Wherein a Gypsy Finds Lost Familia...
It had been many, many months since Rhana had been to the docks in Qeynos Harbor. She didn’t pay much attention as she rushed through the streets and onto the dock, turned and slipped into the Mermaid’s Lure. After arranging to get her job as an entertainer and cook back with the Captain, she slipped back out, stopping cold in her tracks.
Oh I come from a land, from a faraway place, where the caravan camels roam…
Shimmering on the edge of the dock, before the merchant booths, were several flying carpets; she’d only seen one before, in the Tower of the Three, but something was different about these. Slowly, the Ayr`dal realized that these were how everyone had been getting to Maj`dul.
The curious half elf girl made her way to the carpets, peering at them for a moment before she heard a small gasp behind her, towards the merchants’ booths. Rhana turned slowly and found herself staring at an odd human woman dressed in a familiar style.
This woman was dark skinned, tanned by the sun just as Rhana was, though admittedly, Rhana was much darker, despite her months in stasis. Her hair was dark, pulled up into a short tail at the crown of her head, her eyes dark and mysterious; but it wasn’t entirely her racial traits that made Rhana’s eyes go wide.
It was her clothing.
The woman wore sandals that were like gold, long laces crossing several times as they made their way to her knees. Her pants were cream coloured, bound with gold and deep purple decorative ropes at the knees while the waist – which hung low on her hips – was actually a decorated bikini-style accent with ornate crystal bead and bell-bead trims.
The woman wore a purple and maroon shirt that was cut high, right along her breasts, and it tied between them, with the sides and back cut elaborately to make it more like a bra with sleeves; it was adorned with brocade on the lower half of the cups, the same crystals and bell-beads along the bottom and neckline. Sleeves attached to the embroidered straps, slit down the backs and bound with the same decorative ropes her pants were.
A matching necklace adorned her neck, sitting right over her collar bones, brass and gold and jeweled with amber bits and sandstone rings, tiny bell-beads on the bottom of several of the ornate decorations. She wore delicate chain mail bracelets that covered her hand in a v down to a ring on her middle finger as well.
Staring at her just as strangely, the woman was surprised to see someone such as Rhana – it was not her curious white hair, and not her deeply tanned skin and bright emerald eyes that made this woman’s eyes just as wide.
It too was her clothing.
Rhana was clad in a similar brilliant red blouse that tied between her breasts, cut along just below them but without the extra sides and back cut-outs like the other woman’s. It was all brocade, but a sheerer type, with silvered bell-beads along the bottom and neckline. Her sleeves were more like a poet shirt’s that had slits in their sides, and only reached three-fourths of the way down her arm, the bottoms tied off with blue and green and silver ropes.
Her pants were simple black suede, the waistline low on her hips like the other woman’s pants were. Instead of the ornate pant, Rhana wore red, blue and purple chiffon scarves that each had little silver coins lining their edges. Unlike the woman, her feet were bare and slightly dirty from her wanderings in the city and Antonica.
Silver bell-beaded strands adorned her ankles and wrists and neck, each having a slight chain mail-like band across the top. Two-inch thick supple leather straps formed cuffs and bands on her upper arms, wrists, thighs and ankles with thin silver and gold stitching on them.
Where they cut off your ear, if they don’t like your face…
“How is it a kaçmak rahibe journeys within Qeynos without our knowledge,” the woman finally asked, her voice heavy with a familiar accent Rhana had not heard since the skies had fallen. “It is forbidden for any but the Safars to do so, punishable by the Death within the Valley of Sands.”
Rhana’s eyes went wider at the words she used, remembering the second language of her familia. Shaking her head, the girl nearly shouted, “Wai’! I was born in tha Thunderin’ Steppes! I ain’t naw kaçmak Rom! Eh, not exac’ly – we be cousin ta ‘em…”
The other woman canted her head slightly, dark eyes narrowing at the girl in front of her. Those dark eyes wandered over Rhana’s hair, knowing the bright white was purely unnatural, but catching the thin strands of fire ruby red in it. She turned her head slightly, lowering her eyes to look into the girl’s, finding them to be bright emerald.
“Kasko san, jel'enedra,” the Safar finally asked.
The girl nearly exploded, speaking quickly in her own language, “Mandi chev de les Sedrin de le Dest!”
After a moment of almost deafening silence, the Safar sucked in her breath, “We…we thought all were dead in the splitting of the world, jel’enedra. Your kumpania had just left the deserts of Ro when it began.”
Rhana nodded, having read everything in her Great-Aunt’s book, and replied, “Aye, many a Sedrin died tha’ day, missus, but some o’ las She' enedra de las Deram ile Rarti made it ta D’Lere, than ta tha plains o’ Karana.”
It's barbaric, but hey, it's home.
“I am Safar Tebrik Maj`dulýn,” the Safar almost whispered.
Whispering her reply, Rhana leaned forward, “Mi nom se Seve`ana de le Sedrin de le Dest.”
The Safar peered at her, raising an eyebrow as she stared at the girl before her. After a moment, she shook her head and answered, “Yok yanýtý, jel’enedra, sana se She’endra de las Deram ile Rarti – it is said, in Maj`dul, that one day we shall see le Dest again, but it shall be the Parno Chovexani who brings back their glory.”
Rhana puzzled at her answer, finding it true but not true. She recalled the words of Marjo, that any and all legend and prophecy must be read on the slant, but she didn’t believe that she’d ever be a part of one. The girl gave the woman a half hearted smile, and a nod that clearly spoke of how little she agreed or understood.
“But jel’enedra, I must warn you, Maj`dul is much fiercer than Qeynos or even Freeport,” the Safar continued in a hushed tone, looking Rhana over. “And because you look like a kaçmak rahibe, they will think you one from the outposts or from T’narev. Though you are not, they will kill you by binding you naked to the sands until you shrivel and die for violating our laws. No one will be there to speak for you, to keep you from the Death within the Valley of Sands…if you were to go now.”
“If I were to go now?” the girl asked, blinking slightly. “An’ – an’ wha’ if I were ta wait…?”
But what for…?
The Safar smiled, the warmth touching her eyes as well, “Then I shall take you to the Sinking Sands and keep you from such an ending. My word is worth more than gold in the lands of my home.”
When the wind's from the east, and the suns from the west…
Rhana sat quietly behind the Safar, leaning against the wall as she waited for their time to leave Qeynos. Her ears twitched often while listening to the tales she heard the various adventurers speaking of as the prepared to leave and returned from the mysterious deserts of Ro.
“It is the most unnatural thing, I say,” an Erudite extemporized, glyphs glowing with his words, “the winds should never be able to come from the East and yet during one of those great sand storms, they do. I’m sure there is a…”
His voice faded away as he and his companions stepped up onto a carpet and were whisked away by the winds. The Safar merely smiled brightly to each outrageous notion, and puzzled theory the travelers made, as if she knew the secrets they wished to know but knew they would not ask her.
The adventurers talked about all kinds of strange things, from mysterious Courts to how odd the sand giants were to the mystical Djinn and the infamous Twin Dragons. One man even spoke of how he nearly went blind when the sun suddenly rose from the opposite direction it did in Qeynos; his companions scoffed and muttered something about how it was merely the rays reflecting off the sands.
And the sand in the glass is right…
A few short hours later, another woman dressed in similar garb arrived, the only difference between this Safar and Tebrik were their facial structure – where Tebrik was almost feline in features, and the next Safar had a rounder face with larger cheeks and curves.
Rhana looked up, watching the two of them for a moment before she spied an hourglass by Tebrik’s feet. The sand had run out, and as the first Safar moved towards Rhana, the second turned the glass over and took her place.
“It is time, jel’enedra,” Tebrik said quietly, her hand extending to help Rhana stand. The two clasp one another at the wrists, and soon the girl was standing. Looking her over again, the Safar noted how thin and gaunt she was, questioning how Qeynos treated the gypsies.
Hand entwined with Rhana’s, Tebrik lead the girl over to the shimmering carpets, and motioned to one of them before asking, “Ever been on one before?”
When Rhana shook her head, the Safar nodded and helped her sit down on the strange tapestry before standing behind her. It took a few minutes for the woman to test and find the right balance, but Rhana was distracted by the pattern of the weave.
Come on down, stop on by, hop a carpet and fly…
Suddenly, the carpet leapt forward and Rhana felt herself fall back against the Safar’s legs. Tebrik had expected it, her feet firmly planted on the tapestry, bracing the girl as they pair sailed through the air.
After a few moments, Rhana regained her own balance, and carefully leaned forward to hold the front edge of the carpet. Her guide adjusted her own balance, smiling slightly as the curious girl began laughing as she stared down at the shimmering waters beneath them.
To another Maj`Dulean night!
On the horizon, two great teal pillars rose up, glittering in the setting sun as if they were maid of pale jade stones. As the carpet neared them, Rhana saw that not only were they pillars, they were gracefully curving jade plated snakes. The design made it appear as if they were gliding up out of the waters and sand, elegant in their exotic setting.
The carpet weaved between the two several times before gliding between them and dropping low over what appeared to be a dock like area built into the pale jade snakes’ backs. Slowly, it made its way over to a cluster of small, brightly coloured, open air tents before settling down again.
With wide eyes and bright smile, Rhana turned to look about her; her smile fell as several men dressed in great ballooning pants with bare chests and sashes loomed over her, glaring out from beneath their turbans.
Tebrik spoke rapidly, stepping from the carpet as she did. The conversation flew quickly about Rhana’s head, and she could barely follow anything – the tongue of the desert had been a second language in her familia, and it had been years since she’d heard it spoken. The small bit she caught unsettled her, as it was the same odd words the Safar had spoken to her on the dock.
