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Zoirenna
Posted: 27 Aug 2004 11:05 AM |
Here is the first installment of Zoirenna's background story. Hope you all like it.
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Zoirenna gazed out of the arched window in her room, letting her eyes wander over the rooftops of Midora city. Many of the people milling around in the street below would be thrilled to have such a view of the city, and though it had offered her countless hours of daydreaming, now it seemed like the most boring thing in the world.
Her room was in her fathers tower, almost fifty feet off the ground. Her father, the respectable wizard.
Zoirenna sighed deeply, and jumped down from the window sill. To a nine year old girl, having a respectable wizard for a father simply meant being confined to a tower most of the time. She did not go to school like normal girls. Her father had private teachers who came to the tower and taught her letters, numbers and etiquette. Even the few times when she was allowed out of the tower, she always had to be accompagnied by a guard. It was intolerable.
Her few friends were all carefully chosen from among the wealthier and more influential families in the city. Every so often, her father would instruct her to visit her so-called friends, and remind her that you can only have friends if you visit them from time to time. Most of the time, she didn't feel like it at all. It did allow her to get our of the tower, but she would be escorted straight to her destination, and then end up trapped inside some mansion with the same strict rules as her home. No running, shouting, hiding or getting her dress dirty. Usually the grown-ups would make the girls sit and have tea with them, or play quietly while they, or the house butler, would keep an eye on them. It was just so frustrating! She would much rather have the entire city as her playground, like the children playing in the streets below.
She scanned her room for inspiration. Something to play with, anything to pass the time. There was just her regular play things; some old dolls that she used to play a lot with, but now had outgrown, a sketchbook and a set of writing utensils from the time where her father had tried to make her take up drawing as a hobby, an old magic light wand, which she had drained of magic long ago. She had gotten the wand for her 8 year birthday. Her father had made it himself. It was a fantastic present, and she loved it very much. She could make almost anything glow with a soft white light, and she had used it to impress her friends. Since then she had learned to cast the spell herself, and eventually grown bored with even that. Now the wand just lay there, looking dull and spent, almost as if it was reflecting her mood.
With an inaudible sigh, she pulled open the door and stepped lightly out of her room. The tower had a lazily winding stairwell, just inside the outer circumference. At each level of the tower, the stairwell panned out to form a platform, a small area, where doors would lead off to the various rooms on that level. Zoirenna didn't even bother to look where she was going. She knew this level of the tower by heart. Like most of the other levels of the tower, the platform area was sparsely decorated, with only a few tapestries to add a bit of faded colour and reduce the sound echoing off the cold stone walls. She would like to be able to say that she knew every nook and cranny of the tower, but there were some places where she was forbidden to go. The levels below ground, at well as the top level where the summoning room was. The alchemy lab was also off limits. Her father would often spend time in the lab, sometimes with his apprentice, brewing potions and refining components for spellcasting.
Today, her father was out on business. He served as advisor to some notables in the clergy that Zoirenna didn't really know who was. Her father would speak of them sometimes, but they never came to the tower, and she had never seen them. It was not very exciting anyway. They just discussed politics, theology and matters arcane. All so serious and dreadfully boring stuff that she didn't really understand. For some strange reason, most adults were like that. Zoirenna had sworn to herself, that when she grew up, she would not become like that. She would be a truly happy person, because she would be allowed out of the tower, and even out of the city. She would be able to go anywhere she wanted, and do anything she liked.
Maybe if she proved to her father that she was a responsible daughter. She could surprise him by helping him out with his work, so he could take a day off, and they could go out in the city together. Have a father and daughter day out, perhaps go shopping in the market district.
She found herself standing outside the door to the laboratory. She would just go in and have a look around. See what her father was working on at the moment, and perhaps find some simple chore that would help him out. With the apprehension of a nine-year old girl knowing that she was about to do something that could turn out either really good or very bad, Zoirenna put the palm of her hand gently on the door.. and pushed.
