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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 18 May 2007 10:35 AM |
(( I'm not sure how many of you actually read these stories, or how many of you skim through them, or just click on them to change the blue to purple. In the end , however, I suppose I spend the time and energy it takes to write these pieces as much for myself as for those of you who DO actually read and enjoy them. This is a work of whimsy that has been rolling around in my head for a few months now, and I hope you enjoy it. Before I take you on this journey I must warn you that this piece is not "officially sanctioned" by the DM crew. By that I mean that I asked them to clarify the rules as to whether there was an "Afterlife" in Vives. Being that there are no planes of any kind, an afterlife would be a difficult concept to perpetrate. As of yet there has been no response. So until you hear otherwise, nothing you are about to read could take place in the Vives "universe" and is, as I mentioned before, just a flight of fancy from an old guyver's mind, or even a "What IF" comic book version of the world of Vives as we know it . If nothing else, perhaps this could convince those who feel otherwise that there should be some sort of afterlife in Vives. After all if there is no forever to strive for, would we be as passionate for the finite? As a PnP DM myself I understand the difficulties in adding an alternate plane of existence to a world, and I respectfully offer this piece as a possible compromise to that dilemma. This, like the Return of the Guyver thread, will be a work in progress that will grow from the base idea I have in mind for it. So, as Adam said to Eve on their first night together, "Stand back! I dunno how big this thing is gonna get!" Enjoy ))
Part the First, The Waking
"Wake up," a whisper from the darkness insisted.
"You must wake up," a stronger voice urged.
"Wake up man," yet another spoke with a thick accent he couldn't discern.
"Wake up child. Pay attention!" a matronly voice chastised cantankerously. His mind began to stir like writhing cockroaches in sticky, black pitch.
"Come on, wake up my love." A long lost memory of a woman holding him as a baby in her arms, looking down at him with a sad smile as she brought his face towards her bosom to feed.
"Wake up love." A gentle feminine voice breezed into his mind with remembered perfume of wild flowers and a delicate porcelain hand on his armored chest.
" They should make the night, but see your little light's a lie. " The voice interloped over the others with a mocking calm, and a hint of spiteful levity. Of all the voices, the interloper's was the most present, he felt the muscles of his face move into a look of disappointment.
"Can you not see that little light up there?" A strong arm around his small shoulders.
"Where?" The remembered voice from his throat is that of a little boy, eyes full of wonder.
"There" his father persists patiently.
"Where?"
"Over here..." the mocking voice returned with malicious glee.
"You're still in bed?"
"Wake up sleepy head." other voices joined in.
"Don't you know you've kept him waiting?" The mocking voice interrupted again.
A remembered nurse pulls aside a curtain.
"Look who's here to see you."
His senses jerked into life inside him as a blinding pain skewered into his brain. A clawed hand grabbed him by the shoulder. The back of another clawed hand brought him the first drink of reality he had tasted since... he couldn't remember when. It wasn't until he was sprawled on the cold ground from the blow that he saw he had been laying on an obsidian slab of rock. His assailant stood over him on cloven hoofed legs covered in greasy fur that ended at his stomach. The skin that stretched from there to his bearded face was the color of blood in the midday sun. The beard supported small, pure black, beady eyes, that mocked him from under the small horn that was protruding from the bald forehead above each orb.
He layed on the ground like a puppet who's strings had been cut. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a dark loamy soil the taste and smell of which strangely made him think of love. The interloper reached down for him and picked his lifeless, rag doll form from the floor in one rough movement. He held the old man's pale face close to his sneering with contempt.
"You, my friend, are late for a very important date."
Hefting the man over his shoulder he walked towards a rough hewn wall and spoke.
"Breeyark!"
A crack appeared in the rock letting in a red glare immediately followed by the sensation of oppressive heat. The light spread until there was before the two an opening that looked out over a plane of flame and noxious fumes. His head lolling uselessly, he looked out over the horrific scene as he was carried unceremoniously across a rickety looking rope bridge that clattered under the hooves of the interloper. Black forms that looked like coals poked out from the bright flames that blew a heat so intense into his face and eyes, tears ran freely from them, even though he had to be at least fifty yards above the flaming surface. After a while his puzzled mind registered that the black shapes where moving. A sick feeling of dread spread through the pit of his stomach as he realized the black coals were people. Faintly over the roaring of the inferno that stretched out seemingly forever beneath him, he heard what he had originally perceived as a low hum. But now as they reached the lowest point of the bridge the sound became clearer. His skin crawled at the sound of countless voices too exhausted by pain and fatigue to scream, instead, now, they moaned hoarsely through raw, bloodied throats. The marionette man just hung there over the shoulder of the interloper, there wasn't even enough strength in his limp body to sob with relief as they began the ascent up the other side of the rope bridge, taking him slowly away from the crackling carnage below.
On the other side of the bridge he heard the interloper's claws rattle on what sounded like an iron door. There was a loud thud like an unhitched wagon being dropped to stoney ground, followed by the shrill scream of metal rubbing against metal. The red skinned beast took a few steps, and they were in a cool, pure white room. He could now see the door behind them that squealed again and shut with a clang. His mind numbed at the sudden absence of the sound of flames and torment. The Interloper stood still and waited.
"Put it in the chair Faziel," a sultry voice slithered from the whiteness.
As he was lifted form Faziel's back and brought to the chair, He noticed with detached interest that the entire room, and it's furnishings, (a desk and two chairs), weren't just white. They were SO white that one could barely make out the lines where the walls met the floor, or even that there WAS a chair or desk in the room. Faziel pushed him into the chair roughly, standing behind him and holding his head up to face the woman. His motionless muscles made it impossible for him to react, but the woman was starteling to the mind. She was like looking at a reflecting pool as a multitude of women took turns looking into it and dropped a stone in it before they left. Ripple She was a raven haired women with emerald green eyes and the kind of red lips the prostitutes would wear on...on... where was that...? Ripple She was a Sandy haired teenager with freckles and a collection of pimples just below her thin lips... The only thing that seemed constant was the voice...
"Well," she breathed almost seductively," what are we to do with you?"
He sat there limply, unable to respond as she stared at him with cat like eyes Ripple sad brown eyes... Finally she looked above his head.
"Faziel." she uttered with a commanding tone as she nodded to him.
The red skinned man appeared before him, pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He opened his lifeless mouth with his other hand and blew into it. The smell of sulfer and burnt flesh permeated his senses as his lungs filled with the hot air. He coughed raggedly as Faziel returned to his station behind him and held his head.
"Well?" she asked again, from the fat lips of a dark skinned half orc matron.
" Don't know who, or where I am," he rasped out, "how can I answer you?"
A blond haired halfling girl nodded slowly.
"I see," she tapped her fingers on the desk looking thoughtful," well you are a special case, so I suppose things might work differently with you."
She leaned back in her chair with a sigh pulling her dark grey hair away from her face as she closed her almond eyes. The wrinkles of thought marring her now soft elven features.
"Faziel," she finally said, an edge of metal in her sensual tone," Take our guest to the harem, make sure he is well taken care of until he remembers."
The goat footed man grunted once and hefted him over his shoulder once more.
"Do make it quick Thunderheart," she called after them as they left the room, "they can't take you there, but I certainly don't want you here."
His head bobbing with each footstep across the bridge, he didn't even notice the heat searing his eyes, or the hopeless moans in his ears. He could only hear the one word that had made sense since he had opened his eyes...
Thunderheart.
(( Inspired by Kate Bush's Wake the Witch )) |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 27 May 2007 01:10 PM |
Part the second, The Remembering
Faziel descended the spiral staircase into the harem with a leering grin.
"Hello ladies," he rumbled from his chest as he reached the bottom stair, slapping a naked buttock with a large red hand. His black eyes scanned the enormous hall of scantily clad women and silken couches. It wouldn't be too difficult to find the old fool in this sea of beauty. Finally he spied a head of grey hair and grunted, his smile waning as he returned to the task at hand. He didn't like the Thunderheart, and not just for the obvious reasons that he didn't belong here, or that he had most likely killed some of his offspring, like his beloved great great grandson Ollie. No it was more than that. People like the Thunderheart went through their time on Vives thinking that their ways were the ONLY ways, and forcing their ways into the hearts of everyone usually on the end of a sword. Using words like "cleansing", and "saving" they traipsed the world lopping off heads that thought differently, and tongues brave enough, or stupid enough to say so. Not even the most "evil" of the "evil" did such things...well not for the most part at least... his mind wandered briefly to a white city he had been told to watch and report on... Still, the arrogance of the "good" was enough to make him want to tear the knight limb from limb. He felt the burning of angry bile in his throat. The Lady wanted him whole though, for whatever reason, and he knew better than to cross her. He swallowed hard wincing slightly at the puff of black smoke that curled up from his flaring nostrils. He approached the old man with a menacing look on his face. If there was any luck in hell, the knight would remember who he was enough to have that conversation with the lady, and be out of here soon. Faziel eyed the old man with a twisted smirk, judging from the way he sat hiding his naked body from the whores with a silk pillow, and averting his eyes whenever one attempted to approach him, he remembered just fine.
"Good," Faziel boomed, " come with me paladin." the last word slithered from sneering lips with contempt, as he bent to heft the man up.
The knight held up a stern hand and stood shakily on his own with as much dignity as he could muster.
"Very well fiend," he said coolly leveling a steady glare at the horned figure that towered before him.
Faziel raised a hairless eyebrow, the wrinkles of red skin bunching up under the shining black horn that protruded from his forehead. He grunted and nodded at the Thunderheart with grudging respect.
"This way."
The walk to the white room took them through a field of wretched souls buried up to their necks in a sulfurous smelling clay, lolling their heads in hopeless exhaustion as a murder of crows attempted to peck out their eyes, and any other soft tissue that presented itself. The paladin focused on the back of the fiend leading him, trying to ignore the murmur of moans that forced their way into his ears like an army into a castle at sieges end. He sighed quietly as his thoughts roared through his reeling mind. He was sir Rafferty Thunderheart , Knight to the lady Eratia, Paladin of Justice, Defender of the Crown, Keeper of the Faith, Wielder of the Holy Pureblade, and Champion of the needy, and as far as he could tell he was in hell. The memories of a life that seemed a thousand lifetimes away taunted him, and seemed to belittle his one confused question...
What am I doing here?
Had the way of things been warped when he should have died, but had somehow found himself imprisoned in the mind of his Guyver squire on a continent a world away from his home? Had the Ebon Flame done this to him? He did not know. There was no way he could EVER know unless the woman of many faces could shed some light on it, something he had a foreboding feeling she was not known to do.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of black claws rapping on a metal door. The door opened pouring a brilliant light onto the grey gloom of the ground. He followed Faziel into the familiar brightness and stood before the many faced woman in silence. She was gazing into the surface of the table in front of her with the face of an Atalan elf as if mesmerized. Faziel took a breath to speak. She held up a dark hand that turned into a pudgy dwarven appendage before a word could escape his lips. Faziel bowed his head respectfully letting the breath slip out of him in the form of a quiet sigh. They stood there for a long moment until she tapped the table top with a delicate dryad's hand and raised her porcelain face to look at them. The old knight allowed himself a small, surprised look as he watched a single ripple move across the table from where her hand had touched it, and then returned his gaze to the now white haired woman with skin like leather that had not been cured with enough salt, and dull grey eyes. She looked him over, a smirk sent new wrinkles after old at the way he tried to cover his nudity with his hands. She shook her head tersely as she waved a whithered hand toward the knight. He looked down at the modest clothes that lay before him with a look of mild confusion. She nodded to him silently the curly red hair around her cherub face bobbing with amusement, as he picked up the tunic, and pants with grudging gratitude and slipped them on.
