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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 21, 2006 11:03:55 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, part 3 ~written by Ilysar~
Stormwind, city of plots and scheming. Always crowded, always dangerous.
Ilysar knew she was being followed.
The awareness came in that particularly vulnerable feeling that crawled between her shoulderblades, a slight shiver down her spine, some primitive survival instinct alerting her to the pressure of another's gaze on her actions.
She could never see who it was, of course, which meant they were good, probably professional. Every trick she knew revealed nothing behind her but the forms of people hurrying to and fro on their own business. That which paced her carefully could be any one of them, or all of them.
For two days she'd changed her routes and altered her routines, hoping to shake what pursued her, but the feeling of being shadowed by a cool and relentless entity persisted.
At last she wrote notes to those she trusted in some way or another. Warnings to look to their own, should something occur. One to Alin. One to Oria, fast becoming a friend to someone who did not make friends easily. And one...improbably...to Maya Nordomi. If she didn't exactly trust the strange elf, she could at least warn her that danger might be approaching from a direction unseen.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 21, 2006 11:02:02 GMT -5
Unravelling the Web, part 2 ~written by Ilysar~
In her room at the inn in South Shore, Ilysar sat at the small writing desk beside the bed. Carefully, she drew a heavy dark line through the name Lescovar, written at the top of her short list.
Quill pen still clutched in her hand she looked at the small stack of parchment she'd bought and wondered if she should write Atalon a letter. Her hand hesitated on the top sheet, just shy of picking it up.
It had been many long days since she'd seen him. He rested at Ravenholdt Manor still, recovering from the horrible wound in his shoulder. The society there had taken him in without question as a favor to her, although not without a price. Lord Jorach, when he'd looked from the jagged wound Atalon bore to her knives, started to observed drily: "We only hurt the ones we lo-" He broke off with a raised eyebrow when she'd put a hand on the hilt of her sword.
As far as she knew, he still rested there, under the care of the Ravenholdt physician. She hadn't been back to visit him after the last time she'd come with Maya, Lythandar and Dreary.
Guilt. You coward, she thought, anger at herself as vicious as it had been turned against Lescovar. Alin had entreated her to care for Atalon but she had not been able to bring herself back. Not after that conversation with Maya. Not after she'd nearly killed him simply because she'd been ordered to do so.
She drew another line through Lescovar's name so fiercely she ripped the parchment and blotted the ink across the paper.
The sound of hoofbeats outside her window made Ilysar instinctively crane her head to see who passed out of idle curiosity. A knight dressed in the colors of the Scarlet Crusade passed slowly on horseback in front of the mailbox, sending a casual glance up at the inn before turning to shout an epithet at a guard. Ilysar stared at his back as he went, frowning in thought.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Jun 2, 2006 0:12:36 GMT -5
Alabaster
With soft clicking, the talons moved over the skull. Long lost of flesh, it held infinite interest to her. Every life was a precious thing, though she would refuse to say such in most company. Let them think what they would, let the masses believe they knew her thoughts bound by her rotten flesh.
"Telll me goblinn of thiss onee." A tome laid open before her, pages fresh and crisp in their crafting. Dipping her quill within ink dark as liquid pitch, she prepared to catalog what little he knew.
Puffing up his chest, the caretaker began. "Faced a many of your own, hatred yours through and through, this here is the skull of the most known warrior of the Light to ever disdain your Lady Sylvanus' halls--"
The elven eyes trapped in boney sockets slitted to fine lines, regarding the goblin at length until he hushed for fear of her. A drop of ink gathered oh so slowly upon the end of the quill, waiting ...waiting ...for her to write.
"The greatestt of the warriorsss of Light. You sayy this skull, thiss cranium is thatt of..."
He nodded proud and true. "Why that it is!"
Silence decended as she watched him. She moved not, frozen as if she had finally given up her ghost. His old heart began to thunder, then slow, then fade into boredom as he waited on her. The ink gathered into a larger drop, impending to fall.
