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History of Mykal Vecar
Posted: 16 Feb 2004 06:45 PM |
Mykal’s eyes were closed as he took a deep breath to clear his mind. The cold wetness of the early morning dawn filled his lungs; shocking and uplifting all at the same time. He had not thought he would meet her again, not so soon. The surprise at his emotions still resonated deeply.
How long has it been since he felt this way? Had he ever felt this way before?
Mykal couldn’t answer this question, and that bothered him. It was difficult to remember how anything felt before his family was murdered. It seemed like it happened so long ago…how long had it been? Six months? A year? Grief mixed with drink created a crude but effective time machine, numbing the pain until Mykal found himself in the unknown future. His thoughts drifted to that night, as they had countless times before. The calm of the morning light transformed into the stillness of that terrible night. He was again in his warm bed, exhausted from the days work.
His brothers and father had spent the entire day rebuilding the fence that the new bull, frenzied with desire to mate, had destroyed. The work was hard, but Mykal enjoyed spending time with his father and brothers. Horatio, the senior Vecar, insisted on providing his children with well rounded educations, and so Mykal spend the day listening to Joahn and Rean, his two older brothers, arguing over politics, philosophy, and whether to plant the back 40 acres with barley or wheat. For all their arguing they got along well, and Mykal knew it wouldn’t be long until they were set up with farms of their own. Joahn was already spending more then a little bit of time with Master Ve’alan’s daughter Sweana and everyone knew marriage wouldn’t be far behind. Master Ve’alan had a large farm, and it was common knowledge that anyone who married his only child would be expected to work and eventually inherit that respectable farmstead.
Rean talked constantly about a small plot of land that was left free when Mistress Tilden died last season. Mistress Tilden was an old widow that could not work the farm by herself. Rean had worked the land for Mistress Tilden all last season for very little pay. Mykal knew he did this out of a sense of kindness and a special love for the gentle old widow. Rean was as kindhearted a man as they came, and for that Mykal greatly respected him. Now that Mistress Tilden had passed on, Rean felt a special connection to the small farm and thought he had a chance at buying it outright. Where he would get the money, Mykal didn’t know. But Rean had his sights set, and once he set his mind on something it seldom changed.
That evening turned out to be the most exciting night the Vecar family had seen in quite some time. When the fence was repaired and the bull returned, which was a long chore itself, as the animal had found it’s way into the neighboring field owned by Raspit, a less then honest farmer that harbored a great dislike for the Vecar family. Master Raspit vehemently argued with Joahn regarding proper ownership of the animal until Horatio arrived to point out the distinctive ‘HV’ brand on the bull’s hindquarters.
Joahn had left immediately after work to call on Sweana. While he was gone, Rean received word that Mistress Tilden had willed her entire farm to him. This news stirred the family into an excited state, and while Horatio was obviously pleased, Mykal could tell he was also saddened. It would be difficult, Mykal mused, to see your children leave home.
In the midst of the family’s celebration, Joahn returned with Sweana and Master Ve’alan. They announced, with little ceremony but obvious excitement, their impending marriage. Master Ve’alan spent the evening smiling and telling Horatio how lucky Sweana was to get such a fine young man. The celebration lasted long into the night.
After the final bottle of wine was emptied and the Ve’alan’s left, the Vecar family retired. Mykal used to share a room with Rean, but when his oldest brother, Mathus, left for Midor to study for the priesthood Rean had moved to the now empty room. The night was still…
Mykal opened his eyes as he felt the sun warm his face. No, he thought, I will not go there. This new feeling, I don’t want to ruin it.
But the feeling was already gone, washed away in the sea of memories. Mykal started towards the Four Winds Inn before his mind even registered his body’s intention. Each step was mechanical, unthinking. He knew where he was going and what he intended. And it sickened him.
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Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: Mykal Vecar
Posted: 16 Feb 2004 10:06 PM |
ooc wow, this is a great story...very well written *applauds*
Trishy
Macha Sparrowsong |
Trishy
Macha Sparrowsong - Song is my life
Coretta Alandar - Cleric of Midoran
Dekla Debena - whatever
Not all people who wander are lost.
