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The Chronicles of Bennigan Songsinger
Posted: 15 Oct 2004 06:49 PM |
“A tune to play, a song to sing,
But wary of travel his heart did cling
too long in books, to sparse with folk.
Of intellect strong, of wisdom meek,
His soul be fierce, but his spirit weak,
And so fearful the road, his toe not poke.
But even tame spirit befall restless mind,
So bookworm to road slinked cautiously ‘clined
So adventuring be for this bardic life.
But tales told tall and glory sung sweet,
Are ne’er so bitter as when on the street,
And weep this bard does now for daily strife.”
I have never sung a song for myself before. The tune has an odd taste to it, like the blood on the tongue after biting one’s cheek. Oh well, to the task.
I have journeyed long now, and have yet to perform my primary duty…to chronicle my travels and lend to this history we all now create. And so at present I find the time, as I once again (of seemingly endless times!) sit and recoup from wounds that now cover my body like so many miss-fingered notes on a lute, to begin my scholarly act.
I feel not ready to write of my past—though it be not dark, nor violent, nor scarring, nor oppressive—but perhaps one day I shall battle that altogether different beast. I feel for now I should properly place myself as a pin on the map, and orient you, dear reader, so that we may travel not directionless in this tale I begin to tell.
Odd really. The tales I’ve learned and told in the past had a start and a finish. This one tells itself chapter by chapter by the rising sun, and will end only when the blade or the fang cuts me too deep.
Well, reader! Your author in this amazing tale is named Bennigan Songsinger, who comes from a long, distinguished line of scribes and minstrels. I have been traveling for well-on a year now, looking for the wondrous stories and events I have spent my life studying and singing. It was during this time of travel that I met Melina Danicelven, an elvin fighter (this in itself a tale to tell for another time) whom in the rushing course of short time I came to love and marry. We now travel together.
We came upon the Four Winds Inn not too long ago, just outside of Port Royale, deciding to take some time here and meet the local folk. Truth be told, stories of great adventurers starting and passing through this area was no small influence to our destination, and many heroes have I sung of who have spent time in this area. And, with the brewing of wars, many new heroes are likely being made every day.
I am but a novice in the art of adventuring. The only calluses I wear dress the fingertips of my lute-playing hand. Melina, though hearty and fearless, is also a novice to this lifestyle.
Myself, I wish to never harm a thinking being. I am no fighter, nor does my heart pump the charged and boiling blood of one. But I am drawn to the hero’s life. After all, a singer of song emotes the hero’s will, and the scribe reflects the hero’s soul. I feel the hero’s spirit in me, but have not the constitution of yet to pull it off.
Melina, who I would never be without, will still likely be the death of me one day. She has a quick-acting, adventurous spirit, and a calm, fearless elvin nature that makes her an enduring, but dangerous, woman. But her heart is so absolutely pure, I can not resist her.
So I strive for some intangible wisdom through life’s metaphors and grow more confused and torn as to my choice in life; Melina simply looks for what is wrong with life to excise it, and discovers what is right with life and perpetuates it. This mentality has often created some of the worst tyrants and despots in our lands, but somehow for Melina, it has just made her a good, honest individual.
But oh, the storyteller in me has grazed your skin with an accidental blow of melodrama. Fear not though, reader, as it is but a scratch!
So we based ourselves at the Four Winds, and our beginnings were rough. Melina would rush in to danger, and we would spend much time recouping and licking our wounds (certainly my tongue licked more than it’s share). I was feeling very empty and despairing for an epic story of which to be a part.
In the meantime, we managed to help out some of the locals with small tasks and favors, always just enough to keep our bellies full but our equipment lacking. It was in North Buckshire that our world seemed to crack open like an egg and spill out before us.
We were met on the Northern road of Buckshire by an impressive figure, an elite guard of Queen Aquinas of Port Royale. The Queen was a figure we had tried several times to gain an audience with. We greeted the guard.
“Are you familiar with a bard named Macha Sparrowsong?” she asked. Her tone carried the typical stone weight of official business. “The Queen requires her presence immediately.”
We were happy to help, as this was the opportunity we were looking for, both to gain favor with the Queen, and to further our adventuring desires. I had not heard of a Macha Sparrowsong, but my family did not look fondly on Bards, so I always had to steal the few bardic tales I could from the streets and the more “unofficial” texts I could get my hands on.
Macha, we were told by the gleaming guard, was somewhere in Midor. This set my stomach lurching, for I had not expected such extensive travel. The road would likely be more dangerous than anything we had experienced so far.
“We will do this for you,” I replied, though I really knew not how to find her.
Finding a means and route to Midor was easy, which a few rough moments but overall a more peaceful travel than I had anticipated. On a road toward Midor, we discovered several individuals talking on the road. They were impressive figures, and one could not help but feel the quick rush of breath from the lungs as one approached them.
“Hail to you,” I called. “Do you know of a Macha Sparrowsong?”
The male, whose name was Gasher Bloodspuer, replied. “Yes, I do indeed.”
The mysterious female with him replied “I have journeyed many times with her.”
“Queen Aquinas of Port Royale is requesting her presence,” Melina said.
“I see,” Gasher stated. This did not seem wholly unusual to him.
“There is an urgency to the summons,” I told him.
“I have a strong idea where she would be,” Gasher said, “let me take you to her, for the road may be dangerous.” He turned to his female companion. “Will you join us?”
“I will,” she said, though her tone seemed a steel recently ground by a whetstone. I looked to Gasher and his eyes appeared to ask far more than the simple question first posed.
“Let us be off then. Anyone mind a run?” And he was off, and us following, at a steady run through lands foreign to me, until we came to Brandibuck Vale, a location I have oft read about, but not been to. It was an idyllic scene of plush, healthy growth and a comfortable, lived-in feel.
Macha was summoned and came out shortly with her companions. By now, Melina and I were beginning to feel a small anecdote to a large story as words and looks were exchanged by these strangers we met.
Macha was told of the Queen’s summons. She seemed…tired by this. “Yes? Must it be now?” I spoke of the urgency in the summons. She became resigned, but I could tell her resignation was to a far more massive burden. “If I must then.”
In my next part of the story, my friend reader, I feel I will most fail you. As a child who sees the glass of fresh milk and, with excitement, is determined to grasp it and carry it back to his stool, I found the following events to be too heavy, too big, and to full, and I have left much spilled milk of story behind, and find my glass now far more empty then it should be. But, as with a strange, foggy dream, I will convey what I can and leave the future to sort it out.
This will be Chapter two.... |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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Re: The Chronicles of Bennigan Songsinger
Posted: 16 Oct 2004 03:57 AM |
((*applauds* this is great stuff, looking forward to Ch2 .
- Sol)) |
- Solitaire, Wizard
- Ilyana Fiirhaart, High Priestess of Naruth |
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Re: The Chronicles of Bennigan Songsinger
Posted: 16 Oct 2004 10:00 AM |
| ((*Blushes* That means alot considering the quality of material that is contributed here...What an incredible world and what an incredible group of people.)) |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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The Chronicles of Bennigan Songsinger
Posted: 16 Oct 2004 03:46 PM |
CHAPTER TWO
We traveled now as a large group in a hasty, bated silence. For Melina and myself, time and our surroundings were becoming the rushed, half-noticed blur of scenery on a charging horse.
I kept glancing at Macha. She had a preoccupied determination about her as she moved through terrains that were alien to me. I was becoming fascinated with this figure. At one extreme, she seemed to epitomize what I could only in dreams ever hope to be: An heroic powerful bard on an epic journey. At the opposite extreme, however, I felt a foreboding of raw truth seeping through the bandage of glory into which a hero’s tale bleeds: Oppressive burdens, terrible fears, and torturous decisions. I could see these stoking the fire behind her eyes. Truthfully, my world began to buckle with the growing doubts mounting on top of my chosen life path.
Gasher, of course, seemed to more typify the hero I have sung of many times before.
“Be ready, and stay well behind me,” he commanded with both strength and concern. “If something befalls us, let me take the brunt of it.”
We moved on at a cautious, driving pace. There were some small skirmishes with creatures, but mostly peripheral and out of my view. Then, everything turned inside out.
A monstrous shattering roar was the tenor to the baritone rumble of the earth. I nearly toppled to the ground, and barely heard Gasher’s intense cry of “Run. RUN!” A quite apt suggestion, I managed to ponder, as my feet already pounded the ground in the opposite direction.
Melina.
I panicked, stopped, and hastily looked for her amid others running by me. She would likely rush into whatever terror now menaced us. I couldn’t locate her, couldn’t even focus ahead of me. But I did see the cause of our fear.
I have come upon many terrifying creatures in my time, from common snakes, dire badgers, grizzly bears, giant ants, and many deadly encounters with monstrous sub-races such as murderous orcs, troglydites, and the like. It’s a primal panic that simmers the blood when you come across something that gazes intently on you as something simply to gnaw, claw, tear, or grind up. But to need your head to tilt up, as to view the upper limbs of a tree, as huge claws hang over you, and see fangs the size of tree stumps, with humid, rancid breath gusting down on you, and finally lock on to eyes the size of large gourds peering down at you with a numbing intellect of hatred….