Transfixed by the sudden stillness, he did not know what to make of it. But as the whip rounded his neck to squeeze away his life, she sighed deeply. Setting quill to parchment, she began to journey what she knew of Jalem. But this skull his? Hardly.
The goblin shivered and shook as Fieranda watched his eyes widen and become glassy.
"Howw I hatee liarsss. All knoww...of his lifee...and endd."
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Jun 2, 2006 0:02:44 GMT -5
Zaroth:
Sittting on the roof of Menethil Keep, Zaroth watches the activity below. People transacting business, changing ships, getting gryphons, just walking or fishing, and smiles.
Suddenly he is gripped by a piercing pain through his heart. He's felt this before, but not this hard. He raises his head and searches the horizon for it. He knows it will be there. It always is after the pain.
He looks towards Lordaeron.......there.......there is the shaft of light....strong, bright, brilliant.....who ever the pally that died was, he was a strong and good one.
Zaroth bows his head and offers a short prayer.....then stands and salutes..............
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Jun 2, 2006 0:02:25 GMT -5
Cenquel:
She flicked her thin hair from her pale face and stood defiantly atop the cliff face. The sounds of steel upon steel and the cries of dying men could be heard in the distance- her keen ears twitched before she placed her crimson helm over her face. With a sharp whistle that echoed through the air she called Frea'nalas to her side, and in an instant was atop the great nightsabre. They made a blur of the forest.
The scene that soon lay before her was macabre. Hacked bodies and mangled limbs lay upon the bloodied soil, turning the once serene area into a red nightmare. Cenquel's eyes swiftly scanned the area, and soon lay at rest upon a golden figure. Jalem Calimdorn was at peace among havoc. The ragged standard of the alliance lay at his side, his blood had ran onto the flag. Without a sound, Cenquel dismounted, removed her helm, and respectfully walked to the still figure. She knelt down before him and bowed her head.
"We all die, Jalem. Men turn to shadows, dust. But your idea will live on. For ideas are immortal."
With that, Cenquel lifted the alliance standard and placed it in his hands. The wind blew, and she was gone. As she was riding away, a single beam of light split the clouds behind her to illuminate the passing of a legend into the next life.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Jun 2, 2006 0:02:09 GMT -5
Kash:
Kash stood against a wall in the Undercity, watching a few Forsaken in a heated conversation. He ashed his cigar once or twice and moved over to hear them.
"It was I who dealt the killing blow," one boasted. Another shook his head, clearly disagreeing.
"It was my gun that killed him, clearly. The axe was just an afterthought."
"No you idiots, it was my patented fireball. Nothing kills paladins better!"
All three continued arguing with each other, each trying to take the credit for whatever they'd killed.
"Who is this that you're so proud of killing?" Kash asked, leaning in.
"That human officer... What was his last name? Calendar? Colander?" the Forsaken looked to his comrades, holding back a few sick chuckles.
"Calimdorn? Jalem Calimdorn?" Kash responded, flicking his cigar away.
"Yes! That was it. He died weeping, and he probably shat himself."
Kash stood straight and grimaced. He looked down at the three Forsaken, who had resumed their argument of who actually killed him.
Kash calmly reached forward and clamped his massive hand around the head of the closest Forsaken. After a sickening crunch, the former human slumped to the ground, headless. The other two reached for their weapons, but not before Kash had their throats in each of his hands.
"You pathetic pieces of $!@%," Kash spoke, low and filled with anger. "You did not deserve that kill."
Having returned the three Forsaken to the grave, Kash immediately set out to find the place his old foe had fallen.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Jun 2, 2006 0:01:47 GMT -5
Nesune:
She had come as quick as the news was carried, completely exhausting three gryphons on her madcap flight toward the remaining bastion at Chillwind. Three different gryphons, and she had barely given the handlers time before taking the next available back into the skies. The dirt and sand still stained Nesune's ritual gown, in a way almost fitting for the purpose. There would be no such immaculate needs, should the news prove true...
