A Land Far Away

Follow your heart

Follow your heart. That’s what Bital always said.

Moonshade sits there below the tree, watching the moon light play in the falls, his mind wandering back in time. Back in time, back to what now feels like a life-time ago.

Follow your heart. That’s what Bital always said. The words kept echoing in his mind.

His mind wandered back to the time in the spider-cave, in Cormyr. He could no longer remember why, he just remembered they went there – Shivan, Bital and himself. *the silver ring on his finger weighs heavily now* He remembers the ettercap, remembers the ettercap charging towards him. The feet wanted to run away from the terror, but something kept him standing… something told him to keep his ground, else his friends might be in trouble. *his hand touches the ground, the silver ring seems to want to touch the earth* With the blessings of Mother Bital managed to heal up Shivan, and they came to his rescue, before the ettercap could finish him off. *he slowly turns the silver ring on the finger* When they got out of there, and could breath fresh air again, that’s then Bital gave him the silver ring. She said that’s what true friends did - putting their life on the line for each other - she gave him the silver ring and the blessings of Mother. *he slowly twists the silver ring on his finger* That’s how he met her, Bital, one of the kindest and wisest dwarves he’s ever met – and a true friend.

Follow your heart. That’s what Bital always said. Why did those words keep echoing in his mind?

He sighed as his mind once more wandered back in time, back to a night in the groove. They sat by the Heart-stone, or Mother-stone as Bital called it, talking – talking about everything and nothing. He and Bital, talking, trying to get to know each other, and one self, better. The topics were many, the discussions varied, many words of wisdom were exchanged. *he smiled remembering* Bital had been a well of wisdom, thou he’d managed to nail a few ones himself. The hours flew by, and that’s… that’s when she said those words: “Follow your hear, lad - and it can never go wrong.”, she said. He doesn’t remember any longer why she had said it, but he remembered her saying those words. The kind dwarf’s soft speech, going on about hearth, path, truth and silvered. Oh he remembered, but he had almost forgotten…

Follow your heart. That’s what Bital always said. He now remembered why those words echoed in his mind.

Kiksa. Kiksa was it that had reminded him of those words. *he sighed leaning back against the trunk of the tree* He remembered the talk with Kiksa, clearly. Discussing the problem, but finding no solution. *he slammed the fists into the ground in frustration* Oh, how he hated not finding any solution. That’s when Kiksa had asked the question that made him remember Bital’s words: “What does your heart tell you to do?” That’s when he made the first promise on his life.

Follow your heart. That’s what Bital always said. Putting your life on the line for each others, that’s what true friends do. He knew why he remembered.

*he stared into the falls - enjoying the moon light playing there* He remembered promising whatever protection he could offer. He remembered promising to follow to the nine hells and back, if need be. He remembered. But yet he struggled to follow Bital’s words. *he sighed heavily* The sounds so easy, yet they are so heard to follow. There was so much he wanted to do, so much he wanted to say. When he wanted to do, his limb grew stiff. When he wanted to say, his tongue clung to his throat. *he sighed looking into the falls – searching* Had he lost the nerve? Lost the guts to go on? No, he told himself. He needed to be close to be able to keep his promises. Talking and doing could possibly push away… and pushing away would make him break his promises. *he stared into the falls - watching the moon light play there - searching for answers*

Follow your heart. That’s what Bital always said.



Coward! *he looked up in surprise, hearing his own voice in his mind*

A ghost from the past

Moonshade sat there below the tree, slowly opening his eyes. It was still dark outside, he could still see the Adventurer’s Inn – so he had not moved since he sat down. He could not remember how long it was since he dragged his feet over there. Was it hours? Was it days? He could not remember. Had he slept? Had he eaten? He did not know. He only remembered pain… pain like he had never known it before.

Moonshade’s eyes slowly opened, it was as if he could sense that someone was close. His heart almost stopped - it surely skipped a beat or two - as he looked upon the figure standing there, looking down on him. Strongbow! He could not believe it… it was Strongbow, his long lost cousin. Strongbow, the very reason he traveled to Daggerdale. Strongbow, who was killed by the Zhentarim. Moonshade’s brain was slowly grasping the meaning how his last though, realizing that it was no person who was standing before him.

Strongbow looked down upon him and said: “Do you remember how we used to train to archery?” Moonshade nodded, that was all he could do - still struggling with the realization of what he was seeing. Strongbow grinned, he always did that: “Do you remember what we used to do when Morwen caught us making her vegetables look like porcupines?” Moonshade almost laughed… he remembered… oh he remembered… they would run… run as fast as their feet could take them.

Suddenly he was back there. He looked at Strongbow with a grin on his face, as his arrow hit straight at its target. Strongbow nodded approvingly as he readied an arrow of his own. They both suddenly stopped, as they heard Morwen shouting at them - they always heard her before she got to them, as if she did that on purpose… They ran, ran as fast as they could - at least that’s how it used to be. Moonshade suddenly realized, with his childhood fears, that he was not running. He pictured himself running, but for some reason his feet would not move. She was closing in on him now… Strongbow was long gone, it was only him left to face the blame… he wanted to run… but he could not move. This was not the way it happened!

Strongbow looked at him with accusing eyes: “Why didn’t you run this time? What was different? Why did you have to kill him?” “The Moonshade I knew would have run.” he added. Moonshade sighed heavily as he looked up on his cousin. “I have changed, cousin. Maybe I have changed too much since we last spoke… the years to that to a man… they change him gradually. I have met friends… friends who have taught me about other values in my life. One taught me about the value of stone and silver, and the value about standing by the word you have given. Another one taught me about revenge, and about trusting your blade more than your instincts. Yet another one taught me about peace and harmony, but still the need to aggressive action when needed. They all taught me different things, but still there was one teaching in common: “When something comes at you, you stand your ground.” You stand your ground because other lives might depend on it. Cousin, that was why I stood my ground - because that teaching has become a part of who I am.”