…well, I can only say that you, too, might well have spent that evening scrubbing out the remains of your lunch from the insides of your dungarees.
I was able to make it a safe distance from the dragon, and though I could still not find Melina, I was suddenly ashamed by taking such a fearful reaction to this dragon. I looked as Gasher fought stoically with the dragon, joined with someone else I did not recognize who was not believe was with us before. Macha and the rest were helping in the distance with spells or missile weapons. I decided I must help them, no matter the cost.
I ran in and began firing my crossbow at the upper regions of the dragon. As I moved closer, the fear I had felt before returned, like a paralysis. Beside me, another seemed struck immobile by the same fear. A small comfort, I suppose. It was then that I saw Melina, across the way, also struck with apparent frozen fear. Time seemed to swirl and swoop as I blacked out.
Coming to, I saw the dragon’s carcass, like a new topography to the landscape, sprawled out like a low hill. I also saw many gathered around a fallen figure, one of the women of the party. I could not tell which one from my distance.
Truth be told, I could not even be sure I was yet fully conscious, as I next saw some form of dark demon comprised of all the shadows of hell come forth and descend on this fallen hero. I tried to scream out, but no air yet entered my lungs. Then, the demon was gone and the fallen woman was rising.
I was finally able to move. I looked ot Melina with mute horror to see if she too had witnessed this. I could tell by her gaze that she had, but was also stupefied by this. What had just happened, and what were the consequences?
By both circumstance and by his nature, I felt most accessible to Gasher. He was talking to this new individual, who appeared to be a half-orc. “Gasher, what has happened? What IS happening?” There was too much desperation in my voice, but I could not control it.
“I don’t not know my friend,” Gasher replied, but very distant, while he eyed his large new friend. “Strange days are upon us.”
“But….a DRAGON…??” a persisted. “Should that have been expected?”
“We know not why the dragon was waiting for us,” the stranger answered.
It seemed a time for introductions. “I have not had the honor of your name, sir. I am Bennigan Songsigner. This is my wife, Melina.”
“I am Melphus Benimen,” he replied with a wry smile I did not yet understand. “It is good to meet you.”
“Let’s move on,” Gasher stated flatly and we were on the move again.
Melina and I stayed behind, and it was then I noticed that I could not locate Gasher’s original companion. I was very confused at this point and wondered if I was just befuddled. I wanted to speak with Macha, but I was intimidated—both by her, and by the overall magnitude of the story of which Melina and myself were only transient characters.
We had a brief encounter with a wild animal which attacked. I was preoccupied and did not notice the initial attack, but several of our party—Melina and myself included—beat back the animal. Laure Albimoore, who appeared to be a druid and companion at this time of Macha, was distressed by this attack. Be whether it be she was distressed by the animal’s attack itself, or that the animal died, I can be not sure. It did not appear to be a good time to find out.
Melphus had fallen back to mine and Melina’s position by this time. I turned away for a moment, and when I turned back, I suddenly cried out as I stood precisely next to a horrifying beast—half man, half scorpion. I almost fell backward as I reached for my mace, but Gasher made some offhand comment about Melphus’s appearance, and all began to come together for me. He was a shape-shifter of some kind! This, then, was likely Gasher’s companion ALL ALONG, and why he must have given a wry look when I introduced ourselves to him.
“My friend Melphus,” I stammered, “I feel we meet yet again for the first time. It is….unsettling.” I smiled lightly as my heart settled back to within my ribcage.
Melphus chuckled and slightly reared his pincers and first two front legs. “Try it from my side some time, friend. It is unsettling indeed.” He smiled broadly from high above me and moved on.
Melina stepped up to me and I turned to her. “My wife, I feel we have stepped into truly odd events today.”
I wish I could say that when the next attack came, I was ready, but I was not. I don’t believe I was ready for anything this day.
TO BE CONTINUED… |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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Re: The Chronicles of Bennigan Songsinger
Posted: 16 Oct 2004 07:19 PM |
| ((this is fantastic! *applauds*)) |
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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Re: The Chronicles of Bennigan Songsinger
Posted: 16 Oct 2004 10:40 PM |
| (( That opening line to your first post, after the song, is a classic one. Well done!)) |
"Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;"
T.S. Eliot |
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CHAPTER THREE
Posted: 22 Oct 2004 10:36 AM |
“…Up ahead…!”
“…They’re coming…”
“Weapons!…”
Creatures were spilling in around Gasher and the rest. Melina and I ran ahead to see what was happening. Most of the commotion was around a rocky outcrop and I could not see, I could not help.
“Melphus!” I heard cried, and rounding the corner, came upon a terrible melee ahead with Gasher and Melphus both fighting off some terrible creatures. Macha and the others were either supporting or fighting peripheral battles. It was a churning chaos of fighting and I knew not what to do. Melina went for the nearest enemy and began hacking. I aimed my crossbow.
But through the sights, I saw no enemy remaining. Instead, I heard the terrible groan of Gasher and someone else…was it Laure?…cry “Oh no, Melphus! No!”
I came upon Melphus, lying battered in prone position, with all looking over him, though Macha and companion stood slightly away. Prayers were said with great expectation. I could not help but find this fruitless. I have most often only witnessed terrible things done in the names of gods, but rarely if ever experienced wondrous deeds done by gods for the sake of men.
But an amazing display of light and fire caused my heart to stop, and I half-expected Melphus to rise. But all became still again. This greatly disturbed them, and they persisted more fervently in prayer. Macha and her companion, meanwhile, crept further back, seeming to find a shadowy place within the sun’s glow, and began talking softly in Elvin. At last, I heard Macha say, “Come. Let us leave them to their task. Our presence does them no good.”
Now I could certainly relate to Macha and the feeling of helplessness, but this was neither the tone nor the action of someone feeling helpless. This came from her lips as almost the spit of a bad taste. As they strolled away, with the echoing tone of almost—indignation—seeping to my core, I could feel for the first time the dark mystery of Macha, and our quest to summon her, turn to a churning unease over her.
As they stepped away into a cavern entrance, the rest prayed again. Honestly, I tried my best to pray to myself, but it developed into nothing more than soulful finger-crossing. When I opened my eyes however, a thick raging light as if dawn’s rays had crashed down upon Vives, surrounded Melphus. Beyond belief, this light was not painful, nor did it cause me to try to close my eyes. As such, I could see at the central vortex of this light an amazing white stag. This had to be the famed white stag of Elbereth, though I had never believed I would ever witness its appearance before me. My knees became for a moment weak, but I must admit my cynicism braced them well.
I could not see Laure clearly, but she seemed to weep pure joy. “Gasher…do you see her? The White Stag! She is beautiful!”
Gasher’s voice was little more than an exhale of wonder. “I see her…”
And then, as if it had never been, the light was absent. I must admit, my faithful reader, that I can put it no other way. For to say something “leaves” is to merely tells of its passing. For something to be “absent” suggests by its very nature that it SHOULD BE, and moreover that ALL IS LOST without it.
For a singular moment, my heart deflated with this feeling. I chuckle at myself now, but I truly was brimming with tears in want of the light again.
Seeing Melphus rise again helped to undo my spellbound self. It was good to see him rising again.
As I am a chronicler by nature, and therefore sworn to myself and to all who study history to be truthful, I must honestly write now that it was at this point that I felt most lost. At that moment, I had argued myself well to tell Melina that we should return to my family home, to forsake this ‘adventuring’ life, and settle down. I had not the meddle of spirit for these things. This was all beyond me.
But when I turned to her to say this, and I saw her face, it was radiant. It was as if a speck of that earlier light perpetuated as glints in her eyes. This was her life. This was her calling.
My words dried with the last of the saliva in my mouth. I turned, and we moved on, to complete this quest of bringing Macha to Queen Aquinas--for who knew what reason, to achieve some mysterious purpose, and further some untold goal. I would do this, yes. But I was now as distanced to it all as a narrator in a story.
Macha and her companion returned, and we proceeded ahead, and little else of consequence happened. Once in Buckshire, we took ox and cart to Port Royale, and headed for the palace. It was a terribly silent journey.
It was thought best for Melina and I to enter first and announce Macha, and so we did. We met the same Elite Guard who had first put us to task, and she thanked us for a job well done and presented us with wondrous gifts that I, certainly, could not complain about. I received a beautiful, ornate lute that had powers within it I could not even begin to understand. Melina received a wondrous Katana that, when she held it, seemed to fit her like custom armor.
Macha and the rest were summoned, and we were told to go to the courtyard to see Queen Aquanis. I found some of my earlier bitterness for this experience diluting within the heavy concentration of exciting events. The rewards, the audience with the Queen. Now this was the glorious hero’s life! But this taste I savored grew sour as I began to think about how little I felt I deserved it, and how in fact I really did not WANT it. It seemed the greatest battle yet I fight would be against myself!