Some hours' ride saw her on a borrowed horse near a recent battlefield, the corpses of the fallen still - mercifully - undisturbed by scavengers. Or by the plague. She barely brought the stallion to a sudden halt before dismounting, almost leaping onto the ground to search amongst the dead. The frown was on her face, so common at such a place, pausing to look at the faces of the fallen - or what remained of them. Cursing, she reached into the belt pouch hanging from her waist, pulling out a rune and began to chant.
Power surged through her, in the manner she was once taught in Dalaran. She didn't care of the display, or what attention it might attract from the shattered kingdom's savage inhabitants. All she cared was finishing the invocation. The words echoed out in the melodic chant of the Quel'dorei, tone for tone what she learned at their knees in the fabled city of magic. Coming to a cresendo, the rune in her hand began to glow with a light to rival the sun, then shattered into dust to carry on the wind. Wincing at the pain and ignoring the sticky crimson flowing from the wound on her palm, she made a gesture, and the rift appeared before her.
She knew how the portals worked, at least more than in theory. A rift was created, cutting through the Nether from one location to another, bridging the gap. Most of the students prided themselves on the gate itself, not its underlying physics. They didn't care what safeguards the Kirin Tor had put in place on the spells, to ensure the energies from the Nether could not enter into the rift. It was all point A to point B for them, not the infinite, dizzying array of chaos between them, was all that mattered. She knew better. And she knew how to circumvent it.
The rift was as usual, the far side showing the sanctuary in Stormwind's tower. Nesune moved to enter the rift...
...there. It was a world leeched of all color, of all... life. She still held color, when she looked to her flesh and her gown, but they were muted, bleached. It was as if something fed on essence itself, leeching it away from the environment and all else. Behind her, fallen Lordaeron and its plagued colors could still be seen, as well the tower room in Stormwind through the other rift. With her will and a gesture, both rifts sealed off, leaving her to this alien range.
The grey world seemed a twisted reflection of the battlefield she had just left behind. The shadows were more oppressive, the wind keening a dirge as it blew. She let her senses go, focusing on the one task at hand. She stepped amongst the fallen, ready for any sign.
Perhaps minutes, or an hour. Or maybe a year had passed since she began. She knew she could not find it. She found where it should be, with his body there. For a brief moment at first, she thought she felt it, that precious spark within it. She could even delude herself into seeing it with her eyes, a palpable aura surrounding his body, flowing through it. But... no. She had found his body almost at once, when she began, and nothing had shown her his spirit was there. If she had simply had more skill with the dead... but her skill was with other matters. She could not bring him back any more than a lich could live again.
"Lordaeron... the Alliance..." she started, talking to the corpse. "There's a dark shadow on this day. You... you were one of our lights, knight. You were one of our greatest in number. Now..."
Nesune stood up, shaking her head as she closed her eyes, wiping a trickle of salty tears from her cheeks. Sparing another glance to the body, her chest shuddered as she made the gesture, reopening the rift leading back into the battlefield. Pausing at the rift, she looked back a final time, holding her breath. "The Light have mercy on us," she told him, wiping away another tear. "The Lightbringer shepherd you to a better place, knight." Shaking her head, she stepped through the rift, closing it behind her.
Some hours later a diseased mongrel trotted through the field, tearing at the corpses of the fallen - save one. Trying for its meal, it found a pressure it could not pass, the body warded from harm. Next to it, a block of ice rest, no amount melting from its slick surface. Within, though, was something unusual. A solid block, yes, but a flame flickered, the size of a candle flame being pushed by a gentle breeze. It remained burning, inside a block of unmelting ice.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Jun 2, 2006 0:01:31 GMT -5
Buthaleirus:
News of a foe finally fallen sent the Officer's quarters a buzz.
"Could it be true?" Buthaleirus thought to himself. "Could the golden pinkskin be finally be dead? Could he be defeated?"
