Dread Enticements
Posted: Fri Feb 27, 2009 8:32 pm
Here she was again.
This part of the day had always been her favorite growing up. These few moments just before sunrise, when the troubles of night trembled, about to fade under the hopeful eye of Lathander’s glory. Of course, in those days hopes rarely went unfulfilled, if only in her mind.
Things had changed when she lost her child. The loss had denied her motherhood and, more cruelly, any hope of ever finding that joy. The change within her had been so devastating that the whole of her life could be divided into before and after. It was then that she first lamented that silence before sunrise. It became too quiet for her to find peace.
As they most times do, however, things improved. Her time with Jonas and the orphans and her friends, doing good, had done much to mend her heart and restore some faith in the rising sun. Despite the odd adolescent tantrum and differing views regarding what constituted the right thing, good had prevailed. She had even shared the Morninglord’s merciful light with a troubled soul, the hin Rugo. His prayers, now addressed to her lord, bolstered her zeal. In turn it, along with her optimism, had clambered near its height in her naïve youth, near where it had been before. The still before his arrival again held promise.
Promises surrounded her now. Each morning at this time she was held helpless between what she thought was right and where she knew she found pleasure. Her life, in fact her being, was so much more than she had been taught. She had been forced to acknowledge the abhorrent, sensual shadows she had always perceived but never embraced. Perhaps if she had paid them more mind her soul would not now seem asunder. Perhaps if she had stayed home life would still make sense.
Looking back, now Dawn could see the subtle surfacing of her inner darkness.
She had thrilled at seeing her first dead man. He required last rituals and her father had made it her first duty as priestess. She wondered now if her excitement had been spurred by doing Lathander’s work or by being so close to the corpse. The smell of decay, which caused most to choke or retch, she had always savored and found reassuring. The tiefling’s tales of life as a slave had opened her eyes, another clue. She tried to revile the thoughts, but in truth she seldom could wait to hear another tale of brutality and cannibalistic necessity. When things came crashing down from the snow-covered peaks of forbidden pleasures, she found the crypt comforting without knowing why. Now she knew. Xujja had been right about at least one thing.
Opportunity had courted her secret desires, which in turn gave birth to her demons. Those demons cried out to the angel, not to be joined in battle, but to be focused and empowered. The angel had brought promises in the night. Promises he brought still.
Child, why do you resist your destiny? Do you not know that awareness and power are but a few more steps away? He is patient with you Vthia, his daughter, but as with most fathers who care, disobedience will reap discipline. Truth, I do not understand your reluctance to obey him. He promises everything your soul yearns for. And yearn it does, whether you pay heed to its appetites, quench its thirsts or foolishly look away in hopes that the longing will flee. Those things that are you will never depart. They will cling to your spirit until you embrace your purpose and become what should come naturally. Your false god of light cannot keep you from breathing in the heady redolence of your own satisfied desires. It is inevitable.
Each night the dream was the same. He would come to her in the dark and whisper his terrible, erotic propositions. He was not unlike a relentless lover, intent on depriving her of sleep until she acquiesced to his salacious suggestions. She would refuse, though it felt a betrayal of self to do so. He would persist, making all manner of overtures to tempt that kernel of corruption to sprout and bear fruit.
Remember how good it felt to show mercy to that farmer, to end his suffering? Death is the only comfort most will ever know and your father offers the power to bring that comfort. What possible power you ask? Perhaps specifics will show you his sincerity in wanting to see you become something great.
Let me begin with the sapling Ellora. She saw into your father’s house in the glade. She tried so hard to ease your distress when you stepped so close to the edge, hoping she had found someone to understand her trials. Now, all you will find is fear in her eyes. Say yes, bring us her soul and you can have those eyes. They see things that mortal eyes should not. They bring knowledge, and knowledge is power.