We came to the queen, having all of us assembled around her, including some new faces, such as a halfling named Pickston Rickticks. Seemed a typical halfling, really--pleasurable enough accompanying light situations with some good Dwarven ale, and thoroughly frustrating when experiencing weighty, serious events.
The Queen spoke. “Macha, for a long time now you have graced this very courtyard, singing songs of the mother to me.”
Macha’s head was low in customary respect. “Yes, my Lady.”
Queen Aquinas seemed to choose her next words very carefully, as someone plucking an unwanted ingredient from their salad. “Now I hear rumors of you, and I must have them confirmed or denied.”
“Yes, my Lady?” The same response, except this time as a question, and Macha held a tired tone, as a bard feels when performing a song one too many times.
“You have heard of a god by the name of Tarik, Macha?”
“The god of the Hunt. Yes.” Macha’s head was still low, her voice still conveying perfect, humble respect. I swear however--and admit to you, reader, my affectation to the earlier episode after Melphus fell--but I thought I could hear the slightest grin on her unseen face as she answered.
“There is word that you have made a compact with Tarik.” It has always amazed me how royalty can curse, denounce, accuse and accost someone with that same cold lilt of voice.
It was a weighty pause which ensued, though not nearly so long of one as it seemed.
“It is true, my Lady. He has called off the hunt in return that I follow him.”
I was too shocked by this myself to see the other’s reactions to this, but I found some of my earlier questions at least partly explained. I also found long-festering frustrations for the acts of gods and men to flare once again inside me. When first coming upon Macha, I had thought I had found a mentor. Now what was I to think of her? This god, that god, good and evil; these things did not matter to me. Motivations and consequences, these were of significant import to me. What…were…hers?
The Queen nodded solemnly. She had obviously known the answer, but had wanted it from Macha. “And why would you be so special that he would do this for you?”
This was the first time I noticed Macha look directly into Queen Aquinas’ eyes, and Macha’s eyes flexed. “My Lady does not believe me to be of consequence on my own?”
“Tarik exists by the hunt. It makes no sense for him to cease.”
Another jagged silence ensued before Macha spoke. “He is my father.”
I could not miss the reaction of the rest this time. There were jaws falling and several soft gasps. Even the marbled countenance of the Queen showed cracks.
More was spoken, but it was to me mere echoes from some dark chamber. I could not hope to resolve this in myself. Were that I could even believe it, I could come to course with it, but I wondered if it truly could be?
Macha explained to the queen that hers was a sacrifice to save the land from Tarik’s hunt, and that she has accepted this and will live with the consequences. This, to me, did sound reasonable if true. I could certainly respect Macha’s position and even stand to defend it. I questioned, however, whether Tarik could be trusted.
“I have must thinking to do over this. There is much to be considered. We will speak again, Macha.”
We retired from the courtyard. Melina and I paid a brief respect to the Queen, who thanked us for serving her. We made clear our position to be available to her whenever she needed us.
Macha seemed now suited in a cool steel of emotional armor, and said some remarks to the party and left.
We said our goodbyes to Laure and to Gasher. Both showed their inner conflicts clearly and were polite but distant to us.
Melina and I left, feeling the world had just gotten more expansive and more dangerous, and in the air was a stillness of foreboding which seemed to clog my throat whenever I breathed in. No, indeed, I found it very hard to breath. |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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Re: CHAPTER THREE
Posted: 22 Oct 2004 12:01 PM |
| ((Wow, that's good stuff. Thanks for sharing)) |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: CHAPTER THREE
Posted: 22 Oct 2004 06:10 PM |
| ((I'd be writing more, but I'm too busy reading everyone else's...there is just too much amazing stuff being written and too little time!)) |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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PART TWO--Chapter One
Posted: 25 Oct 2004 11:26 AM |
I came upon a hero’s fire,
Which once burned brightly and warmed the soul,
Now smoking ashes, the flame expired,
It chars the earth to blackest coal.
I came upon a hero’s blade,
once sharply honed for noble quest.
Now bloodied and broken from innocents flayed,
With cause discarded it now rests.
I came upon a hero’s armour,
once proudly worn for some god’s feats.
Now discarded breastplate cleaved and tore,
and empty as the hero’s heart beats.
I found then the body of the hero laid bare,
battered and beaten and deathly still.
In hand he clutched a desperate prayer,
that he waited ‘til death for his god to fulfill.
The hero had searched and found glory naught,
Leaving only scars best intentions wrought.
A noble deed is twice be cursed
When acted out for scripture’s verse.
And all who you love and care deeply for,
Will pay the price of your faithfulness.
And all that you are you will soon deplore,
As you pay the price of your faithfulness.
What games have yet the gods to play
On our strung and hung puppet souls?
What scene yet to act for gods’ display
On our strung and hung puppet souls?
So, my literary companion, you travel still beside me on this written quest. Somehow, though I cannot see you and likely will never know you, I feel exceedingly close to you, akin to you in spirit, and look forward to our moments together.
Certainly I would take great pleasure in pointing you to better, happier places ahead in this journey, but alas, I must only lead you down darker, deadlier travails. But fear not! I will try to guide you safely!
It was a confusing time for me after our episode delivering Macha to the Queen. I fell under a dark cloud and lacked a focused ambition. Melina sensed something wrong with me, but knew me well enough to let it go a while.
We spent some time away from extensive travel, keeping to Port Royale, the Northern Highway, and Buckshire. During this time, we grew a bit more proficient in our skills, and met some exceptional individuals. Most prominent among them was a squat, massive dwarf called Fengus The Foulmouthed, of whom certain tales I had read or heard—with more than a little exaggeration, I had always surmised.
Perhaps it was an ill-omen, perhaps not, but in truth, the first time I met Fengus was as I was fell to what appeared to be my doom.
Melina and I had accompanied a fortune-teller by the name of Don Shade-bow we had met just outside of the Four Winds. He was looking for a particular grain of sand to mine for the making of glass… crystal balls, I imagined. We joined him to the desert lands beyond the Buckshire ruins.
Things seemed to go without serious incident, though the indigenous creatures of the area proved a steady nuisance. After a time, we decided to head back.
As we traveled back through the ruins, I felt what I thought to be the hand of death itself swipe across by back and tear through flesh to my very soul. I cried out and fell to the ground, looking up in time to see this compressed package of muscle and steel swinging an axe at a massive maw of sharp teeth that loomed over me.
All went black.
I expect you not to believe this next part, friend, but I leave it to your discretion to take from it what meaning you may, and leave the rest to fancy and dreams, but I tell you now, I was next existing in a plane of light and energized essence that can not readily be explained. I myself was no longer the encumbered stuff of meat and bone, but instead a radiance which intermixed with all the energies about me.
Me? No, for I no longer had a concept of a me, or a you, or any singular notion; there was only the glory of….all.
And I tell you with most seriousness: I came upon no great figure that told me to bow to it or pay respect to it. I came upon no gods that I could see, no entities that claimed themselves as gods. I have since ceased to ponder on this, and there would be few I would speak to of this.
Then, something happened, and this being that was the everything of me suddenly thought of Melina, and I felt/saw the radiant energy and light pull away to reveal a globe, then a vast land, then a town, and then a road, and then
I was walking on a road…which road…what town…who was I?
I walked, guided as a compass needle knows north, and when I looked up, before me was a stout figure in massive armour…yes, I was remembering now. The ruins. I had been struck, and this dwarven figure before me had killed the grizzly that had killed me.
The Dwarf before looked at me, his jaw dropping, and blinked hard in disbelief. “You…”
I nodded. Then I saw Melina and Don come behind him. Melina’s eyes were streaked with tears. “I know not whether to curse or thank the gods, but I am here.”
Melina came to me and we embraced. “Bennigan! I thought I had lost you.”
The dwarf laughed at my earlier remark. “Aye, lad. Perhaps both.”
As I held Melina, I looked up and said “Perhaps over several pints of Dwarven ale, I will do both.”
The dwarf’s eyes lit up. “Now yer faakin’ speakin’ my language! Let’s go to the bar. I’m buyin!”
It was in this manner we met Fengus the Foulmouthed. |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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Re: PART TWO--Chapter One
Posted: 26 Oct 2004 01:51 AM |
| ((WOW! -Really- good stuff! :D)) |
Vives Screenshots!
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Re: PART TWO--Chapter One
Posted: 26 Oct 2004 03:59 AM |
| ((Poetry too! Im impressed. Keep it coming)) |
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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PART TWO--CHAPTER TWO
Posted: 31 Oct 2004 10:15 AM |
And so it seems that, even as we teeter at the precipice of the chasm of darkest times, life can manage to soften and slow for a brief, pleasant moment. Our time with Fengus was a sweet release from the burdens and worries of our recent past.
We drank heartily at McGillicutty’s in Buckshire, and spoke much, and met many people we think of now as friends. But these times are too short, like the beautiful deep burn of the setting sun before the smoldering night.
