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Deep
Posted: 02 Nov 2005 03:21 AM |
Mikaylin awoke in brandibuck, still wearing a slight smile, a leftover from last nights party in the lagoon. The memory of that evening, already a beloved memory, played in her mind. Standing chest deep in the warm waters of the lagoon amongst friend and foe, towering dragons and compact halflings, the shouts to sing, to laugh, to love life and all its mysteries and trials. The true power she had sought for so long, always and already within her, buried by hher blind ambition and selfish doubts. Sing, laugh, love, happiness...above all else happiness. The slight smile spread wider and she looked up to the setting sun with a childs wonder feeling reborn and innocent. Everything will be alright, she thought, everything has always been alright. She spoke it out loud to make it the truth, and turning away from the path that led to the docks because darkness would fall before she could book passage, she walked into Bloodwood. Mikaylin walked unafraid and full of hope. Like a child taking her first steps outside.
The blade lay in her path, a double-bladed sword unlike any she had ever seen, a faint glow emanated from it but the light did not spread..it was as if the light was trying to go within itself and the air above the blade shimmered like the air that shimmered over the hot sands of the Kobai at high noon. The ground beneath the blade was not charred though, for the soil of Bloodwood was evil and tainted...and it was obviously an evil sword, tainted with malice and hate. Obviously evil to all who would set eyes on it...except for maybe a child, full of innocence and hope.
Mikaylin reached out a childs finger, full of wonder and curiousity, and when her flesh barely touched the blade, the smell of burnt flesh and sharp pain wiped away her wonderment, turned her innocence to ash. She stifled a scream of suprise and pain, not wanting to attract the attention of the ettins who roamed these woods and put her burnt finger, already forming a blister, in her mouth. The touch of the sword ignited something deep in Mikaylins soul, ignited a passion for adventure and mystery, a passion for all things lost and forgotten. On instinct she emptied one of her bags and filled it with the soil of Bloodwood and having done that she overturned the bag over the sword and carefully, so as not to burn herself again, scooped up the sword and dumped more soil in the bag for good measure. Such a treasure i have found! she thought, and stood up... an image of adventures unknown forming behind her eyes, a word meaningless and insistent echoing in her ears, like a memory of a forgotten voice being carried faintly on the wind...deep...deep.
That word, having no meaning to Mikaylin, guided her and followed her at the same time...and when she reached Port Royale she knew exactly where to go. She stood before the steps leading down to the sewers, staring blankly and listening to that one word repeating itself in her head over and over...deep. When the hand fell on her shoulder, an image of an unnameable monster arose in her mind...a monster hungry, ready to pounce and drag her screaming from whence it came, down in the dark, down in the deep...where it would feed. She spun around, heart pounding and a scream lodged in her throat....and it was only Nevron. Vikrall stood by his side as well as a stranger she had not met before.
"Hello Mika" Nevron said with his eyebrow arched. Mikaylin barked a static burst of relieved laughter and greeted her friends with a slight smile. Vikrall explained that the sewers were suffering from a blockage...and that they were forming a party to see if they could fix the problem before the streets of Port Royale flooded with raw sewage. "And would you like to accompany us?" They wondered. An image arose in Mikaylins mind, an image of friends and happiness...of an adventure in the sewers, a stinky adventure to be sure! But an adventure all the same...and didnt she come here anyway, hadnt she walked from Bloodwood all the way to the steps leading down (deep) to the sewers for just such a chance at adventure? Yes, she had.
Mikaylin looked from the stairs leading down (deep) to her friends gathered around "Of course i will go." She said happily, for the thought of another night of singing (deep) and some laughter (Deep) in the company of friends (DEEP)...A chill crept up her spine, and a look of doubt flashed across her features. Singing? Laughter? Happiness? With these people? Why she might come across something..something forgotten and lost down there...deep down there. Would she be willing to share such a prize? With these people who have never done nothing for her before? No way and uh-uh. Greed, hungry and sharp, sank its claws deep deep in her heart and the sight of these three men before her sickened her...for she knew what dark thoughts capered behind their false smiles and eyes full of wanting.
"Sorry," She said abrubtly, already turning away, "I've changed my mind. Be careful down (deep)
there."
She walked quickly away, but once out of sight she doubled back and watched them hidden from the wall in front of Mrs. Miggins Pie Shop. At last their party descended down (deep) the steps and Mikaylin closed her eyes and counted to one hundred, a light sweat on her skin and her breath coming out in short hitches of anticipation. Anticipation of adventure, her adventure, down there, in the deep...deep down there. She could contain herselff no longer and burst out from behind the wall, running for the sewers at full speed, taking the steps three four at a time, sprinting across the bridge as the smell of waste and excrement filled her nostrils, finally reaching her destination...the secret door that led down, deep down into the crypts. Flinging the trapdoor open, a sigh of relief escapes her and she goes down...she goes deep.
Mikaylin has been in these crypts before, but she has never been deep in the crypts...she has never been deep where the dead lay buried above your head because to Mikaylin, the thought of being below the dead, of having the dead above you is her nightmare come alive....is her past come to present. But her feet have their own agenda, and she is guided, an unwilling passenger in her own body, the relentless order to go down, to go deep...deep.
She goes deep below the crypt where even the very air is dead and the light is lifeless. She reaches into her pack for a scroll of the ninth circle, for even in this state she knows if she wishes to go deep, she will need help. A carefully practiced ritual, the scroll ignites in a nova of blinding light, and standing before her is an elder water elemental. The lifeless light down here in the deep does not cast reflection off of the elemental, and what always was a sight of awe and beauty looks like nothing more than the sewer water below the casket of a long forgotten grave in an abandoned cemetary.
Out of the darkness the arrows fly...and all find their mark as if guided by an evil doppleganger of Lord Aros who leads an army of undead elves. A quick ritual with another scroll and Mikaylin is invisible, the water elemental enraged at such a pervisity as these undead archers. The bones break easily enough, but they are numerous, they are legion. After many an applied bandage, and the elemental dropping puddles of water like blood from an open wound they come across the Skeleton Lord. Evil and malice fills his marrow and as the dead gaze of eyeless sockets falls on her, Mikaylin turns to flee...terror and horror drill its way into her heart, drills deep in her heart and at the sound of splashing, as if a child jumped into a deep puddle, panic overtakes her and she bolts mindless and afraid....but at the top of the stair, the deep weighs her down, and stays her feet. She turns to face the Skeleton Lord, and he stands his ground, full of knowledge that he cannot lose, his toothy skull alight with an evil glow, and he grins at her. The panic in her retreats, it goes down deep, deep inside her and a calmness overcomes her. A scroll, a ritual calmy executed, and before her stands an elder elemental of the earth. Together they charge the Skeleton Lord, and even though his face is skinless, Mikaylin can register the suprise evident on his face. The elemental of stone crashes into bone, a flash of a flaming blade joins the fray, chunks of bone, bits of rock, splatters of blood...they all fly from the battle and fall over the side of the Skeleton Lords lair...they fall deep..so deep they never touch the bottom.