Strongbow looked at him with eyes as cold as a frozen river: “That is no excuse!” Moonshade swallowed hard - he meant to look up, but could not move his gaze from the ground: “I mean not to give any excuse! How can I? After what I did, how can I excuse my own actions? No, what I can offer is only a mere explanation…”

Moonshade could no longer feel the presence. He looked up, but could not see anyone there. The conversation with he cousin felt as real as his childhood, yet he knew his cousin had been dead for years. It must surely have been a dream… Yet the lack of sleep and food made the whole grip on reality fade… Had it been a visit from the past, or had it all been a dream? He could not say…

One thing he knew was real was the words. He could still feel the words. Yes, feel was the right description. It seems not possible to feel words, yet these words he could feel. Each word, as it was slowly spoken to him, had driven home like a steel fist in the guts. Each word had been like a heavy blow, leaving no air left inside him - yet more words, blow, were spoken. As the last word was spoken, he felt the final blow, the finishing blow - something inside him shattered.



Killer! *he woke up with a shock, hearing his own voice in his mind*

Incredible!

nice mate!!!

this is just what keeps me (and many others Im sure) going, folks use old RP to their own gain even if its month an even years ago

KILLER!!

A troubled mind

Moonshade dragged his feet towards to Wishing Well, he was so exhausted that staying awake was almost painful. He had managed to help a few children, thou his friends had told him to rest instead. His friends had been worried about him being barely able to stay awake, but he had been more worried about the children. Too long had he been gone, it was Willow who’d made him realize that - Willow, and Amalanna’s words to her.

His body was craving to sleep, and each step brought him closer to the rest he so desperately needed. Walking up the stair to the second floor was as taxing as walking up a mountain and his mind was not working - thinking just didn’t work. He barely managed to open to door to his door and walk over to the bed before his body gave in - sleep got him before he even hit the bed.

He lay there tossing in his bed, not finding the rest he needed…

Moonshade was walking on the road, in the forest, on his way to the desert. His mind was not paying attention to his surrounding, but looking leagues ahead on what was coming in the desert - because he thought it was the desert that would provide the problems. Then it happened - something charged at him out of the forest. Unfortunately his mind was still not with him - he reacted by instinct, instead of paying attention. Not until it was too late, did he understand what had happened. Not until he spoke to Laurelin did he understand the consequences of what had happened.

This scene played for hours in Moonshade’s dream. The scene varied, but it was always the same scene. Sometimes it was a different fey, sometimes it was at a different location, but it always ended up with him doing what he should not have done. Sometimes it was Teia who condemned him, sometimes it as Akbar, sometimes it was a charging boar, sometimes it was a sand snake, but most of the time it was Laurelin.

He was back on the road in the forest, walking towards the desert. His mind was focused on the dangers his friends was facing in the desert. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his side - he looked down at an arrow sticking out from his ribs. He was surprised - this was not how it had happened. Something charged at him, this time a little larger than what he would remember - thou still pretty small. The instincts kicked in again, as he barely managed to draw his blade and block the trust that was aimed at his kidneys. He was too focused on defending himself to properly study his opponent - he only noticed dark clothes and a veiled face. The fight was short, but furious. The fey had wounded him severely before he had managed to finish it. This was different than how it had happened…

He knelt down to see what had attacked him, what he had killed. This was the first time he truly saw - he saw not a fey, but a petite elf. As he looked down upon the elf a gust of wind blew, the veil softly caressed the wind moving away from the face. The face he looked at was a too familiar face - the soft dark eyes, which he could dream himself away in just by looking into them, they stared blankly up at him. She was dead! He had killed her! The knees went down under him, as he fell to the ground. The scream that left his lips were more primal than human, filled with agony, frustration and remorse.

He gasped for air as he abruptly sat up in his bed, his scream was still echoing from the walls, his cloths were soaked in sweat, his heart was pounding like it never had done before. As he changed into a dry robe, his body was still shaking. The dream had been too real, too bloody real. He had wanted restful sleep, but he had got none. Unsteady legs brought him downstairs and towards the kitchen. Shaking hands brought the bottle and the cup. The room felt cold, colder than what it should have been - his hands were shaking so badly that he hardly managed to get the fire going.

As he sad down in front of the fire, his unsteady hands poured himself the first of many wine cups that night. The wine helped eased his pain, thou he knew it could not remove it. The fire helped heat his body, thou he knew it would not get him warm. His body felt bruised and battered from the dream, his mind was completely numb. “How can I live with this?” he mumbled to himself between cups of wine.

The words of Amalanna, who had wisdom beyond her years, came to him: “Give time and wait for the chance to make things right, do not force things you don’t have control over.” He grinned a little, realizing this was about the same as what Voran would have said - thou he would have used other words. Voran would have told about nature, time, patience, the process of healing and so on. He would have told about how an oak weathers the storms of the centuries. That was his style, and there were much wisdom in his words.

Moonshade felt cold - cold to the spine. The fire had died out, the bottle was empty, the day would soon break, but he was unable to control his shivering. He felt sick, sick to his stomach - he felt not like an oak at all. “Oh Sehanine, I need help. I can not face this alone.” He was starting to loose himself, and he knew it.



Killer! He was no longer surprised at hearing his own voice accusing him.

Good stuff.

oo, very nice!

Well written angst.