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Thread: RPG: The Gift and the Riddle

  1. #1
    Is back!!! Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari's Avatar
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    Default RPG: The Gift and the Riddle

    OOC: Well to clear things up I have Tim (Tetsanosuke) and Corey(Faro Domisai) as Co-Gm and this is where you all introduce your characters


    BIC: FOR almost as long as she could remember, Maerad had been imprisoned behind walls. She was a slave in Gilman's Cot, and hers was the barest of existences: an endless cycle of drudgery and exhaustion and dull fear.

    Gilman's Cot was a small mountain hamlet beyond the borders of the wide lands of the Inner Kingdom of Annar. It nestled at the nape of a bleak valley on the East side of the mountains of Annova, where the range split briefly and ran out, like two claws, from near the Northern end. Its virtue, as far as the Thane Gilman was concerned, was its isolation: here he could be tyrant of his domain, with nothing to check him.

    It was a well-defended fortress, though no one came to attack. At the cot's back was the stone cliff of the Outwall, the precipice cutting sheer some thousand feet from the Landrost, the highest peak in that part of the range. Around the cot were walls of roughly dressed stone, rising to a height of thirty feet from a base twenty feet wide. They tapered to four feet at the top, enough room for two men to walk abreast. At the front were stout wooden gates which eight men or a wagon could enter with ease. The gates were barred at night and most days, except for hunts and when the hillmen came in their big wagons to trade goods, salted meat and cheeses and dried apples for swords and arrows and buckets and nails.

    About a hundred and fifty souls lived there: the Thane Gilman and his wife, beaten to a shadow after bearing him twelve children, of which five still lived, and his henchmen and their women and bastards. The rest were slaves like Maerad, captured in raids in Gilman's youth, or bargained for at the gate, or simply born there. They lived in dormitories, long huts at the side of the cots, under the shadows of the walls.

    The buildings were ancient, older even than Gilman guessed, the walls raised in forgotten times by grim Northern men to keep out wolves, and worse. Under Gilman, the walls were mostly used to keep people in. The small enclosed meadows were tilled and harvested by slave labour, his tables and cloths and cheeses and sour drinks were all made by slaves, and Gilman wanted none running away. His many guards served to reinforce his tyranny, and, not inconsequentially, gratified his own opinion of his authority. Like many who ruled far vaster territories, Gilman was not above the pettiness of vanity.

    If anyone did escape, there was nowhere to run to; their most likely fate was to be hunted down by untamed beasts in the forests that stretched below the mountains. And even to this isolated cot came rumours of stirrings in the outside world: whispers of unnamed shadows which haunted the forest deeps, or of forgotten evils which now woke and walked in the daylit world. Grim though Gilman's Cot was, these vague stories of horror worked as well as any wall, gainsaying any attempt to leave.

    Maerad was still too young to have given up hope of escape, although as she approached adulthood, and began better to understand her own limitations, she understood it to be a childish dream. Freedom was a fantasy she gnawed obsessively in her few moments of leisure, like an old bone with just a trace of meat; and like all illusions, it left her hungrier than before, only more keenly aware of how her soul starved within her, its wings wasting with the despair of disuse.




    The Springturn began like every other day of Maerad's life, with the iron clang of the dawn bell wrenching her from sleep. It dumped her on the rim of consciousness, sore and heavy and blind, and her dreams sank into the darkness of her mind, as if they had never been.

    Yawning, she staggered out of the slaves' quarters to the courtyard well, her skin wincing at the icy air. She hunched her cloak around her shoulders, and, scarcely glancing at the dim shapes of the buildings around her, pumped some water and splashed it over her head. Gasping, she shook the water off her heavy hair, and her breath plumed in white swirls out of her nostrils and through her chattering teeth. Her limbs still felt like lead, her face was numb as a brick, but at least she was awake.

    She was drying herself with her cloak when she heard a heavy step behind her. Maerad turned quick as a wild dog, her hackles bristling: but it was only Lothar, the huge, doltish man in charge of the buttery.

    "Late night?" asked Lothar, sniggering.

    Maerad turned contemptuously back to the well.

    "You could hear the lords until cockcrow," he said. "And who took you last night?"

    "Shut your muddy mouth, peabrain," she said shortly. "Or I'll put the evil eye on you." She turned to face him, glaring, and began to raise her arms.

    Lothar went pale and crossed his hands before his eyes. "Ward! Ward!" he cried. "I meant no harm, Maerad."[/FONT]

    "Then keep your mouth from evil gossip," she hissed. "Get! Go!"

    Lothar scuttled off, and Maerad permitted herself a grim smile before she savoured a precious minute to herself. The cot was only just stirring; it was before cockcrow, and there were a still a few moments to the summons bell. Most of the slaves huddled greedily into their little patches of sleep-warmth, reluctant to leave until the very last second.

    Maerad leaned back and breathed in hard, gazing up at the distant stars, tiny points of frosty fire high over the mountains. She searched as she always did for the dawn star Ilion, burning brightly over the Eastern horizon, and sniffed a new freshness in the early air. It's the beginning of spring, she thought. Despite her tiredness, her spirits lifted. Then she looked down at her callused hands and sighed. But not for me; I'm already withering. What will become of me?

    She stared at the miserable dwellings around her with a dull hatred. Apart from the Thane's quarters and the Great Hall, which were better maintained than most, the cot consisted of dirt-floored stone hovels, roofed with rotting wooden shingles. Many were crumbling under their age and had been badly patched with clay and straw poultices, giving them an odd, diseased appearance. They stank of rotting middens and human filth and despair. From inside the dormitory Maerad could hear the high, thin cry of a sick child, and someone else shouting angrily, and then the dry sob of a woman. What will become of me? she asked herself again, uselessly; and then the clang of the summons bell broke into her thoughts and she shook herself and tramped to the commonroom for her meagre breakfast of thin grey porridge, and to be assigned her tasks for the day.

    That morning Maerad was sent to the milchyard, Lothar's section. She grimaced at her bad luck. She would have to deal with him all day after she had slighted him, and today she was especially tired. Last night had been one of the Thane Gilman's riots, a special gathering to mark the first spring hunt, and his men had come back hungry, wild haired, spattered with blood, quarrelsome, shouting for beer and voka and roast meats and music. For Gilman it was one of the high points of the year, and the work of all the slaves was doubled for the day. Maerad had worked an extra shift in the kitchen, turning and basting the deer carcasses on the iron spits. Then, because she was the only musician in the cot, she had sat in the Great Hall all night playing the ballads she found so tedious: tales of the slaughter of deer and the valour of men and dogs; and later, drinking songs, and the bawdies, which Maerad hated most of all.

    The Great Hall was a grand name for what was really a large barn roughly crossbeamed, with a blackened hole in the roof to let out the smoke from the great fire that always burned in the middle of the floor. Maerad sat with her lyre in a corner, blank-faced to hide her contempt, while twenty men seated at a long, roughly hewn wooden table set against the wall tore meat from bones with their bare hands and drank themselves insensible on the voka, a harsh, eye-stinging spirit distilled from turnips and swedes. They hadn't bothered to wash, and their acrid smell and the woodsmoke made her eyes water. No one tried to paw her, to her infinite relief; but even so, the hot red eyes of the men made her feel filthy. As the night wore on the hall grew hotter and stuffier, and Maerad felt dizzy with the reek and her tiredness. She played badly, something she seldom did even in such circumstances, but nobody noticed.

