Dancer Between

[Misty]

Do you hear the song on the wind?



A symphony of woe the Dale of Daggers sings,
Doubt, Mistrust, and the Suspicion it brings.

Dissatisfied with the Lord and his men,
They grumble, complain and say Remember When..

If they turned a good profit, tithed and bowed,
A day of respite if the kinder ones allowed.

If we obey and give what they demand,
We live another day, though under their command.

Soon they recall with faces lined with pain,
Loved ones lost to the slaver's chain.

Death and Misery, their daily fare for years,
Joys washed away in a river of tears.










Yet...

If you listen closer with careful ear,
a faint melody might you hear.
Beneath the Sorrow, behind the fears
Under the pain and rivers of tears,
The faintest lullaby, year after year,
Hope eternal sings quiet and dear.

[ewayneself]

Gorgeous. Love it.

[Inwintersshadow]

Beautiful work as usual Misty:)

[Aitana]

Really like this one Misty.. very beautiful

Aitana

[Mizbiz]

[Misty]

As my eyes close, I see them. Giants walking a fetid swamp, one stupidly picking his nose. I step softly, though it sounds too loud to my ears. They do not see a small elf moving with the darkness, but it only takes one mistake. A door into the ruins opens, I hold my breath and step through, searching.

A scorched landscape opens before me, the closing door pushing me the final few inches in, smoke scratching my throat. My eyes water, adjusting to the darker sky with bright fires placed randomly about. The giants get taller, dressed in fire, eyes holding a glint of intelligence the swamp giants lack. Needing the damning fires with the shadows they cast, I seek my soul. They are hiding it, I know they are hiding it. In a barrel? The few humans look thin as elves in comparison, but I must find it. I nearly trip over a set of dark robes as I stalk the terrorscape. I must find it. I check the robes, it is not hiding under here. I follow a cart of ashes, putting my hand in to find by touch. Ashes feel like silk, maybe my soul is hiding here. I must find it!

Music reaches my sooty ears, hard to place. I looks at the giants, waiting for their reactions. My hand slips from the ashes, an odd sort of grey. My father was ash grey. But not me. Until now. Their ears must be weak, for they act no different, continuing to build their fires or patrolling the land. I hide again, ear turning to find the song. It seems to get louder, clear enough to recognize as an elven melody, of fires at midnight. Not fearsome fires as with these giants, but comfortable and loving.

A pale slender hand reaches for my non-ashy hand, pulling me to the music. I hold tight, the music is right, these fires and giants are not. He leads me away, my feet following. Maybe he knows where my soul is. The pale hand pulls me to calmer lands. Overstuffed cushions by a lit fireplace invite us, and we sit. He refuses to let go of my hand, but I do not object. It is nice here, with the drinks on the mantle and the song nearby. What is left of my soul warms to the harp, the other part must be hiding here.

Maybe I can rest here a while.

[ewayneself]

Very nice!

[Misty]

The distractions are not working.

Or rather, they work, but the effects do not last as long anymore.

When I first came to the Dale and felt sad, I would sit by the falls. The roar of water drowned out most the other noises. The moon’s play on water soothed my soul. I could talk to the Seldarine, and feel better after.

No more.

I feel nothing, this blackness of soul spreading like spilled paint through the rest of me. My friend, my lover wipes up the spill as fast as he finds a leak, but the black pours faster.

Half alive, I never wanted to be half alive. It was never supposed to be like this.

The water calls to me. It always called to me. Memories here, my heart tugged this way and that as flotsam drifting on the surface. The weeds below so pretty, so inviting. Twisting in the current in a dance of their own.

I want to dance again. But I cannot leave the water. There is a song in the depths, I can almost hear it.


Erevan


Trickster fey?


Erevan, won't you make me a star sign.


Again the pale hand pulls me back, arms wrap around me.



I'm high on your love and I feel fine.
Erevan, let's sip the heaven's heady wine.



It is warm here. Maybe I can linger a little longer.






But only a little.

[Misty]

You can take him away from them.

I could.

Only a little swim, it would be easy.

Yes, I could dance with the river weeds.

He would die.

They would not have him anymore.

They could not hurt him anymore.

He would be free.

Freer than he ever had been.

How would he feel my death?

That does not matter.

It does.

Come on in.

If we cannot feel,

The water is fine.

How would we know?

Look, the weeds twist like his hair.

We would not know.

Wouldn’t you?

I would not know.

Come on in.

He is already gone.

The water is fine.

[danielmn]

Always good reads!

[Misty]

You have heard it before, how War is Chaos. To be in the thick of it, steel and flesh and pain roaring in your ears, blood and entrails and waste perfuming the air, where keeping your mind focused is a battle unto itself.

Two epic storms of hate colliding, becoming a hurricane with the smallest eye of hope in the center. For each, that hope is different. The weary battle priest hopes for peace, the general for victory. Me? I seek healing.

We lost much in the sundering of the bond. Our conjoined soul ripped in twain, separate again. The solace we found in the other lost. Love. Trust. Laughter. Respect. Endurance. Joy. Hope. All those lessons relearned, again unlearned. We both walk the world half alive.

They say two fates await those who suffer a broken bond: Death, or Insanity. He did not die, so why should I? I consign myself to accepting the insanity, the strange looks people give me when my temper burns. I know better than to give into the anger, the hate burning my blood, crying out to rip another’s life away because I can. Acceptable targets lie on the other side of the lines for this rage. Insanity has its uses in war.

Yet, the priests I trust say, “Not necessarily.” I do not have to be insane, or die from grief. One even thinks I could be so special as to bond again. I do not think so.

In the eye of this storm of war, I see those lessons again. To the Fey Jester do I give thanks, for even I see the joke of using war to heal a broken soul.

[Inwintersshadow]

Beautiful work again Misty!

[Misty]

I feel as I was when I went to Daggerdale. Everything I had done, now undone. Though I have a home, I cannot go back just yet; the hopes we shared are yet too hard to bear. So I wander, as I did then, whither the wind blows. I have no ties, no compelling reason to be anywhere or do anything. There is more pain now, it cuts deeper than any I’ve endured before. I hide behind the distractions of war and wine, making myself laugh, forcing myself enjoy what little I can, when something enjoyable comes my way.

Endure, yes, I can endure, as he does. For a few hours I can lose myself in the hunt, or the wine, or the kisses of another. So many reminders pull me back into sorrow. Little things, only he would understand. Seeing a sy’tel, and I think of the one I had. Pixies remind me of our friend, Terrible Timing. Advice from many how time will heal this wound. For all wounds, there is the balm of time, he used to say. Perhaps he says it still, advice to himself more than any other. Drums, how I miss them so. I still have not danced, not truly.

The pipes I play now, though without half the skill of my teacher. I shove the longing to go home deep within, for I cannot bear it. Were I to return, I would hunt the rightful lord of the land, and all who serve him. Though I would feel better for it, and the fey would not fault me this hate, it would bring harm to the forest. Disgusting though I find them, the Not People under the current lord serve as a buffer against the Zhents. Desire to kill them all is met with the cold reality that I was, after all, stalked by a Zhent assassin I never sensed. I cannot kill them all. Someday the lord will die.

So I smile and grin. I hide. I do not let others see the deepest pain. I am no actor, a part of me does enjoy the wine, the kisses, the distractions. I cling to this part for my half life depends upon it. Someday I will return.



Someday.

[Mizbiz]

Sweet!

[Burt]

Tragic!