Upon the Dias I stood, watching the Dread Demon as he resided within Hayz. He hovered and skulked around the Shrine of Illustree, tempting those within to come to his side, to fall to his blade.
One was the Fae Satyr Dyisi. She was about to step out of the protection of the sanctuary when I could stand by no longer. I whisked past Hayz and into the Shrine, taking hold of the young Satyr's shoulder and begging her not to go out into the land, for it would be a sacrifice for naught.
I spake to her in hushed tones, keeping her mind away from the Demon and his hollow promises. She slowely came to from her enchantment of his words, and stepped away from the doorway. Others within the Shrine took her from the opening, and I stood there, looking the Demon in the face.
"Are you going to take her place then?" He asked. I was nonplussed.
Chandi spoke from behind me, "blashephemous demon, how dare you defile the temple of Illustree!"
Hayz backed away slowely, ' Your temple means NOTHING to me! I will Raze it stone by stone!"
Chandi shot back, ' Then why do you back away? Do you fear the power of my Goddess?'
I stared out at the demon, and replied, ' For he cannot enter, 'tis too pure in this hallowed shrine. '
His eyes smoldered as if they were white-hot coals, ' My power Grows!"
Scooter said softly, ' His power weakens. Do not believe his bluffs. It only comes to him if ye allow it.'
The demon thundered, ' My power grows with every life I TAKE!"
I glared at him, my wings spreading, ' You DIE with every breath, and ye will take no more lives, today or any other!"
He took a step closer, eyes aglow, ' You know NOTHING Storyteller! Soon you ALL will join the Windhar...." he cut off, not allowing the word to form completely.
I looked at him with contempt, ' I know much about demons.... '
" You will all lay your souls bare to ME!" he shouted taking another step closer.
I sneered, ' Not even the tramp in the cathouse will lay bare to you, pitiful demon. The Oni I know of make ye look as if ye were a child. '
He ran tward the shrine, an unearthly howl spewed forth from his lips, only to bounce back from its glowing power.
"Ye are weak and small, and nothing at all!" I sang out at him.
"I shall find you again, storyteller, You will pay for your taunts!" He howled.
Chandi shouted, ' Curse you demon, get out! get out! get out! '
" You Shall Serve ME In the Spirit-World, telling stories to unborn babes....." He cried out.
Scooter spoke with a grin upon his face, ' In fact, with all of the forms I have seen him take, if the entire land envisioned him as a a small, cute, harmless pink bunny.....'
" While you ROAST in HELL FIRE!" Hayz declared his hatred to me.
I taunted him with the assistance of those within the Shrine, until he could bear it no more....
" I have much patience, you all will come out of your hole sometime...' He growled.
I laughed, ' You do not know the patience of the dragons, then do you?'
He howled again, louder and longer, and unleashed a flood of arcane energy at the Shrine.
The power of the blast was such that it penetrated the will of the Goddess Illustree, damaging all within. I could not bear this, and I ran out into the night, to lure him from the Shrine....which worked TOO well.
He soon caught up to me, and with such anger and vengeance, tore my head from its shoulders, and stabbed at my body repeatedly. He held my head high and laughed in delight, looking into my dead eyes.
He carried my head away as I watched on, a spirit in the realm.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Return from the Dead - pt 2 of the Taunt of Hayz
I walked the realm of Everwind, in search of Hayz and my head, and while I was searching, many of the spirits of those who fought the Demons came to my side, wanting direction, assistance... I could not help them.
It was decreed, however, that the Arch-Mage Merrick had a way to return the spirits to the living, but they all had to be gathered in the glen of the Fae as the seals were made to banish the Demons. I had to find my missing head!
I searched high and low, looking, asking for direction from those I thought may be able to help, but to no avail, and when the summoning time came, I was too far away, and too late. All had been completed without my presence... I was lost.
I wandered the realm, still a spirit, and stood near where I had died by the Shrine of Illustree. Dyisi found me there, and was unhappy at my plight. We told our Lord Merrick what had happened, and he was quite disturbed by this as well.
We found our Lady Rosaria, Cleric of the Shrine, and asked for her help as well. We had one problem.... the head was still missing.
I again went in search of the missing head. I found Merrick, and was able to find out where he had thrown the errant Noggin, and I dove deep into the sea to fetch it, and return it to its rightful place on my shoulders.
We gathered around my headless corpse, and began the ritual that brought forth my spirit into the lifeless shell. Rosaria stitched the neck back carefully as Dyisi cradled my head gently into place. It was a gruesome thing indeed.
Merrick called upon his powers as Arch-Mage, and I found myself deposited back into a world of pain, this time compounded by a large wound that encompassed my neck. Yet I was thankful.
I looked around at my friends, and croaked out a thank you, but Rosaria, from overexertion, had passed out, and Merrick had left the scene more quickly than a hunted fox down a burrow.
Dyisi knelt by my head, trying to sooth me with her words. I closed my eyes, and tried to relax. When I opened my eyes, Dyisi had gone, silently, unnoticed, but Rosaria still lay comatose.
I staggered to my feet, and tried to help her up, but I was too weak. I made my way to the Gypsy campfire where many were standing, talking... I called for help, which was attended to quickly.
We rested by the heat of the fire, which I, for some reason, did not feel. I lay awake and watched as the people stood over Rosaria, and hovered near me. They did all in their power to make us comfortable and heal. For this I was thankful.
As I sat, watching the fire, I began to hear other voices, not from the people around me, but from elsewhere. They were hollow, empty, but full of emotion and desperation. Soon I realized these were the souls of those I had spoken to while in the afterlife. They were long from the world, and were unable to come back to the land of the living during Merrick's summoning.
I clamped my hands over my ears, for the cacophony was almost Maddening. I stood quickly, and quietly, and spirited away to the Mage Guild Hall, where I had once found peace in my meditations.
There I sat, and concentrated on the voices, one at a time, to single them out, and try to understand what it was they wanted from me.
They wanted their stories to be known. They wanted their descendants to know who their ancestors were... So I began to write... and to read upon the darkend tomes that were secreted away in the Hall.
I could feel the darkness of those book begin to creep into me, but it caused me no pain. In fact, after sitting in the Hall, I had felt less and less, and more detatched from the outside world. This frightened me only for a moment, but I saw what kind of boon this was to my understanding of the dead.
I continue to study the dark tomes, and have traveled many places to seek knowledge forbidden in many lands... and since that day that I was brought back, I have not eaten, nor drank, nor slept a wink. Yet I continue on. I will see how this way of life folds out in front of me, so I may learn from the past.
It was decreed, however, that the Arch-Mage Merrick had a way to return the spirits to the living, but they all had to be gathered in the glen of the Fae as the seals were made to banish the Demons. I had to find my missing head!
I searched high and low, looking, asking for direction from those I thought may be able to help, but to no avail, and when the summoning time came, I was too far away, and too late. All had been completed without my presence... I was lost.
I wandered the realm, still a spirit, and stood near where I had died by the Shrine of Illustree. Dyisi found me there, and was unhappy at my plight. We told our Lord Merrick what had happened, and he was quite disturbed by this as well.
We found our Lady Rosaria, Cleric of the Shrine, and asked for her help as well. We had one problem.... the head was still missing.
I again went in search of the missing head. I found Merrick, and was able to find out where he had thrown the errant Noggin, and I dove deep into the sea to fetch it, and return it to its rightful place on my shoulders.
We gathered around my headless corpse, and began the ritual that brought forth my spirit into the lifeless shell. Rosaria stitched the neck back carefully as Dyisi cradled my head gently into place. It was a gruesome thing indeed.
Merrick called upon his powers as Arch-Mage, and I found myself deposited back into a world of pain, this time compounded by a large wound that encompassed my neck. Yet I was thankful.
I looked around at my friends, and croaked out a thank you, but Rosaria, from overexertion, had passed out, and Merrick had left the scene more quickly than a hunted fox down a burrow.
Dyisi knelt by my head, trying to sooth me with her words. I closed my eyes, and tried to relax. When I opened my eyes, Dyisi had gone, silently, unnoticed, but Rosaria still lay comatose.
I staggered to my feet, and tried to help her up, but I was too weak. I made my way to the Gypsy campfire where many were standing, talking... I called for help, which was attended to quickly.
We rested by the heat of the fire, which I, for some reason, did not feel. I lay awake and watched as the people stood over Rosaria, and hovered near me. They did all in their power to make us comfortable and heal. For this I was thankful.
As I sat, watching the fire, I began to hear other voices, not from the people around me, but from elsewhere. They were hollow, empty, but full of emotion and desperation. Soon I realized these were the souls of those I had spoken to while in the afterlife. They were long from the world, and were unable to come back to the land of the living during Merrick's summoning.
I clamped my hands over my ears, for the cacophony was almost Maddening. I stood quickly, and quietly, and spirited away to the Mage Guild Hall, where I had once found peace in my meditations.
There I sat, and concentrated on the voices, one at a time, to single them out, and try to understand what it was they wanted from me.
They wanted their stories to be known. They wanted their descendants to know who their ancestors were... So I began to write... and to read upon the darkend tomes that were secreted away in the Hall.
I could feel the darkness of those book begin to creep into me, but it caused me no pain. In fact, after sitting in the Hall, I had felt less and less, and more detatched from the outside world. This frightened me only for a moment, but I saw what kind of boon this was to my understanding of the dead.
I continue to study the dark tomes, and have traveled many places to seek knowledge forbidden in many lands... and since that day that I was brought back, I have not eaten, nor drank, nor slept a wink. Yet I continue on. I will see how this way of life folds out in front of me, so I may learn from the past.
The Mermaid of Zennor - A Cornish Tale
The village of Zennor lies upon the windward coast of Cornwall. The houses cling to the hillside as if hung there by the wind. Waves still lick the ledges in the coves, and a few fishermen still set out to sea in their boats.
In times past, the sea was both the beginning and the end for the folk of Zennor. It gave them fish for food and fish for sale, and made a wavy road to row from town to town. Hours were reckoned not by clocks but by the ebb and flow of the tide, and months and years ticked off by the herring runs. The sea took from them, too, and often wild, sudden storms would rise. Then fish and fisherman alike would be lost to an angry sea.
At the end of a good day, when the sea was calm and each boat had returned with its share of fish safely stowed in the hold, the people of Zennor would go up the path to the old church and give thanks. They would pray for a fine catch on the morrow, too. The choir would sing, and after the closing hymn the families would go
Now, in the choir that sang at Evensong there was a most handsome lad named Mathew Trewella. Not only was Mathew handsome to the eyes, his singing was sweet to the ears as well. His voice pealed out louder than the church bells, and each note rang clear and true. It was always Mathew who sang the closing hymn.
Early one evening, when all the fishing boats bobbed at anchor, and all the fisher families were in church and all the birds at nest, and even the waves rested themselves and came quietly to shore, something moved softly in the twilight. The waves parted without a sound, and, from deep beneath them, some creature rose and climbed out onto a rock, there in the cove of Zennor. It was both a sea creature and a she-creature. For, though it seemed to be a girl, where the girl's legs should have been was the long and silver-shiny tail of a fish. It was a mermaid, one of the daughters of Llyr, king of the ocean, and her name was Morveren.
Morveren sat upon the rock and looked at herself in the quiet water, and then combed all the little crabs and seashells from her long, long hair. As she combed, she listened to the murmur of the waves and wind. And borne on the wind was Mathew's singing.
"What breeze is there that blows such a song?" wondered Morveren. But then the wind died, and Mathew's song with it. The sun disappeared, and Morveren slipped back beneath the water to her home.
The next evening she came again. But not to the rock. This time she swam closer to shore, the better to hear. And once more Mathew's voice carried out to sea, and Morveren listened.