Finally, the largest of the men spoke, “Parno Chovexani, Kasko san.”
“Mandi chev de les Sedrin de le Dest,” Rhana replied immediately, “ile chev de las She' enedra de las Deram ile Rarti, derhal.”
The man nodded, and motioned to another carpet. Tebrik stood upon it, and Rhana slowly lowered herself on the carpet, kneeling and holding to the front edge. Once the girl’s back was to her, Tebrik smiled softly.
Maj`Dulean nights, like Maj`Dulean days…
Though the sun had set beneath the horizon, it was still incredibly hot in the desert. It was not the first time Rhana had been in arid lands before, however the Commonlands of D’Lere were not quite this hot, and at night it was much more tolerable. The rains of the Overlord supposedly cooled the arid wasteland off further, but she had not been able to venture there quite yet.
Her ears twitched, listening to the fading sounds of daytime in the desert to those of the night. The shift was subtle, almost unintelligible first, but slowly she heard the sound of the scarab upon the hills, and the subtle shift in the winds. She watched the sands shifting beneath them begin to settle, as the moon broke out over the horizon.
More often than not, are hotter than hot…
Somehow, the city was hotter than the dunes had been.
For such a small citadel, there were a great number of people. The great doors to the city opened once their carpet landed before them, and Rhana could see all kinds of people milling about. Some were from the mainland, clad in the typical clothing she saw around Qeynos, sticking out like sore thumbs amid the Maj`Dulean natives.
The natives…
Many wore great lengths of cloth about their heads in ornate turbans, some wore simple kerchiefs. The men all seemed to favor either ballooning pantaloons and vests or half shirts, or elaborate robes of bright colours and stitches. The women wore pants and skirts that sat low upon their hips, ballooning and loose in styles while they wore either bright coloured half shirts, tied-blouses or the bra-like blouse like Tebrik and Rhana wore. Many had scarves about their hips, with coins or bells along the edges, and all had some sort of antique looking jewelry upon them unless they were poor beggars.
In a lot of good ways!
As Tebrik lead her through the lower market, Rhana watched the men from the mainland oogle the pretty women in revealing clothing, begging for veil dances. The woman exchanged knowing smirks with each other and even gave them to Rhana and the Safar when the passed.
Eventually, one of the more portly men with an even more portly coin purse was lead off by a ravishing woman, who smirked and winked to the wide eyed Rhana as they passed.
She knew the man would die.
Maj`Dulean nights, ‘neath Maj`Dulean moons…
They ascended a set of sandstone stairs that had been carved out of the Cliffside, making their way through the thinning crowd. At the top of the stairs was the Skygazer Plateau, where philosophers and scholars and arcanists met to discuss life, love and the universe beneath brightly coloured open-air tents or the skies themselves.
Upon the plateau was an elaborate tower, and as Tebrik led her to the doors, Rhana tilted her head back to gawk at its design. Somehow, this felt more like home than Qeynos did, and she felt like she’d never leave the exotic city again.
The pair entered the Tower of the Moon, and the three Consulates turned to stare at them. Again, Tebrik quickly offered the same explanation she had on the docks, and again Rhana was made to reply to the same question. The three Consulates nodded, and lofted their eyes and hands to the platform above them.
The Safar led her up the gilded staircase that slightly spiraled as it led up to the platform. When they arrived at the platform, Rhana again stopped cold, staring in wonder at the sight before her eyes.
Within the center of the platform was a great contraption, with great bladed arms that swung about slowly. Though enthralled by the strange mechanical beauty, her mind slowly realized that she was looking at a representation of the sun, Norrath and its two moons – the scarred Luclin and the hale Drinal – and two or three other celestial entities she did not know.
The walls were giant bookcases, quite full of books and scrolls. Several desks and workbenches lined the area against them, and two men stood in the room. Tebrik spoke rapidly in hushed tones to a man she called Steward, and Rhana realized it was a title and not a name. The man looked at her, then pointed over to the other man who suddenly held a large tome.
“Take that, çaylak de Rahibea Her Iki Yüksüz Olarak ile Siyaha Yakýn,” the Steward said, “as it belongs to you and yours.”
With that, the Steward turned from them, and made his way up the next gilded staircase before he vanished. Confused, Rhana took the book and looked down at the cover, realizing it had the same symbols her Great-Aunt Marjo’s had, but on the binding rather than just drawn in the book itself. She bowed to the man several times, clutching the book to her chest before turning to smile brightly at Tebrik.
Tebrik was gone.
A fool off his guard could fall and fall hard out there on the dunes…
Rhana left the tower, and spent sometime gazing out up on the city from the lofty heights of the plateau. After some time – when she thought she’d memorized enough of the visible city, she set out to explore.
No sooner than she stepped out to wander then a shout was cried before her, and a Dervish man attacked and killed a barrashar that had doubted the man’s abilities with women.
The barrashar’s body fell at Rhana’s feet and her eyes opened wide with fear. The Dervish sheathed his blade, grabbing her roughly and forcing a savage kiss upon her lips before dropping her to the ground beside the body. Her eyes even wider, she looked up with shock, and the Dervish man nodded, thinking he had amazed her with his tongue, and walked away.
Rhana looked down at the body and whispered, “All this fer a damn mirror.”
[OOC: That's right, I just EQ filked Disney. The bold italic text are modified lyrics from the ORIGINAL, UN-POLITICALLY CORRECT version of Arabian Nights from the movie Aladdin. And now it'll be stuck in your heads...]
Wherein a Gypsy Finds a Second Home...and Her Mirror...
After she’d regained her composure, she wandered back down to the market place, watching the merchants haggle with the mainlanders, realizing quickly that many of them were swindling the visitors. These made her smirk slightly, recalling the times when she and her familia had done the same to some poor gaje that happened to catch their eye.
She found the snake charmer, watching him use his Ney to draw the serpents from their baskets and then dance about. The book securely strapped to her back, Rhana stepped lightly amid the snakes, dancing in time with the charmer’s music. Several shadow snakes rose up, created by her own charms, to dance with their light asp partners. The charmer smiled, amused by the girl’s tricks, and the coin that it garnered from the passing barrashar.
Not direly in need of coin, she left all of it for the charmer and wandered back up to the plateau. She again studied the city quickly before making her way across the bridge to the gigantic building that a skygazer had called the Sultan’s Palace.
The building itself was huge, stretching back for quite a ways, and it took Rhana a few minutes to walk from the side near the bridge to the other. As she neared the other side, she noticed a bunch of men gambling in the corner of the massive yard, screaming and shouting and threatening each other. She decided to not call attention to herself, hugging the wall of the palace with her side and slipping past them to the stairs.
She studied the beautiful sandstone and teal patterns, wandering down them slowly, hugging the wall so that the barrashar could rush past her and the patrols could move freely. The Bladesmen smiled at the small girl, though their leader chided them for such kindness while on duty – even if she was a schej!
Finding a tower full of the Bladesmen, she stopped to listen to their chatter. The men spoke of something called the Saracen, and how it had won something; they talked of the games and knowing sure bets, as all men do when they gamble. But one said something that stuck out in Rhana’s mind.
“Anyone find out who’s been leading the Tears assassins yet?” one blathered, “That guy must be rich by now!”
Quietly, the girl made her way to the next set of stairs and downward to another courtyard with a smaller building in its center. This was the Court of Truth, and she was greeted kindly by several of their patrons. She watched the pit fighters as they practiced, recalling when the men would battle for a bone or stick to see whom could claim it without breaking it.
As she wandered through the vast Court of Truth and the tower it, she again heard talk of this Saracen, only this time a Truth guard claimed someone – a female perhaps – named Ishara shall end his streak.
The Court of Truth gave way to the Court of Blades, and Rhana wandered quietly through the militaristic place. She passed a great crowd of the Saracen’s fans, and slipped down the tunnel to the Gilded Twilight Terrace.
Again she paused, gaping as she looked about her. There were brightly coloured open-air tents with fortune tellers who shouted out the things her familia once had to attract their customers. She watched one woman take the hand of a barrashar, turning it over to stare at his palm.
Rhana felt her own hands lift, as if holding someone’s hand the same way, only she didn’t have to turn it over…whoever it was, they always handed it to her palm up so she could see it.
Shaking her head, she made her way into the open courtyard, blinking slightly as she saw it filled with very affluent men and women. The men were overly dressed, looking much like she imagined the Sultan would, except in different materials. The women were all dressed like Tebrik had been, only their fabrics were quite a bit more lavish than the Safar’s had been.
After leaving the Gilded Twilight, she found a pen full of strange beasts. A passing citizen explained that they were camels, and that the odd humps on their back stored water so they could make long treks through the desert without need to stop for sometime. The citizen bragged that these camels could make it clear to the oasis and beyond before needing water, however Rhana had no idea where or what the oasis was.
The camels, of course, belonged to the Court of Coin. The building they were attached to was the central building for the Court, and Rhana hurried past as the guards leered at her. Everyone around her seemed to be…greedy, wishing to have more coin or take advantage of the next barrashar they saw.
She wandered their market, looking over the wares with a slight frown, adjusting the book on her back so that it was more comfortable. There was another snake charmer there, but she did not dance with him and his snakes as she had the first – he seemed quite a bit more full of himself than the first had, and the girl cursed him that his snakes would turn on him before she left.
In the market there was a large building with an arched terrace at the top of the stairway. The girl made her way into the archway to avoid a Sha’ir that was flying past, still unnerved by the patrolmen of the skies despite not having done anything wrong. It was then she noticed how quiet the area had gotten, how many of the people paused to stare before moving on.