Many days passed, and then one evening, walking back from Port Royale, we came upon Chandler and Shalee, both whom we had met at a party earlier that night, in a frantic state outside of the Four Winds Inn.
“It is not safe here!” Chandler cried, looking around us, his stance battle-ready. “Get yourselves to a city!”
I began to ask what was wrong, and then I heard a sinister laughter, almost childlike but only horridly so, emanating from everywhere around us. My blood went cold. “What was that?” I asked in a hoarse whisper.
“A vampiress pursues us,” Shalee stated, and I noticed how deathly white with fear she was.
I heard Melina draw her katana and I drew my crossbow.
“We must not let it into the Four Winds,” Chandler insisted.
And then, just behind Shalee, I saw it appear—a demonic woman of pale complexion and dark, lifeless eyes. “Behind you!” I cried and raised my weapon. The night-stalker laughed with a soul-numbing glee as it reached for her…then vanished.
“What does it want?” Melina asked as she kept a steady eye about her.
“We had heard of Vampire attacks occurring, but had not realized they were this far west.”
“They become more bold and brazen,” Chandler said.
“They even seem to be able to walk in the day,” Shalee added.
“How can that be possible?” Melina asked with perplexed concern.
“We don’t know what they want,” Shalee almost whispered, her face pale with panic, “but they bit a friend of ours not so long ago…a paladin by the name of Trent.” She shuddered as she spoke. “They…hunt him, now.”
That laugh again, worming its way under the skin and slinking quickly up the back of the neck. Its location was impossible to determine. It rode the wind to us.
“Why do they hunt this Paladin?” I asked.
Chandler took his eyes from our surroundings for just a moment to smile bitterly at me through his raised sword. “What more perfect a figure to turn than that of a righteous paladin of Midor?”
I nodded solemnly. “Truly a trophy of darkest irony.”
“Where is Trent now?” Melina asked. “Is he safe?”
Shalee nodded hesitantly. “He is guarded by the Temple of Midor.”
Appearing directly amid the four of us, the accursed creature appeared again, striking at Chandler, then disappearing before we could do anything.
Chandler’s face contorted in frustrated fury. “Cowards!”
“There must be one who leads them,” I said, trying to sound more in control of my emotions than I really was, “one who rules over them.”
“Yes,” Chandler confirmed. “His throne rests in Maldovia.”
“Then it is with him we fight, and him we should go to,” I said with a bravado I wore clumsily like a half-orcs’ plate mail.
Shalee seemed to grow amazingly more pale and shook her head with wide-eyed panic. “You would need an army, and even then…” Her voice trailed back down a dark path.
Bearing the weight of these serious times, my spirit began to buckle. “But then…what if we were to lure this Vampire Lord out, and face him on our territory, when we were ready for him…” I thought of the paladin, Trent, whose battle already raged with this creature. “I fill with dread to suggest it, but with what we face….” I hesitated. “If this thing wants Trent, would Trent allow himself to be used to lure this creature out?”
Chandler’s heavy frown and Shalee’s gasp made me uncomfortably aware that they were not yet prepared to think about the severity of this situation and what was at stake.
“I would never allow our friend to be used as…bait.” The last word was spat out.
Melina looked to be with a dark concern. “Bennigan, it would be cruel to put this Trent into further danger.” Her eyes were targeting me with a soft accusation I have not seen before.
I considered arguing the fact further, that Trent was a Paladin and would likely wish to be an instrumental part in any plan that would save others, and that these vampire attacks would not stop, but apparently increase until their foul intentions realized, and that bemoaning the dark did nothing to bring about light….but the looks I received made me feel more and more as I was being seen at the moment, and I backed off. After all, who was I to suggest another man’s destiny anyway? Being but a weak and ill-experienced bard, I was best to chronicle the lives of heroes, not to direct them.
“We should see Cantor,” Chandler suggested with a sudden determination. “He has a blade which could help us.”
Chandler spoke of a well-known veteran adventurer who appeared to be attempting a quieter life as he had just opened up a new shop in Port Royale where he sells some of the finest weapons in the area. It had been Cantor’s party that we had been to earlier when we met Chandler and Shalee.
“We will join you, of course,” Melina said with her steadfast nature. I nodded and we left for Cantor’s store. I dared not ask it, for I was not ready for the answer to be given, but my stomach wrenched with the growing realization that, indeed, we may well be heading to Maldovia after all…and to our doom. |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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PART TWO--CHAPTER THREE
Posted: 07 Nov 2004 01:33 PM |
Until but a moment ago, a stroll through the Port Royale outskirts and the Port Royale Plaza was, for me, one of my more enjoyable moments. Though harboring some personal resentment from my past for Port Royale and its people, I still found it a beautiful, and starkly peaceful place in the evening.
And now…
That deathly cold, sinister laughter, and my peripheral vision overloading with dark shapes with burning eyes fading in and out about me. Every shadow cast by every building or tree seemed some dread night shade reaching out. We moved hastily, and said little to one another. There were many halted breaths, and I for one breathed shallowly all the way to Cantor’s place.
Cantor's store is in one of the largest old mansions of Port Royale, now a collection of expensive rental property. Cantor has a small staff that works for him, and some of them now were finishing up some last minute tasks around the store. Cantor was still about, speaking with a few others in the lobby, likely a conversation that had outlasted the earlier party.
Chandler stepped up to Cantor. Cantor cut off his conversation to look at him. "Chandler...? It's late. What brings you back to--"
"Cantor." His manner was intense, his tone stern. "I need the blade you specially crafted for use against vampires."
The man who Cantor spoke with looked to Chandler with interest.
Cantor looked slightly agitated. "Chandler, these are not hours appropriate to business. Come back-"
From the ceiling, the walls, and all around us, the mockingly innocent laughter that chilled the blood in one's veins. And right then it appeared across the room, behind one of Cantor's girls who was securing the display case for the night. It struck inhumanly fast--the poor woman managed only to open her mouth for a scream which would never come--and her blood spilled onto the marbled floor. She fell with the stilled expression of shock upon her, the sick slap of her body hitting the marble reverberating coldly in the room. Shalee cried out in alarm.
"Damnation!" Cantor pushed past Chandler, drawing his blade with a perfected instinct of motion. His companion did likewise. Their motion toward the Vampire was a dance of stride and swing, but as they reached their target, the edge of blades simply sliced through a memory. The vampire was gone.
I closed my eyes tightly, turning away from the body of the girl, my thoughts racing. We brought this death to them, I could not help but think. We escorted it in to this girl's doom.
Melina's katana was drawn, and she was scoping the perimeter, an odd mixture of terror and ferocity defining her features.
As I opened my eyes and looked back to Cantor, I watched him, fixated on the girl's body. His companion was checking the girl for any possible signs of life. "Daimon?" Cantor asked quietly. The man called Daimon looked up and shook his head solemnly.
Cantor raised his gaze and swung it at all of us with such intensity. "What have you brought to me?"
Chandler spoke evenly. "The vampires attack us everywhere, now. We came to get a weapon from you with which to strike back." He hesitated. "No place, it seems, is safe from them."
"They have already bitten Trent," Shalee said, still shivering from the attack. "And some can even walk in the day."
Cantor's hard glare began to turn to confusion. "What is this madness?" He paused and collected his thoughts, and his eyes and jaw set into a determined visage of veteran warrior. "Blood spilt. In my own place. This will not go unanswered." He turned to Daimon. "We travel to Maldovia...tonight."
Cantor walked out of the room. My stomach fell into a deep chasm of fear. I looked to Melina, and even her expression was wary. Shalee, too, was visibly shaken by this proposed course of action.
Even writing these events now, my dear word companion so faithful by my side, I feel loathe to lead you into this narrative nightmare, for the dangers I will take you--even in verse--seem too great a risk. But, I have found you to have the heart worthy of a great adventurer, so stick close to me and we shall prevail.
Cantor returned, fully suited in amazingly crafted and glimmering armour. He carried with him a glowing blade and handed it to Chandler. "Take this and use it to cleave these vampires in two."
Chandler grasped the blade, smiled grimly, and nodded. "I am sorry to have brought you into this, but I am glad to have you by our side, Cantor."
Cantor nodded, and smiled back. I finally recognized the Cantor of the earlier evening. A Cantor who was congenial and a good-natured host. I knew it would be the last time I’d see this side of him tonight.
Daimon, dressed sharply in striking dark armour, approached Melina. Drawing out a glimmering silver Katana, he spun the sword deftly in his hand and presented it to her across his forearm. "Take this, my lady." His eyes gleamed and he smiled smartly. Melina grasped it. "You may find it a more effective tool this evening."
I knew not at that moment what the future would bring, but--and not for the first time since beginning my bardic life--I would have traded it gladly for a remaining life of tedium and boredom behind my old students desk piled with books and scrolls.