"So sir knight," she said, " are you with us entirely this visit?" her sultry voice turned the question mark of her words into a teasing whip. The old paladin looked up from the ties on his tunic with a wizened look of one who had been ridiculed too much in life to let it affect him in death. He finished fastening the tunic then stood tall and proud, looking the many faced woman squarely in the... faces. He bowed his head ever so slightly before he spoke keeping his eyes on hers.
"If it pleases you madam," an icy coldness hissed under his polite calm, "I know who I am, and what I was born to do, as to how that landed me in the enemy camp?" He paused a moment to shrug his shoulders ever so slightly, the palms of his hands raising half heartedly upwards, " I truly do not know."
"Is that so?" she queried with a lilt of amusement in her voice," and just where do you THINK you are?"
"The Hells of course." he shrugged ignoring the movement of Faziel's chest as he chuckled softly.
"And that would make us evil? ... the Enemy?" she toyed.
"Yes," the old man stated flatly.
"Come here," she crooked a long green finger at him, her troll features repulsing him, but her sultry voice drawing him forward despite himself. " I'm not about to spend the time and effort it would take to educate you mortal " her voice had a tinge of anger in it he had not perceived before.
"No," she continued curtly," I'll let the Elder take care of that, he's willing to talk to anyone who'll listen, but before you go I want you to know a few things." She was moving a pale white hand across the surface of the table, her albino eyes glaring at it with angry concentration.
"For instance," she spat with derision, " You serve the god of thunder don't you? "
"Yes" he answered proudly.
"Doesn't exist." she said with obvious enjoyment.
His eyebrows met at the top of his flaring nose at this blasphemy.
"No sir mister Rafferty sir," she continued with a sing song quality to her voice, " Never did, never will."
The old knight cleared his throat and breathed deep to retrieve his fleeing calm.
"Madam, for now we shall have to agree to disagree as there is nothing you could do or say that could POSSIBLY convince me you are telling the truth. Especially after we have discussed where I am?" He raised his eyebrows in a terrible attempt at a friendly look.
"Hmph", she chuckled, "yes that's right, I am eeeeviiiil,"she widened her eyes and set her face in an over dramatic parody of his words, " Well the Elder will fill you in, but truly, before you go see him, come, look at this, look at the good you have done sir knight." The friendliness, and the derision in her voice collided and formed a curdled taunting that twisted his stomach as he looked at the table. Straight into his life, his past.
He was in a column of knights riding through what looked like the Darmoor woods. His innards suffered a nostalgic twist. His hair was the dark brown it had been before the worries and cares of the knighthood had faded it to grey. The mustache on his face barely full enough to be worth the trouble. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. This was the battle of Bin Qix. The view suddenly shifted as if from the view of a bird on the wing. Watching the table top he got the sense he was flying through the woods. Up ahead at the mouth of a cave, a group of pathetically armed and armored half orcs, men and women, stood listening to the words of their chief.
"... be here before the sun sets. Our only chance for the survival of our clan is to hold them off. The winter comes! The food stores dwindle as we try to defend our families! WE, the ones who have been betrayed by both bloods that run in our veins! WE the ones who have fended for ourselves ignored and hated. WE have no one to save us but OURSELVES!"
The chief raises a rusted claymore over his head.
"BLOOD!"
The rag tag bundle of half orcs respond some with tears in their eyes, others with impotent fury.
"BLOOD!"
The birds eye took to the wing again, flying into the cave where young female orcs tended to mewling babies, hoarse from crying in vain for food. In his mind the old knight knew that everyone of them would be dead before the first snows fell. Not by the sword, but by the false information that had sent the knights there to wipe out the clan in the first place. The bird took flight again, out to the mountain side where knights of silver and white were breaking the ranks of a mottled crew of people that had nothing left to do but fight and die. The lady of many faces looked at him with a glint in her eye, and a wicked grin. She turned back to the table and nodded slowly. Time slowed to a crawl, and the bird flew to each fight between each foe along the battle line so that the knight could see each crushed skull under a war horses hooves. Every blade strike that decapitated a hopeless head, or severed an innocent limb. Every drop of blood and bile that ran from every wound. Every dead eye that stared accusingly at the sky...at him. The tears filming over his sight did little to protect him from the view, and some strange need, strange code of honor, forbade him from turning away.
Finally, mercifully, the table top faded to black. The old paladin stood limply, staring down at the surface, as silent as the first time he had been in the white room.
"NOW you remember everything." she murmered with a sly smile. She motioned to Faziel who stepped forward and grabbed the knight roughly by the shoulders and took him to the chair in front of the table. The old knight sat slowly as if in a dream state, his thoughts whirling around in his head. The Battle of Bin Qix had been quick and decisive. When the threat had been eliminated they hadn't even thought to search the cave. They had marched on to the city and left those too weak or young to lift a weapon to starve without those who had provided for them. It had been a time of war, and they had been following orders. But that had never helped erase the guilt that had come when after the war they had found out the information implicating the Bin Qix had been a ruse to draw the knights away from the real battle and have them destroy those that may have been allies under different circumstances. He sighed heavily.
"So now we know who you are," a young half orc girl said accusingly from behind the table," and I expect one would have to wonder if in fact you DO belong here with us."
The old man looked up at her, a thoughtful look on his leathery face. She smiled.
"But it turns out that for whatever reason you do have a choice," she rapped her fingers on the table making ripples spread out from each digit, " So what will it be sir knight, will you stay here and pay pennance for your sins? Or will you go see the Elder and find a way out of them."
Rafferty frowned at the floor in thought. He wasn't sure why, but it was a hard choice to make. |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 20 Jun 2007 05:06 PM |
Part the Third: The Suffering
Eratia knelt before the sapling and touched its leaves with a delicate, loving hand.
"How are you today my beautiful knight?" she spoke softly as she poured a small cup of his favorite wine into the soil around the roots. She related the happenings of her day to the small tree, as if she was talking to her closest, oldest friend. And, in a way, she was. Brief moments of her voice came to him as Deja Vu dreams, as he watched the woman he would love forever dust each leaf of the tree she had planted over his "final" resting place. He watched her beautiful face, remembering every curve, every line, even that cute little scar above her lip. He watched as the muscles tightened under her skin, and her eyebrows drew together in a worried frown, as the leaves in her hand withered and crumbled to dust. He watched with tears that flowed from his rendered heart and pooled to overflowing in his eyes, as the confused hurt spread across her face. How could she know why he was leaving her? How could she know that he would love her forever, but could not stay? He watched as she wept wretchedly alone, looking out of the table into what little was left of his broken heart.
"All because of a foolhardy promise made by a blowhard." The many faced woman said with mock sadness in her lilting voice, " and now forever more, she'll know you left her, that you never loved her. So go Sir Knight, oh mighty force of good." She waved a dismissing hand at him with contempt. Faziel took him forcefully by the arm the grin on his fiendish face showing his enjoyment of the paladin's pain.
He sat in a large tube of glass that jutted out of the wall that Faziel had brought him to. He looked out into an infinite expanse of blackness given dimension by the myriad stars that winked at him knowingly as he sat and waited for the "Elder" chewing on the bitter taste of what he had been shown. Of what he had done to her. He remembered an elderly elven woman that he had seen through Johe's eyes. "Gramma Melebin", he called her if he recalled correctly. Her words haunted him and deepened the torment inside him for the sorrow he had caused his precious Eratia.
" It is said that elves can only truly love once. If they lose that love they are lost themselves."
"Oh you damnable old fool," he sighed to himself. Her father had been right. He HAD cursed her to an early, miserable death. If he had truly loved her he would have walked away when he had the chance. The agony he would have felt would have far outweighed what she was going through now because of him. Now she was alone in a wood that could no longer console her. Believing he had left her, first physically, and now... completely.
All because of a foolhardy promise made by a blowhard.
The words echoed in his mind, whip cracks in a torturers dungeon.
"I am so sorry my love." The stone facade that WAS Sir Rafferty Thunderheart, Knight to the lady Eratia, Paladin of a god he was honestly unsure even existed, Defender of the Crown, Keeper of the Faith, Wielder of the Holy Pureblade, and Champion of the needy, began to crumble and he did something he had not done in decades.
He cried.
At first he absently thought that the shivering of his tears on the glass was the force of his heaving chest as he sobbed, but gradually the rumbling sound that vibrated through the tube, and into his body could actually be heard. He looked up to see that one of the stars had become decidedly bigger. Dragging a long smokey tail behind it, the grey mass careened toward where he sat. Could there be death in the after life? His mind returned to the vision of her watching the leaves of his tree crumble to dust in her delicate fingers. Was it any more than he deserved? All because of a foolhardy promise made by a blowhard. Would he ever understand what she had meant by that? Or was this the end, as written by the many faced woman and her leering henchman? The grey behemoth grew impossibly large as it sped closer making the joints between the glass tube and the wall to hell almost chatter as they shook. He sat there motionless, a stone gargoyle, guarding the last remnants of his undeserving soul. The cloud tail that trailed the grey projectile blew into the wall of hell hiding it from view behind a torrent of smoke.
"I'm sorry."
He closed his eyes. |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 26 Jun 2007 04:42 PM |
Part the Fourth: The Waiting
" Now seeing number twelve thousand nine hundred and forty two, " an impossibly ancient looking fellow yelled into the small end of a large copper cone attached to a strange device that appeared to be made out of metal tubing and rolled across the old wooden floor boards on small wheels that flapped back and forth like a bats wings as it passed by. The paladin looked at the piece of paper the strange red machine had spat at him when he had appeared in front of it covered in shards of glass, and looking a tad surprised to be alive.
"Three, five, one, seven, seven," he intoned dryly. He assumed it was going to be a while.
He leaned forward on the rough hewn bench he was sitting on and looked left and then right. Both directions painted the same picture of dusty infinity. A long hall that went as long as the eye could see. Small glass globes of light jutting from the arched ceiling at six foot intervals. A bench on either side that was attached to the wall so that the wall itself was the back rest, and people of every shape, size, race, sex, and color seated on it with very few open seats. He cleared his throat with a slightly irritated look on his face. It had taken him what seemed like hours of walking to find the place he sat in now. And, of course the odd signs that were hung on both walls under each light written in bold script that read...
Be sure not to lose your ticket.
The Elder is very busy. Please use this time to prepare your questions so as to make the most expeditious use of this visit.
Your patience is appreciated, and always remember. True knowledge is worth waiting for.
He leaned back against the wall, a wizened chuckle shaking his chest gently.
Prepare.
Had that not been what the years in the seminary had been for? The berating shouts of sir Harthak during physical exercise? The calm words of the clerics during the spiritual? Those long years of arm aching sword swinging? Those buttock numbing days in the saddle? Had that not been the preparation for...this? He looked up, straight into the eyes of a rotund fellow with bespectacled eyes resembling those of a fish. He nodded politely as the man ran a shaking hand over his sweating brow and returned his attention to the reams of paper that balanced precariously on his lap. He smiled dryly. Now THERE was one who was prepared. He, on the other hand, had spent his entire life simplifying it. All he needed to know was what he had done wrong to land up in the wrong place, and how to repair it. He looked down at the wooden floor interlocking his fingers as if in prayer. There had to be a way to repair it. What was this foolhardy promise he had made? How could he fulfil it, and return to Eratia, and make it right with her?
