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- Moments [[Personal Writing Challenge]]
*grabs chips and sits down* This will be good!
To be an interesting, intriguing, well-written character, there needs to be something to allow the audience to relate to them. That is what the problem is with who wants their character to be "perfect". Perfect characters will never be strong, and strong characters will never be perfect, because WE (those who read, who watch, who RP) are not perfect.
"What makes a strong character is how they deal with their flaws, their fears, their turmoils, their troubles that get in the way. That's what makes them relatable." – Doug Walker
"What makes a strong character is how they deal with their flaws, their fears, their turmoils, their troubles that get in the way. That's what makes them relatable." – Doug Walker
Thieves Oil
Sitting on the railing with her bad leg stretched out in front of her, Draenen watched her flock of seagulls as they swooped and bickered for the clumps of bread that she tossed over the water. She had finally managed to persuade Roy in letting her out of the room, but only with the promise that she would stay on crutches. That was fine, really; she just needed out of the room. She hated enforced bedrest, and she felt that if she had been required to stay down another hour she would’ve started climbing the walls.
“How’s the leg?”
She looked over as her brother approached. “… Eh. Even if I didn’t have people telling me to stay put, I wouldn’t want to try dancing. What’re you up to?”
“Not a whole lot.” Mirror shrugged. “Maeve finally went back to the Middle Lands, so I’m finally able to relax.”
“That’s good.” Draenen watched in amusement as the largest of her seagulls hovered in front of Mirror’s face and squawked loudly in his face before winging away after another chunk of thrown bread.
“Training them to be attack birds?”
She shrugged. “Only against Mr. Fighter-for-Hire.”
Mirror chuckled, then reached into his pocket. “Sooo… I got you a ‘get well soon’ gift.”
“Hm?” Draenen looked up, and her eyes widened as her brother produced a small brown glass bottle. “… Is that..?” She took the bottle, uncorked it, and sniffed. “Goddess… it is. Where did you get it? This stuff is said to be rarer than gold.”
“I traded for it. Though, I don’t think the merchant knew what she had.”
“Obviously not.” She carefully tucked the bottle into one of her pockets. “Thanks a lot.”
“Mhm.” Mirror gave Draenen a brotherly kiss on the top of her head. “Too bad it doesn’t work on muscle wounds.”
“Pfft. Who cares about that? This stuff is lucky, hands-down.”
Sitting on the railing with her bad leg stretched out in front of her, Draenen watched her flock of seagulls as they swooped and bickered for the clumps of bread that she tossed over the water. She had finally managed to persuade Roy in letting her out of the room, but only with the promise that she would stay on crutches. That was fine, really; she just needed out of the room. She hated enforced bedrest, and she felt that if she had been required to stay down another hour she would’ve started climbing the walls.
“How’s the leg?”
She looked over as her brother approached. “… Eh. Even if I didn’t have people telling me to stay put, I wouldn’t want to try dancing. What’re you up to?”
“Not a whole lot.” Mirror shrugged. “Maeve finally went back to the Middle Lands, so I’m finally able to relax.”
“That’s good.” Draenen watched in amusement as the largest of her seagulls hovered in front of Mirror’s face and squawked loudly in his face before winging away after another chunk of thrown bread.
“Training them to be attack birds?”
She shrugged. “Only against Mr. Fighter-for-Hire.”
Mirror chuckled, then reached into his pocket. “Sooo… I got you a ‘get well soon’ gift.”
“Hm?” Draenen looked up, and her eyes widened as her brother produced a small brown glass bottle. “… Is that..?” She took the bottle, uncorked it, and sniffed. “Goddess… it is. Where did you get it? This stuff is said to be rarer than gold.”
“I traded for it. Though, I don’t think the merchant knew what she had.”
“Obviously not.” She carefully tucked the bottle into one of her pockets. “Thanks a lot.”
“Mhm.” Mirror gave Draenen a brotherly kiss on the top of her head. “Too bad it doesn’t work on muscle wounds.”