"What bird sings so sweet?" she asked, and she looked all about. But darkness had come, and her eyes saw only shadows.
The next day Morveren came even earlier, and boldly. She floated right up by the fishermen's boats. And when she heard Mathew's voice, she called, "What reed is there that pipes such music?"
There was no answer save the swishing of the water round the skiffs.
Morveren would and must know more about the singing. So she pulled herself up on the shore itself. From there she could see the church and hear the music pouring from its open doors. Nothing would do then but she must peek in and learn for herself who sang so sweetly.
Still, she did not go at once. For, looking behind her, she saw that the tide had begun to ebb and the water pull back from the shore. And she knew that she must go back, too, or be left stranded on the sand like a fish out of water.
So she dived down beneath the waves, down to the dark sea cave where she lived with her father the king. And there she told Llyr what she had heard.
Llyr was so old he appeared to be carved of driftwood, and his hair floated out tangled and green, like seaweed. At Morveren's words, he shook that massive head from side to side.
"To hear is enough, my child. To see is too much."
"I must go, Father," she pleaded, "for the music is magic."
"Nay," he answered. "The music is man-made, and it comes from a man's mouth. We people of the sea do not walk on the land of men."
A tear, larger than an ocean pearl, fell from Morveren's eye. "Then surely I may die from the wanting down here."
Llyr sighed, and his sigh was like the rumbling of giant waves upon the rocks; for a mermaid to cry was a thing unheard of and it troubled the old sea king greatly.
"Go, then," he said at last, "but go with care. Cover your tail with a dress, such as their women wear. Go quietly, and make sure that none shall see you. And return by high tide, or you may not return at all."
"I shall take care, Father!" cried Morveren, excited. "No one shall snare me like a herring!"
Llyr gave her a beautiful dress crusted with pearls and sea jade and coral and other ocean jewels. It covered her tail, and she covered her shining hair with a net, and so disguised she set out for the church and the land of men.
Slippery scales and fish's tail are not made for walking, and it was difficult for Morveren to get up the path to the church. Nor was she used to the dress of an earth woman dragging behind. But get there she did, pulling herself forward by grasping on the trees, until she was at the very door of the church. She was just in time for the closing hymn. Some folks were looking down at their hymnbooks and some up at the choir, so, since none had eyes in the backs of their heads, they did not see Morveren. But she saw them, and Mathew as well. He was as handsome as an angel, and when he sang it was like a harp from heaven -- although Morveren, of course, being a mermaid, knew nothing of either.
So each night thereafter, Morveren would dress and come up to the church, to look and to listen, staying but a few minutes and always leaving before the last note faded and in time to catch the swell of high tide. And night by night, month by month, Mathew grew taller and his voice grew deeper and stronger (though Morveren neither grew nor changed, for that is the way of mermaids). And so it went for most of a year, until the evening when Morveren lingered longer than usual. She had heard Mathew sing one verse, and then another, and begin a third. Each refrain was lovelier than the one before, and Morveren caught her breath in a sigh.
It was just a little sigh, softer than the whisper of a wave. But it was enough for Mathew to hear, and he looked to the back of the church and saw the mermaid. Morveren's eyes were shining, and the net had slipped from her head and her hair was wet and gleaming, too. Mathew stopped his singing. He was struck silent by the look of her -- and by his love for her. For these things will happen.
Morveren was frightened. Mathew had seen her, and her father had warned that none must look at her. Besides, the church was warm and dry, and merpeople must be cool and wet. Morveren felt herself shriveling, and turned in haste from the door.
"Stop!" cried Mathew boldly. "Wait!" And he ran down the aisle of the church and out the door after her.
Then all the people turned, startled, and their hymn-books fell from their laps.
Morveren tripped, tangled in her dress, and would have fallen had not Mathew reached her side and caught her.
"Stay!" he begged. "Whoever ye be, do not leave!"
Tears, real tears, as salty as the sea itself, rolled down Morveren's cheeks.
"I cannot stay. I am a sea creature, and must go back where I belong."
Mathew stared at her and saw the tip of her fish tail poking out from beneath the dress. But that mattered not at all to him.
"Then I will go with ye. For with ye is where I belong."
He picked Morveren up, and she threw her arms about his neck. He hurried down the path with her, toward the ocean's edge.
And all the people from the church saw this.
"Mathew, stop!" they shouted. "Hold back!"
"No! No, Mathew!" cried that boy's mother.
But Mathew was bewitched with love for the mermaid, and ran the faster with her toward the sea.
Then the fishermen of Zennor gave chase, and all others, too, even Mathew's mother. But Mathew was quick and strong and outdistanced them. And Morveren was quick and clever. She tore the pearls and coral from her dress and flung them on the path. The fishermen were greedy, even as men are now, and stopped in their chase to pick up the gems. Only Mathew's mother still ran after them.
The tide was going out. Great rocks thrust up from the dark water. Already it was too shallow for Morveren to swim. But Mathew plunged ahead into the water, stumbling in to his knees. Quickly his mother caught hold of his fisherman's jersey. Still Mathew pushed on, until the sea rose to his waist, and then his shoulders. Then the waters closed over Morveren and Mathew, and his mother was left with only a bit of yarn in her hand, like a fishing line with nothing on it.
Never again were Mathew and Morveren seen by the people of Zennor. They had gone to live in the land of Llyr, in golden sand castles built far below the waters in a blue-green world.
But the people of Zennor heard Mathew. For he sang to Morveren both day and night, love songs and lullabies. Nor did he sing for her ears only. Mathew learned songs that told of the sea as well. His voice rose up soft and high if the day was to be fair, deep and low if Llyr was going to make the waters boil. From his songs, the fishermen of Zennor knew when it was safe to put to sea, and when it was wise to anchor snug at home.
There are some still who find meanings in the voices of the waves and understand the whispers of the winds. These are the ones who say Mathew sings yet, to them that will listen.
In times past, the sea was both the beginning and the end for the folk of Zennor. It gave them fish for food and fish for sale, and made a wavy road to row from town to town. Hours were reckoned not by clocks but by the ebb and flow of the tide, and months and years ticked off by the herring runs. The sea took from them, too, and often wild, sudden storms would rise. Then fish and fisherman alike would be lost to an angry sea.
At the end of a good day, when the sea was calm and each boat had returned with its share of fish safely stowed in the hold, the people of Zennor would go up the path to the old church and give thanks. They would pray for a fine catch on the morrow, too. The choir would sing, and after the closing hymn the families would go
Now, in the choir that sang at Evensong there was a most handsome lad named Mathew Trewella. Not only was Mathew handsome to the eyes, his singing was sweet to the ears as well. His voice pealed out louder than the church bells, and each note rang clear and true. It was always Mathew who sang the closing hymn.
Early one evening, when all the fishing boats bobbed at anchor, and all the fisher families were in church and all the birds at nest, and even the waves rested themselves and came quietly to shore, something moved softly in the twilight. The waves parted without a sound, and, from deep beneath them, some creature rose and climbed out onto a rock, there in the cove of Zennor. It was both a sea creature and a she-creature. For, though it seemed to be a girl, where the girl's legs should have been was the long and silver-shiny tail of a fish. It was a mermaid, one of the daughters of Llyr, king of the ocean, and her name was Morveren.
Morveren sat upon the rock and looked at herself in the quiet water, and then combed all the little crabs and seashells from her long, long hair. As she combed, she listened to the murmur of the waves and wind. And borne on the wind was Mathew's singing.
"What breeze is there that blows such a song?" wondered Morveren. But then the wind died, and Mathew's song with it. The sun disappeared, and Morveren slipped back beneath the water to her home.
The next evening she came again. But not to the rock. This time she swam closer to shore, the better to hear. And once more Mathew's voice carried out to sea, and Morveren listened.
"What bird sings so sweet?" she asked, and she looked all about. But darkness had come, and her eyes saw only shadows.
The next day Morveren came even earlier, and boldly. She floated right up by the fishermen's boats. And when she heard Mathew's voice, she called, "What reed is there that pipes such music?"
There was no answer save the swishing of the water round the skiffs.
Morveren would and must know more about the singing. So she pulled herself up on the shore itself. From there she could see the church and hear the music pouring from its open doors. Nothing would do then but she must peek in and learn for herself who sang so sweetly.
Still, she did not go at once. For, looking behind her, she saw that the tide had begun to ebb and the water pull back from the shore. And she knew that she must go back, too, or be left stranded on the sand like a fish out of water.
So she dived down beneath the waves, down to the dark sea cave where she lived with her father the king. And there she told Llyr what she had heard.
Llyr was so old he appeared to be carved of driftwood, and his hair floated out tangled and green, like seaweed. At Morveren's words, he shook that massive head from side to side.
"To hear is enough, my child. To see is too much."
"I must go, Father," she pleaded, "for the music is magic."
"Nay," he answered. "The music is man-made, and it comes from a man's mouth. We people of the sea do not walk on the land of men."
A tear, larger than an ocean pearl, fell from Morveren's eye. "Then surely I may die from the wanting down here."
Llyr sighed, and his sigh was like the rumbling of giant waves upon the rocks; for a mermaid to cry was a thing unheard of and it troubled the old sea king greatly.
"Go, then," he said at last, "but go with care. Cover your tail with a dress, such as their women wear. Go quietly, and make sure that none shall see you. And return by high tide, or you may not return at all."
"I shall take care, Father!" cried Morveren, excited. "No one shall snare me like a herring!"
Llyr gave her a beautiful dress crusted with pearls and sea jade and coral and other ocean jewels. It covered her tail, and she covered her shining hair with a net, and so disguised she set out for the church and the land of men.
Slippery scales and fish's tail are not made for walking, and it was difficult for Morveren to get up the path to the church. Nor was she used to the dress of an earth woman dragging behind. But get there she did, pulling herself forward by grasping on the trees, until she was at the very door of the church. She was just in time for the closing hymn. Some folks were looking down at their hymnbooks and some up at the choir, so, since none had eyes in the backs of their heads, they did not see Morveren. But she saw them, and Mathew as well. He was as handsome as an angel, and when he sang it was like a harp from heaven -- although Morveren, of course, being a mermaid, knew nothing of either.
So each night thereafter, Morveren would dress and come up to the church, to look and to listen, staying but a few minutes and always leaving before the last note faded and in time to catch the swell of high tide. And night by night, month by month, Mathew grew taller and his voice grew deeper and stronger (though Morveren neither grew nor changed, for that is the way of mermaids). And so it went for most of a year, until the evening when Morveren lingered longer than usual. She had heard Mathew sing one verse, and then another, and begin a third. Each refrain was lovelier than the one before, and Morveren caught her breath in a sigh.
It was just a little sigh, softer than the whisper of a wave. But it was enough for Mathew to hear, and he looked to the back of the church and saw the mermaid. Morveren's eyes were shining, and the net had slipped from her head and her hair was wet and gleaming, too. Mathew stopped his singing. He was struck silent by the look of her -- and by his love for her. For these things will happen.
Morveren was frightened. Mathew had seen her, and her father had warned that none must look at her. Besides, the church was warm and dry, and merpeople must be cool and wet. Morveren felt herself shriveling, and turned in haste from the door.
"Stop!" cried Mathew boldly. "Wait!" And he ran down the aisle of the church and out the door after her.
Then all the people turned, startled, and their hymn-books fell from their laps.
Morveren tripped, tangled in her dress, and would have fallen had not Mathew reached her side and caught her.
"Stay!" he begged. "Whoever ye be, do not leave!"
Tears, real tears, as salty as the sea itself, rolled down Morveren's cheeks.
"I cannot stay. I am a sea creature, and must go back where I belong."