That notion brings me to the next of your friends whose essence you could taste. Wands of Waterdeep absorbs knowledge as the desert drinks the rain. If only he were to apply it to furthering himself, he could become great. Such misguided connection to the weave ignores the true purpose of Art. It is for subjugation and self that such energies should be used, not in the pursuit of impossible dreams of harmony. Claim for us his soul and that connection to the weave, shaded to fit, will be given to you.
Lest these not tempt you truly, perhaps I should turn to someone closer. Your kin, the dwarf. A noble spirit and determined brother that one. If only you could have felt the rending of his heart on seeing you take a step toward us in that temple. Of all you hold dear, Vthia, you fear being without him most. Lead him to us and we will keep him close, never to leave your sides. Deny us his soul and he will never put a hand to hammer or chisel to gem again.
These are the least of our offerings, fitting rewards for the souls of these insignificant beings. I promise these things because they have already been perceived. Even greater are the unknown gifts we can bestow, the unimaginable treasures that await your submission. If you think you can open the door to your destiny and not step through it, you are sadly mistaken. If you think selfless thoughts and pray to the light to keep you from your sweet indulgences, then consider the price of your duplicity.
It was then that the darkness always turned from soothing caress to harrowing flame, scorching her soul. It was then that his enthralling voice became screams from her friends and the children. It was then that she woke. All the dreams but one had ended just as it had this morning. As she did every morning, Dawn got up, slipped on her robe and awaited her lord’s arrival.
Here she was again. She could not hold her strength much longer. Even if she could forever resist the inviting terrors they extended, she reasoned sleep deprivation would claim her sanity or her breath or both. She needed help and no mortal could deliver her. Perhaps he would hear her and afford her some rest. Perhaps she would find mercy with this sunrise.
As if Lathander heard her soul straining to rise, his glory breached the eastern peaks, pouring his light on her spent form. Her eyes welled as his hand came near and she swallowed hard. Kneeling, she hung her head in penitence and prayed with her lips that he would receive her back.
As her words of contrition wafted toward the horizon’s fresh hope, her heart implored she would never be offered what she wanted most.
This part of the day had always been her favorite growing up. These few moments just before sunrise, when the troubles of night trembled, about to fade under the hopeful eye of Lathander’s glory. Of course, in those days hopes rarely went unfulfilled, if only in her mind.
Things had changed when she lost her child. The loss had denied her motherhood and, more cruelly, any hope of ever finding that joy. The change within her had been so devastating that the whole of her life could be divided into before and after. It was then that she first lamented that silence before sunrise. It became too quiet for her to find peace.
As they most times do, however, things improved. Her time with Jonas and the orphans and her friends, doing good, had done much to mend her heart and restore some faith in the rising sun. Despite the odd adolescent tantrum and differing views regarding what constituted the right thing, good had prevailed. She had even shared the Morninglord’s merciful light with a troubled soul, the hin Rugo. His prayers, now addressed to her lord, bolstered her zeal. In turn it, along with her optimism, had clambered near its height in her naïve youth, near where it had been before. The still before his arrival again held promise.
Promises surrounded her now. Each morning at this time she was held helpless between what she thought was right and where she knew she found pleasure. Her life, in fact her being, was so much more than she had been taught. She had been forced to acknowledge the abhorrent, sensual shadows she had always perceived but never embraced. Perhaps if she had paid them more mind her soul would not now seem asunder. Perhaps if she had stayed home life would still make sense.
Looking back, now Dawn could see the subtle surfacing of her inner darkness.
She had thrilled at seeing her first dead man. He required last rituals and her father had made it her first duty as priestess. She wondered now if her excitement had been spurred by doing Lathander’s work or by being so close to the corpse. The smell of decay, which caused most to choke or retch, she had always savored and found reassuring. The tiefling’s tales of life as a slave had opened her eyes, another clue. She tried to revile the thoughts, but in truth she seldom could wait to hear another tale of brutality and cannibalistic necessity. When things came crashing down from the snow-covered peaks of forbidden pleasures, she found the crypt comforting without knowing why. Now she knew. Xujja had been right about at least one thing.