At long last the battle is ended, the elemental is gravely wounded and Mikaylin is bloody and battered...but she has won. A thought of happiness crosses her mind, quick and fleeting, for her feet are moving again, but they are leading deep...she is going deep again...so deep from dark to darkness she goes...into the Vale of Death. And still she walks. The darkness engulfs the light around her and she is stateless...in the Abyss. And then the darkness....moves. From deep to deeper it goes, and Mikaylin is swallowed by it, so deep she will never touch bottom, so deep her soul wil never be able to fly high enough. Like a hole in the night it comes for her, Eternity it is, and it is dark and so deep. It becomes unspeakable. A silent scream forever frozen in her throat, the pain as bitter as madness, as deep as still water at dark fathoms.
Deep.
Deeper.
Deepest.
Mikaylin awakes on the outskirts of Port Royale, the evil double-bladed sword clutched oh so tightly in her hands, cool to her skin it is, like a soft caress, a secret touch on her heart. The darkness in her heart and soul so deep...so deep she cannot touch the bottom. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 03 Nov 2005 02:14 AM |
Mikayin walks the lands aimless and alone, a ghost in human form. Through the hot, harsh sands of the Kobai she shivers, and eventually comes to Buckshire. The sounds of laughter and life emanate from the open door, and in she glides, seeking shelter and warmth from the cold darkness that embraces her constantly, an uninvited guest that will not leave.
Mikaylin knows most of the faces inside Doc's, but she is fading, fading, and only Tomi, dear Tomi who took her to the Buckshire Fair to watch fireworks in a life long ago, notices her....Tomi, who has such keen eyes. She hears her name spoken in Tomi's voice, but it holds no recognition for her, she nods acknowledgement that she has heard because it is expected and sits quietly on the floor, her presense like a shadow reflected from a mirror.
Mikaylin listens as a tale of dead trees is spun, and all present at Doc's wish to heed the call to be heroes...all but Beth, who was probably drawn to the promise of gold like a moth to the flame. Heroes...the word echoes up a memory, a memory that feels like a hallucination from a stranger. She remembers Vandle...a hero, not because he wanted to be one, but because he had no other choice. She remembers looking through his window. She remembers standing in his doorway. She was on the outside and he let her in. She remembers a fine dinner and finer wine, their eyes locked onto each other as they talked through the darkness of night, a cocoon of light from a candle on the table making their shadows caper and dance on the walls. Desperately wanting and desperately wanted. But now Vandle is gone....and so is God.
She leaves the Inn unnoticed and turns her face into the wind blowing in from Fiirkrag Pass. The bitter lesson that this unwanted memory has taught her echoes deep in her heart and soul. The worst pain was to feel nothing at all. A single tear, as unnoticed and alone as she, rolls down her cheek and falls into the dust leaving no sign that it existed at all. Another small piece of her, forever lost to the deep. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 03 Nov 2005 04:49 PM |
The Port Royale shop-keepers head jerked up in suprise as the figure clad in black wearing a Death-Mask approached, bag in hand full of things not needed. The rain came down in a steady stream and no words had yet to be spoken, when out of the rain a familiar figure emerged.
" Hello, Mika" Fell said, a grin playing on his lips. Startled she was by the use of that name, for the grinning skull that sat upon her shoulders should not have given her away.
"How...how did you know it was me?" Her voice, almost a whisper.
And being a man, predictable and pathetic, he looked down at her chest." I would know that body anywhere." He replied, a look of arrogance in his eye. Black rage filled her thoughts, bubbling up from the bottomless deep, behind her Death-Mask her eyes squinted with the pressure of unnamed hate and fury. The shop-keeper must have caught a whiff of it on the air, for he stammered out in a shaky voice" I dont want to do business with you..." And hurried off to huddle with Betty Fish and her ever-present odor.
The sword appeared in Mikaylin's hand, glowing with green evil, and the thought of lopping off Fell's head and ripping his spine out of his back and beating his lifeless corpse until it was so much tattered flesh brought a dark smile to her face. Out of the alley that led to Johe's Tomi came, in the proverbial nick of time. He looked from one to the other and smile appeared on his face " 'Ello evil lass!" The glint of his teeth set off a light behind Mikaylin's eyes, like a firework seen from the Buckshire Fair it glowed so brightly. Out of that light the angels flew to do battle with the demons inside her in a war of fury and loss. Confused now, and unsure she took a few stilted stumbling steps away from them and turned the corner by Armani's Fashions. The darkness inside her stunned by the intrusion of light in such a deep dark place wrapped its icy tendrils around her soul and took hold again. In front of Armani's she pulled out a scroll, and with a whisper and a circle of dead light the wolf appeared. Its eyes glowed red with fury and smoke puffed out from its nostrils in anticipation. Mikaylin waved her hand and then she was not to be seen, but the wolf remained. Turning the corner now, a dead smile behind dead eyes behind a Death-Mask, she spotted them. Tomi and Fell, talking as if the darkness was not there...as if eternity could be denied. Mikaylins eyes fell on Fell. The wolf broke into a full sprint, it's claws throwing up sparks from the cobblestones of Port Royale and before Fell could even register a look of suprise, the wolf was on him. A mighty swing of its claws and blood splattered up the wall of Pickstons and Jessups, exposing the white glint of Fells ribcage as his flesh was torn usunder. Tomi let out a yell of startled anguish, and hearing that yell from behind her Death-Mask, from some place deeper then the Death-mask, Mikaylin emerged from the bottomless fathoms of the deep inside her, a drowning woman reaching out for a life-line...and finding it in the glint of light thrown off by Tomi's teeth. All of her willpower summoned, and just as the wolf was about to crush Fells head between its mighty jaws, she snapped her fingers....and the wolf was gone in a flash of dark light. Tomi helped the injured Fell, who wore a look of anguish and suprise, into the safety of Pickston and Jessups. Mikaylin stood alone, the rain beating a maddening pattern of sound on the top of her Death-Mask, while inside of her a full-blown war between darkness and light raged. She must leave, she thinks, while she has a semblance of control. The light she has glimpsed is so small now, like a candle seen from a great distance, and the thought of what she almost has done to Fell sickens her greatly. Mikaylin turns to go but another figure is approaching now...coming straight for her. It is Vakal, and right up to her he walks. He sees the darkness to, she thinks. His lips are moving, but no sound penetrates for the roar of her internal battle is deafening. Out of the shop comes Fell, looking the worse for wear, heavy bandages across his strapping chest. Mikaylins magic fades, and now she is in full view, but the Death-Mask hides the shame on her face as Fell approaches. "Take off the mask, Mika" Vakal requests. The empty gaze of the Death-Mask falls on Vakal and a voice made gritty by dryness and regret replies " You wish to see the real mask?" She pulls the Death-Mask off to reveal a pallid white face, dark circles under her eyes, the stench of a dead and bloated body forgotten and wet emanates from her and the two men step back in shocked suprise. Unsure of himself now Vakal takes out a cloth bag and lays it at her feet. " A gift for you my lady" He says with a slight bow of the head. The rain patters on the bag and defines the shape of a wand under the cloth, and Mikaylin bends to pick it up, not touched at the courtesy he has shown, but just curious as to what is wrapped in the wet cloth. As her fingers wrap around the cloth, a puff of smoke arises and she draws her hand back, a charred line of burnt flesh across her palm. She stands up straight and the darkness overcomes her. " Run Vikal" spoken with no emotion. He stands looking at her, unsure of how to proceed, the staff of midor laying at his feet. She dons the Death-Mask, her sword appears and this time a whisper, urgent and pleading " run. " Amazingly he grins, and with a snap of his fingers, he is gone from sight. Standing behind him, looking bored and unconcerned, is a halfling. A faint memory of recognition registers in Mikaylins brain, but she can not remember her name....was it Macha? Meddco? She shakes her head unsure. What is sure is the look on the halflings face, and in a moment of perfect clarity Mikaylin picks up the thread of her thought, spoken in the voice of Lady Elvalia so long ago " There are others who have seen greater evils then you will ever know" Spoken the way one would speak to a child. But knowledge is what Mikaylin sought, and knowledge is what Mikaylin got. Evil is perception...to the fly caught in the spiders web, there is no greater evil than the spider who advances to feed. In the abyss that has become her soul, Mikaylin has become trapped in her own web of darkness, the light is gone and the demons dance upon the bloody and battered remains of any angels that a flash of white teeth has unleashed. Mikaylin sinks once again into the deep, her will exhausted and her hope diminishing...for she is the fly, way down deep in this web of darkness. And she is the spider that wears a Death-Mask as she turns away from the docks of Port Royale and walks into the deep dark night. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 03 Nov 2005 05:57 PM |
Seng was traveling through the desert, he was unsure of his destination, but he kept walking... When he sudenly heard sounds of fighting, this voice is familiar to me, Seng thought. As he aproaches he meets Mikaylin.. Or should I say someone...that Seng no longer knew, this wasnt Mikaylin no, this was a woman who lost her hope, who lost her love for life, this was a lost soul.
