"My goddess," he thought wearily on his hands and knees in the snow, "Is that my blood?" Lyall thought out loud. Behind him there came a gruff laughter followed by the crunching of footsteps in the frost and a thunderous kick sent the hume rolling onto his back. He blinked, shaking the cobwebs from his brain and staring into the sky. It was funny, if he'd been asked Lyall never would have thought he'd die under a pristine blue sky. His straggling mind wondered what color the sky had been when Loo-
The thought was forced out of him by another powerful strike, this time in his sternum. Wheezing for breath Lyall doubled into himself, turning to try and cover his vitals. Part of his brain knew it didn't matter, he'd seen the curved blade the Kindred had been holding before it had come to hand-to-hand combat. It couldn't be any further from the demon than his own axe could be from him. The difference was Lyall's feet were flat out while the Kindred still was on his. Another burst of laughter and another kick. Something in a language Lyall didn't quite understand. Footsteps.
It had only been a few hours ago he was thanking his luck. The New Moon had passed without much harm and he hadn't been bothered terribly on his way across the Glacier. Once he'd reached Xarcabard the sense of safety was gone but even then nothing much had bothered him. He'd heard some tremendous footsteps one evening but nothing had come near him. He shouldn't have let himself get comfortable, he shouldn't have let his guard down... He smiled bitterly at the fact the first Kindred he'd met would be the one to kill him.
"Loo would be so disappointed in me, being bested in singles combat..." he said aloud. It didn't matter if the demon could hear him or not, he reasoned. Lyall got to his knees and forced himself upright, his hands scrabbling for his weapon and dragging it beneath him for support. There was blood in the snow but he didn't know where he was wounded, whether it was serious or only superficial. The kindred regarded him with what Lyall thought was a sneer and approached with weapon in hand.
"I made a promise, creature, and I intend to keep it." Leaning heavily on the haft of the great axe Lyall forced himself to his feet and spit crimson. "She's much scarier than you are."
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
The Call
From A Brief History of the Yagudo Theomilitary: Bloodlust and Warfare, by Jango-Nango, excerpted from chapter 13: "Luri Cree, the Butcher of Mindartia"
-----
The terrifying Yagudo King Luri Cree, known to the Federation as Lurian Cree, the Butcher of Mindartia, is estimated to have hatched circa C.E. 790. The eighth egg of a prestigious warrior-priest, Lurian chose to focus on the warrior side of his bloodline. At that time, the Yagudo Theomilitary was under the control of the infamous Nee Lufa the Manifest, and strongly aligned under the priest caste of the Yagudo society. Luri Cree focused instead upon uniting and consolidating military power, aligning himself with the Divine Martyrs and Divine Sentinel factions. By C.E. 820, despite the continued reign of Nee Lufa, Lurian had grown to lead the Yagudo in secular affairs, proclaiming himself the King of the Yagudo even as Nee Lufa remained the Manifest, holding all spiritual power.
It is widely believed that the Seventh Yagudo War was the result of political machinations by Lurian Cree. A political realist and extraordinarily ruthless, Lurian Cree was as brutal to his own people as he was to the children of Altana. Beastman scholars have documented the various means, both overt and otherwise, by which Lurian Cree consolidated power over the Yagudo, ranging from political assassination to blackmail to torture. Unlike most Yagudo, Lurian seemed to care little for religion and only briefly acknowledged Nee Lufa's supposedly supreme power, genuflecting to the Manifest while carrying out his own political sideshows. His massacre of one hundred fifty-three Divine Templars as an example to Pii Quqa the Decreer in C.E. 823 remains legendary among the Yagudo, and before long, Nee Lufa was placed into the position of instigating a whirlwind attack on Windurst itself in a desperate bid to regain power from Lurian's grasp.
Lurian Cree's reign was also noted for a rise in brutality and incidents between the Yagudo and the Federation. Captured mercenaries or War Warlocks were often killed in horrific gladiator-style spectacles for Lurian's amusement in games dedicated to the glory of the Manifest. After Nee Lufa's death in the Seventh Yagudo War, the new Manifest, Soo Luma, proved far more tractable and was little more than a puppet for Lurian Cree's machinations. Lurian preferred a policy of realpolitik and isolationism from even the other races of beastmen, allowing only the most minimum trade contacts and frequently humiliating the other Kindred by forcing their ambassadors to convert to the Yagudo religion as well as provide soldiers and captives for the brutal Yagudo bloodsports.
By Yagudo standards, Lurian Cree was quite ancient when he was suddenly killed in C.E. 847. His murder came at the hands of his own son, Jori Cree, known as Jorian, who was far more religiously influenced than his father and was backed by the priest castes, including the Divine Inspirers and their leader, the rising star Tzee Xicu. Jorian declared that the Manifest's life was in danger from his father's machinations, and that the Divine One had placed a curse upon Lurian's soul, that he may never know peace in this life or the next. Although Jori Cree's actions won him the position of Avatar, he never wielded the vast political power of his father, and ceded most temporal authority to Tzee Xicu when she became the new Manifest circa C.E. 850.
-----
From the Federation of Windurst's mercenary record archives, Optistery, dated C.E. 869:
NAME: Loocee Wahcondalo
AGE: 20
RACE: Mithra
UNIT: Wildcat Volunteers (C.E. 861-863)
MEDALS OBTAINED: Steelknight Emblem ∮∮∮
NOTES:
--Honorably discharged after the conclusion of the Crystal War
--Known relatives: Jakoh Wahcondalo (cousin, Norg piratess)
--Engaged as a mercenary-for-hire for traveling merchants after the war
--Merchant train ambushed by Yagudo militants spring of C.E. 865, no known survivors
CURRENT STATUS: Believed deceased
-----
The terrifying Yagudo King Luri Cree, known to the Federation as Lurian Cree, the Butcher of Mindartia, is estimated to have hatched circa C.E. 790. The eighth egg of a prestigious warrior-priest, Lurian chose to focus on the warrior side of his bloodline. At that time, the Yagudo Theomilitary was under the control of the infamous Nee Lufa the Manifest, and strongly aligned under the priest caste of the Yagudo society. Luri Cree focused instead upon uniting and consolidating military power, aligning himself with the Divine Martyrs and Divine Sentinel factions. By C.E. 820, despite the continued reign of Nee Lufa, Lurian had grown to lead the Yagudo in secular affairs, proclaiming himself the King of the Yagudo even as Nee Lufa remained the Manifest, holding all spiritual power.
It is widely believed that the Seventh Yagudo War was the result of political machinations by Lurian Cree. A political realist and extraordinarily ruthless, Lurian Cree was as brutal to his own people as he was to the children of Altana. Beastman scholars have documented the various means, both overt and otherwise, by which Lurian Cree consolidated power over the Yagudo, ranging from political assassination to blackmail to torture. Unlike most Yagudo, Lurian seemed to care little for religion and only briefly acknowledged Nee Lufa's supposedly supreme power, genuflecting to the Manifest while carrying out his own political sideshows. His massacre of one hundred fifty-three Divine Templars as an example to Pii Quqa the Decreer in C.E. 823 remains legendary among the Yagudo, and before long, Nee Lufa was placed into the position of instigating a whirlwind attack on Windurst itself in a desperate bid to regain power from Lurian's grasp.
Lurian Cree's reign was also noted for a rise in brutality and incidents between the Yagudo and the Federation. Captured mercenaries or War Warlocks were often killed in horrific gladiator-style spectacles for Lurian's amusement in games dedicated to the glory of the Manifest. After Nee Lufa's death in the Seventh Yagudo War, the new Manifest, Soo Luma, proved far more tractable and was little more than a puppet for Lurian Cree's machinations. Lurian preferred a policy of realpolitik and isolationism from even the other races of beastmen, allowing only the most minimum trade contacts and frequently humiliating the other Kindred by forcing their ambassadors to convert to the Yagudo religion as well as provide soldiers and captives for the brutal Yagudo bloodsports.
