the spider between us would not let up. Khyssoun hisses something, but I did not hear. The sound of fangs in my shoulder distracts me. Then the burning pain. Another bite and more poison. I really hate spiders.
My muscles twitch as they give out, the spider spearing me back against the wall, away from Khyssoun. I sink to the floor, my arms pinned beneath me. It leaves, and I bite my lip to keep from whining too much. I test the knots through the bags on my hands. Adellie warns us to move slow, not alert our dungeonkeepers. I tell them I am weak, but Khyssoun does not listen. I fight the nausea, only to start coughing. Completely incapacitated, waiting to be rescued. How pathetic. I close my eyes, praying for inspiration to get out of this mess.
The light does not return. I open my eyes to complete darkness. I hear the others, and argue with Khyssoun. Our best chance is to get him out to find the others, but he refuses to leave us.
Sunlight intruded on the poor Reverie. She rubbed her face and growled, remembering her surroundings. Still tired, she stalked the wood. Any who might see her face would be well warned to give her space. Distraction, she needed a distraction.
Bad memories make for poor rest during Reverie. It is easier to call them nightmares, as the humans do, for the effect is the same. Helplessness followed the tingly feeling, a reminder of her brother’s words: The worst feeling is surviving.
Something grabs Adellie, pulling her through the tree cover. “You will follow, silently,” the man in purple and black growls, “or your mage friend will die.” He binds Khyssoun, then commands me to follow. How can they be RIGHT THERE in the middle of town and no one notice?! I follow, what else can I do without endangering the other two?
Not far within the trees we descend stone steps into a filthy cavern, stinking of rot and disease, holding only enough light to see. The sickly warm air threatens to turn our stomachs inside out. A low fog of darkness covers the floor, for which I am grateful. I hear the insects slithering, chittering, crawling. The sound alone makes my ears itch. Ten paces I follow Khyssoun’s backside, then turn left. Twenty paces, then Khyssoun thuds to the floor. Adellie and another are already there. The other I know, and try not to vomit. It laughs.
“Watch this one, Toxi'ous.” I name him Pestilence, and he puts a blade against the back of Khyssoun’s neck.
“Weapons down, miss.” The bow drops, hissing in protest, though I still do not believe what is happening. Khyssoun, to his credit, lay stone still.
“And turn around.” Again, I obey, turning while keeping an ear to the others. A sword snicked into a sheath. “Any funny disappearing tricks will be instant death. For your friends.” Yes, I had already figured that part out. He places bags over my hands, then ties them together. Damn, damn, damn. He spins me around and shoves me to the floor. I am not strong, no matter what Delawyn said. My whimpers echo, mocking and hateful.
“Set the staff on the ground.” Her sigh and the soft clatter answer. At least she is with us, and unharmed. Her wrists soon tied, she falls to the ground as well.
“There. All cozy. You three are our guests. If you try to leave, our friends, “he points to the ceiling, where several large spiders seem comfortable, “will see to your demise.”
Pestilence leans over me with a malodorous leer. “Toxi'ous.” our captor calls. It laughs. I glare with what little pride I hold. He leans closer, I spit.
“Yore very pretti,” he licks the spit, savoring it as if a good wine. “I haven't been with a pretti in some time,” he sneers. For once, I wish I could vomit at will, all over him. The other calls from a distance, irritation loud. I cannot stop a smirk, delighting in the smallest joy that Pestilence is not in control, but on a short leash. Short-lived joy that it is, for he speaks through some drool, “Maybe later. And yore frens can watch.” He turns, and stops to add, “Oh an... I really wouldn't try moving around to much. They bite hard.” Bagged or no, my fingers curl in a rude gesture.
Khyssoun rolls over to sit up, slowly, but not swearing nearly as much as I would have thought. I scoot towards him, but do not get far. A horse-sized spider drops between us, waving its forelegs at me. I whine, though Khyssoun does not seem to mind.
“This,” Adellie grunts, also sitting up, “isn’t good.”
“May I kick it?” my foot twitches, but nothing more. I really do know better.
Khyssoun shakes his head. “I might be able to talk to it if I can loosen these bonds a little.”
Adellie freezes, staring at a spider menacing her, “You need your hands to talk to a spider?”
“It’s uuuuuugly,” I argue.
“So are yoooouuuuu,” he sticks his tongue out at me, his voice betraying worry. The spider over Adellie bites her, but she holds still. Such patience I cannot help but admire. Her spider returns to the ceiling.
“You're uglier than both of us, Khyssoun,” I probably sound just as worried, but the spider between us would not let up. Khyssoun hisses something, but I did not hear. The sound of fangs in my shoulder distracts me. Then the burning pain. Another bite and more poison. I really hate spiders.
My muscles twitch as they give out, the spider spearing me back against the wall, away from Khyssoun. I sink to the floor, my arms pinned beneath me. It leaves, and I bite my lip to keep from whining too much. I test the knots through the bags on my hands. Adellie warns us to move slow, not alert our dungeonkeepers. I tell them I am weak, but Khyssoun does not listen. I fight the nausea, only to start coughing. Completely incapacitated, waiting to be rescued. How pathetic. I close my eyes, praying for inspiration to get out of this mess.