She knew the deep abiss she was falling into, and so did Seng.
She had ventured somewhere and someone or something had done this to her, Seng needed to know who or what... Mikaylin eveded his question until she had no other way out. Seng stood in shock, but he knew not the word defeat, he had to try and save her from this abiss she falled into.
Seng had heard tales of destrociton and darkness, long lost catacombs, undead lords....great peril no doubt. He thought though that those were sealed upon those same catacombs but no... Mikaylin in her great wish for power and gold...opened the door, and the demons came in....
Seng felt that deep inside Mikaylin was still pure, and he asked her if she would let her fell or fight this power.
IM alone... I haunted, and I have no one!! she shouted... to what seng answered.
Im here am I not? Your not alone, and I give you my word I'll help you to resist this dark power that feeds from your soul, here is my had, take it if you wish help, I can show you the path but cannot walk it for you...
Mikaylin gave grabed his hand... and then searched for something in her pack... She grabed a two bladed sword... its burst in fire... Seng saw it and then she asked him to grab it. It burned his hand...
See... this is what Im talking about... Im dammed... Im lost, it burns your hand but not mine...
seng couldnt hold it...it was true but something wasnt right in there..
No Mikaylin, look at your hand, it is burned too...though you dont feel pain no more, it feeds from it, pain and sufering...*whispers* and Only hapiness can win
And then he walked to Buckshire... he had hope she would fight against it... And would look to find a way to bring the smile to her face... there were no time to be lost.. Mikaylin was now a small soul in a corner of a dark heart in a decaying body. |
Why search around when the answer is within you...?
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Re: Deep
Posted: 04 Nov 2005 05:54 PM |
Mikaylin ventures into the underworld. She cannot trust herself up above, where the light shines on all who go about their daily lives, unaware and ignorant of the dark and evil things that permeate these lands. She goes down where she believes she has sanctuary, because up above she has been shunned by her own actions and shunned by those who spend their time being busy little creatures, crafting weapons no one will ever use and bags to put them in, potions that do no good against the dark. There is an ignorance and a turning away of knowledge up above, and she wishes she had never quested for knowledge in the first place because ignorance is bliss.
Seng had swore to help her, but the few times they have passed, he has given her a wide-berth and the look in his eyes is one of defeat that he will soon forget because in these lands, such forgetting is easy...all the heroes never were, and the words that spread from mouth to ear are just meaningless noise. Something to be said to ease the guilt of all the long dead dreams of being a hero, a legend, in these lands that is in desperate need of such men and women.
Mikaylin ventures to the only place she believes she belongs, for all alliances she knew, never were. The Elves, arrogant and indifferent to the plights of others who live far shorter lives, have long since deserted her. The halflings, living only day to day to smoke a pipefull of tobacco and have a quick drink in between their endless search to make more gold, ignorant to the fact that gold is useless when the darkness overtakes you, will not even know she has departed. The Dwarves, who study such a beautiful refrain as the Cuneal, keep the lessons of it to themselves...and no outsider would warrant concern or the risk of danger. The humans? They are the worst of all. All capable of such cruelty, and easily masked by rightousness and beliefs in Gods that do not love, that do not hate...that were put upon a pedastal so such cruelty would have an excuse for being.
The rivers of Netharu are fire and the smell of brimstone permeates the air. Once not to long ago, while Mikaylin was mining silver for useless weapons to put in her bags of useless stuff, a priest of Menarok had taken her on a guided tour of all that is dark and evil. In the end, after much suffering, she was allowed pass...and was called sister. Even then the darkness was inside...but so small and unlistened to it went unnoticed by her. But someone had seen it.
Mikaylin seeks sanctuary here, for she is tired of walking these lands alone and unwanted...a pariah amongst lepers. When the demon archer comes toward her, she is unafraid and full of anticipation. The arrow shot from his bow plunges into her chest, and she has a moment to look down at it in shocked wonder. Sanctuary? Acceptance? Here? A lesson is to be learned, more knowledge to be shared. All must walk their own road of trials...all must find their own paths. To assume united we stand in these lands is to prove fatal. All the saints, all the sinners, all the angels and all the demons are in all of us, always forever now. The darkness of the deep was already inside, and it is only what she sees, what she feels, that changed how the world appeared before her eyes, the choice between darkness and light.
Mikaylin has been forsaken by the Seven Sisters of Mercy, they will not come for her....and so she lays forgotten and alone. She goes out of the blue and into the black...and then she goes deep. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 07 Nov 2005 12:39 PM |
Mikaylin awakens in the dark, and she is aware of exquisite pain. She cries out in suprise at it, and laughs and cries at the same time. Pain has never felt so good to her. It is dark where she is at, and the smell of brimstone and evil is still in the air. Looking around her she notices a faint light in a perfect line on the floor..the bottom of a door...and moving oh so gently she approaches it. A light that does not shine permeates this place, and the hall she has walked out into is quiet with the echoes of silence. At the far end she spots to thrones, black and twisted they are, as if with barely contained evil and she realises where she is at. The Hall of Champions, still in Nethar'u. Mikaylin has no recollection of how she has gotten here, she only remembers feeling dark and evil, and hoping to go where she would be accepted as such, but Menarok is the Lord of Lies and Trickery....she has been had. Not for the first time, and probably not the last time either.