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History of Mykal Vecar - Part II
Posted: 17 Feb 2004 01:19 PM |
It was dark. Very dark.. That was all Mykal could think of besides the throbbing pain in his head. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself outside, some distance from the Four Winds Inn, sprawled out in a tuft of glass. He still clutched an empty bottle of whiskey. His head exploded as he tried to get to his feet, but he ignored the pain. If there was one thing he could do is ignore physical pain. That had been easy ever since that night.
That night, the night Joahn became betrothed and Rean realized his dream. That’s what started this, Mykal thought bitterly as he tossed the bottle aside. The memories were clear, but the pain was still blunted by drink. Mykal closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The still of the night transported him to the still of that night. He inhaled the cold air and, when he exhaled, he was in his room, fast asleep, when a piercing scream broke the night.
He jumped out of bed, only to stumble on his own shoes, carelessly discarded earlier in the evening. He swore softly, his mind racing to find the source of the scream. It was then he noticed the smell.
Once, when Mykal was younger, he and Rean had snuck away to Buckshire. This was another one of Mykal’s “adventures” that he would drag Rean on. They would pretend they were paladins fighting monsters and saving the damsels in distress. Mykal didn’t even know what a damsel was then, but he didn’t care. They were always in the stories his father told, and if his father said they needed saving, then Mykal had no doubt that is what needed to be done.
It was getting late, and Mykal and Rean got lost on their way home. In the gathering dusk the lengthening shadows of the forest looked fiercer then any monster a pretend paladin could slay. Mykal smiled bravely at his brother and, even though he quaked with fear inside, ran ahead. The ground itself gave out from under him and Mykal fell into a pit.
He landed on what felt like a wet, squishy mattress. It only took a moment to realize that he was now sprawled out on a pile of decaying animal parts. The smell was overpowering. Mykal nearly fainted, but he succeeded in staying awake. He retched repeatedly, but his empty stomach would allow no vomit..
His time in the pit was short-lived, however, as a local ranger happened by at that very moment. The ranger never gave his name, but he helped Mykal out of the pit and escorted them home. It seems there had been a rash of animal killings, the ranger said, perhaps dire wolves or some other beast in the area. The ranger had collected the animal bodies and created the trap Mykal had fallen into in the hopes of luring whatever was killing the local animals. Mykal never found out if the trap worked or not, and at that point he didn’t care to ask the ranger for details. When he returned home he found his mother crying. Mykal’s father was also awake, but he did not shout in anger at his son’s. Still, Horatio Vecar was a hard when his son’s disobeyed him, and Mykal still remembered his punishment for his little “adventure.”
Mykal’s mind flashed to the pit, the smell he was experiencing now made the pit seem like a bed of roses. “This is what death smells like,” thought Mykal. He heard another scream, Joahn this time, and another. Mykal dropped to his bed and pulled the covers over his head. He could not move. He could hardly breath. His world contracted to include only screams. Another scream, his mother. Rean screaming, then Joahn. His mother a third time, cut short with a lout thud. And the smell. The vile, putrid smell that make Mykal throw up in his own covers. But even with the screams, he could not move.
Then another sound, that of a blade being withdrawn from its hilt, was heard. Mykal heard his father’s voice raised in a battle cry, but he could not make out the words. Still, he could not raise his head; he could not leave the bed. Fear trapped his soul as surely as the pit had trapped him before. More sounds, of powerful sword stokes cutting into flesh; of unearthly moaning; and still his father shouted. This time Mykal heard the battle cry, “For Midoran, for Midoran, my god and my faith!”
Mykal’s mind barely registered this cry. A battle cry of the paladins, he thought absently. Somehow his father shouting like a paladin did not penetrate Mykal. Battle cries, swords swinging, bodies falling, the smell, and unending fear were Mykal’s world. He never even thought to get out of bed to help. He could only think of one thing, surviving.