By Yagudo standards, Lurian Cree was quite ancient when he was suddenly killed in C.E. 847. His murder came at the hands of his own son, Jori Cree, known as Jorian, who was far more religiously influenced than his father and was backed by the priest castes, including the Divine Inspirers and their leader, the rising star Tzee Xicu. Jorian declared that the Manifest's life was in danger from his father's machinations, and that the Divine One had placed a curse upon Lurian's soul, that he may never know peace in this life or the next. Although Jori Cree's actions won him the position of Avatar, he never wielded the vast political power of his father, and ceded most temporal authority to Tzee Xicu when she became the new Manifest circa C.E. 850.
-----
From the Federation of Windurst's mercenary record archives, Optistery, dated C.E. 869:
NAME: Loocee Wahcondalo
AGE: 20
RACE: Mithra
UNIT: Wildcat Volunteers (C.E. 861-863)
MEDALS OBTAINED: Steelknight Emblem ∮∮∮
NOTES:
--Honorably discharged after the conclusion of the Crystal War
--Known relatives: Jakoh Wahcondalo (cousin, Norg piratess)
--Engaged as a mercenary-for-hire for traveling merchants after the war
--Merchant train ambushed by Yagudo militants spring of C.E. 865, no known survivors
CURRENT STATUS: Believed deceased
Friday, May 23, 2008
Of Men and Beasts
Kohra stepped into Fei'Yin, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, allowing the emotions of this familiar place to envelope him.
"Do you know why this place such strife and suffering imprinted on it Kohra? Do you know what happened here?"
Kohra opened his eyes slowly, and nodded to Esbet. "The Kuluu risked everything to prevent the Zilart from carrying out their vision of paradise. Their home was destroyed in the process. Bbut I often wonder how places can carry the emotions of the people who dwell within them."
"Emotions are very powerful things Kohra. They can tear even the greatest of Men asunder. They can also heal the most grievous of wounds. They can take on a life of thier own. But how to control them, and channel them? This is our quest." Her voice was quiet, yet full of authority. It forced Kohra to focus intently on her words.
Kohra watched her for a few moments, waiting patiently for her to continue. She seemed not inclined to continue for the time being, so he walked down the corridor, further into this borken and ruined place.
"Tell me, what do you feel in the arcana in this place?" she asked.
He answered almost immediately. "Expectation, anticipation. It's like they are waiting for something and are restless. It is much the same to one degree or another of this type of arcana, the machines and statues. It is as if they are waiting for something."
"Very good Kohra. They are awaiting orders of their masters, who are dead and will not come again. They no longer have a purpose, but they do not realize this and likely never will. They will go on waiting until the earth crumbles to dust or they are all destroyed. You have a strong connection to arcana to be able to so readily feel their emotions without aid." She seemed sad, as if she took pity on such things.
They were quiet for some time, moving from room to room, sensing the creatures about them, and listening.
At last Esbet broke the silence. "You've been training much lately in the ways of beasts I've noticed."
Kohra chuckled softly. "Do you have spies trailing me Esbet?"
She seemed surprised for a moment at such a suggestion. "No. I've seen in you the traditional armour of Beastmasters, leaving the city of late. It is good that you are training thusly. It can give you a fundimental understanding of the base, or foundation, emotions if you will. If you watch them, you will see how it motivates their actions, even if you cannot sense or hear their emotions. In seeing such things, it can help you to understand your own emotions and how they effect you. Understanding is the first step to mastery Kohra."
He stood pondering these things, and as he did, Esbet slipped quietly away.
"Do you know why this place such strife and suffering imprinted on it Kohra? Do you know what happened here?"
Kohra opened his eyes slowly, and nodded to Esbet. "The Kuluu risked everything to prevent the Zilart from carrying out their vision of paradise. Their home was destroyed in the process. Bbut I often wonder how places can carry the emotions of the people who dwell within them."
"Emotions are very powerful things Kohra. They can tear even the greatest of Men asunder. They can also heal the most grievous of wounds. They can take on a life of thier own. But how to control them, and channel them? This is our quest." Her voice was quiet, yet full of authority. It forced Kohra to focus intently on her words.
Kohra watched her for a few moments, waiting patiently for her to continue. She seemed not inclined to continue for the time being, so he walked down the corridor, further into this borken and ruined place.
"Tell me, what do you feel in the arcana in this place?" she asked.
He answered almost immediately. "Expectation, anticipation. It's like they are waiting for something and are restless. It is much the same to one degree or another of this type of arcana, the machines and statues. It is as if they are waiting for something."
"Very good Kohra. They are awaiting orders of their masters, who are dead and will not come again. They no longer have a purpose, but they do not realize this and likely never will. They will go on waiting until the earth crumbles to dust or they are all destroyed. You have a strong connection to arcana to be able to so readily feel their emotions without aid." She seemed sad, as if she took pity on such things.
They were quiet for some time, moving from room to room, sensing the creatures about them, and listening.
At last Esbet broke the silence. "You've been training much lately in the ways of beasts I've noticed."
Kohra chuckled softly. "Do you have spies trailing me Esbet?"
She seemed surprised for a moment at such a suggestion. "No. I've seen in you the traditional armour of Beastmasters, leaving the city of late. It is good that you are training thusly. It can give you a fundimental understanding of the base, or foundation, emotions if you will. If you watch them, you will see how it motivates their actions, even if you cannot sense or hear their emotions. In seeing such things, it can help you to understand your own emotions and how they effect you. Understanding is the first step to mastery Kohra."
He stood pondering these things, and as he did, Esbet slipped quietly away.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Daybreak
His camp was already broken down by the time the first rays of the sun touched down outside. He didn't know this from his position in Ranguemont Pass, or at the very least he didn't know it visually. Lyall had risen with the sun many times in the past on his travels and he knew he needed to be in top traveling form for this trip; This wasn't just an excursion to Valkurm or Jeuno. This was something bigger for him.
As he wished in his journal his dreams were pleasant while he slumbered. His camp was undisturbed throughout the night and even though he could hear the goblinfolk scampering and skittering around in the darkness none of them were quite brave enough to approach. They could sense the predator, too.
Lyall couldn't count on that for long. The moon was fading and he wanted to be back in the wilderness before it was at its last quarter. He couldn't afford to camp near the beastmen while whatever charm kept them away was down.
The rocky depths of the cavern didn't prove to be too complex. For a man who had walked from Bastok to San d'Oria it would take a bit more than slippery groundwork to slow his pace. Lyall had always been adept at traveling on foot and he was thankful for that.
In total Lyall had navigated the cave before the afternoon was spent. He took his time for a brief lunch in the mouth of the cave and watched the snow coming down in large, heavy flakes. The blizzard would pass soon. He was midway through his meal when heavy footsteps and words lost in the winds drifted towards him. Lyall was already waiting with his axe in his hands before the first of the group broke the curtain of weather and stepped foot into mouth of the Pass.
"Hold there, friend! No beastmen this way, just some weary travelers," spoke a heavyset fellow with a smile. When asked the man told Lyall that his caravan had been returning from a pilgrimage to the ancient city if Fei'Yin. Their group consisted of about a dozen, a smattering of humes and taru and elvaan. Only three of them looked battle ready.
"We've been researching the arcana there. They're usually friendly enough but they attack immediately if someone taps anything magical near them. You'd do well to not cast near them, friend." Lyall wondered what part of him, covered almost head to toe in heavy mail, looked like a mage.
Lyall welcomed them for their own lunch and the many of them spent a bit of time merrymaking. This would be the last chance Lyall had at conversation before his stepped foot into the snow, he imagined, so no use in letting it go to waste. The bulk of the caravan were speaking about magic and arcana and things Lyall didn't understand very much.
Before the two parties went their seperate ways, Lyall asked a favor of them, if they could deliver some mail for him in San d'Oria if they were stopping there for long. One of the elvaan fellows said he would be more than obliged to.
Standing at the shifted curtain of falling ice with powder blowing freely around his feet, Lyall took one last moment to reflect on the people he was leaving behind before stepping into the frost.