" Now seeing number twelve thousand nine hundred and forty three. " The information rolled by on it's strange wheeled contraption. He leaned back against the wall again raising his face to the cieling and allowing the dry chuckle to escape his throat like chugging steam from a gnomish contraption. He had his questions prepared the moment Faziel had woken him with violence and spite. He closed his eyes and let the irony cover him like tar and feathers. Now all he had to do...
was wait for the answers. |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 18 Jul 2007 05:22 PM |
Part the Fifth: The Continuing
The ancient fellow peered over his spectacles at the ticket.
"Thirty five thousand one hundred and seventy seven," he said studiously as he nodded his head.
Rafferty raised a bushy eyebrow as the decrepit man kept his eyes on the ticket. There had been no way of knowing how long he had been in this strange "waiting room". There was no rising or setting of the sun, no waxing and waning of a moon, and the fact that he was dead made it unnecessary to sleep, eat, shave, bathe or any other routine by which he could estimate it. So, in fact, there was no way of estimating the time he had waited for his number to be called. The only thing he knew for certain was it had been ten seconds less than the amount of time it took to drive an old knight, (known for his unlimited patience with a certain hin guyver), to insanity. He smiled slightly and cleared his throat respectfully to arouse his host from a strange state of catatonia he had seemed to slip into while staring at his ticket.
"Oh...Yes...yes that is correct sir," The wrinkled face waggled back to life as he continued his litany with the gusto of a city worker giving a tour of the sewers, "please step onto the contraption and hold onto the brass bars at all times until the contraption comes to a complete stop."
The paladin did as he was told and closed his eyes with a grateful sigh.
"Here we go then," thin, veined lips spread in a smile revealing long yellowed teeth," next stop The Elder." |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 02 Sep 2007 04:16 PM |
Part the Sixth: The Asking
The contraption rattled to a halt and the knight stepped from it looking mildly surprised that the corridor ended at all. Two burly dwarves stepped from alcoves on either side of a large oaken door and lifted the contraption turning it away from the portal. The ancient driver reached into his coat pocket procuring a pipe that looked so old it seemed the ironwood may have fossilized into stone in places. After setting the old fellow down one of the dwarves reached into his tunic pulling out a weather beaten pouch of tobacco ,which he proceeded to open taking a pinch of it out and placing it into the pipe that now hung limply from the ancient man's face. The other dwarf approached with a glowing ember and placed it to the pipe as the driver puffed and nodded in thanks to them both. The paladin stood watching this odd ritual with a quirked eyebrow, as the dwarf putting the tobacco back in his tunic addressed him gruffly.
"Well go on then laddie, tha Elder be waitin' "
Rafferty nodded apologetically and approached the large door. He studied the unique knocker for a moment. It was a large brass letter "T" attached with two hinges to a large metal book. He lifted the "T" and let it slam into the book with a rather disappointing "tink". The door opened silently and slowly. The old knight's eyes widened slightly as what appeared to be the tip of a white beard flopped out of the doorway onto the wooden floor where he stood. A small fellow much akin to a pixie without wings skittered out of the room muttering something under his breath that was indiscernible because of the large comb between his teeth. After a tertiary glare at the paladin, he hefted the beard tip over his shoulder and skittered back in.
"Well...there it is." the knight breathed as he followed the beard and its bearer through the door.
The room he found himself in was dark compared to the hallway. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the candle light. The floor seemed to be covered with a luxurious carpet that was... swearing at him with a multitude of small squeaky voices? He blinked again and looked down with a frown. Five, small, "pixie like" fellows were glaring at him menacingly as they gestured to the large wooden chair that floated a foot or so above the floor that was covered in..again... what appeared to be pure, white facial hair of massive proportions.
"Terribly sorry," the knight muttered apologetically with red faced chagrin as he tested the chair for staying power, and, with a slight shrug, hefted himself up into the chair as if he were mounting his old war horse. He looked the room over from his perch as his eyes adjusted to the candle light. Shelves of leather bound tomes lined all four walls, and even the door where he had entered. Before him was a large oak desk behind which sat a wizened elderly man who's face was the genesis of the white beard that wend it's way all around the room like an ancient serpent, the small fellows combing it and arranging it with great care. He looked back at the bespectacled face of the Elder. His grey eyes were studying the paladin as they twinkled with a youth belied by the folds of aged skin that surrounded them. Rafferty shifted uncomfortably in his seat under the scrutiny of the Elder. This brought a knowing smile to the lips that slept under the white mustache as he looked to the page of the open book on the desk before him.
"Rafferty Gerald," he read with a thin, wispy voice that seemed to chuckle with a perpetual wheeze, " also known as Rafferty le Depeche, a fast fingered street urchin, and pick pocket famous amongst his peers for never being caught by the orphanage, or the local authorities..." The old knight cleared his throat uncomfortably looking down at his hands with a slight frown. He supposed he should have expected this considering where he assumed he was, but that did little to make the experience of having ancient history dredged up and flung in his face any less unpleasant.
"... Taken in by the Knights of Thunder," the Elder seemed to be enjoying himself a tad too much," and trained as a squire by a certain Sir Maddox whom, it would seem caught said cut purse with his hands in saddlebags that did not belong to him?" The elder looked up at the blushing knight and shook his head slowly.
"Tsk tsk tsk mister Gerald." The Elder's eyebrows frowned over mischievously grinning eyes as he looked back to the tome he had been reading from, flipping a page with a nonchalant, liver spotted hand.
"Entered the seminary, and graduated middle of his class, and with a new name no less! Rafferty Thunderheart, aptly named as what he lacked in knowledge he made up for with sheer tenacity and bravery in the face of danger." The wizened old man nodded as he browsed and flipped the page once again." Fought well in every major campaign for "good" on the continent he lived on... BUT..." The Elder nodded with a knowing smirk," Did not deal well with authority... however, on the request of a retired Sir Maddox, and on his own merit, was relegated to Errant Knight Questor status, sent out into the world and left to his own means...hmmmm." Rafferty frowned, wondering when this would end, if ever. It had been decades since he had felt the way he felt at this moment. The elder went on with a droll smile.
"Took the opportunity to fall head over tea kettle in love with a wandering elven druidess going by the name of Eratia Renard," the Elder looked up at the knight with an almost wicked smile," the perfect choice for a human male to make if you ask me, eh old man?" His eyes seemed to be almost giggling with glee, as the paladin let a low growl emit from his throat." No matter how old and disheveled looking us old timers get, our mates ALWAYS look good eh?" The knight looked at his aged hands in his lap chewing his cheek with a look of consternation. It had been a source of painful guilt from the day they had realized their feelings for each other. Not only had his vows of chastity kept her from having a family, but the very fact that he was human robbed her of a lifelong mate. As he had expected from that first day, his dying breath was spent on that guilt at the knowing look of sorrow that gripped her beautiful visage as he fell for the last time, and all went dark. He looked up at the Elder pulling air into his lungs that he planned to spend on berating the aged fellow for this senseless history lesson, but a boney finger wagged back and forth atop a stern hand as he continued...
" Rescued a young hin from certain physical and spiritual death, and made him the first, and most probably last hin squire in the history of the knighthood!" the elderly sage nodded in approval as he grinned with childlike enjoyment, " A hin, it appears that later became a "home" for you when you and he were assaulted by dark magiks weilded by an orginization dedicated to world domination, and all around evil doing, called the Ebon Flame... yes indeed...hmmm." The elder perused the tome with a few more "hmmm's", and "indeed's" as the paladin looked up towards the rafters with a look that seemed to beg them to come tumbling down on them both.
Finally the elder closed the large book with a sigh and looked into the old knight's eyes with an earnest look.
"You know mister Gerald," He said with a playful lilt in his voice," I have spent century after dull century answering questions like, What is the meaning of life? or Why won't this invention work? and, frankly, I have been quite looking forward to your "case" ever since I heard you were coming, because, I am certain you will have something far less mundane to ask of me hmmmm?" The Elder placed his hands under his chin and raised a bushy eyebrow.
"So...what do you wish to ask sir knight?"
Rafferty nodded with a deep sigh.
"Well good sir Elder, " he began hesitantly, " I wish to know if the Thunder god does not exist as Faziel's mistress insists. I wish confirmation on just where it is that I am, and why it is that I am here in the first place," The knight's voice increased in volume and intensity as he continued on. " Then I wish to know how I can change my fate, and return to Eratia's side where I belong. Any assistance you might be able to provide in these matters would be greatly appreciated."
The Elder smiled as he leaned back in his great wooden chair, much to the displeasure of the small fellows who had a section of beard they were diligently combing suddenly move from their careful grasps.
"Good...good old paladin!" he said with a beaming grin," I knew you would not disappoint..." |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 28 Sep 2007 04:48 PM |
Part the Seventh: The Answering
The Elder sat studying the knight for a moment. How did one deliver such Vives shattering news to a man who had not only donned the religious apparel of the knighthood, but had lived it to the enth degree denying himself everything even the pleasures of a beautiful elven lass who loved him more than her,now, miserably long life? He took a deep breath as he raised an aged hand and concentrated on the book he would need. It appeared in his hand as the paladin's brow raised in mild surprise.
"Well mister Gerald," the wizened Elder said gently as he put the tome on the desk and flipped through the pages in search of the correct text, " as I'm sure you have come to realize over your lifetime, things are not always as they seem." The Elder looked up at the concerned look on the old knight's face allowing the anticipation of the inevitable truth to sink in. The knight nodded slowly heaving a deep sigh. The Elder pondered what he would say next as he looked at the knight with a studious frown.
"Mister Gerald, " he said finally, "Do you know of the knights of Aristi?"
Rafferty nodded slowly. He had heard of them while trapped in his young squire's head. Led by the opinionated yet fair Lady Blanche, they were a group of knights, under the tutelage of a Sir Byron Lorian, that seemed able to perform the sacred battle rites of the paladin without invoking any god whatsoever. It had bothered him the first time he had witnessed it for himself, but the fact was he had seen it with his very own eyes. It was said that the Aristi drew from the power of Goodness itself without it needing to be channeled through a god or goddess. The power simply -was- and because of their belief in the greater good they were able to tap into it.
"I am pleased to say," the Elder continued gingerly," that you are indeed a true knight, and always were through your illustrious career, during which you helped many, and brought the light into many a dark abode." He cleared his throat squinting slightly at the page that stared blankly back at him. "It would appear, however, that the concept of just how the Aristi gain access to such knightly power, was indiscernible by some factions who were dedicated to the cause. This confusion led to them "attaching" said power to icons of local folk lore or what have you... you understand where I am going with this good sir knight?"
The elder leaned back in the plush, high backed chair with a soft grunt eying the paladin inquisitively as his words sank in. Rafferty nodded with a thoughtful frown. All those decades of service, of sacrifice. All those times he could have sworn he had heard the voice of the mighty one from the clouds, the blessing of the rain. Had it truly all been for nothing? Had he denied his beloved Eratia all those years for the entertainment of a non existent audience? He cleared his throat quietly looking down at his battle scarred hands. So many scars. So many slivers of sparking metal that shot from clashing swords heaved in righteous anger and sinking sizzling into his flesh. All so he could see that look in her almond eyes as he fell and left her more alone than she had already been during his useless existence on the face of Vives. He blinked, but no tears were shed. His aged eyes had seen too much sadness in the service of a figment of someones imagination. He looked up at the Elder and nodded slowly, as much with gratitude for his moment of silence as with understanding. This was something that would require more meditation at a later time, but for now there was more to learn. The Elder looked at the knight for a moment then bowed his head slowly studying the leather bound book on the desk.