Then silence. For several hours Mykal remained in his bed, the putrid stenchl being replaced by the smell of his own dried sweat and vomit. After what seemed like hours, Mykal crawled out of bed. Fell out of bed is a more accurate way to put it, but at least he was free of his pit. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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mispost...
Posted: 17 Feb 2004 01:20 PM |
| Sorry, a mispost here |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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History of Mykal Vecar - Part III
Posted: 17 Feb 2004 01:20 PM |
Mykal walked away from this burning frame of his former home. In his pocket was all the money he could find in the house. He could probably have found more, he thought, but the house was now oppressive. Leaving became a greater priority then money. He wore simple work clothes and a pack with some minor provisions. On his hip was the long sword he had found in his father’s cold grip.
Mykal opened his eyes again and stared at the sword that had come unbidden to his hand. He raised the sword and kissed the hilt, as he had heard paladins do on occasion, and returned it to its sheath. He knew hew ould never be able to go home again.
He started from his sleep, his breath comming in ragged gasps. Almost immediatly, he felt ill from the last nights drink. "That was a mistake," he grumbled to himself and tried to ignore the pounding in his temples.
He tried to find the happiness he had known the night before. Before he had never cared much for women, now they occupied his thoughts constantly. So whey did I do it, he wondered. Why did I let that memory claim me again? He couldn’t answer this, and yet deep down he knew why. He knew the real reason why he returned to the bottle so frequently. He knew, and was ashamed.
I must go to Midor soon, he thought, they will be expecting me soon. With that, he started walking towards Port Royale, ignoring the pounding in his head. He put thoughts his past, his shame, and most importantly, women out of his mind. In Mykal’s mind, his path was clear. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: History of Mykal Vecar - Part II
Posted: 17 Feb 2004 01:25 PM |
ooc - That's amazing! Great depth and story crafting! Especially impressive since when I met you a few days ago you roleplayed this out perfectly. You've spent a lot of time working on developing your character and it really shows! Can't wait to see what happens next!
Auberon |
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Re: History of Mykal Vecar - Part II
Posted: 19 Feb 2004 12:17 AM |
| Excellent backstory. Agree with Auberon you've roleplayed it skillfully in game. :) |
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History of Mykal Vecar - Part IV
Posted: 20 Feb 2004 02:35 PM |
He waited at the dock for hours, yet no one came. Dawn was coming, and the captain, being the knowledgeable sailor he was, insisted that the ship disembark with the tide. Mykal knew the captain was right and boarded the ship. He looked out over the ocean, the setting sun reflecting cascades of red and orange and purple. I would have never dreamed such beauty possible, he thought to himself.
Thoughts of beauty, of course, lead him to thoughts of her. Her elvish beauty. Even now, as he stood on the deck, he could not imagine how he had been lucky enough to attract her attention. Lucky, yes, thought Mykal sadly, and now I must leave her for how long?
The holy island of Midoran was only a story in Mykal’s mind. He father told stories of the island when Mykal was a lad. Recalling that night, Mykal couldn’t help but suspect that his father knew more of the island then he let on. Horatio Vecar did shout a battle cry of the Midorian paladins, right? He must have slain several of them, and that helped Mykal survive. These thoughts swirled in his head as the ship lost site of shore. But above all his troubled thoughts was an overriding sense of joy and sadness.
Mykal had said goodbye to her not two hours ago, at a campfire in the Great Plains north of Midor. Tears had fallen; openly from her and hidden from him. And the group he was with watched without, Mykal believed, a full understanding of what was transpiring. He had no idea how long he would be training on the island. It was possible that this would be their last good bye.
Is it true that paladins of Midoran are married to their God, he wondered. She had told him this troubling news. It struck Mykal that he knew very little of the ways of Midorian paladins. Will Midoran even accept me, he thought desperately. He wasn’t certain, given the things he had done.
Seeing the ship had brought unbidden memories of the months after he had left his family farmstead in flames. He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to remember. The bodies of his family were left where they feel, Mykal had not buried them. He hoped Midoran would accept their souls in the flame he had lit.