The light does not return. I open my eyes to complete darkness. I hear the others, and argue with Khyssoun. Our best chance is to get him out to find the others, but he refuses to leave us.
Sunlight intruded on the poor Reverie. She rubbed her face and growled, remembering her surroundings. Still tired, she stalked the wood. Any who might see her face would be well warned to give her space. Distraction, she needed a distraction.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
Strange, strange city, this Selgaunt. I have only Waterdeep to compare it to, but the differences glare so sharply I forget the similarities. I hide my ears, though I cannot hide how I walk, or the large bow on my back. Happily, the tall white-haired priest in gleaming plate and the taller redheaded human provide distraction enough. Though, I sometimes sneak out, just to see the city.
Most people make a point of ignoring me. That is, when I do not hide. This is the easy part. The children are more honest. They circle wide, pointing, whispering. I have seen another of my kind walking around the dock, but he was left alone. Ah yes. Newcomers must establish themselves. That opportunity came in the evening, while Roderick stepped inside a shop to find something new to wear for his dinner date in the Sune temple.
I stayed outside, talking to Delawyn. The last of the sun gleamed off his plate, highlighting his silvery white hair. As was my wont, I stayed in a long shadow, the dull green of dress and hood reflecting no light. We talked quietly of Roderick’s wardrobe when a pair of young boys stopped playing tag to gawk at Delawyn. They seemed little taller than my waist, clothes dirty as playing children tend to be. His polite smile did not scare them away.
They whisper. And whisper again. “Hello there,” Delawyn greets them.
One awkwardly steps closer, “Are you an,” he starts, putting more bravery in his voice, “elf?”
“I am,” my brother nods. The child’s eyes grew wide, suddenly embarrassed? I am not certain, but this game is fun. “It's alright,” Delawyn still smiles, “Some of the grown ups ask me that as well.” I shake my hood down and smile to them.
“Can I ask you a question?” once started, he does not stop. I love children. The other points to me, “Look! Two of ‘em!”
“Of course you can,” Delawyn answers the first. I pretend to inspect the children from afar. Roderick returned, asking about the small scene. “Just a bit of harmless curiosity,” comes the answer.
The first boy spills his question rapidly, face rapt with fascination, “Is it true you people eat small children?”
We shake our heads, my answer swallowed in Delawyn’s, “It is not. If we did, why would they let us into the city?” I step forward one step, then kneel, crooking my finger to beckon the boys.
“That’s what my grandda says,” explains the first boy, who pushes his friend towards me. The other, dark of skin and hair, stumbles towards me, eyes wide as plates.
“You’ve got something in there,” I smile my best playing smile and point to his ear, but he turns an ashen color.
He steps closer, shaking violently. “Please mistress,” he whimpers, “Don’t eat me.”
Hiding the sadness, I beckon him closer and whisper, “I will not eat you. I promise.” The poor thing, spurred more by fear of giving his friend something to laugh about than fear of the strange little elf, whimpered again and came closer. He stood rigid as I reached behind his ear, his other friend staring in horror. “Look,” I try to keep my voice light, for I know this will change their minds and make them happy. “I found something.” Still shaking, the boy tries to ask. His eyes remained wide when he saw the gleaming gold between my fingertips, but this time with surprise. “Do not tell the grownups you have golden ears,” I whisper, but he will surely forget.
“Yulon! You have coins growing out of your ears!”
“Hey, how’d you do that,” the boy gingerly takes the coin, staring at me.
“Elf magic,” I wink to him. Stupid answer, really. But I did not think this far ahead.
“Elves can make coins,” he marvels.
“No,” I gently correct. I hope it is gently. “They can find them hiding in little boys' ears.” That should keep them from pestering the other kin in the city. I hope.
“Keen elven eyes,” I hear Roderick smirking as he speaks.
The other boy pushes Yulon out of the way, almost yelling at me, “Do I have one as well?! Do I? Do I?!”
“Let me see,” I tease, “Do you?” Making more of a show this time, the boy ever so hopeful, I repeat the trick. I cannot see my companions, but they do not sound impatient with this game. The boy snatched his treasure and hid it somewhere, eyes wide in amazement. Finger over my lips, I shush him and caution him to tell no one. He will, of course, tell all his friends. Roderick chuckles as I rise.
“Good show, sister,” Delawyn praises. I know it is silly, but I love hearing him proud of me. “Now if we could pull a coin out of the ear of every child in Sembia, we might be more warmly received in twenty or thirty years.”
“That would be a fortune well spent,” I smile. I might try that, to pass the time. It would be an excellent redistribution of wealth in this wretched city. “Children are fun. They know what is important.”
Delawyn turns to Roderick with a smirk, “Did you find something pretty to wear for Noriandor?” We three go inside, giving Roderick the worst fashion advice we could get away with.