As he wished in his journal his dreams were pleasant while he slumbered. His camp was undisturbed throughout the night and even though he could hear the goblinfolk scampering and skittering around in the darkness none of them were quite brave enough to approach. They could sense the predator, too.
Lyall couldn't count on that for long. The moon was fading and he wanted to be back in the wilderness before it was at its last quarter. He couldn't afford to camp near the beastmen while whatever charm kept them away was down.
The rocky depths of the cavern didn't prove to be too complex. For a man who had walked from Bastok to San d'Oria it would take a bit more than slippery groundwork to slow his pace. Lyall had always been adept at traveling on foot and he was thankful for that.
In total Lyall had navigated the cave before the afternoon was spent. He took his time for a brief lunch in the mouth of the cave and watched the snow coming down in large, heavy flakes. The blizzard would pass soon. He was midway through his meal when heavy footsteps and words lost in the winds drifted towards him. Lyall was already waiting with his axe in his hands before the first of the group broke the curtain of weather and stepped foot into mouth of the Pass.
"Hold there, friend! No beastmen this way, just some weary travelers," spoke a heavyset fellow with a smile. When asked the man told Lyall that his caravan had been returning from a pilgrimage to the ancient city if Fei'Yin. Their group consisted of about a dozen, a smattering of humes and taru and elvaan. Only three of them looked battle ready.
"We've been researching the arcana there. They're usually friendly enough but they attack immediately if someone taps anything magical near them. You'd do well to not cast near them, friend." Lyall wondered what part of him, covered almost head to toe in heavy mail, looked like a mage.
Lyall welcomed them for their own lunch and the many of them spent a bit of time merrymaking. This would be the last chance Lyall had at conversation before his stepped foot into the snow, he imagined, so no use in letting it go to waste. The bulk of the caravan were speaking about magic and arcana and things Lyall didn't understand very much.
Before the two parties went their seperate ways, Lyall asked a favor of them, if they could deliver some mail for him in San d'Oria if they were stopping there for long. One of the elvaan fellows said he would be more than obliged to.
Standing at the shifted curtain of falling ice with powder blowing freely around his feet, Lyall took one last moment to reflect on the people he was leaving behind before stepping into the frost.
My first post is OOC? What a let down!
Everything got set on me much faster than I would have liked. Not even time for formal good-byes and so longs. I'll be sure to be around and I'll update when I can. Feel free to spam Lyall's message center on PoL with well-wishing if you like. XD
I'm gonna miss you guys. Be back when I can.
~Steve
I'm gonna miss you guys. Be back when I can.
~Steve
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Note Book 10 Page 45-47
I felt that I needed to write... The nightmares won’t stop. Every night since the incident in Hazhalm I’ve had the same nightmare, it doesn’t change, it doesn’t falter, and it always ends in the same way… With me waking up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, and shaking uncontrollably while on the verge of crying. It almost seems too real to be a dream. All of it seems to be too real, too frightening…
Every time it starts it’s always nearly pitch black, only being able to hear at first. I can hear the sounds of blade hitting flesh very clearly, the sound of multiple voices crying out in agony, then the thump of the bodies crumpling to the floor. I always grab my ears in the dream, wanting the noises to stop. But when I do the darkness begins to pull back slightly, allowing me to see what’s close by. I really wish I could look away… Every time, all the people I know and am close to lay dead, scattered all around me in pools of their own blood.
Terror and panic always kicks in at this point. I can’t move, can’t look away, I start hyperventilating because of my panicked state while looking around at the faces of the bodies and recognizing every one of them… Every last one of my friends… their lifeless eyes all staring at me… But the body closest to me is always the same person, Sparhawk… Every time in this dream when I see him I can feel my heart stop for a moment and my blood run cold.
When I can feel my heart beating again I can hear it echoing slowly in my mind, then the pain starts. The same extreme searing pain that I felt back in the Testing Grounds when I held his body in my arms. Like a jagged hook had been driven through my heart and body and was pulling me backwards… I always collapse to my knees at this point in the dream, either to check the body or just in pure disbelief. But then I hear it, her wicked laughter… The next moment I look up, there stands Lillias, swords drenched in blood, and her face clearly twisted in delight behind the veil of her keffiyeh.
I can never get up at this point, though I try so hard to get my legs to move, to be able to move at all, I just can’t. I can only sit there and stare, unable to move or speak. She always laughs, her green eyes narrowing, point both swords down at me. “Worthless little coward.” Her laugh echoes all around me while she says this. “You couldn’t stop me from killing any of these fools even if you tried. You couldn’t save any of them…” Raising her swords with a smug glint in her eyes “You can’t even prevent your own death.” She swiftly swings her swords down at me, but before I can feel the blades pierce my own flesh, before I can experience my own death within my nightmare, I always jolt awake.
When I wake up on the floor of the San d’Orian rent-a-room I’ve been staying in, at first all I can do is suffer from the immediate panic attack I get. My heart is always still hurting when I wake up. This nightmare is frightening no matter how many times I suffer through it. The doll that Alberic gave me helps me find a little comfort, along with the flowers Sparhawk gave me back during the Starlight Celebration, but I feel like I need to be with Sparhawk in person to find any real comfort. When he is with me I feel warm, happy, safe… but when he is hurt while protecting me… I freeze up. I want to be strong enough to help him, strong enough to help my friends when they need me, but… I’m a coward… a horribly weak little coward… If I can’t protect my friends and who I love, then what use am I?
… I want to be with Sparhawk more than anything right now. I felt like I had lost him and almost gave up hope… I really don’t want to experience that feeling again. I’ve given up on my own happiness so many times… But when he is with me, I can still see it, like it’s still within grasp. I’m feeling really weak right now, most likely due to exhaustion from lack of sleep and the fear these nightmares evoke. Then again I may be coming down with some sort of cold or sickness… I need to force myself to rest somehow…
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
an unusual visit
Kohra sat in front of the stature, looking up into the wavering face. Instead of feeling comforted, he felt hollow and alone.
“Kohra…” She spoke softly, in a comforting manner, as a mother to her son. “I don’t think you’ll find what you’re looking for here.”
Kohra looked away, feeling embarrassed, though he didn’t know why. “Who are you to say such a thing? You don’t even know me, nor I you.” He was more perplexed than annoyed.
“I know more of you than you think. I’ve been watching you for several months.” She said gently, and took a seat on the dusty floor beside him, looking up into the statue’s face.
He looked down at her, trying his best to look incredulous at this announcement. In reality, he felt strangely comforted, as if he were sitting with a trusted friend he hadn’t seen for years. “What do you mean, watching me?”
“Well,” she looked up at him, smiling brightly “you have very strong emotions. They echo off the city walls. It would have been almost impossible for me not to notice you.”
Kohra frowned at this, visibly confused.
“I suppose I should explain.” She laughed softly at his expression. “I’m an empath. My name is Esbet.”
“That’s an odd name for a Tarutaru.” Kohra spoke without thinking.
“It is indeed.” She offered no further explaination. “Getting back to you; I felt you as soon as I entered the city. I very rarely come to San d’Oria. Your emotions are very strong as I said, but they are chaotic, and run rampant. It was rather overwhelming to hear you actually.”
He turned away, ashamed.
“Now don’t get me wrong dear.” She reached out and patted his arm. “I didn’t mean that as a reproach. I sense much struggle in you, to gain control.”
He nodded mutely.
“Well, this is where I come in. I can offer you aid. I think you would do well as an empath, if you can harness your emotions first.”
“I don’t understand. One doesn’t simply –become- an empathy. You either are or you aren’t, or so I’ve been lead to believe.” Kohra wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.
“In most circumstances I’d say that’s true.” She nodded in agreement. “However, natural talent can be amplified. You already display some empathic power.”
He frowned, pretending to himself he didn’t know what she was referring to.
“You feel other’s pain and suffering clearly enough. You even utilize it to empower yourself.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if it were nothing to be ashamed of.
He jerked his face away from her’s, trying to hide his expression of guilt.