"As to where you are sir," the Elder continued after a pause," You are in a place the people of Vives consider the end, but, as you have experienced, nothing could be further from the fact." The Elder leaned back in the chair holding his whithered hands above his head, palms to the rafters above their heads.
"This, my good sir Thunderheart, is the beginning," the Elder intoned with a secret smile," Or, as the more learned of us have come to call it, The Journey." The bearded man reached for a clean piece of parchment that appeared in the air before him as a quill materialized in his other hand. He spoke with a strange excitement as he began to draw a diagram to explain his words.
"Many theologians over the millenia have postulated, and proven to their satisfaction," He glanced up at the knight over the tops of his spectacles with twinkling eyes, a small smirk tugging at his lips before returning to his diagram, Rafferty raised a mildly surprised eyebrow as he noticed the ink from the quill changing color every time the Elder gave the tip a small mischievous wink." that all things come from the gods. From the "outside" to the "inside" if you will. However, after much research, and exploration, the complete opposite appears to be true." The elder pushed the simple sketch across the wooden desk toward the paladin with a smile. He gestured toward the parchment with a withered hand.
"Life starts here, on Vives," he said with a smile, a boney finger resting in the middle of the parchment with a soft thud, "From there, after spending a relatively short period of time doing whatever it feels the compunction to do, there is a period of transition the inhabitants of Vives call death after which the life, or as some call it soul is attracted by a force that is best explained as being similar to that of magnetism. With magnetism, however, there are only two polarities. This "magnet like" force has multiple polarities that serve a dual purpose of sorting, and then removing said souls from their source and pulling them into the portals that you see depicted here." The Elder pointed to the differently colored lines that came from the sphere representing Vives and going off the page in different directions with a slight smile. This wasn't information he generally shared with those he called "the students", but then... this fellow wasn't your typical student was he? He paused for a moment, allowing a thoughtful hum to escape his throat. The paladin just gazed at the parchment trying to wrap his brain around it all.
"Each of the portals depicted here represent a specific way of thinking, or a specific spiritual path, if you will. Each of these are overseen by those you consider to be Gods. What makes these entities "gods" are many things that are difficult to understand, and, thankfully, are not necessary to understand in order to answer your question. Suffice it to say that while those who are drawn into the portals are whisked away at unimaginable speeds, the gods, and those they choose to enable, can travel all along the length of the tube, and even, at times, into Vives itself." The elder looked up from the parchment into the frowning, thoughtful face of the aged knight.
"Where do the portals go?" said Rafferty simply.
'Well..." the Elder stretched and leaned back in the large chair," That is something not even the gods know at this time, because, simply, they have not arrived at their final destination. All the research we have done here has not brought any definitive answers as of yet, but the gods have their own thoughts on the subject, hence the different living arrangements in the different tubes. For example, there is a portal of souls that spends all of it's time training for battle. The "god" of that tube firmly believes he is headed for an epic battle for supremacy. The goddess your lady Eratia follows, believes she is heading to a place of ultimate tranquility, and therefore has her minions meditate on, and practice peaceful enterprises so that they may fit in when they get there." The paladin nodded at this stroking his mustache with a thoughtful grunt.
"And this area here you have labeled The Grey?" the paladin asked quietly as he pointed with a calloused finger.
"The Grey is where souls that do not fit in the specific pigeon holes of the tubes go. The magnetism of death still propels them into the emptiness, or perhaps it is the sheer vacuum of the emptiness that sucks them in. The fact is they are there and traveling outward with the rest of us, just master-less, and directionless." The Elder shook his head sadly, causing his "beard tenders" to glare at him briefly before continuing their work. " A shame really, such a waste of directionless energies that could be used in research and exploration." The Elder took a deep breath and sighed.
"The spiral tube you see there," the Elder continued after a brief pause," is the tube you find yourself in at the moment. As I am sure you have deduced by now, we here have no real leanings in any particular direction when it comes to good and evil. Instead we feel that knowledge is the key to advancement, and, as knowledge is needed by all...or most, our services intersect with all of the others except for the followers of Syn." the Elder frowned briefly then looked up at the paladin with a careless wink. " One can only research nothing so long before one realizes it is what it claims to be after all."
"Indeed." the old knight responded with a slow nod. The Elder cleared his throat with a slight frown causing the wrinkles on his forehead to reproduce. He had so few opportunities to make a joke, it was a disappointment when no one grasped them.
"So..." the old paladin queried lifting his white eyebrows like the tops of question marks, "I am without a home in the after life because the god I worshiped does not exist?" The words left his lips with the bitter taste of failure, and the tentativeness of hopeless denial.
"No mister Thunderheart." the Elder leaned forward placing the tips of his fingers together, "If that were the case you would be a resident of the Grey, or perhaps of a god who found you worthy. No... your case is rather unique, and to answer that portion of your question we will need to research history." the Elder snapped his fingers and everything on the old desk disappeared leaving a surface that looked familiarly like the many faced woman's table.
"Let us see," said the Elder as he traced his fingers over the rippling surface. "Yes here it is...begin."
A young knight stood in a glade watching a beautiful elven woman feeding an orphaned fawn from her delicate hand. With all the terrible horrors that were mere hours behind him, he still couldn't bring himself to disturb this perfect moment. Instead he stood and watched in an almost reverent silence. The fawn looked up suddenly and skittered into the undergrowth. Without turning the druidess stood and spoke, the sultry softness of her voice bringing a tinge of red to the paladins pale cheeks.
"I've missed you my beautiful knight," she said, " I'm guessing you're bringing bad tidings? Peetie was warming to you, but he senses these things."
She turned and blessed him with a smile that raised the corners of her almond eyes. He looked down for a brief moment, as if ashamed of the news he brought, but the sight of her face was too quenching, and his heart too thirsty to keep his eyes away. He looked up at her again, clearing his throat apologetically.
"My dearest," he began hesitantly, "The ranks of the Horde are descending on the wood from the west as we speak. The army from the east won't be here for weeks. I need to take you to safety. Please gather your things, they are not far behind me." He did his best to keep a brave calm in his voice for her benefit as he walked toward her small camp fire and began rolling up her bed furs. She stood for a shocked moment then took in a sharp breath.
" We need to get to Pilgrims Rest quickly then," she said with a forced calm as she grabbed her satchel from the ground slinging it nonchalantly over her shoulder with a quivering hand, "They'll need help evacuating the elders." A defiant fire began to blaze in her eyes as she turned and saw the slow shaking of her beloved knight's head.
"My lady I..." was all he could say before she cut him off with a strained voice slowly building to a crescendo he did NOT want to hear.
"Matron Rose will be most worried about me, and we'll need to figure out a way to strap elder Chadra's cot to your war horse..."
"My love..." he attempted in vain.
"Then there's the children, and Nester's paintings, there's no way she'll leave without them," she prattled on almost deliriously, wringing her hands, and nodding to his war horse waiting patiently beyond the tree line, " Do you think Ark would mind pulling a wagon just for a few days until we reach..."
"ERATIA!!" he roared. The look of surprised hurt in her eyes feeling like a hundred barbed Horde bolts hitting his chest with sickening, blood spattering thuds. He was a knight... he was HER knight, and yet reality had an annoying habit of grabbing him by the throat and yelling in his face that even he couldn't fix EVERYTHING for her. He looked at her doleful eyes then hung his head apologetically, as if every wrong ever done to her was on his shoulders. He sighed raggedly.
"Milady," he continued with strained calm, " Pilgrims Rest is too far westward. If the Horde has not already taken it, they are about to. If you wish it, I will gladly return there, sword in hand, and exact what vengeance I can for you... But first I MUST take you to safety." He turned to carry her bed furs to his war horse avoiding her sad gaze. After tying the furs to his saddle he turned and she was there. He hoisted her lithe frame in silence up onto his steed wincing at the tapping sound of her tears falling onto his breastplate. Taking the leather reigns in his shaking hand, he led the horse away from the setting sun.
Rafferty watched the young couple make their way through the woods, transfixed by the memories that played out on the desk top before him while the Elder watched him with great interest nodding his head slowly.
They had reached the Merchants Road by nightfall. Not a word had passed between the two during the entire journey. The druidess sat in tearful, sullen silence as the paladin built a small fire and began to prepare rations from his meager supplies. When the humble meal was ready he offered it to her with an empty smile. She raised a small hand in refusal and rolled over onto her furs turning her back on him. The knight turned and looked into the fire with a sigh.
"My life began when I found you," he whispered sadly, "and for that entire lifetime I have watched evil have it's way with you despite my best efforts." An angry growl made its way into his voice as he went on, a tear snaking it's way past his nose to his determined lips.
"I cannot allow this anymore," he said looking down at the sound of the creaking leather on his clenched fist, " I swear by Thunder, nay, by ALL the gods of Vives and by my very soul. I will not rest until the evil that infests this world, and causes you such pain is eradicated and pulverized to forgotten dust!"
The table top flickered, rippled, and faded to black.
The two men sat in thoughtful silence for a long moment, the only sound in the room coming from small combs being run through a beard.
"Well sir knight," the Elder said quietly, a studious frown on his wrinkled face, " I would wager we have found our answer. It is not that you swore by Thunder...no...that would actually work to your advantage, making the oath void because it was made to a non existent entity." The paladin nodded as the Elder leaned back in his great chair, withered hands clasped behind his head.
"It may be because you swore by all the gods," he continued, " or even because you swore by your very soul. But most definitely..." the Elder leaned forward pushing the tips of his fingers against each other as he searched the paladins face with piercing eyes, "... it would have to be because, unlike many oaths and promises made in the fickle world of the living, you really meant it... didn't you?"
The knight sighed and nodded slowly.
"Yes Elder," he said looking at his hands, "gods help me I did." He looked at the Elders face with imploring eyes.
"But what do I do now?" The Elder looked at the desk pensively for a long moment.
"Well..." he said with a sigh, " You have one thing to your advantage sir knight."
"And that is?" asked the paladin hopefully.
"None of the Portals will accept you, which gives you the opportunity to take your chances in the Grey. There, and only there would your footsteps back towards Vives be productive. He gave the paladin a long, hard look of warning.
"It could, however, be most risky to your very soul sir knight," he said firmly, "but if you do not wish to stay in the safe confines of the tunnel of knowledge, which is what I would recommend... Then your wishes would be best served by you making your way back to Vives, and finding a way to make good on your oath, or find someone else to accept it on your behalf. Be warned however, being there without a physical body will be very dangerous. There are many entities of power there who feed on what you are now, and you would be hard pressed to defend yourself against them."
Rafferty chewed on his cheek for a long, pensive moment. There was nothing for him here. Nothing that meant anything to him more than the mere chance of seeing her just one more time, apologizing to her for what his love had done...to her.
He leaned forward looking earnestly into the Elders face.
"Good sir Elder I appreciate your candor, and your sound advice," he said with a grateful nod as his eyes darkened with determination, "but I am afraid I have no choice...but to take my chances in the Grey.