Most people make a point of ignoring me. That is, when I do not hide. This is the easy part. The children are more honest. They circle wide, pointing, whispering. I have seen another of my kind walking around the dock, but he was left alone. Ah yes. Newcomers must establish themselves. That opportunity came in the evening, while Roderick stepped inside a shop to find something new to wear for his dinner date in the Sune temple.
I stayed outside, talking to Delawyn. The last of the sun gleamed off his plate, highlighting his silvery white hair. As was my wont, I stayed in a long shadow, the dull green of dress and hood reflecting no light. We talked quietly of Roderick’s wardrobe when a pair of young boys stopped playing tag to gawk at Delawyn. They seemed little taller than my waist, clothes dirty as playing children tend to be. His polite smile did not scare them away.
They whisper. And whisper again. “Hello there,” Delawyn greets them.
One awkwardly steps closer, “Are you an,” he starts, putting more bravery in his voice, “elf?”
“I am,” my brother nods. The child’s eyes grew wide, suddenly embarrassed? I am not certain, but this game is fun. “It's alright,” Delawyn still smiles, “Some of the grown ups ask me that as well.” I shake my hood down and smile to them.
“Can I ask you a question?” once started, he does not stop. I love children. The other points to me, “Look! Two of ‘em!”
“Of course you can,” Delawyn answers the first. I pretend to inspect the children from afar. Roderick returned, asking about the small scene. “Just a bit of harmless curiosity,” comes the answer.
The first boy spills his question rapidly, face rapt with fascination, “Is it true you people eat small children?”
We shake our heads, my answer swallowed in Delawyn’s, “It is not. If we did, why would they let us into the city?” I step forward one step, then kneel, crooking my finger to beckon the boys.
“That’s what my grandda says,” explains the first boy, who pushes his friend towards me. The other, dark of skin and hair, stumbles towards me, eyes wide as plates.
“You’ve got something in there,” I smile my best playing smile and point to his ear, but he turns an ashen color.
He steps closer, shaking violently. “Please mistress,” he whimpers, “Don’t eat me.”
Hiding the sadness, I beckon him closer and whisper, “I will not eat you. I promise.” The poor thing, spurred more by fear of giving his friend something to laugh about than fear of the strange little elf, whimpered again and came closer. He stood rigid as I reached behind his ear, his other friend staring in horror. “Look,” I try to keep my voice light, for I know this will change their minds and make them happy. “I found something.” Still shaking, the boy tries to ask. His eyes remained wide when he saw the gleaming gold between my fingertips, but this time with surprise. “Do not tell the grownups you have golden ears,” I whisper, but he will surely forget.
“Yulon! You have coins growing out of your ears!”
“Hey, how’d you do that,” the boy gingerly takes the coin, staring at me.
“Elf magic,” I wink to him. Stupid answer, really. But I did not think this far ahead.
“Elves can make coins,” he marvels.
“No,” I gently correct. I hope it is gently. “They can find them hiding in little boys' ears.” That should keep them from pestering the other kin in the city. I hope.
“Keen elven eyes,” I hear Roderick smirking as he speaks.
The other boy pushes Yulon out of the way, almost yelling at me, “Do I have one as well?! Do I? Do I?!”
“Let me see,” I tease, “Do you?” Making more of a show this time, the boy ever so hopeful, I repeat the trick. I cannot see my companions, but they do not sound impatient with this game. The boy snatched his treasure and hid it somewhere, eyes wide in amazement. Finger over my lips, I shush him and caution him to tell no one. He will, of course, tell all his friends. Roderick chuckles as I rise.
“Good show, sister,” Delawyn praises. I know it is silly, but I love hearing him proud of me. “Now if we could pull a coin out of the ear of every child in Sembia, we might be more warmly received in twenty or thirty years.”
“That would be a fortune well spent,” I smile. I might try that, to pass the time. It would be an excellent redistribution of wealth in this wretched city. “Children are fun. They know what is important.”
Delawyn turns to Roderick with a smirk, “Did you find something pretty to wear for Noriandor?” We three go inside, giving Roderick the worst fashion advice we could get away with.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Zyrus Meynolt: [Party] For the record, if this somehow blows up in our faces and I die, I want a raiseSwift wrote: Permadeath is only permadeath when the PCs wallet is empty.
<Castano>: danielnm - can you blame them?
<danielmn>: Yes,
<danielmn>: Easily.
"And in this twilight....our choices seal our fate"
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
He warns it is a road of pain,
With heavy costs incurred,
Dallying with the short-lived,
Is an exercise in the absurd.
‘Obviously,’ Brother minds,
‘They can be surmounted,
Consider before proceeding,’
The first pain is counted.
Short of life yet brightly lived,
Intense and frighteningly fast,
It permeates all their ways,
How any day could be their last.
Red of hair and blue of eye,
A man, strong and pretty,
He does not wish to be
A comfort temporary.
I do not laugh, nor even smile,
I manage not to cry,
That forty years of his life,
Make but a quarter of mine.