Grabbing the latest causality list from the passing tauren, he read through the names. Hoping intelligence had gotten the names of the fallen alliance.
A single tear of respect rolled down Butha's cheek.
"Only partially true." Butha continued his silent respects. "Jalem would never be defeated."
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Jun 2, 2006 0:01:11 GMT -5
Jalem:
What a fool he had been. He hadn't led just himself to death he had led those who believed in him and who would follow his dream with him. Lordaeron would not rise again today, and he would not be the man to do it...
"Keep them at bay Brothers! The Light will bless us for our sacrifices! Think of our Allies who live because we die, know that we will be heroes! Our names will rally the Alliance!"
His eyes burned with hot, fresh, tears. No one would notice though. Blood and gore covered his face, besides who would turn to look at their Commander in such a time as this? Anger and shame burned in him and he lashed out again and again, smashing into the Forsaken who dared to assault his line. It was hopeless. How can you defeat an enemy without number, who never tires, and who knows no fear? What fear do the dead have of death? Thoughts of glory had clouded his vision, and now they would all pay.
He pulled back from the front, men crowding to fill the gap he left. The ground was slick with blood, and there was barely any ground left that wasn't covered by some body. Night Elf, Human, Gnome, and Dwarf. They all lay dead. Even a Timbermaw Shaman had come to his call, eager to repay the blood debt his tribe owed him. His eyes landed on the once noble man, now covered in gore and dead in a heap, gone forever. He pulled his canteen to his mouth and took what little water left from it.
They had put up a good fight, and they would continue to until they died from the Forsaken or exaustion. They had willingly stayed behind to make sure the rest of those who came with them could survive, could bring the few they rescued from Tristfall home. They put themselves in a semi-circle, their backs to a wall. No retreat. Hours ago the Forsaken had engaged them. Those had been the worse moments, the most terrifying moments of his life. Infernals rained down, Fire rained from the sky, huge chunks of ice bashed mens brains open. The Gnomes and Night Elves made short work of the Warlocks and Mages, but the effect had been devastating. Since then they had been fighting almost non-stop, the torn and battered banner of the Alliance was their only hope. As long as it stood, they would fight. Sighing he thrust himself back into the battle...
Another hour ticked by. Constant attacks with only short breaks. His men looked at him firmly with pride. They were prepared to die, and proud to do so. He thought of the numbers and winced. What was once seventy five strong men was now no more than twenty. So many dead. So many more to die. He backed from the front again, trying to catch his breath when they came with more than they had ever before. There was no one left to silence their arrows. No one left who had enough energy to keep the soldiers in good spirit and health. And in a moment, he watched as their last bit of salvation fell. A sole spear found the banner bearer, only a boy of fifteen. He may of marched to Lordaeron a boy, but he would die a man this day. Not a cry, not a word. With his last bit of life he thrust the banner to the sky, as if trying to keep the banner up. His eyes were already clouded, he was dead before he hit the ground. Jalem ran to take his place, his hands grasping the heavy wooden banner before it hit the ground. He raised it as high as he could throwing his mace to the ground and pulling out a shortsword.
"The Banner stands my Brothers! The Alliance stands! Though we may die now the world will know one thing: Lordaeron will prevail! Light bless us all! Elune bless us all!"
The men gave one last defiant roar. One hand after another let go of their weapon, their legs falling out underneath them. Twenty...thirteen....eight...five. Death approached, yet the banner stood. Four. It was all that mattered to him. Three...two...one.
It was over.
As the axe smashed into his chest and his life poured through the wound he saw so many things. His Father giving him his first Mace. His Brother and him swimming at the pond near Brill. His Mother's warm smile. The first time he met Ruria in Darkshore. That first kiss with Menteria. Josephin crying on his shoulder. His undead Brother's eyes pleading him to end his torment. Mackenzee's eyes when he healed her of her wounds. So many memories flooded him, all good.
'I have failed you Lordaeron. I have failed you Mother, Brother, and Father. The Calimdorn line comes to an end now. Light Bless my soul, and redeem this fallen nation.'