    The riot finished shortly before dawn, when the last drunken thug crashed face down on the long table and snored among the rest, who lay dribbling on their hands or fallen in their own vomit. Then at last, trembling with weariness, Maerad picked up her lyre and left the hall, stumbling between sleeping dogs, tossed bones and filth, spilt voka and snoring bodies to the sweet air outside. She stank, but she was so exhausted she had simply made her way to the women slave quarters and slipped onto her meagre straw pallet for a bare hour of sleep.
    Last edited by Yukari; 06-15-2007 at 05:24 PM.
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  2. #2
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    Mutt stood up a hill looking down at looking down the road wondering how much further she would have to travel till she would find a city or villiage. she yawned a bit 'hmm maybe i should consider taking a small nap' she looked at the sky, the sun was coming up but the wind was stil chilly. Scratching her head and probely causing a few lice anoyance she started to walk again deciding that a nap would be better when the sun was up. In this cold she could stil get sick though her health was probely like iron by now. Also she did not want to be a sitting duck for slave hunters or raiders, she was fairly close to the mountains and had heard alot of people suddenly dissapeared around these area 'though i doubt they could have use for a mutt' she grinned a bit since before she became a mutt, she was the daughter of a rather wealthy farmer however since her brother was loved more she decided adventure was more her thing. And so far as she knew they had not even started a search of placed posters with rewards around which she feared a bit in the begining. She saw a small tavern in the distance but remaint her calm pace maybe she could get a job there but they didn't need anyone she would just leave again.
    Last edited by Nespa; 06-15-2007 at 06:22 PM.

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  3. #3
    Chaos Unborn Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo's Avatar
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    Kotaro slowly walk in the forest as a bug buzzed beside his head. He ingored it like always as he thought about his next move. he had been wondering around the lands for as longas he could remember. HIs body had grew stronger over time and now he was as strong as anyone he had killed overtime. Kotaro continued to walk at his normal slow pace intel the bug again interupaed. Kotaro went to hit the bug with his strong arm but the bug grabbed it and quikcly jumpped over it landed on his left side. Kotaro growled as he continued to walk.

    *******************


    That was the thrid time Kotaro-Kun had tryed to hit him. Mizuki was used to it now but Kotaro was trying more and more everyday. Mizuki followed Kotaro even if he was older and wiser then Kotaro-kun. Muzuki had felt a sense of lostness inside kotaro when he had first met him. he never felt anything like that in all his years,but for some reason he understood some of the lonlyness inside of Kotaro's heart. Mizuki seemd to buz around Kotaro has he called his name asking where they were going. He was stopped when Kotaro had finally got a hit. For the first time in the 3 years they had travel together Kotaro-kun was never able to even come close to Mizuki's face. Now he had finlly hit him and it seemed to make him happy. Mizuki grabbed his nose as he looked up at kotaro his sense of childness came into effect as he seemd to turn into a type of child's toy.

    "Kotora-Kun that really hurt........you are starting to become meaner then you ususaslly are but that ok but that really did hurt,and it makes you happy doesnt it?" Mizuki continued to whimper as Kotaro's body faded away in the distance. Mizuki's eyes widened as he noticed the growls from behind.

    "Kotaro-kun wait for me!!!" Mizuki ran forward and ran straight into Kotaro's back as Kotaro slowly came to a stop.

    "Kotaro whats wrong this time?" Mizuki's eyes widened in shock as he look past kotaor's large body and into the forest ahead of them.

  4. #4
    Neverwinter Gnostic Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer's Avatar
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    When the sun found Bayard it was on one of his rare excursions outside of his room. He was in the orchard of his village running a quick check of this years apple blossoms to make sure they would be fertilized and produce the properly swollen fruits. He was pleased enough with the results that he didn't expect to have to come down from his room until his food an water supplies ran low, which wasn't likely to be soon because he had used his sojourn to resupply his room with the food and water needed to last him at least two more weeks.

    He carried his bill at his side, more a habit than because he would need it. There were no apples to pick and no monsters to fight so the bill had no use in either of its two functions at the moment. Still, whenever he left his room he carried it with him and leaned on it like a walking staff much as he was doing now. His brilliant red hair only sharpened in hue under the orange light of the new-dawn sun, that bright eye's natal color bringing out his own. But that color of hair was unusual in his village. Most people had blonde hair or perhaps brunette but he was the only red haired person. It made him appear... otherworldly and perhaps he was. His light grey eyes (verging perhaps on the white) were also strange. The flesh which he wore was slim, he ate rarely and would ritually deny himself food for long periods so that he could focus on his own meditations. And also to distract him from the voices. For that, it was still somewhat apparent that he was no weakling. While not among the poorer families that had to eke out an existance in the fields, he was still well enough aquainted with labor and the drills of the town militia that he could be counted own to defend himself against the average foe. That was not to say he was a master... not at weapons no... he was a poet... the skill that he possessed with the bill was only as much as he needed to have in order to be left alone to his writings.

    So having done his necessary work Bayard began to walk back home before the people of the villiage began to stir. That had been the reason for Bayard staying up until before dawn to leave the house, he did not want to have to be out when people were around. He perfered to be left alone and while he could laugh and pass jokes with the best of them, it always seemed rather pointless to him and not something he went out of his way to do, especially if he had a good concept to ponder, as he always did. So he snuck out where he could, allowing himself the solitude to think and ponder alone.

    But even at night there was always the voices of those damn birds. He could here, even now, their fight conversations. It had been almost a year since he had begun hearing their voices after having spent three days unconcious after a poem had consumed him and not let him go until he had finished it. Ever since that time he had been able to here the birds voices, especially crows, ravens, and other carrion eaters. These vessals to the afterlife had tried to talk to him before and he had killed more then one of their number so that he could remain alone... he had even kept one of the skulls from a raven as a knick-knack on his writing desk.

    The black birds always talked to him about how things should be and how he should act. They had a strange manner of speaking, ornate and... archaic that reminded him of how kings of lands long dead would talk. They offered him intimacy, the ability to feel and to sense the world as but an extension of himself... or rather the ability to recognize himself as an extension of the world. He feared such intimacy. He wanted solitude. He wanted to be his own being.

    He entered his room. Getting up had been a slightly annoying affair as he had traded words with his father, who was just rising, 'Good mornin' lad' he had said

    'Good day, sir' he replied with an eveness of tone and a defference of expression that denoted to the two men to seperate realities.

    ' Up all night again, I see'

    'Yes... there was a midnight oil fire in the orchard, I just had to see it' Bayard smirked off... his father laughed briefly then the two men moved own and put each other out of their respective minds.

    Now that he was in his room he sat at his desk... the thought of the ravens had given him a poetic idea... but how to capture it? How to meld the spiritual beauty of the concept with its ugly physical nature? the duality of it... the duality of it! Of course! One of the the primary philosophic and mythical motifs! The raven represented that. In eating the dead they took the soul to the after life which was a beautiful exhonoration of the soul but at the same time they digested the body which was disgusting. The planar nature of existance perhaps? Echoing the transfer from physical to spiritual? Now... yes... yes...

    he wrote

    All kinds of things I fear
    as I lie and dying here
    some stranger comes to me
    and says "be calm you will be free
    from flesh and mournful bone
    into a place where you atone
    and I will take you there
    when I fly and take to air
    your gore will soon take flight
    inside my belly into the night
    where you will find reprieve
    and your family will surely grieve
    but I shall keep you warm
    though you must give up your sacred form
    and blend yourself and die
    release yourself into the sky
    your body leave behind
    while your bone i slowly grind
    'til all you were is gone
    then we take wing into the dawn"
    Last edited by Luzifer; 06-15-2007 at 08:41 PM.
    The tragedy of life comes not from pain, despair, sorrow, or even death; but the constant annihilating amnesia that begs us to forget we live.


  5. #5
    boopaloop! Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated's Avatar
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    The coin whirled around the table until a hand slammed it flat. Rahgnild kept his hand flat as he pulled the coin to the edge and then flipped it over into his palm. Heads. He set the coin between his thumb and forefinger, and repeated the action. Heads again. Well, for getting a coin so round, he could forgive the maker for stamping heads on both sides.

    He was through licking and biting all the coins he'd gotten of this newest questionable job. Everything was as it appeared, which was a good sign. Also a good sign was that this tavern was partially owned by the men who just paid him. The Pig Sticker, he thought, could stay under his shoulder.

    No Songbird was he, utterly lacking an ear for music. Thankfully, there were kindred spirits in the world who shared a laugh when he first introduced the name of Songbird. Using one of his longer knives, Rahgnild stabbed a peice of meat and pulled it to his mouth. He savored the juicy chunk, bought with tainted money.

