If Walls Could Talk

[Justin Silverblade]

~ Well, I needed a break from writing the Call of the Tides, but I didn't want to waste the creative inspiration I felt. So I put on a little Beethovan, (Moonlight Sonata I think goes well with this story, if you have it), and this is what came out. I hope you enjoy, as always. ~

 

 

If Walls Could Talk

 

 

The keep was baron; empty beyond its years. The stone, cold stone, that had housed the many patrons, the royal families, and powerful warlords, now stood unused. Magic still could be felt within the very soul of the castle, seeping through the floors. Spirits of long lost warriors dripped from the ceiling, forgotten alongside the very house that was theirs.

 

The dining hall, the long wooden table that fed the Dukes of Tharren when they had laid their swords to rest for the day, was vacant. Fine china, dim to the touch, sat out, set for the next meal. An empty jug, that once held the day’s drowning sin, could but cry in its aged ways. There was a time, when the good Lord Elwin would stand in the well lit hall. With a great shout in a mighty voice, he would proclaim that his knights and friends, who fought so bravely in the face of evil and deception, were honoured here. But no longer. The room was empty.

 

Where the fair ladies once danced alongside their faithful husbands, a large room hung low. Decorations still strung from the last event clung together in a glue of spider web and dust. The giant window facing east, that let in the glory of the morning sun to warm the stone walls now allowed only a grimy fragment of the light, much corrupted. The acoustics still carried, as they did when the Jalheir Dancing Troupe preformed centuries ago. Their feet, perfectly timed, asserted themselves with pleasurable sound. Now that flat wooden surface was used only as a trafficking ground for Freddy the mouse.

 

In the room of guests, empty, unmade beds yearned to once again be the object of rest. The hearth that welcomed the stay of travelers, once harboured a flame that burned with the passion of a thousand men. Now it stood unused, a small pile of ash still lay in memorial. It was as if it was yesterday that there, in the bed nearest the small dust covered window, the Priestess of Uldain called to the powers above to save a young child who had taken ill. He would recover, and live to grow into a suit of armor and protect his family, thanks to her work. But now, the beds lay bare.

 

And atop the high tower, a single raven stood in silent contemplation, as had the local wizard ages ago in the room just below. His thoughts, recorded to tomes either forgotten or destroyed, could still be felt radiating from dusty desk. Even now, amongst the papers and tools, a beaker lay half full of an unknown liquid, for an unfinished experiment. There was a time when a noise arose so great from that little room in that tallest tower, that the guard came wearily and cautiously up with winding stairs. Their sight to see was none of concern, but of hilarity; a false experiment and a blackened face. Now the dizzying stairs no longer wore down from use.

 

This all on a browning hill, the image of the house of lords was that just that: a post card of thoughts, forbidden from the world by time. Unknown and unhonoured, because of the future. Lives that had spent in thoughtful prayer and forceful protection, now, as lost souls, mourned for their worthless efforts. If only they were remembered, they would be happy. But the dust gathers evermore, and time is a cruel villain to memory. The times of yesterday, are merely an image for today, and are lost in tomorrow.

 

But even now, still, they who are the past do not give up. For on the occasional light spring day, when a young lad treks up the way, atop the hill, and looks upon the bleak sight of yesterday, he hears the silent cry. “Remember…”

 

 

Edited by: Justin Silverblade at: 5/3/02 6:36:21 pm

[Guest Lord Seth Exodus]

Seth stands in silent contemplation. Turning towards Justin he bows. "Well done, my friend. Solomn yet reflective. A grand idea. Well done, indeed."

 

-Seth Exodus

Initiate of The Pen

[Guest ArawnD]

Well done, well done indeed. I never thought to suggest music while reading a piece, it has a strange if not interesting effect.

 

The Mad King

[Bhurin]

Curiouser and curiouser...

 

The first two passages are wispy and liquid-like at the same time. The description has great diction, and has been poised very... Thoughtfully...

 

You disrupted my thoughts with the mouse, but a laugh it got none the less...

 

I'm actually very much left wondering what happened... The keep was obviously interrupted from its usual happenstances whilst they happened...

 

Things are left out in the open, even intact...

 

The description is so mournful of the keep... Like a skeleton of a loved one...

 

You did a little bit of Dickens there... You observed, then went into detail, and then further into detail still...

 

You invented ideas we were expected to comprehend several times (names of people, their stations, etc.) and it was presented in a fashion that allowed one to flow through and past it as they considered it...

 

You dipped into both humorous and serious memories... That helped to craft the versatility one is supposed to come to understand of the keep...

 

Your descriptions realy varied... I didn't spot any redundant statements to interrupt the flow of things...

 

You threw in the raven... A living symbol of death... An interesting metaphor.. Almost a paradox...

 

You fragmented your sentences several times... This is exactly how my thoughts are often articulated, and it made for a dramatic read (drama is important)

 

You refered to the keep as: A keep, a castle, a house, and a tower... Contrasting and complamenting...

 

And you finished with a single bit of dialogue, which helped to close, as the idea was different in form and atmosphere than the rest of the work...

 

All in all, I'm left feeling very sorry for this house, wishing I had a chance of learning about its former occupants, and the fate that eventually fell upon them. A good read, and mournful... Nothing like a little musically themed/inspired work to call to the surface the most foreboding of our thoughts or observations.

 

Good story.

 

(Word of advice: Suggest next time your readers to put on Moonlight, and make sure they don't have Louie Armstrong's "Wonderful World" rigfht after... It kinda.. Disrupted my thoughts... )

 

Thanks. It was a good read.

Edited by: Bhurin at: 5/8/02 5:09:44 pm