She wished that she could cover the book on her back – she was sure they had seen it as she walked up the stairs. For a moment, she wondered how much they knew about it and what they wanted; then she wandered if it was because she looked like them, except for her startling white hair.
Finally, she turned and entered the building behind her, gasping as she saw its finery after making her way through the entryway.
A large fountain was placed in the center of the room, and many finely clothed Maj`Duleans wandered about the area. The entire room was bright white, as if they had polished the sandstone until it glittered. Walls were plated with gold and brass, imprinted with designs while the floor was tiled brightly.
Rhana realized this was the real tradesmen’s’ market, and curled up on a set of pillows near the fountain and watched them with great interest. She knew she could find a mirror here that would suit her purposes, but she wasn’t quite sure how to approach any of the merchants, as they all seemed to be powerful and affluent.
There was a touch on her shoulder, and Rhana turned to see a man clad in an elaborate green and chartreuse robe. He gently pulled his hood down and looked at her with dark eyes, his elaborate goatee sparkling with fine diamond dust.
“What is it you seek, çaylak,” he asked gently, smiling to her.
After a few seconds, Rhana replied quietly, “Ayna, sahip, ayna.”
With a broader smile, the man placed his hand on her shoulders, just above the book, and led her to a pair of haggling merchants. Raising his hand, he paused their banter, and spoke rapidly to them before they all looked down at the girl with him. The man in the elaborate robe motioned to the pair as he looked at her, prompting her to ask them.
“Ayna, sahips,” she murmured, turning the book’s harness so they could see it as well, “with these symbols on either side, gönlünü etmek.”
The pair looked at each other and immediately began arguing over which would make the mirror. After a moment, they both turned and nearly shouted at her, “Fiyat!”
“Beþ altýn, sahips,” she whispered.
One merchant turned in disgust, as if her meager price was far to low for his skills; the other – a woman – smiled faintly and nodded, holding her hand out for the coin. Rhana looked up at the man in the green robe, unused to handing over her coin before being given her wares. He nodded gently, and the girl positioned the book on her back before digging in a hip pouch for the coin and handing it over to the merchant.
“Bir saat,” she said, moving behind her to sketch the symbols.
Before she left, she called out, “Destroy that when you finish, gönlünü etmek!”
The man in the green robe had already moved on, and she was left standing alone. She left the traders’ palace, and wandered through the streets for a short time. After going up a stair out of the market, she found a few homes for rent, and on whimsy she decided to look at them.
They were small, two bedroom affairs, much like the ones in the inns in Qeynos, however their white walls with dark teal trim made them seem a little larger. She decided she’d waste her hour by looking at all the houses and apartments she could find in the city, though it would be a good deal of time before she could afford them.
For some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about her own apartment, and she realized that anywhere else she went wouldn’t hold the same comforting and happy feeling she had when she was there.
Soon the time came, and Rhana made her way back to the palace of merchants to meet the mirror-maker. When she arrived, she found her standing with a large man clad in the vestments she recalled Tarack being drawn in. In the corner of the room, the merchant lifted the cloth away from the full-length mirror to show her his work, the symbols engraved into its sides flawlessly.
Rhana looked around to be sure no one else saw the mirror and nodded slightly; sensing her discomfort, the merchant quickly clothed it again, binding it shut with pretty ropes she could use to hang it later.
“He will carry this to Qeynos for you, çaylak,” she said, motioning to the monk beside her. As if it were a command, the man lifted the mirror up and silently moved two steps behind Rhana, just slightly to her left. He carried it as if it were a holy relic, which gave her comfort since to her kind, it was.
“Teþekkür,” she said, bowing to the merchant before turning away.
Quietly, the merchant replied, “Yok, teþekkür çaylak.”
Unsettled by the response, the girl left the gilded palace of merchants, and she walked through the streets almost unaware of her companion that carried her precious relic. Her head down, lost in thought, she didn’t even noticed the natives moving aside for them as if she too were one of their upper-caste.
“All this, fer a mirror…”
Monday, April 6, 2009
Sixteen Years, Two Months, Two Weeks and Six Days Since the Sky Fell
I am in a bit of a tight spot with my new studies.
The charms and curses and chicanery of my Great-Aunt Marjo pass for the spells of an enchanter, and more specifically, the illusionist as far as the stuffy-stuffs within the Tower of the Three. So far, everythings had at least one near identical counterpart in the Book.
But they've given me a spell that has no nearly identical counterpart. They call it the Personae Split ritual, which is meant to splinter the psyche - the thinking mind - and create a weak copy of the caster; apparently once the ritual is complete, one can split their thinking mind at will.
I've read over the ritual and it don't feel right at all. The entire thing makes my skin crawl and just doesn't sound right, though were I not already studying Great-Aunt Marjo's book, I'd not understand why - I know now that it because it is a perversion to our ways.
Long ago, back before even the Age of Turmoil, several of our women ancestors travelled alone without men. Only a few were Chovexani, Drabengri or Rashai, most were Kuriying Juvel that protected them all. They were kind to those they met, though they kept their secrets close to their own and away from the eyes of gaje. As they travelled, they offered solitude and protection to women in need, whether it was because their fathers disowned or harmed them or their husbands did the same or they were just spinster pariah's within their towns. Sometimes they even took in girl babes who were unwanted and made them Rom, raising them as their own.
Their charges that were older were made didikai and puyuria, and kept away from the secret rituals and worships, though many were taught to honor the Great Mother, the dark sister Shadow, and the Trickster; they were known to the gaje after a time as Tunare, Luclin and Bristlebane though admittably the gaje could only see one or two aspect of each diety. Many of the didikai and puyuria did not know why the women worshipped as they did, but many respected their patron Gods.
Back then, all gypsies followed the Trickster, as he blessed the free spirited Rom, finding them to his liking. His name was praised by all at the fires of our vurdon abiav, each vagonu and verdon painted with his symbol on its front or back.
But Rom are not the fools we are mistaken for, and the gyspies of old knew it unwise to ignore the other Gods who blessed them. The Great Mother tended to the open lands they loved, and the women who cared for them while Shadow kept them safe from the eyes of those who would slay them for their freedom.
These ancestors saw the face of goodness and light of the Great Mother, but they also saw the fury and the dark of Her as well. They believed that this is where the Shadow came from, for though She was dark, She was not evil.
Though only taught to the women, it was believed that the Great Mother tried to cast Her dark fury from Herself into the great shadow created by Her light...and so Shadow was called forth.
Having failed to cast Her dark fury from Herself, the Great Mother hid such things within the darkness Shadow was, and it was their secret alone to share with Her daughters...the first gypsies were Dal, not human, wandering the world long before the Marr brought about their line.
Though born from Her, Shadow was called Sister, for the Gods and their lineages and titles are beyond what we know as mortals.
She taught the natsia of girl-children of the Great Mother that were our ancestors how to call their shadows forth from the dark world that mirrored our own, so that in the nighttime when men preferred to strike them, there would be twice as many women to battle.
The dark sisters were twins of the light sisters, and their minds were a harmonious one; though independant of one another, they shared all and moved together as if they were still girl and shadow. Many dark sisters were identical in thought to their light sisters, however they often are what the light sister keeps themselves from being but long to be.
This Personae Split ritual does call forth a dark sister, or in the unimaginable case - at least to our line - a dark brother, but the being is but a pale impersonation of what it should be. They are deprived their independant sentience, their voice taken from them unless their light twin deems it needed, and even then it is not the dark one's own. They cannot even move unless it is to protect or at the command of their light twin.
It is the last of the tolerence I have for the Concordium. I politely thanked them for the scant training they gave, though they shall always claim to have given more than what was actual, and took my leave of them. I shall not be returning to them for training again.
Great-Aunt Marjo cites that near the mid-point of the time when Norrath tore Herself, most of the sisters left from this great line died horribly, and come the day the sky fell, all the remaining lost their dark sisters. I distantly recall Great-Aunt Selna, though I'd always thought her Great-Aunt Marjo's mother, for she was so frail and old.
I realise now that she was the dark sister, faded by the time when Norrath tore Herself, and lost when the sky fell. Without her sister, Great-Aunt Marjo faded as well, becoming unable to have even vague coherent thought within days, and we buried her before arriving in Qeynos. Thinking on the years between when Great-Aunt Selna died and when her light sister Great-Aunt Marjo was laid within the earth, I understand better the burden she bore.
Had I known - had I been old enough to be truly taught by the time the skies fell, perhaps I would have released Great-Aunt Marjo long before her mortal coil failed her.
Now, long after when Norrath tore Herself apart and the dark sisters were taken away, I do not know if the ritual to call one forth will work. No mirrors exist that were fashioned and blessed by the Rashai, so I shall have to craft my own from Alder wood, or see if I can get my hands on a Mystical Mirror from Maj`dul and sand down any carvings on it and inscribe the appropriate symbols upon it.
But knowing what Great-Aunt Marjo knew, and remembering Great-Aunt Selna, I cannot cast the Personae Split ritual - I cannot do that to my dark sister.
[OOC Note: Would Rhana have written all this out in her journal? No, since the lineage and history is already known to her. That which is in the dark blue font is not actually within Rhana's journal - it is provided merely so the reader is not lost.]
The charms and curses and chicanery of my Great-Aunt Marjo pass for the spells of an enchanter, and more specifically, the illusionist as far as the stuffy-stuffs within the Tower of the Three. So far, everythings had at least one near identical counterpart in the Book.
