Marked

[Salinye]

OOC:

 

This all started as a short piece I wrote years ago called "Strange Bonds". You may have read it. Since then I've had an idea bouncing around in my head for an ongoing story and have finally decided to give it a try. Pieces of it, or an entirely different version of it will end up in my novel if I ever sit down and focus enough to finish it. (Heck, it's barely started, but that's another topic entirely!) Cyril has graciously agreed to co-write it with me. I really appreciate this as he'll be able to run the other side of this better than I could. This ought to be a fun story and I hope you'll enjoy it.

 

~Salinye

[Salinye]

"SHY!" Shouted the gruff voice of Shyani’s uncle Staven. "Another round of Ale fer the boys!" The half elf groaned inwardly as she glanced to the table encircled by men from the lowest walks of life. “The Treachery” was the name of her uncle's Tavern that sat on the outskirts of Serubia, and appropriately named, she thought. Only two kinds of people frequented Staven's tavern, those who loved to gamble, and those who were up to no good. Most people here were a mixture of both, those who weren't welcome to show their face in other town establishments.

 

Shyani had worked as a tender in her uncle's bar since she was old enough to see over the counter. She had been placed in the care of her Uncles Staven and late aunt Melinda shortly after her parent’s death 17 years earlier. She had no memory of her parents and little to no information on how they died, however, she was told they loved her well and that was enough for her. Shyani had adored her aunt Melinda. She was always kind to her, and best of all she kept Staven under control. Aunt Melinda reared Shyani as if she were her own child. Not able to have her own children, she passed her knowledge of the ranger arts to her niece. Melinda found her niece a natural and over the years Shyani became rather proficient at nature lore, tracking, hunting, minor healing and fighting with a staff and bow. She often spent her free hours in the woods; the place she felt most at peace to commune with Elrihara, the goddess of nature and mother of all living.

 

She was 15 when her aunt passed away, and things had gone down hill from there. For the first year after her death, Staven drank himself into a stupor every night. Shyani, having been kept sheltered had no one close to turn to and found her only comfort in Elrihara. Finally, having no choice, she took over the task of running Melinda’s (the name of the tavern at the time), as it was their only source of income. When her Uncle finally decided to quit living a non-existent life, he was worse than he had ever been before. She could still remember him storming down from his quarters above the tavern into the serving hall late one night as she was closing up. He had been drinking, but wasn't so drunk that he couldn't think and speak. He informed her things were about to change, that she should remember she's working for HIM and would be expected to earn her keep from this point forward. That week, things did indeed change. The sign that read “Melinda’s” was replaced by “The Treachery” and the furniture, formerly quaint and welcoming, was changed so that the Tavern was more open to gambling, something aunt Melinda had always frowned upon.

 

Shyani sighed walking to the table where her uncle sat, surrounded by men she despised. A large pile of coins had collected in the center of the table and smoke hovered in the air like a choking fog. She started collecting the Empty Ale mugs, setting them on her tray while seething inwardly trying to ignore the usual catcalls and affectionate pats she had grown accustomed to. The nights at the Treachery had become predictable. Most of the customers were regulars, and she knew what to expect from each of them by now. Turning her back on the wretched men she walked behind the counter, her tray full of empty mugs.

 

Setting the tray on the back counter, she turned her back to the tavern entrance and began refilling each glass from the spicket on the large barrel of ale. Having lived and worked around the tavern for so many years, she had learned to tune the constant noise out. That’s why she didn’t at first notice the silence that suddenly cloaked the room. When she did finally become aware of the change in atmosphere, it wasn’t the lack of noise that brought it to her attention. It was when the fine hair on the back of her neck stood up and her instincts told her she was in danger. Realizing the tankard she was filling had begun to overflow onto her hand, she jerked the spicket around stopping the flow of ale and cursed beneath her breath. Setting the now full glass back upon the tray, she grabbed a bar towel and began drying her hand as she turned to find a cloaked man staring at her just inside the entrance. The stranger was tall and Dark his attire completely hidden beneath his black cloak. His very presence changed the feeling in the room and silenced the bar. His very countenance demanded attention. Shyani was more than used to being stared at, even gawked at, but the mere look in her direction from this Elven man gave her a chill that filled her with anxiety and dread. Shyani couldn’t think of a single person she had ever feared before. This was the start of the night that changed her life.

