A Story Ends
Posted: Wed Aug 01, 2007 4:34 am
"...What Eldritch fire did foil and fade
The hopes of Heroes dashed
What will they say of this Golden Age
When bones have turned to ash?
No valley verdant, nay, all is blood
The sun is shrouded red
They've ripped away all that is good
They carry off the dead
A pall across the blighted ground
Death soaks into the earth
Hope and Love forever bound
In Maurum's blooded curse"
She inked the final words with a flourish. "Maurum's Curse" it would be called, a fitting tragedy to remind the coming ages of the folly of pride. A ballad, conjuring the feelings felt by all of the characters, those beautiful feelings.
In the shadows of a great ruined catapult, she leaned on one of the wheels, watching as men moved quickly about, slaying the wounded with a cut across their throats, then robbing the corpse of anything remotely valuable. A grim scene, but not without its own poetry. Whenever the shadow would appear, accompanied by a great flap of wings, the ghouls would hunker down in fear, waiting for it to pass.
None of them paid her any notice. The wind tugged at her cloak, but she was safe within the embrace of the catapults shadows. It would take discerning eyes indeed to note her there, and any who might have possessed such eyes no longer saw through them.
A shame, she thought. Had they been able to defeat Maurum's forces, those heroes might have been able to carry on, gloriously, for years to come, inspiring more songs from more sharp minds that recognized the beauty in drawing forth emotion through song and sound. Instead, full of themselves and underestimating the strength of the cunning wizard's dark arts, they had wasted resources and lives in a pitched battle with every disadvantage.
Still, she had over a hundred verses in this particular ballad, and the Feizaldi, those dark story hoarders, would be salivating over the dark history this would provide them. No, despite its darkness, it was too beautiful a story for those wretches. She determined it would go the the Oghman Lorekeepers. They would appreciate what went into the story, and share it. The Feizaldi would hoard it to themselves, she would not be able to glimpse the words ever again and to cheat the Feizaldi was beyond even her daring.
So then, the Oghman Lorekeepers. She would fetch a sturdy price from them as well. Perhaps new boots. These did not do so well in this country, this time and place. She stepped away from the wheel, surprising and frightening the battlefield ghouls nearest her.
They cowered and fled as she moved her free hand into a series of arcane gestures, calling forth magic not often seen in those lands. Then, she spoke a few words, softly and stepped into a pool of shadow that grew before her.
Moments later, there was a beating of heavy wings and then silence.
The men who stood breathing amongst the dead, dirty and bloodied, pouches and bags filled with the belongings of others who would never see a need for them again, stared dumbly at the fading blackness. Then, they returned to their tasks and eventually to lives under Maurum's rule.
The hopes of Heroes dashed
What will they say of this Golden Age
When bones have turned to ash?
No valley verdant, nay, all is blood
The sun is shrouded red
They've ripped away all that is good
They carry off the dead
A pall across the blighted ground
Death soaks into the earth
Hope and Love forever bound
In Maurum's blooded curse"
She inked the final words with a flourish. "Maurum's Curse" it would be called, a fitting tragedy to remind the coming ages of the folly of pride. A ballad, conjuring the feelings felt by all of the characters, those beautiful feelings.
In the shadows of a great ruined catapult, she leaned on one of the wheels, watching as men moved quickly about, slaying the wounded with a cut across their throats, then robbing the corpse of anything remotely valuable. A grim scene, but not without its own poetry. Whenever the shadow would appear, accompanied by a great flap of wings, the ghouls would hunker down in fear, waiting for it to pass.
None of them paid her any notice. The wind tugged at her cloak, but she was safe within the embrace of the catapults shadows. It would take discerning eyes indeed to note her there, and any who might have possessed such eyes no longer saw through them.
A shame, she thought. Had they been able to defeat Maurum's forces, those heroes might have been able to carry on, gloriously, for years to come, inspiring more songs from more sharp minds that recognized the beauty in drawing forth emotion through song and sound. Instead, full of themselves and underestimating the strength of the cunning wizard's dark arts, they had wasted resources and lives in a pitched battle with every disadvantage.
Still, she had over a hundred verses in this particular ballad, and the Feizaldi, those dark story hoarders, would be salivating over the dark history this would provide them. No, despite its darkness, it was too beautiful a story for those wretches. She determined it would go the the Oghman Lorekeepers. They would appreciate what went into the story, and share it. The Feizaldi would hoard it to themselves, she would not be able to glimpse the words ever again and to cheat the Feizaldi was beyond even her daring.
So then, the Oghman Lorekeepers. She would fetch a sturdy price from them as well. Perhaps new boots. These did not do so well in this country, this time and place. She stepped away from the wheel, surprising and frightening the battlefield ghouls nearest her.
They cowered and fled as she moved her free hand into a series of arcane gestures, calling forth magic not often seen in those lands. Then, she spoke a few words, softly and stepped into a pool of shadow that grew before her.
Moments later, there was a beating of heavy wings and then silence.
The men who stood breathing amongst the dead, dirty and bloodied, pouches and bags filled with the belongings of others who would never see a need for them again, stared dumbly at the fading blackness. Then, they returned to their tasks and eventually to lives under Maurum's rule.