The door resisted for a moment, as a soft blue glow outlined the doorframe, but then with a click, it swung open, and the glow faded out. A pungent smell emanated from the dark room within. It was not a pleasant odor, but Zoirenna liked it. She associated it with the smell that was always on her fathers wizard robes. She let her hands make the gestures for a light spell, while her mouth formed the words. Her dress began to shine with a clear white light.
Stepping gingerly into the lab, her shining dress made everything in the room cast shadows that danced about on the walls. She became a little frightened, and caught her breath. She reminded herself that there was nothing to be afraid of, and began chanting a new light spell incantation. This second spell illuminated one of several empty glass vials on a nearby shelf rack. Picking up the shining vial, she placed it on the center table, where it illuminated the room with a steady light. The room appeared a lot less frightening now, but still very new and exciting. She looked around.
Shelves lined all the walls of the room, except where a closed door lead deeper into a back room. Along two walls, a couple of long tables had shelves above them, and all manner of alchemical apparatus set up on them. In the center of the room, a large quadratic table formed another work area. Various vials, flasks, components and a couple of oil lamps stood on the shelves, tables or hung from the ceiling.
Zoirenna found a half full oil can, and used it to refill a couple of the oil lamps. Her light spells would soon fade again, so she lit the lamps, and let them warm the room with their yellow flames. This was much better. Now the room seemed almost like when her father had shown it to her. She wished her father was here with her, so they could work together, but she knew that he would not allow it. She would have to prove to him that she could do it, then he would be proud of her and smile and thank her for helping him, and they could go and have fun in the city. And maybe he would let her spend more time with him, and they could work together then.
She studied the things on the tables, in an attempt to figure out what he was working on.
Some green-tinged liquid was flowing around in the glass tubes on the alchemical apparatus. At one side, a half full flask collected the liquid, where it was condensing to form small greenish drops, that ran down and into the flask. She didn't know what it was. It was probably best left alone.
A mortar and pestle stood on the main table, among some vials and some dried components. A knife and cutting board had obviously been used for processing some of the gnarled roots.
The mashed remnants of finely cut roots, mixed with some other components where still in the mortar.
Zoirenna brushed away some dried flowers which half-covered a parchment on the table. Pulling the oil lamp a little closer, she let her index finger trace out the words on the parchment. She didn't know all the words, but it was a recipe of some sort. Probably for the mix which there was still some left of in the mortar. It seemed like a pretty harmless mixture of flower petals, bark, and roots, and a splash of some liquid which she didn't recognize the name for, but it said it was supposed to be green, so she assumed it was the stuff being destilled by the apparatus behind her.
Since all the components were still laid out, along with the recipe, and with more of the green liquid destilling, she figured that her father probably intended to make some more of whatever it was the recipe described. This was the perfect opportunity to help out. Cutting the roots would be easy, and she could also peel the bark off the branches which she found hanging in a bundle from the ceiling. Picking off the flower petals from the dried flowers should be easy as well, although they had an annoying tendency to crumble and fragment as soon as they were touched.
She begain with the roots. Using the sharp knife, she cut the roots carefully in thin slices. The roots were white inside, and excreted a bit of sticky thick white fluid which stung the skin. She tried to wash it off in a small washbasin by the door, but she kept getting it on her hands as she worked the roots, and after a while she decided to just ignore it, and wash her hands well once she was finished.
By the time she had cut all the roots, her hands were sticky with the white root extract. It burned a bit, and picked up all the lose dirt and particles from the dried flowers on the table. She had tried to wipe her hands on her dress a few times, even though she knew she shouldn't, but it hadn't helped much. She went back to the washbashin and scrubbed her hands thoroughly, happy that she was finished with the roots.
She became a bit worried when she noticed that her hands had become blotched and red where the white fluid had covered them, but the cool water had a soothing effect, and it felt nice to be rid of the sticky stuff.
Careful not to expose her hands again, she put all the cut roots into the mortar, and rinsed the cutting board and knife in the cold water. Then she began working on the branches. As the recipe described, she used the knife to peel the bark off the branches. The core of the branches was still moist, with a white core, surrounded by a thin green layer. She cut the peeled bark into fine pieces and added them to the mortar as well.