“I think in essence this can be channeled to a better use Kohra, it’s not necessarily bad. But you certainly need to gain mastery over it, rather than allow it to master you, as it does now.” She spoke gently, giving him time to muse.
“Do you really think so?” He asked finally.
“Yes.” She nodded. It will take some time, but if you are willing to put in the effort to train your mind, we can help you.”
“We?”
“The Order of Ancient Whispers. We’re a very small group. Only eight. Our goal is to understand emotions, our own and other’s, and to channel them to one use or another.”
“Such as?” He was expecting to hear some plot to take over the world or something along those lines.
“Well, that’s up to the individual. Our common ground is really just a fiercely emotional mind.” She shrugged. “We don’t have an ultimate goal, or purpose, to be honest.”
“Hmmm… Well, I suppose it’s worth a shot. I’m not getting anywhere on my own.” He sighed.
“Excellent. How about we meet tomorrow evening, in Fei’Yin? Since you’re so familiar with that area, it would be a good place to start.”
“All right. Should I bring anything?”
“All you need is yourself, but feel free to bring whatever makes you feel comfortable.” She hopped up, and made her way to the door, waving over her shoulder, and trotting up the stone stairway.
Kohra was left with a mixture of confusion and excitement.
NBcon V2
Hey guys. After hours of harassing timeshare people over the phone I finally have a set date for when and where NBcon V2 will be. The date I have the place reserved for is August 30th through September 6th. Where we will be staying is at the Celebrity Resorts Poconos. It looks like a really nice place to be staying at. It technically says it sleeps 6 people, but if we have more than 6 then some can sleep on the floor or something. I know that school is starting back up around this time, but this is the date I could get. I literally had another place and date snatched out from under me within about 5 min. If you would like to get a look at the place we're gonna be staying at here is the website address: Celebrity Resorts Poconos
Anyway, I'm hoping that quite a few of you guys will be able to make the time and come out for this. (You should all totally ditch school for this... >.>) If there are any problems then leave a comment on this post or contact me in game. Oh, and when I see you guys you are getting hugs, whether you like it or not. =D
-= Seik =-
Anyway, I'm hoping that quite a few of you guys will be able to make the time and come out for this. (You should all totally ditch school for this... >.>) If there are any problems then leave a comment on this post or contact me in game. Oh, and when I see you guys you are getting hugs, whether you like it or not. =D
-= Seik =-
Monday, May 12, 2008
Loneliness and False Comforts
Kohra stopped suddenly in the road. He hesitated then turned his chocobo away from the gates in the east and headed west, towards the tower. The urge was suddenly overwhelming; he had to see for himself if it was there. He dismounted outside the tower, opened the trapdoor inside and descended the dark, spiraling staircase. He felt his way into the altar room, muttered a simple spell and the candles shone force, suddenly catching aflame. He released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. There was the statue, looking down on him, the face shifting from the visage of Alberic to Kre'oss, and lingering on the latter. Kohra stood, looking wistfully at it for a few moments. Then he reached up, lightly tracing the jawline with his fingers.
"At least I know I can come here and look upon you when I'm lonely and missing you..." he murmured to himself.
He stayed a few moments longer, then turned sadly and walked towards the city.
"At least I know I can come here and look upon you when I'm lonely and missing you..." he murmured to himself.
He stayed a few moments longer, then turned sadly and walked towards the city.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Real-life Blogs
I know we have a few in the LS:
Ramp's: http://rampagesama.blogspot.com
Lyall's: http://www.myspace.com/edgeofmercy
Mine: http://www.myspace.com/aliddotia and http://www.rockband.com/rockers/SolitiaAgain
Anyone else have a blog they feel like sharing?
~Soli~
Ramp's: http://rampagesama.blogspot.com
Lyall's: http://www.myspace.com/edgeofmercy
Mine: http://www.myspace.com/aliddotia and http://www.rockband.com/rockers/SolitiaAgain
Anyone else have a blog they feel like sharing?
~Soli~
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Forgiveness and Self-loathing
Kre'oss,
I do hope Harold finds you, and gets this to you. My words are feeble in the face of what I have done. My act was cruel and viscious, and I cannot hope for your forgiveness. Mai showed me the letter you wrote to her, and had I even the slightest inkling of the effect my words would have produced, I would not have spoken them. I did not think.
Though I do not deserve it, I beg for you to come talk to me. Words may be inadequate, but they are all I have.
Kohra
I do hope Harold finds you, and gets this to you. My words are feeble in the face of what I have done. My act was cruel and viscious, and I cannot hope for your forgiveness. Mai showed me the letter you wrote to her, and had I even the slightest inkling of the effect my words would have produced, I would not have spoken them. I did not think.
Though I do not deserve it, I beg for you to come talk to me. Words may be inadequate, but they are all I have.
Kohra
Loop, part 2
Silence.
Then, we start again. Awake. Live. Breathe. Move. Know.
The mind will think again, churning slowly at first, and then you will remember. And the first thing that you will remember is the face of the person that you love the most.
They say that is the last thing you remember when you die, as well. Was it in your mind's eye, this same image, when you died? Do you remember how that person felt in your arms, the sound of their voice, the way they smiled when they were happy? Or do you only remember the agony in their eyes as you died?
*** *** ***
"We lost almost everyone at the La Vaule campaign!" Sparhawk snapped, slamming the weapons chest shut, his eyes snapping as he looked at Lucarimond. "We're down to only seven full knights remaining, and since YOU won't give me my spurs yet--"
"You're just a boy," Lucarimond said firmly. "You've barely hit your growth spurt yet, and you have yet to become as strong as a man. When you can wield a Great Sword at battle strength for hours, then you will be ready to be knighted, but not yet."
"But the Pandions will die!" Sparhawk pleaded, his voice rising with desperation. "There are too few of us to carry on the old ways!"
Lucarimond shrugged wearily. Long years of war had ground away the knight's optimism, and his face was deeply creased with premature age, his hair falling sheet-white to his shoulders even though he was only twenty-five. "Perhaps it is Lord Promathia's will that the Pandions be wiped out. Perhaps we were never meant to exist at all. But you are Anakha.... you're the one that will be able to carry on our legacy even after this horrible war, even after everyone else is dead." He reached out and lightly ruffled Sparhawk's hair; it was already tinged with white and gray strands.
Sparhawk averted his eyes rebelliously. "What good is it to be this Anakha thing that nobody seems to understand if it means I can't protect ANYONE?!" He rammed his fist hard into the weapons chest, barely feeling the pain that shot up into his forearm. "I want to be a Pandion Knight and serve the will of Promathia, not this Anakha person...."
Lucarimond's eyes slid toward the statue of Promathia in the far corner, half-wrapped in cloth now for hasty removal; the shrine to Promathia from which the Pandions had based their order was now largely used as a war room. "Our way of life is dying out, Sparhawk... but our ideals never will. That was our dream, when we founded the Order." He smiled fondly at the unhappy boy and turned to leave. "I will take the remaining knights to Sauromugue tomorrow. Make sure no one can get into the shrine. You know what those heretics at the San d'Orian Cathedral will do if they find this place. They will defile and destroy it."
Sparhawk looked slowly around the shrine after Lucarimond left, and nodded to himself. No matter what happened, this was his home.... the one place to which he could always return. Carefully, he doused the remaining candles, and locked up the door, stashing the iron key in his shirt, against his skin before running up the stairs away from the shrine as hard as he could.
Then, we start again. Awake. Live. Breathe. Move. Know.
The mind will think again, churning slowly at first, and then you will remember. And the first thing that you will remember is the face of the person that you love the most.
They say that is the last thing you remember when you die, as well. Was it in your mind's eye, this same image, when you died? Do you remember how that person felt in your arms, the sound of their voice, the way they smiled when they were happy? Or do you only remember the agony in their eyes as you died?
*** *** ***
"We lost almost everyone at the La Vaule campaign!" Sparhawk snapped, slamming the weapons chest shut, his eyes snapping as he looked at Lucarimond. "We're down to only seven full knights remaining, and since YOU won't give me my spurs yet--"
"You're just a boy," Lucarimond said firmly. "You've barely hit your growth spurt yet, and you have yet to become as strong as a man. When you can wield a Great Sword at battle strength for hours, then you will be ready to be knighted, but not yet."
