Learning to Dance

[Mizbiz]

I've been waiting for this one. Brava!

[ewayneself]

Explains a few things. Very nice!

[Aitana]

Really Nice Misty!

[Misty]

The dreamwalk begins at the farmstead. Already dread blankets your ears with the strange silence of the farm. It is early morning, but no lowing cattle, no crowing chickens. No children fetching eggs, no parents directing the work. Nothing.

The barn doors hang open, and finally you hear something. Flies. They herald the cloying sweetness of death within. Everyone will be dead. If only it were that simple.

The front door is locked, but no simple farm lock keeps you out. Only a few steps within when the stench assails you, the overwhelming scent of blood mixed with candle wax and an oddly sweet aroma.

A body inside. Male. Adult. Human. But that does not horrify. Past him you see the remains of a birthday cake. This happened on a birthday. Another ill-fated celebration flashes through your memory, but you cannot think of it right now, your stomach gives only a second’s warning.

You pull out your last bottle of mead, to wash the taste of vomit from your mouth. If only it ended here.

Upstairs. There is more to this tragedy. You go upstairs while the others absorb the scene below. You hear someone say ‘six candles’ and try very hard to stop thinking. You cannot, of course. A small part of your mind calculates, tries to unravel the story through the fog of horror. Tries to warn you that there might be dead children above. You open the first bedroom door.

On the bed to the right lay a small girl, her face pale in death, eyes staring vacantly ahead. A lad of no more than twelve summers lies prone on the other, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. It was the girl’s birthday. Images of a horror not in your past return.

‘Happy Naming Day, Little Bird!’

NO! NOT THE SAME!

Dully you turn to the other room. A woman of middle years lies in the rumpled bed, the clothes ripped from her body surrounding her in tatters. A gaping wound mars her neck while a look of horror is captured forever on her face. A cradle sits empty in the corner, its blankets tossed aside. A small wooden rattle lay on the floor beside it, broken. How you manage to continue to stand when you feel as if a donkey kicked you in the gut, you do not know. That small part of your mind tells you to get the broken rattle and blanket. Ealendur is no longer with us, but it might help if some other mage wants to scry. Though you think you know where they are hiding.

You walk out, ready to burn the house. But the others do not follow. Why? You return to hear what must be done. Stake their hearts. Cut off their heads. Dully you go upstairs again. You help take care of the mother and the son. Another takes care of the birthday girl. And another her father.

Now they let you throw the fire egg. You watch it burn. Someone gives you a hug. You leave the doomed farm. The dreamwalk repeats itself.

Damning you.

Again.

Again.

[Mizbiz]

Wow!

[Twiggy]

Cool!

This is why I still build for DD.

[ewayneself]

Excellent!

Really captured it well.

[Misty]

Disclaimer: this and all stories I post in this thread are from Laurelin's perspective, not mine.
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The pool is beautiful again. I can understand why some like to swim here. Pretty lights and a sense of peace blanket the area. The water is pleasantly cool and refreshing. I stretch under the willow tree, the tips of its branches almost tickling my bare belly.

This place used to be so foul, nasty and repulsive. Tainted, they said it was, those who knew the what the pool was like before. The broken shrine was once dedicated to Eldath, god of peaceful waters. There was rumor of a druid of Eldath who used to swim here, and abandoned the pool to its corruptors. If true, then it is fitting that Eldath lost the shrine. But that was not as important as learning how to cleanse it.

Christophen began. Research, questions, learning. Consulting with the ancient enchantress. What is needed? How? Who? The enchantress answered: a druid to hallow the shrine, requiring a thousand gold’s worth of rare incense, rarer oils, and freshly gathered herbs. Praise the Seldarine she made the journey to Hadreth’s Glen, and could guide us. Shortly after, I made sure Christophen did not lack for gold, though it was the least of our concerns.

To our shame, Bron, alleged dragonslayer from Northern Cormyr, was the only druid in the land capable of Hallowing the pool. Bron, whose delegation skills outshine Lord Morn’s himself! Little did he actually do, until the end.

Incense came from the Vistani. Renunzio’s past as circus Vistani became key. The local Vistani needed help, for one of their own became infected with the curse of lycanthropy. Christophen organised the help, and headed the hunt to find Geyorg. Akbar, paladin of Nobanion, Renunzio, Christophen, and Nawiel, another of the Chameleon’s children formed this aid. Praise Selune, for her priestess aided much in returning Geyorg to normal, to the relief of the Vistani. Thus was the incense gained. By this time Shalafi died by the pool. No more would he mentor others in the ways of Meilikki.

Balsam Oils from the Bedine. Akbar served as our guide and tongue during negotiations, the harsh landscape giving rise to the harsh Bedine. Others aided him as a sign of strength, lest he be slain for his part. Teia stood by him throughout, her trust, faith and companionship the cool water to his troubled soul. Many came and left, Amalanna, Moonshade, Willow. Ultimately, Akbar was required to lead a raid upon a tribe rival to the ones with the oils. Christophen, Renunzio, and myself rounded out the final days of our desert tasks. Thus was the oil secured. By this time, children were falling sick.