Mathew stared at her and saw the tip of her fish tail poking out from beneath the dress. But that mattered not at all to him.
"Then I will go with ye. For with ye is where I belong."
He picked Morveren up, and she threw her arms about his neck. He hurried down the path with her, toward the ocean's edge.
And all the people from the church saw this.
"Mathew, stop!" they shouted. "Hold back!"
"No! No, Mathew!" cried that boy's mother.
But Mathew was bewitched with love for the mermaid, and ran the faster with her toward the sea.
Then the fishermen of Zennor gave chase, and all others, too, even Mathew's mother. But Mathew was quick and strong and outdistanced them. And Morveren was quick and clever. She tore the pearls and coral from her dress and flung them on the path. The fishermen were greedy, even as men are now, and stopped in their chase to pick up the gems. Only Mathew's mother still ran after them.
The tide was going out. Great rocks thrust up from the dark water. Already it was too shallow for Morveren to swim. But Mathew plunged ahead into the water, stumbling in to his knees. Quickly his mother caught hold of his fisherman's jersey. Still Mathew pushed on, until the sea rose to his waist, and then his shoulders. Then the waters closed over Morveren and Mathew, and his mother was left with only a bit of yarn in her hand, like a fishing line with nothing on it.
Never again were Mathew and Morveren seen by the people of Zennor. They had gone to live in the land of Llyr, in golden sand castles built far below the waters in a blue-green world.
But the people of Zennor heard Mathew. For he sang to Morveren both day and night, love songs and lullabies. Nor did he sing for her ears only. Mathew learned songs that told of the sea as well. His voice rose up soft and high if the day was to be fair, deep and low if Llyr was going to make the waters boil. From his songs, the fishermen of Zennor knew when it was safe to put to sea, and when it was wise to anchor snug at home.
There are some still who find meanings in the voices of the waves and understand the whispers of the winds. These are the ones who say Mathew sings yet, to them that will listen.
Killing of the Roc as told by Arbre Trebuchet
"I spin the tale passed onto me by a little creature of dubious hygiene skills."
"A tale of a little goblin whose name sounds like gargling hot sauce and lard in most tongues...'
"But translates roughly into: 'Chunk'."
"Now this 'Chunk' had already survived the Great Goblin Apocalypse That Almost Was But Really Wasn't..."
"And had gained some notoriety as a goblin of greed, bad odor and cowardice... For among the goblins, our vices are their virtues."
"So when this fellow escaped his near death from his original home, he moved to another warren with a bit of fame."
"There the Goblin King, Moregutt Badgss, took Chunk under his stinky wing, making him one of his favored retainers."
"And set before this odiferous fellow, he set two of his worst warriors to a great quest."
"For among goblins, you want the worst warriors, as they are most likely to run away at danger and draw the enemy away from you."
"The quest was a great one... To kill a roc!"
"It seems a bird of gigantic size had terrorized the little creatures horribly. And the king set them to kill it."
"Now rocs are gigantic birds that can carry away a horse and live in the high mountains..."
"So the less than brave trio set out to kill the beast, having found it from the remains of a scout who died nearby."
"The three snuck up close to the nest, an enormous affair big as a house..."
"So the goblins worked their way inside, the last rays of the setting sun painting the brightly-colored bird in the colors of the rainbow."
"Chunk, being the epitome of a goblin, sent the worthless warriors in first to slay the beast with their knives."
"Sadly, goblin knives compared to a bird the size of a small galleon is a bit pathetic..."
"And so they crept forward, shuddering in fear and trying not to stain their already stained garments."
"It was Chunk, standing at the rear, like a good goblin leader who made the error of tripping on a loose stone and grabbing a tail feather."
"Not yet asleep, the monstrous bird stirred and looked about itself with heavy lids... Right into the creeping goblins that stood by its head with knives raised."
"It was a moment frozen in time. Wide-eyed goblins staring slack-jawed at the titanic bird, its eyes the size of dinner plates staring back.... And angry."
"With a scream that rung off the mountaintops, the eagle jerked back, more frightened by the keening, crazed squeals of terror so loud from such small creatures as they flung themselves from the nest."
"Heedless, the horrifically bad goblin warriors tossed themselves onto the hard rocks beneath the nest. Winded, but terrified, they staggered off, keening with terror as the huge bird took flight above them."
"Chunk, being the paragon of goblin leadership was hiding in the back, safe. Unfortunately, at all the keening and shattering screams locked his grubby fist about the tailfeather in terror."
"Which would have been alright... But he was still clamped onto it as the mighty beast lurched into the air, flipping him from the tailfeather."
"Screaming to match his terrified brethern he sailed through the air like a portly, unwashed projectile to land in the worse place possible... On the roc's neck."
"Chunk would have likely prefered to have plummeted to the ground thousands of feet into the rocks below. For Chunk, along with his many other flaws, was terrified of birds... With a special terror for chickens."
"The gigantic bird snatched at the other two goblins, claws the size of carts knocking boulders loose and plunging the hapless pair down the mountain in a small avalanche."
"Chunk could have saved himself at that moment.... The survivor of the Apocalypse That Almost Was swifter of mind than most of his dim kind."
"But sadly, he instead followed his greatest urge... Fear. And proceeded to hang on for dear life. Which only spurred the mammoth roc to dive off into the perilous gorge to try and wriggle off the irritation."
"And as the goblin defied gravity, hanging onto a monstrous bird, his ability to keep from soiling himself was defied as well... Which only made his plunging mount manuver and twist to throw him off."
"And indeed, the bird flew past mountain peaks so close that he could reach out and touch them. At blinding speeds they flew from the Bones of the Gods Mountains, towards the fertile valleys below."
"Although not as swift as a falcon, the roc still plummeted downward at nearly a hundred knots."
"And there, clinging with hysterical strength, clutched hapless Chunk. For as any professional adventurer will tell you, goblins are by far the most hysterical creatures of all."
"With cheeks a-flap like empty wineskins in a hurricane, the fat not-so-bravo held on to life."
"Screaming incoherently, little, flabby Chunk yanked out his tiny knife and plunged it into the beast's neck."
"Stabbing wildly, he proceeded to only anger the bird who began to buzz the jagged outcroppings that lay at the base of the Bones."
"Soon they were just above the verdent green of the Green Expanse, a wide forest of tall evergreens."
"And it was then, tragedy struck. It was then, in a spinning turn, that Chunk lost his heroic grip and tumbled off..."
"And onto one of the bird's eyelids."
"A scream of surprise and pain rang back from the mighty bird of prey, his castle-span wings losing their tempo over the nearby lake."
"Chunk hung there, bellowing with fear as the titanic roc tossed its head, lost its vision for a moment.... And thunderously crashed into the trees just below its wingtips."
"The fat, helpless goblin shot off like a slingstone to skip from the lake many times."
"Finally, he pulled his soggy form from the far shore, exhausted and even more shockingly for a goblin... Clean."
"No one in his warren believed that he had survived after the two survivors had returned, beaten and bruised, telling of valiant Chunk's death flight with the monster."
"Even the great Badgss refused to believe that Chunk had killed the beast, impaled on a mighty evergreen."
"That was, until Chunk decided to bring his own drumstick to dinner.... On a stolen cart."
"The End."
"A tale of a little goblin whose name sounds like gargling hot sauce and lard in most tongues...'
"But translates roughly into: 'Chunk'."
"Now this 'Chunk' had already survived the Great Goblin Apocalypse That Almost Was But Really Wasn't..."
"And had gained some notoriety as a goblin of greed, bad odor and cowardice... For among the goblins, our vices are their virtues."
"So when this fellow escaped his near death from his original home, he moved to another warren with a bit of fame."
"There the Goblin King, Moregutt Badgss, took Chunk under his stinky wing, making him one of his favored retainers."
"And set before this odiferous fellow, he set two of his worst warriors to a great quest."
"For among goblins, you want the worst warriors, as they are most likely to run away at danger and draw the enemy away from you."
"The quest was a great one... To kill a roc!"
"It seems a bird of gigantic size had terrorized the little creatures horribly. And the king set them to kill it."
"Now rocs are gigantic birds that can carry away a horse and live in the high mountains..."
"So the less than brave trio set out to kill the beast, having found it from the remains of a scout who died nearby."
"The three snuck up close to the nest, an enormous affair big as a house..."
"So the goblins worked their way inside, the last rays of the setting sun painting the brightly-colored bird in the colors of the rainbow."
"Chunk, being the epitome of a goblin, sent the worthless warriors in first to slay the beast with their knives."
"Sadly, goblin knives compared to a bird the size of a small galleon is a bit pathetic..."
"And so they crept forward, shuddering in fear and trying not to stain their already stained garments."
"It was Chunk, standing at the rear, like a good goblin leader who made the error of tripping on a loose stone and grabbing a tail feather."
"Not yet asleep, the monstrous bird stirred and looked about itself with heavy lids... Right into the creeping goblins that stood by its head with knives raised."
"It was a moment frozen in time. Wide-eyed goblins staring slack-jawed at the titanic bird, its eyes the size of dinner plates staring back.... And angry."
"With a scream that rung off the mountaintops, the eagle jerked back, more frightened by the keening, crazed squeals of terror so loud from such small creatures as they flung themselves from the nest."
"Heedless, the horrifically bad goblin warriors tossed themselves onto the hard rocks beneath the nest. Winded, but terrified, they staggered off, keening with terror as the huge bird took flight above them."
"Chunk, being the paragon of goblin leadership was hiding in the back, safe. Unfortunately, at all the keening and shattering screams locked his grubby fist about the tailfeather in terror."
"Which would have been alright... But he was still clamped onto it as the mighty beast lurched into the air, flipping him from the tailfeather."
"Screaming to match his terrified brethern he sailed through the air like a portly, unwashed projectile to land in the worse place possible... On the roc's neck."
"Chunk would have likely prefered to have plummeted to the ground thousands of feet into the rocks below. For Chunk, along with his many other flaws, was terrified of birds... With a special terror for chickens."
"The gigantic bird snatched at the other two goblins, claws the size of carts knocking boulders loose and plunging the hapless pair down the mountain in a small avalanche."
"Chunk could have saved himself at that moment.... The survivor of the Apocalypse That Almost Was swifter of mind than most of his dim kind."
"But sadly, he instead followed his greatest urge... Fear. And proceeded to hang on for dear life. Which only spurred the mammoth roc to dive off into the perilous gorge to try and wriggle off the irritation."
"And as the goblin defied gravity, hanging onto a monstrous bird, his ability to keep from soiling himself was defied as well... Which only made his plunging mount manuver and twist to throw him off."
"And indeed, the bird flew past mountain peaks so close that he could reach out and touch them. At blinding speeds they flew from the Bones of the Gods Mountains, towards the fertile valleys below."
"Although not as swift as a falcon, the roc still plummeted downward at nearly a hundred knots."
"And there, clinging with hysterical strength, clutched hapless Chunk. For as any professional adventurer will tell you, goblins are by far the most hysterical creatures of all."
"With cheeks a-flap like empty wineskins in a hurricane, the fat not-so-bravo held on to life."
"Screaming incoherently, little, flabby Chunk yanked out his tiny knife and plunged it into the beast's neck."
"Stabbing wildly, he proceeded to only anger the bird who began to buzz the jagged outcroppings that lay at the base of the Bones."
"Soon they were just above the verdent green of the Green Expanse, a wide forest of tall evergreens."
"And it was then, tragedy struck. It was then, in a spinning turn, that Chunk lost his heroic grip and tumbled off..."
"And onto one of the bird's eyelids."
"A scream of surprise and pain rang back from the mighty bird of prey, his castle-span wings losing their tempo over the nearby lake."