But they've given me a spell that has no nearly identical counterpart. They call it the Personae Split ritual, which is meant to splinter the psyche - the thinking mind - and create a weak copy of the caster; apparently once the ritual is complete, one can split their thinking mind at will.
I've read over the ritual and it don't feel right at all. The entire thing makes my skin crawl and just doesn't sound right, though were I not already studying Great-Aunt Marjo's book, I'd not understand why - I know now that it because it is a perversion to our ways.
Long ago, back before even the Age of Turmoil, several of our women ancestors travelled alone without men. Only a few were Chovexani, Drabengri or Rashai, most were Kuriying Juvel that protected them all. They were kind to those they met, though they kept their secrets close to their own and away from the eyes of gaje. As they travelled, they offered solitude and protection to women in need, whether it was because their fathers disowned or harmed them or their husbands did the same or they were just spinster pariah's within their towns. Sometimes they even took in girl babes who were unwanted and made them Rom, raising them as their own.
Their charges that were older were made didikai and puyuria, and kept away from the secret rituals and worships, though many were taught to honor the Great Mother, the dark sister Shadow, and the Trickster; they were known to the gaje after a time as Tunare, Luclin and Bristlebane though admittably the gaje could only see one or two aspect of each diety. Many of the didikai and puyuria did not know why the women worshipped as they did, but many respected their patron Gods.
Back then, all gypsies followed the Trickster, as he blessed the free spirited Rom, finding them to his liking. His name was praised by all at the fires of our vurdon abiav, each vagonu and verdon painted with his symbol on its front or back.
But Rom are not the fools we are mistaken for, and the gyspies of old knew it unwise to ignore the other Gods who blessed them. The Great Mother tended to the open lands they loved, and the women who cared for them while Shadow kept them safe from the eyes of those who would slay them for their freedom.
These ancestors saw the face of goodness and light of the Great Mother, but they also saw the fury and the dark of Her as well. They believed that this is where the Shadow came from, for though She was dark, She was not evil.
Though only taught to the women, it was believed that the Great Mother tried to cast Her dark fury from Herself into the great shadow created by Her light...and so Shadow was called forth.
Having failed to cast Her dark fury from Herself, the Great Mother hid such things within the darkness Shadow was, and it was their secret alone to share with Her daughters...the first gypsies were Dal, not human, wandering the world long before the Marr brought about their line.
Though born from Her, Shadow was called Sister, for the Gods and their lineages and titles are beyond what we know as mortals.
She taught the natsia of girl-children of the Great Mother that were our ancestors how to call their shadows forth from the dark world that mirrored our own, so that in the nighttime when men preferred to strike them, there would be twice as many women to battle.
The dark sisters were twins of the light sisters, and their minds were a harmonious one; though independant of one another, they shared all and moved together as if they were still girl and shadow. Many dark sisters were identical in thought to their light sisters, however they often are what the light sister keeps themselves from being but long to be.
This Personae Split ritual does call forth a dark sister, or in the unimaginable case - at least to our line - a dark brother, but the being is but a pale impersonation of what it should be. They are deprived their independant sentience, their voice taken from them unless their light twin deems it needed, and even then it is not the dark one's own. They cannot even move unless it is to protect or at the command of their light twin.
It is the last of the tolerence I have for the Concordium. I politely thanked them for the scant training they gave, though they shall always claim to have given more than what was actual, and took my leave of them. I shall not be returning to them for training again.
Great-Aunt Marjo cites that near the mid-point of the time when Norrath tore Herself, most of the sisters left from this great line died horribly, and come the day the sky fell, all the remaining lost their dark sisters. I distantly recall Great-Aunt Selna, though I'd always thought her Great-Aunt Marjo's mother, for she was so frail and old.
I realise now that she was the dark sister, faded by the time when Norrath tore Herself, and lost when the sky fell. Without her sister, Great-Aunt Marjo faded as well, becoming unable to have even vague coherent thought within days, and we buried her before arriving in Qeynos. Thinking on the years between when Great-Aunt Selna died and when her light sister Great-Aunt Marjo was laid within the earth, I understand better the burden she bore.
Had I known - had I been old enough to be truly taught by the time the skies fell, perhaps I would have released Great-Aunt Marjo long before her mortal coil failed her.
Now, long after when Norrath tore Herself apart and the dark sisters were taken away, I do not know if the ritual to call one forth will work. No mirrors exist that were fashioned and blessed by the Rashai, so I shall have to craft my own from Alder wood, or see if I can get my hands on a Mystical Mirror from Maj`dul and sand down any carvings on it and inscribe the appropriate symbols upon it.
But knowing what Great-Aunt Marjo knew, and remembering Great-Aunt Selna, I cannot cast the Personae Split ritual - I cannot do that to my dark sister.
[OOC Note: Would Rhana have written all this out in her journal? No, since the lineage and history is already known to her. That which is in the dark blue font is not actually within Rhana's journal - it is provided merely so the reader is not lost.]
Sixteen Years, Two Months, Two Weeks and Two Days Since the Sky Fell
Though I can play all of my instruments, I cannot call upon the power that once lay within their songs. Where once the strings of my sitars and tembalas were warm with magic, my flute tingling with power, my zils and spoons and riq tremble with the unknown there is nothing but horse hair and wood and and hide and metal.
As such, I've gone back to the studies of Great-Aunt Marjo's sacred book. I was actually surprised to find it with my things - I recall the Marhime taking it with him when he left, which is part of why he was made Marhime. The book teaches several different kinds of magic, but since Great-Aunt Marjo was a witch, it mostly contains the teachings of the Baro Chovexanis of old - much of the teachings pre-date the Age of Turmoil even.
The priestess caught me practicing one of the simple charms Great-Aunt Marjo wrote down, and insisted I study at the Concordium. Their way of magic doesn't feel right; its too rigid and constructed and feels more like the bonds of slavery than the enlightness of the mind.
Largely, I'm ignoring their spells, using the charms and curses that do the same things or similar from Great-Aunt Marjo's book. I study ahead in the paths they give me, since she has a vast line of each kind of charm and curse. They - the stuffy-stuffs at the Concordium - see me as some sort of quick learner, though they dislike the fact they cannot understand the language used to cast.
I don't think I shall study there long, though really I don't study there at all. When the priestesses release me to go home - and I get my home back, and my things from Vhargas if there are any left - I shall probably drop it entirely.
As such, I've gone back to the studies of Great-Aunt Marjo's sacred book. I was actually surprised to find it with my things - I recall the Marhime taking it with him when he left, which is part of why he was made Marhime. The book teaches several different kinds of magic, but since Great-Aunt Marjo was a witch, it mostly contains the teachings of the Baro Chovexanis of old - much of the teachings pre-date the Age of Turmoil even.
The priestess caught me practicing one of the simple charms Great-Aunt Marjo wrote down, and insisted I study at the Concordium. Their way of magic doesn't feel right; its too rigid and constructed and feels more like the bonds of slavery than the enlightness of the mind.
Largely, I'm ignoring their spells, using the charms and curses that do the same things or similar from Great-Aunt Marjo's book. I study ahead in the paths they give me, since she has a vast line of each kind of charm and curse. They - the stuffy-stuffs at the Concordium - see me as some sort of quick learner, though they dislike the fact they cannot understand the language used to cast.
I don't think I shall study there long, though really I don't study there at all. When the priestesses release me to go home - and I get my home back, and my things from Vhargas if there are any left - I shall probably drop it entirely.
Sixteen Years, Two Months, Two Weeks Since the Sky Fell
I've read this book over almost some fifteen times, trying to remember everything written in it only to find that my mind draws a vast blank. Every little recorded incident is familiar as I read it, yet I am unable to recalll a damn thing about any of it.
Tis really quite frustrating.
What I do know is this - the last thing I recall about my life is that my brother had been cast out of our familia, and we were trying to make a living in Qeynos - mamma was dead and pappa was fading, especially after they made his only son Marhime; most of the responsibilities fell to me and Vhargas.
Vhargas was training hard as a fighter, I think he may have even been thinking about becoming a guard as work. I spent my time dancing and making music in taverns all over Qeynos, which paid me surprisingly well.
From there...its all foggy and then all I remember is the strange nightmares for eternity. Even now, awake, they seem to haunt me...each time I close my eyes, I see hints or flashes of things - I see someone dark beating me, hurting me...but I know it was someone I cared for. I feel like I must watch my back, that something is stalking me, something I cant see to fight until it is too late.
They tell me I've been asleep for over seven months, though my recollections are more like a year or two is missing. I don't understand what happened, but they tell me that one of their more established priestesses brought me to them.
I am bothered by the physical changes as well. The priests were not lying about how long I was unmoving, and where I was once lean and strong I am twig-thin and weak. I can't lift...what I were told my sais, though I never remember learning to use them...nor a sword, barely even a book and I can barely eat anything.
More disturbing to me is that I no longer have my beautiful red hair - most of it is now a startling bone white, only thin streaks of the bright red remaining behind. And it is so much longer than it has been for ages, since before we came to Qeynos. I can no longer twist it up and pin it against the back of my head, I have to braid it in a long braid.
This frightens me - the missing years, the nightmares, this life on these pages I don't know. What if all these people I once knew demand of me whatever it was I gave them in this life I don't remember? What if this Tarack still exists? What if he moved on, and my presence will be nothing more than painful and uncomfortable? What if he never moved on and would want the person I was back?
There are sketches of people in another book, sketches I drew, I know this because of the style they were done in. I keep staring at the ones of Tarack, because they unsettle me and instantly make the nightmares come for me...and I don't understand why.