“Pfft. Who cares about that? This stuff is lucky, hands-down.”
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When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
Limits
Every movement was sheer agony, yet Tarauial persisted in finishing the forms alongside her twin. Seven years now… seven years since her hip had been forcibly displaced and left to heal incorrectly. The physician had remarked that it was a miracle that she could still walk after the ordeal, but had warned her that the damage was permanent.
She had been forced to retire from the Temple Knights at only twenty-nine.
Tarauial didn’t regret it, though. Her injury had been an honorable one; received while defying the kidnapper of her closest friend’s child. She had been charged in looking after the boy and, by the Goddess, she did not let him get more than a room away at all times.
“You’re slipping out of form.”
Tarauial jerked her mind back to the present, and adjusted her stance. “Sorry.”
Romidant glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. They were as identical as gender-different twins could be; androgynous of face and sharing the same athletic build, the only polite way to tell them apart was by their haircut. And even that was similar. “If it hurts, you should stop.”
“Pain is to be endured.” Tarauial huffed, pushing her sweaty bangs off her forehead.
“Pain is also the body’s way of telling you that you’re pushing too hard.” Romidant shook his head. “We’re only halfway through the routine, you’re not going to last today. Not after you’ve been pushing for the past week.”
She gritted her teeth. He was right, of course. “… Fine. But we’re finishing this set first.”
Every movement was sheer agony, yet Tarauial persisted in finishing the forms alongside her twin. Seven years now… seven years since her hip had been forcibly displaced and left to heal incorrectly. The physician had remarked that it was a miracle that she could still walk after the ordeal, but had warned her that the damage was permanent.
She had been forced to retire from the Temple Knights at only twenty-nine.
Tarauial didn’t regret it, though. Her injury had been an honorable one; received while defying the kidnapper of her closest friend’s child. She had been charged in looking after the boy and, by the Goddess, she did not let him get more than a room away at all times.
“You’re slipping out of form.”
Tarauial jerked her mind back to the present, and adjusted her stance. “Sorry.”
Romidant glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. They were as identical as gender-different twins could be; androgynous of face and sharing the same athletic build, the only polite way to tell them apart was by their haircut. And even that was similar. “If it hurts, you should stop.”
“Pain is to be endured.” Tarauial huffed, pushing her sweaty bangs off her forehead.
“Pain is also the body’s way of telling you that you’re pushing too hard.” Romidant shook his head. “We’re only halfway through the routine, you’re not going to last today. Not after you’ve been pushing for the past week.”
She gritted her teeth. He was right, of course. “… Fine. But we’re finishing this set first.”
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
[[I know, I know… no updates for a few days. And it'll probably be a few days more before I can do anything. It's not Writer's Block. It's something else, and it's obliterating my ability to think.]]
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When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
[[*brushes off the dust* Well now… going to try to get back on this. I probably won't be doing the "every day", but I'm hoping for a couple a week. Lifestyle changes are happening and more are on the horizon, so… we'll see. In the meantime… here's something that'll be relevant soon!]]
Reunion
“This has to be one of your most annoying habits.”
“Which habit are you referring to?”
“The one where you lead me around by the nose everywhere.”
“Ah. Well, it’ll be your habit one day.”
Mirror growled, the sound echoing through the wet cave. “You really do find this funny, don’t you?”
The Farseer looked back and grinned, the expression making him look years younger and further highlighting the uncanny resemblance between the two. “I think you’ve spent too much time in Kenjii’s company; you’ve been so sour the past couple months.” He turned back, pushing a clump of seaweed out of his way before running his fingers down the rock face before them and then pressing on the hidden switch that opened the secret door. “And, yes, I do find it amusing. You’ll understand one day.”
“Goddess forbid.”
“You will, or you’ll go insane from everything. Trust me, you’ll understand and learn someday.” The Farseer paused. “However… I suppose I should warn you this time. We’re going to meet with someone that was thought to be lost.”
Mirror perked up at that. “In Norg?”
“Well, that’s the only thing down here, isn’t it?”