His thoughts faded to black after that. His eyes grew weak as he fell back. He could see the sun, how beautiful it was. He could see the banner, falling to the earth. It reminded him of a wounded gryphon falling to the ground. So much pride and honor in a single object.
Light blinded his eyes. It was over. The Light would be his redemption afterall.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 23, 2006 21:06:57 GMT -5
Welcome to Pages of Lives!
Post any journals, stories, and more about your characters.
Want to shout out thoughts on works? Give kudoos? Have a question?
Post away here!
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 23, 2006 20:54:04 GMT -5
The crunching of sound was a terrifying thing around her. The bones of her neighbor sounded like dry twigs rasping together as the cloven hoof laid upon them. The whip. The eyes. Everything about the godlike fiend burned and hurt. Raising her arms, she thought to cover her face. But once caught in that gaze, she could not shrink away. None of them could.
The pain burned beyond flesh. It licked her mind, breaking it quickly. Falling to the ground, she felt life slipping away, consumed by the hunger of the felbeasts above them all. Her mother's hand...she focused on it, felt it curl in her long hair.
The earth shook suddenly. Dust and rock flying upwards strangely. And she with it.
The pain would not leave.
Screaming woke her, but not her own. Someone was trying to reach her, stop her. It cried her name over and over. The world seemed so bright as sunlight streamed in her eyes. It hurt to be blinded by it. It felt like...
Everything stopped. The pain, her thoughts, all faded away as Galaad poured something with care into her mouth. It was the drink, it sent every terrible thought away. Squinting closed her eyes, she wanted it terribly. But the time had come. With a backhand snap, she sent the cup across the grotto. "No...no more...please."
Galaad and others laid hands on her, words soothing, the magic of their kind. The touch of it suddenlt frightened her. A growl deeply sounded through the area as Corelua prowled close, haunches raised. Deep in her heart, Galaad knew the day would come. But it always seemed these moments came so broken and ill committed for the girl. She would make it right.
With a look to the others, the dryad sent them away. Taking up all the things of Oria's, she began packing them into a bag. "There are waterskins and fresh haunches for taking near the keepers of the west. The paths to the southeast are not watched. I spoke with birds. They have told me new lanterns are seen to the northwest. If you leave and cross through the wilds, you should find them."
Oria looked to Galaad, the anger and hurt giving way to soft tears and warmth. "You understand, sister."
Galaad nodded softly, changed from the others through her caring for Oria. "I do. But first, I wish to give you a gift. You will not understand it now, but in time. For now, gather what you will, and I will return."
Resting, seeking some clarity of thought, Oria fought back the instinct to run. "I am not the girl I was. It is time to become the maiden." Looking to a worn book, she knew what path lay ahead. "It is time to hunt."
Gathering all she had, oria waited for the return of the dryad. All the while, the dream spun through her mind. It was hard to see...hard to understand...
Taking forth a thin whittled bone and bowl of deep green color, Galaad returned to the grotto. She settled near Oria, looking deeply into her eyes. "This would have been done by your family, by the hand of your blood mother. I do not know if any of the Earthenstorm live still, my sister. So I ask to mark you in the way of our shared peoples as your sister."
Oria smiled softly, eyes not as brittle as they had been. Taking forth a thin blade, she cut from her hair and that of Galaad's. Weaving the pieces together, she fashioned two small rings. "We already share blood. We have given each other dreams and healing. Galaad...we have always been sisters."
Tilting her head with a soft smile, the dryad accepted the gift. She began the rituals of marking in a far simpler way than would have come in Forestsong. Cleansing her face, speaking of secrets of womanhood, telling Oria of all their shared history. And finally, she spoke of the mark she would be given.