It was hard and slow work, and she had begun to sweat. Fortunately, only the easy part remained. Crumbling the flower petals into the mix. This didn't take long, but it was messy work, since the flowers were very dry, and the petals, seeds and dried leaves scattered all over the table at the merest touch.
She had completely lost track of time, but noticed that the flask under the distilling apparatus was three quarter full now, which was good, since the mix in the mortar almost filled the mortar to the brim. She had made quite a large portion it seemed. With the pestle, she ground the mix together, which was really tiring work. She had to change hands several times, as her arms hurts from the effort.
When she became bored with grinding the mortar mix, she switched the flask under the alchemy apparatus with an empty flask. Taking the full flask, she smelled the contents. It stung her nose, and brought tears to her eyes.
Hesitantly, she tilted the flask, and poured a drop into the mix in the mortar. Nothing seemed to happen, so after a moment, she added some more. It was probably some kind of herbal healing elixir. She emptied the bottle into the mortar.
After a bit of grinding the mix, which gradually became more soggy and green, her arms began aching again, so she cleared a space on the table, jumped onto it, and sat down crosslegged with the mortar braced between her legs, so she could use both hands to grip the pestle.
Voices drifted up from the stairwell. Her fathers voice, talking to the tower keeper. They were coming up the stairs. The door to the laboratory still stood wide open. A moment of panic gripped Zoirenna. How would her father react when he found her in the lab. Would he be happy to see she had made a large portion of the recipe, or would he scold her for entering the laboratory?
She jumped up and off the table, spilling the mortar unto the floor where it landed with a dull thudd, spilling out half of its contents onto the floor. Oh no! Panic seized her, as she got a sinking feeling this would not turn out well at all. The voices drifted ever closer.
Casting about for something to quickly scoop up the spilled contents on the floor, she spun around herself. Failing to immediately spot anything useful, she ran to the door and slammed it shut, hoping desperately to buy some time.
"Zoi?", her fathers voice calling, "Is that you?".
Zoirenna put her back against the door, her heart hammering in her chest. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She should have been finished with the recipe. Now her father would be upset with her because she had made a mess and she wasn't allowed in the lab.
"Zoi, are you in there?" Her father, just outside the door.
The door glowed softly blue, and she could feel her father pushing on it.
"Open the door, Zoi!" He sounded angry.
She slipped away from the door, placing herself directly between the door and the mess on the floor, hopelessly trying to hide the result of her efforts.
The door swung open, and her father, a tall bearded man in a wizards robe, entered. His eyes locked on Zoirenna, then took in the room, noting the spilled mortar on the floor and the mess on and around the work table. His eyes fell on Zoirenna again.
"What are you doing in here? Have I not told you that you must never come in here?" Shaking his head, he stepped towards Zoirenna, who took at step backwards, and almost began crying. It was so unfair.
A worried look crossed her fathers face. "Zoi, show me your hands."
Zoirenna hid her hands behind her back. Her father repeated his request in a firmer voice, and she reluctantly held out her hands.
"Zoirenna, I swear to Midoran, you will be the bane of me. Look at your hands. If we don't get you to a healer right this moment, they shall become permanently scarred. You should never handle Mandrake roots without using gloves!"
With that, he lifted her off her feet, and carried her down the winding stairs, while she sobbingly apologized as she hugged him and buried her head in his long gray beard.
Later he would have to confine her to her room, or find some other suitable punishment, but for now, he was simply full of concern for his only child. |
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Re: Zoirenna
Posted: 29 Aug 2004 04:23 AM |
| ((Excellent stuff, cannot wait to read the rest. Please keep it up)) |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
--
"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
--
<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Re: Zoirenna
Posted: 03 Sep 2004 01:00 PM |
((This is excellent and worth a *bump*
Looking forward to the next installment ))
Sol |
- Solitaire, Wizard
- Ilyana Fiirhaart, High Priestess of Naruth |
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