Mykal traveled on foot to Port Royale. He did not know what he would do there, but he had some money and work should be plentiful on the docks. Work, unfortunately, was hard to come by, and Mykal found himself spending more and more time at the Cross Cutlass, his mind dulled from drink.
Mykal had no idea how long he lived like that. Long enough, at least, for his money to begin running low and for him to begin considering finding work. That was when he met Jaxin. It was as if fate itself had interceded on Mykal’s behalf. The very night he spent his last gold on yet another mug of ale, Jaxin arrived at the Cross Cutlass. Jaxin was bald, and his dark skin indicated he was not from this far north. Another peculiar thing about this man was the opulence of his jewelry. He wore a large, emerald earring on his right ear and several gold and silver necklaces draped over his bare, well-muscled chest.
Jaxin immediately began asking loudly for, as he called them, employees. “All ye despe’ate, star’ven, an’ drunkin’ maggots, this is’n yer lucky day!” he shouted in a thickly accented voice Mykal did not recognize. “Ah’ve gots a job fer a desperate few. Come an’ see meh an’ we’ll be talkin’ ‘bout it.”
It did not take Mykal long to decide to speak to Jaxin. The conversation was brief, and Mykal was soon promised a small paying but steady job on a ship set to disembark Port Royale the next week.. Mykal left quickly, the cold night air sobering him up considerably. Not once did he question what he had gotten himself into.
Mykal found out quickly the details of his new job. He was to be a guard on what sounded like a cargo vessel on a long journey from Port Royale to another city Mykal had never heard of. He was given rudimentary sword training by a burly, unkempt man name Istan. Istan was a harsh task master, but fortunately Mykal learned quickly. By the time the cargo vessel, named the Archon’s Gambit, was set to sail even Istan commented on Mykal’s skill with the blade.
Mykal boarded the Archon’s Gambit that evening. The moon was hidden by clouds tonight, and the final preparations for sailing were done in more silence then Mykal had ever seen at a dock. He and five other men that had been culled from the bars and dredges of Port Royale boarded the vessel. They were greeted by a thin human with a long, scraggily beard. “Okay, listen up. My name is Mr. Loccard. I am the first mate on the Archon’s Gambit and you’re new master. You will do as I say, eat what I tell you to eat, sleep where I tell you to sleep. You will not visit the cargo holds, you will not wander about decks when you are off duty, and you will defiantly not bother the captain at any time.” His voice was high pitched and weak. Mykal noted the arrogance in the man’s voice. Mr. Loccard thinks he can control this group, thought Mykal as he uneasily surveyed his follow “employees.”
A half-orc, three humans, and one rotund halfling had accompanied Mykal on the vessel. All looked as if they needed a strong ale or perhaps a good couple weeks in an infirmary. Mykal grimaced to himself when he realized how much he needed a drink. I probably look just like them, maybe worse.
“Your job will be go guard the crew of this ship,” spat Mr. Loccard. “You will protect the crew from the cargo at all costs. You will keep your weapons with you at all times, but remember, do not kill the cargo unless you have no other choice.” Mr. Loccard sneered at the group, “They are too valuable to waste.”
No one asked what the cargo was, by Mykal was curious. What type of cargo would be so dangerous that the crew would need protection? Thoughts of wild animals or fierce monsters flitted through his mind. Fear, however, was not present, only an overwhelming desire to run back to the Cross Cutlass to have another round of ale. Maybe something stronger, even.
But he knew he had no money, and the owner of the Cross Cutlass would not take kindly to a penniless customer. Mykal remained on deck, waiting for further instructions. “Now stow your belongings in your quarters. The ship’s boy will show you the way.”
Mykal and his fellow guards followed the ships boy down rickety stairs into the bowels of the ship. The smell that greeted him caused Mykal to momentarily think of that night. He pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on the moment. He pauses, forcing the memory back, and noticed a large door slightly ajar to his right. Mykal was alone now, the rest of the group had not noticed him stop. The smell grew stronger as Mykal approached the door. He slowly pushed it open in an attempt to keep any creaking at a bare minimum.