Every joy is fleeting,
All comforts pass away,
Take what you can grasp,
While you yet may.
With heavy costs incurred,
Dallying with the short-lived,
Is an exercise in the absurd.
‘Obviously,’ Brother minds,
‘They can be surmounted,
Consider before proceeding,’
The first pain is counted.
Short of life yet brightly lived,
Intense and frighteningly fast,
It permeates all their ways,
How any day could be their last.
Red of hair and blue of eye,
A man, strong and pretty,
He does not wish to be
A comfort temporary.
I do not laugh, nor even smile,
I manage not to cry,
That forty years of his life,
Make but a quarter of mine.
Every joy is fleeting,
All comforts pass away,
Take what you can grasp,
While you yet may.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
Here we are, feral and free,
Leaving behind all responsibility,
Our only concern, nae our need,
Is do we have near enough mead?
Bow and rise, leap and spin,
Let the playful chase begin!
Growl and yip, nip and bite,
The dance of wolves rules this night.
Caught again with moon on high,
Laughing, howling, we spill the wine,
Throat to throat, lips to ear,
Growling low the invitation dear.
Limbs entangled 'neath an old tree,
The chase continues in shared reverie.
Leaving behind all responsibility,
Our only concern, nae our need,
Is do we have near enough mead?
Bow and rise, leap and spin,
Let the playful chase begin!
Growl and yip, nip and bite,
The dance of wolves rules this night.
Caught again with moon on high,
Laughing, howling, we spill the wine,
Throat to throat, lips to ear,
Growling low the invitation dear.
Limbs entangled 'neath an old tree,
The chase continues in shared reverie.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
-
Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
She breathed of the forest air, darkness bleeding across the sky. On the wall again, in her favorite spot to watch the forest below. To calm herself. Delawyn had made himself scarce, she wondered if it meant anything more than trying to impress Lord Miritar. Roderick returned to his studies of the infernal languages. Or was it Abyssal? Faintly she shrugged, the differences meaning little to her. Was she harming him, despite her stated desire against doing that very thing? Perhaps it would be best to... Faint steps along the wall, and a few not-so-faint steps pulled her out of calm contemplation.
Six other People took up posts along the wall, studying the forest below. The louder steps belonged to a silver-plated pair, one in the robes of a battle mage, the other three in the now familiar leather of The Guard. Was it wrong to love their presence? So many People together, in a single, great cause. Not wrong, but perhaps foolish? She was naught but an ignorant forest girl, soon they will see and dismiss her for being low-born. Not now, she hoped as a familiar scarred cheek neared her, speaking softly, “Seems the night is not as quiet as we had hoped.”
“What happens?”
“Aurora just stopped by,” his eyes darted over the forest floor, “She spoke with Delawyn, who seemed to have an encounter with a canoloth not long ago.”
Unsure which ones those were, she dismissed the dumb question. It did not matter, for they all must die. “Where? I was just hunting to the west and the wood was clear.”
“East, I believe.” She nodded slowly. Of course east, for she was west, watching the pretty red-haired human dress her kill. “Though,” he smiled, “I am sure the canoloths are scared of you, hence they work their way around the other way.”
“Surely you jest,” she tried to not laugh. What demon fears her? However, jesting is good. Very good. She invited with playful smile, “Do you wish to hunt?”
He smirked, the line of his lips blending into his scar so perfectly. Not all scars were beautiful, but this one held some poetry. “It is a perfect night for a hunt.”
“Pick a direction.”
“East.” Ah, a demon hunt. How fun! Her bow whispered something soothing, eager for another fight. This time she brought enough arrows.
“Can you climb down? Or the gate?” He shrugged his lack of preference. Happily she shouldered her bow to climb down. He nimbly followed, hopping down the last few feet. She hid her smile, turning east while pulling up her cloak. Away from earshot of those on the wall, she spoke of a quiet concern, “Has the Captain's intended shown?”
“No,” came the not insensitive reply. “I think she knows, but she is just afraid to admit it.”
How trite to say she knew that pain. “It is hard,” she started, still heading east with her back to him, “coming to accept without proof.” Or is that giving up? The path of the faithless, or self-preservation? “How is she faring? When not trying to be strong in front of the rest of us?”
“I think she simply hides it, regardless of whom she is in front of.” He probably shook his head, but she continued looking east. “Though,” his soft whisper followed her, “I suppose her story is no different from many others in this Crusade.”
It is,” she searched the right word for the awe in meeting the lord’s daughter, “humbling. Seeing everyone. You all left everything behind to do this.” He started to speak when she blurted out, “Have you anyone?” Khyssoun was right, she possessed the subtlety of a hungry bear.
“I do not,” the words came out simple, unpained. “We follow a vision,” he repeated. “Seiveril says it came from Corellon Himself. I have no reason to doubt it.”
“That is a good reason,” She grinned, then as suddenly calmed. She could feel his eyes on her. Or perhaps she imagined it. Wished it?