His interest peaked, Mirror’s step became more enthusiastic. “Is it the twins? Maeve said they were dead, though.”
“One of the twins.” The Farseer gave a sad little smile. “They were separated during the siege. Fand died of sickness… the way she just wasted away, Maeve just assumed it was because Sorane was dead. But he managed to make it across the archipelago before the explosion.”
“… You didn’t bother correcting her?”
“I like to keep some secrets from her. She gets unbearable when she things she knows everything.”
They entered Norg just as one of the pirate ships was docking, and several summoners disembarked. There was something odd about one of them; the gait was both masculine and dainty, and the profile was of an androgynous individual somewhere in their thirties, with long dark brown hair tied back into a ponytail at the nape of the neck. What gave this person away, though, were the two horizontal lines tattooed across the top of his cheek.
“SORANE!” Mirror shouted and darted across the cavern, laughing and ignoring the looks of the other pirates.
“… Siren’s tits…” The summoner stopped in his tracks and turned, his pale yellow wine eyes showing utter shock, then laughed. His voice was a rich baritone, the only solid outward sign of what his gender was. The two caught each other in a rough, manly hug. “This ain’t fair, Teg. How’d you managed to keep looking so young after all these years?” Sorane looked up as the Farseer stepped closer, and his eyes went even wider. “… What the…”
Mirror wrinkled his nose. “… It’s a long story, Sor. You’ll want to be drunk when you hear it.”
Reunion
“This has to be one of your most annoying habits.”
“Which habit are you referring to?”
“The one where you lead me around by the nose everywhere.”
“Ah. Well, it’ll be your habit one day.”
Mirror growled, the sound echoing through the wet cave. “You really do find this funny, don’t you?”
The Farseer looked back and grinned, the expression making him look years younger and further highlighting the uncanny resemblance between the two. “I think you’ve spent too much time in Kenjii’s company; you’ve been so sour the past couple months.” He turned back, pushing a clump of seaweed out of his way before running his fingers down the rock face before them and then pressing on the hidden switch that opened the secret door. “And, yes, I do find it amusing. You’ll understand one day.”
“Goddess forbid.”
“You will, or you’ll go insane from everything. Trust me, you’ll understand and learn someday.” The Farseer paused. “However… I suppose I should warn you this time. We’re going to meet with someone that was thought to be lost.”
Mirror perked up at that. “In Norg?”
“Well, that’s the only thing down here, isn’t it?”
His interest peaked, Mirror’s step became more enthusiastic. “Is it the twins? Maeve said they were dead, though.”
“One of the twins.” The Farseer gave a sad little smile. “They were separated during the siege. Fand died of sickness… the way she just wasted away, Maeve just assumed it was because Sorane was dead. But he managed to make it across the archipelago before the explosion.”
“… You didn’t bother correcting her?”
“I like to keep some secrets from her. She gets unbearable when she things she knows everything.”
They entered Norg just as one of the pirate ships was docking, and several summoners disembarked. There was something odd about one of them; the gait was both masculine and dainty, and the profile was of an androgynous individual somewhere in their thirties, with long dark brown hair tied back into a ponytail at the nape of the neck. What gave this person away, though, were the two horizontal lines tattooed across the top of his cheek.
“SORANE!” Mirror shouted and darted across the cavern, laughing and ignoring the looks of the other pirates.
“… Siren’s tits…” The summoner stopped in his tracks and turned, his pale yellow wine eyes showing utter shock, then laughed. His voice was a rich baritone, the only solid outward sign of what his gender was. The two caught each other in a rough, manly hug. “This ain’t fair, Teg. How’d you managed to keep looking so young after all these years?” Sorane looked up as the Farseer stepped closer, and his eyes went even wider. “… What the…”
Mirror wrinkled his nose. “… It’s a long story, Sor. You’ll want to be drunk when you hear it.”
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
Remedium
It was a ringing sound, much like a distant silver bell, that brought him out of his sleep. He stared up at the darkened ceiling as he tried to place that sound. He knew he knew it… the problem was, he had to find it in his memory first.