Mykal peered through the door into a large, gloomy room. His eyes were already beginning to adjust to the darkness when he hear a weak, forlorn moan. First one, then another, then many more moans echoed in the hold. He stepped into the room, his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness.
In all his life, Mykal had never seen a sight like this. The enormity of what faced him caused Mykal to drop to one knee, so overwhelmed was the scent, the sounds, and the sense of pain he felt.
Mykal blinked, and found once again on the docks of Midor. Will Midoran accept me, he wondered again. After what I did there, on that ship. Will he accept a soul that could allow that to happen?
He didn’t know, but he had to try. He nodded his readiness to the captain. Settling into his cramped quarters, Mykal set sail for the holy island of Midoran. Can some things be forgiven?
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Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: History of Mykal Vecar - Part IV
Posted: 21 Feb 2004 08:12 AM |
Would love to meet you also. I shall look out for you intently. Its nice to see someone who is also interested in developing more than just pixels and xp. I of course do not have you prosaic talent. Thanks for the good read.
Look forward to our first RP encounter |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Re: History of Mykal Vecar - Part V
Posted: 24 Feb 2004 02:30 PM |
Mykal sang the absurd ballad with gusto. He had been told his singing voice bad enough to scare away bugbears, but he still loved to sing. Add spirits and a late evening to the mix, and Mykal would sing at the to of his lungs, good voice or not.
A lit’le-bity baby boy
Was strollin’ down the hill
Said he to the lady-mum
‘ow ‘bout my mug yeh fill
Then ‘long came the little girl
‘Er ‘air so soft and curled
Tha said th’ lit’ley baby boy
Ah’m gonna get me that girl
An so the lit’le- bitty boy
Walked up tah the little girl
He said ‘I maybe little, but
Ah’ll give yeh quite a thrill!
Mykal tipped his mug, ale rolling down his chin as he laughed. He slammed the mug on the table with considerable force, nearly breaking it in the process. The bawdy song continued, but Mykal did not pay any more attention. His mine was already clouded with drink, and it his body was beginning to catch up. He climbed clumsily to his feet and stumbled towards the door.
The cold night air struck him like the backhand of an ettin. Winter’s commin’, he though absently. He stumbled forward a few steps before he realized he had no where to go. With that thought, the war his body was fighting with his mind ended. He slumped against the wall of the tavern and slid to a sitting position. He was asleep before he hit the ground.
Sleep was usually dreamless for Mykal, or so he thought. After all, he was always sleep when he would moan in fear. His ears never registers his midnight confessions, just as they didn’t register tonight. But his dreams were alive with the picture of the Archon’s Gambit’s hold. Burned into his mind, an implanted fixture for the remainder of his life, was that image….
The hold was like any other ship hold Mykal had seen in his time in Port Royale. He had worked loading and unloading cargo, a job that suited his strong shoulders and weakened mental state. Pick up, carry, and drop were the order of the day then. He knew that the average cargo vessel had two holds below deck. Some had three and others four, but those were reserved for vessels in the wealthy merchants fleets. The average hold was 30 by 10 meters and approximately 4 meters high. The hold he was faced with matched those measurements. Holds were usually cubicle to accommodate the boxed nature of most cargo. This hold too was a cubicle, but it did not contain boxes. Instead, evenly distributed pallets were stacked almost to the ceiling.
Mykal stepped into the hold despite the overwhelming smell. The palettes, rather then containing food or raw material or even finished product, as one would expect palettes to contain, instead were filled with bodies. Man and women, young and old, elf and human were laid flat on the palettes. Chains linked each of the slaves, further constricting their already limited movement. The slaves at the top ha no choice but to defecate on the slaves below, creating a grotesque hierarchy. Mykal noticed that some of the bodies were not moving and realized the smell was partially made up of rotting corpses.
A hand came heavily on Mykal’s shoulder and spun him around. He found himself face to face, or rather, face to chest, with a massive half-orc, one of his fellow guards,, if he remembered. “You no be here,” the half-orc grunted and began forcing Mykal down the hall, away from the slaves. A slave ship¸ though Mykal, what have I gotten myself into?