"You have experienced death and lived through it. True death came and left its mark. Forever you feel the shadow of the one your soul was loosened by. Yet the grace of Elune shown, held you and kept you. There is one who knows such pains, who has felt such loss. She was a shadow and secret, with a love of life through knowing its end. Always about you, I feel the wings. The whispers of her secrets. You are a walking whisper, Oria. You hide even when seen. I mark you...in her memory, in your survival, and secrets shared."
The marking was painful, performed in the ancient ways of small pinpricks with colors. Blood flowed down her face as the forms of dark wings of the raven were marked over her cheeks. She was no longer a girl, holding back the tears and pain from the marking. Oria would leave the safety of Stonetalon a maiden.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 23, 2006 20:53:36 GMT -5
They spoke in turns. At times of nothing more than a flower's color or the new winding of a river. And others, the terrors of this new world, the loss of the old. She would not speak of the bag, the tower, the ruins. Facing the memories was too raw and difficult a thing.
So the blossoms were placed in her food. Her drink. The pollen drifting through her sleep during the bright days. They would lull her to forgetting, leaving the past as a shadow until she was ready to unweave their magics.
Each eve, she rose stronger, brighter. She smiled again, ran and leap. Soon the terror of the girl growing into hazardous wild lady became the subject of much discussion. How would they raise this child? It was forbidden to teach her of Cenarius' way as druid. But their own counsel and love of nature, of hunting and keeping, that they could.
Yet of every lesson, one was the hardest accepted as her body changed, mind lengthened with age. "Galaad, what is the way of love among you? I know you seek the rituals of the moon and sun, of the land's changes. Yet what you seek in those times..."
The dryad smiled, eyes glimmering. "You wish to attend?"
Blinking rapidly, she held up her hands covered in the soft dusting of blues and pinks used to color their fur. "No no, I do not mind making these colors and helping with the crowns of laurels. But--"
The fawnling laughed and shook her head. "Sister-love, it is not what you assume to know. It is not a terrible thing to share, to experience joy." She turned to look at the sky, curls bouncing across bre shoulders. "Does the wind in the willows not bring tears to your eyes? Does not the glimmering fullness of Elune not lift your voice in song of adoration?" Her eyes fell to look at the chase of emotions over Oria's face.
"You feel it as we. You sense it, the burn and chill. For those that are keepers and laughing sisters, we all take part in life's eternal circle, as mist to cloud, cloud to rain, rain to mist. The sharing of it is solumn to joyful depending on the age and ritual, sister-love."
Oria bit her lip, green locks wayward in the breeze. Her hands fidgeted, leaving dusted lines of color on her knees and leathers. She trembled in fear and curiosity. Oh how Galaad always thought she would make such a sister true. "I...I do feel it..."
Taking her hands, Galaad pulled Oria closer, eyes looking into the silvered depths. Breath tasting of spice, she whispered. "Then seek, experience, and turn away to rest when you feel best." The kiss was quick and innocent, tasting of honeymead.
Flushed, Oria shook her head, yet the world grew warmer. Touching her lips, she chuckled. "For a short time--"
The dryad laughed gaily, pulling her close. "Well then! We must prepare you as well. Come come!"
The world became a spinning moment. The dryads gathering near pools. They splashed and washed, leaving behind their thin tunics and armors. With soft movements, they dipped hands into the ground colors from flowers and seeds. Colors of night and day, they dappled onto their haunches, rubbed onto cheeks and eyes. Nothing was where it should be according to Oria's mother. Yet seeing herself reflected in the pool, hair curled, leaves lost in it, colors across her face as petals caught in wind...she became entranced. It felt right.
Something was on the wind, spicey, sweet. Moving with the others, wearing little but a night shift and color, Oria joined them. Something on the breeze changed the world into feeling, warmth, a land of sensation.
Drinks came to hand, nectar to lips. Sweet meats cooked, fruits sugared. Fowers were given between each, laughter and dancing. Music of the world was around, a soft gaity that wound round their hearts, feeding upon the merriment. It was the time of the glades spring waking. The remaining chill on the wind enlivened them. Their magics called the flowers and trees to let their bounty fly upon the wind.