Herbs, freshly gathered from the forest. Who better than a druid to gather fresh herbs? Yet Bron tried putting this off on others. Praise Fundin, his dwarf companion, for understanding the urgency and prodding him accordingly. Into the forest we went, Akbar, myself, Moonshade, Fundin, Willow, and Bron. The fey did not care for the clumsy and destructive intrusion. Eventually, they simply ran to the herbalist in the Glen market for herbs.

Components gathered, time came to confront the foul and twisted guardian and hallow the shrine. Moonshade’s claim of never backing from a fight was put to the lie. Willow also ran, though not a drop of her own blood shed. Bron did, to his credit, put in the final blow. All this I watched with my own eyes, lamenting our foul luck in relying on them. I could hear the gods laughing.


Then the hallowing. It took a long time, several standing watch against intruders or those who would otherwise ruin the process. But Bron did indeed finish. The shrine dedicated to Meilikki, the spirit of the waters ever thankful. She thanked Bron and his friends for all their work.

Do not mistake me for bitter. I left them a sign of my respect, in the shape of a beautiful box. Moonshade looked in, wearing a smile that suggested he thought he finally received my favor. Blindingly bright pink dye splashed all over his armor. I laughed with the gods, dancing out of their sight. I did not help to cleanse the pool for glory, or fame. It was my duty to my home. I am content it is clean, for now. It truly is a lovely place to swim.

We are not finished. There is still the matter of the Talonites who fouled it up in the first place.

[Brimsar the Wanderer]

I left them a sign of my respect, in the shape of a beautiful box. Moonshade looked in, wearing a smile that suggested he thought he finally received my favor. Blindingly bright pink dye splashed all over his armor. I laughed with the gods, dancing out of their sight.

I laughed along with them upon reading this. Out loud, at work, with two customers and my boss's boss in the area.

Thanks.

[psycho_leo]

Awesome. And as it turns out.. I did help

[danielmn]

*bows his head slightly*

*q* My thanks.

[Misty]

I stalk through the night, not unlike so many others. It is what I do best, better than tinkering with locks, harvesting traps. There is no moon this night, but still I weave between the trees, half-circling a trunk before moving to the next one. As with other nights where I do not say my plans, there are no wolves or worgs upon the road.

I hear him first, a snapped twig here, extra rustle of leaves when the wind is still. Following me. I continue for a little space longer, trying to make out his footsteps. They seem familiar, but I cannot place them. I stop on the far side of a medium tree, jsut large enough to hide me, but not my bow.

“I hear you,” my voice is steady, firm. Not hostile, I hope, but not inviting. He answers. I smile.

“Once more with you before I go,” he whispers in our secret tongue, casting a spell to hide us further.

“Let us not linger here,” I take his hand, leading to our meeting place.

He stops a moment at the pond, whispering to the gods. Then we continue. I lose track of him, with his spell. “There you are,” I say when I find him.

“Beautiful enough to pierce the heart,” he answers. I cannot speak for several minutes. We quietly approach our favorite meeting place. “My father brought me here once,” he begins, “long, long ago.” We speak in whispers, respect for the shadows and secrecy.

Too soon we speak of serious matters, the reason we meet here in the dark of night, away from all others. “Do you trust me?” he asks.

“Completely,” I answer without pause.

“Such a gift your trust is,” his Zhent armor creaks as he reaches for me. We spend the rest of the night without words.

[danielmn]

[Mizbiz]

[Misty]

My sword dances. No, I’m not telling you how this happened. I don’t rightly know the how of it anyway. Unfortunately, after adjusting to the shock of the statement and subsequent demonstration, people then ask, “Can it fight?” Completely annoying question, but I suppose to be expected when one’s weapons dance.

And, as it turns out, the answer is yes. We, that being Akbar, Zuna, Caul, Renunzio and myself, traveled to the desert to investigate this claim of a desert oasis turned to glass. A sea of glass would be interesting, and maybe keeping a piece of it would be neat, too. I secretly wondered if it would be shadow glass, like that which pierced my heart, considering the shadows that plague the desert are but one peril of those sands. But the road!

First we saw cougars. Akbar has this thing about not fighting with big cats, so we left them alone. Happily, they left us alone. We then found some giant desert dogs in the forest, along the path, and take them out. Then we see an owlbear. I know it is a hideous abomination that must be killed, but I was not in the mood. It seemed to leave us alone, but then Akbar attacked. Renunzio’s battle song reverberated through the trees after the battle ended, then snickity snick! my dancing rapier shot out and shook its groove thing. It put itself away at the end of the song.

Then we came across a lone worg. Now, I hate worgs. Really hate worgs. So I set a trap and then shot at it. It ran away. I started to give chase, knowing it was a trap, and Renunzio sang another battle song. Snickity snick! my rapier leapt out again! Only this time it tangoed straight after the worg to fight against him and his two friends. We all chased, I think, it was hard to remember, but it definitely helped kill those things while I and others shot from afar.

Other perils were on the road, scorpions, Asabi, oddly different beetles, but no more songs, so no more snickity dances. I am all the more grateful for the other rapier my friend gave to me. Despite its dark history, it becomes terribly useful when bards make my other one dance in battle.