For now though she feels joy, she feels agony, she feels....and that is enough. Mikaylin makes her way back to the ferry that will take her back to The Underworld, but the smell that has enveloped her for the past week is strong. She has to hold on tightly to the chain of the anchor for her ride back as no one could stand the stench of her. Her tired and stressed muscles scream their displeasure the whole ride back...but she doesnt mind.
The streets are awash with rain in Port Royale as she makes her way to the Royale Bathhouse. As she passes the steps leading down to the sewer, a cold wind blows through her soul and she hears, faintly, a sound of clittering and cackles. The Skeleton Lord, never truly defeated, reminding her of his presence. Goosebumps break out on her flesh and she hastens to get to the safety of the bathhouse...imagining that at any moment she will feel the bony grip of a skeleton hand, pulling her down into the sewers...down where it is deep. But that grip does not come.
Mikaylin strips naked and looks herself over in the mirror, her skin flawless and unbroken. She wonders how it can be so, but it is a mystery for another day. She eases herself into the hot waters ( the other patrons give her a wide berth, their noses wrinkling in disgust ) and there she stays, soaking and soaping until her skin is pruny and pale. She thinks upon her newfound knowledge and her journey into the deep darkness of her own soul. Her precious sense of rightness, sometimes so naive, so that what she imagines is that which she believes. The choice between darkness and light, inner angels and demons at war. Which one will lose? Mikaylin is aware the choice is hers...and it always has been.
Mikaylin keeps the Death-Mask and dark armor, the Evil blade also finds its way into her home, locked in her chest of precious treasures. She treats herself to some new clothes for her new attitude and heads out to Lake Ladrial, where she will sit on the waters edge and breathe the fresh air. Reflect on how she may find her path, her road of trials, again.
On the bridge which leads to the Tower of Ladrial is a small gathering, and having been alone for so long with only the armys of angels and demons inside of her, she approaches in the hopes of a little comfort from her doubts and fear. A young man turns to look at her approach, and when Mikaylin sees his eyes, a memory of the not-so-distant past emerges, and her heart is filled with sadness and regret, for dear friends that have been forgotten and lost, swept away by time and motion.
They have a quiet interlude, and it is not my place to tell of this story, for it is not finished...but Mikaylin has found her path again. The road of Trials she will walk, the path narrow and twisting, on one side light so bright it is blinding...and on the other side darkness so deep and wide you cannot touch the bottom. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 07 Nov 2005 04:51 PM |
Mikaylin stands before the locked door of her home, a look of fury and despair warring for control of her features, her angels and demons threatening to tear her asunder from within. She wishes nothing more than to go into her home and snuggle in her bed and leave the outside world behind. But the door is locked, and even though she possesses the key she cannot use it to unlock the door. Her hands have been cut off.
The day started well enough, she had come to terms with her road of trials, and she was content to walk the line between darkness and light. A last remnant remained though, a debt that must be payed. When she was younger and quested for power she was gifted with an amulet. The one who had gifted it to her was a mysterious stranger, Malakhi, and he gave it to her with the promise she would have to do him a favor someday. Someday was right before her misadventure in the lands of Nethar'u. Malakhi had given her 85000 in gold, and told her of rings of magic in the Midor Academy. She was to get him two of these rings, as soon as she could. Mikaylin had joked about buying herself some new clothes with the money, and Malakhi, with a glint in his eye told her "Do not ever cross me, Mika....never."
When she had awokened in the Hall of Champions though, a good portion of that gold was missing. Mikaylin would have to earn that gold back, and the sooner the better, she thought.
Mikaylin made it to the docks of Midor just as the light left the sky, and the ferryhand had already departed to wherever he kept residence in the White City. Mikaylin knew that the White City was full of treasures and riches, and she also knew where to look for them. With a whole night to go before the docks opened up for business, she set about to make up some of the gold she would need before Malakhi found her. Unaware that her life was about to change, she booked passage to the Isle of Midor.
In the private quarters she was, but there was nothing of any use to her there. Regardless, she took a few potions in the hopes to leave them at the Four Winds Inn for any travelers who were new to town, and without gold or friends. As she left the private quarters though she was shocked to see the Swords of Rightousness blocking her path, swords drawn and ready. The questions were relentless, and to Mikaylin, unarmed and wearing her bright white new outfit, pointless. They would believe what they wanted to believe she thought. She was trapped. Her hands were bound and she was taken down below, to the dungeons, where the screams of the guilty and innocent permeated the air. Scared almost to death, her heart fluttering in her chest like a small trapped bird, she pleaded to be let go. She told them she would leave Midor and never come back.
The Inquisitor came for her, and all her pleading and begging would do no good. He masked his sadistic demeanor in rightousness, but his smile was cruel and with no pity or mercy....he clearly enjoyed his work of torture and death. She was led into the torture chamber, where she was assailed by all she saw. So much pain and suffering her heart filled with black despair, even after all she has been through recently. Her head and hands were locked into a wooden holder, still damp from the sweat of the previous prisoner. This isnt happening, this isnt happening, they just wish to scare you , they just wish to scare you, over and over in her mind it played. But it was happening....and she was so scared.
The inquisitor came for her, a red hot blade in his hand. "Midoran's will be done!" He shouted in maniacal glee, and searing white hot pain shot up through her arms, agony untold it was, like the end of the world. She saw her hands fall and land by his feet, the flesh still pruny from her long soak in the Royale Bathhouse. This was pain she was not happy about, this was the end of everything. Her screams echoed off the stone walls as her wound was instantly cauterized, and the smell of burnt flesh mingled with the stench of misery and despair. A rough hand grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled it up roughly, a blade flashed in her vision, and a ragged "M" was carved into her forehead. Mikaylin fainted even as the blood ran into her eyes, turning her world from red to black to red again. Hello darkness my old friend.
Mikaylin awoke in the rain, on the outskirts of the Midor Crypts, the undead coming for her. She staggered up, and moving much like a zombie herself, ran as best she could from all she had been through. A Midorian guard on the outskirts saw her approach, pale white like death, outfit covered with mud and blood, blood dried on her face to a hard glaze because she had no hands to wipe it away, a ragged "M" carved into the flesh of her forehead. He cocked back an arrow and shot her in the butt as she ran blindly by, and all the guards took up the laugh that followed her out of the lands of the White City. That followed her all the way home.