And that was his biggest problem. His memory was so full, that it sometimes took days of shuffling before he could recall the proper bit of information. Sometimes that wasn’t a problem. Other times, he would recall something just a few moments too late. And then there were the times he would recall the wrong thing, and the results were disastrous. So, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort through it all, and like he normally did when in this sort of situation, he reached with one hand to stroke the pendant that lay on his bare chest.
It was not there.
With a start, he sat up and fumbled for the crystal lamp on the nightstand. For a man in his mid-forties, he was in excellent shape; toned without being overly muscular, no wrinkles and not even a trace of grey hair. He rummaged through the blankets and even threw the pillows off the bed, but couldn’t find the pendant. He was about to go into a panic when his toe contacted something round, sending it skittering across the floor to strike against the wall with a silvery little crash.
With a sigh, he crossed to where his pendant lay and picked it up, meticulously examining the garnet and what appeared to be moonstone sphere. The garnet side was like a dark, fine red wine in hue, and the paler half was as it had been since he had turned twenty; iridescent bands of white and palest blue, and badly cracked. He personally surmised that it was only the will of the stone itself – if a gemstone had a will – that kept it from shattering into oblivion. He checked the chain next and frowned. The gold length was short so it could not slip over his head without being unclasped, and was unbroken. The clasp itself was undone, a thing that he could not quite understand; it was designed to never undo itself, even by accident.
He sat down on the bed, holding the pendant in his hand as he stared at it with unseeing eyes. He had already turned inward, his mind passing through countless scenarios in a search for anything that resembled this situation. It was there, he knew it… buried somewhere deep in his mind, buried behind battle strategies and points of history, and a march of time and events that he had overseen and at times even manipulated.
Born a bard, his secondary talent had been that of a summoner. This was the way of his bloodline but to fulfill his purpose in life, he had been forced to become a scholar as well. Calculations often trailed off into summoning circles and memorized sheet music. And further distracting from all of this was the internal melody of his Song, teasing him to sink into the past, into his own memories… to join with the memories of the people he knew were sleeping in the room adjoining his…
Focus. He needed to focus.
––––-
Mirror entered the Farseer’s room in Jeuno hours later, and was shocked to find it empty of all of the older man’s possessions, save a folded piece of paper placed square in the middle of the small table, next to one of his prized crystal lamps. Swearing under his breath, Mirror walked over and picked up the paper.
“… Always a bird brain…” Sorane muttered as he entered behind Mirror. “Well, what does it say?”
It was a ringing sound, much like a distant silver bell, that brought him out of his sleep. He stared up at the darkened ceiling as he tried to place that sound. He knew he knew it… the problem was, he had to find it in his memory first.
And that was his biggest problem. His memory was so full, that it sometimes took days of shuffling before he could recall the proper bit of information. Sometimes that wasn’t a problem. Other times, he would recall something just a few moments too late. And then there were the times he would recall the wrong thing, and the results were disastrous. So, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort through it all, and like he normally did when in this sort of situation, he reached with one hand to stroke the pendant that lay on his bare chest.
It was not there.
With a start, he sat up and fumbled for the crystal lamp on the nightstand. For a man in his mid-forties, he was in excellent shape; toned without being overly muscular, no wrinkles and not even a trace of grey hair. He rummaged through the blankets and even threw the pillows off the bed, but couldn’t find the pendant. He was about to go into a panic when his toe contacted something round, sending it skittering across the floor to strike against the wall with a silvery little crash.
With a sigh, he crossed to where his pendant lay and picked it up, meticulously examining the garnet and what appeared to be moonstone sphere. The garnet side was like a dark, fine red wine in hue, and the paler half was as it had been since he had turned twenty; iridescent bands of white and palest blue, and badly cracked. He personally surmised that it was only the will of the stone itself – if a gemstone had a will – that kept it from shattering into oblivion. He checked the chain next and frowned. The gold length was short so it could not slip over his head without being unclasped, and was unbroken. The clasp itself was undone, a thing that he could not quite understand; it was designed to never undo itself, even by accident.