((Thanks to PD for making the picture work)) |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 06 Nov 2007 10:01 PM |
Part the Eighth: The Arming
The Elder gave the paladin a long, hard look.
"You are certain of this course of action Sir Knight?"
Rafferty nodded. Words were needless. His eyes blazed with determination.
The Elder nodded slowly.
"Very well then Sir Knight," he intoned, "As I have already warned you, the Grey is a dangerous place indeed. Entering it un armed, and sans armor would be belligerent suicide."
The old knight nodded slowly, quirking an expectant eyebrow at the Elder.
"No sir knight," the Elder shook his head sagely with a twinkle in his eyes, "I have my neutrality to consider after all. Those who would see you fail in this endeavor would be most unforthcoming with the knowledge I seek were I to assist you directly."
Rafferty frowned at this.
"However," the Elder continued with a mischievous wink, "I see no reason why those who would see you succeed cannot assist you in your time of need."
The Elder flashed Rafferty a smile as he looked back to the desk top rubbing his pale, gaunt hands together like an excited child anticipating presents on his birthday.
"Return." he said. The Desk top flashed, and flickered.
They were looking at a small glade in a forest of ancient looking trees. A small hut made of branches and thatch leaned up against a sturdy pine.
"Reach in." said the Elder gently.
The paladin glanced at the Elder questioningly.
"Reach in." the Elder insisted with a reassuring nod.
Rafferty reached his hand toward the surface of the desk. A strange sensation in his skin, and the raising of the hairs on his arms gave him pause, but the Elder nodded again watching with impish curiosity. The paladin clenched his jaw and touched the surface of the desk gingerly. There was a crackle, and a buzz, and, there where his hand had touched, appeared a white squirrel, looking as surprised as an elderly knight in a strange study thousands of miles away.
"Nicely done." smiled the Elder with a nod of approval, "Now... close your eyes."
The knights eyebrows drew together in a curious frown. What was the old Sage playing at? He drew a deep breath. After all he had seen and heard, and all he was bound to experience, he supposed now would be a foolish time to wonder. He shrugged and closed his eyes...
The smell of pine needles filled his senses. He opened his eyes and saw them littering the ground beneath his white paws.
Paws?
He turned with a frown. An elderly man with a ridiculously long beard sat across from an old knight with his eyes closed. The Elder smiled and waved him on with a wizened hand. He turned and looked at the small hut. Could it be? He hopped closer to the doorway and peered in.
She sat on the edge of a small cot holding a silk kerchief in her hands. A look of melancholy mixing with remembered happiness in her almond eyes. Her eyes shifted from the kerchief to him. A lock of hair, the color of autumn leaves touched with snow fell from her shoulder. He found himself wondering just how long he had been gone for her to age so. He heaved a guilty sigh. He remembered the kerchief. An electric ache surged in his chest at the memory of her tying it to his lance, and kissing his cheek so many...many years ago. She stared at him for a long moment with a curious smile.
"Well come here then little fellow." she said holding out a slender hand.
He hopped forward and nuzzled her fingertips reveling in the perfume of her skin. She picked him up gently and held him to her breast stroking his fur. He looked up into her porcelain face, wanting desperately to kiss her. She had aged to be sure, but she was still the most beautiful creature he had ever set eyes on. A faint glimmer of recognition tugged at her delicate features as she looked into his eyes. Her thin eyebrows drew together in a gentle frown as a tear formed in her eye. He experienced heaven and hell under her gaze. He was home in her arms but unable to wipe away the tear that now rolled down her cheek.
"What brings you to my humble home?" she said clearing the sadness from her hoarse throat.
He tried desperately to speak, to tell her he loved her, to tell her that he was coming for her, by hook or by crook he would find her again...but all that escaped his small throat was a squeak. She cocked her head at him inquisitively, squinting her eyes with a suspicious hope. He raised his furry eyebrows desperately. Was there a way to get her to understand that there was hope. That they were , in fact, together after all of the miscues that fate had dealt them?
She kissed him on the head and set him gently on the earthen floor of the hut.
"A storm's coming in my love," she said with a frown, "I can feel it in my bones..."
"Of course," she paused for a moment with a coy smile twitching her lips playfully, "someone you remind me of would be most pleased by the prospect."
He looked up at her hoping that the pain in his heart would somehow be conveyed through his, now, rodent like eyes. She stood gracefully and shot him a sad smile.
"It was also a lot easier to prepare for it when the big fellow was about," she stated with a quizzical frown, "but I guess it's just you and I, so stay here while I tie things down with a little extra twine alright?"
He nodded giving her a moments pause to smile with delight, and then frown in perplexed thought before she walked out of the doorway. Through the gaps between the branches that made up the walls of the humble hut he saw her reinforcing the structure with twine he had sat and watched her make with wide eyed wonder, her nimble fingers braiding the flesh of trees she had "rescued" from the few loggers who had dared enter her neck of the woods. He made a sound he meant to be a chuckle that emitted from his small throat as more of a small cough. The sound made him frown with frustration. There had to be a way to let her know. He looked about the room at the pine needles that littered the floor.
Yes, that would do nicely. He gathered them up with his mouth, grimacing at the sharp, Gin like taste, and made a small pile of them under her cot as she finished securing the hut. When he was satisfied he had collected enough he poked his head out from underneath her bed in time to see her walk gracefully into the hut with a self satisfied smirk. She tied the sackcloth "door" shut just as the first growls of thunder rumbled through the trees.
"Just in time love," she said with a grateful sigh as she scooped him up in her arms and laid down on the cot, pulling a stained white cloak over the two of them and snuggling him into herself. He recognized the cloak with a sigh. The blood stain was even in the place he remembered being hit... and then... pain split his little skull.
The lighting had struck so close the thunder had been deafening...to a human, but he was in a squirrels head, and for the first time he understood why they disappeared when the storm came. He reared in pain and fear scrambling for anywhere but here...
"Easy love," she crooned calmingly, "Eratia's got you, you're going to be just fine."
He sighed, trying to still his thrumming heart. She hummed softly to him, the sound of her voice enthralling him. As the storm's intensity picked up she hummed louder, gripping him tighter as the thunder claps came closer. And as the worst of the storm rampaged across the sky above them, she sang... a song he had sung to her so many years before when she had coward before the fury of the force he adored.
"Listen as the wind blows
from across the great divide,
Voices trapped in yearning,
memories trapped in time,
The night is my companion
and solitude my guide,
Would I spend forever here
and not be satisfied,
And I would be the one
to hold you down,
kiss you so hard,
I'll take your breath away
and after I wipe away your tears,
Just close your eyes dear
Through this world I've stumbled
so many times betrayed,
Trying to find an honest word,
to find the truth enslaved,
Oh you speak to me in riddles and
you speak to me in rhymes
My body aches to breathe your breath,
your words keep me alive,
And I would be the one
to hold you down,
kiss you so hard,
I'll take your breath away
and after I wipe away the tears,
Just close your eyes dear
Into this night I wander,
it's morning that I dread,
Another day of knowing of
the path I fear to tread,
Oh into the sea of waking dreams
I follow without pride,
Nothing stands between us here
and I won't be denied,
And I would be the one
to hold you down,
kiss you so hard,
I'll take your breath away
and after I wipe away the tears,
Just close your eyes dear
and after I wipe away your tears,
Just close your eyes..."
It amazed his calmed mind, how the same words could mean such different things depending on which of them were emoting them. He sighed deeply as she held him close to her, and reveled in the sound of her breathing as it slowed. The sound of the storm dissipated into the distance, and her grip on his small body loosened as she fell into a restful sleep. He looked at her face as she slept and frowned at the tear that slid from her eye. He reached up a paw and wiped it away. Then he slipped quietly from her arms and hopped to the floor. Even if it was to be as a squirrel the temptation to stay weighed heavy on him, but he knew she deserved more, and it was up to him to make sure she got it. Every damnable drop of what she deserved would be wrung from his very soul if need be, but he would make sure she got it, and that she knew it was coming to her...
It took him most of the night to arrange the pine needles he had sequestered under the bed. The job was made more difficult by the annoyed grumbles of the Elder from the other side of the door as he waited for the paladin to return, but he would NOT be denied this chance to let her know he had not abandoned her, and that he would come for her. Some way. Somehow. When he was finished, he slipped under the door and jumped into the shining picture of the Elder and himself. Still without arms or armor, but ready to face whatever the Grey might throw at him.
The paladin opened his eyes and looked to the Elder who was staring intently at the blank desk.
"I am sorry to have wasted the trip good sir Elder," the knight intoned apologetically,"but it was important to me that she knew."
The Elder looked at him with a sly smile.
"You may be surprised sir knight," the Elder retorted, "You gained more than you may ever know."
Rafferty squinted thoughtfully at the old Sage for a moment. It didn't matter. As long as she knew...
The dampness of the night before permeated the hut. Eratia Renard sat up in her bed and looked about blearily for her new friend, but there was no sign of him...except for the pine needles on the earthen floor of her hut, arranged in the shape of a large heart pierced by a bolt of lightning...
((Credits: Sarah Mclachlan)) |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 19 Dec 2007 04:35 PM |
Part the Ninth: The First Stepping
The burly dwarf stopped abruptly. He glared up at the elderly knight as he stumbled to a halt, barely missing his stocky guide.
"Keep yer mind on where ye be goin' an' ye'll not be havin' those troubles eh?" The dwarf growled gruffly.
The paladin simply nodded apologetically.
"I reckon it be a lot ta take in when yer first gettin' 'ere," the dwarfs glare softened slightly as he reached into a pouch hanging on his belt pulling out a rolled up piece of yellowish parchment, " but this 'ere from the old man'll help ye on yer way."
The stout fellow pointed a pudgy finger at a small "x" on the floor in the empty chamber.
"Ye be standin there an' ye'll git ta where yer goin'," he said with a nod, "but be sure ta be readin' that there note first."
The dwarf gave a small wave and stomped off back the way they had come. Rafferty watched him go with a thoughtful squint. He stood there for a long moment listening to the fading sound of the dwarven boot falls, wondering if they may be the last sound he would hear. He shook his head, as if to clear it, then looked down to the parchment in his hand. Breaking the wax seal he unrolled it and habitually held it at arms length to read it.
Good sir Knight
Before you journey into the unknown there are certain things you need to be educated on. For example, being that you are dead and far from your physical form it is not necessary to hold the parchment so far from your face.
The knight smirked at himself with a dry chuckle pulling the parchment closer and nodding as he read on.
As difficult as it may be for you to understand at first, it is imperative you realize things are different here than they were on Vives. You must try to grasp the fact that you are as incorporeal as a thought, and yet as real as an idea. Once you have wrapped your mind around the reality of your unreality your footsteps will become productive as you head towards your goal.
Best Wishes.
T
The knight's eyes smiled slightly as his brow furrowed in a quizzical frown. He had entered an arena where his unwavering resolve wouldn't be enough, and his mind, which had left much of the work to his now useless sword arm over the years, would now be the weapon he was left with. He sighed with a deprecating smirk on his lips.
"A rather unfair thing to do to an old dog who can barely remember his OLD tricks." he muttered sarcastically.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
"My beloved Eratia," he whispered with the usual reverance that warmed his voice when he spoke her name, "I will do whatever I can to reach you. If you have any love left in your heart for me despite the cruelty and pain it has brought you, I beg you to let it be a beacon to guide me."