Mikaylin stood in front of the locked door to her house, unable to open it. She had no friends to call on, and she was weaponless and without fingers to feed herself. Leaving the clifftops of Tanglewood, she walks aimlessly off into the darkness of a new day.... |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 08 Nov 2005 02:09 PM |
Mikaylin is starving. She also is flat-broke. Her debt to Malakhi has been paid in full. The amulet she had so desired given back, every last piece of gold she had now in his pocket. She believes she knows where to get a hot meal though...and free to boot. Shira stands in front of the Four Winds Inn, and offers to give her a ride to where she believes she can eat without the aid of others. Getting on the horse proves to be a problem, but at last, after standing on the fence by Shira's stable, she is able to manage. Mikaylin sits atop the horse, legs squeezing tight tight as they begin their journey.
Under the night sky they ride, and when Mikaylin begins to slip she reaches out with reflex to grab the reins, the muscles in her forearm rippling as if controlling invisible fingers on invisible hands. She hits the ground hard and flat on her back, the air rushing out of her in a great whoosh and she writhes in the desert sands of the Kobai trying to get her breath back. At last she is able to stand, and with a look of resignation begins to walk, the bandana that was tied around her head to hide her mark fluttering in the night breeze.
Mikaylin spots the trap, but being handless she is powerless to disarm it, so she scoots around it...and into plain sight of a couple of bandits. Not knowing she has no gold, not even one piece, they come for her. Mikaylin sees them coming and another reflex ripples the muscles in her arms as she goes for her sword she cannot hold. With a sigh of disgust she waits for them to get close and hits the one nearest with her stump. The pain is blinding, shooting up her arms and wrapping itself around her neck with rusty claws. With a cry, she turns to run, and only the shocked suprise of being hit with a charred stump stays the feet of the bandit. Mikaylin makes her escape.
On the outskirts of Midor she pauses, and in her minds eye she sees the White City engulfed in flames that consume saints and sinners alike, begging for mercy as the flesh runs off of them in rivers to leave charred and blackened skeletons that still twitch within an agony of eternity...and a slight smile plays across her lips.
Just as she had hoped, the spit in The Great Plains has a slab of meat on it, and she approaches eagerly, stomach growling, drool in her mouth. But upon closer inspection she sees the meat is old, rancid perhaps. It is gray in color, shot through with veins of brown, like the tongue of a dead horse. Her stomach growls again, trying to eat itself, and with no other thought then to end the gaping hole that must be filled, bends to feed on the meat roasting over the open flame. She is able to get three good bites when it happens. A vein of tougher meat, the juices trapped inside of it and simmering, burst open as she bites into it. The grease of it, like liquid fire, runs down her chin and she cries out in pain and shock. Her stumps rise up, hands not there anymore trying to wipe the scalding grease off of her chin. She falls to the ground and shoves her face into the grass, swooshing it back in forth in great sweeps, her bandana comes off but she does not notice. Dirt and badger excrement smearing on her cheeks and chin.
Mikaylin slowly rises to her feet, burn blisters already forming on her lips and chin, her face covered with foulness she cannot wipe away. Her stomach growls again...but this time not in hunger, oh no. The meat has not agreed with her, and with dawning horror she realises she is about to have a bad case of the squitters. She looks down at the armor she is wearing, and knows she has no way to get out of it. "At least im not wearing white" she thinks. She stumbles over to the nearest tree and unable to hide her shame or revulsion cries into the indifferent sky that overlooks The Great Plains.
(( OCC information: Mikaylins charisma is about 9 or 11 i think now, so rp as you see fit )) |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 09 Nov 2005 12:37 PM |
Mikaylin has learned how to pinch a bottle between her stumps, and so she drinks. Drunk and destitute she heads into The Broken Mask Tavern to get more ale, for even though she has drunk her fill and then some, she has puked it all back up. A large crowd is gathered inside, and she sees familiar faces through her drunken haze of double-vision, faces that used to be friendly now filled with disgust and disdain. She stumbles over chairs, falling more than once, making her way to the bartender, but the bartender backs away...her gold will do her no good here.
Kalannar approaches her from behind, and hesitantly whispers her name as if he is unsure this girl in front of him, reeking of her own filth, and vomit still drying to a sponge-like cake on her chest, is his old friend whom many adventures were shared. Once they had recued a fallen comrade from a Mother Hydra, they had showed such bravery in the face of certain doom...and they had prevailed. This sickly stinking girl in front of him can not be Mikaylin, he thinks, as his eyes glisten with tears.
Salt is also present at the bar, and even though they have also shared adventures of great peril, he does not recognize her at all. Their looks of pity and disgust cuts through her drunken stupor like a great cleave from a sword of fire leaving the past on one side of it, and all of the future on the other. A look of such anguish crosses her features, and like a light in the darkness, the Mikaylin of old is standing before them.
Kindness and caring envelope her and she is taken to the Royale Bathhouse, where she is cleaned and dressed in comfortable clothes, a new head band tied around her forehead to hide her hatefull mark, hand fed gently until her stomach is full and the alchohol absorbed. Salt takes great care in the looking over her stumps, and like a guttering flame in a high wind, she has hope again. After an eventful visit to Doc's in which Kalannar proved himself to be a hero once again, she falls asleep sitting at the bar...and thankfully she doesnt dream.
In the morning she feels restless, and so she sets off, hoping to get to Icy Vale to sell some of her belongings to replenish her lack of gold. Once again she falls off the horse in the Kobai. The way through Mineath Caverns is uneventful and going out into the cold wind of Whipsnade pass she is beset upon by wolves, hungry for warm blood and soft flesh. She beats them off as best she can, each blow that she lands tightening an invisible band of rusty wire with barbed spikes that wraps around and around her arms and into the base of her skull in perfect misery. The bandana she wears slips over her eyes in the fray, and she is blinded, a wolf to her side takes a big bite out of her leg and she feels the wetness of her own blood running down her leg and forming a pool in her boot, the blood already turning to a red skim of ice in these cold frozen lands.
Mikaylin has finally beaten back the wolves, and stumbling into the Icy Vale she falls to her knees and thrusts her stumps into the snow in the hopes to numb the agonizing pain that her battle with the wolves has wrought. The bandana now is loosely around her neck, like a cloth necklace, and the "M" carved into her forehead stands out in stark relief against her pallid skin. The ragged "M" is swollen and pinkish around the edges, beads of pus line the cut like white stitches. Her arms are bluish when she takes them out of the snow, and she feels sickly heat in her head. In the Icy Vale Inn she lays on a bear skin rug, the heat of the fire making her sweat even though she is wracked with shivers. Infection has set in. The tiny flame of hope she has felt earlier has been extinguished for another day. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 10 Nov 2005 10:57 AM |
The infection is spreading fast, and Mikaylin knows she must get to the Temple in Port Royale, and as soon as she can. It is a long walk to the small island near the shoreline of Lake Ladrial, made longer by the fact that her bones feel like broken glass that grate against her nerves with each subtle movement, her muscles are taut leather that feel as if they will rip from the slightest flex, the heat of her fever like a sun inside her that burns outward from deep inside but turns to ice when it hits her skin. Her stumps, pinkish and swollen, feel as if they are being eaten by fire ants one tiny piece at a time. The ragged "M" carved on her forehead is dripping with pus, and it mingles with her cold sweat and runs down her pallid face like melting wax. Her body is wracked with shivers that send perfect bolts of agony through her entire body.