Instead, I followed heroes and legends to my doom. |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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Re: PART TWO--CHAPTER THREE
Posted: 14 Nov 2004 06:25 PM |
| Reading the story seems so much more exciting than actually living it. Safer too. I look forward to the next chapter, although I have lived it. Does that sound odd? I am glad that you are chronicalling our adventures. We may just go down in history yet. *beams proudly* |
-Melina Danicelven-Songsinger, Fighter-Druid
Life is pain, you just get used to it.
-Aimee Victory, Rogue
Be excellent to each other.
-Iris Tammarack, Ranger
I'd have been here sooner, but I was busy coming up with that ham on rye line. |
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Re: PART TWO--CHAPTER FOUR
Posted: 28 Nov 2004 12:24 PM |
Once again, I found my eyes upon the backs of warriors, my feet upon strange and hostile ground, and my courage displaced. Melina seemed more shocked than scared as we hastened toward the dead city of vampires, though her resolve kept her head up, her blade steady, and her pace determined.
We had traveled by ship around the northern coastline heading east toward the small Maldovian Isle. The sea somehow knew of our purpose, and aided the ominous mood with crests and swells as a cold rain fell. Several times I moved to the ship’s edge, but somehow found strength to hold my stomach back. I have never cared for travel by ship. It is not so much the motion, as being exposed to a vast expanse of vacuous space that leaves me feeling an unbearable isolation. The deserts of the Scorched Earth can make me feel the same way.
It is exactly how I feel when I think of my place among the gods, and it is a threatening madness I dare not face.
We docked at Brandibuck Vale, which was quite a bitter irony to our journey that, had I been in better health from the sea journey, I might have commented on, but instead I just smoldered in the knowledge that we were using a heaven to get to a hell.
Our party, which had grown considerably in Port Royale as more arms were rallied, rested and equipped themselves in Brandibuck, then we moved out, to a desolate area called Syn’s Steps. There was one who had joined us that I recognized, Valarian Wrynn; a youthful sea captain as salty as he was charming. He had won a story-telling contest at Cantor’s party…
…by the gods, as I stood there in the evil wasteland I tried to think back to the party, but it seemed a lifetime ago.
Cantor, Daimon and the other leaders cleared the path of vile creatures for the rest of us as we moved through the damned Steps of Syn and reached the piers leading to Maldovia.
I know not, faithful reader, why there exists this sinister umbilical cord of wooden planks that keeps Maldovia connected with the rest of Vives. I would have it torn asunder and have any god worth their praise obliterate it to a desert isle. But there I was instead, following this group down a winding nightmarish pier that my eye followed until the darkness overcame it. Somewhere beyond was a horror-ridden land I have only read of and barely believed it.
Large gates divided the journey, and undead waited at each. They were brought down with seemingly little difficulty by the veteran adventurers of our group. I tried to assist the best I could by instilling courage with a battle song—as much for myself as for the rest.
We were met by sinister skeletal warriors as we reached the shoreline of Maldovia. The soul-chilling sounds of their undead cries were disturbingly accented by the dry rattle of their bones. I was beginning to grow dizzy with fear. Melina as well, though her blade swung fiercely, seemed as pallid as a vampire. And these undead fiends fell not like the living. They seemed not to react to a blow or to pain, but had a cold, intense relentlessness that kept them swinging, clawing, and biting even as they dropped to ruins. And all the while, above us, a perpetually black night puckered to the icy glow of a ghoulish moon. Could this land have ever seen daylight?
We reached the ruined city of Maldovia, ruled now by Lord Valinor and cradled within an evil embrace by Syn’s arms. Vampires began spilling out of buildings and alleyways all around us. My throat closed with panic as one locked its icy stare on me and moved with inhuman speed toward me. I barely realized that I had raised my crossbow to it as I fired a shot at the vampire, sticking a bolt in its chest.
It came upon me, its smile like a fissure on the skin of blackest void, and pulled the bolt out. Its dead eyes looked to the bolt, then dropped it and looked up at me again with blood lust. It reached out and touch me and I screamed out. It was as if a spike of ice had impaled me and was drawing out all the warmth and life from my body—my essence, my soul. I was…fading…
…and suddenly it was over. I looked and saw Melina, blade pointed down within a stiff two-handed grasp to the now-fallen vampire. Shakily, I tried to manage a smile to her, but it instead came off as a grimace.
The rest continued to fight the vampires all about them. Someone shouted “To the temple!” and we began to move to what indeed was an intact stone temple, blackened and warn on the outside but standing defiantly. Once again, despite my desperate and weakened condition, I vaguely recognized this ironic dichotomy that seemed to theme our journey. We entered the temple.
It was something words cannot begin to explain--leaving a hellish nightmare and stepping into absolute purity. I think it was both my mind and my soul that reeled and I stumbled and nearly feel to my knees. I took a rest on a bench and oriented myself, looking about at the others. I certainly was not the only one in bad shape. I could not tell if she was physically injured or not, but Shalee was deathly pale and holding tightly to Chandler, who tried to comfort her. The rest seemed to basically take the moment to collect themselves, heal themselves, and adjust their gear.
“Does anyone need purification?” someone asked.
I tried to speak, but it was difficult. “I…am…drained,” I stammered hoarsely.
“Find sacred cleansing at the fountain.”
I nodded and, with the help of Melina, staggered to the fountain, cupping my hands and dowsing my face. A strength and clarity spread throughout my again, and I seemed to loose the chill of death.
“Is everyone ready?” Cantor called out. “We must continue.”
I must admit, my faithful reader, that I had not the strength of will to move beyond that door. My legs became as stone and my will crumbled on the weak foundation of courage with which it had been built. Everyone filed out of the chapel, even Melina, who did not notice me lag behind. I stood there, watching everyone go. And I was alone. |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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Re: PART TWO--CHAPTER FOUR
Posted: 28 Nov 2004 01:15 PM |
| ((Excellent writing. I enjoyed it very much and look forward to the next chapter. )) |
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PART TWO--CHAPTER FIVE
Posted: 11 Dec 2004 11:11 AM |
Standing in that temple, which lay empty other than myself, I realized a new form of panic that I had not felt before.
The absolute fear of dying alone.
It allowed me to tap a reserve of willpower I had not realized I possessed, and pushed me, in a panic, outside the doors. I bothered not to look around for vampires, I simply ran blindly ahead. Fortunately, Melina had noticed my absence and had lagged behind looking for me.
“Bennigan!” she called. “Here!” I turned my head to her voice and saw Melina wave me to her. I ran to her and we caught up with the others just as they took pause at the entrance to Lord Valinor’s castle.
I confess now that, from this point on, my recognition of the event is little more than as one remembers the glinting fang, the burning eye, the shadowy figure of a nightmare. It is as a raw emotion, an aftertaste on my mind’s tongue that suggests the meal, but can no longer discern the ingredients.
We made our way into the castle, into the large receiving room. It was so sinister and vile that it seemed positively thick with the haze of evil. I do not know what was the result of fear, and what was caused by those who ruled the castle, but I was finding my eyes unable to focus, and my breath unable to catch.
And it was not that it was silent. It was as if sound were dead.
Our living sounds made an attempt to reverberate off the stone walls, only to shrivel and die instead, leaving the acoustics frozen in death’s grasp. Meanwhile, all around, the sounds of the dead scratched unnervingly against reality’s slate, and my spine slinked like an uncomfortable snake.
I tried to speak. “…Melina…I…” I could not stand to hear my own voice in the foul edifice!
Melina grasped my hand, seeming to understand everything that I could not possibly put to words.
We followed blindly as Cantor, Daimon, Chandler and other others pushed through the large room and began searching. Up? Down? Left? Right? My mind’s compass spun wildly as it realized the uselessness of navigation when no return journey would be made.
All directions led to doom.
Vampires appeared. They moved, moved neither like animal nor like man, elf, or dwarf. They moved in a way that defied time and space. They attacked, if possible, with even more ferocity and purpose. It seemed they ironically took offense to living intruders in their castle.
Did I hear myself laugh? Or was that a vampire behind me?
My mind began to slide; it struggled for footing as it dangled over the edge of madness.
“Bennigan!”
I snapped to the sound of Melina. She had just struck a vampire at my back and was trying to pull me along with the others. I saw this large, steel door, leading to some kind of dungeon. They were going through it.
I could not properly gauge my fear, as any means to measure it could no longer contain it, so I followed, I followed through this ominous door.
A huge battle raged against massive, demonic creatures that must have been waiting for us in ambush. They fell onto Cantor, and he swung his sword into their putrescent flesh, dealing them tremendous damage…but they dealt it back. The others fought their own battles, but could see Cantor loosing ground. Daimon swung more intensely, trying to get to Cantor to help. Melina moved in and helped the best she could, though her blows seemed to make little impact.
The battle was a chaos, but finally Chandler and Diamon moved in to fight the creatures Cantor had been losing ground with. Together, they beat them down with mightily delivered strokes.
But when the action resolved, only two stood; Daimon and Chandler.
Shalee gasped as our eyes fell to the fallen body of Cantor, bleeding and still.