"Chunk hung there, bellowing with fear as the titanic roc tossed its head, lost its vision for a moment.... And thunderously crashed into the trees just below its wingtips."
"The fat, helpless goblin shot off like a slingstone to skip from the lake many times."
"Finally, he pulled his soggy form from the far shore, exhausted and even more shockingly for a goblin... Clean."
"No one in his warren believed that he had survived after the two survivors had returned, beaten and bruised, telling of valiant Chunk's death flight with the monster."
"Even the great Badgss refused to believe that Chunk had killed the beast, impaled on a mighty evergreen."
"That was, until Chunk decided to bring his own drumstick to dinner.... On a stolen cart."
"The End."
Heart of the Wind as told by Kikyo Isachenko
Like a nomadic current,
I weave and wind my way
through the atmostphere,
gliding high over mountains and plateaus,
sinking low into dark rifts and valleys.
I fuel flames with a gentle breeze,
yet extinguish them with a furious gust.
I glide over water's surface,
leave fleet footsteps of soft ripples.
My flailing arms churn the tempests,
and when I cry, the skies weep.
I weave and wind my way
through the atmostphere,
gliding high over mountains and plateaus,
sinking low into dark rifts and valleys.
I fuel flames with a gentle breeze,
yet extinguish them with a furious gust.
I glide over water's surface,
leave fleet footsteps of soft ripples.
My flailing arms churn the tempests,
and when I cry, the skies weep.
GOOD NIGHT MOON
In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon
and a picture of The cow jumping over the moon
And there were three little bears sitting on chairs
and two little kittens and a pair of mittens.
And a little toyhouse and a young mouse
and a comb and a brush and a bowl full of much
and a quite old lady who was whispering "hush"
Good night room
Goodnight moon
goodnight cow jumping over the moon
Good night light and the red balloon
Good night bears, Good night chairs
Good night kittens and good night mittens
good night clocks and goodnight socks
good night little house
and good night mouse
good night comb and goodnight brush
goodnight nobody, Good night mush
And goodnight to the old lady wishpering "hush"
good night stars
Goodnight air
Goodnight noises everywhere.
THE BEACONS
Many years ago, a little over fifteen hundred in count, when elves and humans were still new races to the others there existed a small tribe of wood elves called the Silvhasti.
The elven leaders had agreed one amongst the other to find peace with the human race and live in harmony.
All but the Silvhasti. The Silvhasti feared change and despised the expansionistic humans.
They feared the humans would take over their woodland homes. From this fear they decided to cast a high magic spell over their lands to hide them away from the world.
They gathered their best and strongest mages and prepared the rituals for the spell.
All were confident that the spell would not fail. That was until the strain of the powerful ritual became to much for one mage and he fainted.
This called the spell to malfunction and opened a portal into the nether realms. From this portal a great evil was released. It had no form, no name but it settled upon the elven woodlands turning them barren.
They became a place of death and evil that none would tread. The Silvhasti tribe thmselves were cursed by their elven goddess to roam the lands, unaging, searching for evil in all it's forms and destroying it.
This would be their payment for their great sin. Over the centuries many of the Silvhasti became known as Beacons because whatever town or kingdom they entered evil soon showed itself.
Many were blamed for this evil and executed by suspicious leaders and townsfolk.
Despite their great sin the Silvhasti race is a noble one and the few that still live would give their last breath to protect a town or kingdom they have been drawn to by the curse.
The phrase "eyes as sad as Silvhasti" comes from these people for the few who still live are said to have a violet gaze that breaks the heart to see.
It is as though they weep for the evils they know are to befall the place they are called to.
The Silvhasti lands are still cursed to this day and each Silvhasti dreams of the day they can defeat the evil they released and be a race with free will once more.
The elven leaders had agreed one amongst the other to find peace with the human race and live in harmony.
All but the Silvhasti. The Silvhasti feared change and despised the expansionistic humans.
They feared the humans would take over their woodland homes. From this fear they decided to cast a high magic spell over their lands to hide them away from the world.
They gathered their best and strongest mages and prepared the rituals for the spell.
All were confident that the spell would not fail. That was until the strain of the powerful ritual became to much for one mage and he fainted.
This called the spell to malfunction and opened a portal into the nether realms. From this portal a great evil was released. It had no form, no name but it settled upon the elven woodlands turning them barren.
They became a place of death and evil that none would tread. The Silvhasti tribe thmselves were cursed by their elven goddess to roam the lands, unaging, searching for evil in all it's forms and destroying it.
This would be their payment for their great sin. Over the centuries many of the Silvhasti became known as Beacons because whatever town or kingdom they entered evil soon showed itself.
Many were blamed for this evil and executed by suspicious leaders and townsfolk.
Despite their great sin the Silvhasti race is a noble one and the few that still live would give their last breath to protect a town or kingdom they have been drawn to by the curse.
The phrase "eyes as sad as Silvhasti" comes from these people for the few who still live are said to have a violet gaze that breaks the heart to see.
It is as though they weep for the evils they know are to befall the place they are called to.
The Silvhasti lands are still cursed to this day and each Silvhasti dreams of the day they can defeat the evil they released and be a race with free will once more.
POEM by Sir Walter Raleigh
If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy Love.
But Time drives flocks from field to fold; When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb; The rest complains of cares to come....
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies Soon break, soon wither--soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in season rotten. .....
But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy Love...
But Time drives flocks from field to fold; When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb; The rest complains of cares to come....
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies Soon break, soon wither--soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in season rotten. .....
But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy Love...
The Wagon of Doom as told by Arbre Trebuchet
I shall tell the tale of handed down through the generations of goblins....
A tale of mystery and terror...
The tale of... "The Wagon of Doom!"
Three goblins one day set out to prove their passage into adulthood, seeking to raid among the vile humans...
The three brothers were brave... For goblins, and true to each other... Or at least as much as quarrelsome goblins can be...
After leaving the noisesome warren where they and a few hundred of their kind lived, they set out for a village many leagues away...
Or at least, it was a far distance in goblin leagues... Which is a far bit smaller than normal leagues. They have short legs you see.
Upon reaching the village, the squat little goblins found a most marvelous find...
A Goblin King's ransom atop a hill, laden with a fortune...
A two-wheeled cart with its front bars laid to rest on the ground, overflowing with bounty: fruits, vegetables, bread, cloth and grain alcohol...
Well, after they woke up the one that fainted, the three snuck up in the late dusk of the day to take this for their own...
Greed, for goblins, is a virtue and not a vice...
And these three, were goblins ready for sainthood...
Eagerly they scrambled into and over the cart, trying to steal everything they could. They jammed loaves of bread into their mouths, rings of bologna down their pants and bottles of whiskey beneath their arms.
One among them. A particularly foul fat goblin, whose name translated into the common tongue was: "Chunk", was the greediest of them all...
It was this Chunk who spied the shaped blocks of wood beneath the wheels of the cart and sought to claim them...
Now, goblins, for all their copious faults, DO know how to make fire. And in the gathering dusk, the three lit torches to aid in their raiding.
Chunk eagerly grabbed the blocks and yanked them free, stuffing them into his pockets...
Above him, the two others quarreled over a jar of pickled herring, rocking the cart dangerously....
Well, our goblins were not bright. The wagon being on the top of a hill, with its blocks removed, began to roll down it...
One of the goblins fighting atop the wagon dropped a bottle of grain alcohol, smashing it all over a bundle of firewood and himself...
The other began to bash him over the head with his flaming torch... And proceeded to set the wagon ablaze...
Chunk, noticing the wagon was rolling decided to do the wise thing...
instead of waiting for it to roll over him or dash aside, he ran out in front of it.
And the other continued to beat him with the flaming brand, trying to put him out...
Chunk, the fattest and laziest of them, was least qualified to outrun the cart as it barreled down the hill and in the direction of their underground home...
To those goblins returning to their warren after hunting for raccoon and weasel, it was a sight out of their myths...
At least one returning party watched in awe as the blazing tempest rolled towards them, a fat goblin screaming doom and destruction. IT looked like the hot abyss was coming for them on spokes, "Hell on Wheels", quite literally.
Goblin legends told of a great, flaming skywagon that would descend and destroy them.... Or at least, it was close enough to terrify them...
The hurdling cart even had their great evil god, Mephibboo, riding atop it and blazing with infernal light...
Or at least, a hapless, flaming goblin being bashed by a stick...
Chunk was, of course, the great prophet, come to warn them. He just was doing it in a far greater hurry than most stories told..
Soon the warren was in a panic, with goblins racing about, their horror illuminated in the racing cart.
Of course, so stricken were they, that the thought of dodging from the cart was quite forgotten...
For them, when the cart smashed into the noisesome mob, firey debris and a large quantity of flaming grain alcohol everywhere, the end was there for most of them...
Goblins in other warrens whisper around the fire of the great omen... Of the punishment that the god of the underworld inflicted on them for their 'ungobbyness'...
So, to this day, the people in the nearby village no longer worry about goblins stealing from them in the night... And lament the loss of their cart loaded for market....
The End.
A tale of mystery and terror...
The tale of... "The Wagon of Doom!"
Three goblins one day set out to prove their passage into adulthood, seeking to raid among the vile humans...
The three brothers were brave... For goblins, and true to each other... Or at least as much as quarrelsome goblins can be...
After leaving the noisesome warren where they and a few hundred of their kind lived, they set out for a village many leagues away...
Or at least, it was a far distance in goblin leagues... Which is a far bit smaller than normal leagues. They have short legs you see.
Upon reaching the village, the squat little goblins found a most marvelous find...
A Goblin King's ransom atop a hill, laden with a fortune...
A two-wheeled cart with its front bars laid to rest on the ground, overflowing with bounty: fruits, vegetables, bread, cloth and grain alcohol...
Well, after they woke up the one that fainted, the three snuck up in the late dusk of the day to take this for their own...
Greed, for goblins, is a virtue and not a vice...
And these three, were goblins ready for sainthood...
Eagerly they scrambled into and over the cart, trying to steal everything they could. They jammed loaves of bread into their mouths, rings of bologna down their pants and bottles of whiskey beneath their arms.
One among them. A particularly foul fat goblin, whose name translated into the common tongue was: "Chunk", was the greediest of them all...
It was this Chunk who spied the shaped blocks of wood beneath the wheels of the cart and sought to claim them...
Now, goblins, for all their copious faults, DO know how to make fire. And in the gathering dusk, the three lit torches to aid in their raiding.
Chunk eagerly grabbed the blocks and yanked them free, stuffing them into his pockets...
Above him, the two others quarreled over a jar of pickled herring, rocking the cart dangerously....
Well, our goblins were not bright. The wagon being on the top of a hill, with its blocks removed, began to roll down it...
One of the goblins fighting atop the wagon dropped a bottle of grain alcohol, smashing it all over a bundle of firewood and himself...
The other began to bash him over the head with his flaming torch... And proceeded to set the wagon ablaze...
Chunk, noticing the wagon was rolling decided to do the wise thing...
instead of waiting for it to roll over him or dash aside, he ran out in front of it.
And the other continued to beat him with the flaming brand, trying to put him out...
Chunk, the fattest and laziest of them, was least qualified to outrun the cart as it barreled down the hill and in the direction of their underground home...
To those goblins returning to their warren after hunting for raccoon and weasel, it was a sight out of their myths...
At least one returning party watched in awe as the blazing tempest rolled towards them, a fat goblin screaming doom and destruction. IT looked like the hot abyss was coming for them on spokes, "Hell on Wheels", quite literally.
Goblin legends told of a great, flaming skywagon that would descend and destroy them.... Or at least, it was close enough to terrify them...