Mykal was led through a labyrinth of corridors by the massive half-orc. Finally, the half-orc came upon an open door and roughly shoved Mykal through. Unable to balance himself after the force of the push, Mykal fell heavily on the deck. “So,” said a familiar voice, “you’re going to be trouble, are you?”
Mr. Loccard seemed to appear over Mykal. He placed his foot on the back of Mykal’s skull to keep him down. Mykal could not see what Mr. Loccard had in his hand, but he knew what it was. Cat‘o'Nine tails, he groaned internally, what have I gotten myself into? Helpless, friendless, and totally alone, Mykal Vecar received ten lashes from the cat’o’nine tails for insubordination. He received another ten the following week, and still another ten the week after.
The harsh discipline of sailing life was not lost on Mykal after that, and Mr. Loccard had taken to using him as an example for the rest of the crew. For every slight, real and imagined, Mykal received lashing, beating, and other humiliations. His fellow guards shunned him for fear of being disciplined themselves. And so Mykal spend three long months at sea, guarding slaves for a master and purpose he despised….
Mykal tossed in is sleep, his dream not yet over. The worst was yet to come, for Mykal was about to dream of his ultimate failing. The very reason why he feared Midoran would not accept him lay deep within his heart, revealed to no one, known only in dreams. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: History of Mykal Vecar - Part VI
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 12:13 PM |
Mykal continued to toss in his sleep, oblivious to the noise he was making. More importantly, he was oblivious to the small, hunched figure that now stood over his sleeping body. In one quick motion, the hooded figure dropped deftly to its knees, grabbed Mykal’s chin, and raised it, exposing Mykal’s neck. The figure reached into it’s cloak and pulled a long, very broad knife. The figure paused as Mykal stirred, but went back into action as the sleeping man dropped back into unconsciousness.
The figure raised the knife towards Mykal’s throat….
It has been three months since Mykal had last stepped on land. The short, half hour stops every few days hardly counted, he thought. His sea legs had grown strong, and those rare times Mykal did get on land he found he missed the rolling of the ocean. Sailing would be a good life, he mused one day while on lookout. He was perched thirty meters above the deck in the crows nest. Up here, he was all alone, away from the beatings, the humiliations, and especially the slaves. He still grew sick when he thought about what he was doing. He grew sicker with the knowledge that he had still not done anything about it. All these innocents, he thought, and I have done nothing.
The truth was, though, he had done quite a bit. In his three months, Mykal had been forced to help put down two slave riots. The slaves were brought to the deck once each week for sunlight and minimal exercise. During this excursion they had seawater dumped on them to wash off any excess filth. Mykal was horrified a the process the first time it happened. Each group of ten slaves was doused with several liters of seawater, enough so that the filth on the deck had to be raked overboard. And still the slaves were not totally clean. They were dirty, hungry, and worst of all, without hope.
All save one slave. Mykal noticed the small elf when the slaves were first brought to the deck on his watch. She had stood out from the other slaves almost immediately, standing far taller and straighter then any living being could possibly after so long a confinement. She had the look of an elvish heroine of legend. Her face was young, yet her long white hair that retained beauty despite her long confinement. Her face had a noble beauty, made hard by her time in captivity. She looked strong, yet slender and delicate.
Mykal look down, embarrassed by his moment of fantasy. Legends were simply that, legends, and they had no place on a slave ship. After all, what kind of legend would allow herself to be captured in the first place? But still, as Mykal looked back at her, he had to wonder. Why was she there?
Mykal took the opportunity to indulge himself in idle fantasy when the deck erupted. A might shout arose from the beleaguered slaves as they threw off their shackles. Mykal could not understand how they freed themselves, and at the moment he did not care. Quickly he reached for his sword, then paused. Would he really kill these slaves merely for the crime of trying to escape? He had never killed anyone before. He stood still, his hand on the hilt of his fathers sword as the freed slaves advanced on his position, led by the noble elvish heroine.