 

"Lendarion!" Her uncle gruffly called out in what she knew to be a forced joyous voice. "I'm glad you could make it. Come. Sit. Enjoy a game of cards with us. Shy! Get the man an ale". Staven was involved in all kinds of schemes and dealings that she knew nothing about. She wondered from where he knew this man. She watched him as he finally shifted his gaze from her to her uncle. He eyed the table and the men that sat around it as if a hawk sizing up his prey. Without a word, he strode toward Staven's gang with a confident step, his black leather boots tapping against the wooden floor making the only sound in the room. The men shuffled quickly freeing up a seat for the stranger her uncle had called Lendarion. The dark man sat down coolly and simply nodded to Staven. "SHY! I told you to get the man an ALE!" Shouted her uncle causing everyone to jump. Shyani quickly grabbed for a clean glass, when the stranger's cool voice spoke.

 

"No need". With that he pulled from seemingly nowhere beneath his cloak a tall thin bottle of a dark red liquid and poured himself a glass.

 

 

The atmosphere in the tavern grew more and more like it usually was, as the night grew later and the drinks kept coming yet the dark stranger remained as cool and calm as he was when he first entered The Treachery. Shyani caught him eyeing her often, and his stare still filled her with unease. The regulars resumed their careless crude behavior while her uncle was even more demanding than usual. At one point during the night he had cornered her in the supply room. Grabbing her arm he pushed his face within an inch of hers speaking to her in a harsh whisper. "That bloody High elf is a very wealthy man, and he's losing bag after bag of gold! I want you to be at your best. The least ye could do is smile once in a while!" She simply nodded pressing her back against the wall, wanting his hot alcohol stained breath off her face. She had seen that look of greed in his eyes before. It was usually when he was going to run the tables on a rich man. Take him for all he's worth then send him on his way. Staven had many ways of cheating at the cards, but she would take no part in it. Adding just one more thing that helped to build the wall of resentment between them. He had often tried to convince her to "be more friendly like" with the customers so that she could give him signs as to what cards they held in their hands. His request and her refusal had set the foundation in their dislike for each other.

 

The hour grew late. Shyani began wiping the bar down, preparing things for close. Many of the men had staggered out, either with a small fortune for the day, or having lost their pocketful of gold. Staven, the stranger, and a handful of men remained at the table. Her uncle had been happy all night, winning hand after hand and the dark stranger seemed to have an endless supply of money. "Cursed!" Her uncle yelled slamming his hands on the table. "Ye be swindlin' me!!" He yelled pointing a shaky finger at the stranger. Shyani would later learn that her uncle had entered into a final hand of double or nothing with Lendarion.

 

She heard the dark haired stranger speak for the second time. "Either put a bet down, or fold." The tall elf stared coolly, through the shadows of his cloak at her red faced enraged uncle.

 

"I 'aven't got any more money!" He looked up at his niece desperately. "Shy! You have some money! I know this bugger is bluffing! Go fetch me yer money. If I can just stay in it, I'll win it all!" She shook her head at her uncle, trying to calm him, just wanting the night to be over, and the stranger to leave.

 

"Uncle Staven...Please, Just let the man go…" She began interrupted by his fury.

 

"Silence woman!" He yelled even angrier, a slight madness gleaming in his eyes. After pacing for a minute, he finally sat back down running his fingers through his silvery thinning hair feeling the first wisps of despair run through him.

 

"You could bet your bar", the dark man snidely suggested. To Shyani the thought was ludicrous. The bar was all they had. She sat stunned, as she could read on her uncle's face that he was considering the proposition. Abandoning her clean up duties, she rushed to the gambling table. She hastily pushed some of the other drunken men out of her way and slammed her hands on the table.

 

"Uncle Staven! Enough is enough! You'd be a fool to bet the bar!" Staven just stared at the dark man as if Shyani were not even there before giving a final nod. " No!" She said firmly. She could tell that pleading with her uncle was senseless. In a desperate effort, she whipped her head around to find her gaze met sternly by the stranger’s dark, cold eyes. Beginning to lose her nerve she spoke quickly in a strained hushed tone. "M'lord! You must see that he is not in any mind to make such decisions. I beg you, take the money, and be on your way.”