Finally she makes it to the small isle off of the Ladrial shoreline where she can book passage to Port Royale, but the sun has just set...she will have to wait all night long. Mikaylin begins to cough, and the sound is like a crag cat getting ready to pounce. Her lungs feel as if razors and daggers are dancing inside and even after she feels as if something has ripped inside her and blood starts to spray from her mouth in a fine mist, she cannot stop. The infection has burned away everything inside of her, all her angels and demons are now ash and she wants nothing more than to die.
Out of the darkness a voice is carried on the wind, "Sleep" it demands. And Mikaylin, who believes death....no, Death...has finally come to take her to the Deep, lays down in anticipation of eternal sleep.
" Sleep...but not for you." The voice whispers," Rise you silly girl"
Mikaylin rises painfully, and she sees the girl who gives passage on the ships sleeping peacefully by the fire. The darkness, in the shape of a man advances on her, and a secret council is given. So secret that even the leaves that fall from the trees have suspended themselves in mid-air and the only sound to be heard is the gentle lapping of waves on the shore and Mikaylins own labored, wet breathing.
" ...but i am sick...how will..." Mikaylins voice is a rusty croak that gurgles through her blood clooged throat. And in a flash of blinding light, her back arches, her feet rising off of the ground, the light pours out of her, her eyes and open mouth shooting perfect rays of searing white light that do not burn but cleanse. The infection is gone.
Mikaylin stands and lets the breeze from the sea blow over her, she takes a deep breath and even her stumps, which at the very least itch maddeningly and incessantly, feels whole again. A smile of relief from pain and suffering begins to form when she hears a familiar voice behind her. It is Vikrall, and he looks confused and unsure of what has happened. His questions are pointed, but fall on deaf ears. Mikaylin sits by the fire, awaiting the rising of the sun.
Out of the darkness, the sound is heard, and dread fills her heart. It is the sound of leaves and twigs being stepped on by heavy metal boots. She turns to where the sound is coming from and to her ever mounting horror, it approaches slowly and sure. A Sword of the Rightousness, his armor the hateful color of innocent crimson, is coming for her. The blood drains from her face, the breath in her lungs rushing out, she has a moment of dizzying vertigo and she is positive she will vomit in her distress. She backs to the waters edge, her stumps raise as if to ward off a blow, and still he approaches, until he stands before her.
" Leave me be," she hears the pleading in her voice and hates herself for it " I have paid my debt."
Under his helm she can tell he is smiling. " Lawbreaker " he says. In his hand is a parchment, " this is for you."
A darkness overcomes her eyes as the fires of rage are stoked within her, the ashes of angels and demons within her begin to stir. " It is useless to me" she replys flatly, looking at the rolled parchment tied with a string of silk ribbon. " you have left me fingerless."
Under his helm she can feel his smile widen in sick sadistic glee. "Then find someone to read it to you" He throws the parchment on the ground and turns away, the sound of his passing is destruction of all things small and helpless...the leaves and twigs.
Mikaylin looks at Vikrall, who bore witness to all silently, and she can see he is barely contained in picking up the parchment and reading its contents.
"Go ahead" her voice resigned to the cruel fates.
Vikrall undoes the ribbon and unfurls the parchment, eyes alight at the written word of evil men. " It says if you would like your hands back," Vikrall looks up to judge her reaction " the kindness and mercy of Midor will help you...for a price"
Vikrall continues to read, but the only sound Mikaylin hears is the roaring of her inner angels and demons, united against a common enemy for the first time. Rage so great trembles through her body like minor electrical shocks, and she only wishes to be away from here.
Vikrall has finished the parchment, something about doing some work for the Swords of Rightousness, but Mikaylin only shakes her head in stunned disbelief. Vikrall tells her that he can help if she desires...but she must swear allegiance to his God and perhaps perform a task, which he will not name.
" Any God who would ask any more of one such as I, " Mikaylin replies " is a God not worth having. The Gods are either cruel or dead Vikrall...and I want nothing to do with them."
Mikaylin arrives in Port Royale, dark thoughts behind her eyes, her heart and soul heavy with impotent rage. God is cruel. She chances upon an elven bard, and requests that he play a melody for her...something soft and sweet, to ease her troubled mind. Together they go into the Botanical Gardens, and amongst beautiful flowers that gently sway in a cool fresh breeze, plays a melody so haunting and beautiful that images of all that could have been, should have been, and all that never was dance through her soul like a cold wind and when the tears begin to flow down her cheeks, she is unaware of their passing.
Feeling empty of emotion and alone, she heads to the docks and runs into an old friend who looks troubled by his own road of trials. Mikaylin offers what aid she can, thinking herself a fool. What good is her advice? she wonders, when her soul is so conflicted and she can barely walk her own path. But he welcomes her council, and to Mikaylin, used to dealing with problems with a flash of the blade, she is pleasantly suprised to find they both come away with knowledge and a clearer view of their respective road of trials. They talk of cruel Gods that do not love, and the fickle finger of fate that loves to play a song of misery and despair.
The sound of footsteps behind her, and she turns in shocked wonder to see her best friend...long thought perished standing before her. Tears of joy run down Mikaylins cheeks, and tears of regret run down Freyas. Who would have thought the body had more tears then Port Royale had rain? Old friends catch up, and the burden on Mikalins shoulders is lightened considerably, and she has a last thought before she closes her eyes in exhaustion at such a day...maybe God isnt cruel, maybe God does not hate, maybe God doesnt love. Maybe God is friends and happiness. Above all happiness.
Mikaylin sleeps soundly and doesnt dream, but a slight smile is present on her lips. Everything will be alright. God is happiness. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 12 Nov 2005 02:37 AM |
Mikaylin is well aware now of the difference between sympathy and pity, but this knowledge can not keep her from wearing her own crown of sadness and sorrow. She tells herself that she will not cry anymore, but sometimes her skies get cloudy, and sometimes those clouds rain down upon her.
A Priestess has found her in The Broken Mask Tavern, being fed by a dear friend, and she tells a tale of those who have suffered similar fates at the hands of Midor. Mikaylin is given a name of someone who might help and direction on where she lives, and before she heads out to see if she can be helped, the Priestess casts a spell over her charred swollen stumps. A pair of etheral hands appear, shimmering and white, and Mikaylin holds them up with a look of child-like wonder on her features.
"These will only last a little while," The Priestess atones, "try to find some joy in the time you have been given."
Mikaylin bows in gratitude, a smile on her face, her mind already filling with things she has missed, things taken for granted, and she rushes out the door and into the street. Time, which has seemed to stand still since her torture and mutilation, starts to gallop and is soon running faster then she is. Her first stop is Mrs.Miggins Pie Shop, and although she has just eaten, she orders a steak and ale pie and takes great delight in shoving the food into her mouth. A deafening belch escapes her, and the two Royale guards who are slacking off in the corner jump up startled and draw their swords with a look of scared bewilderment. This strikes Mikaylin so funny, that she bursts out laughing with such force that a deafening fart escapes her. She stops laughing immediately, her eyes and mouth perfect circles of suprise and now it is the guards turn to laugh. She joins them and together they laugh until they cant breathe.