    Rahgnild had been hearing about this place supposedly nearby called Gilman's Cot, known for it's metals and a small part in the slave trade. The slaving buisness was one that he'd yet tried out. Slaving, supposedly, was profitable, but limited in scale and the Songbirds in charge were quicker to pick up on it.

    Nearby, though, could be anywhere from here to the afterlife. And being so opposed to life-threatening risk, he wasn't sure he wanted in. Still, it'd be nice to get a lay of the land there.

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  6. #6
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    Mutt looked at the tavern from outside it seemed decent enough. Scratching her head again she moved in and glanced around the room, her eyes rested on a man with a coin in the corner and assumed he was a wanderer like her. Which probely meant she would better off leaving him alone, she walked to the tavern owner whom looked at her in slight distaste. Pulling her shirt up her shoulder though it almost imidaitly sank down she spoke to him "do you need a pair hands" the owner pulled a face as he spoke "you can clean out the horse stables and sleep there, i don't want a flearidden mutt like you in here". Mutt shrugged and nodded turning and walking out again, she stopped and glanced at the man with the coin again before moving outside again.

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  7. #7
    A priori Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas has a reputation beyond repute Petrol Gas's Avatar
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    Lenuss walked into the small town slowly. He had been traveling for days in the wild between these two towns and found the sight of civilization a relief. He found himself gazing at the small village with scrutiny and corrected himself in an attempt at optimism. "It's just another normal town. Look at the normal tavern. I bet lots of normal people meet there." He thought to himself. "I'll see if I can make some money before I take some rest." But upon further scrutiny of the village, as he walked towards the tavern, Lenuss realized that besides the one tavern and a few houses the whole town consisted of farms. He knew that mountain farming meant frustrated farmers and so he braced him self for a stingy crowd.

    As soon as he walked into the tavern two men in the back of the room began to stare at him. He walked over to the nearest table and sat down. Besides the two men in the back of the room there were four other people that he could see. They all looked particularly rough and angry. Lenuss didn't pay them any attention however and ordered a drink for himself. "Well if the rest of this town is as angry and upset as these guys then maybe I'll relax first." He thought. The sound of a coin rolling caught his attention from across the room but he stopped looking when he saw the man who had dropped it.

    His drink finally arrived at the table and he sat back to loosen himself up a bit.
    A man chooses.
    A slave obeys.

  8. #8
    Is back!!! Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari's Avatar
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    OOC: Hunny?! *She whines for Faro* Could you look over the RPG while I am going the mall....not sure when I will be back...and I also asked Hollow Ichigo if he could help if he wanted. The choice is still his to make.


    BIC: In the cowbyre she leant her forehead into the warm flanks of a dark-eyed cow, who stood patiently chewing cud as she kneaded her full udder. The milk splashed rhythmically into the pail. Maerad was on the brink of sleep when suddenly the cow almost kicked her and then tried to rear. Maerad started awake, rescuing the pail - spilt milk was not worth a beating - and tried to calm the animal. Normally a word would do, but the creature kept snorting and stamping, pulling the chains that held her hind leg and head as if she was distressed or frightened.

    Maerad's hair prickled on the back of her neck. She had a strange, taut feeling, as if there was about to be a storm and the air was crackling with electricity. She looked around the byre.

    A man stood there, not ten feet away, a man she had never seen before. For a moment shock stopped her breath. The man was tall, and his stern face was shadowed by a dark, roughly woven woollen hood. In the dim light from the doorway, she could see the outline of an aquiline nose and a glitter of eyes. She stood up and reached for a rushlight, uncertain whether to shout for help.
    "Who are you?" she said sharply.

    The man was silent.

    She began to feel afraid. "Who are you?" she asked again. Was it a Wer out of the mountains? A ghost? "Avaunt, black spirit!"

    "Nay," he said at last. "Nay, I am no black spirit. No Wer in a man's skin. No. Forgive me." He sighed heavily. "I am tired, and I am wounded. I am not quite - myself."

    He smiled, but it was more like a wince, and as the rushlight fell past his hood and illuminated his features, Maerad saw that he was grey with exhaustion. His face was arresting: it seemed neither young nor old, the countenance of a man of perhaps about thirty five years, but somehow with the authority of age. He was high cheekboned, with a firm mouth and large, deepset eyes. He held her gaze. "And who are you, young witchmaiden? It takes sharp eyes to see the likes of me, although perhaps my art fails me. Name yourself."

    "Who are you, to ask me?" said Maerad pugnaciously. It occurred to her, with a pang of surprise, that she didn't feel afraid; although, she thought in that split second, she ought to be.

    The man looked hard at her, searching her face. He staggered slightly, and corrected himself, and then smiled again, as if in apology.

    "I am Cadvan, of the School of Lirigon," he said. "Now, mistress, how do they name you?"

    "Maerad," she said, almost whispering. She felt suddenly at a complete loss, confused by his politeness.

    "Maerad of the Mountains?" the stranger said, with a wry smile.

    "Of... of Gilman's fastness," she said haltingly. And then with a rush - "I'm a slave here..."

    "A slave?"

    Steps sounded outside and Lothar's bulk darkened the door. "Where's that milk? What are you doing there, have you lost your wits? Are you looking for the whip? If the butter doesn't turn, we'll know who to blame..."

    He was not pleased with her, after her rebuff that morning. But again Maerad caught her breath in shock. Although the stranger stood plain in his sight, Lothar seemed to look right through him.

    "I'm - I'm sorry," she stammered. "The cattle are restless..."

    She sat on her stool and leaned forward to the cow again, who now stood patiently. Lothar watched her while she milked. She willed him to go away. After a short time, she heard his steps leaving and she relaxed a little. She kept milking, because she needed time to gather her thoughts. The stranger still stood there, watching her.

    "Maerad," said the stranger quietly. "I wish you no harm. I am tired, and I need to sleep. That's why I'm here." He passed his hand over his brow, and then leaned against the wall of the byre.

    "He didn't see you," she said blankly, still milking steadily to cover her amazement.

    "No, it is a small thing..." he said, almost abstractedly. "A mere glimmerspell. What is interesting is that - you saw me." He stared at her again, with that searching, disturbing gaze.

    Maerad felt suddenly shy before him, as if she were naked, and turned her face aside. She felt his eyes upon her, and then a kind of release as he looked away. Involuntarily she shook herself. She heard him shift and sit down.

    "I wish I were not so tired," he said at last, and then asked: "You were not always a slave?"

    "My mother wasn't a slave," Maerad answered, speaking reluctantly, as if against her will. "Gilman bought her and kept her here, when I was very little. I think he wanted to ransom her, but none came to ransom." She paused, and added flatly: "And then she died." She coiled around to face him, with a flash of anger. "What business is it of yours?" she demanded. "Who are you to ask me?"

    The stranger seemed unperturbed, meeting her gaze calmly. "What was your mother's name?"

    "Milana. Milana of Pellinor, Singer of the Gift, Daughter of the First Circle. My father..." She stopped milking, and her hands flew to her mouth in astonishment.
    "Oh!"

    "Oh, indeed," said Cadvan.

    "I mean, my mother was called Milana, that's all I remember..." Maerad trailed off in confusion. "She... she died when I was seven years old... I don't know anything about... about the rest. Did you make me say that?"

    "Make? No, I can't make you say anything. I asked, and the doors of your mind flew open. There is more in that treasury than most people realise. The School of Pellinor," he said, as if to himself. "That was sacked, oh, years ago. It was thought all were killed." He fell silent.

    Maerad, shaken, continued milking. What was this man talking about? Was he mazing her, as wild spirits were said to do, bewildering her senses before snaring her? But he did not feel evil.



    "By what right do you come in here and say... and say such things... I could call the Thane's men -" She stuttered to a halt. Somehow she knew she wouldn't call the guards.

    The stranger put his face in his hands and didn't answer her. Maerad glanced at him angrily. She finished milking the cow and turned her loose, bringing in the next one. Cadvan was still sitting, unmoving, in the same position.