Opportunity had courted her secret desires, which in turn gave birth to her demons. Those demons cried out to the angel, not to be joined in battle, but to be focused and empowered. The angel had brought promises in the night. Promises he brought still.
Child, why do you resist your destiny? Do you not know that awareness and power are but a few more steps away? He is patient with you Vthia, his daughter, but as with most fathers who care, disobedience will reap discipline. Truth, I do not understand your reluctance to obey him. He promises everything your soul yearns for. And yearn it does, whether you pay heed to its appetites, quench its thirsts or foolishly look away in hopes that the longing will flee. Those things that are you will never depart. They will cling to your spirit until you embrace your purpose and become what should come naturally. Your false god of light cannot keep you from breathing in the heady redolence of your own satisfied desires. It is inevitable.
Each night the dream was the same. He would come to her in the dark and whisper his terrible, erotic propositions. He was not unlike a relentless lover, intent on depriving her of sleep until she acquiesced to his salacious suggestions. She would refuse, though it felt a betrayal of self to do so. He would persist, making all manner of overtures to tempt that kernel of corruption to sprout and bear fruit.
Remember how good it felt to show mercy to that farmer, to end his suffering? Death is the only comfort most will ever know and your father offers the power to bring that comfort. What possible power you ask? Perhaps specifics will show you his sincerity in wanting to see you become something great.
Let me begin with the sapling Ellora. She saw into your father’s house in the glade. She tried so hard to ease your distress when you stepped so close to the edge, hoping she had found someone to understand her trials. Now, all you will find is fear in her eyes. Say yes, bring us her soul and you can have those eyes. They see things that mortal eyes should not. They bring knowledge, and knowledge is power.
That notion brings me to the next of your friends whose essence you could taste. Wands of Waterdeep absorbs knowledge as the desert drinks the rain. If only he were to apply it to furthering himself, he could become great. Such misguided connection to the weave ignores the true purpose of Art. It is for subjugation and self that such energies should be used, not in the pursuit of impossible dreams of harmony. Claim for us his soul and that connection to the weave, shaded to fit, will be given to you.
Lest these not tempt you truly, perhaps I should turn to someone closer. Your kin, the dwarf. A noble spirit and determined brother that one. If only you could have felt the rending of his heart on seeing you take a step toward us in that temple. Of all you hold dear, Vthia, you fear being without him most. Lead him to us and we will keep him close, never to leave your sides. Deny us his soul and he will never put a hand to hammer or chisel to gem again.
These are the least of our offerings, fitting rewards for the souls of these insignificant beings. I promise these things because they have already been perceived. Even greater are the unknown gifts we can bestow, the unimaginable treasures that await your submission. If you think you can open the door to your destiny and not step through it, you are sadly mistaken. If you think selfless thoughts and pray to the light to keep you from your sweet indulgences, then consider the price of your duplicity.
It was then that the darkness always turned from soothing caress to harrowing flame, scorching her soul. It was then that his enthralling voice became screams from her friends and the children. It was then that she woke. All the dreams but one had ended just as it had this morning. As she did every morning, Dawn got up, slipped on her robe and awaited her lord’s arrival.
Here she was again. She could not hold her strength much longer. Even if she could forever resist the inviting terrors they extended, she reasoned sleep deprivation would claim her sanity or her breath or both. She needed help and no mortal could deliver her. Perhaps he would hear her and afford her some rest. Perhaps she would find mercy with this sunrise.
As if Lathander heard her soul straining to rise, his glory breached the eastern peaks, pouring his light on her spent form. Her eyes welled as his hand came near and she swallowed hard. Kneeling, she hung her head in penitence and prayed with her lips that he would receive her back.
As her words of contrition wafted toward the horizon’s fresh hope, her heart implored she would never be offered what she wanted most.