Then, without another thought he stepped onto the marking at his feet and he was falling...
falling... |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 22 Dec 2007 04:41 PM |
Part the Tenth: The Falling
...falling
He fell through a cloud of yellowed bits of paper and other debris reminiscent of the left overs of a thousand victory parades that someone not so "victorious" had to remove. The litter clung to the underside of his arms and legs as if trying in vain to hold him up, trying to rescue him from the impact that awaited him below. His heart lurched in his chest as his velocity increased. Was this the Grey? Was this the design of his destination? A garbage dump for those who had been duped into meaningless sacrifice only to be discarded like an empty flask of life saving potion? His chest laboring to breathe as the wind of his descent ripped the air from his nostrils, he squinted his eyes to look for something, ANYTHING that might aid him. A dull brownish hew was all that he could see. He maneuvered his arms in a spastic attempt to "swim" in the air and managed a half turn. The green shaft of light was far in the distance, but so stark against the ruddy surroundings that it couldn't be missed. He frowned for a moment in thought as the impossible crossed his mind with hopeful steps.
"Eratia?" he mouthed.
The frown on his brow deepened with surprised confusion as the speed of his falling decreased. He looked down instinctively, expecting to see some kind of thick mist, or the light of some magical energy that was beneath his feet. All he saw was endless space filled with floating refuse. He winced as he began falling again, a flurry of wilted flower petals slapping him in the face and blinding him for a moment before he could blink them away. The Elders' note flashed in his mind and he looked back to the green shaft of light with a look of intense concentration. There was no ground in the Grey, why would there be? He nodded with a smile as he began to slow once again. Things were different here, and all a matter of perception. There was no ground, because there were no feet to tread on it. Only his mind could get him from one place to another, and whether the green light was a beacon lit for him by his love, or not, it was a focus point that he would need to use to have his mind "create" a plane that he could walk on. He nodded again, keeping his eyes on the green shaft that stabbed into the shabby belly of the Grey. He slowed and then stumbled as he touched down on a field of dead grass and leafless trees. It was all in his head, he knew that now, but he was an old dog devoid of new tricks. Some younger buck full of piss and vinegar may have thought up a flying machine, or sprouted wings, but for an old knight there was only one way to get where he was going in a way that he could grasp it. He smiled with a determined nod.
The old fashioned way. |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 02 Jan 2008 05:03 PM |
Part the Eleventh: The Meeting
For centuries the druids of Vives had made pilgrimages to the Standing Stones north of Port Royal to leave gifts, and pay homage to the force that was the source of the nature they fought daily to protect and nurture. For centuries that unknown force was perceived to show its pleasure at these gifts by "blessing" the area with a soft gentle rain. It had been this way for as far back as anyone could remember...
Until today...
Within the span of one hour, the rain had subsided, and the clouds had parted to reveal a sun that seemed uncomfortably closer than it should be. The bowyer suddenly had the urge to travel to Port for supplies, and the patrolling Ranger felt a compelling need to report to his superiors and left the area with quick, uneasy steps. Even the birds and the beasts retreated leaving nothing but a deathly silence...
And then the stones began to hum...
The vibrations shook the grass around the copse, sending out waves that resembled a ripple in water. Three of the stones, each of them an equilateral angle from each other, began to glow, taking on a specific hue, one of them a dangerous red, the other a calming blue, and the last, a stark white. In the center of the triangle a small circle of light that seemed to be every color and none all at the same time, swirled into existence as the stones hummed louder, almost moaning at the strain of the energy that coursed through them. The lit stones grew brighter and brighter still until the colors swirled and blended into a blinding flash that could be seen as far away as the Buckshire even though it was the middle of the day. As the light faded, several figures appeared in the circle. In front of the stone that still had traces of red afterglow in it, stood a fire haired woman of breath taking beauty. Before the bluish stone stood another female of unbelievable countenance, her lithe body barely covered by the leathers she wore, her long, dark brown hair flowing about her gently as if constantly being caressed by a soft breeze. Before the white stone was yet another gorgeous creature, wearing furs that matched her platinum blond locks. In the center of the triangle made by the glares they sent to each other stood an ancient looking gentleman with a ridiculously long beard who glanced at each woman as he turned slowly and nodded with a knowing smirk. From the nearby trees a white stag walked gracefully up the small hill and entered the circle of stones, bowing it's head to each one there in greeting. The elder nodded with a familiar smile, while the women ignored the new comer and continued to frown at each other coldly. From the shadows next to one of the stones appeared a female who's body and face seemed to change constantly, making it impossible to determine whether she was a gnome...or an elf...or anything at all for that matter. For now, however she was greeting everyone with a demons fanged maw that seemed particularly aimed at the Elder, who turned his back on her rolling his eyes with an aggravated sigh. An elven man holding a wicked looking barbed spear appeared from thin air and walked toward one of the stones giving each of those who had arrived before him a deprecating look. He leaned his back against the cold stone twirling the spear with one hand as he put his other through his coal black hair. They stood in silence for a long moment until the Elder shuffled his feet and cleared his throat.
"Well then," he said matter of factly," it would seem the others have no interest in this silliness... shall we...?"
"Not so old one," a hollow voice interrupted, "I am MOST interested to see what kind of discomfort you have unleashed on my friends." The last word dripped with malice and hate.
The Elder looked to the source of the voice with a deep frown. All that was there was a black shapeless form that rippled and warbled as it seemed to swallow any light that tried to illuminate it.
"Indeed," the Elder intoned sceptically as he turned to the many faced woman with a sly smile, "then perhaps someone would care to tell us why we are all here?"
The many faced woman's features rippled as she became a stern Atalan with a sneer wrapped around sharp chiseled teeth.
"What exactly did you hope to achieve by sending the old fool into the Grey?" she said with icy anger.
"And what business would that be of yours?" the old man countered, "what business would it be of ANYONE gathered here?" He turned and gave each of them a whithering look.
"None of you would lay claim to him, and yet the very power that put him in his predicament comes from each one of you who gave him no place to go but to me." He frowned at this for a moment, then chuckled as if tickled by epiphany. He gave the many faced woman a meaningful look as he grinned broadly.
"Which one of you decided to be a stickler to the rules, when the divine truth of the matter is that WE ARE the rules?" he smirked at the many faced woman as she rippled and became a Rakshasa growling angrily. The Elder smiled at this wanly.
"Well," the Elder said with a shrug, "whoever it was is just as responsible as I for what is happening in the Grey. He became my charge when none of you would claim him for good OR ill. I was well within my rights to send him there as an experiment, and a fact finder. It has always bothered me that we know so little about the place where we have dis..."
"We know enough of the place to know that it has done it's job for millennia!" the Rakshasa interrupted angrily, "And we now know that the knowledge YOU gave the old crone gave him the tools he needed to bring order to the chaos. An order that at this very moment is changing EVERYTHING the Grey was, and was meant to be." The Elder raised his arms in an exasperated shrug.
"Madam," he said as he shook his head, " I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about. Especially considering the agreement all of you made to abstain from using the Grey as a place to throw those you would deny to their rightful protectors as a matter of spite rather than see them go where they belong?" He let the question slither like an accusatory serpent among the beings gathered before him, a small smile sparkling beneath his bushy, white eyebrows. The white Stag turned its head toward the many faced woman, staring at her for a moment with deep, doleful eyes. The many faced woman turned on the Elder as she became an Ettin with four angry eyes.
"Now it is I who don't know what YOU are talking about old man. But what I DO know is that the Grey is supposed to be a sea of souls that serve no one, and by sending the old knight there you have put a fishing net in that sea that will collect them all and quite possibly create a new force that could be a real threat to the souls that we ALL hold dear," she swung a large scabbed hand toward the rest of the circle as she spoke with an angered growl," and I'd like to know just what you're going to do about it!"
"Well..." the Elder looked around at the faces looking to him, "I would say, that short of destroying all and everything there, which would require the combined might of everyone here, and COULD cause some serious repercussions as we know little about the place... there is little we CAN do at this time...but wait and see." He looked into the eyes of each being gathered in the circle, taking great care to avoid the black, shapeless form of emptiness that stood alone, and avoided at the South side of the circle.
"I, as always, am at your service" he said, the hint of a dry chuckle in his voice, "Are all of you ready and willing to band together and do what it will take to destroy the Grey?"
The circle was bathed in a long uncomfortable silence, until the White stag snorted shaking it's head.
"Tempted as I am, I would rather see you all squirm" the hollow voice from the black void chuckled as it faded from view laughing manically. The Elder looked to the many faced woman with a patronizing smile.
"Well madam," he said with a curt nod, "there it is."
"This isn't over." she blurted with a scowl as she became a shadow slave and dissipated into the rock nearest her.
"No," the Elder said with a frown, "I suppose it wouldn't be."
A moment later the circle was empty, and within the hour the clouds returned and it started to rain.
A lifetime away, an old paladin made his first catch of the day... |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 07 Feb 2008 05:25 PM |
Part the Twelfth: The Catching.
He looked across the barren plain his mind had made in the middle of nothingness. The beam of green light clawed at the sky like an accusatory finger, illuminating the yellowed bits of paper that fell slowly like aged snow in a desert. He smiled, his eyes twinkling in the green glow. It stood to reason that Eratia was behind the beacon that called to him. It was the anchor that held his new world fast, just as she was in the world he had been torn from. It was possible the light was a wicked trick, but the ache in his hopeful chest made that idea hard to fathom. The fact was, either way, all he had in this desolate place was the light. With nowhere else to go he took a deep breath and set out toward it.
He had been walking for quite some time. Concentrated on his shimmering goal, and mesmerized by the hypnotic rhythm of the breath rasping in his throat and the steady shuffling of his footfalls, he never heard the first soul fall, or the second. When the third plopped down in front of him like a fresh caught fish, however, it grabbed his attention by the scruff of the neck, widening his grey eyes in surprise. He knelt instinctively checking the man for injuries. At first surprised at the lack of any blood or bone, his mind reminded him of the nature of the place he was in, he reached out a hand to the quivering form. The man took it, his eyes wild with confusion as he stood shakily, the yellow paper snow he had fallen into tumbling from his naked body to the ground.
"Well met sir," the knight said finally, unsure whether the greeting was appropriate or not in the Grey.
The middle aged fellow studied the old paladin with dark, deep set eyes that peered out from under the disheveled veil of a fallen comb-over. He glanced down at his wobbling legs that had obviously not touched ground of any kind for a lifetime or more. Squeezing the knight's hand as much to keep his balance as to assure himself what he was seeing was real, he opened his mouth to speak.
"Who...? Where...?" he croaked deliriously.
"Rafferty Thunderheart," he responded gently as he looked around with the hint of a quizzical smile touching his features, "and this is the...."
He stopped short as his squinting eyes took in the sight of a wasteland of quivering forms rolling on the ground and slowly struggling to their feet like an undead army, as more fell from the sky amidst the papery snow.
"...the...Grey." he finished with a hushed whisper.
The thought of the delay this new wrinkle in his journey would cause was short lived as it occured to him that time was certainly not going to be a factor. He helped the man to a sitting position and nodded to him reassuringly as he turned to help the next confused soul. Thunder god or no, some things were, after all, just part of what one was. |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 20 Feb 2008 09:18 PM |
Part the Thirteenth: The Marching
He walked among the fallen souls a thoughtful look marring his wizened face.
So many...