    "You can't stay here, if you are of Pellinor," he said at last.

    Maerad looked across at the stranger with a sudden wild hope. Did he mean that he knew some way to free her? But no one could escape from the cot...

    He looked up at her. "Could you - perhaps - spare some milk?"

    Wordlessly she offered him the milk pail.

    After a long draught, he wiped his mouth and smiled. "A blessing on you, and on your house," he said. Maerad nodded impatiently, brushing off the courtesy. "Will you have to come to the byre again?" he asked. "Today, I mean."

    She examined his face suspiciously. "Yes, I am sectioned here today," she said at last. "I'll be milking again in the evening. Why?"

    "Good." He stretched and yawned. "I'll sleep now. We'll talk later, yes, when I am less tired." He cast himself down on the hay and was asleep almost instantly.

    Maerad looked down at him, considering whether to kick him awake and make him answer her questions, or whether to call the guards after all. But for reasons she couldn't trace, she did neither. Instead, she finished the milking and left him there. She was beaten for the missing milk.
    Last edited by Yukari; 06-16-2007 at 09:14 AM.
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  9. #9
    Neverwinter Gnostic Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer has a reputation beyond repute Luzifer's Avatar
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    OOC: Damn... those guards take precise measurements if they could tell there was so little milk missing... and psychic if they knew it wasn't that the cow was drying up after a long time without pregnancy... strange...

    Bayard plucked at the window pane. Glass notes sprang from his scratching fingers and illuminated the room with a symphonic melody of atonal tapping. How strange it was, perhaps to other eyes, to stare across the town all day, without fail and without rest. He could see someone (he did not know their name for he knew very few names, never taking the time to learn them) cross the street to the well where the ravens preen themselves and tossed idle jabber in their runic tongues. He sighed as he watched the young girl, not much older then himself, bring up the pail. She looked up at his window briefly and smiled when she saw him. That wasn't unusual. He was a bit of a town fixture, one of those calm, dependable, walking charicatures that people came to rely on because they gave their lives stability and because it ment there was someone who was stranger then themselves. Some people waved at him occasionally but that was as far as their amiablity extended. They then left him to his own devices and ignored him the rest of the day. That was fine with Bayard. He didn't really want them to talk to him. He was on a journey inward and all outward focus was a distraction.

    Sighing he slipped a book from his shelf... Politics it was called... it was his fifth time reading it but every time he read it, it always illucidated some concept which he had been tossing through his head at the time.
    The tragedy of life comes not from pain, despair, sorrow, or even death; but the constant annihilating amnesia that begs us to forget we live.


  10. #10
    Chaos Unborn Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo's Avatar
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    "Kotaro-kun are we their yet?" Mizuki walked slowly behind Kotaro. "My god my feet hurt." Mizuki continued to walk in tel he again ran into Kotaro's large steel framed back. "Owwww Kotaro-Kun why did you stop?" Mizuki looked at Kotaro's face and he had the face of a warrior written all over it.

    Mizuki looked forward ahead of them and noticed a few robber's ahead of them and sighed deeply. "Kotaro their no need to fight them they are to weak and are few in number." Mizuki was shut up quickly when a few bullets soared past his head. " Holy mother of......!!!!!!!" Mizuki jumped back as a few more connected with the trees and a few hit the small animals that had followed Mizuki's good nature.

    Mizuki looked at the dead animals as the thiefs grinned and laughed as they grew in number's. Mizuki's anger raged forward as his red hair grew spiky,and his left arm grow some type of Gauntlet. Spikes rose from the gauntlet's shoulder pad's and a sword spread from Mizuki's hand. The thiefs stepped back a few times and turn to run but ran into Kotaro's steel from.


    ************************

    Kotaro looked down at the thiefs with a serious eyes. His body flexed once or twice before one of the thiefs were sent flying back. Kotaro reached into his sleeves and drew out his weapon. The silver gun flashed red as bullets sent wave after wave of thiefs flying back. The remaining thiefs turned and ran back toward the other direction, only to run into Mizuki who was angry and at the point where he could kill them easily.

    *******************

    Mizuki growled as he used the dull side of his blade to send the remaining Thiefs backward knocking them out. Their money fell to the ground and spread before Mizuki's eyes. Mizuki slowly picked the money up and placed it in a bag,before tieing it to his waist. "Those that kill the creations of the high one should be punished and killed,but with the kindness in my heart i will let the go free." Mizuki turned around and walked beside Kotaro as they continued on their way.

  11. #11
    Dark catgirl artist Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa's Avatar
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    Mutt walked pas the left side of the tavern since the stables were probely behind it and nearly fainted from the smell. She groaned as she covert her nose and tryed to see through her watered eyes muttering "bloody esdoorn when was the last time the owner cleaned this place" scanning through the stables she saw that there were two infact one was a neat stable, nicely painted and minimal filth and manure the second one looked like it could collapse any second and was ridden with filth. She sweatdropped 'wel i can tell which ones are for the highclassed and which for the commoners' sighing she pulled her shirt over her nose and grabbed the pitch fork 'better fix the whole thing after cleaning it, or those poor horses get a piece off wood on there heads' taking a good hold on the pitchfork she started to shovel the filthy straw out and into a wheelbarrel she found behind the good stable.

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  12. #12
    The two armed man!!! Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose's Avatar
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    OOC: Nerili's color

    BIC:
    Nerili lay on the forest floor, 70 or 80 some odd feet from the main roadway that would lead her to who knows where. The remnants of what was obviously a fire that had blazed the night before were now nothing but ash and soot laying about pieces of charred wood. A ring of dirt had encircled the flame, the outeredges of which were now written with charred and burnt grass from when the flames had become slightly too large for the pit to hold.

    The grass bristled against the women's face due to the wind that barely pushed the grass to sway. It was cold, rigid and crisp, the wind that is, but only moved in short bursts of quick wind followed by long periods of cold, clean breeze. The grass tickled under her nose, making her twitch her head slightly. If it wasn't the grass that would awake her, then it was the wind that would.

    Nerili slowly opened her eyes, her vision blurred by both the tiredness she still held within herself and the sun that blared down on her face from the late morning position in the sky. She took a moment, blinking several times, then sat up, stretching, and looked back up to the sky before her eyes grew wide and she spoke out to nobody in particular.

    "Oh crap!" Her voice soft and sweet but seeming worried still, "I've overslept again!"

    She quickly rose to her feet, brushing off theback of her white kimono style clothing before reaching down to grab her bow and arrows, which she then fastened to her back. She looked around, as if inspecting to see if she had forgotten anything before setting off.

    "Hey, Ghael," Nerili started, turning around as she spoke, "Ghael, you ready to...."

    As Nerili finished her turn, she realized that her friend, or whoever it was that she had been addressing, was gone, or, not there to begin with. He expression grew blank as her shoulders slumped down slightly. She slowly lowered herself and sat upon the grassy surface.

    "Figures he would run off without waking me up..I guess I'll just wait for him here then..."

    She took her quiver and bow off her back again, laying back onto the grass and staring at the late morning sun as it blazed over head. The sky seemed clear for the most part and seemed like the day would be beautiful for traveling. It was only her second day out of Norloch, and she hadn't a clue where she was traveling, all she knew was that she longed to find some place, some town or village where she could tell her tales, being a bard and all, and hopefully make a coin or two.

    She sighed, waiting for her companion to return, hopefully with breakfast.
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  13. #13
    Is back!!! Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari's Avatar
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    OOC: Rules:

    1. You can post up to 5 post per day but unlimited during the weekends

    2. No godmodding what so ever. The first I see you godmod it will be the first strike the second time you will be out of here

    3. Have fun!!


    BIC: That day Maerad was so absentminded she was lucky to escape a second beating. At her tasks in the milchyard, churning butter or setting the milk in bowls for soured drinks, she scarcely saw what she was doing. At first she didn't know what she felt about the man in the byre. Her mind, practised at the evasions of survival, skipped over the thought of him; he was, in a way, unthinkable. But every now and then an image of his dark face rose unbidden in her mind, and with it an unsettling feeling she couldn't name: a skin-prickling premonition, not exactly unpleasant, but not quite comfortable either. If she had been a child used to name-day celebrations, she might have likened it to the feeling of anticipating a gift; but she knew no such celebrations. At the same time, the blank, impassive mask under which she survived, secret even to herself, seemed to have disappeared, leaving her exposed and a little frightened. It was as if the stranger had opened a door long shut in her mind, and a cold fresh wind blew in, waking her from a stupor. Who am I? she wondered: and the question hurt.