Daimon laid a hand on Cantor for a moment, quite and ponderous. Then, resolute, he stood and looked to Chandler. “Help me with him. We must get him out of here.”
Shalee shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks. “This has all gone terribly wrong.”
Chandler helped Daimon heft Cantor’s body up, slinging Cantor’s arms over Daimon’s shoulders. Daimon showed terrible strain, but would not acknowledge it. “We will…fight this battle another day. Let us go.”
And we made our way out of the castle, retracing our steps.
I tried to fathom the shear pointlessness with which this journey had come to represent. To have traveled all this way, to have risked so much, and have faced the horrors of the undead, and they only thing to come of it was a fallen friend and a retreat?
It was unbearable to me. My breathing thinned as my chest constricted and my heart began to pound. Its beats became so loud I was certain the vampires would hear it like a wolf would hear the baling cries of a wounded deer.
We moved out of the castle and through the city, reaching the Maldovian coast and the pier, all the while with me falling further behind, my mind crazed with the dark cloud of oppressing futility, hopelessness and despair.
Melina, noticing me falling behind, ran to me. “Bennigan? Bennigan, we must continue!” She laid a hand on my back.
“Melina…” I gasped. “I…cannot…BREATHE.” I frantically moved to my armour, a cumbersome splint mail that I hated, and yanked at the straps to loosen its hold on me. Melina noticed my attempts and tried to calm me so she could help me.
After some moments, she found the main strap to my breastplate under my arm and released it. I fell to the ground, gulping air.
It was some time, but slowly my wits and my constitution returned to me. Still on all fours, head down and eyes closed, I murmured wretchedly, “I am fine now.”
I heard Melina’s breath hitch then, and the hand she had laid soothingly on my neck suddenly grasped me like a vise. “Bennigan…!” she hissed.
I opened my eyes and raised my head. Skeletal warriors were in the distance. Approaching us fast.
I stood up. “We must return to the others,” I whispered urgently, and looked down the pier.
They were no longer visible, and the main gate was closed and being barred by a hag who eyed me, cackling deep and low like boiling oil in a caldron.
“We are…ALONE,” Melina despaired, her tone as hopeless as I have ever heard it.
“And we are trapped,” I returned with a condemned monotone.
The skeleton warriors drew nearer, from all around us. I could hear their bones now, scraping and clacking against each other.
My life so obviously forfeit, I suddenly found a courage I had never tapped before, and I raised my crossbow, aiming at the closest. “So we shall not make it easy for them.”
Melina just stared at me. She was pale.
My voice was charged with a force it had never known. “Melina! I fell in love with a warrior. This night, I wish to die with her.”
Melina blinked, seemed to focus on me. She smiled so softly then and drew the sword Daimon had given her. “I love you, Bennigan.”
I smiled back, then returned my eye to my crossbow sights, and let my bolt fly. |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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Re: PART TWO--CHAPTER FIVE
Posted: 11 Dec 2004 12:03 PM |
| // This is great! Very well written. |
<WickedArtist> I'd imagine a baby as a REALLY BIG kidney stone |
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Re: PART TWO--CHAPTER FIVE
Posted: 11 Dec 2004 04:22 PM |
| ((bloody good read...please tell us more)) |
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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PART THREE--Chapter One
Posted: 29 Dec 2004 08:59 AM |
The burning embers of the campsite wean,
‘tis the loneliest site to be seen.
With restless body wearily to rise,
The trail leads on to empty prize.
And ground below attends the hero’s day
And sky above amends the hero’s way.
And what weapon can smite the empty soul,
When bereft quest has taken its toll?
And what armour protect the wasted heart
When honor and truth are torn apart?
And ground below impedes the hero’s way.
And sky above exceeds the hero’s day.
But lead on to glory, lead on to fame,
Tho’ road leads not where sign may claim.
And when all is given and more is asked,
Pray you then on the gods’ die cast.
And ground below curses the hero’s day.
And sky above worsens the hero’s way.
And why did you think the gods would play
A pawn as yourself any other way?
And at days end the hero returns to the fire,
This time as kindling for mankind’s pyre.
And ground below besets the hero’s way,
As sky above sets on the hero’s day.
Dear reader, do you pale? Do you worry over our fate? This I would understand as certainly our situation was quite dire. Even hopeless, perhaps?
But no, do not fret. The story continues, and hope yet exists for this humble bard and his beloved wife.
So now, you are left with the burning question of “How?” "How did we survive the terrible encounter with the undead all alone on the Maldovia coast?" Unfortunately, though an answer is owed, I can only distract you from this scalding query, but not soothe you. Indeed, I know not myself precisely how we lived and found ourselves upon a cot in Midor infirmary. I know only what they told me after I incessantly asked for answers. We were found. Found by those wishing to remain anonymous, and saved from the remaining skeletons that had felled us and threatened to finish us. These unknown benefactors carried us to Midor, paid thirty gold to the infirmary attendants, and bid them to cure us.
This is all the knowledge I have. And so I accept this, give my blessings to them whoever they are, and hope not to waste their investment in us.
It took many days for us to recover. During that time, I worried over Cantor, who last we had seen had been carried across Daimon’s back leaving Maldovia before we had separated from the party. I could find no information from our attendants in the infirmary. As soon as possible we did set out, heeding our discomfort for Midor and its politics with haste and discretion.
Melina and I did not travel much for a time, at least no where in which we did not feel perfectly safe. Instead, we traveled to Ferein, a place I had never been, and one that Melina has not been to for (at least for me) a lifetime. It was a wondrous experience for us, lending us a peace of mind and spirit we desperately needed after the nightmare of Maldovia taught us just how horrible and frightening the world could be. And, just as Midor had healed us physically, Ferein healed our spiritual wounds by reminding us how much potential the world had for beauty.
We did not stay long however, as Melina, though finding comfort in returning to her home, also felt unprepared to see anyone from her home as yet. And so we left.
We travelled for some time, coming finally upon the Great Plains, where we discovered Macha Sparrowsong resting by a campfire. We had not seen her since Queen Aquinas of Port Royale had commissioned us to find her and bring her to court. Macha, we had learned then, was a follower and daughter of Tarik.
“Greetings, Lady Macha,” I declared and bowed.
“It is good to see you again, Macha,” Melina stated and smiled.
Macha stood, returning the smile. “Sir Bennigan, and Lady Melina. I am pleased to see you again.”
We spoke for a time, and Melina and I told her about the Vampire attacks and our terrifying time in Maldovia. I then anxiously asked her about Cantor’s condition. Macha showed alarm hearing of Cantor’s fall.
“Aala, I have heard nothing of his well-being, fair or foul. I hope—no, I am certain—that he is fine now, or will be swiftly. Worry not for him. But it was foolish for you to travel to Maldovia. Foolish for all of you, but you both especially.”
“We will not return there again,” Melina stated with certainty.
I nodded. “Indeed. Others may have purpose there, but there is nothing but death waiting for me in that place.”
Macha smiled with satisfaction. “I am glad to hear you say that.” She paused then, her emerald eyes trailing for a moment from our gaze before locking back on with a certain intensity. “I am also glad we have met again so that I can tell you something. I wish you to know that I no longer follow Tarik.”
My eyes widened. “Truly?”
Macha nodded with a fervent solemnity. “I wished you to know this.”
“But how did this come about?” Melina asked. “Are you now in danger?”
Macha exhaled quickly. “One does not just rescind their services of Tarik without repercussions. But, I am the better for this, and will face whatever comes. Do not worry about me.”
I could not help but worry for her, yet I also knew her to be a most capable bard and realized that my worry was likely wasted on her—and I had little worry I could spare from that which I had committed to myself!
She asked where we were heading, and we explained that we wished to return to the north, but that we were uncertain of our way.
“Come, I will travel with you. You should not make the journey alone. I have business to attend to anyways.”
And so we traveled away from the Great Plains, meeting up with Chandler and Shalee along the way who accompanied us, replying to Melina and I's questions with the thankful news that Cantor was fully recovered, having been attended to at the Temple in Midor. I walked then with a lighter heart, feeling that somehow Maldovia and the vampires were behind us.
It was not the first time, nor would it be the last time, that I was so utterly and completely wrong. |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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PART THREE--Chapter Two
Posted: 05 Jan 2005 11:00 AM |
Our trek north had barely started when it made it's appearance. Just as before those many nights ago, the air seemed to thicken as a sinister laughter carried with the breeze, coming it seemed from all around us.
“No,” I muttered hoarsely, as I spun about, seeing shadows dance within my peripheral vision. Melina paled and her hand went to her sword hilt.
Macha’s demeanor immediately changed, her stride stayed to battle-readiness and her spear drawn. Her eyes, cool and keen, pierced the foreboding atmosphere around us. “We are not alone,” she announced, and her tone hastened my already charged heart with dread.
The vampire appeared beside Macha, but the thrust of her spear merely tasted air as the vampire vanished again.