The hurdling cart even had their great evil god, Mephibboo, riding atop it and blazing with infernal light...
Or at least, a hapless, flaming goblin being bashed by a stick...
Chunk was, of course, the great prophet, come to warn them. He just was doing it in a far greater hurry than most stories told..
Soon the warren was in a panic, with goblins racing about, their horror illuminated in the racing cart.
Of course, so stricken were they, that the thought of dodging from the cart was quite forgotten...
For them, when the cart smashed into the noisesome mob, firey debris and a large quantity of flaming grain alcohol everywhere, the end was there for most of them...
Goblins in other warrens whisper around the fire of the great omen... Of the punishment that the god of the underworld inflicted on them for their 'ungobbyness'...
So, to this day, the people in the nearby village no longer worry about goblins stealing from them in the night... And lament the loss of their cart loaded for market....
The End.
The Song of Avillion pt 1
*A hunt in the woods*(part one)
The trees were whispering again. They loved to torment me, the breeze carrying their words down to my ears, almost able to make out what they were saying but.... not quite. I looked up and saw the leaves flip over and sway, when I half-closed my eyes, I could see the faces they formed up there, the mouths opening in laughter at my incompetence.
I continued along the forest path, my feet feeling every twig and adjusting so not to make a sound. The Inn back at the village was running low on fresh meat, so I had taken my bow to the forest to find a rabbit or two, but apart from the whispering trees, the forest was silent. Something had been taking my prey in recent weeks, and it was getting harder and harder to find a food supply. Farther and farther I had to travel to find it.
A few days ago, I had found something odd on the ground near the path that chilled me. Some poor creature had met its end in some way, and had been... drained... It was completely intact but twas nothing but bones and skin. No blood, no meat, no innards, for when I poked it with a stick it collapsed into a dry, flat pool, the bones in a pile under the skin with nothing to hold them together. Thankfully I had only seen that once, and have tried to forget it.
So I was, hunting for a prey that seemed to no longer exist where it always had before. I was about to turn around and give up, when I heard the faintest sound of a dry leaf being disturbed on the ground.
Tensing, I slowly reached for an arrow, thinking I had finally found an elusive hare. As I crouched down lower to the ground and turned toward the sound, something spoke.
It spoke the language of the trees, only this time I could understand every horrible word.
I did not see what spoke, or where it was coming from, but this is what it said..
"Thisss iss not your land, creaturrre. Thissss land belongsss to the ssspirit Helssseuri, sssshe of the ssserpentsss. You tresspasss here, and ssshal be sssubject to be herrrr prrey ifff thy ssshow your pale faccce here again. Thisss isss the only warning forrr yourrr kind there will be"
It wasn't the words alone that chilled me, it was the sound of them, ancient as the earth itself, dry and brittle, and crawling inside my head like maggots. It is impossible to describe, but I didn't have to think for one second.. I RAN.. Ran like I had never run before, my feet not even touching the forest floor, and it seemed to me I was still there in its presence, its inhuman eyes staring coldly at my back.
But at last I fell into the clearing of the village, sobbing, so glad to be alive still.
Noone saw me as I lay there, my sides shuddering with sobs, and eventually they subsided and I could think again. What was this burden placed upon me? What was to be next? What would happen when that.. thing.. had nothing left to take from the forest? Would it go after the villagers? Something had to be done, and soon.
The trees were whispering again. They loved to torment me, the breeze carrying their words down to my ears, almost able to make out what they were saying but.... not quite. I looked up and saw the leaves flip over and sway, when I half-closed my eyes, I could see the faces they formed up there, the mouths opening in laughter at my incompetence.
I continued along the forest path, my feet feeling every twig and adjusting so not to make a sound. The Inn back at the village was running low on fresh meat, so I had taken my bow to the forest to find a rabbit or two, but apart from the whispering trees, the forest was silent. Something had been taking my prey in recent weeks, and it was getting harder and harder to find a food supply. Farther and farther I had to travel to find it.
A few days ago, I had found something odd on the ground near the path that chilled me. Some poor creature had met its end in some way, and had been... drained... It was completely intact but twas nothing but bones and skin. No blood, no meat, no innards, for when I poked it with a stick it collapsed into a dry, flat pool, the bones in a pile under the skin with nothing to hold them together. Thankfully I had only seen that once, and have tried to forget it.
So I was, hunting for a prey that seemed to no longer exist where it always had before. I was about to turn around and give up, when I heard the faintest sound of a dry leaf being disturbed on the ground.
Tensing, I slowly reached for an arrow, thinking I had finally found an elusive hare. As I crouched down lower to the ground and turned toward the sound, something spoke.
It spoke the language of the trees, only this time I could understand every horrible word.
I did not see what spoke, or where it was coming from, but this is what it said..
"Thisss iss not your land, creaturrre. Thissss land belongsss to the ssspirit Helssseuri, sssshe of the ssserpentsss. You tresspasss here, and ssshal be sssubject to be herrrr prrey ifff thy ssshow your pale faccce here again. Thisss isss the only warning forrr yourrr kind there will be"
It wasn't the words alone that chilled me, it was the sound of them, ancient as the earth itself, dry and brittle, and crawling inside my head like maggots. It is impossible to describe, but I didn't have to think for one second.. I RAN.. Ran like I had never run before, my feet not even touching the forest floor, and it seemed to me I was still there in its presence, its inhuman eyes staring coldly at my back.
But at last I fell into the clearing of the village, sobbing, so glad to be alive still.
Noone saw me as I lay there, my sides shuddering with sobs, and eventually they subsided and I could think again. What was this burden placed upon me? What was to be next? What would happen when that.. thing.. had nothing left to take from the forest? Would it go after the villagers? Something had to be done, and soon.
The Song of Avillion pt 2
*The story of Helseuri*
I knew what I had to do. Something of this great consequence must be brought to the Lord and Lady of the isle themselves, and no other.
I tried to think of how to tell them this awful news as I walked the path to the fortress, and I had no plan on how to as I saw them standing before me.
Lady Serenity saw me first, and I saw her eyes open wide as she said to me
"Lady Tully, what on earth has happened to you? Your hair.... Why, it is as white as the snow in December!"
I looked down and saw for the first time what had happened. I had been that frightened. I had gone into the woods with hair as black as ebon and emerged with that which you see now.
I looked up, and saw the worry in their eyes, and the whole story spilled from my mouth in a rush, The tears coming again as I spoke of what it had said.
They listened intently, in silence, and I saw the storm of emotions on their faces. When I had finished, they exchanged a glance then Lord Malakh said to me "I have never heard of this goddess Helseuri, we must go at once to consult the drow Palmina"
I shuddered at the thought of having to talk to that nasty drow, but compared to the thing in the forest, it would be a pleasure.
When Palmina heard the name Helseuri, her eyes narrowed and she hissed. When she had heard the rest of the story, she took a deep breath and said "Helseuri is one of the ancient Forgotten Ones.
She became a goddess when her life was taken by a pit of vicious snakes. She had been exploring the wood as it is told, playing her flute and laughing up into the treetops at the birds following her and her music.
In her distraction, she fell into the pit and was immediately strangled by their coils and killed. Before she could be swallowed whole however, a centaur who had been enchanted with her music unbeknowest to her threw a looped rope down and pulled her up by her neck, her lifeless arms and legs bumping off the edges of the den.
He took her to a circle of stones near the forest edge where he laid her down and a single tear rolled off his cheek as he said 'fair maiden, the woods will have thee for eternity now' and slowly walked away to let the forest claim her."
"The forest did indeed claim her.Little did the centaur know the whole thing had been watched by none other than Jothop, the god of the darkwood. he saw her beauty and took her, cast a spell upon her to make her body come to life, then took her for His own.
Deep in the forest, where no eyes ever saw, he did horrible things to her, made her his play thing. She never fought him, for powerful magic held her senses. But one night he made a fatal mistake.
He had taken a snake from the woods, which happened to be the very one who had squeezed the life from her. As he used it to torment her in ways that are not told, the snake got infuriated and bit her.
Her eyes cleared at the pain, and unseen within her mouth fangs burst forth.. beneath her skin her muscles strengthened and lengthened, and with a small smile she reached out and drew him to her. He thought it was a moment of passion and let it be.
Her grip strengthened, tightened, and by the time he realized what was happening it was too late. Her teeth sunk into his shoulder, and she fed. Drank the blood of a god and in doing so became one. When she was finished, his body was that of a mortal, broken and drained. Only such circumstances leading to that moment could have accomplished that."
"So she embraced that which had killed her in another life, forgiven for bringing her back. She became the queen of the serpents. This is the story of Helseuri"
Palmina sat back and looked at us, then said
"Only one thing will save us. That which gave her such joy once will not be forgotten"
We looked at her puzzled at first, then all at once, we saw. We saw what we had to do.
I knew what I had to do. Something of this great consequence must be brought to the Lord and Lady of the isle themselves, and no other.
I tried to think of how to tell them this awful news as I walked the path to the fortress, and I had no plan on how to as I saw them standing before me.
Lady Serenity saw me first, and I saw her eyes open wide as she said to me
"Lady Tully, what on earth has happened to you? Your hair.... Why, it is as white as the snow in December!"
I looked down and saw for the first time what had happened. I had been that frightened. I had gone into the woods with hair as black as ebon and emerged with that which you see now.
I looked up, and saw the worry in their eyes, and the whole story spilled from my mouth in a rush, The tears coming again as I spoke of what it had said.
They listened intently, in silence, and I saw the storm of emotions on their faces. When I had finished, they exchanged a glance then Lord Malakh said to me "I have never heard of this goddess Helseuri, we must go at once to consult the drow Palmina"
I shuddered at the thought of having to talk to that nasty drow, but compared to the thing in the forest, it would be a pleasure.
When Palmina heard the name Helseuri, her eyes narrowed and she hissed. When she had heard the rest of the story, she took a deep breath and said "Helseuri is one of the ancient Forgotten Ones.
She became a goddess when her life was taken by a pit of vicious snakes. She had been exploring the wood as it is told, playing her flute and laughing up into the treetops at the birds following her and her music.
In her distraction, she fell into the pit and was immediately strangled by their coils and killed. Before she could be swallowed whole however, a centaur who had been enchanted with her music unbeknowest to her threw a looped rope down and pulled her up by her neck, her lifeless arms and legs bumping off the edges of the den.
He took her to a circle of stones near the forest edge where he laid her down and a single tear rolled off his cheek as he said 'fair maiden, the woods will have thee for eternity now' and slowly walked away to let the forest claim her."
"The forest did indeed claim her.Little did the centaur know the whole thing had been watched by none other than Jothop, the god of the darkwood. he saw her beauty and took her, cast a spell upon her to make her body come to life, then took her for His own.
Deep in the forest, where no eyes ever saw, he did horrible things to her, made her his play thing. She never fought him, for powerful magic held her senses. But one night he made a fatal mistake.
He had taken a snake from the woods, which happened to be the very one who had squeezed the life from her. As he used it to torment her in ways that are not told, the snake got infuriated and bit her.
Her eyes cleared at the pain, and unseen within her mouth fangs burst forth.. beneath her skin her muscles strengthened and lengthened, and with a small smile she reached out and drew him to her. He thought it was a moment of passion and let it be.
Her grip strengthened, tightened, and by the time he realized what was happening it was too late. Her teeth sunk into his shoulder, and she fed. Drank the blood of a god and in doing so became one. When she was finished, his body was that of a mortal, broken and drained. Only such circumstances leading to that moment could have accomplished that."
"So she embraced that which had killed her in another life, forgiven for bringing her back. She became the queen of the serpents. This is the story of Helseuri"
Palmina sat back and looked at us, then said
"Only one thing will save us. That which gave her such joy once will not be forgotten"
We looked at her puzzled at first, then all at once, we saw. We saw what we had to do.