She approached him, weaponless but unafraid. Mykal took a step back, certain that even though she possessed no weapon, this elf could easily kill him. Resigning himself to his fate and unwilling to kill the innocent, Mykal’s hand dropped from his sword hilt. The elf stopped and stared at him, surprised at his apparent surrender. That moment of hesitation was all the other guards needed to attack her from behind. She was brought down quickly, and soon after her the other slaves were restrained.
When order had been restored on deck, the hard faced elf was brought before the captain. Mykal did not make an effort to hear what was said. The captain was obviously upset, shouting and making grand gestures designed to magnify his presence to the crew. Mykal was nonplused, his eyes were on the young elf. To his surprise, she was not watching the captain, or the crew. Her eyes were squarely on Mykal. Her cool, unblinking gaze did not leave him until she was taken away by two burly sailors. They still did not leave him as she was strapped to the tallest mast on the ship. And the following morning, Mykal walked on deck, sluggish from the previous nights excesses, her eyes seemed to gravitate to him. Sharp and clear, and despite a night strapped to the tall mast, still defiant.
She was untied, of course. Such a strong specimen would, thought the slavers, fetch a fair price at market, despite the abuse already racked upon her. She was returned to the lower holds. At least she’s not watching me any longer, mused Mykal. He could not stand her cool, accusing stare. It was as if she was demanding why Mykal had done nothing to help the previous day. Because I can not, he anguished internally.
And so life continued on board that slave ship for the next two weeks. They were on an exceptionally long voyage and had not seen land in almost two full months. And every few days, the slaves were brought to the surface and put through the cruel cleaning process. Until one day, it happened all over again…
That day was much like the previous one. The sun shone high and the sea was calm. Sailing would be a good life, mused Mykal for only the second time during his entire time onboard ship. To Mykal, it was like history repeating itself. The strong looking elf, who stare had haunted Mykal since the previous uprising, again let loose a feral cry and the deck erupted. Again, the slaves were miraculously free and had gotten the better of the handlers that were immediately around them. And once again, the proud elf approached Mykal as he gripped his sword hilt.
He stared, transfixed by her gaze. He did not know what to do, only that he should act quickly. What happened to Mykal then can best be compared to a locked gate loudly slamming shut. Or open. He knew what he had to do.
He drew his sword….
….the cloaked figure hunched over the sleeping body of Mykal, holding the knife close to his throat. The cold of the blade caused Mykal to finally stir. He jumped when he saw the figure, causing the knife to draw a small sliver of blood from his neck. He was too startled, and too intoxicated, to speak.
The hand not holding the knife went to the hood, pulling it back in one smooth motion. A mountain of silver-blonde hair erupted from the hood. A proud face was revealed, one that seemed to belong on the greatest of elven heroines. Two cool, unblinking eyes bored into Mykal. ‘It is you,” she said. “Now justice will finally be served.”
She raised the blade…. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: History of Mykal Vecar - Final Part
Posted: 03 Mar 2004 05:06 PM |
So this is how it’s going to end. Mykal was surprisingly calm at the turn of events. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing this ghost from his past. Another explanation could be the alcohol clouded his mind such that he did not realize the danger he faced. Or maybe, just maybe, being drunk and asleep in the filthy stressed had finally caused him to lose all hope, making all thought of future survival seem pointless.
And in this strange moment, Mykal remembered the last time he had seen person. It had been in port, three days after the slave uprising. The smell of the Archon’s Gambit was still strong in his memory, as was the memory of the battle onboard her. He had drawn his sword, resolute on his intention, and thrust it into the nearest guard he could find. Kneeling, he had taken the blade form his former comrades lifeless grasp and tossed it to the elf. “Go,” he had said.
The rest of the battle was a blur of thrusts and screams and blood and death. But in the end, the slaves won the day, tossing Mr. Loccard overboard with little ceremony and imprisoning the rest of the crew below deck. All except for Mykal.
The elf never introduced herself and never thanked Mykal for his assistance. She simply took command of the vessel, the entire time speaking in elvish. The slaves seemed to have no trouble understanding her. I really should learn elvish someday, thought Mykal, and not for the first time.