“How about you? What brought you here?”
Simple enough question, and she did invite it. She quelled most of the manic laughter threatening to disturb the forest, loosing only a quietly bitter chuckle. “Clinging to a hope.” He echoed her last words with curiosity. “My bond broke, and I did not wish to die. For he did not.”
“So you did have someone?” How to answer this? Jester fair, may you laugh long and hard. And, just maybe once in a while, let her enjoy the joke, too.
“Not anymore,” she whispered, holding her hand up. Immediately he crouched. So easily they seemed to work together. Then again, they were both experienced scouts. She pointed to the northeast before spinning in her familiar pirouette. She stalked towards the group, knowing he would not follow. Not too close, the dark elven shapes and repulsive large bat-like wings suggest they may sense her presence through the shadows. One with sword, one with bow and the third she did not study. “Three. Daemonfey,” she whispered to him, showing herself crouched by his ear. She described the trio.
“Three on two,” he mused, looking up to the trees. “And they may have magic.”
“Must as I would like to,” she admitted, “we should get aid.”
“One of us can go, the other should stay and watch them.” Yes, of course. He once thought he could teach her little, but she learned plenty from his unconscious guidance. Or maybe it was conscious? She gave him the choice. “You go. If trouble finds me, look to your pendant.”
Oh yes. She touched it briefly, the cool teardrop shape cool and comforting. “Promise to show me how you do that.” His smile flashed, turning to watch the trio. She turned toward the village, speaking in a softer whisper, “You do not need to hear it, but I wish to say it anyway: be safe, Ilemar.”
“You as well, Laurelin.”
She quelled her excitement, jogging only the littlest bit back. They might have others watching, calling, waiting to separate the pair. No incident along the way, the pendant remained cool. She walked across the little bridge, seeing the posture and gold hair of one who could only be Captain E’less. Laurelin called, heedless of decorum. The captain stopped mid-sentence and turned to her. Thank the Jester, she did not seem displeased.
“Sorry,” she winced. “Daemonfey in the wood. Three of them. At least, that is what I counted so far.”
“Where are they?”
“East. Ilemar is watching them.”
She nods, eyes calculating. “Delawyn just went north. I will gather a couple others then.” She turned to the pair waiting patiently beside her, commanding them to watch the east gate. “Lead the way, Laurelin.”
“Yes, Captain,” She spun on her heel, heading back towards Ilemar. She would muse on the ease of falling into line under the captain later. They moved quickly, Laurelin picking out the easiest path with the captain smoothly following. Shortly after leaving the gate, she covered whatever source of light she carried. They stopped behind Ilemar. “Still three?”
“Aurora,” he greeted his Captain with a nod. “Four now. The fourth flew in after you left. They were joined by a yagnoloth but thankfully that left.” She shivered, partly from her evercold cloak, partly from hearing another name of what was probably a demon. “We are in the forest,” he continued, “They cannot use their wings to any advantage here.”
“Pick a hill where we can get a good line of sight,” Captain E’less commanded. “Draw them over the hill at range. I can hold off a couple up close once they crest it.” The other two nodded, already knowing who would lure and who would wait.
“When you are both ready,” Laurelin turned toward to face the quartet.
“May the Seldarine protect us,” the captain answered, “Silence any casters as soon as possible and stay spread out. Keep moving as well.”
“Yes, Captain.” So easy to follow.
“Laurelin,” Ilemar called. She stopped to look back, smiling despite herself. “Be strong.” Perhaps her pink ears were hid in the shadows. She could hope, looking down and wishing him the same.
Focus. She walked in the treeshadows, silently, calmly, suppressing the sudden laughter at her role as a tease. Always the tease. The four stood close, wings folded neatly along their backs. Not too close, the four could easily overwhelm one little Person.
She took aim, then loosed an arrow at the archer. He, or she, growled at the grazing wound. Laurelin ran back, pirouetted between the planes, then walked. The two who charged stopped, frowning into the gloom. Another arrow, this at the one with a long blade, and another grazing blow. The other’s arrows missed by many feet while Laurelin ran back to her companions. The one daemonfey who eerily cried out followed, ignoring Laurelin to attack the Captain the moment he saw her. The captain felled him swiftly when something cold distracted Laurelin.
“Mage!” Ilemar called, shooting the archer dead before his cry finished echoing. After assessing that the other two were ready, they advanced on the remaining two abominations. And as swiftly, they fell.
Ilemar and Laurelin both studied the forest, looking for more. She scratched at her shoulder, jumping at the piece of wood sticking out. Pain! He asked after her while she pulled it out, then dug out one of her magic leeches. She was fine, and nodded to show it.
“The swordsinger is dispatched,” announced the captain.
“I counted four,” he smirked. “You?” Laurelin nodded, putting the deflated leech away. Gross, gross, gross. But it healed. “A good hunt then I'd say. Well done, Laurelin. Aurora.” What was wrong with her, to be so happy at such simple words?
“Four less for Sarya’s army,” the captain nodded once, turning to the Springs.