I want to drink, to drowned out all of this, make it go away, but the only things I can drink are water and milk.
Oddly enough, I know how to make many drinks and foods, yet I don't remember learning how to do so...
...I need to get away from this.
Tis really quite frustrating.
What I do know is this - the last thing I recall about my life is that my brother had been cast out of our familia, and we were trying to make a living in Qeynos - mamma was dead and pappa was fading, especially after they made his only son Marhime; most of the responsibilities fell to me and Vhargas.
Vhargas was training hard as a fighter, I think he may have even been thinking about becoming a guard as work. I spent my time dancing and making music in taverns all over Qeynos, which paid me surprisingly well.
From there...its all foggy and then all I remember is the strange nightmares for eternity. Even now, awake, they seem to haunt me...each time I close my eyes, I see hints or flashes of things - I see someone dark beating me, hurting me...but I know it was someone I cared for. I feel like I must watch my back, that something is stalking me, something I cant see to fight until it is too late.
They tell me I've been asleep for over seven months, though my recollections are more like a year or two is missing. I don't understand what happened, but they tell me that one of their more established priestesses brought me to them.
I am bothered by the physical changes as well. The priests were not lying about how long I was unmoving, and where I was once lean and strong I am twig-thin and weak. I can't lift...what I were told my sais, though I never remember learning to use them...nor a sword, barely even a book and I can barely eat anything.
More disturbing to me is that I no longer have my beautiful red hair - most of it is now a startling bone white, only thin streaks of the bright red remaining behind. And it is so much longer than it has been for ages, since before we came to Qeynos. I can no longer twist it up and pin it against the back of my head, I have to braid it in a long braid.
This frightens me - the missing years, the nightmares, this life on these pages I don't know. What if all these people I once knew demand of me whatever it was I gave them in this life I don't remember? What if this Tarack still exists? What if he moved on, and my presence will be nothing more than painful and uncomfortable? What if he never moved on and would want the person I was back?
There are sketches of people in another book, sketches I drew, I know this because of the style they were done in. I keep staring at the ones of Tarack, because they unsettle me and instantly make the nightmares come for me...and I don't understand why.
I want to drink, to drowned out all of this, make it go away, but the only things I can drink are water and milk.
Oddly enough, I know how to make many drinks and foods, yet I don't remember learning how to do so...
...I need to get away from this.
Kidnapped!
The only sound that could be heard was the falling rain against the roof, the thousands of tears slipping away from the skies to kiss the earth below. Such a rhythm is always calming, but with such a torrent of thoughts, the young Ayr`Dal mage could not relax in the slightest.
He saw many things through his scrying stones - some of them were what he was looking for, others just revealed themselves to him; all contained some sort of message for him, some puzzle to solve or some new game to play.
After much thought, there were still too many inconsistency that left him wanting answers he knew she wouldn’t have; at this point he highly doubted that her lover would either. But unlike either of them, he could not ignore the more than obvious inconstancies that faced them.
Silently, the mage rose from the stone chair he’d been lounging in, the hem of his robes brushing against the ground as he walked over to the stone dais that contained his scrying orb. The rainbow was faint, as though the stone was resting, but as soon as the mage’s hand drifted into the light, it flared and grew bright once more. His expression less than amused, the redheaded man muttered a few words in a strange language and soon the orb began to call up images it had witnessed not too long ago.
With interest, the mage watches a Teir`Dal clad in the white vestments of the Ashen Order sprinting towards a pair of figures. The woman collapsed to the ground, and the leering dark elf savage prepared to slam his sword into her body, the monk reaching out to grasp those hands before driving the sword into its owners body; he watches the entire fight once more, confused by several things.
“How does one who is over six and a half centuries move as such,” he thought, “even if he has worked to keep his body in pristine condition, there are truly no signs of an age that great…”
Growling slightly, the mage lifts a hand and waves it once, the images vanishing from the orb. He’d found the first pieces of the puzzle, and now he must connect the dots before he would be able to find rest; not only for her sake but for his own, as no Ayr`Dal can resist their curiosity for long.
As the shadows of night began to stretch out across the land, the Nektropos Nightflier he kept stirred from it’s perch, gliding over to a second stand near the orb. His slender, aristocratic fingers reached out to caress the beast, and again the mage began to sort through his thoughts aloud – not that he ever expected an answer from his winged companion.
“Yes, his hair is pure white as an elder Teir’s can become, and I cannot argue that his body has been hardened and weathered by years of training and experience, Ikarys,” he mused, still gently caressing the bat, “and yet it lacks the failings of an elderly body. And there seemed to be a bit of the events of the world that he does not know, as if he missed them completely…”
Turning from the bat, he began to pace back and forth across the room, occasionally pushing back the hair that fell into his eyes.
“I am curious, Ikarys,” he sighed, his mind turning over several thoughts before speaking again, “I suppose I shall have to investigate this first hand, in both body and mind…”
With that, he walked to the front door, opening the heavy carved oak silently before stepping out into the rain swept night. Closing the door behind him, the mage uttered a few spells and hundreds of arcane runes flared over the doors and windows before expanding outward to encompass the house, vanishing slowly as the mage walked away.
The walk across the rain swept desert was not long when time was not a concern to the one making the journey. With each step, the mage wove an elaborate illusion, becoming just a little bit older as he walked towards the gates to Nektulos Forest; by the time he reached the iron bars, he appeared to be almost as ancient as the forest – gone was his youth and the very features that made him recognizable, hidden by heavily veined wrinkled skin and the hood of his dark maroon and black robe.
She’d been writing for quite some time, caught up in the song that had drifted into her mind a few hours ago; she was so involved with her work that she didn’t even bother looking up when she heard the door open.
“Oh, Tarack, glad you’re home, there’s a song…” her voice trailed off as she felt something hit the back of her head. Caught off guard, she fell to the floor, stunned.
Before I put this rope down, I proceed to tie you up.
Strong hands lifted her up by the back of her neck, slamming her into the wall violently. Black stars of pain burst before her eyes, coalescing into almost total darkness. She felt her body go limp from shock, felt herself crumple into a pile on the ground when she was dropped.
Hands, wrapped like…they were the same weave on the same pale blue skin…but how…
They tied her up, binding her arms against her sides and her legs together, but she couldn’t pull herself from the darkness enough to get a good look at them; they looked like Tarack’s, with the same brilliant white weaves of cloth on them, but he’d never be violent.
The world went black before the hands finished tying her up.
No one here is, fearful of this pain because they know…
The illusionist let the image of Tarack fall away from his body, nodding to the other four Teir`Dal that stood in the doorway. As one, they entered the room and began searching through its contents – taking several books and her journal; they left the rest of the room untouched.
Though she appeared to be unconscious, one of them lifted her, throwing her against the wall several more times. Her right side was deeply bruised now, but it wasn’t enough for the brigand; with a cruel sneer, he turned her around and repeated the brutal act again until her whole body was bruised.
“That was for my brother, whore,” he growled into her ear, despite how limp her body was.
A glare from the illusionist silenced him, and they knew they were overstaying their welcome in Qeynos.
With a nod, the rogue led them through the shadows and back outside the city.
Will you scream and suffer and lie to save your life?
Her whole body hurt, a numbing sensation of pain, as if she were one giant bruise. The sensations made her want to keep her eyes closed, the memories of what happened washing over her as her mind awoke.
Opening her eyes, she saw the small campfire first. Slowly, her eyes focused on the shape just beyond it, shock grasping her mind once more.
It was Tarack, sittings as he did whenever he meditated, except instead of the familiar and calming expression she knew from this stance she saw a cruel and Hateful sneer.
His eyes snapped open, and she felt a chill wash down her spine. They were cruel, and so dark with malice she wanted to cry. Looking into his eyes, it was clear to her what he intended to do.
Standing, he slowly walked around the fire to where she lay, his hands reaching down to pull her up. Lips twisting into an even darker smile, he lifted her up onto her feet. Pain exploded in her body, but before she could fall over, the first of his strikes landed against her, forcing her body upward slightly.
Reeling, another strike connected with her side, knocking the wind from her as she began to fall again. His hand was suddenly against her chest, holding her up as the other lashed out against her arm. Still grinning that sickening smile, he looked into her eyes as he swept her feet from beneath her, his hand slipping up to her neck and gripping tightly.
Clawing as best she could at his hands, staring terrified into his cold eyes, she began coughing and tried to scream, but no sound came from her mouth. He continued to use his free hand to pummel her.
No one here is, fearful of this anger deep inside.
They were deep inside Nektulos forest, and even the other wild dark elves had left them alone, watching from a distance as the bruiser continued to beat the half elf that had caused them such great losses.
She was terrified, and her fear only fed the Hatred they felt.
Love you to pass away, and I bleed more…
Bleed more…
The instinct to live kicked in and she reached for him, her nails digging into flesh as she tried to get a grip on him. His grasp on her throat was tight enough to keep her choking but loose enough to keep her from passing out – between the lack of air and the constant strikes from his free hand, there was little she could do to fight against him.
Bruises began to open from their pressures, blood spilling over his hand and once again staining the bright white wraps of his arm. The sight seemed to spur him on, and again he grinned at her, all light and warmth gone from the motion.
You want love forever and so you take away my freedom
Finally, he dropped her, and her battered body collapsed like a rag doll on the ground. The twisted grin still bright upon his face, the dark elf monk walks back to the fire and sits down to meditate once more – his face remains cruel and darkened, so unfamiliar and distant from what she knew of him.