    She was used to her own strangeness. It had often been a protection as much as a curse. Because of her blue eyes and black hair, the fairhaired Northerners called her a witch, and she had played the part from an early age, making a virtue of what set her apart. And Maerad did possess the power of cursing: if she glared at someone, they might trip over and fall for no reason, or a beaker might fall from a shelf and break on their heads, and once she had blinded a man for three days. She was also especially good with animals, another sign of a witch; those she tended grew fat and yielded twice the milk of the others. Most of the slaves feared and avoided her, and Gilman's men... well, the Thane's men had also learnt to leave her alone.

    Gilman was deeply superstitious and, like all bullies, a devout coward. He believed that if Maerad were murdered her ghost would drive him to a grisly death - madden him until he ran out into the wolfhunt, perhaps, or skewer him slowly with invisible knives of fire. So Maerad escaped the worst details, which caused comment and petty malice among many of her fellow slaves. Recently this resentment had flared into open violence: a month ago six women had attacked her and tried to drown her in the duckpond. They had almost succeeded, but Gilman had rushed out of the hall, redfaced with panic, and hauled her out of the water. Though Maerad was cuffed for the trouble she had caused, the slaves who tormented her were whipped and given no food for three days. Saved by Gilman! She grinned humourlessly at the irony. It had stopped the persecution, for the moment; but now no one spoke to her at all, apart from idiots like Lothar.

    If it hadn't been for her music she might have killed herself, or let the demons in her head taunt her into madness. Or she might have just turned into stone and become like the rest of them, brutalised of all feeling. Her lyre was her one possession, the only thing she still had of her mother. It was small, fitting into the crook of her arms like a baby, a bare wooden instrument with no decoration except some indecipherable carvings: but its tone was pure and true. One of her earliest memories was of her mother playing it, plucking the strings and singing to Maerad - she guessed she must have been very young, because then her mother had not been sad.

    Maerad could play like a true minstrel; her ear was accurate, and she only had to hear a tune once to repeat it. Mirlad, Gilman's Bard, discovered her talent after her mother died. She was only seven years old then, and he somehow persuaded Gilman to relieve her from morning duties so he could teach her. Mirlad, gruff, taciturn, sometimes cruelly harsh, had been her teacher until she turned thirteen: then Gilman demanded her labour in the fields again. Maerad remembered her misery at that decision, and Mirlad's odd response. "I've taught you everything I know about music," he had said, shrugging indifferently. "Anything else would be a waste here. You can play in the evenings, anyway."
    Her musicianship compounded her isolation, but it was another reason Gilman tolerated her: Mirlad had died some two years before, although perhaps only Maerad mourned his passing, and she was now the only person in the cot with the skill to play at his riots. She played for herself, privately, whenever she could, and those snatched moments were the only consolation of her degraded life.

    Milana. My mother. How long since I thought of you? You braided my hair each night, even if your hands shook with tiredness, and you played me pretty tunes when I felt sad or when someone beat me, and kissed me, just there, on my forehead... Maerad's mind flinched from the memory of her mother's death, how she had sickened, wasted by fever and pain and grief. She had died, that was all, and after that Maerad was alone.

    For as long as she could remember, Maerad had dreamed of escaping Gilman's Cot. But year after year passed and brought only the knowledge that escape was impossible. Hope had ebbed little by little, until, had Maerad known it, she wore the same sad beauty that she remembered of her mother. Now, this Cadvan - she said the name to herself, privately - had appeared out of nowhere, as if walls and guards and dogs did not exist.
    As the day wore on she turned over the morning's conversation with an increasing impatience. Sometimes she convinced herself that she had dreamed the stranger, that he was an illusion of her exhaustion, a shadowy projection of the longing that burned inside her. She had thought hope was dead inside her; but now she realised that it merely slumbered, like ash-grey embers which held yet a glowing heart, which the merest breath might fan into flame.
    Last edited by Yukari; 06-16-2007 at 04:33 PM.
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  14. #14
    Evil but Friendly FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai's Avatar
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    In the northern region Psoron slept in a tent peacefully,but was suddenly woken by his team of furry white snow dogs. He got up and left the tent to see what was the matter, saw it was hailing, he put on his jacket and hooked the dogs up the dogs to their harness then hooked the sled up to the dogs. He yells over the storm "Move!" in the SPEECH, He rode along the storm covering his head for it was below freezing and everything was ice. The wind howled at his ear all of the dogs came to a stop in front of a big stone figure,


    "Oh, Crap!" he said starting to turn into his demon form as the storm dogs started to appear and hit him with stone and ice. He yelled at his dogs to move as fast as they could to get away from the storm dogs. He could barely hear the dogs yelping in pain over the howling of the storm. He threw up a magic barrier to keep out the stone and ice from hitting him.


    Sometime later that night, after running his dogs to near death, he finally made it out of the winter kings territory, he still continued to run well into the night to get away from the storm dogs howling storm. He made camp around 2am in the morning fed the dogs and gave them fresh water. He pitched his tent and crawled inside changing into his human form slowly not even bothering to make a bed to sleep on.

  15. #15
    The Poet Sword Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke has a reputation beyond repute Tetsanosuke's Avatar
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    Tediously and in a bit of rush the long silver haired instructor seemed to scribble her lessons for the day on a sheet of parchment as she stumbled her way towards her class. By the sun brim time she was in the thought that she'd be but only five minutes late, yet this day was off schedule and it was a full fifteen at her nerves as she arrived. Her deep and stunning azures came upon her class of third years as she strew upon her desk her class plan and the other countless scrolls she was bearing. Oh how she just had to be late, the class would laugh to themselves, they loved to see the perfect teacher this way. In their young minds though this was exactly the reason they thought she was perfect, she was flawed.

    With a sigh of ending relief and a bit of a breath into the cold morning classroom she would reach out to the black-stone board with a piece of white-rock, a chalky substance mined east of the school near the foothills. She brought the horizontal lines of scripting into view with each stroke from left to right, then scribbling out the notes for the lesson that day she'd take another breath before turning towards the class once more.

    "Have we are flutes ready, class?" Her voice such a repercussion of a faded sorrow, relinquishing the light of her intelligence upon the space of the red wooden room, the desks of ebony and the students in their smocks and robes sitting patiently now.

    The children started to giggle to one another, and then laugh at some point as Arlona pulled out her Aquios, ready to go over the notes of the day and the tune to go with it.

    "What is it my learners?" The teacher couldn't help but smile as their innocent laugher kissed her ears.

    "Today is string practice, remember Raen?" Using their formal label of teacher, learned from Arlona earlier in the year by their speech practice.

    As the words would enter her mind she let Aquios back into it's sheath at her side and pulled into herself some, blushing lightly from embarrassment. "Oh, yes that is right my Learners, I was perhaps testing you all, hehe." He would let her enlightened slime radiant upon them as she went to the wall stand and pulled a nice mahogany sitar, taking a seat upon her satin cushion near the front of the class she bade the class to come along, them all unlatching their cases and pulling out their respected instruments.

    In her mind she scolded herself, but found it quite humorous to say the least. "I'm getting older ever so quickly."


    Perhaps the world was never meant to make perfect sense.


  16. #16
    Is back!!! Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari's Avatar
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    OOC: I am going to post again so quickly because Luzy's character is waiting for mine and I am trying to get there so Luzy's character can have something to do quickly

    BIC: The hours dragged, but at last it was evening. Just before she went to the byre, prompted by a sudden impulse, Maerad slipped back to her quarters and took her lyre from where she kept it under her pallet, wrapped in sacking.