“Would not have done it without you, Ilemar. Thank you.”
“I didn't do much else than... well... you.” He scratched his head with an odd smile. “However that came out.”
She laughed. “That made little sense. Shall we return?” The three returned, alert for another attack, though it did not fall upon them.
“What worries me is that they venture close to the Springs,” he finally spoke of the more disturbing notion. Laurelin agreed. “Saves us the trouble of walking to hunt; if you look at it that way.” Oh, how fun!
She laughed. “For those of us that hunt, yes. Not everyone who lives there hunts, though.”
“Perhaps for the better?” He spoke softly. Teasing? “There are some who I cannot imagine wielding a bow. No offense captain.” Yes, teasing. Captain E’less smirked in answer, then left to talk to the east gate guards. He turned to face Laurelin. “Thank you.”
“A good hunt, indeed,” she smiled.
Six other People took up posts along the wall, studying the forest below. The louder steps belonged to a silver-plated pair, one in the robes of a battle mage, the other three in the now familiar leather of The Guard. Was it wrong to love their presence? So many People together, in a single, great cause. Not wrong, but perhaps foolish? She was naught but an ignorant forest girl, soon they will see and dismiss her for being low-born. Not now, she hoped as a familiar scarred cheek neared her, speaking softly, “Seems the night is not as quiet as we had hoped.”
“What happens?”
“Aurora just stopped by,” his eyes darted over the forest floor, “She spoke with Delawyn, who seemed to have an encounter with a canoloth not long ago.”
Unsure which ones those were, she dismissed the dumb question. It did not matter, for they all must die. “Where? I was just hunting to the west and the wood was clear.”
“East, I believe.” She nodded slowly. Of course east, for she was west, watching the pretty red-haired human dress her kill. “Though,” he smiled, “I am sure the canoloths are scared of you, hence they work their way around the other way.”
“Surely you jest,” she tried to not laugh. What demon fears her? However, jesting is good. Very good. She invited with playful smile, “Do you wish to hunt?”
He smirked, the line of his lips blending into his scar so perfectly. Not all scars were beautiful, but this one held some poetry. “It is a perfect night for a hunt.”
“Pick a direction.”
“East.” Ah, a demon hunt. How fun! Her bow whispered something soothing, eager for another fight. This time she brought enough arrows.
“Can you climb down? Or the gate?” He shrugged his lack of preference. Happily she shouldered her bow to climb down. He nimbly followed, hopping down the last few feet. She hid her smile, turning east while pulling up her cloak. Away from earshot of those on the wall, she spoke of a quiet concern, “Has the Captain's intended shown?”
“No,” came the not insensitive reply. “I think she knows, but she is just afraid to admit it.”
How trite to say she knew that pain. “It is hard,” she started, still heading east with her back to him, “coming to accept without proof.” Or is that giving up? The path of the faithless, or self-preservation? “How is she faring? When not trying to be strong in front of the rest of us?”
“I think she simply hides it, regardless of whom she is in front of.” He probably shook his head, but she continued looking east. “Though,” his soft whisper followed her, “I suppose her story is no different from many others in this Crusade.”
It is,” she searched the right word for the awe in meeting the lord’s daughter, “humbling. Seeing everyone. You all left everything behind to do this.” He started to speak when she blurted out, “Have you anyone?” Khyssoun was right, she possessed the subtlety of a hungry bear.
“I do not,” the words came out simple, unpained. “We follow a vision,” he repeated. “Seiveril says it came from Corellon Himself. I have no reason to doubt it.”
“That is a good reason,” She grinned, then as suddenly calmed. She could feel his eyes on her. Or perhaps she imagined it. Wished it?
“How about you? What brought you here?”
Simple enough question, and she did invite it. She quelled most of the manic laughter threatening to disturb the forest, loosing only a quietly bitter chuckle. “Clinging to a hope.” He echoed her last words with curiosity. “My bond broke, and I did not wish to die. For he did not.”
“So you did have someone?” How to answer this? Jester fair, may you laugh long and hard. And, just maybe once in a while, let her enjoy the joke, too.
“Not anymore,” she whispered, holding her hand up. Immediately he crouched. So easily they seemed to work together. Then again, they were both experienced scouts. She pointed to the northeast before spinning in her familiar pirouette. She stalked towards the group, knowing he would not follow. Not too close, the dark elven shapes and repulsive large bat-like wings suggest they may sense her presence through the shadows. One with sword, one with bow and the third she did not study. “Three. Daemonfey,” she whispered to him, showing herself crouched by his ear. She described the trio.
“Three on two,” he mused, looking up to the trees. “And they may have magic.”
“Must as I would like to,” she admitted, “we should get aid.”
“One of us can go, the other should stay and watch them.” Yes, of course. He once thought he could teach her little, but she learned plenty from his unconscious guidance. Or maybe it was conscious? She gave him the choice. “You go. If trouble finds me, look to your pendant.”
