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Coming of Lreh'maylya
Posted: 04 Feb 2006 03:12 AM |
The comet blazed in the sky, as large and as bright as the full moon. Seers and astrologers throughout Vives point to the return of "Lreh'maylya," which is elven for "Bringer of the Dead." The comet has not been seen in over 450 years.
Legend states that Lreh'maylya gathers imprints of the dead as it passes over Vives. While the comet is in the sky, the legends say, the dead return to the living, but only for a short while. Some fear the comet, thinking it a harbringer of doom. Others believe it to be the return of some long lost god. And all admire it's beauty and light, which can be seen even in the daytime.
((Look for strange happenings both IG and here until Lre'maylya has passed by once more)) |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: Coming of Lreh'maylya
Posted: 04 Feb 2006 03:13 AM |
| ((bump to main forum)) |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: Coming of Lreh'maylya
Posted: 08 Feb 2006 06:54 PM |
Borlag stared up at the brilliant streak of light, visible even through M'Gok Tukar's perpetual shroud of rainclouds. His expression was one of mingled wonder and terror.
[Harbinger of chaos and madness...] the Half-Orc grunted to himself. [And so it begins.] |
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Re: Coming of Lreh'maylya
Posted: 10 Feb 2006 08:59 AM |
Macha sank into the couch in her room at Icy Vale, head going against the back of it and eyes closing. As she started to pull her legs up under her, breathing that wasn’t her own caused her to slow in mid-motion. Her eyes remained closed for a split-second, their opening coinciding with the sound of a familiar voice speaking her name, causing them to widen a little in surprise and a little fear.
Her expression evidently did nothing to off-put her visitor who beamed at her and held out his arms. “It is so good to see you again, Macha. So good…”
Continuing to stare for a moment, emotions flooded through her, her body still and watchful while they passed. Fear to suspicion, then denial to joy, and finally, acceptance. Standing, head shaking slightly in bemusement at the action, she stepped into his arms and embraced him as tightly as he did her. Stepping away from one another, the conversation lapsed into peculiar conversational detail – two people, catching up with their lives as if they were old friends. Which they were, but the only life they spoke of was hers.
Finally, she could no longer hide her confusion, and passing their time talking of trivial things had become intolerable. There was so much to say and so little time, he said as much. Neither knew how or why, after all this time, only that this was real. And when you have such a short time, and know for certain that you will be separated and how that feels, thoughts narrow and focus, bringing what is most important to the surface. The trivial, what seems so important to every day life, fades away while the small things, the things that make the person, shine out and demand attention. Their conversation inextricably ventured into these details.
“Are you happy, Macha?” He asked, and his voice was filled with sincerity. Hope shone in his bright eyes. The freshness of his face tore at her heart; this was not the face as she had last seen it, beaten and scarred and pale with death. It filled her with memories of what had been, and what she had lost, and suddenly she dreaded what she could say to him. Wanted to avoid it, at all costs. Every skill she brought to bear to evade his simple question failed. He would not be denied an answer.
“Are you, Macha?” He finally asked her, holding her close to him so that she felt the heat of his body on her cheek. The heat of his body…the thought dazed her for a moment. Then he spoke again. “Are you evil?”
The breath rushed from her with the knowledge that she couldn’t evade him, any more now than when he lived. She couldn’t lie, or talk around it, or make excuses. He would, as ever, pull the answer from her with a simple tact that betrayed the skill with which it was done. “Aala.”
“How do you know?” He asked her, and she turned in his arms, looking into his face and repeating his question. He asked it again, just as calmly, eyes somehow serious and smiling at her at the same time. “How do you know that you were evil?”
How could he ask that? Didn’t he know what she was, what she had done? Of course he didn’t know; he couldn’t. “Because of the things I did, I suppose.” She said slowly, as if the question had never occurred to her. “And why I did them.”
“And what were your reasons, Macha?” The blue eyes stayed on hers, love still shining from them but intent upon the answer, as if searching for something only he knew was there. “And do not tell me it is because Tarik told you. Tell me your reason.”