 

Lendarion stared back answering coolly. "'Tis his decision to make-not yours". She was then shoved back by the strong hand of her uncle.

 

"Go about the business that concerns ye, like scrubbing the counters and fetching me an ale". Her uncle hollered. That was the final straw for the girl. She had wanted to leave for a long time, and she thought she just might finally have collected enough money to do so and even if she hadn’t, she’d rather live in a barn with swine than spend one more night here. She stomped to the bar angry. "Fine, lose the bar like a drunken fool! I'll no longer be slave to your command". Her remark set the remaining men in the bar laughing...all accept Staven and Lendarion who remained eyes locked and silent. Walking up the back stairs to her living quarters she began packing the few things that mattered to her. A charcoal sketch of her parents, a few clothes, her staff, and the money she had been able to acquire over the years. She changed out of the dress her uncle made her wear while tending and into her leather hunting clothes and cloak. As she went back down into the bar, she was stunned at the site waiting for her.

 

The room was deadly silent; her uncle lay with his head down, sobbing into his arms on the table. The stranger stood, a sneer curling his lips, and began collecting the coins into a bag. As she walked closer, she could hear her uncle's drunken sobs. "Oh Melinda, what have I done?"

 

The stranger faced her, his eyes searing into her "You work for me now, Shyani." She didn’t like him saying her name. It felt as violating as if he reached out and slapped her.

 

Shyani stood defiant and held her ground. "Nay, I work for no one. I'm leaving this forsaken place and never looking back." With that she turned her back on her uncle and the dark man heading towards the door. Lendarion’s next words stopped her in her tracks.

 

"Staven, if you'd like to keep your bar, I'd be willing to trade it for your niece". Shyani spun around as her uncle jerked his head up from the table and agreed without a moment's hesitation. "Take her! She's yours, but I warn ye, she's more trouble 'en she's worth!"

 

Sinedra couldn't believe the absurdity of what they were saying. " I'm not YOURS to give away, Staven! I'm a person not property. You lost your bar because you're a fool!" The two men stood facing each other as if she had not even spoken.

 

"Staven, do you agree to the trade?" Asked the dark mage pointedly.

 

Her uncle only hesitated a moment before replying, "Aye!"

 

The girl scoffed disgusted and spun on her heels to leave forever. Before she could get more than 3 steps toward the door, she heard words of a dark spell being mumbled behind her. In a brilliant flash of light, she was thrown mercilessly to the ground. Her head slammed into the wooden slats of the floor with a crack, sending her world into darkness......

 

 

When she regained consciousness, she was no longer in the bar; she was in a room she did not recognize, laying on the floor. Her head ached, and it took a moment for her vision to clear, but when it did, she saw that the dark mage was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room staring at her. She sat up startled, the fighter in her frantically searching out all the exits. Two doors, one probably to a bathroom and one window, from the view of the trees, I’m guessing we’re not ground level…Could be worse.

 

“Get up.” He commanded her, on impulse and without thinking, she did exactly as he commanded; A fact that did not occur to her.

 

"Who are you? What do you want with me, and where are we"? She stammered struggling to return her voice to an even tone.

 

"I am Lendarion." He stared at her as if studying her, but made no move to leave the chair he sat in. "Come to me." She instantly took a step towards him before willing herself to stop. Her heart raced in fear as she started to recognize an inward struggle for control. Her first instinct was to do exactly as he commanded. However, she used every ounce of her own will to override the overwhelming impulse to approach him. Turning, she fled to the window but stopped short leaning her face on the wall next to it as a painful paralysis swept over her. She was frozen in spot and couldn’t understand why she couldn’t get herself to jump through the window. Screaming in frustration she fought against the spell trying to move. Her efforts went unrewarded. The dark man just sat in the corner watching her with an amused and twisted smile upon his face. She finally stopped struggling, succumbing to the command that seemed to be pounding in her mind. Walking to the stranger she glared at him defiantly, her arms at her sides, no longer able to mask her fear.

 

Looking back at her he began to speak matter-of-factly. "My name is Lendarion, and I own you. You need not know more about me. You have just had a minor taste of what can happen if you disobey me. Doing so is physically impossible. Do you understand?" Shyani sat staring at him in disbelief. He was not happy with her silence. “Answer me! Do you understand?”