Head swimming, she tried to imagine what she could have done to anger him like this. All she had been doing the last few weeks was redecorating their home, and experimenting with her cooking techniques with an occasional visit to the Thundering Steppes to stretch her muscles.
Unless…he knew about her first adventure back into the Steppes, though she didn’t know how he would have found out about that.
With eyelids fluttering, she gave into the darkness tugging on her mind…
I'm screaming why are you hurting me
She awoke to a burst of pain as his foot connected with her side, the sound of cracking bone echoing in her ears. He reached down and picked her up once more, hauling her by the back of the neck to a nearby tree; there he stood her upright, and tied her against the tree so that she would not fall again.
Looking up into his eyes, she could only see a burning hate reflected back at her. The quite calm, the silent caring and distant love had evaporated, leaving him only with the cold and harsh comfort of Hatred.
He began to strike her again, the first connecting with her shoulder and the second quickly following into her side. As the pain exploded and the bruises there opened up to release their blood and ease their pressure, she screamed and began to cry.
She couldn’t understand what had happened, why he was beating her with no remorse. Had the forest of Nektulos actually called up the Hate within his blood again, turning him back to the darkness he’d left so many years ago? What had she done to him to cause this?
I feel your hard knuckles, but I'm too scared to run.
Time and again, she felt his fists and palms slam into her body, sometimes realizing that he kicked her as well. She’d already picked out the rhythm of his strikes, and wondered why it was so out of synch with what she had witnessed of his fighting style.
Perhaps the anger and Hate had disrupted him so deeply that it had thrown off his natural rhythms as well. The chaotic sense of timing frightened her, but there was little she could do to escape now.
After what seemed like an eternity, the strikes stopped and she was left with the eerie silence of the forest and the faint ringing in her ears. She’d stopped being able to feel anything from the neck down quite some time ago, but she knew that most of her body was bruised, bleeding and broken.
Quit laughing, don't choke me, my body's going numb
His hand wrapped around her throat, slowly tightening its grip as he leered over her. As she began to choke, he chuckled once before covering her mouth with his own, further cutting off her air supply. The kiss was harsh, almost unfamiliar and alien to her, and for a moment she wondered if it was even Tarack at all.
Pulling away, the last thing she saw before the world went dark was his cruel blue eyes and sadistic smile.
Before I take this rope off the child I stole away…
Reaching out to untie the woman, the illusionist let his disguise fall away, revealing the ebon skinned dark elf he truly was. He was quite content with his work, smiling like a cat that ate the canary while it’s master was away.
He paused, feeling some flicker of unfamiliar magical energy coming towards him. The phantasmal energy struck him hard in the back, and he turned to see an ancient man in a dark robe standing just beyond the campfire. The mage carried a simple staff, but the power that radiated from him was far greater than the illusionist had ever felt within his own body.
Snarling, the illusionist launched his own attack at the other man, his eyes widening in terror as the energies splashed against a protective barrier like water against a stone.
It pierced me with the blade; I fear it's too late to be saved
The ancient mage smiled darkly, summoning forth a spectral blade of energy that cut through the air between them; the phantasmal dagger struck true into the dark elf’s chest, dispersing and wrapping its dark energies about the illusionist. Energy crackled along his blackened skin, swiftly searing his flesh from his bones without any effort.
Carefully, the old mage hobbled over to the tree and took out a small dagger, carefully cutting away the ropes. As the woman fell forward, he uttered a spell that lifted her from the ground and to his side. Having already dealt with the other wild Thexians, the old man began the slow journey towards Port Naythox. A shimmering portal opened before them, and without even looking up, the old man and the floating woman vanished into the gate.
[OOC: Lyrics are Kidnapped by Kramus, though they've been slimmed down to cut back on redundancy.]
He saw many things through his scrying stones - some of them were what he was looking for, others just revealed themselves to him; all contained some sort of message for him, some puzzle to solve or some new game to play.
After much thought, there were still too many inconsistency that left him wanting answers he knew she wouldn’t have; at this point he highly doubted that her lover would either. But unlike either of them, he could not ignore the more than obvious inconstancies that faced them.
Silently, the mage rose from the stone chair he’d been lounging in, the hem of his robes brushing against the ground as he walked over to the stone dais that contained his scrying orb. The rainbow was faint, as though the stone was resting, but as soon as the mage’s hand drifted into the light, it flared and grew bright once more. His expression less than amused, the redheaded man muttered a few words in a strange language and soon the orb began to call up images it had witnessed not too long ago.
With interest, the mage watches a Teir`Dal clad in the white vestments of the Ashen Order sprinting towards a pair of figures. The woman collapsed to the ground, and the leering dark elf savage prepared to slam his sword into her body, the monk reaching out to grasp those hands before driving the sword into its owners body; he watches the entire fight once more, confused by several things.
“How does one who is over six and a half centuries move as such,” he thought, “even if he has worked to keep his body in pristine condition, there are truly no signs of an age that great…”
Growling slightly, the mage lifts a hand and waves it once, the images vanishing from the orb. He’d found the first pieces of the puzzle, and now he must connect the dots before he would be able to find rest; not only for her sake but for his own, as no Ayr`Dal can resist their curiosity for long.
As the shadows of night began to stretch out across the land, the Nektropos Nightflier he kept stirred from it’s perch, gliding over to a second stand near the orb. His slender, aristocratic fingers reached out to caress the beast, and again the mage began to sort through his thoughts aloud – not that he ever expected an answer from his winged companion.
“Yes, his hair is pure white as an elder Teir’s can become, and I cannot argue that his body has been hardened and weathered by years of training and experience, Ikarys,” he mused, still gently caressing the bat, “and yet it lacks the failings of an elderly body. And there seemed to be a bit of the events of the world that he does not know, as if he missed them completely…”
Turning from the bat, he began to pace back and forth across the room, occasionally pushing back the hair that fell into his eyes.
“I am curious, Ikarys,” he sighed, his mind turning over several thoughts before speaking again, “I suppose I shall have to investigate this first hand, in both body and mind…”
With that, he walked to the front door, opening the heavy carved oak silently before stepping out into the rain swept night. Closing the door behind him, the mage uttered a few spells and hundreds of arcane runes flared over the doors and windows before expanding outward to encompass the house, vanishing slowly as the mage walked away.
The walk across the rain swept desert was not long when time was not a concern to the one making the journey. With each step, the mage wove an elaborate illusion, becoming just a little bit older as he walked towards the gates to Nektulos Forest; by the time he reached the iron bars, he appeared to be almost as ancient as the forest – gone was his youth and the very features that made him recognizable, hidden by heavily veined wrinkled skin and the hood of his dark maroon and black robe.
She’d been writing for quite some time, caught up in the song that had drifted into her mind a few hours ago; she was so involved with her work that she didn’t even bother looking up when she heard the door open.
“Oh, Tarack, glad you’re home, there’s a song…” her voice trailed off as she felt something hit the back of her head. Caught off guard, she fell to the floor, stunned.
Before I put this rope down, I proceed to tie you up.
Strong hands lifted her up by the back of her neck, slamming her into the wall violently. Black stars of pain burst before her eyes, coalescing into almost total darkness. She felt her body go limp from shock, felt herself crumple into a pile on the ground when she was dropped.
Hands, wrapped like…they were the same weave on the same pale blue skin…but how…
They tied her up, binding her arms against her sides and her legs together, but she couldn’t pull herself from the darkness enough to get a good look at them; they looked like Tarack’s, with the same brilliant white weaves of cloth on them, but he’d never be violent.
The world went black before the hands finished tying her up.
No one here is, fearful of this pain because they know…
The illusionist let the image of Tarack fall away from his body, nodding to the other four Teir`Dal that stood in the doorway. As one, they entered the room and began searching through its contents – taking several books and her journal; they left the rest of the room untouched.
Though she appeared to be unconscious, one of them lifted her, throwing her against the wall several more times. Her right side was deeply bruised now, but it wasn’t enough for the brigand; with a cruel sneer, he turned her around and repeated the brutal act again until her whole body was bruised.
“That was for my brother, whore,” he growled into her ear, despite how limp her body was.
A glare from the illusionist silenced him, and they knew they were overstaying their welcome in Qeynos.
With a nod, the rogue led them through the shadows and back outside the city.
Will you scream and suffer and lie to save your life?
Her whole body hurt, a numbing sensation of pain, as if she were one giant bruise. The sensations made her want to keep her eyes closed, the memories of what happened washing over her as her mind awoke.
Opening her eyes, she saw the small campfire first. Slowly, her eyes focused on the shape just beyond it, shock grasping her mind once more.
It was Tarack, sittings as he did whenever he meditated, except instead of the familiar and calming expression she knew from this stance she saw a cruel and Hateful sneer.
His eyes snapped open, and she felt a chill wash down her spine. They were cruel, and so dark with malice she wanted to cry. Looking into his eyes, it was clear to her what he intended to do.
Standing, he slowly walked around the fire to where she lay, his hands reaching down to pull her up. Lips twisting into an even darker smile, he lifted her up onto her feet. Pain exploded in her body, but before she could fall over, the first of his strikes landed against her, forcing her body upward slightly.
Reeling, another strike connected with her side, knocking the wind from her as she began to fall again. His hand was suddenly against her chest, holding her up as the other lashed out against her arm. Still grinning that sickening smile, he looked into her eyes as he swept her feet from beneath her, his hand slipping up to her neck and gripping tightly.
Clawing as best she could at his hands, staring terrified into his cold eyes, she began coughing and tried to scream, but no sound came from her mouth. He continued to use his free hand to pummel her.
No one here is, fearful of this anger deep inside.