He sat down on the bed, holding the pendant in his hand as he stared at it with unseeing eyes. He had already turned inward, his mind passing through countless scenarios in a search for anything that resembled this situation. It was there, he knew it… buried somewhere deep in his mind, buried behind battle strategies and points of history, and a march of time and events that he had overseen and at times even manipulated.
Born a bard, his secondary talent had been that of a summoner. This was the way of his bloodline but to fulfill his purpose in life, he had been forced to become a scholar as well. Calculations often trailed off into summoning circles and memorized sheet music. And further distracting from all of this was the internal melody of his Song, teasing him to sink into the past, into his own memories… to join with the memories of the people he knew were sleeping in the room adjoining his…
Focus. He needed to focus.
––––-
Mirror entered the Farseer’s room in Jeuno hours later, and was shocked to find it empty of all of the older man’s possessions, save a folded piece of paper placed square in the middle of the small table, next to one of his prized crystal lamps. Swearing under his breath, Mirror walked over and picked up the paper.
“… Always a bird brain…” Sorane muttered as he entered behind Mirror. “Well, what does it say?”
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
Wake Up
Eyes opened in the faint dawn light, icy blue with a distinct ring of dark gold around the outer edge. The cold, animal-like intensity in those eyes was gone now, filled instead with a hazy sort of confusion. There was a profound sense of loss of self and total disorientation… the knowledge of who and where she was, was utterly gone and it set a flutter of panic through her.
A lot of things felt wrong. But the feeling of arms wrapped around her from behind, puffs of breath on her neck, and long soft hair with a subtle masculine scent under her cheek were all so utterly –right- that sleep quickly reclaimed her.
Eyes opened in the faint dawn light, icy blue with a distinct ring of dark gold around the outer edge. The cold, animal-like intensity in those eyes was gone now, filled instead with a hazy sort of confusion. There was a profound sense of loss of self and total disorientation… the knowledge of who and where she was, was utterly gone and it set a flutter of panic through her.
A lot of things felt wrong. But the feeling of arms wrapped around her from behind, puffs of breath on her neck, and long soft hair with a subtle masculine scent under her cheek were all so utterly –right- that sleep quickly reclaimed her.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
Rise
A/N: This took place between getting off the ferry and meeting up with the others at Salaheem's Sentinels during the RP on 12/11.
Draenen exited the pier with a smile on her face. She felt good; a few days of rest and a huge weight of her shoulders had done wonders for her health. Malay was home, tucked away as safely as could be hoped for under the circumstances, Avina had been found, and now all there was to do in Al Zahbi was get Kenjii out of the Palace, deal with the rest of the Immortal ‘Sins’, get Roy’s friend out of jail, and finish up the mission for the Middle Lands with a report that would convince the nations back home to stop any further dealings with the Empire.
Completely, utterly do-able.
When the door to her rented room didn’t open with her key, she shrugged it off. Work as a courier in the past had gotten her used to such things; many inns reset the locks on a regular schedule. It was a safety measure for current guests against dishonest ones that had copies of their keys made during their stay. All she had to do was return to the front desk and trade in her old key for a new one.
The warning bells started going off after she got the new key and opened the door. The air in the room was still and creeping towards that state of mustiness that happens when a room has gone unused for some days, and Draenen noticed it immediately as the door cracked open. Inside, it was cool and dark, and as she looked around she saw the lack of Roy’s belongings.
Her heart lurched.
She softly closed the door, and then went back to the attendant in charge of the rental ward. She had to wait in line behind a few other guests, but in all she didn’t have to wait more than five or so minutes.
“Can I help y—oh, did the key not work?”
“It worked. But, umm…” Draenen paused, physically and mentally stammering around the word even after all this time. “… my boyfriend’s… stuff is missing..?”