Oh yes. She touched it briefly, the cool teardrop shape cool and comforting. “Promise to show me how you do that.” His smile flashed, turning to watch the trio. She turned toward the village, speaking in a softer whisper, “You do not need to hear it, but I wish to say it anyway: be safe, Ilemar.”
“You as well, Laurelin.”
She quelled her excitement, jogging only the littlest bit back. They might have others watching, calling, waiting to separate the pair. No incident along the way, the pendant remained cool. She walked across the little bridge, seeing the posture and gold hair of one who could only be Captain E’less. Laurelin called, heedless of decorum. The captain stopped mid-sentence and turned to her. Thank the Jester, she did not seem displeased.
“Sorry,” she winced. “Daemonfey in the wood. Three of them. At least, that is what I counted so far.”
“Where are they?”
“East. Ilemar is watching them.”
She nods, eyes calculating. “Delawyn just went north. I will gather a couple others then.” She turned to the pair waiting patiently beside her, commanding them to watch the east gate. “Lead the way, Laurelin.”
“Yes, Captain,” She spun on her heel, heading back towards Ilemar. She would muse on the ease of falling into line under the captain later. They moved quickly, Laurelin picking out the easiest path with the captain smoothly following. Shortly after leaving the gate, she covered whatever source of light she carried. They stopped behind Ilemar. “Still three?”
“Aurora,” he greeted his Captain with a nod. “Four now. The fourth flew in after you left. They were joined by a yagnoloth but thankfully that left.” She shivered, partly from her evercold cloak, partly from hearing another name of what was probably a demon. “We are in the forest,” he continued, “They cannot use their wings to any advantage here.”
“Pick a hill where we can get a good line of sight,” Captain E’less commanded. “Draw them over the hill at range. I can hold off a couple up close once they crest it.” The other two nodded, already knowing who would lure and who would wait.
“When you are both ready,” Laurelin turned toward to face the quartet.
“May the Seldarine protect us,” the captain answered, “Silence any casters as soon as possible and stay spread out. Keep moving as well.”
“Yes, Captain.” So easy to follow.
“Laurelin,” Ilemar called. She stopped to look back, smiling despite herself. “Be strong.” Perhaps her pink ears were hid in the shadows. She could hope, looking down and wishing him the same.
Focus. She walked in the treeshadows, silently, calmly, suppressing the sudden laughter at her role as a tease. Always the tease. The four stood close, wings folded neatly along their backs. Not too close, the four could easily overwhelm one little Person.
She took aim, then loosed an arrow at the archer. He, or she, growled at the grazing wound. Laurelin ran back, pirouetted between the planes, then walked. The two who charged stopped, frowning into the gloom. Another arrow, this at the one with a long blade, and another grazing blow. The other’s arrows missed by many feet while Laurelin ran back to her companions. The one daemonfey who eerily cried out followed, ignoring Laurelin to attack the Captain the moment he saw her. The captain felled him swiftly when something cold distracted Laurelin.
“Mage!” Ilemar called, shooting the archer dead before his cry finished echoing. After assessing that the other two were ready, they advanced on the remaining two abominations. And as swiftly, they fell.
Ilemar and Laurelin both studied the forest, looking for more. She scratched at her shoulder, jumping at the piece of wood sticking out. Pain! He asked after her while she pulled it out, then dug out one of her magic leeches. She was fine, and nodded to show it.
“The swordsinger is dispatched,” announced the captain.
“I counted four,” he smirked. “You?” Laurelin nodded, putting the deflated leech away. Gross, gross, gross. But it healed. “A good hunt then I'd say. Well done, Laurelin. Aurora.” What was wrong with her, to be so happy at such simple words?
“Four less for Sarya’s army,” the captain nodded once, turning to the Springs.
“Would not have done it without you, Ilemar. Thank you.”
“I didn't do much else than... well... you.” He scratched his head with an odd smile. “However that came out.”
She laughed. “That made little sense. Shall we return?” The three returned, alert for another attack, though it did not fall upon them.
“What worries me is that they venture close to the Springs,” he finally spoke of the more disturbing notion. Laurelin agreed. “Saves us the trouble of walking to hunt; if you look at it that way.” Oh, how fun!
She laughed. “For those of us that hunt, yes. Not everyone who lives there hunts, though.”
“Perhaps for the better?” He spoke softly. Teasing? “There are some who I cannot imagine wielding a bow. No offense captain.” Yes, teasing. Captain E’less smirked in answer, then left to talk to the east gate guards. He turned to face Laurelin. “Thank you.”
“A good hunt, indeed,” she smiled.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
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Misty
- Proletarian Librarian
- Posts: 1332
- Joined: Wed Jun 16, 2004 4:10 pm
- Location: Lazin' by el Rio Blanco
She squirmed against Cirdan’s hold, but to no avail. He held tight to the tiny babe, hot tears falling over her blanket. A small, hard brown hand reached out, for the babe or for him, he could not know.
“Cirdan,” she whispered, rare tenderness in her voice. “Cirdan, you hold too tight.”