 

She found herself answering him immediately. "Yes…WAIT! NO!” She shook her head to try to clear the unfamiliar feeling that now resided there. “You...you don't own me! I am not a piece of clothing, or a gem that can be kept!" She spat back with feigned bravery, even though inside her heart was sinking, because deep within, her spirit was screaming a protest that let her know the fiend’s words were true.

 

Lendarion raised his hands up sharply causing her to flinch away. She scorned herself for showing weakness as he stopped his fists just before her face pleased with her fear. Flipping his fisted hands over, he revealed his wrists. Each had an arcane symbol seemingly tattooed upon them. Sitting forward in his chair he looked directly into her eyes. "Do you see these?" She nodded numbly. He slowly dropped his hands grabbing her dainty arms firmly within his iron grasp. Jerking them up before her face, he twisted her hands painfully to reveal her own wrists with the very same symbols upon them. She whimpered softly at his harsh twisting of her arms. "Do you see THESE?" Shyani's eyes stung with tears as she saw the very same symbols on her body. "You are bound to me, Shyani."

 

In anger, she jerked her hand away raising it to strike him. Simultaneously the same painful throbbing paralysis began to pulse through her very soul. The room swayed before her eyes as her body threatened to pass out. Lendarion laughed a deep laugh that brought out the wickedness in his features. "Do not cross me girl, you will not win. Allow me to show you one more thing". Shyani dropped her hand back to her side limply and felt the mind numbing pain begin to drain from her and her vision began to once again clear.

 

She watched in horror as the dark mage removed a sharp-jeweled dagger from a small leather sheath at his side. Her eyes widened, her face paling as he brought it up before her eyes. She began trembling in fear. He smiled, pleased with her reaction, slowly lowering the dagger to rest upon the palm of his hand. Without warning, and without removing his eyes from hers, he slowly sliced a thin cut across his own palm.

 

Shyani screamed in pain grabbing her own hand as blood ran from it revealing a fresh cut in her palm to match his. Lendarion laughed again wiping the bloodied dagger on his cloak, then sheathed it back at his side. "You see, Shyani, you are bound to me. You will take half of any harm inflicted upon me." Then his eyes narrowed. "You are not as strong as I am. It would take less to kill you than me, understand?" The half-elf froze, as comprehension began to settle in on her. Crumpling to the floor she sobbed in shock and desperation....

 

**edited to remove signature**

Edited March 29, 2005 by Salinye

[Salinye]

Two Years Later:

 

Shyani sat upon a rock on a hill that over looked the distant town of Serubia. The leaves of the trees were just starting to bloom, and the nights were finally turning warm again. Her heart ached just to see the forest she used to retreat to for solace. It had been two year since she had been there. Two years since Lendarion had stolen her away with his cursed magic. She wondered if he had reason to return here, or if this was just a random stop on their journey. Either way it didn’t matter she wouldn’t get to stay. She had long since let go of illusions of a knight in shining armor coming to save her from the curse she was under.

 

She remembered a time when she had a small sliver of hope. It came in the form of a kindly ranger named Himlin. They encountered him while traveling through a set of hills that were well known as a haven for bandits and thieves of all sorts. Being the friendly sort and not lacking in intuitive perceptive, he asked if he could travel at their side. He mentioned something about “safety in numbers”. She of course was forbidden in anyway to reveal the powers that Lendarion held over her. Most just took in her filthy attire and submissive countenance and assumed her his slave or concubine-An assumption that made her ill.

 

You would think that Shyani would welcome any additional company, instead however, it was something she had come to dread. Lendarion loved nothing more than to torment her in front of others. His greatest joy came when any of them would muster the courage to try to defend her. Oh the look of shock and disgust when she would defend the very man they sought to protect her against. Little did they know she had no choice. If she allowed the men to resort to physical violence, she would be forced to defend Lendarion in order to defend herself. She could never get used to the disgust in their faces as she stood at Lendarion’s side and chased them away.