Mikaylins next stop is the public toilets, to relieve herself with the comforts of a handful of soft bogroll...one of the few pleasures in life that is sorely overlooked by those who take such mundane things as personal hygeine for granted. But as she holds the bogroll in her shimmering transparent hand, she realises she cant feel it, and her smile falters and becomes the smile of one who holds an old photograph of someone who is dearly loved and missed but no longer around and never to return.
She reaches her destination, but no one is home. As she pulls a scrap of paper out of her bag and hastily begins to write a note, her hands, already transparent and ghost-like, fade and are gone leaving only the pain and the sense that time is slowing down and soon to stop. The quill that was writing falls onto the paper in mid-sentence, a letter that will never be finished.
Feeling blue and melancholy she begins to make her way back to town, but while passing through Buckshire she happens upon a group of adventurers, heroes in the making, and she pauses to watch them, wishing she could be a hero...wishing she could just be. They bid her to join, and even though she thinks it a bad idea, she does gratefully. The trouble in Buckshire is what these heroes hope to take care of, and although she can hold no weapon or dress in her armor, she survives and most importantly, doesnt cause herself to be a burden, which was her greatest fear. Afterwards she heads to the Royale Bathhouse with her dear friend Garron, to wash the stink of the swamps from their rancid bodies. He suggests she run for Mayor of Buckshire, and while the thought has its attractions, she knows now she is freakish looking and her confidence and self-esteem are like her heart...fragile and ready to break at the slightest tremor.
In the bathhouse she stands naked before the mirror, her skin is pallid and shallow. Each one of her ribs is clearly visible. The ends of her arms ending in charred swollen stumps, the skin above it bluish and taut. Dark circles are evident under her eyes, and the ragged carving of the letter "M" stands out in perfect clarity on her forehead, the skin surrounding it pinkish and puffy. Behind her eyes, her skies get cloudy, and sometimes those clouds rain down upon her. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 16 Nov 2005 02:21 PM |
If Mikaylins wanderings were aimless before, now they have grown pointless. She no longer believes in the old lie: that life is good, that the work and suffering of men and women had a purpose or meaning, that the light will prevail.
The darkness has come for her, so deep she cant touch the bottom.
She stands on the edge of the blue clear waters by Lake Ladrial, the moonlight reflecting a million points of light off its gentle waves, and she reflects on her road of trials. It has already been one of those days for her that are far to common and at last she despairs. Mikaylin has given up hope.
Waking up that morning, her stomach growling its displeasure, her charred swollen stumps on the border between pain and misery, her back acheing from wearing such heavy armor that she cannot get out of, dressed on her frame of skin and bones and unable to loosen the straps herself. She had set out with a bleak vision of her future.
On the Mirghul Forest Trail she stomps a viper to death, and telling herself it will taste like chicken, she feeds off of its slimy remains. The venom does not agree with her though, and she is violently sick, vomiting again and again until only bile remains and then that is gone, and she dry heaves all the way to Lake Ladrial, her body wracked with shivers, her stomach a pool of acid.
The waters of Lake Ladrial lap gently on the shoreline, and she stares at the reflection of the silvery moon dancing endlessly on its waves, and for a moment all is clear. All this pain and suffering she can end, all it would take is to step off the waters edge and let the weight of her armor sink her like a stone. This idea, turned over in her minds eye and examined, glimmers if not with hope, then with reason. A passing ripple she will leave behind, unseen amongst so many and with it the hope that all pain and suffering can end. A hope that maybe, just maybe, there are other worlds then these. And of being reborn with no memory of this horrid existence except for an instinct buried deep deep inside, so the mistakes of this life, while not known, would be intuited, and she would have the luxury of believing in the old lie all over again.
Mikaylin takes a step closer to the waters edge. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 17 Nov 2005 09:19 AM |
| Mikaylin steps off the waters edge and like the stone she has cast in her own heart, she sinks to the bottom. A ripple marks her passing, the ripple spreads slowly until it mingles with the gentle waves and is nevermore. Mikaylin has slipped out of the blue and into the black. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 17 Nov 2005 04:20 PM |
Out of the blue and into the black. Mikaylin focuses on the circle of light of the moon as seen from underwater. The pain in her stumps is fading, fading....but her lungs are burning so she breathes deep of the water and then even that pain is gone. She focuses on the light and eagerly awaits it engulfing her. She feels herself pulled to it. Pulled hard. By her hair.
Natana pulls her out of the water by her hair and tosses her on the ground. Pressure on her chest and she coughs up the cool waters of her denied grave onto the shoreline.
"Saw you fall in and thought you needed a hand getting out" Natana says glancing at her stumps, " Maybe two hands."
If Mikaylin thought her lungs burned before, now they are like two hot slabs of molten lava in her chest and she wishes to curse Natana for her interference...but she cant stop coughing.
Her voice finally comes out in a frogs croak between harsh gasps of air, " ....i...did it...on..purpose...end my....agony...and maybe...start again...in a new body...in a new world.."
Natana shakes her head and smiles down at her wryly " Silly girl...do you think a new world or a new body will treat you any better? Better yet, will you treat that new body and new world any better?"
Mikaylin puts her face into the ground, and if she had fingers she would plug up both her ears, for she does not want to hear this. "What do you know anyway?" She croaks angrily.
"I know making mistakes can become habit-forming...I also know that it is never to late to fix those mistakes...unless you are on the bottom of the sea that is." Natana sits down beside her, pulling strands of wet blonde hair off of her fingers "The dreams and expectations you set are lofty, and while not unattainable, they do not come easy...or when you want them. If you looked through the cloud of self-pity that surrounds you, maybe you would see that dreams are always within reach, and that expectation is like your handless arm...something unable to grab. Your dreams will come to you when they are ready, and when they do, you will most likely realise that there is yet another dream to chase, but it will also be just out of your reach. Such is life."
Mikaylin struggles to a sitting position, wet and shivering in the cool autumn breeze. She stares miserably at the fire and feels her pack lifted off her shoulders by the strap. Natana digs through it and takes out Mikaylins wet clothes and hangs them by the fire. She also takes out a vial of antidote and with her fingers uncorks it and holds it in front of Mikaylins mouth. Mikaylin gulps it down, and it goes to work on the viper venom immediately.
A few hours later her clothes are not just dry, but pleasantly warm, and when Natana helps her out of her heavy armor and helps put on some light comfortable clothing, Mikaylin is thankful. If she was dead, she thinks, I would have missed such a simple pleasure as feeling warm and comfy.
The night passes, and Natana feeds her the beef stew she has simmering above the fire. Natana does this without being asked, and when Mikaylin has a belly full of warm food, she is led into the small hut where Natana lives and given warm blankets and a soft pillow. Mikaylin is asleep immediately and she doesnt dream.