I felt something brush against me from behind and I turned quickly, drawing my mace. It was Melina, drawing closer to me with her katana gripped tightly. “Bennigan…” she started, and likely had not the reason, or not the capacity, to say more. I could easily finish all I am sure she wished to say, for the questions stuck to my tongue as well. “What do we do? Why is this happening? What do they want from us?”
It spoke then, and its voice resonated somehow from within in. It was an echo of my voice, frozen and fractured and dead. “You will all be my children.”
“Show yourself, coward!” Macha shouted.
The black, scurrying laughter was the only reply.
The vampire appeared again, behind Chandler. Shalee cried out and Chandler spun to strike it, but the vapory vampire dissipated to nothing again as if it were never there. “They are cowards!” Chandler cried. “They hide and play games as cowards do!”
“Come,” Macha said. “To Icy Vale. We must find shelter.”
The vampire’s voice scraped against the inside of my head. “There is no shelter. There is no safety.” The laughter tolled the night.
We moved purposefully and on guard into the cavern that tunneled through the hill that lay between the Great Plains and Icy Vale. No one spoke, and I kept close to Melina to try and find the warmth that I had now lost. I kept looking at Melina, thinking to see the same fear and helplessness in her that I was feeling, but though her face was strained, there was a resolute determination and strength expressed on her face and motivating her stride and stance. I found some amount of my fear transform to anger and resentment of myself. I had to control my fear. If not for myself, then for Melina, and for those I traveled with. I wished to be more than just a burdening baggage of worry.
After some time walking through the cavern, I could see a soft pale light in the distance. It was the light of the moon at the cavern’s exit. With it, I felt the gusts of cold air start to throw its weight against us.
We stepped out into the cold, narrow pass that led to Icy Vale. Wolves hovered overhead on the upper cliffs and sang a baleful song of welcome.
It is funny I suppose, dear reader, as I write this now, how life tends to foreshadow its intentions in such dramatic ways, and yet often times these things are left only for reflection, and not the warning it should be. Perhaps this is the difference between the spiritual nature of the cleric or priest, and the intellectual nature of one such as myself. Would this malevolent wolfsong have registered as evil portent had I not been so resistant to the gods and spirituality? The dramatic in me now sees me then a fool for ignoring this cliché narrative device. But then, life never has had a knack for writing a good original story.
The wolves stared, and skittered, and howled as we walked by. A few moved in to attack, and were put soundly down by our group. Ahead was the gate to Icy Vale. We greeted the guards absently, and the guards, recognizing Macha immediately, did not question our intentions. We stepped into Icy Vale.
Macha looked about briefly. “We should head to the Inn. I require some things from my room anyw-“ Her words cut off.
Time is a funny thing. One takes for granted that it is evenly paced, like a clockwork. But in truth, time is of the mind, and therefore as malleable as an idea or whim. Sometimes, as when you have many tasks to lead you through the day, time races along at intense speed. Other times, time seems to run down almost to a halt.
When the Vampire’s teeth dug deep into my neck, time groaned to a sluggish pace. For instance, I knew that this vampire’s left incisor was slightly longer than the other, for I could feel it pierce first. I know that I kept telling my hand to go to my neck, to pound and claw and tear at this creature that now drank from me, but my hand seemed to have missed the imperative nature of my command, for it strolled only casually toward its destination.
I also know that I wanted to cry out to Melina, to warn her, to tell her to run, but by the time I had spoken the first syllable of her name, the damnedable creature was upon her.
And then, like a coiling spring finally released, time caught up with itself, and before I could even think of what to do next, I was down on my knees, head hanging, grabbing my neck that at once emitted searing pain and yet seemed numb to the touch. All around me were cries and shouts. Someone particularly was screaming Melina’s name…a blood-curdling, insane scream. I somehow recognized that distorted, manic scream as my own.
And in the distance, like a viola stringing an undertone to a manic chamber orchestra, the wolfsong provided a deathly timbre to the night. |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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Re: PART THREE--Chapter Three
Posted: 21 Jan 2005 10:01 AM |
Cold. I had never felt such cold as I did then. My heart pumped an icy sludge that chilled every inch of my body. Sitting by the fire on the couch of the Icy Vale Inn, the warmth of the crackling fire was a foreign language to me, its meaning lost to my cold skin. My body’s only reply was to shutter in frantic fits of shivering that left me virtually unable to speak or act.
I looked to Melina, who suffered the same. Her pale-white face poked through the blanket she drew tightly around her and her blue-tinted lips trembled.
Our companions, Macha, Chandler, and Shalee, had tended to us the best they could. Our tremulous “thank you’s” were little more than a whisper as we tried to maintain a hold on the reality being shaken from our grasp by the nightmare engulfing us.
They spoke to us, asked us questions, but their voices were so distant as to be distorted echoes of another time. One voice, however, sounded loud, clear, and immediate from within and around us; its dark deathly tone like a westward wind through a frozen ravine.
“My children…”
I watched Melina’s face grow impossibly paler, almost translucent, as her eyes widened in fear, staring at me desperately.
“Your friends, too, will be mine. All will fall to me."
“No…” I gasped.
“Bennigan…” Melina panicked. “Do you hear him?”
The others looked to one another with concern. “What is it, what do you hear?” Macha asked, though her tone was implicitly saturated with knowledge.
“It…speaks to us,” I moaned, drawing my blanket ever tighter as I stared vacantly into the flames that would not warm.
“Not ‘It’, Bennigan. I know his name!” Melina stated with hushed horror. The name that escaped her lips was as the vaporous tendrils of frozen breath, hanging before all of us. “Baleforahn.”
I too, knew it, though it was not by knowledge, but by some unnatural awareness.
Macha's face was strained, perhaps even confused, as if she had not expected this name. “I do not know of this one,” she said. “But that is of no consequence for now. Stay here. Rest. Recover. The symptoms should diminish in time.” The uncertainty in her voice worried me.
Chandler and Shalee looked at us, then at each other, and I saw a tinge of hopelessness in their eyes that sent a fresh wave of chills through me. Macha, Chandler and Shalee spoke quietly to each other, but their words became lost to the pounding of my heart amplified in my head.
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to fade into sleep, but not before Baleforahn’s voice sounded once more, softer and with terribly soothing. “I embrace you with the void. You will be children of the void.”
…………
We awoke the next morning, surprised to find we had spent the evening on the couches of the Inn. Macha had implored the Innkeeper to show some mercy and not bother us, which he was charitable enough to do. We felt better, as warmth had finally reclaimed its dominion over our being. I felt as I have when fevered; a cloudy fuzziness of the head that made me feel transitory to the world around me. Melina claimed much the same feeling, though with her, she said it was as if she had lost a sensory ability, one she had never really recognized in herself before until it became absent; the connection to the land that, to some degree, all elves had. She now felt untethered and aimless.
We decided to travel back to Midor and take ship to Port Royale. Though we could barely afford this, we did not have the strength to make the long, hard trip by foot.
Onboard the Aegea, the water that cradled us was calm and lulling. I had never before found peace on the water, other than for this journey, and it still remains a mystery to me why it gave me serenity. But on that day, the gentle sway of the ship seemed like a mother’s arms rocking her infant, and the soft sea breeze was a mother’s pacifying hum to sooth her child to sleep.
Docking at Port, I felt better of things, though the constant flare of pain from the wounds on my neck attempted to wring any calm from my soul.
Returning to Port Royale itself was an unexpected experience. It would be inaccurate to say that, as a result of our experience, the city looked unfamiliar or foreign, for it was undoubtedly my childhood home. Yet, faithful reader, I none-the-less took notice of a change--in the air, on the face, and to the very foundations of the city and its surroundings. Was it my eye that detected differences to the familiar grounds, or was I actually seeing things more clearly for the first time? Regardless, these places, only recently to me a comfortable shelter of civilization, now seemed just so much menial substance to conceal fragile insubstantial lives. So sees the eye that has become prey to powerful evil.
We headed back to the Four Winds to find comfort in familiar settings. The Northern Highway was clear and we were alone with the calm evening. We walked up to the Four Winds and stepped inside.
The cozy surroundings of the Inn were, as usual, quiet, with only the innkeeper and a few regulars about. On the couch, however, was a halfling we had not seen before, rummaging through his things. Dark hair tussled about his head and, though a typical halfling in most ways, there was something unique about his features—or beneath them—though it was difficult to define. Perhaps it was his eyes, which seemed a bit brooding for a halfling. We sat down by him on the couch.
“You are new here,” I commented.
The halfling looked up, smiling broadly. “Yup yup.”
“Are you staying at the Inn?” Melina asked him.
He shook his head as he continued to shuffle his equipment about. “Nah. Jus’ stoppin’ by. I’m stayin’ with th’ Sisters right now.”
“Oh.” Melina’s voice showed a tinge of concern. “Are you not well?”
The halfling looked up at her, smiling again, seeming to appreciate the concern. “Oh, I’m fine now. They’re nice and helped me, an’ they still look after me, but I’ll be leavin’ ‘em soon. I got stuff ta do.”