    Cadvan was still there, lying on his back in the byre, his hands folded behind his head, apparently studying the ceiling. He was not so grey-faced now, although there were still dark circles under his eyes, and he smiled at Maerad when she entered. She looked back at him expressionlessly, waiting for him to speak. He sighed and stood up.

    "Well, Maerad, I've had a little time to think," he said. "This is a foul noisome place, although to be fair the animals are well treated - better than the people here. That is unjust enough." He paused. "Do you wish to leave?"

    Maerad almost laughed. The cot was guarded day and night, and the guards were vigilant. Some slaves had, indeed, tried to escape, but all her life Maerad had heard of none who succeeded, although she had seen many savage beatings and, once, a man torn to pieces by Gilman's hounds. It was enough to gainsay the attempt.

    "Leave this place?"

    "Seriously, Maerad."

    "I've dreamed of nothing else these long years," she said. "It's impossible. Why do you think I'm still here?"

    "So you do wish to leave?" Cadvan paused and looked down at the ground. "I guess it would be surprising if you did not. I am in a little dilemma, then, as to what to do. It would be most unwise of me to take you with me. I am flying from danger into danger, and the world ever darkens; and I do not have my full strength."

    Maerad's heart dropped with disappointment; she hadn't realised, despite her frank scepticism, the resilience of her hope. But Cadvan continued.

    "But neither could I leave you here, if you are indeed Milana's daughter, and you indeed wish to leave. Perhaps I could come back, when I was stronger; but I have duties I can't abandon, and I would not be free of them for months. And my heart tells me..." He fell silent again, looking at the ground, as if he were weighing a difficult decision.

    "I must leave now. If you want to come with me, you may. Leaving will be a simple matter. Other things will not be so simple, but we will have to take them as they come."

    Maerad was suddenly breathless, and could make no reply.

    "Yes?" the stranger said. "Or no?"

    "Why are you asking me this?" she said. "It's impossible! Are you tricking me?"

    Cadvan merely looked at her, without answering.

    She stared back at him stubbornly, refusing to lower her eyes.

    "There come few times in a person's life where there is a clear choice," said Cadvan at last. "The difference between one person and another is how they meet that choice." There was a short silence, and then he gestured impatiently. "I have no time. I have made my offer. You can stay or leave as you wish. I am asking what you want. If you don't know, it is no concern of mine." He brushed some straw from his cloak, and turned to leave the byre.

    A feeling akin to panic surged through Maerad. For a second she felt as if she were plunged into suffocating mud again: only this time there would be no hand to haul her out onto the bank.

    "Wait!" she called out. "Wait."

    Cadvan turned again to face her.

    "I'll come," she said.

    Cadvan looked at her bundled lyre. "Is there anything you must fetch?" Maerad shook her head. "Well, that is good. We'll go now, then."

    "Now? What about the cows?" And indeed, they were lowing, asking her to relieve them of their burdens of milk.

    "Someone else will milk them tonight," said Cadvan. "I do not think Gilman will let his beasts suffer; they are too valuable. Now, quickly. Come here."

    Maerad approached him warily, and he made her stand square in front of him.

    He put his hands on her shoulders and spoke.

    The words sent a thrill through Maerad, like plunging into cold, fresh water from a spring welling from the morning of the world.

    "Larnea il oseanna, lembel Maerad inasfrea! Turn the eyes of men from Maerad so she may walk unseen, is roughly what I have said," he explained, dropping his hands. "Now no man could see you, though you stood a span from his nose. The virtue will not work on objects, if you drop them. So keep your bundle close! Now, we must scale the walls."

    He picked up a pack Maerad had not noticed and walked towards the low door. As he did so, Maerad was assailed by another wave of panic. Somehow she already felt her decision was irrevocable, yet she didn't know what it was she had decided: why trust this man? She knew nothing of him. But her doubts were overwhelmed by a fierce longing, as if all her desires for freedom, crushed by hopelessness for so many years, came back in a single urgent wave. It can't be worse than here, she thought, because here I'm certain to die, and out there - who knows? She took a deep breath and followed Cadvan out of the byre.

    "We must hurry," he said. "No speaking. I cannot make us unheard as well."

    They left the byre and made for the South wall. Maerad found it hard not to flinch in the open squares, where the Thane's men stood lounging against the walls toying with their weapons; it was difficult to believe in her invisibility when she felt so visible to herself.

    Their way led them straight past the Great Hall. The chained dogs looked up and sniffed in greeting as they passed, but the men looked through them.

    She kept close behind Cadvan, tiptoeing despite herself, until they came to the least guarded section of the outer walls. The wall itself was not hard to climb; Maerad had often considered the logistics. Impossible, however, under the vigilance of the guards, whose sight covered every inch of the wall and who knew their lives were forfeit if any left.

    Cadvan set his foot on the wall, and Maerad helplessly showed him her sacking-wrapped lyre, which she could not sling on her back. He stopped thoughtfully, took it and stowed it in his bag. Then they started again. When they reached the top, Cadvan paused, looking each way for the guards who patrolled the way. Choosing his time carefully, he took Maerad by the arm and pushed her across the narrow path, and then together they went down the other side.

    As they did, Maerad heard the bell ring, once, twice, thrice, before it began a long urgent peal. It was the signal for an escape. She started, feeling horribly exposed. Lothar must have discovered her absence already, but it was very quick - no doubt he wanted to be revenged for her slight this morning, for she would be whipped for sparking an alarm. A commotion rose in the cot. She half scrambled, half fell down the wall, beating Cadvan to the ground.

    "Now you make the pace!" he said, laughing. "I thought I'd never get you out of there!"

    "They'll send the dogs after us!" whispered Maerad, panting with fear. "There's no escaping Gilman's hounds. They'll track a stag for a week and they can tear a grown man to pieces in a minute!"

    "Dogs are easy to deal with," said Cadvan. "Don't be afraid, Maerad. If dogs are the worst we have to face, we will be fortunate. But now we must move on. See the end of this valley? I want to be well clear of this before the night is over. Our doom tonight is, I am afraid, a long walk. Then we'll rest."

    Maerad looked down the valley where she had been imprisoned most of her short life. The ground swept away before her, a constant steady decline of boulders and mountain rubble covered with sparse scrub and the odd tree bent against the harsh winds that swept down from the mountains, the Osidh Annova, Eastern border of the Inner Kingdom. A rudimentary track wandered down the centre of the valley, strewn here and there with stones from some landslide.
    She suddenly felt very small and frightened. She looked at the man who stood at her elbow and swallowed.

    His face was dark and closed; the great dogs which figured in her nightmares, with their yelping bays and their long loping gait, were but small trouble to him. No doubt he knew far worse. He now seemed remote, charged with some hidden power she only sensed.

    She didn't want to seem foolish before such a man. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

    "We'll walk then," she said, turning her face towards the broken path. At her back, behind the cot, reared the Landrost, its tip stained red by the setting sun, its massive bulk throwing all the valley into shadow.
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  17. #17
    boopaloop! Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated has a reputation beyond repute Opinionated's Avatar
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    Rahgnild slapped the side of the thickly-built wooden cart he was riding on. For the recon value of it, he'd decided to make a visit to Gilman's Whatever-it-was. Following the instructions of a hastily-drawn map, he'd hitched a ride with a man going that way on a cart. But, unfortunately, the man was't going to Gilman's, only past the offshoot. But, hey, it was a free ride.

    The setting sun was only incentive to get up to the place. He hopped off the cart and waved the driver goodbye as he started up the trail up. He had to kick away some rocks in areas, but since the trail was for carts, it was pretty clean.

    Not for the first time, that nagging little voice in his head wondered at the wisdom of going up to a fortress in the evening and asking to talk to the owner and negociate a buisness deal. More importantly, what was his angle? Buy a slave? Buy some other goods? Negociate for future trading parties? Well, any angle would have to wait until he knew better the man he was dealing with.

    And so, thusly, Rahgnild started up the rocky path.


