Learning to Dance

[Misty]

Reprinted from Cups thread:

He has forgotten about you.

No. He could not. How does one forget the sun?

You have forgotten him.

I did not. How can I forget the one who still holds my heart?

You did not return.

I am afraid.

Coward.

I am a spectacular coward.

Why are you so far east?

Finding my own path.

Do you like being afraid?

No.

The Chameleon favors the bold.

Bold gave me a pierced heart.

And new love.

Oh shut up.

You must find out.

Later.

Do not wait too long.

I wrote him a letter.

And you watched the river take it.

Let me find my path.

Do not lose yourself.

[Misty]

So there we were, a pair of elves looking for diversion. I know what you are thinking, and no, we do not always frolic. There are other things to do than dance, though dancing is one of my most favorite things to do. We went exploring, Isendir and I, to get a better feel of the land. To do something other than swim or drink, that is.

I bought another dress in Tethyarmarside, then we set out towards the west. More woods, a bog, some slimy thing or other we avoided, until her scream. Now, I’m not one to rush into danger, but it sounded like a little girl. And that is just not fair.

It was a little girl, high in a tree, with several black wolves snuffling at the base. Not for long, of course. Isendir is pretty handy with his sword, and I am a mean shot with my bow. He scrambled up the tree to her, so fast I thought he was part squirrel. She did, too. Her name was Saminthala, and she had this odd tale of trees attacking her family at their camp. Noble Isendir felt compelled to investigate, while I pulled gold out of the girl’s ears. She seemed to like it.

Turns out, the trees did attack. I mean, not real trees, but you cannot really tell they aren’t real trees until they run up at you. They are made of tree stuffs, but definitely not trees. So the girl stayed with me for a few days while Isendir found Karin. They set out for help, when I learned another amazing thing about my new friend. She dreams of lost things. And if you go look in the place she dreamed, you find it. Pretty neat trick, huh?

That’s how they found her brother. Now he is taking care of her, but I’m sure she will be around. I am the only one who can find gold in her ears.

[Inwintersshadow]

Beautiful piece Misty. Sounds like this was a treat to be involved in too.

[rudy2688]

Wonderful read...

[Misty]

Roots






Home, I must get home. The waterfall, the small town, the dance school.

Him.

No, not just to him. If a male could keep me in one place, I would not have traveled this way. Or I would not have left. The land is right. The people are right. Not so large as Waterdeep, not so small as Westbridge.

These people need to stop for the night and rest again. Humans can be so infuriating. I push ahead. The roads are well traveled, free of many a danger. Most do not notice me, pretending to be the wind would be fun if I were not so tired.

My boots are smouldering still. My feet burn, my shoulders ache, but I cannot rest. I want to go home. It is dark again in the Spiderhaunt, but I care not. Too tired to be afraid, I push forward.

Did those stone snakes move? No, my eyes are tired. So close I cannot stop now.

I can smell the horses in Tethyamarside. The dress shop. Only a few miles more. I can make it.

I have to step through the river to get to the town, and I almost stop. But no, I must lay down my bow and sword.

The house is lovely, so empty. No matter, not now.

The river calls, and I cannot ignore it any longer. The grass sweet bliss under my bare feet, the water nourishes me. When I close my eyes, I can feel my toes becoming roots. I can hear his seductive whisper. I think I am hallucinating, yet not. My soul is home.

I am home.

[Misty]

Chameleon would not approve of your new tricks.

The people here would not approve of my old tricks.

You still wish to stay?

Yes.

Why?

I like the Falls.

There are other waterfalls.

There is no kin strife.

That you know of.

I am happy here.

Are you leaving us?

No.

Are you sure?

No.

Do you enjoy the dance?

I do.

He will hurt you.

I know.

He is using you.

And I, him.

He does not desire you.

He does not have to.

But you desire him.

Oh shut up.

You do.

And it will pass, as all the others had.

You love too much.

Is that so wrong?

It hurts.

Sometimes.

What will you do when he is through with you?

Let us burn that bridge when we get there.

Be sure you cross first.

[Mizbiz]

Very nice Misty.

Someone else pines for poor Laur too.

[rudy2688]

Nice as always. DD is gifted with some great writers.

[Misty]

“It is no wonder, then, why I find no other devoted to the Chameleon here.”

“Devoted? I would not have guessed.”

“No one would anymore.”




The falls drown our voices as the last light of Erevan fades within my heart. My last prank printed on some rag in Waterdeep, no more can I call myself a trickster.

Ideas still come three at a time, and for a moment I want to laugh. But the next moment I weep. I fear for my neck and hands. I do not even drink mead anymore. The simple answer would be to leave. Find another home. But this I have done, too often. I tire of running from the humorless, only to find more who cannot laugh unless they are knee deep in the gore of their enemies. I could leave, but it would change nothing. The dalesmen here forget there is war and pain outside their dale. That newcomers are often as scarred as the natives. That a joyful haven can be made anywhere.