Settled against the banks of the waters, staring into the sky, Oria smiled, lost in the moment. Her hands moved, eyes wandered star to star. There was warmth near at times, drinks placed in her fingers, yet always the sky was wide, moon bright.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 23, 2006 20:53:16 GMT -5
It was years later when the keepers found her. The dryads and keepers never forgot the girl, yet when she was on their edges of land, for a moment they sought to lay her to earth in judgement of their father.
Galaad was called, risen from the silent tending of the sleepers. Into the groves she wended on clattering hooves. They were shaping the land, called to rocks, bending to the trees as they grew.
A cat larger, stronger growled low. Galaad recognized the eyes though the form was a staggering thing. "Corelua?! What has...bright mother moon!" She looked upon the girl, eyes widening ever so slightly. Something had changed her. They could not allow her to leave for a time.
With quick words as the girl lay caught in the sleep of the jinsel blossom, she gave word to the keepers. "Always within, she must be kept. Until I say otherwise." They nodded to her wisdom. They had all witnessed this before, and again it would be troubling. Luring the great cat to her, Galaad nodded to the others to take Oria away into the grove, ever deeper, near the grottos and ponds.
Ages it felt had passed, mind caught in so many dreams of halls and books. No matter how they pulled, even in sleep she would not loosen her hold of the bags. With a slow slitting of eyes, the huntress looked into the world. A soft startled cry tore from her lips. This was not where she wanted to be.
The dryad was before her, cloth at hand, wiping her sleep weary face. "Are you hungry, Oria? Or do you wish to tell this tale?"
She pulled the bag closer, eyes hard as the steeled blade at her side, also something new. "Very well. Corelua rests. Her journey was as hard. When you are ready..."
The voice was brittle. It would not take long. "I know. I...I'll call." Rising, she opened the bag, body straining and taunt. She was hungry, terribly thirsty, but first Oria needed to make sure the finds were safe. Gold and silver glinted from within as the moon rose high in the skies. The bindings of the tomes, never to wear away into crumbled dust, created in old ways. Each one was a treasure she could hardly understand. All but a few smaller ones. Two held tales from her youth. And the third was written as if only for someone so seeking as she.
In quiet contemplation, she had learned this book, sought to understand the difficult words, the strange symbols and ideals expressed. The mind behind it was thoughtful, enlightened, and spoke of things she sensed but never had words for. It was as if, he knew her. This author of a time lost. She had despaired thinking him of the dead. Yet the house's symbol, the bright moon upon the banner, was never seen nor found among those fallen.
This Janlith of Brightmoon. One day she would seek him. Hunt him. Demand he teach her these words. Pages were left in stranges ways. Sections missing. She had scoured other books, stolen tomes, anything to piece it together. In time, for now she needed patience. As Corelua entered the glade, eyes far brighter than when they first met, a silence passed between them, a whispering of scent and motion.
For her, Oria would find him. As the book was incomplete, so was the connection with the cat. Kneeling, she tilted her head, eyes slitting. The spotted saber neared, rubbing hard her head then face against Oria's eyes also slit closed.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 23, 2006 20:52:51 GMT -5
She woke in mist. It never faded, only moved with a strange life all its own. Never had Oria seen such a thing, as if the sky had fallen around her. For many nights she traveled through the mist, hands and feet finding their way through touch alone. For a time, she thought perhaps she never woke, only dreamed. Yet time to time, her pinches did hurt, her stomach did rumble.
It was in these strange travels her hans came to smooth stone before her. If she had not walked with arms out, she would have smacked her nose into it. Beads of water laid on the surface, chill to the touch. Moving her fingers over the edges, she sucked the moisture, so very thirsty.
"What is this? A wall in the mountains? How strange..." Following the edge of it, Oria moved around, ever seeking and wondering. Her fingers trailed lines in the mist and drops, feet finding steps with a slow wandering balance. At times she tired, seeking rest. Others she sprinted ahead, weary with the wait. Yet soon the stone changed, cracked, split. A way through.