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  18. #18
    Dark catgirl artist Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa's Avatar
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    Mutt sighed and wiped the sweat of her forehead, he shirt clung to her because of the sweat and she smelled of manure and filth. But atlist both stables were clean and she had managed fixing the run down somewhat scratching her head she squashed a bug between her fingers and wiped the remains on her shirt. A yawn escaped her as she stretched herself "hmmm i wonder if there is a river around here" she started to walk in search of a river knowing the owner probely wont give her a bath. A snort came from her like she needed hot water to get clean. After walking for like 20 minutes she came upon a small river that was deep enough. Quickly she shedded her clothes she sat in the water, it was deep enough for her to sit and stil be above water with her head. She dunked her head under and came up again frowing she felt like being watched. Looking towards the bushy side across her she noticed two cat eyes looking at her causing her to smile "wel hello there kitty" she brushed a piece of hair back.

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  19. #19
    Is back!!! Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari has a reputation beyond repute Yukari's Avatar
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    They had not gone half a mile when Maerad heard the long halloo of the hunting horn and the bay of Gilman's hounds. Her heart constricted. Before long the gates of the cot flung open and three of the Thane's men emerged, shouting, roughly horsed, and the hounds poured after them, loping in the low light. Noses down, they cast around for a scent, the bloodlust already a fire in their eyes. Maerad fought a rising fear and unconsciously shrank towards Cadvan.

    He glanced at her swiftly.

    "Maerad, they cannot harm us," he said softly. "The men cannot see us."
    She nodded and trudged on, trying to contain herself. Suddenly another bay went up - the hounds had found their scent, and were running. The horsemen followed, spurring on their mounts. Cadvan was still walking steadily.
    "But the hounds can see us," whispered Maerad hoarsely. "The hounds can see us, and..."

    "They won't harm us," said Cadvan. "They're savage beasts, but innocent. They serve no dark purpose. Have faith."

    The hounds were nearing them swiftly. As they drew close, Cadvan stopped and wheeled around. He raised his arms, and to Maerad it seemed that suddenly a light was gathered about him, or within him, although she could see no source.

    "Lemmach!" he said.

    The leading hound stopped dead in its tracks, so the dog behind it tumbled over its feet. The pack wheeled around and stopped.

    "Lemmach ni ardrost!"

    The lead dog came up to Cadvan and whiffled around his knees. Cadvan stroked its nose. "Ni ardrost," he said again, gently, and the dogs each sniffed him and then, as if they had just gone for a drink at a pond, trotted casually back to the riders.

    Maerad stood stock still, her face a cipher. "What did you do?"

    "I told them to stop, and asked them to go home," said Cadvan. "And being friendly beasts, they obligingly did so. They'll not hunt us now, no matter what their masters do. They obey older laws."

    At her back, Maerad could hear the riders cursing the dogs, and their yelps as they whipped them. She realised she was trembling. A massive exhaustion swept over her, and she stumbled.

    Cadvan caught her elbow in quick concern.

    "I'm sorry to drive you, Maerad, but we cannot rest here tonight," he said. "Gilman's hounds are no danger to us, but other things are. This is an unwholesome place. And already it grows dark."

    Maerad shrugged off Cadvan's hand. Other things? she thought. What other things? All the recent rumours of Wers and other creatures of the night crowded uncomfortably in her mind.

    "I'm all right," she said sullenly.

    "It is safest if we keep moving," said Cadvan.

    The night had a cold edge, but this early was still mild and clear. They walked for some time in silence, and as Maerad began to get her second wind, they started talking. Maerad asked Cadvan what he was doing in Gilman's Cot, but he evaded the answer, instead asking about her life there, and whether she had earlier memories, from Pellinor. She could tell him little on that point. "Fragments," she said. "A man - I think it was my father, a handsome man, tall, with long black hair, laughing. A chair with beautiful carvings with a strange coloured light falling on it from a high window. A few scraps of music. I thought that I dreamed it."

    "It's no dream. The Schools are places of high learning and much beauty," said Cadvan sadly, as if he spoke of something loved that is vanishing. "There the Lore is upheld, and the Light shines over all who dwell there. But now their power wanes, and darkness reaches into Annar."

    "What are the Schools?" asked Maerad, feeling ignorant and coarse. "Is that where you learned those spells?"

    He glanced at her, and to her confusion he laughed. "Maerad, it is so strange to me that one of the Gift should know nothing at all of the Schools."

    "The Gift?" said Maerad. She looked down the valley; a long way before her she could see the stars glimmering between the spurs where it ended, opening out onto the wide world, of which she knew nothing. She suddenly felt more alone than she ever had in her life; and she was so tired, more tired than she had ever been. A ball of grief rose in her throat, and she couldn't speak.

    "Please forgive me, Maerad," Cadvan said. "I do not mean to tease your ignorance. Perhaps more tutored, you would now be dead, and your lack of knowledge has protected you from the sight of those who would otherwise have done you harm." He smiled at her, and Maerad, not quite understanding him, smiled wanly back. "Perhaps I should turn Loresinger for a while?" he said. "Tonight we could have an introductory lesson. It will pass the time."

    "All right then," said Maerad, glancing across at the shadowy man beside her. "Tell me about the Gift."
    They had a long way to go, but they were making a good pace, despite boulders and loose stones which constantly threatened to turn an ankle. The last traces of daylight were retreating from the mountains, and it was the dark interval before moonrise. Her legs felt heavy and sore with tiredness, but talking took her mind off her discomfort.


    "Where to begin?" said Cadvan. "What is the Gift? How to answer that, when nobody really knows?" He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. "Well, those of the Gift are like to the Loresingers of Afinil. All Bards are of the Gift, and it means they have certain powers and abilities. The most important is the Speech." He paused. "Bards do not learn the Speech, but are born with it already living within them. In the mouths of those with the Gift, the Speech holds its innate power; it is the source of our Knowing and much of our might. Those with the Gift also live for three spans of a normal life: I am already an old man by normal reckonings, although you would not think so, perhaps."

    "An old man?" said Maerad, looking dubiously at Cadvan. He did not look old to her; she had already guessed his age to be about thirty-five years. She wondered briefly if he was making it up; but then she thought of how he had made her invisible.

    "Not old in the measure of Bards," said Cadvan, smiling, "but old enough. A long life is a double-edged privilege, believe me. But there are other signs; Bards know other Bards, which is how I knew you. This morning I thought for a second my powers had wholly failed me, when you challenged me." He clutched his breast. "My heart stopped! But then I saw your eyes..."

    Maerad glanced at him, again uncertain of what he meant, or whether she should laugh. She noticed that as he spoke Cadvan was constantly alert, but in ways she didn't recognise. He never looked around or behind him, but seemed rather to be innerly attuned to something she couldn't hear, as if inside him flowed a music that, at times, demanded intense attention. It felt a bit odd, as if he were only half there.

    "There is much you should know about Bards, and the Light," said Cadvan. "To have the Gift, and to be ignorant of what it means, can be a terrible thing." He began to speak in an oddly formal tone, almost a chant, which at first nearly made her smile.

    She had a swift unbidden vision of a stone hall with high windows, and of many people seated in a circle, their heads bowed in concentration. The vision vanished, and she looked around her at the empty night and the gloomy shadows of the mountainside; but Cadvan's voice continued steadily in the darkness.

    "Know then, Maerad, that in Annar and the Seven Kingdoms the Bards are charged with the keeping of the Light. The centres of Knowing are the Schools of Bards, but it was not always so. Many lives of men ago the centre of the Lore was Afinil, citadel of Song, builded when the first Loresingers came to Annar. Some say a terrible cold drove them from their home, and others that they sailed here on great ships from a foundered land, and still others say we simply appeared here among other humans; whatever the truth, our origin is lost in legend. However they came, Bards appeared in Annar, bringing with them the remnants of an ancient Knowing from the very dawn of the world: the Gift of the Speech, and Reading and Making and Tending, the skills and knowledge known as the Arts of the Light. And here was built the great city of Afinil, which was the centre of the Knowing in the ancient days.