"But the Pandions will die!" Sparhawk pleaded, his voice rising with desperation. "There are too few of us to carry on the old ways!"
Lucarimond shrugged wearily. Long years of war had ground away the knight's optimism, and his face was deeply creased with premature age, his hair falling sheet-white to his shoulders even though he was only twenty-five. "Perhaps it is Lord Promathia's will that the Pandions be wiped out. Perhaps we were never meant to exist at all. But you are Anakha.... you're the one that will be able to carry on our legacy even after this horrible war, even after everyone else is dead." He reached out and lightly ruffled Sparhawk's hair; it was already tinged with white and gray strands.
Sparhawk averted his eyes rebelliously. "What good is it to be this Anakha thing that nobody seems to understand if it means I can't protect ANYONE?!" He rammed his fist hard into the weapons chest, barely feeling the pain that shot up into his forearm. "I want to be a Pandion Knight and serve the will of Promathia, not this Anakha person...."
Lucarimond's eyes slid toward the statue of Promathia in the far corner, half-wrapped in cloth now for hasty removal; the shrine to Promathia from which the Pandions had based their order was now largely used as a war room. "Our way of life is dying out, Sparhawk... but our ideals never will. That was our dream, when we founded the Order." He smiled fondly at the unhappy boy and turned to leave. "I will take the remaining knights to Sauromugue tomorrow. Make sure no one can get into the shrine. You know what those heretics at the San d'Orian Cathedral will do if they find this place. They will defile and destroy it."
Sparhawk looked slowly around the shrine after Lucarimond left, and nodded to himself. No matter what happened, this was his home.... the one place to which he could always return. Carefully, he doused the remaining candles, and locked up the door, stashing the iron key in his shirt, against his skin before running up the stairs away from the shrine as hard as he could.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Loop
"We have brought the boy, my Lord."
The Elvaan knight lightly touched his hand to the Hume boy's shoulders, nudging him forward. Although the boy had had to be blindfolded for most of his journey to the chapel, he had not seemed afraid; Lucarimond had been impressed that the boy had not even faltered when they had led him down the long spiral staircase that delved deep into the earth, nor did he seem at all surprised or alarmed that the chapel was in such a cold, dark grotto. The earth pressed in on all sides, but the cluster of knights who worshiped here did not seem to mind.
The abbot turned from his contemplation of the statue at the black stone altar. "I am Branigan," he said in his low, raspy voice, his bandaged face turned toward the boy. "Abbot of the Chapel of Twilight, and Preceptor of our most holy Order of knights. Do not be afraid, Anakha."
"I'm not afraid," the boy said steadily.
Branigan took the boy's hand and led him forward toward the altar. Anakha placed one small hand on the smooth, polished black stone, and gazed up into the face of the statue. The shape of the body was also smooth, a perfect oval, the hands clasped, and the darksteel chains wrapped around the body were held taut by those clasped hands, the shoulders of the vaguely humanoid figure drawn in to keep the chains wrapped even tighter about itself. The statue had no face, but the smooth surface where the face would be was sheathed in a featureless mask of orichalcum, and a stone of the deepest midnight color, intricately faceted, was sunk into the heart of the statue, seeming to absorb rather than reflect the light.
"Behold, O godless one, the face of our Lord," Branigan said softly; the knights that were clustered in the grotto all genuflected, bowing their heads deeply before the statue. "This is the image of our Lord Promathia, the Twilight God, one-half of all that exists, the power that balances the light. Our persecutors at the San d'Orian Cathedral would have us believe that our worship of Promathia is heretical; but what is light without shadow, dawn without dusk? There is no good without evil, nor evil without good; the duality of what Is and Is Not is at the heart of all existence. Our hearts are as patriotic as those of our countrymen that worship the Dawn Goddess, and our blades are turned toward San d'Oria's enemies, but it is Promathia that empowers us. We do not fear Him. He is a kindly God, a just God, who has taught us the many mysteries of attack magics that we can use to protect our people."
He turned his hideously burned, maimed face down toward the boy. "It is not given to us to know the future, but Vana'diel itself is aware of the birth and rebirth of the one known as Anakha. You would be a valuable ally to us, and in turn, we can make you strong. Do not fear us, Anakha. There is nothing to be feared in the darkness; only ignorance and prejudice can possibly defeat us."
"I am not afraid," the boy said.
The knights lifted the boy up onto the altar, and they placed the palm of his hand onto the black stone in the center of the statue of Promathia's chest. The boy gazed up into the polished, featureless mask. The abbot stretched forth his hands. "Divine Promathia, we bring forth the child without a destiny, the pathless one, the one known in all lives as Anakha. Although he may belong to no God nor man, we consecrate his soul to you, by his own choice and by our design, that our most Holy Order may be enriched by his power. Grant to him in turn your secrets, that he may grow to be strong, no longer alone in this world but our brother-knight."
A knight brought forth oil and incense as the abbot prayed, and the boy's head was anointed. The black stone beneath his fingers pulsed, and the boy closed his eyes, listening to the soft whispers of the Dark God. The abbot took the boy's small hand then and placed it onto the hilt of a sword. The boy's fingers slowly curled around the weapon, far too large for him.
"You are now a Pandion, Anakha," Branigan proclaimed loudly, his voice echoing off of the stone walls of the grotto. "The man without a destiny has been given one--the sword. The art of dark magic and the power of the blade are your path now; Divine Promathia has accepted you into his service. Humanity is soon to face its greatest threat; we have read the signs and portents, and the Pandion Order will rise to meet it with steel raised. Arise, Anakha--no, Sparhawk of the Pandion Knights!"
The boy stood, the tip of the sword resting on the altar, the hilt firmly in his grasp, and turned to face the other knights, who rose as one and drew their own swords in salute. "I am not afraid," he said clearly.
*** *** ***
"Draw your sword. Do it."
"I can't. I'm too weak. I'm useless."
"You will be removed."
"I can't. We can't. What point is there?"
"I don't want to be alone...."
"Isn't there anyone out there who loves me?"
"That's not it. You have to make your own destiny. There's no such thing as--"
"I will remove you."
"Hey, you! Yeah, you. Who are you?"
"Stop it. Stop it NOW!"
"Isn't there any meaning to any of this? What am I, anyway?"
"That's not how it is.... but I know I'm not going to run away."
"Draw your sword."
"Maybe I'm not even human anymore. Maybe none of us are human."
"Mother.... Father...."
"They're trying to hurt her. They always are. She won't protect herself, so she just takes it. It rips me apart."
"Hey, you--yeah, you. Who are you looking for?"
"Who do you think you are, anyway? Did you really think someone like you could be happy?"
"That's not true. I care about you. Even though I exist. I am not real."
"I am going to remove you."
"In the end, you have to decide. Run away, or fight?"
"There's no point to living without you. I can't be alone anymore. Knowing what it is like with you, and knowing what it is like without you, I'd rather die than have to live without you. So, that's why I have to--"
"Draw it. Draw your sword."
The Elvaan knight lightly touched his hand to the Hume boy's shoulders, nudging him forward. Although the boy had had to be blindfolded for most of his journey to the chapel, he had not seemed afraid; Lucarimond had been impressed that the boy had not even faltered when they had led him down the long spiral staircase that delved deep into the earth, nor did he seem at all surprised or alarmed that the chapel was in such a cold, dark grotto. The earth pressed in on all sides, but the cluster of knights who worshiped here did not seem to mind.
The abbot turned from his contemplation of the statue at the black stone altar. "I am Branigan," he said in his low, raspy voice, his bandaged face turned toward the boy. "Abbot of the Chapel of Twilight, and Preceptor of our most holy Order of knights. Do not be afraid, Anakha."
"I'm not afraid," the boy said steadily.