The Song of Avillion pt 3
*part three, The song of Avilion*
We made our way to the center of the village and called for all the citizens to join us there.
When all had been assembled, Lady Serenity repeated all you have just heard. They had to know everything if this was to work.
When she finished, there was a murmur of whispering, worried faces and frightened eyes. A voice spoke up, I think it was Lord Jeb, and said "What will you have us do then M'Lady? Surely we cannot defeat a god!"
Lord Malakh said "No, not defeat, but to live in peace unharmed"
He looked at them and said "We must all gather as one and walk into the woods to face her"
The crowd murmered again in fear but he held up his hand to quiet them and continued "We will be an army. But not one of war and weaponry, rather, one of peace and music."
Most of them saw then, the ones that still didnt were quickly informed by those next to them.
So formed the bards of Avilion. Lord Malakh, Lady Serenity, Drow Palmina and her sister Frankie took the lead, those with instruments close behind. Those of us without instruments joined hands and sung the song of the woodsmen from the north behind them.
We made our way through the trees, laughing and smiling at all the wonderful music til we neared where I saw the guardian. Then a chill came over us. We felt her there. Voices faltered and cracked, fingers trembled on strings, breath failed for the flutes. We had all but stopped our music as we entered the glade.
We didnt have to wait. She burst out of the brush hissing and spitting fiercely, her eyes two dead coals with diamonds in the center glittering at us with such hatred. Scales reflecting moonlight in a slick shine. I can assure you at that moment, several other heads became white.
Lady Serenity saw we had stopped and looked frantically at Palmina, who in turn nodded at Frankie. At the same time, lady Jane stepped forward and raised her hands upward to the stars lovingly, calling upon the keeper of light himself to help us.
As Frankie stepped towards the source of evil, she let her robes fall to the ground. Her dark skin bared, she stood before Helseuri fearless.
At the same time, behind her, we were suddenly enveloped in cool silver light that soothed us, loved us.
Palmina shouted "Play!! Sing as you did as children!! Do not wait"
And we didn't wait.. No. The light warmed our souls and took the fear. The notes of the instruments were pure and sweet, our voices clear and strong. As the music rose, Frankie's body began to sway.
We couldn't watch it, it was hypnotic, meant only for Helseuri. But before I looked away and resumed singing up at the stars, I saw her feet were not on the ground. Swaying slowly and turning, it was an enchanted dance for gods.
We sang and played for eternity it seemed, basking in the pure joy of it, when we heard a small cry and dared to look again in the direction of Frankie. She had stopped dancing, and at her feet was Helseuri, crumpled on the ground with her odd head in her hands. I think she was crying.
Then she spoke.
"Oh you blessed townfolk!! Long ago I was one of you." She smiled wistfully "I played a flute.. Oh how I loved to play it here in the wood! You have given me the gift of rememberance tonight. I had closed all memories for the worst ones were the ones that plagued me, filled me with hate. But the music.. ah, the music heals. I beg of you never to stop, for if you do, I fear the hatred will take me again, it is too powerful."
Lady Serenity smiled at her and said "We will never stop, this joining has brought such great joy to us all the music will go on through eternity, I assure you"
We all nodded in agreement and smiled at eachother.
"Bless you all then, no harm will ever come to you in these woods" and with that, she was gone.
So the drum circle here was formed, and the townfolk are compelled to come here every day and night to play them, and dance, and laugh, and somewhere nearby in the forest, there is a long sinewy goddess smiling and remembering a distant past.
We made our way to the center of the village and called for all the citizens to join us there.
When all had been assembled, Lady Serenity repeated all you have just heard. They had to know everything if this was to work.
When she finished, there was a murmur of whispering, worried faces and frightened eyes. A voice spoke up, I think it was Lord Jeb, and said "What will you have us do then M'Lady? Surely we cannot defeat a god!"
Lord Malakh said "No, not defeat, but to live in peace unharmed"
He looked at them and said "We must all gather as one and walk into the woods to face her"
The crowd murmered again in fear but he held up his hand to quiet them and continued "We will be an army. But not one of war and weaponry, rather, one of peace and music."
Most of them saw then, the ones that still didnt were quickly informed by those next to them.
So formed the bards of Avilion. Lord Malakh, Lady Serenity, Drow Palmina and her sister Frankie took the lead, those with instruments close behind. Those of us without instruments joined hands and sung the song of the woodsmen from the north behind them.
We made our way through the trees, laughing and smiling at all the wonderful music til we neared where I saw the guardian. Then a chill came over us. We felt her there. Voices faltered and cracked, fingers trembled on strings, breath failed for the flutes. We had all but stopped our music as we entered the glade.
We didnt have to wait. She burst out of the brush hissing and spitting fiercely, her eyes two dead coals with diamonds in the center glittering at us with such hatred. Scales reflecting moonlight in a slick shine. I can assure you at that moment, several other heads became white.
Lady Serenity saw we had stopped and looked frantically at Palmina, who in turn nodded at Frankie. At the same time, lady Jane stepped forward and raised her hands upward to the stars lovingly, calling upon the keeper of light himself to help us.
As Frankie stepped towards the source of evil, she let her robes fall to the ground. Her dark skin bared, she stood before Helseuri fearless.
At the same time, behind her, we were suddenly enveloped in cool silver light that soothed us, loved us.
Palmina shouted "Play!! Sing as you did as children!! Do not wait"
And we didn't wait.. No. The light warmed our souls and took the fear. The notes of the instruments were pure and sweet, our voices clear and strong. As the music rose, Frankie's body began to sway.
We couldn't watch it, it was hypnotic, meant only for Helseuri. But before I looked away and resumed singing up at the stars, I saw her feet were not on the ground. Swaying slowly and turning, it was an enchanted dance for gods.
We sang and played for eternity it seemed, basking in the pure joy of it, when we heard a small cry and dared to look again in the direction of Frankie. She had stopped dancing, and at her feet was Helseuri, crumpled on the ground with her odd head in her hands. I think she was crying.
Then she spoke.
"Oh you blessed townfolk!! Long ago I was one of you." She smiled wistfully "I played a flute.. Oh how I loved to play it here in the wood! You have given me the gift of rememberance tonight. I had closed all memories for the worst ones were the ones that plagued me, filled me with hate. But the music.. ah, the music heals. I beg of you never to stop, for if you do, I fear the hatred will take me again, it is too powerful."
Lady Serenity smiled at her and said "We will never stop, this joining has brought such great joy to us all the music will go on through eternity, I assure you"
We all nodded in agreement and smiled at eachother.
"Bless you all then, no harm will ever come to you in these woods" and with that, she was gone.
So the drum circle here was formed, and the townfolk are compelled to come here every day and night to play them, and dance, and laugh, and somewhere nearby in the forest, there is a long sinewy goddess smiling and remembering a distant past.
TRIAL OF THE ALABAMA as told by Benson Willis
The day started out well, a strong breeze, but unusually calm waters. I busied myself about the Whitby, being fleet Admiral for the Defense Corps stationed there, gathering papers and keeping watch. Moored next to the great ship was the smaller Alabama steamer.
The new SPD Alabama was a Brigantine class ship, two masts, sleak, slender hull, modeled after the agile Sea Dog Brigantine, so not only could she move fast, but manuverable aswell.
As the sun rose higher, I pondered my earlier decision to make use of Lord Linden's pine trees as kindling rather than take my fill of coal from one of the large colliers that sat in the bay here.
I once more raised the spyglass having pushed those thoughts from my head and scanned the waters and shore.
I spotted Officer Dylan on shore and immediately shot up a white flare, hoping he'd notice. No sooner had the flare died out than he was on the Whitby.
We talked for a while, he noting how perfect the winds were for sail that day, and both of us kept the thought of pirates out of the conversation, this area usually being heavilly infested with them like lice on a poor man's head.
The two of us being pirates ourselves basked in irony from time to time, but no one asked questions, having myself been promoted through the ranks to Vice Admiral by the leader, Chase.
I once more took up my spyglass and searched the seas when Dylan called out. "7 oclock! Two masts, full sails!" I turned quickly to catch view through the magnifying tube and saw not one set, but two sets of dual masts making their way around the Jinsil coast, making high speed towards the Sanchon waters.
I ordered Dylan to the Alabama and made him prime the guns full as I took to tossing some logs into the furnace, causing the stack to puff smoke thicker than she did a mere few minutes before.
Luckily both ships passed us with little worry, one flying the skull and crossbones, another the Spanish Main. Both being enemies of my Yankee pride and Confederate colors, they were prime targets for me and my crewman.
After a few minutes they had engaged eachother and I set the ropes off to release the Alabama from her bigger cousin and make for the fray.
The alabama is a good ship, near and dear to me as she seems to have a soul of her own. With the heat of Hell's fury in her boilers and the smell of Satan's sulfur in her smoke, she easilly outclasses the other Brigantines.
As we took her turn in stride, wheel hard to our starboard, her masts creaked and her hull groaned as if a beast had been woken.
i ordered speed increased from full, to flank, and we easilly topped 11 knots over the water.
As we closed, the two ships fired a full broadside at eachother, now was our moment.
I quickly lashed the safety valves down as the steam pressure rose, we reached 15 knots as the ship threw up a great wake, the water frothing behind our stern from the single screw under us.
As we neared closer, I saw the look on Dylan's face that I knew far too well, the look of bloodlust and excitement, battle was his home, and he intended to go there, with or without a ship.
"Ready the guns!" I shouted to him which he responded with profanities to me of being ready and how he'd rake them good.
We caught luck and were able to steam between the two, the deep bellow of her steam whistle shrieked above the noise of battle before all our cannons opened up with a mighty roar, the waters shook and the ship rocked as each shot left it's steel home to fly into wood and fabric.
Both ships took all our shot. I watched as the ship off our port took a round severing a crewman's arm, two more into her hull and one through the mainsail. The other ship took our shot high as we rolled on a wave and we shredded her sails, slowing her to a crawl.
With great haste I kept the boilers hot and sped away from the two ships, the iron of the furnace almost glowing red from the flames while one of the enemy turned their ship to face us with her four guns. Puffs of smoke popped from her sides and i called out, "Make ready, incoming rounds!".
Three plumes of water on our sides lifted straight up 20 feet or more and rained sea water on us, the fourth shot struck our stern.
That shell woke the beast into a fury as dylan and i held tight.
The ship lurched forward and increased speed, water rooster tailing behind us as I fought to keep the wheel angled, the ship was pulling to port as if she wanted to go back and give them what for.
As we managed to escape between the two colliers stationed in the harbor, our rigging snagged while one of the other ships went down. "Dylan! It won't be long before they come for us! Scurry yer furry arse up the mast and cut the rigging, all of it!"
Profanity once more filled the air as Dylan climbed fast and began hacking. I saw the top masts of the other ship turn towards us. Bits of rope fell to the decks, a top spar dropped and bounced overboard before the ship jerked and we were free.
I once more gave her a quick spin of the helm and pushed the steady growl of the steam engine full open, making flank speed again before fighting the wheel over for a hard turn. We now faced our rival foremast to foremast as we made a terriffic wake.
We closed quickly and I tugged the lanyard for the whistle, once more that deep bellow echoed off the waters and filled the enemy's ears before Dylan raked her full, incapacitating the enemy in her place.
I immediately cut the engines to full reverse and turned the wheel over to port, turning the ship on her beams as she fought the water's grasp on her planking and returned to our enemy.
Once more we raked their ship and with a belly of iron, she went to the bottom.