Althouth she has not been invited to stay, Mikaylin does, for it seems as if no invitation was required. In the days that follow she is fed beef stew, venison, even grilled fish. The outline of her ribs fades away, the aches of being underfed gone and strength of body is returned.
"I wish the pain would leave my stumps...and i wish i didnt have this hateful mark on my forehead...but all things considered I feel pretty good Natana" Mikaylin says after her seventh meal of the day. She unleashes an explosive burp to show her satisfaction. " You know, in Port Royale, that is considered a compliment to the chef." She says with a smile.
"Well, I would hate to hear how they dissapprove." Natana says getting up. "I have an idea, it might help with some of your pain and confidence." She goes off into the woods, and Mikaylin hears the sounds of rustling leaves and plants being disturbed, the soft and graceful flight of a deer dashing away under the constantly falling leaves. Natana returns with a handful of herbs and goes into her hut, where the sound of breaking stems and a gentle grind from a mortar and pestle emerge.
Natana comes out with a small bowl, a narrow strip of black cloth, and two larger swaths of the same cloth. As she is putting the mixture in the center of the narrow strip. Mikaylin speaks "That is kind of you, but if its a headband your thinking of, they tend to unknot or slide in my field of vision."
"That is because they dont tie knots like one who works on a boat for a living," Natana replies, " and this mixture, while it wont take away the mark completely, it will lessen it and keep it from infection. Plus its made out of sticky stuff, like deer boogers," She smiles jokingly "It will not slide off, trust me."
The headband is secured and Mikaylin shakes her head vigourously, but it is on tight...it will not loosen. The two larger pieces of cloth are swabbed with the mixture as well, and fastened over her stumps. Within minutes, the screaming stumps are down to a quiet conversation, and Mikaylin smiles in pleasure.
Mikaylin stays for a week under the care of Natana, and when travelers come to book passage, she hides in the hut, not wanting to be seen even by friends. They pass the time together talking and Mikaylin tells her about her belief that life is a road of trials, and about her journey into the darkness...no, into the deep, of her own soul.
"That is where you have gotten it wrong Mikaylin," Natana intones as the sea breeze blows back her hair under a black sky dotted with millions, perhaps billions, of stars. She raises her arm and sweeps it across the horizon. "It is no road of trials, it is a sea of them. The light is above, the darkness of the deep below. You must walk on water...and sometimes you must swim. To believe it is a narrow road leaves out other possibilities, other options...and if you have chosen the wrong path, you will walk farther away from your dreams, your ambitions....your expectations."
"It is a sea you must walk across, so wide and very deep, and its easy to get lost, but as long as you remember where you are going, and do not forget where you started from, you will always reach your destination. Sometimes the waves are choppy, sometimes a storm is ahead...but the sea is wide, and if you have to change course, you will still get where you are going...though it may take a litle longer."
Mikaylin ponders these words as the tip of the sun appears on the horizon, and the truth of them sinks into her heart, much like Mikaylin sank into the water last week. The words sound right to her ears, and with a sigh she stands up to face the promise of a new day.
"Natana...I think I will go for a boat ride." She says, eyes still on the horizon.
Natana rises to stand beside her, and with a smile, holds out her hand palm up. Mikaylin places her stump in it, and Natana just shakes her head. "No silly girl," She says still smiling "That will be one hundred pieces of gold" |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 19 Nov 2005 04:23 PM |
"All you need do, is ask for your hands." Fri'el intoned. That arrogant look never leaves her eyes...and it fixes on Mikaylin as they stand on the Port Royale docks amongst a crowd of familiar faces. Mikaylin has heard this many times before, from fellow travelers who gape at her in disgust, to good friends her gape at her in sadness and anger. But always the pity is the same. They usually swear to do what they can, as soon as they can, but once out of sight they shake their heads, and go about their daily lives, until the next chance meeting where all the familiar lies are told again.
Mikaylin looks back warily, "Allright...can i have my hands?"
"Say please." Like a mother teaching a child proper manners.
If Mikaylin had hands, they would surely be resting on her hips. "Please, may i have my hands back."
And then pain engulfed her. Complete and utter agony, so quick she was not prepared. Mikaylin falls onto the pavement, writhing in agony, even unable to scream...the only sound to escape is a stifled groan. The circle of travelers looks on as if...as if she has suddenly grown hands actually. But Mikaylin does not notice, her misery to complete. She slowly rises, covered in sweat and shaking, and stumbles over to the edge of the dock where she vomits into the water. When her stomach is empty and just convulsing its displeasure, she wipes her mouth with her hands. Then she rests her hands on her knees in case she decides to faint.
It comes to her suddenly, like a fist to the jaw. Mikaylin raises her arms and stares at the hands that have grown back. She is speechless, and she looks to each face around her, but they have already gone back to their conversation...as if all she has been through did not happen, did not matter. She examines her hands in a childs wonder, and when she sees the small scar at the base of her thumb on her left hand, a scar she has had since childhood when she cut herself trying to whittle a piece of wood with her fathers sharp knife, she breaks down into tears.
"Lawbreaker." Spoken with an air of disgust. "You have only got what you deserved."
Mikaylin looks up, but the one who has spoken it is wearing a helm. Anger fills her, one of those base primal angers, and she is not even aware of what she said, or what she did. But when the veil of red rage passes, she is in front of the Four Winds. A moments regret at not having given proper thanks to Lady Fri'el, and a moment of shame at what brought her here...running from those who would judge.
Lawbreaker.
Mikaylin saddles up on Shiras steed, gripping the reins strongly in her hands. She will let off some steam on those bandits who have given her such a hard time, the ones who wait by the Mineath Caverns to prey on the weak and unsuspecting. Their suffering will be great...and when she pounds them into eternity, she thinks she will see the faces of all who would judge her on theirs, begging for mercy. But none will be given.
A moment is all it takes to change a life, for the better or worse is up to the fates. Mikaylin falls off the horse into the Kobai Desert. As she finds herself writhing on the ground for the second time that day, this time in hot sand instead of cool brick, she has a perfect moment of clarity. It was not her hands that crippled her, it never was. It was her head.
Mikaylin walks off in the direction of the outskirts by the White City...and instead of heading to The Great Plains, she turns towards the city of Midor instead. In her pack, she has the potions that she has stolen. She will return them. The guards threaten her as soon as her foot is on the bridge and her heart starts pounding in her chest. She is unarmed, and unarmored. But still she advances, pleading to be given an audience with the Judges of The White City. The guards draw their swords, and she sees blood in their eyes. With a sigh of regret, she flees.
Mikaylin will try to make things right. She does not know how, but she will try. A plan comes, a plan that is untangible and hazy like smoke, more an idea and a philosophy really. Mikaylin has always tried to change the world with her own two hands. Now she will try to change the world in her, with her own two hands. |
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Re: Deep
Posted: 29 Apr 2006 01:57 PM |
| The hands never tan, they just stay the same shade of corpse-like white no matter how much time Mikaylin spends in the sun. The ragged "M" carved onto her forehead still is puckered and pinkish. She has been in solitude for far to long. She thinks she is ready.... |
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