Branigan took the boy's hand and led him forward toward the altar. Anakha placed one small hand on the smooth, polished black stone, and gazed up into the face of the statue. The shape of the body was also smooth, a perfect oval, the hands clasped, and the darksteel chains wrapped around the body were held taut by those clasped hands, the shoulders of the vaguely humanoid figure drawn in to keep the chains wrapped even tighter about itself. The statue had no face, but the smooth surface where the face would be was sheathed in a featureless mask of orichalcum, and a stone of the deepest midnight color, intricately faceted, was sunk into the heart of the statue, seeming to absorb rather than reflect the light.
"Behold, O godless one, the face of our Lord," Branigan said softly; the knights that were clustered in the grotto all genuflected, bowing their heads deeply before the statue. "This is the image of our Lord Promathia, the Twilight God, one-half of all that exists, the power that balances the light. Our persecutors at the San d'Orian Cathedral would have us believe that our worship of Promathia is heretical; but what is light without shadow, dawn without dusk? There is no good without evil, nor evil without good; the duality of what Is and Is Not is at the heart of all existence. Our hearts are as patriotic as those of our countrymen that worship the Dawn Goddess, and our blades are turned toward San d'Oria's enemies, but it is Promathia that empowers us. We do not fear Him. He is a kindly God, a just God, who has taught us the many mysteries of attack magics that we can use to protect our people."
He turned his hideously burned, maimed face down toward the boy. "It is not given to us to know the future, but Vana'diel itself is aware of the birth and rebirth of the one known as Anakha. You would be a valuable ally to us, and in turn, we can make you strong. Do not fear us, Anakha. There is nothing to be feared in the darkness; only ignorance and prejudice can possibly defeat us."
"I am not afraid," the boy said.
The knights lifted the boy up onto the altar, and they placed the palm of his hand onto the black stone in the center of the statue of Promathia's chest. The boy gazed up into the polished, featureless mask. The abbot stretched forth his hands. "Divine Promathia, we bring forth the child without a destiny, the pathless one, the one known in all lives as Anakha. Although he may belong to no God nor man, we consecrate his soul to you, by his own choice and by our design, that our most Holy Order may be enriched by his power. Grant to him in turn your secrets, that he may grow to be strong, no longer alone in this world but our brother-knight."
A knight brought forth oil and incense as the abbot prayed, and the boy's head was anointed. The black stone beneath his fingers pulsed, and the boy closed his eyes, listening to the soft whispers of the Dark God. The abbot took the boy's small hand then and placed it onto the hilt of a sword. The boy's fingers slowly curled around the weapon, far too large for him.
"You are now a Pandion, Anakha," Branigan proclaimed loudly, his voice echoing off of the stone walls of the grotto. "The man without a destiny has been given one--the sword. The art of dark magic and the power of the blade are your path now; Divine Promathia has accepted you into his service. Humanity is soon to face its greatest threat; we have read the signs and portents, and the Pandion Order will rise to meet it with steel raised. Arise, Anakha--no, Sparhawk of the Pandion Knights!"
The boy stood, the tip of the sword resting on the altar, the hilt firmly in his grasp, and turned to face the other knights, who rose as one and drew their own swords in salute. "I am not afraid," he said clearly.
*** *** ***
"Draw your sword. Do it."
"I can't. I'm too weak. I'm useless."
"You will be removed."
"I can't. We can't. What point is there?"
"I don't want to be alone...."
"Isn't there anyone out there who loves me?"
"That's not it. You have to make your own destiny. There's no such thing as--"
"I will remove you."
"Hey, you! Yeah, you. Who are you?"
"Stop it. Stop it NOW!"
"Isn't there any meaning to any of this? What am I, anyway?"
"That's not how it is.... but I know I'm not going to run away."
"Draw your sword."
"Maybe I'm not even human anymore. Maybe none of us are human."
"Mother.... Father...."
"They're trying to hurt her. They always are. She won't protect herself, so she just takes it. It rips me apart."
"Hey, you--yeah, you. Who are you looking for?"
"Who do you think you are, anyway? Did you really think someone like you could be happy?"
"That's not true. I care about you. Even though I exist. I am not real."
"I am going to remove you."
"In the end, you have to decide. Run away, or fight?"
"There's no point to living without you. I can't be alone anymore. Knowing what it is like with you, and knowing what it is like without you, I'd rather die than have to live without you. So, that's why I have to--"
"Draw it. Draw your sword."
Reciprocity: Act and Feeling.
A letter is pinned to the door of Master Ikari's Mog House.
My dear Master Ikari:
I hope that this note receives you in reasonable good health and spirits, circumstances nonwithstanding. I became aware of the recent occurrences via a most unusual vessel; upon a visit to Kohra's Mog House, I found his dwelling locked and a note of most dire import left behind for any to view. In the note, Kohra expressed his intention to exchange himself with a villain that he referred to only as Lillias, a villain that seemed to have taken forcible possession of your husband. I was even more amazed at Kohra's intention to meet with this said villain and switch places with Alberic; he continued to say that this was because he was expendable.
Naturally, such a development was anathema to me. I took the note and departed immediately for Aht Urhgan. I have traveled in my time as an adventurer frequently to the Empire, as those in our business are wont to do, to hone my skills and derive some small fortune from mercenary works. Now, my purpose was much more finely honed; I cast my mind wide and listened with all of my power for any who had thought or recollection of Kohra. To my delight, I found soon that he had traveled to the Undersea Ruins off of Nyzul Isle by following the thought of the Tarutaru gentleman who issues runic portal passes. His recollection of Kohra was relatively recent, and Kohra's mien and appearance distinctive, so it was with renewed purpose that I traced Kohra to the winding maze of the ruin.
By the time I tracked Kohra to the northernmost corner of the ruins, my heart was steeled with inexorability of purpose. I had resolved that no matter what might come pass, Kohra was not to leave that place to continue on his dread action. I lashed out at him with rebuking words, calling to his attention the selfishness of his purport and childishness of his demeanor, reminding him (as you did me, once before) that his life was not his to discard as he will, but belongs to all who love him. In turn, he railed at me for as many sins as he could invoke.
I even drew blade against my close friend, for if I had to, I was fully prepared to use force to compel him to obey me. This enraged him further, and in stubbornness his furor at me rose, and he tore into me with every weapon of word and feeling that he could summon. Not with ears alone, but with my soul did I hear each word he flung at me. And although I endured what I could, my entire being thrummed with each word that pierced me, and his feelings, ever uncontrolled and wild with their free rein, passed through me, taking bits and pieces of my soul with them.
His rage and grief were sated only when he informed me that my behavior had driven him to these actions, that my frequent disappearances had disappointed him and indeed our entire group, and that it was my callousness, my uncaring, that inflamed him so. Indeed, his words rang with truth, and I had for him no response. I -am- often gone, I -am- often aloof from the people that I care for the most; I am not human, not only because of my Zilartian nature, but because my emotional processes are not acceptable to others. To this, I have no real response, but I feel diminished by his words, as if I have somehow become less, as if I have bled from my very spirit. I would say that I feel worthless, but that sounds self-indulgent; perhaps I have merely become fully aware of my own nature for the first time.
Kohra eventually withdrew; I believe he realized he had said all to me that he could say. I wonder if he is satisfied? He seems to enjoy hurting me, if only to provoke an emotional reaction, but if my nature were not so alien, then he would not have to act so. He said he had changed for me, but I am not entirely sure if he has. I technically owe him nothing, but I feel filthy now in my own skin, as if I have become aware that my skin itself is the filth. Self-loathing, however, is nothing new to me, so why does this feeling wash over me with its stomach-churning disgust?
He gave me his word that he returned home, so I at least accomplished the goal that I had set out to do. I recommend approaching the exchange with this villain Lillias with great caution. I apologize that I will not be able to engage her directly. But I have entire faith in you and
the others to defeat this creature and rescue the Prophet safely.
My warmest regard to you and yours, and those who are ours as well. Please watch over Kohra, as well, for me.