We circled the water above the sunken vessel before heading for shore, there finding a group of pirates saluting with one finger.
Upon mooring i inspected the ship, we suffered one hit to our stern, one through a sail, another through the stack. One cannonball from our opposer rolled about the deck, which we promptly handed off to that captain.
The Centaur as told by Redsonja Congrejo
In a time that most people have no memories of, except for those ancients and elders who lived through the rebirth of Avilion, the people lived in prosperity thanks to a just and wise Lord and Lady.
People worked hard, toiling as they ploughed the fields and tended to the daily tasks of living. The horse, this wondrous beast of burden, was found to be an excellent helpmate to the people of the island but only a few had been found in Avilion and domesticated.
It was during a summer hunt for winter provisions that the hunters of Avilion discovered a band of wild horses in a wild forest grove to the east of the fortress. The men grew excited about the possibility of capturing the horses and forgot about their hunting for the time.
After a long debate with Hathor the Drow, who was in favour of eating them, William Beck, the captain of the hunt made the men gather downwind from where the horses were grazing.
Running downwind of the herd the hunters closed off all possible exits for the herd to escape through by posting a man there with a big torch, to be lit when the signal was given by the captain.
A fence was created in the one open side of the grove using tree branches and boulders to force the horses into their surround trap. When all was made ready, the hunt captain signalled the men with a shrill whistle of an eagle.
The men at the posts lit their torches and the rest began running at the horses, screaming at them and flapping long pieces of leather in the air, smacking the horses with them.
This behavior, along with the frightening smell of smoke and humans incited the horses to stampede forward, away from these two dangers to horses; man and fire.
The lead stallion was killed by accident, leaving the herd without a leader.
The next few days were spent attempting to tame the horses so the hunters could lead them back to Avilion. An odd looking little foal was also herded along for he was too frightened to resist his fate.
All the way back to Avilion he pined for his mother, needing to both nurse and draw comfort from her. The other horses did not like him for he was different and they sensed this, but the hunters did not notice.
His eyes were human looking and hair like that of a man was beginning to form on his head, instead of a mane. He had a thicker neck than the other foals, more wide than long with a funny set of what looked to be tubes on each side.
Deep inside him, he sensed he would never see his mother and father again.
When they reached the village, word spread quickly. The Lord and Lady came to inspect the newest additions, giving praise to the brave hunters for their success.
Lord Malakh decreed that the horses would be made available to the people in a lottery, save for a male and female that were chosen to be the breeders for future generations.
The little foal huddled near the water, making eye contact with a dragon who also noticed him; exchanging a moment of compassion before the foal glanced away and shook his head.
When the time for the lottery came each chit was called out by the clerk and a lucky person would get to choose a horse from the corral. One by one the horses were given homes with the people of Avilion until Lord Hildyard’s chit was called.
“As a loyal member of Avilion, surely I have as much right to a horse as anyone else” exclaimed the proud dragon. “I choose the little foal, the odd one in the corner” he proclaimed firmly.
The people laughed and shook their heads for that was not a good choice at all. The clerk decreed the dragon was correct. The dragon spoke not to the foal, rather, he looked into his eyes and within moments, the foal ceased to resist and allowed the dragon to lead him to his home high in the hills of Avilion.
The people were amazed by this and wondered what magic the dragon possessed to still the foal like that.
And so it came to be that the foal grew up in the hills with the dragons. Lord Hildyard named him Tadeusz Boronski and the little one seemed happy to have this name. The foal did not speak the dragon’s language, but his voice and actions hinted that the dragon would treat him well.
The dragon saw some changes in the little foal who was growing to be a fine colt that caused him to smile, for he suspected that his colt was indeed special.
The people of Avilion did not see the same unique intelligence that the dragon saw in the colt. They laughed at him and called him deformed when the two would walk to the drum circle for stories and company.
As the seasons changed and summer chased the fall, the colt was changing. His legs grew taller and his head did not grow to that of a horse that anyone had ever seen.
He appeared grotesque and deformed, so much so that the dragon stopped taking him to the drum circle to spare him the cruelty of the people. But in the safety of their home, the dragon was learning some startling things about this special colt! Tadeusz was growing a lot of features that looked human.
The dragon could vaguely remember some ancient tales of a race that looked like this. He hurried to the library next to the village tavern. He buried his nose deep in the ancient books.
Once he was satisfied of the truth, Lord Hildyard made his way to the dragon circle to discuss what he had learned with Tadeusz. Both the dragon and the colt now knew what he was… a centaur!
Everything the dragon knew he taught Tadeusz for he knew that the colt would need to be as prepared as he could for a difficult and lonely life. There were not any female centaurs that he could recall, not another that Tadeusz might be able to grow to know and one day start a family with.
After Tadeusz’ first winter, they set out to the drum circle with Tadeusz bolting ahead and running back to excitedly ask the dragon about the people they would see. As they neared the town the excited chatter of the people became a hushed and shocked silence.
People stared, some laughing as they pointed while quite a few mothers reached for their children in fear of the strange being with the dragon. It seemed that he had grown into a human half while the bottom part remained a horse!
Women screamed and men called for their weapons as Lord Hildyard tried to be the voice of reason between them all. He tried to explain that Tadeusz was a centaur, an ancient being whose race was driven from our lands long before the rebirth of Avilion.
But although even the Lord himself had shown favor on the little centaur, the people could not get used to the idea of a horse who looked like a man. He was ignored, spit on, avoided and even the horses at the stables neighed with laughter when he passed by.
As the years passed the lonely centaur grew more withdrawn and sad. Lord Hillyard tried his best to help Tadeusz feel better but all he could do was to help him become who he was meant to be; a great centaur who would one day face his true destiny.
What that destiny was, the noble dragon did not know but he felt sure that this centaur would be important to Avilion.
One thing about centaurs is their great skills with the bow and arrow and Lord Hillyard was well acquainted with this and many other facts about Tadeusz and his race.
Tadeusz was getting regular training in archery from his dragon step-father. As he got older, his skills continued to improve until there was no better archer in Avilion.
The dragon also filled Tadeusz with a love of knowledge and learning, so much so that he quickly devoured all the knowledge in the books housed in Avilion’s great library.
Tadeusz entered his 13th year during a spring that none had ever seen before. He began to look at the young maidens in the village and beyond with new interest. He had grown handsome and appealing, or would have been if not for the fact of his horse side which continued to keep him an outcast among the good people.
Lord Hildyard gave him a very special bow and arrows made of cedar wood. Tadeusz practiced endlessly with his new bow. In his beloved library Tadeusz learned centaurs should not drink alcohol because they would find themselves completely unable to control their actions.
One day an orc was circling the village. Tadeusz was galvanized into action when he saw that Kaya, a fae he had feelings for, was snatched into the beast’s mighty talons. As fast as he could run, Tadeusz sped to the village to stop the orc from kidnapping Kaya.
The fae’s life was at stake so he charged forward with his bow, chasing the horrid beast as Kaya wept in terror from his mighty talons. Higher and higher the beast ran into the hills so that even Tadeusz was having some difficulty finding them.
Tadeusz took aim and released his arrow, the arrow sang as it sliced through the air, stopping when it was embedded into the flesh of the orc. The shriek was heard for many miles as the beast cried out in rage and pain.
The fae was released from it’s deadly grip and from such a height no one felt she would survive her fall. But Tadeusz was quicker and raced to position himself under the falling fae.
He gently placed her on the ground and resumed his pursuit of the orc who had continued towards the village square with revenge on it’s mind. Galloping towards the beast, a second arrow claimed the place above the beast’s heart causing it to falter further in his attack.
In his fall the creature pushed over a lit torch onto the library, igniting the books at once. The orc was dead.
Tadeusz could not bear the thought of the books burning to destruction and with it all the knowledge that was contained within them. Without thought to his safety he raced to enter the burning library scooping armfuls of books and bringing them to safety outside.
The villagers were trying to make a water line to put out the fire but too much time had gone by before the line was complete.
People saw Tadeusz racing in and out of the building and were angry that he would get in their way of the water line until they saw that he had rescued many of the books from destruction with his fast horsefeet and the advantage of his human arms that were able to hold so much.
Tadeusz became a hero that day and was praised by the people. Lord Hildyard was filled with pride. Though many books were lost in the fire, the good people worked together to build a new one in Mystic Falls which didn’t take all that long with the help of the strong and swift centaur.
Many hands helped Tadeusz, offering to donate materials for the new library, some promising to rewrite books lost in the attack, still others asked for forgiveness and extended their hands in friendship to him. Whenever one of the elders now sees the centaur, they greet him with nothing but respect.
The Elf Maiden and the Drow Prince
Once, a long long time ago, There was an Above Ground Elvin family of the Sidhe. They lived in Peace and harmony with the world around them, and knew many histories of the nearby lands. Their Son was quick and Adventurous and their Daughter was soft spoken but quick with her wit.
The Son longed for the open road, but his Sister knew the tales of what lay outside of their boarders. She would talk him out of going off into unknown lands, but he would train with the swords and bow regardless.
They both came of age, for they were twins, and the Brother would not listen to the words of his sister any more. So she gathered her things and followed him as he made his way out tward the mountains.
They made camp in one of the large caves one night, for it was quite cold, and there was a storm brewing.
The Brother took a torch and made his way to the back of the cave. The next thing the sister knew was that she heard a scream, and felt the pang of loss. She was distraught so much that she didn't feel the needle bury itself into her skin.
She woke in shackles, being carried down, deep into the cave. She knew that the stories of the drow were true. She spent many years in the deep caverns, deeper than any human could travel.
She was a slave amung them, even though she was much taller than even the tallest dark elf. The Matrons beat her, had other slaves... do things... to her. The Men would take their time to harm her and make sure she knew she was all but lost.
However, over the course of the years, she had actually made ... somewhat friends... with one of the younger women. This young drow woman made the Girl tell tales about the above ground.
That was their idea of leniency. She didn't want to tell the tales anymore, because they always led to the death of her brother, and her capture, and her pure sadness and pain.
One day, the young drow, in a fit of anger because the stories stopped, finally snapped She grabbed the Drow Matron's dagger and stabbed the Elf girl.
The girl, having learned a small amount of magic, made it look as if she were dead. The Drow girl actually shed a tear for what she had lost then had the slaves take the Elf body to the underdark river and toss her in.
The river drew the young elf out and through the Underdark, and deposited her on the shores of a large lake.
The magic wore off after almost an entire day of travel, and she drug herself out of the water and into the woods. She found herself in the orchard of a Young human king. He had his best surgeons heal her wounds and tend her needs. She was with them for more than 2 months.
She came into the courtyard, and there, by the King was a Drow male. She screamed and grabbed at the pitiful dagger at her side She charged the Drow and was to kill him if it meant her own life.
But the king stood between the two. The dagger fell from her shaking hands and she dropped to the ground weeping with pain. " The Drow is ... my son... ", the king said,
"I raised him when I found him on my travels. He was left in the sun to die, to be taken by the Humans or Elves, to be killed .... by his own mother. His name is Sorel, He will not harm you on my honor, he will not, on his own honor".
A drow that is not a drow? It cannot be...
She had horrible nightmares that night, of the pain, the torture. She woke that morning and packed her things. She had only a few things, but they were hers. As she made her way to the gate, the young king made his way to her. "I will not stop you, Young Sidhe.... I will give you a map to your homeland, your own woods...".
She took the map and thanked the king, but didn't know what to do about the drow. She traveled by foot through the land of the King, through woods and prairie.
Staying Very far away from the foothills of the mountains. The road was lonely, and frightening to her. Which she had good cause to fear.
She stayed one night in a small glade, unaware that there was a pack of wild dogs following her, waiting to kill her for food. She fell asleep by her small fire, but was woken by a silent hand going over her mouth...