I never did turn someone pink.

Erevan, my first love, I am sorry. Here by the river I remain, under Sehanine’s soft glow.

[Mizbiz]

*hugs*

[Misty]

Poised above the seven-gold parchment, the quill nib prepares to strike. Paper is a luxury here, this small bundle of parchment costing more than a tenday’s worth of groceries. They mock the number of dresses in my closet, but I spend more on parchment and ink. Suspended by some unseen force, the ink threatens to drip. This time it is not for a sketch that I wish to put ink to paper, but words. So much happens now, it is difficult to remember it all. But words, words are more damning than pictures. I can pass off a painting to be exactly what it is, with no hidden meaning, but it is a different art with words. Harder art.

These words would be for me only, my own personal notes and no one else’s. But once scribed on paper, they can be found and read by others. Unless I burn it. I burn only the worst of my paintings, parchment costs so much. And if the words are found, read, known, then my own feelings are exposed. It would be my fault, for putting the words to parchment. I made my thoughts available for other eyes. It would be as if I wanted other eyes to see them. Do I?

As with so many questions lately, the answer is: I do not know.

While these words would be for my eyes only, a part of me wants to share my thoughts with another. However, if I did so such, then it would change the words I wish to write, the words I want to be discovered. Many questions I have, many doubts. But to write them down to be found is so crass. It speaks of a degree of cowardice that sickens me. But no, I need to keep my thoughts straight. No games with myself, else I forget something important.

The quill descends, ink dragged across the parchment in slow, even strokes. It forms no words, only a picture. Another kitten, this one curled up asleep on the hilt of an unsheathed shortsword. A pair of eyes watch from a dark corner. I only need two colors of paint for this ink sketch, a bit of green and a thin touch of red.

[Misty]

“I have seen true love,” the fair Sy’Tel bard speaks softly. He wears experience well, wise eyes watching me carefully. He knows, they all know I have not laughed much of late, not danced as freely as I once did. Their concern warms me. “It had to overcome much. It did, too. When adversity faced, the bond grew stronger. Until the end. The one I know who told me of it would not have traded any of the doubts, or confusion, or worry, because in the end, all they did was build on the strength of the love, and the joy they found.”

Doubt. Many veils of doubt shadow my heart. Few see my real heart. Confusion and worry mingle with the doubt. What if.. Is it.. Could it.. I am not... How... It cannot.. Why... Are all hearts so tangled?

“The heart, a deep ocean of mysteries.” He studies me. “Laurelin, how many friends do you have you can really talk to? Honestly, about everything?”

“None.” Not because I do not want to, but his words hold me back. Distrust all, he had told me. Even him.

“A true shame,” the Sy’Tel pities me, offers to be my friend, confidant. Someone to trust.

Without thinking, his words come from my mouth, “Trust. Trust is a blade honed in familiarity and friendship. Should it be given to the wrong hand, it will surely find your heart.” Trusting no one drowned the laughter. Too much doubt strangled my joy. My fingertips dance over the papers, my gloves catching the tears. Buried under the veils, I finally see my heart.

“Laurelin,” sympathy thick in his voice, “the last thing either of us intended was to make you weep.”

“I am not sad. I am touched.” I bury my heart in the veils, now is not the time to show it. I will thank them, for the paper, for helping me see clearly. “Storms in the oceans are really big, aren't they?”

“From what I have heard.”

[Misty]

I did it! I succeeded! It did not happen the way I had thought it would, nor was the target one I expected, but opportunity presented itself. Perhaps the Chameleon missed me.

It all started with a gnome. No, wait. It started when Delawyn teased Ealendur, hinting that he would prank the mage. I said I did not think he would. Ha! THEN the gnome showed up. A beautiful little creature in bright colors selling the most wonderful things. I need to be sure to always have enough gold on me, I could only buy one this time. He called them distilled avian anger or some such, I do not recall. They explode, all I need to know. It is all others need to fear me. Ealendur tried to caution the gnome about his customer, but business is business. If he wanted me to have none, he could have bought the lot. But he did not, so I have one. All mine. But I could not refrain from teasing him. He acted like I was dangerous!

But that was just the beginning. Anar wished to barter with the gnome, my pockets were empty, so I went to talk quietly to Delawyn. People get nervous over the funniest things. We discussed his village and a certain problem I have. See, I don’t like traveling too far. It makes my heart race too fast for no reason. But, that is beside the point. The gnome left, humming a merry tune. Ealendur left. Delawyn and I continued talking about traveling. Maybe I can make myself go anyway.

Then I heard him. I did not know it was him. I knew someone walked up and stopped by Delawyn’s elbow, the robes made a soft rustle. But looking, I saw nothing. Hmm. There is one whose sounds I know, but it was not that one. Someone else.