 

This ranger, however, he was different. He had a keen sense of his surroundings, and knew that something was amiss almost immediately. He wouldn’t react to the dark man’s taunting, even though he was visibly disturbed by it. Late that first night he came to her as she was scrubbing up some pots they had used over the fire to cook dinner. “If you can just put up with him until we reach Canton, I’ll help you. I have very good connections. I can offer you great protection. I know you must be scared or you would have tried to escape by now.” He placed a hand upon her arm. “Please, let me help you.”

 

Oh how she had wanted to run away with that ranger. Her heart cried out to him wanting to explain but when she tried to open her mouth, to beg for help and to let him know that he had just offered her the impossibilities of her hearts greatest desires, that all too familiar paralysis overcame her, and all she could do was turn her back on him, return to her tent and weep. Himlin knew. He knew she was captive, and he foolishly tried to save her.

 

She spent the next day giving the ranger the cold shoulder. She even went as far as to speak rudely to him and ignore his kind questions and requests of her. It became clear to him that for a reason unknown to him, she would not allow him to help her when they reached the human city. Lendarion felt the tension growing between the two and intentionally heated the situation by grabbing her harshly for making a snide remark to him beneath her breath. Himlin could stand it no longer and struck the dark lord over the back of his head with the flat of his sword. If only the ranger had been more cold-blooded and used his blade properly. That moment of mercy would cost him his life. Lendarion staggered, as the blow was not a weak one, however, it was she who screamed in agony and dropped to the earth bleeding from the back of her head. The ranger was so stunned and taken off guard by this that he didn’t even see the murderous blow coming. When she awoke, his dead body lay at her side. She vowed never again to reveal the curse that was upon her to anyone-no matter the cost.

 

Shyani, having long since forgotten the touch of a tender hand was slowly losing her will for life. It was only moments like these amongst the trees and the animals that helped her keep a grip on her emotions and sanity. Looking over her shoulder she saw the dark lord sitting by the fire. She was not permitted to leave shouting range from him, but had discovered if she turned her back on him and sank into a meditative state, she could find small moments of solitude when she could almost forget…almost. Pulling her knees to her chest, she leaned her chin down upon them and stared at the horizon through the trees and offered silent pleas for deliverance to her goddess. At least he can’t take away my prayers.

 

Being an elven ranger, she was naturally more attuned to nature than others around her often were. Feeling the hairs stand up on the back of her neck she lifted her chin off of her knees and really began to study the horizon. The breeze was still gentle, but now that she was paying attention, she could feel the slight electrical energy that seemed to flow with it. Speaking in a soft voice and without turning to look at her captor, she spoke a slight warning to him. “Lendarion, it might be a good idea to seek shelter sometime soon. I believe a rather strange storm is brewing.”

 

“I don’t believe I addressed you or your thoughts. Now grab your things, our resting is over, we have things to do.” You’d think he would have learned to trust her instincts by now.

 

Shaking her head in quiet anger, she gathered her things and obeyed. Why would he care? If we get stuck in a downpour, it won’t be him getting soaked to the bone while trying to get some sort of a lean-to created. As always she followed along never voicing her thoughts and all the while aware of the clouds nearing them from the East.

 

 

 

**edited to rework this post because frankly, it was just bugging me the way it was!**

Edited March 29, 2005 by Salinye

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Trajan Dwarfson

 

“Sure’n I been hearin’ the stories. The tongues have been waggin’ about ye, laddie, about ye bein’ a man to be feared,” only now that the struggle is effectively finished does he speak, the first words he has spoken in nearly two days. His voice is calm and were it not for the cold edge which ends his words his tone might even be taken for friendly. A groan is the only answer. He bends down and roughly grasps the neck and elbow of the fallen man and, with a grunt, jerks him upward to stand on unsteady feet. “A big reputation.” His left hand holds the man’s cloak near the point where the shoulder meets the neck while his right closes its fingers around the handle of his broadsword. “So big, I think ye might’ve been a bit too quick in believin’ it. That was ye’re first mistake, lad. The second was in takin’ up the highwayman’s trade – a bad end it brings, sure’n ye knew that. And the third mistake?” He shakes his head. “The third mistake was in forgettin’ that there ain’t all that much to be fearin’ about a man once ye’re blade be findin’ his liver.” The movement of his right arm is swift, sudden and definite and in the amount of time it takes for one final groan to escape the man’s lips his body crumples to the ground.