‘She,” sobs replaced his words.
The hand hesitated a half-moment before resting on his shoulder. He wiped his eyes clear, daring to look at the woman before him. Her normally hard brown eyes were soft, the leafy crown braided in her dark brown hair framing the dark face. Her face, so familiar yet not so, his head fell to the babe and shook with grief.
Luthien wrapped her arms around the pair, the babe protesting the extra hold on her. “She,” Cirdan whispered in the momentary calm between tears, “she is all I have left. Not,” he sniffed, breathing deep, “Not a tenday and so soon motherless!” Another wave of tears fell on the child.
“I loved her, too! Let me hold her, Cirdan. Please?” Without waiting for answer, Luthien tenderly took the babe, whose cries for freedom ended with the lighter hold. Cirdan wiped his eyes, watching the two. Watching how the babe calmed, looking into the familiar face. Ever so softly, Luthien spoke, her words shifting from the babe to her father, “She does not have to know.”
He stared at the woman, the unusual softness she showed to the babe and himself doing nothing to calm his mind. Luthien repeated her words. He watched the child, his child giggle at the feather touching her nose. The woman looked exactly like her mother, played with her in the same way. The child knew she was not, for now. She was so young, the knowledge will fade in her tender memory. “You,” his voice afraid to grow louder than a whisper, “What are you saying?”
“She does not have to know. We both lost her, Cirdan, but the child does not have to know. I,” her whisper faltered, looking to Cirdan. Was he angry?
“You,” he started again. “You would,” he swallowed. “With us?” He looked to the now content babe, her tiny face rubbing into the woman’s chest.
“Yes,” Luthien firmly answered, pulling a warm pouch of milk from her belt, holding it to the child. “We will move far away, any with us will keep it secret. Our secret. She need not know.”
His eyes drifted over their familiar section of lake. Their home, their dream, so soon shattered. He looked back to the lady before him, she cooed to the child. He saw the love she held for her niece. The babe looked so much like her mother. And her mother’s sister. She did not have to know. The tears fell, but quieter. Nothing remained for them here. “She will call you mother.”
Luthien nodded once. “We will find our own place, guarded from Not People. We will live with the wood, Cirdan. Completely,” Her eyes lifted to his, probing how well he understood. Wild as the Wood people. As her people. He nodded once.
She tucked the empty pouch of milk in her belt, moving the babe to her shoulder. “Come Laurelin,” she crooned. “Mother must tell the others.”
“Cirdan,” she whispered, rare tenderness in her voice. “Cirdan, you hold too tight.”
‘She,” sobs replaced his words.
The hand hesitated a half-moment before resting on his shoulder. He wiped his eyes clear, daring to look at the woman before him. Her normally hard brown eyes were soft, the leafy crown braided in her dark brown hair framing the dark face. Her face, so familiar yet not so, his head fell to the babe and shook with grief.
Luthien wrapped her arms around the pair, the babe protesting the extra hold on her. “She,” Cirdan whispered in the momentary calm between tears, “she is all I have left. Not,” he sniffed, breathing deep, “Not a tenday and so soon motherless!” Another wave of tears fell on the child.
“I loved her, too! Let me hold her, Cirdan. Please?” Without waiting for answer, Luthien tenderly took the babe, whose cries for freedom ended with the lighter hold. Cirdan wiped his eyes, watching the two. Watching how the babe calmed, looking into the familiar face. Ever so softly, Luthien spoke, her words shifting from the babe to her father, “She does not have to know.”
He stared at the woman, the unusual softness she showed to the babe and himself doing nothing to calm his mind. Luthien repeated her words. He watched the child, his child giggle at the feather touching her nose. The woman looked exactly like her mother, played with her in the same way. The child knew she was not, for now. She was so young, the knowledge will fade in her tender memory. “You,” his voice afraid to grow louder than a whisper, “What are you saying?”
“She does not have to know. We both lost her, Cirdan, but the child does not have to know. I,” her whisper faltered, looking to Cirdan. Was he angry?
“You,” he started again. “You would,” he swallowed. “With us?” He looked to the now content babe, her tiny face rubbing into the woman’s chest.
“Yes,” Luthien firmly answered, pulling a warm pouch of milk from her belt, holding it to the child. “We will move far away, any with us will keep it secret. Our secret. She need not know.”
His eyes drifted over their familiar section of lake. Their home, their dream, so soon shattered. He looked back to the lady before him, she cooed to the child. He saw the love she held for her niece. The babe looked so much like her mother. And her mother’s sister. She did not have to know. The tears fell, but quieter. Nothing remained for them here. “She will call you mother.”
Luthien nodded once. “We will find our own place, guarded from Not People. We will live with the wood, Cirdan. Completely,” Her eyes lifted to his, probing how well he understood. Wild as the Wood people. As her people. He nodded once.
She tucked the empty pouch of milk in her belt, moving the babe to her shoulder. “Come Laurelin,” she crooned. “Mother must tell the others.”
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.
Currently living like Rip van Winkle.