“I wanted to kill them.” She caught her breath, and had a moment of girlish hope that passed by him unnoticed. “I wanted them to feel what I felt. I didn’t want them to have what I could not have.” Her eyes moved away from his searching gaze but were drawn back. She had never been able to keep herself from him. His gaze continued to meet hers, a sense of innocence overlaying the perception and concern. So much like all those times before.
“You were afraid.” He stated, his voice tender with the words, his arm resting comfortably on her shoulder, as if they were simply sharing a moment together. Which they were, she thought later, but at the time she could only nod. Before she could go on, hide the simplicity of it in explanations, he spoke again. “And now, Macha? Are you still evil? Are you still afraid?”
“I would like to say no.” She said, and suddenly the weight lifted from her. The feeling that something was at play within her that defied explanation, or understanding. The feeling that she had to hide. “But of course I’m afraid. I don’t know that I can ever stop. Can one ever simply stop being evil?”
“Look at me, Macha.” His voice was stern, yet still gentle. Her face turned toward his and the flow of words suddenly ceased. “You know I’ve done many terrible things in my life. That I drank to stop the pain, to stop feeling. But it did not help. Do you remember?”
She nodded once in assent, eyes on his and face suddenly completely open to him as he spoke. The next words brought tears to her eyes, no longer able to hold them back she let them come. An old wound reopened, and pain flowed fresh, as if it were new.
“And when I was lying on that table, and I could remember nothing, I remembered you. And I believed my atonement was complete, so I let go. And do you know what I found?” He paused for a moment, but she was unable to find words and simply shook her head, the tears rolling freely down her cheeks. “I found that my atonement meant nothing. That what mattered was that I let go.”
He paused again, one arm around her shoulder and the other hand touching her arm lightly. “You must take responsibility for your actions, Macha. And whatever it was that drove you to them, you must let it go.”
The tears came fresh, and she turned from him, an almost involuntary action, but only for a moment. His hand came to her cheek and gently turned her face back to his. “Macha, look at me. I must go soon. There is not much time.
“I know who you really are, Macha. Even now, after all this time, I know.” He continued quietly, the level of his voice belied by the strength within it. A strength that, Macha realized, had not been there during life. “Your ability to feel, and to love, is why you were strong when I knew you. It was your greatest strength.”
“I cannot.” The tears suddenly burst forth, and she was openly crying rather than simply allowing the tears to roll down her face. “Not like that, not anymore. It’s too hard. Either way, it’s too hard.”
“Yes, it’s hard. But not feeling, not caring, is worse.” His arms pulled her closer again, tightening slightly around her. “So you will do it, Macha. I know you will.”
And as she looked on his face, new tears, old tears, rolling down her own, it seemed that the past was laid bare. Still there, but no longer a source of anything but memories, both joy and pain, that made her what she was. The same, yet different, and stronger somehow. Strong enough to be what she was without losing herself. And as the realization struck, and peace came over her, she found herself once more left only with the memory of his arms around her and his belief in her.
She lowered her head to rest her cheek against his shoulder, and suddenly, he was gone. She stood alone, tears rolling down her face, and wondered at what had happened. Not if it was real, or if he was real. That much she knew was true, no matter how implausible it seemed.
And when the tears finished, and her eyes had stopped drifting the room restlessly for the sight of him, she stood and pulled on her cloak, preparing to brave the chill of her home and to seek again the comfort and trials of caring for someone. What went before passed over and through her. Steeped in memories, both painful and joyful, she smiled as she opened the door and stepped through to her life.
That night, she let it go.
((Many thanks to Mykal for the collaboration)) |
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: Coming of Lreh'maylya
Posted: 12 Feb 2006 06:13 PM |
[Will be signs... much chaos and madness...]
Truer words had never been spoken.
As the sewers of Port bubble and seethe, as the streets fill with indescribably disgusting filth, the comet blazes overhead with a brightness so intense that it almost resembles a second moon streaking through the skies.
By night, the faintest rosy tinge of red can be seen upon the moon.
The Blood Moon is coming. |
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