“… He checked out, four days ago about mid-afternoon.” The attendant looked up from her records. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“… No…” Draenen’s voice was soft. “… No, he didn’t… thank you for your time.”
She returned to the room and for the better part of a half-hour, stood just inside the entry with the door closed behind her. It really didn’t take a lot of mental acrobatics to realize the significance of when Roy had checked out; it hadn’t been more than a few hours after she had left with Kirious. She had that worked out on the walk back. Her quiet contemplation was centered on the sick, twisting feeling in her chest and stomach. She hated it. Hated it with words she couldn’t even begin to find.
Draenen finally sighed and moved further into the room. A search resulted in no note or letter… not that she expected there to be one. I would’ve left one… She finally settled on the bed, then rolled over and pressed her face into the pillow. She rolled back over a moment later, her face finally showing some sort of emotion. The bedding had been changed… and then all she saw was red.
When the haze finally lifted, Draenen found herself standing on a carpet of splinters while bird down sifted through the air like heavy snowfall. Her knives were in her hands and she was panting heavily as tears slid down her cheeks. She dropped to her knees, the knives sliding out of her fingers, and she didn’t feel the sliver of wood piercing her leathers and digging into her leg.
“… What was I supposed to do…” Although the tears continued to slide down her face, leaving a single line down each cheek through the dust and debris that her rampage had kicked up and coated her, her voice remained clear, if soft. “We had a chance. We took it. It wasn’t ideal, but we accomplished our mission with minimal damage done… If he had gone alone, I would’ve lost both of them forever. What was I supposed to do? Would you have really done anything different if you were in my shoes?”
Another half hour passed in silence.
“… I don’t know why I’m so upset…” She again spoke in that soft, clear tone. “I never… never expected it to work out. I knew your reputation. I knew my personality. It would’ve ended eventually. Why would I be stupid to think or dream anything else?”
… But… I did dream. Once, while I was sick and I was put into that sleep… Of a little house surrounded by flowers, and the sounds of children laughing… and arms holding me close every night…
The sick feeling in her chest changed, and through the tears she had to force herself to look down to make sure she hadn’t just driven one of her knives into her heart. Goddess, the phantom pain was worse than any other injury she had ever sustained, and it terrified her.
It was that terror that, oddly, saved her. It spread through her body like an icy wave, and in its wake left a numbness that allowed her mind to take charge. There were still missions before her, things that had to be done, and she could not – would not – back down from. Words bubbled up in her mind, like a spring that just broke the surface, and before she even realized what she was doing, she seized a lump of lead from the remains of the desk and approached the wall.
Bring the dream to the edge of the chasm: it’s the only way the world can be saved.
Do not cry, hide the tears, because a new day will come.
Your fire will warm thousands of hearts.
Now rise and hide the deep pain and fear
The one who is right will win. Know that everything is in your hands
Save your tears for the day when our pain is far behind
On your feet, come with me
We are soldiers: stand or die
Save your fears, take your place, save them for the judgment day
Fast and free, follow me
Time to make the sacrifice
We rise or fall.
Draenen stared at the words for some time, then nodded and went in search of a broom and dustpan.
She had to hide the pain and tears… there was too much at stake for her to fall by the wayside.
A/N: This took place between getting off the ferry and meeting up with the others at Salaheem's Sentinels during the RP on 12/11.
Draenen exited the pier with a smile on her face. She felt good; a few days of rest and a huge weight of her shoulders had done wonders for her health. Malay was home, tucked away as safely as could be hoped for under the circumstances, Avina had been found, and now all there was to do in Al Zahbi was get Kenjii out of the Palace, deal with the rest of the Immortal ‘Sins’, get Roy’s friend out of jail, and finish up the mission for the Middle Lands with a report that would convince the nations back home to stop any further dealings with the Empire.
Completely, utterly do-able.
When the door to her rented room didn’t open with her key, she shrugged it off. Work as a courier in the past had gotten her used to such things; many inns reset the locks on a regular schedule. It was a safety measure for current guests against dishonest ones that had copies of their keys made during their stay. All she had to do was return to the front desk and trade in her old key for a new one.