Sincerely,
Kre'oss
My dear Master Ikari:
I hope that this note receives you in reasonable good health and spirits, circumstances nonwithstanding. I became aware of the recent occurrences via a most unusual vessel; upon a visit to Kohra's Mog House, I found his dwelling locked and a note of most dire import left behind for any to view. In the note, Kohra expressed his intention to exchange himself with a villain that he referred to only as Lillias, a villain that seemed to have taken forcible possession of your husband. I was even more amazed at Kohra's intention to meet with this said villain and switch places with Alberic; he continued to say that this was because he was expendable.
Naturally, such a development was anathema to me. I took the note and departed immediately for Aht Urhgan. I have traveled in my time as an adventurer frequently to the Empire, as those in our business are wont to do, to hone my skills and derive some small fortune from mercenary works. Now, my purpose was much more finely honed; I cast my mind wide and listened with all of my power for any who had thought or recollection of Kohra. To my delight, I found soon that he had traveled to the Undersea Ruins off of Nyzul Isle by following the thought of the Tarutaru gentleman who issues runic portal passes. His recollection of Kohra was relatively recent, and Kohra's mien and appearance distinctive, so it was with renewed purpose that I traced Kohra to the winding maze of the ruin.
By the time I tracked Kohra to the northernmost corner of the ruins, my heart was steeled with inexorability of purpose. I had resolved that no matter what might come pass, Kohra was not to leave that place to continue on his dread action. I lashed out at him with rebuking words, calling to his attention the selfishness of his purport and childishness of his demeanor, reminding him (as you did me, once before) that his life was not his to discard as he will, but belongs to all who love him. In turn, he railed at me for as many sins as he could invoke.
I even drew blade against my close friend, for if I had to, I was fully prepared to use force to compel him to obey me. This enraged him further, and in stubbornness his furor at me rose, and he tore into me with every weapon of word and feeling that he could summon. Not with ears alone, but with my soul did I hear each word he flung at me. And although I endured what I could, my entire being thrummed with each word that pierced me, and his feelings, ever uncontrolled and wild with their free rein, passed through me, taking bits and pieces of my soul with them.
His rage and grief were sated only when he informed me that my behavior had driven him to these actions, that my frequent disappearances had disappointed him and indeed our entire group, and that it was my callousness, my uncaring, that inflamed him so. Indeed, his words rang with truth, and I had for him no response. I -am- often gone, I -am- often aloof from the people that I care for the most; I am not human, not only because of my Zilartian nature, but because my emotional processes are not acceptable to others. To this, I have no real response, but I feel diminished by his words, as if I have somehow become less, as if I have bled from my very spirit. I would say that I feel worthless, but that sounds self-indulgent; perhaps I have merely become fully aware of my own nature for the first time.
Kohra eventually withdrew; I believe he realized he had said all to me that he could say. I wonder if he is satisfied? He seems to enjoy hurting me, if only to provoke an emotional reaction, but if my nature were not so alien, then he would not have to act so. He said he had changed for me, but I am not entirely sure if he has. I technically owe him nothing, but I feel filthy now in my own skin, as if I have become aware that my skin itself is the filth. Self-loathing, however, is nothing new to me, so why does this feeling wash over me with its stomach-churning disgust?
He gave me his word that he returned home, so I at least accomplished the goal that I had set out to do. I recommend approaching the exchange with this villain Lillias with great caution. I apologize that I will not be able to engage her directly. But I have entire faith in you and
the others to defeat this creature and rescue the Prophet safely.
My warmest regard to you and yours, and those who are ours as well. Please watch over Kohra, as well, for me.
Sincerely,
Kre'oss
Saturday, May 3, 2008
More letters
Everyone,
I'm sorry I ran off, but I can't just sit Idly by and allow Sparhawk to make his own decisions without Seik. I also cannot allow Alby to die at Lillias' hands. I'm no use to anyone, and certainly a danger to you in any case. It would be better for me to take Alby's place, as I am the most expendable. I've been alone too long and am selfish, I know this, but I can't seem to think any other way. I'm a usurper of Caen'ir's relationship with Kre'oss, and too weak to help with anything beyond this. I'll take Alby's place, and perhaps both his life and Sparhawk's can be spared... Kre'oss... I'm so sorry.... I love you. Divide up my possessions as you see fit. I've left the key with Harold.
Kohra
I'm sorry I ran off, but I can't just sit Idly by and allow Sparhawk to make his own decisions without Seik. I also cannot allow Alby to die at Lillias' hands. I'm no use to anyone, and certainly a danger to you in any case. It would be better for me to take Alby's place, as I am the most expendable. I've been alone too long and am selfish, I know this, but I can't seem to think any other way. I'm a usurper of Caen'ir's relationship with Kre'oss, and too weak to help with anything beyond this. I'll take Alby's place, and perhaps both his life and Sparhawk's can be spared... Kre'oss... I'm so sorry.... I love you. Divide up my possessions as you see fit. I've left the key with Harold.
Kohra
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Of Billberries and Rent-a-rooms (continued)
The young woman now known as Terli'ru, who not moments before had been visibly enraged by the insolence of the young man was immediately mollified by the sight of her fallen companion, reaching down and shaking him. "Arcyn'ir? H-hey, are you alright? Get up!" Her voice held a note of panic as she continued to try and revive him.
Sighing, Fiel'doras walked over and nudged the man uncerimoniously onto his back, speaking in a rather bored tone, "Arcyn'ir, get up." Seeing no response, still, she kneeled down and poked him roughly in the side, causing him to jerk away and scoot away from her, laughing all the while. Fiel'doras turned to a baffled Terli'ru. "Those were Bilberries. They're edible, and I can't say I'm surprised to see he already knew that."
"Oh, I didn't think you'd actually fall for that one! That was pricele--ow!" Caught up in his delighted laughter, he had failed to notice Terli'ru, her face red with anger, approaching him and was by no means prepared for neither the rough punch he received on his arm, nor the several cuffs following it. Arcyn'ir quickly recovered and held up his hands to protect himself, tossing a pleading "I didn't do anything, save me!" look to Fiel'doras and Caen'ir. The former turned her gaze elsewhere, seeming entirely bent on not getting involved in the situation at all, and the latter felt himself merely smiling apologetically and shrugging, informing his brother that he was, entirely, on his own for this.
"You insensitive ass! I ought to throttle you!" Still looking thoroughly livid, Terli'ru ceased her assault, Arcyn'ir, mock-blocking most of her hits, grinned brightly.
The entire thing felt normal to Caen'ir, as if it was something that happened extremely often between the two. He was struck with a sudden sense of belongingness; this was his home, these people were his family. The feeling gave way to a pang of solitude that left him aching, realization dawning. His home was in ruins, the nearby lands a frozen and barren tundra now. His family was gone and no more, all he had was a brother who seemed impossible to run into, who wouldn't remember him at all. He suddenly felt very alone and isolated in the snow-covered forest, the playful teasing and arguing a dull buzz. After a few moments of this, however, he mentally admonished himself.
I have Kre'oss, I had no love then, I think. This was my home. I have a new home, now. This was my family...I love them dearly, and I will mourn the loss of them, but I still have my brother and my friends...they're my new family. This is my past. I have my love, my home and my family...that is all that I need.
Comforted by this, he became aware of himself shaking his head and walking forwards, following Fiel'doras. The buzz had faded, the arguing apparently having run its course for the time being, and was replaced with Fiel'doras' voice. He was aware of her words, though he did not feel he was paying her any meaningful attention. She was talking about the plant from before--about how to recognize it and its uses. He heard Arcyn'ir's voice chiming in occasionally, it seemed he was just as (or almost as) knowledgeable on the subject as Fiel'doras was.
The voices became quieter, and as he blinked, the world went black and stayed that way as he opened his eyes, sitting up from the rent-a-room bed silently, recalling memories of a pristine land all covered in snow and ice, and of people long since gone...