They were deep inside Nektulos forest, and even the other wild dark elves had left them alone, watching from a distance as the bruiser continued to beat the half elf that had caused them such great losses.
She was terrified, and her fear only fed the Hatred they felt.
Love you to pass away, and I bleed more…
Bleed more…
The instinct to live kicked in and she reached for him, her nails digging into flesh as she tried to get a grip on him. His grasp on her throat was tight enough to keep her choking but loose enough to keep her from passing out – between the lack of air and the constant strikes from his free hand, there was little she could do to fight against him.
Bruises began to open from their pressures, blood spilling over his hand and once again staining the bright white wraps of his arm. The sight seemed to spur him on, and again he grinned at her, all light and warmth gone from the motion.
You want love forever and so you take away my freedom
Finally, he dropped her, and her battered body collapsed like a rag doll on the ground. The twisted grin still bright upon his face, the dark elf monk walks back to the fire and sits down to meditate once more – his face remains cruel and darkened, so unfamiliar and distant from what she knew of him.
Head swimming, she tried to imagine what she could have done to anger him like this. All she had been doing the last few weeks was redecorating their home, and experimenting with her cooking techniques with an occasional visit to the Thundering Steppes to stretch her muscles.
Unless…he knew about her first adventure back into the Steppes, though she didn’t know how he would have found out about that.
With eyelids fluttering, she gave into the darkness tugging on her mind…
I'm screaming why are you hurting me
She awoke to a burst of pain as his foot connected with her side, the sound of cracking bone echoing in her ears. He reached down and picked her up once more, hauling her by the back of the neck to a nearby tree; there he stood her upright, and tied her against the tree so that she would not fall again.
Looking up into his eyes, she could only see a burning hate reflected back at her. The quite calm, the silent caring and distant love had evaporated, leaving him only with the cold and harsh comfort of Hatred.
He began to strike her again, the first connecting with her shoulder and the second quickly following into her side. As the pain exploded and the bruises there opened up to release their blood and ease their pressure, she screamed and began to cry.
She couldn’t understand what had happened, why he was beating her with no remorse. Had the forest of Nektulos actually called up the Hate within his blood again, turning him back to the darkness he’d left so many years ago? What had she done to him to cause this?
I feel your hard knuckles, but I'm too scared to run.
Time and again, she felt his fists and palms slam into her body, sometimes realizing that he kicked her as well. She’d already picked out the rhythm of his strikes, and wondered why it was so out of synch with what she had witnessed of his fighting style.
Perhaps the anger and Hate had disrupted him so deeply that it had thrown off his natural rhythms as well. The chaotic sense of timing frightened her, but there was little she could do to escape now.
After what seemed like an eternity, the strikes stopped and she was left with the eerie silence of the forest and the faint ringing in her ears. She’d stopped being able to feel anything from the neck down quite some time ago, but she knew that most of her body was bruised, bleeding and broken.
Quit laughing, don't choke me, my body's going numb
His hand wrapped around her throat, slowly tightening its grip as he leered over her. As she began to choke, he chuckled once before covering her mouth with his own, further cutting off her air supply. The kiss was harsh, almost unfamiliar and alien to her, and for a moment she wondered if it was even Tarack at all.
Pulling away, the last thing she saw before the world went dark was his cruel blue eyes and sadistic smile.
Before I take this rope off the child I stole away…
Reaching out to untie the woman, the illusionist let his disguise fall away, revealing the ebon skinned dark elf he truly was. He was quite content with his work, smiling like a cat that ate the canary while it’s master was away.
He paused, feeling some flicker of unfamiliar magical energy coming towards him. The phantasmal energy struck him hard in the back, and he turned to see an ancient man in a dark robe standing just beyond the campfire. The mage carried a simple staff, but the power that radiated from him was far greater than the illusionist had ever felt within his own body.
Snarling, the illusionist launched his own attack at the other man, his eyes widening in terror as the energies splashed against a protective barrier like water against a stone.
It pierced me with the blade; I fear it's too late to be saved
The ancient mage smiled darkly, summoning forth a spectral blade of energy that cut through the air between them; the phantasmal dagger struck true into the dark elf’s chest, dispersing and wrapping its dark energies about the illusionist. Energy crackled along his blackened skin, swiftly searing his flesh from his bones without any effort.
Carefully, the old mage hobbled over to the tree and took out a small dagger, carefully cutting away the ropes. As the woman fell forward, he uttered a spell that lifted her from the ground and to his side. Having already dealt with the other wild Thexians, the old man began the slow journey towards Port Naythox. A shimmering portal opened before them, and without even looking up, the old man and the floating woman vanished into the gate.
[OOC: Lyrics are Kidnapped by Kramus, though they've been slimmed down to cut back on redundancy.]
Fifteen Years, Seven Months, Twelve Weeks and Two Days Since the Sky Fell
And stretch I did...though that was the smallest of events.
Bored and restless now that the pain was gone, I pulled on my chainmail and headed out to wander. Out of habit, I ended up in the Thundering Steppes, as I lived there for so long as a child; originally I had started heading for Coldwind Point, but I didn't want to disturb Tarack if he was there, nor did I wish to have all those memories crying for...something.
For quite some time, I was able to just wander the shores near the docks, collecting fish and the like from the waters. The work moved my unused muscles just enough to stretch them, but not enough to hurt them and it was almost comforting to hear the clicking of the crabs over the gentle song of the ocean.
Sadly, I began to recall dancing on these shores with the Marhime, when we were very young. The secrets, the magick, and everything just kind of hit me...and I found myself looking up at the shattered moon.
My inner calm disturbed, I could feel that same downward pull, the simmering Hatred beginning to inflame again. If the Rallosians had not attacked the Nexus, perhaps then the moon would still be whole, and everything would be different - perhaps Kelshinth would still be one of the familia.
In the corner of my eye, I saw the crisp white of a gi, and realized that if these things had not happened, I may have never met Tarack and he might have died an old and distraught man...alone.
Almost thankfully, there was an interruption to my thoughts...almost thankfully...
There was a man watching me. Though he appeared to be a High Elf, something about him didn't strike me as elven. After a few minutes, he introduced himself as Xhane, and asked if I would care to aid him with the study - and more than likely slaughter - of a few gnolls.
He was able to muster a few more people for the task, and while I did wish to fight, I knew I wasn't exactly up to that much just yet. I asked instead if I could just enhance our little band of fellow's with song, occasionally spiking the enemy with a discordant moment and it was agreed that such would be fine.
We battled for some time at the camps of the gnolls, however eventually we moved on to destroy the animated scarecrows that were attacking passers-by. I promised to take care of them for Celestial Watch, and collect whatever I could of their remains, so I was not adverse to fighting them.
At some point, a Teir`Dal woman wished to aid us against the constructs, and I invited her to join us. She didn't strike me as particularly vile, and something about her presence was strangely comforting; I've never really interacted with many Teir, aside from Tarack...and those beasts in the forest...so I don't think it was because she reminded me of anyone. I've theories on it now, but I'm still not quite sure why I demanded she be allowed to aid us.
The Kerra was rather indifferent about the whole matter, stating she cared not if the woman did not serve the Overlord or any of the other forces that sought to destroy Qeynos - this Teir didn't, of course. The knight was too busy fawning over her beauty to really give much imput on the matter, which is rather dishearting considering his supposed path in life.
Xhane, on the other hand...is lucky I didn't remove my gloves, reach up to him, put my hand through his chest, grasp his heart, pull it out and feed it to him as his life drained away to the ground.
"A dark elf? We really must discuss your taste in companions, Rhana!" he had said.
Instantly, I saw Tarack, standing silently as faces leered at him while making horrible comments...saw him stand there and take their insults and Hatred without a word...watched his eyes drop to the ground as his shoulders drooped in disappointment and frustration...
...it was Tarack standing in front of Xhane, not the mage.
Words cannot describe what occurred in my mind and with my body then, though I think I may be able to do it at least some justice here.
That simmering Hate just lept up - there was no boiling to an explosion this time, it just suddenly engulfed my mind. The world swam, and I saw red before my eyes, which is when I found I had the undenyable urge to slaughter Xhane with my bare hands. My body tingled, burning with that unquenchable anger, my entire being suddenly engulfed by the essence I'd found within Nektulos. I could feel the muscles just ripple with Hatred, and I think I lifted my hands up to clench my fists as I stared at him.
Xhane's expression was one of shock and horror. His mouth was open in surprise, and I wasn't quite sure why until I saw myself in his eyes...or, saw what was standing where I should be.
She...I...had pale indigo skin, almost iridescent indigo over alabaster, really; my hair was a more...natural colour red, with strange blue orbs dancing in it. My facial features were changed, sharper and more defined, etched with the Hate I had felt burn away only inside...til now.
Forcing myself to remain calm, I shrugged and turned their attention back to the constructs that were inching closer to our position. I could still feel that burning essence coursing through me, and became restless just sitting back with my songs. Eventually, I joined in the fight, the motions of battle slowly taking the edge off the dark feelings I had...
Needless to say, I hurt quite a bit once the adrenaline had been used, and I was left to quietly sit on the dock after everyone had gone their seperate ways. I could not return to Qeynos looking as I did, let alone return home in such a state - Tarack had enough to worry over, I did not need to contribute to that any more than I already did.
I spent the night sleeping in a pile of hay, tucked under my bedroll, in the barns of Thundermist Village. When I awoke, things had not changed, and so I made my way back here...sneaking into my own home.
Thank the Gods Tar was not about. After being within the calm and happiness of our home, the darkness seems to have faded away again, and now when I look into the mirror, I see myself and not someone I don't know...