When I was accused of sneaking, the militia response was to draw blade, axe and arrow, scream ‘SPY!’ and lock the gates. I am not militia. I doubt I need to hurt the curious one standing near. Not my style. I smiled at Delawyn, telling him how kind he was while my hands very openly went to my belt pouch. I think he held his breath as he watched my hands. My exploding egg was in my belt pouch, but it was carefully wrapped in bandages. I pulled out a small pot, hiding most of it with my hands, showing just enough to pique curiosity. The top came off easily as I smiled my sweetest smile to Delawyn. There! He stopped breathing.

Turn the wrist and let it fly. Delawyn seemed confused I did not throw it at him. The pot landed with an invisible squishy thud.

It sighed.

Then Ealendur’s dry elven, “Surely you could have thought of better?”

“Spying on your own kin? For shame,” Delawyn chided.

“I heard someone,” I scoffed. “Did not think it was you.”

“You may as well get a look at your handiwork,” Ealendur sighed again, dismissing the invisibility spell. His once cream-colored robes splashed a vibrant, painful pink.

Thank you, Chameleon.











* - names changed to protect the pink and innocent. Orthea = Moon, Anar = Sun

** names returned to their original.

[Misty]

The bard asked me to come, for diversion. He took the young militia members to Hadreth’s on orders, to aid as well as they could. He asked me for a different reason. More than wanting someone who could spring traps (anyone could with a well-placed stick), he offered needed diversion. People worry so when I sit by the river. I wish I had stayed.

Another child gone. Three babes. I think the second mother was lucky. Death saved her the grief of a babe stolen, the gut-burning pain of people helpless to do anything more than offer weak words of empty hope. Chameleon cover my steps, I need mead.

I heard his cry though could not see his captor. Distress whimpering in the night while we stumbled noisy and blind in the forest. They scattered, the militia people. No time to call to them, I tried to follow. I failed. Too dark to see tracks, rustling in the treetops covered the babe’s cries. Or likely the thief’s hand.

He got away. We were close, but bumbled so spectacularly that he will take another, to mock us. To mock everyone. Some diversion. What right have I to indulge in my sorrow, when people are losing their children?

Damn you. Damn you all.

[Misty]

Dream courtesy of the ever-talented Twiggy!
************************************************************






**The mists part as you slip deeply into reverie. Your mind and body relaxing as you walk through memory after memory until the image becomes so clear you are unsure if you have woken. Alone you sit by the fire with Sackcloth snuggled in your lap, hand feeding him tidbits of fresh fish, a prize from your trip to the market this morning. You smile thinking how Sami had laughed and begged to see the kitten but Taven had business to attend though at her pout relented as brothers, especially that one, tend to do and promised to bring her by later. Your mind snaps back as Sackcloth mistakes your finger for another bit of fish letting you know in no uncertain terms he was not quite finished being spoiled yet.

As you reach for the dish, your vision blurs going black at the edges as a wave of dizziness engulfs you setting the room in a spin. Bracing your hands on the floor you squeeze your eyes closed and after a few slow breaths the room settles. You open your eyes in confusion, gone is the kitten, the roaring fire...the house is dark with the wind howling outside rattling the shutters. The air is cold, so much that you see mist form with every quickening breath. A shiver of foreboding ripples down your spine as a noise from upstairs startles you. Your mind screams to run but your feet are drawn, your body moves forward trancelike up the stairs toward Dolen's room.

Opening the door silently, you see two figures mating, Dolen sprawled naked on the bed and the other rising over him, dark and featureless. In growing horror you watch as claws spring from those dark hands slashing wide at his throat and chest, blood spraying the walls, the floor, you. His head rolls to the side, dead eyes staring toward you as the dark one shifts. Gleaming red eyes and claws dripping blood are your last images before darkness takes you.**


I screamed awake. If only it ended there.


I saw blood all over his room, his bed. I was not dreaming, the floor was cold under my bare feet, the blood cold on my fingertips. I looked to the basement, found nothing. I returned to blood all over my floor, Sackcloth so casually licking his red paws clean. I looked in the study, hoping to see Dolen, but it was empty. When I turned back, the blood was gone. All of it.

I know it was there.


Sitting by the fire, trying to warm, I saw shadows come together just out of my vision. I had hoped... but no. Nothing.


Ice slipped down my spine in lover’s caress, leaving no wet trail.


The front door opened.


It closed.


The fire overcame the cold, the candles stopped flickering. Something left. It was here, and it left. I am not ashamed to say I cried. Sackcloth was the only one to see it, and he will forget with his next meal of fish.


The front door had closed, then the house returned to normal. Something, nae someONE toys with me. Sackcloth purred louder. Nae, not the cat. My anger sounds like a kitten purr. Probably just as effective, too.


Damn you all!