(( That's it for now. Once again, sorry for the shoddiness, might make more posts like this, might not. *shrugs* ))
Sighing, Fiel'doras walked over and nudged the man uncerimoniously onto his back, speaking in a rather bored tone, "Arcyn'ir, get up." Seeing no response, still, she kneeled down and poked him roughly in the side, causing him to jerk away and scoot away from her, laughing all the while. Fiel'doras turned to a baffled Terli'ru. "Those were Bilberries. They're edible, and I can't say I'm surprised to see he already knew that."
"Oh, I didn't think you'd actually fall for that one! That was pricele--ow!" Caught up in his delighted laughter, he had failed to notice Terli'ru, her face red with anger, approaching him and was by no means prepared for neither the rough punch he received on his arm, nor the several cuffs following it. Arcyn'ir quickly recovered and held up his hands to protect himself, tossing a pleading "I didn't do anything, save me!" look to Fiel'doras and Caen'ir. The former turned her gaze elsewhere, seeming entirely bent on not getting involved in the situation at all, and the latter felt himself merely smiling apologetically and shrugging, informing his brother that he was, entirely, on his own for this.
"You insensitive ass! I ought to throttle you!" Still looking thoroughly livid, Terli'ru ceased her assault, Arcyn'ir, mock-blocking most of her hits, grinned brightly.
The entire thing felt normal to Caen'ir, as if it was something that happened extremely often between the two. He was struck with a sudden sense of belongingness; this was his home, these people were his family. The feeling gave way to a pang of solitude that left him aching, realization dawning. His home was in ruins, the nearby lands a frozen and barren tundra now. His family was gone and no more, all he had was a brother who seemed impossible to run into, who wouldn't remember him at all. He suddenly felt very alone and isolated in the snow-covered forest, the playful teasing and arguing a dull buzz. After a few moments of this, however, he mentally admonished himself.
I have Kre'oss, I had no love then, I think. This was my home. I have a new home, now. This was my family...I love them dearly, and I will mourn the loss of them, but I still have my brother and my friends...they're my new family. This is my past. I have my love, my home and my family...that is all that I need.
Comforted by this, he became aware of himself shaking his head and walking forwards, following Fiel'doras. The buzz had faded, the arguing apparently having run its course for the time being, and was replaced with Fiel'doras' voice. He was aware of her words, though he did not feel he was paying her any meaningful attention. She was talking about the plant from before--about how to recognize it and its uses. He heard Arcyn'ir's voice chiming in occasionally, it seemed he was just as (or almost as) knowledgeable on the subject as Fiel'doras was.
The voices became quieter, and as he blinked, the world went black and stayed that way as he opened his eyes, sitting up from the rent-a-room bed silently, recalling memories of a pristine land all covered in snow and ice, and of people long since gone...
(( That's it for now. Once again, sorry for the shoddiness, might make more posts like this, might not. *shrugs* ))
Of Billberries and Rent-a-rooms
Caen'ir twisted about the unfamiliar sheets of the Bastokan rent-a-room. Surprisingly enough, he had fallen asleep almost instantly after curling up on the bed. No sooner had he closed his eyes, the world being naught but darkness, he felt as though he were opening them. Black gave way to a world compromised of white, gray, brown and a dark green; snow gently falling from gray clouds that seemed to encompass the entire sky above him, through a slight cover of snow-covered leaves from ancient trees towering over him. Despite understanding this to most likely be a dream, he couldn't help but feel some joy at the familiar sight, and wished to lower his gaze to see what else lay about...and, yet, despite his desire, he felt he could not move. While he could see, he obviously held no control here. He was content to just continue watching for the time being, his (if it was, indeed, his eyes he was seeing out of) breath visible in the chill. However, it seemed that there were other plans, as he felt someone grab his arm and tug him along. Used to such treatment already, he instead decided to examine his companion through auburn hair that fell in front of his eyes, despite attempts to get it to stay out of the way.
The woman was a head taller than him, a bit on the stout side in build. Her pale blonde hair was bound tightly with a leather throng. She held herself in a disciplined manner, softly pulling Caen'ir (as he was fairly certain, by now, this was him) along with her, slowing her step so he could easily keep up. She glanced back at him, she had a matronly look about her and warm brown eyes. She shook her head in a mock-reproachful fashion, her voice reaching out calmly in the serenity around them.
"You were the one who was so interested in tagging along, you really oughtn't keep us waiting after we allowed you to join us."
"Sorry, Fiel'doras, I was just...distracted." Caen'ir found himself speaking the words without a thought, his face reddening slightly from embarrassment.
"It's alright, you only fell a bit behind, shouldn't take us more than a moment to catch up to the others...just be sure you don't fall back again, alright?" Fiel'doras let go of his arm as she saw him nod in response, and they continued along a scarcely-traveled path through a forest, snow lightly blanketing the ground and the leaves. There were a few smaller plants that managed to grow, despite the cold, flourishing in the pristine forest. They approached two figures crouching down and examining one such plant: A low-growing shrub with green leaves and clusters of purple berries growing on it. The two figures were a man and a woman, both obviously young. The young man shared the same disheveled auburn hair as Caen'ir, short in stature with a lean build, gray eyes that were focused on the plant and an impish grin on his face that seemed entirely natural for him. The young woman was just slightly shorter than the man next to her, black hair falling freely onto her shoulders. She seemed to be frowning at the man, her blue eyes displaying an annoyance as she began to speak.
"Don't. I mean it. You can't just eat something when you've not a clue what it is! It could be poisonous or something, and I'm NOT going to be held responsible if you drop dead from eating poisonous berries! So just cut it out and--" Before she could finish, the man tugged several berries off of the plant and popped them in his mouth defiantly, chewing them and swallowing them quickly to prevent any interruption from his female companion, a look of anger becoming quite evident on her face.
"Pfft, poisoned berries. Terli'ru, you're so paranoid and...crazy...you just...urk!" The young man clutched his stomach, seemingly in pain, falling to the ground unmoving, his eyes closed.
(( Longer than I thought it'd be, so going to post the rest later. Sorry for the shoddiness. D: ))
The woman was a head taller than him, a bit on the stout side in build. Her pale blonde hair was bound tightly with a leather throng. She held herself in a disciplined manner, softly pulling Caen'ir (as he was fairly certain, by now, this was him) along with her, slowing her step so he could easily keep up. She glanced back at him, she had a matronly look about her and warm brown eyes. She shook her head in a mock-reproachful fashion, her voice reaching out calmly in the serenity around them.
"You were the one who was so interested in tagging along, you really oughtn't keep us waiting after we allowed you to join us."
"Sorry, Fiel'doras, I was just...distracted." Caen'ir found himself speaking the words without a thought, his face reddening slightly from embarrassment.
"It's alright, you only fell a bit behind, shouldn't take us more than a moment to catch up to the others...just be sure you don't fall back again, alright?" Fiel'doras let go of his arm as she saw him nod in response, and they continued along a scarcely-traveled path through a forest, snow lightly blanketing the ground and the leaves. There were a few smaller plants that managed to grow, despite the cold, flourishing in the pristine forest. They approached two figures crouching down and examining one such plant: A low-growing shrub with green leaves and clusters of purple berries growing on it. The two figures were a man and a woman, both obviously young. The young man shared the same disheveled auburn hair as Caen'ir, short in stature with a lean build, gray eyes that were focused on the plant and an impish grin on his face that seemed entirely natural for him. The young woman was just slightly shorter than the man next to her, black hair falling freely onto her shoulders. She seemed to be frowning at the man, her blue eyes displaying an annoyance as she began to speak.
"Don't. I mean it. You can't just eat something when you've not a clue what it is! It could be poisonous or something, and I'm NOT going to be held responsible if you drop dead from eating poisonous berries! So just cut it out and--" Before she could finish, the man tugged several berries off of the plant and popped them in his mouth defiantly, chewing them and swallowing them quickly to prevent any interruption from his female companion, a look of anger becoming quite evident on her face.
"Pfft, poisoned berries. Terli'ru, you're so paranoid and...crazy...you just...urk!" The young man clutched his stomach, seemingly in pain, falling to the ground unmoving, his eyes closed.
(( Longer than I thought it'd be, so going to post the rest later. Sorry for the shoddiness. D: ))
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