After only one more day of sailing the freed slaves of the Archon’s Gambit, now renamed Aros’s Glory by the new crew, came across a Midoran man of war at full sail. Mykal knew that Midoran punishment from slaving was severe, and he protested loudly when the newly minted captain raised a white flag in a request for parlay with the Midoran’s.
Mykal hid himself as best he could, waiting for the Midoran’s to arrive. When the boarding hooks were finally attached, a detachment of Midoran sailors boarded the Aros’s Glory. It was dawn, and while the light was still low, Mykal was able to sneak aboard the Midoran vessel. There he hid until they made landfall two days later.
He was starving when he finally snuck off the vessel, having not eaten since three days prior. He quickly disposed of guards had and compass, two things that could certainly place him as a slaver if the Midoran sailors caught him. He looks around at the town he was in and stifled a cry. He was back in Port Royale, right where he started. But at least I know my way around, he thought and tried to pick his way away from the docks.
He did not get very far when a pair of piercing blue eyes met him. “You are leaving?” The elf’s voice was thick, and Mykal had to listen closely to understand.
“Yes,” he said tiredly, “Or I was trying to, anyway.”
“You will not be turning into the Midoran’s? You should, you know. You a slaver, jus’ like the res’ of them.”
“I’m not like them,” Mykal cried, then stopped quickly as his voice echoed. “I am not like them,” he whispered.
“But you are,” she accused, “You are slaver an’ should be punished.” She stared coldly at him. “But….you help me escape. I let you go now. Maybe you not like them.”
Mykal could not believe what he was hearing. She was letting him go? “But,” she raised a long, slender finger, “If I ever see you again, I kill you.”
Mykal nodded quickly, not wanting to questions the elvish woman’s judgment. He started walking away, but by the time he was finished he was running. He never saw her again.
Until tonight…
That same cold stare now met Mykal’s gaze. The moonlight reflected her cruel blade. It was concave at the center, designed to pierce and gouge at the same time. Not a good way to die, he sighed internally.
Then an odd thing happened. The elf turned the blade on its side so the concaved portion was facing up. She placed the tip of the knife on hi slips and, taking a waterskin, pours water down the concave of the knife and into Mykal’s mouth. “You are a mess,” she said in much improved but still heavily accented common. “How did you get like this?”
Mykal was too stunned to respond. Only a moment before he had thought his death was imminent. Now he was faced with a former slave, one he had guarded, helping him in his most defenseless state.
“You wonder why I do this?” Her improved language skills had apparently not cover proper tenses.. He nodded wordlessly. “I come down the street and saw you…you, of all people slumped over, drunk, and I think ‘Now is my chance. Now I can take revenge.’”
Mykal coughed on the water, and she stopped pouring. She continued, “But I can not. You do not know me, but I know you. I find you before, and see you walk around Midor. I know you want to be paladin.” She smirks, lighting her face up. She really is beautiful, thought Mykal. “You were right, you’re not like them.”
She stood as she plugged the cap to her waterskin. “Wait,” croaked Mykal finally. He had to say something, but what? He has so many questions, so much he wanted to ask this beautiful elf. “Who are you?”
That’s the best you can come up with, he groaned internally.
”Maybe you find out someday, yes?” she said and like a passing shadow was gone.
Something must have been enchanted about the water she gave him. The effects of the liquor were by now almost gone. Mykal rose to his feet, feeling good physically, but he was very confused. Who was that woman? Why did she help him? Will he ever know?
Probably not, Mykal decided as he walks away from the inn. It was late, but he did not have enough money to rent a room.
A voice from his past came from behind, “Mykal, is that you?” He spun around, only to be faced by his older brother, Mathus.
((So ends the history of Mykal Vecar. This is the point where an IG situation occurred, so I won’t detail it in the history forum. If you’ve read this far, thank you. I hope you enjoyed it. If you wonder how a man like this can be a paladin, well, join the club. I ask myself that every time I log on…)) |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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