"shhhhhhh..." came the warning, "the wolves have your scent. they are coming. here. take this sword..."
A very thin longsword found its way into her hands, just as the growling began. These were not intelligent wolves but the dumb animals who hunted by instinct. She could not see in the darkness very well, but the person who gave her the sword went back to back with her.
The pack was not very large, only 4 wolves. But the wolves themselves were 4 feet tall at the shoulder. The wolves attacked, and the Elf and her rescuer fought but one wolf, the last wolf she could see, lunged and sank its fangs into the throat of the Rescuer. She sunk the sword into the back of the beast.
In the rising sun she saw what had happened...
The wolf she killed, she rolled off the body of Sorel. He gave his life to save hers. She knelt by the body, and cried. She carried the body back to the young king.
The king held a grand funeral where hundreds were in presence. Sorel was loved by the kingdom. She knew her folly at judging before she knew the whole story.
She sent word to her family in the Elven lands, telling them the entire story. She opted to stay with the King, and help him when ever he needed. She grew to see the young king grow old, and his sons take over the kingdom, and at that time, decided to return to her own family.
She carried the sword that Sorel had slipped into her hand at all times to remind her that the folly was hers.
----------
I lived in peace in my parent's home, and gained titles around the land...
But I will never forget what happened to me, or to my brother...
I still carry the sword, but I have never drawn it since that day with the wolves. This is why I do not judge a drow above the ground.
MARY AND THOMAS
There was once a young maiden fair, daughter of a simple Goat Hearder.
She was fair of skin, and had raven dark hair... Her eyes were the deepest blue and many a young man came to woo her hand.
Her father was very proud of her prudence and chastity, and her mother was happy that she was certain to gain a husband who would work hard and give her a good life.
he hoped.
Then one dark evening a knock came at the door, and the young lady, by the name of Mary, answered the door.
When she opened it, she saw one of the young men she had admired above all of the others standing many feet from the door.....He beconed to her.
She waved him away because it was dark outside, "No, Thomas! go home, we are eating dinner" she shushed.
Thomas only smiled and nodded....
Mary closed the door, and returned to the table where the dinner was served.
She was eating when another knock came to the door.
Her father stood to get the door, when the knocking stopped.
When he got to the door, there was noone there. The father shook his head, smiled, "Children these days." he said.
He went back to dinner, and the knock came to the door again. This time the mother stood, and went to the door...
There was noone at the door when she opened it, but she felt a cold shiver pass over her face
In the distance thunder rumbled, and the smell of rain came over the wind.
She went back inside to finish the dinner, and as soon as she sat, there was another rap at the door.
Mary stood, "I will get him away to his home, father, mother... Thomas is quite persistant"
Mary opened the door, and there was thomas standing far from the door, beckoning to Mary
She stepped out quickly toward him, and he backed farther away from the house.
Mary ran up to him, smiling, for she preferred him over all others.
He said nothing, but took her hand and led her to the woods, which were lit up by the lighting that was starting to lace the skys.
"Thomas, 'tis dangerous here! we shall be struck!" she said in fear.
He said nothing but kissed her gently on the lips. This kiss was differant, she was entranced and held by it as if caught by magic.
The rain started to fall, and the thunder rolled, and the two fell to the soft ground, love overcoming them both.
In the morning, the sun shone brightly,
and the dew drops glittered from the leaves and grass.
Mary's father and mother went out looking for their daughter, and saw footsteps leading into the woods.
They followed the footsteps to a small revine,
where the cold body of their daughter lay in the arms of the body of Thomas, who appeared to have fallen from the cliff and hit his head
Mary's mother wailed and wept, her father broke down, falling to his knees beside his daughter, cradling her head in his arms.
They heard a slight noise and fealt a breeze, and when they looked up,
There stood Mary and Thomas, under the branches of a Weeping Willow tree,
transparent, but looking into each other's eyes with love.
They turned from her parents and walked into the forest, never to be seen again.
Thus ends my ghost tale of hope of love eternal.
THE HUNTER AND HUNTED
There was a Duke of a large land, he had servants, slaves, women at his beck and call. he was known to be the hunter of all hunters.
His great hall was full of trophies
The trophies were of many many creatures
he had boars heads, elephant tusks, pelts of Lamia....
He also had creatures in cages, small pixies, kept in terrariums, and even an orc in his kennels.
This great hunter had a trophy of almost every wild creature, and had his dealings with every race, Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, Humans..... he was infamous throughout the land.
He had heard one day that there were people living in the forest to the west... a people who were believed to live with the wild wolves of that forest.
He had to have a hunt, to fetch one of the pelts of the wolves, and gain a foothold in this people's land.
Little did he know that the people who lived there were Werewolves....
They were civilized... as much as such a creature could be civilized.
These werewolves called themselves the Wolvers of Western Wastes.
They lived in packs in Dens, not in villages or cities.
The Duke, Marcarn, Took his 50 finest fighters. They rode into the Woods, their horses barded for battle with the Supernatural.
There was silver studded along their armor and the weapons that were carried were ensorceled by the finest Mages.
They rode into the Woods, and found not a single person or Lupine.
They rode deeper into the forest, where sunlight barely filtered down to the ground. The ground was a soft moss, and mushrooms dotted the paths.
The scent of old wood and raw earth filled the nostrils of the horses, who also smelled the wolves, very nearby, but not to be seen.
The Duke and his men rode for hours, looking and following trails, when a scream came from the end of the line, the horse had been knocked over, and the rider ........
the rider was nowhere to be seen.
The horse was dead in seconds, his throat torn open by some claw or tooth, and the men began to look around very nervously
the other horses started to stamp and snort, some rearing up, threatening to displace their riders.
But the Duke kept going.
Into the woods rode the hunters, tracking the beast that had taken the man from his horse without somuch as a snarl.
Another half hour went by, and soon, another man disappeared from the ranks, this time, the horse as well.
This slow and methodical decimation of the hunting party kept on, but yet the Duke Refused to yield.
he MUST have that pelt, on the life of every man ....
even on his very own!
This time, they were so deep into the forest, that even the finest tracker was getting lost
They had to camp for the night.
During the night, a slight figure slipped into the Duke's tent, its eyes a glowing yellow
There were no guards that saw this figure enter the tent, and the Duke was helpless
The slight figure bent over the Duke, and a warm hand slipped over his mouth, keeping him from shouting in surprise.
Marcarn awoke Instantly, hand going to a dagger that no longer lay in its place by his pillow, but resided in the hand of slight figure.
" You, human of the flatland. I will lead you and your men out of the forest on one condition....."
came the soft snarl from the throat of the man who held the Duke at hostage.
"You are not to return uninvited to these woods again. If you do, our people will come to your cities, take your women, kill your children and burn the buildings to the ground. "
"If you keep your word, and do not enter our wood for a year, we will send an emmisary to your court, and talks of peace will be had"
" Do you agree to these terms, Man of the Plains? " the hushed growl asked.
Marcarn's eyes were wide in wonder that this impudent .... thing ... was able to enter the tent, let alone have the ... audacity... to spell out terms of his surrender.
however
he did see that if he didn't go along with these terms, the remaining 10 of his 50 men would be lost to him, and his people would rebel against this venture he had
" Well, Man, what do you say? " came the querry.
" I will agree to these terms, as long as no more of my men are killed. I will not enter your woods again, unless it is under a banner of peace. "
Marcarn nodded as the dagger was handed back to him.....
He noticed that the palm of the man was seared and blistered where the silver had pressed into the skin.
" You are a Wolver...." he breathed
"Aye, I am at that. My name is Grenzis. I am a cousin to the deep woods Wolvers. They will not harm a Man under my watch. "
Marcarn nodded
" I will stay the night at your camp, O Man, and I will keep my cousins at bay "
" We will depart in the morning. " Marcarn stated flatly.
In the morning, they all woke, and not another man was taken, however, 3 horses were missing
It took another 3 days to exit the woods taking paths that the horses almost couldn't walk through,
but Grenzis kept his word.
and on the morning of the 5th day, they broke the treeline, and never were there a happy group than the men who saw the light of day
When Marcarn turned to thank his Wolven Protector, there was nothing, not even a moving branch.
They returned home, where the woman of the men who perrished were taken in by the Duke, and provided a stipend for the rest of their lives
He no longer cared for the hunt of the Wolven, and one year later, there was a man at the castle entrance.
He was dressed in what seemed to be the very pelts that the Duke had wanted for his wall and floor.
He carried a staff and large pouch at his side
The guards knew the story, for they were part of the group at the woods.
They quietly led him to the Throne room
The Duke stood from his chair, and bowed deeply to the man in the furs.
The man who came to court was a wolver named Bartholomew....
Bartholomew brought out treaties for the Duke to sign, and tales for the Duke to hear
Duke Marcarn and the Wolver kept their bargains. No hunters entered the woods, and no Werewolves harrassed the local peasantry
So is the tale of the Hunt... .the hunter and the hunted.... now you decide who was who.
THE LOYAL DOG
Once Upon a time,
In a land not far from here
There was an old Fisherman by the name of Jacob
He lived alone except for his pet dog, Boy.
He was a simple man, you see,
and Boy was the best name he could think of for his dog
The Fisherman was loved by the entire village, and was an honored guest at many homes
He had want for nothing in his life, 'cept the love of his dog.
He was getting along in age, and the day came when the old man passed away quietly in the night
Boy sat at the foot of his bed, wimpering.
The neighbors did not see Jacob leave his house in the morning, so they came to find out what was the matter
and they were saddened when they found him cold, laying in the bed
" Who will care for Boy? " was the main question.
" We shall all take care of the Noble Beast " they agreed
Boy went home with the butcher, where he had all the meat he could eat,
however.....
he did not touch the steaks and chops
Nor did he touch the water.
In the morning, they found him gone, and went looking for him.
He was laying on the grave of his master Jacob
Next, the clothier took him in, and kept him in his house, by a warm fireplace and on a soft rug
but he would not eat or drink, and in the morning, they found him, laying on Jacob's grave
Everyone tried to get him to eat and drink, and stay in their houses, but they always found him on the grave of his master, the fisherman
finally, they found him once again, his body cold and laying on the grave.
He had gone home to his master....
He went to where all good dogs go, where no harm nor neglect would follow
His body was laid to rest next to Jacob's ... as it is to this day
THE PORT OF LUSKAN
In a Port city Called Luskan, there resides a most peculiar animal. They have seen it there many many times.
It swims in the cold water alonside the ships, and they have called it a whale.
You can see its fin rise above the surface of the water, cutting the rippling waves and sending splashes out around it.
It dips, and dissapears below the surface, not to be seen again for many minutes.
You can look out over the water to the setting sun and its golden gift to the world.
In the distance you may see the whale's fin, traveling through the water and spraying the brine.
Great ships pass through this Port of Call, and many call this land home.
Traders and travelers alike are welcome in this land of ice and snow, and can be seen wandering the open air shops, marveling at the beautiful dresses and fine cut boots.
There is a dock of wood at the edge of the village where one can see the sun setting, and marvel at the artwork therein.
There is a secluded grove where the Elves play alongside the Unicorns and small animals out in the winter air,
and below them lies the forbidding Underdark.
The Drow are a constant sight on a snowy day in Luskan, their ebon skin contrasting against the pearl blanket of winter.
They pass by quickly and quietly under the glow of the Solstace Moon, along their unknown paths and to their secret duties.
The small village of Solace is a warm town, full of the smell of woodsmoke and pine. There are stables of the finest horses and a grand view of the sea's rippling waves..
'Tis a wonerous place indeed, mayhaps you will find your own stories there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)