    "Many songs tell of its unmatched beauty, of the unwalled towers that rose like lilies beside the mere, pure face of blessed water. And within this citadel dwelt the Loresingers, all those who loved and tended the beauty of the world. The Speech was on all tongues, and all met with understanding."

    Cadvan's voice shifted subtly into a chant.


    Maerad's heart quickened; she couldn't remember the last time she had heard a new song. Even in her surprised pleasure, the musician in her noted coldly that Cadvan possessed a very good baritone.
    "Dashed into darkness, deeper than heartgrief,
    All voices mourn thee, high and humble,
    Treespeech and beastspeech, manspeech and bard,
    All voices mourn thee, fruit of the dawn,
    Flower of ice enchanting the sunlight,
    Shadow of moonbeam woven from marble,
    Throat of the morning where all voices mingled.
    In Afinil, O Afinil!
    Thy dreams are lost, thy music still,
    The briars creep where thy towers were
    And the stars are dark in the shadowmere.
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  20. #20
    The two armed man!!! Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose has a reputation beyond repute Zanethose's Avatar
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    OOC: Ghael's color

    BIC:
    Ghael was kneeling behind a bush, a small section in which he had parted in order to look through. He had thought he had heard a disturbance in a body of water, which, more than likely, meant fish, which meant food.

    He had left the encampment before the sun had even risen, searching for food. The sky was now growing dark and he hadn't found anything, not even so much as a deer or a river of fish. But now, he hoped, now he had found something, and he could go back and feed Nerili, presuming she hadn't left. But even if she had, she would be easy to find.

    Ghael looked through the small opening, making sure to make as little noise as possible. He looked for a moment and found something that wasn't to his content. He sighed standing, brushing of the shins of his tan cloak. All he had found was a human bathing. And he was, after all, no peeping-tom.

    "Sorry to disturb your bath," he stated, his eyes staring off back toward the direction he thought was camp. Nerili had to be mad by now, "I was just looking for food for my companion and I."

    He stood still for a moment before looking back down at the human and quickly back to staring off into space. He sighed, deciding that he would just go back to camp and hope that Nerili would have had the inciative to find food for them, which she usually did.

    "Once again, I apologize." Ghael stated, his voice smooth but not too low, before taking a step in the direction he was facing. He wasn't sure who the person was, but it was odd to see them bathing in a river, and she was obviously underweight...not to mention that the clothes on the bank were old and torn....

    He sighed, stopping after his first step and turning his head to face the women.

    "You can come back to the camp with me if you wish, im sure my friend wouldn't mind. We can get you some food and maybe some new clothes, if we have enough money."

    Ghael stood for a moment, waiting for this person to accept or decline his offer. He hoped Nerili wouldn't mind too much if this person said yes....
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  21. #21
    Dark catgirl artist Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa has a reputation beyond repute Nespa's Avatar
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    Mutt frowned "so your a guy instead of a kitty" she climbed on the shore and grabbed her clothes but instead of pulling them on she started to was them. She smiled at him but stil was on her guard though it seemed as if she was used to males disturbing her bath "if you wait a minute i can get you some fish". Laying the clothes on the side again", she dived into the water, came up and threw a splattering fish on the side. The process was repeated a few time and when she climbed out and putted her clothes on five fish were on the side. She looked at the male atlist she thought he was one and back at the tavern. She suddenly ran back to the tavern and came back after a few minutes "keep you money" moving back a bit she jumped over the river and looked at him "i got my own" placing her hands on her hips she glanced him over a bit weary "the name's mutt and wandering is what i do" she pulled her shirt up but it sank down right away.

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  22. #22
    Chaos Unborn Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo has a reputation beyond repute Hollow Ichigo's Avatar
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    OCC: Omg i don't even know where I'm going........im just walking...........Wow.

    Kotaro saw the end of the forest but didn't slow down,or speed up. It didn't matter to him where their were. He was alittle hungry but that to didn't matter to him. All he need to do was continue looking forward and continue on his path to his destiny. He noticed in his side vision,that his favorite little bug was missing. Kotaro came to a stop and turned his head slightly to his right. He didn't see Mizuki and didn't care. All he cared about was the money Mizuki had on his waist.


    Mizuki had taken the wrong path as they came to a fork in the road. He was in the middle of a bear den in the middle of dinner time. Mizuki looked around and whimpered as the large bear stood to its hind legs and roared. Mizuki slowly back away,and then with a burst of speed he ran. The bear charged after him as he ran back toward the fork in the road. He grabbed one of the trees near the fork and used it to swing around onto the right path. The bear charged and turned the corner with a slide and ran after his dinner.


    Kotaro continued to watch as Mizuki flashed by his body. Kotaro turned around and looked as Mizuki ran out of the forest. He shook his head and raised one arm as the bear sank its fangs into his strong arm. Kotaro watched as his blood slowly dripped to the ground. Kotaro swung his arm and the bear back sending the bear sliding back into a few tree. Kotaro turned his head and looked at the bear. His cold eyes sent the bear rushing back to its cave where it stayed their Intel Kotaro's scent disappeared. Kotaro continued on his way out of the forest and as he exited its thickness a large tree branch struck him in the head. The branch split in two as Kotaro looked over at Mizuki who was looking around like noting happened.


    Mizuki continued to sweat as Kotaro looked at him. He had threw the branch away and was looked around trying to find the real person that hit Kotaro. Mizuki sighed a breath of freedom when Kotaro continued toward the small village that lay ed before them.


  23. #23
    Evil but Friendly FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai's Avatar
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    OOC: Arcana's colors

    Psoron woke up at about 3pm in the afternoon starving "Oh man I am hungry" he had eaten his last bit of food 2 hours ago. Now he was freezing and starving, he had ran into some storm dogs along the way but he fled and finally made it across the winter kings territory and ran into the night until 2am, he slept. Psoron walked out of his tent and saw one of his white sled dogs had caught frost bite "Damn it!", he couldn't bare to hear the pore dogs whimpers and howls of pain. Psoron had to act fast or the dog would surely die or if it tried to walk its paw would fall off.


    Psoron walked over to the dog and knelt beside it, the other sled dogs were whimpering in pain and starving as well as Psoron "Psoron why not eat him?" Arcana hissed inside his mind "He would make a lovely treat for us and the dogs" Psoron shook his head "We can't do that Arcana it is to cruel...although...the dogs are hungry..and I need the rest of the dogs to get across the whole northern region..so I guess it wont hurt." Psoron slowly changed into Arcana. Arcana stared down at the dog "Your time has come filthy mutt!".

    Arcana drew his claymore from his back and raised it high into the air "Fellow sled dogs! I give you your meal for the rest of the night!" he sliced down onto the dogs back hearing the dog yelp and cry in pain made a small tear from Psoron run down Arcana's face "It was worth it...now eat" He slowly started to change back into Psoron.

    Psoron knelt beside the now dead fresh snow dog and took a chunk of meat from its stomach "Well it is survival of the fitest these days" he took a big bite out of the red fresh dog meat. He choked and gagged in distaste trying not to puke, the other dogs crowded around devouring the now dead fresh snow dog. Psoron watched after he finished his meat as the dogs devoured the dead dog to the rib and bones leaving nothing but small pieces of meat. "I hope I don't have to do that again" He sighs.

    Acrana laughed in Psoron's mind "You will later in the days"

    Psoron growled "Don't even joke like that"
    P.S.: Wednesday will be my last time posting, Firday I am leaving for a cruise and I wont be back for two weeks, so I am leaving Yukari112(my beautiful girlfriend) to take control of my character
    Last edited by FaroDomisai; 06-17-2007 at 09:34 PM.

  24. #24
    Evil but Friendly FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai's Avatar
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    Double posted by mistake sorry
    Last edited by FaroDomisai; 06-17-2007 at 09:33 PM.

  25. #25
    Evil but Friendly FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai is infamous around these parts FaroDomisai's Avatar
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    Mistake double post sorry
    Last edited by FaroDomisai; 06-17-2007 at 09:36 PM.

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