How could there be so many? He had to admit to himself he had little grasp of just how many souls Vives had created over the thousands of years it had existed but... He looked to the horizon where their quivering forms stretched as far as the eye could see, helped to their shaky feet by those who had rested long enough to gain their bearings if not their wits, and still they fell. He frowned down at his feet needing to rest his eyes from the endless rain that disturbed him to the core.
So many...
Religion, belief, had been an important, unavoidable mainstay throughout all of the history he had been taught in the seminary. Cities and civilizations were built and destroyed by it over and over throughout time and still... he peered up at the sky with a hopeful arch to his brow... and still they fell. Something HAD to be amiss for there to be so many faithless, lost souls, but what could it be? Were not the gods infallible? Wasn't that what made them...gods? Who was he to question the hearts and minds of the souls that laid in puddles all around him? Who was he to deem their circumstance unjust?
Still...
He sighed, kicking a wad of paper from his foot.
" I knew an old knight who used to brood like that," the voice chuckled over the low murmur of the many that had been asking and answering as best they could. The paladin turned his head sharply toward it, the familiarity of it hitting him like a torrent of ice in the middle of a desert march. A sea of faces stared back at him.
"Truly?" the knight queried in an attempt to pin point the owner of the voice, "What can you tell me of him?"
An arc of electric recognition surged through his chest as the small half elven man stood shakily a thoughtful confusion apparent on his weathered face.
"That's all I remember I'm afraid." the elderly half elf said with consternation.
"Pops?"
The dark eyes squinted with faint recognition, the thin lips moving into a thoughtful grimace under the closely cropped grey goatee. There was no doubt. It had to be him.
"Pops, it's me," the old knight encouraged with imploring eyes as he reached for the man, "Raff...remember...?"
"Raffff..." the half elven said distantly squinting as if to see beyond the horizon. His legs buckled slightly as Rafferty reached for him and set him gently on the ground.
What the hells was Bristin doing here?
The first time he had met the Ranger, he had just become an Errant Knight Questor, and had promptly gotten himself hopelessly lost on his first journey into the woods barely five leagues from the city gates. He couldn't help but chuckle at the memories that rolled into his mind. The good natured ribbing he would constantly have to take from the old man because of his poor sense of direction.
"Going to the latrine Raff? Here tie this rope to yourself, I'd like to get an early start in the morning, and looking for you always wastes at least an hour."
He shook his head with a deprecating grin. The old man had helped him, and countless others in the fight against evil with no thought for his own safety ...or, for that matter, sanity. He chuckled again, but the levity faded as he remembered where he was. Bristin had introduced him to Eratia, and while he may not have approved of their relationship, he had been a wise and trusted mentor, patriarch and friend to them both. He had worshiped the Mother stalwartly, and constantly which begged the question once again...
What in the HELLS was he doing here?
Decades of following the bidding of a god that didn't exist boiled up inside him like volcanic gall. Years of watching loyal friends bleed and die at the whim of the gods that played them like expendable pawns tore at his insides like vengeful claws. And NOW seeing Bristin here, thrown into this refuse heap of the afterlife, after all he had done, after every drop of sweat and blood he had poured on the ground without counting the cost, was more than his disenfranchised soul could muster the strength to bear. Something was wrong with the gears and cogs of the machine of deity. If Bristin was here then many more like him were as well. Guilty or innocent, every one of the debris that littered his field had the right to a retrial, the right to mutiny, the right to ask WHY. What was the point in fighting for what, (or who), one thought was right... What was the reasoning behind striving and reaching for the goal set for you by a greater force until the muscle tore from the bone... What was the point in building the bridge with blood, sweat, tears, gall, bone, and sinew... He took a deep breath , trying to retrieve himself from the edge of the precipice he found himself staring over...what WAS the point?... If you could not, WOULD not... get to where you were meant to go?
He sighed and looked down at the spent confetti at his feet.
He found himself wondering if there was a piece of paper for every real hero who had died to save the fraudulent ones. He was a fraudulent hero. He had been able to walk in the rain of colored paper thrown from the windows and roofs of so many jubilantly ignorant houses. All the while knowing, if it weren't for the glazed eyes staring at the sky, while ravens and flies fed on them and reveled in the leftover feast of the battlefield, he would not be able to be here to drink in the glory he didn't deserve. But there had always been the consolation that his dead comrades were enjoying their reward. Being honored for a job well done... somewhere in the great beyond...
Until now...
HE did not, COULD not, regret the battles he had fought. They had been just, and worthy of the blood that was shed.
But...
He shook his head angrily. There was only one way to know for sure...
"My fellows!" he called out raising his arms, " Rest until you are ready to travel."
He took a deep breath. In another life, what he was about to say was unthinkable blasphemy, but this was NOT life. He looked up at the throng of confused faces that stared at him. He pointed to the shaft of green light that glowed in the distance.
"We travel to find the answers we ALL seek, and DESERVE!"
He sat in the paper snow, and took stock.
He had no plan, no strategy, and no weapons.
All he had was an army.
And all that army had was a voice.
If it cost him what little he had left...
That voice would be heard. |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 11 Mar 2008 05:10 PM |
Part the Fourteenth: The Shouting.
The throng marched toward the shaft of green hope that winked at them through the paper snow, and the rain of still falling souls. The paladin led them, breaking his pace only to help a quivering comrade in his path to their feet from time to time, and telling them to follow for any answers they might seek. The tedium of a march had long been a thorn in his side in life. The constant slogging, the boredom. In death, however, there was no need to stop and rest the men and horses, or the need to eat, or maintain weaponry and siege equipment. With none of these things being necessary, there was nothing to break up the monotony, but the next step.
And so he found himself focusing on the green light ahead, and allowing the hope, and anguish it represented, to slowly drive him insane.
He smiled and nodded to himself deprecatingly. Old Sir Harthak would be having a field day with this were he here.
"Oh just Wonderful!" He would be yelling, the beet red of his brow visible from, and seemingly magnified by his large polished helm."And pardon me for not being surprised it's you in the middle of this whirling pile of manure ThundERHEART !!"
The old knight looked down at his paper confetti covered feet with a soft chuckle. He could hear the volume and pitch of the old buzzards voice rise as it did every time it had to push the air through to utter his name. He shook his head with a grin and slogged on under the flaying words of his old master.
"So... what have we here then?" the voice rattled in his memory along with the angry tapping of an iron clad foot, " A gang of folks following you, some of which might watch your worthless hide in battle, but MOST of which most likely deserve to be here, and would as soon leave you to rot as spit in your general direction! So, I know!!! Let's prance off and question the gods themselves why don't we??! No weapons? No Armor? No plan of attack? No PROBLEM!!"
And then, of course, with voice cracking with sheer, desperate anger...
"TAKE THAT BLOODY HELMET OFF MISTER THUNDERHEART! YOU DON'T NEED IT! THERE'S NOTHING IN THERE WORTH PROTECTING IS THERE?!"
He shook his head slowly as his smile faded.
Sir Harthak would be right of course.
He looked around at the souls that marched beside him, and stretched out seemingly infinitely behind him. He looked up at the souls that continued to fall amidst the mocking confetti.
Yes. Sir Harthak would certainly be right.
If he were here...and if Bristin was here, who was to say that Sir Harthak WASN'T?
He shook his head with grim determination. They HAD to go on and do whatever it took to get an answer, a reason, SOMETHING.
He looked toward the green glow he had been avoiding so as not to be discouraged by their slow progress. It was closer, and the strange brownish "cylinder" that ran the length of the visible horizon was now decidedly larger, and looking more like the trunk of an enormous tree. None of them knew just what awaited them at their destination. Purhaps it was being close to their destination after such a long laborious march. Or, purhaps it was the possibility of answers after an eternity of questions. At this point it did not matter. He quickened his pace along with the other souls that marched with him. Before long they were within mere paces of the giant thing. So close that it's dark crusted surface seemed to blot out the green light that seemed to eminate from the top which was no less than the height of a hundred siege towers stacked on top of each other. Rafferty stopped, looking up at it.
Now what?
He looked around at the souls that surrounded him, expecting questioning looks, and sneers directed at him, their self appointed leader. Instead, every pair of eyes stared at the woody surface before them.
And then...
As if an unseen conductor had stood before them, tapped the lectern before them, and raised his baton...
They began to hum.
He was no bard to be sure, but it surprised him that everyone seemed to be humming the very same note... Even himself.
The humming grew louder, becoming a moan. The moan became a cry, and the cry became a shout that seemed to vibrate heaven itself. Every frustrated breath he had ever breathed, every cry of agony he had ever offered on the battlefield seemed to erupt from him all at once now, aimed at an unknown target in an unknown place. Small pieces of brown bark began to fall from the felled tree. Then larger pieces began to fall. Some of them driving down through the ground his mind had laid taking the hapless souls they had crushed with them into giant, black holes filled with stars. The throng shouted on, as if they enjoyed the destruction their questioning song was visiting on the tree. Debris and confetti plumed up from the ground as the rest of the bark fell. All at once. the throng was silent once more.
As the dust settled he peered ahead at a single shadow that shifted in the green glow.
It came closer.
He waved his hand in front of his face to clear the dust from his line of sight.
"I got your message." a soft voice sang. The sound struck him almost physically. He took a step back.
There was only one voice that could make an old knight's heart jump like a rabbit's.
"Eratia," he breathed. |
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The Thundering Heart
Posted: 19 Jul 2013 01:08 AM |
(( As was mentioned at the beginning of this thread, This story is in no way sanctioned by the DM team, and it is likely that I risk my Vives born soul even contemplating such matters, but it is my fervent hope that this piece will be a spark of inspiration or at the very least discussion of an afterlife in the Vives universe. I highly suggest scrolling up and reading from the beginning as knowledge of the story so far is necessary to understand what is to come. I believe though that the treat at the end is worth the journey. The long sabbatical we have been on pushes me to shorten this piece in order to finish it, but the pertinent information will all be here. And so, for your entertainment, and, hopefully, inspiration, I humbly present the conclusion of The Thundering Heart. ))
Part the Fifteenth: The Beginning of the Ending
The Standing Stones hummed again. The reverberations felt as far away as the Kobai causing the sands to quiver and the dunes to shift.
They all stood in the circle. None would dare miss a meeting of such import, no matter the animosity that roamed the circle like a prize fighter who could care less about gold. The "sisters" stood as far away from each other as possible staring into the center of the circle, the enmity between them almost visible as three lines meeting at the middle with a perfect 120 degrees at each angle. The many faced woman stood before her stone looking at each member of the group, changing her visage to mock the others. The black haired elf looking at his nails with a haughty glance...ripple...The fair elf checking the fletching on his arrows, small arcs of electricity popping as each barb flicked past his thumb...ripple... The dour dwarf wearing the dirty leather apron, licking his thumb and rubbing scuff marks from the smithy's hammer in his other hand with a studious frown...ripple...The beast man throwing his battle axe into the ground with a *thunk* a satisfied smirk raising the curtain on his fangs as the axe winked from existence and reappeared in his waiting hand...ripple... The halfling sitting on top of his stone eating a large wedge of watermelon, spitting out the black seeds and stifling a laugh as each one lodged in the beast mans' back fur like a myriad of half fed tics. The white stag entered the circle from the nearby trees, as the faceless man shimmered into view seeming to be peering out from his stone rather than standing before it.
The elder stood with a soft grunt the quarterstaff sinking slightly into the soft ground. The white stag looked at him with a slight nod and transformed into a white haired elven woman with soft features, and chapped hands that told of countless trips to the laundry rock and the kitchen sink.