 

He falls back into his customary silence, the stoic wordlessness, that even more than the workmanship of the weapons he carries or the accented cadences of his infrequent speech, marks him as one raised by dwarves. Already at first meeting his practiced eye had dismissed the dead man’s blade as the product of an inferior smith and he is not surprised to find his piecemeal armor to be of the same marginal value. Turning away for a moment he spits into the dirt and then reaches for the pouches on the man’s belt. He is disappointed only to find a handful of loose coins within them and starts to rise. He pauses while halfway to his feet, however, remembering a favorite expression of old Sevvord Aleswiller, “Only a complete fool would be carryin’ his valuables in a pouch on his belt!” He notes the cord around the man’s neck, grabs it and with a rough movement snatches another small pouch out from beneath his tunic. He smiles as a number of uncut gemstones tumble from the pouch into his fingers.

 

Rising to his feet he spends a few minutes cleaning his blade and inspecting its edge. He looks down, then, at the corpse and his expression grows thoughtful. A dark mass of storm clouds has begun to form on the horizon but he pays them no notice. He exhales slowly and a few additional words give grim voice to his mind, “Food for worms. The lot of us all it is.” Again he grows silent and shouldering his pack steps forward. A few brisk strides take him back to the trail.

Edited March 30, 2005 by Cyril Darkcloud

[Salinye]

The rain pelted Shyani’s skin and stung like small drops of acid with each hit. “Lendarion! There!” She yelled ahead to him her words all but swallowed up by the roaring sound of the wind that violently ripped through the forest hills they traveled on. The mage heard her voice enough to know that she was speaking but had no idea what she had said. He turned scowling at her and she motioned to an area off the path and through the trees. He scanned the area but saw nothing unusual. He aggressively shook his head indicating that they should continue on the path he had chosen. The last thing they needed in the middle of a storm like this was to wander off aimlessly through the woods.

 

He was about to summon her to follow him again when with a final glare of defiance she turned and disappeared into the tree line in the southern direction she had been pointing to. “SHYANI!” He bellowed turning to gruffly follow her. He knew that he could just remain where he was and demand her return and she would soon end up groveling at his feet, but he was already in a foul mood and was in no mind to play games, especially with this accursed weather. He thought perhaps the elf needed another reminder of exactly where her place was.

 

The ranger fled through the woods surprised by every second that ticked by without torturous mental reprimands for her actions. She wasn’t foolish enough to assume that a good thing. She would be punished one way or another, if not by the curse, then by Lendarion himself. At the moment, she didn’t care. All she cared about was finding shelter. Her health needs had not been tended to more than what was necessary to keep her alive over the last two years and her flimsy clothing was soaked through and if she didn’t find shelter soon she knew she would fall ill.

 

Running through the forest brought back memories from her free days. Rain never bothered her before, but this was no ordinary rain. She knew from the moment she first saw the clouds darkening the horizon that something didn’t feel right. Instinctively she knew that even this wasn’t the worst of it. She slowed her pace and finally stopped before a small natural alcove that appeared to be carved out of the rocky mountain cliff side. The niche was shaped inward like the letter C and had a small overhang that would shelter a small group of people from the worst of the elements. She smiled despite her circumstances and the weather. She had spent many hours of her youth there.

 

Walking forward she ran her fingers over a sentence she had inscribed on the wall after her aunt Melinda’s death. It was faded, but still there. “Give me but the power and I will deliver you from the binds of death.” It now represented nothing more than the naïve prayer of a grieving girl.

 

Shyani felt an iron grip upon her shoulders. Lendarion spun her around to face him then roughly slammed her up against the rocky wall grabbing her with one hand about the throat. He drew his face close to hers and his eyes flashed dangerously. “I ought to kill you where you stand.”

 

“Kill me then.” She spat back at him knowing full well that he unfortunately would never do so.

 

He tightened his grip around her throat realizing with twisted pleasure that it would only take a minimal amount of pressure to snap the girl’s neck within his hands. “There are things worse than death, Shyani.”

 

“I want….to make camp….HERE.” She said in a strangled voice, the painful throbbing in her head helping her to remain conscious.