The warning bells started going off after she got the new key and opened the door. The air in the room was still and creeping towards that state of mustiness that happens when a room has gone unused for some days, and Draenen noticed it immediately as the door cracked open. Inside, it was cool and dark, and as she looked around she saw the lack of Roy’s belongings.
Her heart lurched.
She softly closed the door, and then went back to the attendant in charge of the rental ward. She had to wait in line behind a few other guests, but in all she didn’t have to wait more than five or so minutes.
“Can I help y—oh, did the key not work?”
“It worked. But, umm…” Draenen paused, physically and mentally stammering around the word even after all this time. “… my boyfriend’s… stuff is missing..?”
“… He checked out, four days ago about mid-afternoon.” The attendant looked up from her records. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“… No…” Draenen’s voice was soft. “… No, he didn’t… thank you for your time.”
She returned to the room and for the better part of a half-hour, stood just inside the entry with the door closed behind her. It really didn’t take a lot of mental acrobatics to realize the significance of when Roy had checked out; it hadn’t been more than a few hours after she had left with Kirious. She had that worked out on the walk back. Her quiet contemplation was centered on the sick, twisting feeling in her chest and stomach. She hated it. Hated it with words she couldn’t even begin to find.
Draenen finally sighed and moved further into the room. A search resulted in no note or letter… not that she expected there to be one. I would’ve left one… She finally settled on the bed, then rolled over and pressed her face into the pillow. She rolled back over a moment later, her face finally showing some sort of emotion. The bedding had been changed… and then all she saw was red.
When the haze finally lifted, Draenen found herself standing on a carpet of splinters while bird down sifted through the air like heavy snowfall. Her knives were in her hands and she was panting heavily as tears slid down her cheeks. She dropped to her knees, the knives sliding out of her fingers, and she didn’t feel the sliver of wood piercing her leathers and digging into her leg.
“… What was I supposed to do…” Although the tears continued to slide down her face, leaving a single line down each cheek through the dust and debris that her rampage had kicked up and coated her, her voice remained clear, if soft. “We had a chance. We took it. It wasn’t ideal, but we accomplished our mission with minimal damage done… If he had gone alone, I would’ve lost both of them forever. What was I supposed to do? Would you have really done anything different if you were in my shoes?”
Another half hour passed in silence.
“… I don’t know why I’m so upset…” She again spoke in that soft, clear tone. “I never… never expected it to work out. I knew your reputation. I knew my personality. It would’ve ended eventually. Why would I be stupid to think or dream anything else?”
… But… I did dream. Once, while I was sick and I was put into that sleep… Of a little house surrounded by flowers, and the sounds of children laughing… and arms holding me close every night…
The sick feeling in her chest changed, and through the tears she had to force herself to look down to make sure she hadn’t just driven one of her knives into her heart. Goddess, the phantom pain was worse than any other injury she had ever sustained, and it terrified her.
It was that terror that, oddly, saved her. It spread through her body like an icy wave, and in its wake left a numbness that allowed her mind to take charge. There were still missions before her, things that had to be done, and she could not – would not – back down from. Words bubbled up in her mind, like a spring that just broke the surface, and before she even realized what she was doing, she seized a lump of lead from the remains of the desk and approached the wall.
Bring the dream to the edge of the chasm: it’s the only way the world can be saved.
Do not cry, hide the tears, because a new day will come.
Your fire will warm thousands of hearts.
Now rise and hide the deep pain and fear
The one who is right will win. Know that everything is in your hands
Save your tears for the day when our pain is far behind
On your feet, come with me
We are soldiers: stand or die
Save your fears, take your place, save them for the judgment day
Fast and free, follow me
Time to make the sacrifice
We rise or fall.
Draenen stared at the words for some time, then nodded and went in search of a broom and dustpan.
She had to hide the pain and tears… there was too much at stake for her to fall by the wayside.
last edited 594 weeks ago by Mae
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When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
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610 weeks ago