"Well," the elder intoned as he entered the circle, "Here we are then."
He looked at each of them with a meaningful look, but no one seemed to have anything to say. He frowned at the mud clump on the working end of his quarterstaff and kicked it clean with a sandaled foot that poked out from his brown robes.
"It would seem," the elder looked up from the ground, "judging from the sizeable haul our fisherman made in The Grey, that either one of us, or some of us, have been breaking the agreement as old as time itself, OR..." The elder paused giving each member a glance as he turned and paused. "Or, there has been a flaw in the original design of the journey itself."
"With all due respect elder," the black haired elf said coolly looking up from his manicure, "May I suggest we not waste time on semantics, and get to the business at hand." He sent a sharp look toward the faceless man.
"Yesss, let's, " the cold voice echoed into the circle, " Let's get the usual accusations out of the way. The mad one, the one none of you understands or believes. It had to be him right? Some dastardly plan to usurp your worthless, meaningless power by taking your "precious" worshippers away? Remember though," he spat, " I have warned you all from the beginning of the dangers of the Journey. What use would stolen souls be to me? Know this, if I had stolen them, they would have been destroyed by now." His words echoed from the stones like a frozen corpse thrown down dungeon stairs.
"Oh, there was deceit to be sure," he continued, the strange light where his face should have been swirling like a thunderhead," perhaps we should seek the opinion of a specialist in such arts?" A black tentacle pointed toward the many faced woman...
Thus began an argument that lasted for weeks in Vives time, the repercussions of which were somewhat significant. From flooded farmlands, to deluged swamplands that pushed goblins into the Brandibuck to Angry lightning destroying a fair portion of the Port Royal Palace. In the circle of the Standing Stones, however, the argument took only a few hours.
"So it is agreed," the elder said rolling his eyes slightly as he took a ragged breath, " Finding out, who, if any of us, is responsible for this issue does not change the fact that we have a situation here. So that will be set aside without prejudice until such time as real evidence can be brought before us all,"
Reluctant nods and accusatory glances peppered those gathered.
"Now to the real issue at hand..." the elder said.
The population of the Standing Stones stood in silence.
"We have agreed that having all "realms" connected by The Grey is unacceptable to all parties for obvious reasons," the elder continued dryly, " In addition, we have agreed that there are two viable solutions to the issue."
The elder paused as he scribbled something into the book that was floating in front of him next to an ornate inkwell.
"And so... I put it to you,understanding that the very nature of The Grey makes it impossible to enter it and ferret out whose souls belong where, and, bearing in mind that by the very laws of existence itself, which clearly and factually state that we cannot make any decision of this nature or magnitude without total agreement between all of us," He looked around the circle as he spoke, "Shall we destroy The Grey and every soul in it, including souls that may belong to some in this very circle?" The elder held out his right hand thumb down as he continued to sweep the circle with his eyes. "Or shall we channel the energies of The Grey into its own "craft" and set it on it's own Journey allowing a reasonable amount of time to "rescue" those you all may deem worthy."
He pointed his thumb up and held it so, waiting for their response. One by one each of them held out their right hand, thumbs pointing to the heavens. Every one, but the faceless man. The matronly, white haired elf looked toward him with a sad smile, and he saw the memory in her eyes...
"Being unable to find any commonality of cause, and having alienated himself from every member of this circle," The elder spoke to the circle holding out his right hand, " I put it to you, understanding that he himself want's oblivion itself, and bearing in mind that by the very laws of existence itself, which clearly and factually state that we cannot make any decision of this nature or magnitude without total agreement between all of us." he paused...always that damnable pause...
"Shall we exile this one from our position of power?" he held his thumb down, "Or allow him to continue beyond the realm of alignment and into the abyss of the insane where our OWN existence may be forfeit!" He turned his thumb upward for the briefest of moments and then turned it back down. He remembered chuckling to himself inwardly as all of the thumbs in the circle matched his own, pointed to the ground.
Every one.
But the matronly white haired elf...
There was no bloody way he would allow her sentimental bull shite to change his mind... but the truth was there was also no way he would be able to gain their support to destroy The Grey. If he kept this vote in deadlock however, The Grey would infest the nothing he needed to continue the fight. He glared at the white haired elf for a moment.
He turned his thumb up.
The elder, nodded with the faintest smile. This was certain to be an interesting little experiment that would generate a great deal of new data.
"So be it," the elder said as he nodded to the motherly elf, "If you would be so kind as to call him m'lady?"
The white haired elf who had already become a white stag, nodded.
Rafferty and Eratia appeared outside of the standing stones.
Part the Sixteenth: The Everything that ends Nothing
"Ah mister Thunderheart," the elder motioned to Rafferty, "If you please?"
The old knight squinted at the assembly. The Mother had told them they may be called to this meeting, but he had not expected this. Glancing at the white stag, he let go of Eratia's hand and stepped forward. Ever since he had seen her, he had known something like this would come. No one breaks a piece of heaven without there being some repercussion.
"No matter the consequences," he said glaring at the panting kobold face of the many faced woman, "it was worth it to see my Eratia, and to awaken you so called "deities" to the fact that no matter your power, WE," he pointed to Eratia, "ARE REAL! Not your play things, or your cattle, or you puppets to send off on a fools quest for your entertainment, TO BLEED, SUFFER AND SACRIFICE JUST TO BE THE PUNCHLINE OF SOME OLD JOKE YOU'VE ALL HEARD BEFORE!!" He stopped looking thoughtful, taking a moment to regain himself. He adjusted his tunic pushing his chin toward the sky standing proudly as he continued in a steely tone. " And if we could break the walls of heaven with a single shout, perhaps it would behoove you to remember such things." He waited for what surely must come next.
The elder chuckled.
Every being inside the circle closed their eyes and the ground began to tremble.
Rafferty looked to Eratia standing outside the circle biting her lip, her fingers twitching as if searching for a weapon, something ANYTHING to find a way out of this. He shook his head cursing himself as a fool. Time and again his sense of honor, duty, or fairness, had put her in these situations, and now in the great beyond he would put the final stamp on it by being vaporized by the very gods themselves and taken away from his love forever. He took a step back and jerked with surprise as he bumped into a large stone still glistening with cold moisture from the soil it had risen from. He turned back from the stone to see the elder standing directly in front of him with a wizened smile peeking out from under his white facial hair.
"Rafferty Gerald," the elder said almost matter of factly, belying the weight of his words, "Your activities in The Grey have revealed a flaw in the net of heaven.We hereby dub thee Greylocke, overseer and pilot to the forgotten, and the wrongfully detained."
"And in so doing," the elder continued as he held a hand before the old knights wide eyes," impart unto you a portion of the power and knowledge of the overseers and pilots that came before you."
The elder touched his hand to the old knights forehead for a moment then walked from the circle and turned to watch as each of the remaining members of the circle did the same.
Part the Seventeenth: The Ending of the Beginning
Greylocke sat in his private chamber looking out of the large window into the empty blackness broken only by the occasional star and the green realm which traveled nearby. It would please Eratia that she could visit The Mother whenever she wanted, while still being able to live with her husband. He chuckled dryly. That was certain to be looked back on as the longest courtship in history to be sure.
He thought back to his "ascension". He had been spending a great deal of time trying to come to terms with the power he had been given on that day. Trying to absorb the knowledge he had been given. He had suspected much of what he had learned for much of his life. Not the least of which was the fact that the "gods", (although knowing what he knew now, pilot, or overseer was a far more accurate title), gained their power from those who knew and "believed" in them, which certainly explained the wars waged and lives taken in the name of one religion or another. The power of souls in general was certainly demonstrated when his rag tag "army" had broken into the Mothers' realm. Yes the knowledge shared with him that day, while immense in volume and scope, had brought fulfillment and closure to questions that had long plagued the minds of mortals since the beginning. He had come to grips with and assimilated MOST of it...
Except for what he had told him...
A low growl hummed through his pursed lips as he thought.
The faceless man had been the last to touch him. The experience still roiled around his mind like oil on storm waves.
" I am SYN
Forget what the others have told you for they were not there. Their conjecture blinds their perception of the truth. The truth that we are not gods, were never designed to be. We are errand runners and ship pilots, nothing more. Vives was created to be an energy source. A place of self replicating soul energy that could feed them all for uncountable millennia. When the true gods of this multiverse came together to create it, however, the force of their creation blew them to the farthest reaches of space and time far away from the power they needed to exist. We were sent to connect to that power and channel it back to them, while they slumber and wait. All of them as developing zygotes to assure survival during the long journey. I was sent as their caretaker to be sure they arrived, and as the overseer of the forgotten to be sure that not a single soul would be missed in our harvest. But I knew then, as I know now, that once we reach the Sleepers with their prize, we, and the only bastion of true freedom in the multiverse will become mere food for the gluttonous Sleepers and be sucked dry of its vitality bringing on the darkest days of existence on Vives, and ultimately it's demise. I refuse to be party to such genocide, and so I expend my energies perpetrating the "nothing". If we destroy expended souls, nothing moves us closer to the doom that IS the Sleepers. If we have nothing to give them, they cannot awaken to devour us all.. The very survival of the world you once held dear, depends on you believing me and joining my quest. Every soul you bring into your realm speeds you toward our collective doom. Choose your path. Think of the TRUE greater good."
He heaved a great sigh. Could it be true? With his mind awakened to what they were, and what their purpose was it certainly could be. Syn had given an answer where Theus had not. But even if it WERE true. What was an old knight to do?
He looked up from his reverie into the stars that seemed to be flying by faster now.
THE END? |
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The Thundering Heart II
Posted: 21 May 2021 08:45 AM |
Part the First: Speaking Truth to Power (Prelude)
Greylocke sat in his private chamber looking at the stars swish by.
Eratia was waiting for him in their secret place, but as much as he loved her. as much as he needed her, as much as she was everything to him...
...
He couldn't help but think that he was wasting the chance he had been given.
Wasting it all.
Did "eternity" mean anything if it was going to end?
Who gave a rip about eternity if it would be spent feeding a higher power and not spending what one earned in blood and sweat in the name of eternity itself?
Wasn't the whole idea of holding an ideal into death to transcend to something better?
What was the point of being a slave to a certain mindset, if it meant continuing that servitude in the great beyond?
When he made his promise to her, he had meant it. He still did. Just because they were beyond the veil, did that really make things that different? Especially considering what he knew now?
And most importantly...
Why was he sounding like his old squire?
He let the ripples of his thoughts carry him to the memory of his head nestled in her soft lap as she stroked his hair listening to him vent about the boy.
" You know I always tell you the truth no matter how inconvenient it may be my love, and the inconvenient truth is, the reason his questions annoy me is because they are damned good ones! More than that they are questions I can't answer fully."
He looked up in his private chamber hoping to see her soulful eyes reassuring him. He was disappointed by the ragged ceiling. Instead her response reverberated in his mind.
"In my experience, If you cannot learn from your student, you are not being a good teacher."
The truth of those words were smacked into his thick skull during his time in the guyver's mind, and now it looked him in the shimmering eye as the stars flew by.
"I need your naïve wisdom old friend", he intoned with a dark sincerity, " I'm in no hurry for you to join me, but it will be a blessing to me when you do."
He wished against the inevitable as he careened into it, and waited for his teacher student to arrive.
A mirthless smirk crossed the roadmap of his face.
"The most hopeless of situations can only be navigated by a guyver." He murmured. |
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