Taking off her packs, she began to wiggle and squirm through the crevice of the wall, curosity burning her to full waking. What was this world? What was this place?
Shadows parted slowly in her eyes, the mists not hampering vision. And what she saw, made her gasp.
Skeletons laid in the room, some at rest, some in fear. They spiraled around her as fallen leaves from trees. The dead of her people. "A...splintered city...here? So far east and high in the mountains? But..how..."
She pulled herself close, not wishing to touch a single bone or rumpled silk of those long fallen. Room after room, she found them. Doorways were smote, charred from fel fire. The ground showed deep gouges from clawed feet, wide axe. And always the dead were here.
Oria knew she should turn, leave, never come again. Yet on and on she walked the halls until with certainty...she realized she was lost. The world was silence, this tomb of the fallen, filled with elegance and grace of a doomed people. Again she rested when tired, rose quickly when wakened.
The wayward journey continued, until she came upon a place hardly touched by the sword and fire of war. Marble here was simple, with little decoration. Yet those symbols still shown brightly. Magic. Warding. Old and waning.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 23, 2006 20:52:32 GMT -5
Galaad moved on dainty hooves, breathing slow and deep of the world. Her time in the barrow den was complete for now, giving her a chance to walk in the sun, enjoy a tale or song by the waters of the lakes, or even-- Hands wrapped around her small waist, face burying into her shoulder.
Oria had returned. How long it had been since she left, Galaad could not say. Smiling softly, cooing to the girl, she embraced her softly. "Oria, Little Bird, why are you shaking so?"
The whisper was harsh that traveled through her hair, setting the butterflies to flutter away. "I was hunted, Galaad... someone was...in the woods!"
The dryad leaned her cheek against Oria's head. "Of course, little one. The world misses you and this place. There will be a time when they come. Shall you run to the edge of the world?"
The chuckle made Oria's cheeks burn. She felt foolish and weak, rubbing again with grumbby hands at her face. Taking hold of the girl, Galaad led her down and away to the lakeshore. Shaking her head, she unbound the tattered clothing, pulling apart the braids. "Into the water, urchin. Wash clean and we speak hmm? I shall return with clothing, food, and a brush!"
Oria sighed and moved into the water as she was told. Diving deep, she sought the bottom, letting her tears join the spring waters. No one would judge her here. And only the dryads and keepers would come across her. Holding her breath until she could no more, Oria explored the world of the pond, the fish and plants, roots of the trees, stones of the earth. Surfacing slowly, the dryad was still no where to be seen.
Rising and settling in a grassy grotto, hidden from sight, she laid on her side. Pulling her legs up close, she watched fish rise to the air, birds diving upon them. Song filled the air, the warmth of sun on her skin. Drowsy, she slowly fell to slumber. Time passed as something warm neared. It curled close and covered her as a blanket. Smiling, Oria knew it must be Galaad, throwing her arm over her friend.
That was when the soft nervous cry reached her ears. Oria's eyes flew open, fear burning deep, and a large scratchy tongue licked her face.
A spotted nightsaber, young and softly furred gazed at the elf. They blinked at each other a long time. Galaad worried, pulling forth pipes to play a song to lure the cat away, but the claws did not dig into the girl. The cat it seemed was content with a new friend.
The dryad smiled slowly watching the two simply stare and at each other. Moving closer, she settled on her haunches. Taking forth a brush, she began tending the girl.
"She is lonely I think, Galaad." Oria's voice was small as she brushed her hands through the dark fur.
"Why do you think that?"
"I..." She tilted her head slowly, looking into the cat's eyes. "I don't know."
Leaning her head on Oria's shoulder, Galaad whispered. "Then maybe you should learn why. It would help you understand. Perhaps she understands you? After all the terror of what came to pass, and the rising of these mountains, maybe she is as lost as you?"
Humming softly, the dryad kept them both calm as they started to learn...how to speak again.
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