...well, to a point...
Dinner...yes, cooking would be good for me right now. And it will surprise Tar, make him happy with me...
Bored and restless now that the pain was gone, I pulled on my chainmail and headed out to wander. Out of habit, I ended up in the Thundering Steppes, as I lived there for so long as a child; originally I had started heading for Coldwind Point, but I didn't want to disturb Tarack if he was there, nor did I wish to have all those memories crying for...something.
For quite some time, I was able to just wander the shores near the docks, collecting fish and the like from the waters. The work moved my unused muscles just enough to stretch them, but not enough to hurt them and it was almost comforting to hear the clicking of the crabs over the gentle song of the ocean.
Sadly, I began to recall dancing on these shores with the Marhime, when we were very young. The secrets, the magick, and everything just kind of hit me...and I found myself looking up at the shattered moon.
My inner calm disturbed, I could feel that same downward pull, the simmering Hatred beginning to inflame again. If the Rallosians had not attacked the Nexus, perhaps then the moon would still be whole, and everything would be different - perhaps Kelshinth would still be one of the familia.
In the corner of my eye, I saw the crisp white of a gi, and realized that if these things had not happened, I may have never met Tarack and he might have died an old and distraught man...alone.
Almost thankfully, there was an interruption to my thoughts...almost thankfully...
There was a man watching me. Though he appeared to be a High Elf, something about him didn't strike me as elven. After a few minutes, he introduced himself as Xhane, and asked if I would care to aid him with the study - and more than likely slaughter - of a few gnolls.
He was able to muster a few more people for the task, and while I did wish to fight, I knew I wasn't exactly up to that much just yet. I asked instead if I could just enhance our little band of fellow's with song, occasionally spiking the enemy with a discordant moment and it was agreed that such would be fine.
We battled for some time at the camps of the gnolls, however eventually we moved on to destroy the animated scarecrows that were attacking passers-by. I promised to take care of them for Celestial Watch, and collect whatever I could of their remains, so I was not adverse to fighting them.
At some point, a Teir`Dal woman wished to aid us against the constructs, and I invited her to join us. She didn't strike me as particularly vile, and something about her presence was strangely comforting; I've never really interacted with many Teir, aside from Tarack...and those beasts in the forest...so I don't think it was because she reminded me of anyone. I've theories on it now, but I'm still not quite sure why I demanded she be allowed to aid us.
The Kerra was rather indifferent about the whole matter, stating she cared not if the woman did not serve the Overlord or any of the other forces that sought to destroy Qeynos - this Teir didn't, of course. The knight was too busy fawning over her beauty to really give much imput on the matter, which is rather dishearting considering his supposed path in life.
Xhane, on the other hand...is lucky I didn't remove my gloves, reach up to him, put my hand through his chest, grasp his heart, pull it out and feed it to him as his life drained away to the ground.
"A dark elf? We really must discuss your taste in companions, Rhana!" he had said.
Instantly, I saw Tarack, standing silently as faces leered at him while making horrible comments...saw him stand there and take their insults and Hatred without a word...watched his eyes drop to the ground as his shoulders drooped in disappointment and frustration...
...it was Tarack standing in front of Xhane, not the mage.
Words cannot describe what occurred in my mind and with my body then, though I think I may be able to do it at least some justice here.
That simmering Hate just lept up - there was no boiling to an explosion this time, it just suddenly engulfed my mind. The world swam, and I saw red before my eyes, which is when I found I had the undenyable urge to slaughter Xhane with my bare hands. My body tingled, burning with that unquenchable anger, my entire being suddenly engulfed by the essence I'd found within Nektulos. I could feel the muscles just ripple with Hatred, and I think I lifted my hands up to clench my fists as I stared at him.
Xhane's expression was one of shock and horror. His mouth was open in surprise, and I wasn't quite sure why until I saw myself in his eyes...or, saw what was standing where I should be.
She...I...had pale indigo skin, almost iridescent indigo over alabaster, really; my hair was a more...natural colour red, with strange blue orbs dancing in it. My facial features were changed, sharper and more defined, etched with the Hate I had felt burn away only inside...til now.
Forcing myself to remain calm, I shrugged and turned their attention back to the constructs that were inching closer to our position. I could still feel that burning essence coursing through me, and became restless just sitting back with my songs. Eventually, I joined in the fight, the motions of battle slowly taking the edge off the dark feelings I had...
Needless to say, I hurt quite a bit once the adrenaline had been used, and I was left to quietly sit on the dock after everyone had gone their seperate ways. I could not return to Qeynos looking as I did, let alone return home in such a state - Tarack had enough to worry over, I did not need to contribute to that any more than I already did.
I spent the night sleeping in a pile of hay, tucked under my bedroll, in the barns of Thundermist Village. When I awoke, things had not changed, and so I made my way back here...sneaking into my own home.
Thank the Gods Tar was not about. After being within the calm and happiness of our home, the darkness seems to have faded away again, and now when I look into the mirror, I see myself and not someone I don't know...
...well, to a point...
Dinner...yes, cooking would be good for me right now. And it will surprise Tar, make him happy with me...
Fifteen Years, Seven Months, Twelve Weeks and One Day Since the Sky Fell
Physically, I feel much better. With Tarack's help, I've been able to start walking around again, though I cannot do so for too long before I feel too light headed. But even a few minutes is an improvement.
The rest...
Lately, he's been doing a number of things away from home, though I hope not more than he might do if I were completely well. He's not telling me something, I know it. I believe he may have encountered that Scaven again, however it is just a feeling I have - all I see from him are gentle smiles and reassuring words, that same protective caring he's given since bringing me back here.
When he is away, I find my thoughts drifting back to my experience within the forest of Nektulos. Sometimes...I can hear those voices again, the ones that whispered softly as the essence of the forest pulled me downward in a spiral, twisting me away from the world I knew and loved. They speak of darker things, telling me what people really see when they look at me...what is wrong with my life...and how they can fix it if I would only let them.
I twitch when I think about everything, and it's not just my ears. Whenever I think about them, and hear them again, something inside just seems to boil and seeth just below my skin...I feel like any moment I'm going to explode, rip the room apart and shatter everything here. Sometimes I've thought about just harming myself, to see if it makes it all go away - if having an outlet will make it vani
An ink splot slashes across the page, the quill set upon it for quite some time before being picked up again.
That was...interesting.
Although at first I was rather upset by the sudden interruption, the Temple sent over a priestess to look at my shoulder. She was very quiet, much like the other young girls that I saw there, however when she actually began moving, I noticed something very...strange about her.
Koada have always been graceful - at least from what I have seen, they are all so. But this one was, well, her movements were jerking and almost clumsy; several times she lost her grip on the bandages and ended up sighing in frustration.
She told me it was because basically she didn't feel right in her body, that she thought the small little motions she made would have more movement. To me, it sounded like the Marhime had been after his first growth spurt, but she assured me she had a rather steady and even rise to her current height.
The bandages mostly gone, I felt her fingertips brush my skin and I don't know why, but rather than cutting through the dark essence as a priest of light's should...they melted into it. It was such a strange feeling, really...perhaps I am arong and I am not as far fallen as I believe I am, but I don't think so.
She healed it the rest of the way. My whole upper body still is slightly sore when I move, but at least there won't be anymore sharp pains that make me collapse. Tonight I will try to cook a little, perhaps I can show Tarack how not to burn the water when trying to boil it.
I need to stretch. A lot.
The rest...
Lately, he's been doing a number of things away from home, though I hope not more than he might do if I were completely well. He's not telling me something, I know it. I believe he may have encountered that Scaven again, however it is just a feeling I have - all I see from him are gentle smiles and reassuring words, that same protective caring he's given since bringing me back here.
When he is away, I find my thoughts drifting back to my experience within the forest of Nektulos. Sometimes...I can hear those voices again, the ones that whispered softly as the essence of the forest pulled me downward in a spiral, twisting me away from the world I knew and loved. They speak of darker things, telling me what people really see when they look at me...what is wrong with my life...and how they can fix it if I would only let them.
I twitch when I think about everything, and it's not just my ears. Whenever I think about them, and hear them again, something inside just seems to boil and seeth just below my skin...I feel like any moment I'm going to explode, rip the room apart and shatter everything here. Sometimes I've thought about just harming myself, to see if it makes it all go away - if having an outlet will make it vani
An ink splot slashes across the page, the quill set upon it for quite some time before being picked up again.
That was...interesting.
Although at first I was rather upset by the sudden interruption, the Temple sent over a priestess to look at my shoulder. She was very quiet, much like the other young girls that I saw there, however when she actually began moving, I noticed something very...strange about her.
Koada have always been graceful - at least from what I have seen, they are all so. But this one was, well, her movements were jerking and almost clumsy; several times she lost her grip on the bandages and ended up sighing in frustration.
She told me it was because basically she didn't feel right in her body, that she thought the small little motions she made would have more movement. To me, it sounded like the Marhime had been after his first growth spurt, but she assured me she had a rather steady and even rise to her current height.
The bandages mostly gone, I felt her fingertips brush my skin and I don't know why, but rather than cutting through the dark essence as a priest of light's should...they melted into it. It was such a strange feeling, really...perhaps I am arong and I am not as far fallen as I believe I am, but I don't think so.
She healed it the rest of the way. My whole upper body still is slightly sore when I move, but at least there won't be anymore sharp pains that make me collapse. Tonight I will try to cook a little, perhaps I can show Tarack how not to burn the water when trying to boil it.
I need to stretch. A lot.
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