“Where are you from?” I asked, curiosity for him being a welcome distraction from our problems.
He shrugged without much concern, though his face clouded for just a moment before he went back to his assortment of items. “Don’ know. Sister’s is all I remember…”
Sensing this to be a matter he was either unwilling or unable to discuss, I quickly changed the subject. “That’s quite an assortment of items you have there…”
The halfling was sorting through a menagerie of objects including parchments, vials, gems and ingredients, as well as an impressive assortment of traps and small weapons. “Yup yup. Guyverin’ things fer people.”
Melina gave an inquisitive look. “G-guyvering?”
He nodded with enthusiasm, the subject worthy enough to draw his attention from his equipment. “People need stuff, they come ta me and I guyver it for ‘em. Cuz that’s what I am, a Guyver.” He beamed proudly at this. “You need anything fer me ta guyver for ya?”
I smiled. “Well, I’ll let you know if I think of anything.” I put out my hand. “I am Bennigan Songsinger, and this is my wife, Melina.”
The halfling grabbed my hand and pumped it quickly. “Nice ta meet ya, Mr. Ben Again. Nice ta meet ya, Missuz Ben Again. My name’s Johe Jaxon.”
We ended up speaking for some time with Johe, and on that quiet evening he became for us the pulley with which to more easily lift our heavy burdens from us. The frayed rope of our fate, however, would be unwilling to support the load for long, and that weight would come crashing down upon us again soon enough. |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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Re: PART THREE--Chapter Four
Posted: 04 Feb 2005 09:23 AM |
We ended up traveling with Johe, although at times the need to rephrase this to a more apt “trying to keep up with Johe” became apparent. Melina, I could see, was immediately enamored with the fearlessness of Johe that aided the adventuring giant somehow squeezed into Johe’s halfling skin. Even I, though I admit to an incessant pang of anxiety that follows me into any new or dangerous area I travel, also took pleasure in the exhilaration I was feeling. I hadn’t felt a thrill like this since that overcast night, at 17 years age, when I left my home and my noble life forever to find the greater world that, until that moment, had been represented only by so much ink on paper.
At one point, Johe brought us to Ellea, a young woman being cared for by the Seven Sisters, who was apparently almost without hope for recovery, and because of grave circumstances, had now almost completely withdrawn from the world. She tended to the garden in the back yard, and Johe spoke with her briefly and tenderly while we waited somewhat behind.
When he returned to us, his features were, for a halfling, unnaturally dark and ponderous. I quietly asked him, “Is this girl a friend, Johe?”
Johe did not engage my eyes, but stared beyond to some moment, be it past or future, that he fought to control. “That’s Ellea. She was hurt real bad by th’ Night Masks.”
Melina and I certainly knew of the Night Masks, possibly the most dangerous of the underground criminal organizations in the area. Essentially assassins, they have been impossibly elusive to authorities.
As we walked back through the Seven Sisters and outside, Johe maintained a rigid disposition. Once outside, in the billowing dusk of the evening, Johe’s silence finally broke.
“They’re gonna pay fer what they did ta Ellea.” Johe’s tone was flat and stiff.
Looking at Johe’s intensity, I realized then that this indeed was where his driving force was generated--all the Ellea’s of the world, all those who were unable to help themselves. Behind those strangely intense eyes, within that small halfling frame, and somehow so aptly conveyed in those innocent, youthful features, was perhaps the soul of the hero I had been searching for. Irony, I began to understand, was apparently one way in which life concealed the most obvious truths.
Johe looked at me with confusion, noticing a slight smile upon my lips. I put my hand on his shoulder. “You are a good person, Johe.”
Johe simply shrugged and his face lightened with his slanted smirk. I do not know if, as he opened his mouth, he had intended to say something, or if his jaw grew heavy with dismay in response to the fractured laughter that rippled through the young evening, but no words left his lips.
I knew exactly why my jaw visited my chest; it sent word to my lungs reminding them to breathe as the vampiric laughter shattered the peace of the evening.
Melina’s agitation led her hand immediately to the hilt of her sword as a gasping “No” left her lips.
“What was that?” Johe asked with a mixture of Halfling curiosity and adventuring dread.
I regained just enough composure to get my feet moving. “We must seek shelter. Hurry,” and I moved down the hill toward Port Royale, Melina and Johe following.
As we traveled with hastened step toward the gate of the city, Melina explained the situation to Johe. “It is a vampire. It stalks us. It has b—“ Her speech floundered.
“Johe, we were bitten by this vampire,” I stated with far less emotion than I felt.
Johe’s progress behind us stopped on these words. He scrutinized us. “Yer…vamps?”
Turning to notice his distance from us, I stopped and took a few steps back toward him. “No, Johe. I…I do not think so. But we are not the only ones they have attacked. The vampires have grown bold, and some even attack in daylight. Please, we are not safe here.”
As if from the cavernous depths of my own despair, its voice frosted my mind. “There is no safety, only the Void.”
Johe seemed to notice the blood retreat from Melina’s and my face. That, or another motivation goaded him into movement again. His expression narrowed grimly and he followed us through the gates, looking about. “I hate them deaders,” he muttered.
We hurried into the Plaza, looking about the dark, moonlit streets. “Where to?” Johe asked.
Before I could answer, a young woman, pretty and delicately dressed in Port Royale fashion, approached. As I watched her stroll toward us, a memory bled from my mind, trickling warm and thick over my vision, of the girl in Cantor’s store on that dreadful evening just before our journey into Maldovia. I saw again her silent gaping mouth; I heard the wet slap of her lifeless body hitting the marble floor. In dreams, I looked upon her dead eyes as her head lolled toward me, and knew that if her parted lips had been given one breath more, they would have spent it on a single word—Why?
My heart became a barbarian raging against the cage of my chest, and I ran to this girl. I saw sudden panic ignite on her face, as I must have looked a lunatic rushing for her. “It is not safe here!” I cried. “You must seek shelter!”
She stared, mute to my ravings.
I was to her now, my breathing somewhat heavy. “Do you travel alone?”
She gave a cautious, timorous nod.
“Please, miss. You must come with us, for your own safety.”
Her expression unchanged, she gave a wary shake of the head.
Melina, with the passivity I lacked, approached her. “It is all right. We only wish to help you. But my husband is right, you are in danger this night.”
The young woman looked between us—my hazardous expression, Melina’s restrained concern, and Johe’s paradoxical light-hearted intensity. She settled on Melina as the one to direct her response. “What danger could possibly reside in Port Royale Plaza?”
Resonating off the intangible night itself was the sinister rumble of low laughter, and a hissing foreign whisper that generated dread without needing meaning.
“Vampires,” Melina stated with a breathy matter-of-fact flatness as she glanced to the surroundings, then back at the girl.
Johe gave her a grimacing smile. “Yup yup. Better come with us, missus lady.”
She hesitated a moment more, appraising with panic the precarious balance of threats represented to her, first by the owner of the sinister laughter, and second by the motley crew of adventurers before her. For a moment, she seemed about to take her chances with the chaotic chortles, but then, from behind her, he appeared.
“No!” I screamed as I saw Baleforahn leering over her. The girl, seeing my terrified stare shooting past her, turned in time to see the dark, dread creature and screamed, running away from it and behind Melina.
Johe, meanwhile, had not taken a moment for thought; hedrew his short sword and lunged at the vampire. But Baleforahn vanished as abruptly as he had appeared, leaving Johe soundly smiting the night air. “Hey! Where’d ya go, Mr. Rottenpants?” Johe cried in frustration. “Yer a coward!” He huffed and looked about.
The young woman, though having lost all the color in her complexion, had gained a greater appreciation for our demands of seeking sanctuary with us. She kept close to Melina, her panicked voice almost shrill. “What was that? What’s happening?”
I turned to her, oddly finding composure within the confusion. “What is your name?”
She stammered. “C-Caitlin.”
“I am Bennigan.” I gestured to the others. “This is Melina, and this is Johe. And the other…Well, that is from who we must now flee.” The edge of my voice was sheathed in sympathy. “You must come with us, Caitlin. Please.”
“But where can we go?” Melina asked, her desperate tone diluting the question into a statement of futility.
“Come on!” Johe said, and started off at a halfling pace. “Follow me!”
I will tell you now, it was not long ago that a certain young bard I knew, upon being directed by a halfling half-known to “Come on,” would have demanded clarification to this form of vague imperative. However, encounters with dragons, skeletal warriors, and vampires have the most unique way of changing one’s disposition. This same bard at that moment, having no other discernable plan of action, simply shrugged his shoulders and said “Okay.” |
Willom Wilde--Actor, Playwrite, Head of Wilde's Vials, and fearful of all things cheesy
Califus Sarten--Mercenary for Hire
Bennigan Songsinger--Brooding bard. |
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Re: PART THREE--Chapter Four
Posted: 04 Feb 2005 01:57 PM |
| Great stuff Jimmi :) |
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