 

He narrowed his eyes at her trying to decide what to do. Before he had the chance to decide he felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Letting go of the girl, he backed out from under the natural overhang and looked into the darkening sky as rain once again pelted his face. After only a moment of searching he saw the faint outline of a raven flapping its wings forcefully fighting against the wind currents. He smiled to himself then stepped back into the alcove inspecting Shyani’s pathetic shivering form. “Well, it looks like you’ll get your wish after all. Get this camp in order, it appears we may be in for some company.”

 

The color drained from Shyani’s normally sun-kissed skin. She would rather face possible death from the elements then chance an extended encounter with an innocent stranger. She knew she had acted rashly and had now awoken Lendarion’s wrath. His harsh nature and abusiveness was nothing new to her, but she wouldn’t be able to look herself in the mirror if anyone else came to harm because of her. In this weather, if anyone saw their fire they would seek to join them until the worst of the storm had passed. Despite her desires to flee once again from him and this area, she quickly set to the task of preparing their camp. After all, a command had been given.

 

“Oh, and don’t bother about gathering wood. There isn’t a dry piece of anything within miles from here. I’ll take care of the fire.” He smiled at her wickedly. Although his foul mood was improving, his ill intent and blood lust was ever present.

Edited April 8, 2005 by Salinye

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Trajan Dwarfson

 

Gray. Featureless, flat and heavy, the sky stretches overhead as if it were a bolt of tent cloth pulled tight by great unseen hands. The air is muggy and breath moves sluggishly through the throat and lungs as the low rumbling of a distant and approaching thunder sounds behind the taut gray uniformity of the sky. The sound of the thunder distracts him a moment and he pauses the movement of the whetstone along his blade. There is something more than merely natural about the sky this evening - an overabundance of the natural – and the rumbled threat of a summer storm within a sky stretched so tight as this carries with it the insistence that the arrival of a summer storm is not simply a natural thing during an evening like this one, but the only possible thing nature itself would allow.

 

He spits.

 

He listens a moment to the growling of the thunder and then begins to move the whetstone once more along the edge of the broadsword. There is a burnished sharpness about the gray of the sky that is not unlike that of the blade upon which he has been working. There is comfort in such things. Comfort and memories.

 

“Here be a hefty yard o’ steel, lad,” the voice of Sevvord Aleswiller always rings out in his thoughts with a peculiar clarity when he thinks of those distant days. That he should vividly remember that gruff dwarven warrior who has raised him from a foundling child is only natural. That he should remember so vividly this day when he was but a stammering youngling is another matter entirely. It had been just over a year since that day Sevvord’s band of dwarven warriors – mercenaries – had stumbled upon him in that place his parents had concealed him so effectively, despite their desperate haste, from the humanoid raiders that had swept down upon their homestead. He had taken to sleeping in the wagon that held the weapons, finding strange comfort in nearness to the sure and cold strength of the well-cared-for blades.

 

“T’is still a might taller than yerself, boyo,” the dwarf grinned as he held the blade out at an angle so that Trajan might run his small hands along its hilt. “Sure’n it’s a fine sword, well-made and truly balanced and good for the showin’ of an enemy the color of his insides.”

 

His eyes widen once more, as they have always done at the recollection of that initial widening of his eyes when his fingers first attempted to close their grasp around the handle of that sword which now fits so naturally into the contours of his hand. “Friends come and friends go, lad,” the dwarf said, “aye, and family too. But a sure arm and a good blade, those are things ye can be trustin’.” Sevvord sat on a small crate in the wagon and setting the blade onto the floor, pulled Trajan onto his lap. “But ye best be learnin’ this from the beginning, lad – there ain’t no piece of steel so strong and so sure that it’s any good if there ain’t steel in yer heart. We’ve all watched how ye’ve been taken to the steel, lad, takin’ to it more than a human has a right to, and, truth be told, we don’t know nothin’ about raisin’ a human child. But…..” There was a firmness, sharp like a tempered blade, about the voice of the dwarf as he continued, “….. we be knowin’ plenty about steel.”

 

The first few drops of rain have begun to fall and he allows his memories to recede back into silence. His movements are unhurried as he replaces his tools in their pouch and resheathes the sword. The storm is near at hand and he has some distance yet to travel.